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thegoddessprose · 4 months

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After all my yapping about Chiasa and Plutarch, I thought I'd finally put my money where my mouth is and post a fic. This is something I wrote a little while ago, albeit with a few edits. It's a 5+1 rather than a sophisticated backstory (That might come later, once my Tigris fic on AO3 is at least on hiatus), but I'm hoping it'll give a little more insight than the memes :p

Yes, @plutarchheavensbee you can share, I did promise

Without further ado, enjoy

TW: References to past substance abuse, victor prostitution, grief, slightly NSFW but nothing graphic

Five Things That Fascinated Plutarch about Chiasa and One Thing That Made Him Realize He Loved Her.

1. Her Eyes

Simple decorum had forced Plutarch to learn that Chiasa's eyes were a nice shade of icy blue and not much else. They say that eyes are the window to the soul, but he initially didn't bother looking in. His initial impression of her was pretty and overall harmless, but nothing else, and that remained for years.

That was, until this past yuletide night, when he'd taken it upon himself to smuggle a fellow rebel and refugee to the edge of the Capitol. Of course she'd be at the party that acted as the rendezvous point; Chiasa's beloved nephew, Marcus, who also happened to be his protégé played the host. What he didn't expect was her rolling up her sleeves to help, offering to use her fashion know-how to disguise refugees. He certainly didn't expect to have Fulvia poke her head into his office the next day to say Chiasa was on the line and seemed troubled. He most definitely didn't expect for her to break down in his home the next day, revealing decades of pent-up anger toward the Capitol and guilt for only reaching out now. Obviously, there was a lot more to the woman than he initially thought.

He'd invited her again two days later for a more lighthearted visit, simply wanting to know how much he was wrong about... Of course, he had to study up, remember what he'd initially noted and compare notes. Tigris was friends with her and had often said she took a lot after her father (Thankfully...) While Plutarch had never met the late Senator Lapin personally before he was assassinated, there was a lot of information on him in the rebel archives; photos, footage, speeches, letters to Tigris, anything he needed. Her father's eyes were the same shade of blue and his gaze was admittedly disarming, but without a lot of spark. He'd heard it was because he wasn't as bright, but Tigris loved to wistfully say that the kindness in his eyes was real, a rarity for a Capitolite.

Chiasa's mother was a different story... Plutarch knew Seiko better as his predecessor and mentor. She was a cold and calculating woman, and her eyes reflected that well. Dark brown, almost black, like voids, he recalled. On a good day, he remembered seeing little sparks of determination. On a bad day, they resembled black holes; icy pools of nothing sucking out the soul of any poor sap that pissed her off... Occasionally, he was said poor sap.

Chiasa was both distinct and similar to her parents. Through the glassiness during their last meeting, he saw a familiar darkness when she expressed her anger; a supernova rather than a black hole, but he was somewhat frightened nonetheless. Today, with a better view, he saw the warmth and kindness of her father. Yet... There was a certain weatheredness about her, one he'd seen among his elders and even in his own mirror. Sure, she'd taken a couple of decades off her appearance, but there was no doubt of her true age in her eyes. It was clear she'd seen so much, so many historical events, so much pain and suffering that she felt powerless to stop.

"Plutarch?" she asked, snapping him out of his analysis.

"Yes?"

"You'd said I'd be able to stay for dinner, right? I really like talking with you," she said.

For once, he had nothing going on. It had been a while since he'd dined with anyone outside of obligation. A lot of his real friends were dead, busy, in hiding, or outside of the Capitol.

"I did say that..." he replied, "And the feeling is mutual."

Her eyes lit up at his acceptance and just like that, she'd shed about twenty years off her lifetime. While Chiasa was known in a lot of circles to be the life of the party, he couldn't remember if he'd seen this kind of pure joy from her. Maybe he should be flattered that he evoked such a feeling out of her. He certainly felt the heat rising in his cheeks at the thought, and all hope of her not notcing was shattered by her rather melodic giggle.

"Why Plutarch, you're awfully cute when you blush," she complimented.

As if that wouldn't make him blush even more...

2. Her Confidence

Most people who knew of Chiasa Lapin knew she had a bit of a... reputation. Sadly, that was par for the course for women like her who never married and just dated around. Plutarch should have expected certain things out of her, but he was quickly reminded that hearing about something and actually experiencing it were two different things.

As much as he liked planning for all possibilities, Plutarch didn't expect her invitation to her New Year's Eve party would end with them kissing in her room away from the masses. Neither of them had that much to drink, nor were they lightweights. She knew exactly what she wanted when she proposed the reigning in tradition. He wasn't sure what possessed him to accept sp easily; perhaps it was how she looked in that handmade red floral kimono and her dark hair elegantly pinned up, as if she stepped out of an ancient painting. Maybe it was scientific curiosity. It was logical to assume with all her experience, she had to be good. For the record, she was... Not a lot of kisses in his lifetime had him still thinking about her and longing for days.

Then again, perhaps it was how she wasn't afraid to go for what she wanted. The meeker ladies weren't really Plutarch's taste, agreeing with him rather than standing by what they wanted, he wanted substance. Chiasa had quickly proven not to be like them. During their second kiss, he'd felt her try to climb onto his lap. Maybe they could have taken things further if her harpy of a sister didn't knock and interrupt. Even when he left, she wished him sweet dreams of all thing. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, how frustrated he'd be that night.

It was cunning of her to offer to make him something, that way, he didn't need to come up with any excuses for her to come over again, or shoo away rumor mongers. Although... she'd outright admitted she'd wanted to spend more time with him. Her subtlety needed work... Although that could have just been more of her confidence shining through, as it certainly did when she finally visited again.

When working with a new designer, measurements were an early order of business. Chiasa opted for an old fashioned measuring tape for a more intimate experience. He sure was wise to the lingering touches on his waist, chest, and arms as well as her warm breath on the back of his neck. He was a gentleman... He couldn't bring himself to have his way with her immediately. That mini skirt and plunging red top didn't help things either...

If her mother was alive, she would have gutted him for thinking like this about her "ignorant" daughter... But Seiko wasn't here, nor did she have power over him anymore. She'd be absolutely furious at how he'd laid a hand on Chiasa and not be able to do anything about it... And there was that scientific curiosity once again. It wasn't just her kissing skills that had Chiasa infamous... He just had to know what was fact or fiction.

It was still up to Chiasa in the end, and thankfully, she caught the smirk forming on his face as she faced him.

"You know, Plutarch..." she purred, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

"What a coincidence," he couldn't help but tease as he ran a hand through her hair, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you either."

She leaned in closer and smirked back at him.

"Really now.... I've been thinking about what could have been... What could have happened if we weren't so rudely interrupted, just wondering a few things, " she whispered, "Would we have stayed as we were? Or would you have been on top of me? Would we want to savor each other, really explore each other, or would you want it fast and rough? Would you use that beautiful voice to moan, growl... Both?"

She brushed her lips against his neck and he managed to stifle a moan. Damn was she brazen... He felt his own hand moving down her back, but he stopped himself at her waist.

"No need to stop..." she encouraged, "You've helped me so much over the past few days... But you seem so stressed and lonely too. Trust me... I know a lot of ways to soothe a man... I always thought you were attractive, but being a rebel... Well, that's even hotter."

Plutarch had to admit, it was refreshing to hear an authority on beauty praise his "natural" appearance over the eldrich enhancements of the Capitol masses. He was right where he wanted... This fascinating woman in his arms, one that would make his late mentor scream up at him from hell, one that was practically begging him to take her and make her his... Wait.

"I have been looking for some relief, and company..." he replied, "But you should know, I don't have the time or space for a long term commitment right now."

Chiasa held back a laugh and teasingly pecked his lips. "Who said anything about commitment? I just want to have a little fun..."

"Well... Fun is my job, after all."

There. A bullshit free proposition, just as he liked them, and a hallmark of mature women like her. Yet at the same time, she didn't dress her age, nor look it, nor certain screw like a woman her age. She certainly had nothing to be ashamed of when she'd draped herself on her side to face them after they'd finished. Having spent her youthful years in the 20s ADD, it wasn't hard to imagine her taking a puff from a cigarette or joint to recover. That satisfaction and fire in her eyes, however, was all reality.

"Well, well... You've been holding out on me, Heavensbee," she purred.

Plutarch really shouldn't have blushed again, certainly not after what just transpired, but was it ever worth it to hear that giggle again. Chiasa was right all along, he did feel more relaxed than he ever had the past few months.

"Aww, you have nothing to be embarrassed about... Believe me," she added, reaching over to stroke his arm.

"It's been a while..." he admitted, "I forgot what this felt like."

"You'd have to have been busy," she concluded, "I'm surprised more people aren't throwing themselves at you... I'm definitely here for a good time, and we've established I have no concealed weapons, or wires... You were very thorough in your search."

Ugh, a line taken straight from his dreams.

"We have to do this again sometime," he replied with a smirk.

They came up with a certain arrangement; Chiasa would get a burner so they could communicate undetected, no feelings or other complications neither had time for, they'd fool around and talk to sate each other's stress and loneliness. Simple enough... Both had similar arrangements with others in the past without issues. It should have been that simple...

3. Her Stories

Plutarch was a known history buff; even when he was simply Seiko’s right hand man, one of his favorite duties was curation. The rebel archive had more banned documents, pictures, films, and stories than the secret government archive could hope for. He could spend hours just reading and watching the past.

The only thing better than studying was talking to real people about their experiences. The Capitol's history books were to be taken with a grain of salt, being mostly propaganda. Many of Plutarch's elders were amused by his curiosity about the past, but were nonetheless happy to share a few tales, and Chiasa, being a fair bit older than him, was no exception.

Maybe it was a little different... She was certainly the first to lounge on his bed in a negligee at most while sipping coffee or giving him a scalp massage while telling him stories. Even though she was younger than the likes of Tigris and Seiko, she brought a unique perspective of the ineffable postwar Dark Days. She spoke of her beloved father's service, and confirmed Tigris's assurances that Seiko was a different person back then, and before her sister became such an insufferable gossip. There was one story in particular that made him chuckle, one that involved one of his more insufferable relatives...

"So... You kicked him?" he confirmed, "You kicked Uncle Hilarius in the shin?"

"I was only a kid," she defended, "And he was sure Lucy Gray wouldn't survive because she was a small girl... Emphasis on the girl part. My parents agreed with me that he should have kept his mouth shut, but I still had to be punished..."

"Well... Knowing him, he probably deserved it," he said.

What a time to be alive in that controversial year, and still have the wonder of childhood. What an opportunity to hear about it... Tigris and Seiko had a more mature perspective, and it was impossible to get anything out of President Snow.

As time went on, Chiasa's stories became more vulnerable, and Plutarch remembered an important life lesson. Growing up patrician and joining the rebels had taught him that not everything was as it seemed. During her early years as a stylist, that "mental breakdown" was actually a stint in rehab to kick a party drug habit. She'd started using to cope with her guilt regarding her tributes, but had been encouraged to get help when she found out she was pregnant with her first child. Thankfully, she'd been clean for a long time, but still carried little candies in her purse in case she ever got the urge again.

Another of her stories was the real paternity of her second child, her son. It was a closely guarded secret, and Plutarch felt a sense of pride that she trusted him this much. It was one of her victors, Link Zhou, a now older man from District 3. Plutarch recalled him as one of the first male victors to be sold, and she couldn't even look him in the eye when she told him the story. Chiasa was Link's stylist, and her relief at a living tribute faded when she found out what they were going to do to him. She'd bid to be his first and it was all kosher; Link had a crush on her and he was of age, yet she still felt like she'd violated him. She felt she couldn't give up her son in any way, and thankfully her reputation with men saved them all from any suspicion.

He heard her sobbing as she'd finished, still facing away from him. He turned her, and her tears and pained expression broke his heart... She would have made a damn good agent if she'd joined up. When it came to her addiction, she was regretful, but matter of fact. Now, however, she was ashamed to even exist.

"I... I thought you'd be disgusted with me," she whispered.

He found himself wiping her tears away and wrapped her in an embrace.

"No... You did what you thought was right for the both of them, even if the law said otherwise. That's very noble," he said, "Hell, I think it would be rich of me of all people to judge you for doing something you regret for the greater good."

It was true... There were certain aspects of his plans that he didn't take pleasure in, but nonetheless, they had to be considered and done. His personal feelings often didn't matter.

Speaking of feelings... He couldn't let go of her that night. Chiasa's ceasing her crying and easing herself so quickly in his arms had him feeling some type of way... Like important? Like a hero? When he'd initially guessed that her son's father was some abusive asshole, he was ready to ruin that hypothetical man's life in a second. Protecting her used to be a simple means to an end; to avoid a needless casualty at his expense, and for Marcus's sake... He wouldn't be too happy with his beloved aunt in danger. Now, though... the thought of Chiasa being hurt or in distress caused Plutarch real pain. She didn't deserve that... Logically, she'd been through too much.

"Plutarch... Thank you," she murmured, "You're really, truly... such a wonderful man..."

Damn... He was used to being compliments on his achievements, but coming from her... He didn't know his heart was capable of swelling like that. It had to be because she meant it instead of just trying to kiss his ass... It had to be.

4. Her Wisdom

Naturally, Plutarch was a thinker. People had described him as brilliant, and they'd be right. Chiasa might not have been an intellectual like him, but she was so much more than Seiko and the general public made her out to be. Then again, if anyone reached her age or had her experiences without learning a thing, they'd be an idiot. She was so much more stimulating than the average Capitolite, and not just in the physical way.

One day, as Chiasa placed her hand over his, Plutarch couldn't help but notice her nails. They were red and gold, as the current trends, but the gold designs were inconsistent. Actually, he could have sworn that they were simply red and chipped the last time they were together, and the gold seemed to fill in the gaps.

"Didn't take you for a hand guy, Plutarch," she teased.

"No, I'm just curious about these... Is this some kind of abstract art?"

She smiled sheepishly, then moved her gaze to their now entwined hands.

"Are you familiar with the practice of kintsugi?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied, "Your mother taught me a few words of your old tongue, but I'm not familiar with that one."

"Well... It's the practice of repairing ceramics with gold," she explained, "I like to think of it as a metaphor... We all have flaws, we've all known hard times, but they make us all the more beautiful."

How true... The cookie cutter perfection the Capitol pushed was unattainable, and people who thought they achieved it were liars or at least still highly flawed. Actually, it worked for Panem as a whole. The Districts were beautiful in their adversity and strength. Then there was Chiasa, who persevered through her rough patches, making her into the woman he... was fascinated by.

"Sounds like someone I know," he teased, squeezing her hand.

"I guess..." she replied, blushing a little, "It's always been comforting to me. With everything going on, it was a reminder that I'd come back better. I drew and painted with it as an inspiration. When Daddy died, my first collection afterward was centered around it. Hell, I considered a tattoo a few times, but then I'd have to coordinate outfits around it.

What an interesting idea... Although she was beautiful as she was, it would sure make a statement, even as something temporary, even just makeup. There weren't a lot of visible scars on her body for him to trace; most of them were in her mind. Good enough....

He kissed her forehead and murmured, "In all seriousness, that's a beautiful way of thinking."

Chiasa shut her eyes and let out a contented sigh. However, she wasn't quite done philosophizing yet. She let go of his hand and cupped his face, flashing an alluring, yet sincere smile.

"Plutarch, have I ever told you why I think you're handsome?"

Maybe she'd said a few things in the moment, but it was always hard to tell if anything stuck in that state.

"Because you look like a person," she said, "A real person, not anything they're trying to sell. That boyish grin of yours, your salt and paprika hair... All you, all beautiful."

She paused to rest her forehead against his, evoking said grin until she went in for a brief kiss before continuing.

"Maybe I'm a hypocrite... It's not purely genes that have me looking and thriving this way. But... I don't know. Maybe it's a reflection of you as a person. You're not trying so hard to fit in, you're unapologetic and comfortable in your own skin without being obnoxious about it. I love seeing that in people... Especially men."

She was simply stating a fact. Women like her didn't have time for insecure man-children. She still had a way of complimenting him that caught him off guard. He simply wasn't used to a beautiful woman gushing about how attractive his quiet confidence and idealism were.

"Chiasa, that's... very observant, very kind," he managed.

She giggled. "Well, okay, maybe there are some shallow things too... Everyone knows bigger guys like you are better to lay with... And just better in bed altogether. And I just love freckles... I'm going to sound so cliche, but they're like little stars that just happen to adorn people instead of the sky."

She proceeded to pepper kisses across his cheeks and nose before moving to his chin and jaw, then down his neck.

"Chiasa... What are you doing?"

"I want to kiss all your freckles..."

"Well... It's a good thing we have all night."

The experience was strangely intimate and vulnerable, despite them being familiar with each other by then. Maybe it was how it all tied in... How something perceived as a flaw made him all the more beautiful.

5. Her Joie de Vivre

Idealism was Plutarch's, well, ideal, but cynicism was reality. With all the good he wanted to do, he still lost people, things still went wrong, and sometimes, it was hard to even find joy in the little things. While Chiasa was a cynic in her own way, it was a survival mechanism more than anything. Still, she was so much better at living in the moment. It was all she could do to cope with the world.

The Groundbreaking used to be a patriotic occasion to celebrate the powering of a new arena. Nowadays, it was Gamemaker Mardi Gras; one last day of letting loose before getting to work. Admittedly, he'd always wanted to throw the themed party, an honor reserved for the Head Gamemaker, and "Retro" made sense with the rise of rationing. At least his older colleagues were excited... As was Chiasa. She'd recycled an old, very sheer dress from the second Quarter Quell and adorned herself in glitter as they'd done in the twenties. She was teasing him on purpose...

It wasn't until after the bash that the real fun began. As fun as hosting was at times, it could be exhausting... The leftover confetti and empty glasses almost looked depressing in the blacklight until he felt Chiasa's hand on his shoulder. When he turned around, she ran her hands down his lapels... Of course he couldn't resist wearing her special creation: a jacket decorated in a forties style brocade pattern with extra pockets, simply to be thoughtful. Normally, they were gold to fit the current trends, but she used a special dye to make the patterns appear his favorite shade of purple under blacklight.

"You're looking gorgeous tonight," she purred, "If I do say so myself."

He was quick to pull her into an embrace. "And what were you thinking with that dress... What was your plan? To torture me with our dirty little secret? Having all those other men vying for a dance or drink or more?

"Too bad for them, it was always going to be you at the end of the night," she said, kissing his neck, "Actually... We never had a proper dance, did we? At least now... We don't have to be so formal with each other."

As much as it staved off suspicion, one dance couldn't hurt. Now was a better setting than the party anyway. He started to get in position for a waltz before she stopped him.

"I told you we don't have to be formal, sweetie... That's what a waltz is. I've always enjoyed the rhumba... Less stiff, more sensual."

"I haven't done that since my twenties," he replied sheepishly, "And even then I wasn't that good."

"Aww, that's okay," she reassured him, "It's just us right now. Besides... I know what those hips are capable of... I'm sure if you put your mind to it, you can."

Plutarch was still awful, but it didn't seem to matter to Chiasa. She matched his exaggerated moves and they were soon laughing together. How he needed this, how wonderful life seemed when she was with him... When he easily dipped her and they met in a kiss before heading to his bedroom.

District 13, while a refuge, was a dreary place. No color, no fun, no culture... No Chiasa. Not that he was demotivated, in fact, quelling her worries and tears only gave him more reason to work toward a free Panem. It didn't make him miss her any less, and regret less about not fighting harder to take her with him.

"You know what I miss the most?" he'd said to Katniss one day.

He recalled one lazy, stormy morning, when Chiasa was able to stay for breakfast. It was nothing fancy; eggs over easy for him, poached for her, and toast and coffee for both. Chiasa was in a silk nightgown and curled up on his lap, while he was in a robe that used to gather dust as well as the glasses he barely wore in public. They were simply enjoying each other's company and watching the storm unfold.

Chiasa gasped as a bolt of lightning struck a building in the distance. "It's amazing how something so destructive, dangerous, powerful... can be so beautiful."

"That's just nature, Chiasa," he said, "Believe me, I know a lot about it..."

It would be even more beautiful when it signaled the start of the revolution... Maybe she'd always remember it that way.

"Yes, and how the rain can cause so many problems, but gives life, and makes a lovely sound," she said, "And that smell after a storm..."

"Petrichor."

"Oooh... I didn't know there was a word for it."

He snuck a look at her as she watched the storm go on. Why was she so damned beautiful when she was fascinated... Somehow, she'd grown even more attractive since their initial meeting. Perhaps it was her words, her artist's or wise mind.

"What?" she teased.

Plutarch was saved by a loud clap of thunder that had the pair clinging to each other.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you," he said.

"I'M protecting YOU," she teased.

They met for a kiss. They had coffee breath, but it didn't matter.... It made the moment feel real.

"Plutarch?" Katniss interrupted, "What did you miss?"

Right, Plutarch was still in District 13, and he'd forgotten that Katniss and Marcus were in the room with him. He couldn't tell the truth in front of him... Not while they were stuck together in a bunker anyway.

"Coffee," Plutarch half lied.

Katniss seemed to believe him, but Marcus was skeptical as they both left for the next item on their schedule.

"No, really, what do you miss?" the boy asked, "Nobody's wistful about coffee in the afternoon."

"Let's get back to work, shall we?" Plutarch deflected.

Marcus rolled his eyes, but didn't ask any more. However, though, he seemed to try to elicit something out of him.

"If it matters, I miss my auntie," he said, "Even if the lack of color would have given her a stroke."

Plutarch nodded, seemingly in acknowledgement, but actually in agreement. Chiasa would have found a way to brighten things up. He knew very well the real reason he missed her....

1. Her Kindness

True kindness was a rarity in the Capitol. Nobody was ever just "nice," they always had to want something. Many were simply fair weather, disappearing the moment life got tough. Only a handful of people he knew were kind, many of him his allies... Others just naive. Then there was Chiasa, who was neither an active rebel nor naive about the world.

It should have been a simple arrangement... Chiasa didn't outright say she wanted more, and she was the type to do so. It was nearly summer when he admitted it to himself, and he needed to seek advice from the one person who'd understand and not tease him, Tigris.

He'd kept her filled in on how things were going, as she was a mutual friend and Chiasa would be saved the trouble of coming up with a lie. But now, he told her the whole story, and she only sighed and shook her head with a smile.

"It gets you, that kind of heart," said Tigris, "I know... When you've lived a life full of expectations and without love, that one person who shows you compassion, thinks you're a person worth knowing and loving. You know... Her father was the same way."

That was why Tigris was the best person to ask... She'd had a secret relationship with Tak Lapin before he was killed, that Seiko had allowed. Tigris was right... Every step of the way, Chiasa wanted to know him, and allowed herself to be vulnerable... Allowed him to be vulnerable.

When Plutarch was feeling the loss of an old friend, and couldn't contain himself any longer, she let him have a rare cry on her shoulder, no ridicule, no begging him to be strong. He was another human to her, another person to cherish and comfort. He remembered asking her why she showed him such unconditional care. It was only right, she'd said, that she cared about him.

The night of the interviews was their last opportunity to be together, and the chaos that Peeta caused with his "baby bomb" only helped her sneak over. Unfortunately, one final preparation had gone awry, and after getting socked in the jaw, he had to hunker down. Some of his other agents agreed to fix it, but he was feeling the weight of the pain... And the guilt of having to leave Chiasa behind.

The minute he'd shown himself, she ordered the remaining avox to fetch some ice and vinegar. The next thing he knew, he was on a sofa with her pressing ice against his jaw.

"Don't clench, you'll make it worse," she admonished, "What happened?"

"Mishap," he reassured her, "It'll be fixed.... You're still here."

"Of course I'm still here.... Do you not want me here?" she hesitantly asked.

"No, of course I want you here," he replied, "I'm... ah... I'm just wondering why you're still here... I'm leaving you, Chiasa, I can't believe you agreed."

"Oh, Plutarch...."

She embraced him with her free arm, sniffling, but trying to keep her composure.

"I know it's for a good cause... I know this is bigger than us, I.... I really admire you for this," she managed.

"I wish you could come with me..." he murmured, "I know you can help... I wish I could be sure you won't be in danger."

"I'm tougher than I look, honey... And I never blamed you, never ever. Oh, Plutarch... Just promise me you'll come back in one piece. You know I'll be right here...."

They sat in silence, just holding each other for what seemed like eternity. When he saw her face again, he thought he saw a few tear streaks down her made up face, but she quickly wiped them away.

"If you want to just hold each other tonight, that's okay..."

"No, Chiasa.... I don't know how long I'll be gone," he murmured, "I need to commit you to memory."

Even with his bruised jaw, that last night mind-blowing, both wanting to forget it would be the last... for a while if things went right. The next morning was pure agony; they'd stared at each other, almost daring each other to drop the L-bomb, but neither could. It didn't seem like the right time.... He was a damned idiot, it could have been another regret.

While Plutarch was kept busy and motivated, there were times when he'd miss her the most. The nights were the loneliest, when he'd wish for her to be waiting in his compartment, even just her reassuring voice. Then there was Finnick and Annie's wedding, when love was in the air. He'd gotten into it like most projects, but it felt different... Maybe he was projecting a little... But at least it made him surprisingly helpful with the vows. He had to focus during the final battle... It was crucial in capturing the Capitol, but he couldn't dare look to see if Chiasa was among the panicked masses.

The day of the execution was cathartic for everyone... Even though Coin was initially killed first. What did it matter, she was bad for the rest of Panem and he had a plan to get rid of her if Katniss hadn't taken action. Snow was finally dead, of course, and the era of suffering was over... Yes, there was still a lot of work to be done, but the people deserved to have their hope.

Of course, it was also the day he finally saw Chiasa again, on the steps of the presidential palace with Marcus. He'd certainly be in for a surprise, but he'd adjust... Plutarch did have a soft spot for the kid.

Within seconds, she was back in his arms. It didn't matter that there was more gray and silver in her hair than he remembered, and she was dressed down, he was just happy to be with her again. As was she, and from her very first words to him, he knew she had the same regrets.

"Plutarch… I love you!"

He wouldn't be an idiot this time.

"I love you too, Chiasa," he said, holding her tightly.

The future was bright… The revolution was successful, freedom was within reach, and he was finally going to shape a new world with her by his side. So it went… He didn't need to remain a confirmed bachelor to change the world; in his studies, most of the greats had their greatest loves by their side, and he would be no different. George had Martha. John had Abigail. James had Dolley. Winston had Clementine. Now, Plutarch had Chiasa.

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trashbag-baby666 · 1 year

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Between Tridents and Knives-Finnick Odair

Chapter One

Summary: Fawn Viridis, victor of the 68th games from District Four. That's where she got to know Finnick and they fell in love for each other fast. Snow put no time between them announcing their relationship at the end of her victor tour and beginning to sell their bodies together to the capitol. Now it's been six years of trying to live in solitude together in the victors village. Then the 75th quarter quell is announced. Both are worried for each other as they're reaped. Things change of course, Fawn isn't ready to let her lover die for Katniss.

This Work Is More Based On The Books Rather Than Movies.

Word Count: 2,069

C/W: Mentions of violence, blood, and trauma.

Series Masterlist!

“Fawn,” Finnicks voice was small as he choked on his own blood. A spear in his chest as he bled out.

“No, Finnick stop it.” Fawn held her hands over the wound trying to stop the bleeding. Finnick laid on a beach in an arena, blood soaked sand around them. A dead fellow victor nearby who just speared Finnick.

“Fawn just let go, there can only be one of us.”Finnick was trying his best as the blood seeped down his chin. Fawns hands covered in blood.

His blood.

“Finnick stop saying that, I can fix this.” Fawn grabbed a part of the pants she was issued and ripped a chunk off stuffing it into the wound.

“I love you,” Finnick let out a long breath. As she added more pressure her light brown bangs fell into her face. She pushed them aside, soaking her hair and her skin in his blood.

“I love you too.” Fawns voice was desperate as she grabbed another chunk of her pants holding them tighter.

“Finnick?” panic ran through her body as she saw his chest not moving.

She grabbed one of her knives from the slots in her belt and held it under his nose. Not fogging up he definitely wasn’t bleeding.

“Finnick!” Fawn screamed, shaking him.

“Fawn, Fawn.” Finnick sat up grabbing onto her. She shot awake with a gasp tears streaming down her face, “I’m right here.” Finnick held her in his lap stroking her shoulder length sandy brown hair.

“I’m sorry,” Fawn sobbed into the loose, thin gray sweater he wore. They’d announced the third quarter quell during the mandatory broadcast that night.

President Snows’ voice echoed through her head, "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

“Fawn,” Finnick kissed her head, wiping her tears away with his thumb, “It’s not guaranteed our names will get drawn.”

“For you, sure. It’s between me, Mags, and Annie. I’m the only one out of the three of us that has a chance to win. But if we both go in, one of us has to die…” Fawn rubbed her eyes moving further into Finnick as he laid them both back down.

“Annie can’t mentally handle that, Mags will for sure die in the blood bath.” Fawn sighed as she met the eyes of Finnick. His seafoam green eyes

“Sweetheart,” Finnick pushed some of her bangs out of her eyes, “We don’t know what's going to happen yet. There's uprisings going on here, maybe something will change. The capital's people will be too sad and upset thinking about their favorite victors going up to kill each other.”

“We can hope,” she yawned. She was tired but if she shut her eyes she’d see Finnicks lifeless body, the small boy they had mentored last year getting blungened within the first few minutes of the 74th games, having to get up close with her opponents in her games.

Fawn sat in their kitchen as her stylists prepared her doing a soft makeup look on her face. A soft pink blush to highlight her cheek bones and give her color, soft sparkly sunset orange eyeshadow brushed onto her eyes to bring out her green eyes with a dark red lipstick on. The stylist came in with a cream colored sweater and deep blue ocean-like pants.

“You and Finnick will match with the sweaters.” She spoke quietly, she had to style the three female victors of district four. She handed the carefully folded clothes to her then the stylist laid her necklace on top. A choker-like style of brown and white shells around it, a small blue heart pendant in the center. After she won her games Finnick gave it to her. She wore it almost daily but now the stylist is basing outfits around it.

“Thank you Nava,” Fawn gave her a sad smile as she went to her room to change. Everyone was somber, no one wanted to see any of the District Four victors go. Especially Fawn and Finnick.

Fawn was reaped for the 68th games at the age of 17, Finnick was her mentor that year. He also was freshly 17, both of them knew of each other. They were in the same grade and attended school together. Fawn also worked for Finnicks fathers fishing company. When Fawn was young, probably 9 or 10 she saw a girl in the games who threw knives. Since then she was hooked. She started taking kitchen knives from her parents and throwing them at trees for practice. Then it became a hobby, or maybe a way to keep her worry down that if she was ever reaped she had a way to defend herself.

Then she was reaped.

She remembered the way the girl next to her rested her hand on Fawns shoulder when they called her name.

She was just hoping anyone would volunteer. But no one did. She shakily walked towards the stage with peacekeepers following her. She looked at her family as her mother began to cry, her father comforting her. But no one was there to comfort Fawn as she stood on the stage as the district four escort pulled a boy's name from the reaping ball.

Fawn kept to herself during her training. She didn’t really show what she was good at in training. Finnick taught her that, then during her private with the game makers she managed to pull a 10. She did a near perfect display of knife throwing in an interactive training session.

But while she was training she could admit she was distracted.

Distracted by him.

She knew of Finnick but didn’t really know how charming he was.

They were able to grow close quickly, he would offer small touches on her. A hand on the small of her waist, taking her hand in comfort.

The night of her interview with Caesar she portrayed herself as this gentle girl from district four. Her brown hair still long at the time tied into space buns down at her neck to give her a more young look.

She wasn’t stupid if by some crazy miracle she won she would most definitely have her body sold to the capitols people. Just like Finnick and Cashmere.

Finnick told her that after the opening ceremony so many people were lined up to sponsor her.

Then she was in the games and as she proved to herself she was lethal. The arena was desert-like with lakes.

Killing within the first few minutes of the blood bath. That had plenty surprised, the plates were on the edge of a sand pit with the cornucopia in the pit. They had to strategically slide down then there were two sets of stairs to escape. Fawn did a few killings there.

The capitol was fast to name her the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Her partner was fast to join the career pack of district one, two, and him from four.

She decided being alone was her best chance. She saw the district one and two tributes as unpredictable, they could snap at any moment and kill each other. Fawn took up a small hiding spot by a lake. It took her about two days to find one. Each lake had a different quality, poisonous electric, stuff like that.

She lived off of fish she caught in the only safe lake and sponsors. During the day she would seek out areas looking for other tributes. She quickly was sought out by the careers.

By the end of the ten day mark it was just her, district four partner, a girl from 1, a boy from 2 left, the boy from four, and a girl from 8. That was the feast day. For the last two days there were no deaths, just people hiding out. Caesar announced that the bags in the cornucopia would have the district numbers on them.

So before sunrise Fawn made her way to the cornucopia and hid in there. A strategy advised by Finnick. It happened most years.

By dawn the career pack came into view. There was only one bag for four, she was going to take it.

The boy from four came running at the cornucopia as she put her hand on the bag as she emerged from the cornucopia.

“Let go,” he let out a hiss as he put his hand on it.

“Sorry,” was all Fawn could say as she grabbed a knife from the holister on her chest and threw it into him. His eyes went wide as his hand came close as he hit the ground. The canon going off not long after. She grabbed it and ran for the stairs. She had no time to think or mourn or how District four would take it.

She heard footsteps behind her as the girl from one readied to throw a spear at her. Fawn grabbed another knife throwing it at her just as threw the spear both of them dodged the opposers weapon and Fawn lunged at her taking her down at the legs. She hadn’t had to have any hand to hand combat yet and the games.

They both rolled each other around trying to scratch or grab at anything.

Then Fawn was able to wrestle her so she had the girl from One pinned over her as they laid on the stares. Fawn spent no time slicing her throat then rolling her off as soon as the canon went off.

She ran back and opened up her bag. A fresh set of a dozen throwing knives and a bag of dried fruit. that night in the sky saw, District One girl, The boy from four, and the girl from eight.

It was just her, the boy from one and the other boy from 2 left.

Wonderful two careers to take on, on her own. It had gotten hotter in the arena and the lakes started to lose water and fish. She was disoriented; they also had to be as well.

She decided that night she would get a good night's rest, eat half of what she had left and go out tomorrow to hunt them down.

Fawn walked through the sand dunes looking for other tributes when she heard a canon go off and she flinched.

This was it, the capitol's finale. They would probably release some kind of mutts to drive them together. Fawn could feel her heartbeat in her ears. There was a 50/50 shot now that she could make it back home and be with Finnick. He heard a male scream and a series of barking. She began running for the cornucopia sliding down the sand carefully. She was able to see the other tribute and the mutts as she climbed onto the top of the cornucopia.

The mutts barked and jumped at it as the boy climbed on top. Then the mutts all ran towards a glowing circle. Leaving just the two of them standing there.

Fawn could feel every twinge, tingle, bruise, everything as they stood there staring each other down. He wielded a sword and she grabbed out one of her longer knives.

They fought, fought hard.

Rolling off the top of the cornucopia both of them getting swipes at each other. Both bleeding off into the sand as they were both hanging on by hopes and prayers.

Finnick was the only thing she could think about as she grabbed a knife flinging it at the boys hitting him in his calf.

There’s no way she could beat him in hand to hand combat. He had height on her and he was much stronger. She just had to land the perfect shot with a knife.

Then she did, she threw one right into his neck as he wielded the sword up to slash it into her. He coughed up blood as he fell back dropping his sword. Fawn pinned his shoulders down with her knees and grabbed the sword slicing his throat wide open. The canon went off and the trumpets sounded.

The adrenaline stopped and she fell into the sand clutching her side that bled. Claudius Templesmith came over the speakers, “We present to you the winner of the 68th Hunger Games: Fawn Viridis!”

#finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x oc #original oc #the hunger games #catching fire #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #mags thg #annie cresta #beetee latier #Wiress thg #president snow #plutarch heavensbee #johanna mason

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defness · 14 days

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Plutarch <3

#def's art #oc tag: Plutarch #Plutarch #oc tag #RAWR #did this as an excuse to draw his gem :)

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felixravinstills · 20 days

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Guess who finished their AU which is now double its originally intended length! Chapter 3 of my Arachne fails a bio test, so my OC mentors Brandy AU, which is based off my Felix/Festus/OC fic.

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arthdoesart · 10 months

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Young Heavenscoin au

Stirring another idea of young Heavenscoin where Plutarch is at his early years as gamemaker while already crafting his slow and elaborate plan for revolution in the future.

He and Coin communicate through envoys until one day, she ended up RIGHT on his doorstep covered in blood, most likely wanted as a fugitive while there's also a serial psycho killer on the loose across Panem, targeting and brutally killing gamemakers and anyone involved in the Hunger Games minus the tributes and mentors.

The timing couldn't be more wrong lol. lol so far there IS a draft XD

#hunger games #heavenscoin #plutarch heavensbee #alma coin #alternate dimension #might sneak in my feral oc in this

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heaven-dope · 9 months

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plutarch was a one shot character but his backstory is probably one of my favorites. there’s just something so dark souls about his soul being irreversibly changed, and his body rotting due to belonging to a soul that no longer exists (has never played dark souls)

#text tag #ocs #plutarch

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lvstcd · 4 months

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no time to die ⟶ finnick odair & oc [part 6]

A/N: this is for my pookie ookie bear rese <3 happy birthday bbg

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of sex trafficking, weapons, trauma, smoking, pretty much all hunger games shit :)

SUMMARY: rhys marley was the youngest victor of hunger games, winning at the age of 12. 9 years later, she's captured by the capitol along with johanna mason and annie cresta while everyone else is in district 13, her plan failing.

GENRE: angst, dystopian, fluff, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 1k

oc - original character(s)

NOT EDITED! SORRY FOR MISTAKES :0

lower case intended

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ZEPHYRS head is pounding as her eyes open, the bright fluorescent lights shining in her green eyes as she stares the ceiling. she slowly gasps, remembering what happened before. she slowly climbs up, her long black hair tangled as it rests on her shoulder. her head throbs in pain, causing her to run her dry fingers across her skin, looking and seeing blood. she looks over, seeing an unconscious beetee lying there.

slowly, zephyr steps forward, walking into the room ahead of her and seeing finnick, plutarch, haymitch, and peeta standing there. instantly, her fight or flight kicks in, "what the hell?" she yells, grabbing the nearest thing she could find as a weapon, haymitch shoving her against the wall gently, ripping it out of her hands. "stop, zephyr. just stop." she looks at peeta as he looks at her with soft eyes, nodding at her that it's okay.

she turns to finnick, "what the fuck are you doing here?" finnick holds his hand out, his voice cracking, "stop. just.. just listen, zephyr please." plutarch steps forward, explaining everything. the plan that they made before they even announced the quarter quell. everyone had known except for her and peeta. their mission was to get zephyr out from the beginning and get her to district 13. rhys had known the whole time.

zephyr's eyes widen slightly as she looks around, "where's rhys?" everyone goes silent. "johanna had cut your tracker out when the other careers had ambushed you. she didn't get to cut hers out in time. rhys had heard you yell in pain and went after you, getting lost in the forest right before you shot your arrow at the arena ceiling. her tracker also didn't get taken out." zephyr stares at plutarch as she stands there.

"so where is she?" zephyr asks, her eyebrows furrowing. "she's in the capitol.." plutarch responds softly, watching her eyes widen and anger flash through her eyes. she immediately lunges for finnick, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"you stupid piece of shit!" she screams, peeta wrapping his arms around her waist and trying to stop her from killing finnick, "you were supposed to fucking protect her! you killed her! you fucking killed her!" she sobs angrily, trying her best to get out of peeta's grip.

"as much as i want to go back for her, zephyr, i know that she is happy that we got you out safely." finnick states, his eyes full of pain. zephyr looks at him, anger and confusion all across her bloody and brusied facial features.

haymitch injects something into her arm, making her slowly become weak and lose her consciousness before she closes her eyes, peeta leans down over her, brushing her hair out of her eyes, "zeph, we will get her back. i promise. i promise you." she looks at him with tears streaming down her cheeks before she falls unconscious.

a couple days later, she wakes up and see's peeta next her, playing with her softly as he watches her. "hi.." he whispers softly as he looks down at her, a small smile on his lips. "how long have i been out?" she asks him as she looks around the room, the fluorescent lights hurting her eyes.

"a couple days.." he says softly, looking at her. "still.." she stops herself, choking on her words, "still no rhys?" she asks quietly. peeta looks at her, his eyes full of sadness and concern, "she's still in the capitol." zephyr nods and looks away from him, her eyes tearing up. "it should be me in the capitol. not her." she whispers as she stares at the wall. peeta climbs in her bed next to her, "hey.. look at me." zephyr turns to him, tears sliding down her cheeks, "we will get her out. i promise." peeta says softly, wiping her tears with his thumb.

a couple hours later, zephyr gets dressed and goes to walk around district 13. she stops at finnicks room, seeing him sitting there and tying his rope, his dry hands shaking. "finnick." she states in a stern voice. he sighs and looks down, still fiddling with the rope.

"i wanted more than anything to go back for rhys, zephyr. i sat there and i begged them. i was on my knees begging them to go back for her. but they wouldn't. they said it wasn't safe for us.. for you." finnick stops, looking at zephyr, "you have to know that i begged for them to go back, zephyr. i didn't leave her by choice. i would never do that to her. to you. or to myself." zephyr watches him, slowly stepping into his dim lit room.

zephyr's eyes soften as she looks at him, noticing that the knot he is tying in the rope is the knot that rhys taught him how to tie growing up. she recognizes it because rhys taught her too. "finnick.." she says softly, seeing how much this is also destroying him. he looks up at with tears in his eyes, "they have annie, too, zephyr. they went to district four and they took her too. they have johanna, rhys, and annie. i don't care that i'm safe. my whole life.. my whole life i tried my best to protect rhys. from the capitol. from everyone around us. i meant to protect her in that arena and i couldn't. i.. i failed." he puts his face in his hands and sobs, "i wish they were dead. i wish we were all dead.. b-because.. because it would be better than sitting here, knowing where they are, knowing that snow is an evil man, and there is nothing we can do to help them at this moment."

zephyr sits beside him on his bed, looking at him, "stop." she says softly, "we don't know what they're doing to them. we don't know anything. the only thing we can do is hope and pray to god that they're okay." finnick nods, glancing at her. "she's been through so fucking much, zephyr. you and i both know that. this was the last thing i ever wanted to happen to her. i wish i was in there instead of her." zephyr nods her head at him, watching peeta come into the room.

"zeph.. boggs told me to come get you. plutarch wants to speak with you."

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