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ilguna · 2 years

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Aubade - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: you'll never truly be free from the Capitol.

warnings; swearing, murder, gore, death, mention of suicide, lots of puke.

wc; 23.9k

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

–

There is one undeniable fact about this arena, one that you’re so sure about, that you’d bet your chances of winning on it. And you haven’t even fully risen out of the tube just yet.

You’re surrounded by salt water.

The smell is as blinding as the sun. It’s a hard and stinging slap to your face, it’s refreshing. You inhale deeply, because this arena smells like home, which makes you hope that it’s time for District Four to thrive. There’s no need to worry about the cornucopia anymore, because you’re going to have the biggest advantage against the other tributes. Careers included.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin!” Claudius shouts, the words echo over the water, which is lapping on the metal plate and straight to the tip of your boots.

The sun is already a problem, you’re trying to squint and blink through it, but there’s little spots blocking your vision. You only have sixty seconds to check your surroundings, find Katniss or Peeta, and form a plan. By the time your sight clears, fifteen seconds have already passed.

You’re absolutely surrounded by water, there’s no question about it. When you look to see how deep it goes, you’re unable to see the bottom. It’s not all that surprising, the Gamemakers have to make the cornucopia a challenge. Since there’s no chance of wading through the water, your fellow tributes are going to have to learn to swim, fast.

The golden cornucopia still sits in the middle of the arena, on a around black island. It seems to be made of rock and sand, but you can’t tell from here. There are twelve spokes that connect the cornucopia to the land behind you. In each spoke are two tributes, you ignore the District Six man to your left, you’ll figure him out in a second.

You turn around on your plate to see what you’ll be dealing with landscape-wise. It looks like a fucking nightmare. About ten feet of beach, and beyond that is jungle.

The beach spreads around the entire circle, the same with the jungle. You can’t see any drinkable bodies of water from here. If it really comes down to it, you guess there’s a way to purify saltwater. It’s time consuming, though, not worth the effort when it can be spent on finding freshwater.

The jungle is all lush and thick greenery, tall trees, and brightly colored flowers. You’re sure that there’s some nightmare-fueled mutts hiding somewhere, it’ll be a matter of time before any of you run across them. You’re not looking forward to it. And the ground seems to angle uphill, too.

You turn around again to face the cornucopia, trying to find any weapons or supplies that should be displayed around the back. You know that they’ve put all the easy weapons at the front, everything you’ll be wanting will be at the very back on the inside. With the water, it should delay a bulk of the tributes, making it less dangerous to actually head inside.

All you’re going to want is a sword and a couple knives, which is easier said than done.

The good news is that District Six is part of the alliance, so you could care less about what he does. He’s not going to hurt you, and you’re not going to go out of your way to kill him. You keep searching around the podiums, finding a few friendly faces, none of them being Finnick. It isn’t until you look to your right, do you find one of the two tributes you have to protect.

Peeta.

He’s not directly on the other side of the black rock, though. The male from Nine is standing between you and Peeta. Nine isn’t in the alliance, and with the twelve that Peeta was cursed with, there’s not a doubt in your mind that Nine will jump to take him out.

One more time, you look around to find Finnick or Katniss, but they’re not near you. They must be hidden on the other side of the cornucopia, hopefully near each other to make it easier on Finnick. All you have to do right now is save Peeta from Nine and get him to the block spoke near him, then once you’re on your feet, you’ll figure shit out.

After all, the most dangerous part of the games is the bloodbath.

You count down the final seconds with the clock, breathing in and out accordingly. You adjust your feet, preparing to dive to your right spoke. The adrenaline is seeping through your body, preparing you for the dive.

And just before the gong sounds, you suck in as much air as possible.

The water swallows you whole, embracing your body. You’re only underwater for a second, but it’s the longest second of your life. A part of you had mentally prepared for the water to be cold, considering how deep it is. It’s as warm as bathwater, which was a pleasant surprise. It’s the unrelenting sun that’s making it this temperature.

You cut through the waves, they’re not nearly as violent as they can be back home. When you reach the black rock, you grip tightly to pull yourself out. As you’re preparing to dive to go on the other side of the spoke, a gust of cold wind blows through your body, chilling your core.

You grit your teeth, focusing on the situation in front of you. Nine has entered the water, heading straight for Peeta. Peeta’s clearly apprehensive about entering the water, meaning he must not know how to swim. Good on him for not being stupid.

It figures that Peeta wouldn’t know how to swim, there’s not a lot of water in Twelve. Is that the same case for Katniss, though? The two of them are almost complete opposites, she can hunt and he’s good with words. One incites a rebellion, the other calms it.

You’ll have to ask Finnick.

You dive, following after Nine. He’s not nearly as quick as you are, the waves are posing a challenge. If he had even a little more practice with swimming, he might have actually had a chance. It’s a shame he chose death over survival.

He doesn’t realize that you’re basically on top of him until you’re wrapping your body around his from behind. With your legs around his stomach, arms bringing him into a headlock, the two of you begin sinking. You take a deep breath, and then get to work on killing him.

He’s fairly calm at first, trying to pry your legs off of his abdomen, causing you to tighten. You fix your elbow around his neck, using your other hand to pull back. You squeeze your eyes shut, throwing yourself backward.

You can feel the flurry of bubbles tickle your skin on their way to the surface. He’s choking, just as you intended. Nine begins to struggle, using more of his air to try and throw you off. He’s digging his fingers into your thighs, pinching, yanking at anything he can. You adjust your arms again so that it’s more constricting on his throat.

The last bubbles float to the surface, he opens his mouth to breathe in.

It’s over from there, he’s as good as dead.

You continue to sink lower and lower with him, the pressure building in your temples. You have to make sure he’s dead, a few more seconds won’t hurt. The idea of you drowning is genuinely ludicrous, you used to hold your breath until your brothers were convinced you drowned. They’d search the water to find you stifling giggles at the bottom of the pond.

Nine’s thrashing grows weak, which makes you release his body. Instead, you place one hand on his jaw, and the other on his cheek and sharply twist his skull upwards, snapping his neck. You take his unmoving body as good faith, and use it as a headstart to get to the surface.

You blow air through your nose, keeping your lips tight. Your lungs are burning, begging you for air. And the second your hand breaks the surface, your head follows. You take in a deep breath, looking around to figure out where you left off. Peeta’s still standing on the metal plate, looking like he’s about to take his chance with the water at the sight of you.

“We’re allies.” You manage to choke out, motioning to the earrings. It takes him a second to realize, “I can help you.”

Peeta’s not exactly happy, but he slips into the water carefully, and trusts you to swim him to the block rock. It’s not exactly easy, he’s a lot heavier than you had expected. The two of you manage to get onto the spoke, your legs trembling from the amount of exertion. You crouch, massaging your thighs while you try to figure out the next part of the plan.

The cornucopia, obviously. Finnick and Katniss must’ve taken over it by now, but it’ll only be a matter of time before it belongs to the careers. They’re persistent, they’re trained to be that way. Your enemy’s going to exhaust sooner or later, and you’ve got to outlast them. It’s the same logic when it comes to hunting other tributes in the arena.

You stand, “Stay behind me.”

The two of you jog up the spoke, heading toward the shining gold horn. You can’t see anyone from this side, only a few useless weapons discarded in the black sand. You stoop low enough to catch one of the swords in your hand, the metal hot to the touch, heavier than what you’re used to.

You swing it in a circle, rounding the side of the cornucopia, prepared for the worst. Instead, you’re met with the back of Finnick’s head, and Katniss stopping a few seet away from him to talk. She manages to catch a glimpse of you and Peeta, jerking to grab her bow.

“It’s just us.” You let go of your temporary sword, Finnick turns.

A smile crosses his face, Katniss loosens. You rush to Finnick, squeezing him tightly and kissing him briefly. He’s not wounded, he’s in perfect condition, allowing you to brush past, heading inside of the cornucopia. Your sword is displayed on the back wall, as well as several knives you recognize from the Training Center. Almost as if they’re placed here for you. You tuck a few knives into the purple belt, and then pull the sword off its hook.

When you join Katniss and Peeta at the mouth again, Peeta’s loaded up with an additional sheath of arrows for Katniss, and a machete. With your return, Katniss cocks her head toward a spoke, “Let’s clear out.”

You motion for her to lead the way, not as worried about the careers as they are. Gloss and Cashmere aren’t going to jump at the opportunity to kill you, they’re probably dreading the moment you cross paths in the future. Just as much as you are.

Enobaria and Gloss are hitting the sand when you pull up the rear of your group, knife in hand.

We’ve got allies,” Peeta murmurs, one hand in Katniss’.

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended.” Katniss isn’t thrilled.

“Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks, glancing at her.

Katniss shakes her head, you avoid eye contact with Peeta. Haymitch was right about Peeta accepting an unplanned alliance, Katniss is as well as expected. You’re not sure how they’re going to react later on, when Johanna, Blight, Beetee and Wiress join you. Or when they receive the news that Six, Eight and Eleven were also in on this plan.

While looking around the arena, you spot a tribute, flailing in the water, “Finnick, right.”

Finnick places a hand over his eyes to shield the sun long enough to see the tribute, “It’s Beetee, he figured it out.”

He’s right, it is Beetee. You didn’t recognize him at first, likely due to the fact that he’s hardly treading water right now. You can barely make out his features. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t lose his glasses at the rate he’s splashing at.

“What?” Katniss asks.

“The belts. They’re flotation devices,” Finnick says, “I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they’ll keep you from drowning.”

Katniss makes a noise after a moment of staring, “Let’s keep moving.”

The four of you run to the end of the spoke, onto the sand where Peeta and Finnick switch, and Katniss forces you to the middle. You spare one last glance at the cornucopia, where you think you make out Cecelia’s dark hair. There’s this sick feeling that fills your body after that, hoping that she wasn’t stupid enough to actually join the bloodbath. You wish you could go back for her.

Peeta leads the way in the jungle, using the machete to cut away at the greenery. The journey uphill begins, adding to the strain in your legs. The air is heavy and wet, the sweat making you feel sticky. District Four’s humidity never gets this bad, even when it rains. You put your knife back into your belt to free up a hand, and gently rest the flat side of your sword on your shoulder. Finnick reaches back, seeking yours.

You grip his fingers tightly, happy to have some comfort. There isn’t any conversation for a while, only the occasional grunt from Peeta. You can’t see Katniss, yet you’re able to feel the tension she’s radiating. The complete silence from her is only slightly unnerving. You already know that she’s planning out how she’s going to kill you two.

There’s a lot you had to realize last night, like how you’ll have to be malleable to Katniss. Her mannerisms are different, she didn’t grow up polite. She’s had to be rough with people for years, it’s the reason why she survived District Twelve in the first place.

When she acts, it’s calculated. There’s a lot of thought that goes behind her movements, which means you have to be patient but assertive. You saw it all last year, how she reacts to people in different situations.

She’s brave, and smart enough to actually execute her murderous plans. However, if she’s been paying attention to the victor’s around her, she’ll realize that she and Peeta will lose before coming close to a kill. They’d have better luck abandoning the alliance during the night than fighting their way out.

Then again, maybe that’s exactly why Katniss is worried, she did her research. She saw Finnick use a net to trap tributes and kill them with his trident. Only, the net he had then was made out of vines, and the one that’s slung over his shoulder right now is Capitol-made. He did all of that with little to no help from Thyme.

And you had single-handedly taken out a tribute three times your size. You turned on Allio while he was sleeping and almost got away with it. You curated a plan even though you were on death’s door. And then you fought off a boy that had been trained his entire life to win.

There’s a good chance that she recognizes the danger that she’s in. The arena isn’t a playground anymore. If she thinks that she has even the slightest advantage, she’s wrong. There’s about fifteen more tributes in this arena, each of them with their own special set of skills that could take her down, outlast her.

It’s a good thing Haymitch assigned you and Finnick, you’re sure Johanna would’ve killed her by now based off of irritation alone.

After about an hour of hiking, Peeta wants to take a break. You and Finnick pick a shady area to crouch in, escaping the sun. You wish it was this easy to get away from the heat. It’s easily ninety degrees in here, similar to how hot it can get in Two during the summer.

District Four’s never this hot.

As you watch Katniss talk to Peeta, Finnick leans in to speak in your ear, “I don’t trust her.”

“Neither do I.” You murmur, bowing your head to rub the back of your neck. The heat is beginning to make you nauseous, and now your hand is coated in sweat.

Katniss turns around, “I’m going to get a better look, hopefully find some water.”

Since she’s got experience climbing trees, she flies up the first ten feet, and then disappears in the branches and foliage. It’s impossible to see the cornucopia from down here, so she’s going to have the perfect view. You can imagine it yourself. The amount of blood in the water, bodies floating aimlessly. The careers are still there, defending their territory.

If it weren’t for this alliance, you and Finnick would be with them right now.

You roll your neck, trying to stretch, “Does Katniss know how to swim?”

Finnick makes a face, nodding, “She’s quick, just about beat me to the cornucopia. Did you run into any trouble?”

“Only the man from Nine.” You nod towards Peeta, who’s preoccupied with staring up at the tree, trying to find Katniss, “To save him.”

His face twists, “Peeta can’t swim.”

“Yup, and he’s heavy too. I won’t be able to carry him if he gets hurt.” You pick at your nails.

“Good to know.”

You use your sword to stand, no longer crouching. The cornucopia’s going to be a gruesome sight, might even remind her that she doesn’t want to take a chance on this alliance. Finnick seems to think the same, getting to his feet to wait too. He holds the trident casually, you know better. This is how he stands to fake out the students back home.

You remember the cornucopia the first time around. The amount of dead teenagers that littered the ground, the way their blood created clumps of sand. Two of those bodies had belonged to you. They earned you respect from the other careers, and later nightmares from the experience.

“Do you know the name of the guy from Nine?” You ask, looking at Finnick.

He makes a face, thinking, “Daniel, I believe.”

You press your lips together, looking at the direction you all came. Daniel didn’t make much of an impression during training. When he did show up, the first thing he did was puke all over the gym floor, too hungover to actually participate. The two of you didn’t even talk.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you shake your head. By accident, you catch Peeta’s eyes, and find a sense of understanding. He was there, obviously. He watched you wrap your body around Daniel like a snake and then sink to drown him. To some degree, he’s grateful that you risked your life to save him.

He doesn’t even know the half of it.

Katniss finally comes down the tree a few minutes later, a grave look on her face. It’s enough to confirm your suspicions, but the second she sees you and Finnick waiting for her, there’s a shift.

“What’s going on down there, Katniss? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?” Finnick teases.

“No,” She says.

“No,” Finnick repeats, “Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance.” He pauses to look at Peeta, who’s staring between you three, “Except maybe Peeta.”

Katniss doesn’t say anything further, thinking about what Finnick’s said. The only reason why you stand here now is because you took the initiative ten years ago. You chose the path that was best at the time. If joining the careers and killing half the competition was going to carry you to win, then why wouldn’t you do it?

While you were drowning Daniel to save Peeta, who hadn’t even thought to start; Finnick was killing the man from Five. Katniss was shooting arrows at the careers. And now everything has fallen back into place, exactly how it does every single year. While the careers defend the cornucopia, other tributes blindly run inside despite knowing better.

It’s like you said last night, when you were all holding hands. For one night, you’re a team, standing together as one against the Capitol. And then today, you’re at each other’s throats, forgetting the solidarity.

Katniss is rigid, staring between you and Finnick, contemplating whether or not she’d be able to kill you both and escape without a scratch. The answer is no, the arrow wouldn’t even touch the bow before Peeta would have a blade to his throat. And really, that’s all it’ll take for her to fold.

She wants to keep Peeta alive? She won’t make stupid decisions.

You tilt your head, waiting.

Peeta steps in the middle, facing Katniss, “So how many are dead?”

“Hard to say,” Katniss says, annoyed, “At least six, I think. And they’re still fighting.”

“Let’s keep moving. We need water.” Peeta halfway turns his body to look at you.

“Better find some soon,” Finnick mutters, relaxing, “We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight.”

You can’t help the snuff that leaves you, “Tonight? They’ll probably start within the next hour.”

Katniss nods slowly, “I’ll take up the rear.”

Peeta begins walking uphill, resuming his position as leader. He swings his machete at any stray branches that get in the way. Right before Finnick goes to follow, he murmurs something about leaving an obvious path for the careers to find. You hide a smile.

With what happened at the tree, you try to keep conversations light with Finnick. You focus on each step you take, and less on the distance you’re covering. And the fact that Katniss has her bow in hand, prepared to shoot an arrow at the smallest movement. She needs to relax before she sets Finnick on edge again.

The bright side is that the bloodbath should be over in a couple hours. Once the cannons start, you’ll get a general idea of how many tributes are left. You know that the men from Five and Nine are gone, so that’s two already. There’s probably going to be another five, at the very least. You don’t think that Woof made it off of his podium.

The career pack will be intact, maybe one of them is hurt. Finnick told you that Katniss managed to get Gloss in the calf with an arrow. Regardless of whether or not they volunteered to be here, they’re prepared for whatever the arena will throw at them. They’re alive, for now.

“Could you imagine doing this with Mags?” You breathe, brushing a stray hair out of your face.

Finnick lets out a laugh, “Please, I’d be carrying her the entire time.”

“Well, she’s pretty light so it couldn’t be that bad.”

He laughs again.

About another mile uphill, Peeta announces that it looks like you’ve reached the top. When you glance around Finnick, you see what he means. The treeline disappears, which means that your next adventure will be to go downhill.

“Maybe we’ll have better luck on the other side. Find a spring or something.” Katniss sounds hopeful.

Peeta continues forward, lifting his machete, going to swing at the vines in his way. You use your sword as a crutch to take a breath.

“Wait—!” Katniss begins, jerking forward.

A sharp zip fills the air, sparks flying. The trees and vines are gone, replaced by the sight of an open stretch of land on the other side for a second. Then Peeta’s in the air, heading toward you and Finnick from the blow of electricity. You manage to catch sight of the machete, just before Finnick’s colliding with you.

The sword slips from your hand, falling away from you. Finnick lands on your legs, rolling off with a twisted face. Katniss, unaffected, disregards the two of you and falls to her knees next to Peeta.

“Peeta?” She asks.

“Oh, fuck.” You murmur, touching your lower back. You managed to land on the root of a tree. Finnick got the soft landing for once.

Katniss is hovering over Peeta now, fingers brushing his lips before she presses her ear to his chest. Without a single word being spoken, Finnick judges the look on your face, and whips around to face the other two.

“Peeta!” Katniss’ voice is shrill, hysteria seeping in. She’s rocking his body from the force she’s shaking him, “Peeta!”

Finnick jumps, pushing Katniss out of the way to get some room, “Let me.”

CPR, a tool you’ve never had to use once in your life. It’s only reserved to save the little kids, the ones that don’t comprehend the idea of swimming yet. Once you hit a certain age, swimming is almost first nature. It’s like you’re drawn to the sea.

You sit up, watching Finnick go over the point in Peeta’s throat to find a pulse. He then readjusts Peeta’s body to be more convenient, finger running over ribs and spine. Finnick pinches his nose shut.

“No!” Katniss screams, jerking at Finnick.

You move quicker, tackling her to the dirt. You manage to pin her down, forcing her to watch Finnick tilt Peeta’s head back to breathe in. You’re not taking any chances with her and her bow. Below you, Katniss sobs out a plea not to kill him.

“Katniss, he’s saving him.” You say, “Watch.”

She quiets, Finnick blows air into his lungs. Peeta’s chest rises and falls again, so Finnick moves on to unzip Peeta’s suit and begins compressions, with the heels of his hands positioned over Peeta’s heart. Beneath you, Katniss relaxes, making you comfortable enough to get off of her.

Finnick’s precise with his movements, proving that he’s done this plenty of times, which makes sense. The two of you had two different upbringings, while his family went to the beach for fun, you went to find dinner. Or to make extra cash, if you were more behind than usual.

Katniss is sitting on her knees, leaning over to watch him work. He ignores her, persisting as the minutes drag on. When finally, Peeta coughs, allowing Finnick to sit back.

She flings herself at Peeta, gently touching his face, “Peeta?”

Finnick shakes his head, looking at you. You join his side, combing a hand through his wet hair to get it out of his face.

Peeta’s eyes flutter open, “Careful,” his voice is weak, “There’s a force field up ahead.”

Katniss laughs, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof. I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.”

“You were dead! Your heart stopped!” Katniss cries out, and then places a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

“Well, it seems to be working now,” Peeta says, “It’s all right, Katniss.” She nods silently, not saying anything, “Katniss?”

You get to your feet, “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” You say, Katniss and Peeta glance over, “From the baby.”

You’ve got a hand on the top of Finnick’s head, keeping his hair from flopping back in his face. He leans back against your leg slightly, panting from the hike and saving Peeta.

“No. It’s not—” She manages to get out before she’s hysterically sobbing. She glares at you through her tears, unhappy with your reasoning.

When you look down at Finnick, his eyebrows are drawn together, looking between Katniss and Peeta. You know that he’ll tell you later, whatever he’s thinking about. He shakes his head, moving forward, “How are you? Do you think you can move on?”

“No, he has to rest.” Katniss insists, rubbing her nose.

You back out of the situation, letting Finnick handle the rest. You recollect the weapons that were strewn in three different directions.

“Is that your token?” Katniss asks, she’s got a gold disk that hangs from Peeta’s neck.

“Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says.

“No, of course I don’t mind.”

The machete’s a little harder to find, all you saw was that it was flying away from you. That’s all you cared about in the moment, not being accidentally decapitated by Peeta. Although, if it had been heading toward you, there wouldn’t have been much that you could’ve done, anyway.

It’s stuck in the base of a tree, one good yank and it’s out.

“So, you want to make camp here, then?” Finnick asks.

“I don’t think that’s an option,” Peeta says, sitting up on his elbows, “Staying here. With no water. No protection. I feel all right, really. If we could just go slowly.”

“Slowly would be better than not at all.” Finnick’s relieved. He helps Peeta to his feet, you redistribute the weapons, returning the sword to your shoulder.

Katniss looks over her sheath to count her arrows, and does the same with what Peeta has. After transferring some, she turns to look at you guys, “I’ll take the lead.”

Peeta’s shaking his head, when Finnick speaks, frowning, “No, let her do it. You knew that the force field was there, didn’t you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning.” Katniss is nodding, “How did you know?”

Katniss doesn’t say anything right away, so there’s got to be some sort of secret that she can’t reveal. Something she learned before the arena, because she wouldn’t have risked Peeta’s heart stopping to prove a point.

“I don’t know. It’s almost as if I could hear it. Listen.” She tries.

The four of you fall silent to listen to the forcefield, except there isn’t noise. Only the animals in the trees, and the occasional breeze that brings warm air into your face.

“I don’t hear anything.” Peeta says.

“Yes,” Katniss says, “it’s like when the fence around District Twelve is on, only much, much quieter.” You pause, still nothing. “There! Can’t you hear it? It’s coming from the right where Peeta got shocked.”

“I don’t hear it, either.” Finnick says, giving you a skeptical look, “But if you do, by all means, take the lead.”

You’ve been near the fences in District Four a good number of times, mostly running away from homework to sit at the fence and stare at the woods. You’ve said it before, Four does have forest, but it’s thin and hardly anything to gawk at. The real trees are on the other side of the fence, likely the same for Twelve, too. Only, Four always had the electricity running because they were more worried about people running away.

Katniss hums, “That’s weird.” She turns her head from side to side, “I can only hear uit out of my left ear.”

“The one the doctors reconstructed?” Peeta asks.

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things you wouldn’t ordinarily think have sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground.

You motion for her to lead, “Go right ahead.”

Katniss begins walking, Peeta directly behind her. Finnick notices his trouble walking, not even close to being recovered from the blast. He makes a staff for Peeta to lean on while he walks, and the four of you move a little faster. You take up the very back, pushing Finnick to be behind Peeta.

Even if she’s sure about her abilities, Katniss occasionally throws a nut at the forcefield to ensure you’re all heading in the right direction. It’s bullshit, there’s no question about it. Even Finnick wasn’t buying it, and he’s pretty gullible at times.

This goes on for another hour, following Katniss as she looks for some sort of chip in the forcefield. You saw the other side, you doubt that the jungle goes downhill, if you haven’t found it already. When Finnick gets bored, he falls back to walk side by side with you.

And as soon as he thinks that it’s safe to talk, he leans over, “It’s not an act anymore.”

Your face scrunches, thinking about what he said. What’s not an act? She’s always shown her hatred for Finnick, unless he means that he thinks she hates you now. If that were the case, she sure as hell wouldn’t allow you to walk behind Peeta.

You raise your eyebrows at Finnick, waiting.

He sighs, rolling his eyes, “Come on, (Y/n). Them, in general.”

Oh. Oh!

“You think?” You ask, looking back at Katniss and Peeta. You’re not entirely convinced, there are moments where she seems too irritated. You can see why he thinks that. You did have to hold her down, and she did beg you two not to kill him, “I guess you’re right.”

Finnick nods.

A few minutes later, Katniss sighs and turns to look at you. Her eyes linger on Peeta, “Let’s take a break. I need to get another look from above.”

Peeta slides to sit down, and Katniss chooses a tree to climb. Once again, she flies up the branches, you sink to join Peeta on the ground. It feels good on your back and knees, especially after all the running. Finnick crouches, rubbing your upper back.

“Are you okay? I meant to ask after you fell.”

“I’m good, no damage done.” You smile, “A little jealous that you got the soft landing.”

“Okay.” He laughs.

Katniss comes down, wearing that same grave look that she had last time. You’re less worried about it, mostly because she’s already shaking her head, “The force field has us trapped in a circle. A dome, really. I don’t know how high it goes. There’s the cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. And not very large.”

“Did you see any water?” Finnick asks.

“Only the saltwater where we started the games.”

You run a hand through your hair, pressing your lips together. The Gamemakers never not include a water source, otherwise that’s a sure way to kill off your tributes without entertainment. And yes, that seems to be the whole point of these games, kill as many victors as possible and end up with one that isn’t insufferable. The only problem is that it’ll anger the Capitol citizens. To them, it’ll be a waste.

“There must be some other source.” Peeta’s serious, “Or we’ll all be dead in a matter of days.”

“Well, the foliage is thick. Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere.” Katniss sounds unsure, “At any rate, there’s no point in trying to find out what’s over the edge of this hill, because the answer is nothing.”

“There must be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel.” Peeta insists, sitting up.

You get back to your feet, the only option is to head downhill. You could give boiling the saltwater a try, but that’s going to be time consuming. It’s going to take you another couple of hours to get to the beach, and then you’ll have to successfully stay out of career eyesight. That’s going to be practically impossible, unless they leave the cornucopia fully unattended.

And in Peeta’s condition, not all of you would be able to go down to the beach.

It’s a shame you don’t really have much of a choice.

Katniss helps Peeta back to his feet, and then begins to lead the way downhill, still walking around the curve. The sun is worse this way, because now it’s directly overhead, making your hair hot and your skin tender. You keep up with them for another half hour, but have to switch with Finnick because you’re falling behind.

Katniss calls it at that point, because it’s too hot, and Peeta’s dragging his feet.

Finnick directs you all back uphill, and decides to make the camp ten feet away from the force field for defense purposes. You don’t argue, because being cornered isn’t always bad, and sometimes it’s the easier position to hold. You sit in the grass, in the shade to try and ease the nausea that’s making waves through your body.

Since Finnick can’t sit still, he picks out sharp, tall blades of grass for you to weave into mats. You work quickly, happy for the distraction. Peeta bounces the same nuts that Katniss was using, off the force field to roast them. Katniss guards nearby, continuously moving, either watching Peeta or the trees.

After you’ve successfully completed two of the four mats, Katniss huffs, “Finnick, why don’t you stand guard and I’ll hunt around some more for water.”

“You sure that’s a good idea? I can go with you.” Finnick offers, handing you the next blade, you weave it through.

“No, I don’t want help.” She pulls her bow out, “Don’t worry, I won’t go far.”

Peeta frowns, “I’ll go, too.”

“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can.” She crouches next to him, “I won’t be long.”

She places a hand on his shoulder, and then gets up to go hunting. It’s only a few seconds before she disappears completely in the trees. You let the silence be for a few minutes, making sure that Peeta isn’t going to start asking questions, before you start humming old fishing tunes while you work. Finnick softly murmurs the words to himself.

You manage to finish the last two mats a few minutes later, dropping them all in one pile together for later use. When you get up to check on Peeta, you see that he’s using a leaf to put the meat of the nuts on. It sparks another idea, so you get to work on weaving a bowl.

These are all stupid practices that the elders in District Four teach. When you and Finnick had finalized the idea of the boarding school, the idea of going around and talking to the elders was sparked after Mags. Of course, she knows a bulk of the little tricks that you can use inside of the games, because she’s been a mentor for sixty years. There’s others, though, that taught you how to traditionally weave items, or identify berries that used to exist in Four before being terribly exhausted.

Most of what they had to teach are now stations inside of the Training Center, so you already knew what they had to say before they were done. Still, they’ve got other ways to do it, sometimes easier, or time consuming, or thorough. One very important lesson you’ve learned while mentoring is that you can’t have too much knowledge. If one method doesn’t work, then you’ve got others to back you up.

“Here.” You say, holding the bowl out to Finnick. It’s tightly woven, it could even hold water, if you guys ever come across it, “For Peeta.”

Peeta turns at the mention of his name, Finnick delivers the bowl to him. He smiles slightly, dumping the leaf full of nut meats into the bowl. If you really wanted to show off, you could make a lid for the bowl. You’re sure that Finnick would get a kick out of that.

Just as you move on to your next idea, the first cannon finally comes through. Peeta stops immediately, Finnick tilts his head to hear them better. The bloodbath at the cornucopia is finally over, after hours of battling. You don’t remember the start of your games lasting nearly as long as this, but then again, you were focused on surviving, not how long it’d take you to kill another teenager.

Eight cannons blast, and the silence in the trees after is hauntingly appropriate. The worst part about the bloodbath is that you don’t know who’s left. If it’s people that you care about and have kept you going all this time, instead of the older victor’s that you’ve never held a conversation with before this year.

All you can do is hope until tonight.

“Eight.” Finnick says, turning to look at you, “Five male.”

“Daniel and Woof, too, I think.” You murmur, shaking your head, “Five more?”

“Not as many as usual.” Peeta says, “Last year there were more.”

“We had nine during our bloodbath.” You shrug, “It depends on the year, I guess. To be fair, we’re all victor’s, so I’d hope that not all of us would run inside.”

With that, you all fall back into semi-silence again. Finnick gets tired of patrolling and comes to sit next to you again, weaving aimlessly. That’s what you think, anyway, you’re not entirely sure what he’s making until it begins to look like a table. He doesn’t stop, it continues to get bigger. The moment he sets it on the ground to measure, you realize what it is.

“Are you making a fucking house?” You laugh, scooting closer, “Who taught you this?”

“Remember that day you got sick?” He asks, going back to weaving, “I went anyway and this lady taught me how to make a hut.” He pauses, reaching for the mats, “I’m gonna use these.”

“Be my guest.” You motion, he makes a roof, and flooring.

It’s sturdy, he picks it up and moves it out of the sun, onto a grass patch nearby, that also happens to be in the shade. You discard your sword outside of the hut, crawling inside. It’s big enough to fit several people. The heat’s all the same, no matter where you go, so you have to give up that hope as fast as it comes.

You lay down inside, and instantly feel better. The nausea isn’t as bad, there’s a good chance that you’re already hungry. However, you have a feeling that it’s the sweat and dehydration that’s making you feel this way. Finnick seems to come up with an idea of a pillow, and you’re able to rest your head for a while.

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to nod off. All you know is that the snap of a branch makes you jolt awake, grabbing your knife. You creep around the door of the hut, trying to find out who it is.

It’s just Katniss.

“No, no water. It’s out there, though. He knew where it was.” She holds up a large, ugly rodent animal. “He’d been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn’t find his source. I swear, I covered every inch of ground in a thirty-yard radius.”

“Can we eat him?” Peeta asks.

“I don’t know for sure. But his meat doesn’t look that different from a squirrel’s. He ought to be cooked…” Katniss trails off, staring at it.

Immediately, at the mention of eating it, you feel sick again. You press the back of your hand to your forehead, finding it wet with sweat. If only you could escape this heat, maybe you’d feel better.

“We could cube it and throw it at the force field to roast it, like the nuts.” Peeta suggests.

You gag, coughing. You take deep breaths, trying to calm your heaving stomach before you lose what you ate today. It’s too late, though.

“Oh—!” You crawl out of the hut as quickly as you can, not wanting to puke inside of it. Finnick seems to notice your haste as you scramble to get to your feet.

Your mouth is watering, warning you that you’re going to vomit. You make it several feet away, hand gripping onto a tree, right as you puke. You lean over your knees, squeezing your eyes shut while trying to ignore the fact that you can’t breathe.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick’s behind you, his hand finding the middle of your back. He’s rubbing slightly, “I’m here.”

You cough between, trying to catch your breath, hands balled into fists. You rub the tears out of your eyes with the back of your hands, you don’t even feel better. You feel worse, and now you know it’s only a matter of time before it happens again.

Finnick presses his hand to your forehead, wanting to check for a fever. He shakes his head, “You’re pale, but you’re not warm or anything.”

“It’s the heat, I think. And the thought of eating the rodent just threw me over the edge. I’m fine, really.” You stand up, face twisted, “Honestly, I think this is it for me, today.”

Finnick nods, the two of you make it back over to Katniss and Peeta, who’ve made a dent in the rodent meat. You try not to look too hard, as you go back inside the hut.

“Are these nuts even edible?” Katniss asks, “I’ve never seen them before.”

“I have.” You say, laying down, “During Nori’s games.”

“That’s right.” Finnick snaps, “One of our recent victor’s had these in her games. I was wondering why I knew them. Yeah, you can eat them. A few of the tributes had survived off of them.”

Finnick brings you a handful of the nut meats for you to chew on, and makes a joke about your breath before going out of the hut. You meant to kick him on the way out, but he’s got surprisingly good reflexes. You guess he has to, with the mouth that he has.

While they’re eating, Finnick drills Katniss about the rodent. Where it was exactly, how high up in the tree it was, if there were more. Katniss doesn’t provide much, admitting that she was thinking about the cannons and the other reptiles and insects nearby. They decide to start calling it a tree rat, instead of rodent.

The sun sets, which is around the same time you decide that you’d rather sit up. You stay in the doorway of the hut, occasionally joining in on the conversation, until it fizzles out. The moon’s rising higher, which brings on another event that you’ve been dreading.

The Fallen is about to begin.

Finnick joins your side, Katniss and Peeta following soon after. The four of you huddle together, staring up at the sky to see who’s died today. There hasn’t been a single cannon since the bloodbath, which means that the careers are going to be up late tonight, trying to catch slackers.

The birds and insects are still fairly loud, which means while you can see the Capitol seal appear, you can’t hear the anthem playing behind it. The first face that appears is the man from Five, the one that Finnick killed. All careers survived, then. And somewhere in this arena, hopefully with Blight and Johanna, are Beetee and Wiress. The male morphling from Six is next to appear.

You press your lips together, heart pounding in your chest.

Cecelia’s face appears next.

You clap a hand over your mouth in time for the first wave of tears to appear. You knew you saw Cecelia, you were just hoping it wasn’t true. You had to believe she wouldn’t be stupid enough to go into the cornucopia. She’d have better chances outside.

Oh fuck, you can’t breathe.

“Move.” You manage to choke out, elbowing Peeta as you get out of the hut again.

You can’t see where you’re going, just away from where you puked earlier, and not anywhere towards the force field. The hut’s still in sight when you crouch to the ground, removing your hand from your mouth. You gasp, throat closing up.

It doesn’t matter who else is dead.

This can’t be happening, this isn’t reality anymore. You can’t continue without Cecelia, she’s your older sister. You’ve got pictures of her family hanging up in your fucking house. She’s got your wedding pictures in hers. She’s family, she’s your family, and now she’s gone.

“I can’t breathe.” You sob, sinking to your knees, “Please, please.”

You want to go home. You don’t want to do this anymore.

If you can lose Cecelia this easily, then who’s to say Finnick’s safe anymore? You can’t protect your best friends. You can’t rely on this stupid plan anymore. If Katniss breaks even the slightest, she’s dangerous. You can’t ensure Finnick’s life with her around, or Peeta. You have to get him to the end…

And even if you do, then what? What happens when you’re not there to get rescued? Or he’s not there? You can’t just leave him. Wherever he goes, you go. It’s been that way since the beginning, since you were teenagers. How are you supposed to get out of this alive?

The tears turn into hyperventilation, black and white stars eating away at your vision.

The seal in the sky must disappear, because you’re plunged into darkness. Finnick calls out your name, coming to look for you again. It doesn’t take him long, he can hear you gasping for air in the grass, nails digging into your shoulder to try and distract you.

“Honey,” Finnick breathes, getting to your level. He relaxes your hand, and then cups your face, “It’s okay, breathe with me. Here.”

He takes your hand, placing it on his chest, taking exaggerated but measured breaths for you to mimic. In, and then out. You choke on your tears again, you didn’t want it to be Cecelia. You wanted her to make it out of the arena.

“Come here.” Finnick pulls you into a hug, squeezing you tightly. You rest your head on his shoulder, sniffing.

You want to know who did it. Was it Cashmere and Gloss? Enobaria and Brutus? Some other tribute that was in the cornucopia? Who killed your sister? Who couldn’t spare her? She’s got three kids, all three of them were at the reaping clinging onto her dress. Oh god, and her husband too…

“This isn’t fair.” You breathe, forehead against his shoulder, “She did nothing wrong.”

Finnick gently untangles your hair, “We can hold a proper funeral once this is all over,” he softly murmurs.

“I hope.”

You pull away from the hug, touching the side of Finnick’s face. He gives you a smile, “Can I tell you the others that died?”

“Sure.” You sniff, falling back on your butt. You wipe your eyes with your thumbs, feeling the urge to cry again. You’re going to have to stop this, this isn’t time for tears. You have to save it for when you’re out of the arena, you’ll have all the time in the world to grieve then.

“Are you sure?” Finnick asks, eyebrows drawing in, trying to catch your eyes.

You nod, smiling, “Yeah, hit me.”

“Okay,” he’s skeptical, but continues, “Woof, both from Nine, the woman from Ten, and Seeder.”

You nod, wiping your nose, “Sounds about right. At least Johanna and Blight are still alive somewhere. I bet we’ll run across them sometime tomorrow.”

“Probably.” Finnick agrees, “Are you okay to come back?”

“‘Course.”

Finnick gets to his feet first, holding out his hand to you next. You get up, wiping the dirt and leaves from your butt, and then go join Katniss and Peeta. Neither of them say anything about the outburst, which you’re partially grateful for. It’d be better for them to ignore it, because you’re not going to let it happen again.

You stay outside the hut with Finnick, working out which groups are still in play. There’s yours; you, Finnick, Katniss and Peeta. The careers; Cashmere, Enobaria, Gloss and Brutus. The secondary alliance; Johanna, Blight, Beetee and Wiress. That’s twelve, and with eight dead, there’s only four randoms somewhere in this arena. The woman from Five, the female morphling from Six, Chaff and the man from Ten.

So, at the end of the day, there’s ten people left in the rescue plan, and six outsiders. That checks out, gives you a slight advantage. The only problem is there’s no guarantee you’ll find all of them, or if they’ll all live long enough to get out of the arena. Which is all part of the sacrifice, you guess.

Either way, you’ll make sure this wasn’t for nothing.

The quiet sound of chimes breaks the silence between the four of you. It’s not the Capitol anthem, and it’s not human-made. It isn’t until it comes through the tree branches, tilting from side to side, do you see the silver parachute. The first sponsor gift is here, and no one reaches for it.

It lands just outside of the hut.

“Whose is it, do you think?” Katniss asks after a moment.

“No telling,” Finnick says, “Why don’t we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?”

Peeta breathes out a laugh, reaching forward to grab the metal bowl. He unties the cord, and the square of silk falls, revealing a small metal object. You stare at it, and then get closer, squinting.

“What is it?” Katniss asks.

“Uh—” You look at Finnick, unsure. You’ve never seen anything like it at the boarding school, or in your ten years of mentoring, “Fuck if I know.”

“Me neither.” Finnick says.

Katniss picks it up, turning it over in her hand to look at it. She gives it to Finnick, you lean in to get a better look. It’s a hollow metal tube, tapered on one end, and the other has a small lip that curves downward.

You make a face, “Great, I’m sure Mags and Anchor are having a field day.”

“Tell me about it.” Finnick hands it back to Katniss, she rolls it back and forward in her palm.

It’s a gift intended for Katniss and Peeta, there’s no question about it. Your mentors probably had some input on it, trying to find a gift that would help all four of you. The only problem is that right now, the only thing you’re missing is water. You’re sure that it’s useful in some way, they wouldn’t send something that wasn’t.

Katniss continues to look it over, you grow tired of the mystery, pulling your sword out of the grass. You wander around, watching the trees. The only reason why the careers would come after you is because of your teenagers. They wouldn’t go out of their way to kill you and Finnick.

Then again, that’s what you thought when it came to Cecelia, because she was their friend too.

“I give up. Maybe if we hook up with Beetee or Wiress they can figure it out.” Katniss mutters, falling inside the hut.

Finnick sits outside, watching you move around. The last thing you want is to all gather inside of the hut again, since the heat hasn’t let up, even though the sun went down already. It’s a good thing this jumpsuit is thin, you would’ve ripped it off the second you came inside if it was even a little bit thicker.

Now that you think about it, maybe shedding the top half of the jumpsuit isn’t such a bad idea. You could tie the arms around your waist, tuck it into the belt, whatever. At least then your skin would have a chance at cooling, not so much getting rid of the sticky feeling.

You fling your hair over your shoulder, not wanting it to stick to your neck.

“A spile!” Katniss suddenly shouts.

“What?” Finnick asks.

Katniss comes out of the hut, “It’s a spile. Sort of like a faucet. You put it in a tee and sap comes out.” She pauses long enough to take a look at your option for trees. All green trunks, you’re not sure if they’d produce water, “Well, the right sort of tree.”

“Sap? Finnick asks, you make a face, turning to look at them.

“To make syrup.” Peeta clarifies, “But there must be something else inside these trees.”

Oh, syrup. The sugary substance that’s supposed to go on top of pancakes. The thing you couldn’t afford until you won, because luxury was for the rich and you were poor beyond belief. Even before your parents died.

Finnick holds out his hand for the spile, wanting to hammer it into the tree.

“Wait. You might damage it. We need to drill a hole first.” Katniss shakes her head, and then begins to check her weapons.

They don’t have anything of use, but you sure as hell do. You pull out one of the knives you have hidden in the belt, “Which tree?”

Katniss sees the knife, nodding approvingly. She points at one nearby, just as green as the others. You hope this works, because there’s no need to dull a good blade for nothing. You stick the tip of it into the tree, and start drilling it in, creating a decent enough hole. It’s two inches deep, automatically wide enough to fit the spile.

She carefully wedges the spile in, and the four of you wait, watching it. One single drop of water comes down, and drips from the end of the spile. Katniss jumps forward, readjusting it, until a thin but steady stream of water begins to come out.

Immediately, she drops to hold her mouth beneath the stream, taking a good mouthful before backing off. Peeta moves in next, and Finnick insists that you go before him. Once you’ve all taken a turn, Peeta comes over with the bowl you made earlier, now empty from the nuts, and holds it beneath the spile to collect water.

The water’s warm, yet it’s refreshing. After the bowl’s been passed around, and everyone has gotten a good intake of water, the leftover water’s used to splash your faces. You use a good handful to slick back Finnick’s hair, watching it run down the back of his neck.

The basket is emptied, and filled one more time. Then, Katniss takes the spile from the tree and attaches it to her belt with a vine.

“I’ll take first watch.” You say, causing the three of them to look at you, “Get some rest.”

“(Y/n), I’ve got it.” Finnick shakes his head, “You were up all night last night.”

“I wouldn’t volunteer if I were tired, Finnick, I’m serious.” You get back to your feet, placing the sword on your shoulder. You smooth his hair back, “I love you.”

“I love you.” He says back.

Katniss tilts her head, “Wake me if you want to switch.”

“Sounds good.” You agree, moving away from the hut.

The three of them all crawl inside, probably all cramped and curled up in uncomfortable positions. It’s part of the reason why you want to be out here, the other is because you want to be able to think to yourself. Even if you were tired, there’s no chance that your mind’s going to stop running long enough to let you sleep.

If Haymitch follows what he planned out, tomorrow you should receive the signal about what day, and what time you’ll get out of here. That’s why you want to be with Johanna, Blight, Wiress and Beetee. It’d be easier to figure out a plan to corral Katniss and Peeta. She hasn’t really put up a fight since Peeta’s temporary death, so you think she’s come to realize that she does need you.

There’s also safety in numbers, whether or not she wants to admit that. In her eyes, she’s got two careers that have ditched the pack to join her. She has to know the advantage she has with you and Finnick, whether she wants it or not.

You go over this again and again, roaming around the hut, watching the trees. You don’t know how much time passes, hours? You switch to thinking about District Four at some point, mostly your family. Reed and Mox are probably up right now, watching you if you’re on screen. They wouldn’t go to bed.

You were told a few months after you came home the first time, that they took turns sleeping on the couch, one of them awake the entire time. They didn’t miss a single thing that went on in that arena. Caspian made sure of it, he made your house his own, he refused to leave your brothers, even for a minute.

If it’s night out there too, Alyssum will be in bed, Reed wouldn’t let her stay up this late. Regardless of whether or not she’s anxious, he’d want her to be well-rested. Besides, they’ll be awake the entire time, she’ll be grabbed if anything happens to you.

You hope she’s okay.

It can’t be easy, watching you on the screen, knowing that you’re in danger. She wasn’t able to experience the first time, far too little. You doubt she even remembers what it was like without you for a couple weeks. It’s for the best, if she were any older, she might’ve been afraid to approach you. The things you did inside of the arena still gives you nightmares.

Now that she’s older, you’re not sure if it’s any better. Alyssum understands the circumstances, that you’re doing it to survive. You didn’t volunteer because you wanted to be here, it’s because you had to be. You would give anything for her not to watch you take down victor after victor as if you’ve waited for this moment.

Once you’re done with this, you’ll explain this to her.

The sound of bells tolling, draws you out of your thoughts. They’re loud, one after the other. You count each one, wondering if it’s like the cannons at all. Maybe there’s a reasoning behind it that you’ll figure out later. After all, this arena hasn’t been anything like the fiftieth games so far.

You notice Finnick sticking his head out of the hut, confirming that he’s awake, “I counted twelve.”

You nod, agreeing, “Are they awake?”

“Only Katniss.”

“Mean anything, do you think?” You hear her whisper.

“No idea.” Finnick says back.

The three of you wait for any indication from the Gamemakers. An announcement for a rule change, an invitation to a feast, anything. Not a single word comes out of the sky.

Lightning does.

A bolt comes straight out of nowhere, striking a particularly tall tree, marking the beginning of a lightning storm. It’ll likely be water, for the tributes that couldn’t get it before. It’s close, but doesn’t seem to be moving any closer.

Katniss creeps out of the hut, stretching, “I’ll take watch, (Y/n). It’s my turn, anyway.”

You shake your head, “No, I’m fine.”

“You can’t stay awake forever.” She reasons.

Your face twists, “You’ll wake me first if you want to sleep, not Finnick.” You tell her, dropping your sword outside of the hut.

Peeta’s on the other end of the hut, facing toward the wall. You sit down on the mat next to Finnick, watching him open his arm for you. You lay down, wiggle closer, and rest your head on his arm. Neither of you get too close, not wanting to overheat. Finnick’s got one hand on his trident that’s behind him.

He relaxes, falling asleep before you do. You watch his face, how calm it starts at first. It doesn’t stay that way, his eyebrows will twitch, mouth turning into a frown. You’ve seen him sleep like this back home, only when he’s troubled. He has all the reason to feel like that now.

The lightning goes on for an hour, you think. The sound of rain finally comes through, bringing in the drowsiness with it. With Four being on the coast, you get a lot of rain. The smell of it is the best part, you remember sitting on the porch with your mom, watching the downpour. The puddles were your favorite part, stomping in them. And having a warm bath right after.

A cannon jolts you awake, hands grabbing at the knives in your belt. Finnick lets out a loud breath, turning his head away from you, he’s alive. You lean to the side, looking through the doorway of the hut. You can see Katniss, bow loaded in her hand, staring at the sky slightly. She looks down, and then moves on. Peeta turns over.

With your heart slowing down, you lay down next to Finnick. You’re not tired anymore, even though the rain is still pattering nearby. You watch your husband sleep restlessly, occasionally moving the hair out of his face for him because it’s sticking to his forehead.

The rain stops, never hitting the hut. You’re lucky, a whole hour of the downfall would make the hut weak and useless. Might as well just sleep out in the open at that point, risk getting a cold in here.

You roll over, cuddling closer to Finnick. A cold breeze is coming into the hut, making you cold because of the sweat that’s pouring out of your body. The wind must be because of the rain, maybe you’ll get hit after all.

A faint sugary smell fills the air, reminding you of the candy store back home, the one that Calandra works at. You’ve been going more often lately, since you can afford to buy the sweets that used to be a luxury. Sometimes you even buy enough for the boarding school if you’re feeling particularly kind.

The headache starts small, but the throbbing quickly increases. The scent’s making you nauseous, too strong to be just from your imagination. Almost as if it’s artificial.

Your eyes snap open, sitting up.

“Run!” Katniss screams, right outside the hut, “Run!”

You can see what she’s retreating from, it’s a milky white fog, steadily heading toward the hut. Finnick jolts awake, trident raised to help fight, but the second he catches sight of the fog, his plan seems to change. He grabs a hold of your hand, yanking you out of the hut. You reach for your sword in the grass, pulling it out and throwing it over your shoulder.

Finnick doesn’t hesitate to start running after you’ve got your weapon. Katniss and Peeta are right behind you—not as quick—but they’re moving as fast as their legs will carry them.

“What is it? What is it?” Peeta asks.

“Some kind of fog. Poisonous gas. Hurry, Peeta!” She cries, pulling him with her. When you glance behind, you can see that he’s slowing her down. It’s the force field, that’s the only reason you can think of. He’s getting stuck at every challenge the jungle floor has to offer.

You continue like this for another minute, before you’re shaking your head, “They’re falling behind, Finnick. It’s right on them.” You glance again, “We have to grab Peeta, or we’ll lose both.”

Finnick checks for himself, mouth agape to gasp for air, “Fuck.”

The two of you watch in horror as Peeta’s prosthetic leg catches on a snarl of vines and leaves, falling forward before Katniss has a chance to catch him. She jerks forward, helping him up, “Peeta—!”

She lunges forward, they both stumble, and then start forward. Only, they’re twitching, the both of them are. Their arms are jerking around from where the fog has touched them, Peeta’s legs are moving spastically. As Peeta lurches forward again, Finnick catches him, pulling him along with Katniss. You try to plan out a path for the three of them to follow, but Finnick stops.

“I have to carry Peeta, you go ahead with (Y/n).” Finnick pushes her forward.

You continue going, swinging your sword at the vines and bushes to make sure that Finnick has a clear path. The fog’s now being unpredictable, reaching out further and further, narrowing the path you can take. By the time Finnick gets through it, it’s touching him, you can hear the grunting.

You don’t stop, aiming for the cornucopia, anywhere near the middle will work. As long as you get out of this fucking hellscape of a jungle, you could care less what you face next. The career’s are going to be easier than this, they can be defeated.

Up ahead, there’s only one way down, and it’s steep. You try your best, staying upright the entire way down. Katniss stumbles, managing to right herself at the last second. The moment you begin a solid path again, you hear crashing.

Followed by Finnick’s scream.

You whip around instantly, finding Finnick’s twisted face—a mix of pain and fear—the god closing in behind him, the hand on his ankle. He’s twisted his ankle, he can’t carry Peeta anymore. You’re nowhere near close to the cornucopia yet, either.

“Katniss—grab Peeta now!” You shout, hurrying back up the hill, “Don’t stop, keep going!”

Katniss pulls Peeta to his feet, the two of them hobble down the hill together. You only have a couple of seconds with Finnick, who’s going to be heavy. He’s beginning to twitch himself, which means that the fog affects the nerves, that could maybe lead to paralyzation. You haven’t touched it yet, although you have a feeling that’s going to change in a second.

You get down to your knees, “Bare with me, honey,” you breathe, pulling Finnick over your shoulders. One hand on an arm, the other on his thigh. Getting to your feet is a struggle, but once you’re got your feet planted, you focus on following Katniss and Peeta down the hill. He’s got a tight grip on your arm, panting from the running.

Katniss continues to glance to check in on you and Finnick, making sure that you can handle his weight. There’s no question about it, you’ll carry Finnick until you collapse. The two of you have practiced this before, it’s usually easier for him, considering that he carries you all the time. You only carry him when you’re making sure that it’s still possible, for emergencies.

A sharp pain, a large needle, stabs into the back of your calf, nearly making you fall. Smaller needles seem to stab in that same place, snaking its way up the back of your knee, and stopping. A warning to move faster, you’ve finally touched the fog, and it’s worse than you could’ve imagined.

You pick up the pace, always watching where you step, steering in the direction of Katniss. You can’t fall behind again, you can’t. The pain alone is bad enough, you can’t imagine how Peeta and Katniss are feeling. They’ve gotten a bulk of it, Finnick too, actually.

You can’t tell how long you go on for, going down the hill, dodging roots and vines. It all seems to blend together, the colors all one big blur. The pain tears into the back of your legs, Finnick’s quiet groans in your ear. You can feel Finnick’s beautiful bronze hair tickling your arm, his nails digging into your skin. Katniss is slowing down, she’s having trouble bending her knee.

And then finally, her foot gets caught and she hits the ground, taking Peeta down with her.

You slow down, allowing the pain in your body to creep to the front of your mind, telling you that you’re not as okay as you might think you are. Peeta rolls over, watching as your knee buckles next to them, letting Finnick down harshly. He grunts on impact, you fall into the grass, gasping for air.

You go to get up again, wanting to encourage them to keep going—only you can’t make it to your feet. Both of your legs are on fire, the imaginary needles relentlessly stabbing over and over. It’s bad, and with the white fog coming closer, you’ve got to make a choice. Choose suicide, or choose life.

“Finnick.” You breathe, reaching for him.

The fog’s thickening, but it’s not coming any closer. Tears spring into the corner of your eyes, relieved that the Gamemakers have decided not to kill you after all. You press your forehead to the dirt, squeezing Finnick’s arm.

“It’s stopped.” Katniss croaks out. Peeta makes a noise, he’s alive.

You watch as the fog drifts upward, disappearing into the sky until there’s not a single hint of it left. The only evidence that it happened at all, are you four. They’re all twitching, gasping for air from running for so long. You think you can feel your ankle start to follow in the footsteps of the poison.

A few minutes pass, Peeta motions upwards, “Mon-hees.”

You follow what he’s gesturing at, revealing a pair of monkeys on a nearby branch, their heads tilted to look at you. You’re sure none of you have actually seen a monkey before, outside of books from school. Their fur is orange, and they’re about the same height as a ten year-old. They stare back at you, and when they’re bored, retreat into the trees.

Mutts. That’s the first word that comes to mind. These are muttations, there’s no fucking way that this is just some coincidence. Those creatures are huge, and judging by the size of their teeth, they’re not herbivores. They’re got to be omnivores, there’s no reason why a plant-eating animal would need sharp teeth.

The only thing you’re not sure about, is why the Gamemakers would show off their fog and then tease you with the next trick up their sleeve.

You’ve got to get out of this jungle.

One small movement at a time, you manage to sit on your knees, observing the state of your allies. Katniss and Peeta are both eyeing you, and they’ve still got some control over their body, because they’re moving around. As for Finnick, he doesn’t look like he registers the fact that you’re over him.

“Finnick,” You whisper, throat raw from the panting, “Hey.” You crawl to be next to him, moving the hair out of his face. He doesn't say anything, much less look at you. The poison’s caked on him to the point where it looks like he blotched sunscreen on his skin and didn’t bother to rub it in. At least he’s breathing.

You grit your teeth, stabbing your sword into the ground, using it as a crutch to get to your feet. It’s a struggle, for a second you’re sure that you’ll have to drag yourself to the beach, but you manage to lock your knees in time. It’s not too far, you can see the beige sand through the trees.

Leaving the sword behind, you carefully step around Katniss and Finnick, leaning down to grab Finnick’s wrists. There’s no way you’ll be able to pull him over your shoulders again, you can hardly hold your own body weight. The best you can do is slowly pull him to the cornucopia.

“Come on.” You say, looking between Katniss and Peeta, “Get up, I can’t drag all three of you there.”

One step backward at a time, you get further from the teenagers. It takes Peeta several tries to roll himself over to his hands and knees. He’s pale, trembling from every movement. Katniss is a little smoother, managing to keep up with Peeta just fine. She’s the only one that brings her weapon with her.

It’s harder to pull Finnick through the sand, your feet are being swallowed up to your ankles. If the water weren’t so close, you’d give up, take a break and get back to it. It’s only a few more steps away, though, you know it.

The water laps over the back of your foot, a startled scream leaves your throat from the pain it causes. You jump away, taking Finnick with you. You try to take another step, and collapse from the fire that’s licking up your achilles tendon.

“Oh—!” You grip the area, tears appearing in the corner of your eyes. Spots eat away at the corner of your vision, making you lightheaded, “Oh fuck.”

Katniss continues forward anyway, you watch as the waves run over the bottom half of her face, making her jerk back. Peeta doesn’t move further because of your reactions, resting his head on his forearm. Katniss persists, she places a shaky hand inside of the water, grimacing at first, and then relaxing.

The three of you watch in silence as the poison leaches out of her arm. With this discovery, Katniss immediately begins to unbuckle her belt, and strip to her underwear. The jumpsuit is scraps, the poisonous fog has eaten away at the fabric. The only parts of her outfit that haven’t been touched are the boots, belt, and undergarments.

You slowly follow in her footsteps, watching the way she dips one part of her body in the water at a time. Peeta’s also decided that he might as well give it a try, before he’s forced to. You chew on the inside of your cheek, hands hovering over the clasp of the belt buckle.

It’s going to be easier to get the poison out of your skin without the clothes, that’s what you have to tell yourself while you undress. The Capitol’s going to have their moment, and you need to get over that. They saw you tied up in rope during the Tribute Parade, nothing can be worse than that.

You step out of the jumpsuit, and carefully shuffle your way into the salt water. The burning sensation resurfaces, worse than the first time. You hold your breath, letting the tears build. Fire, clawing its way up your calves, leaving long scratches down your legs. You lower yourself onto your knees, nails digging into your palms from the pain.

The blue water’s turning a lighter shade because of the white seeping out of your skin. Once the burning pain subsides somewhat, you get to work scrubbing your legs with handfuls of sand, trying to get all of it out. It’s not just your legs, though. You slowly drown yourself in the water, feeling the sting shoot up your spine.

By the time you’re feeling well enough, there’s a tingling sensation in your toes, making you realize that they’d been numb this entire time. You walk back over to your belt, pulling one of the knives out, and then making your way to Finnick. The sand’s sticks to your knees when you get down to cut the jumpsuit off of him.

“It’s going to hurt.” You whisper, pulling him out of the suit, “But you’ll feel so much better, Finnick. I’ll be right here.”

He lets out a moan, turning his head to the other side. You grab his ankles this time, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle all the pain at once. You hardly could, and all you had was your legs, mostly.

When you let his legs down, the water’s up to his calves. He lets out a sharp hiss, face twisted, jaw clenching, until he lets out a breath of relief. If he wants to stop you from moving him in, he doesn’t let it be known. You continue to pull him in, little by little, washing the poison out of his skin, watching as the sunscreen effect goes away.

Katniss gains control of her body again, rolling her shoulders, bending her knees. She repeatedly submerges her face to ensure that it’s not in her sinuses. As for Peeta, he’s still a little slow when it comes to moving around, likely because of the force field. However, his face is returning to normal, it’s no longer half-paralyzed.

You sit in the water, moving Finnick so that his body is completely soaked from the neck down. He opens his eyes, mostly watching your face. You move the hair out of his face, slicking it back with small handfuls of water.

Finnick stretches his arms above his head, letting out a small groan.

“It’s only your head left, babe.” You whisper, “It’s the worst part.”

He nods, sitting up. You let him take your hand, gripping it tightly. He takes a second, shakes his head, and then he purges his eyes, nose, and mouth. You watch the water turn clear, how he gasps for air when he’s done. You wipe the saltwater from his eyes.

“I’m going to try to tap a tree.” Katniss says, pulling her belt back on. She holds up the spile for you guys to see.

“Use one of my knives.” You tell her, nodding at the pile of your belongings, “Once Finnick’s okay, I’m going back for our weapons.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got the water.” Peeta says, starting towards the jungle, “You stay with him, I’ll grab the weapons too.”

“Thank you.”

Finnick rolls out of your lap, sitting in the water for a moment. He goes to swim away, when you cup his face, gently pressing a kiss to his lips. When you pull away, he gives you a smirk, and then backstrokes out into the water.

You sit with your knees up, arms wrapped around the back of your thighs. The waves rock your body back and forth from the force they’re coming at you with. It’s warm, even with how late it is. The reflection of the moon on the water is warped, constantly moving with the waves. You watch Finnick dive under the water, occasionally popping up to get air.

Katniss floats on her back, and then her stomach. You can barely see Peeta from where you’re sitting, yet the sound of the knife hammering against the trunk of the tree is crystal clear. The knife is probably done for, anyway. Might as well have it be the designated spile knife. You’re not sure how much it’ll be able to take, though.

Finnick shoots water out of his mouth, spraying it in the water, only for it to rain down nearby. He clears his throat, “(Y/n), come here.”

You get to your feet, wading into the water to join him. He must not have been standing, because he suddenly grows a few inches in the water as you get closer. When you’re within arm's reach, he pulls you closer for a hug, holding you there for a few seconds.

“How’s the ankle?” You ask, resting your head against his chest.

“It’s not broken.” He laughs, “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.”

“Same here.” You pull away, “So we’re even.”

Finnick laughs a little louder, “Should we start keeping score?”

“At this point, maybe.”

He snorts, staring off behind you, “How long can you hold your breath?”

Your face twists, “Three minutes or so, it really depends. Why?”

“We should scare Katniss.” A mischievous smile spreads across his face, “Just once.”

You roll your eyes, pulling away from him, “I’m sure she’ll enjoy this.”

Humoring him, you dive into the water, releasing half of your air to sink to the floor. Finnick follows, watching you go down, he crosses his legs, breathing out. He sits next to you, leaning back against his hands.

You should’ve asked Finnick how long he can hold his breath, so you could have a silent competition going on. You close your eyes, since the salt is making your eyes sting. The water’s colder down here, meaning you’re no longer boiling in the warmth. If you weren’t afraid of running into some mutt in here, you’d swim deeper. Hell, you’d sink lower than yesterday if it meant that you’d be cold.

This entire arena is a whole new ordeal, compared to the last Quarter Quell. The only reason why you know this is because of Elysia. The night of the reaping, after you’d watched the recap, she managed to find one old tape that she thought would help. It was a recording of the only other Quarter Quell still on record.

The Fiftieth Hunger Games.

There’s no doubt about it, Haymitch’s games were, by far, the most beautiful. Perfectly clear blue skies with pure white clouds, a green meadow with patches of exotic flowers that stretched for miles. The woods and the snowy mountains were straight out of some children’s book. And to top it all off, the golden cornucopia was shining in the sunlight. The arena was stunning.

Despite that, it wasn’t easy for Haymitch to survive, he had to second guess everything he came across. If the water hadn’t come from the sky or the food from the cornucopia, it couldn’t be trusted. The lakes, the animals, the insects, the fruit on bushes, all of it was some trick. A bulk of the tributes died in the bloodbath, but the number of people who died in nature were almost the same.

Although, you’re not sure how this arena’s worse, yet. Besides the sick twist to draw from the pool of victor’s, there hasn’t been a single instance where you thought that this wouldn’t be survivable. The fog was horrible, but it wasn’t impossible. The Gamemakers aren’t really living up to their reputation this time.

You don’t want it to get any harder than this, yet it makes you wonder if they’re holding back.

Finnick grabs your shoulder, using you as a crutch to get to his feet. He must be dying already, because you’re barely feeling the burn in your lungs. Either way, you get to your feet, and push off from the bottom. You reach the surface after Finnick, rubbing the salt from your eyes.

“Don’t do that.” Katniss suddenly says, you swim your way to shore, tired of being in the water.

“What? Come up or stay under?” Finnick asks.

“Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave.” She says, you laugh, moving your hair out of your face. “Or if you feel this good, let’s go help Peeta.”

You pull your belt out of the sand, giving it a slight shake. As Peeta promised, he brought the weapons out of the jungle, and laid them nearby. Finnick puts his belt on, running his fingers over the plastic. He pulls your sword out of the sand, handing it to you, and then takes his trident. You make him and Katniss walk in front of you, taking the opportunity to observe the way Finnick’s walking on his ankle.

It’s a limp, but it’s not too noticeable. Hopefully it was the poisonous fog that made it feel worse than it actually was.

Katniss’ pace slows, growing tense. You adjust the sword in your hand, preparing for an attack, when she carefully touches Finnick’s arm, and gestures upward. You follow the movement, and immediately lose the air in your lungs.

Mutts, the monkey’s that you’d seen earlier, just after the fog. They’re here, in the trees, and it’s not just one anymore. It’s more than twenty, all weighing down different branches, watching you walk into their trap. Finnick reaches his hand back, looking for you. You squeeze his hand as soon as you make contact, trying to cast your eyes away from the mutts in the trees.

Katniss loads two arrows onto her bow, Finnick twists the trident in his hand anxiously. There’s four of you, counting Peeta. Can the four of you take down almost fifty monkey mutts? Is that even possible? Ten per person?

“Peeta,” Katniss begins carefully, “I need your help with something.”

“Okay, just a minute. I think I’ve just about got it.” He says, continuing to drill into the tree. “Yes, there. Have you got the spile?”

“I do. But we’ve found something you’d better take a look at.” She says, adjusting the bow in her hand, “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

She’s smart, she knows that the mutts will react to Peeta, considering he was the one that was causing all the noise in the first place. If they wanted to attack you three, they would have already. They didn’t care when you came into the jungle, it’s Peeta they’re waiting for.

Peeta turns in your guys’ direction, breathing heavily from the work he was putting into the tree, “Okay.” He moves casually, walking as quietly as he can manage, which is practically not at all. He’s almost made it to the three of you, when he looks up at the mutts. It’s not even for a full second, but it’s long enough for the monkeys.

They explode into a shrieking orange mess, closing in on him. They’re all moving in different directions, all at the same speed. Sliding down the vines, moving from one tree to another, claws the size of small knives. Just as you suspected, they’re mutts, worse than any natural creature.

Katniss echoes your thoughts, “Mutts!” She gasps, as you all jerk to join Peeta in the jungle.

The sword is lighter in your hand when you roll your wrist, preparing for the war that Peeta’s accidentally brought on. You recall the blades on your belt, minus the one that Peeta took, which brings it to four. Four knives and one sword.

Every move counts, the second you stop running, you’re swinging your sword at any body part that’ll bring death. You try to count the amount of bodies you drop, but it’s impossible to keep up. The second you bring down one monkey, another is behind it to take its place.

The air’s growing thick with the scent of blood, causing your throat to close up. The mutts smell like sweat, salt, mud, and tree bark. No matter how fast you swing, you can’t keep up with the sheer amount of bodies that are closing in. You catch a glimpse of Finnick’s work, skewering them like kabobs and flinging their bodies out of the way.

With them coming from every direction, the four of you end up back to back in a square formation. Katniss is to your right, Finnick to your left. What they can’t get, you try your best to make up for. One of the mutts comes flying out of the trees, and you manage to get it in the throat before it’s reached Katniss.

They’re getting smarter, watching the way you react. They’re not making the same mistake twice, darting in and out of trees, playing tricks on your eyes. You’re sure you see one, and then it’ll come from a different direction, claws positioned for your heart.

Katniss throws her bow over her shoulder, switching to her knife. You take a quick glance to see that she’s out of arrows.

“Peeta!” She shouts, “Your arrows!”

Peeta tries to slide out of the sheath as quickly as possible. You could only afford to look once, check to make sure that he’s actually got arrows. The most you can do is hope that Finnick or Katniss will be able to cover him during the time it takes to get the arrows to her. A monkey comes down from above, giving you only a second to react.

It’s not enough time.

The mutt’s feet slam into your shoulders, shoving you to the ground. Your head whips back against the ground, sword falling away from your hands. You reach for a knife, when Finnick turns and stabs the trident through the monkey’s throat, swinging it away from you. He offers his hand to you, pulling you to your feet.

A shriek fills the air, loud enough to momentarily silence the mutts, pausing your next move. You watch as a bloodied woman runs at a monkey aimed for Peeta, wrapping her arms around it. She’s thrown to the ground just as its fangs sink into her chest.

Peeta slips out of the sheath, dropping it to the ground because his attention turns to the tribute that’s sacrificed her life for him. Peeta raises the knife in his hand, slamming it into the monkey’s back over and over, until it loosens its jaw. Katniss has the sheath on her back now, bow loaded for another round of the mutts.

You regrip the sword, eyeing the mutts that’re still circling the trees. Finnick’s sucking in air, preparing to jump back into it.

“Come on, then! Come on!” Peeta shouts at the mutts, waiting for them to attack.

This must be it, though, because they’re retreating into the trees, climbing up branches, disappearing in the distance. None of them take their eyes off of your group, wary about you attacking them. They must’ve gotten what they wanted, excitement for the Capitol, and another injury.

“Get her,” Katniss says to Peeta, “We’ll cover you.”

Peeta sweeps the tribute into his arms, and for the first time in several minutes, you’re finally able to see her face. It’s the morphling from District Six, one of your allies. She must’ve been hiding in the trees this entire time. Hell, she probably watched you drag Finnick all the way to the beach.

He carefully carries her the rest of the way to the beach, while the three of you trail behind him at a slower pace, watching the trees. There’s not a single movement in the trees, no rustling of branches. Not even the insects and birds resume the noises they’d been making prior. The only leftover danger are the dead mutts on the ground.

Peeta lays her in the sand, Katniss cuts away at the fabric over her chest. When she rips it open further, she reveals the four puncture sites from the teeth. Despite how deep they are, only a small amount of blood runs down her skin. She’s got internal damage, she’ll be impossible to save, even if the Capitol sponsored you right now. There’s no way you’ll be able to fix what’s inside.

Katniss holds her hand, watching the way she gasps for air. The morphling girl—Megan, you think her name is—has her eyes on Katniss, captivated by her. She’s unnaturally pale, and starved enough to the point where you can see her ribs. It’s the drugs, you’re sure of it. It took away her appetite for food and replaced it with the need for pain relief.

“We’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says to them, taking you hand to bring you with. He doesn’t stop at the treeline, continuing to walk inside the jungle to get away from the scene on the beach. You can’t blame him, you’re a little grateful that he’d pulled you away in the first place.

The two of you wander back to the circle of trampled greenery, finding it still soaked in blood, but not a single mutt carcass in sight. Finnick pauses his steps, turning in a full circle while looking at the trees, anticipating the dead coming back to life. The snap of a branch makes the two of you whip in the direction.

Vines and tree roots reach out of the ground, wrapping around the last body, and then dragging it into the nearest bush. There’s more snapping, branches shaking violently from the body. The vines cease to move, and the silence resumes.

“There’s something really wrong with this arena.” You mutter, shaking your head, “We should gather the arrows and return them to Katniss.”

When you begin to gather the arrows, a cannon interrupts to signal the newest death. It’s Megan, she didn’t have much time left with her. Finnick lets out a quiet sigh, pressing his lips together as he picks up another arrow. They’re still wet with mutt blood, you hold your breath slightly, not fond of the smell.

By the time you’ve grabbed almost all the arrows, the hovercraft has taken Megan’s body away. You start back to the beach, Finnick walking right beside you. He reaches Katniss first, “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks.” She says, watching the arrows get dropped next to her in the sand.

You let go of your sword too, wandering into the water until it’s up to your thighs. You shake your hands in the water, changing the color from blue to a gentle pink. When you’re done, you pick underneath the acrylic nails, trying to get the blood out from there too. Finnick’s by your side, rubbing his hands together, and then dipping his trident in the water.

Katniss has the same idea, focused on individually washing each arrow, and then throwing them onto the sand. She moves quickly, and when she’s done, heads toward the jungle again. She comes back a minute later, hands full with moss, “Where did they go?”

“We don’t know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone.” Finnick reaches up to scratch under his chin, face twisted.

You grab his wrist, “Don’t do that, it’ll scar.”

Katniss looks up to see what you’re talking about, nodding approvingly. Her attention turns to Peeta, who’s doing the exact same thing that Finnick was. Where the fog had touched your bodies, are now covered with scabs. Finnick’s face has a good number of them, and the more he scratches at it, the longer it’ll take to heal.

“She’s right,” Katniss says, drying her arrows with the moss, “Peeta. You’ll only bring infection. Think it’s safe to try for the water again?”

You let out a breath, “Does Peeta still have that knife I gave him?”

Peeta nods, pulling out the bent knife. Yeah, you’re not going to ask for that back anytime soon. You all go back into the jungle, standing around Peeta with your weapons out, waiting for any mutt to appear. He works the spile into the tree, and instantly water begins to gush out of the tree. He’s the first to get a good mouthful of water before going back to the beach to retrieve empty shells.

Katniss is next, taking her time to rehydrate, and then backs off. While watching her crouch and run the water over her head, you can tell that her hair’s obviously thinned since the fog. It makes sense, since it ate away at the jumpsuit like fire. You try to run a hand through your own hair, only to have it get caught in the hairstyle that Laurel fixed.

You can’t go the entire games with it down, anyway. It survived the first day, that’s the part that matters the most to you. You wanted the Capitol to see you with the same hairstyle that you wore last night, when you were holding hands with the other victor’s. You wanted to bring a part of your prep team in here with you, which you did.

So, you search along the braided crown that Beth had done last night with your fingers. Finnick notices this, and guides your hands over to the hair tie. You give him a small smile, before pulling the braid out, combing your fingers through the waves to make sure that it’s not braided anymore.

This makes your stomach churn, because your hair hasn’t been as protected as you were hoping it would be. The chunks are small, that’s what you’re grateful for, and it doesn’t hurt, either. There’s an obvious clump in the grass growing with each brush, but the longer you comb, the less hair comes out.

You pull your hair into a ponytail at the top of your head, right around the same time Katniss decides that she’s done. Peeta’s coming back into the jungle, holding four separate shells in his hands. Finnick motions to the spile, forcing you to go first again. You wet your hair first, hoping that’ll keep you cool, even if it’s for a few hours. You drink several handfuls of water before you feel sick.

Finnick follows in your footsteps, shaking his head beneath the water, running a hand through his hair to slick it back once again. It’s getting long, almost time to cut it again. He likes it when you do it for him at home, you’ll bring a chair into the bathroom and sit him in front of the counter. Sometimes you’ll talk nonsense, or if you’re feeling productive, the two of you will work on boarding school ideas.

Finnick stands up, stretching his arms above his head, and backs off to allow Peeta to fill the shells. He fills them one at a time, handing them out to each of you. Katniss pulls the spile from the tree, and just like that, you’re heading back to the beach.

The moon’s high in the sky, there’s still a chance to get a few more hours of sleep before the Gamemakers force the sun to rise. Katniss is thinking the same, because she speaks first, “Why don’t you three get some rest? I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather.” Finnick cuts you off, Katniss nods slightly.

“All right, Finnick, thanks.” She says, picking her spot to lay down.

Peeta and her are right next to each other, he closes his eyes and relaxes a few minutes later, confirming his sleep. Katniss rolls over so that her back is to you two, bow settled nearby. You take off the boots, sinking your feet into the warm sand, staring at the cornucopia. Finnick sits so that his arm is directly behind you.

Neither of you speak for a good fifteen minutes, waiting until Katniss has also fallen asleep. It’s not too long, she lets out a loud sigh, and that’s it for her.

“Fourteen tributes left in the game.” You murmur.

“Fourteen?” Finnick asks, face twisted, “It’s fifteen, right?”

“No, we lost one a few hours ago. It was after the lightning storm, there was rain. Just one cannon.”

He hums, “You should rest, too. You’ve been up this entire time.”

You press your lips together, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be right here.” He promises, “I love you.”

“I love you.” You echo, gently kissing him afterward.

You settle in the sand on your back, slightly turned in the direction of Finnick. You can feel him move hair out of your face, before you’re drifting off, too.

The nap doesn’t last as long as you wish it would. The moment the sun’s risen high enough, you’re woken by the light. When you open your eyes, you can see that Finnick’s tried to fix that, by weaving a mat and carefully balancing it on the branches above. The shade’s nice, cool compared to the warmth on your legs.

When you sit up slightly, you’re able to see that you’re not the first one awake. Katniss is sitting up, dusting sand off of her hands and face. You look over to see Finnick right beside you, his leg touching yours while he cracks shellfish open with a rock. He pulls a chunk of flesh out with his teeth, chewing, “They’re better fresh.”

He tosses the shell aside, reaching for a new one. This time, he drops the cracked shell inside of a basket, which looks just about full. A few feet away are two other woven baskets, they look like they’re full of freshwater.

Finnick glances in your direction, probably to check up on you. He has to stop and take another look, tilting his head at you, “Well, good morning.”

You give him a smile, Katniss gives you a nod as soon as you’ve sat up. The scabs itch, worse than before you’d gone to sleep. You run your hand over them, hoping that it’ll calm the feeling, but it doesn’t help. Katniss goes to reach for a shell, and stops herself when she sees how bloodied her nails are.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection.” Finnick says casually, you let out a laugh.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” She agrees, smiling but rolling her eyes. She goes into the water to rinse her hands of the blood. As she’s walking out of the water, she stomps her foot in the sand, looking toward the sky, “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.”

You share a look with Finnick, wishing that it were that easy. Except, it is, apparently. The sponsor comes almost instantly, a silver parachute teetering down to where she’s standing. She holds her hands out, letting it fall into her hands, “About time,” she mutters.

She comes to sit next to you and Finnick, screwing the lid off the tube. She squirts a little of the ointment out of the tube, which is dark in color and disgustingly powerful in smell. She makes a face, squeezing a bigger amount onto her hand. She rubs her hands together before spreading it down her leg, letting out a moan.

Katniss pushes more out onto her hands, handing it off to you while she starts on her other leg. Finnick gives you a doubtful look, “It’s like she’s decomposing.”

“So?” You ask, putting a good amount on your hand, giving it to Finnick, “Come on, you know it’ll feel better.”

He sighs, not arguing with you. He waits to watch your reaction, which is a nice hum as you spread it up and down your legs. It smells nasty, like pine trees and asphalt mashed together, but it takes away the itchy feeling. It’s like the lotion your prep team uses when they’re waxing tributes, how it’ll cool the skin, numbing it from the pain. However, unlike the lotion, the ointment is turning your skin a greenish color.

Finnick spreads it over his face first, and works his way down. His face is twisted the entire time, still deciding whether or not he actually likes it. He can’t deny it, it feels good. He’s going to forget about it in an hour or so, anyway.

“Poor Finnick.” Katniss begins, giving him a mock pouty face, “Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?”

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks, unfazed.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it.”

“Not if I keep looking at you.” He snorts.

The three of you work together to cover your bodies in the ointment, even taking turns spreading it down each other’s backs. You pull your boots back on, and find relief that they’re not rubbing against the scabs as badly as they had been earlier.

“I’m going to wake Peeta.” Katniss says, getting to her feet.

“No, wait,” Finnick’s giving her a funny smile, “Let’s all do it together. Put our faces right in front of his.”

Here you go again with messing with the others. Katniss makes a face, but agrees to the idea. The three of you shuffle over to Peeta, where they position themselves so that they’re on either side of his face, while you’re right in the middle. She’s practically touching his nose from how close she is.

“Peeta. Peeta, wake up,” Katniss softly says, shaking him.

His eyebrows push together, eyes slowly opening, and then he flies two feet in the air, screaming.

Your laughter pierces the air, stumbling away so that you’re not directly laughing in his face. Katniss and Finnick have collapsed in the sand, reeling. Peeta stares at you with a straight face, not at all amused. Each time they seem to calm down, they’re brought into another round just from his face alone.

You wipe the tears from your eyes, “That was golden.”

The sound of sponsor music makes you look up, there’s another silver parachute coming in your direction. You catch it this time, moving the silk away so that you can properly see the bread. It’s still steaming, and it smells wonderful.

Finnick gets to his feet, no longer smiling. He takes the loaf from the tin, turning it over in his hands. It’s tinted green, and when you pinch off a corner of the crust to taste, it’s salty. It’s the bread from District Four.

The two of you make eye contact, remembering Haymitch’s plan. If it’s from District Four, it’s meant to be the fourth day, and since it’s one single loaf of bread, the rescue will be at one in the morning. You chew the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. How will either of you know the time exactly?

Finnick looks at the baskets of water and shells, and says, “This will go well with the shellfish.”

The two of you move the baskets under the shade while Katniss helps Peeta slather himself in the ointment. You’re sure that this bread won’t be the only sign from Haymitch, he’ll have to send another one to confirm the time. To make sure that you guys understand fully.

Finnick methodically cleans the meat from the shellfish, tossing the empty shells to the side. The smell isn’t the part that gets to you, it’s the sight of it alone. The way that Finnick pops the meat into his mouth makes your mouth water, and it’s not because you’re excited to eat the shellfish.

You press the back of your hand to your mouth, knowing you have only a few seconds before you puke. You stumble towards the jungle, taking deep breaths, hoping that you’ll be able to bypass it this time. You’re not that lucky.

You lean over a patch of deep green vines that are shaped like snakes, overlapping one another. It only takes one gag, and then it’s all over. The vomit burns coming up, and since you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning, there’s no food, only bile. The taste is toxic, bringing tears to your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick calls.

“I—” You choke on a gag, squeezing your eyes shut, “I’m fine!”

You don’t feel like it, you know that you’re hungry. Watching Finnick eat made you realize that, but there’s no chance you’ll be able to eat the shellfish without gagging. This isn’t right, puking at the sight of food when you’re nauseous because you’re hungry. It makes no sense.

You use moss to wipe your mouth and nose, joining the others back on the beach. Finnick’s got his eyes on you, not missing the way you position yourself away from the shellfish. He rubs a hand up and down your back.

“You can have my part of the bread,” Peeta offers, “Really.”

“No, I’m okay with what I’ve got.” You wave him off, taking one of the four slices that Finnick’s cut with a knife.

“She’ll take mine, don’t worry.” Finnick sets it on your knee, giving you a pointed look. You don’t argue, nodding. That’s not a fight you’d win, anyway.

They all feast on the shellfish and the salty District Four bread. Finnick makes sure that your shell of water doesn’t empty, since the bread’s all that you’re eating. You need to stay hydrated, combat the salt at the very least.

The arena’s coming back to life, birds are singing their songs in the trees around you, the insects chirping loudly. The sun doesn’t feel nearly as bad as it did yesterday, and you have the ointment to thank for that, it’s acting like a buffer. And it’s also causing the scabs to peel off of your faces.

Once they’re done eating, you feel comfortable enough sitting against Finnick. Coincidentally, Peeta’s too full to eat his bread, so he insists that you take it, since your meal couldn’t have been as filling. You know it’s bullshit, but you thank him anyway.

“I think we should keep to the beach.” Katniss says, drawing shapes in the sand, “We don’t know if there’s anything else in the jungle.”

“Sounds good.” You agree, “I mean, it was fine yesterday, so I don’t know what’s changed.”

“The Gamemakers.” Peeta mutters, none of you say anything after that.

It’s only a few minutes later, when a scream fills the air. You look over, hearing it come from the same wedge that’s directly across from you. It’s beginning to vibrate, as if you’re all about to be hit by a huge earthquake. Instead, a gigantic wave towers over the trees, coming down the hill in your direction.

It hits the water surrounding the cornucopia, and continues toward where you’re all sitting. You’re the first to get to your feet, grabbing your sword from the sand to hold. The water easily comes up to your knees, stretching a few yards behind you into the jungle, before retreating back to the cornucopia.

They manage to collect the baskets and weapons as the wave returns. The only three items that don’t make it, are the three jumpsuits that had been eaten away at the fog, none of you protest when they disappear into the water.

A cannon blast fills the air, forcing a hovercraft to materialize over where the tide had originally begun. The silver four-pronged claw is sent into the trees to retrieve the body, taking its time with claiming them. The hovercraft is gone once the claw’s back inside.

Once you’re sure that the cornucopia’s waves aren’t going to come at you again, belongings are placed back onto the now-wet sand. Katniss is about to sit down, when she freezes, reaching for her bow, “There.” She nods.

You follow her gaze, seeing three figures stumble onto the beach from the jungle. They’re two spokes away, which is fairly close. The four of you go back into the jungle to watch them, unsure of what to do. They’re a deep red color from head to toe. One of them is dragging another onto the beach, while the third walks in circles around the other two.

“Who is that?” Peeta asks, “Or what? Muttations?”

You share a look with Finnick. Katniss draws an arrow back on her bow, preparing to fight without an attack from the group. You watch as the dragger drops the other, who collapses on the beach instantly. They stomp their foot into the sand, shoulders squared, and start toward the one walking in circles. In one simple motion, she shoves the circling one over.

“It’s Johanna,” Finnick breathes, standing taller, “Johanna!” He calls, starting out of the jungle. You follow after him, lowering your sword.

“Finnick!” Johanna shouts back, sounding relieved, “(Y/n)!”

As you get closer, you’re able to see that the two other tributes are the ones that she and Blight were tasked with retrieving. Beetee, the one that collapsed, is lying on his back, unconscious. Wiress has already gotten back on her feet, going back to making laps around the three of you.

They smell like blood, which might explain why they’re red. It doesn’t explain why they’re covered from head to toe in blood, though. What’re the chances that Johanna joined the bloodbath and didn’t rinse off afterward?

“What happened?” You ask, looking between her and Wiress.

Johanna throws her hand out in the direction of the jungle, her face turning dark, “We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

Katniss and Peeta have finally joined, only Katniss looks less than thrilled to be in the presence of Johanna. You hope that she doesn’t fan the flames, because the last thing you need is for a fight to break out between them.

“I’m sorry, Johanna.” Finnick says, you shake your head, eyes finding the ground. It’s hard losing a partner from the same district you came from. You might not have experienced it first hand, but Annie is a living example of that.

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much but he was from home,” she sighs, “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee with the tip of her shoe, “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

You all look over to Wiress, who’s beginning to sing a song to herself, “Tick tock. Tick tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock.” Johanna spits. At the mention of her nickname, Wiress heads for Johanna, stumbling into her. And just like before, Johanna shoves her to the sand, “Just stay down, will you?”

“Lay off her.” Katniss suddenly snaps.

Johanna’s eyes narrow at Katniss, “Lay off her?” She hisses, and in one fluid motion, steps forward and slaps Katniss across the face, “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—!”

Finnick swings her writhing body over his shoulder, limping into the water because of the extra weight on his ankle. She’s still screaming profanities at Katniss, despite Finnick repeatedly forcing her head under the water like a drowned cat. After making sure Katniss has put away her arrow, you go into the water to join them.

The water’s turning pink again from the blood that was dried on her skin. Finnick relents on dunking her, solely because she’s now gasping for air, water running down her face. She slaps away his hands when he reaches to help, giving you a proud smirk. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re inside of an arena now, you’d give Johanna a piece of your mind about slapping the ally that you’re supposed to be keeping alive.

“Let me help.” You sigh, Johanna jerks away from you.

“Don’t touch me, bitch.” She snuffs, trying to fix her hair.

“You’ve got blood covering every inch of your body, get over yourself for a second and let me fucking help.” You place your hands on your hips, watching as she flips her head back, hair unevenly settling.

She looks you up and down, like she’s deciding if she’d rather take you in a fight. She then waves her hand in the air, “Fine, whatever.”

You manage to get her out of the jumpsuit, which you hand over to Finnick to wash clean. Johanna sits in the water, rubbing her skin with saltwater while you massage the dried blood out of her hair the best you can. Despite her original protest, she doesn’t complain about you helping.

“So, what happened with Beetee?” You ask, “You said he went into the cornucopia?”

“Get this,” She starts, you can imagine her rolling her eyes. Finnick moves closer to hear the story, “After flailing in the water, he somehow manages to get onto one of the spokes, and runs directly for the cornucopia. I mean, headfirst into your career friends like they’re long lost buddies. Enobaria chases him into the fucking cornucopia because, hello.”

She waves her hand in the air, “And by the time I get Enobaria off of him, he’s got this nasty cut down his back, but he’s holding onto a fucking spool of wire.” She turns to look at you and Finnick, “I managed to get him out of there, only because there were axes nearby, but he should be dead. It’d probably be for the best, anyway.”

You make a face, nodding, “Blight got Wiress out?”

“Something like that.” Johanna mutters, “We met on the beach and went straight into the jungle. Have either of you gotten a sponsor yet?”

“A couple.” Finnick admits, “One of them was a loaf of bread from District Four.”

“Have any of it left?”

“No, but we’ve got a bunch of shellfish, if you want it.”

Johanna runs a hand through her hair, which is mostly clean, “I do.” She stands in the water, making a face at the color it’s turned. She pauses for a moment, “Thank you.”

The three of you walk back to the beach, seeing that Wiress and Beetee have been cleaned to the best of Katniss and Peeta’s ability. Beetee’s now lying on his stomach on Finnick’s mat, moss over where the gash on his back is, with vines wrapped around to secure it in place. Wiress is no longer covered in blood, looking more alive than before.

Johanna hangs up her jumpsuit on a nearby tree branch to allow it to dry, unbothered by the fact that she’s in her underwear. You can’t really say you’re surprised, she is the one that stripped before stepping into an elevator with Peeta and Katniss. If there’s anyone that’s going to care less, it’s going to be her.

Katniss is beginning to work the jumpsuit back onto Beetee’s body when Finnick brings over the food and water. Johanna doesn’t hesitate, digging into the shellfish meat and gulping down water. She listens as Finnick tells her the story about the fog, and the monkey encounter right after. Johanna’s unimpressed by the fact that the arena’s a giant wild card.

Since the sun isn’t all that high in the sky just yet, Finnick works quickly to weave a bigger mat to balance in the trees to create shade to rest in. Beetee is dragged beneath first, since he hasn’t moved a muscle after being brought here. Wiress sits next to him, and the rest of you follow suit.

The exhaustion has caught up with Finnick, you can tell. He offers to guard while everyone else sleeps, but Katniss insists that she takes first watch for once. He places an arm beneath his head, trident barely positioned under the shade nearby. You play with his hair, watching him relax until he’s finally fallen asleep.

The others don’t last very long. Wiress curls up nearby to Beetee, Peeta lays in the sand and rolls over so that he’s facing Katniss. She’s sitting right next to Johanna, who’s practically ignoring her enemy's presence.

You’re convinced that you’re not tired for a few minutes, wanting to stay up with them. You know that it’ll be hard to sleep with the sun up, then you yawn once, and it all goes downhill from there. You lay next to Finnick, scooting so that you’re right behind him, leaving a bit of space between the two of you.

The sound of the waves lapping on the beach lulls you to sleep, like the rain.

—

The thunder cracking against the tree yanks you out of sleep, heart pounding in your chest.

Katniss hardly glances at you, focused on watching the lightning storm on the other side of the arena. It’s taking place in the same area that it did last night, continuously striking the tallest tree, and the ones around it.

You let go of your sword, which is half-buried in the sand, relaxing. Once you’re sure that nothing’s going to happen, you get to your feet, stretching. Finnick’s got an arm thrown over his eyes to block away the sun. For the most part, you guys were inside of the shade, but not enough to shield you entirely.

You run a hand over your skin, finding it tender from the sun. It’s not too bad, so you find a nice spot in the shade, bordering between sand and grass, and take a seat. Neither of you speak, observing the lightning, the pattern it follows.

“Tick, tock,” Wiress sighs, barely conscious. She rolls over right after.

When you take a look at Katniss, you see that her face is screwed, gears turning in her head. And then her eyes widen, getting to her feet.

“What is it?” You ask.

Katniss watches the lightning for a moment, her eyes moving around the jungle one section at a time. She looks at the lightning storm, moves to where you are now. And suddenly turns to look at the other side, where the tidal wave had come from on the other side of the lightning.

“Tick, tock.” Wiress says again, this time asleep. The lightning storm stops, and the rain begins, pattering musically against the greenery of the jungle. Although, you now know that it’s not any rain, it has to be the same rain that caught Johanna’s group.

“Oh,” Katniss lets out, “Tick, tock.” She looks around the jungle one more time, eyes landing on you after she’s done the full sweep, “Tick, tock. This is a clock.”

You can physically feel yourself pale the moment the words leave her mouth. It makes sense now, why Haymitch couldn’t tell you all the details, because you’d figure out a good portion of it inside. And now the bread makes sense, too, how you’ll know where to go exactly.

Your eyes find the lightning section, and move over one wedge to where the blood is coming down at. The plan right now is that on the fourth day, you’ll be in the rain at one in the morning, because he said military time. This is the same rain that killed Blight, he couldn’t see where he was going. And he expects the rest of you to safely navigate through it enough to be rescued?

It’ll be possible, you’ll just lose a person or two on the way.

Like you said earlier, he’s going to have to confirm it, send another basket of bread to make sure that you’re interpreting it correctly. He also sent it before Johanna had reached you, so maybe that wasn’t necessarily a signal, just a test run to see if you’re paying attention.

Haymitch better not make this more difficult than it already is.

“Get up,” Katniss says, shaking Peeta and Johanna. You reach over, carefully moving Finnick’s shoulder to get him awake, “Get up—we have to move.”

She waits until everyone’s moving and able to register what she’s saying before she starts explaining why. The arena works like a clock, with the lightning last night signifying that it was midnight, the start. The blood rain started at one, and went until two, which is when the fog picked up. At three, the monkeys attacked, and at ten, the wave appeared.

Where you guys are sitting currently is between the fog and the monkeys, a chance that she’s not willing to take. She’s worried about the monkey’s coming onto the beach, or the fog coming farther than it had last time. And with how painful it was to experience, you’re not going to disagree with her.

While she’s talking, you, Johanna and Finnick are sharing looks. Now that the arena’s been figured out, Haymitch can really start with the signals. Finnick briefly leans over to tell you that the Four bread must not have meant anything, just a sponsor from your mentors. You’re glad that he’s thinking the same thing that you are.

Johanna knows that Katniss must be right, but she rolls her eyes and shrugs it off anyway, not too concerned about it. You suppose that since she survived the blood rain, she’s got other ideas. Still, she doesn’t put up a fight when Katniss insists on all of you moving away.

You pull down Beetee and Johanna’s jumpsuits from the tree, which were probably dry hours ago, considering the heat in the arena is baking you alive. You hand Beetee’s to Finnick so that he and Peeta can work together. Beetee’s still unresponsive to the movement around him, you’re really hoping you’re not going to be dragging a body around for the rest of the day.

Johanna comes over, letting you help her into her suit. She uses your shoulder as a crutch while she steps into the legs. She jumps into it, since it fits snugly against her body. You make sure that nothing’s sitting awkwardly on her body, gaining her trust. And then, as a little form of payback for the wedgie as the tribute parade, you yank her underwear so far up her ass that it disappears.

“You—!” She shouts, jerking away. She sends you a hostile glare, digging the wedgie out of her ass, “Fuck you.”

“Doesn’t feel very good, does it?” You tease, “Turn around so I can zip it up.”

“No, get the fuck away from me.” She swats your hand away, reaching behind herself to pull the zipper all the way up.

You snort, shrugging your shoulders. There was no way in hell you were going to let her get away with that, especially in front of other victor’s. Finnick hides a smile, shaking his head while he pulls one of Beetee’s leg through the hole.

Katniss crouches next to Wiress, “Hey, Wiress.” She places a hand on her shoulder.

Wiress snaps awake, “Tick, tock!”

“Yes, tick, tock, the arena’s a clock. It’s a lock, Wiress, you were right.” Katniss says.

She nods slightly, calmer now that Katniss understands, “Midnight.”

“It starts at midnight.”

She looks over at the section they’d all come from, the blood ran, “One-thirty.”

“Exactly. One-thirty. And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there,” Katniss points at the jungle, “So we have to move somewhere safe now.” Wiress smiles, standing up, “Are you thirsty?”

She’s given one of the bowls of water to rehydrate, and it’s clear by the amount that she drinks, that she’s been thirsty. She drinks an entire quart before deciding that she’s hungry, which is when Katniss offers the leftover shellfish to her. You wander away during this, taking your still-bloodied sword into the water to rinse off. It hadn’t bothered you earlier, but seeing everyone else’s weapons clean have made you reconsider.

“Wire.” A voice says.

You look over to see Peeta trying to pull the jumpsuit underneath Beetee to finish dressing him. All that’s left are the arms, and then zipping up the back.

“She’s right there.” Peeta nods up at Wiress, “Wiress is fine. She’s coming, too.”

Beetee doesn’t stop wriggling, “Wire.”

“Oh, I know what he wants,” Johanna flicks her hair over her shoulder, crossing the beach and picking up the cylinder of wire. You remember her talking about it earlier, but you never actually saw it. Katniss and Peeta tossed it aside so that they could wash Beetee thoroughly. It’s completely coated in dried blood. “This worthless thing. It’s some kind of wire or something. That’s how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don’t know what kind of weapon it’s supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?”

“He won his games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap,” Peeta says, “It’s the best weapon he could have.”

You don’t miss the look that Katniss gives Johanna, the head tilt before she straightens out again. You’re sure she’s going to keep her thoughts to herself, until she doesn’t, “Seems like you’d have that figured out. Since you nicknamed him Volts and all.”

Everyone—with the exception of Katniss and Peeta—is aware of what the wire is for. Johanna knows that Beetee’s not going to cut his precious wire in little bits to kill people. He doesn’t have the strength for that. Her trying to steer Katniss into thinking that was a mistake. Katniss is a thinker, she plans ahead of her actions.

It doesn’t surprise you that they did their research, watching old games. It follows what you were thinking yesterday. Katniss knows better than to enter a situation completely blind. Haymitch might’ve even been the one that suggested her to watch the old victor games in the first place.

Johanna turns her body to Katniss, narrowing her eyes, “Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She’s measured, calm but annoyed, “I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what, again? Almost getting Finnick killed off?”

Your head snaps in Katniss’ direction, ignoring what Johanna’s said. Finnick falling in that jungle wasn’t her fault, it was a steep path that you’d chosen. Katniss’ hand tightens around the knife on her belt. You step forward, prepared to intervene.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.” Johanna smiles.

Katniss doesn’t move, despite the fact that she’s obviously done with Johanna. You can’t blame her, Johanna knows exactly how to fuck with someone at the right time. To be fair, though, this was territory that Katniss shouldn’t have stepped in the first place. Regardless of the fact that she was right. This could’ve been kept to herself.

“Maybe we should be careful where we step from now on,” You warn Katniss. You don’t want to end up breaking up a fight between them, because that won’t end up how either of them would like it to.

Finnick’s got the spool of wire, bringing it to Beetee, “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.”

Now that he’s got what he was asking for, he doesn’t put up a fight against Peeta anymore. They get him into the jumpsuit, zip up the back, and help him to his feet. Peeta looks up between you guys, “Where to?”

“I’d like to go to the cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.” Finnick smooths his hair back, tilting the trident forward in the direction.

You shrug, “I’m game.”

There’s no disagreement, so Katniss takes the lead toward the nearest spoke, bow loaded in her hand in case the careers are inside of the cornucopia. You ease her thoughts somewhat, telling her that they would’ve attacked by now, snuck out the other side if it were possible. They’re not the type to be sitting ducks, you never were.

You take up the very back, watching the trees in case your friends decide to run up and take you like this. They’ve got to be watching, waiting for their perfect moment. A group of six allies isn’t anything to pass on, it’s too many people, especially with the few people that’re left. Your group, the four careers. Besides that, there’s three other random tributes spread out in the arena.

To them, this group is the threat.

The cornucopia is empty, as expected. You push past the others, heading inside of the cornucopia to get a good look at it, making sure that it’s completely vacant. In past games, tributes have hid inside and gotten the jump on the careers. When you’re done, you move back to the mouth, tilting over a box to sit on.

Peeta sets Beetee down in the shade, backing off. Beetee motions Wiress over, and she crouches next to him, taking the wire when he hands it over, “Clean it, will you?”

She nods, heading over to the edge of the black rock, sitting down. She dunks the wire, singing the same song she was when you first ran into them today. She’s quiet when saying the lyrics, but Johanna hears her anyway.

“Oh, not that song again,” Johanna rolls her eyes, “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

Wiress suddenly gets to her feet, pointing her finger to the jungle, “Two.”

You follow, watching as the fog seeps out of the trees and onto the beach. You can’t imagine the residue that’ll be leftover from it, if it’ll have the same power as touching the fog itself. It won’t matter after ten, because the wave will sweep the poison away, offering the sand another chance. Until then, you’ll have to avoid the area.

“Yes, look. Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.” Katniss says.

“Like clockwork.” Peeta agrees, “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

She beams, and then sits back down to continue to clean the wire. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says, “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

Beetee’s looking better, not as pale. He needed rest, after what happened last night, that’s pretty clear. It was the same way for Wiress, who was saying two single words, but once she was cleaned, fed and watered, she’s been saying more. Obviously not in full sentences, just enough to understand what she means.

“What’s that?” Finnick asks, turning his attention to Katniss.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” She shrugs.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks.

“It stops singing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.” Katniss’ eyes drift to the ground, staring absently. She then shakes her head, “I’m going to restock.”

Johanna goes inside the cornucopia too, poking around in what’s left of the weapons. A lot of swords and knives, and some specialty items like sicles and spears are scattered around. Anyone who was at the cornucopia yesterday already got what they wanted. You can imagine that your career friends are covered in different blades, deadly from head to toe.

As for the tributes that made it here and died, their weapons are at the bottom of the water, fallen off when the hovercrafts came for their bodies. Or if their bodies are particularly stiff, especially in winter-type arena’s, their hands will manage to hang on the entire time. That’s if their fingers don’t snap mid-air and send the weapon back down to earth.

And you can’t forget the tidal wave, there’s a good chance that it took out a portion of the weapons.

Still, Johanna manages to pull out a pair of axes from the pile, turning them over in her hand. She gives you a funny eyebrow raise, as if telling you to watch, and then throws it at the cornucopia’s golden walls from the other side. It sticks, blade halfway into the wall. She lets out a laugh, and yanks it out without breaking the handle.

Peeta’s drawing on a large leaf that he brought from the jungle, starting with a circle. He draws the cornucopia first, the waterline, and then the treeline. He’s careful when he draws the twelve dividing spokes, being specific about the placement, “Look at how the cornucopia’s positioned.”

Katniss is leaning over his shoulder, looking over the map, “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, and then begins to write the numbers in to fill the space in each pie wedge, “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He writes ‘lightning’ underneath the number the best he can, and does the same for two, three and four.

“And ten to eleven is the wave.” Katniss says.

Finnick and Johanna come to join you now, more knives prepped in their belt in the case of danger. You tilt your head back to look at Finnick, he gives you a white smile before leaning down to kiss you.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks Beetee and Johanna. Both of them shake their heads, “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m gonna mark the ones where we know the Gamemaker’s weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta says, drawing a line through the fog and wave. He then sits back, “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

There’s a moment of silence, where you all nod.

Silence!

You find him first, glistening in the hot sun, water running down his body. Gloss’ blonde hair is stuck to his forehead, recently coming out of the water. If he weren’t holding a dead Wiress, who’s slowly sliding to the ground, throat slit wide, blood gushing down her skin—you’d smile and hug him. Invite him to the alliance, convince him to turn his back to the Capitol.

You jump to your feet, one knife in each hand for less than a second before they’re leaving in two different directions. One knife slams into Gloss’ forehead, dead center, head whipping back, eyes rolling. He crumples to the black rock in an awkward position, Wiress still halfway in his arms.

The other knife is for his other half, the girl that you used to call your best friend. Her blonde hair is thrown over her shoulder at the moment, a single strand hangs in front of her ear. Johanna’s raising her ax to swing at her, but the knife punctures her heart first. Cashmere’s mouth opens, eyes locking with yours, one hand reaching up to make sure that it’s there.

She moves so slowly, head turning to her brother, and then she too falls over. Her hand is still loosely holding onto a glittery knife that was meant for one of you. Her eyes are still open, staring up at the sun.

They’re dead. Cashmere and Gloss are dead. Your best friends are fucking dead.

And you killed them.

There’s only two people that could’ve convinced them to go through with this.

You grit your teeth, taking deep breaths as you glare at Enobaria and Brutus.

You yank one knife into each hand, watching Brutus throw a spear aimed for Peeta. Finnick swings the trident, knocking it from his path, and twists his body so that he takes Enobaria’s knife in his thigh. It sticks, and it’s the opposite leg of the twisted ankle. He’s grabbing the handle, beginning to yank it out when you start after the District Two tributes.

You throw both knives, one aimed for each head, at the same time an arrow lodges into the cornucopia’s wall. That’s what saves them, the golden walls. If it weren’t for that, the knives would be buried in their skulls. The blades have disappeared completely in the wall, but they’re at the perfect height.

You’re the first to run after them, pulling the last knife out of your belt, watching as your former friend and her tribute partner hightail it around the cornucopia and down the nearest spoke. Three cannons blast, each of them overlapping before the last one can finish. They echo over the water, in your mind. Wiress, Gloss, Cashmere.

You killed your best friends.

You spin the knife to grab the blade, swinging your arm back and launching it forward. You’re about to reach the first inch of the spoke, finally gaining the right footing, when the ground suddenly jerks to the left, throwing you off-balance to the right. You hit the rock, hard, but watch as the knife slams into the back of Brutus’ shoulder. One more inch to the left and he’d be dead.

The ground doesn’t stop moving, it’s only the round part that holds the cornucopia that spins, picking up speed with every second. The jungle’s a big blur of green and brown, the blue sky hardly blending in. There’s a moment where everything is still on the island, before the sand begins to fly, and the slope sucks you down toward the water, which is kicking up violent waves.

You slap your hands into the curves of the rocks, digging your fingers into the holes to try and gain a good footing.

The rock breaks off in one big chunk.

And then you’re sent flying backward.

The small breath of air is useless, because it’s all gone the second you slam into the black rock, and again into the concrete water, both stealing the breath from your lungs. You sink into the water, bubbles and waves consuming you. You try to swim to the surface, and find your body thrown in deeper, underneath the cornucopia.

The water’s colder down here, pressure tight on your skull. You manage to get up a reasonable distance before you’re being thrashed around. The burning in your chest is strong, and for a second—only one—you forget you’re underwater.

The water invades your mouth and nose. The burning’s different, worse, slamming your sinus’ with a sledgehammer. It’s saltwater, you forgot that it’s saltwater. The cornucopia’s still spinning above you, you’re still hopelessly stirring in the water.

You’re going to die.

You’re going to join your best friends, the two you just killed. They’re probably in the water right now, too. They couldn’t hold onto the rock, how could they? They’re dead. You killed them. It was Enobaria and Brutus’ idea but your knives. Their blood is on your hands. You deserve this. Your friends, how could you do this?

The cornucopia stops without slowing down. You struggle to get through the waves, not that it matters. The surface is too far, now. You won’t make it.

You grab your throat, black and white static crossing your eyes, spots eating away at the corners.

This is it.

What’re the chances of a Four tribute drowning?

AUBADE IS PART 3 OF A TRIOLOGY //MASTERLIST//

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair aubade #aubade #aubade chapter four #thg

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capitolhost · 1 year

Text

a heart poured out until there was nothing left but gray despair. forgotten was the flow of time, the purpose of an interview being questions & answers. it had grown into a conversation, and yet was the best, most honest interview he had ever had. funny thing : hadn’t caesar been certain the seventy fifth would have been their last.

enough material produced to fill weeks of airtime for a rebellion. an hour of content cut into little pieces ( or more than an hour ? ) . whatever they needed at a given moment : the pain of killing. the fear within an arena. the nightmares that followed — this is where things had gotten too personal, a weak sob from his chest, a confession spoken out loud for the first time. the painful nights and the guilt and the faces that never left. it was easier to talk about love. katniss’ love for peeta. caesar’s decidedly lack of love and attachment. love that meant pain, that meant snow’s exploitation of weakness. they had spoken about the boy in the hospital room down some floors in district thirteen. the cruelty of a mad king who did not shy away from hurting anyone as long as it meant a gathering of control — succumbing to power. it was the reason for their rebellion.

caesar knew his purpose in front of the cameras. years upon years, a spokesperson for the regime itself. not much had changed that interview — just a different regime, a different kind of control sought ( none of those things said out loud — he was many things, but certainly no fool ). but he had known what was expected. not only the showcasing of the capitol’s prized possession called caesar flickerman on the side of the rebellion ( a shocker to many loyalists, surely ! ) but he had been an example. important for everyone to see how no one was safe. it had been a topic to divulge into during their interview-turned-conversation. recent memories flashing back, a retelling of what had happened.

it was a relief when the conversation thinned out. when his best friend’s rumbling voice called for a " cut " . the mockingjay left, but caesar stayed behind.

the stage empty ( as tiny and rudimentary a stage it was ) . the applause that had died down. it were only a few steps to the crutches, but he imagined every movement to be a tiresome one.

drained. nothing but drained. caesar hadn’t noticed the gray shadow, the pale woman and her pale eyes. the back of his hands wiped away at tears, blemished cheeks still hurting. it had been vital for their efforts to let panem see him like that, but he felt naked in front of her. how exposing, terrible, truly.

>> @alyafae

#* iv : « arc. three » // one man in his time plays many parts #alyafae #lol this got a little long my bad #no need to match that length !#i just figured to give some kind of breakdown on the propo :)

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jlalafics · 2 years

Note

For the ultimate ship meme pairing: Katniss and Peeta

Ohh this is going to be fun. I'm not sure if I should do this as canon or my version of Everlark. Let's see how it goes.

General:

How long will they last? 4EVA

How quickly did/will they fall in love? It wasn't right away for Katniss. For Peeta, it was definitely infatuation at first, but I think the more he got to know her, the harder he started to fall. For Katniss, it was Peeta's constant shows of affection and his gaining her trust that caused her to slowly fall for him. Then one day, it just clicked.

How was their first kiss? Very public. To them, however, their first kiss in their home in Victors' Village was the one that counted.

Wedding:

Who proposed? Him...then her...they kept proposing to each other until one day they decided to go to the Justice Building and just do it. Effie was pissed and insisted on throwing them a real frou-frou wedding in District 12. For sanity's sake, they both agreed...until Katniss saw the diamond-encrusted wedding train.

Who is the best man/men? Haymitch, but he wears a poppy in his lapel for the men who should've been there.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? Annie. She insisted since Katniss helped her during her wedding. Also, she gives Katniss the veil she wore during her own wedding.

Who did the most planning? Effie

Who stressed the most? Haymitch, because of Effie's nagging. Also, Katniss because the thought of being looked at freaked her out.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? Everyone was invited. Including certain individuals in District 2. Unfortunately, said person was unable to attend due to work obligations. He sent a bouquet of primroses to the bride and jade cufflinks for the groom to wear.

Sex:

Who is on top? Katniss first, but once things get really heated, Peeta fully takes control. Katniss never realized how much she enjoyed being dominated until that one time...

Who is the one to instigate things? There are little signals that each of them gives when they're in the mood. Katniss will wear his pajama tops and nothing else when they go to bed. Peeta will tease throughout the day, a kiss on the neck or a slight brush on the bare skin at her waist.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? When it was just them, they could be in bed for hours. When the kids are born, as quickly as they can come before one of the kids wakes up and runs into their room.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? Yes. Their motto is You Come, I Come.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? 2, but they're trying for another.

How many children will they adopt? If the opportunity arose, they would gladly do it.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? Peeta, because Katniss had to carry them. It's only fair.

Who is the stricter parent? Katniss, but she caves once they crawl on her lap and kiss her.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? Both, especially because their girl is a real rebel--wonder where she got that from...

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? They pack them together.

Who is the more loved parent? Both

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? They would both go.

Who cried the most at graduation? Peeta, but Katniss did right before while she was helping the graduate get ready.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? Katniss--don't f**k with her kids.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? Peeta. Katniss tries but it always ends up being a mess.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? Neither, because they know how it feels to be hungry.

Who does the grocery shopping? They do Costco runs together.

How often do they bake desserts? Daily for Peeta.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? Both.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? Peeta, but Katniss will surprise Peeta with dinner reservations.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? Katniss, especially after the roasted chicken incident. She never figured out why the bird exploded.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? Katniss.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? Katniss

Who is really against chores? Neither.

Who cleans up after the pets? Both, but Buttercup always leaves little surprises around Katniss' things.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? Both

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? Neither.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? Peeta

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? Katniss. On bad days, Peeta will draw her a bubble bath.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? Both, it's when they have the best talks.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? Christmas is a definite. However, Peeta is known to go all out for Valentine's. Katniss is definitely trying to go for the scariest house on the block during Halloween.

What are their goals for the relationship? To support and make one another a better person and parent.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? Peeta, especially after a busy day at the bakery.

Who plays the most pranks? Both, on Haymitch

#Ultimate ship meme #Everlark

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twobraincellkentwell · 5 months

Text

My Apologies

[A Game Called Revenge]

Part Seventeen

Series Masterlist Part One.

Summary: "ɪ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɴᴏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ." The first night of the seventy-fifth Hunger Games isn't as boring as it seems, even if it involves pointless, unnecessary apologies.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the nature of content in some of the chapters. Murder and death. Mentions of sex probably.

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: Firstly I want to just say my usuals, I have a favourite line so if you can find it then let me know :) reblogs, shares and comments always appreciate.

The anthem of Panem sounding over the arena startles Clio awake. She rolls over onto her back and shakes a still dozing Cashmere before shuffling slightly out of the cover and squinting at the sky where the bright white light of the Capitol seal appears in the sky above them. The first face that appears is the man from District Five. Mags actually made it through the night. So did Wiress and Beetee. She recognises his face as the man who lunged at her with the boning knife. The one who’s intestines left his body attached to Cashmere’s knife. Then the male morphling from Six whose corpse became their training dummy, the outlet for their anger. The faces jump to both of the tributes from Eight - the woman had been taken out by Gloss, whilst the man wasn’t killed at any of their hands. The woman from Nine is next, followed by the man who died at Finnick’s hand if the three holes in his chest were any indication. Clio badly stifles a laugh as the face of the woman from Ten flicks onto the sky, but her romeo’s face doesn’t appear. Damn, he’s still out there, she thinks, we’ll get him in the morning. The last face to show in the sky is the woman from Eleven, leaving sixteen tributes alive. Four career tributes, five if they are including Finnick. The other alliance, which also includes Finnick, and some other random tributes scattered about. They doze for probably another hour or two before pushing themselves to their feet, and walking slowly to the edge of the rocky island, Cashmere following close behind Clio as they go to switch places with Cato and Gloss, letting them get some sleep. Their heads snap round as they hear footsteps, removing their hands from their weapons when they see the faces of the two women in the dim light of the full moon. The crack of lightning together with the rumble of thunder makes the four of them jump slightly, their heads drawn to the sound, in time to watch a thick bolt strike a large tree deep in the jungle. The tree lights up in a flash of bright white when the lightning hits the branches, briefly illuminating the canopy layer before it falls pitch black once more and twelve booms ring out across the arena.

As the two guys shrug dismissively and go further inside the cornucopia, Clio and Cashmere lean their backs against the cold, metal wall and slide to a seat.

“Do you think that lightning was supposed to signal something?” Cashmere asks her carefully.

“It’s probably just something to do with the number of Districts. They’re obsessed with it, and there’s no other reason it would ring out twelve times.” Clio laughs quietly. “It can’t be the number of Districts still involved because both from Eight and Nine are dead.”

“Maybe it’s telling us who has the best odds?”

“Then it would’ve rang out twice. My odds were three to one after the interviews, I checked.” Clio shuts down any semblance of praise directed at Katniss - because it’s obviously not going to be talking about Peeta .

“You checked?” Cashmere asks, “What were mine?”

“Seven to one.”

“And Gloss?”

“Five to one.”

“What about Cato’s?”

“Bloody hell Cash, if you wanted to know everyone’s odds you could’ve just said that.” Clio jokes, “Cato’s were four to one. So were Finnick’s, Johanna’s and Katniss’. The others were all too low to even worry about.”

“Why the hell were mine so low?” Cashmere whines, obviously upset at having lower odds than she did in her first games.

“Maybe because District One hasn't had a victor in the past five years, you know as well as I do how that drops your odds but hey, it could be worse, you could be from District Ten.”

“I suppose,” Cashmere agrees, “What were hers?”

“Forty-eight to one.” Clio lets out a giggle and Cashmere joins in after a moment, the two girls sitting laughing together as if they were old friends. As if they weren’t laughing about a dead woman’s odds of survival.

“We’re very similar, me and you. I think in some other universe, we’re probably friends.” Cashmere says, head hanging low as she tries to will her voice not to break. “I never really had any in the Academy, we weren’t really allowed friends. I mean what’s the point in-”

“Getting attached to someone who could die.’ Clio finishes her sentence for her.

“Exactly.” Cashmere accepts sadly, “I meant what I said in my interview. I know I’m in here with my brother, but I really do view you as a little sister and with everything that happened to us, if things were different we’d be friends. I’m not looking forward to having to kill you.”

Clio holds back a scoff. Not looking forward to having to kill me? She thinks, wanting so desperately to fire back a sarcastic remark about how she’ll be lucky if she even gets the chance, but she knows she has to maintain the alliance for at least another couple of days, until the main threats have been eliminated. “We are friends. In some other universe you’re probably helping kids out and I’ll get to have my kids, but hey, maybe try not to think about killing me until we’ve at least whittled down some of the others.”

“Deal.” The smile returns to Cashmere’s face as she stares into the distance at the forest. “I guess it depends on if you kill me first.”

“True,” She agrees, “I’m tempted.”

“Gee, Clio, you’re not doing a very good job at hiding it.” Cashmere laughs.

“I don’t know how to hide things. I have a very expressive face.”

“You have a chronic resting bitchface,’ the blonde woman snorts. “You think they’ll execute us for betting on each other?”

“What are they going to do?” Clio replies, before adding, “Throw us into the arena again? Oh wait…”

“Still, it feels redundant to place a bet with you on which one of us will die first.”

“If you die first, you owe me a hundred.”

“Deal.” Cashmere repeats, “and if you die first then you owe me two hundred, considering you have better odds and all.”

“Sure, Cash, whatever you want.” Clio rolls her eyes playfully. “Do you think I’ll get two cannons when I-”

Clio’s sentence is interrupted by a shrill chiming noise. A silver parachute glides down, the tinkling coming to a halt when the large container hits the rocky ground with a small clang.

“Whose is it?” Clio asks as Cashmere leans over to grab the sponsor gift.

“It’s for you.” She shrugs, handing her the parcel labelled ‘Two.’

Clio’s face contorts in confusion as she strains to read the note attached to the large cylindrical tube.

‘Find pretty boy. He’s stuck with Twelve. Don’t be a chicken.

- L.C ’

She rips the note from the thin strands of string which attach it to the top of the container and chucks it aside, eager to open the gift. She twists the top of the cylinder to the left and gently lifts it from the large tube at the bottom. With the darkness in the arena now that it must be at least midnight, or so they think, she can only make out some small black objects that are seemingly embedded into some kind of thick foam inside. Fingers finding a small notch on the side of the cylinder, she flicks it and the barrel uncoils, opening in front of her.

“No fucking way.” She whispers excitedly, cautious not to wake Cato and Gloss who are now snoring lightly inside the cornucopia. Her sponsor has gifted her a set of knives. Ten shiny, new, silver throwing knives, all of different lengths. Each with black handles of various thickness. Some are serrated whilst others are plain-edged but they are all perfectly sharpened as she picks each knife up one by one and examines them, running her fingers lightly over the spines of the blades as they glint with a mirrored finish. Holding one knife out in front of her, she watches as it glints in the moonlight and weighs it in her hand before turning to Cashmere who holds a shocked expression.

“How did Enobaria manage to get you new knives when there's heaps of weapons you’re more than capable of using?”

“It’s not from Enobaria.” Clio chuckles, quickly pushing herself to a stand and rushing to the piles they organised earlier. She grabs a knife vest from the top of one of the stacks and slots each of her new knives into the sheaths before placing it beside her thigh harness and boots that lie beside the metal wall and returning to her space next to her blonde ally.

“Oh?” Cashmere questions with a wiggle of her brows. “Then who is your mysterious sponsor?”

“Loopy Crawford.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Cashmere laughs sarcastically. “Who actually sent them?”

“I’m serious. Luna did.”

“You weren’t joking? Why?”

Clio slides the note across the rocky floor in Cashmere’s direction, and gestures for her to read it. “I think we underestimated her, she’s clearly got more faith in us than she does the others.”

“Sorry, I’m just still confused as to why she’d send these to you?” Cashmere says, “Everyone knows you don’t get along.”

“I’m just as confused as you are.” Clio’s shoulders shake as she laughs, leaning forward to hide her face in her hands. “I would’ve thought she’d be focused on getting her own tributes some help but I’m not going to decline more knives.”

Leaning her head back against the cool metal of the cornucopia, Clio looks up at the sparkling diamond stars that are scattered across the dark velvet canvas of the sky in a tapestry of constellations. Although the sky above them wasn’t real - they were in a manufactured death dome after all - the stars felt authentic. Maybe they are real , she thinks as the clear night seems to stretch on forever, past the treeline. She traces the patterns in the sky with her fingers, pointing out familiar constellations to herself as she desperately tries to remember the ones her sister had taught her the year prior. There’s no shooting star to wish on as her eyes flit between the distant sparkles to try and keep herself occupied on her watch to pass some time.

“It’s funny isn’t it?” Cashmere’s voice carries from beside her.

“What?”

“How harmless they both look when they’re asleep.” She replies, craning her neck to look over at Cato and Gloss who are both spread out on their front, arms underneath their heads as a makeshift pillow. Clio shuffles closer to take a look and laughs under her breath when she notices how relaxed the two of them seemed and the snores that leave their mouths.

“It’s a good job we aren’t hiding because I bet you can hear them from the edge of the jungle.” She laughs.

Their momentary silence is broken by the sudden sound of heavy rain descending on part of the jungle, almost as if the heavens themselves have opened their floodgates. The rain pours with unyielding intensity, forcefully blurring the boundary between the night sky and the ground. As the raindrops plummet through the thick canopy, the verdant foliage trembles under its weight, releasing a chorus of susurration of leaves and the thud of pools of water hitting the forest floor. The two girls share a look, and rush inside the cornucopia, expecting to hear the sound of the rain crashing into their metal shelter as the rain covers the arena, only to watch the downpour stay in the same place, and find that no clouds have moved from that part of the arena. “Is that localised over there?” Clio questions in a low whisper.

She doesn’t hear Cashmere’s quiet response as the thick vegetation acts as a natural amplifier, making the sound of the rain even more immersive, submerging the entire arena in the noises of the storm. The calls of the tropical birds are hushed as the rain intensifies and Clio can smell rusted iron in the humid air as it carries the scent of the rain. “Is that blood?” She asks.

“Hmm?” Cashmere hums.

Clio looks over at the blonde woman who is slumped against the inside wall, desperately fighting to keep her eyes open as she mumbles something about the sound of rain making her sleepy. Clio rolls her eyes, “You can go to sleep if you want. I won’t tell.”

“I’m fine,” She mumbles tiredly as her back slides further down the wall before she rolls onto her front and Clio watches her eyes shut and her face relax with sleep.

“Great.” Clio huffs, moving back outside to lean against the wall of the cornucopia again, content on watching the stars as she listens out for any immediate threats. The rain is still pelting against the forest floor, creating a harsh, rhythmic patter as her eyes flit between her knives and her allies. What if I just killed them both now? She says to herself, It would save a lot of drama and I could just get it out of the way while they sleep. She debates it for a little while, looking over her knives, going as far as figuring out which ones she’d use before deciding against it, knowing that she’ll likely need their help in taking out some of the others and like her mentors had mentioned after their first alliance meeting, an unstable team of four increases their chances if they run into a group of the others. Another loud spark of electricity comes from deep inside the jungle, startling her from her thoughts. A shout follows the zap and then a cannon sounds. Another one down and out , she thinks as she looks over to find that none of her allies have even stirred at the noise.

With the rain still lashing against the jungle floor and all her friends still sleeping deeply inside the cornucopia, Clio decides she needs to make her own fun to keep herself awake and safe . Rising to her feet, she grabs one of the spears from the middle of one of the stacks of weapons and walks halfway down one of the spokes and perches herself down to try and look into the deep blues of the water. The sea surrounding the central island is surprisingly calm but in the low moonlight she can’t see any aquatic life moving underneath. Never having attempted anything like this before, she lunges with the spear. In the split-second decision, the spear pierces the surface with a satisfying splash as she tenses her muscles to stop herself from falling head first into the water. Recalling the spear from the water, she tries again. Nothing. Trying again and again until finally she feels some kind of resistance at the point. With a small fish securely impaled on the spear, she returns to the centre of the cornucopia and props the weapon up against the stack; the fish flopping limp as it slides down the point slowly. As she takes a step backwards, she eyes Cato’s sword lying beside him, the silver glinting as it reflects the metal of their shelter. Treading quietly to avoid waking him, she leans over and lifts the sword from the floor. Holding it tightly she moves to the edge of the island and swings it back and forth. She spends a while just flicking the weapon back and forth, trying to match the rhythmic beats of the rain in the jungle. Clio traces arcs of light as the sword reflects the moonlight, as She swings it diagonally a few times, before spinning in a circle with it extended in front of her. The world begins to blur around her, the swishing of the sword coupling with her gentle laughs as the weapon weaves through the air in a fluid motion until she gets dizzy and has to stop her movements so as to not impale herself with it.

Having had enough fun with the sword, she places it on the floor at Cato’s side once more and picks up the flail. Picking the remaining chunks of flesh from the spikes from when she killed the woman from Ten, she flicks them aside before dunking the ball in the water. Pulling at the chain, she tests the strength of the link again before firmly gripping the bottom of the baton in her left hand and circling the weapon above her head, keeping it moving quickly. She paces back and forth as she swings the metal ball wildly, humming to herself as she does so. Making a circle of the cornucopia, she watches the treeline for any other tributes who may have dared to come closer to their hide-out. Her pace switches from a walk to a jog as she keeps the weapon swinging above her head and does three full laps of the island before slowing back down to a walk. During the run she hasn’t noticed how close she is now standing to the giant metal horn, only realising when a loud clang rings out after the metal spikes of her flail embed themselves into the metal wall.

“Shit,” she mutters, turning to face the structure and pulling her weapon from its side, “Sorry.”

Quickly darting around to the front of the structure, Clio drops the flail to the ground, wincing at the noise it makes as it crashes into the rocks before flitting her eyes over the sleeping forms of her friends. None of them appear even the slightest bit disturbed from their sleep as she quietly apologises to them under her breath before her face twists up in bewilderment. Did I just apologise to the cornucopia? She questions herself. I did. I apologised to fucking metal. I’m going insane.

Clio debates sitting back down and waiting for herself to get a little more tired so she can wake the others up but quickly decides against it when the heavy rain stops and the arena falls quiet again. With the ambient sound of the jungle fading out, she knows that she can likely stay awake for a while longer now and so she grabs a pair of nunchucks from their supply and begins circling the cornucopia again. The nunchucks swing playfully from her hands, held together by a short chain as she twirls them effortlessly with a childlike enthusiasm. The chain produces a soft whirring sound as it cuts through the air rhythmically, while her gaze flicks between her hands and the treeline as she, again, looks out for lone tributes. Weaving figure-eights, circles and crisscross patterns, the nunchucks move with precision as she accompanies each swing with her own whooshing noises. She comes to a standstill momentarily when she hears some kind of hissing noise coming from another part of the jungle, making another half circle before stopping and looking into the jungle at the sound of voices. Continuing her trip around the island, she swings the weapons harder and faster, this time making sure to stay a few paces from the cornucopia. The low hum of voices disappears as the hissing sound grows louder, leading her to believe that she imagined the sounds, returning her focus to the nunchucks as she spins them around her body, like some form of invisible shield. Muttering a noise of exhilaration she swirls herself around, allowing herself to become entranced by the hypnotic motion before gently lowering the whirring chains when she reaches the front of the cornucopia. Placing them on the floor beside her, she leans her back against the wall and looks up at the sky once again, trying to see if there was any way she could tell the time by the stars.

Tired, and with no way of working out the time, she feels her eyes drop shut for a few seconds before she forces them open. I have to stay awake , she thinks. Cannot fall asleep. Nope. No. No sleeping . Bringing her hand up to her face, she slaps her cheek hard enough to sting slightly and then props herself to her hands and knees, crawling over to lay on her front on one of the spokes. Shuffling sideways, she leans over the spoke, hands gripping the rocks as she dunks her head underwater. The water has barely cooled in the early morning hours, only dropping a few degrees if at all, something which she recognises the moment her face hits the still face warm liquid. Splashing the water into her face to wake herself up, her head snaps towards the sound of a scream from behind her. A distressed scream. Coming from inside the slice of the jungle with the loud hissing sound. Pulling herself to stand, she begins to return to the cornucopia when another ear-splitting screech travels through the arena, followed by the boom of a cannon.

“Finnick.” Clio mutters under her breath, a smile spreading across her face as she dashes into the cornucopia to wake up her friends.

When she reaches their sleeping forms, she nudges each of them in turn with her foot but to no avail. Her eyes find the empty cylindrical container that she discarded earlier once she opened the new roll of knives, leaning over and plucking it from the ground. Suppressing a laugh, she aims the barrel at Cato who has turned over in his sleep. With a soft thud, the container lands squarely on his chest. A startled murmur escapes his lips, a mixture of surprise and confusion, followed by a groggy shuffle and a half-conscious laugh. A pair of bleary eyes meet Clio’s as he pushes himself up onto his elbows and blinks in amusement to shake off his sleep.

“What? Clio.” Cato brushes the container onto the ground, squinting to try and see through the darkness to see her. “What was that for? What is it?”

“Good, you're finally awake.”

“No, you woke me up. There’s a difference.” He grumbles, sliding from his elbow back onto the floor.

“Whatever. But now that you’re awake.”

“Clio-”

“Don’t Clio me! I could be dying!” She huffs, sitting beside him and pushing at his shoulder to stop him falling back asleep.

Irritation starts to creep into Cato’s voice. “You’re quite clearly not dying, Clio.”

Before he can get even more pissed off at the fact that she ignored the plan of letting the men sleep until the sun started to rise, and chose to wake him up in the ungodly hours of the morning, she crawls on top of him.

“I love you!” She whispers, moving up to kiss his cheek, then his forehead and then his nose. He lays underneath her, complacent and quiet, simply letting her smother him with this strange display of affection - that is technically public given that the games are televised.

“Please tell me you didn’t wake me up just to do that?” He asks.

“No. I have a reason.” She dismisses, moving now to push kisses to the corner of his lips, not caring that they’re moving as he tries to speak. Or that they’re a little chapped from the humid air ( and the lack of chapstick) . She presses a slow, soft kiss to his lips, hand resting against his cheek to keep him still. “I missed you,” she mumbles into the next kiss.

“You missed me?” Cato laughs. “I’m right here.”

“Okay and?” Clio sits up. “I’m not allowed to sleep because Cashmere fell asleep hours ago and all I want is for my boyfriend to give me some warmth and love and attention, is that alright with you?”

“Warmth?” Cato laughs again. “Angel, it’s a hundred degrees in here.”

“Shut up. Don’t be a dick about this.” Clio whines, moving to crawl from his lap before he raises to a seat and wraps his arms around her waist, keeping her in place.

“If anyone’s being a dick, it’s the person who woke their boyfriend up at stupid o’clock for a kiss. But I love you too or whatever.” He pushes his face into the crook of her neck and she can feel the shape of his smile as he kisses her pulse lightly. “Can I go back to sleep? You know I hate mornings.”

“No. I told you, I actually woke you up for a reason.”

“Kissing me is not a reason-”

“Not that reason!” She mutters. “I heard a distressed scream and it was definitely Finnick.”

“You could’ve started with that!” Cato says as he reaches for the sword beside him and raises an eyebrow. “Did you move it?”

“Nearly stabbed myself with it,” Clio shrugs nonchalantly as she climbs off his lap and pushes herself to her feet before pulling him up from the floor. “Help me wake the wonder siblings up.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill them the second Cashmere fell asleep.” Cato laughs.

“I thought about it.” Clio replies. “I seriously considered it, but decided we may as well keep them until we’ve got rid of Finnick and Johanna.”

Bending down, Clio extends her arm, fingers hovering just above Cashmere’s shoulder. She shifts subtly in her sleep as Clio’s fingers increase the pressure and shake her upper body. With each nudge, her eyelids flutter as she begins to rouse from her sleep, rolling away from the younger woman’s touch. Bored with trying to wake her gently, Clio shoves her harshly, eyes widening at the sound of the top of her head hitting the rocky surface.

“Wake up.” She hears Cato say, looking over her shoulder to find him kicking gingerly at Gloss’ side.

The siblings shake off their sleep, Gloss rubbing his eyes while Cashmere lies on her back and rests her forearms over her face to block out any potential reflections in the moonlight. “Why?” They both whine. “It’s still dark.”

“Clio found Finnick.” Cato proudly tells them, pulling her into his side.

“Can’t it wait until the morning?” Cashmere asks, visibly tired.

“He was practically screaming for our help.” Clio laughs.

“You want to go and help him?” Gloss raises a questioning eyebrow. “He’ll kill us.”

“He can’t get all four of us at once. He might be confident but he’s not stupid-”

“Besides, if we go help him then maybe he’ll join us and lead us straight to the bitch on fire.” Clio cuts her boyfriend off with a sly smile.

“And if he doesn’t?” Gloss questions as he stands.

“Then we kill him.” Clio shrugs her shoulders, moving towards the stacks of weapons to secure the knife vest around her body. The others grab their own weapons, everyone attaching their metal flasks to the holsters and harnesses strapped to their bodies.

“Clio?” Gloss calls out, “Where did his scream come from?”

“Beside the big tree.” She says, brow furrowing when she looks up to see several identical looking trees equidistantly spread throughout the jungle. Shit, those haven’t been there all night have they? She questions herself. Why are there so many identical trees?

“Which one?” Cashmere asks.

“That one. I think.” Clio points her finger over the tail end of the cornucopia.

“Okay, we’re bound to find him if we just follow the jungle round in a circle.” Gloss says. “He can’t have gone far.”

Gloss leads his sister around the metal walls of the cornucopia, taking two spears from a rack as he passes, adding it to the knives he carries on his person. Cashmere grabs a spear also, the one with the small fish impaled onto the point, as well as a kukri. Cato picks a large machete from the pile, sheathing it and slinging the weapon over his shoulder as he holds his sword in his hand. Clio jogs to catch up with them as they run down the spoke to reach the beach, hanging a pair of nunchucks from her shoulders after shoving a few shurikens into the pouch hanging from her thigh harness. “Wait!”

“Clio!” Her friends shout back at her. “Hurry up!”

She hastily tugs on her black boots, quickly tightening the buckles. “I’ve only got one shoe!”

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widovv · 3 years

Photo

yes i know it’s 2021 but i’m Back On My Bullshit with this ship (idk for how long, let’s enjoy it while it lasts) so here’s a brief rec list for what i’m calling the best of the best

28 fics under the cut (i told you it’s just the BEST) with links and descriptions! personal faves are marked with a ✦

you can find a much longer (65 fics) abridged haymitch/katniss list here and, as always, my complete hunger games rec list can be found here (haymitch/katniss + a few cinna/katniss), all other rec lists are here :)

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Longreads (20k+ words)

The Pardon by Nine Bright Shiners - Nine months after Katniss returns to District 12, she is summoned to the Capitol for her official pardon. She is accompanied by Haymitch. As underlying feelings are forced to the surface, choices need to be made.

From the Ashes by parapraxis - What could possibly be more dangerous for Katniss Everdeen than The Hunger Games?

Rekindling by WalkTheSun - Haymitch takes Katniss back to District 12 and instead of abandoning her, stays with her. When he steps in to help her heal, Katniss begins to see Haymitch for who he really is.

✦ The Pin by kardamon - A stray comment from Caesar Flickerman leads Katniss to watch the 50th Hunger Games much earlier, more thoughtfully and alone.

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Post-Mockingjay

Tick, Tock by thatchaoticart - It’s been three years since the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, and he’s lost all sense of time. But then she comes uninvited into his house, up close and personal, and brings it back to him.

✦ This Is the Moment, Then by disco_lemonade - Three scenes, during and after Mockingjay, where they figure each other out, bound to an inevitable partnership.

✦ Exist by rainbowballz - He can’t be mad at her up close, especially when she’s staring at him like he actually means something.

The Ache That Knows You Well by disco_lemonade - Every night you resist him, you see as a sincere conquest of will.

Darling, Believe Me (Things Stay the Same) by sirenalley - She has lost everyone, and it never gets any easier, and nothing ever changes. He’s there to mirror her misery.

sunspots by herbalist - She makes no effort to rationalize what happens next.

and we could be enough by songofthestars - He doesn't know exactly how it begins.

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Mid-series

Last Place in the World by kardamon - He waited until their steps faded completely in the distance before saying in a normal volume: “You can come out now.” Katniss jerked in surprise and bit her lip to keep herself from making a sound. “…unless, of course, you enjoy lying under my bed.”

Sure thing by kardamon - She remembers screams. She remembers the heat. She remembers dead children. She remembers fire. (Or, the one where Prim lives.)

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“Peeta Died in 74” AU

✦ The Unlucky Ones by neytah - “I’ve killed people, Haymitch, and I have to live with that. And you’re the only one who really understands.”

To the Victor, the Spoil by Annakovsky - No berries, no mockingjay, no rebellion. Katniss killed Peeta in the arena, and now she has to live with herself like every other victor.

send us a blindfold, send us a blade by noblydonedonnanoble - On the train ride home from the Capitol, Katniss burst into his room in the middle of the night, demanding some of his liquor.

Only Fear That Makes You Run by WrongRemedy - Haymitch’s life, from Katniss and Peeta’s reaping to the morning of the reaping for the 80th Hunger Games, six years later.

problem solving by hampersands - Haymitch has hated himself for so long now that when he figures out the extent of his feelings for Katniss Everdeen, it’s just sort of another day.

sing us a song to keep us warm (there’s such a chill) by thinkatory - The truth is that, no matter what Haymitch had said to the sponsors and the other mentors, he had no fucking clue how the 74th Hunger Games would end, or what would become of his tributes.

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“Alternate Third Quarter Quell” AU

✦ Sanctuary by disco_lemonade - Katniss is hijacked, and Haymitch is there to rebuild.

dulce et decorum est (pro amici vivere) by indigostohelit - Look at it this way, Katniss. At least you get to save someone.

quarter hell by clouberding - it’s a coincidence that it rhymes with hell.

in silent screams, in silent screams (i never dreamed of this) by noblydonedonnanoble - Haymitch thinks he might vomit as he steps forward. His voice shakes, but it still carries across the entirety of the crowd as he announces, “I volunteer as tribute.”

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Unrequited Love

✦ Footloose Man by FanficAllergy and RoseFyre - Kid deserves better than an old drunk like him.

duplicity by Nylex - “Let Peeta be happy, Haymitch. Let yourself be happy.”

✦ all this (and love too) will ruin us by polyommatusblues - Whatever she is able to give you is enough, even when it isn’t.

Lost and Found by humberquill - I mean so little to her, that I’m the only one able to talk her round.

#why did i make this LMAO #should have left this ship in 2014 #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #hayniss #haymiss #never know what to tag this smh #the hunger games #fic recs #McKinley reads fanfic #am i gonna get flayed for shipping this #thg #aberdeen

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

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The Right Position

Author: @taylerwrites

Prompt 30: Peeta is Katniss’s tantric yoga teacher. She joins the class on a dare from Johanna and is committed to attending for 3 months. She hates it…at first. Smut happens. [submitted by @mrspeetamellark]

Rated: E

A/N: This is only part one of two, but I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~

To say Katniss is drunk would be an understatement because she is completely hammered.

And it’s all (mostly) Jo’s fault.

They’d just left the office after a cruddy week when Jo suggested that they should do some sightseeing. Katniss had huffed at the idea, feet sore from her horrible choice of shoes for the day.

“We’re in Florida for the summer. Shouldn’t we at least see what it has to offer?” Jo had asked, hopping into Katniss’s rental before she had a chance to protest.

Although, sightseeing actually turned into bar hopping, and that led to three horrible decisions. One, she allowed Jo to pick out the bars they went to, which, to be fair, the first two weren’t that bad. Maybe only a little questionable around the edges. Two, she can’t remember where they parked, but Jo unhelpfully remembers parking next to a pink convertible that has probably long since driven off. And three, she is still wearing these horrible goddamn shoes.

Although, the throbbing is a little numb now that they are at their fourth bar, throwing back their fifth round of shots of tequila—Katniss shudders a little as the alcohol travels down to her stomach, the aftertaste sticking and burning the back of her throat.

“Listen,” Jo slurs, slamming her shot glass down onto the table. “I’ve heard of this place that does sex yoga.”

Katniss wrinkles her nose. “You mean tantric yoga?”

“Whatever.” Jo waves her hand in a flippant gesture. “But I overheard that the class is orgasmic and the instructor is really good at what he does. I think it’d fix that little dry spell of yours.”

“I’m not going through a dry spell,” she grumbles.

“Oh, really?” Jo drawls lazily. “When was the last time you got laid?”

She decides to ignore the smug look on Jo’s face and changes the subject. “How is this class supposed to fix my dry spell exactly?”

But Jo doesn’t take the bait.

“Answer the question, brainless.”

“God, I don’t know…” Katniss takes a moment to really think about the last time she was with someone, rolling the little shot glass between her fingers as she tries to come up with a viable answer. It’s not like her trusty vibrator hasn’t done a perfectly good job. This is more than she can say about the men she’s been with who never managed to make her orgasm. She’d always have to use her vibrator in the end, anyway… “A year or so. Maybe more.”

Jo purses her lips. “Are you sure your vagina still works?”

Katniss grimaces, nearly falling off of her stool as she glances around the room to see if anyone heard Jo. “Could you not talk about my vagina so loud?” she hisses.

“Vagina, vagina,” Jo echoes petulantly, laughing when Katniss shoves her shoulder.

“I swear, my best friend is a two-year-old,” Katniss grumbles. “Besides, I’ve been managing just fine by myself.”’

Jo cocks an eyebrow. “Vibrators can’t do everything.“

Oh. Well… yes. That’s—

"Okay, how about this?” Jo says, leaning into Katniss a little too heavily. “One of us has to get someone’s number by the end of the night. And whoever doesn’t, goes to this sex yoga class… for the rest of our stay.”

“What?”

Jo merely grins. “For. Three. Months. Deal?”

Again, Katniss wonders how said yoga class is supposed to help with her dry spell, but just to get Jo off of her back (or more specifically, her arm), she says, “Deal.”

Jo takes a long draft from her beer and stands from her seat with all the grace of a baby fawn. “I’m going to win if you keep sitting there, brainless,” she says before she disappears in the direction of the dance floor.

Katniss huffs.

Is she really doing this? She can’t even remember the last time she asked for someone’s number; especially at a bar, no less.

But she decides to give it a shot as she scans the room for potential participants.

She spots a tall guy leaning against the bar top, an amber bottle dangling between two long fingers. And the first thing she can’t help but notice is his blonde curls pulled into a little bun behind his head. Then a wide smile breaks across his face at something the bartender says, and Katniss decides that this is the guy; she’s going to get his number.

Katniss doesn’t even think of the slight possibility that he could turn her down as she finishes the last of her beer. She’s only determined to opt-out of a yoga class that she has no desire to go to.

But she can’t exactly explain what happens next. One moment she’s standing up from her stool, the next, she’s on the floor and the room is spinning.

“Are you okay?” someone asks, and she thinks she answers before she passes out.

~~~~~

Her room is bright when she wakes up, and she groans as the light sends shooting pain through her skull.

And if that isn’t enough—

“Oh good! You’re awake!” Jo says a little too loudly for the hangover Katniss is currently experiencing.

“Jo, please.” she groans. “My head.”

“Right.” Jo comes over and perches on the edge of her bed. “I forget that you’re such a lightweight sometimes, especially after last night.”

“What happened?”

“Well, you tripped over your stool and bumped your head on the table. Thankfully, the man bun guy at the bar was kind enough to carry you to the cab after you passed out.”

Her face bursts into flames, and she drops it down into her pillow in mortification. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.

“Oh come on. You’ve done worse things our freshman year of college,” Jo offers.

That doesn’t make her feel better.

She turns her head to peer up at Jo. “Did I at least win?”

“Nope.” Jo flicks a little card onto the bed with a number scrawled on top. “Her name is Jess.”

Katniss scowls down at the card, not ready to admit defeat. “And how do I know that you didn’t just write down some random number?“

Jo smirks. "Because she’s in my room,” she says. Then she stands up and walks toward the door. “Get that cute butt up, brainless. We’re going shopping for a yoga mat.”

Katniss groans and tugs the sheets over her head.

~~~~~

She’s never placing drunk bets with Jo ever again, Katniss thinks as she splays her hands nervously against her cheap Target yoga mat.

When Jo told her about tantric yoga, the only knowledge she had came from TV series and terrible romcoms. She’d expected a shady studio tucked away in an alley, or beads hanging from the ceiling. But what she found was a studio with large open windows overlooking the white sandy beach, and everything was so… modern—not a single bead in sight. She also didn’t expect the room to be slam-packed.

What’s worse is that her yoga instructor is definitely the guy from the bar. Not to mention, now that she no longer has inebriated shades covering her eyes, the guy is… well, there’s not one word to describe what he is. But holy shit, she was not prepared for the amount of toned, muscled skin on display when he stepped into the room.

She’s definitely getting more use out of her vibrator after this. And again, she can’t figure out why Jo thought this class would help her get laid.

“Okay, everyone,” comes his silky smooth voice over the chatter of the group. “Get on all fours.”

Katniss feels her face heat as she does what he says. This is no time for perverted thoughts.

“Sink the hips back, and begin to draw slow circles.”

Oh god.

Does this guy even listen to himself when he speaks?

“And then rock back and forth.”

There’s no way she can do this for the next three months.

“Now take a deep breath and shift your hips up…”

She’s going to murder Jo.

#taylerwrites #mrspeetamellark #prompt 30 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

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Gravity

I posted the fifth chapter of Gravity! (My Everlark Growing Back Together fic). I really wanted to get this chapter out ASAP. We're getting really, really close to the end here! Hopefully by next week, this fic will be complete.

I mainly just wanna say thank you to all my readers, kudoers (that isn't a word but let's pretend, shall we?), and especially commenters. I love ya'll.

Also, I've never actually...completed a single story that wasn't a oneshot in my whole life. So this is definitely exciting for me haha.

Okay so anyways, here’s a preview!

If you had to pick a second favorite color, what may it be?"

"May it be?"

"I think you're just avoiding the question."

I stop talking and moving altogether now, causing both me and him to pause mid-step. For the first time, I give his question actual consideration.

I don't really have a strong preference for many colors. Prim had the eye for beauty and the appreciation for luxurious items, not me.

The luxuries of life eluded my interest from a young age, partially because I knew they'd never be within my reach. Or so, I always believed.

For some reason, when trying to conjure up an answer for him, the only thing that enters my mind is a yellow dandelion. More specifically, the yellow dandelion I saw years ago, the day after Peeta threw me the bread. The day I wanted to thank him but didn't have the courage to even try. The dandelion that reminded me of my father's plant book. The dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

The dandelion I'll probably always associate with Peeta Mellark.

I open my mouth to say yellow, the bright, simple flower still fresh in my brain, when I turn my face up at him to speak. And when I do, I'm bombarded by our proximity, bombarded by how close I am to him or he is to me. Bombarded by the bright hue of his watercolor eyes.

And instead of yellow, my lips instead murmur, "Blue," without hesitation, effectively betraying me.

And because he spends every day with me, and just plainly because he knows me, he recognizes immediately why I chose that specific color and smirks. Like he understands the meaning to what I said before I do. Like a cocky child.

He bites his lip to try and suppress a grin and I narrow my eyes, all my irritation at myself transferring onto him. "Shut up," is all I say before dropping his hand and spinning on my heels to walk ahead of him.

He catches me though, undeterred, and grabs me by the hips. With an extreme comfortability, I note.

"Don't be mad," he murmurs in my ear, his mouth closer than I expect and a shiver involuntarily rolls down my back.

"What's your favorite color?" I ask pointedly, refusing to meet his gaze until my cheeks are no longer red.

“Gray," he automatically whispers, his lips still hovering above the shell of my ear. "Gray, exactly like your eyes."

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #everlark fic #fanfic #fan fiction #everlark fanfic #anyways I don’t know what to tag sooooo #gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

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Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding.

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict.

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge.

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday!

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep.

I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband.

Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service.

“I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier.

I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod.

Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood.

Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color.

“Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah.

There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah.

“Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles.

“There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back.

This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family.

The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky.

The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half.

Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable.

First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights.

Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,”

He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.”

His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced.

My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.”

Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night.

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.”

He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second.

My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night.

I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together.

When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should!

Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah.

The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!”

“I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room.

Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun.

Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece.

The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick.

I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

“So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

“That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

“Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair.

“Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

“Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?”

“Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins.

“Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys.

“I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

“I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

“No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

“Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

“Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

“We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

“It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud.

“Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

I almost choke on my cookie.

Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

“Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

“Not to…” the twins mumble contritely.

“Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!”

The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

“Haymitch…” I ground a low warning.

It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between…

Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell.

“Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!”

I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

I giggle at the memory.

I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.”

I happen to agree.

I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in.

Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other.

My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

“But, Mamme…we know the story!”

Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?”

I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM!

“Yes, Mamme.”

I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has?

Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude.

I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

I was 11 then.

That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army.

Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected.

Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments.

Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others.

“Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes.

“Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!”

“Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot.

The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

Prim takes a deep breath and nods.

Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically.

“Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages.

Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

“Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

“‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

“Purified!”

“Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring.

Aspen continues the narration after a second.

“At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

Hushed voices comment their approval.

The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

“Eight days…” corrects Thom.

“Eight days straight!”

“It was a miracle!”

Everyone claps, excitedly.

“The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

“That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

“And won back the Holy Temple,”

“And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!”

The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration.

After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces.

The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made.

“Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

“For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.”

My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!”

My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?”

I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

“I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.”

My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?”

“I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early.

Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children.

My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results.

Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman!

Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse.

Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!”

Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair.

“Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes.

I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat.

“Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own.

“I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek.

It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way.

We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund.

Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents.

Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did.

Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can.

While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet.

I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles.

Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg.

It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in.

I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.”

Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

Peeta and I survived against the odds.

It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming.

It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.

It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for.

“Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on.

“Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!”

“What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly.

Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!”

“Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

“Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip.

He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor.

“Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.”

I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob.

Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week.

“Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

“Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

“Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle.

I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn.

Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago.

My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff.

My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully.

Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays.

After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!”

“Together?” My voice wavers.

“Together!” he vows.

“Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back.

“Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears.

“It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape.

Peeta is crying.

I’m crying too!

My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her.

“Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

“Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it.

Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

“Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief.

“Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?”

“No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

“We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table.

We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!”

The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s!

“Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim.

“Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!”

The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess.

After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her.

Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag.

Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely.

I fall asleep after a while.

When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light.

Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not.

“Peeta?” I call softly.

My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,”

No, I wouldn’t.

I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family.

I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect.

“Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

“Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between.

My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah.

Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift.

I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange.

“Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle.

He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy.

I nod, accepting his explanation.

Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly.

“Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!”

I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically.

He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on.

I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow.

We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah.

Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby.

Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.”

I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

“I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

“Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

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hutchhitched · 4 years

Text

Peeta Mellark, CEO

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 8: Peeta is a rich CEO and in love with another who disappeared before their marriage. So he withdraw within himself. But then he meets Katniss (her background is up to you) and falls in love for the second time. [submitted by @mysteriouslycraftyreview ]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the fifth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. While this submission fills the prompt, I have more in store for this couple.

______________

Peeta Mellark tossed his glasses down on the desk and scrubbed a hand over his face. His tired eyes felt like they were full of sandpaper, and the stubble on his jaw was definitely not the look of a successful businessman, let alone the CEO of an up and coming manufacturing cooperation that was poised to break into the Fortune 500 in the very near future. Exhausted, he shoved at the pile of papers on his desk and cursed his luck. He needed an administrative assistant immediately. Like yesterday. Or two weeks ago.

To be fair, he needed a lot more than a new administrative assistant. He’d been in a funk for the past year, since his fiancée sent him a text (seriously, a text?) and called off their wedding—three days before it was to take place.

Cashmere’s rejection had been tough to take. He had loved her so much, still did, if he was telling the truth, and it hurt every day to go home to his empty apartment and not see her there. His friends, business acquaintances, and family all tried to make him feel better by telling him he was too good for her, but that didn’t help at all. Cashmere and he were good together for a long time. It wasn’t her fault that his ardor had grown after their engagement and hers had cooled. It sucked that her attraction to him had abated to friendship, but he didn’t regret anything other than that his marriage had never happened.

Since his broken engagement, Peeta had retreated into himself. He didn’t spend much time with anyone, including his family or close friends who all wanted to help so much it made him anxious. He couldn’t handle their good intentions when all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch in sweats and binge shows and eat junk food. If he hadn’t been the head of a company, he would have done that every day. Instead, he went into the office and buried himself in his work before going home and heading to bed—incredibly alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to his parents on the phone or grabbed lunch with anyone if it wasn’t for business.

Sometimes he missed being part of the human race, interacting with others and seeing their eyes light up with joy when they laughed. He missed family dinners with his brothers and nights out at the club with Finnick, Darius, Thom, and Gale. But most of all, he missed being in love with someone. Having a relationship with a woman who wanted only him. A person to come home to and wake up with. A confidante who knew his secrets and faults and loved him anyway. More than anything, he was just really, really lonely and more than a little horny. He was an All-American adult male, after all, and it had been far too long since he’d been with anyone other than himself.

Peeta pushed the intercom button on his phone and spoke into it. “Delly, can you come in here, please?”

“Right away, sir.”

Peeta smiled at Delly when she entered the room. As office manager, she’d worked her job and that of his missing assistant for too long. She deserved a raise. She also happened to be one of his oldest friends, which is why he managed to keep it together every day instead of losing it each time he thought about how empty his life was outside the office.

“Delly, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the way things are going around here,” he said and idly twirled a pen between his fingers. “I think we need a change, don’t you?”

“Sir?”

“Delly, you’ve known me your whole life. Can you cut it out with the ‘sir’ bullshit? It’s me.”

She visibly relaxed and sank into the chair opposite his desk. “What do you want to change, Peeta? Am I not doing a good enough job?”

He winced at the worried furrow of her brow and chided himself for making her job harder than it already was. He made a mental note to submit the paperwork for a raise for her the next day.

“You’re doing an amazing job,” he assured her, “but you’ve been covering for two people for months. It’s time I bite the bullet and get someone else in here.”

“Do you want me to take a look at the resumés and send you the most qualified?” she offered. “I can go over them this evening and send them your way.”

“No,” he insisted. “You’ve done enough. Go home. Take the weekend off, and don’t worry about anything. I just need the applicant file before you leave. I’ll review them and set up some interviews for early next week. Deal?”

Her relief was palpable, and he tried to quell the guilt he felt for pushing her so hard instead of finding a replacement for his last assistant. She brought him the file right away, and he waved her out the office doors before she could find something else she had to do before she left. He’d flipped through several applications before his phone buzzed.

“Finnick,” he answered. “How’s it going, man?”

“Peeta Mellark, my man,” came the hearty response. “Haven’t seen you in months. It’s Friday. Come meet us at Ripper’s.”

“I’d love to. I really would, but—”

“But nothing, man. Get your ass down here. Time to rejoin the living.”

“I can’t. Snowed under here.”

“I will come drag you out of that office if you don’t get the fuck down here within the hour. I proposed. I will not take no for an answer.”

“Congratulations, man, but I really—”

“One hour, you asshole. You’ve been warned,” Finnick threatened and disconnected the call.

Peeta heaved a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. Finnick engaged. That was really something—something that made his insides twist and curl and hurt. Despite that, he had to go meet his friends. Finnick was the first to congratulate Peeta after he’d ask Cashmere to marry him and had been there after the breakup, too. Peeta couldn’t shirk, no matter how much he wanted to go home and hide.

Frustrated and despondent, he packed up his laptop and files carefully before reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling a bottle of whiskey from its depths. He poured two fingers of the dark liquid and loosened his tie. When he took a sip, the liquor burned a trail down his throat enough that he tugged the tie off completely and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. By the time he’d finished his drink, he’d also lost his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms. At least this way he looked like a regular working schmuck instead of an uptight executive who had no life outside the office.

Fortified by the drink and a burgeoning desire to reconnect with his friends, Peeta made his way uptown to Ripper’s. Memories hit him in the gut as soon as the door opened. The sounds and scents assailed him, and a flash of evenings out with his friends and his fiancée flickered in his head. Cashmere leaning over to kiss him as his friends whooped. The taste of her lips after they both shot tequila, lime and salt clinging to her lips. Finnick grinning at him when he got his last promotion. Gale and Darius ribbing him about a new crush. Thom announcing his impending fatherhood. So many memories, and all they did was remind him how desperately lonely he was, despite his financial and professional success.

Except that did matter tonight. It was Finnick’s time to celebrate, and he wound his way through the tables to the back corner where his friends waited.

“Peeta Mellark! The man, the myth, the legend, right here in Ripper’s with us lowly humans.”

Peeta couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good to see you, too, Finn. It’s been too long.”

“That’s not our fault. Is it, boys?”

“Who are you calling a boy?” Gale snorted over his beer. “I only see men here. At least, those of us sitting down. You and Mister Hotshot might not have reached full maturity yet, though.”

Peeta laughed as Finnick flipped off the other guys at the table and then settled into the booth. It felt good to see his friends again. He needed to remember to make more time for them in the future.

“So, how’s the high life, man?” Thom asked.

Peeta shrugged and ordered before answering. Thanking the waitress, he slumped down in his seat and admitted, “Crazy busy, as always. I need a new administrative assistant. I’m working Delly to death, and she deserves better.”

“Some of us would like to see our wives,” Darius grunted. “Should never have agreed when she asked.”

“Didn’t realize she had to ask permission to leave the house,” Peeta answered pointedly.

“Oh, come on, man. I didn’t mean it like that,” Darius protested. “We just have one of those marriages where we talk things through and make decisions together.”

He knew he shouldn’t, but he envied Darius and Thom their marriages and Finnick his engagement. Even Gale had a serious girlfriend, although he hadn’t met her yet. Maybe that was why it didn’t seem too far-fetched when he spoke.

“My girlfriend’s in between jobs. She’s a fantastic office manager. Maybe she could help you out.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. I’ll have her give you a call.”

“Thanks, man. You’ve just saved my life.”

Finnick leaned in and grinned cheekily. “Great. Then you can afford to get drunk tonight.”

“I really can’t.”

“Too bad. Here’s our first round of shots.”

****

Peeta woke the next morning hung the hell over. How he’d allowed his friends, in particular Finnick, to convince him to stay and then do shots was beyond him. His only excuse was that it was the weekend, and he didn’t have to go to the office today. Otherwise, his headache and significant dehydration might have killed him. He managed to stagger to the kitchen where he brewed a pot of coffee and downed half a liter of water before his phone rang.

“Hawthorne. What’s up?” he rasped into the receiver.

“Hey, Peet. I know it’s early, but my girl’s here, and I suggested she call you about the job. She’s game for it, so I figured I might as well hook you two up before I forget. You free to chat?”

Peeta grunted but agreed. Reaching for a mug, he poured himself some coffee and added cream before settling at the counter. He wasn’t prepared for the snarky voice that echoed through the phone, but he immediately straightened when he heard it. The woman on the other end of the line was a spitfire and sounded exactly like what he needed to help keep his office running and give his oldest friend a break.

“Gale tells me you need some help keeping your workplace running smoothly. I can do that for you, but I don’t come cheap. Pay me well, don’t give me shit, and I’ll make your life easier.”

“That’s quite an offer, Ms., uh…?”

“Mason. Johanna Mason. I’ve been keeping corporate America organized for the past ten years. You have quite a reputation. Youngest CEO at Panem Industries in ages. Survived the Coriolanus Snow purge and caught the eye of the board of directors in a good way. I think you surprised everyone when they realized you weren’t just a piece in their games. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he answered, impressed with her knowledge of the business world. Gale must have given her a heads up, but he suspected she’d already known more than most. “You seem to be a player, too. I’m impressed.”

“I’m very impressive. I’m sure you’ve heard about some of my best attributes from your friend, so let’s just move past the posturing and get to the specifics,” she announced, her voice businesslike. “I can start Monday. Gale indicated this could be temporary or long-term, depending on your other assistants. I’m amenable to either. As for my salary—”

Peeta almost blanched at the figure but wasn’t deterred by her request. Good office managers were worth every cent they were paid, and Ms. Mason—Johanna! She was his friend’s girlfriend, after all—seemed to be exactly what he needed.

“I have one caveat,” he insisted. “Gale is my friend, and you and he are together, but you are my employee. Our relationship needs to stay professional.”

“Gale, honey,” she purred. “Peeta wants me to be professional. You think I can handle that?”

Peeta cringed at the wet sounds in his ear. He’d be offended if Gale hadn’t taken the phone briefly and hissed, “She’s good for it, Mellark. You won’t regret it.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “Can I call you Johanna? You’re hired. Thirty-day trial, and a five percent raise once you’ve proven yourself.”

“You won’t need thirty days for that.”

He was almost positive she was right, and he looked forward to Monday when he could offer Delly some time off to spend with her family.

****

“I need that folder,” Peeta announced into his phone and scribbled a few notes on the report before him. Johanna swept into his office a few seconds later. She’d only been working for him for a week, but she’d already revamp his world. Everything ran smoother; Delly’d already put in for some well-deserved vacation, and he hadn’t been subjected to any inappropriate knowledge of his friend from his new employee. “Thanks, Jo. Can you—”

“Already done. Meeting with Heavensbee is moved up to 1:00, and you have a business lunch tomorrow with Seneca Crane at the Capitol Grill. Both indicated their interest when I arranged the details.”

“You are a gift,” he said, distracted by the email he’d just received about a new project in China. “Seriously, thank you for everything you do.”

“No thanks needed. You pay me enough. I’m happy to make your life better.”

He chuckled and sat back when she plopped a hot chocolate in front of him. “How’d you know? This is my favorite.”

“You forget who I’m banging on the weekend?”

“Gale, of course.”

“And I don’t wait for the weekend, either,” she said with a wink over her shoulder. He smiled fondly as she slipped out the door and back to her desk. He understood what his friend saw in her. She didn’t take any shit, was sexy as hell, and knew how to get stuff done. If he had fifteen more like her, he’d take over the world. Not that he was too far off from that anyway.

****

“You mind if I take a long lunch tomorrow?” Johanna asked as she handed Peeta several files and watched him tuck them into his briefcase. “A girlfriend of mine just got back to town, and I promised I’d meet up with her. Won’t happen again.”

“Take all the time you need,” he agreed. “Delly can handle everything while you’re gone. It’s not a problem.”

“Thanks, boss,” she said with a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Got a hot date with my man.”

Peeta chuckled as he shrugged on his jacket. “Tell Gale I said hi. Been a while since we hung out at Ripper’s.”

“That’s because I make it worth it to him not to leave the house.”

“I’m sure you do,” he mumbled as he headed for the elevator.

“Good luck on your date!” she called as the doors slid shut, and he groaned.

If she hadn’t reminded him at the last second, he could have argued with her, but now it was too late. He’d stupidly agreed to a setup. It was only drinks at a cocktail bar around the corner, but he had a million things to do before the next day. He didn’t have time to make small talk with a woman he didn’t know as they both sipped overpriced drinks and tried to figure out how long they had to stay before they escaped with a modicum of dignity. If he didn’t have to answer to Johanna the next day, he’d skip, but he just didn’t want to hear it. With a sigh, he turned left out of the building and made his way to meet his date.

“Rue?” he guessed when he met the slim, African American woman sitting at the bar alone. She was lovely and smart and very sweet, but he could tell within five minutes that they weren’t right for each other. He offered a second round, but she declined politely.

“You’re a great guy,” she said with a kiss to his cheek when she slid from her stool to the ground. “I’m glad we met.”

“Likewise,” he nodded. “Best of luck with your startup.”

He watched her walk away with a half-smile on his face and a hint of regret. It wasn’t that she’d passed on him. That wasn’t it at all. Despite being a perfectly attractive woman, there wasn’t a spark between them, and he’d been too deeply in love before to settle for anything less. With another huge sigh—they seemed to be becoming a habit—he grabbed his suitcase and coat and headed home to his empty penthouse.

He hated being lonely.

****

“Johanna, can you come in here, please?” Peeta waited for her reply, but when he got nothing, he walked to his office door and poked his head out. “Jo?”

Delly glanced up from her desk and replied, “She’s still at lunch. You told her to take the time, remember?”

“I do, actually. Sorry. It slipped my mind.”

At that moment, the elevator door opened, and his employee walked down the hall, chatting happily with another woman. She drew up when she saw him and narrowed her eyes.

“It’s not even 1:00 yet. Surely, the place didn’t fall apart with me gone only 80 minutes.” Johanna rolled her eyes at him and waved to her companion. “Peeta Mellark, this is Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, Peeta. I left something in my desk for her. She’s not staying.”

The woman in question glanced back and forth between him and her friend uncertainly. She was slight and unassuming with storm gray eyes and thick, dark hair worked into a loose braid. A few strands of hair escaped and framed her face, which was far prettier than he’d realized at first glance. Quickly, he snapped to attention. Stepping toward her, he extended his hand and waited for her to shake it. When she did, electricity sparked through him.

“Ms. Everdeen,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Johanna’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to Panem Industries.”

“Sheesh! She’s not interviewing for a job,” Johanna snickered. She’s just here to get something from me, and she’s Gale’s friend, too. I’m surprised you haven’t met before now. Those two have been thick as thieves since they were tweens. You really haven’t heard of her before?”

“Why would I have?”

“I thought you and Gale were tight?”

“We are tight. What does that have to do with anything?”

Katniss smiled wryly and spoke in a smoky voice that shot straight to his groin. “Gale and I were best friends for years. We had a rough patch when he developed feelings for me in high school. Didn’t talk much through college, but we worked it out. I think Jo’s just surprised he didn’t mention me to his friends.”

“You okay there, boss?” Johanna asked, her eyes wary as she observed him.

Peeta shook himself, aware that he’d been frozen as Katniss’ voice washed over him. “Fine! I’m fine. Katniss, it’s wonderful to meet you. Johanna, I need to see you in my office when you’re finished with your friend.”

He moved quickly and closed the door behind him. Walking on unsteady legs back to his desk, he sank into his chair. Needless to say, he was unsettled. Something about those smoke colored eyes and husky voice had reached inside him and pulled feelings to the surface he hadn’t felt in ages, and it was disconcerting in a way he wasn’t quite ready to admit. Flustered, he turned in his chair and gazed out over the city until Johanna entered his office. It was only then that he could expel Katniss from his mind.

****

“You know, it’s bad enough that you foisted your girlfriend on me as an employee,” Peeta teased as he downed another whiskey. “The least you could do is pass on your best friend’s number. No, scratch that. The least you could do was warn me your best friend from high school is smoking hot now.”

Gale tipped his head back and laughed hard at his friend and Peeta’s obvious attempt to weasel Katniss’ number from him. Finnick and Thom hooted their amusement, and Darius waved to the waitress for another round of drinks. Peeta hadn’t meant to end up at Ripper’s again, but he’d been off kilter all week. When Finn had asked, Peeta shrugged and went.

“You only like me for my girlfriends,” Gale teased and clinked his glass with Thom. “To be fair, they are pretty spectacular. I have great taste in women.”

“Says the most modest man alive,” Finnick crowed. “You like them wild, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Wait,” Peeta blurted. “Wild? Katniss?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” Gale drawled after a long pull of his beer. “Nothing like Jo. She’s amazing—completely herself, likes to party, will rip me apart with her bare hands if I cross her—but Katniss is something else. Feisty but stealthy. She can skin a squirrel and look like an angel doing it. I’ve never been able to explain her to anyone. She really has no idea the effect she has.”

“But you dated? You two?” Peeta prodded. Something about the thought of Gale kissing the woman he’d met made his stomach clench.

“Not for long. She wasn’t much interested, but I would have given my left arm for her back in the day. She’s only improved with age. I’m lucky she still bothers with little old me.”

Peeta snorted and flicked his eyes to each of his friends. Gale may not have been the best-looking guy in the group—Finn pretty much had that locked no matter who was around—but Gale’s tall, dark, and brooding nature made him pretty popular with the opposite sex. He hadn’t had trouble meeting women in ages. Unlike Peeta, who’d had terrible luck with women both before and after Cashmere. Couldn’t get them to look at him instead of his money now that he was wealthy, and he’d been dismissed for being way too nice when he was younger. His former fiancée had been an exception, but then he couldn’t get her to stay, with or without his bank account.

“But seriously, dude. Help a guy out. I’ve been single for ages,” Peeta wheedled, but Gale just shook his head.

“If she asks, I’ll give your info, but there’s no way I’m gonna try to set her up. I value my life and limbs too much to intervene.”

“You just said you would have given your left arm for her!”

“Back in high school and college, man. Not now. I need them both for the work I do.”

Peeta conceded then. It wasn’t like him to pump his friends for information about women, and he wasn’t going to start now. Maybe she’d come by work again with Jo, or maybe Johanna would—

No. Johanna would not. That was a terrible idea, so Peeta shoved Katniss Everdeen from his mind and sipped his drink. If nothing else, he could use a night out with his friends.

****

Later that night, when Peeta lay in bed alone, his penthouse dark and empty, and his heart shriveling with sadness, he allowed Katniss to flutter through his thoughts. If he imagined her in love with him, no one could prove it. Just like there were no witnesses when he reached into his sleep pants and palmed his half-hard cock.

He hadn’t masturbated with anyone particular in mind for a very long time—not since Cashmere and he had been a couple. There was something intensely erotic about stroking himself with mental images of a specific woman smiling at him, touching him, taking his dick in her mouth and sucking until—

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed as he swelled and hardened. “Katniss. Yeah, just like that.”

He fumbled in his bedside table for some lube and was so worked up he squirted half the bottle onto his pelvis. Rubbing his hand in the fluid, he groaned when he wrapped his hand back around his erection and tugged. His hips bucked, and his headboard slapped against the wall. Startled by the sound, he bit his lip and shook his head.

It seemed wrong to jack off like this when he barely knew her. Stranger fantasies were fine, but this was one of his best mate’s long-time friends. Johanna would rip him apart if she knew what Peeta was doing and leave the leftovers for Gale to destroy.

God, he didn’t care, he realized. Something about Katniss Everdeen made him want to throw caution to the wind. He’d been a goner since he first heard her voice, and he’d paid his dues with his loneliness. One night of lustful thoughts and indulgence seemed like a just reward for being single for so long. He’d only met her once, but there were all the tell-tale signs of a massive crush. Except, yes, he was attracted to her, but he also wondered if he might have a case of love at first sight. She invaded his thoughts constantly, and he ached to see her again.

Until that could happen, though, he needed some relief. Closing his eyes and tossing his head back into the pillow, he moved his hand until he gained a steady rhythm. The wet squelching sounds of the lube on his skin echoed through the apartment and stirred mental images that made his breath come harder and faster.

In his fantasy, her lithe body bounced on top of him, riding him with abandon and wanton pleasure painting her face. Her small breasts jiggled prettily with dusty nipples pert and pointed and inviting his mouth to lavish them with attention. His fist tightened, he jerked harder, and then—

He whited out, stars bursting behind his eyelids, ecstasy flooding his body, and all the tension draining through ropes of thick fluid painting his torso. Dazed, he lay there for several minutes, doing nothing but enjoying the lazy tingle in his veins and the dopey grin turning up his lips with delight. His spent cock filled his right fist, and he squeezed it a few times to keep the buzz going.

When he could think clearly again, he opened his eyes and snorted at the mess. He was sticky and sweaty and slick with his cum and lube. Covered in his ejaculate, he stumbled to the bathroom on shaky legs. He meant to rinse off and then drop into a dreamless sleep, but he ended up hard and wanting a second time as the water coursed over him. Turning the temperature to cold didn’t help either. Only another round with his fist calmed him enough to fall into a restless, dream-filled slumber. His body insisted on round three the next morning.

Within a few days, a pattern emerged. He woke hard, masturbated, and then went to the office where two women ran his world. When he returned home, he beat off again, sometimes two times, before he was able to sleep. By the second week, Peeta had to admit his feelings for Katniss weren’t going away.

His only choice was to get her to fall in love with him, too, or his name was Peeta Mellark. CEO of Panem Industries, captain of industry, jilted fiancé, and desperately in love with Katniss Everdeen. Johanna was going to have a field day with this.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 8 #everlark fanfiction #everlark #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark ceo

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

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Happy Birthday, micmic022!

Today, we wish @micmic022 a very Happy Birthday! We hope you’re having a wonderful day so far, and got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To keep your special day going, the lovely @endlessnightlock has written a story just for you!

“So this is it,” Katniss Everdeen - no it was Mellark now, Peeta would have to remember that - remarked as she opened the door to the small house. She indicated with a tilt of her head that he should follow her inside once she stepped over the threshold. “It’s not much, but we manage,” she continued, reaching around and shutting the door behind him. “Things’ll be easier now that we’ve got you to help.”

His new wife hesitated before tilting her pointed little chin in defiance of whatever preconceived notion was floating through her head, one that must’ve been telling her Peeta would think this house, which was clean and tidy and cozy-looking even if it were a bit time-worn, wasn’t good enough for him. “It’s not as nice as what you’re used to at the bakery, but we’re comfortable here. You’ll be free to do whatever you like, just so long as you help me with the heavy work.”

Even though he was now married to her, Peeta didn’t know much about Katniss Everdeen other than public information, like the fact that she’d opened her butcher shop in the Seam not long after the Capitol fell five years ago. That year would’ve been her fifth reaping and his second.

Despite being a bit in the dark on details of her, he felt optimistic about his chances of making a place for himself in this home with both her and her sister Primrose.

The current situation had to be an improvement over continuing to live with his mother and father.

When she’d approached them, Katniss told his parents that she needed more help at her shop. She would be willing to take Peeta on as a husband if they weren’t opposed to the match.

Of course they weren’t, him being third in line for a business where they couldn't afford to keep him on any longer.

He could be very useful to her, Katniss said.

Peeta had been surprised but not opposed to the idea. The issue was more that he couldn’t begin to imagine why she would’ve picked him.

Katniss was a well-respected businesswoman who was also both young and attractive. He didn’t know why she’d resorted to bargaining for a husband, it seemed as though she’d been beating prospective suitors off with a stick for years now.

Maybe it was because of the bread he’d given to her in the past.

Peeta shook his head at that thought- the bread had been such a small thing. That couldn’t be why- it was just that the incident was the only connection he shared with her.

Whatever Katniss’s reason had been, Peeta was cautiously optimistic about being here as Prim smiled at him from across the room.

kpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpk

The three of them ate the dinner Prim had prepared ahead of time shortly after they arrived at the house, just after Peeta finished carrying his things inside. He left his bag and box next to the front door where Katniss indicated he should.

In a typical marriage, there would be a toasting after the evening meal. The ceremony wasn’t necessary, the two of them had done all that was required by law. Katniss and Peeta had signed the license during the short window of time that had been allocated to them between the bakery closing for the day and the Justice Building locking its doors.

Instead of a toasting, there was a meal full of Prim’s friendly chatter and Katniss’s murmured responses, followed by the three of them sitting by the fire he’d started in the living area.

Prim passed the time working on a quilt while Katniss carefully sharpened her knives on a large flintstone. “It saves me time in the morning,” his new wife explained quietly, never looking up from her tools.

Peeta kept his thoughts mostly to himself other than a few words exchanged with Prim about her pet goat, unsure yet what was expected of him or what his role would be in this new little family.

It felt a little strained at times but was mostly a pleasant way to while away the time.

When the fire had burned down and it was time for them to retire, Katniss stood up and stared at a fixed point on the wall, just over his shoulder, before addressing him.

Peeta couldn’t help but be awed of her quiet authority. She was so different from his mother, a woman who used brute force and a raised voice to get her point across. She would be a good mother if I ever had that chance with her, he surprised himself by thinking.

He was getting ahead of himself.

“We don’t have a second bedroom,” Katniss told him. This was what he’d been expecting, a speech about having a platonic marriage. And that was fine. Whatever she wanted.

“Katniss,” Peeta cut her off, thinking it was probably the first time he’d called her by her name, “it’s fine. I can sleep-“

She interrupted him before he could get further into his speech. “And Prim sleeps out here on the couch. You’ll be in the bedroom with me.”

Oh.

Peeta swallowed nervously. In the tension-filled silence, he swore he could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Until Prim broke the lull by giggling from her place across the room, of course.

Katniss sent her sister a scowl that managed to get the younger girl’s laughter under control, before striding nonchalantly past Peeta to the washroom where she shut the door quickly behind her.

“Well you heard her, I guess,” Prim bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She was at least trying to get herself under control, he supposed

At least one of them found this amusing.

“Bedroom is that way,” Prim told him helpfully, pointing to the far corner of the house.

kpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkp

Peeta sat on the edge of the quilt-covered bed, still in the clothes he’d worn for the appointment at the Justice Building earlier that day. He was anxiously waiting for his wife to join him in the room.

He was a nervous wreck- excited, full of anticipation, scared-as-shit; mostly he was having a hard time comprehending that this woman he’d barely spoken with wanted him to make love to her. Apparently.

It’s not like Peeta was completely inexperienced, he’d kissed a few girls from school and had even gone a little farther than that with the grocer’s daughter at a party when they’d both drank more white liquor than either was equipped to handle, but sex?

He’d never even come close to sex.

And Katniss was older- only three years, but what if she’d had a string of experienced lovers? He didn’t want to disappoint her, but a part of him knew it was inevitable.

But then again... there was the other point. Sex. With a beautiful woman.

His wife.

And Peeta still didn’t know why she’d chosen him.

Katniss stepped into the room then, interrupting his thoughts, walking so softly he almost didn’t hear her.

She’d changed into a long faded floral print nightgown that began at her neck and flowed down to her ankles and wrists. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her hair was unbraided, loose and soft around her shoulders, and there were all of these little wispy hairs sticking up around her hairline as if she’d just finished washing her face.

Katniss looked fresh and young and impossibly pretty, and he swore that his heart skipped a beat.

“Would you mind getting up for a minute?” she asked softly. “I need to turn down the covers.”

Peeta stood quickly and moved out of the way, hoping this sense of not knowing what to do with himself would fade soon. His pulse was thrumming through every pressure point in his body- he’d give anything to know what she expected of him.

Katniss went to the other side of the bed and pulled the covers back before casually climbing in.

He told himself to relax.

Once she was under the blankets, she glanced over to where he stood indecisively. “Do you typically sleep in your clothes?” she asked wryly.

Peeta felt the heat race up his face. “No, I just wasn’t sure what I should do,” he admitted, aware that he was making an absolute mess of this.

Katniss glanced away again, after a so-quick-Peeta-almost-missed-it perusal of his body. Things were tense for a moment between them before she spoke again,

“I don’t want to do anything tonight. I mean,” she began, “I don’t want to have...”

The stutter in her voice was like a balm to his nerves. Peeta immediately felt some of the tension escape from his body.

Katniss was unsure of herself as well, maybe even as much as he was.

“I don’t want to sleep with you tonight,” Katniss finally managed to finish getting out. “I’m not ready for that with you, yet.”

Yet?

The word yet felt doable. A word like yet meant that he had time to think about things- yet was like a far-off promise that neither of them had to fulfill any time soon.

“Oh that’s fine,” Peeta said.

At her inquisitive look, he exhaled sharply, figuring that he ought to explain himself. Most eighteen-year-old men probably wouldn’t have had that reaction, Peeta realized.

“Not that I wouldn’t want to,” he began, sensing the way Katniss began drawing into herself almost immediately. He didn’t want her to doubt her attractiveness for a moment, “you’re a beautiful woman.”

Peeta watched, fascinated while she flushed a lovely shade of deep pink.

Katniss looked away then, mumbling something about him being a flatterer as she slid beneath the covers. She wouldn’t look at him but continued to stare up at the ceiling as he removed his pants and shirt, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt.

“I usually just sleep in these because I get pretty warm at night. I don’t own any pajamas. I could get some if you’d like, though.”

“It’s fine,” she told him, eyes still focused straight ahead while he pulled the covers back. Noticing how stiff she still seemed, he decided to try and get her to relax a bit.

Peeta didn’t know why but he had this compulsion to make her smile.

“You can look at me all you want, you know. I don’t mind if you see me,” he said as he climbed in beside her. “I’m yours to do with what you want now, anyway.” Katniss groaned, and he laughed a little at his joke (it wasn’t really a joke though, was it?) as he lay back on the bed.

Once he was settled, she glanced at him, her mouth turned up a little in one corner in mild amusement. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mellark,” she told him.

A few moments later, when they were both settled, Katniss turned out the light.

As Peeta lay beside her in the still and quiet, the darkness gave him a boldness he hadn’t felt until then. Maybe it was that yet word giving him hope like perhaps she wanted this to become a real marriage between them and not just a paper one.

“You never said, Katniss. Why me?” he asked, rolling onto his side to look at her, just managing to make out her features in the dark. “Couldn’t you have found someone with better prospects than me to marry?”

“You’re very direct,” she told him, evasively.

Peeta laughed under his breath. “When something is weighing on my mind, yes I am direct.”

After a long moment, one where he was beginning to think she wasn’t going to answer, Katniss sighed. “It was simple really. You needed my help.”

That made him pause.

“I know about the things your mother has always done to you, Peeta.”

So someone had noticed the bruises, the occasional broken bones. The “accidental” burns. Katniss had noticed.

“And you helped me once. You were kind to me when nobody else was.”

She must mean the bread- the loaves he’d given her that winter after her father died in the mines. That bread had meant a beating for him, but on that day Katniss had looked as though she were dying, and he supposed another beating from his mother was worth keeping her alive another day or two.

But now she had paid that small kindness back by… marrying him?

“And I did need extra help in the butcher shop. It just seemed like a good solution,” she explained.

“To marry a stranger?” Peeta asked softly, disbelief evident in his tone. “I just think you could’ve found someone better.”

Katniss stirred, turning over and settling down again before answering him. “You’re the only person who showed any thought to either Prim’s or my welfare then," she said, "so, I don’t know... I just figured if I had to marry it ought to be to a kind man. And I knew you were kind. And strong. And I figured that if you were both kind and strong you were my best option.”

Peeta was completely dumbfounded. “It was just bread,” he whispered. “It wasn’t that much.”

“No, it was more than that. It was hope.” Katniss’s voice sounded like it was growing more distant with sleep.

It was amazing to him that she could relax so soon, lying next to a man she hardly knew.

For the first time in his life, Peeta felt like maybe he could be good enough for someone. Worth something to Katniss at least- her and Prim. She’d given him this chance, and in turn, he would try his best not to let either of them down.

Tentatively, Peeta ran his fingers across the hand she’d left splayed out on the mattress in a light touch.

Her fingers curled around his for a moment before releasing.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered to her, “rest easy.”

It was too soon to feel this way, but Peeta couldn’t help the early stirrings of love that were forming in his heart. He hoped Katniss wouldn’t notice yet, not until she was ready.

He was already a goner.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by endlessnightlock

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ilguna · 4 years

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Metanoia - Chapter Six (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 6.2k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If for whatever reason, you’d ever have to be a spy, you’d be absolutely fantastic at it. Not only are you quiet, but you’re fairly secretive. You’d be good at a job like that, infiltrating the enemies lines and gathering information just to bring it back to the person who wanted it.

Although, you’re not the one doing that right now, it’s Neysa. She’s the one gathering information from others and bringing it to you to assess as you try to work out this now oh-so complicated plan. It’s so bad, that you might even have to go back on your word about double-alliances.

You throw the blankets off of you, slipping off of the bed. You take one glance at the clock to check the time to see that it’s two in the morning, you’re going to be right on time. To wake yourself up a little bit, you go into the bathroom, turning on the sink. You gather a handful of water before splashing it onto your face.

Using the towel to dry off your face, you toss it onto the counter and then head to leave the room. The door opens automatically for you, and the walk through the hallway is short. You can see the silhouette of Neysa’s body standing by the tv in the living room.

One of your ankles pop, which makes her turn to make sure that it’s you. You can see her shoulders sink a little bit, relieved that it is you, and not someone else. She won’t have to explain why she’s standing in front of the tv on low volume at one in the morning.

“So?” you whisper, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Haymitch says that Peeta says no.” Neysa tells you.

“No surprise there, it was worth a shot. Katniss is probably holding him back.” Which is a good thing, your intentions aren’t to be friends with them, if you get in, you can kill them and then get out.

If they both have managed to set history, then that means that they have to be taken out, it’s as simple as that. They shouldn't be allowed to stay alive longer than a couple of days. You know that Brutus is already on edge, you can only imagine how Gloss and Cashmere are.

You three are like a pack of wild wolves.

However, as you four will be working towards the same goal, it’s for different reasons. They’ll likely want to do it so they can get it off their backs and be able to survive without the worry of Katniss or Peeta sneaking up on you guys. As for you, you can’t just settle with being a two-timing victor.

If you can take out both Katniss and Peeta, then the crown would be pure gold. You’d be looked at differently for the rest of your life. People would practically bow at your feet. If you can take down the people that have broken records, then you’re no one to mess with.

And on top of that, you want to take down Finnick too. That’s three fucking kills that would make you a ton more deadly and looked up to. The boy who won at the youngest age, and a pair of tributes from an outsider district that got twelves. Just the thought of having power like that in your palms sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d be a living legend. Infamous, people would know your name for years to come.

(Y/n) Rosecelli. Victor of both the sixty-sixth hunger games and the seventy-fifth Quarter Quell. She went up against twenty-three other tributes and came out a winner on both occasions. On top of that, she also took out three record-breaking victors. One of whom was the youngest victor, ever, Finnick Odair. And the only two tributes who have ever received a twelve, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

You can see it all now.

“Well, what about Finnick?”

“Said he’d talk to you in person today.” Neysa says, “Will you tell me your plan now?”

You smile a little bit, “Infiltrate the enemy’s alliance. Wipe them out. Go back to my original alliance. Three simple steps.”

Neysa is thinking, until a smile starts to slowly spread over her face, “Smart girl.”

Getting out of bed this time is much harder than it was the first time. You would rather just lay here for a little while longer and stare at the ceiling. For once, this feeling of dread belongs to you and not anyone else. And you have a faint feeling on why.

You’re about to be interrogated to hell by the one person you hate the most in the world. He’s going to ask you why you’ve changed your mind so quickly and if he should be weary of anything. And then he’ll ask if he should even trust you, especially after you made your goal very clear; kill everyone and win.

He won’t be dumb enough to accept blindly, which will be a pain in the ass, but you suppose it could make it more fun as well. Having him look over his shoulder, keeping one eye open when he sleeps. Always anticipating your next move.

Why not play with your prey a little bit?

The dread is replaced by your own enthusiasm. You pull yourself out of bed, going to the bathroom to take a shower. The water is burning hot on your skin as you scrub yourself clean with nice smelling soaps. You allow yourself to wash your hair today, since you’ll need to be looking your absolute best today for the interview. Greasy hair isn’t the best quality to have.

When you’re done, you scrunch your hair in one towel, while drying your body with another one. You pull on comfortable clothes since you’ll be changing soon anyway, and go back to your hair immediately after. With a few detangling sprays, the brush goes through your hair as if there were no knots to begin with.

You squeeze out any excess water into the sink. You look as good as you’re going to for now, and you practically skip your way out into the dining room. Only Neysa sits there, coffee mug in her hand. The avox is by the table with food.

“Coffee,” you tell her, she nods and moves into the kitchen to grab it, “Room for creamer, please.”

You take your seat across from Neysa, loading up your plate without a word to her. You begin on a roll, occasionally dipping it into your stew. Every movement feels as if you’re in a hurry. You have to slow yourself down considerably, giving yourself a time limit for when you can take another bite.

When the avox comes over with the coffee the way you like it, you thank her. They’re human as much as you are. If there’s one thing you’re not fond of in the Capitol, it’s the way they use district people as servants for something they’ve done. No matter how bad, they don’t deserve to be treated like that. Not to mention, there are much worse jobs than this for them to take, too.

Actually, the avoxes aren’t the ones picking them out, it’s the officials that run all that for Snow. They’re the ones assigning people based on what they think they’d be good at. Hell, you think that some avoxes aren’t even people from the districts, that it’s people from the Capitol too. Which is weird, considering that the Capitol is supposed to be the favorite.

“Amias will be coming up in thirty minutes to get you.” Neysa says, “Eat quickly, just don’t make yourself sick.”

“Sure.” you say, resuming the pace that you had been going originally.

It’s only ten minutes later when Edmond is coming into the room. He hesitates by the doorway, and then he cautiously takes his seat at the table. Five minutes after that, Brutus is bounding into the room without a care in the world, also taking a seat. The only person that is missing is Theo, thank god.

You’re glad that you haven’t been forced to listen to his fucking voice, it’s an absolute nightmare to deal with.

Once you’re done eating, you ask for another cup of coffee while you wait out the last ten minutes. Today is going to fly by as if it’s not actually happening. It’s the last day of ‘peace and quiet’ before tomorrow, the beginning of the games. It’s like sitting on the edge of your seat.

There’s literally endless possibilities on what the arena will look like tomorrow. You haven’t got a single clue on what it might be. All you do know is that it’s going to be special and deceiving. It’s how the last Quarter Quell went with Haymitch. While you were rewatching the games, they included Haymitch’s games.

Your only guess as to why is because it’s the most recent Quell. They’re throwing you a bone of sorts. Let you know that it’s going to be hell from start to finish. Things are not going to be what they seem.

The landscape was beautiful, the animals, the air, the water, the land. All of it was something out of a dream, it looked like. Until dream turned to nightmare, when the animals turned out to be rabid, and the arena was nowhere near friendly. And that was the year there were forty-eight tributes instead of twenty-four. Not only were the tributes doubled, but everything inside of the arena was working against them.

Haymitch had gotten lucky when he won. His stomach was spilling out of his body, he was quite literally holding it in. As for the girl he had gone up against, she was missing an eye. Blood was running down her face as if it was a new established river. The both of them should have been dead, but one of them threw their weapon over the cliff. It hit the forcefield, and came right back at the girl, nailing her in the forehead.

It’s the only reason why Haymitch had won. He realized that the forcefield was there early on into the games. Utilized it and stuck by the cliff for the rest of them. The girl was just unlucky that she was still standing there when the weapon came firing back.

The sound of an opening door makes you glance over your shoulder. And just like Neysa had promised, Amias stands at the door, “Ready to go?”

You finish off the rest of the caffeine, you now know why Neysa has been so adamant when it comes to drinking this stuff, it really does keep you energized. You set the mug back down before skipping down the steps to Amias.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She opens the door for you, but doesn’t follow you out just yet, “Brutus, be down there in at least three hours from now, showered.”

“Got it.”

Amias closes the door after that, and the two of you head over to the elevator. She takes care of pressing the buttons, bringing you guys down to the floor where you need to be.

“What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Get you dolled up so you can make an impression on sponsors.” Amias says.

You roll your eyes, “No shit. What am I going to look like?”

“You’ll see.”

Resisting the urge to get snotty with her, you lace your fingers together and stare straight ahead. The elevator doors open, and she takes the lead, bringing you through the hallways. It’s not as empty as it usually is, there are a few people walking around already.

They look like Capitol citizens, so your best guess is that they’re prep teams and stylists. Although, the stylists typically treat the prep teams like they’re under their boots, so the prep teams run the most errands while the stylists sit back and do anything else. The stylists’ jobs are more important though, so it’s no surprise.

Anyway, that doesn’t really matter.

Amias brings you into the room where you had been for the tribute parade. The two guys are already waiting by the chair, looking at you skeptically, until the one that normally does your hair, perks up considerably.

“You washed your hair! Good, did you use all the products they had?” he asks, coming over to feel.

“I thought I’d leave the aftercare to you guys, since I don’t really mess around with that type of stuff.”

“Good decision.” he says, then he looks at Amias, “We’ll let you know when she’s ready for the outfit.”

“I’ll be back soon, (Y/n)” Amias says, leaving the room.

You’re directed to the chair, and the one who does your hair doesn’t really hesitate with getting to work. The other one sits back for now, rummaging through all the makeup that they have on the vanity. He’ll open a pallet, look over it, and then set it back onto the stack that just seems to grow taller and taller.

You watch patiently as your hair is messed with. He starts off with blow drying it, which takes a pretty long time since he’s not using the hot air. He’s got plenty of time to mess around and do what he wants. He leaves it fairly damp, coats his hands in product, and then spreads it through your hair. He doesn’t bother brushing your hair before moving on to the next product.

The hair and makeup are probably going to take forever, which is why Amias slipped out of the room. The tribute parade outfit didn’t take nearly as long or had a hassle like this, because it wasn’t as important. People can hardly see you when you’re on the chariots anyway, since you’re so distanced.

As for the interviews, people are going to see you up close and personal. Every detail that is fucked up will be critiqued harshly, which leads to bad publicity. It takes away sponsors, it dissipates Amias’s good reputation, and suddenly you’re not a favorite anymore.

You just want to get through with getting ready, so you can skip to the part where you’re standing in front of Finnick. You’re quite curious about what he might say now. How he’ll handle everything, and if he’ll take you up on the offer.

Neysa was sure to specify that you wanted both Mags and Finnick as allies, but only to mention it to Finnick so he could make the decision. You were hoping that you wouldn’t have to talk to him face to face, and have the mentors communicate for you guys, but it will be easier to convince him. Maybe you can even play innocent, apologize and say it’s one big act.

As if he or anyone else would believe that now. They know who you are, they know how you won your games. The only thing that you’re genuinely good at--besides everything else that you’re good at--is the fact that you’re deceiving. But you can’t be deceiving to an audience that already knows your plans.

You can sure as hell try, but that will tear away all the work you’ve made. Sponsors will likely go down the toilet. And honestly, since you depend on sponsors to get you by--and you’ll definitely be doing that this year because of the arena--then you can’t really give that up.

Wasn’t a good plan anyway.

You watch as your hair is parted into two, the top half, and the bottom half. The top part starts at your temples, and he pulls it into one ponytail at the back of your head. He then pulls out a ton of bobby pins, beginning to pin a bun in place. When he’s done with that, he pulls some hair out in front to frame your face before using hairspray to keep the top half in place.

He moves onto the bottom, making your hair into loose curls. After each section, he’ll use more hairspray and then move onto the next. This is when the makeup guy finally comes in, getting to work.

You close your eyes to make it easier for him, knowing that you probably won’t be able to see yourself in the mirror in a while anyway, “What time is it?”

“Only two or three hours before interviews start.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Half past one.” the one doing your hair answers, “I’ll be done with your hair soon, and then go and get Amias while you eat something.”

You can’t believe that time has flown that fast. You’d be super surprised, but you did get out of bed by nine, which is pretty late considering all the early starts you’ve been getting lately. Amias more or less threw you a bone by letting you get up that late.

Brutus is lucky that he doesn’t have to go through as much as you do. He doesn’t even have hair to be messed with.

“Did you see the scores last night?”

“Of course I did, can you believe it?”

“Are you going to sponsor either of them?”

“Are you stupid?” he asks, and then pauses to think, “They’re going to be dead within the first day.”

“Who do you think would be dumb enough to go after them?”

“Me.” you laugh.

“Well--” the one doing your makeup sounds like he doesn’t believe it, “You’d really go after Katniss and Peeta?”

“They’re not that good.” the hair guy says, “Especially not Peeta.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Hair guy laughs, “You only like them because of their love story. Plus, they’re a couple of teenagers, they may be youthful, but they don’t have that much experience.”

“Who do you think that they’re allied with?”

“After we saw what Katniss did last year--probably Mags. I mean, can you really see her with anyone else? She chose a child as an ally and skipped over Peeta entirely.”

“I guess you have a point.”

They’re not wrong, Katniss did get with a child, and you saw her around Wiress and Beetee the first day. And then later on with Mags at the fishhook station. You think that was just before she went to the bow and arrow station. You can hardly remember it because you were still training with the idiot in body armor.

He wasn’t very good at his job.

Anyway, if Katniss is paired with Mags, then that inadvertently pairs her with Finnick too. Which then drags Peeta into that mess as well. It makes sense for them, but you wonder how Johanna and Blight pair into all of this…

Finnick could have very well been acting like that to throw you off his trail, though. So you should take all this information with a grain of salt. Finnick is a good liar, you’ve seen him in action quite a lot since volunteering.

But if Johanna and Blight are in this, then that would mean that Peeta brought them in. He seems to have more sense than Katniss does. She chooses the weaker people--people who can’t really fight back if she wants to overpower them. And she doesn’t seem to do that because she does plan to fight them later on, it’s because she wants to look over them.

As for Peeta, he paired with the careers. He’s smart, getting with people that can protect him. When he had first come in with Katniss, his first place to go to was Brutus, Cashmere and Gloss. Then Johanna, and later you during lunch. Like he was trying to set down a base with you guys on purpose.

Well, they did what they had to do. They knew none of you, unlike you guys. You’ve heard about and known each other for years. They’re new to this whole victor thing. It’s a shame that they won’t live to be able to see the rest of it.

They finish hair and makeup at around the same time. You’re given food that isn’t messy and would mess up your makeup--even though he had sprayed a ton of setting spray to keep it all in place. You eat enough, leaving yourself slightly hungry so that you won’t feel nauseous on stage.

Amias comes in ten minutes later with the hair guy. In her hands is a dress-length bag that’s concealing it from sight. Hair guy pulls out a moving closet that’s just a few metal poles on wheels. She hooks the hanger on, and then unzips the bag.

Your mouth falls open, “Jeez.”

Amias looks at you, “Do not disappoint on stage tonight. This is the best dress I have.”

You give her a look, “As if I ever disappoint.”

“Spray some of that glitter in her hair again,” she tells the hair guy, “She’ll need it tonight.”

Your face is covered with what looks like cardboard, while the hairspray is added. Amias pulls the dress out of the bag, there is no zipper, the back is open enough to the point where you can just step in. They hold your hands and arms while you step in, then they pull it up and over your body.

It’s a mermaid dress, the type that’s skin-tight at the top but flows at the knees. This one is a little looser though, allowing you to move without problem. It’s silky on the inside, but a little rough on the outside because of the glitter. When you rub it and take a look at your hands, nothing transferred.

The dress is held up by spaghetti straps that cross in the back to make an x. There is no plunge, it dips a little to show off cleavage, but that’s where the line is drawn.

“Grab her the white heel-less shoes.” Amias says, she pulls out Tanith’s necklace, putting it on for you.

They bring over a pair of shoes that look basically the same as the black ones you wore for the reaping. No heel, but they are heels, designed to keep you balanced even if you lean back. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be careful with how you move around.

You let them put on the shoes for you, since you don’t have that much of an option. Even with the shoes on, the dress still hits the floor, and there’s a little bit of a train in the back.

They slip in matching earrings, bracelets and the ring that you had gotten from the tribute parade to please whoever threw the gift at you. It’s a hope that they’ll sponsor you when you’re inside of the arena because of it. It makes you look considerate and humble, which you don’t really care about.

They’re like a hurricane with how they move around you. They tweak, they adjust, they take a step back. Amias orders them around harshly, she’s strict on what she wants. She’s obviously got something envisioned and she won’t allow it to be fucked up by a couple of morons.

“How much time until interviews?” you ask.

Makeup guy takes a look at his watch, “Thirty minutes.”

“Am I done?” you ask Amias.

“In a hurry?”

“I’ve got something to do, and it has to be done before interviews since we’ll be standing on stage after them.”

Amias looks over you one last time, “Yes, you may go. Pull up the front when you walk, don’t bend down, and don’t touch your face or hair. If you need something to play with, stick with the ring and necklace.”

“Thank you.” you say, giving her a wave as you slip out of the room.

In the hallway waits a couple of people already. Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus primarily. They all stand together in a half circle. Gloss looks over by chance and catches you.

Following what Amias said, you pull up the front of the dress as you walk over, being sure to give a look around to see if Finnick is out just yet. You can’t imagine that he really needs a lot done to him. The guys always get let off easier.

A great example, is whatever the fuck Brutus is wearing.

“You’re kidding me.” you flick the silver armor that he has on.

After, you’re quick to make sure you haven’t chipped your nail polish. It’s fine, it’s probably got some strong coating knowing Amias.

“Nope.”

“You’re basically wearing what you had for the tribute parade.” you scowl, “I guess you can get away with whatever you want.”

Brutus shrugs.

You look at Cashmere and Gloss to see that they’re wearing similar sequin outfits. You make a face, nodding since it makes sense that they’re matching. They’re siblings after all. Cashmere takes this as a nod of approval and sends a smile your way.

“You look amazing.” Gloss says.

“I know.” you say, looking around again.

There he is, eyes locked on you. He uses his index finger to beckon you to follow him, going around a corner. You let out a laugh, and then look to the others to see that they’re waiting to see what you’re laughing at.

“I’ve got to use the restroom, can you believe that? I’ll be back in a second.” you tell them, before leaving them.

You pass by a couple of people in the hallway, and with the way that they stare, you feel like you’re at a high school prom all over again. Junior year after you had won your games, the way that people looked at you was never the same. As if they were afraid to approach you or something.

You did win prom queen that year, though. And then the year after that, too.

You take a wide turn around the corner as if Finnick is going to pounce on you the second you round it. However, he’s pretty far down the hall, arms crossed with a smug look on his face.

“What happened to being too good for an alliance with me?” he asks, he looks amused and cocky.

“I came to my senses,” you flash him a white smile, “I realized that it might be good to have you around, after all.”

“It has nothing to do with the fact that Katniss and Peeta got twelve’s?”

You can’t lie your way out of this, he’ll know, “Partially. Forget hanging around with Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus. I want a place in whatever you have.”

“Fat chance.” he says, and you can feel your smile fade a little.

“Why not?”

“You know why. I don’t want you killing my allies.”

“Want them all to yourself?” Your eyebrow spikes up, “Tell me Finnick, are you going to be able to protect them when they rush towards the cornucopia tomorrow?”

Finnick opens his mouth, “They can take care of themselves.”

“Let’s see, you’ll be taking care of Mags, and Katniss will be taking care of Peeta because he’s nothing but a sack of flour--how ironic. If you have me there, I can basically be a bodyguard.”

“Until you kill one of us in our sleep, right?” Finnick watches your face carefully, “You’re mistaking me for something that I’m not.”

“Everyone is going to kill each other one way or another.” you say, “I won’t have to do it early on, that’s the whole point of alliances. I keep you guys around until we start to turn on each other.”

“What if we don’t have those intentions?” Finnick asks, there’s an edge to his voice.

You open your mouth, “What are you planning?”

“Tell me, (Y/n), are you a loyalist?”

You can feel yourself become stiff. Loyalist, a term normally used for people who would follow the government no matter what happens. In that case, it would the Capitol and the districts. It’s no secret that District One and District Two would follow the Capitol because you guys are treated like loyalty, as for the other districts...

There’s a deeper meaning, especially after what happened in the last games. Not all the districts like the Capitol or President Snow and his precious Hunger Games. They would do anything to cancel them, and after what Katniss pulled with Peeta, there have been a few people fighting back, Neysa and Edmond were whispering about it over dinner last night.

Loyalist. Loyalist. Loyalist.

There’s a much bigger plan going on here.

You snap your mouth shut, which has since opened after that question. You press your lips together tightly as you stare at Finnick’s face. You feel like a robot with how you don’t move.

Loyalist. It would mean that they’re planning to go against President Snow, right? It would mean that there will be people who stay loyal to the Capitol, and the people who wouldn’t be.

You can’t lie, you have had a fantastic life in District Two. But you’re human and you realize that other people are too. Just like how you hate how the avoxes are treated, you hate how some of the other districts are treated too.

But if an uprising is what they think is going to solve all of this, you don’t like them at all. They’re going to screw up the way of life for too many people. District Two is happy how they serve the Capitol, no one will fight with them. And if you’re wrong about that, then there aren't very many who will.

However, would you fight with them? If what he said is real, would you fight with them?

“You are bold.” you continue staring at Finnick with an open mouth, unsure of how to actually approach this, “And careless for asking me a question like that outright.”

Finnick’s face twists now, “Are you, though?”

The thing is you don’t know. The hunger games is all you’ve ever known. You’ve never lived any other lifestyle.

“Yes or no.” Finnick insists.

“I’m not going to answer that question.” you decide, “Because I don’t know what you’re up to, and I don’t want to. Forget the alliance thing, I change my mind.”

You start to walk off, but Finnick catches your arm, “I could tell you.”

“Why would you want to?”

Finnick lets go, “Because having you on our side could be useful.”

“Useful for what?” you lower your voice, “Getting everyone else in District Two to follow behind all the other rioting districts?”

He’s clearly surprised that you understood so quickly.

“We have nothing to complain about, Finnick. We’ve got the good life.”

“And everyone else? What about the people who don’t have the good life? The ones that fight to live everyday? What about them?” he asks.

You nod slowly, thinking, “Well, I’m not a loyalist and I’m not too fond of being considered a traitor either.”

“You’re after the glory of being a legend, right?” Finnick asks, you take a step back, “This is better than that. People will know that you were the first person from District Two to hop on and lead. You want people to look up to you, here it is.”

You want to tell him it’s not the same, but the words don’t appear in your mouth.

Finnick is looking past you now, and you turn to see who he’s staring at. Haymitch Abernathy, his eyebrows are drawn together, “Interviews have started.”

“Thanks.” Finnick says, and the two of you watch as he disappears behind the corner again, “Don’t make the decision now, but if you do want to join us, come and find me inside of the arena.”

You look at him, “You’re going to run to the cornucopia, I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not. Which is why I think you’ll make the right decision.”

You scoff, “Right decision? You know what you’re asking, right?” and then you laugh, shaking your head as you pull up your dress so you can walk away, “How do I know if any of this is even true?” he doesn’t say anything, “Exactly, this could be some sort of sick ruse just to draw me in to kill me and get me out of the way. I didn’t come here to be killed, I came here to win. And you’re going to have to fight me for it.”

You shake your head at him one last time before turning around and walking back to the main hallway. There are a ton of people waiting now, but you don’t spare any looks. Brutus is waiting for you by a tv, which holds both Cashmere and Gloss.

“They’re doing it together?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, since they’re siblings and all,” Brutus takes a look over your face, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” you say, “I’m ready for all of this to be done now. No more meddling, I just want to be inside of the arena.”

“Tomorrow.” Brutus says, “Then everyone can pay their dues.”

You smile a little bit at the thought, “Anyway, are we going up together?”

“No, we’re not.” Brutus says, you watch as Caesar starts to wrap up the interview.

“Better get ready.” he motions for you to go down the hall.

You do, being sure to hold up the front of the dress as you go down. Amias is standing in a little alcove with a mirror. She adjusts a few things, wishes you luck and then you stand in front of the doors.

There’s a cheering of the crowd before Caesar starts talking, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome one of our favorites! You know her as the girl who blew her competition out of the water! Let’s give a warm welcome to (Y/n) Rosecelli!”

The doors open, you can see Caesar has his arm outstretched towards you. The spotlight meets your eyes, making it difficult to see, but you don’t dare to move your hands from the fronts of your dress. You’re just puzzled as to why he said the second thing.

‘Blew her competition out of the water’? Since when? As in you did so well during your games, or something you might have done during this week that you weren’t aware of? It’s weird to know that the Capitol gives tributes nicknames, you’d think they’d run out of them.

Gloss and Cashmere, the brother and sister duo. Beetee, the genius. Finnick, the peacock. Johanna, the deceiver. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire and Peeta Mellark--loverboy.

You never got to know yours.

You take Caesar’s hand when you come up the steps, giving the biggest smile you can to the audience, “Caesar!”

“(Y/n)!” He meets your enthusiasm.

The two of you wait until the audience has settled before actually starting with the interview. When you look over your shoulder, you can see that Cashmere and Gloss are waiting up on some small walkway. You’ll be standing there for an hour when you’re done with this interview.

“How does it feel to be back in the Capitol after all these years?” He begins, “You know, we’ve missed you and your business.”

“It feels fantastic, really. Like I’m back in my second home, the Capitol has this welcoming feel, especially for me. If it weren’t for my favorite students back home, then I would stay here forever.” you give a big smile, “I might even consider it, after I win.”

Caesar laughs, the citizens cheer at the sound of that, “You’ve got your mind set on the big win?”

“Of course I do. And I promise to make this year much more entertaining than my first games. No abrupt endings this time.”

More cheering, enough so that Caesar has to watch the clock so it doesn’t take up too much of your time, “You said that you have students, what ever do you mean?”

You laugh a little, “I mean my two tributes who won, Tanith and Zavian. I’m hoping they’re watching, but knowing Zavian, he’s likely avoiding the television until I’m off.” you give a look to the nearest camera, “As for Tanith, she’s on the edge of her seat, fingers crossed that I don’t blow this.”

“You could never!” Caesar says, “You’re too good to even be on here.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Caesar.” you laugh with him.

“Is there anything you would like to say to Tanith or Zavian?”

You pucker your lips as you think, “Well, I just want them to know that I will uphold my promise. I will be coming home, even if it might kill me. I will be walking out of that arena alive.”

“That’s a bold statement.”

“I’m a bold person.” you say.

While the crowd cheers, Caesar is obviously thinking up other things to ask you, “Should we expect any surprises?”

It feels like you have a flashback to the hallway, to Finnick telling you not to make your decision right then and there. It was open-ended. It was an invitation to go and see him whenever you’d like inside of the arena if you come to your senses. As if he’ll take you in with no question.

“Maybe.” You say, “Because we both know that the arena will be a doozy, there’s no telling what might happen inside of there.”

Caesar nods, liking that answer.

There’s a faint beeping, which is a signal that your interview is over.

“Thank you for your time (Y/n), it was a pleasure having you.”

“It was a pleasure being back inside of the Capitol after nine years.” you give a wave to the audience.

“Everyone, please give a big round of applause for (Y/n) Rosecelli, our favorite star!”

Star. That’s your nickname.

You’re a Star.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter six

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