#finnick odair x plus size reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilguna · 1 year

Text

☼ breathtaking pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you thought that you were going to go into the arena without ever meeting your soulmate. little did you know, he's been next to you the whole time.

warnings; swearing

wc; 3.5k

part two.

–

The worst part about the announcement of the Quarter Quell was by far the amount of questions you were asked about it afterwards. In the months leading up to the reaping, all you kept being asked was, “How do you feel?”

In the beginning, you would just stare at them for a second, hoping that they’d realize how stupid they are for asking it in the first place. How do they think you feel? While they’re all grown and get to live the rest of their lives without worrying about dying, you’re having your rights taken away from you yet again.

You aren’t supposed to do this again. Everyone was promised that once they win, they are done with the Hunger Games. They were no longer eligible to go inside, the only time you’d come close would be during mentoring. You’d get to live that week in the Capitol over and over and over again, watching different tributes get reaped, and then die in the arena.

As the reaping drew closer, the question died in their throats. The idea of reminding you about your potential fate made them uncomfortable. They never considered the idea of how irritating it was to answer the question every day of the week and then for it to slowly fizzle out.

You could handle the odds of going back into the arena. With only four girls in District Five, there was a twenty-five percent chance that the name pulled out of the bowl would be yours. It bothered the other girls, but you knew you had to let it go if you wanted to be even remotely happy for what could be your last weeks in your home.

Actually, the part that upsets you the most is the fact you’ll never get to see the world in color, because you haven’t met your soulmate yet. You’ll never get to see the sky, or the trees, or the color of the clothes you wear everyday. All the features that make someone who they are is absent in your sight. You’re left with black, white, and grey.

You thought that you would have years to try and find them. You’re only in your twenties. You were supposed to take over mentoring, which would’ve allowed you to get a better chance at finding your soulmate.

It was ruined as soon as your name was the one drawn out of the bowl. You felt your heart sink into your stomach, because you weren’t stupid enough to think anyone would volunteer for you. The sighs of relief that came from the other girls was salt in the wound.

For a few hours, you were stupid enough to hope that you’d win, until you saw exactly who was drawn this year. It ended up being the last nail on the coffin. You are going to die inside of the arena, you’re sure of it. That’s why you haven’t taken a single thing seriously this past week.

Why does it matter? Why would sponsors matter? They don’t want you, they want the siblings, they want the volunteers, they want their darlings, and they want the newest trouble. You are just a minor victor in the crowd.

When you were telling your stylist about your pessimistic views, all he could say was that they were entirely justified. The Capitol loves their victor’s unfairly, and then it ruins the chances for the rest of you. Anything that would normally catch the attention of the crowd on a regular Hunger Games is useless here. The parade, the scores, the interview you’re about to do. It’s for nothing.

You trace patterns on the bare skin of your thigh, watching as your prep team and stylist move around the room. They’d briefly gathered a few minutes ago to talk, and ever since they’ve been running around pulling things off the shelves in the closet. You’re guessing it’s jewelry.

Your stylist pulls out one of those protective bags for dresses, except this one is bigger and stuffed with fabric. He unzips it to take a look inside, and you can see the smile come across his face. His eyes dart up to yours, looking at you through the mirror.

“(Y/n),” He begins, coming closer, “I’ve been saving this dress for a special occasion, since I will never be able to use it again in any of my work. Tonight, you will be my muse.”

You give him a slight smile, “Are you sure you don’t want to save it for anything else?”

“I’m sure.” He says, unzipping the bag, “I’m aware you can’t see the color, but you should know that it’s not the most important part. It’s the design.”

Together, he and the prep team work to get the dress out of the bag. It’s a light shade of grey, so you’re going to guess that it’s a pastel color. It’s uncommon for stylists to go for something so gentle, because the lights on the stage tend to wash the tributes out. That’s why the colors are bright and hard, so they can pop and shine.

You think that it’s going to be some small dress, but the fabric never stops. There’s so much of it. He tosses the dress bag off to the side, and then unzips the back for you to get into. It takes a minute, they have to adjust and pin the dress where it’s too big or too small. By the end, you can’t even tell that it’s been altered.

One of the prep team members gets to work on fluffing the dress, while the other fixes your hair, and then gets to work on putting the jewelry on you. She focuses on your earrings and the necklaces on your collarbone to make sure they’re positioned perfectly. They get you in heels, and then your stylist shuffles in front of you to settle something on the top of your head.

You’re ordered to close your eyes until you’re in front of the mirror and finishing touches are made. They fix your makeup, and then spray something wet and sweet smelling on your skin. You’re guessing it’s perfume, but as soon as you open your eyes and sway slightly, your skin sparkles.

The dress is floor length, off the shoulder but with long and loose sleeves to keep you from getting cold while waiting for your turn to be interviewed. And the object he snuggled in your hair is a tiny tiara that sparkles with your skin each time you move.

You run your hand over the gorgeous patterned lace, letting out a breath, “What color is it?”

“Pink.” He says, coming over to stand behind you, “A gentle and loving pink, one that resembles innocence and beauty.” He fixes a curl, “It’s light and uplifting, and it looks beautiful on you.”

“Thank you.” You smile.

“You’re good to go out, (Y/n). I believe in you.” He says.

You wander out of the room and down the hall, absently tracing one of the closest flowers while you near the line to the stage. The other victor’s are in varying outfits. This year, District Two is subjected to looking like gladiators, the Ritchson siblings are eye-catching in their sequin outfits. Johanna Mason wears a long dress, but she doesn’t look out of place.

A few eyes land on you as you draw closer, but they don’t linger longer for more than a second. They don’t care, a victor from District Five is anything but a threat to them at this point. You’re sure half of them have already decided how they’re going to get rid of you in the arena. And if they haven’t, it’s because they know they can take you in a fight. There’s no use planning it.

It’s only a few minutes later, when the entire hallway is going completely silent. You look over to see Katniss, dressed in a large wedding dress. You should’ve guessed, that was the whole obsession after their Victory Tour. Of course, her stylist would try one more thing to catch the Capitol’s attention.

“I can’t believe Cinna put you in that thing.” Finnick says, there’s a look of bewilderment on his face.

“He didn’t have any choice. President Snow made him.” Katniss defends.

Cashmere flickers her hair over her shoulder, “Well, you look ridiculous!” She spits, taking Gloss’ hand and walking off with him to stand at the front of the line.

You swallow, closing your eyes. You don’t know how you’re going to survive this, really. You know nothing about any of these people, except for what you’ve seen on the screen. You’re at a severe disadvantage compared to the other female victor’s back home. At least they got to talk to half of these people.

The only two victor’s that feel the same way you do must be Katniss and Peeta, but even they’re fitting in more than you are.

You resist the urge to rub down your face, but you do let out a slight huff. You guess you’ll just have to resort to hiding in the arena, even though you didn’t win through that strategy. You mostly fucked around with trying to set off traps and force the gamemakers to accidentally kill the tributes for you. It worked, it’s why you’re standing here today.

That’s not going to fly in the arena, though. These people have watched your games, the same way you watched theirs. All strategies are on the table, which means that you’ll need to figure out how to camouflage and hide, immediately.

Cashmere and Gloss lead the way onto the stage, and one by one, you make your way to the seats at the back of the stage. The audience is loud, cheering and whistling. The lights are blinding, you squint through them, relaxing your face when you’re adjusted to the brightness.

You tuck the dress beneath you before you sit down, as soon as you’re planted in your seat, you can feel the nerves in your stomach settle. You haven’t been on a stage in a few years, you remember hating every minute of it. From the parade, to your face being shown for scores, to all the interviews and speeches you did after you won. You hated every second of it.

Caesar’s hair is a different color, it’s some type of grey, so you’re thinking it’s a muted color. You know that he changes it every year, you wish you could see, because you’re sure he looks fantastic every time. He’s been hosting the Hunger Games for a long, long time. That’s a lot of colors to go through, repeating or not.

He does his usual opening-interview spiel with the audience by cracking a few jokes and getting them in a fun mood. From what you’ve heard from your mentors, the citizens of the Capitol are torn between hating the Quarter Quell and adoring it. It’s clear on why; most of the favorites are here. It’s a shame they don’t know how much power they hold.

Cashmere starts the interviews with a speech on how she’s been crying ever since she was chosen. She’s so heartbroken over the fact that the Capitol is suffering because of how many victor’s they’re losing to the games. Gloss follows up with talking about how they’ve been so kind to them ever since they won, and it’s been a pleasure mentoring since.

Enobaria expresses how sad she is that she won’t be able to experience the Capitol’s wonders, since there’s more to live through. She was hoping to get more body modifications and possibly become one of their featured darlings, or a modeling icon for the people back home.

Beetee does his intelligent rambling, talking about how the Quarter Quell is technically illegal and it shouldn’t exist in the first place. He asks if the experts—Gamemakers—have considered this and examined it as of late. You watch as Wiress goes up and backs him up calmly, explaining that this isn’t fair.

When Mags takes the stage, it’s filled with Caesar guessing what she’s trying to say, but you can tell that she’s outraged, too. She’s too old for this, and yet she volunteered to come to save a girl she mentored. Finnick talks through a bright smile, and when Caesar asks if he’s got anything to say, his eyes darken. He proceeds to recite a love poem that’s clearly talking about his home district and how he might not get to see it ever again. It’s misinterpreted and too many people in the crowd think it’s aimed at them.

“For District Five, we have the lovely (Y/n) (L/n)!” Caesar shouts, hand held out in your direction.

You get to your feet with a smile, heading toward the front of the stage. You place your hand in his, he squeezes your knuckles, “Hello, Caesar.”

“Hello!” He laughs, looking over what you’re wearing, “Well, don’t you look pretty! I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like this before on stage.”

“My stylist was saving it for a special day, and that’s tonight, I suppose. I was just as surprised as you are.” You look out to the audience.

“Yes, it has been an interesting night so far.” He agrees, “Tell me, what was going through your mind at the reaping?”

You give a half-shrug, “I was disappointed, if I’m being honest.”

“And why’s that?” He asks.

“Well, I’m sure you can guess.” You shake your head, “I’m sure it’s an honor for some people to be back here again and have the opportunity to compete, but I’m losing out on one of the most important parts about living.”

“Let me guess, getting to mentor tributes?” He smiles.

You shake your head again, “No Caesar, it’s getting to see color.”

There’s enough gasps at once that makes your smile inwardly. You know what the other victor’s are trying to do, so you’ll help them. Even if they don’t invite you into their alliances, you’re with them on this. You don’t want the Quarter Quell to happen. You want to go home. That’s why you’ll expose yourself to the Capitol, because you’ve heard how colorful they are. They’ll eat up the idea of living this long without seeing color, ever.

Caesar gapes for a second, “You haven’t found your soulmate yet?”

You look out, “I will never get to see the Capitol the way the rest of you do. I hear the buildings are brightly colored, I hear how gorgeous the clothes are. And I will never get to experience that, because it’s being taken away from me.”

You can feel the tears build in your eyes. They’re partially real, because all you’ve ever wanted was to see the world the way your parents did. They saw real beauty everywhere they looked, and you saw nothing. And you will see nothing, until the day you die in the arena.

You hard blink to force the tears down your face, throat clogging. You have to play it up for them, otherwise they won’t care. You take a few seconds to dab at the corners of your eyes, with Caesar comforting you. The citizens are eating it up, there’s a few of them crying, you can’t see them past the light in your eyes, but you can hear them out there.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).” Caesar squeezes your hand.

“I am too.” You sniff, fanning your face, “For what it’s worth, I think the city is beautiful without color, too.”

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of your interview. There’s shouts complaining over how short it felt. You kiss the tips of your fingers and blow a kiss to the crowd before turning away and walking back to your seat. You struggle to hold in the smile that wants to break over your face.

The next few interviews are just as brutal. Johanna questions whether or not the creators can do anything about it. They never anticipated that the Capitol and the victors would form such a bond. Cecelia does a number by saying goodbye to her kids on camera, which has the whole audience in tears.

Seeder’s calm when she says that Snow is considered powerful. If he is, then certainly he can change the fate of the Quarter Quell, right? Chaff comes in swinging, reciting the same thing as Seeder but enforcing the idea that Snow must not care about the way his people feel.

And then Katniss walks to the front and the audience is in shambles. She’s unable to speak for several minutes, and by the tame she can, she’s speaking about her wedding. How none of them will be able to attend it, now that she’s been reaped for another Hunger Games, but Snow wanted to show them what could’ve happened.

She starts twirling like she did last year, except the minor flames from the year before have turned into large ones. They consume the end of the dress and eat away at the layers, until it reaches her shoulders, and suddenly the flames are gone. You’re left staring at a black dress with feathers. When she stretches her arms out, wings appear.

Katniss’ interview ends almost a minute later, and she takes her seat. This allows Peeta to come to the front of the stage, where they go back and forth being comical. Caesar changes the topic to the Quell once he sees an opportunity to, and there the mood slowly spirals downward.

He says that he and Katniss are already married, and they did it privately while they could because they wanted the moment to be theirs. Then he quickly says that it’s unofficial because the traditions back home mean almost nothing to a piece of paper confirming it. Caesar and the crowd eat it up, completely on the edge of their seats.

“As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Caesar says. There’s a round of applause, Katniss briefly looks up from her dress.

“I’m not glad,” Peeta suddenly ays, “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.”

There’s a shock that goes through Caesar, he doesn’t say anything for a second, “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?”

“Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” Peeta spits, “if it weren’t for the baby.”

Silence.

The words sink in the air, but as people get to their feet, shaking their fists, voices raised and screaming about injustice, it sparks others to follow. It’s not long before the whole audience is a wreck and nothing but an indiscernible noise. Caesar stands there dumbfounded, speaking into the microphone but not gathering any attention.

You press your lips together to hide the smile cracking at the corners of your lips.

Caesar’s trying to get the crowd to calm down, chaos has broken out. There’s no point in saying anything once the anthem begins to play. The volume’s so loud that you can feel it in your chest when the deeper parts play. It lets you know that it’s time to get to your feet to say goodbye on the program.

You lace your fingers in front of you, but quickly notice that others are not doing the same. As you look down the line of victors to your left, where Peeta is at the end, you can see that they’re holding hands, and your district partner has his palm open to do the same.

You grab his hand, and turn to Finnick, who has this little smile on his face, hand held up for you to take. You carefully place your hand on top of his, he’s quick to lace his fingers with yours. You squeeze tightly, hoping for some reassurance, and find him squeezing back.

When you look up to the crowd, your face twists. The light is just as strong, but you can tell what’s beyond it, because it’s no longer a sea of different shades of black, white and grey. They’re in color, they’re bright, and they almost hurt your eyes from the shades they’re wearing.

You gasp, tears filling your eyes when you look out. You remember what your stylist said about the dress you’re wearing, and look down at it. Gentle, loving, innocent, beauty, light and uplifting pink. He was right. He dressed you as a princess for these people.

You tear your eyes away to finally, finally look at Finnick, your soulmate. The reason why you’re seeing these colors. You’re met with bright and breathtaking eyes, watching your face with a crooked smile. You can’t help the laugh that comes from you as the tears overflow your eyes.

“It’s you.” You breathe.

“It’s me.” He agrees.

3K notes · View notes

underoospeterparker · 3 months

Note

Ahhh I luv your work! Can you pls do a plus sized reader x finnick where reader is a bit self conscious due to maybe something another victor said or how the capitol people were

thank you!! and thanks for requesting <3 i love this so so so so so so much!

victor!finnick odair x plus sized!victor!fem!reader

tw: body insecurity!! don't read if you are uncomfortable please

"Is something wrong?" Finnick said, his voice deep and uncharacteristically quiet. His face looked both raw as he stared at you, silently pleading with you to tell him something. Anything.

You forced a smile. "Nothing's wrong," you replied, averting your eyes from his heavy gaze and focusing on the mirror in front of you.

They were right, you thought. You were ugly. Too ugly to be with Finnick, anyway. He was skinny where you were curvy, he had muscles where you had rolls of fat. He had a pretty face and you had a chubby one. You were nothing special.

He tilted his head, unbelieving. "Honey," he murmured. "Please."

The elevator doors opened and you stepped out, away from him and his piercing look. You glanced back, and the hurt on his face was evident as you turned around again. "There's nothing wrong," you whispered.

Later, you lay face down on your bed, head shoved into your pillow. Your tears were silent, but even if they were loud, they would have been muffled anyway.

You heard a knock on the door. Finnick. "Can I come in?" he asked, too good for his own good.

Knowing he wouldn't stop until he found out what was wrong, you relented, a sigh so heavy he could hear it from outside the room.

He pushed open the door softly, his head peeking out from behind the frame. Spotting you on the bed, he immediately crouched down by your side, pulling you to face him with ease.

Finnick's gaze softened at the tear tracks on your face. "Oh, sweetheart," he crooned, his voice oozing with honey. "You gotta tell me what's wrong."

He cupped your cheeks in his warm palms, nothing in his eyes but care and concern. "I don't know," you whimpered, and his heart shattered. "They were just-"

His face hardened, his body becoming almost unresponsive except for the occasional thumbing away of your tears. "They? Who's they, honey?"

You sobbed, and he climbed into the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. "It's okay," he cooed, "you're okay, baby."

Once you felt okay to speak, he pulled away from you, just slightly. "Some of the victors," you said, hesitating slightly. He motioned for you to keep going. "They were telling me awful things. About how I didn't deserve you. How I was fat, and ugly, and-"

Finnick cut you off with a finger to your lips. "And you believed them?" he asked, incredulous. "Honey, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tightening his hold around you. "You're absolutely gorgeous, alright? Just the way you are."

"Really?" you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Really. And if anyone tells you otherwise, I'll kill them myself."

You giggled wetly, pressing your face into his chest. "By the way," he said, "I'm just curious. Who said this to you?"

"I'm not sure," you admitted, wiping the remaining tears away from your cheeks. "I think they were the two from District Three. Why?"

He smiled. "Just wondering."

149 notes · View notes

lokiandbuckysdoll · 1 year

Text

𝕄𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤

Here you will find other fandom pieces or other characters I write for that are non-Marvel. Please know that I DO NOT! frequently write for these characters. I write when inspiration strikes me so please be KIND!

Ari Levinson

comfort Make out

Lloyd Hansen

Mrs. Hansen

Finnick Odiar

His Protector - pt2

#ari levison x plus size reader #ari levinson fic #ari levinson #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen #finnick odair fanfiction #finnick odair

4 notes · View notes

anglbby444 · 4 months

Text

「 ✦ meet the blogger ✦ 」

♡ basic info ; ava ; she/her ; 18 ; neurodivergent ; unlabeled sexuality

♡ my interests ; true crime ; the paranormal ; sims 4 ; the color pink ; makeup

♡ my fandoms ; hunger games ; supernatural ; young royals ; heartstopper ; outer banks

♡ I only write fluff ; smut ; and comfort fics. no angst.

♡ favorite characters ; sam winchester ; dean winchester ; castiel ; rafe cameron ; sejanus plinth ; lucy gray baird ; young!snow ; finnick odair

#anglbby444 #finnick odair #finnick imagine #finnick!core #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester x plus size reader #supernatural smut #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader

23 notes · View notes

3d-wifey · 4 months

Text

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

132 notes · View notes

eufezco · 2 years

Text

🧃EUFEZCO'S MASTERLIST🧃

## A B O U T M E

( euphoria, stranger things, house of the dragon, wednesday, alice in borderland, the last of us , the hunger games )

she/her. bi. 20. sag ☼

english isn't my first language.

this isn't my main so i can't really reply to you in the comments nor follow you back. but i always read every comment and i appreciate them so much <3 and if you want to be moots, my dms are open and so my emoji anons

📬 REQUEST STATUS: OPEN !

## M Y L A T E S T W O R K S

❥ THREE LIES AT ONCE (FINNICK ODAIR)

❥ A SEASHORE CONFESSION (FINNICK ODAIR)

❥ REQUEST: FINNICK X READER WITH A TROUPE RIVALS TO LOVERS

## M O S T P O P U L A R W O R K

1. THE STAINS (EDDIE MUNSON)

2. CONFIDENCE (STEVE HARRINGTON)

3. THE GRIEF OF LOSING EDDIE MUNSON

M A R V E L 🇺🇸

B U C K Y B A R N E S

-> I CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART (angst, fluff)

S T R A N G E R T H I N G S 📿

S T E V E H A R R I N G T O N

-> YOU'RE TOO DRUNK FOR THIS

-> CONFIDENCE (S. H. x FEM!READER)

-> HELP (S. H. x FEM!READER)

-> POOL SEX (smut)

-> WAIT FOR IT (KING!S. H. x FEM!READER)

-> THE GRIEF OF LOSING EDDIE MUNSON (angst, fluff)

-> REQUEST: SOFT!DOM STEVE HARRINGTON (smut)

-> JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY (angst, fluff)

-> REQUEST: STEVE, NANCY, ROBIN AND EDDIE ARE IN THE UPSIDE DOWN, READER IS PARANOID THAT SOMETHING MIGHT HAPPEN TO HER AND STEVE HAS TO REASSURE THAT WON'T HAPPEN

-> IF I WERE TO KISS YOU THEN GO TO HELL, I WOULD. SO THEN I CAN BRAG WITH THE DEVILS I SAW HEAVEN WITHOUT EVER ENTERING IT (STEVE HARRINGTON X READER)

-> REQUEST I FEEL LIKE HE’D BE NEGLECTED IN ALL HIS RELATIONSHIPS, GIRLS JUST WANTING TO GET WITH HIM BECAUSE OF HOW GOOD HE IS, TAKING ADVANTAGE OF HIM. THEN WHEN HE IS FINALLY WITH READER AND SHE REALIZES THIS BECAUSE SHE ASKS HIM WHAT HE WANTS OR HOW HE LIKES HIS BJS AND HE DOESN’T KNOW SO SHE SPENDS THE WHOLE NIGHT SOLELY FOCUSED ON MAKING HIM

-> VECNA'S CURSE (S.H. x HARGROVE!FEM!READER)

-> REQUEST I HAVE THIS IDEA OF STEVE AND Y/N JUST DOING POTTERY TOGETHER AND THEY END UP MAKING OUT AND LEADING INTO MORE

-> THE FAMILY YOU CHOSE (fluff)

-> FORGIVENESS IS A NICE THING TO DO (angst, fluff)

-> ...READY FOR IT? (S.H. x FEM!READER)

E D D I E M U N S O N

-> STAY SAFE (EDDIE MUNSON X READER)

-> THE STAINS (smut)

-> REQUEST WOULD YOU WRITE ANYTHING FOR EDDIE X PLUS SIZE!READER?

-> REQUEST BEGGING YOU TO DO A EDDIE INSPIRED BY THIS TIKTOK

-> FOUR TIMES EDDIE MUNSON KISSED YOU (fluff, smut)

-> DREAM OF A LIFETIME (fluff, angst)

B I L L Y H A R G R O V E

-> REQUEST: BILLY FIC WHERE READER IS A BADDIE BUT THEN BILLY FINDS OUT SHE ALSO GOT SOME TRAUMA FROM HER PARENTS

-> REQUEST: BILLY IS DATING THE GOOD GIRL FROM SCHOOL AND EVERYONE TELLS HER THAT HE'LL BREAK HER HEART BC IT'S BILLY HARGROVE BUT IN REALITY BILLY WANTS SOMETHING SERIOUS WITH HER

-> REQUEST: BILLY HARGROVE X READER WHERE READER AND BILLY ARE AT A PARTY TOGETHER AND WHILST SHE’S THERE SOMEONE PUTS SOMETHING IN HER DRINK AND SHE STARTS FEELING ALL FUNNY, LUCKILY BILLY FINDS HER BEFORE ANYTHING BAD HAPPENS AND INSTANTLY REALISES WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER AND HE’S SO MAD AT WHOEVER DID IT BUT AT THE SAME TIME HE’S SO SCARED BECAUSE HIS GIRL IS LITERALLY ALMOST UNRESPONSIVE IN HIS ARMS.

M U L T I P L E C H A R A C T E R S

-> SEX HEADCANONS (BILLY HARGROVE, EDDIE MUNSON, STEVE HARRINGTON & JONATHAN BYERS X READER)

-> DADS (BILLY HARGROVE, EDDIE MUNSON, JONATHAN BYERS, STEVE HARRINGTON)

-> REQUEST: FIRST TIME WITH BILLY AND EDDIE

-> 💗💜💙 (BI!FEM!READER X STEVE HARRINGTON)

-> WE (STEVE HARRINGTON X FEM!READER)

-> TAKING CARE OF MAX AT THE HOSPITAL (HOPPER!FEM!READER X STEVE HARRINGTON)

THE HUNGER GAMES 🩸

F I N N I C K O D A I R

-> IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE BABY

-> HEART TO HEART

-> A SEASHORE CONFESSION

-> THREE LIES AT ONCE

-> REQUEST: FINNICK X READER WITH A TROUPE RIVALS TO LOVERS

M U L T I P L E C H A R A C T E R S

-> KISSING THEM (CORIOLANUS SNOW, FINNICK ODAIR, PEETA MELLARK, SEJANUS PLINTH)

T H E L A S T O F U S 🍄

J O E L M I L L E R

-> SARAH WANTS JOEL TO ASK YOU OUT (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> YOU DENY HIM A KISS AND JOEL DOESN'T TAKE IT WELL ( J. M x FEM!READER)

-> MOM!READER MEETS JOEL AGAIN AFTER THE OUTBREAK (J. M X FEM!MOM!READER)

-> PREOUTBREAK!JOEL VS POSTOUTBREAK!JOEL SMUT (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> UNNOTICED (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> PREOUTBREAK!JOEL DEALING WITH HIS THREE GIRLS (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> SUPER SHY (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> WEDDING DAY (SISTER'S FIANCE!JOEL X FEM!READER)

-> JELOUS OF TESS (J. M X FEM!READER)

P E D R O P A S C A L M U L T I P L E C H A R A C T E R S

-> KISSES (OBERYN MARTELL, JAVIER PEÑA, DIN DJARIN, JOEL MILLER)

-> SEEING HIS FACE FOR THE FIRST TIME (DIN DJARIN X FEM!READER)

W E D N E S D A Y 🎟️

T Y L E R G A L P I N

-> TASTE OF YOU (T. G. x VAMPIRE!READER)

-> I DID IT FOR YOU (T. G. x VAMPIRE!FEM!READER)

-> DAD HEADCANONS (T. G. x WEREWOLF!FEM!READER)

X A V I E R T H O R P E

-> LOVER (X. T. x VAMPIRE!READER)

A L I C E I N B O R D E R L A N D 🧶

C H I S H I Y A S H U N T A R O

-> BACK TO YOU (C.S. x FEM!READER)

-> CHISHIYA REFUSED MEDICINE UNTIL IT CAME TO YOU (C. S. x FEM!READER)

M U L T I P L E C H A R A C T E R S

-> KISSES (ARISU, CHISHIYA, KYUMA, KUINA, NIRAGI, USAGI)

H O U S E O F T H E D R A G O N 🐉

D A E M O N T A R G A R Y E N

-> THE ROGUE PRINCE AND THE FORBIDDEN LADY (D.T x FEM!STARK!READER)

-> SHORT HAIR SUITS YOU (D.T. x FEM!READER)

A E M O N D T A R G A R Y E N

-> HIS PERSONAL REVENGE (A. T. x FEM!READER)

E U P H O R I A 🪻

F E Z C O

-> THIGH RIDING (FEZCO X READER)

-> REQUEST: COULD YOU PLEASE MAKE ONE WHERE Y/N TELLS ASH THAT SHE'S PREGNANT BECAUSE SHE WAS SCARED TO TELL FEZ PT. 2

-> REQUEST: CAN U DO A FEZ SMUT OF HIM WANTING TO EAT THE READER OUT?

-> REQUEST: HI, CAN YOU DO A LENGTHY FEZ SMUT WHERE HIM & READER SPEND THE DAY TOGETHER SHOPPING AND STOP AT A LINGERIE STORE. SHE'S TRYING STUFF ON TEASING HIM AND THEN THEY GO INTO THE DRESSING ROOM TRYING TO BE QUIET EVEN THROUGH FEZ IS GOING HARD.

-> RUE INTERRUPTS YOUR NIGHT WITH FEZCO (FEZCO X READER)

-> YOU ASK FEZCO TO CHOKE YOU (FEZCO X READER)

-> FEZCO FUCKING YOU IN YOUR NEW DRESS (FEZCO X PLUS SIZE!READER)

-> REQUEST: FEZCO X READER. THEY ARE DATING AND EXPLORING THEIR SEXYAL LIKES AND DISLIKES. DO YOU THINK FEZ WOULD BE DOWN TO THE READER PEGGING HIM?

-> REQUEST: CAN YOU PLEASE DO ONE WHERE THE READER AND FEZCO ARE TOGETHER AND ONE NIGHT THE READER GETS DRUNK AND FEZCO TAKES CARE OF HER??

-> I SENT HER BACK TO HER BOYFRIEND WITH MY HANDPRINT ON HER ASS CHEEK (FEZCO X READER)

-> FRIENDSHIP WITH FEZCO (FEZCO X READER)

-> REQUEST: FEZCO SMUT X READER. HE TAKES THIS GOOD GIRLS VIRGINITY AND ASKS HIS GRANDMA FOR TIPS ON HOW TO TREAT HER WELL

-> FEZCO HAS TO SAVE YOU FROM YOUR DISASTROUS HOUSEHOLD (FEZCO X READER)

N A T E J A C O B S

-> NATE FINDS YOUR DILDO AND HE'S NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT (NATE JACOBS X READER)

J U L E S V A U G H N

-> MEETING JULES (JULES X READER)

1K notes · View notes

writersblockiskillingme · 6 months

Text

WritersblockiskillingmeMASTERLIST

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

JOIN THE TAGLIST HERE!!

Feel free to send asks and requests. Don't be shy. This is a safe space and no judgment zone. No hate of any kind on this blog will be tolerated.

Måneskin Masterlist

Damiano David

Thomas Raggi

Ethan Torchio

Marvel Masterlist

Bucky Barnes

Eurovision Masterlist

Jan Rozmanowski/Jann

Bojan Cvjetićanin

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

The Hunger Games Masterlist

Finnick Odair

Katniss Everdeen

Johanna Mason

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Spencer Reid

Taylor Swift Masterlist

Taylor Swift Inspired Fics Masterlist

Characters that I refuse to write for:

Old!Coriolanus Snow (The Hunger Games) -> romantically [I do, however write for, young!Coriolanus Snow]

Seneca Crane (The Hunger Games)

Gale Hawthorne (The Hunger Games)

Lord Voldemort (Harry Potter)

Lucius Malfoy (Harry Potter)

Bellatrix Lestrange (Harry Potter)

Peter Pettigrew (Harry Potter)

Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter)

Severus Snape (Harry Potter)

Thanos (Marvel)

John Walker (Marvel)

Nick Fury (Marvel)

...that's it for now

Things I don't write about:

foot fetish

SA kinks

forced pregnancy

innocent!reader

yandere

dark![insert character]/dark!reader

incest

male!reader

romantic ships like Katniss x Haymitch or Peter Parker x Tony Stark...

gn!reader, black!reader or plus size!reader [I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING AGAINST IT, I just don't want to offend anybody by writing something I don't know about ♥︎]

romanticizing depression, anxiety, SA, SH and such

#imagine #fic #masterlist #marvel masterlist #bucky barnes x reader #jan rozmanowski x reader #joker out #bojan cvjeticanin x reader #damiano david x reader #ethan torchio x reader #thomas raggi x reader #requests are open #please request #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds masterlist #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift #johanna mason x reader

50 notes · View notes

venuslore · 9 months

Text

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄’𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐐𝐒.

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖.

please be mindful that this blog contains nsfw content only intended for those over the age of eighteen. any and all minors who view this blog are responsible for their own media consumption. that being said, for your safety, and mine, if you are a minor, you are prohibited from interacting with any content that is not sfw. if you do, you will be blocked.

𖥔 before sending anything in please make sure to check over this post and that your request follows the criteria provided below. if you are unsure about something, feel free to message and ask me.

𖥔 i will accept anything for any of the characters listed below, unless specified otherwise. italic characters are my favourite to write for and are more likely for me to post.

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐃𝐎 𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑?

𖥔 stranger things ; steve harrington, robin buckley, eddie munson, steve x reader x eddie.

𖥔 outer banks ; jj maybank, rafe camero, sarah cameron.

𖥔 the hunger games ; coriolanus snow, finnick odair, peeta mellark.

𖥔 the summer i turned pretty ; conrad fisher, jeremiah fisher.

𖥔 the wizarding world ; ron weasley, draco malfoy, sebastian sallow.

𖥔 miscellaneous ; astarion ancunin, cole walter, joel miller, peter parker, poe dameron, walter mckey.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

𖥔 all requests will be in the form of blurbs.

𖥔 reader inserts only (fem!reader, plus size and poc friendly)

𖥔 fluff (ex : cute dates, finally saying 'i love you' )

𖥔 angst (ex : break-ups, suspected cheating, fighting )

𖥔 smut for certain characters ( ex : consensual, oral, handjobs, p in v, threesomes, breeding, scissoring, dom/sub, voyeurism, exhibitionism, orgasm control, warming )

𖥔 tropes (ex : best friends to lovers, enemies to lovers)

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

𖥔 certain reader inserts ( male!reader, sick!reader )

𖥔 sensitive topics ( ex : abortion, self-harm, mental health issues, physical/mental/sexual abuse )

𖥔 smut ( non-consensual, age play, race play, sadism/masochism, bondage, incest, pedophelia, age regression, ddl, anything to do with feet )

35 notes · View notes

bruisedboys · 1 year

Text

౨ৎ REQUEST GUIDELINES

requests are currently closed!

WHO I WRITE FOR

currently writing for — steve harrington, eddie munson, jonathan byers, tasm!peter parker, james potter, remus lupin, sirius black, peter quill, miguel o’hara, hobie brown, bradley bradshaw, peeta mellark, finnick odair, anakin skywalker

( strikethrough means the character is temporarily out of stock. bold means I’m feeling particularly sparkly about the character at the moment! )

ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS

I’m open to writing — din djarin, poe dameron, eddie brock, jake seresin

✮

WHAT I WRITE & DON’T WRITE

I mostly write fluff and hurt/comfort! I’m open to trying angst but I’m not very good at it and I’m sensitive, sorry </3

I will also write shy!reader, modern au’s, pregnancy tropes, parent!reader or parent!character.

I won’t write male!reader, dark themes in general, or smut. STRICTLY NO NSFW CONTENT! please do not send smut requests, your ask will be deleted

GENERAL GUIDELINES

literally send in whatever you want as long as it’s not nsfw! although I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to write what you send in, I’m still very grateful to receive your requests and I’ll do my best <3

I try to be as inclusive as possible, but if you want any specifics (e.g plus-sized!reader, shy!reader) don’t be afraid to request x

masterlist navigation

#★ lucasnclair #nav!

26 notes · View notes

aubeystawby · 2 years

Text

꒰ you can call me aubrey ꒱

꒰ who i'll write for | tags navigation ꒱

꒰ list of accepted requests under 'read more' ꒱

꒰ last updated: 1st of September 2023 ꒱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀♡

🚧 LIST OF ALL MY REQUESTS THAT I HAVE YET TO POST 🚧 character names are in alphabetical order to make it easier for anyone to check if i've received their request

allan x human!reader allan x gn!doll!reader allan x human!fem!reader allan x barbie!reader allan x popular!barbie!reader allan x valentines day doll!reader allan x fem!plus-sized!reader

amy march x fem!reader

carlos de vil x gn!violent!vk!reader

charles boyle x bisexual!reader

cynthia zdunowski x quiet!soc!reader

david donnelly x reader

effie trinket x fem or gn!stylist!reader friends to lovers

enid sinclair x masc!reader hurt/comfort

eugene otinger x gn!reader fluff eugene otinger x addams!reader eugene otinger x dryad!introverted!reader eugene otinger x fem!addams!reader eugene otinger x masc!goth!reader

finnick o'dair x fem!victor/tribute!reader finnick o'dair x fem!reader finnick odair & gn!tribute!reader

gwen stacy x masc!civilian!reader gwen stacy x fem!girlfriend!reader gwen stacy x civilian!reader fluff

hobie brown x spider-person!reader hobie brown x reader blåhaj headcanons

imogen heaney x transmasc!reader

james maguire x punk!reader james maguire x reader

jane facciano x fem!girlfriend!reader hurt/comfort

katniss everdeen x fem!reader hurt/comfort katniss everdeen & 14 y/o!victor/tribute!reader

ryan gosling!ken x shy!barbie!reader ryan gosling!ken x gn!reader ryan gosling!ken x gn!human!reader ryan gosling!ken x human!reader ryan gosling!ken x mad scientist!reader

simu liu!ken x barbie!reader

kent x reader fluff

lucy carlyle x shy!fem!reader

miguel o'hara x enby!autistic!reader

earth 42!miles morales x girly!girlfriend!reader

miles morales x masc!musician!reader

mischa bachinski x fem!flustered!reader mischa bachsinki x reader hurt/comfort mischa bachinski x bestfriend!reader mischa bachinski x reader hurt/comfort mischa bachinski x fem!reader angst (maybe fluff)

nick nelson x agere!gn!reader

ocean o'connell rosenberg x fem!reader

olivia valdovinos x reader angst

pavitr prabhakar x reader blåhaj headcanons pavitr prabhakar x adhd!reader

peeta mellark x reader peeta mellark x reader friends to lovers fluff

peter b. parker & teen!gn!reader hurt/comfort

richie valdovinos x she/they!reader richie valdovinos x reader fluff richie valdovinos x reader hurt/comfort

rosa diaz x fem!ADHD!reader

tao xu x reader

wednesday addams x fem!reader wednesday addams x fem!reader angst wednesday addams x fem!reader wednesday addams x gn!tall!reader

yoko tanaka x werewolf!reader poly yoko tanaka x divina x fem!reader

margot robbie!barbie x doll!reader, ryan gosling!ken x doll!reader, allan x doll!reader

margot robbie!barbie & ryan gosling!ken x brooding!superhero!ken!reader

rise of the pink ladies characters autistic reader headcanons

spider-verse characters panic attack headcanons spider-verse characters adhd reader headcanons spider-verse characters reserved reader headcanons spider-verse characters adhd & genderfluid reader headcanons spider-verse characters autistic reader first meeting headcanons

#╰─aubeystawby's navigation─╯#📌 navigation

33 notes · View notes

plus-size-reader · 2 years

Text

Against All Odds

Finnick Odair x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2247 words

Warnings: Just a little Finnick Fluff

Summary: Finnick and the reader have been seeing one another in secret, until they are both reaped into the 75th annual Hunger Games

—————————————————————————————————

Love always found a way.

That was what your mother had always told you, for as long as you could have remembered, but you didn’t ever believe that.

You didn’t want to believe it.

If love could have found a way, there was no reason you would have found yourself here again, staring down almost certain death for the second time.

It had to be a joke.

Not that any amount of pinching your skin beneath your fingers and waiting for the nightmare to end changed anything. All that did was leave welts on your skin, skin littered with long healed scars you tried to ignore.

Skin that you couldn’t believe you were still living in after all this time.

You should have been dead, but no amount of days lived could force you to be grateful that you weren’t. All those past tributes, dead before their nineteenth year, were no longer slaves as you were to the capitol.

They couldn’t be pawns in Snow’s game, a game you hadn’t been able to escape since your own reaping into the Hunger Games.

A game you were playing even now.

The same game that you couldn’t have escaped if you wanted to, and the one that was currently tearing apart any semblance of a normal life that you’d built for yourself since the first time.

It was all going to be gone soon enough, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Not even if you wanted to.

Still, the almost certain death wasn’t even the worst part of the whole thing. You had come to terms with your mortality when you were fifteen, fighting for your life. The worst part was that the other tributes weren’t strangers now.

They weren’t other kids you had never met, and didn’t have to care about if you didn’t want to.

This time, the other tributes were people you had known, friends bonded to you by the trauma only they could understand, and you weren’t kids anymore. Now, you were much older, and much more skilled.

…and the facts remained.

Just because you had survived the Hunger Games once, didn’t mean that you stood any chance of doing it again.

Then, there was the biggest issue of all.

Finnick.

Finnick Odair had won the Hunger Games the year before you, placing him the closest to you in succession. He understood what it was like to win something like that young, and how it felt to live with yourself after.

He knew you, and at first, it was a gift.

You finally felt seen by someone, who wanted you for more than what you could do for them and what you had done. He knew that just because everyone else praised you for winning, you would regret those actions all your life.

He knew, and you never felt alone when you were with him.

Not that being with him was as much of a blessing as it seemed to be, because before long, this world found a way to take it from one just like everything else.

Another Hunger Games.

A Quarter Quell made up of entirely victors.

At first, you could hardly believe it, but the more time that passed, the more numb to it you seemed to find yourself feeling.

You shouldn’t have been surprised. In fact, the only thing that shocked you about being back in the Capitol was that they hadn’t thought to drag you back here before now.

In a sick way, it felt like home.

Like where you had always been meant to be, even when you were away.

Even the training room felt more familiar to you than your own home, because here, everyone saw you for what you were. You weren’t some incredible warrior to be revered in the streets, you were just that scared kid again.

Terrified of every moment after the last, and constantly waiting for the world to crumble down around her.

It would have been an almost welcome reunion, if it hadn’t been for the one nagging piece of information, forcing itself into your every thought even as you tried to ignore it.

He was here somewhere.

You had seen him during the opening ceremony, all decked out on his chariot, but even then, you didn’t have the guts to face him.

It wouldn’t change anything.

There was nothing either of you could do that was going to make anything any different and you’d be fools to think any differently.

It was what it was.

You had accepted that, but you knew that Finnick would have a hard time doing the same.

He always thought that he could make the world what he wanted it to be but having people like him wasn’t going to be enough to save his life now.

Nothing could save either of you.

The sooner he realized that, the better off he would be. You were just trying to speed up the process before you had to watch him die or bleed out yourself in that arena.

Your fingers were tight to your knife as you swung it at the dummy in front of you, desperately trying to focus on the task at hand. This should have been easy for you, it had always been easy before.

There was just too much on your mind right now.

Too much going on.

“Are you avoiding me?” Finnick hummed, closing the space between the two of you just enough to call out, without being within arms length of your blade. He didn’t need reminding of how good you were with it.

As long as he could avoid it, at least.

“Nope” you allowed, a frustrating breath leaving your lips as you swung again, missing your mark for the third time.

If you didn’t get a handle on this, you were going to get yourself killed, you knew that. Though, at this point, you weren’t even sure you cared.

At least if you were dead, they couldn’t make you kill anyone anymore.

“Really? Cause this is the first time I’ve talked to you since you got here” he sighed, acting as if he’d caught you in a bluff, knowing that it didn’t matter. This whole thing had been hard on everyone.

Himself included, but Finnick knew how you’d react.

How you always reacted.

“There isn’t anything to say” you spoke again, your jaw locked tight as you tried to focus more on the task at hand than the man at your back, who you both knew wasn’t going to be going anywhere anytime soon.

You weren’t shocked he was here.

In fact, you had been waiting on this conversation since the news of his reaping had met your ears but that didn’t mean you were ready to dive head first into it.

It wouldn’t change anything.

Whatever it was the two of you were before, you couldn’t be it anymore. You weren’t married, and you weren’t a couple. You had just had a couple good nights, and bonded over some drinks.

Hell, even if you were a couple, it didn’t matter now.

You were tributes before anything, and before long, one or both of you was going to be dead. Pretending that wasn’t the case wasn’t going to change it, and it would just hurt to act like anything else was possible.

It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but you weren’t delusional.

There was no instance where the two of you could be together, not anymore. When you were both just two people who had won the Hunger Games, two victors in your own right, maybe you could make it work.

…but now, now you are competitors.

Finnick was the enemy, no matter how much you wished he wasn’t.

“That’s a joke” the male scoffed, not understanding why you were acting as if you were already dead. The situation you were in wasn’t ideal, of course, but he’d always preferred to live in the moment.

At least, until he couldn’t anymore.

“No, it isn't,” you countered, finally turning to face him after you’d lodged your knife directly into the soft thoracic cavity of the dummy in front of you, boht out of frustration with yourself and with Finnick.

This wasn’t like anything else in his life.

He couldn’t just charm his way out of this, not this time.

“You know what happens when the cannon goes off. You know that we can’t do this anymore” you continued, emphasizing the word ‘this’ gesturing between the two of you. You didn’t know what to call it, and you didn’t care enough to figure it out.

It was over.

That just was how it had to be.

“You know, if you relaxed, you’d have ripped that thing open by now” he pointed out, ignoring your words entirely, as if he hadn’t heard them at all.

You were one of the most capable hand-to-hand fighters he’d ever seen, and you could have done this in your sleep. The only reason you were struggling today was because your heart wasn’t in it.

You were too busy using your head to focus.

“What?” you groaned, probably looking at the man as if he’d sprouted a second head. He could never just say on topic.

It was almost as if he was living in his own little world within his head, making up the rules as he went.

Just once, it would have been nice for Finnick to explain himself.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he scoffed, thumping you lightly with his finger on the center of your forehead, earning another frustrated groan from your lips as you tried to come to terms with the fact that he’d just done that.

He was such a child sometimes.

“I hate you” you bit, trying to ignore the way the smirk on his lips made your stomach tighten, instead setting your attention on the task you’d been focused on.

The dummy gave way rather quickly under your grap, the knife coming loose with a little force. If only it was so easy in practice, maybe then you could actually stay alive out there, against all your old allies.

As stubborn as always, you got to work, trying to keep your mind at bay as you struck the surface, intentionally ignoring the blonde at your back.

You could only hope that if you kept ignoring him, he would eventually go away.

“I don’t think you do,'' Finnick hummed, and you could practically hear the grin on his face, followed by his breath on the back of your neck as he closed the distance between you that much more.

He was insufferable.

You let out another audible sigh, a clear cue to him that he needed to back up but he had already made up his mind.

Finnick wasn’t going to let you shut him out because you were scared.

You were better than that.

You have always been better than that.

“I do. I hate you” you repeated, this time sounded more as if you were trying to convince yourself than him.

Perhaps that was because you knew that you couldn’t convince him of anything, or because you knew that what you were saying was a lie. In any case, it didn’t matter because you didn’t have time to figure it out.

All you had time for now was trying to make it out of this alive.

Again.

“Prove it” Finnick pushed that much more, resting his hands on your hips lightly and nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. You faltered lightly, feeling his strong chest against your back but did your best to hide it.

You had to stick to your guns.

This wasn’t something you were doing out of spite, or because you were trying to punish him.

You didn’t have a choice.

Quickly, you spun on your heels away from him, leaning your weight against the dummy at your back now, pressing your blade to his throat.

Now, it was Finnick’s turn to draw in a breath, his jugular pushing against your knife.

“This isn’t about us. This is about survival” you explained, your words little more than a whisper as you kept a close eye on the man in front of you. You both knew he could get out of this if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to.

Believe it or not, he would have preferred this over the silent treatment.

“When are you going to learn?” he questioned, drawing the words out like honey from his soft lips as he admired the fire in your eyes.

It had always been there, blazing just beneath the surface, waiting for any excuse to come out. It was one of the things he’d always found so captivating about you, even now.

You were going to question him, watching as Finnick took another step toward you, the tension between your blade and his skin threatening to snap at any moment, not that he seemed to care at all.

He wasn’t even phased, not that you should have been surprised.

“We are all there is.”

You wanted to argue.

More than you had ever wanted anything, you wanted to tell him that he was wrong and that he was being unreasonable, but you couldn’t.

Deep down, in the sparkling pools of his blue eyes, you could see just how much Finnick meant what he was saying and even though it didn’t make any sense, you believed him.

Against all odds, you believed him.

1K notes · View notes

google1000 · 2 years

Text

The Hunger Games Masterlist

Oldest ~ Top Of Section

Youngest~ Bottom of Section

⭐️-Smut ❤️-Fluff 💔-Angst 🚫-None 💙-Incorrect Quote

🪢- Polyamorous 🍷-Alcohol🩸-Blood ☠️-Death 🤰-Pregnancy

🚺-Female Character 🚹-Male Character ⚧- Gender Neutral Character

Cato Hadley (HE’S 18+ IN ALL SMUTS)

Dating Cato Hadley Would Include… by ImaginesByMk❤️⚧

Cato x Reader by MyHungerGames🚫🤰🚺

Surprise by Plus-Size-Reader🚫⚧️

Clato Instragram AU by Million-Golden-Drachmas🚫🚺

Cato X Reader by MyHungerGames⭐️🚺

Marvel (HE’S 18+ IN ALL SMUTS)

Dating Marvel Sandford Would Include (Hunger Games) by ToppersCumSlut⭐️🚺

Can You Stay The Night by ToppersCumSlut⭐️🚺

Pre-Relationship With Marvel by JuneBerrie🚫🚺

Peeta Mellark (HE’S 18+ IN ALL SMUTS)

Lucky by PeetaPeetaPumpkinEata💔❤️🚺

Gale Hawthorne (HE’S 18+ IN ALL SMUTS)

Dating Gale Hawthorne Would Include… by GraceLovesWolves❤️⚧️

Finnick Odair

Pancakes & Promises by Dameronology❤️⚧

What Friends Do by Wife-Of-All-Dilfs⭐️🚺

Incorrect Quotes

Finnick & Annie & Peeta & Marvel & Cato & Katniss by Crashing9Against9The9Walls💙

Peeta & Katniss Incorrect Quotes by AskClato💙

Marvel & Glimmer & Cato Incorrect Quotes by AskClato💙

Y/N & Finnick Incorrect Quotes by PixiexDusts-World💙

#masterlist

107 notes · View notes

ilguna · 4 years

Text

Whist - Chapter Three

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

Word Count; 6.2k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: not a finnick odair x reader. it’s a ‘what if’ series

–

“Today is your first day with the other tributes.” you fix Alyssum’s hair, and readjust Rigg’s clothing, “Make an impression.”

“The two of you may show off one important skill each.” Finnick says, “One thing that’ll stand you out to the gamemakers and make the other tributes want to be allies.”

“We’ll talk about how we’ll wow the gamemakers during the private session, later. I promise that if you use your good skill today, it won’t be a loss. The private session is typically for anything you want to keep a surprise from the other tributes.” you back up.

“Try out stations you don’t know anything about. This is your time to learn anything that you don’t have a clue about, or you’re shaky on. It’s a fantastic opportunity.”

The two of them nod, and after a few more pointers that Rigg probably won’t use, he’s the first to leave the apartment. Alyssum is a different story, she waits for you to tell her to go.

“Don’t psych yourself out today, okay? What you did yesterday is exactly what we’re looking for. Confident, smart. If you sound older and show them that you can fight, they’re going to want you.” you cup her face, “But do not stay with them the entire time. Go around and meet the other tributes too. Don’t stick with Rigg, let him do his own thing.”

“Right.” she nods, you let go of her face, standing up again.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, (Y/n).” she smiles, “I can go now?”

“Yeah. Make your skill count.”

“I will.” she goes down the steps, and Elysia trails after her loosely to show her the floor. She’ll only take the elevator down, and then she’ll go see the stylists.

Now it’s just you and Finnick.

“What’re you thinking?” Finnick asks, you look at him.

“I think we need to pay Haymitch a visit.”

The two of you spend the afternoon getting ready to leave. You take a bet that Haymitch is probably somewhere in the betting room, along with the other mentors. But just in case, you’ll take an elevator to the apartment and hope that he’s there first.

When Finnick’s gathered his bearings, both of you get to the apartment. Finnick knocks on the door, and you flip through the notepad, staring at the plans for today.

Talk to Haymitch, go see the betting room, then down to the stylists to help them on a few things. To tweak and make them to the tributes likings. After that, the entire day is up to you and Finnick to figure out a way to get Alyssum and Rigg’s scores to stand out.

“Could teach Alyssum a trick.”

“Alright, then what would we do for Rigg?” you ask, knocking on the door again.

“Have him make a hook or something. He said he was pretty good at that.”

You squint at Finnick, “We want them to stand out.”

“(Y/n), he doesn’t have the same training that Alyssum does. The kid barely knows how to hold a plastic sword correctly. He’s--”

Before Finnick can say the word ‘hopeless’ the door swings open to reveal Haymitch. He’s dressed fairly nice, a little hunched over. When he sees that it’s you two, he straightens up considerably.

“Odairs.”

You roll your eyes, “Abernathy.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised to see that he doesn’t have his flask in hand. Normally it’s always right there, even the cap is unscrewed. You bet that it’s on the inside of his blazer, always within an arm's reach.

“Just curious about your tributes.” you give him a nice smile, slipping your foot inside of the apartment. Just in case he does try to shut the door, it won’t be that easy, “Quite the show yesterday.”

“The stylists' idea. Wanted something eye-catching, different.” Haymitch notices your foot, and after a long look at it, he looks back at you, “Here to steal my sponsors?”

“No, I’d like to negotiate something, though.”

Haymitch squints.

Finnick picks it up now, “We’re allowing Alyssum to make allies on her own, but if she does settle on Katniss, are you willing to work with us?”

“Doesn’t look like I have a choice.”

You slide your foot out of the way, crossing your ankles, “Just wanted you to hear our pitch, is all.”

“Katniss is a hard one to work with. Aly would have a better chance if she talked to Peeta.”

“We’re not after Peeta.” Finnick says, “We want Katniss for a reason.”

“Her sister, right? You think she’ll show the same emotion for your sister?” Haymitch makes a face, “Fine, whatever. I can’t guarantee anything.”

“We just wanted something to fall back on, is all.” you stand up straighter, “See you later, Haymitch.”

You and Finnick go down to the betting area next. It’s a simple task, talking to the sponsors that are loyal every year. And since it’s only a couple of people, the whole task is over before you know it. Then, you’re heading to see the stylists, prep teams and Elysia.

There, you spend the rest of the evening messing with everyone. Laurel has decided that she’s going to play off of the princess idea, and give Alyssum a dress that stands out, very puffy. It might just consume her when she sits down for her interview.

Rigg will be given a simple blue suit that vaguely resembles the one he wore for the tribute parade. There’s not really much that the stylists can do for the male tributes. A suit is expected, and so that’s what’s given. Plus, what else would you give?

Right when you’re done with helping Beth with this crown, you have to go and get the kids. You thank them all for their company, and just like that you’ve left with Finnick. On the way to the room, Finnick holds your hand tightly.

“While you were in the shower, Reed called.” Finnick says.

You look at him, “Why?”

“Mox can’t bring himself to get out of bed. The peacekeepers have visited the house two times already, wanting him to watch with everyone else. Reed keeps telling them that Mox is sick but neither of them can provide proof.” Finnick shakes his head.

Poor Mox. And Poor Reed, too. Mox wasn’t nearly this hopeless when you left, but then again, you were fifteen. You had eight years rather than just a measly five years beneath your belt. You also didn’t have a couple of mean-looking career tributes to worry about.

They really don’t make the tributes like they used to. Back when you and Finnick won, they were fairly manipulable. They were easy to shape and form, and they weren’t nearly as solidified as they are now. Hell, Finnick was able to get you in, and then you were able to get Thyme in.

It was definitely more people than they had wanted, and yet they didn’t care at the time. As long as it made themselves look better, stronger, more desirable.

Now, they just want the glory of the win. And to get to that point, they have to be ruthless. They have to show the Capitol citizens a show they’ll never forget.

So, every year it’s just a continuation of it. All of them are trying to beat each other. One up each other, and when they do it, the next round is screwed.

It makes it hard to mentor.

Anyway, Mox has lost hope. And you feel bad for Reed because he has to put up with it. He has to act strong for Mox, but you know he’s tired of it. Although, you can imagine that the both of them are pretty guilty, especially since you’re the one that’s getting her ready to send her off.

“Better keep that to ourselves.” you give Finnick a smile, “Not tell Alyssum, so we can keep her mind on track.”

He nods, he understands.

You and Finnick make it to the door right on time to see Alyssum skipping out of the training center, a huge smile on her face. Rigg is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Rigg?”

“Left early, said he didn’t feel good.” she says, tucking some hair behind her ear, “Just me the entire time, wasn’t too bad.”

You hold the elevator for Alyssum, making sure Finnick doesn’t head inside. For a second, Alyssum is confused, until Glimmer and Marvel are sliding past to get inside. You give Alyssum a wink, because this was your plan all along.

Cato and Clove come around too, you give the five of them a smile, “I’ll see you later, Alyssum. I’ve got to talk to your sponsors.”

You let go of the door, watching as the steel doors closed. And as soon as they do, you brush off your hands, turning to look at Finnick. He’s got a grin on his face, shaking his head at you, “Dirty, dirty.”

“Gotta cheat to get ahead. Wanna take the stairs?”

“Do we have much of a choice?” he asks, and the two of you slip into the fire escape staircase.

When you finally do get back to the apartment, Alyssum has a giant smile on her face, “They offered an alliance!” she heads towards you, arms out for a hug. You pick her up, spinning her around, “I told them I’d think about it and tell them in a couple of days!”

You press a kiss to Alyssum’s forehead, squeezing her tighter.

The next two days followed as the first training day did. You got up, gave your tributes a few pointers on how they should do things, and then they were off. You didn’t visit Haymitch again, but instead saw him in the betting area. You broke the news that he wouldn’t have to worry about an alliance, and he didn’t really seem to care.

After the betting area, came the time with the stylists. The dress has really come along, and today will be the finishing touches. Adding the accessories that they think would go with it, tweaking the size and whether or not it’ll fit.

You stopped picking the kids up from the training center after the first day, especially since Alyssum said yes to the alliance. She needs to get to know the careers on her own. But you’ve given her a few pointers on how she might back a cozy place in their mind, so they might even feel bad if they kill her.

She’s getting along well with Glimmer and Marvel so far, and from what you heard yesterday, Clove is beginning to come around faster than Cato is. It’s a little worrying, especially since it seems that history is repeating itself. But Alyssum said what you told yourself when you first saw the District Two tributes; they’re a lot meaner than they’ve been the previous years.

It’s only natural.

Now, today is the private session. And you just spent the last hour trying to teach Alyssum a trick that would catch the gamemaker’s attention. Unfortunately, she’s still shaky at it, and not entirely sure if she’s going to use it. But Rigg on the other hand--has decided that he’s going to try out something with a sword.

You run your fingers through your hair, motioning to the space in front of you, “Show Finnick.”

Alyssum gives you a reluctant look, “(Y/n)--”

“Come on.” Finnick urges.

Rigg isn’t even here, he hasn’t been spending much time inside of the apartment. It seems like he likes to run off, and you’re hoping that’s going to come in handy inside of the arena. If he’s not going to make allies, he’s going to need to be able to run.

That and he doesn’t seem to trust you and Finnick very much. Finnick’s gotten as close as Rigg will allow, but it’s not that much. He won’t tell you what he thinks about the other tributes, who he wants to make allies with, what his special skill is or what he’s going to do for the private training session. It’s all radio silence on his side of things.

And you understand that he’s afraid that you’ll pass all of that information off to Alyssum or something, but it’s really not like that. All he’s going is putting himself in a position where you see him as unpredictable, and therefore unreliable when it comes to certain things inside of the arena.

If you can’t confirm or deny his plans to sponsors, and you have to admit that you have no clue what his motive is--besides making it out alive--then he’s not worthy of sponsorship. And since he’s literally twelve like Alyssum, it puts him at an even bigger disadvantage.

Alyssum picks up some knives, twirling it between her fingers. She nails this, it doesn’t cut her skin at all. Then, she draws her arm back wickedly, throwing the first knife from her finger. Quickly, she passes off a second to her right hand, to throw again. It takes her only half a second to get a new knife to throw.

By the time that she’s done, there’s three new holes in the wall, and she’s nailed two out of three of the tricks. You go down the two steps, onto her level of the floor, continuing all the way up to where the knives are. You pluck them out, weighing them in your hands.

“Are these too heavy?”

“No, they weigh just fine.” she says, looking at you.

You stare at the human diagram on the wall. It’s the exact shape of Elysia. She wasn’t too thrilled to have her body shape be the example of a target, but it was what you two need.

Stopping right where Alyssum had been throwing, you take your shot at it. The first knife she always throws is for the thighs, left or right, it doesn’t matter. You aim for the right one. The next she throws aims for the heart, and hers all varies around the same area. This would be a good, direct kill. You get that one without a problem.

The one that Alyssum can’t get right is the forehead. You give Alyssum a look, and she shrugs her shoulders. All the holes reside around the head, not even one has come close to hitting the bullseye. You throw the final knife, getting the head without a single problem.

“Take your time inside of the session. I get that we want it to be quick, but it’s okay to be slow.” you fix some of her hair, “Go at your own pace. The gamemakers won’t be bored by the time you go in.”

“Make sure to be confident when you walk in. Wait until they say you can start, and they’ll also dismiss you.”

“Be nice to not get on their bad side, but show a little bit of arrogance.” you say, “And if you’re sure that you can’t get the forehead in there, aim for the throat.”

Finnick nods.

“Alright.” she nods, standing up straighter, “I guess I should go.”

You kiss her forehead, brushing her hair back, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” she hugs you, and then Finnick on her way out. As soon as the door shuts, you’re leaving the area and heading for the cellphone.

Finnick cleans up the wall as best as he can. But there’s a ton of holes in the wall, and the berry juice has left a faint stain on the white walls. Either way, Finnick dumps the materials, thanks the avox, and heads to the bathroom to wash his hands.

You tap your feet slightly, leaning your head against the wall. It’s a long moment of ringing before the phone is finally picked up.

“(Y/n)?” a voice asks.

You raise your head, “Yes, who is this?”

“Caspian’s brother--Lucas.”

Lucas. Shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes and tan skin. He mostly roams around his house without a shirt, which always drives his mom nuts, but he never changes. Sweet kid, he’s turning fifteen this fall.

“What happened to Mox?”

“At the hospital, so is Reed, Caspian, my mom and Mags. He’s unwell, and last night he wasn’t too hot. Reed went to see my mom because he didn’t know what to do and didn’t want to worry you or Aly.” Lucas pauses for a moment, “My mom said that they should bring him to the clinic, and that’s what they’ve done. He’s… strapped down. Don’t want him to harm himself or anything.”

You close your eyes, trying to fight back the tears that are gathering. You pull the phone away from your face for a moment as you take a deep breath in, and then you place it right back up against your ear.

“You’re not supposed to be telling me this.” you say.

“Yeah, but Annie said it would be a good idea anyway. Want to talk to her?”

“Please.” you look at Finnick when he comes out of the hallway.

He has his eyebrows raised, and you’re shaking your head, trying to tell him that it’s not alright back home. In fact, it’s what you feared. It’s in shambles.

“(Y/n), how’s everything in the Capitol?” Annie asks, “Is Alyssum doing okay?”

“Got herself an alliance with the careers, looks promising. If she does well on tonight’s score, then she’s got an official spot.”

“Good.” she says, and then moves on, “Reed doesn’t want to tell you anything, so calling back later won’t do anything. He won’t admit it, even if you tell him everything you know. I’m keeping an eye on the both of them. I didn’t know much about what happened until two days ago.

“Mom’s been keeping me inside a lot, afraid that I’d get everyone around me sick. Only a stomach bug, I’m better now.” she pauses for a long moment, “Sounds like Caspian is back with Mags. I’d give them the phone, but they’ll assume the worst. Instead I’ll just say you called to check up on Mox.”

“Yeah, it’s not the best idea.” you hold your finger up to Finnick, “Which means that you shouldn’t tell them about the career alliance either.”

“I won’t, promise. Call again after the interviews, we’ll all be here. Good luck, (Y/n). Give my best wishes to Alyssum, please.”

“I will,” you say, “Thank you, Annie.”

“No problem.” and then there’s a click.

You place the phone on the hook, taking in a deep breath as you look at Finnick, “Mox is in the clinic because they’re afraid he’s going to hurt himself. Reed and a couple of others are there to visit him.”

“Oh, (Y/n).” Finnick says, face drooping as he reaches out. You let him take you in a hug, squeezing him tightly as you cry into your shoulder.

“Sit, please.” Elysia begs, pushing Laurel and the prep team to the big couch that’s entirely dedicated to them. Pleurisy and the others are already sitting on that same couch, ready to go.

You’ve got Finnick to your right, and Alyssum in your arms on the left. Elysia gets her own private arm chair, and so does Rigg, all the way on the right side of the living room. He’s got his legs pulled up to his knees, and he refuses to talk.

“I’m nervous.” Alyssum mutters.

“It’s okay, Aly.” you rub her shoulder, “As long either of you got anything over an eight, we’ll be fine.”

Caesar then shows up on screen, and suddenly everyone is readjusting in their seats to sit up taller, lean forward or get comfortable. You don’t move. Just tighten your arm around Alyssum’s shoulders.

Starting with District One’s Marvel, he kicks it off with a nine. And this is when you know you can relax. If a boy like him is getting something so low, then it’s easy. Alyssum will be just fine. And since Glimmer gets the same score, you can let out a breath of air.

With Clove and Cato, they get ten’s, which was expected. For District Three, get averagely low scores, and for your tributes, you sit up a little more.

“District Four, Rigg Estridge with a score of six.”

You resist the urge to physically wince. Instead, you turn to Rigg with a warm smile, “That’s good, Rigg.”

He gives a timid smile, and your attention is turned right back to Caesar.

He has a smile on his face, looking up to the camera for a moment, “District Four, Alyssum Gallows with a score of--” he pauses on purpose, and the smile only widens, “--eight.”

You shake Alyssum’s shoulder excitedly, patting her upper arm a bit. She looks as happy as you do about all of this. The praise comes from everyone, directed to both Rigg and Alyssum.

The next few tributes aren’t all that important, they all get around the same score, which only means that they hadn’t done anything outstanding inside of the training center when they had the chances. Not even their private sessions were good, it seems.

Then, it hits Haymitch’s tributes. First is Peeta, who gets an eight. It’s not that bad, it’s actually pretty good. Considering that the careers are always the ones to have a score between eight and ten, he basically qualifies. As for Katniss--she gets an eleven.

You hum, eyes a little wide. You can’t remember the last time Haymitch has got a pair of good tributes. You can only imagine that if his tributes win, it’s going to dig him out of his twenty-four year long streak of only losers.

“Regretting anything yet?” Finnick whispers, you turn to look at him.

“She’s only one person--two if Peeta sticks with her. Alyssum will be surrounded by four people, and she fits right in. I’m not worried about Katniss.”

You look back at the screen, only to see that Caesar is analyzing the scores briefly, until he hits Alyssum again. Then, he picks apart everything that he thinks might have happened, “Do any of you folks remember what had happened during the Gallows’ family interview?”

He then pulls up a clip from the interview. Alyssum was only three then, so little. But that’s not his focus. No, he plays a particular clip where they’re discussing your score;

“That’s a reasonable thought,” Caesar says, a few people in the audience agree, but it’s basically none, “What about her training score? A ten is a very big score, especially for someone who’s fifteen! I would never have guessed it.”

“Me neither.” Reed admits, “I thought she’d get something a little lower, but she always has a trick up her sleeve. She likely thought up some trick last minute that she knew would blow the gamemaker’s minds. And it worked just like she had hoped.”

“I bet she did that trick with the two knives.” Mox says, “Do you remember her doing that?”

Reed shakes his head, “Not really.”

“It’s a difficult trick to pull off, it takes a lot of practice. But if she did the one I’m thinking about, it’s likely the reason why she got one so high. It would be impressive to see her kill two tributes at once.”

After the clip, Caesar’s back, “It makes me wonder if Alyssum had pulled off that same trick that we were never able to see--or something similar! I hope we get to see it inside of the arena.” he winks.

It moves on after that, and Elysia shuts the tv off, turning to all of you, “How do you feel about a celebratory dessert?”

This week has been one huge blur. You still can’t believe that the interviews are tonight, and your sister goes into the arena tomorrow. The fact that she’s a tribute in the hunger games doesn’t seem real to you at all.

This has to be one big nightmare that you can’t escape. Your little sister, Alyssum Gallows, who is twelve years old and has only five years of experience and her name was only in the freaking glass bowl once is going inside of the arena. Nine years ago she was three, and you were in the arena, yourself.

It seems like there’s some unfortunate pattern when it comes to the women in the Gallow’s family. First it was your great-grandmother, caught and killed for her participation in the rebellion. Then it was your grandmother for not obeying the laws and standing up for herself when a peacekeeper was out of line.

Then it was your mother, not surviving childbirth. You came close to death a number of times, thanks to the arena. And right when you had thought your family has gotten off lucky--that you had finally managed to break the streak--it falls onto Alyssum. If the universe couldn’t have you, then it would definitely have her.

You know that after this, when you get home, you’re going to see the remnants of Reed and Mox. Mox will probably have to be medicated for the rest of his life, like Annie. Only time will make the wounds better, but they will never fully heal. Alyssum is the final product of your mother, and sometimes, is her.

Reed will throw himself into work. Maybe something dangerous, something that will get him away from you all for a good amount of time. Take week-long fishing trips, and only come home for a day, before leaving again. You can’t imagine he’ll be able to take the pity that everyone will be giving you, well.

And you can assume that the nightmares will resume. They haven’t just yet, but they will when you get back home. You’ll have to avoid the television for months in order not to see the recaps. As for the victory tour--you don’t think you’ll be able to hand it. To have to stand on a platform with your two brothers, barely sane and being held together with tape and glue.

Finnick will finally be able to see what it’s like to be a part of the family. Misfortune follows you all like the grim reaper. It was only a matter of time before the next big thing would happen.

“Please get that look off your face.” Finnick’s voice is gentle, he reaches up to bring your chin a little higher, wanting you to look at him, “You’ve done a very good job this week. She’s got sponsors, she’s got an alliance, and a high score. You and your brothers prepared her well, just like you said you would.”

“I don’t want her to go inside.” you tell him, throat feeling thick. You look back to the door where she’s supposed to come out in a few moments, “I want her to stay.”

“I know.” Finnick says, pulling you into him. He wraps his arms around you, and you lean your head against his chest, reaching up to grab one of his arms.

You two of you stand like this, staring at the door. The second she comes out, you’re going to have to force a smile and give her more pointers about what she should do on the stage. For now, you get a long moment with your thoughts.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go home.” the words leave your mouth without a second thought to them, “Not because I can’t face my brothers, but I don’t think I want to see what they’ll become.”

“I’m here with you.” Finnick says, “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I know, I get that. But I can’t see them so broken and torn apart. Mox hadn’t even been like this for mom or dad. And Reed literally raised Alyssum and I…” you trail off, eyebrows drawing in, “I can face all the looks from everyone, and the funeral, and the apologies. But my brothers are a whole new thing.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, but his arms do tighten around you a little at the thought of all that. He probably forgot entirely about the funeral. But it’s really not only that. As soon as they retrieve her body, they’re going to do their best to restore what she looked like before she died, and you and Finnick are going to have to approve it.

Then you get to travel back home with her in a casket that the Capitol provides. Since she was a tribute, and she ‘served’ them, she’ll be in a white one, with a Capitol seal as well as a district one.

You frown now, “No, I don’t think I’ll go home.”

Finnick opens his mouth, but the door opens, and it reveals Alyssum in the biggest blue dress you’ve ever seen her in. She gives a bright smile, and you give one back. She twirls a little for you, holding onto her necklace to keep it in its perfect place. Then, she does a curtsy.

“I love it!” she laughs, coming out of the doorway to allow Elysia and Laurel to slip out of the room, “I’m like royalty.”

“Because you are.” you want to give her a hug, but it’ll have to wait until after the interview.

She looks like she did when she was a child. Playing pretend with the fairy wands and the pretend paper and plastic crowns. You never understood her obsession, but now seeing it in front of you, it’s because she was able to have a childhood. Thanks to you winning the hunger games, you brought your family out of poverty, and it was right in time for Alyssum to start playing with toys.

You almost feel guilty for taking it away from her so soon. She really only got four years before you all were on her back simultaneously. Then again, your early training is what’s going to save her. Even if it’s just for a little while.

“Alright, make sure that one of the first things out of your mouth is a compliment to the Ca[pitol. Like their people, outfits, the apartments that they provide, whatever.” you tell her, “I want you to act like yourself today, okay? Make them melt.”

“Right.” she smiles, “I guess I don’t have to lay it on too thick, then. Especially with this dress.”

You laugh, “You’re already halfway there.”

“Answer the questions honestly, but if you think that it’ll get you in trouble, don’t. It’s okay to lie, they’re not going to know the difference. Not if we’re all going to lie with you.” Finnick says, “If you don’t like a question, answer shortly, and then move on before he can ask you a second question about it. He won’t go back.”

“Three minutes on stage.” you hold up your fingers, “He’ll likely split it into three things. Family, the Capitol, and then either a message you can say, or something about yourself. If you ever get nervous, we’re in the crowd. Find us if you need someone to look at for comfort. But I’d really like it if you looked around the room.”

“I can do this.” she says, “I think I’m ready.”

“Follow Caesar’s lead, he’s going to make you comfortable.” Finnick says lastly, “He’s got you.”

You all go to the line in the hallway to see the other tributes. You wish Alyssum good luck, before heading off towards to retrieve Rigg next. He’s not excited, more nervous and scared. You tell him that he’ll do just fine, and drop him off next to Alyssum.

You and Finnick find your places in the crowd, taking a very special spot next to Haymitch. He doesn’t care that you’ve sat next to him, and he even offers his flask without a word.

You take it from him, take a nice gulp, and then pass it off to Finnick while your throat burns. This has to be the Capitol stuff, the districts don’t even nearly have something this strong. Finnick sputters out a cough, and the three of you share a laugh because of it.

“Thanks.” you say.

“You probably need it more than me.”

Caesar introduces the show like he always does, for the audience back home. He starts off with Glimmer, who comes on stage in a short pink dress, her blonde hair curled and a wide smile on her face, waving to the audience. Next is Marvel, who easily tours over Caesar because of his height.

Clove comes in with a red dress, looking mean and smart. She spends her time being sarcastic, but clearly winning the hearts of the people around you. In this time, Haymitch passes the flask over for another drink, and you take it without complaint. You’d rather be drunk than sober when Rigg finally rolls around.

Cato is dressed in a blue suit, and talks about himself the entire time. When the interview is finally over, you’re all relieved and happy to be watching someone who isn’t as full of themselves. Before you know it, the District Four tributes are up.

Alyssum comes up the stage, holding the bottom of her dress just barely up enough so that she doesn’t trip on it. She stops next to Caesar, and the crowd is absolutely in love. You can hear a few people behind you muttering about the dress, and then the crown.

“Wow!” Caesar gasps, “That is--” he backs up, trying to get a whole view of it. Alyssum poses for him, and even turns side to side to allow him to see all of it, “Amazing! Let me guess, you’re supposed to be a princess?”

“Yes!” Alyssum gives a big smile to the crowd, catching you and Finnick instantly. And just as you instructed, she looks out to other people, “Being here in the Capitol makes me feel so…” she stops for a moment, thinking of the word.

“Famous?” Caesar encourages.

“Famous! That’s the word.” she laughs--or more, giggles--at herself, “It makes me feel like I have some fans.”

Caesar gasps, “How could we not? I know I have been a big fan, ever since I saw you for the first time! And you were just a little toddler.”

Behind her, a screen changes to her on Reed’s lap during the family interview.

Alyssum covers her mouth with one hand, “Oh, that’s embarrassing.”

The crowd loves this, and soon, Caesar is encouraging her to sit down too. Following in the footsteps of the six people before her. When she sits, the dress almost consumes her entirely, but she’s able to readjust enough so that it’s fixed.

“Now tell me, Alyssum, what was going through your mind at the reaping?”

Alyssum presses her lips together, a clear sign that she doesn’t like the question. She fakes thinking for a moment, and then gives a shy smile, “I was upset that it was my first year of the reaping and I’d have to go inside of the arena. I thought I’d have a few more years until I would have to start to worry. But, it’s not like that anymore.”

Caesar raises his eyebrows, “Why’s that?”

“I have my older sister here with me.” she places her laced fingers on one of her knees, “Even if this is my last few days, I get to spend it with the person I look up to the most. Or, should I say people. Finnick is pretty cool too.”

She looks right at you and Finnick, giving a cheeky smile.

“Speaking of which, what is it like being in the shadow of her? Being constantly compared to her?” Caesar asks, this question is especially ironic because he’s the one doing it.

“Hard, knowing that I won’t ever compare. But kinda fun too, knowing that people were already familiar with me.” She says, “It’s like going somewhere, thinking it’ll be full of strangers, but instead it’s just family friends.”

“What a thoughtful way to put it.” Caesar says, and then smiles, looking out to the crowd, “what do you think folks? Are you a family friend?”

You wince at how loud the auditorium gets, but give Alyssum a reassuring smile. This is a good sign, a whole audience full of ‘family friends’. This seems to boost Aly’s confidence a little too, and she sits a little taller in her chair.

“You scored very high on your training.” Caesar says, and Alyssum nods.

“I did.”

He smiles at this, “Is there any hidden skills we should know of?”

Alyssum laughs, “If I told you--it wouldn’t be hidden!”

“Fine, do you think you’ll surprise us inside of the arena?”

Alyssum tilts her head with a sweet smile, “I think I might, but you’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.”

The crowd is cheering now, and the buzzer is going off. It’s perfect timing, in your mind. Caesar and Alyssum stand together, he takes her hand in his, and encourages her to step forward. She gives a curtsy, one that’s much more graceful than the one she gave you and Finnick in the hallway.

The crowd is standing now, clapping louder. She gives one final wave, thanking them for their time, and then she’s leaving to go back to the hallway.

As everyone takes their seats again, you and Finnick are slipping out of the crowd, not too focused on Rigg. He’s made his intentions clear, you won’t bother trying to salvage something that doesn’t want to be salvaged.

In the back, Alyssum is twirling around in her dress, and the second her eyes land on you, she’s running over. You hug her tightly, with only praise rolling off Finnick’s tongue.

Now you only have to worry about tomorrow.

#ilguna #whist #whist chapter three #lacuna au

11 notes · View notes