#morphling sorry I don’t know your name

[sodafizzyart]

Staying up late to draw more Catching Fire art but now it’s bad bc it’s 1am and my sketches are getting uglyyyy

#it’s ok but damn just sleep and do it better tomorrow #but NOOOO can’t sleep unless I get these out #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #finnick odair #the hunger games trilogy #thg fanart #thg #catching fire #morphling sorry I don’t know your name #everlark #peeniss

[lu-vin-it]

Luck | 2

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

Part 1

Summary: Life with Coryo in the districts is hard.

Pairings: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Pronouns used: Gn! Use of “Mx.” and “Mxs.”

Word Count: 4,448

Warnings: Death, depression, use of morphling (but only as a pain medication.)

A/N: Okay so pt 2 is here! I am willing to do a part 3, but I wanted to leave that up to you guys cause if I do a part three then there will be a major falling out between Tigris and R, and if you’re anything like @lunatiqez and I, you are probably dreading it. Up to u guys!!

Also thank you to @/lunatiquez and @lemkay-luminary for proofreading! Ilysm!

“Coryo?” You ask as line breaks up. 

“Hm, yes?” You let out a relieved sigh. You hate when you lose connection, because Coryo only gets one call a week, and once it ends, it ends.

“Sorry, you cut out, what were you saying?” 

“It’s fine, I said I miss home.” He pauses with a small sigh. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Coryo. It’s not the same without you.” 

“Sejanus says hello, by the way.” 

You roll your eyes. “Tell him I said hi.” 

Coryo’s laughter fills the line. “I’ll make sure to say it with more enthusiasm.” 

“I’m sorry! I just don’t care for him. Though, I imagine he’s better than the District 12 idiots you have to slum with.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Tigris says she misses you.”

“I miss her too.” 

You hum. “Tessa’s been learning how to play the violin. She’s finally given up on the guitar. Thank goodness for that, too. Ever since Lucy Gray’s interview she’s been non stop playing it, and it’s like nails on a chalkboard. The violin, on the other hand, is gorgeous.” 

“That reminds me, I’ve been going to this bar called The Hob with the other Peacekeepers, and as it turns out, Lucy Gray sings there.” You always knew it was a possibility he’d run into her again, but you hoped it wouldn’t be this soon. 

“Really?” 

“Mhm. She asked about you, and she seemed almost upset when I told her we were together.” 

You smile and bite your lip. “You told her we were together?”

“I tell everyone we’re together.” Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Wouldn’t want anyone coming for what’s yours, right?” 

You smile, though you have to swallow a lump that forms in your throat. “Yeah.”

You cherish every single phone call you have with Coryo. He’s been gone for a month and a half now, and you miss him dearly. The weekly calls you were able to secure were great, but it’s not the same as seeing him every day. 

You’ve found other ways to fill the void though. You still ate most meals with Tigris and The Grandma’am, but you also started to hang out with your sister more. You brought her shopping with you a few times, and she started playing songs for you as soon as she learned them. 

“Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.” 

You sit up straighter. “What is it?” 

“I think Sejanus is getting into some bad stuff..” You bite back the urge to say ‘Of course he is.’ “He’s been hanging around this guy named Billy Taupe. Whenever I ask about it he changes the subject.” 

“Well considering the arena...” You reply, coolly. 

“My thoughts exactly. What do you think I should do?” 

“Report him.” 

“I don’t have any proof, and I can’t go tell Commander Hoff, because he will tell Sejanus’s parents.”

You curse. “Yeah.. Yeah you’re right. I don’t imagine you have anything to record him with, do you?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” He sighs. “If he gets caught he’ll drag me down with him.” 

“Then make sure he doesn’t get caught.” You can hear a faint buzz from the other side of the line, and you frown knowing it means he has to go. 

“It’s time.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to you next week. Goodnight, Coryo. Miss you.”

“Goodnight, I miss you too, Y/N.” The line goes dead and you put the phone on the receiver. The minutes following your phone calls with Coryo are always the loneliest. You hunch over with your hands over your face and sigh. 

You thought everything was perfect when Lucy Gray won The Hunger Games. Now you weren’t sure if anything would go to plan. 

“Y/N?” You glance at your bedroom door to find Tigris looking at you confused. 

“Hey. I forgot you were coming, ‘m sorry.” You rub your face. 

“I always come over on Fridays.” 

“Yeah, I know. I’m really not sure how I forgot.” You're occupied, that’s how. Occupied with the reality that maybe your life isn’t so perfect. 

“Did you just get off of the phone with Coryo?” 

“How’d you guess?” You glance at Tigris, her features haven’t changed much since the dark days. Back then, you dreamed big. You dreamed of a future where you and Tigris had your own fashion line, that you ate however much you wanted, of whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted; and that you were married to Coryo. It was actually Tigris’ idea originally, because she wanted you to be her cousin too. It took about two years after she initially suggested it for it to grow on you, but once it did, you never changed the plan. 

She sits down beside you. “You have that look on your face.” 

“Remember when we used to talk about the future together? How we’d have our own fashion line? Or how I was going to marry Coryo so we could be cousins finally?” 

Tigris laughs. “Yeah, that was forever ago.” 

“Yeah. It was.” 

Your best friend places a hand on your back. “There’s still time.” 

“Twenty years.” You lean into her. “Things are so different.” 

A few days later, on Monday,  you sit in the same spot, with the same red phone in your hand, and dial the same number. 

“Hello?” 

Hearing his voice never fails to put a smile on your face. “Hey Coryo. How’s everything going?” 

“Good actually. I took the Officer’s test yesterday.” 

“Really? That’s amazing, Coryo!” You breathe a laugh. “What happens if you pass it?” 

“If I pass I can start climbing the ranks, if I ever become a commander we could see each other again. Commander Hoff goes to the Capitol for meetings all the time.” 

“Seriously? You might actually get to come here?” Your voice is shakey. 

He laughs a little. “A little less enthusiasm, please.” 

“I’m sorry! I just.. I was coming to terms with the fact that we won’t be able to see each other in twenty years—“ 

“Do you not want to see me?” He interupts.

“Of course I do! Coryo, I’m over the moon.” You laugh. “This is amazing.” 

“I know. Tell Tigris for me?”

“Of course. She’s going to be so happy!” 

He chuckles. “I know. Also.. I got a recording of Sejanus.” 

“How? On what?” 

“Jabber jay. A messed up mutant that Dr. Gaul made. We were caging them when he started telling me about his plans.. so I recorded him, and I sent the bird off with the rest of them.” 

“Where are they being sent?” 

“Back to their creator.” 

“To Dr. Gaul.” 

“Will you tell her to expect something from me?” 

You smile. He trusts you. “Yeah. When’s our next call? I’ll make sure to do it before.” 

“No, I need you to do it now. The Jabber jays will be there tomorrow.”

You widen your eyes. “Okay.. yeah, I can do that.” You glance at the clock on your bedside table, if you’re going across town to speak to Dr. Gaul, you have to do it now. “I have to go now if I’m going to make it.” 

“Oh of course, thank you, N/N.” 

“Always. Miss you.” 

“Miss you too.” You hang up your phone and rush out of your room. 

As you put on your shoes at the front door, Tessa calls out for you. She sits in front of the coffee table beside your Mother in the sitting room.

“Where are you going in such a rush?” 

“I have to speak with Dr. Gaul.” 

Your Mother furrows her brows. “It’s so late. Can’t this wait till the morning?”

You shake your head. “It’ll be too late, it’s about Coryo.” 

Your Mom sighs. She’s known for a long time not to get in between you and the Snow’s, it never ends well. You’re hit with the memory of being fifteen and told that you couldn’t sleep over at their penthouse because your Father was having coworkers over for a big dinner, and in retaliation, pouring out every spice in the kitchen so that all of the food tasted awful. “Okay. I love you.” 

You open the door. “Love you too.”

“Be safe.” You nod and walk out. 

Your driver is waiting for you with your car at the bottom of the stairs. You spend half a second wondering if he just waits there for you, but then shake the thought out of your head. Why should you care? He’s being paid. 

“Take me to the Games’ building. I need to speak with Dr. Gaul.” The driver nods, and you give him a curt smile before lifting the privacy screen. You look out your window, taking in the Capitol. Sure, it was beautiful all the time, but at night, it was something else. The golden lights illuminating the streets, the people dressed to the nines, the dark blue sky that was once filled with stars— though not in your lifetime— now just an empty void with the moon in the middle. You feel compelled to smile as you absorb everything. 

The car slows as it comes to the front of the Games’ building. Your driver rushes out to get your door for you. As you step out, you look at the front doors, where Dr. Gaul stood. 

“Well, if it isn’t Mxs. Coriolanus Snow.” She greets.

You walk up to her. “Dr. Gaul, I’m here to bring you a message.” 

“Oh? And what would that message be?” 

“Listen carefully to the Jabber Jays from 12.” 

She looks at you incredulously. “12? I expect this message is coming from Mr. Snow, then?” 

“It does, but it’d be in your best interest to keep that to yourself.” 

She raises her eyebrows. “Was that a threat, Mx. Rose?” 

“No, of course not. Just… a suggestion.” 

Dr. Gaul smirks, crossing her arms. “It’s not safe to be out alone around this time.” She looks around. “Are you alone?” 

“No, I was driven here.” 

“Well, be driven home. We’re done here, Mx. Rose.” The woman looks you over before walking towards the parking lot. You turn around and walk back to your car, where your driver still stood holding your door open.

The next morning, you get up early and head to the Snow residence. Thankfully, it was the apartment connected to your own, so you didn’t go far. You don’t stop to knock, either, just walking in and going straight to Tigris’s room. 

“T?” You call out as you enter her room. 

“In the bathroom!” You go to your best friend’s bathroom, where she is taking her hair out of rollers. 

“Hello! Don’t you look gorgeous this morning.”

The blonde smiles. “Stop it! I don’t even have all my rollers out yet.” 

You reach up and start pulling one out carefully. “Coryo called me yesterday, he took an officer’s test.” 

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Well since he graduated from The Academy, he can get a job as an officer, and maybe eventually even a commander.” You place the roller down on the counter. “And if he becomes a commander, he’ll be able to make trips here.” Tigris’s neck snaps towards you. “He could see us again, T.” 

“You’re lying.” She shakes her head. 

“I’m telling you the truth, he’ll be able to come back.” 

Tigris grins and wraps her arms around you, pulling you in for a big hug. “This is the best news! I’m so happy!” She squeals, causing you to laugh loudly. Not at her, but with her. You’re both over the moon. 

Later, you and Tigris walk through your favorite fabric shop, your driver trailing behind you with your full cart. You pick a few yards of fabric, and you are still browsing. Tigris also picks out a fabric she likes, so you pile in some of that. 

“Do you think we’ll ever actually start our own line?” 

Not a beat passes before Tigris nods. “I have no doubt that we will.” She gives you a smile. “And you will be married to Coryo, and I will be married to some rich man, and we will be next door neighbors just like we are now but in bigger houses—“

“Don’t you mean mansions? Isn’t that how we always said it?” You ask with a smile.

She rolls her eyes. “The point is, our dreams will come true. I mean, you’re already with Coryo, that dreams come true. Why shouldn’t all of our other ones?” 

You nod, not utterly convinced. “It’s just.. me and Coryo get together, and a day later he’s banished from our home for 20 years. That seems like a sign.. right?” You feel crazy admitting that out loud. You’ve never believed in “signs”, just unfortunate fate, but this one is too big to ignore.

“Maybe it’s a sign that you guys can get through anything. Don’t give up on him, N/N, my cousin is stupid, but he loves you, anyone with eyes can tell you that. He’s not going to let anything get in between you, you shouldn’t either.” You bite your lip and nod. “Plus, when he becomes commander he’ll visit us. You just have to hold on a bit longer.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I love him too— you know that— I guess I’ve just been overwhelmed.” 

Tigris places a hand on your arm. “You don’t have to act like that with me. You can talk to me, N/N, you always have.” Her face is full of concern. 

You smile. “I know. I’m fine, I promise.” 

She smiles and nudges you. “Good! Now,” Tigris hooks your arms together. “What colors should our shop be? I’m thinking orange and red, Tigris and Rose, you know?”

 You grin. “That sounds perfect. Our first line could be fire themed, too.” 

Your best friend gasps. “That’s perfect! I can see the silhouettes now.” 

You give her a knowing look and nod. “Once I get out of University, let’s swear to start.” You offer her your pinky, which she wraps with her own in a swift motion. 

“Deal.” 

You and Tigris went to your home after you were done shopping. You sew for a while, and then eat dinner next door with The Grandma’am. 

You wake up the next morning with a sick feeling. Your gut is yelling at you, and you have no clue why. You lay in bed for half an hour before you get up to find your Mother, thinking that maybe she could give you morphling for the pain, but the second you leave your room, you’re so anxious to get back you feel like you're on the verge of a panic attack. You continue anyway, counting each step to ground yourself. 

It takes you 56 to finally find your Mom. She’s sitting in the library with a book, a different one from last night.

“Y/N? Honey, are you alright? You’re trembling.” Her voice  fills with worry. She immediately comes to her feet and stalks over to you. 

“Yes— Maybe. I don’t know. I-I woke up really.. scared? I need.. something, I don’t know.” You’re not sure you’ve ever sounded so pathetic. You feel so vulnerable. 

“Of course, come, I’ll give you some morphling.” She grabs your hand, and for the first time in a while, you’re grateful she’s so affectionate. She wraps her other arm around your back, and slowly takes you over to the desk in the middle of the library. Your Mother helps you sit down and then starts rummaging through the messy drawers. “I keep some in here for my headaches.” 

You nod. “You read a lot.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself.

She laughs. “Yeah.. nearly one book a day.” She pulls out a small vial, definitely smaller than what Dean Casca Highbottom drank from. “Bottoms up. It’ll only take a second to kick in.” You take it and quickly swallow the dark liquid, grimacing at the taste. This makes your Mother laugh again. “Better yet?” She asks after a beat.

At first, you go to say no, but then a warm feeling swarms your body and you can no longer feel the terror or vulnerability. “Yes, actually.” You smile. “Thank you, Mother.” You lean down and kiss her cheek, something that leaves your Mom glowing. 

“You’re very welcome. If you ever need any more and you can’t find any, let me know, I have some vials in my room.” You nod and stand up. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” You give her another smile before walking back to your room. As soon as you walk in, your eyes snap to your phone. The bright red plastic phone that has become your favorite thing since Coryo left, yet as you look at it, your heart starts beating fast. You can’t figure out what’s making it beat so fast, probably due to the morphling. 

You shake your head and walk into your closet, everything is red, black, or white. Your shirts, your pants, your shoes. You run your hand over the hanging clothing. You stop on your favorite shirt, pulling it out, and then grabbing pants that look the best with the white top. After you change, you toss your pajamas into the hamper, and then grab a pair of shoes, before walking into your room. You set the shoes down beside your sewing desk which you sit in front of. You start going through your notebook to find a design to work on. 

Hours pass, and before you know it, it's dark out. You stop sewing when you hear your Dad come home, a clear sign it’s 7:15, since he never comes any earlier or later. You slip on your shoes and stand up to stretch. With a sigh, you gaze at the dress you’re working on. It’s going to be beautiful when it’s done. You plan to give it to Tessa, thinking that the purple on the trim would compliment her skin. You pull it over your mannequin and pin it in place. 

You’re admiring your work in full scale when your phone starts ringing and your stomach drops again. You can tell that this is it. This is the reason you’ve been so anxious. You walk over and pick up the phone. 

“Hello?” You can hear music in the background, and lots of voices. The call is obviously being made from a public place.

“Y/N?” It’s Coryo. 

You smile. “Hey! How’re you calling so early? I thought that you could only call onc—“

“Listen very carefully, okay? I don’t have much time, so I need you to listen. Okay?” His voice trembles. 

You furrow your brows. “Okay.” 

“The rebels Sejanus was helping bought guns with the money he gave them. Last night, I had to shoot two of them.” You gasp. “One of them was the mayor's daughter.” 

“Oh Coryo..”

“And this morning Sejanus was hung for treason.”  You widen your eyes. 

“What?”

“The other rebel hid the guns, but if they find them, I’m dead, Y/N.” Tears pool in your eyes. “So.. I have to go.” His voice breaks. “Lucy Gray and I are leaving at dawn.” 

Something inside of you breaks. Your stomach hurts, you feel nauseous, and tears are falling from your eyes faster than you can stop them. You sit down on your bed. “Coryo.. What do you mean?” He doesn’t answer. “What do you mean?” Nothing. “Coryo?” Your voice breaks. 

“I’m so sorry.” Pain laces his voice. “I want things to be different. I want to be there with you, but Sejanus messed everything up, N/N. I’m sorry.”

“Y-You can’t… What about Tigris? The Grandma’am?” Your lungs feel heavy. 

“You’ll take care of them, I know you will.” 

A sob racks your body. “I-I can’t.. Coryo, please.”

“I love you.” The line clicks and you fall forward onto the ground. Sobs rack your body, one after one, until you can’t take it anymore, and you just scream. He’s gone. Coriolanus Snow, the man you thought you would marry, the man you grew up with, the man you loved more than anything, is gone. 

You don’t know how long it is before your parents run into your room and fall to your sides. You can’t hear them over your heart pounding in your ears. You can’t catch a breath, either. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a servant ushering Tessa away. For a moment, you feel bad she’s witnessed you like this, but then you remember why you’re like this in the first place, and it doesn’t seem so important. You hold onto the phone tighter as you curl into the fetal position. Your Mother lays her body over yours, and your Father runs off. 

You stay like that for a while, you think. Just curled up under your Mother, screaming and hyperventilating. Coryo is your everything, and with one phone call, your world is shattered.  

Your Mother moves and Tigris crouches beside you, helping you to sit. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” 

No. No. You shake your head. The realization that you have to tell everyone is deafening. You stare at Tigris through your tears, the memories of the three of you together crushing you. You clutch your chest with your free hand before bringing your knees up to it. “Coryo..” Is all you can mumble. 

Her face drops. “What about Coryo? Is he okay?”

You nod, not wanting her to worry while you gather the strength to say more. “He’s..” You swallow a lump down. “Leaving.” Suddenly, you can hear a pin drop in the room. Everyone stopped moving, stopped breathing. 

“What?” 

You hold up your phone. “He called.. said he had to go.” 

A tear falls down Tigris’ face. “Did he say why?”

“No.” Is your immediate answer. Maybe it's a little obvious you’re lying, given the speed, but no one presses further. 

“So what.. he’s just going to try his hand at surviving out there?” She brings a hand to her forehead. “He knows nothing about the woods.” 

“Lucy Gray is with him.” Normally you’d be mad she was able to be so close to him, but honestly, you were happy he at least has her, a shot at surviving out there. 

Tigris seems confused. “They’re running away together?” 

Hurt swells in your stomach again. Were they? Was everything Coryo said to you a lie? You break down crying again. You’re disappointed about it, you hate crying, but it was foolish to think you were done mourning the love of your life after one good cry. “It’s not like that.” You shakily explain to her. “He wouldn’t—“ You interrupt yourself with a sob. Tigris wraps her arms around you and pulls you into her. You both lean back against your bed, holding each other, and crying. 

Hours later, Tigris sleeps peacefully beside you, her arm draped across your stomach. You were turned on your side, facing her, and quietly crying. As you look at her, you note all the similarities between her and Coryo. You think about how you will never get to see him grow old, how he will never become the President of Panem, how you will never get married to him.

You fall asleep sometimes around midnight, you dream of a life with Coryo. 

The next day, you stay curled up in your bed as Tigris goes to work. You get out of bed a few times to use the bathroom, but you have all your meals brought to you. Though, you barely eat anything. A few bites but that was it. You went in and out of consciousness, crying for a moment every time you woke back up to reality. You aren’t sure how you can sleep as much as you are right now. It seems impossible. But you do.

You hear your Father come home, and deja vu hits you like a brick. You glance at the clock, 7:23. 8 minutes late. Weird. You close your eyes again, hoping for more sleep, for more dreams of Coryo. But moments after, your bedroom door is opened and shut without a knock. You glance at the door and the breath is knocked out of you. It’s Coryo. 

He rushes over to you and scoops you up in his arms. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I don’t.. Coryo?” You start crying again, thinking that he has to be a hallucination. A sick trick your own mind is playing on you. “You’re not here.” You bury your face in the crook of his neck. It smells sort of like him, though. This is a really, really good trick. 

“I am, I’m here. I’m not leaving you again.” He pulls away from the hug and holds your face in his hands, a gesture so normal it hurts. “I’m here, okay?” 

You surge forward and kiss him, you can’t make up what you feel when you’re kissing him, joy like that can’t be forced, so when you feel it, you know he’s there. You gape at him when you pull away. “But I thought you had to leave?” You ask, forming a small smile, though tears still fell down your cheeks.

“I found the guns and destroyed them. And I passed the officer’s test.” He hesitates. “Yesterday Commander Hoff offered me a spot in district 2, I went back and took it. They sent me here instead and Dr. Gaul met me at the train station. She’s going to tell everyone I was in 12 as part of my internship.”

“Internship?” 

He nods. “Dr. Gaul offered it to me. I start next week.”

Your smile widens. “That’s.. I don't even have words, Coryo.” 

He smirks slightly. “Well, good thing we don’t need words.” He leans down and kisses you again. It's a long, sweet, kiss that you savor. When he pulls away, you’re left wanting more. “I meant what I said when I called you. I love you.” Butterflies erupt in your stomach, the ones only he can cause. 

You grin and wrap your arms around his neck. “I love you too.” You finally take him in, his  appearance has changed slightly. He’s wearing a white t-shirt with gray cargo pants, and his beautiful blonde curls have been buzzed. You bring a hand up to his scalp. “Your curls!” 

“I know, weird, right?” He smiles and brings a hand up to his head too. 

“A little bit, but you look so handsome anyways, I can hardly be sad.” You bring him in for another kiss, your favorite thing to do ever since the first one he gave you. 

For the first time in months, you don’t doubt that everything is okay. 

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

Taglist: @ems-alexandra , @becauseseaotters

#coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #tom blyth x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #lucy gray x reader #tigris snow x reader

[aquanova99]

Haunted (Cato x Reader)

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Part 7

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

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Cato’s POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Y/ns POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cant you just use that spear?”

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

“I need to clean your…undershorts.”

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

“Speaking of…have you gotten anything?”

“No, what did you get?”

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

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

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

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

“Me too. Medicine.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that all I get.”

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

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

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

Peeta stirs, “Mm Y/n?”

“I caught us some fish.”

“Thanks for finding me,”

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

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

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

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

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

“Not fair.”

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

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Cato’s POV

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

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

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

“Its too expensive.”

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

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

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

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

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

‘Really?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No way. I kill her.’

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

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

…’You’ll drag it out.’

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

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

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

‘Yeah sure.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No! No, it wasn’t me.!’

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

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

‘Just this time Y/n. For Rue.’

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

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

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

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

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Y/N’s POV

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

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

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

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

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

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Catos POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Are- are those their real eyes???’

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

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

‘Drop it or he dies.’

‘He dies and you come in second.’

‘Then I get one last kill.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Are you okay?’

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

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

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

‘I can’t wait to go home.’

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

‘What?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Well then let’s move.’

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

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

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

‘Dont y/n. One of us should go home.’

She shakes her head, ‘No.’

‘Y/n—‘

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

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

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

‘They have to have a winner y/n.’

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

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

‘3.’

‘2.’

….

‘1’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

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

#hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #tbosas #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games cato #hunger games cato imagine #cato hunger games #cato x reader

[lostinwildflowers]

Strange Magic

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Summary: In a world where dark elves are trying to take over, light fairies are being hunted and captured to be used as weapons. You are on the run from them when you enter a forest, accidentally injuring yourself. A mysterious wyvern appears before you, will it hurt you or lend you a helping hand?

Word Count: 10.5K

Warnings: slow-burn(It wasn't supposed to be I swear, I hope I did this right), pining, mentions of blood, swearing, choking(minor torture), fantasy AU!, Morphling!Ushijima(called a wyvern), Fairy!Reader(physical appearance is human), uhm I made some creatures up, angst, and fluff of course :D

A/N: Hey y'all this is my submission for @bluebellhairpin aka Nemo's Fantasy Collab! I wanted to continue stepping out of my box, so I wrote for good ole Ushiwaka for this fic! Please leave a comment or reblog this, I worked really hard and planned this out for a long time. Thank you and enjoy :D -Birch <3

You didn’t know where else to run, the thundering of hooves sounding out everywhere as you charge towards the forest. The dark elves were on you in an instant when you crossed their border, and you should have known better than to run.

War cries could be heard from behind you, and you duck under some vines, terror ripping through your body as you could start to make out individual voices.

You try to tread as quietly as you can through the forest, the dark green canopy thick and very high above you. Your (colored) eyes catch onto some small blue wisps floating through the sky, the small creatures twirling around in a friendly hello.

There isn’t time to dawdle though, Oikawa’s elves would be on you in a second if you didn’t keep moving. You wind your way through the trees, the voices and clangs of the elf warriors fading as you make your way deeper into the woods.

The bad thing was that the canopy was so thick you were starting to lose your vision, and you were terrified to use your powers. As a light fairy, you could produce soft beams of light at will whenever you were in a good headspace. But whenever you got mad or frightened, you lost almost all control over it, leading to forest fires and devastation.

You settle for emitting a small bit of light from your pointer finger, allowing it to glow like a soft candle as you pick your way over huge and gnarly roots, the material of your skirt getting caught on the jagged edges of the moss.

Crackling in front of you stops you in your tracks, and you are soon met face to face with a small herd of shadow deer. The black creatures were known to be kind and friendly toward those around them, so you smile in relief when they simply acknowledge you as you walk by.

There must be water nearby if there are shadow deer around. Hopefully, there aren’t any water sprites, those things are painful to deal with, you think to yourself, once again tugging on your skirt as you scutter around a particularly nasty vine.

Your breathing had managed to calm down at this point, the only thing you could hear was the rustling of the shadow deer next to you munching on the grass and the faintest roar of water in the background.

A squeal almost leaves your lips as your eyes focus on the faint path in front of you, pointing your glowing finger forward for a better view. When you catch sight of a shimmering dark blue sparkle you immediately start making your way down the dirt path, pink and purple glowing mushrooms lining the way down to the water’s edge.

At this point, you were completely lost in the middle of the forest, your surroundings glowing a deep midnight purple. You look around the path briefly to see if any small animals would cut in front of you and you think, I bet nothing is out here in this twilight. It’s almost impossible to see without a light.

You were lost in your thoughts and trying to remain calm, keeping your light steady, that you didn’t realize the path had turned from dirt into wet stone. Your feet slide out from underneath you, a loud crying leaving your lips as you hit the ground, your right calf ripping against a huge and sawtoothed rock.

In your haste to get close to the water, you also didn’t notice a sharp pair of green eyes were watching you from across the riverbed, eyes that seemed to glow neon with intensity.

You groan at the pain radiating through your back and your butt. The fall had made you land clumsily, causing your light to flicker out in haste.

In the dark twilight of the forest, you could see the faint gleam of rushing water, and you sit up slowly as another whimper leaves your lips when you shift your body. At a quick glance, you can see a wet, dark red liquid on your leg, and then a burning pain starts to set in.

You cough lowly, gasping in pain as you try to clutch your leg, eyes welling with unshed tears. A loud splash in the water sings out as a huge shadow begins to loom over you.

You are met with bright and shining olive green eyes, and you feel your heart start to race and your stomach clench in fear as you gaze up at the wyvern in front of you.

A harsh and dissonant screech leaves your lips as you try to scramble away from the huge creature that resembled a two-legged dragon. The sharp green eyes pierce you to the point where you feel like you can’t move, but the pain in your leg tells you that you can’t move because you’re injured.

In your panic, you accidentally start spewing light from your hands and onto the soft, dry leaves next to you. They easily catch fire, the orange and yellow glow of the flames lighting up the huge creature in front of you.

You could make out large, dark green and brown scales all over its chest, and you catch sight of a huge and swinging tail behind it. The flames start curling up a dried tree on the end of the path, and you begin your scrambling again, trying to crawl away from the monster in front of you.

In a flash, the wyvern turns around, its tail cutting deep into the water as it puts out the flames around you in an enormous wave. The path is dark again, the only light being from the few squished mushrooms you scrambled over and the olive glow of the wyvern’s eyes.

The figure of the wyvern shimmers for a few seconds before your eyes, and in a heartbeat, a tall and muscular figure stands in front of you. His eyes don’t seem to glow as much in his human form, but the intensity is still there as he begins to walk toward you.

Your heart is beating erratically at this point and you point your hand at him and shout panicked, “Get back or I will blast you!”

That immediately stops the large figure in front of you, the man stops dead in his tracks and puts one hand out in front of him slowly. He blinks once, his eyes staying focused on yours as he states, “I’m not going to hurt you. I am here to help.”

You manage to shuffle back onto your butt, sticking both hands out in front of you. Your eyes are wide with fear and you yell back at him, “How do I know you aren’t working with the dark elves to capture me?!”

This causes the man to tense all of a sudden, his large frame freezing at the sound of “dark elves”. His olive-green eyes remain latched on your own as he slowly crouches down, his hand still held out in a peaceful manner.

“I am not working for Oikawa,” he states lowly, his voice gravelly and deep. You just stare at him distrustfully, so the man continues, “My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi, but you can call me Ushijima.”

You put one hand down as you start to gather your feet underneath you, preparing to stand up. In your movements though, you gasp in pain, and Ushijima shuffles forward to help you.

Quickly you put both hands out again and you yell, “Stay back!” With that, a small burst of light flies from your hands, but Ushijima ducks out of the way easily, turning his head to watch the light sail past him.

He turns his head back to you and he replies, “Your aim isn’t too good, you must be in a lot of pain. I know you light fairies only have a limit to how much light you can expel.”

Now it’s your turn to freeze at his words, your hands dropping as you look at him in shock. Your mouth remains hanging open as you stutter out, “H- how did you know?”

A frown finds its way onto Ushijima’s face as he murmurs, “My friend, Tendo, was a light fairy. He was taken by Oikawa’s dark elves when he wouldn’t turn himself in to be used as their weapon. As far as I know, they killed him.”

At Ushijima’s confession, you sigh dejectedly and nod slowly, “I’m sorry to hear that, Ushijima. There aren’t many of us light fairies left. My name is L/n Y/n, and I’m on the run from Oikawa and his men.”

Ushijima seems to soften as you introduce yourself and he blankly responds, “You are injured. You can’t possibly run from the dark elves in this state. Let me help you, my hut isn’t too far from here.”

You nod wearily, trying once again to get up on your own, by whimpering when you brush your leg against the hard stones underneath you. Warm hands on your waist haul you to your feet, and you are met with those same intelligent green eyes.

“It might be best if I carry you, we have to cross the water and there is no way you can wade through that on your own,” Ushijima remarks, his hands lingering by your sides as he awaits your response.

You go to argue with him, but as you apply pressure to your injured leg, it wobbles and gives out on you. Ushijima’s firm grasp is around you in an instant, and he doesn’t say anything as he picks you up in his arms bridal style.

Ushijima is very cautious as he carries you through the water, the coolness of it lapping at the bottom of his tank top. Once on the shore, Ushijima asks you how you are doing, and you simply shrug, “I don’t know, you’re the one carrying me.”

With that, a small smile curls at the edges of Ushijima’s lips, and he sets out for his small hut. The walk to his shack is quite beautiful, you must admit. On this side of the river, the moss glows a gentle emerald green, and the tree trunks are a mix of black, navy, and burgundy barks.

There are a few small creatures you see along the way, one or two more shadow deer, a few red and oranges wisps too. What catches your attention is the fire sprites hanging around the tops of the trees.

The fire sprites were known for their very short tempers, but you were surprised to see how kindly they smiled at you in Ushijima’s arms. The man doesn’t seem to notice them himself, his pace not wavering as he maneuvers through the trees toward his home.

You notice Ushijima relaxes slightly at the sight of his house against the twilight sky. The hut is pretty small, enough to support one person, I suppose, you think to yourself as you take in the compact building.

Ushijima is ever the gentleman as he helps you inside the front door, boarding it shut behind him as he guides you over to a table. He clears it as quickly as he can, taking the pieces of parchment and moving them to a smaller desk.

You look around the house as you plop down in one of the wooden chairs, eyes scanning to see a small fireplace, couch and kitchen. Ushijima appears in your vision, two lit lanterns in his hands.

He sets one on the table you were sitting at, and he hangs the other on a hook by the door. After that, he finds a drawer, pulling out 10 or so candles. He quickly lights each of them, setting them up throughout the room to provide ample light.

It was at this moment, with his back turned to you, that you realized how handsome Ushijima was. He was littered with ropes of muscle, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the beefiness of his back that you see peeking out from under his tank top.

In your ogling, you hardly register it when he turns around, his gaze soft and curious as it meets your own. He sets the medical supplies on the table as he takes his place in a chair next to you and asks, “Y/n? Are you alright? You look slightly dazed.”

You just rub at your eyes and shake your head side to side twice to clear your thoughts as you mumble back, “Uh, yeah. I think I just lost a lot of blood, but I should be okay.”

Ushijima nods in reply as he starts to prep the supplies, grabbing a small glass bottle of alcohol and some gauze. Kind green eyes meet your own troubled (colored) ones and he asks quietly, “Is it alright if I clean your cut now?”

You blush faintly and scoot your leg over to him, pulling up the hem of your skirt so he had access to your wound. Ushijima’s hands are rough and warm against your smooth skin, but he is gentle as he picks up your foot to set in his lap.

In a few motions, he wets a small piece of cloth with water, cleaning up the edges of the cut from where the river water mixed with your blood. After that, he takes a clean cloth and allows it to soak in the alcohol for a second, glancing at you and saying, “This is going to sting.”

You grip onto the edge of the desk as he dabs at the wound, and you can’t help the way your knee tugs toward your chest at the sharp sting of it. You bang your knee slightly at your sudden reflex, and Ushijima stares blankly at you and says, “I told you it was going to sting.”

An embarrassed flush covers your face as you nod, stretching your leg back out. Ushijima stops you though, moving his chair closer so he’s sat next to you, your thigh slung over one of his legs as he looks down at the cut intensely.

“I’m going to have to clean this thoroughly. I can see dirt in there, and it could get infected if not cleaned properly,” he states monotonously, looking down at your scared face.

His expression softens at the clear panic etched on your features and he glances away while mumbling, “You can grab onto my arm if that will help ease your pain.”

So while he gets to work on cleaning your wound, your hands find a place around the girth of his large bicep. He does his best to work as efficiently as possible, but when he has to pluck a few pieces of grass and rubble out, your hands tighten around the muscle to the point you thought you were hurting him.

Ushijima is nothing but kind and patient as he wraps your calf with some gauze, securing it with some medical tape before setting it on the ground tenderly. His hands don’t linger as long as you would have liked, because he’s soon grabbing all of the dirty supplies and finding a place to dispose of them.

As Ushijima washes his hands in a pail of water he murmurs quietly, “You can sleep on the bed for as long as you like. I can rest out here by the fire.”

You wince as you turn to face him and you say, “I can’t possibly take your bed, this is your home. I’m just a guest here because you were kind enough to help me out. I don’t even know how to repay you.”

Ushijima almost smiles at this as he shakes his head, “No, I insist. You need the room on the bed for your leg to stretch out. I will take the couch to keep an eye out for intruders. No one should be around or have followed us, no one knows where I live except for you.”

You open your mouth to object again, but you think better of it and instead ask, “So you said you knew a light fairy? Oh, what was his name… oh, Tendo?”

Ushijima’s large frame freezes from drying his hands, his back turned toward you. You see him sigh and turn around slowly, sitting in the chair next to you again. Ushijima runs his hands over his face, his fingers trailing through his olive-brown hair as he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Tendo was my best friend,” he starts, “I’m a wyvern, and Tendo grew up next to where my family lived. He was never afraid of my morphling form, and I was never afraid of his light powers.”

You listen as Ushijima tells you his backstory and about how he ended up in the twilight forest. He mentions how his family moved across the country without him, and that he was sought after for his hardened scales as armor.

In turn, you explained how the dark elf king, Oikawa Tooru, was hunting the light fairies for his own personal army. You tell the story of how they caught you on the edge of their territory, leaving them to follow you in pursuit as you made your way into the twilight forest.

Deep in the dark lands, an obsidian castle stood high against the rising moon, one of the tallest towers flickering with the light from a holding chamber.

In this chamber, a defiant red-headed light fairy was chained, his spirit not broken as the dark elf king and his loyal soldiers tried to corrupt him.

A gasp of, “I will never, submit to you, Oikawa!” leaves the redhead’s lips as the dark elf uses his power to choke the air out of Tendo’s lungs. The dark elf king just smirks madly as he releases his power, allowing the light fairy to crash to his knees.

Oikawa turns to his left and calls, “General Iwaizumi, bring in The Siren.” The dark-haired male nods, and slips down a blackened hallway within the castle.

A few minutes go by before General Iwaizumi is accompanied by a silver-haired male covered in patchy blue and green scales. Oikawa turns to the siren and states, “Semi, you need to sing this foolish light fairy into command.”

Semi nods hesitantly under Oikawa’s command and makes his way toward the chained-up fairy. Oikawa and the other dark elves leave, locking the two creatures in the room as Semi’s enchanting voice starts to sound out.

The following morning in the twilight forest is surprisingly calm, and you groan as you roll over in the large king-sized bed. A broken cry leaves your lips as you feel pain in your leg, and in a few seconds, Ushijima is standing at the frame of the door, concern written all over his features.

“Y/n,” he rushes, “What’s wrong?” He answers his own question when he pulls back the sheets on the bed to expose your leg, blood coating every inch of the bandage he had wrapped last night.

Ushijima’s eyes harden in determination as he glances at the pain etched on your face. Without another word, he turns and strides out of the room, his hands clenched at his sides as he finds more medical supplies.

In a minute, he’s back by your side and murmuring softly, “Y/n, I need you to take your skirt off, it got tangled between your legs when you slept, causing your wound to open in the night.”

You are half asleep and in pain as you listen to his words, and you grumble out, “Can you at least help me to my feet? I don’t think I can stand up on my own.”

Ushijima is immediately by your side, sliding one hand behind your shoulders while the other sits at the small of your back, helping to heave you to your feet. You stumble slightly, but Ushijima catches you as you fall into his chest, your forehead making contact with his sternum.

You close your eyes in pain as you mumble out, “Ow, you’re bony.” Ushijima huffs at this, a genuine smile sitting on his lips as he steadies you.

Ushijima is very respectful as he helps you out of your skirts, his eyes only staying above your chest or below your knees as much as he can. He starts to take off the soiled tape once he has you sit on the edge of the bed, and he kneels in front of you to remove the blood-soaked gauze.

His hands feel nice, you think to yourself as he situated the new wrap of gauze, his brows furrowed in concentration. You blink shyly at your own thoughts as he stands up and walks over to a chest near the end of the bed.

Ushijima pulls out a pair of pants and a large green shirt and sheepishly rubs his head as he looks at you. He starts, “I, uhm. I don’t have any clothes that will fit you, and your skirts will keep getting in the way. You can wear these.”

Your face flushes with warmth as he hands you the clothes, slipping out of the room to let you get changed. As he walks away, Ushijima doesn’t understand why his heart is beating faster and he can’t stop thinking of you sitting on his bed with his clothes in your hands.

It takes you a little while to get changed, but once you do you hesitantly call, “Uhm, Ushijima? Could you help me to the kitchen?”

At that, Ushijima walks back into the bedroom with a small plate of fresh berries, some bread, and a small piece of meat. He tries to calm his breathing as his eyes catch you looking divine in his clothes, but he can’t help the way the tips of his ears burn red.

He clears his throat and says, “I made some food for you, Y/n. I need to leave you here and head to the nearest town to get supplies. If I’m not careful, your leg could end up infected, and I need more bandages and some clothes for you.”

You shuffle toward the food, the collar of the shirt sliding down to expose your collarbones as you reach for a strawberry. Ushijima has to rip his eyes away from you as he bows slightly, walking toward the door.

You look rapidly at the sound of his retreating footsteps and you yell out, “Ushijima, wait!” The tall man stops as he passes through the doorway, placing one hand on the frame he turns his head over his shoulder and asks, “Yes, Y/n?”

Butterflies erupt finds in your stomach as you manage to say, “Thank you, Ushijima. For everything.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you almost think you said something wrong when all you can focus on are his bright green eyes.

But then Ushijima gives you a gentle, closed-lipped smile before saying, “I will be gathering my cart for the next little while, I will tell you whenever I am leaving.” At that, he leaves you in the tightly packed bedroom to go prepare for his trip.

The day goes by pretty slowly at the start, as you had woken up early in the morning due to pain. Ushijima had left right as the forest started to shimmer a mulberry shade of purple, the sun trying its hardest to brighten the dark woods.

You try to rest on the bed, but you feel bad for having bled all over Ushijima’s sheets, so you take your time in standing up, carefully peeling the blankets off the bed and over to the washbasin you had seen when you walked in.

You didn’t necessarily walk around the house, but you limped with care as you lifted the sheets off the bed and carried them into the small living room. You add a log to the fire burning in the hearth and your mind wanders, Ushijima must have added wood before he left this morning.

Somehow you manage to tug the basin closer to the fire, allowing the heat of the flames to warm the basin slightly as you begin scrubbing at the bloodstains. This takes up most of your late morning and into lunch, having to stretch your leg out carefully as to not cramp it.

At this point in the day, the forest was a lot brighter, as the wind was moving quickly through the canopy, splitting open the dark blanket to allow some light to shine down onto the forest floor.

You hang the blankets up in front of the fire in hopes they would dry before Ushijima would get home. You feel your stomach grumble from all of the moving around you were doing, and the dull ache in your leg only intensifies throughout the day.

You look at the small kitchen within the hut, and you see the small box of berries that Ushijima had grabbed fruit from whenever he gave you your breakfast. As you gaze upon the small fruit you think, I really don’t want to eat all of these, but I don’t know where else to get food.

Thus, you end up snacking on the berries for a while, filling up your stomach while also leaving plenty of strawberries, raspberries, and wild berries in the bottom of the small basket. Once your belly was pleasantly full, you crawl over to the couch where Ushijima had slept and you curl up into a ball, letting sleep overtake your exhausted form.

It’s late afternoon when Ushijima returns, the sounds of wings beating alerting you of his presence. You quickly get up from the couch where you had been dozing, and you head straight for the front door, undoing the deadbolt in a hasty swing.

You fling the door open to be met with the green and brown wyvern you know to be Ushijima, his eyes ferociously green in his morphling form. You notice the large cart on the expanse of his back and you recognize boxes and crates full of supplies.

You can’t help the awe that covers your features as you begin to walk toward Ushijima’s huge form. He quickly starts to transform, allowing the cart to slide off of his back gracefully before he is revealed in his human clothes.

Ushijima quickly starts heading toward you, picking up a jog when he sees you stumble. Just before you reach him, your injured leg dips down in a slight hole in the forest floor, and you trip, your face rushing toward the ground.

In a flash, Ushijima lunges forward, somehow managing to slide under you so you land on his chest with his back to the ground. He coughs once as he tries to regain the air in his lungs, and you tense as you feel pain ricochet through your legs.

Neither of you realizes that his hands are firmly wrapped around your waist, but as your head catches up with what happened you look down at him and ask, “Ushi- Ushijima, are you alright? You didn’t have to catch me you know.”

Ushijima just nods slightly and sputters out, “Hng, uh, yeah Y/n, I am fine. Is your leg alright?” You nod in response, and you notice that your lips are only a few inches away from his own plump ones.

You can see smaller speckles of gold and brown within his sharp green eyes, and you feel yourself getting flustered by noticing his handsome features up close. You swear you see Ushijima’s eyes flick down to your lips, but you blame it on your vision failing you.

Ushijima’s hands tighten around your waist even more, his arms practically wrapping you in a hug to his chest when your leg slides off of his own. You flush under his warm gaze and his even warmer touches, your stomach filling with butterflies as he looks over your features.

“You are very beautiful,” Ushijima whispers softly, untangling one hand from around your waist to brush a piece of hair out of your eyes, tenderly tucking it behind your ear.

You don’t know what to say for a second, your cheeks getting hotter as he continues to look at you. You end up murmuring back a simple, “Thank you.”

Ushijima sits up slowly, your forehead moving to rest on his own as he shifts his weight forward. Your lips catch the side of his cheek in a soft kiss, and you pull away quickly at the realization of your actions.

You don’t notice the red staining Ushijima’s cheeks though, and he simply helps you stand up without another word.

The two of you work in tandem unpacking all of the supplies, Ushijima brings the crates inside while you start taking items out and reorganizing them. This goes on for an hour or so before Ushijima’s cart is cleared.

He locks the door behind the two of you, securing the deadbolt before swiveling around to the boxes. Ushijima glances at your leg and asks, “How does it feel? I managed to bargain for some pain medicine, if you need some I can grab it.”

You shake your head and say, “I’m alright as of now, but maybe before bed, I really don’t want to bleed all over your sheets again.” You glance absentmindedly at the sheets strung in front of the fireplace and you curse yourself for not putting them back on the bed earlier.

Ushijima’s gaze follows your own and he almost frowns when he sees the sheets hanging. He steps forward and states, “I’m sorry Y/n, I should have cleaned those before I left this morning. You probably overexerted yourself doing this.”

You smile up at the large man from where you are sitting and say, “No, it’s alright Ushi. I didn’t have anything else to do today, and I was the one who dirtied them.”

His hand tugs on the now dry sheets and he grumbles lowly, “I will put these back on the bed. You can help yourself to the meat crate on the table.”

You simply nod as he walks past you, and a fluttery feeling makes its way from your stomach and into your chest as you catch a whiff of the woodsy scent lingering on him from his journey.

These next few days are going to be interesting, you think to yourself. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do to make up for my injured leg, but I’ll have to figure something out. Ushijima is too kind for me to just leech off of him.

Days turn into weeks as your leg starts to heal, and you are walking a lot better than you had before. Ushijima was nothing but kind and compassionate toward you as you healed, making breakfast and dinner every single morning and evening without fail.

You, in turn, would help do laundry and collect berries and vegetables from the small garden Ushijima had next to his hut. Ushijima had objected at the start, but he realized you needed something to do while he helped you heal and hide from the dark elves.

More recently you had decided to show him your powers, starting off with emitting a soft and golden glow from the tips of your fingers. Whenever your leg was completely healed you showed him how you could toss the beams of light like how you did when he first encountered you.

Ushijima found himself enjoying your presence more than he would have liked to admit. You had started filling the hole in his heart that had been made by Tendo’s absence and he was scared. He was scared that you would leave him or be taken away like how Tendo was, and he couldn’t let that happen.

Even worse yet, Ushijima was wanting to touch you. Not sexually or suggestively, but whenever you both would walk to the river to get water, he wanted to reach down and lace his fingers with your own.

He wanted to cuddle you on the couch in front of the fire when the nights got cold. He wanted you to grab onto his arm when you tripped or if you needed him for something.

Ushijima found himself wanting to be your person. He didn’t even know what to do about it because he didn’t know if you felt the same way or not.

Meanwhile, you wanted to rest your head on his shoulder after you set the fishing line and were waiting for something to catch. You wanted to chase after him in the field of wildflowers on the edge of the forest. You wanted him to kiss you on the forehead when you went to lie down in his bed.

You craved his touch after all of these months, his warm and rough hands sent shocks and shivers up your spine. His touch was electric and magnetic all at the same time, it caused you to shiver and shake with a simple graze on the hand.

You thought for sure you had ruined it one night when you had asked, “Ushijima, I know I have been a guest in your house for a while, and you’ve been calling me by my first name since we met. Is it alright if I called you Wakatoshi? Or even Toshi for short?”

The man had frozen where he was cutting vegetables for your small dinner. A pregnant silence hung in the air and you bit your lip in nervousness when he didn’t answer.

You shuffled on the couch as an embarrassed flush spread on your cheeks and you murmur, “I understand if you would like me to continue calling you-” “No,” he cuts you off.

“Please call me Wakatoshi or Toshi. You have been great company, you can call me whatever you like,” he continues as he resumes chopping up the carrot. You don’t notice the red on his neck and ears, and you don’t see the toothy grin that he lets slide onto his lips.

There was another instance when you had been making small sandwiches for lunch while Ushijima was out chopping wood. He had been at it all morning and you thought he might like a glass of lemonade.

What you weren’t prepared for was to walk around the corner of the hut, a cup of lemonade in hand, and be met face to face with Ushijima’s muscled and very much shirtless back.

The sound of the cup hitting the ground made Ushijima whip around, the axe in his hand swinging as he faced you. When he saw your dazed look and redden cheeks, he immediately dropped the tool to his side.

“Are you alright? What’s going on?” he had asked you, raising up the axe above his head to lodge it into the piece of wood he had been chopping.

A squeak leaves your lips at the sound of the crack, and your feet step into the remnants of the lemonade on the ground. Ushijima turns back to you, his broad chest glistening with sweat as he walks over to you.

You can’t help but gulp as the huge man approaches you and then reaches down to pick up the cup, handing it to you with a gentle, “You accidentally dropped this.”

You just nod and take the cup from him, quickly limping and scurrying back into the hut. Your fingers at your face and eyes as you groan into your hand, and you look at the cup with disgust as you think, Have I really gotten this attracted to Ushijima? I know I’m living with him, but damn.

A few weeks after the lemonade incident, Ushijima took you down to the river to help him gather water to store for drinking. He carried two buckets on a long pole slung over his shoulder, and he let you carry a few bottles in a satchel slung across your body.

The two of you made simple small talk as the river approached, and Ushijima took the liberty of getting thigh-deep in the water to fill up the buckets of water before returning to shore.

You had simply crouched on the riverbed, reaching forward ever so slightly to fill up each bottle carefully. You watched for sand or any bugs that might have gotten in the way, so you didn’t see Ushijima behind you.

He rested a hand on your shoulder gently as he said, “The buckets are full, so whenever the bottles are ready we can head back to the house.”

Ushijima’s touch and low voice ended up scaring you, making you jump forward into the cold water of the river with a shrill scream. You ended up only rolling into the shallows, but your entire body was soaked head to toe when you emerged.

Your mouth hung open accusingly at Ushijima, whose expression was one of shock and fear as he regarded your wet figure. He steps toward you and into the shallows, reaching a hand out to say, “Oh my goodness, Y/n, I did not mean to scare you, I simply-”

A splash of water cuts him off as you shove water with your hands toward his tall frame. Ushijima slightly recoils at the sensation of the cool water on his skin, and he goes to ask you what you were doing until he sees the coy grin on your lips.

With his own chuckle, he reaches down and splashes you back, his feet guiding him deeper into the blue water of the river. A squeal flies from your lips as you try to scramble away from him, but his hands grab at you as he dunks you both in the refreshing river water.

Laughter sounds out from the two of you, your giggles sound like wind chimes compared to his deep baritone. You almost stop laughing just to hear the beautiful sound fall from his lips as you catch his gaze.

Ushijima rests his hands on your back, holding you close in the middle of the river as the two of you lock eyes. Water drips down from his hair and onto the plump apples of his cheeks, where a large and toothy grin awaited you.

You mirrored the cheerful look on his face, eyes squinting up at him as you rested your hands on his chest, your own torso heaving from the giggles still falling from your lips. The warmth from his body made your skin tingle from the temperature difference, and you found yourself getting lost in his comforting green eyes.

A loud buzzing can be heard from the other side of the river, catching both you and Ushijima’s attention rapidly as a horde of water sprites fly at you angrily. Ushijima pushes you towards the shore as he follows in suit, his clothes clinging tightly to his muscled form as he grabs his buckets and lifts the bar across his back.

You grab for the few bottles you had managed to fill, pushing them into the damp satchel quickly as you clamper out of the water and to where Ushijima was waiting. The two of you set off as quickly as you can without spilling the buckets, laughter and giggles spewing from both of you as you make your way back to the hut.

Then there was your biggest and most embarrassing moment yet. You had come to learn that the days in the twilight forest were warm, so a shirt and pants were fine, some days even a cropped shirt was acceptable.

However, the nights in the forest were absolutely brutal, as temperatures dropped rapidly, and that was why Ushijima kept the firewood supply stocked constantly.

The night had gone as usual, the sun was setting which meant it was time for the front door to be locked and the board to be set in place. Ushijima had the fire going from dinner and was poking at it slightly to shift the embers around.

He still insisted on sleeping on the smaller couch, even though you had offered him the bed countless times. Ushijima would always say something about how he was raised to respect women and that you were recovering from an injury and he didn’t want to take advantage of you.

But that night, you laid shivering and cold in Ushijima’s expansive bed. The comforters did little to warm you, and you even wore one of Ushijima’s larger shirts over your own smaller one in an attempt to warm yourself.

The constant cold and shivering had you exhausted, but sleep couldn’t quite seem to find you. This led you to your current predicament.

You were standing in the doorway of the bedroom, facing the kitchen and the soft glow from the fire. You couldn’t see Ushijima, but you knew he was laying on the other side of the couch, hopefully asleep.

Soft footsteps lead you over to the front of the fire, and with as much care as you can manage, you settle down next to the hearth, hands held out to try to warm them up.

A sigh leaves your lips as the fire begins to heat your fingers up, and you tuck your knees under your chin as you bask in the quiet warmth. A blanket being draped over your shoulders makes you turn hastily, and you see Ushijima standing behind you, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“If you were cold you should have told me, I would have added more logs to the fire,” Ushijima states quietly, his arms crossing over his chest as he regards your small, balled-up figure on the floor.

You glance at the flames to keep your eyes off of his handsome face as you murmur, “I thought you were asleep, Toshi. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Ushijima carefully sits down next to you, opening his left arm to invite you into his chest for extra warmth. You shyly scoot closer to him, tucking your cheek into his chest and letting one hand rest on his thigh.

He wraps his arm around you slowly, as if to not scare you as he pulls you closer to his chest. His green eyes linger on the top of your head as his voice rumbles, “You are my main priority right now, Y/n. I have to tend to your needs, even if it is as simple as warmth.”

You nod slightly, the body heat radiating from Ushijima sending tingles up and down your spine. The warmth starts to spread all over, and as you start to drift off in Ushijima’s arms, you could swear something touched your head.

In a few moments, you were asleep in Ushijima’s lap, and he couldn’t believe he had actually kissed your forehead. Ever since you had accidentally kissed his cheek, he had wanted to return the kiss to you somehow, and he had been given the perfect opportunity.

The following morning, the fire had burnt out when you woke up, but you weren’t cold at all. Yes, there was a blanket covering you, but the weight of a solid and firmly muscled arm was wrapped around your torso, locking you in place and constantly giving out heat.

Behind the said arm was the looming figure of Ushijima, whose eyes were peeked open slightly, watching and waiting to see when you would wake up. He felt you shift against him, and that’s when his eyes popped open.

He lifted his arm slightly, allowing you to turn to face him as you blinked sleepily up at him, (colored) orbs half-lidded with a lazy smile on your lips. Ushijima smiles softly in return, his arm tightening again when you nuzzle into his chest.

Neither of you discusses the way you enjoyed holding each other, especially when you have to untangle from each other’s limbs and begin your day. After breakfast, you call out, “Toshi, I need to go refill our basket full of berries, I’ll be near the river if you need me for anything.”

Ushijima nods from where he’s sketching a map at the table before turning to you and saying, “Be careful out there since you are going by alone. I know you can protect yourself but some creatures won’t be kind to you.”

You roll your eyes and nod, giving the green-eyed man a mock salute as you grab the basket, hauling it to your hip as you make your way out of the small shack and into the woods.

The walk to the river only takes a few minutes, and so you set to work, grabbing handfuls of the small blueberries and huckleberries that liked to grow within reach of the water.

You quiet hum to yourself as the basket slowly starts to fill up, your leg cramping every once in a while, forcing you to take small breaks in between handfuls of berries.

Out of nowhere, a large wave of light is fired at you, causing you to get blasted through the huckleberries and down to the riverbed. A scream escapes your lips as you land, echoing throughout the forest as the plants around you catch fire.

Ushiwaka hears the scream from where he had just started tending to his garden outside of the house, and he begins sprinting toward the river at the resounding cry.

Then through the path burnt by the light and fire, stands Tendo Satori, his palms glowing and a sadistic grin on his face. As the light fairy makes his way towards you, you scramble to your feet, holding your own glowing palms out in front of you in defense.

Tendo smiles at you before saying, “Well, well, well, little light fairy, looks like you’re trapped.” And he wasn’t wrong, you were surrounded by water, which definitely didn’t aid you in fighting.

Ushijima appears moments afterward, his chest heaving and his eyes widening as they lock onto the tall form in front of him. He coughs for a split second, gaining the attention of the red-headed light fairy as he stutters out, “T- Tendo? I thought you were killed...”

Tendo just laughs out, “Oh my, you big oaf, I was simply recruited to the correct side of this world, to serve under his majesty, King Oikawa.”

As Tendo takes a step toward you, Ushijima steps toward Tendo with a deep shout of, “You get away from her, NOW.”

Tendo ignores Ushijima’s words and starts advancing toward you again, bringing a light beam to his fingers, he chuckles darkly.

You glance at Ushijima, panic, and terror written all over your disheveled features and you yell to him, “This is your friend, Tendo? Why didn’t you tell me he’s a psychopath?!”

Ushijima starts to make his way toward you as he calls back, “Well he wasn’t like this before! He never would have bowed down to Oikawa unless they brainwashed him!”

True panic starts to set in at Ushijima’s words, and you can feel the control of your power start to slip with every passing second. Tendo laughs maniacally, shooting beams of light at you in rapid succession.

On instinct, you engage your light power, sending a huge wave of light and heat out, causing trees and bushes on the edge of the water to catch fire. You had stopped paying attention to your surroundings, totally giving into the dark and dangerous part of your power.

Tendo just smiles at you and shouts with joy, “Yes! Yes! Unleash your true power, my fellow fairy!”

Ushijima had to stop whenever you sent out your blast of light, and he was at a loss for what to do as you lost control of yourself. He gazed around him, eyes cataloging the damage of your powers, ruining all of the berry plants and the new growth at the water’s edge.

With no other choices left, Ushijima starts to transform into his wyvern. He hopes it’ll be enough to battle Tendo, or at least begin to start putting out a large number of the flames.

Once he’s fully transformed, the large wyvern dives into the river before reemerging, trying to splash the flames out as you begin firing at Tendo. Ushijima’s wyvern lets out a roar as he dives at Tendo, his green eyes focusing on the smaller figure of the light fairy.

As Ushijima’s wings carry him around, Tendo gets slightly distracted from you, giving you the chance to aim a little more clearly at the evil light fairy. As quick as one of your light beams, a silent arrow flies across the sky, ripping through one of Ushijima’s wings.

The wyvern falls with an ear-piercing screech, and you suddenly regain control of your powers when you realize Ushijima’s body crashed from the sky and onto the ground. Standing downriver is a tall dark elf, holding an elegantly crafted obsidian bow with an evil grin on his face.

Ushijima had no other choice than to morph back into his human form, the poison arrow sticking straight out of his shoulder. Oikawa appears next to Tendo while you start running over to Ushijima, power and elegance hanging in the air at the dark elf king’s presence.

Ushijima rolls over with a groan and manages to cough out, “Don’t worry about me, Y/n, just defeat them.” Your heart breaks at the battered sight of Ushijima in front of you, his body broken, bruised, and bloody.

It was at that moment, you knew. Ushijima was no longer just someone letting you live with him, helping you out, or even just a caretaker for you. You were completely, utterly, and helplessly in love with Ushijima Wakatoshi.

With Ushijima’s go ahead, you turn around, light flaring at your palms as your eyes begin to glow gold. A loud scream leaves your lips as you charge at Oikawa and Tendo, light flashing from your palms as you aim the beams at the two men.

In a few quick movements, you have made a fire ring around Oikawa, the flames lapping tall against the sky as you turn to face Tendo. The light fairy is just looking at you smugly, but his smile falters when he hears Ushijima’s delirious call through the crackle of the fire, “T-Tendo?”

A look of horror appears on Tendo’s face as he takes in the raging fire around him and his gaze lands on Ushijima. In a few large strides, Tendo is in front of Ushijima and says, “Oh my gosh, Wakatoshi, what happened to you? What happened to me?”

Ushijima groans as Tendo helps him sit up and he blinks hazily at the redhead, the poison from Oikawa’s arrow starting to pump throughout his blood. It takes a moment for Ushijima to respond before he manages, “Tendo… you, you gave into Oikawa, you were fighting us...”

While Tendo tries to move Ushijima out of the fight, you step through the circle of blazing fire to be met face to face with Oikawa. With a snarl on your lips you sneer, “So this is the Dark Elf King Oikawa, huh?”

Oikawa just smiles back at you, reaching behind him to grab another poison arrow from his quiver as he says, “My, my. That red-headed light fairy wasn’t wrong when he said you had a strong will.”

You spit on the ground next to him, jutting your chin out you spew, “Pathetic. I expected more from you, Oikawa Tooru.”

The dark elf king just smiles maniacally at you, his brown locks of hair wavering from the heat of the fire, as he grabs the arrow from his quiver, quickly trying to catch it on the string of his bow.

However, you waste no time, raising your hands in front of you, you blast him into a solid tree trunk behind him. Oikawa’s hands drop both the bow and the arrows as he flies through the air, his back cracking against the firm wood behind him.

You find it within you to will the fires around you to calm, bringing the flames even with the forest floor before the embers burn out. As you step out of the ring of embers, you see Oikawa knocked unconscious against the base of a tree trunk.

Your (colored) eyes catch onto Tendo’s figure tending to Ushijima, and you go to scream at him to get away when you realize that your fellow light fairy is helping Ushijima.

You jog over to him, eyes frantically scanning over Ushijima’s large figure as you pant out, “Watch over Oikawa, I need to run to the shack and get some rope to tie him up.”

Tendo just nods as you take off sprinting, your legs carrying you toward the small house you had learned to call home. You barely register arriving at the house, finding the rope, and even making it back to the clearing where the three men were at.

You give the rope to Tendo to restrain the unconscious Oikawa as you kneel beside Ushijima, who was flickering in and out of consciousness. You start panicking, and you can feel the anxiety bubbling in your chest as you start to shake Ushijima, trying to keep him awake.

A sob of, “Please stay awake, Toshi. I grabbed an elixir from the medicine drawer when I ran back to the house. Please wake up!” Tears begin streaming down your face as your hands shakily fumble with the small glass bottle.

You call to Tendo, “Please help me get him against a tree so I can get this in his mouth!” Tendo had just finished tying up Oikawa before he returned to your side, helping you haul the large frame of Ushijima over to a tree, leaning him up against the trunk gently.

With your shaky hands, you pop the lid off of the elixir, allowing the mouth of the bottle to press against Ushijima’s lips as you pour the purple liquid onto his tongue. When the bottle is empty you pull away, your vision blurring as you gaze at the battered form of the man you had come to love.

A light cough leaves Ushijima’s throat, catching your attention before you’re hovering over him again, worrying etched in your features. With hazy eyes, he tries to focus on you as he asks, “Y/n? What happened? Where are we?”

A wavering sigh leaves your lips as you cup his face in your hands and you whisper, “You got shot by a poison arrow from Oikawa, Tendo’s back to himself. We are just outside of the river, I had to give you a potion to stop the poison from spreading.”

Ushijima doesn’t say anything, just slightly nods in your hands before his eyes close for a moment. Another cry leaves your lips as your hands tilt his face toward your own, your eyes scanning over his body rapidly, searching for any other major injuries.

You notice Tendo had managed to pull the arrow out, and as you take in Ushijima’s form, simply covered in a ripped up tank top and a pair of pants, covered in sweat, dirt, and blood, you can’t help but think it’s the most beautiful he’s ever looked.

“Please,” you whimper as you gently turn his face back and forth in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks, “Please stay with me, Toshi.”

Tendo steps forward and says, “I think he’s just unconscious, I can carry him back to the shack if you want to stay here with Oikawa, I can bring back the cart to haul him to the Kingdom of the Griffins.”

You nod as you release your grip from his face, muffling your cries as you walk over to the tied-up form of Oikawa, and you can’t stand to see Tendo haul Ushijima’s body away.

You sit on the ground in front of Oikawa as you wait for Tendo to return, wincing in pain as you realize how beat up you actually were. Twenty or so minutes go by until you hear the sound of a horse’s hooves and a cart trailing behind it.

You turn to see Tendo driving Ushijima’s small cart and you smile when you realize Tendo had grabbed some chains too. You help the red-headed light fairy load up the unconscious body of Oikawa, helping his chain down the limbs of the dark elf.

A small smile sits on your lips as you look at Tendo and say, “Thank you, Tendo. I’m Y/n, I have been with Ushijima for a few months now. I appreciate your help, and it’s an honor to meet you.”

Tendo grabs your shoulder lightly with his own grin as he says, “No, thank you. I don’t know how Wakatoshi would have survived without me, and you have pushed him this far. The least I can do is take Oikawa to Prince Daichi’s palace, they can detain him there.”

You nod as the tall man jumps into the driver’s seat of the cart, calling over his shoulder, “The trip will take me a few days, I should be back in a week or so. The nearest town is about a half a day’s walk away from here if you need anything. Take care of Wakatoshi while I’m gone.”

You wave to Tendo’s disappearing figure as you begin your own trek back to the small house. You half limp, half walk back to the shack, your pace picking up when you realize Ushijima was left alone while you and Temdo dealt with Oikawa.

When you manage to make it through the front door, you stumble toward the bedroom. You burst into the room to see Ushijima peacefully resting on top of the covers.

You realize he’s in no immediate danger, so you take the time to strip out of your dirty clothes and give yourself a quick scrub down. Afterward, you carefully treat the wounds you can reach before changing into one of Ushijima’s large shirts and a pair of shorts.

Once you are clean and somewhat comfortable, you sit down next to Ushijima, taking a clean and damp washcloth to clean his skin. You wipe everything you can reach without having to remove any clothing, as you couldn’t lift his large form yourself.

You don’t notice the tears slipping down your cheeks until a warm and rough hand on your cheek alerts you. Ushijima is staring at you with half-lidded eyes as he mumbles, “You are so beautiful.”

A broken laugh leaves your lips as you lean into his touch, closing your eyes at the feeling of him being warm and alive next to you. Ushijima’s green eyes glow with love as he scans over your features.

He looks at the curve of your cheek under his palm, he looks at the soft gleam in your eye when you gaze at him, and he looks at the small smile settling on your lips because he’s still with you.

Ushijima allows his hand to travel from cupping your cheek to the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your (colored) locks of hair as he slowly sits up. You shift closer to him as he moves to lean his back against the headboard of the bed, and you gently sit on his lap as your faces near each other.

You lock eyes with the green-eyed wyvern morphling in front of you, and you can’t help the butterflies in your stomach as he observes you. Ushijima moves his other hand to rest on the lower part of your neck, pushing your body to allow your forehead to rest against his own.

The two of you are silent in that moment, sitting together, breathing together, living together, and for each other. Ushijima can’t help the way his eyes flick from your own to your lips, but he finds himself looking back into your eyes with complete and utter adoration.

His plump lips part slightly as he whispers, “You have my heart, Y/n. You have every part of me and my soul. I give myself to you, Y/n. I love you.”

A bright and blinding smile breaks out across your face as you press your forehead closer to his, and your eyes shut with tears of joy as you rest your hands on his broad shoulders.

Ushijima stays silent as he watches you, not an ounce of nervousness or care in the world for what he just said. He couldn’t be afraid when he just barely beat death, and he had you sitting on his lap, smiling at him.

He thought your smile was as bright as any light ray would have shined, and he feels his heart skip a beat when you open your mouth and reply, “I love you too, Toshi. You have my heart, my soul, and my body. I am yours.”

Ushijima gives you a breathtaking smile as he looks at you, brushing his nose against yours slightly as he basks in what he knows now to be your love for him.

You turn your head slightly, your heart beating faster when you take a glance at his mouth, and Ushijima quickly understands.

Ushijima uses the hand tangled in your hair to gently tip your head, tilting his own face slightly to the side as he leans into your touch. In a final bold move, Ushijima brushes his lips against your own parted ones.

You could feel your heart jump in your chest as your lips finally connect with Ushijima’s, a soft and inaudible gasp escaping your throat as you move your mouth against his own.

Ushijima melts in your touch, and he can’t help but crave the way you taste and feel against his mouth. Your kiss is slow, delicate, and everything he’s ever dreamed it to be and more.

Your lips seem to move in perfect rhythm with his own, and you let one hand smooth up Ushijima’s neck to run your fingers through his short locks of olive hair. Ushijima lets the kiss stay slow and wanting, never pushing you any further than you wanted to go.

You were addicted to the way his mouth tasted against your own, and despite the faint tang of blood, you knew he was everything you had ever wanted. You were almost sad when Ushijima started to pull away, but that feeling soon left when you saw the way he looked at you.

Those green eyes you had fallen in love with shined with adoration, and the smile on his lips told you that you were the reason behind it. You almost flush under the intensity of his gaze, so you lean forward again, chest heaving, to press a gentle and slow kiss to his lips.

Ushijima grunts softly at your movement, causing you to pull away rapidly when you realized your hand had slipped down to where the arrow had entered his shoulder.

You shift in his lap as you stutter out, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” “It’s alright, my love,” Ushijima says softly, cupping your face again and rubbing his thumb under your eye in small circles.

You feel your heart swell at the sweet pet name and you smile down at him and whisper, “I love you, Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

He smiles back at you and replies, “And I, you.”

Tags: @mortedeveles @haikyuutothetop @miatsubaki23 @pocky-writes

#Nemo’s Fantasy Collab #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #wakatoshi ushijima x reader #ushiwaka x reader #wakatoshi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x you #wakatoshi ushijima x you #ushiwaka x you #wakatoshi x you #ushijima x you #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x you #haikyu #ushijima wakatoshi x y/n #wakatoshi ushijima x y/n #ushiwaka x y/n #wakatoshi x y/n #ushijima x y/n #haikyuu x y/n #haikyu x y/n #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! x you #haikyuu!! x y/n #hq #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n

[holidaywishes]

not all monsters do monstrous things...

Part 4: Her Hesitation

  Summary of Series: Delly Cartwright lost her best friend, Peeta, to the games. Now, the one that took him seems to have a soft spot for her.

  Summary of Chapter: “Why am I here?” you asked, confused, your breath had become so thick that it had turned to panting. It was the only sound filling the empty space of Cato’s large marble foyer. “Snow brought you here. To stay with me. Only for a few days.” He replied “I don’t understand. Why here?” she repeated. “Because I asked him to.”

  Warning: Fluff, some angst

  Author’s Note: This one started out as a much shorter chapter but I kind of just kept writing. Again, story idea goes to Ophelia Tate of fanfiction.net fame. Eventually I’ll put like a general disclaimer somewhere but for now, here it will be. Or maybe this is where it will stay, we’ll see! Hope you enjoy :D

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

Delly’s P.O.V

  Gale and Prim hadn’t spoken to you since your outburst in the Apothecary. You didn’t blame them but you couldn’t deny how awful it was making you feel, a feeling your parents soon caught on to.

  “Delly...” your father’s voice was gentle and you knew the conversation was not going to be a happy one, “your mother and I have been talking. We’re worried about you, you don’t seem like you’re regular cheery self.”

  “Dad...” you groaned, “I’m just ha--”

  “Sweetheart, we want what’s best for you. We think that... you might benefit from this facility. in District 9″

  “Facility? What kind of facility?” you whined

  “They’ll help you feel less... alone. They’ll help you grieve Peeta,” he said, trying to sound comforting but it came across as belittling, “which, quite frankly Delilah, we don’t think you’ve done.”

  “You don’t think I’ve grieved my best friend’s death?” you said angrily

  “You haven’t talked about him since it happened, Delly. You watched him jump to his death and you didn’t say anything. You cried, like the rest of us, but you haven’t said anything... to any of us. And then Gale tells us you’re defending the boy who killed him?”

  “It’s not like that,” you countered, “Gale was asleep. Delirious too! After all that Morphling and those lashes.”

  “Prim told us as well”

  “Yeah, well...” you tried but came up with nothing, “fine. But it’s still not as easy as me ‘defending’ him. I was talking to him, that’s it.”

  “That would be fine, if he weren’t as cruel as he has proven himself to be. Delly, we want our girl back. Our happy little sunflower.” He said softly, placing his hand gently on your cheek, “that is why we’ve made arrangements for you to go to this facility”

  “What?!” you shouted, “NO!”

  “Tonight” he added

  “What if I don’t want to go?” you tried, angry tears filling your eyes

  “I have to use the parent card here, Delilah”

  “Dad, please,” you begged, “don’t make me go. I’m fine. I just need a couple more days. Please..”

  “Delly...” he sighed but before either of you could say anymore to each other, the sound of heavy footsteps were stomping up your steps toward your bedroom. The familiar sound of the Peacekeepers March

  “Dad...” you sobbed, tilting your head at him

  “I’m sorry, baby girl. It’s only for a few days. I promise. They’re going to help you.” He pleaded, clearly distressed at this turn of events. You tried running but it was useless; they were too strong and too many. You kicked and screamed as they practically threw you into the Humvee that they had parked outside your father’s shoe shop, driving quickly to the train stop. When they gave you over to the person on the train, you looked back to see no one around. Not even the Peacekeepers. It was just you and the darkness in front of a train that was waiting to take you away. You sobbed as they sat you down in a small train car that was surprisingly elegant for a short trip to District 9

  “It’s alright, dear,” a high voice spoke to you but you didn’t see a face, “the ride is quicker than you think.” When you finally saw her, you were more confused than ever, what was Effie Trinket doing on this train?

  “What’s happening? Why are you here?”

  “I’m the District 12 Escort--”

  “For the games...”

  “Yes, well,” she cleared her throat as she sat across from you, “this is a special trip and I was requested to escort you to your destination.”

  “What is my destination?” you quizzed, skeptical now that you were on your way to the facility that your father spoke of

  “Why, district 9 of course!” she lied

  “No,” you said, contemplatively, “you wouldn’t be here if I were going to District 9. Am I going to the Capitol? What do they want me for?”

  “Little lady,” she tried, her voice more soothing now than the shrill tone she’d started with, “I promise, all with be made clear shortly.”

  “Why can’t you just answer me?” you begged, “please. I’m so confused and scared. No one has told me anything...” As tears rolled down your cheeks, you crumpled into the soft cushion of the booth that you were in, sitting in silence with Effie has the train shot through Panem. The trained stopped suddenly and you stood up to look out the window, trying to figure out where you were when a blindfold was thrown over your eyes causing you to scream in panic.

  “Delly, it’s alright. I’m here. Everything is fine” Effie tried to soothe you

  “Get this off of me!” you yelled

  “Stop moving!” A voice cried out

  “Don’t hurt her! You were told not to hurt her!”

  “She’s fussing!”

  “It was his only request!” You heard Effie say and you wondered who she was talking about and why he requested you not be hurt. After what felt like ages, you were brought out of a car and led up a long pathway, someone’s house? you thought to yourself, still trying to figure out where you were. The Peacekeepers rang the doorbell

  “Let her go!” Effie said and you could hear her swatting the Peacekeepers arms with her paper fan before someone answered the door, “she hasn’t been harmed. Just as you asked.” You were brought inside and set down, rather abruptly, onto a small cushioned surface, probably a bench, and waited for what would happen next.

  “Thank you” a new voice replied, sending the Peacekeepers on their way

  “You’ll be fine here, darling,” Effie reassured, her voice steady but caring in an almost maternal way, “I’ll be back in a couple of days to pick you up.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Trinket.” The voice repeated. It was familiar to you but you couldn’t quite place it because of the damn blindfold, “I’m going to remove your blindfold now. I don’t want you to panic okay?” As he lifted the blindfold from your eyes, you tried to gather your senses but were overwhelmed by the bright lights surrounding you

  “You...” you finally said when your eyes adjusted to the lights

  “I don’t believe we’ve been officially introduced,” his smile was bright and almost sweet, not like the cocky one he’d had during his interviews, “I’m Cato.”

  “Delilah... Delly,” you corrected yourself, “everyone calls me Delly.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Delly,” he said, kneeling down in front of you “I’m sorry for how they brought you here. They didn’t hurt you did they?” You shook your head, unable to form a coherent sentence, “good. I’m glad. I asked them not to but I wasn’t sure if they’d listen. I’ve met your Peacekeepers before.”

  “Do my parents know I’m here? And not in District 9?” you finally asked

  “No” he confessed. You didn’t know what to say, your confusion was growing more by the instant. Why did your parents send you away? Why didn’t they know you were going to be here, with the victor of the 74th Hunger Games? Why? Why? Why? Why?

  “Why am I here?” you asked, confused, your breath had become so thick that it had turned to panting. It was the only sound filling the empty space of Cato’s large marble foyer

  “Snow brought you here. To stay with me. Only for a few days.” He replied

  “I don’t understand. Why here?” she repeated

  “Because I asked him to.”

xx

  “I don’t--” you began pacing around the space, trying not to get to close to you, “what do you want with me? I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am but I am not that girl...”

  “What girl is that?” he asked and you furrowed your brow, contemplating an answer

  “The girl who’s going to fall all over you just because you’re a victor..” He laughed at your remark

  “Delly,” he said, “I want to get to know you. I liked talking to you but given the circumstances, we couldn’t get to know each other. Will you please try to get to know me?”

  “I suppose..” you said hesitantly, taking his outstretched hand as he led you to the couch but you redirected to the table and he smiled before nodding understandingly.

  “So, tell me about yourself” he asked, leaning his forearms on the table

  “What do you wanna know?”

  “Everything. Anything”

  “My dad’s a shoemaker,” you said, raising the end of your sentence as if you weren’t sure if it was interesting enough, “he tried to teach me how to cobble shoes when I was like 8. He thought it would be useful but I was horribly clumsy and kept hitting my fingers with the hammer...”

  “I bet the customers love coming to the store to talk to you” he smiled and you blushed, shaking your head to yourself

  “We don’t get too many customers these days.” You stated plainly, thinking about how the last time you actually made a new pair of shoes was for Gale’s little brother on his first day of elementary school, “it’s too much of a luxury for most of the district.”

  “Oh,” he said, straightening his posture before continuing, “well.. what about your childhood?” He asked, changing the subject, and you wondered how much you should say, considering almost everything revolved around Peeta

  “Uhm..” you hesitated, “it was pretty normal. As normal as it can be I guess, I have a younger brother so he was always kinda hanging around. I made friends easily because I always smiled at people. Peeta was the first boy that ever talked to me...” As soon as you said his name, you looked down at your lap and Cato tried to change the subject

  “I’m sorry... I shouldn’t ha--”

  “No, it’s okay..” you interrupted, “I should talk about him. He was my best friend and his death is the whole reason my parents sent me away right?” you laughed uncomfortably

  “You don’t have to”

  “It’s okay,” you smiled as you looked up at him, “I met Peeta when I was maybe 6 and he was drawing with chalk outside of the Bakery. He was drawing these beautiful flowers that I had never seen in nature before, when I asked him what they were he said he’d only seen them once -- during a broadcast of the Games. I said they were such a bright blue and his drawing really made me feel like they were really there. He smiled at me, said in a higher voice than you’d remember it, ‘Hi I’m Peeta.’ After that, he became the centre of my world...” Cato frowned as you spoke but you smiled as you recalled your memories with the boy you loved and lost, “I remember one time, when we were 13, 3 years ago now. We hadn’t seen the sun in nearly a year. The sky was always shrouded with Coal dust but for some reason the sun was so bright this day that it cut through everything. Peeta and I spent the entire day in the street, letting the sun soak into our skin. It wasn’t until the end of the day that we realized the sun had practically dyed his hair!” You laughed, for the first time in a long time, “he went from a dusty blonde, almost brown colour to the little blonde baker’s son.”

  “You really loved him” Cato said

  “I did. I always thought that we’d grow old together. Maybe get married, have a kid. People expected it of us. But I knew,” you added, “that he didn’t feel the same. I knew he always loved Katniss and he would’ve done anything for her.”

  “So it was true? Their love story?” he asked, sitting back in his chair

  “Not entirely. Not the way they explained it, I mean,” you corrected, “Peeta loved Katniss, his crush on her was all he’d ever known. That much was true. But Katniss... I think she cared about him. He was easy to grow attached to, so I think she could’ve fallen in love with him but I don’t think she was in love with him during the Games. It was all just too sudden. And she had Gale back home...”

  “Her cousin?”

  “Cousin? No that was just a story, to make the star-crossed lovers thing seem more real. Gale and her were... hunting partners. They were like me and Peeta, they grew up together.” You could see thoughts racing through his mind and you could only imagine that they were guilt-ridden, “I don’t blame you. I know I probably should because if you hadn’t fought with Katniss and thrown her to the mutts, Peeta might still be here, right? That’s what everyone tells me. That’s what everyone would have me believe. But I knew Peeta.”

  “What do you mean?” he quizzed and you smirked to yourself before propping an elbow on the table and resting your head in your hand

  “If Katniss died, what would Peeta have to come back to? A girl he didn’t love who lived across the street from him? Two brothers who wouldn’t have gained any more respect for him even though he’d won the games? A mother who got angry with him at every little thing and had no faith he’d win in the first place?” you rambled, “I loved Peeta but I knew what his life was like here. He didn’t want to die, nobody does, but he always had Katniss to brighten up his day. To give him something to look forward to. Without her, what was the point?”

  “He was always going to jump...” he said quietly

  “Or poison himself or surrender... he was never going to leave that arena without her. I knew that. I said goodbye to him long before he faced you on the Cornucopia that day.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at his lap, “I don’t think I’ll ever not be sorry.” You watched him for a few moments, twiddling his thumbs back and forth, not making eye contact with you; you smiled to yourself.

  “What about you?” you said, “what do I need to know?”

  “I think you probably already know more than you need to about me” he smirked

  “Those interviews are all about showmanship. Who are you really?”

  “I’m a Career Tribute. I trained until I was 18 and then I volunteered with my childhood friend..”

  “No,” you stopped him, “tell me something real. Something true.”

  “My favourite colour is red”

  “Like the colour of blood?” you asked, pinching your eyebrows together

  “No, no,” he scoffed, stretching his arms back on the table, “more like a poppy. That bright red.. What else do you want to know?”

  “How about... your childhood?” you asked

  “I’m a Career Tribute. I trained every day until I wa--” he started to repeat, forcing you to laugh and interrupt him again

  “Fine fine, okay!” you giggled, catching him smile before you let your eyes wander as you thought about your next question, “can you tell me about her?” You were hesitant to even ask, knowing the pain that you had when you remembered Peeta, but you wanted to know how he felt about her.

  “Clove and I grew up together,” he said, knowing that you were talking about the girl he’d lost in the games, “She was two years younger than I me but she was... talented with those knives of hers. She was fast and she was brutal. So, everyone agreed to let her volunteer before the rest of us. Aside from that she was smart and funny; It was always easy to just sit in a room and talk with her until the sun came up.” He spoke with such a grin on his face, you couldn’t help but smile, “our families used to get together at the end of every training year, before the Games, and have these huge Firework displays. It was their way of congratulating themselves on what they’d done. Anyway, one year, Clove stole half of the fireworks and didn’t tell me but we went to a party at a friends house and she busts out these giant fireworks and runs to the yard to light them up.”

  “If you loved her... why didn’t you--”

  “I wanted to run to her,” he answered, knowing your question, “but I was hurt and too far away. By the time I heard her call for me, I was too late. I called out to her and she didn’t hear me. Plus, if I had run to her, even after she’d been hit, I would’ve been seen as weak. I couldn’t save her. There was no point in showing Panem that I would cry over her, not with the image I’d created for myself. I needed to avenge her.”

  “Because you loved her”

  “I cared for her. Love was a weakness I couldn’t afford” his tone changed quickly and you got nervous about what his reaction might be to any more questions, especially about Clove.

  “I’m tired,” you said, “where should I sleep tonight?” He stood up and led you to a guest room that spanned almost two of your bedrooms and you gasped at the sight of it

  “I hope you’ll be okay in here.”

  “Are you kidding?” you scoffed, a smile on your face that you couldn’t hide, “I think I’ll be just fine in here.”

  “Goodnight, Delly.” He said but before he could walk away, you stopped him. This whole night had been a lot to take in and you weren’t sure how to feel about him asking for you to be brought here; you could tell he had a temper and you weren’t sure what would set him off but still, there was something about him that you were sure you could connect to.

  “Goodnight, Cato” you said as you propped yourself on the tips of your toes to kiss his cheek softly, squeezing his hand as you steadied yourself back on the ground, noticing a blush creep across his cheeks as he closed the door.

#Cato/Delly #Cato #Cato Hunger Games #Cato Hadley #Cato Berenger #The Hunger Games #Delly #Delly/Cato #Delly Cartwright #masterlist #the other masterlist #not hockey

[elleryandesine]

Ellery’s Reaping

Ellery had never been to a reaping. District 2 barely had one, at least by comparison to some of its neighbors. As a career district, the reaping process would often take weeks-- a list of well-trained applicants would be whittled down further and further after a series of tests revealed which candidates had the best shot at winning the Games. Reaping Day itself? Well, it was more of a formality than anything else. Names were drawn, pre-selected careers volunteered, and the whole affair was usually over as soon as it had started. Most years didn’t even have a public gathering. It was one of those days that people tended to forget about. It came, and then it went.

Today’s reaping was different.

A ferocious night of partying behind him, Ellery was splayed out in his bed before being jolted awake by the sound of a creaking door.

“Jasper, is that you?” he groaned. It wouldn’t be anyone else, but he was still surprised by the intrusion. Ellery’s butler was normally better about knocking first.

“Yes, sir,” Jasper answered from the doorway. “I’m extremely sorry to bother you, but your father has requested your presence.”

My father? thought Ellery. Decimus was a busy man, but he had never requested assistance from his son in such a graceless way. Ellery let out another groan. This can’t be good.

“Call him and let him know I’ll be over there shortly,” replied Ellery. The Andesine Quarry was carved into the mountains at the far edge of District 2-- at least a thirty-minute cab ride from the mansion. 

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” stammered Jasper. “He’s... uh... already here.”

Ellery completed his trilogy of groans, dragging himself out of bed and stumbling over to the doorway. He was wearing nothing save for a tired scowl and wine-stained bathrobe. 

“You’re really trying my patience today, Jasper,” he muttered under his breath. The old man looked away awkwardly, guiding his master down the buttressed hall without a single word. After what felt like forever, they arrived at a massive archway lining a pair of ornate marble doors. 

Something was wrong-- the manor staff were gone, replaced by a pair of stern-looking peacekeepers. Ellery’s stomach turned. He remembered a similar day, six years ago... same hall, same uniforms, same rude awakening by Jasper... No, no, no, he thought. Not again. That day, he had opened the doors to find his mother with a gun to her head. He only had a few moments to say goodbye before she was driven off and executed for treason. Decimus had been away at the Capitol-- Ellery was all alone as the peacekeepers raided the mansion, looking for any connection between his father and the rebels. 

They never found one, but that didn’t stop Ellery from playing the day’s events in his brain on loop. Honestly, he wasn’t exactly surprised to see the peacekeepers return. Was it true all along? he wondered. Was my father really plotting against Panem? He pushed open the marble doors, expecting to find Decimus in custody-- or worse, already dead...

Instead, he found the business mogul reclining in a lounge chair. No guns, no peacekeepers-- just Decimus, with a gilded piece of paper in his hands. He barely noticed Ellery enter, focused rather on the text in front of him.

“Sir?” asked Ellery, hesitantly. “You called for me?”

His father’s beady eyes darted up from the paper and onto Ellery. They screamed of confusion, as if Decimus were unsure who he was looking at. A few seconds later, the recognition set in.

“Oh, Ellery, yes...” he spoke in short, nervous bursts. “I have, um, some news.” 

“Yes, I was told,” replied Ellery. “What is it? Did President Coin accept our request for additional machinery?” 

Decimus blinked a few times, then gathered his thoughts. “Yes, actually, she did. But, um... that’s not why I called you.” He picked up the gold paper and extended it toward his son. “You see, um... I was informed by the Mayor this morning... according to this document, you’ve, um... well, you’ve been chosen as a potential tribute for the Quarter Quell.”

Ellery let out a nervous giggle. “The Quell? Well, isn’t that exciting. I’ve always wanted to be reaped-- quite a novel experience, isn’t it?”

His father didn’t laugh.

“Anyway,” Ellery continued, “I wonder who volunteered to replace me. Wait-- don’t tell me... it was Sergius, right? Or maybe Hector... he was always a strong one, after all...”

“There are no volunteers,” replied Decimus. “That’s the stipulation for this Quell. They’re picking ten of you for the Capitol and having them choose who they want to compete.”

Ellery felt his stomach turn. Again. This was impossible! The Andesines were the most well-respected family in any of the districts, hands-down. The only thing that didn’t make them Capitol was their District 2 lineage. That Coin bitch has some nerve if she thinks she can fuck with us.

But then, it dawned on him-- she already had. All those years ago, when his mother had been carted off like a piece of meat... that’s all they really were to Coin, wasn’t it? The Andesines may have been gourmet steaks, but they were nonetheless meat in the eyes of the Capitol. And Ellery was the tastiest meat of all. He was practically a celebrity in the Capitol, at least a B-list one. When he visited the city of Panem’s elite, he had always been greeted by cameras and curious looks.

How are you so eloquent? they asked. Are you sure you’re from District 2?

He was beautiful, he was tragic-- he was everything the Capitol could’ve wanted in a tribute. Upon this realization, Ellery’s eyes shook with fear and he ran back into the corridor at an alarming speed. He didn’t get far. The peacekeepers grabbed him and forced him to his knees. 

“Be careful with him!” shouted Decimus from behind them, voice breaking in two. “That’s my son!” 

One of the peacekeepers laughed, and the other kicked Ellery in the ribs. Bastards! he thought. He always knew they hated him. No self-respecting Capitol citizen could live in a barracks without looking on the Andesine mansion with jealousy. Ellery wondered if they’d killed his mother with the same amount of glee. 

He was given two minutes to change, then marched out to a car and driven to the city square. What followed were hours of interviews, paperwork, and tearful goodbyes-- mainly with Decimus, but Jasper as well. Ellery’s father assured him that if worse came to worst, he would help him win the Games however he could. Decimus was well-connected in the Capitol, and this reassured Ellery. The media attention was intense-- District citizens were outraged at his selection, Capitol reporters were enthralled, and Ellery did his best to soak up the spotlight.

It wasn’t until nighttime that this new reality hit Ellery with its cold, hard weight. He was destined to be selected, there was no question about that. But what then? The bed in the Justice Building felt clinical and stiff. Ellery wished he had some morphling to help him calm down. Or at least some alcohol. He didn’t, though-- it was all back at the mansion. Everything was. 

Ellery wondered if his mother had felt this way in her final moments. It didn’t matter. He closed his eyes-- hoping that when he opened them, the whole affair would be revealed as some drug-induced hallucination. 

He opened them. It wasn’t.

#ellery #reaping #the peacekeeper was gale btw

[firefrightfic]

Love all your AU fics with Jason! Have you thought about how Jason and the rest of the Bat family would fit in a "Hunger Games" Scenario? Which district would they hail from? Who would win if they were all to compete in the same tournament and how?

Thank you! I’m a total AU addict, it’s true. And while I haven’t thought about a THG AU as much as some others  it’s definitely something that’s crossed my mind from time to time.

Bruce: Bruce was born in Capitol. That wonderful shining world of light, plenty and luxury at every turn. For the first eight years of his life, it was good, and he was almost as oblivious as any other Capitol child to the truth of the society he lived in. That is until his parents were by ‘rebels’ in front of his eyes, and years of careful investigation afterwards led him to discover they had been District sympathisers, trying to push for reform to stop the games and create a fairer Panem for all. It wasn’t rebels who killed them, but the government itself. It opened his eyes to what Panem really is, and since then he too has worked to stealthily undermine the Capitol’s control, forming a vast network of allies through the city, the districts and their victors.  He is 100% in contact with District 13, and an integral part of their plan for victory.

Dick: Hailing from District 1 (which to my mind would provide not only luxury goods to the Capitol, but also entertainers), Dick was raised as trapeze artist like his parents. He was barely 12 when his name was drawn in the Reaping, small and not at all physically intimidating in appearance. He was lucky in that the arena he was sent into was a jungle biome, with huge towering trees connected by sturdy vines. His acrobatic skills enabled him to easily outmanoeuvre the other tributes and survive to the end. His victory is a constant matter of debate still amongst the Capitol enthusiasts on whether it was an accident or intentional; his last opponent fell from a branch to the jungle floor, where his neck was snapped by the vines that had been looped around him. Either way, unfortunately for Dick his good looks as he’s grown older and his natural charisma have kept him very much in the public eye as a victor, and he is often forced to entertain Capitolites under threat of what will be done to those he cares about if he doesn’t.

Jason: District 6. After losing his parents at an early age (his father executed over some minor misdemeanour and his mother to her morphling addiction) he survived by scavenging engine parts for recycling along with many of the other orphans of the district until he was old enough to work in the vehicle manufacturing plants (though he still opted for tesserae each year as soon as he was 12). At age 15 when he was reaped in what would be one of the bloodiest and shortest games in Hunger Games history where the arena was a mockery of a bombed out city. After hiding out for the majority of the two days it lasted, he was almost beaten to death with a crowbar by the other surviving tribute. Jason managed to survive however by running and luring them to a trap he’d set with siphoned off petrol from one of the stripped out cars in the arena, then lighting it on fire thanks to a sponsorship gift of a lighter organised by his mentor. Unlike Dick, he’s not terribly popular with Capitolites after the end of his games, and the only regular he’s forced to see is Bruce (who only buys his time as a means to talk rebellion and also check on his wellbeing, the same as he does the rest of the victors he’s formed connections with). 

Tim: This is probably terrible predictable, but District 3. His mother was the district mayor, which made his family about as well off as any could be in the districts besides 1 or 2. His reaping came as a total shock to both himself and his family when he was 13. Realising he wouldn’t stand a chance in a straight up fight against of most of his opponents, Tim spent the entire training period in the Capitol sizing them up and planning as best he could without knowing what sort of arena he would land in. Once the games began – in the expanse of a great maze filled with puzzles and traps – the seemingly shy and harmless boy showed his ruthless side, playing the other tributes like pawns on a chessboard as he made allies and broke them just as quickly. His display of intelligence earned him the favour of a particular sponsor, Ra’s al Ghul, who provided Tim with numerous tools with which to earn his victory. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a double-edged sword, as Ra’s’ admiration for Tim has carried on past the end of the games and he’s almost exclusively paid for Tim’s time in the Capitol since.

Damian: Bruce’s son, Damian was raised by his mother’s family for most of his life the same as he was in the comics, before at the age of 10 Talia decided he should spend more time with his father. Damian was raised to believe in the Capitol and the necessity of the Hunger Games, as well as to look down on the districts who provided the tributes for them. Since taking custody, Bruce has tried his best to subtly and safely turn that attitude around, particularly by having Damian meet some of the victors he’s taken in under his wing. The chiefest among whom is Dick, who was the first to break through and make Damian realise that those in the districts are real people too, and how terribly cruel the games really are.

I haven’t thought as much about the girls I’m sorry, I’m terrible but I think I would say that Barbara is from District 2 (Peacekeeper father), Steph from District 12 and Cass… District 4 perhaps? Kate is also a Capitolite as Bruce’s cousin.

The second part of your question… oof, I don’t know. In a world where they have no prior knowledge or attachment to each other that would be brutal, and honestly a little more angsty than I want to think about XD;; Shocking, I know.

#asks #hunger games au #batfam #Anonymous #bruce wayne #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne

[gabzep]

Betrayal Outtake

Darius POV

When he first saw Peeta sitting at Sae’s stall he was curious as to why the baker boy was here, at the hob of all places.  One would think Peeta would have gone into hiding because of the nasty rumors going around regarding him, Delly and Thom.  But after Peeta told everyone what Delly had done to him they all felt sorry for the poor guy.  Life in the districts is hard enough without your own friends screwing you over. 

There’s really not much to do in district 12, so he reads when he’s not on duty.  That’s one thing he and Katniss have in common, books.  She gets them from Madge and his family will send him some from district 2 so they borrow from each other.  Afterwards they’d get together at Sae’s stall and share their opinions about the characters, what they liked or dislike and so on.  They are like their own little book club, members 2.  It still doesn’t stop Sae from throwing her opinion in every now and then.  So what happen to Peeta actually reminded him of a book they had read ‘Wolf’ something.  It was a college campus murder mystery.  The main girl was drugged twice but unlike Peeta she had friends that kept an eye out for each other.

This is not good he hadn’t heard of anything like this happening here before and he didn’t what anyone to get the idea that this was ok.  He needs to talk to Cray to see if they can charge Delly with something.  He heads over to Cray’s house and hopes he isn’t entertaining a guest.  He thinks it disgusting that Cray and some of the other Peacekeepers take advantage of the poor seam and on occasion merchant women desperate for money to keep their families going.  It’s nothing he could do about it; he’s heard this has been going on for decades.  Some even said it was worst in this district before Cray.  He knocks on the door.

“What do you want?” Cray yells as he opens the door.

He tells Cray about Delly drugging Peeta and the possible impact on the rest of the district if others decide to pull the same stunt. 

“Huh, sounds to me that idiot Delly slipped some sleep syrup in the white liquor.  It’s strong enough to mask the sweetness of the syrup.  Morphling wouldn’t have knocked him out after 3 drinks.  He’d be high but still awake.  Nothing we can do about it unless we trump up something else to charge her with.  Besides no one died or was physically hurt” said Cray.  He is about to disagree when Cray continues.  “Look, if we officially do something it will have to be reported.  I would have to include where and when it happened, every detail of that party that the kids had in that empty Victor’s House, which is illegal and would be seen as an 'organized meeting'.  Which to the Capitol that ‘meeting’ would be a more important” Cray said.

He goes on to explain that it’s better for district twelve that the Capitol ignores them and the best way to do that is by not bring in any attention to it.  Before he had taken over the head peacekeeper back then was vicious, there were plenty of hangings or executions by firing squad, daily whippings, and the stocks were always full.  It took a long time to get it to where it is today.  Reporting the people that died of starvation as executions, disabling the cameras, overlooking offenses such as Gale, Katniss and now Rory’s poaching along with the house parties the merchant kids have in the Victors Village.  Trying to prevent ‘mining accidents’ by not reporting the rebellious talk that he knows is going on down there.  He also mentions the unrest that has lead to uprising from districts 11 and 8 which has gotten worse since the 74th hunger games.

“We need to keep our heads down.  And I’m not about to whip or throw a teenage girl, who just had a baby two weeks ago into the stocks.” Cray concludes. “The paperwork alone isn’t worth it.”

“It doesn’t have to be official.  We need to do something to remind her and others in the district that this will not be tolerated.  We’ll hit them where it hurts the most, the business” He says.  He can’t let it go.  Katniss is his friend and she and Peeta suffered from Delly’s selfishness.  

“As long as you don’t burn it down I’ll look the other way” Cray said as he slams the door in his face.

He leaves Cray’s and heads off to find Peeta’s brother Rye.

Rye POV

He watches as Peeta hurry’s out of the bakery backpack over his shoulder, nervous but hopeful.  He wonders if Katniss will give Peeta a second change or will she be too stubborn to even let him explain? 

They had all been surprised she had given him a chance in the first place.  She always came off as surly and indifferent but once they got to know her, she was not so bad, sarcastically funny even, which he could appreciate.  She also managed to win over mom but maybe that had something to do with the fact that Katniss kept them well stocked with fresh game and not just squirrels but also turkey, geese and on occasion deer.  Mom started selling meat pies that became a big hit with the peacekeepers and their profits went up something they’d never have been able to do with the expensive butcher meat.   Of course Peeta always gave Katniss the best of the bakery fresh bread, cheese buns and cookies for Prim. 

Then everything went to hell.  “Delly” he snarls, just saying the name brings a bad taste to his mouth.  Who in the world does something like that to someone?  Bitch.

He feels guilty too.  He was too high that night to notice what was happening and to stop it somehow.  All he can vaguely recall was Katniss running out with a devastated look on her face.   Madge told him everything will work out just to give it time.

But he can’t.  He still remembers when Peeta came over after he heard about Katniss and Darius.  He was heartbroken, drinking himself sick.  Crying helplessly because he had happiness in the palm of his hands and it slipped away.  Raging that he’d always be tied to that harpy, how he couldn’t stand Delly.  He will never be happy again and how he wished he were dead. 

After that he took away Peeta’s liquor.  Helped him sober up.  Made him promise he wouldn’t hurt himself.  He looks at his broken brother, this is not the Peeta he knows. His brother was kind and selfless.  Out of the three brothers he is the best one. Now he was quick to anger, snapping at everyone for everything.  Delly caused this and he was going to make her pay.

He didn’t mention it to Peeta.  Didn’t want to distract him from his goal to win Katniss back, but he had run into Darius yesterday on the way to the hob.  They came up with a plan and they were to meet at the Victors Village tonight and to bring anyone that wanted to help.  He recruited his older brother Bannock, his girlfriend Madge and his best friend Conor.  He doesn’t know who Darius will ask but he has a pretty good idea.

The minute his shift is over he hurries upstairs to his room changes into dark clothes, grabs the general store shopping bag and rushes down the stairs, the contents in his bag clanking. “Later Pops” he calls out as he runs out the door. He’s to swing by Conor’s house first and rolls his eyes when catches sight of May, Conor’s girlfriend and her brother Mark who are all dressed in black too. 

“Peeta’s our friend too” is all Mark said.

He hands Conor the bag, “Fine, go on ahead; I’ll meet you all there, its house #4.”  Same thing happens when he reaches Bannock’s house and spots him with his two buddies.  He’s not sure if they are here to support Peeta or to relive the glory days of their youth.  He sends them up ahead too.  They can’t all be seen together, ‘Organized Meeting’ and all that.  He wonders what Darius will say with all the people showing up. 

His last stop was Madge’s; at least she didn’t have anyone with her since Katniss is her best friend.  Madge had told him how Katniss had opened up to her more once she started dating Peeta.  She was teaching Katniss the piano and Katniss would take Madge out into the woods and show her how to shoot.  That’s how he met Madge through Katniss. 

He’s in shock when they arrive in Victor’s Village house #4, where the hell did all these people come from, he spots Purnia along with a couple of peacekeepers he recognizes.  There’s Gale with a few of his crew members, Bristol is one of them and the others he vaguely remembers from school.   Rory, Vick and Prim, he can’t believe she’s here to.  Well make sense, since it was her sister that got screwed over too.  

What the hell is that smell?  It makes him gag and he puts a hand over his nose and mouth to try and block out the stench.  It smells like shit and piss, that’s when he notices the bucket by Prim and then it clicks.  Oh hell yeah! Why didn’t he think about that? They walk over to Prim; he has to hear about this. 

“Who’s brilliant idea was this” he points at the bucket.

“Prim’s” said Rory

“Its animal dropping I mix up to make fertilizer for our medicinal plant garden” Prim explains.

“And the piss” I ask.

Rory and Vick groan, hands on their stomachs.  “I’m never going to drink water ever again” said Vick. 

He guffaws, note to self ‘never piss Prim off.’

Prim hands Madge some gloves so she can help them funnel the shit and piss concoction into balloons.  Better Madge than him, he thinks.  He sees Bannock and Conor doing the same with a bucket for orange paint.  He walks over to Darius who’s talking to Haymitch.  

“Is that what Cray told you.  I can see him wanting to take the credit but it’s actually Mayor Undersee’s doing.  Cray just goes along with it; he’s drunk off his ass most of the time.  Still works in our favor. “   Haymitch says.  Just then Darius turns and catches sight of him.

“Glad you can join us Rye” said Darius.

Once all the balloons are done he and Darius start to organize everyone into groups.  They are going to hit the shoe shop in two waves.  First with the cans of black spray paint he purchased and the next with the balloons of paint and shit.  They have to be fast with the balloons because they will defiantly make noise with they hit the window and walls.  Gale, Bristol, Bannock and his buddies pick the shit balloons, totally exited, yep glory days.  Vick, Rory and the girls get the paint ones.  The rest of the group will do the spray paint.  It’s pretty late so there shouldn’t be anyone out at this time but Purnia and the other peacekeepers are to be the look outs and redirect people away for the shop if needed.

They make their way to the shop as quietly as they can.  Darius had told them not to be to profane, kids will be reading them too.  Fuck that, he’s going to paint every expletive he can think of.  They reach the shop and get to work.

Unlike the walls that can easily be painted over to cover the writing.  He chooses the window it will have to be either replaced or they will have to scrape the words off.

“Really Rye” Darius whispers “Rapist”

“What?” he whispers back “Let’s call it what it is.  It’s what you’re trying to prevent isn’t it”

Darius just gives him a look and continues spray painting ‘Peeta was drugged ‘and then ‘watch your drinks’

“Fine” he says and sprays the word ‘attempted’ right above it.  Darius just smiles and shakes his head.

Once that’s done the rest circle the shop each setting a pile of balloons at their feet.  Darius gives the signal and they start to throw.  Half way through, the girls start to giggle and the guys try to stifle their laughs.  It’s no good he, Darius and the others go and help them out to finish faster not caring where the balloons land.  They’re about done when all of a sudden the lights to the shop turn on.  They all scatter, laughing away as they head back to their homes. 

In the morning he’s leaning up against the bakery door, his dad right behind him looking across the way to the shoe shop.   Mr and Mrs Cartwright, Delly’s brother Devin and Delly are working away trying to clean up what that can.  There are several groups of people, seam and merchants standing around pointing and reading the words that had been written.

“You have anything to do with that” his dad asks.  He just shrugs his shoulders.  Delly looks his way and he reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out a can for black spray paints a little and wiggles it.  She quickly looks away.  That right bitch that’s what happens when you mess with my family he thinks before heading back inside.

Wolf: A Jessica James  Mystery by Kelly Oliver

#betrayal #everlark

[morghulis]

@cadisfly: 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙱𝙴 𝚂𝙾 𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴. / a man with no name.

There’s a trick to feigning lightness that Arya learned at the tender age of eleven years old, from a woman whose name has faded to the tip of her tongue. Just smile. Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when it hurts. But you have to do it with your eyes too. She’d practice for hours in the mirror, until her cheeks were sore and the shape of her teeth had lost all meaning. Not that most people required the level of practiced precision she’d ingrained. Most people saw a girl like her and their eyes would slide over her face, a glazed look on theirs. An instinctive baring of pearly whites, to feign lightness, ignoring any gut instinct when the other person’s smile didn’t quite catch the light right. An instinct for friendliness. That part she hadn’t had to learn. Just the lightness.

She can’t feign lightness with Will.

Maybe he hadn’t been tutored by a death cult in the art of impersonation, but his skill for going beyond himself is beyond anything she had been taught. Probably self-taught, she’d reasoned to herself when she’d first met him and he’d picked her apart as clean and concise as he might a large catch. Surely the FBI didn’t teach him; most feds stick out like a sore thumb even when they’re trying not to.

When he returns home to see her curled up on the floor in a dark corner of the room, smiling face lit from beneath by the ghastly pale light of her laptop, she still tries to feign lightness. Despite knowing he won’t fall for it. His eyes spark dimly from the shadows cast on his face as he looks over hers carved in light. The dogs don’t bark, but their nails against the hardwood fill the uncomfortable silence with warm noise.

“I didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” she says by way of greeting, eyes skirting back down to the articles pulled up on her screen. A pale man with a smile as made of wax as her own on his thin wormy lips, a timid woman with dark brown hair on his arm. She imagines briefly the screen as a projector, the words splaying across her face for Will to read. Ramsay. Stark. Domestic abuse. Winterfell. Assault. Insufficient evidence. Murder. Bail. “I ate all of the cheese and eggs. Sorry.”

For a while they’re both quiet, some of the dogs settling back down around Arya’s feet, the others following Will about the first floor as he takes off his coat, his shoes. She keeps scrolling, jotting down notes on the various sticky notes and journals spread out next to her, lulling herself back into a strange sort of comfort.

The comfort of picking a scab not ready to come off.

Will’s quiet on his bare feet, settling down on the floor next to her. He passes her a warm mug—milk and sugar with some coffee thrown in—and sips from his own. She doesn’t try to hide what she’s writing down, what she’s looking at from him; he’ll have heard it in the news anyways.

After a while, in a soft, kind voice that still cracks like a whip in her ears: “You could be so much more.”

Months and months ago, that would have made her angry. The presumption of a stranger. But he’s not a stranger anymore. Not totally, at least. When she peers with her animal eyes into his sometimes she can see the shifting shape of them there too. A morphling shape. Fierce and terrible. There now.

“I know.”

Stubborn. Recalcitrant. He lets her be, pausing as he gets to his feet only to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before making his way to the porch, the dogs hard on his heels.

#cadisfly #i can't remember any of my tags anymore #anyways i'm rusty don't unfollow me for this lmao #ask to tag #abuse mention

[geanmin]

I haven't seen Peeta since I found him planting the primrose in my backyard. As I slowly come back to life, so does my realization of his absence. It must have been the way I ask for it that made Greasy Sae understand I was referencing Peeta's, because the next day the bread she brought me had little flowers on them, done by his hand.

Once Greasy Sae left, I remained alone in my house, once occupied by my sister, and my mom.

As I look around, it's like my memories come to life before me. I look at my fire place, and see my sister asking me to wait for her to try on wedding dresses. I look at my table, and see Gale lying there with his back bloody, my mother carefully tending to him. In my bed, I see Peeta holding me, as I fall asleep, nursing my broken ankle.

Peeta.

Even after he returned to District 12 a victor of the Hunger Games, his family never moved in with him. And after becoming a tribute for his second go, he never saw them again.

Empty. His house must be so empty of memories.

The bread he made was fresh this morning. How early did he wake up to bake it for me?

And when will I wake up to do something for him?

"You could live a thousand life times and never deserve him."

It feels like decades have past since I assassinated President Coin and Peeta prevented me from taking the nightlock. But, in reality, maybe it has been half a year of waiting for the end of my trial, and sitting alone in my house.

But it has been much longer than that since I have seen Peeta, my Peeta. The one that existed before the Capital got to him.

I hold my pearl, thinking of the Boy with the Bread, the boy who went into two Hunger Games with the sole agenda to protect me. And how did I treat him after he was hijacked? I gave up on him. Like he was dead. Like my Peeta was gone. And the whole time he was fighting, fighting to come back to me.

Of course, I may have had other things on my mind. Snow programming Peeta to be a muttation to murder me. President Coin putting him on my same mission to murder me, and of course being in a war, with random people trying to murder me. It was all difficult to navigate, but I could have been more kind.

Peeta was always the one with the words of our duo. How did I ever survive without him?

As I look at my pearl in my hand, and the locket on the table, something in my brain must have finally had the peace it needed to click.

No more Hunger Games. No more Snow. No more Coin. Just peace and quiet, that's all my brain needed to understand that not only could I never have survived without Peeta, I never will. And he feels the same.

We need each other.

I put my pearl safely in my pocket, and leave the locket in my room. Carrying around the faces of my loved ones is still a little too heavy at the moment.

I leave my house and cross the short distance to his, lessening the space between us.

I knock on his door, which feels oddly formal. But I don't want to come in unwelcome.

I know he would welcome me in, forgive me even. But that's not what I want. I don't want Peeta only thinking of keeping me alive. I want him to think of keeping us alive. Together. A team. A unit. A couple.

But we need to air out some grievances for that to be reality.

Finally, the door opens, and I see his face. Not washed out by the summer sun when he was planting, but clear in the shade of the porch roof. He no longer looks like the scared boy whose name was called at the reaping. Two years of Hunger Games will do that to you. He even has some stubble on his face for the first time.

“Katniss,” he says.

And I am overwhelmed. I slowly approach him, and wrap my arms around his neck. He accepts my embrace, holding me, just like he did on our train rides, sturdy and with care.

With his arms around me tightly, I feel butterflies in my stomach. I've felt this feeling before: in the cave in our first Hunger Games, on the beach in our second. Without the intense feeling of starvation, or anxiety of life or death, like my brain, my stomach now has the peace needed to figure out how it feels.

We must have stood there silently holding each other for ten minutes. If I had it my way, I would never let go. The last time I did that, he was lost to me.

There are no tears. We are well past that in our embrace. The grounding of reality is the true release.

Eventually he invites me in and I realize I have never been inside his house. Of course, it looks identical to mine and Haymitch's in layout, but Peeta has given it his own personal touch.

His paintings. You can't go anywhere without seeing one of his paintings. Either hung on the wall, or placed on the floor. He has flowers and houseplants in each batch of sunlight. And his kitchen, of course, bares no resemblance. Effie or someone must have installed a large baker's oven for him. It looks like a little paradise.

But the most stark difference is the smell.

Unlike Haymitch's house, which reeks of vomit and trash and alcohol, or my house, which used to smell like my mother's herbs, and now must smell like my personal body oder, Peeta's house smells sweet, like fresh bread. The clean air from the open windows lifts the sent, evening out the temperature. The entire place is heavenly.

He shows me in, and offers me a seat at his kitchen table as he puts hot water on for tea. He lingers by the stove a little too long I think. Maybe he doesn't know what to say. That can't be right... Peeta always knows what to say.

Oh, dummy. You're the one who came to him!

I wait for him to bring over the tea pot and cups (after refusing my help of course) and then I'm the first to speak.

“Peeta... I'm.... I'm sorry.”

How pathetic! After he was tortured to near death after you abandoned him? After he went through two Hunger Games for you? After he protected your secrets to the entire country for you? The only thing you have to say is I'm sorry????

Peeta smirks a little and catches my eye. I let out a small laugh. He does too. He was always better at this than me.

“Do you want to start over?” He smiles at me.

“Yes, please."

And there he goes again, so gracious, so forgiving. Haymitch was right; I don't deserve him.

"Uh... Peeta, I... where do I even begin..."

"Katniss, I know what you're trying to do. It's not your fault."

I want to say he's wrong. That everything that's happened to him is my fault. It's my fault I separated from him in the Quarter Quell. It's my fault I acted so cold to him when he came to District 13.

But it's not my fault he was reaped. That was the Capital. And it's not my fault he was deployed back into action when he was still mentally disoriented. That was the Rebellion. So much suffering he has endured by the hands of powerful people who never cared about him. But what about what I did, someone who was supposed to protect him?

"I think it's time we figured out what is and isn't my fault. I think it's time I apologize. For everything."

"You don't have to. I told you once, I can't hold you to what you did in the Games to keep us alive and well, I think that still stands seeing as the Games lasted longer than we thought."

I know what he's talking about. The Capital watching us closely after our victory of the 74th Hunger Games. Our return to the arena for the 75th. And of course... the 76th. With no downtime in between...

"I don't want your forgiveness. Well I mean... if you want to but... Peeta, I just need you to know the truth, of where my head was, where my heart was. If we're gonna move forward I need you to know the truth, to actually know the truth-"

"We?"

"Well, of course, 'we', I-" And as I repeat it, I hear it myself. We. Us. Together. "Yes. We."

And all of a sudden, the table is too long, the distance between us too great, and the vastness of my mistakes come alive.

How do I explain to him that I've figured it out? I say my brain finally made a decision? That seems cold. That my stomach is now clear-headed? That's a little...crude and confusing.

I may still get nightmares. And still struggle with needed...assistance from morphling. I may still lay in bed for the whole day. I may still wander around aimlessly. But it's far better than it was. I actually answer my phone when my doctor calls. I bring back game when I go hunting. And when I eat, I can actually taste the food.

I may have so much more work to do, but I can't do it alone. Because the work is in front of me.

It's not a matter of Peeta's forgiveness. Of course, he'll forgive me. It's not a matter of his understanding. He's the only one who even could. It's all a matter of my explanation, and we all know I'm not very good at that.

I look down and realized I haven't even touched my tea.

"Peeta... you know I'm not very good at...uh..."

"Expressing your feelings through words?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

He smiles at me again but this time, our eyes meet. When was the last time I had Peeta's eyes look at me so clearly, so presently? I will never take this gaze for granted again.

"You don't have to, Katniss. Or at least... not right this second. We have all the time in the world you need to find the words."

And just like that, the last organ in my body had what it needed to make its decision: time.

Before, our days were numbered. The future itself seemed horrific, and gruesome. The act of marrying Peeta was a charade for protection from Snow, and the idea of a family and kids was filled with fear of hearing their named reaped themselves. Too many people wanted me dead. Too many people wanted to use my image. I had too many lives on my shoulders, too many lives I had taken to warrant any hope of a future. But now that Panem has entered a new era, my heart has made its decision.

And now I know how to explain myself to the Boy with the Bread.

I reach for his hand across the table. Of course, he accepts and takes mine in his. I use my thumb to caress his knuckles. I'm here. I'm present. I want to give back, I say with my touch. He squeezes my hand in return, accepting my affection.

I remember our first reaping. We shook hands, and he squeezed mine. He was always looking out for me, even in the beginning.

The beginning.

"I'll have to start from the beginning."

"I know," he says, already a million steps ahead of me, as always.

How did I ever get so lucky with someone like him? Deep down, he really is better than the rest of us. Truly empathetic, truly selfless.

He guides my hand up, and my body follows.

"Come on," he says. "I want to show you something."

He leads me upstairs, into a small study. The same room in my house that President Snow visited me in before our Victory Tour. But everything is different in Peeta's house, because it has his touch. He's turned the study into his own personal painting studio.

I want to look around and take all of it in, but I can't. My eyes are glued to the largest canvas in the center of the room. So clearly, so beautifully, in a way that could only have been done by his hand, rests a portrait of my late sister, dead, but encased in flowers.

I walk up to the canvas, meaning to touch her face but deciding not to. I don't want to smudge the perfection.

She looks so young, so innocent. But of course, by the time the bombs came, she had grown up so fast, a necessity of war. The flowers surrounding her body and laced in her hair like a crown, are primrose. The various colors radiate around her, lifting her from the canvas. She looks like how Rue did when I said goodbye. But the flowers she holds in her hands are different.

"Katniss," he says. I realize I never let go of his hand. Peeta stands next to me, never eyeing his work, but looking at my face. "She's holding katniss flowers."

Of course, she is, I think. The white flowers with the purple and yellow specs rest on her heart as she so delicately displays them.

"I know before you said you hated my work but, I've started taking a different approach."

He's right that the first time I saw his paintings I hated them. They were so real, too real, depicting the horrors of the first Games we experienced together. I saw the images enough in my own nightmares, to see them reflected on canvas was painful.

"Peeta, she's perfect."

And I turn back to him, wanting to give him a kiss. But do we do that now? I don't want him to think I only would because of Prim. So many kisses I have given him in the past with unclear intentions. I will not do that to him moving forward.

"There's more, if you want to see."

And as I turn around and the room illuminates. Finnick. Mags. Wiress. Rue. Even Clove, and Cato. Everyone radiates off his canvas like gorgeous angles, resting in peace.

I look back at Peeta, who of course has never taken his eyes off of me. And I am reminded of a time when he forgot he was a painter, forgot his ability to capture the most delicate of moments. When the Capital succeeded in turning him into something he's not. Yet, here my Peeta stands before me.

"You're painting again."

"Thanks to you."

And he rubs my knuckles with his hand. I want to tell him he wouldn't have forgotten how to paint if it wasn't for me in the first place, but somehow I sense that not going to go over very well.

I notice our bodies have gotten closer together, almost magnetically. I feel the urge to kiss him again, but am afraid it's not the right moment. Too many staged kisses on my part in our past, I don't want to send mixed signals. We've gone through so much trauma, the last thing either of us needs is more confusion or gas-lighting. We should take this slow.

"Maybe we could go for a walk?," I say, attempting to break our trance, "Haymitch might be getting up soon, and we could-"

And that's when he kisses me. His hand, so delicate against my neck, coaxing me towards him. And our lips, fitting together with such familiarity, as if they've never been apart. He drops my hand as his slowly slides up my waist to my lower back. Not only do I allow it, I pull him in closer. My one hand courses through his hair while the other grabs his shirt on his chest.

It's a kiss of firsts: the first time we kiss since he's had stubble, and the little hairs tickle my cheeks. The first time we kiss alone, with no audience of the Capital or our friends. And the first time we've kiss with no ulterior motives of survival.

Of course, it's electric. I think back to our very first kiss in the cave, my very first time kissing a boy. Nothing could have prepared me for kissing Peeta now, as he holds me and doesn't let go. There's no hunger, no starvation, no fear. Just electricity coursing through my entire body.

When he breaks away, we're holding each other so tightly, as if we were in a cramped little closet. His eyes scan my face, like he's still in utter shock to have me. He gives his classic Peeta smile, filled with charm and charisma. How that smile didn't win me over alone should have been my defense for mental disorientation.

"You wanted to kiss me, real or not real?"

Did the doctors give him the power to read my mind or something???

"Real," I whisper as I pull him in for more.

There's no one to stop us. No Gamemakers to worry about, no one to bust through the door. We're completely alone, completely free.

Our hands find one another, and we hold them between our bodies. Peeta's strong embrace still making me feel safe and secure.

From our moment with the bread, to our Hunger Games, to District 13, Peeta and I have always found each other again. When I look at him, it feels so inevitable. It was always me and Peeta. I could never have won those games without him, secured our sponsors, even lead a rebellion. A mockingjay needs a jabberyjay, a fire needs a spark, and I need Peeta.

I go in for more, but Peeta stops me. He doesn't let go, but he loosens his grip on me. My feet bring me back to reality.

"I still get flashes, you know. I'm better of course but... it might not be safe for you to be alone with me like this."

"Peeta, I'm not leaving you again."

"And I'm not gonna lay my hands on you again."

"Peeta, that wasn't you."

"Yes, it was. Maybe you should-"

I dig into my pocket and pull out my pearl.

"You never once gave up on me. And I'm not giving up on you. Peeta, it's always been you."

Peeta's gaze follows my hand, back up to my eyes. Did he know I kept it? Held on to it every day, hoping for his return? He cocks his all-knowing smirk.

"I heard something the other day... how did it go? That if you press coal hard enough it turns into a pearl. Coal-expert, Dr. Everdeen, is this fact real, or not real?"

"Real, Dr. Mellark. Actually, it's highly improbable, but I've seen two pieces of coal merge to make one pearl with my very own two eyes."

"You don't say? Well, in that case, we should keep this pearl very close. It's one of a kind."

He chuckles and gives me a quick little kiss.

"I don't know how you managed to keep that little thing all this time."

And I look at him shocked, confused. Because it's the most obvious explanation of all.

"You have no idea the affect you have on me," I tell him.

"Show me, then," he says.

And that's exactly what I plan to do.

#the hunger games #everlark #peeta #katniss #fanfiction #hunger games

[sofeyhh]

BTS Metahuman Au

*Based on the BTS Metahuman Profile I created

Part 8 / ?

Yoongi’s small apartment in the deep crevices of Tokyo felt more like a mouse hole now that there was six fully grown man stuffed inside. He had transported the entire group out of the streets to his apartment, which has him melted into his couch from exhaustion. It’s been awhile since he has managed to transport people other than himself, and his body was not taking it too well. The tight tension in the room wasn’t helping either. Yoongi feels a swish of air caressing his cheeks and was faced with Jimin’s puppy eyes.

“Here,” Jimin smiled as he handed him a glass of water. “It’s unnerving to see your face going paler than your snow white skin. Oh, and sorry that I raided your kitchen by the way. It literally took me a second to find it because boy, your kitchen is as empty as an abandoned desert.”

Jimin’s babbling earned a burst of laughter from the other guests. His sassy remarks managed to cut the tension away, and they were more than grateful for it. They stood around the tiny living room, trying hard not to look out of place. It wasn’t easy to face someone from your past, especially after not having seen them for more than six decades.

The sip of water did little to energise him but at least it had helped to dull away the aching in his temples. “Shall I introduce everyone?” Yoongi asks. “Or I bet everyone here already knows Jimin, isn’t that right Kim?”

His tight smile accompanied the strain in his voice after having to cough out Namjoon’s name. The name ‘Kim Namjoon’ felt like a serpentine wrapped around his tongue, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth. Hence, opting for a simple ‘Kim’ to ease his queasy stomach.

“Yoongi-”

“No, let him be Jin. He knows that I’ve been...spying on him so why hide it right?” Namjoon spoke up. “And it can’t be helped if Taehyung reads my visions because obviously, he was just as concerned.”

“Just as?” Yoongi scoffed at his words. It angered him that Namjoon was playing it off as if he had an ounce of care for him. If it came from Jin, it would’ve been more believable.

“Listen here punk!” Namjoon stood up, now seething with anger. “I’m sorry that your dull brain can’t input in the fact that I do care for you. Or maybe it’s that thick ego clouding your eyes.”

This was something Yoongi couldn’t lose to. After almost 70 years, it was finally time to let it out. He stands up and faces up to Namjoon’s taller build. “You care for me?!” Yoongi retorted and gave a mocking chuckle. “That must be the biggest joke in the entire world because fuck, I’m laughing.”

“This is what you do! You haven’t changed a single bit you fucker,” Namjoon grits his teeth. “Instead of trying to understand and accept it, you mock my words, laugh it off and claim that no one has tried to explain it to you.”

The fury locked in him finally explodes, reaching it’s boiling limit. His fist swings for Namjoon’s jaws, only reaching an inch before the taller man grabs the thin wrist, pushing Yoongi back.

“That’s enough, both of you!” Jin barked out with a frown. He understood that the two men needed to sort out their differences but getting physical was taking things too far. There were more important things that needed tending to before he would allow them to battle it out.

Yoongi falls back against the couch with his fists clenched. “You’re such a coward, Kim,” he muttered with a smirk. “Reading my mind to block my punches. If you’ve been reading my mind, then you would know exactly what that punch was for and admit that you deserve it.”

“Bastard!” the taller man seethed as he launched himself on Yoongi. The latter was not about to back off either as he meets Namjoon halfway.

One second, their bodies were entangled in a blur of fists. And the next, they were wailing in pain as they dropped to the floor. It felt like their entire body was burning and electrified at the same time as Jungkook holds onto their wrists, their life slowly pulled out of them. The veins in their necks were popping out in shades of blue while feeling like their heart was being squeezed. Jungkook releases them before it gets too critical, letting their limp arm lay still by their shaking body.

As the two men gasps for air on the cracked wooden floor, Taehyung steps in. Yoongi realised that the young boy had been awfully quiet since they arrived at his apartment. “Please,” he pleads with a soft voice. His eyes make contact with both Namjoon and Yoongi; it was glazed with desolated sorrow. “None of us want to see you fight anymore. This feud you guys have, it’s been going on for too long. Either choose to move on or talk it out.”

Coming from someone who was younger than both Namjoon and Yoongi, it brought a wave of shame over them. They’ve both been childish in their own ways. For the past decades, Namjoon has been in denial of his mistakes and Yoongi has been trying to avoid it. It wasn’t healthy for both of them.

Taehyung continued, “Meanwhile, we’ve got the 7th one restrained somewhere in a facility, treated like a lab rat. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m planning on saving him. And we can’t do that without either of you.”

Namjoon sighs as Jin helps him up. He’s been trying to reconcile their issue but after reading Yoongi’s mind a couple of times, he felt the younger boy’s resistance. So he didn’t push for it, claiming that he was only trying to respect Yoongi’s wishes. Perhaps he should’ve pushed for it, be a man and face the music. Then maybe, things wouldn’t have spiralled out of control.

The guilt gnawed at him, gulping as he held out a hand towards Yoongi. “I...I know you can’t forgive me for what I did but...for the sake of the 7th, let’s put it behind us.”

Yoongi stares at the outstretched hand waiting for him. It used to be the hand that would pull him out of the gutter, patting him on the back and encouraging him to believe in himself. It was painful to see that the hand was now tainted with hate. But for the sake of the 7th and Taehyung, he held out his own hand, agreeing to move on. The handshake was flitting, lasting only a second before the two men retracted.

“Well, what the fuck happened to the 7th?” Yoongi asked exasperatedly. He hadn’t bothered to get back on the couch, eyeing the couple that was inhabiting it. His oldest friend and his now friendly foe, hand in hand. “And does he have a name? Or are we going to keep calling him that?”

“About that…” Jin started with a concerned look. The air hung heavy as Yoongi’s four guests look at each other. There was definitely something they knew amongst themselves. “His name...it’s Jung Hoseok.”

Jung Hoseok.

Jung fucking Hoseok.

That name slapped Yoongi in the face as he feels the colour draining out of him. The universe must be sadists, taking in pleasure from seeing him suffer. How cruel they were, presenting him with all his pain from the past. This was exactly why Yoongi ran as far away as he could from the rest of them. They come into his life carrying a ticking time bomb and now he can’t escape it.

“That’s...that’s impossible,” Yoongi wheezed out, his voice cracking. He shakes his head and tries to deny the truth. “I would’ve noticed the symbol on his wrist. And mine has never lit up whenever I was around him.”

“You see, Hoseok’s a morphling,” Namjoon said.

“A what?” Jimin piped up. Yoongi didn’t notice that the pink boy had been by his side until he hears his sweet voice.

“A morphling! He uh he’s able to change his physical form to literally anything he wants. That’s why I wasn’t able to track him down all this time. He’s been donning different skins so his symbol has never come up on my visions,” Namjoon explains his discovery with genuine interest.

But all those words were silent blubbers to him as he sits, frozen and numb. All Yoongi sees is him. All Yoongi feels is his arms wrapped around his waist. All Yoongi hears is the whisper of his name, said so tenderly, full of love. The cracks in his heart started to break away, never fully healed in the first place.

---

*back in the 30s*

“Hey baby,” he chuckles as he hugs Yoongi from the back. He leaves a trail of kisses down Yoongi’s pale neck, leaving him flustered.

“Not now! What if people see us?”

He growls and bites on Yoongi’s neck, making the latter whimper from both pain and pleasure. No matter how tough he looks, Yoongi always seems to melt under his touch. “Then shouldn’t we get back to my apartment? We’ll get some privacy to kiss all we want.”

It was a toxic relationship, he knew that. Men weren't supposed to be with men. What they had between them and what they did behind closed doors, it could send them to the asylum. But why did it feel so good to have his long fingers unbuttoning his collar while he nibbled on his ears? Was he deranged just like the advertisements said? And did he want it to stop?

Yoongi lets out a strangled groan as he feels him tugging his belt. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re buying me lunch before work.”

He decided that he loved him.

---

“Hey, are you okay? You blanked out there.”

Jimin nudged his friend, trying to pull him out of his trance. Yoongi had been acting weird ever since the ominous name entered the room. And from the looks of it, he’s had some past with this Jung Hoseok. But the way he reacted, it was different from how he was when he shared with Jimin about Jin and the rest of the group. This time round, Yoongi looked like he had seen a ghost. A ghost from his past that perhaps, might’ve meant something more than just a friend to him. It was a wild guess but the face of a hopeless lover was painted over him. And it left Jimin feeling less than happy.

“Yeah,” Yoongi murmured, clearing his throat and sitting upright. He leaves his memories and tunes back to Namjoon.

“He’s a big-time con artist and has been under the watch of several agencies all over the world. Unfortunately for him, he was caught morphing and ever since, he’s had a different type of agency trailing after him. They tracked him down to Tokyo and captured him, making him their prison in an underground facility on the island of Aogashima. I’ve seen what they’ve been doing to him...it’s inhumane, that’s for sure.”

Hearing that Hoseok was kept in a facility, going through torture, infuriated him. Morally, Yoongi knew it was cruel to treat a human like a lab rat but he wouldn’t admit that his never-ending love for him fuelled more anger than needed.

“Hear us out Yoongi, we know that you’re not a big fan of fulfilling the legend but we really need your he-”

“I’ll do it. I’ll help you,” he says, surprising Jin mid-way.

He was coming for Jung Hoseok.

BTS Au masterlist

#bts #bts army #bts au #bts!au #bts metahuman #bts metahuman au #bts fantasy au #bts suga #bts yoongi #bts jimin #bts namjoon #bts rap monster #bts jin #bts taehyung #bts v #bts jungkook #bangtan #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bts imagines

[ellanainthetardis]

Prompt: I do not know if you'll understand what is written, because I can not speak English and I'm using a language translator, but if you understand could write a FIC where Effie is temporarily blind? I love the way you write Hayffie.

I was excited for this one :p The title is from Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine and be careful because there are some mentions of and references to torture. It’ a long one so please leave me feedback! [FF] or [AO3]

So Darkness I Became

Her eyelids wouldn’t open.

Effie felt sluggish, her brain wouldn’t compute properly… She had a fever, she knew she had a fever… Or maybe it was a chill… Or… Infection. Yes. That was it. She had an infection.

She was tired and weak but she needed to open her eyes. Even if she wouldn’t be able to see anything in the pitch black darkness, even if there was nothing for her to see…

She needed…

The pain was gone…

The absence of the familiar throbs and aches made her panic. Was she dead? Had her body finally given up? Had she…

She needed to open her eyes.

Something was wrapped around her head, she realized, keeping them closed. Her right hand wouldn’t move either. It was trapped. Strapped against her chest and…

She wasn’t on the floor.

She wasn’t in her cell.

The smell wasn’t right.

The air wasn’t stale, she couldn’t smell herself anymore, couldn’t smell the waste and the stench from her injuries, couldn’t smell the rot and the decay of her own body dying day after day…

It smelt… clean.

Not good but clean.

Antiseptic.

Hospital.

What had they done to her?

A machine started beeping like crazy next to her as her heart began racing in her chest. She wanted to cry. Badly. Why had they brought her to a hospital? Last time they had done that… Peeta… But her memories seemed intact. Sluggish, yes, but intact.

What had they done to her?

Had they taken her eyes away?

Was it a new kind of torture?

Had they been experiencing on her?

Making her a mutt?

Would they put her eyes on giant dogs and set them on her friends like they had done in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games?

Too pretty, Latson, her chief torturer, used to say¸ maybe I should take them as a keepsake.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her left hand wasn’t bound and she reached for her head, for the bandage around her eyes… She would tear it away, she would…

Fingers wrapped around her wrist before she could make contact and she screamed, weakly thrashing against that grip. She didn’t have enough strength to escape it.

“Sweetheart.” a voice cut in between her screams. “Sweetheart. Effie.”

Her scream turned into a sob but she swallowed it as best as she could.

That was the aim, then.

A new kind of torture.

Take her sight away and let her other senses betray her.

“I don’t know anything.” she whispered tiredly. Hadn’t they asserted that yet?  

There was a sharp intake of breath to her left. It sounded so much like him that it hurt. Was he dead yet? From her cell, it didn’t seem like the rebels could win but she hoped. She hoped still. For the children’s sake and for his.

It didn’t matter that the guards kept repeating they would catch him and toss his corpse with her in her cell so she could play. The horrors they implied, the names they called her, the things they threatened to do to the two of them if they found him alive… None of that mattered.

She believed in him.

It was all she had left.

Even if he had given up on her, even if he had left her to die, even if he had betrayed her… She believed in him. She had always loved him more. It was fitting it would end this way. She comforted herself in the poetry of it: worthy of the greatest tragedies.

Those violent delights have violent ends.

She had quoted it to him once.

He hadn’t liked it.

He had never liked much of what she had to say anyway.

“Sweetheart, do you know who I am?” the man asked.

She wondered if they were using some sort of technology or if they had simply found someone who could impersonate him perfectly. Or maybe it was the drugs running in her system. Maybe…

“I don’t know anything.” she repeated.

Sometimes, she thought it would be the only words she would be able to utter ever again. She hadn’t talked to anyone in so long… Her whole language was limited to those words nowadays.

“It’s alright, Effie…” he coaxed, gently bringing her left hand down to her side.

He didn’t let go though.

He trapped it between his, so warm, big and calloused just the right way…  Despite herself, she calmed down. She listened to the beeping of the machine slowing down to something more regular. It was some sort of drug, she decided. Someone could have imitated him but she would have known at a simple touch it wasn’t really him. The hands were right so her mind must have conjured them.  

“You’re safe now.” he lied. “I found you. I’m sorry it took so fucking long… I tried… Been trying for months…”

She almost snorted because that was wrong. Haymitch wouldn’t care and he would certainly not show it even if he did. But it was nice to hear so she remained silent.

She was desperate for the sound of his voice even if it was just an illusion. Even if…

“We won, sweetheart.” he said. “It’s over. We won.” He talked fast and his voice was rough. “The kids are… They’re safe. Alive.”

He lifted her hand and it took her a moment to realize what he was doing. She felt his lips on her skin, chapped, and the raspy feel of his stubble…

She snatched her hand away.

That was too much.

That was too… Too real.

He let out a round of broken chuckles that sounded entirely too bitter. “Right… You hate me. Won’t dispute that… You’ve got the right… For what it’s worth… I’m sorry. Without you, it’s been… It’s been…”

His voice trailed off to a stop.

She wondered if that was the aim. They had tried before. Turning her against him.

“You are wasting your time.” she slurred slowly. The words were difficult to find and they remained stuck on her tongue.

“Figured.” he sighed. “Look, I just… I just want to make sure you’re…”

She ignored him. Focused on getting the words out.

“I will never hate him.” she hissed. “I don’t know anything. Go fuck yourself. I don’t know anything.”

She had been dignified in the beginning. She had vowed to bear her fate like a true lady would.

The resolution had died down sometimes between the whip lashing out at her naked thighs and being locked in a cell so small she had had no choice but to soil herself more times than she could count.

“Effie?” He sounded alarmed. The mattress dipped next to her hip and she supposed he had sat on the bed. “Effie, it’s me.”

She felt his presence looming over her and she hated it. She hated it because instead of it being threatening, her treacherous body seemed to find it comforting. She took a deep breath to swallow the lump in her throat.

And it was when it hit her.

They were good certainly.

But not good enough.

“You got the smell wrong.” she mocked.

The man smelled nothing like Haymitch. Haymitch’s scent was unique to her. Plain soap – even in the Capitol with its myriad of products at his disposal, he always used the cheapest plain soap – faint sweat and liquor. Something so Haymitch…

The man didn’t smell like liquor at all.

And that was the most obvious giveaway.

She waited for the blows.

She waited for the frustrated voices to call the game off.

She waited for the pain…

It never came.

Fingers were brushed against her cheek in a caress so familiar she could have sworn…

“I’ve been underground for months.” he told her. “And I’m… I’m sober.”

She scoffed in disbelief.

Did they expect her to swallow that?

“What have you done to my eyes?” she asked.

It seemed important to ask somehow. Was she just blind or had her personal nightmare carved them out to bring back home in a jar? Had they just blindfolded her in hope this charade would work?

“You don’t remember?” he frowned. “When I carried you out of there… The doctor said you’ve been left in complete darkness too long. The light was too much for you. You screamed…”

Something was scratching at the back of her mind but she ignored it. It couldn’t be a memory. Her imagination, no doubt. How many times had she dreamed of Haymitch breaking down the door and taking her out of her cell? It wasn’t like him to be the knight in shining armor though. She had never needed a knight before either.

She would be…

No, she wouldn’t be fine.

But she would cope.

Effie had always been good at coping.

“It’ll go away. You’ll be alright.” he promised. “They’re gonna take it off in a couple of days, I think… You’ve got dim lights in your room so you should be okay. It’s just so they can take care of you properly and you’re not in pain.” His hand left her cheek to trail down the side of her neck to the arm that was strapped. He didn’t touch her there though. “Your shoulder’s been dislocated for a while and set back wrong, they had to… You had surgery.” The hand ended up cradling her left one again. His thigh was hard under her wrist, the fabric of his pants was… frayed. She would never have let him run around in frayed pants. “They starved you, might take a while to correct that. You were dehydrated too, that’s what the drip is for.”

Drip.

She hadn’t even noticed the pinching in the crook of her elbow. It was such a small pain…

“You drugged me.” she accused.

She didn’t need him to list her injuries. She was well aware of her injuries.

“It’s just morphling.” he denied. “For the pain. Some of the wounds were… Not pretty.” Some of the wounds had been dripping pus well before they had tossed her in the dark cell. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure how she had survived that long. Why she was still surviving. “You’ve got a couple of cracked ribs too so try to take it easy when you move.”

His thumb was running on her knuckles, back and forth.

She took her hand back and her little finger bumped into something hard and cold. She frowned a little and felt around for it.

She recognized the shape of the thing around his wrist.

Flames.

Cold flames.

It was the gold bangle.

His token.

Her token.

She let go as if the flames had burned her for real and turned her head to the side.

The drugs may make it sound and look as if the man was Haymitch but the smell was wrong. And… If they had the bangle… Finnick had been in possession of it last. But Finnick had gotten out of the arena and…

Would he have given it back to Haymitch?

Would Haymitch have asked for it?

He had promised her it was only a loan when she had realized what he had done. He had promised and pecked her lips and told her to stop being so dramatic because it really wasn’t the right time for that.

“Is he dead?” she whispered.

“Who?” he asked, either confused or wary she wasn’t sure.

“Stop this game.” she snapped. “It is not working. I do not believe you. You are not him. Is he dead?”

It was a stupid question, of course. She couldn’t trust anything they would say.

There was a soft noise – and she knew he had licked his lips, she knew, because the illusion was so good, so damn good – and then his voice again. Broken and rough once more.

“Sweetheart, you’re safe now.” he begged. “Ask me something… Ask me something only I know.”

“Something you may have tortured out of him or dug around in my brain for?” she snorted. “I know what you did to Peeta. I won’t make the mistake of trusting my own mind. I am not as stupid as I look.”

“Effie…” he pleaded.

“No.” she cut him off. “I am done playing now. I do not know anything. There is no point to this aside for causing me grief and I refuse to humor you. Get me back to my cell.”

“You’re never going back to a cell as long as I breathe.” he growled.

“Suit yourself.” she huffed. “I won’t mind staying in a nice bed a little longer.”

She didn’t listen to anything else. She forced herself to think about something else, to mentally review the content of her walk-in closet from top shelf to bottom drawer to drown his voice. She ignored the tentative touch of her hand or face.

And, when she felt him stand up and leave, she bit down on her bottom lip.

It was only when she heard the soft click of the door being shut, presumably behind him, that she let out the shaky sob.

She couldn’t stop herself from crying. She was vaguely conscious of the dull pain in her chest but the morphling was taking care of that.

The bandage was wet when she finally calmed herself down.

She supposed it meant she still had eyes after all.

°°°

The next time she woke up, she was as disoriented as she had been the first time.

It took her a few minutes to remember where she was and she was really surprised to still be there. Why hadn’t they dragged her back to the Capitol’s entrails yet? Why hadn’t they beaten her black and blue out of sheer frustration at her unwillingness to play their twisted games?

“Hey, sweetheart.”

She let out a long shaky breath.

This answered that, then. They hadn’t given up on the idea of torturing her yet.

“Is it you, Latson?” she asked, half wary and half cocky. She felt reckless. How she could feel reckless when she was lying drugged in a bed given that she cowered when she was free in a room was anyone’s guess but she felt reckless. Maybe she had finally reached her point of no return. Maybe she wanted to goad them into ending it. Maybe…

“Who’s that?” Haymitch’s voice asked, tired and annoyed.

There was a sloshing sound.

“Paying attention to details this time, are we?” she retorted. “What does the flask looks like?”

“More bumps and scratches than when you gave it to me.” he snorted. “Otherwise, pretty much the same. There’s a T on one side.”

The metal was warm when he guided it in her hand, as if he had been holding it for hours. The crafted silver was familiar. It was her grandfather’s flask, the one she had gifted him wurg because her mother had been about to sell it or throw it away and she hadn’t been able to bear the thought. He hadn’t taken to the present kindly at first but he had come around in time and… He usually carried it around. Even when he had been bent on rationing his liquor to the minimum for the children’s sake… She was certain he had been carrying it the last time she had seen him.

So they had the bangle and the flask.

Her heart sank in her chest.

“I thought you were supposed to be sober.” she remarked.

“Yeah, well…” he snorted. “Wasn’t working out for me.” He gently pried the flask from her fingers and she heard the sloshing sound again, she listened to him swallowing a long gulp. Then his fingers closed around hers. She knew it wasn’t Haymitch. She knew. But she couldn’t help herself. Her body wanted to cave to his touch and it brought her comfort to pretend. “Coin did something bad. Really bad. Heavensbee was in on it. And Beetee.”

“You don’t say.” she deadpanned. “Is it when I am supposed to fully embrace the Capitol’s cause and confess all my secrets? I will save you some time. I do not know anything. Haymitch never told me anything.”

“Maybe there’s no good cause.” he muttered bitterly. “Maybe it should be just you and me and the kids against the world.”

“That was always my sentiment.” She tried to shrug and groaned when pain slashed through her right shoulder.

“Easy.” he immediately said. “They reduced the painkillers. They thought maybe that was what was making you confused.”

“Oh, is that the plan, then?” she asked, entirely disinterested. “Reducing the morphling slowly until the pain comes back? It is awfully elaborate for you, Latson… You are usually more… straightforward.”

Whips and knives and fists and wires around her neck…

A laugh that sounded like a bark…

Crazy spark in his dark eyes…

He got off on causing pain.

It was a game to him, a sport… A nice distraction at the end of a tiring day. He had long stopped asking questions when he came to play, or perhaps once in a while to keep up appearances. Nobody talked to her anymore. She was nothing. She was almost not sentient to them. Little less than a punching-bag.

“Who’s Latson?” he asked again. She sighed and his fingers briefly squeezed hers. “Tall? Brown hair? Mustache? Head Peacekeeper?”

“Very ugly.” she added, in the hope of aggravating him into betraying himself. She wanted this game to end. It was far too painful.

“Yeah, that one’s dead.” he told her. “He had your lighter. That’s how I knew you were there.”

She couldn’t quite care where her lighter was even if it was a gift from Finnick.

“Of course.” she humored him.

“Wouldn’t shut up.” he grumbled as if he hadn’t heard her. His fingers were shaking a little. “Kept talking about you. Kept calling you a bitch. My bitch. I couldn’t take it anymore, yeah? The things he said…”

“I am your favorite toy.” she reminded him bitterly.

“Stop.” he spat, letting go of her hand. His fingers came back quickly though, wrapped around hers again and lifted them to his cheek, to the familiar feel of his stubble – not quite though, more like an unkempt beard. “I’m not him. I’m me. I’m fucking me. Sweetheart…” She clenched her jaw. “He said he peed on you.” he whispered, sounding horrified. As if it was the worst that had been done to her.

It had been humiliating certainly.

But it hadn’t been the worst.

At least it hadn’t hurt anything but her pride.

“I was thirsty.” she said flatly.

A sharp intake of breath and his fingers clenched around hers so tightly it hurt a little. She didn’t say anything though. What was the point?

“I slit his throat.” he claimed in a dangerous growl. “I slit his fucking throat. Slowly. He didn’t die quick or clean.”

A chill ran down her spine.

There was something primitive in his voice, something… feral.

Was it supposed to comfort her, this lie? To make her believe in this game? To make her forget just how insidious the Capitol could be?

“Plutarch was angry.” he added, almost as an afterthought. She wondered if he was drunk. He sounded a little buzzed. “Like he doesn’t have blood on his hands. Like he didn’t…” She felt him shake his head under her palm. “I killed him. He won’t ever touch you again.”

“Haymitch would never kill anyone given the choice.” she countered. There was a touch of uncertainty to her voice though. Wouldn’t he? He had always warned her that the arena had changed him. That…

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt my family.” he retorted. “I’ll kill again if I have to.”

It was almost a challenge. To what or whom, she didn’t know.

“I am not Haymitch’s family.” she objected.

“Like hell, you’re not.” he scoffed. There was a pause and then a shift of air. It took her a second to realize he was moving, leaning forward. His forehead was pressed against her cheek, hair tickled her temple… The smell, this time, was right. So him she almost choked. “I missed you.” he murmured awkwardly. “I missed you so fucking much. It was like I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

“I miss you.” she confessed, giving in to the fantasy for a second. “I wish… I wish you were real. So badly. I wish…” She turned her head a little, pressing her cheek against his forehead. “I wish I could see you one more time before I…”

“I’m right here.” he snarled. “The fuck do I need to do to convince you?”

His nose bumped against her jaw, his lips brushed against hers…

“No!” She turned her head away, the machine beeping in earnest as panic flooded her. She wouldn’t give them that. She wouldn’t. They hadn’t taken that away from her yet, she had been too dirty and too broken to be appealing, but now… Now she smelled clean and she didn’t feel so broken and… She wouldn’t give that up so easily. She wouldn’t… She…

“Calm down.” he demanded, hands closing on her arms as she thrashed against him. “I’m sorry, Effie. Calm down.”

She head the door being opened and then noises, voices, questions, recriminations…

Then a needle in her neck and a cocoon of darkness.

°°°

The constricting bandage around her head was gone.

She blinked her eyes open slowly.

It was dark but not as dark as in her cell. Not ink dark more like… A light dark.

It still smelt like antiseptic and she was still in a bed. She sat up, not quite able to see properly. There were shapes in the dark room though and dots of red and green to her right. Machines, her brain supplied. She didn’t look at them too long. The dots hurt her eyes. It made her dizzy.

The shape to her left moved and she startled badly, gasping hard, her left hand feeling around for something. Not that anyone would be stupid enough to leave a weapon within reach.

“Finally.” a familiar voice said. “You took your fucking time.”

“Johanna.” she breathed out, peering at the thicker blot of darkness. She couldn’t see properly. The shape was human, yes. But she couldn’t tell if… “This is another trick.”

Boots were placed on the edge of the mattress as the shape slouched deeper in the chair. Effie had the feeling it was studying her but she couldn’t tell. Her sight was bad. The more she tried to focus, the more she felt a headache beginning to take hold right behind her eyes.

“Haymitch’s in a state.” Johanna said.

“Haymitch is dead.” she whispered.

It was the only logical conclusion.

They had his bangle and his flask.

“Haymitch’s sitting with Katniss right now, trying to convince everyone he’s not about to lose it.” the victor claimed. “You need to wake the fuck up, Trinket.”

“Stop drugging me.” she hissed back.

Johanna’s familiar snickering echoed in the room. “Well, if that’s what you want…” Hands grabbed her good arm. There was a sharp pain at the crook of her elbow. The drip was gone. She didn’t know what Johanna – or the would-be Johanna – was doing but five minutes later the victor sighed in contentment. “Don’t tell Haymitch I stole your morphling.”

“I don’t know anything.” she whispered. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“’Cause we’re not them.” Johanna shrugged. At least she thought the shape shrugged. “This is real. Get your fucking head out of your fucking ass and wake up. ”

“I do not understand what is the point of this game…” she begged. “I have no information. I have…”

“There’s no point. There’s no fucking game.” Jo grumbled. “They took the Capitol. Katniss got herself blown up to smithereens. I’ve seen her, it’s not pretty.”

“Katniss?” she repeated.

“Haymitch doesn’t want to tell you shit.” Johanna snorted. “Doesn’t want to upset you. The doc said you needed rest so he’s coddling you. You don’t need coddling, you need to get your shit together.”

“Katniss.” she insisted. “He said she was alive.”

“She is.” the victor confirmed. “Barely. They’ve got her in a tank or something. She’s burned.”

“No.” She shook her head. “She has to be fine. She’s…”

“Not out of the woods.” Johanna cut her off. “And Haymitch’s losing it. He’s back on the booze.”

“None of this is real.” she hesitated.

“Finnick’s dead.” Jo told her with purposeful detachment. Or maybe that was the morphling talking. “Katniss’ sister too. Peeta… They did a number on him.”

“They rewrote his memories.” she confirmed. “I saw.”

“You were gone by that point.” Johanna said with something akin to guilt. “When they came for us… I told them to look for you but… I didn’t know where you were. There wasn’t time.”

“They moved me out of the Center after they were sure Peeta was…” she mumbled. “I heard about the rescue. The guards were talking about it. The guards there… The Head Peacekeeper of the prison… Latson…”

“The asshole’s dead.” the victor said quietly. “Haymitch took care of it. From what I heard, he’d have killed them all if you hadn’t been in such a bad state. He took you out of there and back to the Games’ clinic.”

“Is that where we are?” she frowned. Once more, she tried to decipher the shapes in the darkness but it was too painful and, in the end, she closed her eyes. Her body had been numb every time she had woken up but it felt alive now. Throbbing and aching in familiar places…

“Yeah.” Jo confirmed. “Katniss is at the Mansion’s hospital though. VIP and all that shit.” The victor sighed. “Look, he won’t tell you but you’re not safe yet. The rebels have been making mass arrests. Anyone involved in the Games at one point or another… Victors have immunity but…”

“Is this a ploy to convince me rebels are bad?” she asked. “Because I do not care. I do not care who is right or wrong. I just want…”

She wanted to be safe.

To keep her family, her team, safe.

“It’s not wrong to have those bastards arrested.” Johanna sneered. “I’m hoping they shoot them too. There are talks about trials but they don’t deserve that much.”

Her mind was slowly clearing.

“I am an escort.” she pointed out.

“Finally catching up?” the victor chuckled. “Haymitch’s trying to get you off the hook. Heavensbee’s helping.”

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m on guard duty.” Jo snorted. “Making sure nobody arrests you while Haymitch’s taking care of our Mockingjay. You’ve got your head out of your ass yet?”

Her shoulder was throbbing hard and the familiar pressure on her ribcage was back. It was faint for now but the pain was there. An old friend that had kept her company all this time in her cell. It was helping in a way the painkillers had not.

“May I touch your face?” she asked.

She was fairly certain the drugs had cleared off enough that she would be able to tell real from fake now. If it was only someone posing as Johanna…

“Buy me a drink first.” Jo cackled but guided her good hand to her face.

The features were Johanna’s.

At least she thought so.

She wanted to believe.

She wanted to believe so badly.

She slid down the bed instead, mindful of her ribs and of her shoulder, and she closed her eyes.

She didn’t know what to think.

It was easier not to think at all.

She heard the door opening after a while and a quiet female voice. She heard the nurse getting angry at Johanna – probably about the morphling theft – and chasing her out of the room. When the nurse grabbed her arm, Effie’s eyelids flew open and she tried to take it back.

“No.” she said.

She still couldn’t see much more than a vague human shape.

“It’s alright, dear.” the nurse hummed with practiced professional kindness. “You’re absolutely safe.”

“No painkillers.” she insisted. “Please.”

The shape betrayed a small gesture of surprise. She sounded like she was frowning. “You must be in pain.”

“No drugs.” she repeated. “I can deal with the pain. Please, no drugs.”

“I need to ask the doctor.” the nurse sighed. “Regardless of morphling, I need to put the drip back in. It’s here to keep you hydrated and fed.”

She shook her head, tears burning her eyes. “Can you… Please, can you get Haymitch? Haymitch Abernathy. He will… I do not want the drugs. I…”

“Don’t work yourself up, dear.” the nurse chided her.

But she did work herself up, she pushed the woman away when she tried to put the needle in and she jumped off the bed in an ill-thought-out attempt at escaping.

She wasn’t sure if she fell because she couldn’t see anything or because her legs wouldn’t carry her.

Her shoulder hit the floor and the agonizing pain was enough to make her black out.

°°°

She woke up to blinding light.

She groaned and tried to curl up but pain flared up her ribcage and she was left with no other recourse than shutting her eyes tight and hope it would go away.

“I’m gonna kill Johanna.”

“Haymitch?” she asked.

A long heartbeat passed before she felt his hand covering hers. “Yeah.”

She was lucid.

That was her first real thought.

Her mind wasn’t sluggish like the drugs made it.

She felt lucid.

“You asked for me.” he hesitated.

“I did.” she confirmed.

“The nurse said you freaked out over the drugs so… I told them not to give you any more.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “I can have them hook you up again if…”

“No.” she refused. “I… I need to be me.”

“Alright.” he caved easily.

She tentatively opened her eyelids but the light was still blinding. “Can you turn that off? It is too strong.”

“It’s dimmed, sweetheart.” he denied. “I can barely see shit. They want you to slowly get used to it again.”

Dimmed.

The light didn’t look dimmed.

It felt like staring straight at a spotlight.

“It hurts.” she begged.

“It’ll get better.” he promised. His hand was hesitant when it came to rest on her forehead. When she didn’t shrug it away, he let it slid to her hair. She could tell it was probably an unsalvageable mess but he petted it slowly all the same. “Do you believe I am who I am?”

“I don’t know.” she offered honestly. “But I am so tired of fighting… I miss you too much…”

She was getting used to the light, she realized.

It wasn’t so blinding anymore. Just light darkness.

She couldn’t see very well but it was enough for her to spot colors.

The white of the walls…

The blue of his woolen sweater…

His face was blurry.

She reached for it, feeling the familiar features under her fingertips… She rested her head against his forearm as he kept petting her hair and she breathed in the smell of him.

Her body immediately relaxed and maybe it was an instinctive response she needed to trust.

Maybe if her mind was playing tricks on her, her body on the other hand…

“Haymitch…” she murmured.

She couldn’t quite see properly but she thought he was smirking.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“I love you.” she said in a rush.

She had been mulling over that for months. Not telling him. She knew had she said the words, he would have stormed out or dismiss them with a cutting remark. She knew the words would send him into a panic. She knew.

But she was selfish and she needed those words off her chest even if she never uttered them again.

He didn’t answer.

She hadn’t expected him too.

But when his mouth crashed on hers, she didn’t fight it either.

Some things didn’t need to be heard or seen to know they were real.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #mj time #book!verse #angst #hurt comfort #post prison effie #protective effie #hbic effie #dark side of h #protective haymitch #angsting h #coconuts friends #torture #injuries #jo

[readbookywooks]

27 In the stunned reaction that follows, I'm aware of one sound. Snow's laughter. An awful gurgling cackle accompanied by an eruption of foamy blood when the coughing begins. I see him bend forward, spewing out his life, until the guards block him from my sight. As the gray uniforms begin to converge on me, I think of what my brief future as the assassin of Panem's new president holds. The interrogation, probable torture, certain public execution. Having, yet again, to say my final goodbyes to the handful of people who still maintain a hold on my heart. The prospect of facing my mother, who will now be entirely alone in the world, decides it. "Good night," I whisper to the bow in my hand and feel it go still. I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta's eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock. "Let me go!" I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp. "I can't," he says. As they pull me away from him, I feel the pocket ripped from my sleeve, see the deep violet pill fall to the ground, watch Cinna's last gift get crunched under a guard's boot. I transform into a wild animal, kicking, clawing, biting, doing whatever I can to free myself from this web of hands as the crowd pushes in. The guards lift me up above the fray, where I continue to thrash as I'm conveyed over the crush of people. I start screaming for Gale. I can't find him in the throng, but he will know what I want. A good clean shot to end it all. Only there's no arrow, no bullet. Is it possible he can't see me? No. Above us, on the giant screens placed around the City Circle, everyone can watch the whole thing being played out. He sees, he knows, but he doesn't follow through. Just as I didn't when he was captured. Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us. I'm on my own. In the mansion, they handcuff and blindfold me. I'm half dragged, half carried down long passages, up and down elevators, and deposited on a carpeted floor. The cuffs are removed and a door slams closed behind me. When I push the blindfold up, I find I'm in my old room at the Training Center. The one where I lived during those last precious days before my first Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell. The bed's stripped to the mattress, the closet gapes open, showing the emptiness inside, but I'd know this room anywhere. It's a struggle to get to my feet and peel off my Mockingjay suit. I'm badly bruised and might have a broken finger or two, but it's my skin that's paid most dearly for my struggle with the guards. The new pink stuff has shredded like tissue paper and blood seeps through the laboratory-grown cells. No medics show up, though, and as I'm too far gone to care, I crawl up onto the mattress, expecting to bleed to death. No such luck. By evening, the blood clots, leaving me stiff and sore and sticky but alive. I limp into the shower and program in the gentlest cycle I can remember, free of any soaps and hair products, and squat under the warm spray, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. My name is Katniss Everdeen. Why am I not dead? I should be dead. It would be best for everyone if I were dead.... When I step out on the mat, the hot air bakes my damaged skin dry. There's nothing clean to put on. Not even a towel to wrap around me. Back in the room, I find the Mockingjay suit has disappeared. In its place is a paper robe. A meal has been sent up from the mysterious kitchen with a container of my medications for dessert. I go ahead and eat the food, take the pills, rub the salve on my skin. I need to focus now on the manner of my suicide. I curl back up on the bloodstained mattress, not cold but feeling so naked with just the paper to cover my tender flesh. Jumping to my death's not an option - the window glass must be a foot thick. I can make an excellent noose, but there's nothing to hang myself from. It's possible I could hoard my pills and then knock myself off with a lethal dose, except that I'm sure I'm being watched round the clock. For all I know, I'm on live television at this very moment while commentators try to analyze what could possibly have motivated me to kill Coin. The surveillance makes almost any suicide attempt impossible. Taking my life is the Capitol's privilege. Again. What I can do is give up. I resolve to lie on the bed without eating, drinking, or taking my medications. I could do it, too. Just die. If it weren't for the morphling withdrawal. Not bit by bit like in the hospital in 13, but cold turkey. I must have been on a fairly large dose because when the craving for it hits, accompanied by tremors, and shooting pains, and unbearable cold, my resolve's crushed like an eggshell. I'm on my knees, raking the carpet with my fingernails to find those precious pills I flung away in a stronger moment. I revise my suicide plan to slow death by morphling. I will become a yellow-skinned bag of bones, with enormous eyes. I'm a couple of days into the plan, making good progress, when something unexpected happens. I begin to sing. At the window, in the shower, in my sleep. Hour after hour of ballads, love songs, mountain airs. All the songs my father taught me before he died, for certainly there has been very little music in my life since. What's amazing is how clearly I remember them. The tunes, the lyrics. My voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. A voice that would make the mockingjays fall silent and then tumble over themselves to join in. Days pass, weeks. I watch the snows fall on the ledge outside my window. And in all that time, mine is the only voice I hear. What are they doing, anyway? What's the holdup out there? How difficult can it be to arrange the execution of one murderous girl? I continue with my own annihilation. My body's thinner than it's ever been and my battle against hunger is so fierce that sometimes the animal part of me gives in to the temptation of buttered bread or roasted meat. But still, I'm winning. For a few days I feel quite unwell and think I may finally be traveling out of this life, when I realize my morphling tablets are shrinking. They are trying to slowly wean me off the stuff. But why? Surely a drugged Mockingjay will be easier to dispose of in front of a crowd. And then a terrible thought hits me: What if they're not going to kill me? What if they have more plans for me? A new way to remake, train, and use me? I won't do it. If I can't kill myself in this room, I will take the first opportunity outside of it to finish the job. They can fatten me up. They can give me a full body polish, dress me up, and make me beautiful again. They can design dream weapons that come to life in my hands, but they will never again brainwash me into the necessity of using them. I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despise being one myself. I think that Peeta was onto something about us destroying one another and letting some decent species take over. Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children's lives to settle its differences. You can spin it any way you like. Snow thought the Hunger Games were an efficient means of control. Coin thought the parachutes would expedite the war. But in the end, who does it benefit? No one. The truth is, it benefits no one to live in a world where these things happen. After two days of my lying on my mattress with no attempt to eat, drink, or even take a morphling tablet, the door to my room opens. Someone crosses around the bed into my field of vision. Haymitch. "Your trial's over," he says. "Come on. We're going home." Home? What's he talking about? My home's gone. And even if it were possible to go to this imaginary place, I am too weak to move. Strangers appear. Rehydrate and feed me. Bathe and clothe me. One lifts me like a rag doll and carries me up to the roof, onto a hovercraft, and fastens me into a seat. Haymitch and Plutarch sit across from me. In a few moments, we're airborne. I've never seen Plutarch in such a good mood. He's positively glowing. "You must have a million questions!" When I don't respond, he answers them anyway. After I shot Coin, there was pandemonium. When the ruckus died down, they discovered Snow's body, still tethered to the post. Opinions differ on whether he choked to death while laughing or was crushed by the crowd. No one really cares. An emergency election was thrown together and Paylor was voted in as president. Plutarch was appointed secretary of communications, which means he sets the programming for the airwaves. The first big televised event was my trial, in which he was also a star witness. In my defense, of course. Although most of the credit for my exoneration must be given to Dr. Aurelius, who apparently earned his naps by presenting me as a hopeless, shell-shocked lunatic. One condition for my release is that I'll continue under his care, although it will have to be by phone because he'd never live in a forsaken place like 12, and I'm confined there until further notice. The truth is, no one quite knows what to do with me now that the war's over, although if another one should spring up, Plutarch's sure they could find a role for me. Then Plutarch has a good laugh. It never seems to bother him when no one else appreciates his jokes. "Are you preparing for another war, Plutarch?" I ask. "Oh, not now. Now we're in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated," he says. "But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss." "What?" I ask. "The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that." And then he asks me if I'd like to perform on a new singing program he's launching in a few weeks. Something upbeat would be good. He'll send the crew to my house. We land briefly in District 3 to drop off Plutarch. He's meeting with Beetee to update the technology on the broadcast system. His parting words to me are "Don't be a stranger." When we're back among the clouds, I look at Haymitch. "So why are you going back to Twelve?" "They can't seem to find a place for me in the Capitol either," he says. At first, I don't question this. But doubts begin to creep in. Haymitch hasn't assassinated anyone. He could go anywhere. If he's coming back to 12, it's because he's been ordered to. "You have to look after me, don't you? As my mentor?" He shrugs. Then I realize what it means. "My mother's not coming back." "No," he says. He pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. I examine the delicate, perfectly formed writing. "She's helping to start up a hospital in District Four. She wants you to call as soon as we get in." My finger traces the graceful swoop of the letters. "You know why she can't come back." Yes, I know why. Because between my father and Prim and the ashes, the place is too painful to bear. But apparently not for me. "Do you want to know who else won't be there?" "No," I say. "I want to be surprised." Like a good mentor, Haymitch makes me eat a sandwich and then pretends he believes I'm asleep for the rest of the trip. He busies himself going through every compartment on the hovercraft, finding the liquor, and stowing it in his bag. It's night when we land on the green of the Victor's Village. Half of the houses have lights in the windows, including Haymitch's and mine. Not Peeta's. Someone has built a fire in my kitchen. I sit in the rocker before it, clutching my mother's letter. "Well, see you tomorrow," says Haymitch. As the clinking of his bag of liquor bottles fades away, I whisper, "I doubt it." I am unable to move from the chair. The rest of the house looms cold and empty and dark. I pull an old shawl over my body and watch the flames. I guess I sleep, because the next thing I know, it's morning and Greasy Sae's banging around at the stove. She makes me eggs and toast and sits there until I've eaten it all. We don't talk much. Her little granddaughter, the one who lives in her own world, takes a bright blue ball of yarn from my mother's knitting basket. Greasy Sae tells her to put it back, but I say she can have it. No one in this house can knit anymore. After breakfast, Greasy Sae does the dishes and leaves, but she comes back up at dinnertime to make me eat again. I don't know if she's just being neighborly or if she's on the government's payroll, but she shows up twice every day. She cooks, I consume. I try to figure out my next move. There's no obstacle now to taking my life. But I seem to be waiting for something. Sometimes the phone rings and rings and rings, but I don't pick it up. Haymitch never visits. Maybe he changed his mind and left, although I suspect he's just drunk. No one comes but Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. After months of solitary confinement, they seem like a crowd. "Spring's in the air today. You ought to get out," she says. "Go hunting." I haven't left the house. I haven't even left the kitchen except to go to the small bathroom a few steps off of it. I'm in the same clothes I left the Capitol in. What I do is sit by the fire. Stare at the unopened letters piling up on the mantel. "I don't have a bow." "Check down the hall," she says. After she leaves, I consider a trip down the hall. Rule it out. But after several hours, I go anyway, walking in silent sock feet, so as not to awaken the ghosts. In the study, where I had my tea with President Snow, I find a box with my father's hunting jacket, our plant book, my parents' wedding photo, the spile Haymitch sent in, and the locket Peeta gave me in the clock arena. The two bows and a sheath of arrows Gale rescued on the night of the firebombing lie on the desk. I put on the hunting jacket and leave the rest of the stuff untouched. I fall asleep on the sofa in the formal living room. A terrible nightmare follows, where I'm lying at the bottom of a deep grave, and every dead person I know by name comes by and throws a shovel full of ashes on me. It's quite a long dream, considering the list of people, and the deeper I'm buried, the harder it is to breathe. I try to call out, begging them to stop, but the ashes fill my mouth and nose and I can't make any sound. Still the shovel scrapes on and on and on.... I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I'm pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. "You're back," I say. "Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," Peeta says. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone." He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He's frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it's matted into clumps. I feel defensive. "What are you doing?" "I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her," he says. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house." I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I'm about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell's very faint but still laces the air. It's there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow's greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure. Back upstairs, I throw open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of Snow's stench. But it still lingers, on my clothes and in my pores. I strip, and flakes of skin the size of playing cards cling to the garments. Avoiding the mirror, I step into the shower and scrub the roses from my hair, my body, my mouth. Bright pink and tingling, I find something clean to wear. It takes half an hour to comb out my hair. Greasy Sae unlocks the front door. While she makes breakfast, I feed the clothes I had shed to the fire. At her suggestion, I pare off my nails with a knife. Over the eggs, I ask her, "Where did Gale go?" "District Two. Got some fancy job there. I see him now and again on the television," she says. I dig around inside myself, trying to register anger, hatred, longing. I find only relief. "I'm going hunting today," I say. "Well, I wouldn't mind some fresh game at that," she answers. I arm myself with a bow and arrows and head out, intending to exit 12 through the Meadow. Near the square are teams of masked and gloved people with horse-drawn carts. Sifting through what lay under the snow this winter. Gathering remains. A cart's parked in front of the mayor's house. I recognize Thom, Gale's old crewmate, pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with a rag. I remember seeing him in 13, but he must have come back. His greeting gives me the courage to ask, "Did they find anyone in there?" "Whole family. And the two people who worked for them," Thom tells me. Madge. Quiet and kind and brave. The girl who gave me the pin that gave me a name. I swallow hard. Wonder if she'll be joining the cast of my nightmares tonight. Shoveling the ashes into my mouth. "I thought maybe, since he was the mayor..." "I don't think being the mayor of Twelve put the odds in his favor," says Thom. I nod and keep moving, careful not to look in the back of the cart. All through the town and the Seam, it's the same. The reaping of the dead. As I near the ruins of my old house, the road becomes thick with carts. The Meadow's gone, or at least dramatically altered. A deep pit has been dug, and they're lining it with bones, a mass grave for my people. I skirt around the hole and enter the woods at my usual place. It doesn't matter, though. The fence isn't charged anymore and has been propped up with long branches to keep out the predators. But old habits die hard. I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips. It is the old Katniss's favorite kind of day. Early spring. The woods awakening after the long winter. But the spurt of energy that began with the primroses fades away. By the time I make it back to the fence, I'm so sick and dizzy, Thom has to give me a ride home in the dead people's cart. Help me to the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the thin shafts of afternoon light. My head snaps around at the hiss, but it takes awhile to believe he's real. How could he have gotten here? I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He's come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn't stand it there without her, so he came looking. "It was the waste of a trip. She's not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. "Get out!" He dodges the pillow I throw at him. "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!" I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. "She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead." A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won't go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he's there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night. In the morning, he sits stoically as I clean the cuts, but digging the thorn from his paw brings on a round of those kitten mews. We both end up crying again, only this time we comfort each other. On the strength of this, I open the letter Haymitch gave me from my mother, dial the phone number, and weep with her as well. Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup. Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family's plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person's picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim's cheek. My father's laugh. Peeta's father with the cookies. The color of Finnick's eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie's newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We're not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real."

#Mockingjay

[elleryandesine]

Arrival / The Parade

By the time the train arrived in the Capitol, the morphling had worn off. Ellery was calmer than before-- partially due to the drug, but also because he had gotten his first full night of sleep in a week. As he looked out on the familiar skyline awaiting him, he felt a strange pang of hope. No, thought Ellery. Not hope. That would be foolish. He decided that his feeling was simply a toned-down sense of despair. It was better than nothing.

Ellery was the first to emerge from the District 2 train car-- he had promised Syren that he would lead the way. He wasn’t sure what to think of his District partner, but he was happy enough to part the crowd for her. It must be overwhelming, he thought. Your first trip to the Capitol as meat on a platter. The plan worked, though-- the cameras hardly noticed Syren. Instead, they flocked to Ellery. The Capitol’s golden boy. Or maybe I’m just their exotic pet.

“Ellery, Ellery!” shouted one eager journalist. “Over here!” 

From the woman’s high-pitched squawk, Ellery recognized her as Livillia Plum-- an infamous tabloid writer and an old acquaintance. Highbrow papers rarely covered district people, so the job was usually left to the yellow press. Still, Ellery was relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd of rainbow-clad gawkers.

“Livillia!” he said. “Am I glad to see you!”

“My dear,” she replied while shuffling through the cameras. “How have you been keeping? I must say, this whole thing is such a tragedy. That you, of all people, would be selected for the Games... well, it’s just mind-boggling. Wonderful to have you back, though. Just wonderful!” 

Ellery looked at the woman’s excessively purple hair and tried to conceal his contempt. What a Capitol thing to say, he thought. “We’re so sorry for you, oh, yes... but we’re so excited!” They had never really cared about him as a person. It was all just novelty. 

“I’m fine,” answered Ellery nonchalantly. “Actually, Livillia-- I have a question for you.” He paused. “If it’s really such a tragedy, I must ask... who did you vote for from my district?”

It was hard to notice beneath all the makeup, but Ellery could see Livillia’s face grow pale. “P-Pardon?” she stammered. “I... well, I don’t know if I should say...”

“No, go ahead!” Ellery leaned in and smiled. “Whisper it, if you must. I just have to know.”

A single bead of sweat dripped out from Livillia’s garish wig. She cupped her mouth with her hand and pressed it against Ellery’s ear. “You, obviously,” she mumbled. “But it wasn’t personal. I didn’t truly think that... that they would do it.”

Ellery had known all along. The Capitol bigwigs who adored him were the same ones who had sent him to an early grave. He was about to tell Livillia to go fuck herself when a Peacekeeper grabbed his arm. 

“This way,” snarled the man. “No private conversations with Capitol citizens are allowed.”

“I’m sorry!” shouted Livillia, her grating voice growing ever more distant. “You’ll do great, though! Good luck!”

The Peacekeeper pressed Ellery into the backseat of a nearby car. Syren was already there, looking undaunted. I should’ve let her off first, thought Ellery. Fresh meat for Livillia. Ellery wasn’t naïve-- he knew where the Capitol’s sympathies lay. Even so, he hadn’t realized just how deep those feelings ran. Livillia had known him for years, and yet she had voted for his death like it was nothing. Maybe it was.

An awkward silence filled the car, and Ellery counted the minutes until he could leave. Syren was impenetrable-- a bit like Lyra in that way. Her lack of interest in Ellery was unsurprising. She probably hates me, he thought. Lots of people in District 2 did. They were jealous of the Andesines’ influence. Eh, let her think what she wants. We both ended up here, after all. None of that power means anything now. 

After arriving at the prep center, Ellery was escorted down a hallway into a neon-lit room. The space was quite minimalist-- illuminated in the orange glow, all Ellery could see was a single table with a few chairs and some fabric racks. He turned around to ask if he was in the right place, but the Peacekeeper was gone. Just then, a girl poked her head out from behind a rack.

“Need something?” she asked. She was about Ellery’s age, and dressed in surprisingly plain clothes. If not for their location, Ellery would’ve assumed she was a district girl.

“Um...” muttered Ellery, “I’m not sure. The Peacekeeper brought me here, but he might’ve mixed up his directions.”

“Peacekeeper?” A look of understanding crossed the girl’s face. “Oh, duh. You’re my tribute, right? District 2? I’m Serena, nice to meet you.” She wheeled over to Ellery on a swivel chair and extended her hand.

They shook, and Ellery took a seat next to the girl. “So, you’re my... stylist, or what? You’re a little...”

“Young?” Serena interjected. 

“Well, yeah,” said Ellery. “I rarely watch the Games, but I remember the stylists being a bit more, uh... seasoned.”

Serena laughed. “Well, it is my first year. The old D2 stylist died in an accident yesterday, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. I’m still in school, but they said they’d give me a few credits for dressing you up all pretty.” She rolled her eyes. “What’s your name, again?”

“Ellery,” he replied. ��Andesine? Does that ring a bell? I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

Serena thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Nope. Can’t say that I have. If you’re some sort of celebrity or something, forgive me. I’m not really tuned into all that stuff.”

A student stylist? Who doesn’t even know who I am? Ellery wasn’t sure whether to be angry or relieved. He felt a bit disrespected, but he couldn’t deny that there was a certain freedom in anonymity. Unlike Livillia and her fake show of empathy, Serena didn’t seem to give two shits about Ellery’s background. It was honestly nice.

Serena stood up and paced around Ellery, biting her lip while she assessed every inch of his body. “Oh, I get it,” she scoffed. “You’re some sort of rich kid, aren’t you? I wondered why I didn’t get a larger prep team, but now it makes sense. Your grooming is exceptional. I guess we just need an outfit, then. You’re already winning in the beauty department.” She walked away and began thumbing through some nearby fabrics. After a minute or so of silence, she glanced up at Ellery. “I wasn’t flirting with you, so you can wipe that dumbfounded look off your face. Men are disgusting, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire one who has some semblance of hygiene. Jeez, I’m glad they gave me D2. Just imagine if they sent some farmer boy in here and expected me to scrape the dirt out of his toes.” She chuckled at her own joke, then continued looking through the fabrics without waiting for Ellery’s response.

I didn’t think she was flirting, thought Ellery. This whole thing is just weird. Somehow, though, he was taken by Serena’s manic energy and her total lack of professionalism. He was too tired to control anyone. Better to just sit back and let her do her thing. 

And do her thing she did-- a few hours later, Serena had fashioned an all-black outfit for Ellery with a bead-studded harness. “You have to say a lot by saying a little,” she told him. “When I grew up... well, let’s just say the D2 outfits were shit. At their best, the tributes were wearing these massive winged helmets that looked so dumb. At their worst, those poor kids were just dressed like bricks. Not to jerk myself off too much, but I honestly think Ol’ Tiberius falling on those train tracks might’ve been a good thing for both of us.” She smirked.

“Wait...” said Ellery, “the last stylist fell on the tracks? What happened?!”

“Got ripped apart,” answered Serena. “They were cleaning it up all day before your train got in. Had to make sure the tributes didn’t stain their shoes with stylist soup.”

Ellery winced. It sounded horrific-- but the more he thought about it, he was glad that Serena was here. He didn’t want to be dressed like a brick. 

Serena buttoned up the outfit, and Ellery looked around for a mirror. “Really?” asked the stylist. “You don’t trust me?”

“No, it’s not that. I, uh... well, I just like to...”

“You like to look at yourself, huh? Makes sense for a rich boy. Trust me, though, you look good. I’ve done all the work-- now you just need to smile and wave, and they’ll eat that shit up.”

“I know how to deal with crowds,” said Ellery defensively. “I’m not some rube.”

Serena shrugged. “Didn’t say you were. Just trying to do my job. Then again, I wasn’t trained to be some feel-good counselor. You’re probably gonna die, but I’m sure you know that.”

“I do,” replied Ellery, “but thanks for reminding me.” He let out a small laugh-- there was something refreshing about Serena’s honesty. Most Capitol people would dance around the issue, but politeness wouldn’t change anything. It was okay to laugh. It was funny.

“Anyway,” she said with a wink, “good luck. I mean it. Even if you end up six feet in the ground, I’m sure you’ll be remembered for being the first tribute lucky enough to wear my work.”

Ellery gave her a wry smile. “Perfect. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He hugged Serena and thanked her for the wishes, even if she had been a bit blunt.

The chariots arrived, and Ellery was reunited with Syren. Her stylist had clearly talked with Serena, since she was sporting a similarly minimal all-black outfit. As they rode through the Capitol, Ellery felt conflicted. The screams, the jeers, the applause-- they all melded together into a cacophony of evil. Whether these people knew it or not, they were complicit in a broken system. A system that had murdered Ellery’s mom; that had sent him to a violent death. 

Yet somehow, it was easy to get lost in the spectacle. Ellery couldn’t help it-- it always happened when he came to the Capitol. Hatred and resentment were gradually replaced by joy. No one else believed it, but he belonged here. He was glad Serena hadn’t dressed him as a brick-- not only would it have looked ridiculous; it would’ve reaffirmed a lie. Ellery wasn’t District 2. Back there, he would only spend time in the mansion, wasting hours on drugs and meaningless work. In the Capitol, he became himself-- a statement, an icon. Someone who elicited cheers by simply existing. 

The spotlight itself was a drug more powerful than morphling. The costumes, the music, the show-- it was enough to make Ellery forget about the Games, if only for a moment. Shining for the cameras, he forgot about his mother. He forgot about Poppy, Fort, and Zephyr. He wasn’t in the chariot anymore. No, no... he was in the stands with his fellow Capitol citizens, observing the pageant from a higher vantage point. Watching it all from a safe distance. And when President Coin emerged to announce the commencement of the Quell... well, Ellery almost felt a tinge of patriotism. Almost.

Then he heard her speak, and the illusion collapsed. Waving a sweaty hand to conceal his shaking, Ellery looked at the ground and waited for it all to be over. 

#ellery #parade #alexa play the fame by lady gaga