#burntodds

    𝐡𝐞  𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭  𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞  𝐡𝐞  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞.   not  just  alive,  stitched  back  together  and  the  victor  of  the  fiftieth  hunger  games,  it  all  come  down  to  a  matter  of  seconds  and  he  could  have  quite  easily  be  returning  to  district  twelve  in  a  wooden  box  rather  than  on  the  train.   but  something  still  felt  off,  like  everyone  was    𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠   him  and  he  didn't  exactly  know  why.   haymitch  had  done  what  everyone  had  wanted  him  to,  he  had  played  their  game  and  won  it.   why  didn't  it  feel  over  yet?   getting  a  chance  to  talk  with  negan  before  his  victor's  interview  with  casear  flickerman,  he  was  just  hoping  to  get  some    𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬   and  he  needed  to  just  know  how  to  handle  this.   he  had  won  against  double  the  tributes,  losing  a  friend  from  home  and  the  final  fight  that  he  had  thought  would  be  his  end,  the  only  thing  that  had  saved  him  was  the  forcefield  that  had  really  worked  in  his  favour.   this  couldn't  be  about  the  forcefield,  could  it?   they  designed  it  and  he  didn't  even  mean  to  use  it  to  his  advantage,  he  just  collapsed  due  to  his  injuries,  how  was  he  supposed  to  know  the  district  one  girl  would  throw  her  axe?   it  didn't  matter  anymore,  he  was  going  home  and  he  could  just  get  through  the  last  few  things  before  he  could  be  back  with  his  family.

the tilt of her head, the furrow of her bleach - blonde brow — she is blissfully ignorant. she stands there, escort to a district that has made for a historical and career - changing win for them both, faced with much less . . . enthusiasm than she'd anticipated. surely it cannot be personal bias? she had insisted that at the very least his efforts deserved her gratitude and congratulations, but she's barely gotten his name out of her mouth before being silenced with a single gesture. “ pardon? have i . . . interrupted something? “

everything is calm in her dreams. only in her dreams. for many in thirteen, sleep is an enemy they must fight lest they be confronted with the bloody ghosts of their past. effie's privilege is peace in the night. though peace is admittedly difficult to find in the dreadfully uncomfortable chairs they keep in these hospital rooms. she stirs awake for the third time with the beep of a monitor, awed when she opens her eyes to find a groggy blue - gray gaze looking right back at her. " katniss. " she moves from her seat in an instant, to her tribute's bedside, and takes her hand without a second thought. " oh, you're finally awake. they wanted you left alone to recover, but i insisted you be permitted somebody here with you. "

her gaze lifts as footsteps signal the arrival of company. god knows that twelve's rare victor is the last face she would have imagined she'd see here at this hour. negan smith had claimed his victory and transferred out of twelve long before she'd ever stepped a fateful foot there, but she's always been keenly aware of him and his legacy. not to mention his reputation. " negan ━━ this is certainly a surprise. "