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#no one ever wins but he and finnick stay up all night trying as the last two ppl still in the game

solar-halos · 2 months

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i think if thg characters were playing monopoly annie would steal the monopoly money but still lose anyway. finnick is the banker but he looks the other way bc she’s pretty. when johanna notices she just literally fucking pounces on annie. haymitch takes this as his opportunity to steal even more monopoly money. katniss is already asleep by the first few rounds bc she doesn’t like how long the game is taking. idk i just thought i should share that

#i fucking hate monopoly #and i think delly would too #except she’d hate it bc the thought of buying someone out of house and home would make her sad #i can see madge and gale being business partners tho #effie would be the first one out and immediately start rambling about bad sportsmanship #i think that’s it #peeta finishes out the game for him and katniss #no one ever wins but he and finnick stay up all night trying as the last two ppl still in the game #oh i should prob add some actual tags #annie cresta #finnick odair #johanna mason #haymitch abernathy #what do we think

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 7 months

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red wine | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you and finnick spend the evening together at a party in president snow’s mansion. hidden feelings reveal that things are much more complicated than they seem.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: alcohol use, mentions of alcoholism, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, minor angst

notes: i'm really proud of how this one turned out. someone better enjoy it.

word count: 1.3k

The entire room was buzzing, a party at Snow’s Mansion in full swing. People were chatting, laughing, and dancing, and yet all Finnick could focus on was you. Your rosy smile. Your sparkling eyes. Your laugh that rang like a perfectly pitched bell. He had never heard anything more harmonic.

Drunk on sweet red wine, your head fell back with every word that left his mouth. His natural wits and humour only seemed to heighten your amusement.

“…such a liar!”

“No, I’m serious,” Finnick urged, grinning. “Go look if you don’t believe me.”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but you couldn’t stop. After winning the 70th Hunger Games, you thought happiness was something impossible to regain. Many visits to the Capitol resulted in you meeting the famous Finnick Odair, who, over the course of many months, had gained your friendship and showed you that light could still be found in the darkness that was being a Victor.

“Fine, Finnick. I believe you—President Snow has cats dressed in little white suits running around his mansion.”

“Thank you!”

You weren’t sure how you ended up talking about Snow’s cats. You weren’t sure when the wine had seeped into your brain, making the subject so irrationally hilarious. All you knew was that it didn’t matter what Finnick was talking about. What mattered was that he was talking about it with you.

Throughout the night, all types of women had thrown themselves at him. Beautiful women. Old women. Women who were surgically enhanced to resemble animals. But he rejected them all to stay by your side. Another girl came swooping in, asking him for a dance. She was incredibly attractive, her eyes dark and sultry, her hair pin-straight and hanging at her waist.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline. You thought for certain he would whisk her away.

But once again, he proved you wrong.

His hand fell on your hip, pulling you into his side. “Sorry, honey. I’ve already got a dancing partner tonight.”

That sobered you up a little.

The woman pouted, her whisker implants drooping as she left in the opposite direction.

You glanced nervously at the large hand still cupping your hip before looking back up at Finnick. “I am not dancing in front of these people.”

“Why not? You’re a great dancer.” He smirked. “Remember that time I walked in on you dancing in one of the bathrooms? That thing you were doing with your hips?” He blew out a breath of air.

Warmth flooded your cheeks. That had been the first time you met Finnick. You were a borderline alcoholic back then, having just become a Victor and all. Still, dancing in a bathroom was tough. Having the Capitol’s heartthrob catch you was even tougher.

“You know, your face is almost as red as that gorgeous dress you’re wearing,” he teased.

Everyone at the party was weighed down with extravagant and obnoxious attire which, to Finnick, resembled aliens trying to impersonate human fashion. But not you though. You wore a simple floor-length silk dress that was the colour of blood. There was nothing remarkable about the gown, yet Finnick found it to be the loveliest thing he had ever seen—a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else’s ridiculous artificial outfits. Or maybe it was just the person wearing it that made him feel this way.

You hiccupped. “I’m just trying to achieve the monarchy look.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “You mean the monochromatic look?” Your expression morphed into one of puzzlement as if you were trying to figure out the secrets of the universe. Finnick chuckled, swiping his thumb across your warm cheek. “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart. You’re very drunk.”

“Only a little.”

He watched as your eyes closed, swaying on your feet. There was a small smile on your face, seemingly absorbing the lively atmosphere around you. The thumping music; the sound of laughter, and the warmth of alcohol buzzing in your brain. If the entire room weren’t swarming with his customers and the President’s guards, he probably would have kissed you. And if you were in your right mind, he probably would have confessed his feelings too.

Too many variables worked against him. So, instead, he cleared his throat and said, “Maybe you should call it a night. Before you end up in the bathrooms again.”

You laughed, eyes opening again. He laughed with you, but your drunken mind failed to notice the deep affection his gaze suddenly held. A lot of things had slipped past you that night. If only you had seen them; things between the two of you would be so much more different. Less complicated. More true.

Finnick helped you gather your things, shooing away every man who asked to take you home on your way out. Somewhere along the way, his hand had interlocked with yours. This you noticed. The wine only seemed to enhance the butterflies fluttering around your stomach. It sent sparks up your arm, beginning in your fingertips which rested between his knuckles.

Eventually, he had successfully assisted—half-carried—you down the palace steps and into the backseat of your ride home.

“Don’t get into any trouble without me, Finnick Odair,” you said, looking up at him from your seat.

His dimples grew deep with a genuine smile, dishevelled hair blowing in the soft night wind. He rested a hand on the door. You wished he would step into the car with you.

Once more, he gently brushed his thumb against your cheek. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

A subtle confession. And then the door shut.

Finnick watched the taillights fade into the dark as you disappeared down the long driveway. Gone. Until the next party, that is. Or maybe even before then, if he finally gathered up the courage to convince you to flee Panem with him. Only then would he be free to pursue his feelings for you.

Johanna, who had been threatened into coming to the party by the President, found Finnick at the bottom of the palace steps, solemnly staring into the darkness. She stepped beside him. He didn’t seem startled; he barely even noticed her presence.

“You okay?” she asked flatly. When Finnick said nothing, she tried again. “You two looked friendly tonight.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. Was it that obvious? Who else noticed?

“Johanna,” he finally acknowledged her existence. “If I asked you to put an axe in my head, would you?”

“Not that I wouldn’t be happy to do so, but why, may I ask?”

His hard-set lips quirked at the question. Why? Shades of red flooded his mind like an open floodgate. Crimson of a silk dress. Cherry of painted lips. Pink of blushing cheeks. All of which flowed through his red-blooded veins and straight into his heart.

Laughter in the tune of a perfected melody echoed in his ears, the image of a beaming smile accompanying it. Then there was the voice, “Don’t get into any trouble without me, Finnick Odair.” He hung onto every word that voice spoke. All the philosophical thoughts it had spoken aloud; the nonsensical wine-drunken babbling, and the gentle whispers that longed for a simpler life which he had the honour of being trusted with. Your voice. Your words.

Everything that made you who you were—that was the answer to Johanna’s question. The reasoning behind Finnick’s next words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Surprise briefly flickered across Johanna’s features, then returned to their usual monotony state. “Well… that’s not good.”

“No,” he spoke, his eyes lingering on the ominous white roses that lined either side of the driveway. “It’s not.”

part two

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #finnick odair smut #finnick x oc #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #katniss everdeen

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oceanblvdst13 · 5 months

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"SLUT!"

mentor finnick odair x victor fem!reader

summary : capitol's darling has gotten quite the reputation after snow's menaces, finnick comforts her through her frequent crisis.

warnings : FLUFF , mentions of finnick' trauma and whatever comes with it

"in a world of boys , he's a gentleman"

. ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Beautiful is what your surroundings called you. Not hot or sexy, but breathtaking. Spending sunrises and afternoons on the beach with your friends shaped your days. They all spoke about their experiences but you were far too ignorant to try anything with anyone. Too sweet, too innocent.

Until the reaping, where you met Finnick. He had tried his best to help you win the games and was now beating himself up for it every night . Deep down , the second he met you , Finnick knew that your death was imminent. Either physically in that arena , or either mentally where you would have your body and soul stolen in the bed of Panem's elite at your return.

To his great disgust and to Snow's pleasure, you had won the games and became their jewel. Not only were you extremely desired one to one, but Panem loved your overly sexualized exhibits. The people were loving it and the traction was stronger than ever. New skimpy outfits every week, dirty jokes anytime you were interviewed, your soft soul had been muttered into a so said slut while your heart was shattering, not being able to let go fully of its innocence.

Finnick blamed himself. He wished you stayed eighteen forever, that you didn't celebrate your nineteenth birthday in a strangers bed, that you didn't have to spend your life the way he did, which is why he came to you every few nights. To hold you to sleep and attempt to wipe the horrors he's also lived a few years prior out of your head atleast for the time you slept. To seek comfort in your presence and kindness that still stayed nonetheless. But he didn't allow himself to think so selfishly. No, it was only for you.

That evening, routine catched up. Reminiscing about the days before all of it , and tears falling slowly on your cheeks in the dark, until you heard the familiar knock.

"How are you doing tonight love?"

"Okay." You responded, your tone of voice completely betraying your awnser.

Finnick knew. Words are hard and no one liked voicing their pain out loud. With him there was no talking about it, besides the sweet nothings he whispered into your ears.

His hands ran along your hips, lightly pressing on your shoulders, only to finish softly rubbing your back to sleep. Occasionally, he'd bring a hand up to your cheek to wipe a tear out of the way.

"I know baby, I know."

"You're not a slut, this isn't your fault."

"Give it time , time will heal everything."

Often , he'd kiss your forehead, in a protective mentor way and other times he'd kiss your neck in a much more personal way. Those times were the days you could actually get some rest. You didn't have an idea of love , since you never got to experience it before your dignity was stolen from you, but you'd imagined this is how it felt like. Dreaming of a world where you would be Finnick Odair's girl and not Panem's sex symbol.

Finnick did not have to imagine, he knew he was far inlove with you, the attraction he felt for you on the first days had sealed into total obsession after the dark bond you too shared. By saving you , he was also saving himself in a way. Finnick did not stay dreaming though , and actively worked against Snow for a day you could safely and slowly fall for him. He'd wait years , for you to learn love all over again and know the shivers and butterflies. For you to get to live , to leave him if you felt the need too. He would've given anything to see his girl happy.

And eventually, he did. Capitol had left its scars all over you and moved to the next one but Finnick was more then happy to heal each and every single one of them when he found out about the perfect thing, you fell just as hard as he did <3.

#finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick x oc #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #coryo x reader

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lamppost-t · 2 months

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Should’ve been me

Gn!reader (I’m pretty sure correct me if I’m wrong)

Summary: finnick comforts the reader as they try and recover from survivors guilt from winning the hunger games

Word count : 756

Warnings: mentions of death and killing, the hunger games, hurt and comfort, no use of y/n, use of pet names (sweetheart)

A/N: No one requested this but I felt like writing a short finnick fic but I low key hate this so 😍

(snuck a few Mitski references in here 😽)

The hot blaring heat waves of the summer usually hit district 4 pretty hard. For as long as you could remember each summer you’d be a frequent visitor of the many many beaches of your hometown. As much as you hated the very violent heat of district 4 summers you missed it more than ever now. You were on your victory tour after just winning the hunger games and the only place you wanted to be was back home, tolerating the horrible flames of summer in district 4 but no you were stuck on the train as they paraded you through the districts. As you stared out of the window of the moving train trying not to remember your situation as the cart steadily moved along the train tracks. you heard the familiar sound of the door sliding open.

“There you are” said a comforting voice “they are looking for you, they want to make sure your in your next outfit before we get to district 8”

You stay silent as if trying to ignore the thought of having to do any of your duty’s of being a victor as it made you sick. Finnick glanced at you, sadness in his eyes. He placed his hand on your shoulder trying his best to comfort you.

“You did what you needed to do” he said softly. He knew what you were thinking as he had gone through the same thing, winning his games at 13 wasn’t easy and the guilt still chewed at him every single night. He knew the pain or having to wake up almost every night from the replays of the life being drained out of the eyes of the people he had killed to get out of the arena.

“But I didn’t deserve to make it out alive” you responded turning to finally face Finnick, your cheeks stained with tears. the thought of the games caused tears to well up once again in your eyes. “They shouldn’t have died it should’ve been me” you said, the guilt in your voice could be heard clearly trough every word “they had families Finnick they had lives and what did I do to deserve to make it out alive? I was just lucky the Capitol decided to bet on a loosing dog” you cried wiping the tears threatening to come out of your eyes waiting for his reaction.

“Don’t say that sweetheart” he said wrapping you into a tight hug. “You didn’t choose to go into the games and you did exactly what you needed to do to get out just like everyone else.” He said placing a kiss on top of your head “you’ve done nothing wrong” he spoke rubbing circles on your back. You cried silently into his arms. Finnick stood there with you, letting you get all of your emotions out, no matter how drenched his shirt would become from your tears, he just wanted to help you deal with the traumas of being a victim to snow and the capitols games.

“Does the guilt ever go away?” You sniffed looking up at Finnick your eyes tired from crying.

“It never goes away but I promise you it gets a bit better” he replied, his voice soothing you as you rested your head on his chest. The room was filled with a comfortable silence as he held you in his arms firmly and comfortably that you had yearned for your whole life. You felt yourself becoming tired as Finnick was quite comfortable to lean on

“Are you falling asleep on me?” He questioned letting out a little laugh

“Shut up” you said “I deserve a bit of a rest do you know how much of a hell this victory tour has been?” You complained, you were right you hadn’t really gotten much sleep on the tour and most of the crew could tell.

“Don’t worry just get a bit of sleep I’ll cover for you” he said laying you onto the couch behind you. He tried to walk out of the cart but you stopped him, grabbing onto his arm

“Stay… please” the desperation in your voice clear as you beckoned him to stay. He didn’t really want to say no so he sat next to you allowing you to use him as a pillow. You soaked in the silence and peace of the moment falling into a deep slumber, knowing this would be a rare occurrence moving forward, but you knew Finnick would be by your side to help you through it

I love Finnick Odair I wish nice men were real 😞😞

#finnick x reader #finnick odair #the hunger games #finnick x you #thg finnick #finnick imagine #hunger games finnick #finnick fanfic #finnick x y/n

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wreywrites · 8 months

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Tiger Shark

Part 3: The Crown

Chapter 16

After Caesar and his camera crew leave, Mags, Finnick, and I sit down for lunch. My eating guidelines are substantially more flexible even since lunch yesterday, so I have an entire bowl of lamb stew, two cheese biscuits, and a handful of strawberries. Finnick finds this amusing.

We spend the afternoon watching the rebroadcast of this morning’s interview. And by “we” I mean “Mags and Finnick.” I fall asleep shortly after we talk about eating whale.

When I wake up, a highlight reel is playing. I spend several seconds trying to figure out which Games it is before realizing these are my Games. From now on, I will be among the near-constant replays of Hunger Games past. Next year, when two more kids from Four are living here and they decide to stay up and talk strategy late into the night, it will be my Games playing quietly in the background.

The second thing I notice is that I am no longer sitting on the sofa, but laying down, and my head is in someone’s lap. A rather disconcerting turn of events, if I do say so myself. Even worse, it is most definitely Finnick’s lap. I spend a few seconds trying to decide if it would be more awkward to sit up and apologize or sit up and pretend it never happened. I settle for option three, which is to do nothing. So I watch myself in the Hunger Games.

I must have been asleep for quite a while, because they have a feed of the arena on one side of the screen, and the other side is showing the friends and family interviews. Zalea is hunting, trying to sneak close enough to the buffalo herd to pick one off, and on the other side of the screen, a man and woman who can only be Tychus’s parents are talking about how proud they are of him and how they know he will win.

One of my legs is asleep, but I am not going to move. I think I would rather die than admit I am awake and have to face the consequences of whatever actions led me to this point. Except the next interview is my father.

I sit straight up.

“Well good morning,” Finnick says.

I can hear him smiling, but I don’t care. I haven’t seen Dad for a month and a half. And I know this is him from over two weeks ago, but it is still him. He looks tired. He probably stayed up late and got up even earlier than normal to watch me for as long as possible, to make sure I was doing alright. I hope Mako’s parents made sure he was eating.

“What can I say about Annie that you all don’t already know?” Dad says. “She’s strong and smart and resourceful. She can take care of herself, that’s for sure. And she won’t take any grief from anyone.” He laughs. “Just ask her fishing crew about that.”

“We will,” Phineas Worley, who has done the friends and family interviews in Four for as long as I can remember, laughs as well. He sobers quickly though, and says, “I’d like to ask for your thoughts on Mako Silther as well.”

“What thoughts?” my father asks. “Anything specific, or…?”

Phineas shakes his head.

My father thinks for a moment, then says, “It’s a real shame that they both went. Though, I’m not sure it would have been any better if only one of them did. Guess then there’d be a chance they’d both live to see the end of the Games, instead of the certainty that one of them won’t. But I am… I’m actually kind of glad that Mako’s in there with Annie. They have each other, which means they each have someone they trust unfailingly, someone whose back they want to watch and whose back they’ll watch without question.”

Phineas nods. “If you could say anything to Annie right now, what would it be?”

Dad smiles. “That I love her. More than she will ever know or understand, more than anything else. And that I know she can win, because she’s my Tiger Shark.”

The interview switches to the parents of the boy from Twelve. Zalea, wearing her poncho, is creeping closer to the herd. And I am crying.

Finnick silently puts an arm around my shoulders. I know he is trying to help, but somehow it makes it worse. I am sobbing now.

“I miss him so much! And I didn’t realize it until I saw him and I-” I turn and bury my head in Finnick’s shoulder. “I just want to go home.”

He says nothing, but turns so he can wrap his other arm around me as well.

“I just want to go home and go back to my life and forget all of this! Forget Elsie and Merritt and Stitch and Zalea and-” I am sobbing so hard I can’t catch my breath. “And- and- I just want their eyes to go away! And the sounds!” This is ridiculous. I know this is ridiculous, but I can’t stop. Maybe if I say everything that is trapped in my head, it’ll go away. “I can hear them all the time! The sound of that arrow sticking in Merritt, and Mako’s head hitting the ground, and Taffeta choking when I stab her, and the cannons! The cannons never stop, and they are always looking at me and I can’t look away!” And I must be out of things to say, because now I am silent.

Finnick rests his chin on top of my head. We sit like this for long seconds. I am still wracked with sobs. And I can hear the sounds.

“Please say something. I don’t want to hear them,” I whimper. “Please just talk to me.”

He takes a deep breath. “I killed the girl from Four. I killed a lot of people, but she’s the one that haunts me. Her name was Leena. There were only three of us left. We broke off the alliance at six. The rest of us killed each other off. And then it was only us and Circe from Two. I couldn’t find her. But I did find Leena. She was catching fish. I came up behind her, and when she turned around I just… killed her. And then Circe jumped out and attacked me. If I’d waited two more minutes, Circe would have killed Leena for me. But how could I have known that?” He pauses. “We’ve all done things, seen things we wish we hadn’t. Ask any victor, even the ones who act tough, even the ones who volunteered. At some point, we all crack. It’s learning to live with it that’s the trick. And that’s what you, I, all of us, have to remember. We did what we did to survive, and now we’re living with the consequences of our actions, but we are living.”

And then I hear Coral’s voice. “I’d tell her that I miss her every day. Her laugh, her confidence, her tallness and intimidating-ness that I use to push through crowds because I am very small. I miss her, and I can’t wait to see her soon, because I know I will.”

I sniffle and unbury my face to look at the screen. Coral and Jade are sitting on a bench at the pier where we used to have diving contests. Phineas is sitting on one of the deck chairs that are community property as long as you leave them somewhere on the pier or the beach nearby and in good condition.

Jade nods. “And I’d say… I’d say thank you for always being there for me. She saved my life when we were little, and I thank her for that all the time, but now I just wish I could tell her how much I appreciate her being my friend. Not only did she save my life, she made it better every day.”

The screen cuts to a boy who reminds me of Zalea. Maybe a brother or cousin.

I sniffle again. “How can I go back to them? I’m not the person they remember. I’m not the Annie that left District Four.”

“I don’t think they’ll expect you to be,” Finnick says. “They’ll just be glad you came home at all, and I’m sure they’ll be there for you no matter what.”

“How do I explain to them what changed me? I don’t want this to be their burden too.”

“Annie. Those two are loyal to a fault. Do you know how much they sent me to get you those binoculars?”

I stare at him.

“A lot,” he says. “It was a lot.”

“They sponsored me?”

Finnick laughs. “They’re your best friends. I’d have been worried if they didn’t send you anything. Though that one bordered on the obscene. Besides, pretty much all of Four was sponsoring you. How do you think I got all those cream cheese rolls? The most expensive bread item available, I might add.”

I laugh a little. It sets off a fit of hiccups. “Probably because I told Caesar they were my favorite.”

“Probably,” Finnick laughs. “But everything was expensive this year. It was absolutely insane by the end. Water cost an arm and a leg. Iodine drops were worth my weight in gold.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Okay, not quite that much, but… let’s just say you were extremely lucky to get those. And they got even more expensive after.”

“Well, I’m glad Titus Vickers liked me enough to pay for it. Actually, I’m glad Cassia liked me enough to talk Titus into paying for it.”

“The mouths of babes, and all that.”

“What does that even mean?”

He shrugs. “No idea. Mags used to say it all the time though, when she was mentoring me.”

That reminds me, “Where is Mags?”

“Napping the way normal people do—in her room,” he grins slyly. “Should I be concerned about how long you were awake before you moved?”

I feel my cheeks turn pink.

“Or maybe I should tell Gloss. Warn him that you, like every other girl, have grown weary of him and fallen in love with me instead.”

“Why?” My face is very red now, if how hot I feel is any indication. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what? Delightful and endearing? Not sure, I’ve always been this way.”

“And have you always been this humble?”

“No, I’ve worked very hard to become the most humble person in Panem.”

I snort.

We watch Taffeta’s twin brothers, who are perhaps seven, talk about how they want to be like her when they are older. Then the boy from Three’s friends talk about the invention they were working on when he was reaped and how they are holding off work on it until he comes home. Tychus’s teacher is talking about what an intelligent and promising young man he is when I lean against Finnick’s shoulder and say, “Thank you.”

He glances at me. “For what?”

“Everything.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Casca, Marius, and the Preps arrive during the interview with Mako’s friend Perrin. It is time to go home. But first, they must dress me one last time, so the Capitol can see their golden girl in all her glory before she leaves. They put me in a lacy white blouse and (shockingly) a sea-green skirt, curl my hair and top it with my crown, and strap the six-inch heels on my feet, and that is it. We say our goodbyes in the elevator, then Mags, Finnick, and I walk outside and get in the car. It takes us to the train station, where a camera follows us as we leave the car and get on the train. At one of the cameramen’s prompting, I wave from the door of the train car until it closes and we start moving.

I drop into one of the plushy armchairs. I am so tired. Across from me, Finnick lays on his stomach on the couch, one arm hanging off the edge. Mags sits in one of the other armchairs, produces a long piece of string from one of her pockets, and begins tying it into an intricate knot.

Finnick is asleep within seconds. I make a mental note to tease him about it later, and then I wake up to Mags telling me we will be in the train station in Four in ten minutes. Finnick is still sleeping. Mags tries to wake him gently, but he still jumps upright. From her reaction, this must be a common occurrence. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’ve never seen him sleep before. Maybe he wakes up like that every time.

I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. Mags fixes my hair and adjusts my crown while I smooth out my clothes. The train is slowing down. Finnick pinches the bridge of his nose, runs his fingers through his hair, and stretches until his shoulders pop.

Outside I see familiar scenery. I remember leaving six weeks ago, knowing that I might never see Four again, but knowing there was a chance, if I was smart. And now I am back.

“There will be cameras,” Finnick says as the train crawls into the station.

“What am I supposed to do?”

He shrugs. “They’re just broadcasting you getting home. Nobody has ever been composed for it. I just don’t want you to be surprised.”

The train stops. I am shaking.

Mags checks to make sure I am still wearing my necklace, then opens the door. It is evening in Four and I can tell the sunset will be beautiful tonight. I step onto the platform. There is a small crowd there, all cheering for me, but I pay them no heed. There is only one person I want to see right now, and he is front and center of the crowd. I run into my father’s waiting arms.

“I’m so happy to see you, Annie,” he says, holding me tight.

****

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Tag List:

@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider @anakins-ride-or-die

#wrey writes #the hunger games #thg: tiger shark #annie cresta #finnick odair #ptsd #mentions of canon typical violence #annie's dad is and will continue to be the real hero here

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andyyswritings · 3 years

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We’re caught in the fire

warnings: mentions of death and anxiety

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

You feel numb, your hands are shaking but you can’t do anything about it as you stand there trying to calm yourself down, you knew something like that would happen again. They would never let you live in peace, it was ridiculous to think that they ever would let you live that life they promised you after winning the game, it was a lie, it was all just a big lie.

You don’t hear anything except for your own heartbeat as your name is announced yet again, after three years of peace, they’re sending you back in there, only this time, you wouldn’t be fighting nervous teenagers like all those years back, no, this time you were fighting skilled survivors, your chances are slim of winning this time and maybe it is for the better, this world is cruel and ugly, what is there worth to fight for?

You drown out everything as you’re being guided away, you feel sick and you feel scared, you know you are capable of fighting, you’re a good fighter but you won’t be the only good fighter in the arena.

Back then you won by being quick and smart, you fought silently and managed to sneak up on the others without being seen or heard until it was too late. You went into the arena as a scared person and came back as someone else.

Despite your “victory” and the horrible things you’ve done to survive you were still seen as the sweet girl and you hated it more than anything else, you were anything but sweet. You had nightmares every night, nightmares of the people you had to kill, the way the life in their eyes faded whenever you would catch them off guard, killing them. You hated yourself but more so you hated the world you were living in, you hated the arena but now you had to go back in there.

The days go by and you spent your time studying each and every tribute, some don’t seem like a threat to you but then again, you should never underestimate anyone, people underestimated you and died in the night by your hands. Some of the tributes seemed like they’d be enjoying the quarter quell, including the man from your own district.

You stayed away from the older man, he didn’t seem like he wanted any friends anyways, he spent his time glaring at you, trying to intimidate you with rude remarks while chuckling to himself, clearly enjoying this while situation.

You mostly kept to yourself, preparing yourself for the quarter quell.

So here you were now, a few minutes before the tributes parade, you stood by the horses after you were forced into one of those ridiculously fancy outfits, patting the beautiful black stallion you looked around, assessing your ‘rivals’, one especially managed to catch your eye, Katniss Everdeen.

Of course she did, it wasn’t for her beauty it was more so because of the aura around her. You admired her, you watched her in the arena, she seemed like a genuinely good person. She was brave and strong and for that you admired her.

You didn’t even notice someone sneaking up on you while you were deep in thought as you stared at her.

“Admiring the girl on fire?” A husky voice spoke into your ear, startling you, you turn around, your eyes meeting the green ones of none other then; Finnick Odair.

Of course you’d be meeting him too, you never actually met him in real life but you seen his games and watched his interviews on your way to the Capital.

“Finnick.” You nod, looking up at him, slightly flustered, you hated making conversations with strangers, especially handsome ones.

“Y/n.” He smirked, stepping back to look you up and down before his eyes meet yours again, giving you a teasing smile, he chuckles at the glare on your face, he knows it’s just a facade, he can see how nervous you are by the way you put your hands into fist while trying to stand straight.

“You look even more beautiful in person.” He says, his eyes moving from your eyes to your lips.

You roll your eyes, internally. You wouldn’t fall for his charm. His arrogance and cockiness was anything but appealing to you.

“Thank you.” You mumble, looking away from him, trying to distract yourself from his eyes that seem to try and figure you out.

He chuckles to himself, your unimpressed and uninterested gaze intrigued him. Not many people looked away from him.

“You changed.” He says causing you to look back at him with furrowed brows, it’s not like you have ever met, you only know each other from seeing the other on the screen.

“Do you think I didn’t watch the games or your interviews? I like to know what I’m up against.” He explained, looking you up and down before stepping closer “You’re not that scared, little girl anymore, no. There’s a lot more fire in you now.” He smirks, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Yeah? You better not burn yourself then, Finnick.” You mutter, causing him to chuckle as his smirks widens.

“What if that’s what I want?” He teases.

You gulp, as you feel your cheeks getting hot at his words and his stare.

You want to say something back but instead you blink, trying to come up with some words but you can’t, not when he looks at you like that.

Just when you’re about to excuse yourself, your mentor calls out to you, motioning for you to get over to him, you excuse yourself to Finnick and walk away after looking at him one last time.

You didn’t have to look back to know that he was still staring, you could feel his eyes on you and it left you with a weird sensation in your chest.

You let out a shaky breath, putting as much distance as you can between him and you.

Finnick stood back, chuckling to himself as he watched you walk away from him. He could see the way your shoulders slumped in relief, he could almost feel the anxiety radiating off you.

He watched your game all these years back, impressed at your strength, the strength that seemingly came out of nowhere. You intrigued him, there wasn’t much he knows about you except for that you’re a tough survivor, a great fighter. You weren’t like the others, there weren’t any specific things anyone knew about you, the moment you were done traveling through the districts for the interviews after you won the game you disappeared again. Obviously not liking being put into the spotlight like that, you seemed to hold many secrets, secrets he wanted to know about.

One thing you made subtly known was your hatred for the capital and president Snow, you disapproved of his way of ruling and the games. Finnick was surprised you were still alive after openly talking about your distaste for the capital but then again, you were probably punished in a different way for not keeping your mouth shut, like right now, he was sure your name being reaped again wasn’t coincidence,

The next day at training, you watch everyone closely while still training, yourself. Some of the careers try to intimidate you as you walk past them but you pay them no mind as you walk past them, walking over to the knot tying station.

You grab the ropes in your hands, looking at the instruction as you start moving the rope over the other, trying to tie the knot as it is shown in the instructions, you concentrate on the ropes, unaware to the figure coming up behind you until you feel someone press against you from behind, their arms moving around you causing you to freeze in your spot, your body tenses up as you hold your breath at the feeling of someone standing so close to you.

“Here..” You hear Finnick whisper, as he grabs the ropes from your hands.

You slightly relax when you realize it’s him but you’re still tense at the closeness of his body.

“W-What are you doing?” You ask, your voice shaky and uncertain as you stand still, not moving away. You could’ve pushed him away but you’re too anxious to do so, not knowing how he’ll react.

“Showing you how to tie the knot, since you seem to struggle to do so.” He explains, from the sound of his voice you know exactly that he’s smirking.

“Just relax.” He says, when he notices how tense and anxious you seem, he grabs the rope from your hands, purposely letting his fingers linger on your skin, chuckling to himself when he notices you holding your breath because of him.

“Alright, let me” he speaks as he begins tying the knot, speaking softly as he shows you how to do it.

As if you’re able to concentrate on the knot when he’s standing pressed against you, touching you while speaking in his low raspy voice that manages to send shivers down your spine.

Your skin feels hot, your cheeks are burning hot as you watch his strong hands, handling the rope so easily.

“There you go, Love.” He rasps, handing you the knot.

“T-Thank you.” You whisper, taking it from his hands.

He smirks to himself as he steps to the side slightly to look at your face, his smirk widens when he sees how flustered you look.

“Now you do it.” He says, handing you another rope.

You make the mistake of looking up at him, his eyes are burning into you, making you feel even more nervous under his gaze.

You let out a shaky breath, looking away from him, you grab the other rope, trying to remember what he did as you slowly start to tie the knot.

Finnick watches you closely with a smirk on his face, by the way you furrow your brows and bite down on your lip in concentration, he knows exactly that you haven’t been watching the knot he was tying but rather his hands.

You hated this, you hated how flustered and nervous he made you feel, you don’t know what it is about him but he manages to make you feel weird and you want to escape from this feeling.

‘So much for not falling for his charm’ you thought to yourself.

“Here..” He whispers, helping you with the knot yet again, his fingers touch yours, sending sparks through your body.

“There you go.” He smiles, when you finish it.

You look up at him finding him already looking at you, a teasing smile resting on his lips.

“Thanks.” You mumble, averting your gaze from him, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“I was wrong.”

Looking back at him, you furrow your brows, waiting for him to continue.

“You’re still the same sweet, nervous girl from all these years back.” He says, chuckling at you when you frown at his words, in disapproval.

Finnick knew this would leave you slightly angry, judging by the interviews and the way you always reacted to being called the sweet girl made it very clear that you hated being called this way, people tend to underestimate you because of your shy, quiet nature. But you were just as good of a fighter as everyone else was in here but he wanted to rile you up, he wanted to see your reaction to his words.

“I am not.”

“Something as sweet as you needs to be protected.” He smirks, taunting you, he knows you’re capable of fighting and defending yourself but the look on your face is priceless. “Good thing I’m here to protect you, sweetheart.”

“I don’t need anyone protecting me, sweetheart.” You scoff, rolling your eyes as you begin to walk away.

He laughs as he follows you through the training hall.

“Are you sure you don’t?” He asks, looking down at you.

“Yes, I am.”

“Prove it.” He says.

Halting in your steps, you look at him with a questioning gaze.

“Spar with me.” He offers, smiling at you.

More skin on skin contact with him wasn’t your plan but you didn’t want to seem weak and decline his offer so you crossed your arms over your chest and nodded “okay.”

His smile widened, satisfied with your answer he chuckles.

“Alright, Love, show me what you got.”

#finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair imagines #thg fanfic #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games imagines

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Elllow! Today’s bookcomb consists of Peeta being protective of Katniss. Could have been much more implied moments but here’s some explicit ones 🤗

But it’s too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

I’m helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta’s face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side.

“What are you still doing here?” he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he’s been dipped in dew. “Are you mad?” He’s prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. “Get up! Get up!” I rise, but he’s still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. “Run!” he screams. “Run!”

I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death.

Sick and disoriented, I’m able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.

I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. “No,” he says. “You’re not risking your life for me.”

“Who said I was?” I say.

“So, you’re not going?” he asks.

“Of course, I’m not going. Give me some credit.”

Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!”

“I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says.

“You won’t get a hundred yards from here on that leg,” I say.

“Then I’ll drag myself,” says Peeta. “You go and I’m going, too.”

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building.

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence.

“What?” I say, trying to force my way back up.

“Go home, Katniss! I’ll be there in a minute, I swear!” he says.

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

“No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob . . . that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building.

“Peeta’s argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you,” says Haymitch.

I knew it. In this way, Peeta’s not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel.

“You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know,” Haymitch says.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say brusquely. “No question, he’s the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Haymitch sighs. “Go back in with you maybe, if I can. If my name’s drawn at the reaping, it won’t matter. He’ll just volunteer to take my place.”

The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

“And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it. . .”

“If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say.

“It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta.

I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect condition, because it makes me seem more in control. “I’ll take the lead,” I announce.

Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. “No, let her do it.”

No one’s thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far,” I promise Peeta.

“I’ll go, too,” he says.

“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can,” I tell him. I don’t add, “And you can’t come because you’re too loud.” But it’s implied. He would both scare off prey and endanger me with his heavy tread. “I won’t be long.”

Nothing. I find nothing. Not so much as a dewdrop. Eventually, because I know Peeta will be worried about me, I head back to the camp, hotter and more frustrated than ever.

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently.

While Johanna collects water and my arrows, Beetee fiddles with his wire, and Finnick takes to the water. I need to clean up, too, but I stay in Peeta’s arms, still too shaken to move.

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o’clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, right now, we should make it to safety.

“I want to go with them as a guard,” Peeta says immediately. After the moment with the pearl, I know he’s less willing than ever to let me out of his sight.

I’m so light-headed I’ll black out in a matter of minutes. I’ve got to get away from this tree and —

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

Caesar leans in to him a little. “I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive.”

“That was it. Clear and simple.” Peeta’s fingers trace the upholstered pattern on the arm of the chair.

A hush has fallen over the room, and I can feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in toward its screens. Because no one has ever talked about what it’s really like in the arena before.

Peeta goes on. “So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss.”

“When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself. I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena . . . blew out.”

“Katniss blew it out, Peeta,” says Caesar. “You’ve seen the footage.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee’s plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire,” Peeta snaps back.

Peeta’s on his feet, leaning in to Caesar’s face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer’s chair. “Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?” He’s yelling now. “She didn’t know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!”

Caesar places his hand on Peeta’s chest in a gesture that’s both self-protective and conciliatory. “Okay, Peeta, I believe you.”

Gale’s expression darkens. “Peeta might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire’s clearly President Snow’s idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of Peeta’s mouth.”

I’m afraid of Gale’s answer, but I ask anyway. “Why do you think he said it?”

“He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He’d put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there’s still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right.” I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. “Katniss . . . he’s still trying to keep you alive.”

To keep me alive? And then I understand. The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren’t killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands. His idea is to have me lie low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war plays out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill me. And Peeta? If the rebels win, it will be disastrous for him. If the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe we’ll both be allowed to live — if I play it right — to watch the Games go on. . . .

Caesar and Peeta have a few empty exchanges before Caesar asks him about rumors that I’m taping propos for the districts.

“They’re using her, obviously,” says Peeta. “To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what’s going on in the war. What’s at stake.”

He asks Peeta if, given tonight’s demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

#everlark #thg #hunger games #thgagain #Peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #bookcomb ♥️🔎

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panic-at-the-fiction · 3 years

Text

Fic-nnick

Summary: The reader is a victor's kid who has grown up around the games her whole life. One day she meets Finnick Odair, a tribute from district four and to both their luck he becomes the youngest victor ever. After spending years together back in district four she now has to watch him go back into the games.

Warnings: I made up facts here and there but like hey who cares? Also it’s a little angsty

A/N: I still refuse to not use dumb puns for Finnick Odair fic names. Do y’all get the name?? I was going somewhere else with this story but I honestly like this better. @hannahlovesfinnick Ok I’m going to take into count your Oc and backstory. Which were really cool and fun to read about. And I’m going to use them for this but just with typing (y/n). Just so anyone can enjoy it too. But yeah I loved your back story, it was so detailed and thought out. I do the same thing, it’s how I get most of my story ideas. So I would love to talk more with you about it.

Reaping day; a horrible day really. You were sick to your stomach. Wanting nothing more than to close your eyes and to look away from this event. Every year the capital picks 24 tributes for their entertainment. It was sickening, and you knew it better than most. Of course, you had never been in the games, but your father had been. You saw what his nightmares did to him, you saw what his pain did to your mother and worst off, you’ve seen what the nightmares do to Finnick.

He was the love of your life, that fact has always been true. You would do anything for him, but even you can’t make the nightmares stop for good. They had been increasing recently too as you’ve approached reaping day. This year was special, this year they were picking from the existing pool of tributes meaning that Finnick had a one in eight chances of going. District four had a total of eleven surviving victors. Eight of which were male.

Finnick hadn’t been sleeping though. Staying up late into the night and when he did sleep he had nightmares of the games. You were always right beside him though. If only you could be right beside him now.

You watched from the crowd as he stepped up onto the platform once his name was called. Knees buckling as you let out a pitiful gasp. Those around you tried to keep you up. You tried to stand but all your strength was dedicated to keeping a neutral face. If Finnick saw you break now he wouldn’t be able to keep up his appearance for the crowd. He was smiling and waving. For a moment your eyes met, and you could see the pain behind it all.

It wasn’t until Mags volunteered in place for Annie that you could see Finnick drop his façade. Mags is like family to him, and he had personally coached Annie through her games.

They announced the tribute's names, and they waved to the crowd before mags embraced Finnick. At least she could be up there with him. You were only allowed five minutes to say goodbye before he would have to get on the train. No, that wasn’t enough.

You quickly ran through the crowd, you had to get to the station before it was time for the tributes to leave. By then there would be a crowd, and you would not go unnoticed.

Once you arrived at the train station you made your way under the tracks. You knew of a trap door at the bottom of the train for emergencies. It wasn’t your first time sneaking onto a train like this. You quickly climbed inside and made your way to the room assigned for Finnick.

It took longer than you expected for him to find his room. You waited for so long you began to worry, he didn’t even know why you hadn’t said goodbye before he left. It wasn’t till the sun was setting that he finally came to his room.

“Oh, thank goodness, Finnick you're finally here!” You ran to his arms and he held you loosely, not even sure you were here. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye at the courthouse. I just had to get on this train before the crowds showed up. I need more time with you.”

“(Y/n)? You’re really here aren’t you?” He was still stunned as he brushed the hair from your face.

“Yes I’m really here.”

“They didn’t let us say goodbye, I thought you were gone.” Tears began to slip from his eyes. You could tell he had been holding everything in for too long now.

“What? What do you mean they didn’t let you say goodbye? There’s always goodbyes.”

“They made us leave straight away, they said there was no time this year.”

You wiped away some of his tears, “How much more can they try and take away from us?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, you're here now.” He hugged you tight, and you buried your head in his chest.

“It’s going to be ok Finnick, you can win this. You’re a victor, you’ve done this before.”

“You're forgetting one thing, so have they.” You frowned and pulled him back into the hug. The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours. Neither of you could bear to think of what was going on. You could only just hold each other.

“Promise me one thing Finnick.”

“Anything,” he cupped your face, and you held tight to his hand.

“Come back to me.”

“For you... I will.”

#finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair #hunger games x reader #hunger games fanfiction

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liptonsbabe · 3 years

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I was wondering if you can do a request with Finnick Odair and my oc/me (Hannah). You don’t have to use my name, but it’s Hannah if you do. So here’s some backstory. So Hannah’s father is a district 1 victor of the hunger games, her mother is a stylist and her father lived in the capital now due to district 1’s privileges. Hannah was born and raised in the capital, but was taunt by her parents to be anti hunger games, due to her father being in the games and seeingnn the horrors along with being traumatized by seeing them when she was 8. So her and finnick met while her mother was his stylist in the games. They became friends and caught feelings when they were 16. She was one of the only person who knew the truth about his “many lovers” and she was there to help him through it. They started dating when they were 19 and when they were 21 (just after the 72nd games), they were able to sneak Hannah back on the train with them into district 4. The capital tried to get her back, but since this was great publicity and stuff, they just left it because it wasn’t as important and they could also profit off their relationship, as well as also continuing to see finnick. So I was thinking you can write something pretty recently after Hannah arrived to district 4, so maybe at first people don’t really like her because she’s privileged and from the capital, so maybe finnick tries to reassure her. And maybe you can do some cute things where they have a romantic walk along the docks and maybe it can end with them playing in the water after Hannah fell in.

I just thought it’d be something cute

We Remain [F.O]

Finnick Odair x reader

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: Snow's a motherf*cker so yeah, he did awful things to Finnick

A/N: Very first request! hope you like it hun. My box are still open for request! English not my mother language so please let me know if something's wrong. Enjoy!

"So, what are you doing here?" Finnick sat down next to you on the thick warm sand startling you by his sudden arrival. You had been sitting on the shore of the beach for a couple of hours now and Finnick kept watching you from the dock not wanting to interrumpt your thoughts.

He knew you were not comfortable in his district. You told him how much you loved the ocean, seeing the sun reflected on the water in the mornings and the beautiful view from the lookout point, yet there was something that didn't make you feel at home.

You slumped your shoulders as Finnick slipped his arm over them giving you a small smile. Your eyes focused on the calm, deep blue sea in front of you. The sun was about to set creating strange shapes in the remaining waves and you kept your gaze fixed on them trying to find them some form.

Finnick sighed pressing you against him. Your body trembled from the closeness which made him smile. Finnick was damn cocky and he loved the effect he had on you. He kissed your hair waiting for his question to be answered. You closed your eyes, shaking your head.

"I...I was thinking."

"About what?"

"About home. I mean...in everything that was left behind."

Finnick nodded thinking you must miss your district terribly. You were born and raised in the capitol thanks to your father winning his games, but your home was always district one. Even if you never saw district one in your life, the stories your parents told about it created in your mind a sense of having a place where you truly belonged.

Your parents raised you to hate the hunger games. It wasn't a tradition, it was a massacre, a terrifying event that disgusted them and they didn't want you to grow up believing that taking children to the reaping every year and watching them die in a bloodbath was what was meant to happen, so, at their peril, your parents managed to get your name out of the urn every year to save your life permanently.

Then, when your mother became the stylist for the winner of the 65th hunger games everything became easier. You met Finnick and he became a protective shield against the capitol. He was only fourteen when he won the games so Finnick spent most of his time at your house in the company of your father. Then in the following years Finnick became a mentor to the new tributes and your father was always by his side creating between the two of you a very strong bond.

Sometimes, when he spent the nights at your house he escaped from his bedroom and went to yours just to talk sitting in your bed while you were eating snacks. You told him about district one and how much you would like to visit there someday and he told you how wonderful district four was and how he spent his evenings before he was the brightest star in Panem. Almost every night you met to talk and when he turned sixteen he stopped knocking at your door.

At first you didn't understand why he stopped visiting. No calls, no texts, no explanations why he didn't come to your house anymore. Until one day, as you were taking a walk downtown you heard the insidious gossips around him.

"Did you enjoy your night with Finnick Odair?" a woman asked another as they enjoyed a warm evening at the diner. Your footsteps stopped behind them feeling your heart skip a beat as you heard Finnick's name on her red lips. The woman let out a giggle waving her open hand next to her face trying to cover her blush.

"He's amazing! Oh my god, dear, it's... it's splendid. Really, he's worth it."

"What does he want in return?" the other woman asked. You felt your face turn green with disgust.

"Secrets. A very good one. One that will trace your path to the stars..."

You walked away from there as fast as you could avoiding remembering the words of those two women. For god's sake, Finnick was only sixteen, he was a kid and he was leading an adult life. It was disgusting. You came home with tears in your eyes and your breath hitching. Your mother squeezed your shoulders but you couldn't speak, you were too confused for that. You mumbled something your mother didn't understand and you ran off to your room not noticing that Finnick had met with your father that afternoon and was watching you from the open door of your dad's office.

Tears streamed down your face as you closed the door. You were speechless. Finnick had left you aside after sharing so many late night talks in his company, so many smiles and so many dreams only to lead a life like the rest of the people in the capitol. The glory and the power had finally brought out the worst in him and you couldn't hate the capitol any more than you already did.

You heard a couple of knocks on your door followed by a "(Y/N), are you okay?" from Finnick's voice. Your cries subsided waiting for him to leave, but that didn't happen, instead he persisted until he heard a response from you.

"I'm fine" you replied with a broken voice. You imagined Finnick frowning.

"Are you sure?" he asked. You listened as he tried to turn the doorknob, but you had locked it in "I saw you coming. I was talking with your dad about some stuff and i thought something had happened to you, may I come in?"

"No!" you replied. Your tears threatening to come out again "I'm-I'm fine, okay? I don't need you. Go away."

Finnick was silent for a moment, nevertheless, he kept trying to turn the knob

"(Y/N) let me in."

"didn't you hear me? I want you to leave. Now."

"Not until you open the door."

"You'll stay there, then"

"If that's what i have to do..."

You walked to your bed sitting on it crying silently. Your heart was aching. Deep down you felt something was going on between you and Finnick, something that went beyond the friendship you both proclaimed, but the blindfold had fallen off your eyes as you listened to those women talk about Finnick like he was a piece of meat. You didn't know what was going on, you didn't understand it either and Finnick was just there playing innocent. Finnick turned the knob one more time.

"Well, this makes me think you don't trust me enough like I thought you did."

Crying gave way to annoyance to that point. You jumped to your feet, glancing towards the door imagining Finnick's contracted face on the other side

"Look who's saying it."

"I don't understand."

"Stop pretending, Finnick"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be pretending" His voice sounded so calm it made you rage. You walked over to the door "I just want to know what happened so I can help you. That's what friends do, isn't it?

"So we're friends now? After you left without explanation we're friends? We're friends even though you didn't tell me what the hell were you doing with your oh-so-many-lovers?"

Finnick was silent for a long time making you think he just left, but then you heard a deep sigh and the creak of the wood as he leaned his body against the door

"So you know it."

You frowned, opening the door with a smash taking him by surprise. Your eyes were bloodshot from crying and pent up anger. Finnick had never seen you so upset

"So you know it, that's all you're going to say?"

"I can explain"

"Then it's true. What I heard..."

"No, no" he denied walking into your room closing it with his foot. You walked backwards trying to get away from him. Finnick knew about the rumors about him in the capitol, he never cared what they were saying about him, but he did care about what you had heard and how you might miunderstand it "It's true. What you said..."

"You're sixteen, for God's sake!" you shouted, disgusted "How-how can you...?"

"It's not how you're imagining it. They're making me do it."

"Yeah, right."

"It's true" Finnick answered approaching you and caressing your cheeks. He connected his eyes with yours and you managed to see a crystalline layer in them "It's true, (Y/N)"

"What?" you asked, horrified. Finnick closed his eyes, pursed his lips and nodded "But how? who?"

"President Snow."

"Why?"

"He'll kill my family if I don't do what he asks."

Your mind went blank. Finnick opened his eyes pearly with tears.

"But, you don't have a family."

Finnick smiled.

"You are my family" Your heart raced "Ever since my games...you and your parents became an important part of my life. You've given me a home, a place where I know I'm welcome, a place where i know all of you don't care what I am, but what I was before I was a victor and what's left of me since then. Snow threatened to harm you and your parents."

"Really?"

"Really. He knows how important you are for me" His breath collided against your lips in a stormy closeness "There is no one I care more about. That's why I had to accept. It's not easy for me, I hate what I became, but I had no choice (Y/N), I swear"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Finnick took a few steps away, ducking his eyes.

"I was too embarrassed. I still am. At some point I would have told you, of course, but I wasn't... I wasn't ready, I'm still not."

"Finnick..."

"I'm sorry for disappointing you."

He tried to leave your room but you stopped him squeezing him in a tight embrace that take your breath away. Finnick squeezed your body tightly lifting your feet off the floor.

"You didn't have to" you whispered. He denied

"I have to and I will. I'm not going to let them hurt you or your parents. What happens to me doesn't matter as long as you're safe."

"God, Finnick, I love you so much."

You broke apart instantly, you were so embarrassed by what you had just said and Finnick were shocked in surprise. Your cheeks grew hot and you were about to run away if it wasn't for Finnick's lips that pressed against yours in a small kiss. Finnick smiled

"I love you too."

Even after you confessed to each other you couldn't have a romantic relationship, at least not in public. Finnick had to continue obeying Snow's orders and you tried not to interfere to damage him even more, so the only ones who knew about you were your parents and Maggs, Finnick's old friend.

He came back to visit you at night in your room, you talked about anything that came to your mind (except about Finnick's many lovers) and, one night, he told you every secret he knew.

"Why are you telling me all this?" you asked him, watching your intertwined hands. You were both nineteen at the time and the secrets Finnick had obtained were too many. He smiled

"No one lives forever" he replied "Someday the advantage I have against Snow will turn against me and if that ever happens I need someone else to tell the truth for me"

"That's not going to happen"

He shrugged his shoulders

"You never know"

When Finnick saw the opportunity to leave the capitol after the hunger games where the tributes from district twelve put on a show and unleashed the wrath of President Snow, he didn't hesitate twice in proposing to take you with him to district four.

He put together a plan to hide you on the train until you passed district three where you were out of the president's reach. You weren't sure if it was a good idea, but your parents encouraged you to run away saying it was the safest place you could be. You were still unsure about it because you knew that your parents' lives would be in danger if Snow found out, however, your father assured you that they would be fine, the capitol wouldn't touch them and you could leave with Finnick and start a new life. You accepted then, sneaking onto the train that left for district four the next morning.

Of course, Snow was informed of your scape weeks later when you and Finnick managed to successfully settle in a house away from the victors' village. Neither of you wanted to live under the government roof and Finnick took a small place near the coast, where you received an unwelcome letter from the president asking you to return immediately to the capitol before the consequences became severe. Finnick replied for you, saying in a single paragraph that he didn't agree with that.

"I have a mind full of secrets. It doesn't suit you for me to become an open book. (Y/N) won't come back and neither will I."

Snow calmed down. Finnick seemed very pleased by that and things calmed down a bit. But there, in the utter calm of the sea, you still felt something was missing.

Finnick rubbed your arms as the sun went down and the moon appeared. The days in district four were too hot and the nights too cold, it was hard to get used to the change, even more so when no one in the district seemed to feel comfortable with your presence.

You could tell by the looks of the women on the shore and the angry faces of the fishermen. For them you were an intruder, a privileged one who had never had to suffer what their children did every year during the reaping cause your father, being a victor, had saved your ass. To them you were a coward, a disgrace and a pest who shouldn't have made it all the way to district four.

Finnick kissed your temple enjoying the silence of the newly arrived night. You sighed thinking about how much Finnick lost when he met you. His freedom, his decision about his body, the affection of the people in his district, his home in the village and so many other things you didn't want to remember. Finnick clicked his tongue, rubbing your arms again.

"Stop thinking, love."

"I can't. This all feels like a dream, a very... devastating one."

"You know what people think or don't think about us is something you can't change."

"Yes, but I would like to show them that I am more than they think, I am more than the daughter of someone who survived the hell of the games. Let them know that my presence doesn't represent a mockery to their dead children in the arena, that I am not a bad person."

"And you're not. Give them time. They're not bad either. They are against the system just like us, at some point they will realize we are on their side. Don't worry about it, I won't let anyone minimize you or make you feel bad. I'm going to protect you, okay? That's what we do, protect each other."

"You promise?"

"I promise. Now come on sweetie, let's take a walk" Finnick lifted you up easily taking your hand to walk across the sand. Finnick's hand against yours brought you security and a relief you couldn't explain. As you walked you rested your head on his shoulder and he hugged you close to him "We'll be fine, (Y/N), just... trust me"

"As always."

"Fair enough."

Then Finnick pulled your hand into the cold water of the sea splashing you in the face. You played back at him and the two of you ended up having a little fight in the middle of the sea. Finnick reached over, grabbed you around the waist and brushed your lips together.

"We'll be fine," he said. You nodded

"We'll be fine."

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #the hunger games #peeta mellark #sam claflin #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #request

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ilguna · 3 years

Text

Redamancy - Chapter One (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, mention of trauma

wc; 8.4k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Well, it’s been five years since you won the Hunger Games.

What an anniversary.

It honestly feels like you won them yesterday. You can recall all your memories as if it hasn’t been years since you stepped foot inside of the arena. Which is no doubt a bad thing. Before you’d ended your therapy a while ago, the therapist told you that you’re holding onto trauma. It’s not going to go away overnight. In fact, they wouldn’t be surprised if it doesn’t go away at all.

Which Reed didn’t like to hear at all, of course. The whole reason he’d gotten you into therapy was to work at you getting better. Unfortunately, neither of you would be reaching that goal. Not with how demanding the boarding school would get as the years would come on.

At first, you thought that everything you’d written down at the very beginning would be enough to suffice. However, the more you think about everything that you’d been through, the more that the details become clearer. Suddenly you’re remembering things that hadn’t existed in the first place.

Reed and Mox hate this habit of yours. They thought you would have buried and left it behind by now. But it’s impossible to do. You’re responsible for hundreds of kids and teenagers. The more you remember at this point, the more they’re able to learn from your mistakes and fix it themselves.

With every passing year, and bringing home a new pair of coffins, you can’t focus on yourself anymore. You think that every year is going to be different and new, that the tributes going in that year are a pair of winners for sure. But then you’re stunned right back into embarrassed silence.

District Four is being forgotten. Once again, you’re questioning why it was ever considered a career in the first place. You can’t produce victors, no matter how hard you try.

It’s frustrating, and almost not worth your time anymore.

Anchor thinks that he’s fixed the problem, though. The both of you know better than anyone that the training centers in the career districts typically train their tributes for years. There’s a reason why their volunteers are seventeen and eighteen, rarely ever sixteen. It’s because they’ve spent years training to be where they are, and they’re sure that they’ll win.

So, you switched up the rules this year. No one under the age of seventeen that goes to the boarding school is allowed to volunteer to go into the Hunger Games. If you’re chosen by chance and want to go in, that’s their deal. The only instance where it’ll be ruined is if someone else volunteers over them. If anyone over seventeen wants to go in, that’s their choice to make. Not the boarding school.

Of course, there’s no guarantee what will happen because of this. You’ve been getting at least one volunteer a year since the boarding school opened. But they’ve always been on the younger side, and have only been in the program for a year or so. They could win, but they’re not nearly as knowledgeable as the teens that have been in the program for years.

They’ve been able to watch and observe the mistakes of others. You think that if one of the seventeen or eighteen year olds that signed up when they were twelve or thirteen were to volunteer, they’d blow the competition out of the water. Show the Capitol and the career districts that you’re coming back for a round two. Bigger and better than ever.

Then again, the seventeen and eighteen year olds never express interest in volunteering because they’re nearly out. One or two years and they’re finally free of the reapings. No one would willingly throw themselves into an arena when they’re on the brink of being away from it. The chances of accidentally getting yourself killed in the arena is always an outcome, prepared or not.

Either way, you hope this year is different and you’re able to break the four-year streak of double coffins.

You head downstairs, fingers still securing the pin in a reliable spot in your hair. When it doesn’t budge no matter how you move your head, you call it good.

Downstairs is already awake. Reed is cooking breakfast, Mox is probably sitting at the table. You can faintly hear the sound of Alyssum talking. It’s only as you reach the bottom creaking steps, does she realize that you’re awake.

“(Y/n)!” She shouts, abandoning what she was saying before.

You find yourself crouching to look into the tiny mirror in an alcove. The pin doesn’t look out of place, in fact you can’t really see it at first glance. Only when you go to touch it, do you find where it is.

Alyssum comes around the corner, a wide smile on her face. It’s clear she hasn’t done her hair yet, waiting on you.

“Where’s your stuff?” You ask.

“Bathroom.” She says.

“Okay, let’s get it done real quick.” You push her towards the bathroom, “We’ll be in there in a minute!”

“No rush.”

You carefully comb through Alyssum’s hair, being gentle when you find snarls. Even if she were in pain, you know that she wouldn’t voice it unless it really hurt. Doesn’t mean that you purposely go ripping the brush through her hair like Reed used to do. You tie her long hair to the back of her neck, and then you loosen it up to make it look better.

“Can you tie this over the rubber band? I’m trying to match with Laleh.”

Alyssum holds up a silk white ribbon. If she had asked you to do this last year, you would have had to tell her no. Naida had to teach you how to do a variety of hairstyles for the boarding school. Sometimes the younger girls aren’t able to tie their hair back, and sometimes they don’t want it to be a ponytail.

Needless to say, you’re starting to feel like a mother. Once the bow is tight over the band, you hold her in front of the mirror, staring into her eyes, “If the bow comes undone, go to Naida or Calandra, stay far away from Reed and Mox, okay?”

She nods once, you let her free so that she can join your brothers at the dining table while you clean up the bathroom counter. It’s a quiet morning, no one really speaks at the table, which isn’t unusual for reaping mornings. Alyssum tends to get upset because you won’t be at the house for several weeks, and you’re already stressing out about what the arena will be like this year.

You know that things would be so much easier in the Capitol if you just had a partner that worked with you. Finnick does absolutely nothing, you’re not even sure if he stays in the apartment half of the time. You never see him, rarely in the morning, you think you hear him leave at night.

He won’t help, he won’t trade with Anchor. You’ve asked him, Anchor has asked him, even Mags has asked him. If he would just give up his mentoring spot to Anchor, you’re sure that you’d come out with a few victors. When you’re doing all the work by yourself, it’s chaotic.

It’s hard to hold a schedule. You’re running between the stylists and prep teams, constantly taking advice from Elysia. When you’re not keeping an eye on the tributes, you’re watching their odds on the scoreboard go up and down depending on how much the sponsors like them. And then when they’re actually inside of the arena, you’re staying up all hours of the night to not miss a single thing. Just in case you miraculously come across a sponsor that sees potential in one of the tributes.

Not to mention the whole boarding school, which is a whole new ordeal. He comes up with the idea, promises to be there to help train no matter what. But after he broke up with you that year, he gradually stopped showing up. So now, the future tributes of District Four are not only out of a valuable side of a story, but they’re also dealing with two overworked victors who just want one break.

It’s bouncing between you and Anchor, sometimes even Mags will have to take over for a day. Which isn’t much help, considering the stroke she had last year. She tried speech therapy, but figured out that it wasn’t working as well as it should early on. Mags gave up on it, the only way she communicates anymore is through notes.

How is that going to work? You’ve got hundreds of teens and preteens relying on an old woman that can’t even speak. Her techniques are out of date, as well as Luther and Scotch. The kids have better chances with you, Finnick and Anchor. Anchor hasn’t been inside of the arena for ten years, and the kids have heard your two strategies a hundred times by now.

If Finnick were to just help. Just a little bit, you’re sure that it would make a difference. But he has such a vendetta against you or the tributes because he won’t budge. You’re fucked, he’s backed you into this impossible corner. Every year since you two won, you’ve brought home double coffins. It’s fucking embarassing. You don’t know how District Four was ever considered a career.

It’s childish, he’s so childish. He hasn’t kept his promise and he’s weaseled his way out of it every single time. And you keep letting him get away with it.

It clicks.

You keep letting him get away with it, you’re not holding him accountable. He doesn’t fall through on his promises because you don’t push them onto him. And when he tells you no, you back off because you think that there’s no point in trying. He hasn’t made an effort in the past, why would he make one when you ask.

You press your lips together, smiling. This year is already supposed to be an experiment to see what happens with the tributes. If everything goes well with this year’s tributes, you think that you’ll try something new yourself.

“We have to stop by Naida’s place before heading over to the stage.” Reed says, standing from the table, taking his plate with him, “We can take Alyssum with us.”

“Okay.” you agree, standing up too. Mox cleans up the rest of the table, taking it into the kitchen to help Reed.

Alyssum comes over, throwing her arms around you tightly. You hug her back, being careful not to ruin her hair, “I’ll be back in a few weeks. Promise me that you’ll be good for Reed and Mox.”

“I promise.” her voice is muffled, face pressed to your stomach.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” you lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She lets go of you, a frown on her face. But it doesn’t look like she’s going to be crying this year, “I’m leaving!”

“See you later!” Reed shouts back.

You leave the house, shutting the door behind you. As you squint through the bright summer sun, you head down the stone steps and to the left, towards the opening of Victor's Village. This year it’s Anchor’s turn to walk Mags to the stage, since you did it last year. Since they’re relatively slow, though, you’re sure that you’ll be able to catch up in no time.

You’re right, you come across Anchor and Mags more than halfway to the stage. It seems like Mags is doing just fine walking on her own, and Anchor is talking to her. Anchor hears you approaching pretty far back and glances over his shoulder to see that it’s you.

“Good morning!” you jog to catch up, “I see you got an early start today.”

“Haha, shut up.” Anchor says, but cracks up when you do.

Anchor goes back to what he was talking about, and you quickly find out that it’s about the boarding school. It’s an in-depth explanation about your plan this year. Mags knew the basics, but now it’s all about details. You’ll be lucky if you get two tributes that showed promise during training. Otherwise, you’re left with the gamble of the reaping bowls.

Luther and Scotch have already beaten you to the stage when you get there. No Finnick in sight, which you can’t say that you’re surprised about. The five of you get on the stage, leaving the far left seat for Finnick to take when he gets here. Mayor Burrula comes on stage, getting ready to take his spot in front of the podium.

The reaping area in front of you fills. There’s familiar faces in all the age categories, in your mind, you count all the seventeen and eighteen year olds that you know go to the boarding school. It’s a fair amount, most of them are really good at what they know, especially the ones that have been with you for a couple of years now. None of which have ever expressed an interest in volunteering, though. And if they did, it was never to you or Anchor.

Finnick finally shows up when it’s five minutes out from reaping time. The moment after he sits down in his chair, he scoots it two inches away from you. It’s his own personal yearly tradition… on top of all the other ones of neglecting his mentoring duties.

After the anthem, Mayor Burrula kicks off the reaping with the annual Dark Days speech. It’s boring, you try to look awake. As a joke, you can hear Anchor mocking soft snores. You crack a smile, shaking your head when you elbow him to get him to shut up. Burrula wraps the speech up, introduces Elysia as if she hasn’t been District Four’s Capitol escort for the past couple of years, and then sits back down.

She smiles as she does every year, standing in front of the microphone, “Good afternoon, and Happy Hunger Games. Ladies first.”

You hold your breath, all previous emotion draining out of your body. She heads over to the bowl, her gloved hand dipping into the bowl. She hesitates over the paper, trying to find one that’ll hold the golden tribute. If you have a girl volunteer this year, it’s not going to matter. She could pick a twelve year-old and they could be replaced by a seventeen or eighteen year-old.

She picks one, carefully pulls her hand out of the bowl, and resumes her spot in front of the microphone. She takes her time peeling off the black tape, not wanting to rip the paper. She reads over the name, and with the distance between you and her, you’re not able to see the name.

Still, you mentally cross your fingers. It’s a new year, a new plan. Please, please, please.

“District Four’s girl tribute is Shilin Brisby.” Elysia pronounces the name carefully, and then looks up to the section of girls.

The name isn’t familiar, and there’s no movement in the girl section. You wait, leaning forward slightly to see if the crowd will out her. But before that can happen, the magic words are being shouted, “I volunteer!”

In the eighteen section, out comes a brown-haired girl with a confident smile on her face. The peacekeepers escort her from the way back to the very front. She takes the stone steps easily, tucking her hair behind her ear so that she can see where she’s stepping.

Her name comes across your lips quickly, “Annie Cresta.”

She’s been with the boarding school since she was thirteen, which is five whole years of experience. Five whole years of training, of watching her start out small and hardly able to defend herself, to career-worthy. She’s still not very strong, but she’s resourceful, and smart.

She stops in front of the girl’s bowl, standing up tall. She let’s Elysia ask for her name, which she repeats for everyone in District Four and in the Capitol. You can’t help the grin that comes across your face. This is the year of change.

“And now for the boys.” Elysia says, moving over to the bowl on the right. She carefully pulls out this paper too, not as hesitant as before. She when stops in front of the microphone again, the tape comes off easier. She reads over it, and then speaks, “District Four’s boy tribute is Paslee Milillio.”

There’s no gap this time. You can see a hand shoot up in the seventeen section faster than the words leave his mouth, “I volunteer as tribute!”

You breathe out a laugh, covering your mouth. This one is an easy guess, Marsh Milillio never stops talking about how his younger brother, Paslee, is going to be the next victor prodigy. Paslee’s thirteen this year, he’s been with you guys for a year. And he does show promise, so Marsh isn’t lying.

Marsh gets brought up to the stage, stops in front of his bowl and says his name clear into the microphone. Two volunteers, two very good tributes. This year, the golden beam of light is on District Four.

Elysia wraps it up, wishes for a Happy Hunger Games again, and then backs up to allow Annie and Marsh to shake hands. They do, and you can see that Annie has this smirk on her face, something mischievous. You can only imagine how Marsh is looking at the moment, especially since they’re friends.

Once they’re done, they have to face the district again as the anthem plays for the final time. When the anthem is over, they’re brought inside of the building to say goodbye to their families. You’re supposed to take a minute or two saying your own goodbyes, or head straight to the train to make sure that you leave on time.

You stand, a bright smile on your face, “Holy shit.”

“Don’t fuck this up.” Anchor says, he’s got a grin going, “Please.”

“Holy shit!” you repeat, laughing, “Annie and Marsh? Talk about striking gold!”

It’s going to be an easy year. They understand the rules, they know how to color inside of the lines. You’re not going to have to baby them at all. Not even Marsh, even though he’s seventeen. You’ll be able to focus on more important things.

You give Anchor a hug, and then Mags too. You tell Anchor that he should probably visit the families, and then hold a celebration at the boarding school the night of the interviews. You wave goodbye to your family, who are hanging out on the outskirts of the reaping pen, and then go to meet the car that’s waiting for you.

Finnick is already inside, looking out of the window. The car takes off towards the train as soon as the door is shut. On the way to the train, you work on how you’re going to uphold the deal you made with yourself when it comes to Finnick. You’re not going to let him wreck it. He’s going to help, or he’s going to regret it.

You and Finnick head right inside. As Finnick does every year, he heads straight towards his room. He only makes it one step before you’ve got an iron lock on his wrist, keeping him from going any further.

He turns, confused, eyes trained on your expressionless face.

They say that time heals all wounds. That the longer you put the problem off, you’ll eventually forget about it, and it’ll magically evaporate and disappear like it never existed in the first place. But they’re wrong. Time has let you grow bitter and angry and tired and cold.

The last time you talked to Finnick was years ago, when he told you for the final time that he wouldn’t be participating anymore. To leave him alone and let him do his own thing inside of the Capitol. The mentoring responsibility is now yours, consider him a ghost.

He owes you.

“Work with me this year.” The words aren’t harsh, and they even leave a little room for discussion. A part of you wants to add the word ‘please’ to the end, but you won’t be begging.

“What?” His face twists, and you can see the annoyance before it’s even appeared, “I thought we went over this already. The answer is no.”

You’re not begging. You’re also not backing down. You’re holding him to his promise this year. And if that means getting aggressive and mean, he’s about to meet a new side of you.

You face drops, hand tightening around his wrist. You lift, and pull him closer to you. Finnick might have height, but you have strength through persistence, “Let me rephrase; you’re working with me this year. It’s not a question.”

“You say that now, but you can’t make me do anything.” He twists his wrist, trying to get it free, “Let go.”

You inhale through your nose, keeping your voice quiet and level so that the microphones outside won’t pick you up, “You will help me this year, or you will wish you died in that fucking arena. I’ll make an example out of you, Finnick. You think it’s bad now, wait until I make you the punchline of the fucking joke.”

You yank him closer, he stutters to catch himself so that he doesn’t smack into you, “Your free trial is over. I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted.” He’s glaring, pissed. You let go, pushing him back in the process, “You can hide and wallow in your room now, but when we get to the Capitol, shit changes. Whether you like it or not.

“You’re under me. And you’re working for me, on my terms this year. Don’t like it? Cry me a fucking river.”

You hear the car doors outside of the train, slam shut. The tributes are here, you don’t need to be here waiting when they come inside.

“Clocks ticking, Finnick. You’ve got less than twelve hours to do what you want before your free time is mine.”

“You’re so fucking cocky. Last time I checked, I’m my own person. You can’t tell me what to do.” Finnick shakes his head, face scrunched, a slight shade of red, “Maybe this shit would have flown with Anchor, but I’m not your fucking boyfriend.”

“No, you’re not. And I’m ashamed you ever had that title in the first place. At least Anchor is fucking reliable.” You spit, and you physically see his face fall. Whatever he wanted to say next doesn’t appear on his lips, “I’ve grown up, Finnick. I’ve shouldered all of your bullshit for the past couple of years, and you’re telling me you can’t pull it together just once? It’s garbage.

“I’ve given you your space. Now it’s time to own up or get off of the fucking program. I’m not dealing with this for the next fifty years. I’d rather die before then.” You stop walking, “Once again, you’re helping me this year, or you’re going to regret it. You can think of it as an empty threat, but I’ve had years to get creative.”

He doesn’t say anything back, just leaves the train car. You let him get a headstart, not wanting to have to walk side by side with him to your rooms. By the time you start walking too, the tributes are just ending their time on the station. You leave before they see you, and take your time taking deep breaths to calm yourself down.

You don’t get angry often. It’s hard to be when you’re normally surrounded by people who take the circumstances you live in, seriously. Anchor helps and keeps you company, your family friends keep you grounded, your siblings are a reminder as to why you won in the first place. All of them are working for the better, the only one ruining the current is Finnick. Go fucking figure.

In your room, you lay down on the bed and close your eyes. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours, and before midnight you should be inside of the Capitol. Tomorrow is the Tribute Parade, the starting point and the decider of how the rest of the trip will go. All you can do right now is hope.

You end up dozing off, only being woken when Elysia comes to the door to bring you to the table before the tributes. You get up, fixing your hair on the way to the dining room. You’re the only one at the table when you get there, and you don’t wait for everyone to show up. You’re no psychic, but you’re pretty sure that Finnick won’t be eating with you guys this evening.

Annie and Marsh take the only real seats that are offered to them. Annie to your right, Marsh to hers. The only chair that’s empty is the one across from you, where Finnick would normally sit. And of course, to your left is Elysia, always sitting at the head since she’s the escort.

Like how Elysia warned you during your train ride to the Capitol for the first time, she tells Annie and Marsh to ration out their hunger. The food will keep coming, and the portion sized will only get bigger as time goes on. You go ahead and tell them--like you tell the tributes every year--that the food is rich too, so they probably shouldn’t eat large portions anyway.

“Finnick didn’t look very happy.” Elysia says, she’s obviously talking to you.

“We spoke for a couple of minutes.” you dip your spoon into the bowl of soup, “If I were him, I’d be pretty pissed off too, but it’s just the way the cookie crumbles.”

Elysia nods, “Any big changes this year?”

You look at her, “I’m going to have an extra pair of hands, I don’t think that I’ll be running around this year.”

Elysia’s smart, she gets what you’re saying almost immediately. You watch the small smile spread over her face, but she doesn’t say anything more about the topic itself, “I suppose some attendants can run him some food.”

You finish up dinner, and then have a little bit of lava cave for dessert. Annie and Marsh are full, but not to the point where they’re going to be sick. So, you all pack it up and bring it to the next train car to watch the reaping recap. You let Annie and Marsh take the seats they want on the couch, but you stand behind it with Elysia.

You’ve grown to realize that sitting down during important events like this, makes you more nervous. It’s more or less the reason why you hate sitting during the reaping.

You watch and observe, listening to what Annie and Marsh have to say about their competitors. They don’t seem all that worried, honestly. They guess strengths and weaknesses, forming a plan of their own. A part of you wonders if they had the reaping planned out, if they made a deal to volunteer together. Like you said, they’re friends. It makes the most sense.

The obvious kids to keep an eye on, as per usual, is Districts One and Two. As the years go on, the more the tributes look vicious. Last year was a fucking nightmare when it came to watching them killing the other tributes around them. It’s no surprise they won, considering they were a fucking tornado in a playground.

“We’d like to be mentored together.” Annie says, looking over her shoulder at you.

Elysia left after the first time they played the recap, she saw all that she needed to. You vaguely remember her mentioning something about checking up on Finnick to make sure he’s eaten. It’s whatever, if he wants to start off on the wrong foot, it’s him that’s going to be regretting it, not you.

“Sounds good to me. Got a plan going on yet?” you cross your arms, eyes landing right back onto the screen in front of them.

“Marsh and I are allies, we think that’s going to work out the best.” she says, “Right?”

Marsh nods in agreement.

“This is your time to shine, not mine.” you raise your eyebrows, “We should arrive in the Capitol in the next few hours. We’ll start getting down to business tomorrow morning. Sounds good?”

“Yeah.” Marsh says.

“You should probably shower if you haven’t already, and get to bed. You’ll need all the sleep you can get, tomorrow’s going to be exhausting. You can find your rooms?” you get ready to go.

“Yes, thank you.” Annie says.

“Goodnight.” you start your way to the door, nearly leaving when Annie calls your name, “Hmm?”

She’s got a sheepish smile on her face, “Thank you for training us.”

“You’re going to be excellent inside of the arena, you two.”

Back in your room, you lay out the clothes you’ll wear when you get to the Capitol. You take a shower, starting off standing and soaking in the warm water. Which you eventually turn hotter, and sit on the floor while it rains on you. For a while, you stare at the granite tile, but end up placing your head on your knees.

You can’t let these kids down. You’ve worked with them for four and five years, you’ve grown to know them. You watched them grow and become better at their chosen skills. You know their families, and you know that if you lose both of them this year, the whole boarding school is a joke. You’ve been working towards this idea for the past five years. You should’ve had it perfected years ago, yet here you are, still going through the trial and error process.

“Please, let one of them win this year.” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut, “Just one of them, either of them. One of them has to come home. One beacon of hope to keep me going, please.”

You sit there for a while longer, until your fingers begin to prune. You dry your hair and gently tie it out of your face. After you’ve gotten dressed and brushed your teeth, you sit in the corner of the room, staring out of the window, watching as the sky darkens further. And then you see the lights of the city.

You gather your things out of the room, folding the outfit you wore, and then tucking it into a canvas bag. You make sure that the ring is on your finger before you leave the room behind. You’re the first to make it to the train car, arms crossed and still staring out of the window as you wait for the others.

Finnick shows up next, standing on the far side of the room, quiet as ever. Elysia brings Annie and Marsh around, just in time for the train to stop. The cheering of the Capitol citizens starts immediately, loud clapping and whistling and shouting their names.

Since there’s cameras, Annie and Marsh leave the train with Elysia first. You and Finnick follow, getting your own car. And even though the tributes left before you did, your car makes it to the Tribute Center first. Knowing that Elysia will make sure that they’re signed in properly, you and Finnick head straight to the apartment.

The elevator is quiet, tense, “Marsh is seventeen years old. He’s been in the boarding school since he was thirteen, just like Annie. They’ve decided to be allies, they know each other well. He’s good at fighting, I’ve seen him against the others, he’ll be able to measure up to the others in the gymnasium.”

You run your finger along the silver handle inside of the elevator, briefly wondering if people actually use it or not, “Annie is eighteen. She’s smart, quick on her feet. She’s reliable when it comes to recalling survival skills. She looks like she doesn’t have a lot when it comes to fighting, but that’s only the surface. Annie will never choose violence as her first choice, but as a last resort, she’s deadly.”

You look to Finnick to see that he’s already got his eyes on you, watching. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s planning on telling you that he’s not going to follow your plans. He might as well save his breath, because he’s going to listen. He might think he has an option now, but you know how to work around problems.

The elevator reaches the Four floor, “Goodnight, I’ll see you at the table tomorrow.”

“Don’t count on it.” He says, following behind you loosely.

“You should be dressed and ready before noon. I trust you can find your way to the Tribute Parade by yourself.” You pause, and then look at him, “If not, I could walk you there.”

Finnick stops right next to you, angry and leaning over you like he’s trying to intimidate you. He opens his mouth to say something, but you slip out from underneath him. You hop up the last step, practically skipping as you round the corner to go to your room for the next.

You don’t scare easily.

You change into comfier clothes and then go straight to bed. With the blankets pulled to your chin, you’re out in no time. You wake up on your own time, since Elysia doesn’t really have to baby you anymore. After laying out your clothes, you take a shower and make sure to not touch your hair.

You’re the second person out in the dining room, with Elysia already at the table. She’s drinking her coffee quietly, eyes on the tv in the living room. It’s loud enough to hear from where you sit, and it’s just an overview of last year's tribute parade and costumes. The woman talking is definitely not Claudius or Caesar, so you know it’s going to be a good morning.

“Laurel sent word early this morning, said she’d like to see you as soon as possible before the Tribute Parade.” Elysia says, setting her mug on the table, “I’ll get the kids up.”

“Thank you.” you say to her, and then repeat it for the avoxes when they begin to bring out breakfast.

Annie comes out first, looking fairly put together. She gives you a polite smile and sits by you at the table, “Good morning.”

You nod, eyes on the tv, watching as the woman skips over the first two districts. Their outfits tend to be the same thing every year. It’s a comfort for District One to dress their tributes in expensive fabric and make them look as Capitol-ish as possible. As for District Two, it’s always a gladiator thing, it’s just a different variation this year.

And even with how boring it is, they still manage to come out as the favorite every single year. For a city that loves the adventure and the unpredictability of the Hunger Games, they’re pretty boring when it comes to allowing the careers to do the same thing every year. At least District Four has the brains to try something new, even if it doesn’t work all the time.

Elysia comes back out, taking a seat at the table, “Marsh will join us in a moment.”

If Laurel wants to talk to you, it’s probably about the costumes. She knows what she wants, but sometimes seeks out advice if she’s caught between two ideas. No matter what happens, Pleurisy will have to match her, and she won’t object to changes. Laurel is older than Pleurisy, which sort-of got her a certain amount of respect from Pleurisy.

It makes Laurel’s job a whole lot easier, you think. They have to match costumes at the Tribute Parade, and it’s better if you coordinate the formal outfits for the night of the interviews. Especially if the tributes are going to be working together inside of the arena. Laurel’s a sure person, if she wants it, she’s going to get it. She’s also a visionary, likes to see her works come to life.

Right after breakfast, you should get down there quickly so she isn’t waiting for long. If you’re making a costume decision, then the prep teams are going to need to be able to shift to fit the new needs. As soon as Marsh is out here, you’ll say what you need to and then go. You can always eat later if you’re hungry.

Marsh comes out of the hallway, barely awake but he looks as put together as Annie does. You wipe your mouth with the cloth napkin, finish up your orange juice, and neatly stack up your plates for the avoxes to take.

“Today is the Tribute Parade.” you start, catching their attention, “After breakfast, Elysia will take you down to the Remake Center. The prep teams will take care of you, no matter what happens, don’t resist or complain. Let them do their jobs, they have rules to follow.” you stand up from the table, “I’ll see you again before you get on the chariots.”

You’re about to tell them that if they have any questions, they should ask Elysia. But Finnick comes down the steps, heading straight for the dining table. It’s perfect timing on his part, you get ready to leave, “If you have any questions, Finnick will have the answers. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

His eyes meet yours, already glaring. He doesn’t turn around and go back to his room like you halfway expected, but sits at the table and waits to be served. You think that he won’t let the tributes down, so you go ahead and leave. If Finnick doesn’t step up, Elysia will gladly do it.

Laurel and Pleurisy are standing in the hallway with the prep teams when you get there. They open up to make a space for you to stand, and you patiently wait as Laurel finishes telling Annie’s prep team what they’ll be doing with Annie. The basic stuff, some extra points if they have the time to later on. You know what the team will make room for the extra stuff either way.

Pleurisy is doing the same thing with Marsh’s team, but it’s not as heinous. They’ll find a way to draw out Marsh’s grooming so that Annie and him finish around the same time. Just so Marsh doesn’t sit around and wait for the Tribute Parade to come around.

Once they’re done, the magical opinion question is brought to the table. Laurel shows you the two options this year, and immediately you can see why she was caught between them. The first option is based off the coral reef, with bright colors and shelves that stick out in places that aren’t awkward. You know that this would be an eye-catcher, and there’s not a spot of blue to be found.

The second option is something less interesting; ropes. Brown nets that’ll be strategically placed around their bodies to make them seem dressed, but really they’ll practically be naked. The only reason this could ever appear to the Capitol citizens is because of a nearly revealed tribute. Which they’ve seen hundreds of times by now.

“Definitely the coral reef. The colors are bright and might even drown out everyone else a bit.” they back away from you, looking pleased, “It’s bold, though.”

“They’ll look amazing by the end of it. We’ve got big plans for them.” Laurel then turns to the prep teams, “Get ready to receive the tributes.” the teams scatter, leaving just you three in the hallway, “Elysia tells me you’ve got Finnick working this year.”

“Not just yet.” you admit, gently shaking your head, “He’s not very happy, I’m going to start slow but by the time the games roll around, he’ll be under my thumb. I can handle the week in the Capitol, but I start to spread myself thin when the tributes get in the arena.”

“Will he be at the parade?” Pleurisy asks.

“Should be. If not, it’s not that big of a deal.”

You spend the rest of the morning with the stylists, following them around, watching as they prepare the costumes. As it nears noon, you get word that the tributes are just about done, which means you three have to scatter. You bid them goodbye, and head back to the apartment to have lunch before meeting the tributes below the Remake Center.

The whole place feels empty, with no sign of Elysia anywhere in the common rooms, and lord knows where Finnick is. You turn the tv on again to hear what Caesar and Claudius have to say about last year’s costumes, and the predictions for this year. You sit at the table, and eat quietly, trying not to hate the Capitol anymore than you already do.

Even after you’re done eating, you sit at the table for a while. Which seems to pay off in the end, as the mystery of where Finnick’s been the entire time, is solved. Still leaves the question on where Elysia is. But if you were to take a guess now, when the Tribute Parade is less than thirty minutes off, she’s probably with the stylists so that she’s on time to the parade.

You lean your head against your hand and watch as Finnick takes his time making his way up the stairs. He’s obviously trying to avoid talking to you, because if he doesn’t look in your direction, you’re probably not going to bother him. At least, that’s what he thinks. Unfortunately, you know how to play mind games and have a fair amount of patience.

The constant silence seems to make him curious enough to look anyway. His eyes lock with yours, he stops moving up the steps. As the staring contest begins, you can see the guilt in his eyes. But as quick as it appeared, it’s suddenly gone. It doesn’t matter, because you’ve seen everything that you needed to already.

You give him a smile, “There’s fifteen minutes before the parade. Plenty of time to get cleaned up, and go, so you might as well.”

“You were waiting here for me?” he asks, face twisting.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I just ate lunch.” you roll your eyes, looking back at the tv.

He leaves, you watch as the stands fill with bright colors and animated Capitol people. To think that it feels like yesterday you were the one rolling through the street, dressed as a marble statue straight out of Atlantis. You can still remember the way your stomach twisted right as the chariots began to move.

As the years have come and gone, you’ve become more used to the cameras. Whether you like it or not, the Capitol will always be with you. They might not follow you around in District Four anymore, but they sure do keep tabs on you when the games roll around. What is (Y/n) doing this year? You’re sure they noticed your happy expressions during the reapings when Annie and Marsh volunteered. You wonder if they were suspicious that you weren’t really surprised.

You can’t say you’ll be as indifferent when the games roll around. It’s going to be harder to hold yourself together, as it is every year. And if Marsh or Annie win? It’s going to be a celebration, there’s not a single doubt about it. And depending on what happens in the arena exactly, especially with the other careers, you’ll be rubbing it in.

Finnick comes out when it hits ten minutes. He doesn’t look all that different, just less disheveled than he had started as. You and him take the elevator down below the Remake Center, and you’re able to see that there’s a handful of tributes here already, waiting by their chariots.

Annie and Marsh are dressed brilliantly. As always, Laurel knows what she’s doing, and she’s managed to make it look like they could easily blend into the reefs themselves, if they wanted to. Annie’s hair is done up in braids, with bright colors weaved in and out. As a headpiece, she’s got an orange reef hair comb tucked in neatly.

The colors on their bodies are strategically placed to make them blend into each other. Annie’s got a dress that bells out at the bottom, with unique, hand-painted designs that must have taken hours. Even Marsh has brightly colored makeup around his eyes, smeared with colored glitter mixed in.

“Huh.” Finnick lets out, “You picked this?”

“This is not what was sketched out.” you look at him, raising your eyebrows, “But it’s pretty cool, huh?”

You elbow him slightly, and then head over to Annie and Marsh, “You guys look amazing!”

Annie turns, giving you a red-faced smile. Marsh on the other hand, rolls his eyes and picks at the coral band on his arm. Since they can’t do special effects on the tributes, as the chemicals might irritate his skin, the stylists have to get creative with how they get props to stick onto the tributes. It typically turns out to be tight bands like the ones Marsh is wearing. It doesn’t cut off circulation, but it isn’t exactly comfortable either.

With this, Pleurisy slaps Marsh’s hand to get him to stop fiddling with the band. If he messes it up now, it’ll have to come off completely. There’s absolutely no time to go back and fix anything that he might fuck up. Marsh seems to catch the clue though, because he laces his fingers together and tries not to touch anything else.

The opening music starts, notifying you that it’s time to get the tributes onto their chariots. Laurel and Pleurisy shift anything that needs to be moved, and then they’re making Marsh and Annie get onto the chariot. You watch as they shift around, finding the way they’ll be standing for the parade.

“Any tips?” Annie asks hopefully.

“Follow your gut.” you say, “If you feel like smiling or waving, do it. This is your time to set what you’ll be like for the rest of the Capitol trip. As soon as you’re in the arena, it can go away.”

They don’t ask any questions, and even if they had any, their time is up. The doors behind them have finished opening, District One’s chariot is starting to move. You and the others back off, wishing the tributes good luck. You’re all subjected to watching the chariots on the tv.

You cross your arms, yawning slightly. You’re ready for the day to be over, at least the next three days or so is going to be slow. All you really have to do is get up and make yourself presentable until they’re shipped to the Training Center. The only real working day is the one the day before the interviews. And that’s because you’re going to be figuring out how you can help them be ready for the interview.

Annie and Marsh seem to be in their element for the most part. Annie is obviously shy, Marsh doesn’t mind it at all. She waves and smiles and does just as much as Marsh does. They stop in the City Circle, the anthem plays, President Snow gives his speech, the chariots go around the circle one last time, and then come back.

“Not bad.” you say to yourself, “Not bad at all.”

You leave Finnick standing there, giving the tributes a wide grin. The prep teams are already singing praises, so there’s not much to say. Muchless room to say it. Elysia thinks that they’ve had an influence on the Capitol already, which is a relief. As long as they’re drawing in some attention, you’re good.

Back inside of the Four floor, your tributes head off to take their showers. Finnick meanders around the rooms, you settle onto the couch in the living room, watching the chariot rides again. As always, Claudius and Caesar have been captivated by District One and Two’s amazing stylists. They barely make a comment about District Four.

You end up with your head in your hands. You know that just because the moderators didn’t say anything, doesn’t mean that other people didn’t take a closer look. But their biased opinion tends to have an effect on people after a while. Continue to make dim comments about districts, and you’ll end up like District Twelve.

No one wants to be District Twelve.

Dinner with everyone--with the exception of the prep teams--is enough to keep you awake. You go ahead and indulge yourself in red wine, trying to seem like you’re enjoying yourself. As soon as the alcohol sets in, making your head spin a little, you go ahead and give it up. You’re not really a drinker, anyway.

As soon as the cake is served, you’re sure that dinner is pretty much over. You go and watch the replay of the parade again, Elysia goes ahead and tells you guys what the people she’d talk to said. It’s all very good things, and you begin to suspect that she’s just being nice for the tributes.

“Don’t give them false hope.” you say, cutting her off completely, “Claudius and Caesar did nothing for us. Annie and Marsh have to do good on their training scores, and even better during the interviews if they want to make a lasting impression.” you look at the tributes, “The pressure of performing well has only just begun.

“You guys should get to bed, we’ll see you at breakfast for instructions. Try to get a good night of sleep.”

Annie thanks Laurel on her way out, Marsh barely does the same. You absently watch the tv while you wait for them to be gone completely. Finnick’s already gathering his things, “I’ve got to go.”

“Be there at breakfast, I’ll fill you in the best I can.” you tell him.

“Sure.”

He leaves too, and you’re left there with Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy.

“You know how to clear a room.” Laurel says, you crack a smile.

“Well you wanted to talk.” you look at them, “So let’s get to talking.”

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

Text

Not Your Hero. Chapter 3

Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter four, Chapter five

AN: Y/N finds out that this second trip to the capitol may leave her with as many scars as the first but, is anything really different? It feels that way.

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Mags Flanagan

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation, alcohol abuse and some unhealthy coping mechanisms

Prompt/Inspiration: Pretender (acoustic) - AJR and Miss Americanah and The Heartbreak Prince - Taylor Swift

(Note: the song Y/N is hearing is A Very Good Year from Robbie Williams’ Swing When You’re Winning album)

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Your knuckles were white where you clenched the balcony’s railing, whether from anger or shock you couldn’t yet tell. The night air was cold and refreshing against your skin but, as usual, you wished the city wasn’t always so...loud. Even now, at nearly three in the morning, the din hadn’t subsided and the sound of trains, cars, music and chatter seeped into your pours like a toxin. You took a swig from the tumbler of whiskey beside you, wincing as it burned its way down your throat like fire. You hadn’t gotten used to the taste yet but you’d been working your way through the bottle for the better part of the night and by now it was more than half gone. You’d run out of ice hours ago, not that that was going to stop you. You weren’t doing it for the flavor, you were doing it because you didn’t know what else to do. Your mind was whirling, so you drank, plain and simple.

It made sense now, you supposed, all the secrecy, the dread that had been following you for weeks, the thinly veiled looks of sympathy and concern on your friends’ faces, all of it. You took a deep breath in, trying to muster up some sort of emotion and finding none. It made sense, it was reasonable, you understood, but you should be angry, right? No one warned you. They all knew, but they said nothing, wasn’t that wrong? Shouldn’t you be angry about that? Shouldn’t you be scared? Disgusted? Heartbroken? Shouldn’t you feel something right now? Slowly, you exhaled an exhausted sigh, taking another sip from your tumbler. Well, you reasoned, you guessed not.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when the shock wore off and the alcohol had faded and the world came back into focus, maybe then you’d feel it. In the background an old Robbie Williams record crooned on about a very good year and suddenly the sound of violins rose up through the floorboards and drowned out the noise of the city. You closed your eyes and soaked it in like a dream. For a moment, the first in a long, long time, everything was good. You were full and clean and healthy, the alcohol made you feel light and unburdened and strong and, just for that moment, it was a beautiful night. Just for a second, it was a beautiful night and nothing could touch you except the wind. Tomorrow, you promised yourself, tomorrow you would deal with Snow’s ultimatum and everything that came with it. Tomorrow you would be afraid but tonight was your night; tonight you were well and truly a Victor.

His footsteps gave him away, even though you knew he could be silent as a cat when he wanted, but you didn’t turn, holding onto your fragile perfect moment. Finnick’s profile appeared in your peripheral vision, sharp and striking against the city skyline and, without saying anything, you slid him the bottle. He took a swing of the whiskey, barely flinching, and passed it back.

“So I guess you probably hate me now,” he finally said, trying to hide the quiver in his voice, “not that I blame you, of course.”

You smiled to yourself, still facing out over the city and glancing at Finnick out of the corner of your eye. Someone had prettied him up of course, same as you but, no matter what they did, there wasn’t a stylist or prep team alive who could take more than partial credit for Finnick Odair. His skin, the way light caught on his auburn hair, the cut of his jaw, those piercing eyes; they were almost comically perfect, like someone had dreamt him into being. Sometimes stylists interfered more than they needed to and it became too much but, you noticed without meaning to, tonight they’d got it right. He was in a simple black suit, with a stiff collared white button-up, which he’d unbuttoned slightly and a bowtie, which he’d obviously undone at some point during the night. Overall, the effect was casual and debonair and let Finnick’s natural beauty take center stage. In short, he looked good, really good, so good that it made you slightly breathless. But right then, more than anything else, he looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot and tensing his jaw as he stared determinedly forward. You knew that look. He was bracing for the impact, waiting for the rejection he was sure was coming.

“No,” you answered, “I don’t hate you, Finnick. I understand why you did what you did.”

Even from your periphery, you saw his double take and you smiled to yourself again, meeting his eye for the first time since his arrival. Your smile seemed to confuse Finnick even more and the look on his face was so sweet and endearing that it made your heart pinch.

There was a brief pause where you just looked at one another, sizing each other up like strangers, before Finnick managed to ask, “Why not?”

The alcohol in your blood thrummed and pulsed, keeping you happy and light and you shrugged, taking another sip from your tumbler, “What would telling me have done, really?” you answered, “I already knew something bad was coming, I just didn’t have the specifics figured out, that’s all.” You continued, turning back to the city, “And, even if you did tell me, we couldn’t have done anything about it. If Snow wants me to be his personal whore, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him. He could have blown my head off in that office and no one could have done a damn thing about it. Compared to that, I’d say I got off easy.” you finished, smiling ruefully.

Finnick nodded, “I did want to.” he said, “Tell you, I mean. That first night in your room, I really considered it.”

“But?”

“But I wanted you to have a few more days.” he admitted, “Once you know-” he shrugged, “well, you don’t really forget a thing like that, do you?”

“No, I don’t imagine you do,” you laughed, earning a tired smile from Finnick.

You lapsed into comfortable silence, ruminating on the night together, as you had done on many nights over the last few days. After that first night, when you realised the depth of your affection for one another, you and Finnick had fallen into a sort of unspoken routine. During the day you socialised and mingled, you smiled and joked with the others and kept your distance but every evening, as night fell, you would inevitably find yourselves drawn back together, back to the safety and comfort of your room. Once, you’d simply stayed up through the night talking, swapping stories from home and fears for the future but, more often, one of you would succumb to sleep and be tucked in by the other, who would then sleep in the comfortable armchair. Usually the nightmares would draw you out of sleep at some point but, when they did, Finnick was there and maybe that made it easier, maybe you weren’t so afraid of sleep anymore, so long as he was with you. And maybe it helped him too, maybe that’s why he kept coming back.

You looked over at him again, turning your body so you could study his profile intently. He looked sad, you noticed, so sad that it hurt to look at him and you wanted to reach out, close that distance between your bodies and touch. That was one thing you never did. Not after that first day. Whether it was because you were both victors and physical contact was something of a trigger, or it was some sort of instinctual sense of self-preservation, clinging to that separation like a safety net while you bared your souls didn’t really matter. The fact remained. The only time you and Finnick ever touched one another was in the moments just after a nightmare, when the panic was fresh in your blood and you needed an anchor to bring you back into the present. Only then, under the cover of complete darkness, would either one of you reach out to the other for comfort and, even then, he would only rest his hand on the small of your back for a moment, for as long as it took for your breathing to even out. As soon as that happened, Finnick would pull back and reinstate the distance, as though your skin might burn him even through your clothes. Just another unspoken rule, another limit, something you were more than happy to stick to if it meant keeping Finnick around.

But tonight, with the alcohol and the music and the lights, it felt different. Tonight you wanted to close that distance, to feel if his skin was as smooth as it looked, or if his hands were as rough as you remembered. You wanted to touch him, to see if it felt as electric and thrilling and dangerous when the lights were on as it did in those few stolen moments in the darkness. More than that, you wanted him to let you, and to touch you back.

You shook your head to clear it, your heart pounding in your chest as you realised how far your thoughts had strayed. It wasn’t your place, you reminded yourself sternly, Finnick was your friend. He trusted you. You watched him take another swig from the whiskey bottle, long and deep this time, and tried not to focus too hard on his lips.

“You done staring yet, kid?” he asked with a hint of fondness, shooting you a look that made you blush and look away.

“I told you not to call me kid,” you said, settling in to the old, comfortable argument.

“But you are a kid,” Finnick smiled.

“I’m two years younger than you,” you protested for the millionth time, “if I’m a kid, you’re a kid too.”

He shrugged, “True enough, but I’m still less of a kid than you, kid.”

“Yeah well, I’m less of an ass than you.” you shot back without any real malice.

Finnick chuckled; a soft, rolling sound that always sent a shiver down your spine, “That’s also true enough.” he answered quietly.

You let the silence stretch on for a second but, now that you’d started talking, it was like you couldn’t stop and words just kept bubbling up in your chest, fighting to slip out into the cool night air.

“I was just thinking,” you finally said, taking a half a step closer, one hand still on the railing.

“About?”

“Your nightmares,” you answered honestly, “this is what they’re about, isn’t it? It’s not the arena, it’s Snow and his...customers.”

Finnick sighed, looked back at you and then down at the whiskey, “This stuff is disgusting.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment but you shrugged, “It’s all I could steal on my way out of Snow’s office, and I didn’t want to go back down to the party after that.”

Finnick nodded like he understood and pushed himself up off the railing, “Wait here.” he commanded as he vanished back into the mansion.

You wanted to shoot back something clever and snarky about how he wasn’t the boss of you, but your heart wasn’t in it. Instead you took a seat at one of the two sun loungers someone had forgotten to remove and listened to Finnick’s footsteps as he took the stairs two at a time and disappeared back down into the thrum of the party. As soon as you couldn’t hear him anymore, you pressed your hand to your chest and swore loudly when you saw that it was shaking.

“Get it together, Y/N,” you whispered, resting your forehead in your palms, “it’s Finnick. It’s just Finnick.”

Up until tonight you thought you’d had your feelings under control. They were confusing and inconvenient and messy and wonderful but they’d never been dangerous, they’d never been so strong that it felt like they were pulsing just under your skin, itching to get out. It was scary but, a small voice in your head whispered, it was also sort of thrilling. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Finnick return with three bottles of champagne.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” he said without meeting your eye, “had to sneak into the kitchen to get these. I figured, since it’s technically your party, they wouldn’t mind.”

You forced a smile, taking a bottle without brushing his fingers, “They aren’t missing me?”

“If they have any brains at all they’re missing you terribly,” Finnick smiled, taking a seat on the edge of the lounger you were on and getting to work opening the bottle he was holding, “but between you disappearing into Snow’s office and 98% of them being roaringly drunk, I don’t think they’ve noticed; no.” He finished, “Ah, there we go.”

As he said that, he managed to pop the cork and bubbles spilled over the neck and onto the lounger. You laughed and leaned forward, grabbing the bottle and sucking up the sweet bubbles without thinking. Finnick laughed, shaking his hand dry as you drank. The champagne made your head feel light and airy, but it was undoubtedly better than whiskey and it was only once the bubbles had subsided that you passed the bottle back to Finnick.

“Not bad, Y/N/N,” he smiled, “not bad at all.”

“For a kid, you mean,” you teased.

“Of course,” he assured, “for a kid.”

You shrugged, “Spillage is sippage, Haymitch taught me that.”

“Terrible influence, that one,” Finnick smiled, taking a swig from the open bottle, “I love him.”

“Me too.”

Finnick sighed, steeling himself for something unpleasant, and passed you the bottle. You drank, but kept your eyes on him, not pushing, just waiting. Eventually he turned to face you and pulled his leg up onto the lounger, so his knee was brushing yours. It was unintentional, you reasoned, but that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat like a rabbit and staying there as you held his gaze, passing the bottle back. As you did, you shivered and Finnick’s brow creased with concern.

“Shit, Y/N/N, you’re cold,” he said, pulling his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders before you could do much more than mumble that you were fine.

“Thanks,” you blushed, pulling the blazer tighter around yourself.

He nodded and looked down at the bottle in his hands, tensing his jaw thoughtfully. In one fluid motion he raised it to his lips and he drank deep.

“It’s both,” Finnick finally said, “the arena and Snow, in my nightmares.” he explained when you looked up at him questioningly, “Sometimes one, sometimes the other, but usually both.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Finnick smiled ruefully, examining the bottle in his hand, “fuck Y/N/N,” he swore, looking up suddenly and meeting your eye, “I’m so sorry. I never-I wish I could-”

His intensity shocked you but, as he looked down again he looked so defeated that your heart ached and he suddenly seemed fragile. Without giving yourself a moment to doubt or second guess, you leaned forward and touched his forearms gently. He flinched, but didn’t pull away, meeting your gaze head on, a question flickering at the edge of his piercingly green eyes. Whatever he saw in your eyes must have been enough because you felt his muscles relax under your palms.

“I’m sorry, Fin. I can’t even imagine how hard these last four years have been for you.” you said gently.

Finnick flushed and, when he did, he looked young, “They couldn’t really touch me for the first two years,” he explained, “they had to wait until I was of age.”

You shook your head and tightened your grip slightly, “That doesn’t make it better, Fin. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, looking at you with some unidentifiable emotion, “Thanks, Y/N.”

You shivered. Something about hearing Finnick say your name, your full name, always made you feel vulnerable and exposed. Maybe it was because, when he said it, you knew he was seeing you, like really seeing you. Maybe it was because you liked that. Maybe you just liked the way he made it sound.

You knew you should pull your hands back, end the moment, go back to joking and laughing with one another but you didn’t. It felt too good and you were just drunk enough to be selfish about it. There was a sincerity, you realised, to the way Finnick was looking at you right now, like you were something precious to him, something valuable. It felt heavy and meaningful and...warm. But there was also a sadness there, a longing for something, like he wanted to talk but couldn’t, a fear. Fear of what you weren’t sure; rejection? Hurt? Cruelty? You were sure he’d never looked at you like that before.

Or maybe he has, a voice in the back of your head whispered, maybe you just couldn’t see his face in all that darkness.

You opened your mouth to talk but paused just before the words left your lips. Instead you just moved your hands down Finnick’s forearms, until your fingers brushed over his palms and you were gripping his hands. Some small part of your brain noted that they felt exactly how you remembered them, but it was quickly silenced by the rush of electricity that shot through your fingertips the moment your skin touched his. You heard his voice catch and looked up just in time to see the flash of fear that ran through Finnick’s eyes.

“Was there another reason,” you asked quietly, your heart pounding in your ears, “that you didn’t want to tell me about Snow?”

Finnick looked down at your hands, swallowing hard and squeezing your hand tight, as though he was afraid it might slip away.

“Finnick,” you pressed gently, “talk to me.”

If Finnick saying your name had had an effect on you, hearing you say his shook him to the core.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” he said quickly, avoiding your eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like a capitol plaything,” he answered, his mouth curling like the words tasted bitter, “like Snow’s puppet.”

You frowned, “Fin, I’d never-I don’t see you that way. That’s not what you are!” you insisted. Finnick gave you a disbelieving look and you felt that rush of protective fire in the pit of your stomach again.

There were so many things you wanted to say at once that you couldn’t decide, so you did the only thing you could think to do to get your point across; you leant forward and kissed him. For a horrible second Finnick just froze and you were convinced that you’d made a terrible mistake but then, like a switch had flipped in his head, he melted into your arms and pulled you tight against his body. You sighed into the kiss, revelling in it like sunlight because kissing Finnick...wow. Kissing Finnick felt like injecting liquid light directly into your veins; it felt like looking out over the ocean right before a storm. It drowned out everything else; every car, every train, every bit of ambient noise that could distract from the man in your arms faded into nothing and you lost yourself. If it wasn’t for Finnick’s steadiness, his surety, you were sure you would have simply burned up and ceased to exist. It was too much and not nearly enough. It was electric and passionate and gentle and good and and and…And it was over too soon.

You broke apart, breathing heavily, with your foreheads resting against each other. Finnick opened his mouth to speak but, before he could say something self deprecating and untrue, you pressed your fingers to his lips and met his gaze head on.

“Finnick Odair, you are the bravest, funniest, kindest and most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” you started, “You are not a plaything, or a puppet. You’re doing what you have to do to keep the people you care about safe. That’s all any of us can do, that’s what it means to be a victor and-and now it’s my fight too. We’re in this together, okay?”

Finnick nodded, the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, “Okay.”

You went to move away but Finnick kept you close, his eyes glinting with steely determination.

“Fin?”

“I won’t let him hurt you, Y/N,” he swore, “not like he hurt me. I won’t, I’ll-”

“Shhh,” you interrupted, “don’t-don’t promise me that. Just promise you’ll be there for me when he does, okay?” you asked, feeling, for the first time, the prickly hand of dread on your back, “Promise I won’t be alone?”

Finnick looked sad but he cupped your cheek and nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, soft as a petal.

“Y/N?” he asked.

“Mhmm?”

“It’s nearly the end of the party, before we go, will you dance with me?”

You looked up, shocked by the depth of emotion you felt in Finnick’s eyes. He reached out his and you took it, letting him pull you up and guide you back inside. You were halfway down the staircase before you realised you were still wearing his jacket but, when you tried to give it back, he just shook his head. Something was bubbling in the pit of your stomach now, like the champagne from earlier, a blend of anxiety and anticipation all swirling together and making you alert. Every step brought you closer and closer, made the music louder and louder, made your heart beat faster and faster. And, all the while Finnick stood right beside you, steady as ever. From the base of the staircase you could see it all, the corridor across from where you were that led to the president’s quarters, the gardens behind that and the grand mahogany stairs standing between you and the dancefloor.

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

Finnick stopped on the last stair, taking a moment for himself, just one; to remember you in exactly the way you were in that moment, windswept and free and totally his, with smudged lipstick and his blazer around your shoulders, holding his hand like he was some sort of lifeline. It was surreal, everything he’d been dreaming of since the moment he’d seen you all those days ago. Could it really have only been nine days? He hardly felt like the same person now that he was then. There was so much he wanted to tell you, so much you needed to talk about and workout before this could be anything real but, god he wanted it to be. He wanted to take you home with him right then and press a thousand kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your neck, your collarbones. He wanted to touch and hold and protect and claim. He wanted you to be his, like this forever. Something stirred in his chest, strong and undeniable, like a tidal wave poised to crash onto the shore. There would be time, he promised himself, lots of time but for now, he just had to get you through tonight.

You were still clutching his hand, worrying at the inside of your cheek as you looked out across the seas of brightly coloured people drunkenly swaying around the dancefloor.

He kissed you then, because he couldn’t not, and the look in your eyes when he pulled away was sweet enough to sustain him through the next three years at least.

“By the way, you look beautiful tonight, Y/N,” he whispered, “I don’t think I mentioned that earlier. I should have.”

You blushed and something near his heart pinched, “You look beautiful too, Fin.”

“Yeah but that’s a given,” he teased, slipping his jacket from your shoulders and wishing, more than anything that he could just walk out there with his hand in yours and his head held high, “you’re the unknown entity, kid.”

You laughed and took the elbow he was offering, and he breathed an internal sigh of relief as the tension leached out of your body, “Remind me to never compliment you again.” you smiled.

“It was a horrible decision on your part, I can feel my ego swelling as we walk.”

You laughed as he led you to the top of the second staircase. Heads were turning in your direction rapidly now and, not for the first time in his life, Finnick wished for anonymity. He wished he was just another man, staring up at you in wonder, hoping to catch the attention of a pretty girl at a party.

As if you could sense the shift in his mood, you leant up and whispered in his ear, “Also don’t think you can call me ‘kid’ anymore, since you had your tongue in my mouth like five minutes ago.”

It took every ounce of poise Finnick had to not just break down and ruin the whole act right there but he managed. Just.

“Remind me why I want to dance with you again?” He said softly as you reached the dancefloor, placing your right hand on his shoulder and lifting your left in his.

You shrugged and followed his lead, “You guess is as good as mine.”

As you looked up, Finnick felt his breath catch in his throat. You were so close. Close enough that he could see each of your eyelashes, and smell the sweet, fruity perfume that you sprayed in your hair every day and your lips, god your lips. He would never be able to look at them again, not without wanting to kiss you until they bruise. What would happen if he did? Surely whatever happened would be worth it for one more taste of that heavenly adrenaline.

“Fin,” you whispered, snapping him out of his daydreams, “Why did you want to dance with me?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” he answered honestly, “and because, it’s your night and-” he smiled sadly, “and because I’ve always hated this place and now, no matter what happens, I can say I slow-danced with someone I cared about, in a beautiful house, surrounded by beautiful people, none of whom could hold a candle to her, and enjoyed it before I died.”

“One good memory here,” you agreed.

“Yeah, one good memory, to help cancel out all the bad.”

And Y/N Y/LN, he thought to himself, you’re the best memory I’ve got.

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

taglist: @i-love-you-green , @heatherhollowayst, @givethnofucketh, @gnvve

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thgfanficinspo · 4 years

Text

Fear of the Water - Ch. 7

AO3 LINK

Annie + Finnick Origin Story set during/after 70th Hunger Games

masterlist

(ANNIE)

It’s almost impossible to sleep. Not that I normally sleep well anyway. Still.

I have one of those dreams that’s only two minutes long but actually lasts for an hour or two in real life. Finnick’s in it. He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t even look at me. He’s just there. And it’s nice in the dream but it’s sad when I wake up.

I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do now. Keep moving? Stay put? I unpack my things and lay them out again. I get one deep sip of water cause I have to be careful about saving it until I find a source (maybe that’s what I’ll do today) and I eat one slice of dried apple. And then I notice the dirt and the blood under my fingernails and my hands start shaking.

My mother, she butchered me . . .

Shut my eyes. Don’t want to see the blood, see the boy exploding, feel hot drops of blood splatter against my face. Take deep breaths through my mouth to keep from gagging.

It’s a long time before I feel okay again. I’m just opening my eyes when a cannon goes off. I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

I count the bricks in my little cave to calm down again but I keep losing my place and have to start over.

I don’t think I’ll finish counting before the sun goes down. I’ll have to wait to look for food and water tomorrow.

(FINNICK)

My patron last night bought me and Cashmere as a set; I think it’s easier to deal with when there’s another victor with you. Misery loves company, as they say. But it’s also fucking awkward. Plus, it’s ridiculously expensive to buy a night with one victor, so buying two on the same night practically never happens.

We stay in the lady’s apartment long enough to see our tributes onscreen and make sure they’re still alive before making our way back toward the training center. Shine, Cash, and Piers are sorting out supplies and making a plan of attack. Annie is nibbling at some dried fruit.

We stop off at a coffee place on the way.

“That lady was disgusting,” Cashmere says as we wait for our orders. She pulls two blackberry-flavored cigarettes and some matches out of a pocket I didn’t know she had and lights them.

“Mm,” I hum in acknowledgement. She really was gross but I don’t waste my time thinking about her and what she wanted. I never do. When it’s over, it’s over, and there’s no point in reflecting on the experience.

Cashmere hands me one of the cigarettes. “Thanks,” I say. We smoke silently for a little while, watching all the Capitol citizens walk by. Girls giggle when they see me; men wink at Cashmere. It’s nothing new. “Who’s your favorite to win?”

She taps the excess ash from her cigarette on the ground. “I like my girl’s chances. But that pretty one from District Nine is one to watch. You?”

I shrug. “Don’t know.”

This is what conversations are like the day after you see a patron together. You’re too embarrassed about everything we did to look each other in the eye but we can’t ignore each other without being crushed by the silence. Plus, we have to look fun and flirty for the people that walk by.

My awful attempt at small talk is interrupted when a female tribute gets stuck under falling bricks from a decrepit building nearby. Her lower leg breaks with a loud snap as a particularly jagged stone lands on her shin. She barely has a chance to scream before a larger rock rolls onto her stomach and starts to crush her. It takes about a minute for her to die.

“That’s thirteen gone,” Cashmere says absently. “Eleven to go.”

The Avoxes are the only ones in the common area when I get back to the training center. They’re cleaning puke up off the rug; I assume it’s Broadsea’s.

“Did I miss anything important?” I ask, nodding at the television. There’s nothing interesting going on right now, so Caesar Flickerman is interviewing a Gamemaker named Seneca Crane about the inspiration behind the arena’s design.

It’s more elaborate than usual this year: it looks like an abandoned city that nature has reclaimed. It rains perpetually, and no place is completely dry. There are a handful of high dams, but in heavy rain they overflow somewhat. There’s nowhere to swim, so Annie and Piers don’t have any advantage there.

Somes points at the chalkboard; Girl 10 has been crossed off the list. Greer makes a few gestures to let me know that both Annie and Piers are still alive.

“Thanks.”

I sit down on the shower floor like I always do and lean my head back against the wall.

My arena was a heavy forest dotted with swamps.

There was this endless chorus of crickets and cicadas – it never stopped. Not to mention all the other damn bugs that would fly right into my eye or buzz around in my ear. All the bugs bit, but some of them carried diseases. Tributes bitten by the disease-bugs got sick and a few of them died.

There were these mutts in some of the swamps – gators, I think they’re called – that would come out of the water at night and attack. One of them killed Tethys, my district partner. It took her foot first. I couldn’t get to her in time to stop the bleeding or distract the mutt before it circled back for her. It took a while for the gator to kill her, but I doubt she could feel anything except the cold, dry sensation of losing blood.

Most of the water was unsafe to drink, and a good amount of the tributes died from dehydration or infections they got from drinking the bad water. The Careers and I were sure to boil our water to kill any germs. We didn’t have to worry about whether or not someone would see our fire – no one in their right mind would attack the Career pack.

And then one day at breakfast this enormous parachute came floating down from the sky and landed in front of me. A trident.

I knew in that moment that I would survive. I could use spears and knives as well as anybody, but I grew up with a trident in my hand. I knew I had lots of sponsors – they sent medicine when I was injured, fresh bread when I was hungry, even a sliver of soap to wash myself off – but this told me just how many there really were. But a trident?! Weapons of any kind were unheard of, but this?

It took two days for my allies to turn on me. They didn’t consider me much of a threat at first, since I was only fourteen and no one under sixteen, no matter how skilled or sponsored, had ever won. I defeated them allies fairly easily; I’d been expecting an attack and I knew what their fighting styles were. It only took another two days to find the remaining tributes and kill them.

I had it easy compared to some of the others. Most of the others, actually. I considered myself lucky for the first few days after I won. Thank God I didn’t have to deal with some of the shit the others had to. It evened out in the end, more or less.

Caesar Flickerman is talking as I exit the bathroom. Something menial. “Is she counting?”

“It looks like it,” Claudius Templesmith replies. “But I’m not sure why.”

I start rifling through the clothes in my closet.

“She’s most likely in shock,” Caesar says. “It happens from time to time.”

I don’t really pay attention – why should I? – until I catch a glimpse of Annie Cresta from the corner of my eye. It’s only for a millisecond; the feed switches to more entertaining footage of the boy from District 6 climbing to the top of a massive barebones building at least eight stories high.

“Shit,” I hiss under my breath.

Tributes go into shock pretty regularly; someone cracks up at least once every other year. I’m not surprised that it happened. But it bothers me that it happened to Annie. She was a bit weird to begin with, so I shouldn’t be shocked, but it’s still unpleasant.

Shit.

Piers probably should have killed her at the bloodbath – or at the very least, let the boy from 3 finish the job. The Games have barely started and I’m already so tired; I don’t know if I have it in me to watch Annie get herself killed in some awful way.

I avoid Mags for most of the day because I just don’t want to face her right now.

I eat dinner with Blight and Gloss at a popular restaurant, which we pretty much shut down for the night because so many of my adoring fans would otherwise flood the place. They cluster outside instead; Peacekeepers have to come in to keep them all in line. I’d really rather eat alone in my room but the president likes for his victors to be seen enjoying all the pleasures that the Capitol has to offer. And I hate to admit it but the food is actually good.

Blight brings the new kid with him. Timothy Something-or-other of District 6, victor of the 69th Hunger Games. I feel obligated to make a lot of sex jokes because it’s 69 and I’m the Finnick Odair.

Timothy doesn’t talk very much, nor does he make much eye contact. Blight and Gloss start filling him in on things he doesn’t ask about – the annoying victors, the protocols for being out in public, the politicians and socialites who get handsy when they drink.

“Brutus sucks, Gaius sucks,” Blight says as he pours us each a fresh glass of wine. “They’re both from Two. Actually most of those guys are awful.”

“Broadsea and Eefa fucking suck,” I add.

“And Leetha. Leetha is the goddamn worst,” Gloss says, shaking his head.

Timothy’s voice is scratchy. “Which one is she?”

“The redheaded lady from District Five,” I answer. “Thinks she’s the smartest person in the world. Don’t ever have a conversation alone with her. You’ll try to pull your ears off.”

Timothy swallows hard. He looks twitchy and hungry and tired. Bet he’s already addicted to something – alcohol maybe, or more likely morphling, since that’s the drug of choice for his fellow victors from 6.

The rest of dinner passes without anybody saying anything interesting. I trudge back to the training center and pray Mags has gone to bed already. I just don’t want to see her.

No such luck. She’s sitting on the couch facing the television when I come in. She smiles. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” I mutter. She pats the seat beside her, silently asking me to sit with her. But I don’t want to I stand by the couch with my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes pointed straight ahead.

Then she asks the question I’ve been dreading all afternoon. “Have you seen Annie?”

“Yeah.

We watch the Games in silence for a long time. There’s nothing going on this late; most of the tributes have gone to sleep. But I keep watching.

“What do you think?” Mags finally asks.

“I don’t think anything.” I try not to be snappy but it still comes out with some aggression. She must know I don’t want to talk about this. “I’m going to bed.” I give her a kiss on the cheek as I leave to show her that I’m not really mad at her. But she knows that already.

“Good night, Finnick.”

“Good night, Mags.”

I don’t have any dreams tonight.

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phobidawg · 4 years

Text

The Archer

I wrote this a little while ago, but thought I might as well post it. It’s an angsty-with-a-sweet-ending song fic for Katniss with the song “The Archer” by Taylor Swift. I’d recommend listening to the song while/before/after you read! Spoilers for Mockingjay. Also some Everlark.

TW: Mentions of death, anxiety, and survivor’s guilt

(idk if the last two are proper triggers but I put them anyways)

Word Count- 1286

The bow is heavy in my hands. Since the war, I keep it with me at all times. Even the times when I feel safe.

Combat, I'm ready for combat.

I I pull the bow string, the grip familiar. The unexpected is never expected, but I can only prepare. One never knows when the worst can happen.

I say I don't want that, but what if I do?

I catch myself aiming at a picture on the mantle. Pulling the string back, I eye my target. Shame fills me as I avoid the blue eyes of the girl in the picture. How horrified she would’ve been at these broken parts. Of me.

'Cause cruelty, wins in the movies...

Her eyes only bring memories- memories of her death. The screams and fire of the bombings fills my senses. Cowering,My heart catches, and I grimace as I sink too the ground.

I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you.

In my mind, my eyes see her bluebell ones again. Bright and alive. Her name is born and dies on my lips. Everything I wanted to say. All of my love, my dreams, my hopes for our future-

Gone.

Easy they come, easy they go,

Gone. Gone like so many others. Their faces haunt me. Prim. Finnick. Mags. Cinna. All of them and so many more. They seem to fall out of my life as soon as they flit in.

I jump from the train, I ride off alone..

I shiver, as loneliness crawls like disease on my skin. A familiar feeling. One that that was briefly quenched in the short time they were with me. But now they’ve left me- alone. Or did I leave them?

I never grew up, it's getting so old,

I feel the same as I did as a child. But even then I had Gale. Now even he’s left me behind. Just as when I was a young girl, friendless and terrified, trying to support my family. All by myself.

Help me hold onto you...

I look to the mantel again, and my eyes settle on a different photo.

One taken after the war, of Peeta and I.

Laughing.

His joy and light fills the picture like it fills any room he’s in. I smile to myself, before her blue eyes catch mine again.

I've been the archer,

Guilt floods through me, and sobering, I grip my bow, longing for a physical enemy.

I've been the prey...

But the only enemy is my mind.

Who could ever leave me, darling?

Faces I loved swirl around me. My sister, my mother. Gale, my first friend. Madge, my second. Mags, who died for us. Finnick, who stood with me in my darkest times and brought light. Cinna, who supported me before anyone else did. And so many more. The sparks of their spirits fill me, and I smile in memory. A wave of anxiety crashed over me, and I buckle.

But who could stay?

As soon as they appear, the images are gone, leaving me only with ashes.

Dark side, I search for your dark side,

Every room she walked into was brightened. A star she was, one that burned away too quickly.

But what if I'm alright, right, right, right here?

Bittersweet memories of my beloved sister fly. Window shopping for cakes. Dancing in the rain. Cooking stone soup. Hunting attempts. They bring a smile, but all the memories and framed in loss.

And I cut off my nose just to spite my face,

But then, the overdue memory of the reaping comes. My volunteer.

Then I hate my reflection for years and years.

The decision that saved my sister, my country perhaps, but destroyed myself.

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost.

In a fit of emotion, I jump to my feet, and begin to pace.

The room is on fire, invisible smoke.

I walk fast to avoid the walls crashing upon me. Breathing hard, I squeeze my eyes shut.

And all of my heroes die all alone,

Shutting my eyes only makes me feel more alone. I force them open, but the reality I see isn’t any kinder.

Help me hold onto you.

I glance at the picture of Peeta once more before curling into a ball.

I've been the archer,

The display of faces is joined not only by those I’ve loved, but those who’ve died at my hands. The nameless people of The Hunger Games and the war that ensued, innocents who stood in my way.

I've been the prey.

The faces are joined by the many who’ve hurt me. Those we wounded me physically, but mentally as well.

Screaming, who could ever leave me, darling?

Next are the faces of the revolution. The rebels, who honored me as their indispensable Mockingjay.

But who could stay?

The same rebels who embraced me as their martyr when the time seemed fit.

(I see right through me, I see right through me)

The feathers, the smoke and mirrors- the grand Mockingjay.

'Cause they see right through me.

Grand former leader of the revolution.

They see right through me,

Scared teenage girl.

They see right through.

Broken.

Can you see right through me?

As broken as I am, I think of Peeta, who suffered torture at the Capital's hands. Who’s mind seemed beyond repair, yet he pursued.

They see right through,

Peeta, who is gardening.

They see right through me.

Peeta, who is putting his pieces back together.

I see right through me,

Peeta, who doesn’t hole himself in his house and hide. Hide from the world that can be cruel.

I see right through me!

And the world, that can also be beautiful.

All the king's horses, all the king's men,

They all try to help me. The doctors, Haymitch, Effie, Peeta…

Couldn't put me together again.

Medicines. Therapy. Sleep.

'Cause all of my enemies started out friends,

What they don’t know, is that they scare me the most.

Because the ones who are kind, are the ones who hurt you the most when they leave.

Help me hold onto you.

And yet, though the medicines and therapies were useless, there was always Peeta. Peeta, who can still my shaking with a touch, or clear my mind with a word.

I've been the archer.

However, with Peeta it’s difficult as well. Many times have I helped him, from physical enemy and his own mind.

I've been the prey.

There have also been doubts. Doubts that he may never be able to put himself together again.

Who could ever leave me, darling?

But through it all, he’s been protecting me.

But who could stay?

And now, he could be the one to save my mind.

(I see right through me, I see right through me)

The fears threaten to force their ways to me. I hold them at bay, focusing on the photos of Peeta.

Who could stay?

I lift myself up.

Who could stay?

Take a small step towards the door.

Who could stay?

I hear the door from downstairs opening.

You could stay.

Racing from my fears, I run down the steps and to the entrance. I see Peeta, and jump into his arms.

You could stay.

He makes a sound of surprise, but spins me around nonetheless. I sink into his embrace, and I can sense his scattered pieces picking themselves up as well.

You.

Peeta.

The Boy with the Bread.

The only one who has been on my side, no matter what.

Combat, I'm ready for combat

The one I would give my life to protect.

Always.

Perhaps these broken parts can be fixed after all.

#everlark #the hunger games #tgh #hunger games fanfiction #katniss angst #my fanfic #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #tw: mentions of death #tw: anxiety #mockingjay spoilers

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plus-size-reader · 5 years

Text

Sacrifice

Finnick Odair x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1610 words

Warnings: reader’s brother dies in the arena.

Summary: Reader has a twisted past and Finnick is determined to get to the bottom of it, no matter how long it takes to get her to open up to him.

———————————————————————————————————

The story of how you became the victor of your hunger games was one that very few people actually knew. You were the only girl from district 2 to ever win in the first place, and no one thought you could do it from the start.

You trained just like the rest of the careers but you just couldn't get the hang of it, no matter how hard you tried. Pretty much from the beginning of it all, from the reaping to the very last day in the penthouses, everyone knew you would die.

Everyone except for your older brother.

Wyatt had always been excellent at this kind of stuff. He was a talented marksman, and could tell you every poisonous plant in Panem with little trouble. Your parents were in awe of him and hardly spared you a second glance, it had always been that way but Wyatt didn't seem to care.

In his mind, you had just as many strengths as he did, you just hadn't found them yet but it shouldn't have been a problem. If one of you was going to be chosen for the reaping, it would certainly be him and you'd get to stay behind and train some more.

...but that wasn't what your district had planned. As far as they were concerned, you were a defective prototype and they had to get rid of you to let someone even more capable take over.

That was how you ended up on the reaping stage with your older brother standing beside you. Wyatt was going to win the game and you'd be out of their hair forever, if it all went according to plan.

It was the first time a brother sister duo had ever been pitted against one another in the games and part of you was worried Wyatt would get you out of the way first just so he didn't have to drag you around but that wasn't his style.

Your older brother was one of the greatest men you'd ever had the pleasure of knowing and not only did he vow to protect you when the canons went off, but he was going to train you too.

As far as he was concerned, your succeeding was the best thing that could happen to district 2 in fifty years and he was going to make it happen if it was the last thing he did.

His plan was flawed and if anyone had let you know what was going through his head, you would have stopped him but no one knew but Wyatt and he wasn't going to let you stop him. The idea he was going off of was simple, he was going to kill all of the people you came in contact with until they were all dead.

And he did.

The publicity from district 2 had made you a sought after target, and you were hunted every day and night but Wyatt kept his word and never once left you alone.

In truth, you couldn't have survived without him. You couldn't run very fast, couldn't climb away from danger, you had no true fighting experience, all you had was your brother who would rather disgrace the hopes of all your people than let you die.

But there could only be one winner, Wyatt knew that just as well as anyone else and he'd planned for it. He would do anything to make sure you won, so when the time came, he sacrificed himself so that you could live.

You remembered the moment like it was yesterday, he slit his throat with the blade he'd used to spill so much blood before and crumbled to the ground in one solid motion. You weren't sure if you screamed, or cried, or batted your fists against the earth...and you could remember was all the blood.

It seeped from his wound and stained the grass that surrounded him and just like that, in a split second, you were all alone in the world. You couldn't go home, your family wouldn't look at you after everything that had happened, and they'd sacrificed you anyway, so they didn't matter to you anymore.

All you could do was sit in silence and think over the events of what had happened, it consumed everything you did and every thought you had...for every second, of every minute, of every day until your death.

Asking you to go back into an arena seemed like a cruel joke after everything you'd been through the first time but the capital didn't care. The third quarter quell required that only previous victors from every district participate and that meant you were in, trauma be damned.

Everything you'd been through was useless, as far as they were concerned. Even this time, all they expected you to do was die but you wouldn't let that happen, not this time. Wyatt hadn't sacrificed everything for you to just die this time.

So you vowed in that moment, on the memory of your darling older brother, that you would win this games, if for nothing else, than for him.

The best thing about the time that had passed was that not everyone remembered what had happened in your past, but that didn't mean everyone else was in the dark. Finnick Odair was one of the people who knew the truth about you, just like he knew everything about anyone he was around. As far as you were concerned, he knew every single detail.

There were very few instances for all the tributes to interact with one another but induction day was one of those times. All of you got dressed up in outfits designed for your district and rode around in chariots before heading to your hotel rooms.

After everything you'd been through, Finnick was surprised you would even show up and to see you in person was something he'd very much enjoy. All he wanted to do was talk to you, and get your side of the story. Everything he'd ever heard was rumors and hear say so hearing everything from your lips would be the sweetest victory of all.

Little did he know that getting you to open up would be harder than expected.

You hadn't spoken about the incident in years and hadn't planned on ever doing so again if you could help it. It was just too painful and this new game was going to bring it all back to the surface. You didn't need some blonde, sun kissed ken doll to try and make you tell him your whole life story.

There was nothing he could say or do that would change your mind when it came to that. That being said, he wouldn't leave you alone.

You could feel Finnick's eyes on you all through the ceremony, and if he made one more comment about getting to know each other you were going to lose your mind. You'd worked hard to be where you were and it had taken years of training to turn you into the fighter you were. It didn't matter how charming or handsome he was, you were fighting something he couldn't hope to understand.

He waited until dinner to approach you, a smart move on his part because there was nothing else going on around you. All you had to focus on was Finnick and whatever he had to say, whether you liked it or not.

"We must stop meeting like this Y/N" he cooed, offering you that same stupid sugar cubes from when you first arrived.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his tone but allowed his company. It couldn't hurt because in a few days you would all be dead anyway, and it didn't matter what he asked...he would be among the bodies if you had your way.

"Go away and it won't happen" you huff, stabbing your steak knife into the wood of the table, just to make it extra clear that you weren't in the mood for his games. Even with as obvious as you were making it, Finnick wasn't understanding, and he laughed.

"You're funny, it's a shame we didn't meet under different circumstances" his voice was sincere, but only served to make you more angry. It wasn't even Finnick himself that was filling you with rage, the whole environment was encouraging your PTSD.

Perhaps it was a shame. Finnick seemed like the kind of man you would have liked in a different world but this wasn't different. You had never cared for anyone other than Wyatt and he was dead, so you weren't all that willing to let other people into your world.

Especially not knowing that one of you was going to die.

"Maybe, but this is the way it is" you allowed, you weren't sure why you were letting the conversation continue past the first sentence but apparently you were. Maybe you were more lonely than you thought, to be entertaining Finnick in this way.

You were tired, and had been through a lot in the past few days, and it was clear you were desperate to go off to bed, so Finnick had to play his cards right if he had a chance to see you again.

There were a million ways that this conversation could end, and Finnick could tell that you were starting to get overwhelmed so it would be better for him to wrap it up for tonight and let you get some rest.

"Goodnight Y/N, and just so you know, Wyatt would be proud of you" he hummed, pressing a light kiss to the side of your forehead and walking away.

#The Hunger Games #the hunger games x plus size reader #the hunger games x ps reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x ps reader #finnick odair x plus size reader

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foreversillythings · 5 years

Text

roses are red, roses are white chapter nine

roses are red, roses are white part two the thorns of lancaster chapter four of kings and queens

Though not quite as opulent as their victory celebration, the Lancastrians in France still manage a festive banquet to ring in the new year of 1471. Lively music plays, desserts and sugary confections lie heaped on tables and Queen Enobaria holds court at the far end of the room, everyone of importance crowded around her gilded throne.

Madge is not among them.

She is off to the side of the room by the tall windows, the cold air leaking through the glass and chilling her skin. She watches her mother-in-law and squeezes the gift she’d bought Cato for New Year’s, though she doubts she’ll be able to give it to him. Ever since the details of her wedding night had been made public (owing, of course, to Cato and Clove making sure to spread the story far and wide), Madge had lost whatever prestige she’d managed to gain. Every eye that touches her now has a mocking glow and snickers haunt her every step, Cato and Clove’s victory seemingly complete. Even Enobaria has pulled away, for if Madge cannot get her own husband to bed her, she is obviously not worth the Queen’s time.

Madge is of decidedly mixed feelings. She knows she must consummate her marriage and she is more than ready for her humiliation to end (not to mention Cato and Clove’s smugness), but on the other hand, she is not exactly burning with the urge to go to bed with Cato. Not to mention she still has no idea how exactly she is supposed to get him into bed in the first place. Attempting to seduce him is out of the question, for even if he could be won by her charms (which she doubts), he is never without Clove, who is determined to guard him against every one of Madge’s advances. It is beyond frustrating, but in the weeks of her marriage she has not been alone with Cato once. He avoids her like the plague and when she manages to find him, Clove is there, claws out and ready for war. Madge could wait until they reach England and hope that Coriolanus can be swayed into ordering Cato to bed her, but the risks of such a strategy leave her cold. Cato will be searching for a way to secure an annulment; the more time she gives him the more likely he is to succeed. And she has no guarantee that she’ll be able to win over Coriolanus either. No, if she wants to keep this marriage afloat, she must do something soon. But what?

She stares at the glittery knot of nobles around Enobaria and finds Cato and Clove easily, her husband red faced and pawing at Clove as she giggles. Madge has to remind herself to keep her face neutral, for it will only make things worse if she lets her displeasure show. Her nails sink into Cato’s gift as she smoothes out her face, not a hint of her anger or frustration showing. She is a laughing stock because of them, the abandoned wife whose husband lavishes affection so very publicly on his mistress. What a joke. Many men have mistresses but most can at least offer their wife some modicum of respect. Cato will not even do that.

“Any ideas?” Annie asks as she joins Madge by the window. Madge inhales sharply and then blows it out slowly, her eyes never leaving her errant husband.

“No. Whatever I try, Clove is always there to make sure I never have the chance to make any progress.”

Annie frowns in sympathy and offers up her plate of sweets. Madge feels her heart warm a little to see her favourite sugary strawberries piled beside Annie’s honeyed pears. She pops one in her mouth and wishes this problem wasn’t so vexing. There must be something she’s not thinking of, but what?

“It’s terrible,” Annie says in a low voice so as not to be overheard. “Cato is behaving appallingly. Finnick always said some men weren’t meant to be husbands and he was right that Cato is one of them.”

Madge nods and feels Annie’s outrage on her behalf like a balm against the worst stings of Cato’s disrespect. At least she does not have to face this challenge alone.

“Still, Clove is my main obstacle now,” Madge says and feels sudden realization hit her like a hammer as the words slip off her tongue. Clove is her main obstacle. She’ll never get at Cato with Clove blocking the way and even trying is a waste of precious time. If she wants Cato, she’ll have to conquer Clove first.

“What? What is it?” Annie asks at Madge’s wide eyes and open mouth.

“I’ve been going at this all wrong,” she breathes and oh, how hadn’t she seen it? “I’ve been focusing on winning Cato, but I never will. Not as long as he’s so determined to prove to Clove he’ll never betray her and not with Clove sabotaging my every chance. But if I can get Clove on my side, I won’t have to worry about her anymore and Cato will do whatever she asks. She’s the ally I need.”

It is so obvious and Madge feels hope crash down on her like a wave. If she has Clove, she will have Cato. They come as a pair, how had she not realized it sooner?

“But how on earth are you going to win over Clove?” Annie asks and for a moment Madge’s hope shrivels. Clove hates me and she doesn’t want anyone touching Cato. How can I get her to help me? She wants Cato more than anything, just as he wants her. Madge gasps. That’s it, that’s it!

"What?" Annie asks as Madge starts to smile.

“I’m going to make her a deal she can’t say no to. I’m going to give them both exactly what they want," she explains and Annie furrows her brow.

It is to be a deal with the devil, but then, I've made plenty of those already.

(When Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, Countess of Warwick and Dowager Duchess of Bedford had been a little girl, she used to sit at her window and stare up at the stars. Every night she’d watch them twinkle and feel like every one of her dreams might come true, her heart beating with hope. She’d make a wish on those winking stars, the same one every night.

Let me live a quiet life far from my uncle’s shadow

Now, widowed, exiled and suffocating in her own blood, her one wish has changed.

Let me see Madge happy and secure in England)

(deep down, she fears this wish will not be granted either)

For the last few weeks Madge’s days have followed a set pattern. Only her mother and Annie will speak to her, so most of her time is spent in their company, but for at least several hours every day, when she is certain Clove will be stuck attending Enobaria, Madge searches for Cato.

She never finds him.

Sometimes he is out hunting or riding, but other times he is simply hidden away so well she can never find him, no matter how long she searches. It is beyond frustrating, but with no other ideas as to how to safeguard her marriage, she had persisted. Today, finally, she breaks the pattern. She does not bother to look for Cato and instead waits for Clove to finish with Enobaria, studiously ignoring the laughing looks sent in her direction as she makes her way to the queen’s chambers. If she succeeds today all those looks will stop, the disrespect will finally be at an end. There won’t be an insolent edge to every voice that says her title, their tongues curling with giggles over ‘Princess of Wales’ and ‘your Highness’. She will be secure and she will be able to protect herself and those she loves. Finally, finally, she is going to win.

She has to.

Madge tucks herself into the doorway of a room just next to Enobaria’s chambers and waits. Sunlight stretches across the stone floor and makes dust motes sparkle as Madge runs over everything she plans to say, for she cannot afford a mistake today. She’s not sure how long she’s been waiting when Clove finally slips out of Enobaria’s room, her face stormy and her eyes dark. She shuts the door behind her and some of the tension fades from her posture, her expression softening just the slightest bit. She turns and begins to walk down the hall, passing Madge in her hiding place.

“Mistress Clove, might I have a word?” Madge asks and Clove stiffens again. She turns and the look she rests on Madge is black and murderous.

“No, you might not,” she grinds out and turns to leave, only for Madge to snag her sleeve between her fingers.

“You’ll want to hear this, trust me. And anyways I’m Princess of Wales now; you have no right to refuse me.”

Clove swivels her head around to glare at Madge, her eyes molten with fury. Madge doesn’t flinch.

“It won’t take long, I promise,” she says and then steps through the door into the empty room beside Enobaria’s. She pulls Clove gently after her and she comes, the rage on her face promising as much suffering as she can inflict.

“What do you want?” she demands and shakes away Madge’s grip. Madge steps behind her to close the door before she answers and takes a steadying breath.

“I want to talk about Cato,” she says and Clove whirls around, her eyes flashing.

“You’ll never have him! He’s mine and you’re not going to have him! Your marriage is doomed; I won’t let you have him!” she shouts, her whole body quivering.

“And then what?” Madge asks and Clove blinks at her, her explosive fury momentarily checked.

“What?”

“When you’ve had my marriage dissolved, then what?”

Clove blinks again and opens her mouth, but no words come out. Madge seizes her chance.

“You won’t be able to marry him Clove, you must know that. If you get rid of me, Cato’s parents will immediately arrange for him to marry someone else. Someone very rich and with foreign connections. They need money and allies, preferably royal allies. You can’t give them either of those things. Maybe it will be a French princess to thank King Louis for his help, maybe Princess Margaret of Scotland again to safeguard the border or maybe an Italian or a German or a Castilian, but it won’t be you. It’ll never be you.”

Clove balls her fists and bares her teeth, but Madge plows ahead. “And you know what’s worse? Not only will you never be his wife, but you’ll be lucky if they even let you stay his mistress. Foreign royalty will never tolerate the treatment you’ve meted out to me. Coriolanus will force Cato to consummate his marriage and if you try to sabotage her as you’ve done me, well, you’ll be fortunate if all the King does is banish you from court, never to be seen again. They will need this new marriage to work out, to solidify their precarious position in England and they will not stand for you causing any trouble. You might beat me, but you’ll lose Cato forever. I know you’re smart enough to realize that.”

“Cato will never abandon me,” Clove says fiercely but there is a tremble in her voice, one Madge knows she must exploit.

“He won’t have a choice. Which is why I want to offer you a deal.”

Clove recoils and barks out a laugh, her teeth flashing in the light from the window. “A deal? What the hell can you offer me?”

Madge doesn’t smile, at least not outwardly, but oh Clove, I can offer you everything you want. Just you wait and see.

(Glimmer has always, always loved gossip.

Nothing has the power to titillate quite like a good scandal and quite delightfully, it is a passion Marvel shares. Their letters across the Channel are filled with every exciting tidbit they can find, scurrilous rumours passed back and forth between them. It is exhilarating. With little to do and with that wicked witch Enobaria not inviting her to be a part of her household, Glimmer spends most of her days wandering the palace in search of a new juicy morsel to write about to Marvel. Today she wanders past Enobaria’s chambers, hoping to catch the queen doing something awful. Her steps are slow, quiet and she is attuned to every noise and sound. If there is a story to be heard, she will hear it.

And hear it she does.

“A deal? What the hell can you offer me?”

It is Clove, her voice hissed but loud anyway, and Glimmer stops in her tracks, her ears instantly pricked. The sound is coming from a door a few feet from Enobaria’s and Glimmer creeps closer. She looks carefully down the hall and happily there is no one here, which allows Glimmer to press against the door for maximum eavesdropping.

“All I want is my position secured. I need the power to keep the people I love safe, I don’t care about anything else. I don’t care if Cato never loves me or if he keeps you as his mistress for the rest of our lives. If you convince Cato to come to my bed often enough for me to conceive an heir, I’ll make sure you get Cato. He can sleep in your bed every night; he can let you in on all his secrets and shower you in riches. I’ll even request that you be one of my ladies to make sure they can’t send you away. I won’t try to seduce him or try to win his love, I don’t want it. As long as you make sure Cato helps me protect my loved ones, you can have everything else,” comes Madge’s muffled voice from the other side of the door and Glimmer has to cover her mouth to stifle a gasp. Her eyes widen and this is the juiciest thing she’s heard in ages. Glimmer smiles widely and pushes herself even harder against the door, eager and desperate to hear what comes next. Marvel is going to love this.

“And consider this Clove; I won’t go down without a fight. King Coriolanus is the one who’ll ultimately decide whether or not to dissolve my marriage, not you or Cato. When we get to England, I’m going to do everything I can to convince Coriolanus to side with me and order Cato to come to my bed. And if you think I have no chance at success, think about this. I won Katniss of York’s confidence, I befriended her sister, I managed to have Haymitch Abernathy recommend me for a position in the Queen’s household and I made Gale Hawthorne fall in love with me, even though there is no one who hates the Lancastrians more than him. I needed protection and I got it, even though the Yorkists were my enemies and hated me and everything I stood for. Coriolanus is my blood, if I could win the Yorkists, there is a very good chance I’ll be able to win him. And even if you do win, remember, you’ll lose Cato. So I’ll let you decide what’s most important. Beating me? Or being with Cato?”

Glimmer claps both hands to her mouth and actually bounces with joy, a squeal fighting its way up her throat. This is amazing! She scampers away down the hall before Madge or Clove comes out and sees her, her steps light and her heart soaring. This is not just a magnificent scrap of gossip, this is a mountain, and she cannot wait to let Marvel in on this delicious secret. Even better, they can use this.

Oh Madge, you’re going to be so, so sorry you crossed us)

Madge slips out into the hall once she's said her piece and heads back to her mother's chambers. Her heart is beating in her throat as she moves through the halls, weak January sun painting everything in shades of yellow. She is already anxious to hear Clove's answer but she knows she cannot stay and push. Clove needs to be left alone to decide what to do, if Madge lingers she is likely to refuse just on principal. Madge has done all she can, now, terrifyingly, her fate is in Clove's hands.

"Oh sister dearest, how good to see you," comes Glimmer's too-sweet voice from just behind her and Madge turns, hoping her nerves aren't visible on her face. She smiles and Glimmer returns it, though hers is wider by far.

"Indeed, it has been too long since we last spoke," Madge manages and though she knows her voice lacks sincerity, Glimmer merely beams and loops her arm through Madge's.

"So true. So much has happened, we have much to discuss." She tugs until Madge is walking beside her and there is a light in her eyes Madge cannot help but distrust. "I've been thinking of your marriage and I must say, I definitely think you've stepped up from Gale Hawthorne."

Madge doesn't let loose the exasperated sigh fluttering in her throat and instead tries to keep her tone polite and demure. "I am blessed to be married to Prince Cato."

Glimmer rolls her eyes. "Of course you are, you went from some upstart earl to the heir to the throne. But I know you; this was your idea wasn't it? You've always been clever."

Madge cannot help but narrow her eyes suspiciously. What game is Glimmer playing?

"Thank you for saying so, but I fear you overestimate me," she says and Glimmer lets out a knowing laugh.

"Oh yes, very clever. I can see why Haymitch would be willing to throw Marvel and I aside to support you. He is rather cunning himself; I suppose he admires your skills more than my dear Marvel's."

Madge feels sudden alarm but before she can defend herself, Glimmer is already speaking again with a friendly smile.

"Oh don't worry, I'm not angry. We all play the game, but we cannot all win. I suppose that's why you went after Gale, wasn't it? With the Yorkists in power, you couldn't have hoped to find a better husband. Unless you truly loved him? Did you?"

Glimmer offers the perfect appearance of genuine concern but Madge is not fooled. Glimmer is up to something, but what? What answer is she hoping for? Does she want Madge to admit to loving Gale so she can try and use it to discredit her with the Lancastrians, especially Cato? Is she hoping to challenge Madge's loyalty? Or maybe she wants Madge to admit to manipulating the whole scenario, but what good will that do? Cato already knows, Madge told him herself. Enobaria doesn't know, but it would probably only make her like Madge more if she did find out. No, it must be about Gale.

"I love Prince Cato with all my heart, I could not wish for a better husband," she says and Glimmer beams.

"Oh wonderful, that makes me so happy. It would be dreadful if you were still pining after Gale."

Madge smiles tightly. "I appreciate your concern, but I am a Lancastrian, I always have been. The Earl of Salisbury could never have won my loyalty or affection."

"Of course, how very silly of me. My loyalties have always been to power, it’s easy to forget that there are others with far more scruples," Glimmer says with a laugh. "Yes, I think you shall make a lovely queen of England, so moral and upright. Well, I'll leave you here, it's been wonderful catching up."

Glimmer kisses her firmly on both cheeks and then leaves, Madge staring after her with uncertainty. She is up to something, but what? What was she trying to gain from this conversation?

I have far too many cares already; I do not need to worry about Glimmer too

(and what she can't know about, is the smirk of triumph on Glimmer's face as she walks away)

(Clove is waiting for Cato is his room.

He is feeling buoyant after an exhilarating ride this afternoon, his hair still damp from the snow even as his blood pumps warmth through his body. The cold January air had breathed life into every part of him and when he steps into his room to find Clove sitting on his bed, his heightened emotions turn amorous in nature.

"Hello gorgeous," he says with a grin but feels it drop away immediately. Clove looks up at him with dark eyes and a bleak expression, sudden ice settling beneath his skin.

"What's wrong?" he demands and sits beside her. He takes her hand and it is cold to the touch.

"I spoke to Madge today," she says in the smallest, saddest voice he's ever heard Clove use. He feels suddenly hot with rage.

"I'll kill her," he growls and Clove grips his hand so tight it hurts. She looks at him and somehow, her face grows even bleaker.

"You can't.")

Sitting in bed that night, Madge cannot help feeling slightly terrified. She has done all she can to convince Clove and now she has to wait and see if her argument has borne fruit. If it hasn’t she will have to put all her hopes on Coriolanus and if it has, if it has Cato will come to her bed.

She’s not sure which possibility frightens her more.

There is a little girl urge in her to go to her mother’s room and burrow into her arms as she always used to when she needed comfort, but her mother cannot help her now. Madge needs to consummate this marriage with Cato, the sooner the better. She breathes steadily, tries to remember the excited flutters Gale’s kisses and touches and proximity had lit within her and ignores how cold she feels even under her many layers of blankets. Cato will come, he has to come.

Oh how I hate waiting

Wispy clouds wreathe the stars in the sky when her door opens and Madge feels her heart stop and her breath freeze in her lungs. Cato stands draped in shadows in the doorway, the faint flickering of candlelight just touching his thunderous expression. Madge tries to remember how to breathe and he slams the door, loud enough that the entire castle must hear. She jumps but knows this is a good thing; she needs everyone to know what’s happening here. Cato stalks towards her and Madge presses her hands to her chest, trapping Gale’s locket between her palm and her pounding heart.

“Good evening, my lord,” she says softly and Cato stops walking, his hate filled eyes burning her skin.

“Don’t speak to me,” he hisses, “don’t make a sound. I don’t want to be here and if I have to be, then I want to forget I’m here with you. Don’t talk, don’t move, don’t do anything to remind me you’re here. Understood?” He grinds out each word in a tight voice and Madge nods. Cato comes towards her again and she closes her eyes, nausea suddenly flooding through her.

“Lie down,” he orders and she does. Cato sits on the edge of the bed and yanks off her covers, her eyes opening at the sudden sting of cold air. She bites her lips to button them against a gasp and cannot help looking at Cato. He grabs the hem of her nightgown and pushes it up around her waist, leaving her lower half entirely exposed. Madge can feel herself flush with embarrassment while goosebumps bloom across her skin. Blood roars in her ears, fear tingles in her every nerve and Cato peers down at her with disdain, his mouth curled into a sneer.

“Disgusting,” he says and Madge knows that he is just being cruel, that there is probably nothing wrong with the way she looks but still, she cannot help the prickle of tears in her eyes. Cato turns away from her and reaches into his lap, but from her angle lying rigid on her back, Madge cannot see what he’s doing. She tries not to think as she watches him, tries to drive everything from her mind as his hand moves between his legs but she cannot relax. She knows vaguely what comes next but when he finally stops what he’s doing and climbs on top of her, she isn’t ready. He grabs her thighs and spreads her legs and Madge reminds herself that this what she wanted. She is the one who put every effort into getting him to come here tonight, she is the reason this is happening.

It doesn’t help.

All of a sudden he is inside her, the pain sharp and awful. Tears blur her vision of the ceiling above her and she bites her tongue to hold in her gasp, so hard she can taste the blood in her mouth. Cato does not pause, clearly wants this to happen as quickly as it can and she squeezes her eyes closed, her nails digging into the mattress. Tears slide down her cheeks but she can’t move to wipe them away and it feels like a lifetime of him thrusting into her and pulling back, over and over again. She closes her eyes, cannot look at his face and please God, let this be over quickly.

Finally, he grunts and stops, a warm something spilling between them. He is off of her in an instant and Madge does not watch him leave, her body aching along with her heart.

This is what I wanted.

I won

There is blood on her sheets, something sticky between her thighs but Madge knows she cannot clean it up. She needs the maids to see this proof of her union with Cato tomorrow, needs the whole court to know what’s happened. Just telling them isn’t enough, she needs evidence.

I won. Everything’s going to be okay now

Madge rolls over, presses her face into her pillow and cries herself to sleep.

(The room is dark when Cato comes to her.

Clove sits on the bed, her eyes closed and her hands knotted in her lap. There is no moonlight tonight and she’d blown out the candles as soon as he’d left, she hadn’t wanted any idea how much time was passing.

Cato doesn’t say a word as he steps inside and shuts the door and neither does Clove. She opens her arms to him and he folds into them, his face pressed against her neck. The only sound in the gloom is his ragged breathing and Clove wraps him up, her fingers digging deep into his back as she holds him. They do not speak, cannot perhaps, and that’s it then.

It’s done)

Perhaps it was the gossipy maids that changed her bloody sheets, perhaps it was Cato or even Clove, but news of the royal consummation soon reaches every corner of Enobaria’s court. The effect is immediate.

Madge is soaking in the bath and trying valiantly to scrub away the feel of Cato when the note comes, a short message in Enobaria’s cramped hand.

Come to my solar, I’ve missed you

Madge closes her eyes and struggles to hold in a bitter laugh. What a fickle ally you are Enobaria. Still, Madge cannot refuse her. She may be faithless but she is still Queen of England and still Madge’s mother-in-law. She is an ally Madge needs; no matter how much she wishes she didn’t.

The water is cold as Madge grabs the edge of the tub and pushes herself up, her hours of washing never quite managing to purge Cato from her pores. He lingers still and Madge tries not to remember him as her maids dress her, but she cannot forget. The feel of him inside her, the sound of his breathing, the smell of him as he’d moved above her, it is buried far too deep inside of her to remove.

I wonder if I’m haunting him as he is me

(yes, the answer is yes)

There are no scornful snickers as Madge passes through the halls, no snide remarks or rude looks, just curtsies, bows and respectful murmurs of her title. If ever she wanted proof of her success, here it is. Yesterday she was a laughingstock but today she stands tall among them. Maybe, one day, she’ll be able to take comfort in that.

“Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales,” a herald announces and Madge sweeps into Enobaria’s chambers. The other ladies stand and curtsy, Enobaria welcoming her with a wide smile.

“It’s been too long,” she says and Madge forces a smile to go along with her curtsy.

“That it has, your Majesty,” she says with as much warmth as she can drag up. Enobaria’s eyes glow with pleasure and she pats the stool beside her.

“Here, sit with me,” she says and Madge goes, taking her new position of honour with a bittersweet tang on her tongue. She’s done it, won the war and claimed her prize. She is Princess of Wales, future Queen of England and she cannot think about what she’s lost. The price is worth it. Gale, Annie, her mother, the Hawthornes, Katniss, they’re worth it.

Enobaria curls a hand around Madge’s shoulder and leans in very close. “Congratulations on defeating Cato’s harlot, you’ve done well. I’m quite impressed.”

Madge closes her eyes.

Remember Gale, Annie, Mother, Katniss, Prim, the Hawthornes

This is for them

It’s worth it for them

(“Mother?”

Margaret looks up from the book she’s been reading and sees Madge standing in her doorway. Her daughter is pale and though she does not say a word, Margaret can read the desperate plea for comfort in her eyes. Her heart gives a terrible throb in her chest and she opens her arms.

“Come here, darling,” she says and Madge comes, collapsing into Margaret’s chest with a shuddering breath. Madge does not explain but Margaret does not need her to. She wraps her daughter up in her arms and runs a hand down her back as Madge trembles against her, her own heart shaking into pieces.

“I love you sweetheart. I will always love you, my brave, wonderful Madge.”)

“Might I join you?” Annie asks and Madge looks up from her untouched embroidery frame. Annie stands in the doorway to Madge’s bedchamber with her own needlework, a soft, sympathetic smile on her face. Madge nods.

“I can’t imagine being the center of attention over something like this,” Annie says quietly as she sits on the stool facing Madge’s. Madge shrugs.

“I suppose that’s the peril of being a princess,” she says with an awkward attempt to be jovial. Annie reaches over and places a hand on her knee.

“I know what this means dynastically and for your position, but how are you?”

Madge looks out the window at the faintly falling snow and tries to keep her voice steady. “I’m fine. I mean it hurt and it was uncomfortable, but that’s normal. I won’t say it was the height of romance, but I never thought it would be. I may never enjoy it, but I don’t need to.”

Annie does not say anything and Madge hates her hazy reflection in the window, the terrible sadness of her face in the glass. It is rare that a highborn lady marries for love; Madge is only doing what so many before her have. There is no need to be miserable; this is just what life is like for people like them.

(and maybe if she tells herself this enough, it will make it okay)

“I for one am glad you will be our next queen. I can’t think of anyone better.”

Madge turns to look at Annie and the gentle understanding in her eyes soothes some of the raggedness within her. She cannot dwell on last night, at least not on the chasm it opened inside her and she can see on Annie’s face that she understands why. Annie squeezes her knee and then settles back on her stool. She pulls up her embroidery frame and Madge knows that should she ever need to talk, Annie will listen.

For the first time today she smiles for real.

(Gale yawns as he makes his way to bed, the long hallway dark and empty. He drags his feet, exhausted from another frustrating day of planning and plotting. This exile has been one of endless repetition, each and every day spent planning for a hopeful return to England while Peeta works to gain them the aid they’ll need from Burgundy. It is always the same, nothing ever changes and no progress is ever made. Gale rubs at a knot just below his shoulder and tries not to sigh. He has faith, he has to, that they’ll regain England, that he’ll see his family again and be reunited with Madge, but that does not make this blasted banishment any easier.

He passes Rory’s room and pauses in front of the open door. He can see his brother sitting by the window, his head angled to stare out at the white flurries swirling beyond the glass. The hall’s torchlight stretches a thin yellow line into the otherwise unlighted room and Gale closes his eyes. Every day of this cursed exile Rory seems to grow more and more melancholy and Gale doesn’t know how to make things better. When he was younger it had seemed so easy being his siblings’ knight in shining armor, protecting them from scraped knees and monsters under their bed, but the older they all get, the more Gale realizes he might not be enough to keep them safe.

He has never felt so useless.

Still, he can’t leave after seeing Rory like this. Useless he may be, but he’ll never stop trying. He takes a step forward and knocks softly on the open door.

“Can I come in?” he asks and Rory nods. Gale walks into the chilly room and makes a note to order warming pans brought up. He sits down beside his brother and joins him in gazing out at the January night.

“What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” he asks and Rory sighs quietly.

“Thinking,” he says and Gale frowns.

“Thinking about what?”

Rory blows out a breath and shrugs. “Just…winter. Winter back home before…before Dad…”

Before Dad died Gale finishes silently and feels the familiar mix of pain and anger start to flood his veins. He nods stiffly and puts an arm around Rory’s shoulders. There is a pause where they both watch the snow dance through the sky and then Rory starts to speak, his voice soft and sad.

“We’d sit by the fire and eat warm pie while Mum told all those stories about snow pixies and winter fairies,” he says and Gale remembers so sharply he feels it like a knife to the gut. “Dad would build us sliding hills outside and we’d have snow forts and wars, always me and Vick versus you and Posy.”

Rory tries to smile, to laugh but can’t and Gale feels almost sick with helplessness. He needs to say something, can’t bear the tragic look of his fourteen year old brother’s misery and forces cheer into his voice.

“And we always won,” he says, bumping Rory with his shoulder and Rory manages a phantom smile with a roll of his eyes.

“Only because you cheated. You and Posy were the worst.”

Gale laughs a little more genuinely and gives his brother a shove. “I never cheat!” he says in mock outrage.

“Hah! You always cheat,” Rory says with a snort and Gale feels his chest warm at his brother’s smile.

It doesn’t last.

“We’ll never do that again, will we? Even if we do go home, we’ll never have those winters again. I know it’s been years since Dad, but still, being here, it really hit me.” Rory’s voice is resigned and Gale feels a sharp pain in stomach. He puts his arm back around his brother and pulls Rory close.

“We will,” he says firmly and Rory looks up at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Next winter, we’ll be home again and we’ll sit by the fire and eat pie and listen to all of Mum’s stories. I’ll build the sliding hills and we’ll still have our wars, though we’ll have to let Philippa and Petronella join in, they are Hawthornes now after all.”

Gale wants to sound confident but is fairly certain he sounds slightly pleading. Rory looks down for a moment and Gale feels as if he is standing on a very thin ledge over an impossibly deep gorge. But then Rory grins.

“Alright, but we get Philippa.”

Gale’s eyebrows shoot up and he cannot contain his smirk. “You want her on your team? Well, well-”

“Shut up,” Rory says with a grimace. “It’s only because Nella’s too nice to be much use in a fight. If I’m going to war, Philippa’s definitely the better choice.”

Gale considers this and nods in agreement. “Yeah, alright, point.”

“Since I’m such a good sport, I’ll take Henry,” Rory says and Gale frowns.

“But then the teams won’t be even,” he says and Rory bites his lip. He looks up at Gale with the shyest hint of a smile.

“No, I mean, Madge’ll be part of the family by then, right?” he says and Gale blinks in surprise before smiling softly. He gives Rory a squeeze.

“Right.”

(sometimes faith is hard to keep alive)

(but it is easier when he has someone to believe with)

“And she’ll be way more useful then Henry, he’s way too easily distracted. Even though you’re a notorious cheater, I am committed to fair play. Since I get Philippa, you can have Madge,” Rory continues primly, his eyes bright with teasing. Gale gasps in offense but cannot keep down his grin.

“Oh, I see. That’s how it is, is it?” he says and drags Rory over so he can mess up his hair. Rory laughs and tries to swat him away.

“That is how it is! If Vick were here he’d say the same thing, you and Posy always cheat!” he says and wiggles out of Gale’s grip. He bounces over to the bed and Gale knows exactly what's coming. Rory snatches up a pillow and Gale leaps to his feet.

“Scoundrel!” he declares and Rory grins wickedly as he hurls his pillow at Gale’s head. Gale catches it and Rory grabs his other pillow, the two of them circling like duelists.

“I’m not afraid of you, cheater!” Rory shouts as he puffs out his chest and Gale launches in, pillow swinging wildly. He gets Rory in the face at the same time Rory whacks him in the stomach, the air whooshing out of him. Rory cackles and dances away, even as his hair sticks out wildly in every direction. Gale charges after him with a loud laugh and maybe it’s alright that he can’t save his siblings from everything.

After all, they’re getting pretty good at saving him)

Once a week, Cato comes to Madge’s room.

She does not move, does not make a sound and Cato still cannot look at her with anything other than loathing, but they do what they have to. Revulsion thickens in her veins and though the pain is not nearly as awful as at the start, it never goes away, her body never ready and willing no matter how much she wishes it would be. She does not know how to force herself to be interested or excited and so she bites her lip and grits her teeth and forces down every flinch.

I am so close, all I need is a son and heir for England and I’ll never have to be afraid again

Cato hates climbing on top of Madge and thrusting inside her bone dry body, but he knows he has no choice. He must do this if he wants a future with Clove, no matter how much it makes his skin crawl. The illness in his stomach does not go away no matter how many times he beds her and he keeps his eyes closed, tries to forget who is lying beneath him but the experience is never anything but a duty he must force himself through.

I am so close, all I need is a son and heir for England and I’ll never have to suffer through this again

(Months have gone by, seasons have changed and still, England remains in Lancastrian hands. Philippa stays hidden in the countryside with her mother and fumes, angry to be locked away, angry that her father pretends to support Lancaster, angry that they must be ruled by people she has been raised to fear. She wishes she could go to court and tell wicked, old Coriolanus how despicable he is to his face, but her mother is so appalled by that idea she actually collapses.

Philippa appeals to her brother next, but John, usually her most steadfast champion, looks at her like she’s lost her mind.

“Are you mad? You cannot speak to a king that way and certainly not this one,” he says and she glares at him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I’m not afraid of him,” she snaps back and John shakes his head.

“That’s because you’re still a little girl.”

“I am not! I’m fifteen, I’m married, I’m a marchioness! I’m not a child.”

John shakes his head again and puts his hands on her shoulders. He bends down to look her in the eyes and she hates the expression on his face.

“You are if you think courage alone will topple Coriolanus. You might be brave enough to give him a lashing with your tongue; God knows you’ve never shied away from giving one to anyone else, but that would be foolhardy and pointless. Standing up in the face of injustice is a noble thing, but not if it will do more harm than good. You think you are grown up? Then prove it by being wise and realizing that there is a place, time and way to send evil men to their graves. Recklessly giving them a tell off will achieve nothing but bringing misery down upon all of us.”

Philippa does not answer but she feels his chastisement bring embarrassed colour to her cheeks.

“I hate doing nothing but hiding out here with Mother. Katniss and Gale will be leading armies; even Rory will probably fight when York comes back. I will do nothing but sit here,” she complains and hates the edge of petulance in her voice. John pulls back with an affectionate laugh.

“Oh Philippa, what a warrior you’d make,” he says and ruffles her hair. She scowls and swats away his hand.

“I could be. Katniss is a woman and she has no equal on the field of battle. Why can’t I learn to fight as well?”

John’s eyes widen and for a moment he seems at a loss for words.

“Because,” he begins and Philippa feels her eyes narrow. “It is simply not done.”

“Katniss is doing it,” she retorts and he frowns.

“Katniss…Katniss is the exception to the rule.”

“Why? Why must she be an exception? Why can we not make a new rule?” she demands and John huffs in frustration. He takes her by the shoulders again and squeezes tight.

“Because it isn’t how things work and it won’t be, not ever. This is why Mother and Father think it best to keep you here, far away from court. You are ridiculous. You cannot tell a king his faults and you cannot fight in wars. Women cannot and will never be knights. Those are childish fantasies and you know it.”

Philippa has always loved John the best of all her many siblings but in this moment it feels as if he’s slapped her clear across the face. She backs away from him and tries very hard to keep the tears from her voice.

“Then I shan’t trouble you with them any longer,” she says and turns on her heel before he can see her cry.

“Philippa,” he says in exasperation but she cannot turn back. She hurries down the hall and feels so stupid it aches. She remembers how desperate Rory was to prove himself a man and feels hatred bubble in her gut. All he needs to do to be treated as an equal is to grow up, but I’ll never be their equal no matter how old I get.

I am a girl and they will always hold that against me.)

March arrives with slushy rain and muddy streets, spring so tantalizingly close Madge can almost taste it. Her eighteenth birthday looms and beyond that their departure for England and Madge feels her blood boil at the thought. Home is so close, the end of this nightmare almost at hand and now that the time is so near, she can barely stand the waiting. She can feel the yearning humming in her bones and she is jittery with anticipation, her nervous energy infuriating Cato so much he refuses to come to her bed until she learns to stop fidgeting. She should care about that, but she can’t, not now. Not when safety and home are so very, very close.

Of course, the promise of England is not all joy and sunshine. Coriolanus is waiting for them in England and this time, Madge will not be able to hide from him in the country like she did when she was young. She is his daughter-in-law now. Still, if she’s lucky Cato will be sent off to Wales to govern his own court for experience, as the heir to the throne so often is. She’ll go with him of course, which means she’ll only have to spend time with her in-laws on special occasions. Being alone with Cato and Clove won’t be a dream certainly, but she’ll have Annie and Finnick too and no Coriolanus. That will be good enough. Life is far too dark already, she is determined now to only look on the bright side.

(because of this new vow, she does not think of the Hawthornes and the betrayal she is sure to see in their eyes when they meet again)

(she cannot think of them, or Prim, or Katniss and especially not Gale)

(except, of course, that she cannot stop thinking about them either)

“Do you know what today is?” Annie asks softly on one of those impossibly long March days and Madge looks out the window at the iron gray Channel in the distance. For a moment the excitement inside her quiets and she remembers, even though she wishes she couldn’t.

“Yes,” she whispers and they do not need to say anything else. They both stand from their stools and move into each other’s arms, the almost-spring chill sinking beneath their skin.

Today marks the one year anniversary of their exile from England.

Madge cannot sleep that night, the shadows in her room so much deeper than they should be.

Has it really been a year since we left? A year since I last saw Gale?

She thinks of him as she’d last seen him in Rochester’s courtyard, his armor gleaming and his smile confident. Her eyes burn and she remembers that kiss goodbye, the last she’ll ever have. Her fingers curl around his locket and a promise of things to come he’d whispered to her ear, a promise neither of them can keep. Her grip is so tight it aches but she cannot let go, her heart splintering in her chest.

Almost three years since the Yorkists won and I lost you Father and a year since I lost Gale and home

What a wicked month March is

(There is dream Finnick often has, one where he is safe in Wales with Annie and a family of their own. He has always thought of this as the future, believed that one day, once the upheaval was finally settled, he would have that.

But with each new day that comes and goes, he is starting to wonder if maybe, maybe it is just a dream.

An impossible dream)

“I have an urgent message your Majesty,” a breathless messenger say as he tumbles into Enobaria’s solar and Madge looks up quickly from the book she’d been reading. The man is dripping wet from the awful weather outside, his clothes dark and heavy, his hair stuck to his face and a puddle widening around his feet. He is panting and his fingers fidget around the hat in his hands and Madge knows whatever news he brings cannot be good.

Enobaria carefully sets down the account book she’d been perusing and looks at the messenger with a neutral expression, her whole being calm and unperturbed. “And what message is that?” she asks coolly and whatever else she feels about Enobaria, Madge must admire her composure.

“Katniss of York has returned to England,” he says and a gasp ripples through the room. Enobaria’s ladies exchange whimpers and terrified looks while Madge presses her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. Oh Gale

“And?” Enobaria asks, her tone sharpening, and the messenger swallows.

“The Burgundians have lent her money, arms and soldiers. She had a difficult crossing, her fleet was scattered by bad weather but the Yorkists finally managed to put in at Ravenspurn. She has managed to evade all our forces and last I heard, she had reached the town of Warwick and gained a substantial enough force to re-declare herself Queen of England. She heads now for London, with the Duke of Clarence hot on her heels. He urgently requests that you and your remaining forces sail for England immediately, lest Katniss get too much of a foothold within the country. He is sure that if your forces join his the Yorkists will be crushed.”

Enobaria’s eyes darken, her jaw clenches and Madge feels so sick she is terrified she may puke. This is every one of her fears come to life, another war, another chance at defeat and of losing everything she has managed to gain. Safety is once again torn from her grasp and if the Yorkists win, she knows she will be ruined. She is Princess of Wales now, Cato of Lancaster’s wedded wife; she can’t expect forgiveness like last time. This isn’t fair, what are we going to do?

Enobaria stands suddenly. “Fetch my ministers, we have much to discuss,” she orders and the messenger bows hastily before fleeing. Enobaria storms after him and Madge stays where she is, her heart pounding in her ears.

This means war, a war like last time

Lancaster versus York in a battle that will split England in two

All my prayers that this was over were for naught

Oh Gale, what are we going to do?

(Once, Darius had fed important information to the Lancastrians to ensure their victory. This time, it is Prim that changes the tide of battle.

London is meant to be defended by Brutus, Duke of Somerset and indeed, no one but those trapped behind London’s walls knows he is absent. Prim doesn’t know where he is, but he isn’t here and that makes all the difference. Without him, London will not withstand a siege, and as Prim soon discovers, it does not want to.

As the wife of the Duke of Buckingham, a trusted member of the Lancastrian nobility, no one notices or cares that Prim wanders through London’s streets, quietly questioning its people to know which side they’re on. She talks to noblemen, governesses, butchers, ladies, merchants and more, cautiously sounding them out on the issue of England’s great civil war. She is charming and friendly, always casual in her questions and it does not take her long to realize that trapped here with Coriolanus and his vileness, the people of London are ready to see the Yorkists triumph.

She hurries home and scrawls a quick message to her sister, one telling her to make for the undefended London as fast as she can. Seizing the capital will not win them the war, but it will give the Yorkists a decided advantage, one they cannot afford to pass up. Prim watches her messenger ride out from her window and no one stops or questions him, the Stafford knot he wears guaranteeing safe passage.

And then she waits.

Prim does not speak of what she’s done, does not even hint of it to Darius, but he learns soon enough. Everyone learns soon enough.

She is sitting in her solar embroidering a cushion for her soon to be born baby when Darius comes rushing in, his hands running wildly through his hair. For a moment he merely paces back and forth, the dying sunlight through the windows setting his orange hair aflame. Prim watches him with anxious hope writhing in her chest, her nails digging painfully into her thighs. Finally, she can take it no longer.

“What’s wrong?” she asks and Darius stops his pacing and turns to her with panicked eyes.

“The Yorkists are almost here,” he says and Prim smiles widely, joy and triumph flooding through her. Oh Katniss, I cannot wait to see you again.

“Why are you smiling?” Darius demands and Prim levels him with a hard stare.

“Why wouldn’t I be smiling? My sister’s coming home and we’ll soon be rid of Coriolanus and his evil.”

“If the Yorkists win, I’ll be ruined,” he says and Prim feels her heart harden.

“And whose fault is that? You chose Lancaster, so now you’ll have to pay the price,” she says and his eyes widen, pain so stark in his eyes she can feel it all the way to her toes.

“They might execute me Prim,” he says, his voice rising fearfully, and underneath the pain and rage and betrayal, there is a broken heart in Prim’s chest.

“Then you shouldn’t have chosen Lancaster,” she says through the tears blurring her eyes and he staggers back and buries his head in his hands.

“I did it for you,” he sobs and she shakes her head, her eyes closing to block out the devastating sight of him.

“No, you didn’t. I never wanted this and if you knew me at all, you’d have known that. You betrayed York as you betrayed Lancaster before, you did it for you. If I wasn’t here you’d have done the same thing.”

“Is that it then, you want me dead?” he chokes out and she clutches her hands so tight her nails draw blood.

“No. No, no, I don’t. This is your fault, you did this,” she says miserably. “You’re making me choose, between you and Katniss, between you and what I believe is best for England. I can’t choose you Darius, I can’t.” She breaks off and weeps, her sorrow so thick she can barely breathe. Darius crumples to the floor, hopelessness settling over their home like a heavy mantle and Prim hugs herself, the agony in her chest so terrible she can barely keep upright)

(love was never meant to hurt like this)

Enobaria and her councilors stay locked in conference for days, joined often by King Louis, and Madge sits with her mother and Annie, terror their constant companion. They rarely speak, for there are no words, but she holds Annie’s cold hand and her mother’s bony one, and prays for peace, for life, for a world where English blood will not be spilled by other Englishmen.

Cato comes to her every night in these tense times and she knows why. They do not speak, just as always, but when she looks at his face, she can read so many things there he might as well say the words. He is terrified of losing his birthright, he is hungry to prove himself a man in battle and he is angry that she has not yet fallen with child. He is young, they both are, but the fate of a kingdom sits heavily on them both. A pregnancy would go a long way to bolstering the Lancastrian position, especially as Katniss remains childless. They need a baby, an heir to prove to England that the Lancastrians are the safer bet for a stable future and so Cato comes to her each and every night, desperate to plant his seed within her.

So desperate is this need that he consults the physician who gives them both a long list of medicine’s best and newest methods for conceiving a child. There are specific things to eat and not to eat, specific times that are apparently better to perform the act, even things they should be thinking and doing during the act. If Madge clenches her hand, it will apparently up her chances of having a boy and if they both think violent, manly thoughts, that too will heighten their chances of conceiving a son. They do it all, do everything he recommends but Madge wonders deep down if it will be enough.

Cato has been bedding Clove for years and she has never had any children, what if that’s because of Cato? Clove could be barren certainly, but what if it isn’t her? What if Cato is the incapable one? Madge never breathes a word of this fear, for there is no point. Cato is the heir; if he cannot have children they are ruined. Instead she does everything the physician tells her to, does everything Cato tells her to and prays that Clove is the barren one and that soon a child will take root within her.

Give me a son; please please give us a son

(When Katniss and her army arrive before London, the city gates are thrown open, Coriolanus is thrown in the Tower and Prim stands on Westminster’s steps to welcome her sister home.

Darius does not stand with her)

They set sail on March 24th.

London has fallen and Enobaria finally decides they must go to England before all is lost. King Louis provides them with ships, men and money and Madge packs up her things with shaking hands. She cannot forget her last channel crossing and worse, this time they are sailing into a war.

The day of is gray with ugly clouds and Madge feels the salty sting of sea air on her face as she reaches the pier, a rush of awful memories flooding back. She shakes her head but cannot dislodge them and pulls out her rosary with fumbling fingers, prayers tumbling from her lips. She cannot even begin to imagine how Glimmer must feel.

“Come along, you’ll be on my ship,” Enobaria says and Madge looks up at her mother-in-law with a queasy feeling in her stomach.

“And my mother?” she asks in a small, scared voice that causes Enobaria to sneer.

“We will be joined only by my ladies. Any other woman of the court will have to board a different ship.”

Madge closes her eyes as the wind roars, because she knows what that means. She will be trapped with Enobaria, Cato and Clove, but she will not have her mother or Annie. She wants to cry but knows she can’t and instead she opens her eyes to look at the ship swaying before her. Enobaria is waiting for her and Madge knows she must be strong, knows too that England is waiting for her on the other side. She must be brave here, so she will.

“I am ready when you are, your Majesty,” she says and Enobaria smiles.

“Good, come along.”

Be brave my Madge

I will Father

(Glimmer has not stepped foot on a ship since the worst day of her life and she can feel ice prickling in her blood as she stares at the line of boats meant to carry them to England. There is a nightmare growing in her chest, memories with jagged teeth tearing at her fragile strength and for a moment, she feels as if she may collapse. She can smell blood on the wind, taste bile on her tongue and there is pain in her, a pain she could never hope to describe. Fear thrums in her bones and she cannot do this, she cannot ascend onto that ship, cannot plunge into darkness yet again. Bony fingers dig into her stomach and Glimmer closes her eyes but that only makes it worse, her gray, dead baby looking back at her from her lowered lids.

“Courage, my dear,” comes a faint voice and Glimmer peels open her eyes. Margaret watches her with concern on her pale face and reaches out one frail hand to squeeze Glimmer’s shoulder. “We shall weather this storm together.”

Glimmer feels hate like a hot knife in her gut, feels it like a lightning bolt through her very soul. Margaret had promised her in hushed tones that everything would be alright, but it hadn’t been. Margaret had lied and killed Glimmer’s baby and she and her foul husband and wretched daughter will pay dearly for it. Glimmer feels that thirst for vengeance swell within her and suddenly there is no room for fear or pain or sorrow. She is fury and revenge and wicked determination.

She will make it to England, for she will not miss the downfall of all those who’ve wronged her. She and Marvel are going to make them pay.

Glimmer smiles with poisoned lips at her mother-in-law and steels herself for the journey ahead. I am coming my love, soon we shall watch them burn together.

I cannot wait)

Madge kneels over the sick bucket, her fingers aching as they grip the wooden rim. She coughs and retches as she empties the last remaining contents of her stomach, her gut clenching with a terrible agony.

“If you don’t stop that soon I’ll have you thrown overboard,” Clove snaps but Madge barely listens as she slumps over onto the floor, her latest bout of illness sapping away the last of her strength. Her throat burns and she closes her eyes even as the ship shudders all over.

“You will do no such thing,” Enobaria says sternly and Madge clutches her stomach as it rolls with the ship. If the crossing to France had been a disaster, this one is turning out to be a catastrophe. The storms are so violent they’ve been pushed back to France over and over again, but Enobaria will not concede defeat. Each time they’re shoved back to France, she demands they try again and here they are, trying for the fourth time to make the trip across the Channel. Madge is honestly surprised she has anything left to vomit.

“And who knows,” Enobaria says, “maybe this sickness is not entirely due to the weather.”

Madge opens her eyes and looks at her mother-in-law, the only one among them who seems unaffected by the tossing, turning and the thunder that booms so loudly it sounds as if the very world is shattering to pieces. She sits straight backed and proud, not a hint of emotion on her face. There is the very faintest light in her eyes, a question Madge cannot answer, though she wishes in this moment that she could. Is she with child? That would be a blessing to Lancaster, but Madge remembers their trip to France and how ill she’d been then too.

Another wave slams into the hull and the whole room tilts, Madge’s bucket scraping along the floor until it collides with her chest. She winces and feels acid burn up her throat, her hand clamping over her mouth to try and hold it back. Clove curses as she nearly topples from her seat and a thin wail erupts from one of Enobaria’s cowering ladies, though Madge can barely hear it over the sounds of the storm above them. It feels as if they have been trapped in this tiny, foul smelling room for years and Madge tries to sit up, even as her head spins and her stomach heaves. She pushes herself up with shaking arms and has to grab her bucket to keep upright as the ship lurches again. Water sneaks under the door to their chamber and soaks into Madge’s skirt and the ladies whimper as the thunder crackles.

“We’ll never make it to England at this rate,” Clove snarls and Enobaria glances at her with disdain.

“We’ll make it,” she says firmly and the ship pitches again. Madge cannot stop herself this time and leans over her bucket, even though there is barely any room within to accept the last dregs of her stomach.

“I cannot listen to this anymore or smell it!” Clove snaps and Madge cannot remember ever feeling so awful. The nausea, the aches, the splitting pain in her skull, the burning in her throat, the exhaustion and misery in every inch of her, this must be what it feels like to die.

“Feel free to leave, you can always join the men up top,” Enobaria offers and Clove stands abruptly and kicks away her stool. Madge looks at her through bleary eyes and the ship rolls again, sending Clove careening back into the wall. Enobaria smirks and Madge’s bucket goes to, tipping over and spilling out across the floor. The ladies shriek, Clove swears and Madge cannot stop from weeping miserably.

If we survive this, I will never board a ship again

I would rather die

(Ever since he was sixteen years old, Darius has been willing to do whatever it takes to survive.

Today is no different.

He’d fled London upon Katniss’ approach and joined the closest Lancastrian force he could find. He hadn’t been thinking much about the future, only on the immediate need to get away from vengeful Yorkists that would surely want his head as payment for his betrayal. Now, as both sides rush towards battle, he knows it is time to make a decision. Who should he fight for? Lancaster or York?

“Darius, do you mind if I join you?”

Darius looks up from the fire he’d been brooding into and sees Marvel approaching him. He nods and scoots over on the log he’d been using as a bench. Marvel wrinkles his nose at the log but sits down, perching as lightly as he can. Darius can sympathize. Tramping around with the army has never been luxurious.

“You look troubled,” Marvel says with a curious smile and Darius swallows. Does he know what I’m thinking? Is he on to me?

“I was just…just thinking of Prim,” he says and feels his heart thud painfully. Marvel nods.

“Ah yes, I suppose she’s thrilled to have Katniss back?”

Darius cannot answer that, a lump blocking his throat but Marvel merely smiles a little wider.

“Terrible how this war has divided our family, isn’t it?” he asks and Darius nods miserably. Will I ever see Prim again? Will she ever even speak to me if I choose to fight with Lancaster? And what of our boy? Will I ever get to meet him?

“I miss my wife as well; I’ve been too long without her.” Marvel suddenly grins and elbows him. “Of course, you know all about Glimmer’s charms don’t you?”

Darius feels his face heat up at this reminder of his ill-fated infatuation with Glimmer. He’d made such an ass of himself trailing after her and composing hideous poetry. He remembers how appalled Finnick had been with sudden, painful clarity and feels his heart give another agonizing thud. If I go back to York I’ll alienate Finnick forever. Maybe, if I stay with Lancaster I can one day make things right between us. But then I’ll lose Prim.

Either way, I cannot win.

“Civil wars are so bothersome. No matter what side you choose, someone you know’s chosen the opposite. It’s all so tiresome,” Marvel says with a sigh and Darius breathes deeply. Marvel is right; the only victory he can hope for is survival.

He must choose which side is more likely to win, just as he always has. Of course, he must also factor in Prim. She is the only one who knows that he gave the Lancastrians the information they needed to drive Katniss from the country, if she tells it won’t matter if he fights for York. They will see him die a traitor’s death anyway. Will she keep his secret? Does she even need to?

Who do I choose? Who’s going to win?

Lancaster? Or York?)

(and who am I going to lose this time?)

(As the two armies hurry to meet each other, Marvel feels power surge through his veins.

This is the moment he’s been waiting for.

Vengeance will finally be his)

Twenty one days after they first left France, the Lancastrian forces finally land in England.

It is April 14th and the sky is a pearly gray as the ships scuttle into Weymouth, their passengers wretched and weary. Madge is huddled in the corner of their room when the ship finally pulls into port, her forehead pressed to her knees. She feels empty, painfully so, and she smells of seawater and vomit.

“Get up,” Clove barks and prods her with her booted foot. “We’re here.”

Madge looks up at her and feels instantly lightheaded, the whole room spinning. She closes her eyes and Clove makes a rough noise of disgust in her throat.

“You smell foul,” she reports, “and you look it too.”

Madge does not answer but she cannot help but think that however awful she looks, Clove cannot be much better. She blinks her eyes open slowly and the Clove standing before her is disheveled and unkempt, her hair tangled, her skin painfully white with heavy bags hanging below her eyes. There are dark water splotches on her gown and maybe something else, but Madge does not want to look too close. Clove tuts and prods her harder.

“Get up,” she repeats and Madge places her palms on the floor. She can feel the gentle bobbing of the ship as it sits in the harbor and her stomach starts to roil. How can there be anything left? I haven’t stopped being sick since we left and I can’t even remember the last thing I ate. She takes a deep breath and pushes herself up, her arms trembling. Her legs sway as she tries to stand and Clove recoils when Madge leans in her direction.

“Ew, stay away. I don’t need you being sick all over me.” She scampers off and Madge reaches out to the wall to steady herself. Her legs feel like jelly and nausea continues to roll through her, only the thought of solid land giving her any strength at all. She drags herself towards the door and tries not to inhale too deeply, the putrid stench of their sick room only making her feel worse. She shuffles more than walks but she is better off than some of Enobaria’s ladies who lie heaped in the corner and can’t seem to stand at all. One tries to crawl but the rest stay moaning with gray faces. Madge knows how they feel.

Clove has left the door open and Madge chases the scent of fresh air, sucking it deep into her lungs. She stumbles through the doorway and clutches the frame to keep herself standing, the salty wind washing over her like a blessing. The dampness of the day settles heavily over her but still, it is not the smell of puke and fear. The stairs are a struggle and Madge climbs them painfully, her body still weak and aching. Two squires scurry down past her, probably to drag out Enobaria’s ladies, and she almost wants to ask them if they’d mind carrying her the rest of the way. She makes it out on deck and the harbor is a mess of activity, their boats lined up with men hurriedly offloading horses, arms, supplies and people. Gulls circle above them and Madge casts her eyes over their collection of ships, her stomach dropping when she realizes not all their ships are accounted for. She tries desperately not to let fear flood in but weak and unsteady as she is, she cannot keep it at bay. What of Mother and Annie? Are they alright?

She spots Enobaria on the docks, still looking poised and unaffected, and Madge hurries to join her. Panic gives strength to her legs and she pulls herself along the ship’s rail, past sailors and soldiers and squires. She trips down the gangplank and rushes over the dock, her boots slipping over the wet wood. Enobaria is surveying the ships and Cato stands with her, Clove clinging to his arm. He too looks worse for the wear, his hair blown in every direction, his face pinched and pale, and his clothes wet all over. He scowls at Madge as she approaches.

“You look terrible,” he says and Madge doesn’t bother to acknowledge that.

“Not all our ships are here,” she says in a slightly too high voice and Enobaria merely shrugs.

“We’re only missing a few and they might well have made landfall somewhere else. There’s no need to panic.” It is not a suggestion but a command and Madge bites her lip, swallowing the rest of her questions. She will find no sympathy or answers here.

“Come,” Enobaria continues, “we’ll be staying in Cerne Abbey.”

Madge nods even as her heart quakes and makes to follow Enobaria as she goes. Before she can, Cato reaches out and tugs her hair.

“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a hennin? You are my wife after all,” he says and Madge doesn’t know what game he’s playing, but she doesn’t care either.

“It must have fallen off,” she says tiredly and he snorts.

“Or maybe you’re hoping Gale Hawthorne will come swoop you away and you don’t want him to know you’re someone else’s wife.”

Madge closes her eyes and tries to ignore the throb in her temple. She turns to Cato and clutches her stomach.

“Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick again.”

Cato drops her tangle of hair as if burned and backs away quickly. Madge smiles tightly and leaves before he can do something else, the thought of Gale intruding as it hadn’t the entire voyage here. She’d been too sick and terrified to think of him but now he fills her up, her heart trembling for him as well as Annie and her mother. Has there been a battle? Will there be one soon? How are you my love?

Madge closes her eyes and maybe she hadn’t been lying to Cato.

She really might be sick after all.

It is Brutus, Duke of Somerset that brings them news.

It is the morning after their arrival and Madge has not bathed yet, though she has managed to sleep, if fitfully. Her dreams are a mess of drowning and battles, blood and sea water, and Madge jolts awake in a tangle of sweaty sheets. She breathes heavily and feels far from rested, her eyes throbbing in her head. She digs fingers into her temples and cringes as a heavy knock sounds from her door.

“The Queen requests your company,” a grave voice calls from the other side of the wood and Madge barely swallows a sigh. She’d much rather stay abed and maybe scrub herself clean, but she knows Enobaria will accept no excuses. If she has ordered Madge to appear, she has no choice but to comply. She is miserable and tired, but she pushes of her blankets and climbs slowly from bed, her legs still not quite steady. The door opens and a sickly faced lady of Enobaria’s shuffles in to help her dress. Madge offers her a sympathetic grimace and digs through her things for a refreshingly unsoiled dress. The lady laces her into it and brushes out her hair, tucking it all beneath a short hennin. Madge glances at herself in the mirror and winces at the wan face looking back, but she knows there is nothing to be done. Their journey has taken far too great a toll for any cosmetics to fix.

“Thank you,” Madge tells her helper, but the lady barely seems to hear her. Glassy eyed and colourless, she curtsies stiffly and stumbles from the room. Madge can understand her suffering. Madge follows her out and a stern face monk waits to lead her to Enobaria. They walk the thankfully short distance to the room Enobaria has appropriated as a dining hall and the scent of warm food assaults Madge as soon as she steps through the door. Her stomach gurgles unhappily and she tries hard not to breathe through her nose. Enobaria sits at the head of the little table, looking far more vibrant than she has any right to after their horrid crossing and Cato stabs angrily at his food without actually putting any in his mouth and glares at his mother over his wine glass. Madge can only guess he is in such a huff because Enobaria has not allowed Clove to join them.

“Ah, Madge, sit,” Enobaria says and Madge offers a wobbly curtsy and tepid smile. She drops heavily into a chair across from Cato and frowns at the spread of food before her. She is too queasy for wine and accepts only water instead, her empty stomach not quite keen to be filled just yet with food. She picks at a piece of bread and Cato sighs broodingly, the scratching sound of his knife dragging over his plate grating to hear. Enobaria ignores them both and eats heartily, merrily munching on cheese and beef. Madge envies her heartiness.

And that’s when the Duke arrives.

He bursts in unannounced and Madge drops her knife with a clatter while Cato chokes over a too big mouthful of wine. He coughs and sputters and Enobaria’s eyes widen, her first sign of emotion all day. The Duke bows curtly.

“Your Majesty, my Prince, I bring grave news.”

“Why weren’t you defending London?” Cato interrupts and Enobaria shoots him a frustrated look.

“We can talk about that later. What news do you have?”

Cato crosses his arms and settles back into his chair to sulk while the Duke presses his mouth into a grim line.

“A battle was fought yesterday at Barnet. It was a rout,” he pronounces with a growl and Madge feels her stomach plummet.

“How?” Enobaria demands and Cato’s nostrils flare even while he continues to pout.

“We heavily outnumbered them and indeed, we were winning at first. The Earl of Oxford was in charge of the right wing and quickly overwhelmed and routed the Yorkist left. Unfortunately his men took this to mean they were finished and fled to the nearby town to ransack it. This allowed for the Yorkist right under that whelp the Earl of Salisbury to inflict similar damage on our left. To make matters worse there was an unnatural fog on the battlefield and because of this, when Oxford finally rallied his men and returned to the battle, they stumbled upon our center and both groups thought the other the enemy. Our men turned on each other and it allowed the Yorkists to focus solely on crushing us. Our forces scattered and collapsed.”

Madge covers her mouth with her hand and Enobaria pinches the bridge of her nose.

“This is a disaster,” she says through gritted teeth.

“It gets worse,” the Duke promises and Enobaria stares at him in incredulity.

“How could it be worse?”

“We should have had the element of surprise, but we were betrayed. That mangy cur the Earl of Northumberland turned traitor and joined up with the Yorkists, bringing his considerable force of men with him. I’m sure he told them every one of our plans.”

Madge feels her mouth pop open and Cato swears loudly. Marvel’s gone back to the Yorkists? Why would they-Of course. They need him, need the huge amount of men that fight under his banner and all the information he must have as well. I wonder how long he’s been planning this. I knew he was planning something, I knew it! That faithless, arrogant, piece of-of-urgh!

“And what of his father? Has the Duke of Clarence gone crawling back to his Yorkist masters as well?” Enobaria spits and Duke Brutus shakes his head.

“No, Haymitch Abernathy fought with us until death.”

Madge feels the floor tilt beneath her feet. Haymitch…dead? Oh no. It is strange, for she and Haymitch were never close and yet still; the thought of him dead leaves her cold with tears stinging her eyes. She remembers watching him sail away so long ago and oh Haymitch, I’m so sorry it came to this. I wish…I wish things had turned out differently. Madge clenches her hands in her lap and Enobaria shrugs.

“Oh well, how tragic. Speaking of, have you heard anything of his wife? My dear niece was on one of the boats that we seem to have misplaced.”

“Yes, I hear she’s taken sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey. I suppose she’s heard of her husband’s fate.”

Madge nearly collapses under the force of her relief. Her mother is alive and Annie must be too. They’re safe; oh thank God they’re safe.

“Were you at the battle?” Cato demands and the Duke only just seems to resist snarling.

“No, I was on my way here when I got word of what happened. I wanted to welcome you back.”

“We should return to France,” Enobaria says before Cato can continue his belligerence and Madge feels her heart seize at the thought of another Channel crossing. Cato leaps to his feet and slams his hands down on the table, his wine glass toppling over.

“We can’t, Mother! We cannot abandon the fight after coming all this way, we must keep trying!”

“He is right, your Majesty. The Earl of Devon and I are already gathering a force here in the West Country, Thomas of Fauconberg has a fleet ready to descend on Kent and the Earls of Pembroke and Richmond are mustering men in Wales. We have not yet lost,” Duke Brutus rumbles and Madge remembers suddenly that awful Christmas and the savage glint in Brutus’ eyes as he’d taken that poor serving boy off for punishment.

He is just as wicked as Coriolanus. I pray you do not face him Gale.

“It will be a risk,” Enobaria starts and Cato leans forward.

“Yes, but we must take it. We have come too far to give up now. If we wish to rule England again, we must gamble for victory.”

Cato’s words hang in the air for a moment and Madge is not sure any of them breathe. Finally, Enobaria nods.

“Alright, we will make for Wales and Boggs. Let us end this once and for all.”

(“I can’t believe it,” Rory says quietly, his eyes fastened on Haymitch’s dead body. Gale squeezes his brother’s shoulder.

“He made his choice,” Marvel says, his voice far too steady for a man who’d just lost his father. Gale glares at him.

“I know,” Rory says, “and I’m not sorry he’s dead. He deserved it. I just…I can’t believe it.”

Gale turns back to his brother with concern. As much as Haymitch has done to them, Gale cannot help the sorrow in his heart as he looks down at the man he’d loved like a second father. It never should have come to this. Rory on the other hand shows no sign of misery or grief, only stunned disbelief.

“We will have to display his body,” Katniss says in a voice that shakes. “To ensure no one tries to claim he survived.”

Gale nods and Marvel lets out a sigh.

“I appealed to him to surrender you know, but he wouldn’t even answer me. Pity.”

“No, it’s not,” Rory says in a hard voice. “He betrayed us, his family. He deserved to die.”)

(Rory is only fifteen, but it is clear to Gale in this moment that his brother is no longer a child)

(Gale wishes more than anything that he still could be)

The Lancastrian plan is simple. They must cross the River Severn into Wales and join up with Boggs and Finnick. It is a simple plan, but not an easy one.

The nearest crossing is at Gloucester, which is nearly one hundred miles away. The Yorkists will not be left in the dark for long as to their arrival or their movements, which means they will be desperate to intercept them and force a battle before the Lancastrians can meet up with their allies. It is a race, one Madge is terrified they will not win. Enobaria orders several feints to make it look like they are heading in various different directions and Madge prays it will keep the Yorkists distracted for long enough, but she doubts it. Katniss has proven herself a brilliant military leader, she will surely see through their ploys sooner rather than later. Haste is their best defense. But will it be enough?

Madge has never ridden with an army before, never been so involved in the wars that have plagued England for so long. It is a different, sharper sort of terror to see the faces of the men who will soon go to battle, to know that any moment might reveal a Yorkist ambush. How often had she complained about waiting in a distant castle? She wishes she were there now, rather than here in the midst of the bloodshed to come.

“Ride beside me,” Enobaria says, “and ride proud. You are a symbol of our dynasty; let the men see your courage.”

Never has her role as Princess of Wales felt quite so real and important and Madge knows she cannot afford to show any hint of her fear, worry or exhaustion. No matter how long the marches, and they are always punishing, she must sit straight and tall. She wears her costliest traveling gown and cloak, the best pair of gloves she owns and a hennin with lovely veils that blow in the damp spring breeze. She must be a princess in every way and she will be. Cato too rises to the occasion, looking splendid in silver armor atop his steed. He rides up and down their lines talking encouragement to the men, his tone confident and jovial. Madge can see the men bloom in his presence, drawing strength and determination from his abundant supply. For the first time in her life, she actually admires him.

April is a wet, drizzly mess, the ground muddy and uneven. The air is perpetually chilly and Madge’s fingers grow stiff on the reins, her back aches and she cannot imagine how the soldiers do it, marching so endlessly when she is so tired from riding alone. Still, she cannot let it show. She must be as poised and dignified as Enobaria. The Ice Queen they might call her, the She-Wolf, but no one doubts her strength or her bravery. Madge must be just as reassuring.

Courage, courage for England

Now is the time to be brave

(They hear word of Enobaria’s landing two days after she arrives and suddenly Katniss and Gale are in a mad scramble to gather troops and set out in pursuit. They are in London when word comes and unfortunately, not realizing Enobaria was on her way, Katniss had given the men leave after their victory at Barnet. Calls to arms go out in every direction and thankfully, they are answered. Within a few days they have managed to muster a substantial force at Windsor and Gale looks out at the troops with grim satisfaction. It will be a bloody fight, but they have a chance. That’s all they need.

Of course, whatever else they are, the Lancastrians are clever. They send out several feints, each one making it more difficult to determine just what Enobaria’s plan really is. They do not have time to debate the issue, they must make a decision quickly or the Lancastrians may gain far too big an advantage.

To that end, Katniss gathers her most trusted men in Windsor’s council chamber to make a decision and they stretch out a map on the wooden table, every scout’s report they have piled up beside it. Gale and Katniss have both poured through every single one, but Enobaria has not made this easy. If Gale didn’t hate her so much, he might even admire her.

“Most of our scouts say they’re coming for London and that would be a brilliant coup,” he says to their small circle of commanders. Katniss bites her lip, a small furrow appearing between her eyebrows. Gale frowns as he notices it, but carries on. “It would certainly inflame their morale if they could free Coriolanus and eject us from the capital.”

“It would, but I doubt that’s their plan,” Marvel drawls from his spot draped over a chair at the end of the table. “Boggs and Finnick Odair are in Wales gathering troops. They were sent there when Haymitch heard you’d arrived. My guess is Enobaria will try and join up with them. I don’t want to be crude, but we’ll be pretty fucked if she makes it there. Wales has never liked York and it doesn’t help that the Odairs are of Welsh blood.”

Gale tries not to scowl, for he knows they owe Marvel much, but he cannot help the hot rage in him every time he looks in Marvel’s direction. They must be a united front, Gale knows that, but he cannot so easily forget or forgive Marvel’s betrayal. No matter how often he claims he was only being a dutiful son, Gale would bet his life Marvel had been a wiling participant in Haymitch’s treachery. He knows Marvel, has known him all his life, and Marvel has always been selfish and dangerously ambitious. If Marvel has returned to them, it must be about thwarted ambition and not familial bonds, for he has proven he is only loyal to himself. Gale feels fire licking his skin every time he is forced to even think of Marvel, but he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how galling.

(that does not mean he has to be happy about it though)

“Are you sure?” Katniss asks and Marvel rolls his eyes.

“As sure as I can be. We should try and intercept them on their way to Wales. Making for London is a trick, and if not, well, my apologies.”

His attitude is infuriating, his arrogant smirk more so but Katniss only nods.

“Okay. It makes more sense for them to head to Wales, because even if they take London they’ll still have to face us. Getting reinforcements and then trying to eliminate us is their best course of action. Get everyone ready, we leave as soon as possible.”

And so they do.

The weather starts to grow hotter as April winds down but even so they cannot afford to slow down. The nearest crossing is Gloucester and they must reach it first, they must.

This war ends now)

From rain and wind comes horrid heat, the oppressiveness of it weighing on Madge like pounds of lead. Still, they must keep their pace and she tries hard not to let herself wilt. She loses the gloves and her cloak and prays to God for swiftness. They must reach Gloucester before the Yorkists, they must.

They move swiftly, arriving at Bath on April 30th and soon they are on to Bristol to gather more arms, men and money.

And that’s when the Yorkists find them.

(“Bristol! The Lancastrians have made a stop at Bristol!” a scout bellows as he charges into their midst and Gale feels his blood roar. He immediately catches Katniss’ eye and they both know what they have to do. They’ve just reached Cirencester, but there is no time to rest. They must ride south and meet the Lancastrians. It is time to finish this.

“Where are they headed?” Gale demands and the scout forces the words out between his panting breaths.

“Little Sodbury, by the looks of it,” he gasps and Katniss nods.

“There is a hill there that would be of excellent strategic value,” she says and she does not need to give him the command.

They make for Sodbury Hill and battle)

“The Yorkists are coming, the Yorkists are coming!” a shrill voice screams into the early, early hours of May 1st and Madge feels herself awaken with a start. Her heart hammers in her chest and for a moment she is sure she must have misheard. Maybe that voice was only in my dreams? It is before dawn, the sky hazy with fading darkness and the voice comes again, so very real and terrifying.

“The Yorkists are coming from Cirencester, they know where we are!”

Madge feels a fear so profound she cannot breathe, cannot think and Cato leaps out of the bed next to hers with a howl of rage.

“How can they have gotten here so fast?” he roars to no one and Brutus comes barreling into the room, half dressed and swearing. Enobaria comes running after him and hurls everything off the table in the corner, Madge flinching with every crash and thud as each object hits the floor. Avoiding battle is our best course of action, but how? Can we possibly escape them in time? Enobaria smoothes out a map on the now empty table and she and Brutus lean over it, their voices harsh with worry and frustration.

“How did they get here so fast?” Cato bellows again and Clove clambers out of their bed to attach herself to his side. Madge feels her stomach start to curl around itself and presses both her hands to it, a clammy feeling starting to spread over her skin. What are we going to do?

“I want everybody up, NOW!” Enobaria barks suddenly at them. “We make for Little Sodbury.”

Madge is up without really thinking about it and she dresses mechanically, her thoughts racing far beyond their room. Little Sodbury? What’s there? Is that where this war will be decided? Clove and Cato cling to each other as they run to their horses and Madge hurries after them, her heart pounding so loud she can barely hear a thing in the hectic chaos of their departure.

Are you chasing us Gale? What will you do when you find us?

(Night begins to fall, the sky darkening into deep blue with a faint sliver of moon and Gale weaves his horse through the various clumps of men until he reaches Katniss. They are only a handful of miles from Sodbury Hill and Gale feels his blood prickle as it always does when battle is near.

“Ah Cousin, you have the scouts’ report?” Marvel calls as Gale grows close to Katniss and her small knot of trusted men. Gale cannot help the bubbling anger in his stomach that Marvel is among them.

“I do,” he says tightly and Marvel smiles smugly, his eyes bright. Ever since he had returned to their side, he has been giving Gale the same infuriatingly knowing look, as if there is some juicy bit of information he cannot wait to share. Gale hopes he never does.

“What news?” Katniss asks and Gale is glad to look away from Marvel.

“We’re very close to the hill. Our scouts actually reached it and they were forced to fight. They suffered many casualties, but we can confirm that the Lancastrians are there, all of them,” he reports and Katniss nods thoughtfully.

“We’ll camp here then. The Lancastrians are obviously about to offer us battle, we should let the men rest as much as they can. It has been a hard march from Windsor,” she says and Gale breathes deeply. Soon, this will all be over soon.

Are you over there Madge? Don’t be afraid, I’m coming to save you)

Madge had thought she’d known terror, but she was wrong. On the night of May 1st she learns the true meaning of fear.

“The Yorkists have stopped,” a scout tells Enobaria as they camp on Sodbury Hill and Madge has to bite her tongue to keep from sobbing. This is it. Oh God, please keep us safe, please give us victory.

“Excellent. Now we leave,” Enobaria says and Madge looks up at her in shock. It is late evening, the sky dark and the stars peeking out, and the Yorkists are so close, how can they possibly leave?

“Where are we going? Aren’t we fighting?” Cato demands and Enobaria shoots him a sharp look.

“We go north to Berkeley Castle. We will be safe to regroup there and we’ll have a head start of fifteen miles over the Yorkists,” she explains with strained patience and Cato slumps with a grumble. Madge wants to hit him. Why is he so desperate to fight? Does he not understand the importance of meeting up with Finnick and Boggs?

“North?” Clove asks with narrowed eyes. “The Yorkists are north.”

“It is dark,” Enobaria says with a deadly smile, “we will pass right by them.”

“How close?” Cato asks and Madge holds her breath. Enobaria doesn’t answer and Madge closes her eyes in horror.

God have mercy on us

In the end, they pass within three miles of the Yorkists. Madge is so terrified she can’t even think the words to pray. She is surprised she can even manage to ride, her heart barely beating and her breaths slow and shallow. Tears dribble down her cheeks and she shakes all over, her very bones quaking as they move swiftly through the dark night. They make as little noise as possible, go as quickly as they can and still, the only thought Madge can conjure is that of the Yorkists descending upon them. Carnage fills her vision and she bites down to hold in a whimper, the coppery taste of her own blood pooling in her mouth. She cannot hope to keep track of time or distance, but when the sun starts to rise she feels it’s heat like a hammer.

Does this mean…are we safe?

“Look there, do you see it?” Enobaria says smugly and Madge follows her gaze. “Berkeley Castle. And soon, Gloucester.”

(“I’m an idiot,” Katniss snarls as they race to follow the Lancastrians, “I let them slip right by us. They never meant to fight. Dammit!”

“At least we know where they’re going, we might still catch them,” Gale offers even as his heart sinks. As much as he wants to be hopeful, he cannot help but think this mistake will cost them everything.

“I doubt it,” Katniss says but she does not sound as defeated as Gale feels. “But they can’t cross if they can’t get through Gloucester’s city walls.”

“You’re going to order the governor to bar the gates? Do you think he’ll listen?” Gale asks and Katniss nods, the steel in her eyes crushing his despair before it can take root.

“He will. I’ll offer him more rewards then he could ever dream of and it’s not as if he’ll have to withstand a siege. We are far too close for Enobaria to take the time to try and break in. She will have to keep going and we will catch her then. This isn’t over. Enobaria has much to answer for and I will not let her slip away again,” Katniss vows.

Gale remembers the sight of their fathers’ heads on the gate of York, remembers the terrified mayor naming Enobaria as the culprit and feels his rage burn black within him.

She will pay for that, for everything)

They reach Gloucester the morning of May 3rd and Madge wants to sob with relief. They’ve made it and all that’s left to do is pass through the town to the bridge and cross into Wales. Thank God.

“Open the gates in the name of Queen Enobaria and Cato, Prince of Wales!” someone commands and the army waits eagerly, each one suddenly invigorated at the nearness of their destination. They’ve done it.

Except Gloucester does not open its gates.

“What’s going on? Why won’t they open?” Cato demands and Enobaria’s calm veneer finally cracks.

“That Yorkist bitch!” she shrieks and Madge flinches in her saddle.

“If they won’t let us in we must storm the city!” Cato bellows and Enobaria turns to him with a look of frenzied fury on her face. Her nostrils flare, her teeth are bared and her eyes are wild and wide, the sight stopping Cato’s tirade in its tracks.

“We have no time! They are too close; we must make for the next bridge. Where is it?” she shouts and Brutus swears loudly.

“Upton-upon-Severn, nearly twenty miles away,” he growls and Enobaria lets loose a long string of filthy curses. Madge feels herself blush even as despair settles like a rock in her stomach. We’ll never make it in time, oh God.

“Get going!” Enobaria screeches and suddenly they are riding again.

(except this time will be the last time)

The end comes at Tewkesbury

They reach the town that evening, still seven miles from the bridge at Upton-upon-Severn. The men are exhausted and Madge on her horse feels lightheaded with weariness. Her back and neck ache, her legs throb and there is an awful pain in her buttocks from sitting for so long and riding so hard. Her hennin feels impossibly uncomfortable and Madge is so scared she can barely feel it, her mind so wrung out she is almost numb. Looking at the sweaty, wilted Lancastrians arrayed around her, she knows she isn’t the only one. The Duke of Somerset rides up to Enobaria’s side and leans in close, whispering urgently into her ear. Enobaria’s mouth tightens but she nods and Madge knows that must mean they’re going to stop for the night. The Duke rides off, probably to relay the order and Madge knows she should be terrified, but she can barely feel anything at all.

“Come along, we’ll stay at Gobes Hall,” Enobaria says with a jerk of her head and the royal party follows her. Madge allows herself to imagine a splendid country manor house, a luxurious bed and a steaming hot bath through the fog in her brain, but Gobes Hall turns out to be a farmhouse. Clove wrinkles her nose.

“We can’t possibly be staying here,” she says in disgust and Madge feels her fantasies wither away.

“If you do not like these accommodations, I am sure the men would love to take you in,” Enobaria offers poisonously and Clove turns red. Cato glares at his mother but the queen doesn’t favour any of them with a glance. She waits for a squire to help her down from her horse and then marches into the farmhouse with enough verve and poise to suggest they hadn’t been riding for their lives at a nightmarish pace for days. The rest of them can’t quite match her. Cato dismounts with stiff legs and a surly face, his stance somewhat bow legged. There are purple half-moons under his eyes and he shakes his legs, but they do not become any less rigid. He stomps over to Clove and helps her down, her face transforming into a scowl as she steps gingerly onto steady ground. She wiggles as if trying to loosen herself up, but as with Cato, it does little good. She winces as Cato leads her into the hall, their bodies leaning together as if to hold each other up against their exhaustion. Madge is so sore and tired she doesn’t care that her husband has abandoned her and she wilts with pain and sleepiness when the squire helps her down. Her legs feel like pudding as she walks over the uneven terrain, the squire’s hand on her elbow the only thing keeping her upright.

“You’d think we were some peasant rabble, staying here,” Clove’s harsh voice says as Madge enters the farmhouse. It is certainly no palace, but Madge doesn’t care, so long as it has a bed. Servants haul in their belongings and Madge wonders if there’s any sort of tub here, she could use a long, hot soak.

“Again, feel free to pitch a tent with the men,” Enobaria says coldly as she surveys their current abode. She does not look particularly impressed, but then, she rarely does. Clove scrunches up her face in anger but remarkably doesn’t say anything in retort. I suppose being queen does have its advantages…

“You must be exhausted,” Enobaria says as she glances at Madge and then snaps her fingers at one of the squires passing by. “Find the Princess some proper accommodations,” she barks and the poor boy nearly drops the heavy coffer he’d been carrying in. He nods and hurries off and Enobaria turns her gaze to Cato.

“We’ll be having a council meeting in the dining room. Divest yourself of any encumbrances,” she says with a sharp look at Clove, “and join me there.” She leaves without needing a response and Cato’s neck turns red. Clove grips his arm tightly and hisses something rude under her breath. Madge watches Enobaria’s back and even though all she wants to do is sleep in a proper bed, she cannot fight the urge inside her to listen in on the council meeting.

“Your Highness? Your room is ready,” the squire from before says nervously and Madge forces a smile.

“Thank you,” she says and he bows before gesturing at her to follow him. She does and he leads her to a small, square room with little in it except a bed, a coffer and a small table. It is shabbier than any room she’s been in before, but Madge doesn’t care. She sinks onto the bed and though it is a straw mattress covered over in a scratchy wool blanket, it feels heavenly. I should just stay here and rest, she tells herself, I shouldn’t do anything but stay here and sleep. She knows this but once enough time has passed to allow the various Lancastrian leaders to gather, Madge finds herself creeping down the stairs to find a good hiding spot to eavesdrop outside the dining room. Knowledge is power and Madge is determined to have as much as possible.

Apparently she isn’t the only one.

The door to the dining room has been left ajar and huddled up beside it and peering inside is Clove. She has her back to Madge and there is a moment when Madge thinks about leaving and avoiding the inevitable confrontation. She is still exhausted, she still aches and if it’s important, she’ll find out tomorrow. She doesn’t need to do this. She does it anyway. Madge walks over to Clove with her head held high and squeezes in beside her, making sure to bump her hip with hers. Clove snaps her head around in outrage and opens her mouth to say something furious but Madge presses a finger to her lips. She jerks her head at the open door and Clove’s right eye twitches, her gaze hot enough to set Madge on fire. With a violent shake Clove finally submits, her desire to hear what’s being said outweighing her need to yell at Madge. She clamps her mouth shut and turns back to look through the doorway, Madge barely suppressing her triumphant, if weary, smile. She looks inside as well and the most important of the Lancastrians leaders are seated at the table while the rest stand around the room. Madge finds Enobaria immediately at the center of the table with Brutus of Somerset and Cato flanking her.

“I’ve had multiple scouts confirm it; the Yorkists are making camp only three miles behind us. We will have to fight them tomorrow,” Brutus says and Enobaria narrows her eyes.

“This isn’t what we wanted,” she says and Brutus nods.

“I know, but they are too close. If we try and run, they will fall upon our rear. We must fight.”

“I understand that,” Enobaria snaps before forcing herself to calm. “Send a messenger into Wales to find Boggs. Tell him to make as much haste as possible.”

“He’ll never make it in time,” Brutus says at the same time Cato shouts “We won’t need him!”

Enobaria closes her eyes for a moment and inhales. When she opens them again her face is flat but her eyes are bright with aggravation.

“It will do no harm,” she says in a tightly controlled voice and Brutus bobs his head in bow.

“Of course not Your Majesty, I’ll arrange it.”

“See that you do. As for the battle, I should like you to command the right, Lord Wenlock the center and the Earl of Devon the left. I’ll leave the rest of the planning to the three of you.”

“I want to fight too,” Cato butts in, his face awash with eagerness. Enobaria levels him with a cold look.

“I do not think it very wise to risk the only heir to the throne,” she says and Cato bristles at her dismissal.

“I am eighteen now Mother, you cannot treat me like a child!” he bursts out and the room seems to quiet oppressively, every eye fastening uncomfortably on mother and son. Enobaria’s nostrils flare and Madge is surprised fire does not come shooting out. The Queen opens her mouth but Brutus swoops in before she can speak.

“You are right, Majesty, it is a great risk. But he is a man now and our future king. He needs the experience and it will do the men good to see what they are fighting for,” he says smoothly and Enobaria purses her lips.

“Fine,” she says, “you may go Cato and serve under Lord Wenlock in the center.”

The smile that had started to form on Cato’s mouth falls abruptly.

“I should command it! I am the Prince of Wales and the future King of England! I do not serve!” he shouts and though many in the room flinch, Enobaria looks entirely unimpressed.

“Funny, your motto says otherwise,” she says dryly and Cato turns red. “You are a boy with no experience on the field of battle; you will serve under Lord Wenlock or stay with me.”

Her voice is hard and brokers no argument. Cato shakes but does not protest. “You’ll see Mother; I’ll prove to you what I can do,” he says and Clove nods along in solidarity.

“See that you do,” Enobaria says and then turns back to Brutus. Madge feels her heart beat race. The fear that had faded with her exhaustion comes back with violence, her knees nearly buckling. Tomorrow, the battle will be fought tomorrow.

Oh Gale

(“I wish I was going with you,” Clove says as she lies in Cato’s arms that night and he nods.

“So do I, there’s no one I trust more to watch my back.”

Clove beams at that and remembers when they were young and all the boys laughed and teased when she’d said she wanted to play swords with them. All the boys except Cato, who’d handed her his wooden sword and never once seemed ashamed if he lost to her, he’d only grin and demand a rematch. Clove was never meant to be a perfect lady, she was meant to slay dragons. Only Cato had ever understood that.

She kisses him and lets her body sink into his, his hands warm as they slide over her back and buttocks. He grins against her mouth and there is no fear in Clove that this will be their last night together, she knows Cato will come back to her victorious. If the Lancastrians have lost up to now, it is only because they’ve trusted incompetents and idiots like Haymitch Abernathy and Finnick Odair. Cato will destroy Katniss of York and her traitor’s army; Clove does not doubt that for a moment. She is only envious she will not see it happen.

“I want full details on everything that happens tomorrow,” Clove insists and Cato laughs.

“Of course. In fact, pick a traitor, any traitor, and I shall bring you their head.”

Clove thinks for only a moment and smiles widely. “Bring me Gale Hawthorne’s head; I’ll share it with Madge.”)

(Annie stares out the abbey’s window at night and prays for Lancaster, for her father, for Finnick and Madge above all. There are stars glittering in the chilly night sky and the nightmare of Barnet lingers in the air, the bitterness of its taste one she is far too used to. She doesn’t know where the next battle will be or when, but she wishes on each and every twinkling star that Lancaster will win. She is so tired of defeat and exile and running and fear. For once, Annie just wants to feel safe.

In the distance she can hear the Compline hymns and closes her eyes, lets the monks’ steady voices fill her up. She must have faith that God will see them through this. Annie offers up one last prayer to God, the Virgin Mary, Saint Sebastian the protector of soldiers, and her namesake Saint Anne, and does not fight the tears that slide down her cheeks. They drip down her chin and she thinks of Finnick, pictures him clearly and sends him every last drop of courage she has.

I am with you Finnick, be brave my love

Annie stands and wipes at her face as she walks slowly back to the room the monks have given her, her feet dragging on the stone floor. The candles burn low in their braziers and the shadows cast along the walls make Beaulieu forbidding and dark, far from the great gothic majesty of its daylight hours. She knows they are safe here, but in the cold of nighttime breezes she does not feel very safe. She feels terrified like she has for so many years, ever since that first rebellion almost a decade ago. Even after the king’s readeption, she had not felt entirely secure; there had still been fear of a Yorkists reprisal. She cannot remember what it must have been like before, when England was at peace.

She steps into the chilly passage leading to the infirmary complex and hugs herself, not entirely sure if she is doing it for warmth or comfort. Even with Lady Margaret, the monks and lay brothers, Annie feels so alone here. Women rarely come here and the monks have little use for her, while poor Lady Margaret is so ill she spends most of the day sleeping, or at least trying to. Annie misses Madge and Finnick terribly, almost wishes she could take a horse and ride to their side. She is so far from everything happening and who knows when news might come, who knows when she’ll learn not only if they’ve won but if Finnick has survived? But she can’t leave. She would be of no help to Finnick and someone must look after Lady Margaret. The monks do their best, but she needs more than herbs and prayers. She needs company and comfort. And so Annie stays.

She reaches the infirmary and Lady Margaret is the only patient, her labored breathing the only sound in room. Annie picks up a taper and walks quietly to her bedside, her heart squeezing at how ghastly Lady Margaret looks. Death will come for her soon, there is no doubt of that, but oh, please let Madge see her again first. Annie sets down her taper on the small table by Lady Margaret’s bed and picks up a cloth, dips it into a bowl of water and wipes gently at the blood on Lady Margaret’s chin. She wheezes but does not wake and Annie sends up yet another prayer, this time for Lady Margaret’s failing health. Please give her strength; please do not call her away yet.

Annie wishes there was more she could do to help, not just Lady Margaret, but her father, Finnick and Madge as well, but she knows there isn’t. She is no doctor, no soldier, and so she prays.

Prays and prays and prays)

They are up earlier than the sun the next morning, the men hastening to take up position for the battle soon to start and the women preparing to ride away to the safety of a religious house some distance away. It is a flurry of activity and preparations in Gobes Hall as Cato comes to say his goodbyes and Madge stops her packing to watch him kneel before his mother. Queen Enobaria places a hand on the top of his golden head, pride and fear flickering in her dark eyes. Her voice betrays neither emotion.

“Return to me a victor,” she commands and Cato bares his teeth in a grin.

“I will Mother, I promise you that,” he says in a voice thick with confidence and Enobaria nods. He rises and turns to Madge, his eyes flashing and his smile growing sharp.

“What do you say wife, shall I bring you Gale Hawthorne’s head?” he asks with savage delight and Clove turns to Madge with hungry eyes. They wait, hoping for a scene, but Madge will not give it to them. She dips her head, keeps her face neutral and says with polite docility, “If it pleases you to, my lord.”

For a moment Cato scowls at her refusal to play his favourite horrible game, but then he smiles again, the sight as vicious as it is frightening. He knows as well as Madge does that she might be able to keep her calm in the face of his threats, but if he does bring her Gale’s head, he will get the scene he wants. A sharp spike of hatred drives into her but she cannot let it show, even though all she wants is to slap the smug look off his face and call him every filthy word she can think of. You do not have a hope of besting Gale, you mangy rat. You are not even half the man he is.

Breathing steadily to stem the flow of curses she wishes she could hurl at him, she reaches into the pouch of her girdle and pulls out a handkerchief she’d made him. She curtsies and holds it out to him, not because she thinks he’ll want it, but because it is her duty as his wife.

“A token, my prince, to carry with you through the battle,” she offers and Clove titters nastily. Cato snorts.

“I want nothing from you,” he says with a rude guffaw and Enobaria frowns deeply. There is a reprimand on the tip of her tongue but Madge beats her to the punch.

“Truly? Then might I ask why you are wearing the purse I made you?” she asks with a pointed look at it hanging from his belt. Cato’s face loses its colour for a moment before burning crimson and Clove widens her eyes in outrage, purple fury rising to her cheeks. Enobaria beams with naked pleasure and Madge does not let it show, but there is a wicked part of her that would love to gloat. Cato chews angrily on his words, clearly struggling with a suitable comeback or explanation, while Clove begins to shake, her eyes bouncing between Cato, Enobaria and Madge as if she cannot decide which of them to direct her rage at. For a moment Cato glares at Madge with so much fury she half expects him to leap over and strangle her, but Enobaria shoots him a quelling look.

“Take your leave of your wife and join your men,” she commands and Cato swallows, leveling her with a mutinous look. He stalks over and Madge offers him her hand with as sweet a smile as she can muster. He pinches her wrist and bites her skin instead of kissing it, her face rigid to avoid showing any pain.

“Rot in Hell, bitch,” he whispers to her hand and then he is gone, stomping out of the room with his hands curled into tight balls at his side. Madge watches him go with what she hopes is a suitably melancholy expression and Clove runs after him, the unabashed fury on her face making it clear she intends to tear him apart over the purse. Enobaria turns to Madge with a smile.

“Excellently done,” she purrs.

Madge turns back to her packing.

(Clove rushes after Cato with black anger in her chest.

How dare he! How dare he, that ass! Ass, ass, ass! How dare he!

She plans to scream, shout, but she never gets the chance. As soon as they are out of sight of Enobaria and Madge, Cato stops walking and turns abruptly, so abruptly Clove bumps right into him. She glowers up at him and opens her mouth to say something, but the words die on her tongue. His eyes are dark and serious, his face so grave she cannot remember just what it was she wanted to say.

“Cato…” she manages and he grabs her arms and pulls her as close as she can get, his mouth descending on hers in a kiss so passionate it makes her toes curl in her boots. He crushes her to his chest and without thought she melts into him, her mouth eagerly devouring his. There is an intensity in this kiss she has never felt before and she finds herself so hungry for more she chases his mouth as he pulls away.

“I love you and no other Clove, always,” he vows against her lips and then he is gone, long strides carrying him quickly away from her. She stands alone in the hall, out of breath from the ferocity of his kiss and for the first time since they’d sailed from France, she feels the very beginnings of fear.

Come back to me Cato, come back to me or I will never forgive you)

Madge rides beside Enobaria to their refuge and tries not to the think of the battlefield she is leaving behind.

Gale is there, closer now that he has been to her in over a year, but there might as well be an ocean between them. She cannot go to him, cannot see him and she clenches her hands around the reins, her heart pounding out his name.

Be safe Gale, please my love, survive this battle. You have to live, even if I never see you again, you have to live.

(Cato takes his position just behind Lord Wenlock and looks out at the armies arrayed before and around him. He cannot make her out from so far away, but he can see Katniss of York’s standard bearers, her white roses and cats fluttering in the early morning breeze. She is in command of the centre of her army and Cato feels a thrill race through his bones. They will face each other and he cannot wait to cut this usurper down to ribbons. And of course, he will have to find Gale Hawthorne as well, he did promise Clove his head. He wouldn’t mind a chance at turncoat Marvel either, for betrayal cannot be forgiven. He’ll take them all down and prove to all the world what they should have always known. He is the rightful king of England and no one else.

He will make them sorry for ever doubting it)

It is the Yorkists who make the first move.

Banners unfurled and waving, trumpets blowing and committing her cause and quarrel to Almighty God, the Virgin Mary, to glorious Saint George and all the saints, Katniss of York advances upon the enemy.

The Battle of Tewkesbury has begun.

Madge tries to embroider but her hands shake, each and every stitch crooked and done wrong. She unpicks them and tries again, but she cannot still her trembling. Enobaria paces down the hall, the clop clop of her boots reminding Madge of horses and thus, inevitably, of cavalry charges. The thought is a cold one and she shivers with fear, so so much riding on this one battle. She should pray but her mind is in disarray and she is not even sure she knows who or what she should pray for. Everything has become so muddled.

“I hate waiting,” Clove says sourly from the corner by the window she’s wedged herself into and Madge nods in agreement. Clove offers her a sneer.

“I should be out there, not cooped in here with you,” she spits and Madge doesn’t know how to answer that, so she merely nods again. Clove huffs dramatically. Madge closes her eyes and listens to the clop clop clop of Enobaria’s frantic boots and Clove’s angry sighs and suddenly a prayer comes to her.

Please let this be over soon, let this waiting be done

(The air is rent by screams and blood is heavy on the wind, Gale’s nose burning with it as he slashes his way through the mess of men and horses. There is gore stained across his armor as he catches someone’s axe with his shield and he can barely see through the sweat dripping down into his eyes. It is chaos, but then, battle always is. Rory follows tight at Gale’s heels and Gale allows his brother to guard him for a moment as he accesses the situation. As commander of Katniss’ vanguard he cannot afford any mistakes and he scans the field of unfolding carnage all around him. He finds Katniss in an instant, her standard bearers ranged around her and her sword catching the sunlight as it swings through the air. He grins, inspired as he is always is by her unstoppable advance, and returns to the fight with a vicious whack of his sword against the legs of an enemy knight, those legs crumpling and exposing the man’s neck for a finishing blow.

Rory pushes against Gale’s shoulder and there is a certain tinge of desperation in the air here. York had won at Barnet but that victory will mean nothing if they do not triumph here. Today must be the day Lancaster falls and the war ends. Gale tightens his grip on his sword, breathes in the scent of death and devastation and charges into the thickest of the fighting, his men surging after him.

They must win here. They will win here)

(I’m coming Madge, hold on just a little bit longer)

“A messenger!” Clove screeches and Madge leaps nearly out of her skin, her heart thumping in her throat. Clove throws herself almost out of the window and Enobaria comes running down the hall, her hennin barely hanging onto her head.

“Are you certain?” she asks, voice higher than normal and Clove nods, half her body dangling outside as if she hopes to reach down and tug the messenger up to them. Madge presses her hands to her stomach, fear and anticipation writhing within. She is sick with terror and Enobaria begins to pace again, around and around in ever tighter circles.

Oh God, this is really it

Oh God oh God

Ages later the messenger finally reaches them, his hair matted and flattened with still wet blood that drips down onto his grimy face. His hands shake as he kneels before Enobaria, his surcoat stained and foul.

“Your M-majesty,” he greets in a small voice and Enobaria finally stops her pacing. She looks down at him with boiling eyes, her mouth pressed together so tight it does not seem as if she could ever open it. It is Clove who demands answers.

“So? What’s happened?” she asks, face feverish and the messenger looks up and Madge suddenly knows what he is going to say even before the words leave his lips.

“It’s over.”

end of part two

#gadge #gale hawthorne #madge undersee #fanfiction #wars of the roses au #historical au #Hunger Games

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twohearts-hs · 6 years

Text

‘My Odds Are In Your Favour l’ -H.S. Hunger Games AU

Words: 4,883

Pairing: Harry Styles & (Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Warnings: Swearing

Part 1: Request part 2 and ideas!!! Xx

A series based in the ‘Hunger Games’ area. Can love conquer death is a major question? Or is she just too stubborn to accept it?

When she made it out of that demon filled hole, she promised herself, her family and friends that she would never go back to the Capitol, or do anything for them. It was a way to rebel against them. They placed her into the games to fight and murder innocent lives. And she did anything to not do that. Before that, she spent her days as a local medic, dealing with sick and wounded and trying, praying to keep her family alive. YN was never a rebel or anything, she did local trades of medicinal plants she got from the outer rim and fought to put dinner on the table. Her life was not taboo. She never wanted to be reaped, but again no one did. Her goal in life was surviving, for her little brother to survive. Her mother was a whore and died from it. Her father never existed, and she had no one except her best friend, Louis. He did everything for her in a way, he applied for tessere for his family and her’s. He was the closest thing to a family. YN completed the Hunger Games with shame, standing there alongside dead bodies was no accomplishment to her. To her it was karma, but for what? She survived the elements, the people and every horror that comes along with the games. It made her crazy afterwards. The dreams circulating her life, the screams of children being murdered. She just needed to hold Caleb a little closer to her to survive the nights.

When she watched the television two years later and learnt she was about to be placed back in the torturous, hideous hole of what they call entertainment, hell broke loose. She was a piece of thread holding onto an anvil and slowly ripping, but there was a tug and the anvil fell. She was about to go back; she had too. She was the only district 5 female capable to go. Her brother just turned four, and now she had to leave him again. Her house was destroyed after that announcement. Anger rippled through her.

Walking down to the training room with her mentor and escort, she blocked out everything Ceres was saying. She still couldn’t accept the fact that she was about to head to her death.

“Both of you need allies,” Liam said, she rolled her eyes. This was to be doomed, her partner was a drunk and her mentor was nailing her into getting things that he wants. She was gonna do this her own way, no one can stop her. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again, Liam. No allies for me, drunky here will probably need one; especially to help hold of the bucket,” she said, walking ahead. “YN!” Ceres said, her yellow hair bouncing as she tried to keep up with her. The lashes were too long for her, making her eyelids drop. “I did it once, and I’ll do it again. I’m a survivor, not an entertainer.” the doors opened to the training room, Clyde walked off. “Remember the plan?” Ceres said to her, and she rolled her eyes. “We’re serious YN,” Liam began, “We need these games to end. Go socialise, though it's not your best trait, and get touchy with Finnick.” she rolled her eyes and walked straight to the dagger section. The day was filled none the less of trying her best to keep busy, yet to stay close and talk to Finnick. Her mind still couldn’t control the fact that her life was to be ended, and officially Caleb will have to go into Lou’s care; he couldn’t take on another life. He has five sisters and a brother, it will be too much to add another mouth to feed. Her hands wandered over the sharp blading, thinking… relapsing the memories that held it. She killed them, and she will have to do that again, and for what? Her life is created to be an entertainer for narcissistic psychopaths. Where did freedom go? Iron is what the knife was made of, and she remembers like it was yesterday, the stabbing of innocent lives for her to just get back home. A deal was a deal, right? The deal was that if she won, she’ll live her life in peace. Man wrote rules, can’t they undo it? “Allies?” she was brought out of her trance, looking up to a District 7 boy with brown curly hair and green eyes. “What?” she mumbled, he chuckled, biting his lip. “Do you want to be allies? I’ve seen your games YN. You’re strong, you know how to hunt, to feed, to survive. You know how to sustain yourself like it is what you do on a daily basis.” she stopped him there. “It is what I do on a daily basis, and if you excuse me.” she moved past him, going to where Finnick is. “You haven’t answered my question?” he followed her. She rolled her eyes. “You’re the boy from district 7 right? Won the 72nd, did the whole I’m weak, but good at traps and poison thing, and also won at seventeen. Your partner is Johanna. You’ll be fine on your own.” he walked up to her, shaking his head. “I’m guessing it’s a no?” he said, placing his fingertip under her chin and bringing it up. “I don’t do allies, it is how I survived last time; it must’ve worked. One of us will have to die, shit, probably both of us will die. We aren’t in an arena with weaklings, we’re in an arena filled with bloodthirsty survivors. We’re gonna die, accept the fact. Might as well make it quick.” and she turned away. Harry chuckled, she was badass, yet she is cold. He remembered the first year he was a mentor and YN was in the games. Honestly, internally he was cheering for her. She fought with a sense of anger; anger to everything. “What did Styles want?” she stood next to Finnick. He was making a fishing hook. She leant on her palm, staring at him as his fingers worked delicately. Though both of them were not happy with the plan, they both had a sense of respect and admiration for one another. “He wanted to be allies,” she said, he looked up at her, but her eyes fell onto the hook. “Did you accept?” he raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m not an alley person.” he nodded his head, looking at her. YN had her focus on the hook. “YN?” she looked up, and Finnick looked around, seeing if the Gamemakers were watching, then he leant in for a kiss of the cheek, and an arm around the waist. Internally she grimaced from his action; never a lovie person, but anything for the games. 'More drama, more sponsors,' they say. “Cheeky, I’m gonna go to the dagger section,” she said, before walking to them. Daggers were her weapon. She threw them, and she never missed. It was like that chick from District 12 with her “special” bow. YN dodged every social interaction as possible. Three days is what she has to practice, then the games. YN has to make the time worth it, otherwise this time it’ll be her facing her death. Her fingerprint touched the screen of the activator, choosing her setting in order to practice. That was when lights came in within the room, creating figures in front of her. Her fingers played around with the handle and began throwing. It was intense. Sweat upon her skin shined in the light; the whole spotlight on her. One, two, three deaths within that training room of the fake figures. A couple more and the lights went off. YN was flattered in a way from having a request of allies. She has had a request from Harry Styles, Johanna Mason, Niall Horan, and a couple of people from district 1 and 2, in which she all said no too. In her rightful mind, she had to get home, and she had to go back to her brother.

“You two need allies,” Liam told them as soon as they entered the apartment. YN once again ignored him, rolling her eyes, and walking past him, “Stubborn, I’m talking more to you.” she stopped in her tracks, and turned around at her door. “Four people you turned down today. Three more want to be allies after the dagger stunt. Clyde, you need to work more on your game, man. You can’t spend the next three days vomiting in the corner.” Clyde rolled his eyes and walked to his bedroom. Liam sat down, patting the seat next to him. Ceres sat across. She walked over and plummeted down. They all watched her. That was until Liam cleared his throat. “All of us know that Clyde won’t survive.” he began, YN just looked down at the floor and began bouncing her knee, “YN, good job with the Odair plan today, but that’s beside the point. There is a rebellion about to happen.” she scoffed when he began this conversation. “I don’t want to be in some bloody rebellion, I want to go home. I’d be lucky to get out of there. Liam, this is no kiddy fight, this is a battle; blood will be spilt, and no innocent will win nor lose.” she replied, stern and forceful. YN began to get up, but Liam pushed her back down, “I’m serious for once in my life, YN. I’m not playing some bloody game. Katniss needs to get out in order to survive. No matter what, get her out, YN.” She shook her head, “I can’t promise nor swear. I have a brother to get back too, Lou as well. I am no pawn in the games. I’m gonna try my fucking best to get out, and if Katniss has to die, she’ll have to die.” he growled as she began to walk away back to her bedroom quarters. “You’re one hell of a selfish bitch, YLN.” he yelled as she walked off. “Selfishness is the key to survival, hun,” she yelled back, flipping him off. “At least smile!” Ceres called, later on, all YN did was roll her eyes. The first games she has ever been in was terrible. But, before the games, it was in a sense of peace. Indeed, YN was an adventurer, and when you’re one, curiosity comes with it. When she first explored the skyscraper, she found a rooftop patio. It was where she sat, and watched the skyline. It was the last place for her to feel at peace before she is thrown back in. The last place to feel human. “You can’t jump.” she was brought out of her trace, looking behind her as the wind hit her. “Wasn’t planning on it. I have to get home.” she recognised the figure, the boy from District 7. Harry nodded his head and sat next to her on the cement. She was extremely focused on the lights that lit up the whole city. “They get all of this, and for first seventeen years of my life, I lived in a hut where a fire was the only thing keeping me from hypothermia. I had to worry about disease, and mouths to feed. I was alone, and a girl. I couldn’t do much, but, here, you have it all.” Harry listened to her, nodding. “I know. It is ridiculous,” he responded. “Inhumane,” she whispered, she watched the skyline while he looked at her, “I’m YN.” “I know, I’m Harry,” he responded, she turned her head to him. YN stumbled over her words, mentally, of course; she didn’t know what to say next, “Allies?” it was simple. Harry’s eyebrows frowned, giving a confusing look. “Wha’?” she moved her head back and forth, coughing a bit; clearly embarrassed. She was never much of a sociable person. “You asked earlier today if we could be allies and I said ‘no’. Well, I’m taking that back. If you want to be—” “Definitely,” he said way too quickly. She nodded looking back at the skyline. “Whom do you want to go back to?” he asked, and that was when the long night conversation started. He learnt a lot. She was comfortable with him, yet she was still a closed book. All she mentioned was she needed to get home for her brother. Harry told her he needed to get home to his mum and sister. He told her that he works in the lumber industry as he is twenty and at the age in doing so. She explained that she can’t work in power as she is a woman and has a brother to take care of. He was curious when she began talking about Louis. “Who is Louis?” he asked when she was mid-sentence talking about 'without the help of him, they’ll be dead'. “He is my best friend. He has sacrificed so much for my brother and I that I have to come back for him. If I die, he can’t afford to feed another mouth after his sisters and brother.” Harry nodded. “I need to go home, but—” “With Katniss, eh?” he added, she nodded. They stood out till the late hours. Every so hour they’d get closer together, as the weather darkened and became colder. Eventually, her head came in contact with his shoulder, and in an odd feeling for her, she didn’t pull back. “What is the thing with Finnick Odair and you?” he asked out of nowhere. She didn’t move off his shoulder, just let out a giant huff. “I’m a prop. He is a prop. My mentor and his mentor want the games to cancel, so there is this thing where we have a fake relationship.” he nodded. “Like Katniss and Peeta.” she nodded. “Yeah, but with a catch,” he left it to that, “There is nothing happening between us. He’s Finnick Odair, probably has lots of girls at home.” Silence arose again, but moments later she began talking again, “This place is fucked up. Katniss better have this rebellion work. I can’t spend the rest of my life trying to survive when I’m on the bridge of dying.” she said, taking her head off his shoulder, looking at him. He stared into her eyes, she stared back into his green orbs. Her tongue came out of her mouth and touched her lips, then biting them. He leant in, as did she, and they stopped when their foreheads touched one another. His hot breath was felt on her cheeks, and it made her shiver from the lack of warmth she had that night. His hand came to her cheek. Their lips just millimetres apart. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered. Harry nodded, slowly removing his forehead from her’s. Yet in a sudden movement, she grabbed both his cheeks in her hands and smashed his lips to her, mumbling a ‘fuck it’. Their lips moving in a well-formatted pattern. His lips were soft as her's were chapped, adding a roughness to them. She bit his lip and he did it back, as their hands wandered. Harry grabbed her hips and flipped her to her back, as he was straddling her. YN’s arms wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with his curls, as his were steady on her hips. His hand came in contact with her skin as he moved the fabric higher. They were still on the cement floor of the rooftop, it was more than past midnight and it didn’t even come clear to them that they had to wake at ungodly hours for training. It was YN who pulled away, both of them huffing from the lack of oxygen. Harry climbed off, sitting next to her again. “Wow…” she mumbled, he chuckled, “Um, well, it’s late and we have training in the morning,” she said, beginning to get up, but Harry bet her and lent a hand. “Right,” he said, as she starts walking back to the elevator. Indeed the elevator was awkward, he tried to begin a conversation, but the ding interrupted him and he had to get off, all YN said was, “See you in a few hours...alley.” Once the door closed she laughed out loud and just mumbled a, “you’re so fucking socially awkward” to herself. “You’re back… and the time is half past twelve.” Liam said, standing in front of the elevator with his arms crossed. “You know where I am, you’ve had me as a tribute before.” he rolled his eyes and blocked her from moving past him. “I know, and I came to the rooftop, but I caught my tribute snogging the District 7 boy,” he told her with poison in his mouth. “Making allies... happy?” she walked past him but stopped when she sees the one and only Finnick Odair in the living quarters. “Remember the Odair plan?” Liam snickered, she stood wide-eyed. “I clearly remember, but can we do this in the morning instead of now. Like you said, Liam, it’s half past twelve in the morning." “Heard about Styles,” Finnick got up, with his famous smirk on his face, and walking towards YN, dragging his fingers down her jawline, "we go way back." The Odair plan is what Liam called it. Everyone was doing everything to cancel the games. Her mentor arranged with District 4’s mentor to create a storyline that Finnick and YN had an affair, and is still going on. They made everything up, and in a way, it offended YN. When Finnick won the 65th games, at fourteen, he went to districts several times. In one visit a few years later, he came to District 5 and met YN, who was fifteen at the time. They spent a few days together in Liam’s words and YN fell pregnant with Finnick’s child when he was twenty. In that, her brother Caleb is Finnick and YN’s love child, and she plays it off as a brother, yet that is untrue. They wanted to create a way that made it seem like the whole lover thing from District 12, but with a twist, that one is older, and they are from two different districts. It’s a fair point, everyone is trying to cancel this games. “If you want to be allies, Finnick, he is part of this,” she said, Finnick ticked his tongue. “The kiss?” he raised an eyebrow. “It’s late, I’m going to bed.” and she pushed past them all. It ended with the close of the automatic door. When you have a child to take care of, you’re a morning person, but when she arrived in the Capitol, it was the opposite. That morning, she was a reck. It was five a.m. when Ceres walked in, completely done over and walked to the curtains, pulling them open. YN groaned in a way that was in Ceres’ mind, unattractive. “Come on, sunshine, wake up,” she told her, placing her hand on YN’s shoulder. YN could feel the tips of her long nails, making her more uncomfortable. Minutes later, she got up, threw on her training suit and walked out of the quarters. She heard the bustling conversations of Liam and Clyde. But, as normal she never paid attention to it, and just grabbed an apple. “Morning, stubborn,” Liam called, “Sit and eat.” she was in no mood to fight his command, therefore she sat, “And, lose the face, hun. I know you are no pocketful of sunshine, but we don’t need to be reminded.” he added. YN slouched at the table, her eyes being evident with tiresome, and her glare was extra harmful to everyone. Her orbs were prominent, but the surrounding white of her eyes was red as if she was experiencing a nasty hangover or she was too tired to do anything. “Day two of training. YN get more intact with the survival side, screw the daggers. Clyde, man, lose the alcohol.” Liam said, pointing to each of us. She rolled her eyes, hating the enthusiasm. It wasn’t him who was going to face their death. “I’ll do what I want.” she inquired, hinting a rebellion against him. “YN! You should listen to your mentor.” Ceres said, pointing to the seat, “you better sit down now, honey.” Something hit her, she wasn't in the mood to be bossed around, fuck, she wasn't in the mood for anything. She just wanted to go, go back home, and she didn't want all of this to happen, “You’re all bossing me around, and you don’t even consider for once that I am about to die. I don’t want to die listening to everyone, I want to be my own person for once in my life. Liam, you call me selfish, when really you’re the one who is selfish because you let an old alcoholic to go back in the games when really you’re capable yourself with just bridging the age of 25. You should’ve volunteered. Ceres, the only you worry about is your next hair or nail appointment, I have to worry if I should have heat or food. I’m done.” she walked out, done with all the drama. Last night she couldn't sleep, she was still thinking about the kiss between her and Harry. She was never a cheesy, romantic person. It could've been the way she was raised, yet she felt something towards the curly haired man. It was a feeling that she wanted more, more from him; to be around him, to be touched by him. YN never felt this way. These feelings added to her mood this morning, adding to her fury. Her training suit was uncomfortable in her words. It was tight in areas where it shouldn’t be tight, and it was scratchy. The Capitol spent all of this money on the games, but couldn’t even splurge on a better material. It made her blood boil over the top of what happened this morning. Her fingers pressed the button of the elevator, fiddling with the material, and just ignoring the conversation behind her; gasps and comments, she didn’t want to hear. The door opened, and she just walked in, ignoring whoever was in, and her fingers we’re still trying to find comfort with her jumpsuit. “Hi,” she heard a faint whisper, she turned around and jumped a little bit. “Harry, hi!” he smiled. “Suit is uncomfortable, indeed.” she chuckled, nodding and mumbling a simple, ‘yeah’. The elevator stopped, making her fall backwards from the jerk. Arms wrapped around her waist as she stopped half fallen. YN looked up to her saviour, her eyes locking with green ones and an awkward smile greeted her. They were taken out from their “moment” as a low cough caught their attention, “Styles,” Finnick came into the elevator, nodding towards him. Harry stumbled, pushing YN back up from his reach, “YN, hello, love!” Finnick said once in the elevator, placing a hand on her arm and leaning into a kiss on her cheek. She looked down to the tiled floor as though it was more interesting than the amateurish tension around her. “Morning,” she muttered out, shock still lanced in her system. She was stiff in a way. Elevators make everything awkward, and the blush on her cheeks didn’t help. “Let me guess, you on daggers, and me on trident?” Finnick asked, turning around and facing her. Her eyebrows raised. “Very funny, Finnick, but I need do some survival things with Harry,” she put out, catching Harry’s attention, “Have to listen to my mentor,” she added, Finnick’s lips began to move up to his famous smirk. “How come with him, and not with me? We are allies after all.” he winked at her, she rolled her eyes, clearly realising that he is taking this way too seriously. “Harry and I are allies...way before you and me,” she said, still praying for the elevator doors to open. “That is definitely not what you said last night.” Just then the doors opened and Finnick exited off. “Every bloody time he does that; ending the sentence perfectly for a scene,” she growled out, walking into the training room. YN was someone everyone knew. Since she was a little girl, everyone in District 5 new YN YLN. She was an angel, but her mother is what made her famous, after all, in all words, she was a prostitute. It was no shock that she was murdered by the Capitol. Lena was known to know too much. With her job, YN never knew her father or her brother’s father; she couldn’t even keep up with the clients. All she remembers as a child was that whenever someone came over, she had to be gone, and gone for a long time. That is how she met Louis. She was strolling around one day around town, the age of seven and was in her own mind, feet covered in mud and hair encrusted with sweat and dirt. It was normal for her to be called a bastard, whore’s child, and many harsher words, but she never expected to be spat on and called wicked names. The man came up towards her, pushing her small boney collarbone back as he began yelling at how her mother owes him. YN's rightful seven-year-old mind was confused by the words coming out of the stranger's mouth. He kept pushing her till she was on the ground. The man mumbled words and phrases such as, 'bastard, whore, mistake, and get your mother to pay me back or else you're dead.' Louis caught the eye of this and helped her out, telling the man to 'fuck off'. She felt like he was a protector of her, and he was only eleven years old at the time. Today was typical. It was deja vu for her, but it reminded her of what was about to occur. The thought of her going back in the arena made her come to more sense with her death. Louis and she were in contact with letters, and he knows that it was impossible for her to come out alive in the games. He knew that Caleb will have no sister anymore. He knew that Caleb is in his care for the rest of his childhood life. The day of when he heard pots and vases thrown against walls from Victor’s Village, he knew this was the last he’ll see her. Louis loved her. He loves her, but he couldn’t love her anymore, because she’ll never come back. But, it was never a love of her being a romantic partner. It was a brotherly love. Her smile would never be seen around the district again. He’ll never hear her laugh, jokes or voice again. She’s gone forever, and he had to come to terms with it, as she had to come to terms with her death. But, YN's lingering mind went on and wondered at whose hands? How will she die? Who will murder her? Does it matter what happened to her? Will they get her body? But, the major one is, what will happen to Caleb? Her love for him will always be enteral. He knew that she grew up broken. Her life was never a silver spoon in her mouth. She was a survivor, and she did anything to survive. When her mother died when she was fourteen, his mother accepted her. He was the one who brought her back to the light with her brother. But, he never accepted anything back. He loved her. It was simple. “We need to talk.” she was pulled away from the axe section. Her fingers were playing with the sharp edge. Harry came into view and she knew exactly what he was talking about…last night. She nodded to him, placing down the axe that she was holding and followed him to the wall. “YN, about last night,” he began looking down. “I’m sorry.” she stated, “I’m not good at those things, but Harry-” “I like you… more than a friend, so don’t be sorry.” Harry told her, leaning against the wall. “I like you, too.” she blurted, then it sank in, “I’m not good at feelings, but I like you. We may be only living for a few days, but-” “Don’t be like that, love, let’s make it work,” he said to her. YN looked down to the ground, watching as he placed his fingers between hers. They held hands, he rubbed her fingers and vice versa. She smiled a bit, "Meet me tonight on the roof, same time." she said, later adding, "Loverboy."

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles x reader #harry styles au #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction oneshot #one direction imagines #one direction smut #one direction preferences #1d #1direction #1d imagine #1d preferences

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