Hello! I've released a new album. It's called "In Our Minds Alone", and it contains a lot of tracks from the last 5 years that I worked hard on but never found a home. If you're a fan of indie folk that's a little bit psychedelic, then I think you will enjoy it! Thank you to everyone who chooses to give it a listen, and everyone who has supported my music over the years, and thank you to my partner for doing the incredible album art.
You can buy it here on bandcamp, and it can also be streamed for free at all the usual places such as youtube, spotify, apple music and anywhere else you could think of. I would appreciate it so much if you gave it a listen wherever you please. Thank you so much!
Warning: Mentions/illusions to SA, mentions of blood, gore, mentions of past games.
A Change of Plans: Previous
A/N: OMG I’m alive??? So many people requested a part two and I finally got around to writing. Between how busy life is plus writers block I promise I’m not ignoring the requests in my inbox <3 i appreciate all of your patience and I really hope you enjoy, this was a lot of fun!
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You never for one moment had thought that you’d be back here. Not like this at least. Of course you had been a mentor for years. You had did your best to keep the kids alive, to try to at least bring one home each year. But like many of the other districts, not many did.
You remembered their names. Their faces haunting your dreams every night when dreams of your own arena decided to give you a break.
The dreams started off kind at first. But then as usual, they turned awful. Dark. Bloodied. Murderous. The smell was thr worst part. It all felt so real, that you could still smell the flesh and blood even after waking up.
All of it reminding you of the failure to save them. Most of them at least. Celia was one of the ones you were able to save. Now a mother, she had her life ahead of her. At least as much of a life a victor could possibly have.
But that’s why you always kept to yourself. Always. For the most part at least. You always kept your head down. Did as Snow asked of you. Continued to put out clothing lines the Capital thrived off of. Played the happy shy girl until you grew up and the Capital had new toys to play with.
Like Chasmire.
Like Finnick.
You had been spared. Too shaken too meek. Not desired enough by the Capital to be sold off to. Though you supposed that was a blessing in disguise. A blessing that you didn’t get called on. Used by greedy hands and dropped back off on the train to go home.
But that didn’t protect you completely. Even now, after so many years after your own victory. You still returned to the Capital often. For parties, fashion shows, interviews, collaborations, meetings, work ups. It was exhausting.
It was always exhausting.
But it Haymitch soothed it.
It was rough at first. For a few years at least. Both young and scrambling to learn how to live with the content losses. The loose mentoring as the both of you were kids yourselves. Dealing with the aftermath of your own traumas—though dealing in very different ways.
It had taken years for you and Haymitch to become friends. Even longer to be lovers. With knowing how the Capital worked, you both knew Snow would do anything to use each other against one another for something.
So you both kept it close and quiet.
Your own little peace. A little get away from the bright lights, and the constant cameras. It was something that was purely your own that no one could take.
But somehow, even without knowing? Snow had exactly done just that by putting you in the Games and not Haymitch.
You had known what was being planned by the rebels. Especially being from District 8, you had seen it yourself how fast that fire is spreading. And once the Quarter Quell had been announced? You knew the poor girl, Katniss, who you had been able to see and meet and call, was being thrown back into the games. And sweet Peeta refusing to let her do it alone.
Snow was trying to kill her. That much was clear to you as well. But what was also clear was how important the two kids from the District 12 were. You knew there was something sort of plan being brewed. You just needed to wait to hear what it was. But a gut feeling told you that that plan, didn’t include you as a priority.
Not that you mind. You didn’t really if it meant getting the kids out and stopping these Games once and for all. It was Haymitch that you were worried about. And you hoped to whatever power was out there
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The metallic scent of polish and artificial roses hung in the air, sharp and suffocating in the way only the Capitol could be. You stood backstage, shoulders pulled back despite the weight of the dress stitched to your body like armor.
District 8’s stylists had worked you into something stark and hauntingly beautiful — a dress made entirely of thread. Fine lines of black, silver, and deep plum wound tightly around your frame, as though you’d been sewn together by the very fabric of your district.
The skirt trailed behind you in curling stitches, unraveling and reforming with every step, a visual metaphor for resilience. Your bodice was structured like a corset —though it was amusing considering both your and Woof’s outfit were your own design your stylist borrowed.
Your hair was swept up into a loose bun, tendrils left to fall and frame your face in soft waves. Silver pins shaped like needles sparkled subtly in the Capitol lighting. Your makeup was more subdued — matte lips the color of dried blood in your opinion, and makeup around the eyes lined with a metallic powder.
You smoothed your skirt with a quiet exhale, not from nerves, but from weariness. The Capitol made everything feel louder, heavier. But you’d been through this before. You knew how to hold yourself without becoming something else.
A familiar voice broke the hum of prep around you.
“Well, well. Look at you.”
You turned, lips tugging into a smile as Finnick sauntered over in his absurd sea-green netting and too-confident smirk. Though you knew it was all pretend—expect for that fond look in his eye that he saved for his true friends.
“I thought they were supposed to make me the pretty one tonight,” he teased, giving you a slow once-over.
You blinked at him, unimpressed. “You look like the garnish on a seafood platter.”
He laughed — loud, bright — and leaned in to bump your shoulder with his. “Good. Then they’ll never see me coming.”
You gave a soft hum, smiling now as he settled beside you. Finnick never stayed still, always pacing or fidgeting. But next to you, he stilled — if only for a few breaths.
“You nervous?” he asked, tone lighter now, but still careful.
You shook your head. “Not for me.”
He nodded, glancing down the hall where all the other tributes laid: older and younger, and the newest additions at the very end of the line. “Yeah,” he said, quieter. “Me neither.”
You reached up, gently adjusting one of the messy strands of hair that fell across his forehead. “Don’t show off too much tonight,” you murmured.
“I make no promises,” he grinned. “But I’ll try — for you.”
You shook your head fondly your heart aching knowing that he, like many here, are hating the fact they they all had to be there agin. Then the horns blared, signaling the parade to begin.
Taking Woof’s hand, you stepped up into the chariot, and waited to get this over with.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
After the parade was finished you told Woof you’ll catch up with him later on, your heels clicked softly against the floors. You didn’t glance around — not yet. Your eyes found Haymitch immediately, though you pretended they didn’t. They always found him.
Your heart pounded as it had the first time you saw him. And ever time after.
He stood with Katniss and Peeta near the elevators, arms crossed, his usual grim scowl in place. Though he seemed to be talking with him, almost amused.
You kept your pace measured as you walked toward them. Your heart kicked at the sight of him, at the way his eyes swept over you quickly — worried, relieved, proud — before he looked away like it hurt to look too long.
“Smooth ride?” he asked, voice dry.
You nodded. “Crowd still loves a tragedy. All their favorites are in the ring,”
“You’d know,” he said. But there was a faint curl to his lip. Almost a smile. “Though not all their favorites. I’m not in,” he said.
That had earned him an unamused eyebrow raise, “Well unfortunately for you, Abernathy, you haven’t been a capital favorite in a long time. Especially now wi the these two,”
Katniss’s eyes lit up when she saw you properly, as if the weight on her shoulders lifted for a second. Though it was quickly replaced with that familiar stoic gleam in her eye. The reality that you too, were back in the games.
“Y/N!” she breathed.
You gave her a nod, eyes warm. “Nice to see you again, Katniss. You looked good. Cinna did a great job,”
She laughed under her breath. “You looked terrifying.”
Peeta smiled too, softer. “We are glad to see you. It’ll be good to know someone here,”
You met his eyes reaching and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Peeta was too good. Too sweet. And especially with his leg gone? These games for him especially would be almost impossible. “I wish I could say the same,”
The elevator opened then chimed open and you all stepped in. You stood beside Haymitch. You were careful not to brush against him even as your fingers ached to reach for his.
Silence stretched. Capitol gold and steel blurred past the glass walls.
Then the elevator chimed — twelfth floor.
The doors slid open.
You waited until the kids stepped out and headed to their rooms to change before they ate.
“Y/N,” Haymitch started, the moment the two of you were alone. Well, as alone as you could be in those apartments.
“I’ll find you later. But you know I can’t stay long,” your voice was quiet, but quick as your gaze met your love’s. His eyes, the same tired grey ones Katniss wore. And his messy scruffy dark hair that Effie tried to tame.
How cruel the world was. With how much it look from your Haymitch. And how cruel it was that it just continued to take from him. His friends. His family. You.
“Nothing changes,”
“Plans change.”
“Do they?” Your eyes, usually so soft, timid were fierce like they had been so long ago. Before the burn out of the games. Before the toll of the losses started to take that light from you one year at a time.
There was something in your voice that made him turn. His eyes were sharper now, clearer than anyone ever gave him credit for.
“You talk like you’re not part of this.”
You gave him a long look. “I’m not the one that matters in this right now, Hay.”
He flinched. Barely. But you saw it.
“Don’t start,” he muttered.
You stayed quiet for a moment, watching a hovercraft drift past in the distance. Its lights cast brief shadows across your face.
“I know the rules,” you said finally, your voice low, but steady. “I know how this game is played. Who the sponsors will favor. Who else is watching.”
He stared out at the city, jaw clenched. “Don’t make decisions for me.”
“I’m not,” you said gently. “I’m reminding you to make the right ones.”
“You are the right one.” The words escaped before he could stop them. Rough. Unfiltered. Careless.
You glanced around the room. Knowing that all over there are most likely cameras and bugged wires placed and hidden all over. Your eyes fell back to him, and raised your brow slightly, a silent careful.
He let out a breath and shifted, eyes on the horizon now. “There’s a plan,” he said, voice more careful. “A way to keep certain… valuable pieces on the board. To ensure the games win,”
“I know,” you said. “I know the pieces. I don’t need to know all your strategies to know the goal is to win,”
He turned to you, eyes searching. “You’re not just a piece.”
You gave him a small smile. A sad smile that broke his heart. “But I know where I sit on the board.”
Silence stretched again. Not cold — just full of things neither of you could say.
Then, softly:
“They’re good kids,” you murmured, hands tightening on the railing. “Kind. Brave. The kind of good that’s hard to find now. But they’re also incredibly important,”
He nodded once.
“You make sure they win and get out of there,” you said. “You do whatever you have to do.”
“I’d rather not have to choose,” he replied, quiet.
“You won’t have to,” you said, finally looking at him again. “I already did.”
“Like all the Covey, music in her blood. But not like them, too. Less interested in pretty melodies, more in dangerous words. The kind that lead to rebel acts. The kind that got her arrested twice” 🪿🎻
