She was tired. It would be obvious even to the untrained eye, and Nero was not untrained. He had been thoroughly educated in spotting the opponent’s weaknesses, and that, in the training center, meant Decima. It was the third day of their week long one pint for the day dehydration practice, and there was no way that that was helping. She would never open her mouth to complain, but there could be no doubt that she was not at her best. Nero backed off on his usual taunts and jibes, but training never let up.

They were in the weight room, working the free weights to tone and strengthen to perfect shape. Nero was easily benchpressing his weight and then some as Brutus spotted for him. Decima was on her third set of pull-ups, which on an average day would have been a breeze, but which was currently a struggle. It didn’t worry Nero too much. They had toughed it through some incredibly tough times before.

And then she fainted.

Nero’s weights were already in their hold above his head before she had hit the floor. Brutus’s eyes narrowed, and he barked out, “you aren’t done your reps yet!” It fell on deaf ears.

Nero was already halfway across the room. It was a nasty fall, and she wasn’t conscious to break it properly, which would only make it worse. Her legs crumpled, fortunately not in a way that would shatter bone. She landed half on her hip, and fell backwards onto the gymnasium floor.

Nero slid to a halt beside her as Tatiana called for medics. He knelt beside her, checking instantly for blood, and then verifying that her pulse and breathing were stable. He left her as still as he could manage, the better for if she had a concussion or spinal injuries. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Decima simply lay there, unmoving and unconscious.

It took only minutes for the medics to arrive. Brutus arrived behind Nero as they did, lifting him to his feet and twisting him into a headlock, but Nero pulled out of it easily, jabbing Brutus hard in the stomach with his elbow. Brutus didn’t try to force him to move again, so Nero didn’t. He stood still as the medics arrived, watching until they were satisfied that Decima would suffer no lasting damage. Only when they began to put her onto a waiting stretcher did Nero turn to meet the glare of his mentor.

As soon as eye contact was achieved, Brutus turned on his heel to a side room. Nero followed, bracing himself for what would come next.  The door slammed shut behind him, and Brutus turned to face him, his face well on its way to purple.

“In the Arena that stunt could have gotten you killed!” Brutus thundered.

Nero held his ground and kept his cool. “I’m not in the Arena.”

“Everything you do between the moment you entered this Training Center to the moment you stand on the Reaping Stage is in preparation for the Arena, and I know you know that, so don’t give me that bullshit. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was worried about her.”

“You need to focus on your own training and not hers.”

“In the Arena she would be a valuable ally, and it would be a shame to lose her for something like that.”

“Do you think I’m a fool? I know exactly how you feel about that girl, so do me the favour of not lying to my face.”

Nero flinched, confirming exactly how right Brutus was. “I’m not lying, sir. She would be a valuable asset in the Arena. My feelings are irrelevant.”

“Feelings are never irrelevant. Get them under control, and if you pull anything like that again you can kiss your status as Career goodbye.” Nero met Brutus’s eyes again, and saw a flicker of something like experience before it crystallised as hard once more.

“Understood,” he said.

When Angus died, her mother didn’t speak for weeks.

Daddy said it was because she was sad and worried for Granny and Poppa, but Brandy didn’t think that was it. At least, not all of it. After Momma got sick and lost another baby, the third that Brandy could remember being lost, Momma barely ate and cried for days. She cried and cried and couldn’t stop no matter how much Daddy tried to help. But when they saw Angus die —when that big, terrible boy from Two got his hands on her uncle’s neck and squeezed— Momma just stared, transfixed.

Brandy knew that Momma was sad. Sad that Angus had been chosen. Sad that the Cooper’s legendary luck finally gave out. Sad that her parents had to watch their youngest child die in the Arena.

But mostly Brandy thought that Momma was sad that she wasn’t sad enough. That she couldn’t mourn properly enough for her baby brother. A brother who had barely been born before Tara had married and moved out of Roan Bay to Palomino, the largest of the horse ranch cities in Ten. A brother she only saw once a year at the Reaping. And Brandy thought of how guilty her momma must feel, knowing that she may have lost a brother, but at least she still has one baby left breathing. 

echo-hadamik:

“I’m just saying, that he’s totally into you. I mean honestly, you could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife.” My best friend Elektra states matter-of-factly as she picks up her knife and slices at the air. 

I roll my eyes, my cheeks flushing slightly as I refuse to look at her head on, choosing instead to push the cafeteria food around on my plate. “That’s impossible, he’s like, I don’t know. He’s Morse, that’s weird. We’re just good friends, I mean he’s Mag’s older brother for fuck’s sake, Elektra.” My words hushed as I scan the cafeteria for the subject of our discussion.

“Well so is Huxley, and he’s a fine ass piece of meat if you ask me.” She takes a bite out of her chicken, her fork making a harsh noise against her teeth, as though to send the point home. 

I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks at her words, shaking my head I try not to imagine the two brothers naked. “They’re my friends, Elektra, not pieces of meat.” 

“Who aren’t pieces of meat?” I jump as I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder, the familiar voice causing my face to turn an even darker shade of red as I look up to see Morse Keight, the very last person that I want to see. 

Swallowing, I turn away, trying to find out from the wolfish grin on Elektra’s face how long said man has been standing there, she reveals nothing. Taking a long drink of water, I watch him as he sits down, the coy smile on his handsome face making me feel like he knows something, and seeing as how it’s Mo, he probably does. “O-oh, no one in particular, not anyone you would know at least.” I stutter out, my throat suddenly very dry as I can’t help but notice how his collared shirt is unbuttoned slightly to expose a part of his sternum, his skin is pale and perfect and I have to force myself to tear my eyes away. Curse Elektra for putting these thoughts in my mind. 

He looks over to Elektra, and it could just be my slight paranoia acting up but I feel like they’re sharing a joke, laughing at me, calmly he looks over to me, the same coy smile on his face as before. “Try me, I know loads of people.”

I look around, trying to think of anyone, a single male that I know that he doesn’t, and I honestly can’t think of anyone, lying having never been a strong suit of mine I resort to simply shouting out two names. “Bohr and Watson, yeah, they run in a few different circles than you.” I quickly take a drink of my water to try and hide my face, I already know without looking that Elektra is having a hard time not bursting into laughter.

I can feel him staring, in a way that shows how much he knows me, how much he knows that I’m simply not telling the truth, he’s known me for long enough, and I’ve lied to him enough times. “Bohr down in accounting? I didn’t know you two talked.” He pauses, taking a seemingly planned dramatic bite from his sandwich, “Are you into him? I’m quite good friends with him, I could spread the word along. Didn’t know you were into gingers, Echo.” He gently punches my arm winking, and it’s at that moment that I know he knows who we were talking about. He sits there, staring at me, that damn smile on his fucking face, as he patiently waits for my reply. 

He never gets one. As a sudden bout of nausea overcomes me, I stand up and rush out of the cafeteria, leaving my food for Elektra to take care of, this is all her fault anyways.  

As the girl from District Two slaughtered the love of his life on live TV, his knees buckled and he fell crashing to the ground. The sound he made was not one that he recognised, and everyone stepped away from the spot where he stood in the square, leaving him plenty of space. He didn’t need any of it, head buried in his knees, tears soaking through the sparse fabric of his trousers.

She had been so close. So, so close to coming home and he would wrap her in his arms and he would never let her go.

And now he had no chance to do that. She would never come home. 

He would never wrap the curl of her hair around his fingers. He would never feel the hardened calluses of her hands in his. He would never feel her warmth as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He would never hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her.He would never hear her voice telling him that she loved him. He would never kiss her, her lips, her forehead, her hands. He would never sit with her and watch the people go by. He would never laugh at her jokes meant just for him. He would never marry her. He would never hold their children in his arms.

Never.

The rest of his life felt like an awfully long time without Kerry by his side.

This is all Jazz’s fault because she tagged this photoset as Jersey.

She had decided. At sixteen, she knew that leaving the only family she had left was her only option. It was the only way she could survive. Some folk are strong enough to weather the storms that rage on their little strip of District 4. Isla was never one of those folk. She wasn’t her mama. She wasn’t fierce and beautiful and strong. Isla could haul ten pounds of shrimp on one shoulder but she couldn’t face death. Isla was a coward and she wanted so badly to live. Badly enough to leave her granpa an’ Dodo.

Her granpa.

Fou they whispered. The voices were all around her. Soft, barely distinguishable when apart. But the numbers of voices grew as the years went on to form a crescendo louder than any hurricane that drowned out everything until those voices were all she heard. Eyes watched listlessly, waiting for a slip up, hoping for one even, any sign that the old man in the shanty by the sea finally lost it. Brack Fogge was crazy and senile. The loss of his only son and oldest grandson four years ago rattled what little was left in his brain. He was just so old, old enough to remember the Dark Days. His minds isn’t what it used to be.

And his old mind convinced him that there were other countries outside of Panem. Free countries where they could be safe is only they could get out from under the thumb of the Capitol. Everyone knew that there wasn’t anything but wilderness outside of Panem, but her poor ‘ol granpa didn’t believe them. For a while, no one paid him any mind. He was harmless and no one was around to listen to his insane ramblings. Then, suddenly she and Dorado were in his care day and night, and little Dodo loved his granpa’s stories so much that he would share them with his friends. And his friends would share with their parents until the ones in charge realized their mistake.

Now, Isla was faced with a difficult choice. Stay with her granpa and her brother or leave the house and publicly wash her hands of the both of them. She wasn’t stupid. She had been chosen once before in the Reaping and would have died in the arena if Coral hadn’t volunteered. But she won’t be that lucky again. If the Capitol wants it badly enough she could be made an example of in order to shut up her granpa. If the deaths of her parents and Gully hadn’t done it, perhaps losing her would. But she wasn’t about to take her chances.

She would regret leaving Dodo. When he’s older, perhaps he would forgive her.

Semi-inspired by this.