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fir3ylolol · 6 months

Text

break up, make up

pairing: Johnny Cage x Reader

summary: You and Johnny didn't end your relationship on a good note. You've successfully avoided him, but what happens when you both end up at the same bar??

word count: 2.46 k

tw: Vaginal sex, oral sex, cunnilingus, afab!reader, gn pronouns, dom!reader, sub!johnny cage, forgiveness, make up sex, vaginal penetration, grinding, semi-public sex, begging, mentions of cheating, making out, no spoilers, he's so pussywhipped dude, praise kink, no other canon characters, smut, shameless smut, porn with plot

a/n: I've never really written fic b4 so I hope it's not shit. Slightly inspired by 3d-wifey, they are an actually good writer

Ao3

Johnny stared daggers at you from across the room. Why did he have to show up here? It had been a couple of months since you two split up and this was the first time you’d seen each other since. All you wanted was a nice night out with friends, which was already hard enough. But there he is, just 1000 feet away.

It hadn’t been easy. You had been with him for over a year and for the most part, it was fine. Despite his career and fame, he managed to find plenty of time for you. He loved to spoil you, spend time with you, and show his love wholeheartedly. That was until he had a long shoot overseas. He promised that everything would be fine and nothing would change. After 2 long months, he finally returned. But something felt off. He didn’t hold you like he used to, spent less time at home, and you didn’t see the love in his eyes anymore. A very dramatic breakup ensued, complete with tears and screaming from both of you. You moved out and quickly lost contact. Trying to cope as article after article about him returning to his ‘playboy lifestyle’ came out, you decided that he wasn’t worth your time, that he killed the relationship because he was bored of you. And so you tried your hardest, knowing that running into him again was unlikely. He’s too busy being famous, right?

Right?

Wrong.

Because there he was, same old Johnny, in a red button-up shirt with the arms rolled up and the top two buttons undone. Black slacks straining against his thighs, expensive watch glistening in the low light of the club. And, fuck, that look on his face. You couldn’t fully read it, and you weren’t sure if you were scared or interested.

Trying not to look at him, you brush off your clothes. You want to seem cool, calm, unbothered. Something you weren’t. But you weren’t turning around again to look. You just laugh with your friends and continue to enjoy your night. Until…

“Why, hello there dear,” his familiar voice rang out in your ears. You froze, the familiarity and warmth were something you hadn’t heard in a very long time. Slowly turning, you meet his eyes, trying, and failing, to hide your nerves. But when you meet his eyes, you can’t read anything. His words are cool, calm, and suave, but his eyes? Ice cold. It made you feel worse. You manage to utter a “Hello Johnny” as he stands there, his presence looming. Your friends look to you for guidance, but you nod, letting them know you’re fine. But they take that to mean, ‘you can leave now’, because they walk away, leaving you alone with him.

The exact opposite thing of what you wanted, honestly.

But it's too late for that. You take a deep breath and look directly at him, trying to seem brave. He leans against the table, looking around before sitting down across from you. “So, why are you out tonight? Trying to find another guy to disappoint?” His words cut deep, harsh accusations that offend you. “Excuse me?” you question, leaning towards him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t act innocent, we both know you’re not,” He scoffs, leaning back in his chair and looking at the crowd. You scrunch your face up in frustration, feeling the anger bubble up inside you. “You know, you’re not exactly innocent either. You leave for 2 months, you don’t talk to me once, and when you’re finally back, you treat me like shit! I honestly preferred it when you were gone, at least then I didn’t feel like complete garbage.” You try not to cry, unable to stop your eyes from watering. Your words seem to soften Johnny slightly, as he looks back and seems more awkward than angry. “What do you mean? I didn’t do that.” “WHAT?” you nearly yell, surprising yourself and him. “You came back a different person! You weren’t the man I fell in love with anymore. You were cold and cruel, just like you are now.” You reach for your bag and move to stand up and leave, but he nearly dives across the table, grabbing your arm. “Wait, wait, please don’t go. I’m sorry. Please just…let me explain.”

You slowly sit back down, shrugging out of his grip, and stare at him, waiting. He finally seems nervous, scratching the back of his neck. “I won’t beat around the bush. I thought that while I was gone, you were cheating on me.” He looks away, clearly ashamed. “I don’t know why. I didn’t have proof. I just…I’m used to people leaving a lot sooner than you, so I assumed the worst. I didn’t think I acted that poorly, but I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I’ll just leave you alone now.” His head hung slightly in shame, he started to stand.

But now it's your turn to stop him, gently taking his arm and making him sit down again. You both pause, waiting for the other to speak. Quietly, you begin to laugh, your whole body shaking. You manage to get out a muffled, “We’re so stupid.” He slowly starts laughing as well, both of you absorbing the absurdity of the situation. After a bit, you both calm down, managing to speak again. You learn that he’s been cast in a new show and that the rumors spreading around have been untrue. He learns about how you’ve been, your true interest in how you are shining through.

“Hey, you look really good, you know?” He gently takes your hand and stares into your eyes. All of a sudden, the mood shifts. Reconnecting with him has reconnected something else, something you didn’t quite expect. His words rest heavily in the air, trying to gauge how you’re feeling. You look into his eyes, the kindness and care he used to show you returning. “You look good too. Better than I remember, honestly.” He laughs, touching your arm more. “I always look this good baby.”

His eyes, now half-lidded and sultry, beckon you closer. You decide to be brave, take initiative. You get up from your seat, standing next to him. Still holding his hand, you pull him up. “Yeah? Wanna show me if everything else stayed the same?” You coax him up, getting closer to him. His smile grows wider, and he stands up and wraps his arms around your waist. “Gladly, baby.” You wave to your friends, who honestly can’t tell if it’s the right thing to let you go with him, but decide to let you. If it’s a mistake, at least you’ll learn from it.

He leads you to his car, a sleek black sports car parked in the virtually empty private parking lot out back. The perks of being famous apparently include better parking. He unlocks the door, letting you sit down first. He climbs into the driver’s seat, turning his body to look at you. “So, my place or yours-” Before he can finish that thought, you reach over, grabbing his face and kissing him gently. He is clearly shocked but quickly leans into it, growing more passionate by the minute. He turns and grabs your hips, trying to get you closer to him. You didn’t realize how completely touch-starved and needy you were until right then. You pull away and take a breath, panting lightly in sync with him. Your hand travels down his chest slowly, dancing towards his crotch. You feel his breath hitch under you, lightly whimpering at the feeling.

Lightly brushing against him and teasing him further, he starts to grow needier, pleading eyes looking directly at you. “Please…please love…” he whines out. You decide to be nice, but not that nice. Slowly unzipping his fly and freeing him, he hisses at the feeling of the cool air in the car. Gently taking him into your hand, you truly forgot how big he is. You lean over, spitting onto his dick and slowly stroking him. He starts to moan lightly, flinching as you flick your wrist over the tip. “Ah-h! H-heyy…stop teasing…” he looks through his lashes, desperation evident.

Finally giving in, you lean down, taking as much of him into his mouth as you can at this angle. He gasps, leaning back and biting his finger to stop himself from being too loud. You look up, wide eyes meeting his. You lift your head, taking a deep breath. “Don’t quiet yourself. I wanna hear those pretty moans, baby.” His eyes lightly roll back at your words, moaning louder when you return to his weeping cock, keeping a quick, almost torturous, pace. He shakily reaches out to grab your head, not forcing you down, just feeling you and trying to remain stable.

You lift your head again, kissing him hard and rough. He desperately tries to keep up, lips slipping against yours messily. You take his hand, leading it down to your crotch. “Touch me, love. Please, I need it.” You rasp out, making him shiver. As he reaches into your underwear, he nearly melts at the feeling of how wet you are. His fingers gently curl into you, feeling you pulse around him hungrily. He gently pulls his hand out, looking at the slick on his fingers before shoving them in his mouth greedily. Groaning at the taste, he reaches his free hand out to grab your thighs, feeling your soft skin under his desperate touch. “Mmfph, alwaysh taste so goodf me,” he tries to speak with his fingers still in his mouth, not wanting to stop. He tries again to taste more but you stop him, to many protests.

But they quickly stop when you take you underwear off, slipping it out from under you and tossing them in the back seat. “Push your seat back,” you state casually, but you both know it’s a command. Hurriedly, he scrambles for the seat controls, moving himself as far back as possible. He looks to you, then down at himself. He pulls his pants and underwear down further, then looks to you excitedly. Carefully, you reach your right leg over him, straddling his lap. You can feel him throb against your leg, impossibly fast, and the wetness he can’t seem to stop. You pause, looking down at him. “I want to hear you say you want this before I do anything. If this is how we rekindle our relationship, it’s starting on a good note. And if not, then it’ll end on one. But I need to hear you say it.”

Quickly, he grabs at your thighs, tight grip digging into you. “Yes, yes, please. I need you. I’ve missed you so bad and, and just want to be with you right now. I need it. I need you. Please…” His desperate pleas and pathetic expression shoot to your core, you can feel yourself growing even wetter. That was all the motivation you need as you lift yourself up and grab his dick, lining it up with teasing touches against you, earning groans and gasps every time. Finally, you start to sink down, wincing. It’s been a while and Johnny is a lot to handle. But he doesn’t notice. His head is thrown back, strings of long whines, moans, and other pornstar sounds pouring from his mouth. His sounds are motivation enough as you sink down as far as possible. It’s like you knocked the wind out of him, gasps are all you get out of him for now. You take a second to adjust further.

Then, you begin to move. Hips rocking back and forth, forehead pressed into his shoulder. You speed up, bouncing on him as you basically use him. It’s not like he minds, whimpers echoing through the car, hands death gripping onto your ass as you ride him. He genuinely can’t control himself, babbling near nonsense. You can make out a few of the words he’s saying in your ear. “Love”, “s’good”, “missed this”, and “feel incredible” is about it amongst the uncontrollable moans. You can definitely tell that it's been a long time. I mean, he’s usually pretty whiny, but this takes the cake.

He manages to get a solid couple of sentences out in his fucked out state, wrapping his arms around you like a hug. “I missed you so bad, I knew it was a mistake. No one that feels this good could be bad. I missed being yours, missed having you use me like this. I love it, I love you.” His hips jerk upwards without rhythm, desperate to get off. His words egg you on further, speeding up and absolutely shaking the car. His grip on you tightens as you can tell he’s about to cum. You whisper shakily into his ear, “Come on baby, cum for me. Be a good boy for me.” With that, he finishes with a loud cry, a death grip around you and shaking thighs. He trembles beneath you, still sensitive from the comedown. You smooth out his hair, brushing the hairs stuck to his forehead from sweat. Still fuzzyheaded, he kisses you tenderly, full of love.

You slowly climb off and get back in your seat, catching your breath. But you don’t have long, as Johnny grabs your leg and twists you. Exposing you as you lean against the car door, you barely have time to think before he dives in, eating you out with such fervor that you genuinely can’t believe he got down there that fast. After his sweet words and all that you’ve done, you’re not that far from the edge. He hasn’t forgotten all the ways to make you cum though, as he quickly gets you even closer. He rubs his nose against your clit, causing you to jump at the sensitivity. But then, his head backs up slightly, which you can’t take at this moment. You have to finish. You grab his head, fingers tangling in his hair, and fuck his face hard. He is moaning again at this point, your pleasure gets him off just as much as his own. You lose the ability to think about anything but cumming, your sole goal. Finally, you finish, your grip on him loosening. But he stays just as close, burying his face in you and lapping up your cum mixed with his.

He finally pulls away, both of you gasping for air. You are suddenly much more thankful for being parked in a more secluded area. After what feels like forever, you turn and whisper out, “Am I as good as you remember?” Turning his head, he laughs and whispers, “Better than I remembered.”

#johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage smut #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat #x reader #afab reader #johnny cage mk1 #mk1 smut #mk1 x reader #sub!johnny cage #dom!reader

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zhongrin · 11 months

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Iddjbdkekbs plssss no need to dodbsksbs (hehe, I know <33)

True that!! He is a combination of both!! <33

Ikr?? So so cute!! (He surely marks you up everytime he is drunk - so be prepared hehe~)

He will giggle and he will cup your face by your cheeks and kiss your face all over while he coos cute praises

Djiddbjsksksk YES. TOTALLY. like one second he could be "I love you s'much, angel~ let's get married soon~" ("Bai, we already are married.") And other second he is "did you know that *insert random fact about anything here with a logical explanation*"

Rin I would even carry him if I wouldn't be so weak dkshsbjsskks

WAIT I DO NEED WHAT???? *faints again*

..... Rin.

You can't tell me you only wanted to draw him blushing. He is shirtless. And and.. I get the feeling something is going on down there (real footage of you giving him head, can't tell me otherwise)

🤨📸

Hehe~ I will I will, don't worry~ <33

.. Rin whatcha doin with this clipboard?

IKR?? FKDHSJKSJNN ITS SO CUTE LIKE SJSHSJIS STAN MEITHAM AND ZHONGRIN!! 💞💞

Hdkidbssiisb omg I am sobbing;; teapot and special bookmark;; do they have any details like

What's on the teapot and on the bookmark? 💞 A special design? A quote? Anything? ❤️

Ikr ikr and his hair is so LONG. but Baizhu is patient with me and always chuckles a bit about my (failed) attempts at the beginning

Hair oil? I don't use, and I don't think Baizhu does either.. his hair seems like the ✨naturally perfect✨type to me (like himself.)

And yes he does, often when we cuddle and I lay my head on his chest he begins to play with my hair (or when I give him head PLS IM SORRY.)

So yea <33

What about you and your husband's? Do they play with your hair and do you play with theirs? ❤️

Lmao it's finee 😭💞

Oh Zhongli would totally do that, brewing coffee for his adorable wifey anytime she needs it <33 he really is more the tea type LMAO. Consider you drinking coffee and Zhongli drinking tea while talking about everything 💞💞 and yes. He would scold you and make you sleep in.. special ways. <3

Oh em gee, imagine you wake up and the first thing you see ins Alhaitham shirtless - working out - his abs and muscles shining in the sunrise. ❤️ PLS THAT'S SO CUTE FOR SOME REASON, him reading and you curling aaaaa kdbdisoks

Baivi hmm

Who wakes up first? Quite a hard question because both Baizhu and me are quite early birds.. so I would say - it's changing quite often, hehe <3 (pls Baizhu is either an early bird or an insomniac or both somehow)

When Baizhu first wakes up, I am sure he first looks at me and admires a bit (pls imagine just the both of us simping for the other one so much, but Baizhu being more subtle with it) before he gets up to cook breakfast

When he has to wake me up - he would do it by planting many kisses all over my face while repeatedly saying my name or some nicknames <33

Baizhu is responsible for breakfast. Pls I can't cook for shit and I would rather eat a bitter breakfast than having the kitchen burnt down. Lmao.

Now same questions to you!! <33❤️

ofc you need that daily dose of baizhu every day 24/7 vi what are you saying (i am weak in the knees pls)

he can mark me all he wants <3 and i'll gladly show it off if he wanna <3 ;))

hsldjfklsjdf brb crying that's. that's so cute al haitham giggling oml what's genshin equivalent of a video recorder i need it NOW-

plssss you taking care of your drunk hubby 😭 omg you know the qiqi carrying xiao meme. is. is that you trying to carry drunk passed out baizhu back home helpjsdklfjksldjf

MOUTH TO MOUTH RESUSCITATION (WITH TONGUE) VI DON'T YOU WORRY WE'LL SAVE YOU BAIZHU WILL SAVE YOU

real footage of you giving him head, can't tell me otherwise

................ maybe? /shot

WHATS WITH THE CAMERA VI-

hmmmmm? just uh. scientific notes. dw about it ☺️

AND WHILE YOU'RE AT IT STAN BAIVI!!!! 💞

zhongli's teapot has a dragon pattern painted onto it and the teapot cover + cups have a lil 3d dragon on the bottom. kinda like these:

and haitham's bookmark is something made of metal, kinda like this:

except it's a hawk and at the end of the little chain is a green coloured tassel hehe

hbu what kind of presents have you given baizhu and/or baizhu has given you? :D

oh that's adorable and oh yes he would gently play with your hair while you give him head to let you know you're doing so well, hoping you'll take it just a little bit deeper-

with zhongli, YES. he has his own hair oil concoction and makes it his duty to help me with it + with drying my hair after i get out from the shower. he loves seeing it all silky and now i smell like him so it's a bonus <3 and i love being pampered so it's a win-win situation <3 <3 <3 i can't braid neatly to save my life but whenever i do it he'll always keep the braid on until it's bedtime or if it becomes too loose (in which case he'd untie it with a slightly saddened look). your honour i love him sm

with al haitham..... ok look idk why but he gives me the '1 soap for everything' vibe. you think he'd care about hair oil? i'll have to be the one who takes care of his hair hsldjfklsjldf but he does play with mine every now and then, subconsciously. 12/10 would pull on them when i give him head-

He would scold you and make you sleep in.. special ways. <3

which is why i do it all the time i mea n what-

that's. that's an instant libido spike. welp guess we both starting off the day by exercising ;)) /bonked

omg you morning risers heathens /j

i'm melting from the thought of baizhu just staring at you lovingly while you're sleeping. man probably whispers stuff like "you're so beautiful, my flower." / "such a cute smile... i hope you're dreaming of me..." to you omggggggg

who wakes up first? definitely zhongli. man doesn't really need sleep so yeah. he's the one cooking breakfast because i too cannot cook without risking burning the kitchen down (i probably tried to do that one time to surprise him and zhongli almost got a heart attack when he peeked into the kitchen like "my dearest wife, please, rest your weary hands, i can handle this-" *tries to subtly take the spatula from my hands*). he's my personal alarm clock, and he'd wake me up with kithes <3

now al haitham.... on work days, he's diligent. his body clock is trained to wake up early in the morning to work out and cook and do stuff. but on weekends? don't expect us to get out of the bed before noon please and thank you <3 we're gonna be either 1) asleep, or 2) cuddling on bed lazily. i mean come on, it's the weekend. life's meant to be enjoyed ok slkdfjlksdjf this man wakes me up by either 1) shaking me (rude), 2) pulling off my blanket (very rude), or 3) picking me up and carrying me to bathroom so i can wash my face (i hate him /lie)

#rin answers #rin is having tea with: dresvi 💚#rin selfships #zhongrin #meitham #minors dni

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beccasissy69 · 1 year

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March ended up been a bit of a nightmare for non-sissy/training reasons and it ended with Goddess giving me a week off because I was super stressed, so of course my blogging fell off too.

Let's finish off January! My next session was female pov videos in a hypno style, which I watched on my VR headset with a vibe in one end and the dildo in the other. This was a pain to get working, but eventually I figured it out and then it flew by. It was really fun and really hot, I was drooling and dripping from everywhere.

Then I had dancing in heels and it was a challenge 😅. I didn't go very fast or do anything very challenging but it's definitely something I need more work on.

This was followed by seductive, glam BJs as I followed along on a toy. I watched quite a few Wifey videos because they're reliably wonderful but I also ranged further afield too. Just getting lost in the pacing of it all and the rhythm of a longer, more sensual BJ was perfect.

Hentai was next. Incestish stories but so 🔥, each story featured a women just overwhelmed by lust and passion and driven to wilder and wilder ends. Hentai is perfect for big breasted milf types and there's always so much fluid!

I finished out the month with a little makeup study, contouring boobs, which can be done on a flat chest. A very clever technique that I need to practice a bit to get the hang of.

February began with ordering my torso, which I mentioned in my Valentine's Day write up. I did some browsing and ordered one. I've used it a few times and it's a really good toy. The angle of the 🍆 is really good and it's firm enough but even though it's a little smaller than a person, rubbing my hands over it as it f*cks me or pushing against his chest works in such a hot way. I got a 3d one and made sure it was pretty heavy and I'm very happy with it.

My first February training was quite involved. To start with 10-20 minutes of sissy hypno while I was blindfolded and deep throating a toy and during this part, I was to insert a plug. Then I removed the blindfold and watched creampie videos before removing the plug and using my glass dildo while watching lipstick kissing porn/asmr videos.

I lined up all the videos and made sure everything was ready before I got started. It was absolutely crazy...it drove me wild 🥴. When I switched from the hypno to the videos I was so turned on and leaking like mad and then when I moved onto the kissing videos it simply blew my mind.

After I'd finished, I felt a need to watch The Batcherlorette (I may not have mentioned but Goddess had encouraged me to begin watching it) and when I did the girls were talking about wanting the guys to be more assertive and take charge and I started to tear up.

#submissivesissybimbohousewife

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vindersdraws · 2 years

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Vin thinks #2

I figured out I should talk little bit about my creative projects, so here we go.

My current projects are:

Comics

HATOR

Vale

Purify

Hilla (no art here)

Apocrypha

Down Below

PhantasmaGORE

Pet time stories (no art here)

Unnamed doll thing (no art here)

Emberbride

Games

Candlekin

You, the cat

Fernheart (no art here)

Unnamed cave game (no art here)

Other

The Mistgrove Dungeon

HATOR is a romance/adventure/science fantasy comic with a main cast of about six characters. It has some horror elements, because of course it has, but it’s mostly about love, trauma, found family and relationships. It will have about 2300-ish pages (60 episodes!), so it will be a long one and I might never finish it. I think I started this project like 9 years ago… Holy shit…

Vale is a buddy adventure/comedy/fantasy (with some modern elements)/erotica (?). It’s a story about two people who have a very beneficial friendship. It’s mostly comedy, but has some darker and deeper things too. It will be about same length as HATOR, hopefully little bit less. First concept of this story became completely different comic project! I finished the first chapter back in 2012 (I think), but I wasn’t satisfied with it. Lot of things have changed since then.

Purify is a creature horror comic. I’m going to tell everyone it has themes of body horror (what if your body belongs to something else?) and finding safety with other marginalized individuals, but it’s whole theme is actually just “monsters are cool and scary.” Whole story should have about 250 pages.

Hilla does not have any real comic art yet, but I’ve done a few concept pics. It’s a fantasy adventure based on Finnish mythology. It’s meant for young adults. No idea about page count yet.

Apocrypha is a romance story about 150-200 pages long. It’s a love story between an angel and a human. Some of the themes of this story are love (ofc), trust and betrayal. Fun!

Down Below was supposed to be a game project, but I realized I’m not skilled enough to make it the game I wish it was, so I decided to make it a comic. It has monsters and action (and little bit love…)! This too will be about 150-200 pages long.

PhantasmaGore, you’ve probably already seen a few strips from this one. It’s a fantasy horror comedy, with a short and long stories. I really should get back working on this one…

Pet Time Stories is a strip comic about our pets. We’ve making it together and we’ve already done about 20 -25 pages worth of stuff. We’re drawing it traditionally!

Unnamed doll thing, I used to call this one Cinder/Cinderkin, but I don’t like that name anymore. This too will be a love story, because my mom used to say I don’t have a romantic soul, so I need to prove her wrong. The whole story will be abou 150 – 250 pages long. It’s about unrequited love and what it means to have a soul.

Emberbride, uh… This one…. Is BDSM erotica comic I’m making for my wifey. I haven’t worked on it since… Forever. If my wifey likes it, I might publish it. This is what Vale used to be. Let’s look at my game projects…

Candlekin is a horror game, where you’re trapped in a labyrinth with a monster. This one is actually about 80% ready. I could finish it over a few weekends if I had the self-restraint needed to finish anything.

You, The Cat is a kitten survival game. You play as one of the kittens and your quest is to help your siblings (and yourself!) find your mama and survive. Make a wrong choice and you might get killed! This one was inspired by what outdoor cats go through in the wild. The whole game might be 4 – 6 hours long.

Fernheart started as a 2D rpg, but I think I want to make it 3D. As I mentioned, it is a rpg game based on Finnish mythology. There will be no actual fighting stuff, it’s more about exploring, puzzles and making friends!

Unnamed cave game, which I might call The Hallow. You’re lost in a cave and it will be horrible. This one is 3D and has different endings based on your choices! And then to the other stuff…

The Mistgrove Dungeon or In To The Mistgrove Dungeon is puzzle/activity book with a story and your won character you get to create! It’s based on a world I’ve created around Hilla & Fernheart. This one was supposed to be a Christmas gift for my wifey, but I was only able to make few pages. The whole thing will be about 38 pages long.

So, those are the projects I’m currently working on (more or less) I have other ideas too, but these are more… Defined? Most of this stuff will be free to read/play, but the longer ones will unfortunately have a price tag (Like You, The Cat). I will try to make my comics (and The Mistgrove) as pay-what-you-want printable pdf files and if I’m lucky, actual printed goods too.

Thank you for reading!

🍆 Twitter: twitter.com/Pushymage

🍆 DeviantART: deviantart.com/pushymage

🍆 Artfol: vinders

🍆 Kofi: ko-fi.com/vinders

🍆 Redbubble: vinders.redbubble.com

#long post #art projects #vin thinks

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glassartpeasants · 4 years

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Crying In The Club .8

Yandere!Overhaul x F!Reader

*Part 1* *Part 2* *Part 3* *Part 4* *Part 5* *Part 6* *Part 7* *Part 8*

Warnings: Yandere overhaul, angst, non-consensual touching, blood & gore, torture, death, sassy reader, some sexual references

A/N: Yeah It gets kinda gruesome in this chapter so lol. But as a warning I will put a warning *GORE* before it truly begins. I was just in the mood for some good old gore.

Taglist

@hello-lucky-luka @winchester-wifey

~~~

Another meeting, another hour of torture. You couldn’t believe it. After 6 months of being with your boyfriend, thinking all the horror was gonna end, you were dragged back into the devils lair. Not only was he actually a sociopath but this man fully believed that he could convince you to love him. As if.

How could you love someone who hurt you in horrific ways? He lowered your self esteem until it was practically nothing by the time he let you go. You had only gotten it back a little bit when (????) came into the picture. You couldn’t help but cry the night you were brought back here. How could you be happy knowing the one person you felt safe with was dead all because of some psychotic man who believed you were his.

A gloved hand on your thigh ripped you out of your thoughts. You tried not to tense up and show that the feeling was unwelcomed. Which it was. You felt his thumb rub up and down your thigh while he was talking to some random crime boss. You looked around the room uncomfortable as you were the only woman in the entire area. It felt as if all eyes were on you. They were undressing you with their eyes. You could tell by the way the two younger men that licked their lips were looking you up and down. It seems that you recognize many of these people from when you use to go to the meetings before you left.

It looked like many of the older men had learned their lesson since not one of them looked in your direction. But the younger men seemed to be new. You refused to show weakness and go crawling to Overhaul for some sort of safety. So you decided to do the next best thing. Show them that you weren’t gonna stand to be looked at like prey.

“Can you two men stop looking at me like Im a piece of meat? This is a professional meeting and you acting anything less then professional. Plus I’m taken.” You cross your arms while glaring at the two men with hatred. Everyone was silent as they all looked at you. Surprised you had said anything. You weren’t going to let some horny men look at you like that.

“You know Overhaul, you should teach her not to say anything. This is a professional meeting after all.”

“Pfft, professional meeting? Last time I was in a meeting like this, all you disgusting men couldn’t keep your eyes off of me. Shame your guys wives doesn’t know your checking out younger women.” You smirk. Idiots be wearing wedding bands on their fingers. Listen you were no mobster but its pretty common sense to not show any weakness. Especially something as crucial as a wife or husband.

No one said a word. You stood your ground, you showed you weren’t afraid of these people. But you weren’t gonna lie, You were bat shit terrified. All these men were so much bigger then you were.

‘Keep the confident front! Don’t show any fear!’

“How did you-”

“The wedding bands on your fingers.” All the men looked at their fingers realizing you had caught them. They then looked at you before they grumbled. Well everyone except the two younger men.

“Well sweets we don’t have any wedding bands. Hey Overhaul, you willing to sell that pretty thing over there?” Your eyes widen. Did these men really think you were just some toy to be pawned off? You did not miss this at all. In fact you fuckin hated this.

Before you could growl at them Kai had sen’t them a glare. He grabbed your hip and brought you in between his legs. His right arm snaking around your waist.

“No she’s not for sale. Let’s continue this meeting before I lose my temper.” Well this did not go the way you thought it would hot damn.

~~~

You sit on the couch near the back door. Watching as the older men leave with their tails in between their legs. Even if you would never admit it, Kai is much younger then most of these men. So if they were to fight him, they wouldn’t have a good chance in fighting. But the younger men, you don’t know for sure. Speaking of them you didnt see them leave the compound.

“Miss (Y/N), Overhaul had requested your presence in the basement.” Your breathing hitched as a feeling of dread washed your entire body. What did you do? You had only been back for 3 days! You couldn’t have done-

Oh yeah.

‘How could I completely forget about how I just dissed those men. Oh im so mega fucked.’ You breath lowly in fear of what would happen to you. Damnit you should have just been quiet and took it. Now you were gonna feel his wraith. Why did you do that?

You follow the man towards the basement where you heard Kai’s voice talking to someone. Was it Hari? No couldn’t be. Hari’s voice held a bit more of a sweeter tone. At least to you. This voice was similar but you couldn’t put a finger on where you heard it before. Think, think, think damnit-

The to men from the meeting.

Your eyes grow wide as you walked down the stairs and heard the door close behind you. The creaking of the wooden stairs seem to ring in your ears as your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. Your legs jelly as you fear what you might see. What could Kai be doing to those men? Even if they were a little creepy they had probably learned their lesson when Kai had screamed at them when you were leaving the room after the meeting.

Once your feet met the concrete floor of the basement your eyes wide at the sight before you.

****GORE****

Right in front of you was the 2 men, tied in chairs, face bloody. You could have sworn some of their teeth were missing.

“Aw my lovely angel. Look, now they can never say anything to you. They don’t deserve to see your beauty. I’m proud of you for showing me which disgusting creatures were looking at you.” Kai said as he up behind you. He settled his chin on the top of your head. You see his beak coming off from the top of your head. His hands rubbing your shoulders gently, moving his thumbs in circular patterns.

“You stupid bitch! Were in here because of you-”

“(R/N) cut of their tongues. No one speaks to my angel in such a way.” You gasped as you backed up. Trying to escape the scene that was about to unfold. But you couldn’t Kai had grasped your chin and made you watch as a subordinate of his grabbed the tongue of one of the men before a sickening rip followed as the other man screamed. Blood gushed out of his mouth as the man coughed. Struggling not to choke on his own blood.

The other man suffered the same fate followed by the familiar rip. Tears were rushing down your eyes as you felt bile rise up in the back of your throat. Kai looked down at you and saw the tears and gushed out of your eyes.

“Aw angel why are you crying? Is it because you know they’ll never say such vile things to you again? Your welcome for protecting you.” Kai softly spoke as he nudged his head in between your shoulders. You felt like you were watching a horror film but in 3D.

The mens blood covered the tops of their shirts as they cough it all up. The men looked on the verge of passing out. One of them looked at you with a glare causing you to lift up your arms to cover your eyes. Your lip quivering in fear as you hear a pop and the gurgling screams of the men in front of you.

3 more pop sounds came and you were flinching every time one pop had came. You move your fingers to the side and see the men with their eyes gauged out of their sockets.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You vomited all over the ground as the men screamed even louder. You couldn’t see it. You didn’t want to see it. You were about to run out of the room before you slipped on your on vomit and hit your head against the concrete floor.

~~~

You open your eyes only to be greeted by a blinding white light. You move your arm to cover it so your eyes don’t sting. You flutter your eyes a bit before looking around your room. A pure white room that looked like a hospital room. You groaned. Was it all just a bad dream? I mean you did go to the hospital the day before you got kidnapped again.

You smile a bit, thinking it was all but just a dream. You could go back to your loving boyfriend, you could eat with him and just enjoy his presence. You missed him dearly. The thought of him got your heart pumping harder and harder. You couldn’t wait to see his cheeky smile and that cute little mole on his chin.

Just as you were about to get up from the bed and go home, your thoughts were snapped when you heard the familiar voice of your captor. That meant that this wasn’t a dream. No, this was a living nightmare. You hadn’t dreamed this, it was real. Your boyfriend was dead and you were still in the clutched of the devil himself.

You let out a little whimper when you moved your head a bit. You gently touch the side of your head wincing at the pain. The sudden thoughts of what happened earlier scratched into your head. You shiver at the thought of what else could’ve happened while you were out.

“Ah my darling angel, your finally awake. Is your head okay? Nasty gash you had. Since you fell in your own vomit I had to give you a bath. I never thought you would be even more beautiful then you already were.” Your eyes widen. He had changed you?! That means he saw everything! EVERYTHING!

Your cheeks grew red in embarrassment as you try and turn your head away. Only for Kai’s gloved hand to bring your face back to his.

“Aw my angel, don’t be embarrassed now. It’s not like I will never see you like that again. Trust me my love, one day you’ll be crying my name.”

#overhaul x reader #kai chisaki x reader #mha #bnha #overhaul #overhaul angst #chisaki overhaul #mha overhaul #kai #shie hassaikai #kai chisaki #mha angst #bnha angst

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jcmorrigan · 3 years

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001 - Tales of Zestiria?

Favorite character: It's a tough call between Maltran and Symonne, and Lunarre is trailing right behind both. I tend to call them the "Heldalf Squad," but make no mistake, Heldalf himself isn't part of it. I just like his swagalicious minions. The dry and sarcastic political manipulator, the sadistic and wordy theater nerd, and the flamboyant cannibal who hates everything. Yes. LOVE. But I have to give a shout to my boy Dezel on the hero side! Angsty/stoic characters are very hit-or-miss with me, but Dezel is the flavor I love - obvious soft spots and quirks, and slowly he builds from being antisocial to showing how big his heart is. When he stops the woman from leaping off the Guinevere tower...that's one of my favorite scenes in the entire game, because you can see when the switch flips, when he realizes that he CANNOT stay aloof any longer when there's a stranger's life on the line. He's still a grump about it but a compassionate grump.

Least Favorite character: Heldalf. His backstory is really clever, and I like the curse on him. But he himself just feels like Ganondorf but more boring. I kinda hate that he's so vanilla when his three lieutenants are in my arsenal of pet villains from the vastness of fiction. Also shout-out to Chancellor BART in the opening Ladylake act, because I distinctly remember liveblogging this to a friend, and I played Zestiria *after* Berseria (I'd loved Berseria and that's why I eventually sought out Zestiria) so here I am just comparing up the corrupt church in Ladylake to the Abbey's suave rogues gallery like "Yeah no BART has nothing on Lady Teresa Linares." Thankfully BART was never seen again.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): DezeRose, SorMik, Symonne x Coco Atarashi (The World Ends With You), Alisha Diphda x Sergei Strelka, and...I swear you have to bear with me here...Zaveid x Anna (Frozen). I also kinda wanna note a couple ships I'm on the fence about for my other favies - those being Maltran x Ebony Maw (Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel Ultimate Alliance) and Lunarre x Arkham (Devil May Cry).

Character I find most attractive: Dezel. It is a scientific fact that guys with pointy teeth are just hotter.

Character I would marry: Maybe Dezel, maybe Sergei. I wouldn't want to take them from those I see as their wifeys, but at the same time, they are husband goals, both of them.

Character I would be best friends with: Catch me clinging to Maltran's train and she drags me along annoyedly as I yell "PLEEEEAAASE LET ME HANG OUT WITH YOU GUYS" and Lunarre is losing it laughing while Symonne rolls her eyes

a random thought: So I toyed around with basically every accessory I picked up, and I decided to put the sideburns on Rose because fuck gender roles. Well then I just got used to seeing her with facial hair in every cutscene where her 3D model was used, and now I headcanon that she does get it. Maybe nonclassical CAH intersex? Like, I don't necessarily see her as trans (but I support everyone who hc's her as such) but moreso "a cis woman, but I grow this stupid damn facial hair like a dude and I don't get why." And this is why you shouldn't let me play with customizable accessories on RPG characters because I can and will abuse my privilege to headcanon.

An unpopular opinion: That this is actually a very good game. Listen, I think I get it - the initial marketing promised something far different. And that's disappointing. But coming back to it several years after its release, after the release of its PREQUEL, when I never had that hype building up...it actually exceeded my expectations. I held off from it for a while because I thought Eizen's fate would make me too sad, but that didn't end up the case at all. I actually had just come off playing a more recently-released triple-A game that was hyped up for years, and I completed it to my satisfaction in 20 hours. $80 for 20 hours. Zestiria gave me my money's worth in comparison; it took me about 60, and I loved just how MUCH story it had to offer me. I honestly like Rose better than Alisha anyway (Rose was one of the biggest aspects that interested me about playing it in the first place). I've also seen complaints that the characters weren't well-developed enough? Which I just kinda take to mean "They didn't angst enough." Listen. There are PLENTY of games out there if you want angst and sad stories. I don't really like sad stories in my games. I like adventures where the party is a goofy foundfam that jokes around with each other and helps each other work through shitty situations, and that's EXACTLY what I got. (And Berseria really worked on me too because it kinda started at the bottom of the angst barrel, then worked its way up through "The edgy and tortured protag has gained a party of idiots and oh noooooo she's learning friendship and happiness.") Dezel's death is one of the few game deaths that just made me SATISFIED to watch instead of depressed because of the closure he got and the themes tied into his final moments and sacrifice. I loved going on this adventure, I loved the idiots who I went on it with, and I loved seeing what Glenwood had to offer me in world design the further I explored.

my canon OTP: There's not much for canon romance in this game, come to think of it. Just subtext and some flirting. So I'm blanking on if there actually were any canon couples at all.

Non-canon OTP: DezeRose! Which maybe can be considered almost-canon based on the amount of subtext, but still. It's adorable. (And it's the exact same dynamic as EiRoku except M/F and a thousand years later. I need these four to double date...the dual-wielding goofs with their edgy, grumpy Reapers...)

most badass character: Rose! Not only able to wield the Shepherd's Armatization powers, but also to be a dang good assassin on her own, able to hold her own against Heldalf before she even had her eyes opened to seraphim! Though a shout-out goes to Edna because her armatization was my favorite to play with. There's something just satisfying about bashing the enemy in front of you with a pair of GIANT FISTS

pairing I am not a fan of: RoseAli. To be honest, it was at one point something I kinda enjoyed as a third-tier ship for Rose (Dezel first, then Lailah in second). But then...Alisha's Story. I didn't actually purchase it, thank goodness, just watched it on YouTube, and it was the most grating addition that anyone could've made to this game. First of all, I can sum up the issues with Alisha's Story by reminding everyone that it canonized a secret entrance to Camlann that was much easier to get to and wasn't protected by Muse's sacrifice. But the real thing that hurt to watch was how far down they had to knock Rose and Alisha's friendship to get them to rebuild from scratch. Rose claiming she was never Alisha's friend because she's grieving Sorey? The two of them getting into a PHYSICAL FISTFIGHT over it? Nope nope nope. That's not my Rose. Even less my Rose is that whole scene where she...you know...pounces on Alisha to dress her in the silly noblewoman's dress, and it's framed like...let's just say it's really uncomfortable to watch if you don't know the punchline is just a silly outfit. Even though Alisha's Story isn't canon in my head, it still really killed any buzz I had for RoseAli. I will also say I'm not a big fan of Eizavie - first of all, EiRoku or bust in this house, and second, I have a little bit of a hard time seeing Zaveid as mlm due to how much he goes on and on about The Ladies(TM). (Though I could see Eizen as having a tiny crush on him, though. Just like "Oh no he's hot but he's connected to Aifread's disappearance help")

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Mostly just in Alisha's Story. I was mad about the aforementioned Rose stuff, but also...like...they undid Lunarre's original cathartic death, they did so to team him back up with Symonne and then do a whole fakeout that they had Maltran with them too, but Maltran is just an illusion and immediately after this, Lunarre and Symonne just decide "Yeah, we're not gonna work together anymore, have a nice life." Why does Maltran need to stay dead if LUNARRE somehow survived EXPLODING? And just...look to next question for more clarification:

favourite friendship: I just want to imagine that Maltran, Lunarre, and Symonne were weird evil friends. The kind who'd take artistic selfies and caption them "Murder and mayhem with my besties!". Maybe they even had a sibling dynamic. They were all pretty dang jaded, so I like to think they sat around sometimes talking about the things in this world that did them wrong. The reasons they were drawn to Heldalf. Heldalf himself wouldn't have cared, he would've kicked them around like disposable tools, but the three of them were too entrenched in his dogma to see it. Maybe if they met up again after he was off the board...then they'd sing a different tune. Realize they're all three better than this, and now they're gonna do things THEIR way, because remember when they made a three-point attack on Glenwood and Sorey was barely able to keep up with them wrecking Lastonbell AND Pendrago AND Glaivend? Remember when Lunarre and Symonne had each other's backs the night Dezel died? Now they can do what they want on their terms! And I just - I have many MANY feelings about these three.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Okay silly self-insert time but the thing is, Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls) and Roman Torchwick (RWBY) are my two favorite parental f/o's (and also my OTP to end all OTPs), and I have this thing about how they'd be PERFECT crime dads to Symonne in particular because she's like a little, more theatrical Neopolitan. So there's a universe in my head where Symonne is basically already my little sister, and I look out for her - well, okay, she's a seraph with powerful Artes and I am a powerless mortal so really she looks out for me because "I suppose SOMEONE has to make sure you don't die" and I am grateful to her for it.

#tales of zestiria

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ikeservant · 4 years

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Hello hope you are doing well!!! Can I ask for hc for Kenshin, Ieyasu, and Hideyoshi (or anyone else you want) discovering that MC is a hardcore otaku who thirsts over anime/otome boys😂😂? Maybe Sasuke gotta help explain to the warlords what even anime/otome is XD Thank you all the time I love your stuff!!!

Ahh thank you so much!I love this prompt lol! I’m dummy weak thinking about a bunch of 1500s warlords finding out in the future that people write headcanons/fanfics/fanart of them dream about fictional dudes. I’m people 😂. Also put what genre/type of anime they’d be into if they were able to be introduced to anime and manga.

Kenshin: Probably thought that Sasuke and MC were siblings because of her using similar weird words and fangirling during the weirdest times. Sasuke would explain to him how from their time that stories and tales were widespread and had vivid illustrations that people would gather around and develop a fanbase. Would be very confused to see keychains and anime merch from MC’s bag from the future. When he asked why there were decorations of 2D men, MC excitedly explained how they were all “best boys” and tell their stories and tales, meanwhile Kenshin was glaring daggers at these fictional men that pose a threat. “Kenshin your yandere side is showing. You are the bestest boy and you’re the only one I want to wifey up.” He’ll have to ask Sasuke what half of that sentence meant, but he was pleased that he was the 3D man that she chose. If MC could bring back some manga/anime for Kenshin, he’d be in love with any war/gore and action based ones. Not necessarily for characters but how cool the action and fight scenes are and wants to try them out with Sasuke (run Sasuke).

Ieyasu: Was very confused when they first met and MC was very eager and pushy to get to know him better. “Why are you following me, you weakling?” “I know you’re a tsundere. You’re hard on the outside but gooey on the inside. I’ve played so many routes with tsunderes that I shall uncover you in no time. Just like the simulations!” *cue Ieyasu thinking MC is absolutely insane and going the complete opposite direction*. Eventually MC grew on him and he did end up softening up and falling in love (JUST LIKE THE SIMULATIONS! SCORE FOR MC). Would find a lot of the terminology MC uses weird but still made him want to learn what it meant. Did not know what “I ship it” meant when MC chuckled that when he started complaining about Mitsunari, but rest assured will gag when he finds out. Startles MC when they’re laying in bed and he says “I.. ship us.” awkwardly trying to use her weeb terminology, earning a kiss for this cute tsundere 😉. If MC could bring back some manga/anime, he’d be very intrigued with complex characters and plots that have both dark and light elements and have an overall empowering message. Relates to characters that have a tragic backstory but endure and grow stronger and roots for them in the end. (Might imagine MC as the love interest but don’t tell MC that)

Hideyoshi: Now the first thing coming out of MC’s mouth when he decided to trust her and smile at MC while offering to be friends and help carry the vase she was carrying was “A-am I witnessing gap moe in real life?” with a look of utter awe. This confused the heck out of him, “M-my name’s Hideyoshi. Who’s Gap-Moe?” Eventually would get used to the random terminology, although very confused. When he saw the anime themed keychains and wallet in MC’s purse and asked about it, he should’ve prepared tea because that was a looong lecture that he understood nothing of but found it adorable how excited MC was talking about it. “Wait so what are fangirls?” “You know those girls in town that rush to you and gush over you? Those are fangirls. My fangirl group just goes after fictional guys.”, making him confused even more while also lowkey wishing MC was his fangirl and wondering if he is a fanboy for MC (spoiler alert: he IS. And he’s a fanboy for Nobunga). Made him realize how much MC made his kokoro go doki doki (this is the most otaku trash phrase I’ve ever said). If MC could bring manga/anime, he’d love anime where good trumps evil and heroes defeat villains because he loves imagining defeating injustice and having a happy ending for Japan while defeating the cruel enemies and rivals around Nobunga. Also loves emotional/heart wrenching love story manga and anime that make you cry and get hit hard in the feels with the characters b/c he’s such a romantic with a big heart. Would hug the hell out of MC after finishing of any of those types of series while saying that he will always love her‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

Bonuses b/c I thought they’d be fun:

Shingen: Literally finds anything about MC fascinating, and the fact that they’re passionate about fictional stories and are so emotionally touched by them made him love that MC had a big heart, even for fictional characters. Gets a lil jealous when MC starts fawning over specific fictional dudes. When MC and Shingen are a couple and she starts talking about one of her fictional baes he’d probably literally sweep her off her feet and say something cheesy like “But can he do this” and swoop in for dat kiss. Would probably find his own meaning in the terminology and use it. “This is my waifu, my goddess, I am her biggest fanboy.” is how he’d probably introduce MC as (swoon). If MC could bring manga/anime, he’d be a hardcore sucker for romance anime and would reenact many of the romantic scenes, even the confession scenes. “Shingen we’re married. This is the 45th time you’ve confessed to me.” “But not like from this anime (´•ω•̥`). Would also like detective/mystery series bc he likes unraveling mysteries and plays behind the scenes.

Yukimura: “Not another Sasuke-speaker.” Would be hanging out with MC and Sasuke and listening to the weird terminologies. Would also probably make fun of MC at first for her fantasizing about fictional men and having merch of them saying “Is that cuz you can’t get a real life man?” (cue the heated arguing). Would eventually be intrigued by some of the story plots MC tells him and would eventually fall for her nerdiness and everything. Would ask Sasuke for help on coming up how to confess to MC like in the anime and otome games she talks about (A for effort, my boy). Would be a blushy puddle but puff his chest out if MC fangirled over him. If MC could bring anime and manga, he’d freaking LOVE superhero anime bc he just wants to save everyone and do whats right and he just looks like the type of dude that loves superheroes and superpowers and gets pumped when the hero defeats the bad guy.

Mitsuhide: Would be curious about these strange, foreign words MC says, even though its just fangirl lingo from 500 years in the future. Would probably tease MC if they had any keychains or small merch of anime characters. “Why have a pocket-sized man to love if there’s a full sized one right here.” 😉. Would find it very creative that there’s so many diverse stories and characters. Loves when MC gets excited talking about story plots, gets a lil jealous and tries steering the topic away from thirsting over the dudes. Would probably confess his feelings by saying “Is there a real life story about a kitsune falling for a foolish mouse and they become lovers for eternity?” “Not that I know of.” “Want to make that story happen?”. Would love speaking modern slang and otaku terms with MC because its like their own little love language and it also pisses Hideyoshi off since he doesn’t understand wtf they’re saying. If MC brought manga/anime, would love psychological based horror, seeing how characters react to scary situations and what’s the mental breaking point to madness, or plots with mind games and outwitting opponents bc he’s all about that big brain and likes seeing characters creatively outsmart enemies. Likes characters that are morally gray/antihero that do good but do so in unorthodox ways bc he relates to them (and is secretly smug if MC says they need more love bc it feels like she’s saying that about him too). Likes stories w/ bittersweet endings because he likes seeing the beauty in things while acknowledging the harshness and cruelty of life as well.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen headcanon #ikesen hc

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3d-wifey · 4 months

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You're telling me malnourished Eminem took out Sejanus, Cinna, AND Finnick? TRIPLE HOTTIE HOMICIDE? HE ISNT HOT ENOUGH TO GET AWAY WITH THAT KIND OF ATROCITY! I WOULDNT PISS ON HIM IF HE WAS ON FIRE!

CORIOLANUS SNOW YOU WILL RUE THE DAY

#3d wifey talks #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #sejanus my beloved #sejanus x reader #sejanus plinth #Finnick odair the man that you are #Cinna #Cinna you will always be famous #coriolanus x sejanus #coriolanus snow #Coriolanus snow you FLOP

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3d-wifey · 27 days

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would you ever write for young Snow? like outside of the 10th hunger games au you talked about for And They'd Find Us in A Week? Please mother I hungerrrr

tbh I don't find Tom Blithe attractive. Like, nothing against the actor, but I felt like I was being gaslit into thinking he was a heartthrob, but I just don't get it! It feels like the Paul Dano plague that happened when Batman came out. Like, Tom had the craziness down, but the pretty boy, trusting act Corio used to trick everyone in the book doesn't translate well in the movie for me bc that man is neither a pretty boy OR trusting. Like, fr I don't know how anyone trusted a thing outta that man's mouth, he does NOT look trustworthy!!!! I wouldn't trust him to piss on me if I was on fire.

You know who I would trust and follow blindly? Blond Callum Turner!!!! Look at him!

LOOOOOOKKKKKKKKK

I knows he's brunet in the last one but that's my man and you WILL listen

IT EVEN LOOKS LIKE HE'S IN THE PEACEKEEPER JUMPSUIT IN THIS ONE

Mannnn yall don't wanna hear me, you just wanna dance 🙄

But, yeah, I'll write for young Corio, but ONLY this one.

#3d wifey talks #3d wifey answers #hunger games catching fire #hunger games fic #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus smut #callum turner #callum turner x reader #boys in the boat #blond callum turner #save me...#save me blond callum turner #im a callum turner Coriolanous truther!!!!#i am the only person to ever think this ever #Callum!Corio #new tag just dropped

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3d-wifey · 7 months

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i would love to see some not sub reader! (in the context of marauders) i <3 subby ass males

YASSSSSSSSS

Omfg I feel so seen!!! Like when I say all there is is sub!reader, I mean hard sub-shit. Like "controlling what you can do and say in and out of the bedroom" and it's genuinely so unimmersive. I mean, when it's with Marlene, Lily, Beatrix, Narcissa, etc, it's like chill. But something about the boys is making me look at my phone like

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3d-wifey · 8 months

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Sneak peek of upcoming Johnny Cage smut 🤭🤭

#johnny cage x reader #johnny cage #Mk1 x reader #Mk1 johnny cage #mk1 2023 #mk 2023 #Johnny cage smut #Mk1 smut #mk smut #3d wifey talks #Mind you he's on his knees

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3d-wifey · 5 months

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And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 11

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn A/N: LADIES N GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! there are multiple POV changes in this, I'm training yall for the arena and Mockingjay. FYI: I was so disheartened bc this felt like the worst past I've written for this story :(((

Past (xii) - Finnick

[ 21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick is sitting at his desk, probably looking as worn out and exhausted as he feels. It’s the early hours of the morning, and he hasn’t slept for the past two days. He’s been writing for hours, trying to find the right words to say. The sun had just set when he poured himself into the seat, and now, he glances to his left, the first tendrils of sunlight are peaking up.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of Finnick's labored breathing. His hands are shaking, a side effect of the stress that has been building inside him like a pressure cooker. Snow's visit has left him reeling, unable to process the implications of the deal he's been forced to make. He knows he has to write you a letter, but the thought fills him with a sense of despondency. Something that normally fills him with insurmountable excitement and anticipation fills him with devastation. It feels like, like…there’s nothing he can compare it to. Not everything feels like something else and Finnick knows this kind of grief is very rarely experienced.

What is he supposed to do? He hasn’t opened the last letter you sent, knowing it will be the last one that won’t carry the weight of mourning. He knows that you'll write to him again, that you won’t take this lying down. You’ll write and write, and he will...he will do nothing.

It sits in front of him, innocuous and unassuming. Something devastating folded in a green envelope and wrapped in your scent like a well-dressed bomb. Does his fear outweigh his longing for you?

He picks it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.

No, he realizes, it doesn’t.

He’s careful to tear the seal on the flap and your perfume wafts up like a surprise. He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent, trying to steel himself for what comes next.

Dear Finn,

I feel like I’ve missed you longer than I’ve had the chance to know you. It's been three months now, but maybe by the time this letter gets to you, we'll both be on our way to the Capitol. I'm working on being more optimistic, but that uphill battle is becoming steeper the longer I'm away from you.

I keep thinking about when I first met you. When I looked into your eyes, I didn't see fireworks exploding or any of that other shit they depict in those gaudy Capitol romance novels. I looked into your eyes and saw you, something far more breathtaking than fireworks. And what a sight you were.

Three years back, you said something I never agreed with, that it was hard to love you. At the moment, I didn’t get to say what I really wanted to because I was eighteen and the thought of being so emotionally vulnerable made my teeth itch.

I wanted to say that you aren't hard to love. I wanted to say loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done. And that's why it was so difficult. I could never let myself love you—let myself have you because how could I possibly deserve to? But that’s the kicker. It’s not hard to love you, Finn, it’s impossible not to.

Something happened recently that made me realize that I’m not the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. But, Finn, know that my love for you is never in doubt. How I feel about you may be complex, but it’s not complicated. I love you desperately, humanly, simply. Without even trying, you peel me back to my core, but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul.

I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.

We may not be next to each other, but we’re under the same sky, and each glowing point on that backdrop of black is a star—a sun at the center of someone’s solar system.

In some other universe, on a different Earth, there’s a girl in love with a boy whose freckles run like constellations. On another, there’s a girl who’s in love with how her boy’s eyes squint when he smiles.

That's the one constant. There are billions of stars, billions of universes, and I love you in every one of them.

Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other, because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’ . Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.

Maybe , he thinks, maybe there’s a way I can explain why I’m doing this, some kind of code or something. Maybe I can still meet with her, just in secret. But Snow …It always comes back to Snow.

Snow reads these letters, and surely he'll be more vigilant of Finnick to make sure he keeps his side of the deal. Besides, if you knew the real reason he’s doing this—that it’s against his will, that he wouldn’t even think to do this in his worst nightmare—you’ll latch on, consequences be damned.

He’s doing this for you. He has to remind himself that it’s your life on the line here, not just his heart.

Still.

He's careful when folding the letter back, only bending it along the preexisting lines. He sets it beside himself.

He picks up a piece of paper from the stack in front of him tucked against the wall, twirling his pen along his fingers. His leg bounces, nails tapping on the desk.

He writes something down and comes to a stuttering halt. It isn't good enough. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and picks up a new one.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat.

He's stuck in a loop, unable to find the right words. The pressure is building, and he can feel himself starting to crack. He needs to get this done, needs to find a way to say goodbye.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat.

He's lost track of time, doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. The words are eluding him, and he's starting to feel like he's lost his grip on reality.

Finally, he puts pen to paper and the words flow out of him like a dam breaking. He writes about his love for you, about how much he misses you, about how impossible it is to imagine a future without you. He writes about his fear and his grief, about the weight of the world on his shoulders. He writes you goodbye.

When he's done, he holds your letter carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. He knows what he has to do, knows that there's no turning back now.

With trembling hands, he picks up the tan envelope and slides his letter inside. He seals it with a kiss, feeling the weight of his decision like a physical burden.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and places the letter on the stack in front of him. It's done. The words are written, the decision made.

He sits back in his chair, feeling numb and hollow. He doesn't know what comes next, but he knows that he'll face it head-on. For you.

Past (xii) - You

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

Finnick's reply came faster than you expected it to.

You plop down in your office chair, giddy as you rub at your sore cheeks. You've been smiling like an idiot since you picked up the letter from the Mayor's office. You tear into the envelope and pause.

The words are kind of smudged, dried drops of something smearing the ink. Luckily, you can still read it.

My heart,

My moon and stars.

I must have rewritten these words at least a dozen times by now. You should see the pile of crumpled paper next to me. You'd call it wasteful, but I'm sure you'd be secretly charmed by how nervous you make me after all these years.

There's no way to dance around it, and I know how much you hate when people mince their words.

It pains me to think it, let alone write it. This will be my last letter to you.

I know you have a hundred and one questions bouncing around that beautiful brain of yours, you'll want to know why. And the answer is, there is no why. I've decided that it's best, for both of us, to stop. Stop the letters, stop the meetings.

It ends here.

I don't want you to hate me. But if that makes it easier for you to stay away from me, then despise me. More than the Peacekeepers, more than the Capitol, more than Snow. Take that loathing and hold onto it like you used to hold me.

But, selfishly, I want you to know what I'll be holding onto.

Those little moments outside of time where you and I were the center of each other's universe, two stars orbiting each other. The balcony of my room, the floor of yours.

I want you to know this because I don't want you to doubt that I love you.

Because I do. I love you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough. I could say it until my tongue falls off and I'd find a way to sign it to you.

I could live a thousand lifetimes, be a thousand different people, and I will never love someone like I love you.

I think of your smile and I fall in love again. I think of your touch and I fall in love again. I won't leave you without you knowing this. I'd sooner stop breathing.

There are plenty of things I should be thanking you for, but if I tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper.

I felt...free with you. As free as anyone can be in our situation. I've never felt so close to another person before—I never let myself.

I thought it would pass eventually, like a sand castle when it's high tide. Noticeable, beautiful, but temporary.

But I can tell you now, that was such bullshit . Since that first dance, there was never a moment I wasn’t in love with you. I loved you before I knew I was capable of it, before I knew I had it in me, and you had my heart before I even knew it was there. I saw the thorns of your past and held my hands out, ready to bleed if it meant I could touch you.

And that scared me. The very thing that gave me strength was my biggest weakness. That’s a hard pill to swallow at sixteen and it’s just as daunting at twenty-two.

Years ago, you asked me if I could wish for anything, what would it be. I still wish I was a different person, someone you could be proud of. And I wish that person got to grow old with you.

God, you don't know how badly I want to grow old with you.

I have no doubt that there's a planet out there under a different sun where we end up together. Hand and hand with the two kids we always talked about. A little girl that'll have me wrapped around her finger because she'll look just like you. And a little boy that'll drive you up the wall because he's a little too much like me. That universe is where my heart lives.

We'll find it someday, just you and me. Until then, they'll find our love written in the stars. In every constellation.

-Yours until words lose meaning,

Finnick O.

You reread the letter. Then reread it again. You keep rereading it until the words refuse to sit still, letters blurring together.

It ends here? What’s he talking about? He can't possibly mean the two of you. He can't.

But he’s ending it. He ended it . Why would he—? He said there’s no reason, but…but there has to be.

You try to think of anything you did—anything you said that could have led to this but you're coming up blank.

This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know.

The letter says that he loves you, and you thought you knew he loved you, but it’s pretty hard to believe that when he’s leaving you.

He promised he'd stay with you, he promised , and Finnick doesn't break his promises. Not with you. No. Not after everything you've been through together. You only have each other.

The paper falls from your trembling hands to the desk.

No . You only have Finnick. But, Finnick—he doesn't want you anymore, right? So, where does that leave you? What else do you have?

A grandfather clock ticks in the background, though it sounds muted to your ears.

You look down at the paper and find wet spots, ink more smeared than it was before. Your cheeks are wet. Are you crying?

Stupid. You wipe at your cheeks roughly—angrier at yourself than you are at him. There are a million and one reasons this could have happened and they all begin and end with you. You have no one to blame but yourself.

You know what it feels like for your body to break. What it feels like to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it feels like to have your mind broken.

But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same.

You’re so cold. You don't think you've ever been this cold before. Not even when you were nine and you got such bad hyperthermia that you couldn’t work for the rest of the winter. He always ran hot, you think distantly. And all his warmth has left you.

You hold on to yourself because no one else will. You would have preferred your body breaking. At least that heals.

“I can’t,” you weep, stuttering over betrayal and loss, “I can’t do this on my own.”

You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sitting rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs . Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected.

You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. Maybe if you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles you could pull out the problem.

But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. You wanted to give him your heart, but not like this.

Did you get ahead of yourself? Thinking anything could last with someone who shines as bright as him? Maybe…maybe if you were a little more like him, if you shined just as bright.

You scoff.

You’re not a star, you’re not even the moon. How can the sun love the same darkness it chases away?

He described the ocean to you once. Vast and endless, like it could go on forever. And he told you about all the people who get lost at sea. Now you’re one of them.

You have capsized, water rushing up past your neck and into your mouth and nose, just as salty as your tears. Your lungs burn from the lack of air, you can’t breathe and no one will come for you because you're as good as dead.

Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway.

You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.

Present (X) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

It’s a last resort, a unanimous choice between them all. A wordless decision that the victors made to appeal to the Capitol citizens. Though they’re all using different means, it’s all for the same result. That’s what Finnick has to remind himself when he’s called on stage after Beetee.

The crowd screams at his entrance and he locks his hands behind his back. He smiles while nodding to his adoring fans as he stands beside Caesar.

“Finnick, I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody.” The crowd hoots and hollers at the dramatics of it all and the idea of one of them being the special someone close to his heart. He chuckles and looks down. The Capitols being painfully predictable is finally paying off. All according to plan. “Can we hear it?”

He could spew some generic flowery shit that could apply to literally anyone he’s come in contact with, but…

He looks at the camera. There will be fourteen victors coming up to perform before you, so you should still be in your dressing room. Are you watching? Watching him?

"My love, my star . My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”

Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen. Look how far we’ve fallen, Star.

“Oh, my. That’s very touching, Finnick. Isn’t it? I’m sure whoever it is, is listening and feeling truly loved.”

“I hope you’re right, Caesar.”

They allowed Mags to opt out of her interview on account of her not being able to speak. How kind , he scoffs. And as he settles on the raised platform beside her, he briefly squeezes her hand.

You okay? He mouths and she nods with a smile.

One by one, each victor comes with their own approach to sway the masses. Oh, he knows there's no way they'll be canceling the games. Finnick is more likely to drain the ocean with a teaspoon before Snow even considers stopping this cruelty. But it’s worth a shot, he supposes. It can’t possibly make going into the arena any worse.

Besides Johanna's impassioned speech, nothing the other victors do stands out to him. Then, you're called out.

He sinks his teeth into his lip as the audience applauds at your entrance.

From what he can recall, your outfit is a remix of the dress you wore in your first interview as if it has aged and matured with you. It’s gained a long train and the hip-high thigh slits that your stylist is known for.

You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.

He blinks when the crowd breaks into raucous laughter and he realizes he’s missed something.

"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver. The crowd laughs with him and your cheeks must hurt from holding that coy smile. "Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift. Finnick doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you’d use the violin as your strategy. Mostly because of how much you hate it. Or maybe you don’t anymore. Maybe you’ve grown to love it and he’s none the wiser. “Can you play it for us now?" The crowd clamors in ooohs and ahhhs at the idea. It has always been a privilege to hear you play. Finnick watches your face closely.

It wasn't your favorite thing to do, by far, but you took to it like a fish to water. Usually, Snow would have you play at the more "personal" get-togethers. But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick . And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory.

“You’re kind of putting me on the spot here, but, sure. I would love to play it for you all.” You laugh. You place the instrument under your chin and position your fingers and bow.

And you play .

It's not showy like the pieces you usually play for the public. Not grand or performative, but soft and soulful. Melancholy. It feels nostalgic almost, like something you would write for him.

The haunting melody carries throughout the silent room as if everyone is breathing with the lilting notes. Everyone but Finnick—who holds his breath.

He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it.

It sounds like a goodbye.

You come to a stop and Finnick's lungs stop constricting with your movements.

When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.

“That was marvelous , my dear. Truly moving—wasn’t that moving?” He asks the audience, and Finnick will be surprised if there’s a dry eye in the crowd. Even their applause sounds sad.

“Thank you, Caesar.” You nod at the praise. “You taught me so much—all of you. If I had known this would be the last time I got to play for you—” You trail off into a sob and the crowd coos. The words may be fake, but he isn’t too sure about the tears. He wonders if you think you won’t make it out of the arena alive—not that he would let that happen. If he could just talk to you, and have an actual conversation, he could know what you’re thinking.

Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”

You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry.

You’re met with a standing ovation as you climb to your place on the platform. With the way the victors are positioned, he stands directly behind you. Or, well, strictly speaking, he’s more diagonal than directly behind you. Still, how lucky is he? He could, theoretically, lean forward and catch a whiff of your perfume—

He gathers himself, straightening up and lacing his fingers behind his back. He squeezes the space between his thumb and forefinger.

Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes.

“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.

The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.

"You know Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if it weren't…if—" Peeta stops himself, glancing around nervously.

"If it weren't for what? What?"

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Now, that catches his attention. Gasps echo throughout the room at Peeta’s revelation. Finnick’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline with how high they raise. Caesar tries to do damage control, but the situation is quickly escalating.

“Call off the games!”

“This is cruel!”

He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…that’s certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous.

Chaos unfurls in a way he never thought the Capitols were capable of. They’ve always been so docile; sheep shepherded into any direction Snow leads them. But it makes sense. The romance act was meant to fool the Capitol and fool them it has. He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now.

How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?

He looks over, brows furrowed, as Mags takes his hand with a proud smile and he glances down in time to see you take Chaff’s hand. He pauses for a moment before taking the hand the woman from Five offers him. In sync, the victors all raise their hands in a show of solidarity.

“Stop the games!”

“Call them off!”

Finnick grins big at the mayhem unfolding before him and they keep shouting long after the lights cut out.

Present (X) - You & Finnick

[23 & 24 ] - THE CAPITOL

“Star!”

It didn't take long for the tributes to be escorted off the platforms and as he chases after you, Finnick realizes that he vastly underestimated just how many people stood between you and him. He isn't sure if he's too far away for you to hear or if you’re actively ignoring him.

”Star!” Finnick pushes through the crowd of victors and stage crew to get closer. Chaff glances at him and now he knows for sure that you’re ignoring him.

“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “ The message was for you! ”

You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? God , it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy.

You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.

There are dozens of eyes on him, people milling around as if they aren’t honed in on whatever this is. He can’t blame them for being curious, he’s a little confused himself. He went into this with no plan, not that he would have been able to stick to one with how you’re looking at him.

“What?” The lingering crowd fully parts for him as he approaches, and you regard the gathering audience warily.

“What I said, the message—it was for you.” He repeats.

He can’t afford to be coy, that hasn't worked the last dozen times he's attempted a conversation with you and it definitely won't work now. He knows if he doesn’t catch you now, there won’t be any more chances.

Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight. His eyes are locked intently on you, either unaware of all the attention he’s captured or just uncaring.

You look over to Chaff for some kind of help and he smirks at your growing embarrassment. You watch in disbelief as he walks away using the excuse of finding Seeder to escape.

“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes.

"Can you please just,” he shifts his weight on his feet, "can you look at me, Star? Please, just look at me." He lifts his hand like he aims to reach out to you, but hesitates.

This situation is developing into something far more intimate than your current company should allow. More intimate than you should allow. You can always just walk away, turn your back to him and get on one of the idle elevators—let it end here once and for all. The only thing stopping you would be the completely unfounded guilt.

You don't owe him anything, let alone your time.

And, yet.

Maybe you can get some kind of closure and set clear boundaries before you go into the arena—and that reasoning sounds weak even to you.

Both of you could die tomorrow and truthfully, you don't want to walk away from him; you've never wanted to.

Besides, it's not like he can hurt you any worse than he already has.

Finnick jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, a sensation he should be accustomed to but has grown foreign.

You pull him aside away from eavesdropping ears, but not from nosey eyes. You feel like a spectacle, with how front and center Finnick has made this, but when haven't you?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You question him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what this is or what you think this is, but it is not the place for it. What if this gets back to Snow—”

“I don’t care.”

“—There’s already so much…what?”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and for once, he’s not lying. “I don’t care if they hear us, or—or if this gets back to Snow.”

Your jaw shifts as you narrow your eyes up at him and there’s that anger he’s been expecting.

“Please, Star. Just…just let me speak.” He begs. Your face goes blank, a mask slotting into place like a lock with a key that Finnick has long since lost the right to. He blocks out the chatter around him.

“Not here.” For a moment, he thinks he’s being rejected until you grab his wrist and drag him behind you. The elevators are filling in droves and you just so happen to pick the one housing some of the last people he wants to witness this.

Haymitch takes one look at your faces and the grip you have on his wrist and raises his hands in defense.

Haymitch turns to Katniss and Peeta. “Nuh-uh, believe me. You do not wanna be locked in here with them.” He shakes his head and steps out without a backward glance and you contemplate going with him. “I’ll meet you guys up there.”

Johanna steps on in his place, elevator doors closing behind her. She looks between the four of you and whistles. Finnick sighs.

“There’s the happy couple.” You glance at Peeta and Katniss because she certainly isn’t talking about the two of you. “You caused quite the stir out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting? We could have thrown you a baby shower.” You sigh through your nose. You don’t even have it in you to intervene in this conversation.

“What the hell is a baby shower—”

“We didn’t know how everyone would take it.” Peeta cuts Katniss off. “We’re already the newest victors. The baby might’ve painted an even bigger target on our backs.” He says without stuttering once.

“That’s a fantastic answer, Peeta.” Johanna crows sarcastically. “Did Haymitch prep you on that one or did you come up with it on your own?”

“No. No, it’s all me.” He assures with a downward smile. It certainly is all him. He’s the mastermind behind all of this, right? Ironically enough, Finnick doubts Katniss had any real part in making this ‘baby scandal’.

Finnick opens his mouth to make a quip but thinks better of it. You’re already aggravated at his presence and he honestly doesn’t want to remind you that he’s here. His only consolation is that you’re still holding his wrist, all five pads of your fingers are searing points on his skin.

Peeta gives you an imploring look, eyebrows raised as if to ask if you’re alright and you nod and—when did that happen?

It’s quiet, with no other sound than the nearly inaudible woosh of the elevator going between floors. No one makes an effort to break the steadily growing awkward silence. Finnick does, however, make the mistake of making eye contact with Johanna. She mouths you’re dead at him over your head and, yeah, that definitely fills him with much-needed confidence.

Present (X) - Finnick

[21 & 22] - THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“Alright. You wanted to speak.” Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition. “Speak.”

He stays where he’s standing a couple of feet away. He probably should have figured out what to do on the elevator ride, but, again, he’s without a plan. “Did you hear my message? When I was up there with Caesar? I know you were still getting ready—did you hear it?”

“I might’ve.” You shrug and cross your arms, still so stubborn. “Great strategy by the way. I’m sure you’ll reel in plenty of sponsors.”

“God, Star, it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for the fucking movement.” You raise a brow at his words but give no further outward reaction. He moves to stand before you, each step more unsure than the last. Your glare is scorching, but there’s been enough space between the two of you to house the sun. “Do you remember when you said my poetry was a gift? And—and that I shouldn’t waste it on them? You said you would never be tired of anything I do. Do you remember that night? What I said?” He implores. It was a special night full of promises and you gave him more than he deserved.

You look him over with a critical eye long enough that he’s sure you’re just not going to answer. Especially when you turn to stare off to the side before sighing out of your nose.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you. A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I. Everything I do, I do for you.” It only takes him half a second to recognize the lines and he’s stunned, transported back to that garden under the stars. “I remember all of them…I remember everything you’ve made for me.” You give him fleeting peripheral glances and avoid his gaze like you’re ashamed of that.

He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down into a kneel before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his inspiration.

You stare down at him, giving no indication that anything he’s said has swayed you. He grits his teeth through the sting of rejection and sighs, arms falling to his sides.

“I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“Why now?” You cut him off. “It’s been two years. You don’t owe me anything, Finnick, so if this a guilt thing—”

“I–It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not…it’s not why I’m here.” He sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. “We could die tomorrow. And I don’t want you going into that arena thinking that I don’t love you or…or that I wanted to leave you.”

You squint at him, face twisting into a sour scowl.

“You said,” you drawl, slow and drawn out like you’re explaining something fundamental to a child, “you thought it was best if we ended it.”

He shakes his head. “I lied. I had to and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I know saying sorry won’t be enough, but please know sending that letter was the last thing I wanted to do. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said—”

He holds his hands up, stopping your completely warranted stream of questions.

“I know. I know what I said and I never would have said it if Snow hadn’t shown up at my house—”

“Snow showed up at your house?” Your arms unfold and you lean forward so suddenly that he almost flinches back. “When?”

“Uh, a few weeks before I sent the letter. He’s the only reason I even sent it.” He scoffs, remembering the state he was left in after Snow offered the ultimatum. He doesn’t need to try to remember the words written in the letter he sent you because he’s never forgotten. They’re tattooed on the back of his eyelids, seared into his memory every time he blinks.

“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this ? What could have possibly been worth giving you up?

“Snow he–he was convinced that our relationship would somehow lead to—civil unrest. His solution was to get rid of one of us, get rid of you . I couldn’t let that happen. He never explicitly said it, but you know how he is, how he speaks …I was scared. I was. I didn’t—” His voice cracks and you stare down at him with stunned, wide eyes. He wants to shuffle closer. He wants to sway into you and take some kind of comfort. But he doesn’t. “I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t just tell you because you would have tried to find some kind of loophole and we couldn’t afford to make him more hostile than he already was.”

You look to your left out of the wall-length windows and smirk, completely throwing Finnick off.

"Star?"

You stand. He watches as you pace the length of the room before turning on your heel and walking onto the balcony. He can do nothing more than follow you.

“He came to my house too, you know. Around the same time, I think. He wanted to remind me about how privileged I am.” You snort and that sick feeling is developing in his stomach, organs twisting to make room for the settling dread. He isn’t sure what he thought you’d do in light of the revelation, what he expected you to say, but it’s not this. “Went on about how thankful I should be that he was allowing us to be in a relationship and…and that as long as I kept myself in line, I could keep you.” You sigh, propping your elbows on the railing and placing your face in your hands.

He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and he’s been tired for even longer.

“We played right into his hand, Finnick. He gained something from this, bastard that he is.” You scoff. You turn and sit with your back against the glass railing. "That's all that matters to him."

Finnick stews on it and many things are starting to make sense. In the months leading up to the event, the two of you started seeing each other less and less. Long periods where all he had was your perfume and words to keep him company. And considering Snow was the only way either of you were allowed to come to the Capitol…Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now .

"I should have known better. Snow was never gonna kill you, he's too fucking— God .” He stops and shakes his head. All of the lost time, the unnecessary pain.

“Come sit down, Finn.”

Finn.

He hasn't been called that in a long time. He takes a second to stare unseeingly at the stars before sliding down beside you.

It's quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if there's anything he should say, and he's sure you feel the same. But he does know if it was up to you, you'd both sit in silence for the foreseeable future and he has two years' worth of confessions to make.

“The mo—” he stops, overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, but nothing feels good enough, “I loved you the moment you laughed at my stupid joke the first time we danced together and I have loved you ever since. Even when I wasn’t there to show you, even when I—I left you. I’ve loved you the entire way, Star. There are billions of suns out there, billions of universes, and I love you in every one.”

Your head whips up.

“I remember everything you’ve made for me too.” Your mouth twists, brows furrowing as you stare at him and he can’t express in words how good it feels to be seen.

"I don’t hate you.” You shrug a shoulder, smiling small and quick. “You said ‘even if you still hate me’, I don’t hate you.”

“...You don’t?”

“I tried to. For a while, I thought I did." He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is. “But I just… couldn’t . I didn’t even want to, after a while. I was just tired.”

His head thumps against the railing. He closes his eyes. There's a question on his tongue, an answer he shouldn't need but wants regardless.

“Is that why you stopped sending letters?” When he opens his eyes again, he’s relieved by the fact that you’re still facing him.

Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten. “I just…I was fine waiting for you, Finnick. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt. Not too bad, at least. I would’ve waited a thousand years because it would have been worth it to hold you for a second. And I could get through that because I knew you were waiting for me too. But, I realized you were never coming. And, eventually, I realized…you weren’t waiting either." You whisper, wrapping your arms around your legs as you pull your knees up. He stiffens, freezing in place as he tries to slow his heartbeat.

He drops his head, brows furrowed as he tries, and fails, to stop tears from forming. It's just, it's cruel . The one thing he promised himself he'd never do—leave you, hurt you—he had to do for you.

He wipes his face, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes.

"Star, I…I would never…It killed me to write that letter, you have to know that, right? Right ?" He implores, voice rough while his breath hitches repeatedly. His throat feels tight and swollen as he stutters over the words in his chest. The words you have to hear, the words he needs you to hear. You stare forward, refusing to look at him anymore and he turns to face you full-on, refusing to look at anything but you. "How can I let you know that? What can I do—to prove—that I'm sorry ?"

He thought you both had changed, changed too much to be fluent in what you two used to have. He thought it was a different language, but here, up close, he can see that it’s not so much a new language as it is a cipher. You just had to let him get close enough to understand again. He had always thought you had such an open face, it was a wonder to him how you were able to lie so eloquently when you could never lie to him. But it wasn’t until he was shut out that he realized you were letting him read you, subconsciously or otherwise. He reads you now, eyes tracing your face eagerly—hungrily, and finds…remorse?

"I know you’re sorry. I know. And logically, knowing the truth should make it easier to get over it.” Your mouth opens and closes, hesitating. “But you left me." He nods hard enough to hurt his neck. "I did." And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is. "You left me, Finnick. I know it isn’t rational to feel this way knowing you didn’t want to, but…” You lick your lips, resting your cheek on your knee. When you look up at him, actually look at him and not somewhere over his shoulder, the glossy state of your eyes has him digging his nails into his hands to ground himself. "It’s just—it’s more than a little hard to dissociate you from that hurt." I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.

"...I'm sorry too." You say and he wants to tell you there’s nothing to apologize to him about, but you lock your pinky with his and it’s entirely unexpected and truly enough to make his throat tighten, and all he can manage is a wistful sigh at the feeling of coming home.

Far below them, the sound of the city is dampened by the distance but no less heard. He goes to speak but spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It’s your ankle. Or specifically, what’s on your ankle.

“You wore it?” He asks, touching the fraternal twin of his own bracelet. He appraises what he thought was lost reverently. Tracing the grooves of the shells, the divets in the charms, the rough twine of the rope—it all feels like a live wire under his fingers.

“I never took it off.” You slip your heel off, loosening the straps of the bracelet and wiggling it down your foot. “I just thought it might be a little sad to parade it around when you didn’t want me.”

“There will never be a moment on this Earth of me not wanting you, not while I still have air in my lungs. Not even after.”

“And how’ll you manage that?” You ask, your eyes crinkling in that old mirth you used to wear around him like a beauty mark.

“For you? I’ll find a way.” He promises.

You hum, appraising the jewelry for a second before passing it to him. He can’t help but smile when you lift your hand, silently prompting him. He places the bracelet on you, tightening it on your wrist. It feels like muscle memory when he lifts your hand to place a kiss on the center shell.

The corner of your mouth twitches up and you nod. “Okay.”

He leans in, placing a hand on the base of your neck and pulling you towards him and he’s still in awe that you actually let him. He holds the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his slender waist.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair to.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “But after we do this, I want the chance to make it up to you." He'll spend the rest of his life mending what he tore apart if you let him.

“I think…I’d like that.” You speak into his chest and he feels your voice more than he hears it. “It was for you too.”

“What was?”

“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. Honestly, I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.

“ Star .” He begs you beseechingly, and there’s no hesitation when you look up at him and he grins. It feels like it’s been years. “There you are.”

You smile. It's small and heavier than he remembers, but it's there and he is as whole as he will ever be.

A/N: IMAGINE POURING YOUR HEART OUT AND EXPRESSING HEARTFELT INTIMACY TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST TO GET DUMPED yeesh. fun fact: "...but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul." I actually texted this to my beta reader about Finn from Adventure Time after seeing an edit bc I love him so much, but then I converted it into Finnick love. also, Finnick's letter was one of the first things I wrote for this story months ago. That balcony talk was inspired by Hozier's Unknown/Nth WE IN THE ARENA NEXT CHAPPY

#3d wifey talks #3d wifey answers #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #and they'd find us in a week #finnick #finnick odair fanfic #catching fire #the hunger games x reader #hunger games smut #hunger games fanfiction #finnick fanfic #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #hunger games finnick #the hunger games

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3d-wifey · 5 months

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Sigh

#3d wifey talks #3d wifey answers #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #and they'd find us in a week #Normally im not a taylor fan but this song hit the nail on its head #Almost started crying

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3d-wifey · 3 months

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And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 13

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 9.9k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn, @xngelsau, @coriolanussnowswife Chapter Summary: I've moved the arena around a bit, but nothing major; nothing starts until day 2 1: Blood rain 2: Giant poisonous bugs 3: Toxic Fog 4: Monkies 5: Jabberjays 6: Beast 7: Unknown 8: Unknown 9: Fire 10: Flood 11: Unknown 12: Lightening A/N: this bad boy is 10k, one more chapter b4 we go into mockingjay!!!!!!

Present (XII)

THE ARENA; SECTION 5 (12:23 pm-12:59 pm)

The smell of freshly rained earth lingers around them as they traverse the jungle, and Finnick thinks of you.

During the countdown, he saw you. He locked eyes with you, and, stupidly, he thought that would be enough to tide him over. Just one last moment between the two of you before performing for the cameras. But if that were true, he wouldn’t have looked for you as soon as he reached the Cornucopia—before that, even. When he surfaced from the water, over Katniss’s shoulder as he grabbed a weapon, out of the corner of his eye when he was looking for Peeta; desperate for a glimpse of you.

And when he finally found you—no, when you found him—your voice carried his name to his ears like a gift. He didn’t need to think; his body was automatically attuned to you like a compass. He had his trident poised and ready to defend you from whatever he considered a threat—a knee-jerk reaction. But when he turned, there was only you.

You looked at him as though there was a taut rubber band between your bodies, and you had to use all of your strength to resist giving in to that pressure. The desire to run to you was instinctive.

What would that have accomplished other than showing Snow their hand early? It’s not like he could have swept you up in his arms like he wanted to. He couldn't hold you close and make you promise that you'd come back to him, whole, healthy, and his. Being that bold this soon in the Games would benefit no one. Not when you still had to be separated.

He had almost stopped to watch and make sure you made it out with Johanna, but, as you subtly reminded him, he had to stick to the plan. Plus, seeing you drive your sickle through the head of a man at least two times your size definitely reassured him that you could handle your own.

Not that he didn’t know you could bring a man to his knees. He’s had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of your firm hand enough to—he shakes his head, scolding himself like a misbehaving dog.

Not the time, Odair.

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

Even now, he’s thinking about how it felt to sleep next to you for the first time in eons—head against your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat as you hold him in your embrace. If he closes his eyes, he can feel sure fingers carding through his hair and dull nails scratching softly along his scalp.

But he can’t close his eyes. No, he needs them open to dart between Katniss’s sprinting form and over his shoulder as they run for their lives through this fucking jungle.

They’ve covered a good chunk of land in a relatively short amount of time. He’d say it’s taken them about ten minutes to cross a mile, maybe more. He’d be more confident in his estimate if they weren’t traveling up such a steep incline.

Around this point, Finnick decides they’ve put enough space between them and the Career pack that it should be okay to take a short break. He can feel Mags’s heart pounding against his back. Not ideal for a woman this close to ninety.

“Okay, hold up. Hold up.” He calls out, and they all come to a stop. He bends at the knee to help Mags down. “Okay. You alright now?”

He lowers himself to the ground, holding her hand as they sit down. “Okay?” He asks, and she nods, frail fingers gripping his tight as her other hand pats his bicep. Adrenaline makes her shake a little, but she waves off his concern. The four of them sit for a second, gathering themselves.

“God , it’s hot.” Peeta pants and Finnick senses that the oppressive heat might be more to blame than the hike. It’s like he’s choking on it; the air is so heavy that his nostrils don’t feel big enough to inhale it. He breathes in through his mouth and it’s only marginally better. He’s soaked. Something stings as it drips into his eyes and he genuinely can’t tell if it’s saltwater or sweat. “We gotta find fresh water.”

Water. Finnick looks around for any indication of nearby drinking water, listening in for a river or stream. He’d even take a pond. Water would be amazing, preferably without a high salt concentration.

Unknown insects chirp around them in unison; it sort of sounds like a snake. It’s so loud that he’s almost able to ignore the weight of Katniss’s stare. It’s not even like she’s glaring. It’s nearly bird-like how she appraises him—waiting for him to act like the predator she thinks he is.

Three cannons fire in quick succession. The others look to the sky, but he stares at the tree over Katniss’s shoulder. Any one of those cannons could be you. He holds back a flinch at the thought. You’re not dead. No. No, you wouldn’t do that to him. He's only just gotten you back. And even after two years apart, the two of you are so deeply intertwined that Finnick’s sure his own heart would give out when yours stopped.

With a derisive snort and a shake of his head, Finnick says, perhaps a bit manically, “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” His chuckle is met with disapproving silence. Too soon?

Katniss regards him with a look of contempt. Definitely too soon then. “You think that’s funny?"

No, not particularly. He thinks. But what else is there to do but laugh at the absurdity of it all?

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.” He lies. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all he’s capable of. Even now, in the midst of this death sentence, he still can’t be honest about you. He can’t afford to be. Not until he knows you’re safe.

“Good to hear.” With a sly grin, Finnick observes Katniss taking a machete out of her quiver, seemingly more as a threat than a precaution. It’s promptly wiped from his face when she says your name. “Does she know that? If that’s the case, you should have killed her back at the Cornucopia. She didn't even have a weapon. It would have been easy for you.”

“She’s our ally, Katniss." Peeta attempts to caution her or maybe admonish her; Finnick doesn’t know. And he doesn’t really care, honestly. Not with how focused he and Katniss are on each other. He can’t even acknowledge Peeta defending you, as odd as it is.

Unbidden and without provocation, the mental picture of him killing you takes shape. If he wasn’t already so lightheaded from the moist air, he’d be nauseous at the idea. Is she trying to get a rise out of him by bringing you up? Is that what this is? Or is she—is she threatening you? Whatever the hell her angle is, whatever tactic she’s trying to maneuver, he won’t let a threat against you stand—empty or not.

“You know, Katniss. You really shouldn’t speak on things you know nothing about.” He shakes his head as he ignores Mags’s warning grunt, mouth curling in that frosty way of his that entices those who are stupid enough to mistake a predator baring its teeth for a smile. But Katniss isn’t stupid. This is a language she’ll understand—the language of hunting animals. Her back straightens. His remains deceptively lax. “I mean, can't say that’s ever ended well for you, can we?”

“Are you threatening me, Odair?”

“Threat—” He can’t help but laugh because, honestly.

This is the girl they’re laying down their lives for? The girl you’re laying down your life for? Emphasis on ‘the girl’, because she’s too naïve to be an adult.

People like her—they're too busy fighting shadows to figure out what’s casting them. Too focused on watching their backs that they don't bother wondering why they have to watch it in the first place—and she’s supposed to lead them to salvation?

He wants to laugh. Instead, Finnick bites his cheek. Maybe he’s bitten into another pipe dream.

“No,” he scoffs. “I’m saving you.”

“Saving? Please , you don’t care about anyone but yourself—”

“Let’s keep moving.” Peeta rises to stand in between them, stopping to give Katniss a long look that she doesn't return, before marching forward and taking the machete with him. The two of them size each other up. For someone so emotionally stunted, her thoughts are broadcast clearly on her face.

He can see her weighing her odds against him in a fight, whether her speed with the bow is any match for him and his trident, and Finnick’s weighing how much longer she can stand being a team player. He’s not cocky enough to not consider her a threat; she’s a fighter—but, then again, so is he. That’s not what’s staying his hand. Her survival is their only way out of here—not to mention how disappointed you’d be in him if you found out. He won’t be the one to snatch this chance away from you. Not unless she throws the first punch.

He subtly shifts his grip on his weapon into something more defensive, and she gives him one last withering look, or her version of it, before following Peeta.

He wishes you were here with him. For several reasons, but in this particular moment, to show Katniss how wrong she is. Show her how much he does care about you and how much you care about him in turn. Is it childish that he feels the need to prove anything to a teenager? Maybe. Probably. Most likely.

He bends down to help Mags onto his back, scowling at Katniss’s retreating back.

It’s definitely childish, but still. He sighs. You’d understand. All the more reason to wish you were here. He knows things were touch and go—more go than touch, really—between the two of you at the time, but would it have killed Haymitch to pair the two of you together? Johanna and Blight are more than capable of playing escort for those two brainiacs.

To be fair to the other man, Haymitch had no way of knowing if Finnick would succeed in reconnecting with you.

He takes a moment to really think about it. Namely, how much anger you’ve been harboring over the past two years and the way you drove your sickle through that man’s skull. He tilts his head, squinting. What’s that saying about a woman scorned?

Pairing you together may not have killed Haymitch, but it certainly could have killed Finnick.

His train of thought is violently cut off by Peeta crashing head-first into the force field.

SECTION 11 (12:49 pm-1:12 pm)

“We’re almost at the edge of the arena,” Johanna calls down to your group, climbing halfway down the tree before jumping the rest of the way.

“What does the arena look like?” Beetee asks, pushing his glasses up for what must be the tenth time since you all decided to stop and get your bearings. The sweat on his face provided no traction to hold them in place.

“One big ass circle and we’re almost at the edge. Other than the beach, there’s nothing but jungle.” She sighs, stomping over to where you sit on the ground. Beetee gives a clinical nod.

“How close is ‘almost’?” You ask, handing her axe back.

“I’d say at most a quarter of a mile. We’re closer to the edge than we are to the Cornucopia.”

“What do’ya suppose’ll happen if we hit the edge?” Says Blight in his heavy district brogue, so different than any you’ve heard before. You had asked Johanna about it at some point—the contrasts of their voices. She explained that Blight was born further north than she was, practically on the border of Seven.

It’s not like everyone in Eleven speaks the same, but there’s at least some level of similarity that can be distinctly found in Eleven—in the southernmost districts in general. It shares a likeness with Eight and Ten. The same notes that you can sometimes hear in Katniss and Haymitch’s voices, but not in Peeta’s.

“Most likely? I’d imagine some sort of boundary or force field.” Beetee informs you all.

“Regardless. We won’t know until…” Wiress starts, trailing off as something you aren’t privy to catches her attention.

“—Until we’re upon it.” Beetee finishes for her.

You clear your throat. “I’d say it’s best we don’t find out ‘less we have to.” You drawl, dropping the Capitol accent you’ve been forced to assimilate for what you realize will be the last time. You replace the over-enunciation and grating lilt with slanted vowels and a melodic tempo.

“We can probably head in a little more and then cut to the left or right,” Johanna suggests and you realize she’s talking to you. Not just you in the sense of the whole group, but you specifically. You glance around. They’re all looking at you. It seems you’re the de facto leader.

When the hell was that decided?!

“Right. Well,” you clap your hands, picking your sickles up as you rise, “let’s get a move on. We need to go further while there’s still daylight. Then, we'll find a place to set up camp."

Hopefully.

Blight takes the lead, getting a headstart at cutting through the tightly packed vegetation with his machete.

“C’mon.” You smile down at Wiress as you help her up. She returns it gratefully and Beetee offers her his arm before they trail behind Blight. As you and Johanna carry the flank, you eye the long gash along his shoulder blade that’s steadily bleeding. Your main objective is to get these two to the pickup point, but you’d prefer if you got them there in one piece.

Chaff had said he’d be teaming up with Woof and Cecelia. As well as the morphlings, if they can find them. Unlikely, since they’re masters of stealth. You remember how they didn’t stray far from the camouflage section. You had asked Peeta about the swirls of color on his arm while you were training and he told you it was supposed to be a sunrise that the female morphling painted. She’s apparently fond of them. With skills like that, you know they’ll only be found if they want to be.

The morphlings. That’s like if you only referred to Haymitch as ‘The Alcoholic’. You scold yourself mentally for using such a needlessly cruel nickname for them just because everyone else did. Either one of your parents would’ve pinched the skin off of you if they knew that.

I can’t keep calling them that. It's probably an odd time to do so, but you decide it’s high time you learned their actual names. Before now, you had very little reason to since you rarely interacted with them. Yet, even if they hadn’t been rebels, they still deserve the basic respect of being acknowledged as people, not just in conjecture with their addictions. You don’t expect to be BFFs after you make it out of the arena, but you’d like to, at least, be someone who knows and uses their real names.

“Thanks. For what you did back there.” Johanna takes you out of your musings, swinging her axe to and fro on her other side. “Taking that guy down for me. You didn’t have to.”

You scowl at the reminder, pretending to be focused on navigating your steps along the tricky jungle floor instead of looking at her. You didn’t want to think about that. How killing him was the first solution that came to mind. It’s not that you’re naive enough to think that talking him down was even an option. He wasn’t on your side. He wasn’t one of you. He had made his own bed of flowers by turning down Haymitch’s offer. But why couldn’t it have been Gloss or Enobaria that killed him? Why did it have to be you? Why not you? “I know I didn’t.”

“But you did, and,” she sighs, jutting her jaw to the side as if it’s taking a lot out of her to say this, “and I’d probably be so minced that the hovercraft would have to make multiple trips to get all the pieces if you hadn’t stepped in, so...thank you."

You smile at her awkward discomfort, ignoring the glances she shoots you out of the corner of her eye and acting oblivious to her increasing agitation.

“Are you gonna say ‘you’re welcome’, or what, asshole?” She scoffs.

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” You knock your shoulder into hers and she knocks yours right back.

“I owe you one.”

You laugh. “God, I hope not.”

SECTION 5 (1 pm-1:34 pm)

The force of the blow is enough to send Peeta flying backward, knocking them over so fast that Finnick can barely register that he’s not still standing.

“Peeta’s not breathing!” Katniss cries and it’s a blur of motion as he moves into action, his body acting on autopilot. “Peeta’s not breathing!”

Prop Mags up against a tree. Check for a pulse that isn’t there. CPR. Tilt his head at an angle. Pinch his nose—a stiff hand to Katniss’s sternum—pinch his nose, blow air into his deflated lungs. Ignore the arrow pointed at his head. Put his body weight behind each pump. Push his will into the unresponsive body. From his shoulders, down his biceps, and into the heels of his hands, to where Peeta’s still heart lies.

C’mon, Peeta. C’mon, c’mon.

“C’mon, Peeta!” He can feel the anticipation of the viewers boiling in on them from all angles, his hair standing on end as he tries to pump Peeta’s heart for him. If they lose Peeta, they lose Katniss. If they lose Katniss, they lose the revolution. If they lose the revolution, they’ll lose, they’ll lose, they’ll lose—“Come on! Come on!”

He’s got no idea why they haven’t called it yet, why they haven’t blown the cannon, despite his heart stopping before he even hit the floor. Maybe they’re hoping, like he’s hoping, that Peeta will come. The fuck. On.

A small gasp, a cough and—

Finnick falls back on his haunches, hands on his hips and panting as the muscles in his arms buzz. He’s lightheaded again from supplying so much of his air to Peeta. And the heat isn’t doing anyone any favors.

“Be careful. There’s a force field up there.” Peeta huffs and Katniss chuckles, half-hysterical, before dipping down to kiss him. Finnick pauses in the middle of a much-needed inhale, watching the two with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, my God. You were dead. You were dead. Your heart stopped.” Katniss sobs as she drapes over Peeta, shrill and so resoundingly real that Finnick blanches for a second. He’s never seen her hands waver when drawing her bow, but they tremble now as they hold Peeta close.

Huh.

“It’s okay.” He assures her, still smoldering and smoking a little. “It’s working now.” She helps him up, still sobbing. Or maybe choking? Choking on her sobs. Peeta looks upon her with concern.

“Katniss?” Peeta prompts, starting to look increasingly panicked and Finnick can’t handle them both freaking out.

“It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” Finnick is slow to stand, looking them over quizzically. “From the baby.”

“No. It’s not—” She cuts herself off with more choke-sobs. There’s something here—something he couldn’t see before. Something he hadn’t considered concerning these two, concerning Katniss. That something is familiar. What does it remind him of? It’s nagging at the back of his skull. That staunch fear, the protectiveness followed by the open gasping relief. He recognizes it. Where, where, where—

“She can't possibly care about him that much."

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

Of course, he recognizes it—that familiar, desperate love. He’s felt it.

Katniss glares at him, snotty and defensive, and he stares, mystified. He shakes his head, pulling himself from his revelation-induced stupor. The two lovebirds hug each other like they’re the only things holding each other up. And with their current states, they might as well be. To give them some privacy, he walks over to check on Mags and finds her knowing gaze. He can’t have been the last one to know this love story isn’t much of a story at all, right?

SECTION 3 (6:50 pm-10:20 pm)

Finnick rolls his trident back and forth between his hands as they all wait for Katniss to come back from scouting in the trees. Mags cracks open and eats another one of the nuts Katniss has been using and substantially cooking by bouncing them off of the force field to show the rest of them where it is, considering she can hear it. He has no reason to believe otherwise; there’s no evidence to indicate she’s lying, but Finnick doesn’t buy that she can hear it just because of her hearing aid. If that’s the case, why hasn’t she mentioned it before now? He has no reason to call her out on it, so he won’t. Any advantage they have in the arena, the better.

He can feel the water evaporating out of his body like a sponge being wrung dry. He feels like a beached whale. They can’t have been in the arena for that long, but the heat—it’s not the kind he’s used to. The sun in Four has nothing on this. He’s never been so thirsty before, not even in his previous Games. They all perk up when she comes back down, hoping beyond hope that she’s seen drinkable water. That hope is crushed when she shakes her head.

“The force field…it’s a dome. We’re at the edge of the arena.” She wipes her sweat-slick hair out of her face. "I couldn't find any signs of fresh water.”

They all sit in dehydrated silence. The human body can only go on for so long with no water. Food, while an amazing plus, won’t be a real problem for weeks. And between the nuts and all the fish they could catch, it’s a problem with a simple solution. Without water, however, they will almost certainly die in five days, with their organs starting to shut down in three. He's seen it back in Four. Dead men brought back from sea shriveled and arid. He always imagined it must be torture to be surrounded by all that water and unable to drink any of it.

Now, it looks like he might find out.

And with that depressing thought, Finnick moves forward. “It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected.” Knowing the consequences of touching the force field, they’ll be able to use the arena itself as a weapon. “We should set up camp. Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

“Not a chance.” Katniss scoffs.

He tilts his head.

He knows the heat is just making everything worse, only fueling his irritability. But he is so over her and this teenage snippiness. Peeta’s so easygoing that he honestly doesn’t mind his company; he can see how the two of you became such quick friends. But Katniss? She is a remarkably hard person to like.

How much longer will she treat him like a criminal? As far as he’s concerned, the only thing he’s guilty of is giving her the impression that she has authority over him in any way, shape, or form.

Burying the blunt end of his trident into the ground, he uses it to leverage himself up.

“Honey,” he mocks, his voice long-suffering and chiding, like he’s explaining something that really should be common sense to a child who's a little behind the curve. Which, honestly, doesn't seem too far off. “That thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called ‘saving his life’. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would have done it by now."

He holds her eye before he rips his weapon out of the ground. He’s too tired to have a stupid argument over this, so he nimbly picks his way over to Mags so they can start making camp.

When the Capitol anthem blares throughout the arena and the insignia projects across the sky, Finnick watches with rapt attention. He inhales sharply, watches, and waits.

Portraits of the dead flash beside the full moon. The man from Five that he killed, the man from Six, both from Eight, both from Nine, the woman from Ten and then…it stops. There’s the Capitol seal again and then nothing. No more portraits light up the sky; your portrait doesn’t light up the sky.

You’re still alive.

You’re alive. He knew that. He did. He did. He would have known, he would have felt, otherwise. After all, you had promised him, hadn’t you? In those scant few hours in the early morning before the Games, you both promised to do everything in your power to get back to each other. Promised to see this through, knowing what future waited on the other side—a future together.

He knew you were alive, but the confirmation is—

He lets out the breath he’s been holding, tension easing from his shoulders.

“Seven,” Katniss says.

“Mhm.” He acknowledges.

Seven victors. His brows furrow. The two from Eight, Woof and Cecelia. The male morphling. All dead.

But he’s still alive. And so are you.

SECTION 1 (12:55 am–3:26 am)

In the white, spectral fog of the jungle, Johanna smacks something big and hairy off the back of her hand. Are the bugs even real?

She wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to mutate them—control the mutts to crawl all over them and kill them in their sleep. But that’s too boring a death, too kind. Plus, it doesn’t make for good television. And eating bugs would probably make the audience more squeamish than child murder.

Thanks to you, they at least had something to eat. Berries, mushrooms, and, oddly enough, leaves. Not much, but it was something. But there was still the water issue—meaning there was none. They hadn't stumbled upon anything they could drink. No ponds, no rivers. Not even a fucking puddle.

She and you both agreed that there had to be water in the trees; it was too humid for there not to be. But with no way to collect it, they were all shit out of luck. Luckily, depending on how long it takes to get here, they’re expecting a rain cloud. It was the only logical assumption after they heard lightning strikes not too far off. Makes sense. Short of a sponsor gift or the magical ability to make salt water drinkable, there’s little for the victors to do in terms of battling dehydration.

If this rain doesn’t pull through, she’ll be tempted to tell you to bite the bullet and request a spile or something. Though she understands why you haven’t done so yet. Just the thought of begging those simpering morons to empty their pockets to help keep her alive makes Johanna shiver and she doesn’t even have the same history with them that you do. Knowing your fans, they’d probably get off on you debasing yourself.

Johanna knocks her head against the tree she's leaning on. She offered to take the first watch because she needed time to think. It was smart of Katniss to want you as an ally. It's easier on Johanna's part too, because at least you can take care of yourself.

And, had the rebellion not been afoot, it would've guaranteed Finnick as an ally too. Maybe Peeta is the one who picked you because Johanna doubts the girl on fire is sharp enough to think that far ahead. Or mature enough to pull her big girl pants on and notice anything around her that didn't actually revolve around her.

Johanna is woman enough to admit that she's jealous. Jealousy is nothing to be ashamed of when it's entirely warranted. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her family, not really. Because the Capitol just adores them. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her self-autonomy, her dignity, her innocence while in bed with a stranger. Katniss hasn't lived with the grief of what she's experienced long enough for it to turn her bitter or make her find an escape through substances.

And yet, here they are, protecting her even if it kills them. No, Johanna reminds herself. They're protecting the rebellion. Katniss just happens to be the face of it.

It’s almost pitch black. Without the sun to shine through the dense tops of the trees, the moon could hardly pull its weight. But it’s been dark for so long that her eyes have adapted a bit. They slept closer to the force field than she would have liked, but she understood your logic. No one can sneak up on them from behind with the force field at their back.

She digs the sharp metal part of her axe into the dense ground, pulling it out, and hacking away again.

She looks over to where the others are sleeping, Nuts and Volts guarded on either side by your and Blight's sleeping bodies. At least they aren't completely useless.

Even if Katniss hadn't wanted them as allies, they would've had to guard them anyway. Haymitch made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they're the brains of this operation. Or at least Volts is. She zeros in on the spool of wire he clings to in his sleep.

She isn't one hundred percent sure how they plan on busting them out of the arena, but it probably has something to do with that. Or at least, it better. He nearly lost his life trying to get it. And she nearly lost her head trying to get him.

They need to meet up with Finnick, but she has no idea where his group is. It's not like they can just bury their heads in the sand and wait for them to show up. The plan rides on them all being together at the pickup point.

A drop of water wets her scalp and then another. It, like everything else in this place, is uncomfortably warm—bordering on hot. But beggars can’t be choosers. The drops of water feel heavier, but that could just be her imagination.

Rain? Finally.

She’ll wake the others up once her vocal cords stop feeling like she’s starting a fire every time she talks. It slowly but steadily picks up—drops landing on her forehead and dripping down her nape. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth and the dry, cracking chasm that she used to call her throat trembles in anticipation of the oncoming relief.

When it touches her tongue, she recoils. Thick, bitter, and metallic. It's only then that Johanna realizes the warm liquid isn't water. She holds out her hand to catch a drop and it stains red.

Blood.

And, as if the Gamemakers were waiting for her reaction, the sprinkling of rain turns into a downpour.

“Get up!” She screams, scrambling to her feet. “Get up! Get the fuck up!”

You wake up, alert, with your weapons in hand. Springing to attention like you were never asleep to begin with. When you see no enemy you can fight, your vigilance gives way to confusion. The other three are slower to rise until the blood starts pelting them like coins.

They stumble up, much like she did, but they don’t know. They don’t understand what’s falling from the sky.

“Don’t drink it—!” She tries to warn them and gets a mouthful of tacky, festering blood for her troubles. It’s thick and greasy and viscous and slippery, so the remnants of it stay behind when she tries to spit it out. It coats the back of her throat, creeping its way up her nose and slicking in between her molars.

“Blood!” The last thing Johanna can see before her vision goes red is your blurry face going from stark relief to abject terror as her words fully sink in. “It’s–it’s blood!”

From then on, there’s no room for coherent thought. Instead, Johanna gets stuck in a cycle of gagging on blood, spitting it out, and heaving in the fucked up, muggy, contaminated air, only to start it all over.

She tries to shield her eyes, but the blood creeps underneath her hands like its goal is to take out as many senses as possible. The sound of it sliding off the top of the canopies and hitting the ground is deafening; it almost drowns out your attempts to call out to Johanna. But calls for each other are only answered with blood.

They all flounder about, tottering around on unsure feet. Johanna wipes her eyes and tries to squint around it. But it’s no use. Even if her eyes weren’t compromised, the blood falls so thickly that it curtains everything around her.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t realize she’s only seeing three red silhouettes instead of four.

She gives up on her eyes and works to save her lungs instead. She cups her mouth and nose, coughing and hacking so hard that it feels like her chest is on fire. She breathes through her nose and immediately stops when it burns her nostrils. She breathes through her mouth and it’s somehow worse to taste the sickeningly sweet iron-rich mist. She gags and breathes and gags again.

She still can’t see, but she crouches down low, hesitant as she pats the ground. Trembling hands feel around for her axe, but, apparently, everything feels like an axe handle if your eyes are closed. She can’t afford to let another victor catch her in such a vulnerable position. She may be blind, but she refuses to be defenseless.

She doesn’t find it.

They must stay there, stumbling around fully blind and half-mad for hours before a masculine shout accompanies the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground. So loud it overtakes the sound of blood that isn’t hers rushing in her ears, the sound of the rain. They must have flown before they crashed, must have been thrown back to be that loud— the force field.

“Blight!”

A cannon fires. And then. It stops. All of it. The rain, the yelling, the torture. The heat and the smell remain, if not made worse by each other. Johanna can’t figure out which one is making her stomach roll more.

“Everyone—” she gathers the blood in her mouth, along her cheeks and tongue, and spits it on the ground with disdain. She can feel the frothing, light pink saliva and drool dripping down her chin from doing the same thing three dozen times already. “Everyone alright?”

Surprisingly, the voice that calls back first is Beetee’s.

“I–I managed to hold on to Wiress. Blight, however…”

She knows not to expect Blight’s voice and that’s a pain too tender to prod at yet. You, however, don’t respond. And, unlike Blight, there’s no reasonable explanation for your sudden silence. She calls your name, but there’s no reply. There is, however, a spark of panic in her chest right next to her heaving lungs, but Johanna only heard one cannon.

She doesn’t know if the heat encourages it or keeps it at bay, but, just that fast, the blood is starting to congeal. Johanna pries her eyes open and it’s almost like they’re still closed. Now impossibly darker, the jungle is a nightmare. Made even worse by the fact that you aren’t here. She lurches up to spin in circles, shouting after you as Wiress keeps mumbling something. She staggers around, cutting herself off by coughing up the blood that’s managed to get into her chest. There’s nothing, no sign of you or where you could have gone. You are not here.

It’s like you disappeared.

A spotlight shines down on them—No, on Blight. On his cooling body. The hovercraft claw descends open-mouthed, dipping down to pick him up. Beetee pulls Wiress away before she can wander closer. Johanna watches as they take him away.

Blight is thirty, she thinks. Blight is a burly man with a big beard to match. Blight has a wife, a son. Blight’s from Zone Q, the same zone kids used to make fun of for the funny way they talked. Blight had always been kind to her. Blight now hangs limp, covered in blood. Skin singed and smelling of burnt hair. This is the last thing he will ever be.

He’ll never see the culmination of the rebellion he was willing to give his life for. He wasn’t the sharpest axe in the, well, anywhere. But…it would have been nice to give him the District Seven sendoff he deserved.

She gives herself a shake. They need to find you.

“Come on, get up.” She waves the remaining two up with her axe. “Let’s go."

“Tick, tock.”

“Where?” Beetee attempts to look at her from under his blood-smeared glasses.

“Tick, tock.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our group has been dramatically cut from five to three—”

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock!”

“—And what the fuck is her problem?!”

“I think she might be in shock.”

“Right. Of course. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.”

There’s an odd clicking coming from the right and some hindbrain prey instinct warns Johanna away from it. She practically drags her damsels in distress behind her as she scours as much of the jungle as she possibly can in the dark in her search for you. Down to where the sand starts, back to the edge, and then off to the left—away from the clicking. They can’t be as quiet as she would like to be, considering Beetee’s heavy steps and Wiress’s insufferable mumbling. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, fucking tock.

How the hell did she get stuck with Nuts and Volts, of all people? You and Blight have left her alone and now, Nuts is even nuttier than before, and Volts—

“I can’t—I can’t go on. I must, I need to rest.” Beetee gasps. She glowers over her shoulder at his weak form. He raises a hand before falling on his ass. She groans, stomping back to stand over him. Even in the low lighting, he’s a sorry sight. Alarmingly pale, even for someone from Three, he looks like he might faint at any moment now.

“And what the hell is wrong with you?”

“My wound—I believe I’ve lost a fair bit of blood.” He gestures minutely behind him, and she squints at his back. He grunts as she positions him a bit better in the moonlight and his entire left flank is warm with his blood. The wound hadn’t seemed that serious earlier, long but superficial. What does she do if he’s losing more blood than any of them realize? She isn’t trained in medicine and it’s not like they can just request some kind of aid. If you were here, maybe. They’d have much better luck getting a sponsored gift if you were the one asking for it.

“Great. That’s just lovely. You know, this is exactly what we need right now.” She paces. Kicks a rock. hurts her toe. “Fuck. Fuck!” Johanna drives her axe into a nearby tree, yanking it out to only hack at it again. They’ve been searching for you for over an hour and there’s no telling where the hell you’ve wandered off to.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know! I don’t—!” She throws her hands up, not even bothering with rebuffing Wiress when she sways into her with her ‘tick, tock’ shit again. She groans, head hanging low. The plan has been monstrously derailed already and it hasn’t even been two full days yet. “I don’t know.”

Hopefully, you’re closer to finding Finnick than they are.

SECTION 2 ( 1:40 am-2:26 am)

You finally come to a stop, feet tripping over gnarled roots and fallen logs. You cough, blowing blood from your nose like snot. You’ve gotten far enough away from the rain that you can almost start breathing normally again. You look around you, turning in rough half-circles as you try to get your bearings. You’re careful to keep in mind the direction you’ve come from because the jungle looks the same as it has for the last mile and a half.

You want to rub at the stitch developing in your side, but you’re too afraid to take your hands off your weapons, even for a second.

That blood rain was unexpected, to say the least. Not to mention cruel. You’d never seen anything like it. The Gamemakers must have gotten a real kick out of that, knowing how readily y’all were waiting for rainwater, knowing how thirsty you were.

The blood doesn’t behave like it should. It’s made your hair dense and heavy, almost oil-slick somehow, despite the frizz from all the humidity. It dries on your skin in thick, itchy patches. Not unlike the aloe vera paste used in Eleven to heal burns and the like.

There’s no telling if the blood shower is heading in your direction or not. Can you handle that again? That suffocating force clawing its way past your esophagus, into your stomach, into your lungs—hot and thick? The taste is still on your tongue and for a moment, you’re in the eye of the storm once more. Fighting to see, to breathe, to live.

You gag and you push it down, but the longer the taste of iron soaks on your tongue, the harder it is to stop it. You gag again, hard enough that your belly cramps up. Eyes watering, you rock forward, nails digging into the wood of the handles as scorching stomach acid claws its way up your throat. You throw up what little you’ve eaten, and you despair, because it may not have been much but it was something.

You stay that way, hunched over, panting open-mouthed as more spit forms rapidly in your mouth just to drip down into the puddle of sick you’ve already left. You’ll be even more dehydrated than before. Your chest burns with acid reflux, your nose runs, and your mouth pools with drool you can’t afford to lose. You want to cry. But you don’t have that luxury. You want someone to rub your back, but you don’t have that either.

I wish Finnick was here.

You allow yourself that small moment of pity. You pull in a surprisingly cool breath before straightening up. You push your shoulders back, determined to march forward through whatever may be waiting for you because you know that on the other side, Johanna and the others need you. You walk forward, even though the idea of willingly entering that blood-filled hellscape makes your stomach lurch like a threat.

The blood still proves to be an issue without the Capitol’s input. Some of it drips down your face and neck like sweat, damn near blinding you all over again. You can only wipe it away with the back of your hand so many times. You're still trying to find a way to keep the blood out of your eyes when you hear it.

It's like when a bug flies too close to your ear but louder. Buzzing and clicking that makes the hair on your neck stand, foreboding.

You’ve never had much of a problem with insects, you weren’t allowed to. You can’t exactly claim ‘fear of bugs’ as a reason for not doing your job, even if you are six years old. After working around tracker jackers to pick various fruits, spiders climbing over you as you wade around the flooded cranberry fields, overzealous slugs as you pull carrots, to name a few, that fear dissipated. That’s not to say you love them, only that you’ve learned to work in proximity to them and ignore them if all else fails. You turn around, spinning in circles as the noise gets louder. You can’t ignore this so easily. You’re six again, trembling in fear as a peacekeeper directs you to a giant tree with an equally giant tracker jacker nest. That old fear makes a reappearance. It takes root, maturing from childish panic to fresh, genuine terror because something is coming toward you.

You hear flapping, wings. Your vision is still blurred from the blood and you're in a particularly dark part of the forest with barely any moonlight, but you can see it. Some kind of bug hurtling towards you faster than you can run. It’s massive—mutated, most likely—close to the size of a wolf. You duck as it dives at you, bulky mandibles snapping.

You’d rather fight the wolf.

It flies a few feet away before turning around and you curse the fact that you didn't pick up any long-range weapons. Where the hell is Katniss when you need her?

You’ve trained for months. Your stamina, your dexterity, your core and upper body strength. But especially your hand-to-hand combat. Woefully, you consider how well that translates into fighting a giant mutt.

For a split second, you get the urge to hide. That animalistic impulse to find a small space to burrow into that the much bigger animal can’t get you and to find it fast. You’ve felt this before in Eleven and in the Capitol. It’s only fitting that you’d feel it here in the arena too.

It hovers in the air for a moment. It's almost as if it’s thinking. As you both regard each other, it begins to feel like it really might be thinking. Just how intelligent is this thing?

It’s a beetle; you can tell that much, which means an exoskeleton. You’ll have to go for the head, the eyes. There’s no indication that it’s about to happen, it just charges you. And you realize far too late that it'll be impossible to get a clear hit at its head. You lunge to the side, but you aren't fast enough. You yell when its pincer strikes you in the side. You pitch over, rolling along the ground. You barely manage the precarious balance of covering your head and keeping your blades away from your body.

It's not done with you. But down here, you have a better chance of avoiding its bite.

The blood makes your grip on the handles slippery. You flip the one in your dominant hand upwards and keep the other one face down as it gets ready to charge you again. You roll under it, slicing upward along its stomach as it flies over you. You're quick to stand up as it wavers in the air, wings stuttering the longer it bleeds.

You’ve both weakened each other, but neither of you is dead yet.

Your mind is quiet. Only one thought echoes in the abyss back to you.

The head. The head. The head. Go for the head. Go for the head. Take the fucking head!

It swoops down at you, wobbling in the air, but still clicking. You kneel down with your sickles turned outward and cross your arms in front of your face. You wait for it to get closer until you can see its head peeking over the gap your weapons leave and straighten your elbows, decapitating it. You close your eyes as black blood rains down on you and its head and body hit the ground with two distinct thumps.

Its body convulses on the ground and its head stays still, but you don't have time to check if it's really dead. Like the man from Nine. More buzzes and clicks come from your right and you're running before you even register that your feet are moving.

You don't look behind you, you don't need to. You can hear them, closing in on you. You just keep sprinting, lungs burning in exhaustion as you push yourself faster. You don't know where you're running to, but you know you have no way of fighting off more than one.

There's a hill a few feet ahead of you, and you prepare yourself to roll down. You throw your weapons to the bottom and cover your head as you tumble down, scraping yourself on stray twigs and rocks.

You scramble to stand up at the bottom of the hill and look up in time to see the bugs hovering at the top. They're stopped by what looks like a force field. But that doesn’t make any sense. You—you just came from there. Suddenly, they lose interest in you like you were never there to begin with and they turn around. They bump into each other as they fly away, probably on their way to swarm someone else.

A piercing scream comes from the direction the mutated insects flew off to. Better you than me, you think and regret it immediately. That could be someone you care about. Chaff, Johanna, Katniss, Peeta.

Finnick, your brain supplies. You shake away the thought. You don't have to worry about that because he promised you.

"He promised me. He promised me." You repeat to yourself in a whisper.

You stumble back into a tree, chest heaving.

Once the adrenaline rush passes, another problem presents itself. The blood on your body has grown cold, so it's surprising to feel a warm rush of liquid on your side.

You look at where your jumpsuit is torn above your right hip. You stretch the fabric and see two holes about six inches away from each other. Twice the size of a bottle cap, one's a little above your hip bone and the other rests a little before where your back starts, both wider and deeper than you would like—but you don’t see muscle, which counts for something. They're rough, not perfect circles. Skin hangs haphazardly from them both, peeling away at the edges with jagged incisions going towards the middle. As if being punctured like a piece of paper wasn’t enough, they've been torn from the pincers still being buried in you and then violently ripped out after you fell.

Now that you're aware of them, they throb in sharp waves.

"Shit," you curse, breathing around the tears that bubble up from the pain. Your breaths are shuttered, halting. You're bleeding at a pretty steady pace and you won't last long with the wound out in the open. Especially if there's a creature out here that can smell blood. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whimper.

You scream as cramps rocket through your abdomen and the ability to be quiet is beyond your pain-addled mind, you can’t stop it. Luckily, it comes out of your dry throat more of a raspy croak than a real scream. You press a shaking, blood-soaked hand to your mouth anyway. You don’t know what other killer insects may be out here with you and you can’t afford to grab their unwanted attention just because you can’t control yourself.

Your medical knowledge isn’t extensive. Honestly, it’s a little below average for what’s expected in Eleven, but probably far more than what an ordinary citizen in the other districts would know. Not everyone can afford the services of doctors, especially if they live in the Shacks, so you were all taught how to help each other. You don’t know any of the fancy shit they probably teach in the academies, but you were taught how to heal with the land—old methods and practices passed down from before the Dark Days.

Your first thought is to clean it, but with what? You don’t even have clean water to drink. Your second thought is to pack it, if not with cotton then with aloe vera—it’ll ward off infection for a while, right? You have no way of disinfecting it, not by yourself and not with what’s available to you, so stopping the bleeding is the next best thing.

This may not be your environment, may not be your plants, but you learned a thing or two while training Peeta in the Edible Plant section. This is the perfect environment for natural, as natural as the arena will permit, aloe to grow. But it’s still dark. You can’t go looking for it, not by yourself. And you aren’t desperate enough to start begging your sponsors for help.

You sigh. You’ll have to settle for the bare minimum.

You pull both of your sleeves down where they detach at the shoulder and even that little movement makes your stomach cramp again. You flinch as the muscles underneath the wounds spasm, pumping out more blood.

You tie one end of both sleeves together, working past the hurt, and, God, does it hurt. But the hurt is unavoidable. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you’ve always told yourself. You let your mind drift, taking you somewhere else.

The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable.

Sweat drips down your back, or maybe it’s blood, as you move the makeshift tourniquet around your waist. You lay a flat piece of the fabric on the wound and nearly black out as you tie the two loose ends in the back. You tie it again just for good measure, biting around a scream as you pull it tight enough to staunch the bleeding.

Your vision swims as you gasp in big gulps of air. Your hands shake from the pain and yet another adrenaline drop. Your legs feel weak, barely holding you up as you lean most of your weight against the tree.

You need a game plan.

Another canon fires.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyes closed, head tilted back, pitying yourself. But by the time you decide to get moving, you notice something. Something’s…wrong.

Everything sways when you move your head up. You blink nearly twenty times before your eyes can focus again. You feel warm. Not warmth from the humidity. Not warmth from exercise. But warmth from a fever, a sickness. Nausea creeps upon you and, fuck, please, you can’t throw up again—you can’t . An injury this nasty will certainly come with symptoms, but you shouldn't have this kind of reaction. You try to remember what kind of bug it was. You remember it was a beetle, but you rack your brain for what it looked like. Your muscles spasm around your wound, reminding you how open and exposed they are even when covered with fabric.

You’ve got two plugs taken out of your side, you’re covered in blood, both real and synthetic, you’ve been poisoned, and you’re alone.

Alone. There is no sound other than your labored breathing because you’re alone. That’s the worst part somehow.

You’re slow as you lean down, wincing at the slightest movement, and snatch up your sickles. If just that is enough to sap you of your energy, then—

You can’t stay out here in the open where you’re vulnerable, no one to watch your back, no one to protect you. You’re an easy target, no help to the revolution like this. You take a few quick breaths to psych yourself up. You push off the tree, grunting as the smallest use of your abdomen aggravates the wounds. You hobble along, heading in the opposite direction of where you left Johanna and the others.

Hopefully, Finnick’s group is having better luck.

SECTION 3 (3:17 am-3:28 am)

Finnick is sure that there are certain moments that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. His reaping, the first person he killed, meeting you. These moments, these entries penned into the book of his life, define him. They’re all weaved into a tapestry, sewn into a quilt that illustrates his past and blankets his future. Who he is today, and who he will be tomorrow, is shaped by these moments. He’ll remain irrevocably changed by these events.

He’s sure this moment will be one of them.

The fog creeps behind them and he’s suddenly so glad you aren’t a part of their group. A spectral wall of wispy gas that observes their suffering with the same indifference as the Capitol does. Peeta is a solid weight on Finnick’s shoulder and he’s thankful for it. It’s a reminder, the weight of what he’s defending. He clenches his teeth against the fog's stray tendrils and their poisonous grasp, increasing his speed even as pain licks at his heels.

“Fhinnic’, Fhinnic’!” He skids to a stop, looking behind him at Peeta’s slurred insistence. He turns in time to see Katniss and Mags crash to the ground. He rushes over to them. Mags sits concerned next to Katniss who’s beginning to blister.

“It’s no use,” Katniss says. He kneels beside them and he can see she’s feeling the effects of the fog. Her left leg is getting stiffer and her face has begun to droop. “Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” The confidence in her voice is interrupted by the grimace on her sagging face.

Mags has been touched by the fog less than the rest of them, if at all. Probably for the opposite reason that Finnick seems to have the most damage, she’s small. By this logic, it should be easy for Finnick to carry her along with Peeta. It should be easy.

“My arms aren’t working. My arms, they aren’t—” From his shoulder blades down to his fingertips, the muscles in his arms are ruined. They spasm sporadically, jerking uncontrollably as they hang limp at his sides. He’s even relying on Peeta to hold onto his trident for him. “I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t, I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” He apologies. He keeps apologizing to her and he can’t see why, too focused on the wave of white threatening to seize them.

It’s all so quick. Mags has realized what Finnick himself is too stubborn to acknowledge. There’s a heaviness in his chest that he tries to swallow around but it only spreads to his throat. His throat gets tight. His senses feel heightened, his heart beating faster, lungs heaving harder, but he’s still trying to find a way out of this. His mind is moving at the speed of light, determined to fix it, determined to row this impossible boat upstream—thinking about everything but the only realistic outcome here.

They never talked about this. Never discussed the possibility. A situation where he would ever have to—it just never, never came to mind. He never thought to imagine it. And yet, she’s taking off the bracelet she’s wearing—his bracelet that she wore as a token for him. The same bracelet he made under her roof, under her knowing gaze. She slides it up his wrist, tightening it before grabbing his face between her weathered hands. She places a gentle peck on his lips and that’s when he realizes she’ll be leaving, whether he’s ready to say goodbye or not.

“Mags? Mags? Mags!” Tears blur his vision as she dodders uphill into the fog. Katniss grabs his wrist, stopping him from going after her. “Mags! Mags!”

“Finnick!” He can see her silhouette just past the veil of mist, convulsing violently before—a cannon fires. He sits there, desolate. He can’t tell if the numbness spreading through him is organic or from the nerve damage.

“Finnick, we have to go. We have to get outta here.” He’s slow to turn around and look at Katniss. “We have to go.”

Finnick climbs to his feet, accounting for Peeta’s weight, as Katniss drags herself behind him. He sniffs once, twice, three times.

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

A/N: 1.) Blight's accent is the Canadian accent - specifically Letterman Kenny 2.) reckon the covey (Lucy Gray's group) traveled to the north from 11 to 12 during the 1st rebellion and got trapped in 12 after they lost. the Seam now has a distinct accent that sounds vaguely southern. 3.) i headcanon there's no singular southern accent in 11, using this map:https://fineartamerica.com/featured/vintage-map-of-panem-from-the-hunger-games-design-turnpike.html?product=art-print you can see just how much southern land it covers. So that's a mix of Creole, Irish, Mexican, and deep south roots. I'd imagine the mix of Creole, southern aave, and Spanish makes for a very particular accent. but if I had to pick one, it's closer to the southern drawl than the southern twang. 4.) the capitol accent basically the transatlantic accent 5.) You and Finnick think the same, since it was his idea to sleep next to the forcefield and use it as a weapon. yall literally think the same. also finnick wakes up the same way you do in the book when katniss screams about the fog. 6.) in the book, Lucy Gray is quiet but cunning. She doesn't have the "girl bossified quirky" demeanor she does in the movie and I blame Disney for that. As such, she doesn't have the "loud and proud/nothing affects me/cocky without a cause" attitude in my canon. What attracted Snow to her was that survivor instinct he saw in her that he felt he had. Everything that made Lucy Gray interesting to him can be found in Star (and Peeta.) I think Katniss's personality wise is so much like Sejanus's that it pissed him off. close enough to District 12, but not exactly. district eleven has the exact background that Snow wishes he had with 12. He has more control over Eleven, they're easier to control/oppress as opposed to the free-spirited District 12. With Star, he strives to fix what mistakes he made with Lucy Gray. my beta reader said "i agree honestly like i think thats also why people are misreading snow in the movie bc they don't actually understand lucy gray and therefore misunderstand why snow even liked her" 7.) eleven is mainly a black and indigenous North American (Canada, US, and Mexico) population

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