Three years after her gruesome win of the 72nd hunger games, Y/N L/N is thrown back into the brutal chaos of the capitol, love and loss as she fights to not fall back into her destructive ways and live through the rebellion - only if she survives the 75th annual hunger games; the quarter quell.
Not many people write for the career pack of the 75th hunger games so I thought I'd give them some love - hope everyone enjoys it!
TW! Mentions of Death
Capitol citizens screamed in excitement as each carriage flew through the large stone arena, the only sound I could hear above the loud roar of the crowds was the large horses' heavy galloping as they pulled us through the designated track.
Chaff and I stared straight ahead - poised and stoic as capitolites begged for a simple glance. Not giving them the time of day became easier each year as I learned it was just as easy to stare blankly under the guise of stoicism rather than wave at the rich spectators. We weren't performing monkeys for them to poke and prod at.
It wasn't until district 12 entered the large space that everyone went truly wild - women and men alike screamed for Katniss and Peeta as they interlocked their hands. The famed star crossed lovers were extremely popular as of late, their double victory was a new and exciting spectacle within the capitol as viewers and game makers alike yearned for their survival and success.
I tried to zone out the rest of the parade as I quickly became bored with the whole preformative show, suddenly too tired to care whether or not the president would even be bothered - surely, the newest additions to the pool of victors were enough to entertain him for now, allowing the rest of us some breathing room.
Once the carriages had been directed back to the station where the horses would be fed, Chaff and I hopped down from the gold chariot in search of refuge; the place we could rid ourselves of those ridiculous costumes.
As I made my way towards the elevators in order to find myself a little peace before the tribute training began that night Chaff had found himself being tugged away by Haymitch once again. I had bid the pair a good afternoon before steeping into the closing doors.
"Don't you look terrifying" came the teasing voice of Brutus as I pressed floor number 11. I spun around to face him only to be met with the smug glare of this year's career pack.
"Don't you look smug" I responded cheekily stepping forward to hug him. He chuckled slightly as he lent down to meet me halfway.
"Stop hogging her" Enobaria's sharp retort startled me as she tugged me out of her companion's arms, "I think you look beautiful" she whispered in my ear before pulling away.
"Hey Enobaria, you look stunning" I responded softly before squeezing her hand and stepping backwards.
There was only one left of our small group I had yet to greet as she stood at her brother's side behind me, "Cashmere" I breathed as I pulled her into a tight embrace. Cashmere had been my first friend amongst the victors after my win, she had been the one to comfort me through my days of endless tears and night terrors when everyone else was too afraid to approach me. The poisonous gas had still been in my system when I was cleared for release into the victor's shared chamber - I guess they were wary it's violent influence over my normally docile temperament as it had lingering effects. But Cashmere had brushed off Brutus and Gloss' warning, favouring comforting me in the first few days after my victory.
"Y/N" she had whispered back as she squeezed me tightly before gently tugging me between her and Gloss as we all stood in the tight space of the slowly rising elevator.
We conversed quietly as Enobaria quizzed me on what I was going to do in the arena, who I was going to ally with etc, Brutus had gripped her hand firmly but softly as to calm her inquisitive nature. I had simply responded quietly saying I didn't yet know, missing the determined glances passed throughout the group.
Eventually, the elevator dinged signifying to our small group that I had reached my destination; quickly hugging each victor goodbye and promising I'd see them later I swiftly exited the cramped box, eager to rest for a little while.
Once again I found myself stuffed into another tight outfit, the designated training suits were almost bearable if not for the tight mesh it was somewhat made out of.
Victors were sat sporadically throughout the training arena, I found myself standing awkwardly in the corner as I tried to find my place alongside them.
There was one major difference between myself and everyone else in this game - I was the only person not supposed to win.
I found myself hiding behind a large piece of metal, the arena this year appeared to be a demolition sight, rubble, partially smashed buildings and half standing metal structures were everywhere.
The older boy’s voice taunting me as he searched for my small figure. I had found myself facing off with the last tribute standing, my theory that hiding and scavenging during the night had proved successful as I made to the final two.
Footsteps neared my shaking form as I tried my hardest to prevent my sobs from slipping from my tightly pressed lips. We had been like this for hours, me hiding and crying while Jori from district 4 hunted me.
Sooner than later the game makers will get bored I thought as I tugged my legs tighter to my chest - the small hole I had crawled into prevented my hunter from spotting me, without actually climbing into the space with me he would have never been able to spot my curled form as I shook.
“Come out wherever you are little bitch” his furious snarl rang out as he neared me once more.
The game of cat and mouse continued for a few more hours before a clinically sweet scent filled the air of the arena.
Taking a deep breath of the mouth watering scent drew me out of my secure temporary home, my empty stomach rumbling with vicious need as I clawed at the metal.
Emerging from the metal structure I circled the outskirts of the area in search of the source of the scent - it seemed to be coming from all around me.
I grew irritated as my search became frantic and I continued to come up empty handed - it seemed that as my anger and viciousness grew I became less and less aware of my own safety.
My own stomach’s disgruntled growling and roaring drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps.
Suddenly a solid weight knocked me off my feet, a pained gasp leaving my dry cracked lips as I tried to regain my balance.
Jori was on top of me, raising a long spear like metal stick as he tried to finally end my life.
Suddenly, in my panic stricken fight to get away from the tall boy I lifted my leg from beneath his wriggling form and kicked him straight in the nose, not even sparing a cringe at the crunching and squishing under my foot as I dragged myself away from his dazed figure as he dropped the spike and rolled onto his back away from me.
I grew even more angry and disgruntled as he continued clawing at my departing form, eventually giving into the growing rage madder haze threatening to overwhelm my mind as I began throwing punches and kicks straight back at him.
Suddenly, a cold rage pierced my being as I stomped and hit as his body - his weakened form now retreating as to protect himself from my furied hits.
I found myself stood over his trembling form, crying, pleading and spitting threats at my shaking self as I neared him.
In one final crazed move, feeling as if I was unable to control my own movements as a furious thunder rumbled throughout me I lifted the metal spike, and with all my might I lifted the spear above my head and thrust it down into his eye socket.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the winner of the 72nd hunger games - Y/N L/N”
summary; there’s nothing you can do to save cashmere from the capitol. it’s too late, they’ve already figured out that she’s a rebel and you care about her. all you can do now is comfort her in the aftermath.
warnings; swearing, prostitution, death, drug mention, torture, scar mention.
wc; 5.8k
--
The day you met Cashmere was a warm, summer day in the Capitol with the nicest weather you’d seen in your life. At the time it was trendy to wear pastel colors, to keep your natural hair while also participating in hobbies that would make others’ jaw drop—usually it was something you’d find district people doing.
It was your first year mentoring, you were freshly eighteen years-old, and Finnick wanted you to be thrown in the ring to see what magic you could create. You were excited to be there, convinced by the other victors that you could make a difference if you put your heart into it.
You were prepared to. You wanted to pave a new path for District Four, and that year, it seemed like it would be possible. You had a smart pair of tributes with confident personalities, who seemed genuinely ready to fight in the Games. They had their eyes on the title.
You were at the peak of your game, but you made it all of ten hours before your spirit was crushed. A perfect day had turned into your worst nightmare, when you’d been escorted to the President’s Mansion. The only information you were given by the Peacekeepers was that it was an important conversation that couldn’t be had in the open.
It reminded you a lot of Finnick and what he had been saying lately. He was being cryptic when talking about the Capitol and President Snow. Like he was trying to hint at something, but when you’d ask questions, he’d be evasive. He did this for weeks, and by the time you were on the train with your tributes, you were sick of it.
What’s the point in talking to him when he refused to say what he had to say outright. He kept saying something about plans. A change of plans or your future was already planned out for you—you weren't entirely sure what he was trying to get at.
That is until you stepped foot into the office, where Snow was with a younger version of Cashmere, not that you knew that yet. Her long blonde hair was in loose curls, pinned out of her face. She was wearing a modern pink tank top that had been tucked into a long grey skirt.
When she glanced in your direction, there was no smile on her face. If it weren’t for the bags beneath her eyes, you would’ve taken her as a citizen of the Capitol, due to her style. She looked exhausted and disinterested, her attention turned back to Snow on the other side of the desk.
You were confused, and just slightly terrified of what you’d been invited into. Snow started by praising your excellence during the Games. He said you’d displayed a new way to handle the arena with grace and manners. It was an odd compliment, you didn’t know what to say, other than thank him for his attention to detail.
Although, you’d never intended to be graceful. You were just surviving in the only way you knew how. Which was by hanging onto scraps and bartering with people that had what you needed. You’d come across several tributes you could’ve killed, but opted for getting what you needed through convincing them.
Snow then went on to tell you that your reward was the Capitol people, or rather, you were their reward because of how well they took care of you. Since you were so civilized, you deserved to be treated as if you were. If that’s the case, though, wouldn’t all victors strive to win that way?
Finnick’s words began to make sense the more Snow spoke. He was trying to warn you of what was to come. Your future was planned out for you, because it had been planned the same way for the dozens of victors that came before you. You weren’t the first, and you wouldn’t be the last.
Snow put it as simply as he could, not wanting to give you the wrong impression of what he had in mind. You’d be bought and passed around to the elite class in the Capitol. The work would be done at night, and there would be no way to get out of it. You’d have to do this while balancing the mentorship.
He waved his hand to dismiss you, telling you that Cashmere would get you up to speed. The both of you were promptly escorted back to the Tribute Center, where Cashmere tried to split and run without speaking to you. You chased after her, pleading for her to stop because you were so confused.
She didn’t, she had no intention to, so you grabbed her.
She yanked her arm from you, eyes wild with underlying anger. She made it very clear in that moment she didn’t want to help you. She said she had to figure it out on her own, therefore you would have to do the same. She wished you luck and stepped into the elevator.
When you made it back to the apartments, Finnick was there. Just by the look on your face, he could tell he was right. He didn’t want to be, but with the way the people had been talking about you during your Games, he knew it was inevitable. Snow would have you the next year.
Finnick was able to give you a better explanation on what you would have to do, and advice on how to get through it. It wasn't going to be easy, there would be moments where you knew being dead would’ve been a better fate, but you could live with it if you found a way to detach yourself from the situation.
He said you shouldn’t take Cashmere’s reaction personally, because everyone deals with it in a different way. Finnick found a way to make it palatable, and if you tried, you could too.
From then on, every time you did see Cashmere, it was in passing. You’d see her in a hallway, in the betting room, in a restaurant. It was like you couldn’t escape her, as if she was meant to be your friend. When your tributes eventually became allies, she was there to negotiate terms with you.
Even with what Finnick had said, it was hard not to hold what she’d done against her, especially since she was supposed to guide you during something so… Well, you weren’t the only one. Finnick held that grudge harder than you could, because he felt like she had a responsibility to help, just like he did.
He had a few words with her, which you came to learn in time that it was because you were in the same position they were once in. He could understand she didn’t want to help because it might’ve felt as if she was aiding snow, but it wouldn’t help you at the end of the day. They both know how different the boy and girl victors were treated.
One with dignity and respect and the other like a toy they could lay their hands on.
Cashmere apologized on her own time, and you slowly became friends the longer you worked alongside each other. She was dealing with her own troubles at the time, and she couldn’t handle someone else’s problems, not when she was drowning on her own.
You forgave her, and she turned out to be really kind. She genuinely wanted to get to know you as a person. The two of you would go to places for hours on end just to discuss what home is like. You exchanged a lot of details, leading you to discover what she really thought of other districts.
Honestly, you thought it was a myth that the more favored districts believed they were better than the others. It makes no sense, you’re on the same side. Whether they want to see it or not, you’re all getting reaped to play a game that results in your children dying. They aren’t excluded from this, as much as they wish they were.
Unfortunately, that’s the way Cashmere thought for the longest time, just a more tolerable version of it. Over time, you’ve worn on her, and she’s more neutral about the topic now. She doesn’t see one side better than the other, but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
Despite your different background and perspectives, the two of you had hidden feelings for each other. You were convinced Cashmere didn’t swing your way, and then one day you were taken by surprise when she asked you on a date. You didn’t think she meant it the way she said it, until she asked you to be her girlfriend at the end of it.
The two of you wanted to keep it quiet and private, but Snow was keeping tabs. It wasn’t long before you two were being called back into his office. He wasted no time telling you how much he disapproved. You were being marketed as different personalities, and once the Capitol realized you were together, popularity dropped off.
It was good news for your relationship.
When Katniss and Peeta won the Seventy-fourth Games, you knew the end of the beginning was coming. Oh, you were so excited. You couldn’t contain it when you saw Finnick, because this is the moment all of you had been waiting for. An outlier from District Twelve had come to save you, and she had no idea of it.
Right before you were shipped home for the year, you were able to say goodbye to Cashmere. She was in a conflicted state, not knowing if she should celebrate or not because rules were broken and surely people would die because of it. Or get the wrong idea about the situation.
You told her there would be a lot of changes in the coming months, most of which you’d probably support. No matter what would happen, you loved her and you’d find your way back to her.
Sure enough, everything got worse on their Victory Tour. You were able to have just a word with Haymitch before you were sent home with a slap on your wrist. He told you they were trying to lay low, but the situation was getting bad due to their missteps on the tour.
When the reading of the card came, you were blindsided. You never thought Snow would pull a move like that. It was bold of him to think he’d be able to swipe you all into his hand at once and crush you. You have no idea what he was thinking when you saw the tribute line up.
Your heart sank when you saw that both Cashmere and Gloss had been picked to represent District One. You knew the Games were going to be difficult, but this amplified it. Besides, you and Gloss have never exactly seen eye-to-eye. He was never supportive of your relationship, he was convinced she could do better. Not to mention, he hated the way you put ideas into his sister's head, claiming they could get her killed.
When you were able to see her during the Tribute Parade, you managed to convince her to trust you. You wouldn’t volunteer into the Games like this if you were going to get killed. You told her that you’d get more information soon, and she’d be one of the first people to know.
Sure enough, Cashmere was quickly recruited into the alliance, with the instructions to keep with the Careers to ensure they don’t go near Katniss and Peeta. The invite had been extended to Gloss, but he wouldn’t budge. He didn’t want anything to do with what you were doing.
Once the plan was solidified in the Capitol, the arena seemed relatively easy. All you had to do was survive and wait for the signal. The worst part was knowing Cashmere was in the jungle somewhere, and you weren’t with her. The thought of her brother being there was comforting, so you were able to relax a little bit.
It got incredibly complicated when the Careers attacked the Cornucopia. Gloss killed Wiress, and before you could stop Katniss, she shot him with an arrow. He died, Cashmere flattened against the rock, hands in the air to surrender. She wasn’t a concern, though, it was Enobaria and Brutus that you had to worry about.
Once Katniss went to chase them, they left, knowing full well that all it would take is an arrow each and they’d be dead. Cashmere joined the main alliance after that, since she wouldn’t be able to go back to the others. It was smooth sailing from there, except for the fact Gloss was dead, because everyone had agreed to try to keep him alive for his sake.
Cashmere was a wreck.
The rescue was to take place at the end of the third day. The girls split from the boys, resulting in chaos when the Two tributes came back for revenge. While you were able to make it back to the tree in time, Cashmere couldn’t, she got stuck in a fight with Brutus while trying to keep Peeta alive.
Your biggest regret is not staying with her, because even if you were in the Capitol, you’d be in the Capitol together.
“Oh, Katniss, don’t wake him.” You tell her, holding her back from shaking Finnick.
He’s taken the situation in Thirteen as badly as you have. Annie got captured in Four so Snow could use her as leverage. The rebels went to get her as soon as they could during the chaos, but she was already gone. There’s no telling what he’s doing to her, you can only imagine after you’ve all seen the damage done to Peeta.
“Maybe he can help.” She says, holding onto your sleeves.
“How?” You ask her.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, but maybe he can.”
How can he help the rebels that have gone to retrieve your loved ones? The hovercraft with the volunteers is already gone. The only thing you can do now is wait to receive the news on whether or not they’ve made it through the Capitol’s defense. And that’s just the first step of many.
You let go of her. Finnick’s wiser than you are, you think Mags taught him to be that way on purpose so you’d always look up to him. He’s like an older brother to you, and Mags was like your tender grandmother. She was yours and Finnick’s mentor during the Quell, and Haymitch had to break the news to you that she died in what was called the victor’s purge.
President Snow ordered all victors to be killed post-Quarter Quell. The only ones that are still alive is because he allowed them to be or he couldn’t get a hold of them. He took dozens of lives without taking a moment to consider they deserved to live.
Finnick is sprawled out on his stomach in the hospital’s bed. There’s a tube connected to one of his arms, a sedative being pumped into his system. His hands are clutching the pillow beneath his head as if he’s trying to strangle someone.
Katniss gently rocks him awake, and at the sight of your faces, he’s incredibly agitated you took away his peace. It isn’t until Katniss has explained the situation, does he begin to light up.
“Don’t you see, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s… it’s more than we could hope for!” Finnick seems strangely elated by this.
You open your mouth to speak, but you’re silenced when the curtain is whipped open, revealing Haymitch. “I have a job for you three, if you can pull it together. Cressida still needs post-bombing footage of Thirteen. If we can get it in the next few hours, Beetee can air it leading up to the rescue, and maybe keep the Capitol’s attention elsewhere.”
“Yes, a distraction.” Finnick is sitting up on the bed. “A decoy of sorts.”
“What we really need is something so riveting that even President Snow won’t be able to tear himself away. Got anything like that?” Haymitch asks.
The three of you head to get breakfast before splitting off. Katniss goes to get prepped for the camera, while you head to Control with Finnick. There, they’re getting the cameras ready for filming. When Katniss is ready, all of you head aboveground to see the damaged concrete from the bombing, which is shockingly not as bad as you thought it would be.
Katniss tells the story on the first day she met Peeta, which was a dark day in District Twelve. Katniss was starving and barely scraping by at eleven years-old. She was just weeks out from being able to sign herself up for tessera, and she’d been trying to sell her sister’s clothes.
It began to rain, she accidentally dropped the clothes in a puddle out in front of the Mellark’s bakery, so she stopped to search through their trash while she was there. She was told off by Peeta’s mother, and she decided that it wasn’t worth the energy to continue anymore. While she was sitting in the mud, Peeta burned two loaves of bread. One of which he threw to one of his pigs, the other to Katniss.
If he hadn’t done that, she surely would’ve died, and so would’ve her sister.
While this story seems to dazzle everyone, it’s not what Plutarch wants. You know this as soon as he huddles together with you, Finnick and Haymitch.
“We need something that’ll capture the Capitol.” Plutarch says.
“We know this already.” You tell him. “Katniss has plenty of stories.”
“Not with as much meat as you or Finnick will have.” Plutarch is tilting his head.
“No.” Haymitch interrupts, he’s shaking his head. “No, Plutarch, you will not force them to tell those types of stories.”
“What type?” You ask, looking at Finnick.
He’s confused, too. “What kind of meat?”
Plutarch raises his eyebrows. “You know—what Coriolanus commanded you to do every time you came to the Capitol.”
You straighten up, eyes wide as you stare at Plutarch. Finnick’s tanned skin seems to have paled immensely, realizing what he’s asking of both of you.
“See?” Haymitch motions. “It’s too vulnerable.”
Plutarch looks at him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take one for the team, then? You have some stories of your own.” Haymitch doesn’t respond to him, only shakes his head. “This will help get Annie and Cashmere back.”
“You’re sure?” You ask, swallowing thickly. “If I go on camera and tell them what I did, it’ll be safer?”
“They’ll be too focused on trying to shut off the propo that they’ll ignore the defense takedown.”
Finnick begins to nod. “Okay, how do we do this?”
“Both of you will take Katniss’s spot. You can take turns.” Plutarch motions before heading off to talk to Cressida.
You follow behind Finnick quietly, eyes on the ground. He stands just in front of the cement block, while you take a seat on it.
“You don’t have to do this.” Haymitch tells you.
“Yes, I do. If it will help her.” Finnick balls up his rope in his hand. He turns to look at you. “I can do it for the both of us.”
“I can’t ask you to sit here by yourself.” You tell him. “So, at the very least, I will sit here with you.”
Finnick gives you a smile, one that reminds you of Mags, before he turns to look at the camera crew. “I’m ready.”
Cressida counts him down.
Finnick lets out a shaky breath. “This is Finnick Odair, winner of the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games. I’m coming to you from District Thirteen, alive and well. We survived an assault from the Capitol, but I’m not here to give you recent news. Instead, I’m here to tell you about the endless nights in the Capitol.”
There’s a pause, and then he continues. “President Snow used to… sell me… my body, that is.” He begins in a detached tone. “I wasn’t the only one.” He nods in your direction. “If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it.”
Your eyes find Katniss, whose lips have parted. She had no clue, not that you think she would’ve, anyway. Her and Peeta were still new to the Capitol, they never had a chance to mentor or even come close to this threat. They had other things to worry about.
“I wasn’t the only one, but I was the most popular. And perhaps the most defenseless, because the people I loved were so defenseless. To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment.”
He presses his lips together, closing his eyes. “Secrets. And this is where you’re going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let’s begin with some of the others.”
You don’t need to speak, because Finnick has this on lock. All you can do is nod along as he tells the camera about strange sexual appetites, betrayals of the heart, endless greed and killer power plays. Secret after secret that had been uttered in the dead of the night.
When he starts listing names, you know it’s over for most of the people in the Capitol, and it gets worse when you finally pitch in with a handful of names of your own. And more, for Cashmere, because she can’t speak them herself.
“And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow.” Finnick says, gaining confidence. “Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That’s all you really need to know. Poison.”
It’s extremely satisfying to hear him begin to tear Snow down. He starts in the past and works his way to the present by talking about all the mysterious deaths that seem to surround Snow. The adversaries and allies that died suddenly or over a period of time. The many excuses that had been repeated.
Snow tried to drink from the same poisoned cup to seem inconspicuous, but all it takes is a few curious minds to find out why his breath smells like blood. There are sores in his mouth that will never heal because not all antidotes work. Which is why he wears those roses, to cover up the smell of death.
They say Snow has a list and no one knows who will be next. All they can do is hope they get out of the way fast enough before he decides they’re a threat, too.
When Finnick stops speaking, the attention is turned on you. Cressida asks if you have anything to add, but all you do is shake your head. Finnick took all the words right out of your mouth, including the strange parties that were conducted. Where you weren’t the star of the show, just there to enhance it.
The camera crew runs off to edit the material, Finnick is swept away by Plutarch, and you don’t move from where you sit on the concrete, staring down at the rubble. Haymitch and Katniss come down to stand next to you.
“I’m sorry.” Katniss says.
“We do what we have to in order to survive, right?” You say, looking up to her. “Finnick warned me that I would eventually regret winning the Games because of what Snow would have planned for me, and he was right. The only aspect that made it bearable was Cashmere.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Katniss asks Haymitch.
“No. My mother and younger brother. My girl. They were all dead two weeks after I was crowned victor. Because of that stunt I pulled with the force field.” Haymitch says. “Snow had no one to use against me.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t just kill you.”
“Oh, no. I was the example. The person to hold up to the young Finnicks and Johanna’s and (Y/n)s. Of what could happen to a victor who caused problems. But he knew he had no leverage against me.”
“Until Peeta and I came along.” Katniss murmurs softly.
After this, you’re taken to Special Defense with Katniss and Finnick to wait. Finnick ties his knots, Katniss paces, and you recite songs from District Four. You’re too anxious to eat lunch. You blow things up in the shooting range with Katniss. You’re told you won’t get any news until the job is done due to communication being down.
Late afternoon, you’re pulled into a room full of screens where Beetee is trying to take over the airwaves. He plays some of Katniss’s footage, but a majority of it belongs to Finnick, with you occasionally cutting in when you had something to say. For the next hour, Beetee barely has any pushback from the Capitol, as if they, too, are riveted by what’s being said.
At the end of the hour, Beetee throws his hands up, sweat running down his face. “Let it go! If they’re not out of there by now, they’re all dead.” He turns his chair around to face the three of you. “It was a good plan, though. Did Plutarch show it to you?”
No, he didn’t, because he’s pretty useless. Beetee takes you to the next room where he shows the system that was set in place to help the volunteers get the victors out from the prison. There’s knockout gas via the ventilation system, a power failure, a bomb detonated in a government building, and the broadcast. Beetee’s pretty happy to hear you don’t really understand what’s going on, because it means the Capitol doesn’t, either.
“Like your electricity trap in the arena?” Katniss asks.
“Exactly. And see how well that worked out?”
Yes, it confused everyone and managed to destroy the dome. Nothing went to plan, the rebels in Thirteen only had so much time to rescue the victors. Half of you were left behind.
You station yourselves in Command for as long as you can, but you’re quickly pushed out when war business starts to be discussed. You wind back up in Special Defense, only this time in the hummingbird room, where you won’t be disturbed.
It’s the most agonizing hours of your life, knowing Cashmere is being rescued but not knowing if she’s safe. You spend a lot of time with your arms wrapped around your upper body, rocking back and forth, staring at the floor.
Finnick continues to tie his knots, Katniss paces back and forth. Haymitch comes in to tell you there’s no word yet. Finnick changes what knots he’s tying, Katniss finally sits down. You stop rocking for a small amount of time to cover your face to hide the tears that threaten to slaughter you. Haymitch comes back to offer dinner, which all three of you decline.
Finnick abandons his rope on the seat to sit on the ground, hunched over with his hands over his ears, like he’d done in the arena with the jabberjays. Katniss holds up a miniature noose she’d made out of her own rope. You play with your hands, keeping an eye on Finnick in case he falls off the deep end.
His hands loosen before he has the chance to.
“Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?” Katniss asks.
“No.” He says, and there’s a long couple of minutes before he adds. “She crept up on me.”
Katniss stares at the ground, mulling this over.
It’s late when Haymitch comes back to check in on you three. “They’re back. We’re wanted in the hospital.” You get to your feet, lips parted. “That’s all I know.”
Finnick doesn’t move, frozen on the ground. You grab his rope, pulling him to his feet to get him moving. Haymitch leads the way, back through Special Defense, into the elevator, straight to the hospital wing.
As soon as you step into the hospital, you almost regret being so eager to get here. It’s absolute chaos. There’s shouting between doctors and nurses and volunteers. There's gurneys being pushed from one end of the room to the other.
You come to a sharp stop when a bed almost runs straight into you, a determined man pushing the woman toward a private room. Her head is shaved, skin sunken in, covered in bruises and scabs. Your eyes glance over her, not really paying attention, until it registers that it’s Johanna.
You take a step toward her, but Katniss cuts you off, heading to a room with an open door. You’re only able to get a glimpse of a man with dark hair, stripped to the waist, before a door is slammed in Katniss’s face, shutting her out.
“Finnick!” A voice shouts, you turn to see Annie, running at Finnick. She’s clutching the sheet to her chest, eyes wild with excitement. “Finnick!” She jumps, he catches her, stumbles a step and then his back slams into the wall, where he holds onto her.
You look at Haymitch, shaking your head. “Where’s Cashmere?”
“Maybe Boggs will know.” Haymitch nods behind you.
You turn to see him coming your way, looking fairly exhausted but seemingly uninjured. “We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she’s from Two, we doubt she’s being held anyway. Peeta’s at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes.”
Katniss nods, Haymitch grins at her. “Come on, then.” He says, guiding her off.
You look back at Boggs. “Where’s Cashmere?”
“She’s just down this hall.” He tells you, beginning to start that way. “So far, testing says she’s good. There’s just been a change with her physical appearance.”
Your eyes widen. “What have they done to my girlfriend?”
“It’s not to the extent of the others.” Bogg tells you. He stops in front of a room with the blinds drawn tightly shut. He places his hand on the doorknob. He knocks twice before opening the door.
From just the crack in the door, you can see Cashmere hide her face, giving you an eyeful of her pretty blonde hair. You pass Boggs, heading straight for her. You’ve missed her so much.
“Babe.” You breathe, the door clicks shut behind you. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
Cashmere turns, letting you see her. For half a second, you’re taken aback by the sheer amount of scars on her face. And then you don’t care, rushing across the room to have her in your arms sooner.
Her lips are trembling. “Don’t look.” She tells you, but makes no move to look away.
You pull her into a tight hug, face buried in her hair. “I’ve missed you so much. I was so worried when they told me the Capitol got you. I thought the rebels would’ve been able to get all of us.”
“I should’ve just stayed with you in the alliance.” She cries, body shaking, fingers digging into your skin. As if she’s afraid you’ll disappear before her eyes. “We could’ve been together. And now—now everything’s changed. Gloss is dead. And they did this to me.”
You pull back from the hug to get a better look at her face, finding grotesque scars that have healed. The big ones are the eye catches from across the room, they’re the ones you noticed first. It isn’t until you get up close do you see the small ones scattered across her face, her neck, her arms…
“You’re still beautiful regardless.”
“You don’t understand, (Y/n), they’re all over my body.”
You gently caress her face. “So who’s going to see besides me?” You give her a small smile. “It doesn’t take anything away from your natural beauty, Cash.”
Her fingers trail the prominent scar on her cheekbone. “It’s ugly.”
“It’s strength.” You tell her.
“It’s permanent.”
“It’s a symbol.”
“Of what?” Cashmere is laughing, but you know it’s simply because she thinks you’re being ridiculous for insisting.
“You rebelled.” You raise your eyebrows. “And you won.”
“I hardly call this a win.”
“Oh, my dear, but you did.” You take a seat on the bed. “You’re still beautiful, scars or not.”
“No one else thinks that.”
“Do I really need to find someone to tell you otherwise?” You ask her. “Have you seen Finnick’s face?”
She laughs. “No.”
“He’s got scars too, and looks just the same as he did.” You smile. “And I have good news.”
“Like what?” She asks.
“Gloss isn’t dead.”
Her face twists, mouth opening to ask what you mean. But as if you’ve planned it, there’s a knock at the door, and then it swings open. You raise off the bed as a puffy-eyed Gloss enters the room. He hadn’t been told about the news of her being rescued because everyone knew he would’ve flipped his shit since he wasn’t given the opportunity to volunteer.
He’s had a hard time adjusting to life in District Thirteen, it’s nothing like home for him. There, everything’s a competition, you have to work hard to earn what you want. Here, it’s different. You’re given everything you need to survive with no strings attached. No man left behind.
“Gloss.” Cashmere sits up on her bed. “Gloss!”
He barrels toward her, hugging her, rocking from side to side. Both of them are crying, relieved to see each other. It wasn’t easy to revive Gloss, but Plutarch somehow managed to do it. As soon as he was pulled out of the arena after the Cornucopia, he was racing against the clock.
You’re grateful Plutarch was able to fulfill one of your requests.
Gloss suddenly reaches back, grabbing your arm, yanking you into their hug. You let out a laugh, holding onto both of them. Laughter quickly dissolves into tears as the seconds tick on.
“I’m so glad you two are alive.” You sniff, holding onto them tightly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Thank you, (Y/n).” Gloss says, pulling away. “I know we’ve never seen eye to eye, but if it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.”
You wipe the tears from your eyes, shaking your head. “It’s really no problem.” When you look at Cashmere, she’s got her bottom lip jut out. “Don’t cry, please.”
“I love you.” She says, reaching for you.
You go to her, pressing a long kiss against her lips. “I love you.”
hello ! hope u r doing well ! in regards to ur cashmere fic heather, i wouldn’t be against picking up from cashmere’s pov after they’re rescued from the arena and finding out about the rebellion and why r was acting so strange during the games and how r wanted to tell them but the higher ups or whatever were against it. and when finding out how r was left behind and taken to the capitol with peeta and johanna, cashmere does whatever she can to help get them back and shows everyone that r was right and doesn’t matter if they’re careers she just wants to be on the right side of history like stated previously. would be cool to see the rescue reunion and even follow throughout the rest of the war and story and maybe even some post rebellion life lol. feel free to write as much or as little as you want, follow the suggestions, don’t, whatever ur heart desires lol.
☼ heather pt3 (Cashmere Ritchson) ☼
warnings; swearing, weapons, torture, malnutrition, injury, prostitution stories, this takes place during mockingjay.
wc; 11.3k
part one, part two.
–
For the first time in a long time, Cashmere is terrified to find out where the hell she is.
She knows she’s in a hospital, based on the objects surrounding her. There’s a metal IV pole beside her bed, which is connected to a tube that leads to a needle in the crook of her arm. She can see a beige chair in the far corner of the room, a small empty table next to it.
Her room is illuminated by a gentle shade of orange, nearly making it impossible for her to tell that the ceiling, the walls and the tile flooring are all the same shade of white. There’s even a few monitors jutting out of the wall, each of them displaying her vitals in a neutral green color.
She doesn’t know where the hospital is located, but one thing’s for certain—she’s not in the Capitol.
The Capitol takes extra care to ensure their recovery rooms are clear of anything and everything. If it could possibly be used as a weapon, then it’s not going to be available for the tribute to see when they wake up. Even a simple needle would be replaced by a tube, which could pump all sorts of medications and sedatives through to ensure a speedy healing process.
On the other hand, she doesn’t believe she’s in District One, either. The hospitals in her district are more comfortable than this. The blanket that covers her would be softer, the pillows more fluffed, the chair in the corner would be straight out of a magazine.
There’s a growing pit in Cashmere’s stomach that’s telling her she’s far, far away from home.
She slowly pushes herself upright in the hospital bed, taking it slow when pain begins to shoot throughout her body. She sucks in air between her clenched teeth, listening as one of the monitors on the wall starts to beep faster. Her heartrate. The sound isn’t as sharp as she expects it to be.
She knows why she’s hurting, she remembers what happened that final night in the arena before she blacked out. (Y/n) was being erratic, insisting Cashmere and Gloss to follow her to a tree. She kept saying everything would sort itself out as soon as they got there.
But then they stepped into the clearing surrounding that tree, and they saw Katniss with her bow, an arrow loaded and aimed up. Just as the first bolt of lightning came down, she sent it flying into the dome.
Cashmere was flung back, and since Gloss had such a tight grip on her arm, he was yanked down with her due to the force of the blow. She can still feel the electricity traveling through her muscles, the way they twitched uncontrollably. She could barely keep her eyes open long enough to watch the ash from the jungle float down around her.
It doesn’t matter how much she digs, there is nothing she can remember after that.
Cashmere looks up to the wall on the opposite side of her room. It’s made out of glass, giving her a clear view of the cement flooring and walls of the hallway. Her room door is propped open.
Her eyes catch a change of light, and a second later, there’s a shadow of a person being cast on the wall. Her fingers twitch, hand hovering over the needle in her arm, unsure of whether or not she needs to use it as a weapon.
Relief hits her like a train at the sight of Finnick Odair’s floppy bronze curls. He’s wearing a white gown with pants underneath. One hand is wrapped around his stomach, the other is dragging along his own metal IV pole. As he gets closer, he reaches to hold onto her doorway, barely glancing in her direction.
And then his head whips back in her direction. She can see his lips move, breathing out her name, but she can’t hear it. Finnick has never said her name like that before, usually there’s an edge of annoyance when he talks to her.
“Finnick.” Cashmere murmurs, her voice sounds faraway, hoarse. She pressed a hand to her ear, face twisted. “What happened? Where are we?”
He takes his time coming into her hospital room, dragging the chair by the door to the side of her bed. He carefully lowers himself down, wincing as he falls into a hunch, shoulders forward.
“We’re in District Thirteen.” He says, voice still muffled. She can’t help the way her fingers slide along the side of her face, rubbing at her earlobe. He notices this, “There’s been some damage to your hearing.”
Cashmere’s fingers freeze, the creases becoming deeper, “Damage? District Thirteen? What are you talking about?”
Finnick opens his mouth, snark on his tongue, but the words don’t come out. He presses his lips together, looking over her face, trying to decide if she’s messing with him or not.
There’s no way (Y/n) managed to lead a willing Cashmere and Gloss through three days of the Games without telling them a single detail about the rebel plan. Finnick has known these two for just as long as she has, and while Cashmere would trust her girlfriend with her life, Gloss would have questions.
They’re purebred Careers through and through. They’d want (Y/n) to explain every move she makes and the reasoning why. Gloss isn’t the type to accept lame excuses for what they are.
And how would she have managed to lead them to the lightning tree of all places, without telling them what was going on to begin with?
“What did (Y/n) tell you?” Finnick asks slowly with narrowed eyes.
Cashmere shakes her head, “She didn’t tell us anything. All she said was that we needed to trust her.”
He can’t help the way he looks at her. Maybe (Y/n) did know them better than he initially thought. “You didn’t ask any questions?”
“Well, we did, but she told us we could win the Games without hurting a single person. I told her there wasn’t a chance of the Gamemakers letting us go home together after last year, but she said this year was different. Gloss thought she was leading us into a trap at the tree.”
Finnick rubs his forehead, eyes closed, trying to imagine the siblings blindly following his best friend around the arena. He remembers (Y/n) turning her back on him and going to get Cashmere out of the water. He lost sight of them as soon as he, Peeta and Katniss ran into the jungle.
Even if (Y/n) was right when she said Cashmere could’ve been part of the alliance, he’s still certain that Gloss would have stepped on many toes. It was hard enough to wrangle the Twelve tributes to where he wanted to go, he can’t imagine what would’ve happened if Gloss, Johanna and Cashmere all came face to face.
Haymitch is not going to be happy when he hears about this. He made the tough decision in the hovercraft to get the siblings over (Y/n), since it’s what she really wanted. Had he known Cashmere and Gloss would’ve followed along without any rebel information, Haymitch might’ve been able to convince Plutarch to widen their horizons just a bit more.
“Cashmere, more than half of the tributes that went into the arena were part of an alliance.” Finnick begins, watching her carefully. “A rebel alliance to disrupt the Games and get Katniss to District Thirteen safely, where we could recuperate and strategize.”
Cashmere stares at him blankly.
“Katniss Everdeen is the Mockingjay, the main symbol of the rebellion. After the stunt she pulled last year with the berries at the end of her Games, she caused a lot of uproar in some of the districts. I’m not sure if you saw any of it in One.”
She shakes her head slightly.
“She was on strict orders from President Snow not to cause any worse of a reaction from the districts during her Victory Tour. Of course, she made that first stop in District Eleven, which screwed her and Peeta. It was too late to reverse the damage that was done by the time the reading of the card happened in the winter. You know Plutarch Heavensbee.”
“Yes, he’s the Head Gamemaker this year.” The words are quiet coming from Cashmere.
“Was.” Finnick corrects, “He’s here in Thirteen with us. He orchestrated the rescue from inside the Capitol. We still have informants there that will help us when it’s time to overthrow the city entirely.”
Cashmere’s lips part, not knowing what to say to him, shaking her head slowly. She feels as if she’s just woken up into some nightmare. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”
“Cashmere, (Y/n) is a rebel, and in the arena she was given a role. She was in charge of protecting Katniss and Peeta until we could be rescued out of the arena. The same goes for me, Beetee, Wiress, the morphlings, Johanna and Blight, Cecelia and Wolf, Chaff and Seeder—”
“All of them were going to be rescued?”
“No, they knew they couldn’t all be rescued. There would have to be sacrifices, and they knew the possibilities. They wanted to help the cause.”
“Okay…”
“We had to wait for Plutarch or our mentors to give us a sign, which we had agreed would be through bread.”
Finally, a piece of information that Cashmere recognizes. She nods slightly, Finnick doesn’t miss this.
“You were sent bread?”
“She was, yes. It was from Mags, District Three, twenty-four pieces. I remember because she said we could split it three ways evenly. Gloss and her argued over it.”
“What was the note?”
“Time is of the essence.”
Finnick takes a deep breath, swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. He sits back in his chair, eyes closed. She could never leave (Y/n) behind, and if she sent that note, then she believed (Y/n) had a fighting chance to get the siblings out of the arena.
One last bit of guidance before Mags would never see them again. Plutarch told Finnick she didn’t even make it out of the Betting Room before she was seized by Peacekeepers and dragged out. As if the eighty year-old woman would have the strength to fight back.
Mags is gone now. President Snow executed her in front of the entire country for aiding the rebels.
“The note was her way of telling you the arena was a clock.” Finnick’s voice is quiet.
“We figured that out.” Cashmere tells him.
“The bread was telling you what day and hour you’d be rescued, which is why knowing about the arena was important. On the third day at midnight.”
Cashmere stares down at her lap. “She couldn’t have told me any of this?”
“She wanted to.” Finnick adjusts in the chair. “She begged Haymitch to let you and Gloss in on the plan, but it wasn’t up to him. Plutarch couldn’t take the risk. All it would take was either of you going to your escort, stylist or Snow for the entire operation to go up in flames. It was too delicate.”
“She was trapped.” Cashmere says, more to herself.
(Y/n) said it the night of the interviews, after the announcement had been made that the Games would still be on. Cashmere went to visit her one last time before they went into the arena, hoping her girlfriend had changed her mind on her alliance stance. Instead, she was met with the same answer she’d been given all week—that Cashmere was on her own.
“It was a complicated situation.” Finnick shakes his head. “Plutarch gave her two options, and he was firm on believing she had to decide. We didn’t think she’d be able to have it both ways.”
Cashmere’s rubbing her face, “Where is (Y/n)? I’d like to talk to her.”
Finnick goes quiet, causing Cashmere to look at him. The two of them stare at each other, and then his lips begin to wobble, eyes becoming glossy.
“Finnick?” Cashmere can feel her heart begin to pound in her chest, the monitor quickening on the wall. “Is she dead?”
He shakes his head, lips pressed together. “No, no she’s alive. She’s in the Capitol with Johanna and Peeta. Only half of us that were at the tree made it out of the arena. Plutarch and Haymitch didn’t have enough time to get us all, so they had to pick who to get out.”
“Who made it out?”
“Katniss, Beetee, Gloss, you and me. Haymitch knew he’d never hear the end of it if he rescued (Y/n) without you or your brother. It was luck that you two were so close to one another in the jungle, otherwise we might have had to leave Gloss behind, too.”
“And they’re just—what? Keeping them there?” Cashmere asks.
“No, Cashmere.” Finnick has pulled a small string of rope out of his pocket. His fingers begin to twist and tie it, no longer meeting her eyes. “She and Peeta are being used as examples.”
“Examples.” Cashmere echoes. “How?”
“They’re being interviewed, tortured. (Y/n) had her second interview last week. Peeta had his first yesterday.”
Cashmere’s lips part, “How long have we been in District Thirteen?”
“A month.”
She stares at Finnick for a long minute, fighting the urge to—what? Run? And go where? And do what?
“I’ve been asleep for a month?”
“You and Gloss were right next to the tree when Katiss sent that arrow into the forcefield. There was damage to your hearing that Thirteen’s been trying to fix, and from what I heard, they made a lot of progress but what’s left right now is permanent. As for Gloss, he landed on a rock or something and got a concussion. The doctors here say he’s fine, but they don’t want to wake him yet to avoid rushing his healing. He has some scarring from the fire.”
“I want to see him.” Cashmere says.
She needs to see her brother, she wants to talk to him. Even if he’s not awake, it’ll make her feel better.
“They have Annie too.” Finnick murmurs.
Cashmere swallows thickly. She knows how much Annie means to him, how innocent she must be in all of this. And with (Y/n) being his best friend, his world is crashing around him, just the same way it is for Cashmere.
“We’re going to get them back.” Finnick’s voice is more sure. “Just not right now.”
—
District Thirteen is not at all what Cashmere expected.
After years of watching the Capitol show footage of it being completely destroyed down to the foundation, she thought it was going to be a lot more disorganized than it actually is.
She was required to take a class after she woke up to learn the basics about Thirteen, primarily how it’s a bunker. It’s currently run by President Alma Coin, a woman with greying hair that Cashmere has met once this past week. She’s very standoffish and strict.
Cashmere has a feeling her presence isn’t welcome here, and neither is Gloss. There was a lot of prejudice on Coin’s face she didn’t bother to hide. It’s pretty obvious what she was thinking—it’s the same with everyone else in this bunker. District One, tributes trained like military, loyal to the Capitol and no one else.
Anyway, Thirteen has a large hospital run by trained professionals, where everyone receives care equally. Cashmere was assigned a small compartment that can fit one other person, which she assumes will be her brother when he wakes. She was provided the same grey jumpsuit that everyone else wears, and incorporated into the daily schedule system.
The schedule rotates for the most part, but lunch and free time are always around the same time. It includes classes on how to defend yourself—a class Cashmere has to fight not to sleep through—and jobs she can learn and eventually pick to be her specialty. This is a non-negotiable, as she was told.
If you’re not doing work, then you’re forcing another resident to pick up your slack. She doesn’t mind the idea of working, there just aren't a lot of options for her to pick from. She’d like to think she’d do good in combat or strategizing like Beetee, but since she doesn’t have experience with engineering, they’re not willing to teach her.
It’s frustrating.
Cashmere can’t find anything that will distract her for longer than a couple hours at a time. Plutarch is no help, all he does is tell her to be patient. Haymitch is in a program getting sober, which means he’s not allowed to see anybody for the time being. She’ll sit with Beetee to learn what she can, but he’s not really her type of person.
To start, her hearing is worse than the doctors in Thirteen initially thought. While they did make a lot of progress, they were under the impression that it had been healed to near perfection. When really, there are moments where Cashmere will miss an entire conversation being had, solely because the voices are a little bit lower than what she can comprehend.
So, when it comes to Beetee, she has to strain to hear him. He’s very quiet, has a tendency to mumble to himself, and will trail off at weird moments. Cashmere can kinda follow what Beetee is saying about mechanisms and technicalities, but at some point he always loses her and she can’t get back on track.
Then her mind will begin to wander, always confused on how he can have so much energy despite Wiress being dead and his ability to walk being stolen from him.
And don’t even get her started on Katniss and Finnick. Those two are a mess, for good reason, but it makes it difficult to be around them. Katniss has almost completely lost it, she’s never been put in a position like this before. She wasn’t asked if she wanted to be the symbol of the rebellion—only nominated by the authority around her.
Cashmere learned a couple days ago that District Twelve no longer exists. During the rescue, Snow had it bombed, causing thousands of unsuspecting citizens to be killed without warning. Katniss’s best friend, Gale Hawthorne, managed to evacuate almost nine hundred people.
All of which were moved here, to Thirteen.
Katniss has had everything she ever knew stolen from her. The only thing she has is her family—her mother and her sister. Cashmere has met them in passing in the hospital, both of them have come in at least once to check in on her brother.
As for Finnick, he had no one but Mags, Annie and (Y/n). Now with all three of them being out of his reach in one way or another, he’s impossible to talk to. He spends a lot of time with that rope, tying different knots, trying to keep level-headed.
Still, Cashmere finds herself at dinner with them every night in her compartment. They originally were gathering in Katniss’s, except with her family around, they wanted a more private setting. And Finnick was assigned his own quarters, but he has frequent mental lapses so he’s basically a permanent resident in the hospital.
The three of them gather between the two beds, eyes on the television to watch the newest propo that has been televised. Cashmere was invited to watch it air in Command, but she opted to visit Gloss instead. They’re thinking of weaning him off the sedation, and she really wants to be there when it happens.
The footage starts with clips of three people describing what happened in District Eight—a mission Katniss was sent on a couple days ago that resulted in a hospital being bombed by the Capitol. It was her first official move as the Mockingjay since she agreed to step up the day after the first interview of Peeta was aired. The day Cashmere woke up.
She recognizes only one of the three people, and that’s Gale. Katniss has to tell her that one of them is Boggs, the head of security in Thirteen. The other is a former film director from the Capitol, her name is Cressida.
It goes on to show Katniss with the people inside the former textile warehouse, and the rows upon rows of injured soldiers on cots. The hope they gather at the sight of Katniss, only for them to be smothered by bombs moments later when she walks out.
Katniss buries her face in one of Cashmere’s pillows, hiding from the massacre on the screen. She only comes out for the clip of her at the end, standing in front of the fire, shouting at the camera.
If we burn, you burn with us.
No one says anything for a long moment, and then Finnick murmurs, “People should know that happened. And now they do.”
“That was aired everywhere?” Cashmere asks.
“No, just in the districts. They couldn’t get it in the Capitol.” Katniss shakes her head. “Let’s turn it off, Cashmere, before they run it again.” Finnick begins to reach for the remote, “Wait!”
The channel begins to automatically play what they have in the Capitol. They’re introducing a special segment with a guest star. It’s Caesar Flickerman at first, with the camera zoomed into his face. Then, it begins to pull out to reveal who it is with him.
Peeta Mellark looks nothing like the healthy boy Sashmere had met in the Training Center. He’s incredibly emaciated, eyes sinking into his face, hands trembling anxiously on his lap.
Cashmere can feel her heart twist in her chest, nausea rising in her stomach. She clutches the fork in her hand. If Peeta looks like this, then what does her girlfriend look like?
Finnick is already watching Cashmere when she looks over, eyes wild and terrified. “Did (Y/n) look like that a couple weeks ago?”
“No, she looked better.” Finnick shakes his head, giving her some relief. “And so did Peeta.”
Cashmere numbly watches the empty exchanges between Peeta and Caesar. It isn’t until Peeta’s asked about the rumors of Katniss being filmed for propos, does a little life come back to his eyes.
“They’re using her, obviously,” Peeta says. “To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what’s going on in the war. What’s at stake.”
“Is there anything you’d like to tell her?”
“There is,” Peeta nods, looking directly into the camera. “Don’t be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They’ve turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you’ve got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it’s too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you’re working with? Do you really know what’s going on? And if you don’t… find out.”
The screen goes black, the seal of Panem appears, the show is over.
Finnick turns off the television in an instant, they sit in silence to mull over what they just watched. It’ll only be a minute before they’re visited by anyone from Command, everyone knows where the three of them gather.
Finnick grabs Katniss, “We didn’t see it.”
“Good idea.” Cashmere murmurs, looking down at her plate.
“What?” Katniss asks.
“We didn’t see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?” He asks, Katniss nods. “Finish your dinner.”
Right as they start to stuff their faces, Plutarch and his assistant, Fulvia, enter Cashmere’s compartment. It’s up to Cashmere and Finnick to talk about the propo and how well it came across, because Katniss’s cheeks are stuffed full of bread.
As soon as Plutarch is satisfied with their review, and how they turned the television off right after, he leaves. The door slides shut behind them. Cashmere gets up from the bed, stumbling over to the bathroom, sick to her stomach.
The image of a grotesque Peeta burned into the back of her eyelids.
—
Cashmere slowly pushes open the door to Command, not entirely sure what she should be expecting. She was on her way to visit her brother when she was intercepted by one of the doctors, telling her there was an order to send her to Plutarch if she was seen.
For a moment, she was afraid that they figured out that she, Katniss and Finnick had ditched their cuffs in a bush two days ago to talk about the propo in private outside of the bunker. The more she thought about it, the less it made sense.
Plutarch doesn’t care if Cashmere or Finnick saw it. It’s Katniss they’re worried about, since it’s her fiance that’s being tortured. It could kill her morale, her willingness to be the Mockingjay. Of course, Annie and (Y/n) are also trapped in the Capitol, but they’re not the main focus.
Cashmere immediately spots her two friends sitting at a long table with a group of people she doesn’t know. Finnick turns slightly at the sound of the door opening, and then motions for her to come sit beside him.
As she takes her seat, she can see the holographic screen on the table has the Capitol feed pulled up. For now, it’s just a news anchor, sitting in an office, rambling nonsense about the restaurants that are closing.
“What’s this for?” Cashmere asks.
Finnick leans over, “Beetee thinks he’s found a way to break into the feed nationwide. So that our propos will air in the Capitol, too. He’s down working on it in Special Defense now. There’s live programming tonight. Snow’s making an appearance or something. I think it’s starting.’
The Capitol seal appears, the anthem playing in the background. President Snow is shown standing behind a podium, his classic white rose tucked into his lapel. The camera pulls back as he begins to address the nation, revealing an agitated Peeta sitting in front of a map of Panem.
“He’s worse.” Katniss whispers from a chair away.
Cashmere watches in horror as Peeta begins to insist on a ceasefire, beads of sweat breaking through the powder they’ve put on him. He talks about the damage done to the infrastructure in multiple districts, the map behind him lighting up as he goes on.
A dam has been broken in Seven. A train has been completely derailed, causing toxic waste to spill from tank cars. A granary collapsing after a fire. He claims all of these are done due to rebel action.
Then, without warning, Katniss is standing on a pile of rubble in District Twelve. She made this trip a couple days ago with Gale and the filming team. They wanted to show the extent of the damage that President Snow inflicted on the district.
Plutarch jumps to his feet. “He did it! Beetee broke in!”
“Where is she in Twelve?” Cashmere murmurs to Finnick.
Katniss responds before he can, “The family bakery.”
This, alone, should be enough to suck the joy out of anyone in the room. Cashmere doesn’t move a muscle, trying to imagine what it would be like to stand in a graveyard.
Peeta’s back on the screen, mouth open. He’s seen the interruption, there’s no doubt about it. Has he recognized the area she was standing in? Or is it the sheer shock of seeing her again?
He stutters, trying to pick back up on his rehearsed speech. He manages to tell the camera about a bombing that was done on a water purification plant, when a clip of Finnick appears, talking about Rue.
Everyone watches as it turns into a battle. Beetee fights to get through the broadcast, while the Capitol tries to retain control, not letting anything get through for more than ten seconds. Beetee must’ve expected this, because he shoves in any clips he can.
The screen then goes dead, only the Capitol seal is seen with a flat static tone to accompany it. Almost thirty seconds later, Snow and Peeta are back on screen, the room they’re in is in chaos.
Snow moves forward, face twisted, accusing the rebels of disrupting the broadcast to keep information they find incriminating from being aired. He says that both truth and justice will reign, and the full broadcast will resume when security has been reinforced.
He then turns to Peeta, “Given tonight’s demonstration, do you have any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen?”
Peeta is not entirely there, but at the mention of her name, he blinks and comes to life. “Katniss… how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you… in Thirteen…” He sucks in a breath to shout, “Dead by morning!”
Off camera, Cashmere can hear Snow yell, “End it!”
Beetee continues to throw in shots of Katniss standing in front of the hospital in District Eight, but it’s not enough to stop what’s happening in the studio in the Capitol. In intervals, Cashmere can still hear Peeta trying to speak to the camera, which has now been knocked to the ground.
The room goes silent when an unmistakable blow is made on Peeta, blood spattering on the tile.
Cashmere jerks to cover her ears as the shouting begins. What did Peeta mean when he said they’d all be dead by morning? Was it a warning or a way to cause a false alarm?
The Capitol seal on the projection spins slowly.
“Shut up!” Haymitch shouts, causing the voices to hush. “It’s not some big mystery! The boy’s telling us we’re about to be attacked. Here. In Thirteen.”
“How would he have that information?”
“Why should we trust him?”
“How do you know?”
Haymitch lets out a noise similar to a growl. “They’re beating him bloody as we speak. What more do you need? Katniss, help me out here!”
She looks up, “Haymitch is right. I don’t know where Peeta got the information. Or if it’s true. But he believes it is. And they’re—”
“You don’t know him.” Haymitch says directly to Coin. “We do. Get your people ready.”
When Cashmere looks at Coin, she can’t find a hint of care in her expression. She doesn’t say anything for a long minute, tapping her finger on the rim of the control board in front of her, mulling this over.
She doesn’t want to believe Peeta, what a shock. To her, he’s a traitor for suggesting a ceasefire and doing what he can to stay alive in the Capitol. It’s not his fault he didn’t know what was going on with the rebellion, the same way it’s not Cashmere’s fault for being born and raised in District One.
For a district that focuses on equality, she sure does have a lot of preconceived notions about people. It was only a few days ago did Gale tell Cashmere what Coin had been doing to Katniss’s prep team.
Cashmere saw the way they were cowering in the cafeteria one day, and how Katniss had to direct them to follow her. They looked awful, terrified to lift their eyes any higher than the ground. Gale had to tell her that Coin was torturing them for information. It was he and Katniss that found them and ordered her to let them free.
“Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario.” Coin begins. “Although we have decades of support for the assumption that further direct attacks on Thirteen would be counterproductive to the Capitol’s cause. Nuclear missiles would release radiation into the atmosphere, with incalculable environmental results. Even routine bombing could badly damage our military compound, which we know they hope to regain. And, of course, they invite a counterstrike. It is conceivable that, given our current alliance with the rebels, those would be viewed as acceptable risks.”
“You think so?” Haymitch asks.
His tone goes completely unnoticed by Coin, despite it being a tad too sincere for him.
“I do. At any rate, we’re overdue for a Level Five security drill.” Coin says. “Let’s proceed with the lockdown.”
She begins to type on the keyboard in front of her, authorizing her decision. When she raises her head, the sirens begin wordlessly.
Boggs stands, instructing Cashmere, Finnick and Katniss to get to their feet. He begins to tell them it’s time to leave Command and to head for the nearest staircase, but Cashmere stands her ground.
“What will happen to my brother? Is this being treated as a drill or as an actuality?”
Plutarch stops what he’s doing long enough to look at her. “They didn’t tell you? Gloss had his sedation pulled hours ago. He should be awake by now.”
Cashmere’s hands ball into fists, her face dropping. She slams the door open on her way out, going straight for the hospital. She ignores the stream of people going the opposite way, pulling her arm free from those who try to redirect her.
When she makes it to the hospital, she’s told there are arrangements being made for those who can’t be moved. Unfortunately, Gloss is not one of them. They’d already performed their testing on them, since he has no issue standing or walking, he’s been cleared to go down into the evacuation zone.
All he needs is an escort.
Cashmere finds her brother, sitting on the edge of his bed, head hung. She presses her lips together, the urge to cry coming over her quickly. “Gloss.”
He raises his head, face contorted as he looks over at her. There’s a long second where he doesn’t seem to register who it is he’s looking at, and then his face relaxes. “Cashmere.”
She hurries toward him, he stands up to hug her, squeezing tightly. “What’s happening? The people here say we’re in District Thirteen?”
“I don’t have time to explain right now.” She takes a step back. “We’re in the middle of a drill, we need to evacuate.”
Gloss doesn’t put up a fight, letting Cashmere lead him out of the hospital and to the nearest staircase. It’s not as crowded as it was a couple minutes ago, making it easier for them to get to the lowest point of the bunker.
At the bottom, Cashmere is told to scan her schedule, that was she’s accounted for. They stop Gloss, asking him where his is, which is when Cashmere tells the soldiers that he had just been released from the hospital before the drill. They exempt him, and tell her to treat Gloss as one of the members from her compartment.
Together, the two of them wander until they find Cashmere’s bunk. They sit, watching as people continue to file in, all surprisingly calm despite the circumstances. If this were happening back home, the chaos would be unimaginable. The selfishness of saving yourself before others would’ve caused a stampede.
“I’m going to get our stuff for the bunk, I’ll be right back.” Cashmere murmurs, getting to her feet.
She heads for the station in the corner, designated for handing out packs. Cashmere gives the man the compartment number, telling him there’s only two. The man checks the sheet and then turns around to grab the two bags from off the shelf. He makes them look heavy, with the way his arms hang at his sides, but she had no issue pulling them off the counter to carry back to her bunk.
While Cashmere and Gloss begin to make up the beds, she begins to slowly tell him what happened that last day in the arena. How there’s a rebellion and who was a part of it, Katniss being the Mockingjay, the plan to rescue anyone who made it to the lightning tree that night.
The damage to Cashmere’s hearing, the concussion that Gloss suffered. Peeta, Johanna, (Y/n) and Annie are stuck in the Capitol, some of them may or may not be tortured. Peeta is for sure, he had just warned them about an attack, which is why a drill had been called.
(Y/n) is a rebel, and she left the alliance in the arena to save Cashmere and Gloss. If it weren’t for her, they would’ve been killed or left behind. This is why she was acting so strangely in the arena and couldn’t give them straight answers.
Gloss watches his sister fight back tears, face contorting, letting out a shuddering breath. He grabs her hand, squeezing tightly. “Cash, I am so sorry.”
The next three days in the bunker are hell. As time goes on, Cashmere gets more and more claustrophobic, craving the sun. The bunker allows them to move around, talk, exercise and shower, but it’s not enough. She needs to be let out.
After the first night, she brought Gloss over to talk to Katniss and Finnick, both of whom were happy to see that he was now upright and talkative. Each of them spent time catching him up on what’s been happening and the significance it holds towards the rebellion.
Whether Gloss likes it or not, he is now a rebel by association. Not only because he was rescued by District Thirteen, but because Cashmere has volunteered several times to help out with the cause. When it comes to those two—where one goes, the other follows. There would be no point in assuming Gloss wouldn’t also be a rebel.
“Here, let me return those.” Gloss says, pulling the bags from off the ground.
With twenty-four hours of silence from the missiles, which weren’t actually too bad to deal with, Coin announced they’d be allowed to leave. All they’d have to do is clean up their area and return the packs.
“Are you sure?” Cashmere asks.
Gloss makes a face at his sister, hauling one onto his shoulder and carrying the other one at his side. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She watches as he walks off, joining the line to return the bags. Considering all the information he’s been told, he’s taking the situation better than she thought he would. She was so disoriented when she woke up and found out a month had passed. For him, it’s been two additional weeks.
One second she was in the arena, the next she was being told she was part of a rebellion.
When Gloss comes back, the two of them start toward the door. They only make it halfway before they’re being waved down by Katniss and Finnick, who are already standing with Gale and Boggs.
“Hey, guys.” Cashmere gives a half smile. “What’s going on?”
“We’re wanted in Special Defense.” Finnick tells them.
Boggs motions for the group of victors to follow him, so they do. Out the door, up a flight of stairs, down a hall and into an elevator that goes in multiple directions. They arrive in Special Defense, and get ushered into a room that’s almost identical to Command.
Inside, there’s a colorful group waiting for them. President Coin, Plutarch, Haymitch, Cressida, and a few others Cashmere doesn’t know from the top of her head. They’re sitting around a table, clearly exhausted. The smell of coffee wafts into Cashmere’s nose, making her go rigid.
It’s a luxury she hasn’t been able to enjoy since getting here. She was told it’s used only in cases of emergency. She used to enjoy a cup of it every morning in District One, before she went to go train the teenagers for the day.
“We need all six of you suited up and aboveground.” Coin tells them. “You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?”
“Can we have coffee?” Finnick asks.
A couple steaming cups are handed out, Cashmere closes her eyes while she deeply inhales. It smells like home. It smells like (Y/n), even though she wasn’t a fan of it until Cashmere started to make it for her.
Gloss and Cashmere add cream and sugar, sipping gently at the cup. The moment the taste comes over her tongue, she relaxes, letting out a content sigh. Katniss is pulled away by her former prep team to get her camera ready. Gloss, Cashmere and Finnick don’t have the luxury. They’re left to just each other to fix themselves up.
Cashmere doesn’t mind this. She finds a mirror and sits in one of the chairs, running her fingers through her hair, fluffing it at the root. Finnick and Gloss watch, slightly amused at her attempts. It’s not going to help much. The moment she and Katniss are seen side by side, it’s going to be obvious who they’re focusing on.
It isn’t long before Katniss is ready, so they begin the journey to escape the cement prison. Once they climb the final ladder, Boggs hits a level that opens a door, letting them outside.
Cashmere soaks in the sun, finally feeling it after almost a week of being trapped below. Gloss squints, covering his face to allow him to see where he’s going. Boggs leads them into the woods, informing them that September begins next week.
They come across the first crater from the missiles, and they’re told that anyone on the first ten levels would have died.
“Can you rebuild it?” Gale asks.
“Not anytime soon. That one didn’t get much. A few backup generators and a poultry farm.” Boggs waves it off. “We’ll just seal it off.”
They continue, going inside the fence of Thirteen. The craters here are both old and new. Before the bombing a few days ago, very little of Thirteen was aboveground. Just a few guard stations, a training area and a foot of the top floor poked out. It had several feet of steel atop it, but it was never meant to withstand what the Capitol had to offer.
“How much of an edge did the boy’s warning give you?” Haymitch asks.
“About ten minutes before our own systems would’ve detected the missiles.” Boggs says.
“But it did help, right?” Katniss asks.
“Absolutely.” Boggs nods. “Civilian evacuation was completed. Seconds count when you’re under attack. Ten minutes meant lives saved.”
Katniss lets out a breath of relief.
Cressida directs them to stand in front of the old Justice Building. The Capitol’s been using it as a backdrop for years, but Cashmere was told by Beetee that it’s an old video. If Cashmere watched closely, she’d be able to see the wings of a bird in a corner, the same angle every time.
The clip must’ve been taken soon after Thirteen initially left Panem, since the building is now being taken over by nature. There are vines that climb the pillars, deep cracks in the foundation from the bomb that was dropped right in front of it.
As they begin to approach where the stairs used to be—a crater now lies—Gale points out something inside, causing everyone to slow. Pink and red roses scattered inside of the rubble, no rhyme or reason, just drop haphazardly.
Katniss comes to a stop. “Don’t touch them! They’re for me!”
She goes on to explain that this is Snow’s way of letting her know he was thinking of her, more or less. She found the same roses in her old victor home when she visited early this week.
A crew in suits are called to collect the roses, disappearing soon after.
Katniss is directed to stand in front of the crater, while her camera crew moves around to get the best angle. Cressida stands out of view, arms crossed over her chest, glancing at the rest of you, standing off to the side.
“So, what exactly do you need from me again?” Katniss asks.
“Just a few quick lines that show you’re alive and still fighting.”
“Okay.” Katniss agrees, shifting on her feet, staring into the camera. It’s a long minute of watching the red light blink, nothing being said. “I’m sorry, I’ve got nothing.”
Cressida heads toward Katniss. “You feeling okay?” Katniss nods. Cressida pats a few spaces on her face, drying the sweat growing on Katniss’s face. “How about we do the old Q-and-A thing?”
“Yeah. That would help, I think.” Katniss glances in Finnick’s direction, he gives her a thumbs up. Cashmere nods at her.
With Cressida back in position, they start again. “So, Katniss. You’ve survived the Capitol bombing of Thirteen. How did it compare with what you experienced on the ground in Eight?”
“We were so far underground this time, there was no real danger. Thirteen’s alive and well and so am—” Katniss’s voice cuts off without warning.
“Try the line again.” Cressida urges. “ ‘Thirteen’s alive and well and so am I.’ “
Katniss takes a breath, “Thirteen’s alive and so—”
Cashmere can see Katniss breaking into tiny pieces. She looks at Gloss from the corner of her eye, finding his brow furrowed. He’s puzzled, maybe about how they came to the conclusion that Katniss was a good fit to be the leader of the rebellion? Cashmere wouldn’t have personally picked her, but that’s not the part that matters. The people chose her.
“Katniss, just this one line and you’re done today. I promise.” Cressida tells her, and then reminds her of the line.
Katniss awkwardly swings her arms at her sides, placing her fists on her hips after. It must not feel right, because she drops them back at her sides, a crease appearing between her brows. And then, she bursts into tears.
Cashmere can barely hear Cressida call a cut.
“What’s wrong with her?” Plutarch asks, disappointed.
“She’s figured out how Snow’s using Peeta.” Finnick says.
Katniss is hyperventilating, barely managing to stumble over to Haymitch, who embraces her immediately. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He directs her to sit down on a fallen pillar.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“I know.” He says.
“All I can think of is—what he’s going to do to Peeta–because I’m the Mockingjay!” She gasps.
“I know.”
“Did you see? How weird he acted? What are they—doing to him?”
Cashmere turns away, closing her eyes, taking deep and measured breaths. The sight of Katniss over Peeta is going to send her over the edge. She’s worked very hard to keep her feelings about (Y/n) unknown.
It’s been tearing her up to know that everyone has seen her on Capitol television being interviewed and she hasn’t. Being repeatedly told that her girlfriend looked fine and healthy means nothing if she’s watching Peeta deteriorate before her eyes.
“It’s my fault!” Katniss cries out.
It’s quiet a couple seconds later, allowing Cashmere to open her eyes. They’ve sedated Katniss, something they’ve been doing often. They see it as an act of mercy to knock her out, rather than going through with the panic attack.
However, this just starts a chain reaction, because Finnick breaks out into tears over Annie. They get a needle in his arm much faster, not wanting to see how hysterical he becomes.
All eyes turn to Cashmere and Gloss next, afraid of if they’ll succumb to their fears as well. Cashmere shakes her head, “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Haymitch asks, he hasn’t moved from the pillar. “Do you want to be escorted back inside?”
“No, I want to film.” She looks at Cressida. “Anything, please. I want to help. I can’t sit and do nothing anymore.”
Boggs excuses himself, deciding to head back to the bunker, himself.
Cressida thinks for a moment, “Well, the Capitol hasn’t seen you and Gloss reunited yet. Since you two were a favorite, I think it could be a good idea to interview you together.”
Gloss nods, “Let’s do it.”
Cressida turns her attention to Plutarch. “Maybe we should call up Katniss’s prep team—”
“No,” Cashmere shakes her head again, “No, we don’t need any of that.”
Cressida nods, “Okay, then we’ll just have you run Katniss’s line. Ready?”
“Ready.” Cashmere nods.
Cressida motions, and then the recording starts.
Cashmere lets out a breath, looking into the nearest camera. “Gloss and I are standing in the rubble of District Thirteen, where we just survived an attack from the Capitol.”
“The citizens of Thirteen are alive and well and so is the Mockingjay.” Gloss finishes.
Cressida cuts, happy with the material, deciding to then switch to asking questions and answering them. If they could have even a little bit of filler content with the siblings, it could hold them over until Katniss or even Finnick feels better.
“So, Cashmere, how is it in District Thirteen?”
Cashmere smiles, “It’s actually quite calming, it’s hard to be stressed out about anything here. I don’t have to worry about where my next meal will come from or my hands being idle for too long.”
“What is it like to stand behind the Mockingjay?”
This one’s a little harder, especially after she watched Katniss just crumble under pressure. “I’m confident she’ll always make a stride in the right direction, even if it means disobeying orders. I believe she’s going to lead us to victory against the Capitol.”
“It’s my understanding you’ve sustained an injury from the arena, could you tell us what it is?”
“I lost a good portion of my hearing following the blast from the forcefield, luckily Thirteen was able to restore almost all of it.” Cashmere nods. “I’m fully aware Katniss is the one that caused the blow to the forcefield in the first place, but I have no reason to resent her for it.”
Cressida nods, turning to Gloss next. “Gloss, how are you feeling?”
“Better, now that I’m not at the mercy of the Capitol.” Gloss says.
“How did you feel when you woke up and found out where you were?”
He lets out a light laugh. “Disoriented. I didn’t believe the doctors when they said we were in Thirteen, but I’m very grateful to be here with my sister.”
“How do you think you’d be treated back home in District One if they knew you were a rebel?”
Gloss doesn’t miss a beat, “No different than before.”
Cressida is content with what she’s gathered, dismissing the siblings by telling them this will go a long way. Panem already saw Cashmere during their segment of the people she’s lost and who they meant to her. She spent time talking about Mags, Enobaria, Brutus—even Cecelia, the victor from Eight.
She says there had been a lot of questions about where Gloss had been, since everyone knew he’d been rescued. Putting them together is going to catch a lot of eyes, in and out of the Capitol.
On the way back to Thirteen, Cashmere tells Gloss about the interviews the Capitol has been conducting. Apparently, (Y/n) had two interviews before Peeta had his first one. Katniss and Finnick both said she looked healthy, not at all as if she’d been tortured.
She hasn’t been seen since Peeta’s been aired, as if Snow knew Cashmere was going to wake up and intended to keep her from seeing (Y/n).
—
They’re sending in a rescue team today.
All it took was Katniss going into hysterics over Peeta for them—or rather, Boggs—to decide to start planning a mission. They spent the rest of yesterday afternoon in Command with Beetee, spitballing ideas and figuring out ways to get around the Capitol’s defense.
After hours of deliberation, they finally managed to create an outline that seemed like it had the best chances of succeeding. Coin approved the mission without looking at it for longer than a few minutes, but she said it would be a volunteer-only basis. To her, it wasn’t worth going to the Capitol to rescue the few victors still there.
Everyone else sees the benefit in it, especially Plutarch. He’s eager to have Peeta with them in District Thirteen. Not only will they be in control of his healing, he’s thrilled over the idea of how the districts will react when the star-crossed lovers reunite. He thinks it’ll make the movement more powerful.
Naturally, when Cashmere heard they were taking volunteers, she was one of the first to raise her hand in Command, ignoring the wide-eyed look from her brother. She’d been attending the special operations training program, as needed by her schedule. She knows how to shoot a gun, how to save a soldier with her first aid, how to avoid capture.
She wouldn’t exactly say she was one of the top students in her class, but that’s because of how much time she had to spend unlearning everything she was taught in District One. As a Career, she’s always been told to go for the kill and worry about the repercussions later. Her survival is the most important part, even if it means to put your allies in danger.
She still shudders thinking about the first hands-on combat class Thirteen made her take. The way she was able to sweep the competition, then as soon as they were put into the block simulation, she was the first to be disqualified.
That said, they denied Cashmere, but it wasn’t because of her past. Cressida took those interview clips and edited them to mix them in with other clips they haven’t used yet of Katniss, Haymitch and Finnick. They didn’t wait to air them, which means that her recent appearance on television makes her a risk in the Capitol.
If she’s taken, they wouldn’t have the spare time to go looking for her.
They’ve decided to use Cashmere and Gloss in other ways, as well as Katniss and Finnick. The sedation has finally worn off, which means they can try to get footage from the craters again.
Although, seeing them up close, Cashmere’s not too sure it’s a good idea.
“How did you meet Peeta?” Cressida asks.
“When I met Peeta, I was eleven years old, and I was almost dead.” Katniss begins, telling a story about how her dad had died, she, her mother and sister were just scraping by.
It was a rainy day. She spent the entire evening trying to sell a stack of Prim’s old baby clothes, but no one wanted to buy them. She tripped in a puddle, clothes sprawling everywhere, ruining her chances. Katniss went to the Mellark Bakery’s trash can, hoping she would score.
Instead, she was yelled at by Mrs. Mellark, told to leave before she called the Peacekeepers. Katniss suspects that Peeta burned a couple loaves of bread on purpose, because he showed up at the back door, and tossed them her way. He took a beating from his mother in order to save her life.
“We had never spoken. The first time I ever talked to Peeta was on the train to the Games.” Katniss continues.
“But he was already in love with you.” Cressida says.
“I guess so.” Katniss gives her a small smile.
“How are you doing with the separation?”
“Not well. I know at any moment Snow could kill him. Especially since he warned Thirteen about the bombing. It’s a terrible thing to live with,” She says. “But because of what they’re putting him through, I don’t have any reservations anymore. About doing whatever it takes to destroy the Capitol. I’m finally free.” SHe tilts her head back. “President Snow once admitted to me that the Capitol was fragile. At the time, I didn’t know what he meant. It was hard to see clearly because I was so afraid. Now I’m not. The Capitol's fragile because it depends on the districts for everything. Food, energy, even the Peacekeepers that police us. If we declare our freedom, the Capitol collapses. President Snow, thanks to you, I’m officially declaring mine today.”
Cressida calls a cut, gathering in a huddle with Plutarch and Haymitch. They begin to talk quietly, Haymitch begins to shake his head, but it’s too late. Finnick and Cashmere are called over to join.
“What is it?” Cashmere asks, hands stuck into her jumpsuit pockets.
“You don’t have to say yes.” Haymitch warns them.
“Haymitch, will you be quiet?” Plutarch waves him off. “We need a distraction—like a story. Something that will keep the Capitol occupied while our volunteers go in.”
Finnick shakes his head, “Like what?”
“I was hoping you two would have some to share.” Plutarch raises his eyebrows, not wanting to be too straightforward. “About your time in the Capitol.”
Cashmere and Finnick seem to realize at the same moment. Her expression drops completely, staring at Plutarch, wondering if it would be an overreaction to slap him for coming up with an idea like that. The color from Finnick’s skin drains completely, until he’s as white as a sheet.
“You can tell him no.” Haymitch reminds them.
“Are you going to step up?” Plutarch challenges, looking at him.
Haymitch crosses his arms over his chest. “You won’t like what I have to say.”
Finnick’s fingers begin to twist the frayed rope in his hand. “What would this help?”
“It would help Annie and (Y/n).” Plutarch urges. “If the Capitol’s focused on taking down our broadcast, then they won’t be looking at defense as intensely. Snow would rather preserve his image to continue having control.”
Finnick nods, but Cashmere shakes her head slightly. “Not this.”
“Finnick has the same amount of risk—” Plutarch tries to reason.
“Not this.” She emphasizes, turning on her heel sharply to return to her brother.
Finnick goes to take Katniss’s former seat on the pillar, Haymitch telling him, “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. If it will help her.” He balls up the rope in his hand. “I’m ready.” Cressida motions when the camera’s rolling, Finnick takes a breath. “President Snow used to… sell me… my body that is.” His tone is distant, trying to escape his body. “I wasn’t the only one. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it.”
Gloss’s hands are balled into fists. “Is this what he just called you over for?”
“Relax, Gloss.” Cashmere murmurs. “I told him no.”
“I wasn’t the only one,” Finnick’s eyes briefly meet Cashmere’s. “But I was the most popular. And perhaps, the most defenseless, because the people I loved were so defenseless. To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment.”
Cashmere couldn’t, she didn’t have the same amount of influence that Finnick did when he first won. The people of the Capitol were completely infatuated with him, due to his age, due to the strength he showed in the arena. Cashmere was just a girl, a plaything they could throw around with no real authority. If she tried even half of what Finnick did in the privacy of a patron’s apartment—and she did, several times over—she was laughed at.
“Secrets.” Finnick continues. “And this is where you’re going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let’s begin with some of the others.”
Finnick spends the next hour telling a story that no one would be able to walk away from. Some of them Cashmere knew, between conversation with Finnick privately or her own experience with the patron. Strange sexual appetites, betrayals, endless greed, unforeseen power plays.
It isn’t until Finnick begins to name the people he’s talking about, does it get Cashmere’s own thoughts working. While she’s not willing to share the most vulnerable and abused years of her life, she would be more than happy to give Cressida a list of names.
After all, she’s spent countless sleepless nights putting them in alphabetical order, swearing one day she’d do something about it.
“And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow.” Finnick’s eyes close. “Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That’s all you really need to know. Poison.”
Finnick starts back before any of them were born, listing the events that led to Snow rising to power. The mysterious cases of adversaries dying around him. His allies that posed threat to his power. The amount of people who would drop dead at a feast, or slowly over a course of months, eventually slipping away.
Sometimes it was bad shellfish, an inexplicable virus, an overlooked weakness in the aorta. And Snow would drink from the same poisoned cup to avoid suspicion, except antidotes stop working after a while when immunity is built up. Ever wonder why the scent of his roses are so strong? Ever get too close and get a whiff of blood on his breath?
They say Snow has a list and no one knows who will be next.
They keep the camera on Finnick long after he finishes, stuck in the shock of what he’s just told them.
“I’ve excluded about a hundred names, would you like me to start over?” Cashmere asks.
“You have them all memorized?” Cressida asks once she can close her mouth.
“I do.”
Cressida motions to the pillar, “Please.”
Cashmere takes a seat on the pillar, Finnick goes to move away, until she grabs a hold of his sleeve, shaking her head. He understands without a single word being said, taking a seat next to her.
From the top, Cashmere begins a list of names, not a single ounce of context is needed. A few of them are repeats of what Finnick has already said, and she can only imagine what Cressida and her team will put together when they’re done.
When she’s done, when the last name is spoken, they scurry away, heading right back to Thirteen to edit the footage they’ve acquired. Cashmere doesn’t move for a long minute, as Gloss comes over to sit beside her.
She’ll get her justice, maybe not tonight, but as soon as the Capitol realizes who they’re living beside, they might take action themselves. They might sell out their own people when the siege on the Capitol begins.
With nothing else to do, Cashmere, Gloss, Finnick and Katniss are taken inside to Special Defense, where all they can do is wait. They talk, tie knots, pick at their lunch, shoot arrows to blow up targets on the range.
They wait anxiously as the evening begins to drag on, waiting for the rescue team to be clear enough to communicate with them. When the designated hour comes, everyone stands behind Beetee to watch him hack into the Capitol’s airwaves.
Cashmere has never seen Beetee focus in such a way, sending in partial cuts of Katniss’s story. While her story was heartwarming, it won’t be enough to get the people of the Capitol to pay attention. They’re judgemental beings, the type to gossip for hours about a bad fashion choice.
This is why the entirety of Finnick’s interview is played in parts, always picking up where Beetee leaves off. Cashmere is sprinkled in here and there, listing off a few names before Finnick is back, dishing out more secrets that have gone unnoticed until now.
It’s the longest hour of Cashmere’s life, watching it go from Capitol feed to Finnick, to Cashmere, to feed again. At one point, they attempt to black out the network altogether, but the tech team in Thirteen is too savvy to let that go on for longer than a minute.
“Let it go!” Beetee finally throws his hands up, he’s used all the footage, every second of it. He wipes his face with a cloth. “If they’re not out of there by now, they’re all dead.” When he spins around, he’s face to face with Cashmere, Finnick and Katniss. “It was a good plan, though. Did Plutarch show it to you?”
No, he didn’t. Beetee takes them to another room, where another team sits in front of a dozen screens. With the help of rebel insiders, everyone worked together to get the victors out. There was a distribution of knockout gas, a power failure, the bombing of a government building, and, of course, the disruption of the broadcast.
Cashmere can see the point in all this, but admittedly, the plan is hard to follow. Beetee smiles when she says this, because it means their enemies had a hard time figuring out what was going on, too.
“LIke your electricity trap in the arena?” Katniss asks.
“Exactly. And see how well that worked out?” Beetee says.
Cashmere looks at Finnick, who subtly shakes his head. It’s not important, or Beetee’s making it out to be more important than it was. Either way, they’re shooed out of Special Defense, so they try to move to Command, only to find out they’re barred from there, too.
They move to the hummingbird room, it’s adjacent to Special Defense. It’s quiet, no one will come to interrupt them. Gloss joins them there, sitting with his sister, trying to offer a peace of mind.
It’s hard, almost impossible, since there’s no word from the rebels. Cashmere watches the clock tick on, wondering how long they’ll have to wait. She’s not hungry when they’re offered dinner, only wraps her arms around her body and hunches over with her eyes closed.
It’s late when Haymitch shoves through the door. “They’re back. We’re wanted in the hospital. That’s all I know.”
Gloss is on his feet, pulling Cashmere up. Finnick is frozen, so Katniss has to take his hand to lead him through the hallways. They leave Special Defense, step onto an elevator that drops them off directly on the hospital wing.
It’s in utter chaos, doctors shouting orders, nurses running back and fourth, gurneys with the wounded on them pushed against the wall. Cashmere’s hand clamps onto Gloss’s as she searches, face after face, looking for her sweetheart, her (Y/n).
Cashmere has to be pulled back to avoid getting hit by a gurney. An unconscious woman with oozing scabs, a shaved head. The bruises can’t hide the unmistakable features of Johanna Mason, who seems to have been tortured for her rebel knowledge.
What have they done to her girlfriend?
“Where’s (Y/n)?” Cashmere demands, wheeling around to look at Boggs. “Now! Where is she?”
“Down the hall.” Boggs points. “The first door on your left. The one with the blinds pulled shut.”
Cashmere doesn’t wait to hear what else he has to say. She heads for the hallway, ignoring the people trying to block the way, squeezing past. She lets go of Gloss’s hand, knocking on the solid part of the door, before swinging it open without a reply.
(Y/n) is sitting on the bed inside, turned away from the door, she looks as if she’s lost about a third of her weight. The nurse beside her is tapping rapidly on the device she has, turning at the sound of people entering the room.
“(Y/n)?” Cashmere’s voice trembles, wanting to embrace her girlfriend, but too afraid to cause a panic. “It’s me. It’s Cashmere.”
Slowly, she begins to raise her head, eyes meeting Cashmere’s. There’s a distant look in her eye, a straight face. And then it twists, eyebrows pushing together, eyes lowering into a squint.
Three years after her gruesome win of the 72nd hunger games, Y/N L/N is thrown back into the brutal chaos of the capitol, love and loss as she fights to not fall back into her destructive ways and live through the rebellion - only if she survives the 75th annual hunger games; the quarter quell.
Not many people write for the career pack of the 75th hunger games so I thought I'd give them some love - hope everyone enjoys it!
The tight, harsh corset the stylist had put me in was irritating my skin and was making it hard to breath as I entered the section of the building where the carriages were stationed.
Chaff and I were making our way towards our fellow victors, all of us trying to ready ourselves for the famed tribute parade - there was a tense sense of acknowledgement within everyone as they tried to converse quietly. "Just try to be nice, everyone here doesn't actually want to fight. We're only here to please the capitol's sick need for entertainment" Chaff murmured to me as we gently bumped into one another as we walked.
I hummed in agreement, mulling over his words as I tried to put on a facade of false happiness.
As we entered the spacious area we bumped into Haymitch Abernathy, the victor of the previous quarter quell, he was accompanied by the most recent survivors of the 74th hunger games - Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.
The outcome of last years game was unique as there were two survivors - it was a forbidden love story close to the hearts of many, leading to an outraged call of two victors as the couple tried to end both of their lives, an act of refusal to kill each other once they were the only tributes left alive.
I smiled at Haymitch as he pulled me into a tight hug, whispering a quiet hello as he pulled away to introduce us to his mentees, "This is Katniss and Peeta" he smiled as Chaff pulled the former into a tight squeeze, kissing her on the cheek and I shook Peeta's hand.
"I'm Y/N and this is Chaff" I introduced ourselves to the pair as Katniss struggled to regain her composure after Chaff's endeared fussing.
"Hi" Katniss muttered as Peeta greeted us, I could tell she was uncomfortable as she looked around at the plethora of dangerous victors.
"Well then - I need to catch up with my old friend here" Haymitch exclaimed, cutting off our awkward exchange as he tugged Chaff to his side, "You two go and get to know the other victors and I'll get yous when yous need to get ready for the parade" he called as the two men strolled away.
"Bye I guess" Peeta muttered as he smiled softly at the older pair before he excused himself, kissing Katniss on the cheek and walking towards the bathroom sign.
A silence stretched out between myself and Katniss as i tried to stop myself from staring at her, "I watched your game you know" she murmured, "It was messed up what they did to yous".
Swallowing harshly I ground out a simple "Yeah".
"I mean that trick with the gas was awfu- Sorry I didn't mean to pry or be rude" she quickly cut herself off as she realised she may have been overstepping some boundaries.
"It's fine, I watched yours too. Smart trick with the berries" I complemented as she relaxed a little.
"So, who should I look out for here" she asked after a while of quiet conversation that flowed easily between us.
"I'd look out for Finnick Odair - he's smart, strong and fast, the holy trinity, but he's really nice. Not so humble though." I laughed as we watched him begin to walk towards us.
"Hello ladies" I heard his devious drawl as I turned away, whispering that I'd see them both later - and a quiet good luck to Katniss as I brushed past the pair.
I found myself standing next to one of the large horses, petting it's soft mane when a loud voice in my ear scared me, catching me off guard as I twisted around to find the owner of the words, "Nice dress" Gloss laughed.
Rolling my eyes I muttered a greeting as I turned to face the victor from district 1, "At least you can breath in that outfit" I gestured to his bedazzled shirt, presumably matching his sister's dress as we gazed around the room.
"How are you feeling?" he quietly muttered as I turned to look up at him - his giant stature, similar to district two's victor Brutus, used to be a source of fear within me but as we got to know each other I realised there was nothing to be afraid of, he was a giant softy - the irony of that fact did not fall short on me as I was aware of his victor status as he was victorious within the games.
"You know - I'm not exactly ecstatic to be here" I laughed halfheartedly as he chuckled, "But what can I do about it, I'm sorry you're here Gloss" I sobered up quickly, "I know how much you and Cashmere mean to each other. It's shit that you're both here again. But who knows? Maybe there'll be a miracle and there could be two victors again. The capitol would hate to separate the two of you" I mused.
"Yeah" he responded sombrely, "I just hope it doesn't come down to the two of us" I patted his arm gently as he reached up and squeezed my hand.
Gloss and I had been friends for a year or so, we had met a few days after my victory but it had taken a while for us to warm up to each other.
I had been delirious, in pain and unable to understand that I was still alive when I had been escorted into the victor's shared chamber once I had been cleared that none of my wounds were life threatening. Only Cashmere and Haymitch had approached me on that dreadful morning as I lay crying on the couch in the communal lounge room.
She had sat stroking my hair as I retched into a left over trash can on the floor while he repeatedly explained to me that I was indeed alive. The rest of the victors had kept their distance those first few days as I commandeered the room that had been used prior to my presence to watch the game before they slowly began introducing themselves to me.
Gloss had been one of the last to acknowledge me, later telling me I had reminded him of himself after his victory, he had been gruff and blunt, scaring me and making himself appear quite unkind. Cashmere had reprimanded him at the time, telling him to be kinder and to make more of an effort but he had only brushed her off. Now, reflecting on his actions, I know he was only reliving his own trauma as I cried in the communal room for days, screaming in my sleep while I was tormented by my own demons.
We had only become friends in the last year as we all came together once more to watch the 74th annual hunger games, tensions high within the chamber as all of the current mentors danced around one another. My tributes had survived the initial bloodbath, a scrawny young girl and an older boy, Rue and Thresh - both afraid and too young to witness those horrors.
We had finally met properly in the dark hours of the next morning as I was unable to sleep, finding him in the viewing room, watching over his and Cashmere's tributes while they slept on the forest floor, Marvel and Glimmer I thought. I had cautiously approached him as I sat next to him on the couch.
Silence slowly became quiet conversation as the hours passed, eventually I had ushered him to bed promising I would wake him if any danger came of his mentees and quiet conversation somehow morphed into quiet friendship.
Gloss and I spent more tie together the following days of the games, I eventually found myself joining the famed career pack for breakfast. I got along with Enobaria and Cashmere easily enough - Brutus was a hard nut to crack but I eventually pushed the right buttons and he welcomed me with open arms.
Our friendship was not a well known spectacle within the capitol or the districts - it was a quiet blossoming thing meant to be protected and cherished.
We never spoke about any of our games and it was easy enough but now, I thought, maybe if I had questioned or inquired more maybe I may have had better odds at surviving the quarter quell.
"Where's Cashmere?" I questioned as we gazed at the tall horse before us.
"She's with Brutus and Enobaria, she is not doing so well with all things considered" he answered in a sombre tone. I could imagine being forced into the games, not only again but with your brother, would take a toll on ones mental state.
We continued to converse for a while before each district pair was called to board the designated carriages to ready ourselves for the parade, "I'll see you later Gloss" I whispered as I reached to hug him goodbye.
"We'll come find you tonight" he whispered in my ear, "Cashmere, Enobaria and Brutus miss you. We don't get to see you very often so they'd like to have dinner with you later" he squeezed me once before releasing me and returning to his carriage.
Sighing, I turned to climb into the carriage, awaiting Chaff's return as I thought about the impending doom soon to be upon us.
Three years after her gruesome win of the 72nd hunger games, Y/N L/N is thrown back into the brutal chaos of the capitol, love and loss as she fights to not fall back into her destructive ways and live through the rebellion - only if she survives the 75th annual hunger games; the quarter quell.
Not many people write for the career pack of the 75th hunger games so I thought I'd give them some love - hope everyone enjoys it!
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the 75th year of the hunger games" the capitol crowd roared with enthusiasm and excitement, "It was written in the charter of the games that every 25 years there would be a quarter quell, to keep fresh for every new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against the capitol". President Snow's emotionless drawl echoed through the room I was sat in as I watched the dreaded broadcast. "Each quarter quell is distinguished by games of a special significance and now, on the 75th anniversary of the defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third quarter quell." I felt sick at the prospect of yet another group of children fighting to the death for Snow's sick enjoyment, "As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the capitol".
The president's dull boasting made me feel sick to my stomach as my heartbeat pulsed in my ears and a cold sweat formed on my brow - thoughts of these poor children, who were blissfully ignorant of what was about to come, overwhelmed my mind as I suppressed a shudder at my own memories of the games.
"On this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tributes are to reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district", my own breathing stalled for what felt like a lifetime as the poisonous words left the pale lips of the old man.
Lifting myself from the old brown couch I had situated myself in earlier, I staggered from the living room to the small grey bathroom, releasing my small breakfast I had forced down. Gagging and crying, my tears and sweat mixed together forming a pitiful substance on the cheeks as I gasped against the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.
My mind spiralled as I lay there on the cold damp tiles, thinking about everything I had never done in my life - I had never even been truly loved by someone or loved someone in return.
I lay there until I couldn't cry anymore, eventually I had to get up and ready myself for the reaping - the final seal of my fate.
I found myself standing on the small stage looking out at the quiet crowd of district 11 as I nervously snuck glances at my fellow tributes, Chaff and Seeder - there were only three of us. Therefore, Chaff's place in the games was inevitable as he was the only male victor, but Seeder and I were both eligible for a place within the quarter quell. It wouldn't be fair to wish Seeder would be the name to be called out but I wouldn't say I wanted to be chosen either. This what the games does to you - it makes you wish for the downfall of others in hopes of getting above them, pushing others down for your own benefit.
The quiet murmur of the large crowd was drowned out by the loud beating of my heart as I shakily stood waiting for mine or Seeder's names to be called out.
The escort of our district, Clurmont, shakily cleared his throat as he glanced at us - pitiful and shameful as he knew he was basically sending us to our death.
"Good afternoon district 11" his deep voice boomed out, only to be met with silence as the saddened but presumably relieved crowd only stared at him. I knew they were happy that there would be no loved ones lost this year, but the loss of so many 'beloved' victors would hurt them.
Clurmont awkwardly cleared his throat and smiled as brightly as he could at the cameras filming this whole ordeal, "Welcome to the reaping of the annual 75th hunger games" he stated. "This year we celebrate the 3rd quarter quell with a special twist to usual games - our tributes being reaped from the existing pool of victors" he called out to the unrelenting harsh stare of the district.
"Without further ado, I will begin the selection, if your name is called out, please step forward" his shaking hands reached into male tribute bowl, a needless action as everyone present knew who would be stepping forward in a few mere seconds. "Chaff" he exclaimed as he turned to stare at the before mentioned man, "if you would please stand next to me" he quietly asked the tense man.
"Now, the moment you have all been waiting for, the female tribute taking part in the 75th annual hunger games is..." his voice echoed throughout the large clearing filled with silent spectators as all eyes turned to stare straight at me.
My breath caught in my throat, choking me as I was suddenly unable to hear anything other than my own blood pulsing through my veins. Seeder's gentle hand reached out to grasp mine, grounding me and pulling me out of my spiralling haze.
"Y/N, if you could please come her and stand with your fellow victor" Clurmont quietly pleaded as the awkward silence stretched out, probably boring the capitol viewers who thrived off our fellow tributes' breakdowns and emotional outbursts as the revelation of our places in these games and our predetermined fates.
"Ladies and gentlemen, here I give you, the tributes of the 75th annual hunger games - Chaff and Y/N!"
summary; now that you’ve abandoned the rebel alliance to stay with cashmere, you need to figure out a way to keep her alive until the third day at midnight. it gets complicated when gloss won't leave you alone, and they're both demanding answers you can't give.
warnings; swearing, death, weapons, prostitution, usual hunger games stuff.
wc; 4.2k
part one.
--
“I can’t just leave Cashmere.” You said to Finnick on the second day of training. “What if something were to happen to her? What if she died?”
“Sacrifices have to be made.” Finnick’s mouth was twisted, he knew this was all wrong. He knew he was tearing you apart. “I’m sorry yours is one of the more painful ones.”
“You know if the roles were reversed, you’d never let this happen.” You told him, tears gathering in your eyes. “You know that if Annie were Cashmere, you’d never accept no for an answer.”
“We can’t take the risk.” Finnick shook his head. “Haymitch was very specific.”
“Well, fuck Haymitch, and fuck you too.”
Finnick blinked in surprise at the sudden hostility, not expecting you to come out of the gate swinging. You’ve never been one to turn to anger when you’re met with deadends, but you were so sick of being told no. It slipped out of you before you could stop it.
He didn’t get it—didn’t understand the position you were in. For a fraction of a second, you almost felt guilty because Finnick’s your best friend and you don’t talk to your friends that way. And then you remembered he was siding with Haymitch on this, refusing to believe what you had to say about your girlfriend.
Cashmere wants to be on the right side of history. The Capitol has wronged her from the moment they had their hands on her. In the four years you’ve been together, there have been countless nights where she voiced how much she regret volunteering. If she had known what was waiting for her on the other side of the arena, she never would have gone through with it.
Since she won, she’s watched plenty of her own tributes fall victim to the same thing she did. If President Snow wants them, he will have them, one way or another. You experienced it firsthand when he came knocking years after you won, and what could you do? Say no?
It’s the same boat Cashmere is in, except she put up less of a fight. It’s not just her family that will suffer the price of freedom, it’s also Gloss’s. Which is why she’s so quiet and compliant. You will never catch her speaking out of line, and that’s only because she can’t afford to. Otherwise, she would’ve made her opinion known years ago.
The conversation you had with Finnick continues to replay in your mind with every hour that passes. You had yourself and everyone else convinced you’d be staying with the alliance. The moment you saw Cashmere in the water, you knew you couldn’t just leave her.
You love Cashmere. You’ve loved her with your whole heart for four years. And you plan on loving her for more.
If you really thought for a minute you’d be able to let her be in the arena, you weren’t thinking straight. You were even having doubts last night about the decision, about whether or not you could live with the hundreds of possibilities of what could happen to her.
Which is why you made a backup plan.
Despite what Finnick and Haymitch were saying about compromising the alliance, you were fully planning on going straight for Finnick and the Twelve tributes. Only, you lost track of them while you were gathering Cashmere and Gloss together. You barely saw them disappear into the jungle, which was on the other side of the Cornucopia.
You might have been able to catch up with them, if Gloss hadn’t argued with you about joining the main Career alliance. While Cashmere was being flexible, he’d already made a promise to Enobaria and Brutus. By the time you were able to break him down and convince him to give it up, the bloodbath had started.
You told them you wanted to leave the Cornucopia and come back later to grab weapons, which caused a massive fight between you and Gloss. He doesn’t think you should be calling the shots on where to go and what to do after what happened last night with Cashmere.
Which is fair, you can’t blame him. You’re sure Cashmere was really upset last tonight and she said some things that Gloss is holding on to. But this is what she wanted, she said she’d rather have you and Gloss than nothing at all. And you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to include them in this alliance.
They don’t know that, which is why you’ve tried to be patient, but Gloss is knocking your door down with every step you take.
“Where are we going?” Gloss demands again. You keep hiking up the slope, hands balled into fists. “(Y/n)! The bloodbath has been over now for almost two hours, what are we doing?”
There’s a tight pain in your chest, an endless dryness in your throat, sweat running down every inch of your skin. If you have to deal with this humidity for too long, you might lose your mind before you make it out of this arena.
“(Y/n), please.” Cashmere begs. “We can’t just blindly march ourselves in here with no explanation.”
You turn suddenly, mouth opening to tell her yes, you can. You were going to do it with Finnick when Haymitch told you what your job was. To placate Katniss, to guide Peeta, to protect them both. You were supposed to keep them alive at all costs, even if it meant you’d have to die.
When you see the look on Gloss’s face, your anger deflates. His face is a mild shade of red, likely from the heat, maybe from you ignoring him. You know if you were to hit Cashmere with snark right now, he’d throw you down and strangle you to death for talking to his sister like that.
So, you’ll redirect it at him, instead. “We’re going into the jungle.”
Gloss’s lips are pressed in a tight line, trying to mask his anger. He’s failing. He shakes his head at you, turning his attention to Cashmere. “It’s not too late for us to join Brutus and Enobaria. I bet they’re hanging out on the beach somewhere, waiting for us to show up.”
“(Y/n) doesn’t want to be with them.” She tells him, looking at you. “She wants to be out here.”
“You can’t blindly follow her.” Gloss tells her. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She could be leading us to a trap.”
“A trap?” You raise your eyebrows. “Gloss, are you even hearing yourself?”
He tilts his head slightly at you. “You had your mind set last night on being with your friend. What happened?”
Your eyes fall. “I couldn’t do it.”
“Why? Got kicked out?”
“No, I couldn’t leave her behind.” You motion to Cashmere. “I need you two to trust me.”
Gloss scoffs, shaking his head at you, turning around to face the direction you came from. Cashmere doesn’t move, just watching you. You know she’s trying to keep an open mind. You wouldn’t knowingly lead her into danger.
“Here?” Gloss asks, he still has his back to you. “You want me to trust you in here?”
“Yes.” You tell him. “I’ve got us covered. We have nothing to worry about, as long as you trust me.”
“I’ll trust you as soon as we go back to the Cornucopia.” Gloss says, halfway turning to look at you. “Because then I’ll feel safer.”
“We don’t need them.” You tell him, because you honestly think it’d be easier for Finnick or Johanna to swallow you if you’re defenseless. Then they wouldn’t have to worry about you killing them in their sleep.
Well, not you, but Cashmere and Gloss.
Gloss looks at his sister, shaking his head. But Cashmere’s not looking at him, she’s looking at you. “We need a plan, (Y/n).”
“The plan is to survive tonight.” You tell them. “And we’ll take tomorrow as it comes.”
—
The sun has barely begun to rise, it must be about three to four in the morning, which means it’s time to move. As much as you’d like to stay where you are in the jungle and get a few additional hours of sleep, the chances of any tributes being at the Cornucopia is close to none.
If Gloss wants a sword, now’s the time to go and get it.
“Come on.” You shake him. “Let’s go. We’ve got to get a move on.”
Gloss slaps your hand off of him, you let out an irritated sigh through your nose. You tilt your head back, looking at the foliage above to calm yourself. He’s been acting like some moody teenager that didn’t get their way, and you’re getting really tired of it. If he doesn’t want to follow you around the arena, he doesn’t have to.
It’s not your fault Cashmere feels more comfortable with you. When you look at her, you find her rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, trying to wake herself up. She’s barely gotten any sleep, between the lightning and the multiple cannons, she can’t find peace.
You let Gloss be for the moment, gravitating to your girlfriend instead. You sit beside her in the grass, reaching over to tuck some stray blonde hairs behind her ear. She gives you a gentle smile, placing her head on your shoulder, closing her eyes.
“Gloss isn’t going to like the plan today.” You murmur.
“What’s on the agenda?”
“Nothing.” You tell her. “No hunting. We keep to the jungle.”
“Why?” She asks, lifting her head. “What’s the point?”
“We stay alive.” You tilt your head. “And we do that by avoiding conflict.”
Her face twists. “Babe, it’s the Quarter Quell, we won’t be able to manage that.”
“I can.” You raise your eyebrows. “So why can’t the two of you?” You bump her shoulder with yours. “It’s not in your nature to fight, Cashmere. What’s the big deal? And Gloss—you really think he wants to kill Finnick and Johanna and Enobaria?”
“No.” Cashmere whispers.
“You think he would’ve enjoyed fighting Seeder, Woof and Cecelia yesterday afternoon?”
“No.” She says a little more harshly. “And you know this.”
You turn to her more, grabbing her shoulders, shaking them a little. “You’re right, I do know this. That’s why I’m not leading us to them. We can win this without lifting a finger.”
“There is no we.” Cashmere hisses, face contorting. “This isn’t last year, (Y/n). We all saw what happened because of it.”
You press your lips together, tilting your head down, staring. The two of you don’t say anything for a long minute, as you try to communicate to her you know what you’re doing.
You’re not dumb, you know how the Hunger Games works. You know Katniss and Peeta weren’t supposed to win together last year, but because of it, they’ve given everyone an opportunity they shouldn't pass up. If Coriolanus Snow thought two people coming out of an arena alive was the end of the world, he would have a heart attack if he knew what Haymitch and Plutarch were planning under his nose.
This would be so much easier if you could just outright tell her. And you would, if there weren’t hundreds of cameras recording every movement and conversation you have. Her attitude would flip like a switch if she knew the whole story, or even a fraction of it.
Telling her should’ve been part of your backup plan. You’re sure it would’ve, if you’d thought of it sooner. By the time you’d started thinking, it was too late to go after her. The tribute’s bedroom goes on lockdown in the hours leading up to the Games, it’s a safety precaution.
“Trust me.” You say to Cashmere, reaching to caress her cheek. “I’ve got us.”
She closes her eyes, shaking her head once or twice, and then sighs. “Okay, (Y/n).”
“Let’s get Gloss up and moving.” You push yourself up to your feet, Cashmere following right behind you.
She heads over to her brother, crouching down, shaking him awake. He doesn’t slap her away like he did with you. He turns over far enough to see that it’s her, relaxing. Her lips begin to move quickly, speaking in a low voice. They go back and forth, talking about going to the Cornucopia.
Of course, it takes some convincing to get Gloss to agree to what you want to do, and you’re not entirely sure why. This is what he wanted yesterday, and now he’s being combative? When he does finally get up, you and Cashmere are ready to go. Since there’s no belongings to gather and pack up, you start heading down the slope, going back to the beach.
It’s quiet, the birds haven’t even woken up yet, so you’re left to your own thoughts. All you can think about is how you’re going to keep them happy long enough for you to get out of here. You were hoping Cashmere would do what you said with no questions asked, but you guess you can’t blame her for having some skepticism.
She doesn’t like not having a plan, and you can’t blame her. With Haymitch and Finnick, you had the whole rebel alliance planned out from the beginning to the end. The only unknowns were the arena, because shit happens and the Gamemakers are bound to interfere sooner or later.
Other than that, it was all fleshed out. You would head for the Cornucopia with Finnick since that’s where Katniss would go first. She was dead-set on not having any allies, so Haymitch made sure Finnick would have a gold token to show her you’re trustworthy. After that, you’d get Peeta and skip town.
The goal was to survive, obviously, and keep Katniss and Peeta alive until they gave you the signal. Haymitch said they’d do it through bread, what district it came from was the day and the number would be the hour, military time. The only known was where you’d get picked up at, but you figured Plutarch would know where to go based off the trackers.
Except, it would get tricky then, because Johanna’s been tasked to take it out of Katniss’s arm. So somewhere in this plan, you’d have to regroup with Johanna, Blight, Beetee and Wiress, assuming they’re all together and alive. Beetee would give you a plan to distract Katniss and Peeta from what was really happening and then you’d be home free.
Well, supposedly.
You abandoned this plan for Cashmere and Gloss. They could’ve easily fit into a bodyguard role or something, but Haymitch couldn’t take the chance. “Sacrifices have to be made.” But chances can’t be made beyond what you were already making. Got it.
It doesn’t matter. You’ll get Cashmere and Gloss to the Cornucopia, they’ll get their weapons to make them happy. And you’ll scope out the jungle to see if you were left a signal by your former allies. Maybe Finnick will take the gamble, he usually trusts you with risks, and if you really believe your girlfriend and her brother could do good—enough to leave a rebel alliance—then maybe his stance on the subject was wrong.
If you can’t find anything, then you seriously need to consider a source of water and food. And in the meantime, you’ll hope Haymitch finds you redeemable enough to send you some bread. If you’re good and don’t put his star tributes into any danger, there’s a possibility he’ll save you, anyway.
Haymitch isn’t heartless, there must be a part of him that feels bad.
It takes almost an hour for you to get to the treeline, where you spend a good fifteen minutes watching the beach to make sure there’s no one else out here. When you think the coast is clear, you head for the nearest spoke and walk directly to the mouth of the Cornucopia.
Gloss and Cashmere immediately head inside, searching for weapons they’re familiar with. You sit on a box, keeping watch, wondering what direction Finnick ran in when he was fleeing with the Twelve tributes. You think they were a little around the horn on the left side—or maybe the right?
Gloss seems happier the moment his hand comes into contact with a sword. He turns it over, admiring the shininess of the brand new weapon, swinging it once or twice to feel the weight. Cashmere settles on a few knives of different lengths, coming to stand beside you, but her eyes are set on a certain blade on the silver wall.
“Just go ahead and grab it, Cash.” You tell her, holding your hands out for the knives. You’ll take them if she doesn’t want them, you don’t want anything big and flashy, anyway. “If that’s what makes you feel better.”
She nods, ditching the knives to pull a sword down, and then comes to sit beside you. You stare off at the water, watching the waves and how the reflection of the moon warps in them. Gloss wanders away, satisfied with what he has, observing the jungle.
You almost miss the sponsor gift teetering down at you.
You’re on your feet at an instant, hands out to catch it. The metal plate lands on your palms, warm to the touch. You carefully turn to set it down on a box, and when you peel back the cloth, a wave of relief hits you. You take several breaths before a laugh escapes you.
Bread.
“Thank you.” You say, picking out the piece of paper.
Time is of the essence - M.
Mags, she’s really the best mentor you could’ve asked for. She knew you were desperate, and you knew she wouldn’t hold it against you if you couldn’t stick with Finnick.
Cashmere moves to stand beside you, peering over your shoulder. A hand reaches in for the bread, you snap to grab the wrist, an iron grip on them. When you look over, you see it’s Gloss, and his face is twisted.
“What are you doing?” He asks. “It’s bread.”
“Just back off, will you?” You snap at him, sick of the attitude.
You toss his wrist away from you, looking back at the pyramid so you can count how many are there.
“You don’t even know if it was meant for you.”
“Does either of your mentors’ names start with M?” You ask back, when silence follows, you continue. “That’s what I thought. We’ll eat in a second, just hold on.”
“Weirdo.” Gloss says, you ignore him.
The bread is from District Three, you can tell by how small they are and that they’re shaped in a square. You take care to count the bread twice to ensure you’re getting the message right, and come out with twenty-four.
Day three, at midnight.
All you have to do is survive another eighteen hours or so, and you’ll make it out of here alive. It’s easier said than done, but not if Cashmere and Gloss are able to keep it together for the day. You won’t even have to lead them to the main alliance, you’ll be able to keep to yourselves. The next step is finding out where the rendezvous point is.
“There’s twenty-four. We can split it three ways evenly.” You tell them. “When we’re done here, we’re going back to the jungle.”
“No.” Gloss says. “We can stay out here, protect the center.”
“The center’s worth shit.” You motion the boxes around you. “There aren’t even backpacks. There’s no use in staying here.”
“What’s your goal?” Gloss asks.
“For you to stop bitching and listen to me!” You shout at him, holding your hand out toward the jungle. “I’m trying to keep us alive!”
Gloss purses his lips, there’s probably a hundred different things he’d like to say to you, but he holds it in. He grabs a handful of the bite-sized bread and takes a seat on a box.
“Thank you.”
—
When you read the note attached to the bread you received early this morning, you didn’t realize Mags was trying to send you a message. You thought she was just trying to remind you about the bread and what it meant. You didn’t realize this was her way of telling you the arena’s a fucking clock.
Time is of the essence.
You should’ve known it was more, but Mags says stuff like that all the time, which is why you didn’t think anything of it. You thought, “Yes Mags, I know what time means and how long I’ll have to survive against it.” As if she’d ever send a message that simple.
Well, she was right. You figured something was going on when you found a large leaf left behind by the main alliance. You saw them on the beach in the early afternoon, they were gathered around Peeta while he drew on it, and then they went back into the jungle.
You got close to investigate, curious on what they were thinking. Neither you, Cashmere or Gloss could make out what they were trying to do. On it, they’d drawn a circle and divided it into twelve pie slices, where they wrote down several words in a succession that didn’t make sense.
Lightning, blood rain, fog, monkeys. Those were the first four sections on the leaf, another one on the other side of the circle would read wave. When Cashmere and Gloss asked what you thought it meant, all you could do was shrug. Now that you’re thinking back on it, it was obviously a clock.
And if you had to fill in a few sectors yourself, you’d write in poisonous spiders and hallucinations. Out of all the years you’ve lived, you think those were the two worst hours of your life. And you had them back to back.
It was rough, it took some time for you to calm down from what you saw, but good things came out of it. Now, you have a feeling of where you’re supposed to be at midnight. If the arena works like a clock, and the lightning strikes the tree at midnight and at noon, then that means you need to be at the lightning tree.
It’s a good thing you’ve been paying attention as to where the alliance goes, otherwise you wouldn’t be heading in the right direction. You would be walking around the jungle clockwise, but then you’d be in the sector before the lightning, and only the Gamemakers know what’s going to be waiting there.
“How much longer?” Cashmere asks.
“Almost there.” You murmur. “We get to the tree, and everything will sort itself out.”
“I’m not ready to fight against ten other tributes, (Y/n).” Gloss tells you.
“Then don’t.” You tell him.
Gloss sighs, and if he says anything, you don’t notice, more focused on the sudden change in the air. You tilt your head back, squinting your eyes, peering through the branches overhead to find a storm stirring in the sky.
“Quickly.” You say, starting to move faster.
You switch to a light jog, it must be minutes before the clock switches to midnight. The hair on your arms is sticking up, warning you that it won’t be long before the first strike of lightning hits the tree. You know you shouldn’t be too close when it happens, but this is where you’re supposed to be, right?
A cannon blasts, you can hear screaming not far off. A part of you screams to be cautious, but it’s too late. You find yourself stepping into a clearing around the tree, where you find Katniss with an arrow, aimed up at where the lightning will come from.
With wide eyes, you turn to Cashmere and Gloss, going to jolt to throw them down to the ground, but it’s too late. Katniss must let that arrow fly just as the lightning strikes, because you’re all thrown to the ground. All you can do is lay in the dirt, listening to your girlfriend moan in pain.
Your eyes are stuck open, forcing you to watch as the arena goes black, then it begins to fall apart, setting the jungle on fire in the process. Should that even be possible with how wet the jungle is? It doesn’t matter, not when the hovercraft shows above you, a claw being sent down.
Finally, you think, watching as it retrieves someone nearby. The claw disappears for just a moment before it’s sent back down, grabbing another person. You watch as it’s dropped a third time, and you can’t help but wonder how much time they have and how many people they need to save.
The fourth time it comes down, it’s right above you. Except, it’s not aimed for you, it’s aimed for Cashmere and Gloss, it seems. You think they get scooped up at the same time, because that’s what it looks like when they’re being lifted away. Cashmere’s blonde hair swishing in the wind.
“Sacrifices have to be made.”
I know, Finnick.
“I’m sorry yours is one of the more painful ones.”
I did it, no one believed I could.
You watch as the claw disappears inside of the hovercraft, waiting for it to come down a fifth time, when it suddenly turns invisible. That’s it, they’re done. They’re out of time.
I told you to trust me, you think, you’ll be thanking me later.
heyy! i'm a fan of ur thg fics on wattpad, and i was wondering if u could do one with cashmere? sort of like one where it's the 75 and we're from district 4 or whatever and she comes by our room like the night before, then the first day in the games, and preferably could u release it on wattpad cuz i mainly use that?? thank u sm!!
☼ heather pt1 (Cashmere Ritchson) ☼
warnings; swearing, suicide mention.
wc; 4.6k
part two.
—
The rebellion means nothing if it means you’ll be forced to leave your girlfriend behind without giving her a chance.
This is what you’ve decided after these past few days of going back and forth on whether or not you’ll take matters into your own hands. You played both sides, but the more you tried to live with it, the more the guilt ate you alive. Which brought you to arguing with your allies and the organizers about allowing her to be in on it.
And they told you that no matter the situation—under no circumstances—is Cashmere and Gloss Ritchson to join the rebel alliance.
It’s primarily because they’re from District One, known for its loyalty to the Capitol. It’s the same for Two, but you’re not arguing for Enobaria and Brutus. You know that they’d sell the rebels out in a second if it meant that their name would be mentioned by the media once.
You can see why they’re saying no. For them, the risk is too high to take. It’s easy to break off your relationship if it means that the Hunger Games are over. You’d agree, too, if you and Cashmere recently started dating. Except, the two of you have been together for almost four years. You crossed the honeymoon stage a long time ago.
They don’t know anything about her. If they knew even half of where she stood on topics like this, you think they’d recruit her in a heartbeat. They’d be at your feet begging for you to convince her to help, because Cashmere and Gloss can have the loudest voices, especially in District One.
That’s what you’ve been trying to explain to them this entire week. Cashmere wants to do good in her life. The two of you talk about it every time you’re in the Capitol to mentor. The only way she can do that right now is by helping her tributes win, and then making sure that Coriolanus doesn’t get his hands on them.
If you were to tell her that there’s a way the Games could completely end and she’d never have to worry about another teenager being passed around the Capitol, she would be pissed at you for not mentioning it sooner. She has a heart, and so does Gloss.
All it would take is Cashmere joining for the dominos to start falling. Gloss would be right behind her, because there’s nothing the two of them have done apart in their life. This would cause most of the people in District One to rethink their stance, since their main figures have.
This could even be what convinces District Two.
Haymitch Abernathy and Plutarch Heavensbee won’t bite. No matter how many times you propose the plan, and rework it each time they find a reason to say it won’t work, they don’t want to believe there’s another branch to exploit.
Unfortunately for them, you don’t think you can follow behind them blindly.
As you make your way out of your carpeted room to the hallway, your feet sweep against the hardwood floor that belongs to the District Four apartment in the Training Center. You’ve spent the past couple of hours decompressing, deciding what your move will be in the arena.
You haven’t come to any conclusion quite yet, you were hoping that you’d have more time.
Usually, after the interviews with Caesar, the tributes, mentors, escort and stylists will gather together to have one final meal to talk about the highlights. The evening will end with watching the recaps, where you’d send away the tributes to their rooms to get much needed sleep when it’s done.
This year, nothing has gone according to plan. From the moment Cashmere stepped on stage, it was like all of you unanimously had your minds set on the idea of shutting the Games down, at any cost. With Cashmere and Gloss kicking it off strong, by having the Capitol citizens in tears in the first thirty seconds of either of them being on stage.
She talked about how devastated she was that her time was being taken away from her, when she has so much of it left. Not only referencing the Capitol, a place she loves dearly, despite the way it’s treated her as of late. But she was also talking about you, because four years is not enough when you were thinking you had the rest of your lives together.
“I can’t imagine losing you.” She’d murmured into the microphone, eyes locked on the camera. From where you stood with Finnick backstage, you knew that one was directed at you. And so did he.
Gloss kept it up by showering the Capitol in compliments, recalling the times where they had been so kind to the two of them since their winnings. And then he reeled it in by talking about how he’d never be able to properly repay them, because he’s going away so soon.
Beetee and Wiress worked together to question the legality of the Quell. One of them asking the questions, the other backing up his claims with facts and dates that went along with them. They ended by asking if the Quell had been properly examined by the experts lately.
And then you came on stage right after, wearing a dress in Cashmere’s favorite shade of purple. A color that your stylist wouldn’t typically go for, if you hadn’t been so persistent with him since the Tribute Parade. You had to wear purple, and if he couldn’t make it work, then you wanted someone that could.
When he showed you his final product, you almost couldn’t believe how gorgeous it was. For someone who worked inside of a very tight box of hues of sea green and the theme of the ocean, he went above and beyond when it came to styling a piece that was supposed to be reminiscent of District One.
This was amplified by the collective gasps from the crowd when they finally saw you take the stage. Little did they know, they would never get the opportunity to leave their state of shock. The next three minutes of your interview were painful, but perfectly calculated for this moment.
You proceeded to reveal every secret that you’d kept about the Capitol.
You couldn’t outwardly say how Snow pounced on you when you were becoming popular after your Games. You danced around the topic, wanting the citizens to figure this one out on their own. It may not be today, or tomorrow, but when they do realize, it’ll leave a sour taste in their mouth.
Just like how their faces puckered up when you admitted the biggest secret of them all, the one that you’d kept from them for four years. With your hands clasped against your chest, you gave Caesar a smile.
“Do you know the significance of this color, Caesar? It’s more than just purple, it’s heather.” You tilted your head slightly.
“Yes, I was just about to say that. I believe I wore the color one year.” He laughed.
“You wore it the year Cashmere won, actually. It was her favorite color prior to coming to the Capitol, and when she saw it, she took it as a sign.” You wanted to look back at her, except you couldn’t. You had to wait.
“Oh, is that right?” He asked. “Does it hold sentimental value to you, as well?”
“Yes, I’ve been wearing this color for four years now, and I’ll never get sick of it.” You smiled, looking out to the crowd in front of you, feeling your body get jittery. It was the reason why your hands were against your chest, instead of at your sides. So they wouldn’t be able to see you shaking.
When Snow found out that you and Cashmere were dating—two of the Capitol’s favorite darlings—he told you that it would never be able to come to light. If they found out the truth, it could ruin the plan he had for the two of you. And in turn, he said that you’d find yourself regretting it if you ever did breathe a word.
You listened, and then he changed the rules of the Hunger Games. Which means he forfeits his right to dangle something like safety over your head. You’re dead, anyway, if you can’t figure out the rebel plan. What’s it matter?
“Why is that?” He asked.
You felt the seconds counting down on the clock, your third minute coming in fast.
“I’m in love with Cashmere.” You told him, but when you turned your head, it was to look at her, not him. “And she’s in love with me. We have been for the past four years.”
The buzzer went off directly after. At least half of the crowd leapt to their feet, demanding for another minute. Or an explanation, at the very least. You couldn’t leave them on a cliffhanger like that, it wasn’t fair.
“Thank you, (Y/n) (L/n).” Caesar took your hands to squeeze them tightly. “Best of luck to you, and to Cashmere.”
“Thank you, Caesar.” You murmured, walking away.
To seal every last word of what you’d said at the end, you purposely went up the steps that’d lead you to Cashmere. She held her hands out, waiting for you to take them. You pressed your thumb over the middle of her knuckles, the tops of her fingers resting in your palms.
“Okay?” You asked, letting her lean into you.
“Okay.” She agreed, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
You then let go of her hands to adjust a blonde curl that was straying, giving her a smile, before moving down the line to stand next to Beetee. Your interview went perfectly, you fed off of Cashmere, but set up for what Finnick had planned to do. Which was a poem he’d written for Annie, that had the girls swooning in their seats.
After that, it was a steady build up to Peeta. Johanna asked if anything could be done about the situation, considering the Capitol and the victors have formed a bond that would be cruel to sever. Seeder and Chaff proceeded to talk about how in District Eleven, President Snow is hailed to be all-powerful, meaning he should be able to change the Quell, and grant the victors mercy.
As soon as Katniss got on stage, it was over with. Her stylist had outdone himself again, by putting her in the wedding dress that had won the final vote. She was unable to speak for the first two minutes because the crowd wouldn’t quiet down because of it.
Eventually, she was able to speak, and she did the same trick that she did last year, by twirling. Instead of vanity flames eating away at the bottom of her dress again, it completely consumed her. Her stylist had turned her into a mockingjay, and neither you or Finnick could hold back the hiss that escaped you. He would pay for that.
Peeta was the perfect person to end the interviews with. He started light, gradually getting heavier with each topic, the same thing that you had done. He continued the playful dynamic he and Caesar have to brighten the crowd. That moved into talking about the secret, unofficial marriage that he and Katniss had prior to coming to the Capitol.
And it ended with him claiming that Katniss was pregnant.
It was the perfect end to a tragic evening.
The chaos was too much for everyone to handle, though. Where you normally get time after the interviews to mingle, and say your goodbyes to the tributes around you, it wasn’t allowed. You didn’t get to see Cashmere before you were shoved into an elevator with Finnick and Johanna, being sent up to your floors alone.
When Mags came back to the apartment by herself, she advised for you to stay in your rooms after what happened after the interviews. She was afraid that Peacekeepers might come to visit, but none have come in the past couple of hours. That’s why you’ve felt safe enough to come out.
You stand in the doorway that leads you to the living room, staring at bronze hair. Of course, her favorite boy isn’t listening to her. Finnick is sitting on the couch, where he’s watching Capitol reporters talk about the interviews, without showing actual clips. They can’t, not after what happened.
The moment that Peeta had taken his spot at the end of the row, you all began to join hands. Cashmere’s head swiveled in your direction, and when you gave her a solid nod, she didn’t hesitate to follow your lead. She trusts you to do what’s right. Another example that Cashmere and Gloss would join the rebellion if offered.
By the ending notes of the Capitol anthem, you stood in two unbroken lines, hands joining you together. The first public show of unity among the districts in decades. An act none of you could’ve ever imagined would happen.
You shuffle out of the doorway and down two steps to pass through the dining room. At the sound of your movement, Finnick turns his head to look over his shoulder. His eyes land on your body first, eyes dragging up to see your face when you get closer.
“They’re not coming.” You murmur, stopping behind the couch.
“No, they’re not.” He agrees. There’s a moment of silence. “I don’t think we made a difference.”
“We already knew he wasn’t going to cancel the Games. The Capitol people could be killing themselves on the streets and he would still do what he thinks is best.” You sigh.
“It was worth the shot.” Finnick says.
The woman on the screen bids her goodbye, disappearing. She’s suddenly replaced by Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith. They both have wide smiles on their faces. You guess they got the clear to come on television and speak about the interviews, after all. You thought that Snow would try to sweep it under the rug.
This ought to be good.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it has been an eventful evening.” Caesar says, laughing nervously. “It will be one controversial night to remember.”
“Yes it will.” Claudius nods.
“I would even call this a night for the lovers.” Caesar lifts his hand. “Between Cashmere and (Y/n), Finnick and his poem, and the young couple from District Twelve, I don’t think we’ve seen a room so in love before.”
“Do you think they’ll announce it?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Yeah, but they’ve got to lead up to it.” Finnick adjusts on the couch, patting the spot next to him. “You can sit.”
“I’m good.” You tell him.
You’ve been waiting for him to say something about your interview all night, but he must be confident that you won’t betray the rebels in any way. If only your mentor knew just how much you’ve been thinking about it. His eyes would bulge out of his head. How could you ever leave District Four behind for a girl?
“I must say that the Capitol is certainly worked up tonight, don’t you think?” Claudius asks. “We’ve had favorites in the past, they could never compare to this.”
“I believe that’s the exact issue. We have all the favorites with us. Much less, all the victors that won the last decade. Enobaria, Gloss, Cashmere, Finnick, and (Y/n)? That’s five Career victors that won in a straight line, and now they’re going to be put into the Games together.” Caesar’s shaking his head. “It really is unfortunate.”
“I hate it when they pretend to care.” You say.
“They’re sympathizing with the public. I bet they’ll do it now.”
“You know what else is unfortunate…” Claudius trails off.
“Oh yes, the pregnancy.” Caesar lets out a tough sigh, “I can’t believe it, myself.”
“I know we’ve all been waiting eagerly to see what President Snow will say, and we have it here.” Claudius holds up a card, briefly flashing it to the camera to show Snow’s signature. “He instructed us to read it, as he’s sure our citizens are upset with him at the moment.”
The notecard is passed to Caesar, where he lightly taps it against the desk, as if straightening a stack of them. When really, there’s just one. “It reads, ‘It is with the heaviest heart, I must tell you that the 75th Quarter Quell will continue as planned, and will not be cancelled or postponed. My best of luck to our dearest, Katniss Everdeen’.”
“I told you.” You say, “He wants us all dead.”
Finnick lets out a scoff.
A knock at the door causes the both of you to look in that direction. You glance at the clock to see it’s exactly the time that you had told Cashmere to come over. Granted, at the time you had no idea of what would be happening on stage. You just wanted to spend time with her before going inside of the arena.
When you begin to walk toward it, Finnick sits up on the couch. “Are you expecting someone?”
You don’t answer him, fixing your hair, and then opening the door slightly. You’re met with Cashmere, her blonde hair in wet waves against her shoulders. She’s wearing silk pajamas. You bite your bottom lip, offering her a smile.
“I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to.” She says. “The avoxes tried to stop me, but my mentor told them to let me go. I can’t stay for long.”
“That’s okay.” You tell her, letting her come inside. “A few hours is better than none.”
You look in Finnick’s direction, and find him glaring at you momentarily, before turning his attention to the television, where Claudius and Caesar have moved on. You squint at the back of his head, closing the door.
“Let’s go to my room.” You tell her, taking her hand in yours. “I wouldn’t want to bother Finnick.”
The walk to your room is quiet, and with the layout of the apartments being nearly identical in each one, she finds your room easily. The blankets on your bed are messy, but she still throws herself down, pulling them over her.
“Did you hear the announcement?” You ask, going to sit on the bed.
“No, but Gloss was watching it when I left.” She turns her head to look at you. “And by the look on your face, it’s telling me that the Games are still on.”
“Yeah.” You murmur, eyes dancing over her face, before looking out the window.
It’s quiet between you for a brief moment. “You didn’t change your mind.” She says, it’s not a question. “(Y/n), you have to be kidding me.”
“Cashmere…” You shake your head. “I told you that I can’t change my mind.”
“About being my ally?” She asks, throwing the blankets off of herself to sit up. “Does it make more sense to be in Finnick’s alliance instead of with the Careers, with me?” Her face is twisted, there’s a wet mark on one of your pillows because of her hair. “I thought you said you were going to tell him. I thought that’s why he looked at you like that.”
You press your lips together, shifting your gaze from her. You knew you shouldn’t have mentioned anything to her. What you said was that you would talk to Finnick about the alliance situation. It’s a good thing you knew better than to make a promise, because she would hold you to that.
Even though she knows that you’re trapped in this alliance. There’s not very much wiggle room for you. And if you stray, then you’re as good as dead to the rebellion. There’s hundreds of things that could go wrong in the arena—you injure yourself, you make enemies, you get attacked, Enobaria and Brutus turn on you, starvation, dehydration. If the Careers decide to attack the rebel alliance and you’re seen with them, there’s no way you’re making it out of the arena.
It’s too risky to try to work with them, when you know you’ll be safest with Finnick.
Except, if anything were to happen to Cashmere in the arena, you’d never be able to forgive yourself. You know that you would curse yourself for not protecting her more. And if she died?
“Sacrifices have to be made.” Is what Finnick told you the first time you brought up your concern to him. “I’m sorry yours is one of the more painful ones.”
You swallow the toughness growing in your throat. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“I don’t believe that.” Cashmere says. “I want you to be with me and Gloss, at least. We don’t have to be with Enobaria and Brutus, if that’s what is holding you back—”
“That’s not…” You stop, taking a breath. “That doesn’t make a difference.”
“Is it Gloss?” She asks, back straightening. “(Y/n), please don’t make me choose between you or my brother.”
“I’m not making you choose between anything, Cash.” You tell her, meeting her eyes. “There is no choice. I am in this alliance, and I can’t leave it.”
“And I can’t join.” She says, eyebrows drawing in. “I don’t want to be split from you in the arena, that’s not fair.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“Then why are you doing this?” She asks. “Is it Finnick? Does he not like me?”
You sigh through your nose. “No, Cashmere.”
“Why? You have to give me that!” She shouts.
“I trapped myself.” You try to keep your voice measured. You don’t like seeing her desperate like this. “I’ve told you that.”
“That’s all you’ve told me. I want a real answer.” She says. “I deserve it. After four years of my life spent with you, you owe me that much.”
“Cashmere, I don’t owe you a goddamn thing on a scale like this.” You tell her.
Her eyes hit yours sharply, face twisting in disgust. She lets out a sound of disbelief, getting to her feet. “You were the last person I’d ever expect—” She stops next to the door. “Goodbye, (Y/n).”
“Cashmere.” You stand, she’s making her way out of your room. You chase her for a few steps, but by the time you make it to the hallway, she’s slammed the front door behind her.
You stare at the door, teeth chattering against themselves as the tears hit you all at once. You sniff, covering your mouth as you go to return to your room. You haven’t even taken three steps before you see Finnick standing in the darkness of his side of the hallway.
He doesn’t have to say anything, you know exactly what he’s thinking.
“Don’t worry,” Your voice wavers, you continue past him. “I didn’t tell her anything.”
—
“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin!” Claudius Templesmith announces.
With your eyes closed, you raise your chin, holding your arms out to let the salty breeze embrace you. It moves right through the wetsuit, as if you’re standing here naked. The goosebumps that try to cover your skin are quickly eliminated by the warmth of the air that surrounds you.
You don’t move from this stance for a long second, pretending that you’re standing on the beach at home in District Four. The only change you would make right now is to take off your shoes to feel the water lap over your feet, instead of your boots. You’d do it, but you don’t want to accidentally set off the explosive beneath the metal plate.
You open your eyes.
A clear, blue sky with no clouds in sight is what greets you, leaving the bright and powerful sun fully exposed. You direct your attention downward, to the land beyond the water that you’ll have to swim through. It’s lusciously thick, and healthily green, with trees stretching far up into the air without fear.
It’s a jungle.
The arena seems to be circular from what you can tell on your podium. The jungle takes up the entire outer circle, with a small strip of beach on the inner side. Besides the water, the only other landmark in the center is the Cornucopia, which is placed on a small, black rock island. There are spokes coming out of the island, leading all the way to the beach, creating wedges.
In each water wedge, there are two tributes.
When you turn your head to see who you’ve been placed with, you’re met with the woman from Nine. She’s preoccupied with looking at the arena. There’s no telling if she’s seen you or not. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. She’s not exactly a threat to you.
You look between the tributes on each side of you, searching for any of your rebel allies. You can see Finnick, and barely make out Johanna’s spiky hair in the distance. Katniss looks to be close, too. It’s perfect placement, you’ll be able to meet them in the Cornucopia, easily.
Despite the fact that this should be an ease of mind, you don’t stop looking. You want to find Cashmere, so you know where to block Katniss from going so she doesn’t harm her. You go over the tributes three times, unable to find her from where you’re standing. She must be on the other side of the island.
Will you even get a chance to see her?
The gong finally sounds, you dive to the spoke off to your right. The water is refreshingly cold, but not enough to take your breath away. You cut through the waves easily, pulling yourself onto the black rock. The water weighs you down, it’s a sensation that you’re used to.
On your feet, you sprint up to the Cornucopia, arms pumping at your sides. Strands of your hair fling up to cling onto any exposed skin. You whip your head from side to side to see who’s coming up your way, and find that Katniss and Finnick will be here at any moment.
The confliction in your body keeps you from moving where you stand. Either you can stay here, and help the rebels. Or you can be with Cashmere and keep her alive until the rescue happens. The issue is, you won’t have any idea when that’ll be, because there’s a plan with the district bread.
If you leave her, it means you could leave her behind for good. She’ll get taken by the Capitol when you get rescued. Who knows what they’ll do to her if they think she’s a rebel sympathizer. Especially since she’s from District One.
You gravitate forward, past the Cornucopia. You can hear Finnick shouting your name, you think. You don’t stop moving, finding Cashmere in the water, swimming to her own spoke. She doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.
You jog down the rock, being careful not to trip over the jagged pieces. By the time you’re there to meet Cashmere, Finnick and Katniss have made it. You crouch down, offering your hand to her.
Cashmere looks up, pressing her lips together.
“Come on, Cash.” You urge her, “Let’s go.”
“What are you doing?” She asks, reaching up. You grab her wrist, pulling her out of the salt water completely. She wipes it from her eyes.
“I’m choosing you.” You tell her. “I’ll figure something else out. You’re more important to me.”
--
this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on October 31st, at midnight!
+ i will transfer this to wattpad as soon as i'm done with my celebration :)
Three years after her gruesome win of the 72nd hunger games, Y/N L/N is thrown back into the brutal chaos of the capitol, love and loss as she fights to not fall back into her destructive ways and live through the rebellion - only if she survives the 75th annual hunger games; the quarter quell.
Not many people write for the career pack of the 75th hunger games so I thought I'd give them some love - hope everyone enjoys it!
