#damnatius

she drags herself up from the cushions, limbs stiff from laying dormant nearly all day. her hair is a mess, which is nothing new, but her eyes are fully rimmed with dark circles. sleeplessness clings to every feature of her face. she looks through the peekhole in the door and sees about the last face she wants to see in a state like this but knows better than to try to pretend she isn't home. beth would know. somehow she always knows.

so katniss just takes a moment to smooth down some of her flyaway hairs before opening the door. she's careful to avoid stepping in front of it, wary of so called 'photographers' with telescopic lenses. beth comes inside and the door closes behind her. "hi." is all she can think offer and it's quiet, though not unsteady.

this is why the anon sent the ask 2 northsrose

promises of a better life. johanna thinks back to the time she clung to the thought of never going hungry again, of always having food on the table; real food, not the kind you imagine on the throes of starvation. she was sixteen when they drew her name from the reaping ball, and was it really any surprise? she collected enough tesserae for the odds to tilt wildly against her favor. feeding a family of six was a tall order. regardless of how hard you toiled, it never seemed to be enough. she still remembers that day, standing under the glare of the mid-morning sun, how her chest caved in when they called her name, how her mother cried out in terror. how her fear turned into resolve because the prospect of death seemed trivial for a shot at a better life.

it was a worthy compromise, or so she thought. johanna mason has chopped up so many stubborn pieces of lumber, hasn't she? killing calls for the same practiced motions. she became a purveyor of death, thinking it would buy her family a future. if only she had known, she would have taken the axe to them herself. she would have been kinder about it.

it's no different, finnick says. and he's right. ‘maybe we should have known.’ there is no mirth to her smile, but plenty of bitterness. plenty of rage simmering right under a flimsy surface. around finnick, johanna is calmer, as still as the ocean before a monsoon. they were both offered the same thing and made very different choices. she can never fault him for the choice he's made, not when she's paid for hers with the blood of everyone she's ever loved. ‘we shouldn't have fought so hard. dying in the arena would have been mercy.’ a laugh staggers, dissonant, out of her mouth. it is awkward and unwieldy, with no place in their conversation. but johanna has long since stopped punishing herself for the maladroit retaliation she has toward grief. ‘fuck the capitol,’ she whispers; harsh and unforgiving. ‘i'm going to kill snow one day.’ the jut of her chin is stubborn, defiant, as though she expects finnick to argue, though she doesn't think he will. they've had variations of this same talk many times over the years. she's always made the same promises.

          rhaella targaryen smiles sweetly;   an apogee of affection turned outward to mask the black hole of a heart years of abuse had collapsed into   –––    kindness as a weapon,   obedience as an armor,   head bowed to dodge the blade.    enough.     ❛   do you know what this is?   ❜    she turns the steel in her hand,   marvels at the flicker of candlelight across its length   –––   fire and gold   –––   she digs the pad of her thumb into the sharp edge,   hard enough to draw blood and to complete her byword :  FIRE AND BLOOD.   she is a targaryen and under her rule,   men fall.   ❛  it is a khopesh,   an egyptian sickle-shaped sword that evolved from battle axes.[1][2]   ❜    her voice is soft,   her smile bites.    she smears the blot of blood across his lips.   ❛   a sword royal of victory, ...[5]   ❜

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄 💭 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝚨 𝐓𝚮𝐎𝐔𝐆𝚮𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝚮𝚨𝐒 𝚮𝚨𝐃 𝚨𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒.

Non of his regular collectiveness remains to him, and the ferocity of the beast, within is fearful, to behold. He'd Seen their mother and Helaena, and found that his brother was NOT by their side. As the Sober brother grabs the drunk, he yanks him to the feet. If you breath wrong now, Brother, i may add regicide to my increasing list of atrocities. His Lilac eye seems to Warn.

(also, including a photo of the legendary r'hllor!bobby in honor of this very special day, lmao)