#//OKAY BUT LIKE JOHANNA NEEDS A MAN LIKE THIS

[grocerystoredean]

panem dash simulator

peeniss4everlark Follow

NOOOOOOOOOO

officialsenecacrane Follow

me when i lie

districtfun Follow

i heard from my uncle who works at hunger games that they're only pulling from everlark shippers when they do the quarter quell

gurlonfire

thats funny because when i was fucking your uncle last night he told me they're only pulling from bitchy district one stans

catohead69 Follow

we poppin the biggest bottles when cato wins

catohead69 Follow

theeclove Follow

okay but is anyone else pissed how the district 11 guy literally did favoritism for late districts or what

rues-song

the careers literally did an alliance r u fucking kidding me i hope u get reaped

theeclove

clearly SOMEBODY doesnt understand the strategy of the games

career-sweep Follow

PLEASE tag your hunger games spoilers. this is literally common sense the games have been going on for 74 years you should know better by now

#hunger games spoilers #SOOO pissed rn theres never been a live announcement and now i found out from fucking everlarks

maytheodds Follow

Yes I'm a 30 yr old hunger games watcher. I've been watching kids die since you were in diapers. You have NO idea the tragedies I've endured. Hunger games is escapism for many of us when I come home from a long day of logging the last thing I need is for some 13 yr old tribute dying in a high stakes competition that we ALL knew was high stakes starting a riot and destroying all the nations grain

corholeanussnow

lmao. get a load of this guy

girlalcoholic Follow

haymitch stans rise tf up

#yes girl get that salve #i would fuck that old man

cinnagirl3000 Follow

i wld nvr survive in thg fr baby im killing myself

#thnk goddddd im cap 😁 #i woulda stepped tf off that platform cinna its been an honor

caeserflickerwoman Follow

does anyone else think it was fucked that peeta invaded ceasar's space when he CLEARLY wasn't comfortable with being SNIFFED by a STRANGER

softgreenpillow

fuck you this is clearly so fucking capitol-centric no one in the capitol would ever be comfortable with any districtperson doing ANYTHING these days. it is capitol-boot-licking scum like you that holds the movement back. get BLOCKED idiot

butchjohanna Follow

Just something I've noticed I think we as a fandom have gotten WAY too comfortable using the phrase "get reaped" as an insult, when it's a very serious reality that many children live with and should not be taken this lightly. Some people online have had to put their names in more for necessities like bread or water and the absolute terror that grips a person waiting for their name to be called doesn't leave you even in adulthood. Please think before you speak

#many of you are not acting in a way that johanna would be proud of. get it together #reaping mention

starcrossedluvrs Follow

[coryosmin]

The Hunger Games Characters x Fem! Reader

How certain characters would enjoy pleasuring you

MDNI - 18+ Content

Coryo - Coryo would take pride in being able to give you head. He will E A T your cunt like it’s the last meal he will ever be given. He’s so messy with it and loves when his lips are swollen and glistening from your juices. He would make you cum at least three times with his mouth before he would do anything else. More often than not, he gets pussy drunk because he just absolutely loves eating you out. He definitely moans against your pussy.

Sejanus - Sejanus is so into fingering and rubbing your clit. If you’re stressed, his sweet fingers will help you unwind. He knows exactly where your clit is, being able to make you cum in minutes by simply rubbing the nub. He knows exactly how to curl his fingers to get you to gush around him. He’s definitely the time to position you between his legs, your back to his chest, while he whispers VERY DIRTY things in a VERY LOVING tone in your ear while he fingers you hard.

Finnick - Finnick would be the type to enjoy pleasuring you by using anything and everything. He just loves to make you cum. His absolute favorite would definitely be with his cock. Being able to pleasure you with himself does big things to his dick lol. Him thrusting into you the way you absolutely need it. He would make sure to angle himself so he’s hitting that sweet spot repeatedly. And when you cum and clamp on his cock while gushing around him, it gives him so much pride to know that you enjoyed him so much. He wouldn’t cum until you’ve cum at least twice.

Peeta - Mans is sweet. I feel like he’s the type to want to cum together. So he would definitely want you to cum while he’s inside of you. He’d fuck you nice and lovingly (he’s so vanilla) while also rubbing your clit, playing with your nipples, kissing your neck. Anything to make you finish on him. He’d be the type to want you to cum only once and that once will be while he’s inside of you.

Johanna - THIS WOMAN MAKES ME FERAL OKAY. FIRST OF ALL, she is so into scissoring. Feeling her clit rubbing against yours makes you both cum so fast. It’s just so hot to hear the wetness of both of your cunts dripping with arousal. She would be the type to make you cum in three different ways in one night - fingering, eating you out, and then scissoring. She wants you to be withering for her, to know that only she can give you such pleasures.

If you have any requests, feel free to ask!

[cabotwife]

omgg johanna x reader where r volunteers for annie instead of mags? 🤔

thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3

Hey, Brother

Johanna Mason x Fem!Reader, Finnick Odair x Fem!Sister!Reader

warnings: poorly written angst, mention of sex trafficking, not proofread

word count: 1258

a/n: hey guys! thank you so much for all the requests, i promise i'm working on them all as quickly as i can.

the room fell into a deafening silence. Finnick stood frozen in place, his eyes wide as he stared at his younger sister. the words had left your mouth before you had a chance to think, a desperate plea to the universe.

“i volunteer as tribute,” you found yourself repeating, the words tasted bitter on your tongue. you locked eyes with your brother, his usually bright eyes were dull with shock. his girlfriend, the woman who had slowly become a sister to you, stood beside to you. her eyes were filled with tears, threatening to spill over any second. you had just volunteered for her.

the tension in the room was palpable, you could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on you. suddenly, your skin felt hot, and the air was heavy with fear and anticipation, the silence was broken only by the soft sobs of Annie.

“y/n-” Finnick began, his voice was choked with emotion but you cut him off with a shake of your head. you didn’t need his protest, this was your decision, your sacrifice. the announcer, a man with a voice too cheerful for the occasion, quickly moved onto announcing the male tribute, effectively ending the discussion.

the atmosphere thick with suspense as the man reaches into the bowl, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. his fingers dance over the folded slips of paper before finally settling on one. he slowly, almost painfully, pulls it out, leisurely unfolding it as if to prolong the tension. his gaze drops to the paper, absorbing the name written there before raising his eyes to meet the audience's expectant gaze. the name echoes through the silent room, "Finnick Odair."

as the name settles in the air, you can feel your heart plummet to your stomach. your eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, dart to the other male victors, silently begging them to volunteer in your brother's place. but none of them do. why would they? you were all promised peace and safety if you managed to survive your respective games. how dare they betray that promise and bring you back into the fray, turning you against these people you’ve known, and grown fond of, for so long?

your frantic thoughts are interrupted by Finnick gently cupping your cheeks and pulling your face towards him. the sincerity in his voice is like a balm to your fraying nerves as he mutters, “you’ll be okay." his eyes, full of determination and promises, bore into yours. "i’ll keep you safe.” he mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline before holding your head under his chin in a hug.

Finnick had always been your protector, sacrificing everything to keep you safe, to keep the people he loved out of harm's way. when he denied his body to the capitol, you had been reaped just the following year. in his eyes, that was his punishment for his disobedience.

pulling away from him, your hand presses firmly against his chest as you meet his gaze. “no, Finn, you need to keep yourself safe. okay? you have- you have Annie, you need to be okay for her.” your voice cracks, tears welling up in your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back.

before your brother can respond, you are torn from each other's arms, whisked away to your respective rooms as they prepare the train to the capitol.

sitting in silence, you are left alone with your thoughts, which prove to be overwhelming. as much as you want to focus on your brother's safety, your thoughts drift to a certain short-haired brunette girl. your brother’s best friend.

the realization of these thoughts terrifies you, but you know they’re true. Johanna is the only living female victor of District 7, she’s going to be in the arena with you, with Finnick. your mind races with images of the other victors, the potential tributes, most of them your friends, people you’ve practically grown up with.

you're painfully aware that you won't make it out of this arena alive. you don't possess the same fighting instincts as the others. your victory in your games came from hiding, staying just out of sight, letting the others kill each other off. the very thought of having to kill a stranger is unbearable, let alone people you care about. the mere idea of having to harm one of your friends, of losing your brother, of losing Johanna is enough to make your stomach churn.

—

"are you completely out of your fucking mind?!" you hear the loud, scathing words, each one landing like a punch. the voice is painfully familiar and it inevitably makes you flinch, your body involuntarily shrinking inwards.

Finnick flashes you a knowing smirk, patting your shoulder in a show of mock solidarity. "all yours, champ," he chuckles, his amusement clear as the day. he then saunters off towards a shadowy figure in the distance, a girl whose face you can’t quite make out, probably that District 12 girl he knew.

you take a deep, steadying breath before spinning around. there, standing in front of you, is Johanna Mason in all her intimidating glory. "Johanna," you greet, a gentle smile playing on your lips, a stark contrast to the situation at hand. "you look beautiful." attempting to soften the tension, you place your hand on the side of her bicep.

"do not," she practically snarls, her anger palpable as she slaps your hand away with a quick, sharp movement. "what the hell were you thinking, y/n? volunteering? Why the fuck would you do that?!" her stern tone echoes around you.

"Annie... she couldn't handle coming back here, Jo," you attempt to explain, your words desperate. "you have to understand…" as you speak, you silently curse the feelings you harbor towards the brunette. in this moment, you can't help but feel like a chastised child.

in many ways, you are a child. the games stole your innocence, your childhood, forcing you to navigate through a maze of emotions in the most unhealthy manner.

Johanna's sigh breaks the silence. the frustration is evident in her posture, her face, everything about her. "listen to me, okay?" she pleads, placing her hands on your shoulders with a firm grip. "i need you to stay with me, and trust in what i do, alright? i'll keep you safe." her voice is uncharacteristically soft.

you blink at her, taken aback. "both you and Finnick have said that to me now," you groan, shrugging her hands off of you. "i can take care of myself, Johanna. i know you guys don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. i’m just as much an adult as you are," your words are blunt, full of pent-up frustration.

"hey, no," the brunette argues, her grip tightening on your shoulders once more. "i know you’re an adult, y/n, i just- i'll feel a lot better in the arena knowing you’re safe." you frown, about to retort, but Johanna cuts you off, "promise me."

you sigh, "Johanna-"

"no, promise me. now," she insists, her eyebrows furrowing as she holds eye contact with you, her grip unyielding. "promise me, y/n. please."

your eyes search hers, finding nothing but sincerity. "fine." you grumble.

"say it, tell me you promise you’ll stay close to me."

"what if-"

"no 'what ifs', say it," she narrows her eyes, the intensity of her gaze unrelenting.

"i promise i’ll stay close to you," you mutter, puffing out your cheeks in defeat.

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Milfs Models Candidates

Okay, so after many suggestions and research I've found some more possible Milf Candidates for me to make in the future. I would say don't judge me... But I think that'd be a lost cause.

Milf 01. Tsuki Uzaki

Y'know it's funny, I actually hate Hana, like she is kinda insufferable to me, I feel bad for Shinichi... Her mother, and sister (And Maybe Brother?) on the other hand... Yeah Tsuki is a top Class Milf.

Milf 02. Mitsuki Bakugo

I love her look, her attitude, just a perfect Milf, I shouldn't have to say more...

Milf 03. Nana Shimura

Muscle Momm-'Cough, Cough' Sorry, anyways, I like Nana, in the same way I like Endeavor, that is to say I like how their flawed individuals. But her flaw is the same as Summer's, she cares too much about doing good to the point where she hurt those close to her... Honestly someone should've slapped some sense into her when she decided to abandon her son. Like I get it, she just lost her husband the big bad would've targeted him... BUT C'MON!!! WHY WOULD YOU THINK OFA WASN'T ALREADY TARGETING YOU!!! Like she gets some leeway because obviously after just losing her husband she couldn't have been in the right state of mind but someone should've realized that possibility.

Milf 04. Lusamine

I hesitated with her mainly because I'd have to use the Hair accessories for her, and wouldn't be able to make other hair styles convincingly. But Yeah I'll probably be making her soon, cuz damn man, she's up there with Cynthia.

Milf 05. Susan Luong-Long

I, and I'm sure a good number of guys (And Girls) who blame this character for our fascination with Asian mommies...

Milf 06. Delia Ketchum

Honestly lowkey one of the best Pokémon Milfs.

Milf 07. Pokémon Black & White's Mom

Yeah, Pokémon knows exactly what it's doing by making Milfs like this...

Milf 08. Johanna (Dawn's Mom)

I Love Her Design, it's rather simple but utterly perfect!

Milf 09. Grace (Pokémon X & Y's Mom)

A sporty, country, mom who looks like she's ready to ride a bull, they really didn't use her near enough.

Milf 10. Prof. Sada

She makes me return to monke... those abs make, that tan, her wild look. Just, y'know a lot of people bought Scarlet for her alone...

Milf 11. Pokémon Scarlet & Violet's Mom

Penny was right, their mom is hot... I prefer the model with paler skin and deep brown hair myself.

Milf 12. Pokémon Sword & Shield's Mom

Not gonna lie, never played sword or shield, but I gotta say, she is a pretty mom. I like the glasses look with the overalls, gives her a fun vibe. I feel like there'll be a shock factor if I put her in other outfits too, so that'll be fun to see.

Milf 13. Pokémon Black & White 2's Mom

Mostly I wanna make her cuz there is a absolute lack of content of her and I'm kinda digging the idea of making her look utterly different with her hair down.

Milf 14. Lila Test

Y'know, I already wanna make Susan & Mary Test for Dexter when I get to him, so why not the mom too.

Milf 15. Charlotte Pickles

These three images convinced me, at first I couldn't see it, but thank you Anon, I've been shown the light. I like Milf in suits apparently... I learned something new about myself.

Milf 16. Jane Jetson

Ahh, Boomerang, how I miss you, this is just a Atlas Mom to me, and I feel like this further proves my childhood interest in redheads...

Milf 17. Wilma Flintstone

Y'know, I would complain that I can't find a decent pic of Wilma without Betty in it... Wait, No I Wouldn't! She next anyways. Well, this only serves to prove the whole Redheads thing lil' me had going on. I'mma say there from a Secluded Vacuian tribe, fucking savages... Hot, hot savage Milf.

Milf 18. Betty Rubble

Cavewoman are justice, and need to reenter the genepool of Remnant.

Milf 19. Carol from OK K.O.

Okay, so recently someone's ask me to make characters from OK K.O. Let's Be Heroes. Specifically Fink & Wilhamena, and to that all I have to say is... HOW DARE YOU NOT MENTION CAROL!!! Dude! Tanned Muscle Mommy! Seriously, she looks like she could be a badass. Not sure how faithful to the design I can be, or well want to be but I definitely like this character.

Milf 20. Wilhamena from OK K.O.

I mean, I get why so many people brought her up, I am looking forward to making this design, seems like it'd be fun. Still kinow nothing about the show though...

Okay, Last four... Gonna get a bit weird, feel free to judge me -_-

Milf 21. Nicole Watterson

I'd probably use the middle design as her actual model in Remnant making her a Faunus. Her Semblance would be '2D' Which references her cartoon origin but also can me Two Ds/ Doppelgangers, but well neither actually look like her but she can share her senses with them or have them act independently.

Milf 22. Lin (Millie's Mom)

Not gonna lie, I wanna make her half to have her get hate fucked (At Least at first), not the most honorable of intentions but FUCK HER!!! I get she's Millie's Mom, and a seemingly good one, but she hates Moxxie Way Too Much! How Can You Hate Moxxie! He's Adorable and a utterly devoted Husband! What, Just Cuz He's Not Country Strong, Fuck Off, No, Fuck Her! Fuck All The Bitch Outta This Milf With a Big Human Cock!

Milf 23. Toriel from Undertale

She is Literally the Goat HAHAHA!!! Okay but seriously I kinda have to make her. There is just WAY too much content for me to have ignored her. I typed in Game Milfs and this Goat showed up more then the Pokémon Moms.

Milf 24. Mrs. Kattswell

... God Dammit, I'm a fucking furry...

[notsocooljess]

Double Date

finally wrote the drabble i’ve been trying to write for weeks based on this reddit post discovered by @rainymyx in this post. i had so much fun writing this!

i want to continue to add to this based on the original reddit poster’s updates, so we’ll see!

read this on ao3 here

“What can I say? College football days should always be the best days of a man’s life. Now your best days can be listening to me talk about them.”

Ugh. Katniss huffed out a puff of air as she listened to Cato speak. An hour ago, she had been so excited for this date. They were texting for the past two weeks, and their conversation was easy and funny and, most importantly, normal. Now in person, his vibe was totally different than who he portrayed himself as online. Now, he was a thirty-year-old man who wouldn’t stop talking to her about his glory days from ten years ago and the “boozing, blinkers, and babes” that came with them.

After only receiving their appetizers and a single drink, Katniss knew she couldn’t stick around. The thought of having to hear Cato talk about another frat party he attended before The Force Awakens was released was nearly enough to bring her to tears. Desperate, Katniss did what she always did in trying times like these: text Johanna.

“Katniss! Katniss! I need your help, quick!” Johanna’s voice rang through her phone not even a minute later. Her ability to sound like she was truly in agony was as impressive as always.

“Johanna!? What’s going on?” Katniss responded, hoping her acting was, for the first time in her life, passable.

“It’s the baby! I need you here now!” her childless, non-babysitting, kid-hating friend shouted before quickly hanging up.

Katniss darted her eyes to Cato’s, and his brows were knit tightly as if he were trying to to put together the pieces of the conversation that just transpired.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure if you heard. My friend really needs me. She needs help with her… baby. I hate to cut this short, but,” she didn’t finish her sentence as she slipped on her coat. She shuffled through her bag and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill, smacking it on the table.

“Oh, yeah, it’s cool. You still wanna meet up at my place later, right? I have the best surprise waiting for you,” Cato responded while wagging his eyebrows, seemingly uncaring about her fabricated dire emergency or the quality of their date at all. This only irritated Katniss more. Her friend’s fake baby was in trouble, and all he cared about was getting laid!

“Uh… yeah, no. Definitely not. Let’s just forget about this, okay? Have the night you deserve,” Katniss practically snarled as she fled the restaurant.

Once she was in her car, she peeled out of the parking lot and quickly went around the block, looking for a place to park so she could call Johanna. She found a spot located outside of a small pub and dialed her friend.

“How was I this time? I feel like I’m really perfecting my blood-curdling shrillness. What do you say? Any pointers?” Johanna asked as soon as she answered the phone.

Katniss wanted to laugh, but now that the situation was over, she felt defeated. She actually had high hopes for this date, but she again found herself needing to bail.

At twenty-eight, Katniss finally felt ready to do things for herself. Before this, there was never the time. She was raising her sister Prim and taking care of her mother for more than a decade since her father’s passing. Now, Prim was in her second year of medical school where she received full funding for her work, and her mother has a live-in aide to help her with her daily needs. She finally did not have to spend all of her time focusing on school and work and money and bills, and without Prim nearby, she felt lonely. Her friends had convinced her to start going on dates, but after months of failed attempts, she still had nothing to show for it.

“Is it me, Jo?” she responded, “Do I just attract these weirdos?”

“Oh, shut up, brainless. You've been going on dates for a few months. Maybe if you gave yourself a little more practice when we were younger it’d be easier, but some people take years to find something that sticks. You’re hot. You’re smart. You’re caring. Maybe a little hard to swallow with the scowl, but anyone that gets to know the real you is gonna love you.”

She sighed, “Okay.”

“You wanna come over here? I was just going to watch some Dexter reruns, but there’s plenty of room on this couch for two.”

“Actually, I think I need a drink. I’ll let you know what I’m doing after.”

Katniss’s conversation with Johanna ended shortly after, and she made her way into the pub.

The pub was crowded, a symptom of it being a Friday evening in the winter, and Katniss had to shuffle past a group of freshly legal college students to make it to the bar. She wanted something simple, something just to take the edge off, and was quickly handed her rum and coke.

Eager to people-watch while she nursed her drink, Katniss scanned the crowd for an empty seat. Most of the tables seemed to be taken up by a larger group, but a single chair at a small table in the corner of the room was wonderfully vacant. Katniss closed her tab and swiftly made her way across the room.

As she approached, she stopped in her tracks. Hidden from her initial view was a man sitting on the other side of the table, somewhat hunched over with a book in his hands. Before she could backtrack and look for another open seat, he picked his head up and locked eyes with her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was gonna sit here but didn’t realize you were already here. I’ll just…” her voice trailed off. Katniss had a habit of not finishing her sentences when she was flustered, and after meeting the man’s gaze, she was very flustered. Not only was she not expecting someone to be sitting at the table, but now that he was looking at her, his blue eyes piercing through to her even under the pub’s dim lights, she realized he was around her age and absolutely hot. Her hands began to sweat, and her tongue started to feel like lead.

The man smiled, an endearing smile that quirked more on the left side of his face, highlighting a sole dimple on his cheek. “Don’t worry about it. You can sit here,” He replied, his eyes scanning the room. “Besides, it doesn’t look like there’ll be much room anywhere else.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, and he nodded. “Thank you so much. I promise I won’t even bother you. We don’t even have to talk or anything…” Katniss said as she placed her bag on the table and took her seat.

Katniss started scanning the other patrons of the pub to observe their activities, but her eyes frequently darted back to the man seated across from her. She gathered more bits and pieces of his appearance in the brief moments she allowed herself to study his features. He had blond, curly hair that looked intentionally tousled. His shoulders were very broad, pulling the fabric of his navy henley taut across his chest. He had freckles across the bridge of his nose, and he drummed the table with his left hand while holding the book he was reading in his right.

After a few minutes, he lifted his eyes up from his book and offered her a soft smile. “My name is Peeta, by the way.”

“Katniss,” she said, offering a shy smile of her own.

“You know, I really don’t mind talking if you want to.”

Her grin grew. “Okay, then.” She paused, unsure of where to start, but her curiosity eventually got the better of her when she asked, “Can I ask why you’re reading a book at a crowded bar on a Friday night?”

Peeta chuckled, a laugh that let Katniss know he wasn’t offended. “You waste no time getting to the deep stuff. I actually just moved into my first solo apartment, and as much as I’m happy to have my own space, the silence feels kinda deafening.”

“Ah,” she began, appraising him up and down, “so you find comfort in the chaos.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. I grew up in a house with two older brothers, and the two of them used to practice wrestling no matter where they were. In the dining room, the backyard. One time they threw each other down the stairs,” he chuckled again, “Our mom wasn’t too happy about that one.”

“You’re joking,” Katniss laughed.

“Not even a little bit, I swear. And then I lived in a house with my three friends all the way through grad school. My best friend Finnick used to play eighties pop at all hours of the day. Think, like, Donna Summer or Cyndi Lauper on full blast at three in the morning.”

“And you guys never asked him to stop?” Katniss asked, finding she wanted to know more and more about him.

At this, Peeta hit her with a dead stare, his blue eyes piercing her with a combination of humor and seriousness. “See, that is something only someone who doesn’t know Finnick would ask. If we made any attempts to get him to stop this relatively-harmless-if-not-mildly-annoying behavior, we would only trigger severely worse outcomes for us all.”

“And you said this is your best friend?” Peeta let out a boisterous laugh in reply.

While sitting with Peeta, Katniss found the guard she had put up during her date with Cato had come crashing down.

They spoke about their jobs. Katniss explained how she works as a forest ranger, but she hopes to finish school to become an environmental engineer. Peeta said that he just finished graduate school to become a doctor of architecture.

“I really liked art, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy my parents or pay the bills, so I tried to do the next best thing I could think of.”

“So you became a literal doctor? In a field that’s focused on math and design? Are you a genius?”

“Time Magazine did call me the reincarnation of Albert Einstein.”

“Hm. And to think I placed you more as a Michelangelo.”

They spoke about their families. Katniss spoke about her mom and Prim. She bragged about her sister’s accomplishment in getting a full ride to a great medical school across the country. She felt so comfortable with Peeta, she didn’t even shy away from speaking about her late father, even if it was in the briefest of terms. Peeta nodded his head as she spoke, squeezing her hand across the table when he sensed certain details were particularly hard for her to get out. Peeta, the son of bakers, grew up really close with his older brothers. His oldest brother took over the family business, and while Peeta loves baking, he enjoys it more as a hobby than a career.

This seamlessly led to them speaking about their childhoods. Katniss was mostly shy, harboring two friends, Madge and Gale, through her schooling, despite her being a star on her school’s track and archery teams. University allowed her to come out of her shell and meet friends that didn’t matter her reticent personality, like Johanna. Peeta wrestled, painted, did debate team, and wrote. He had a solid group of friends during school, but he found his lifelong friends in college.

They spoke about the little things. Their favorite colors. Favorite snacks. Movies. Shows. And their answers were so similar across all categories, they had a near total eclipse on a venn diagram of each topic. Their responses were so alike that, at one point, Katniss plastered her face with her signature scowl Peeta had not yet been acquainted with, asking him if he was being totally honest with his responses.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, “Look, that scowl is too intimidating for me to not come clean. So the truth is, I’ve been being honest this entire time.”

Before Katniss realized, nearly two hours had gone since she first sat down with Peeta. They fell into a comfortable silence, and she studied his features more in the muted light. She tried to picture what he looked like out of this setting. Hunching over a sketchbook. Cooking in his kitchen. Laughing with his friends. Cheering on his nephews at their little league games.

She studied the way the dim light caught onto the golden strands of his eyelashes, becoming mesmerized by the way they fluttered against his cheek when he blinked. She didn’t even realize she was staring until he spoke again, causing her to jump slightly.

“So what about you?” He asked, a small grin on his lips.

“What about me?”

“Well, before you asked what I’m doing at a bar alone on a Friday night. But what are you doing alone here on a Friday night so that I, a stranger, was able to take up so much of your time?”

Katniss contemplates what she should say, unsure if she should reveal her failed date with Cato. But as Peeta looked at her with sincerity in his eyes, she has the hunch that she could really trust him.

“If I’m honest, I came here because I had left a really, really bad first date,” she responded sheepishly.

Peeta cocked his left eyebrow expectantly. “How bad?”

“Well… it was so bad I made my best friend call me and say she was having an emergency with her fake baby to give me a reason to bail,” Katniss blurted out, her tone hitching at the end to make her statement sound more like a question. Like she was questioning if she really did that herself.

Both of Peeta’s eyebrows were raised, his eyes glinting with amusement, lips curling in to stop him from laughing. “You’re kidding me,” he managed to croak out.

“In my defense, he only spoke about his college football experiences, and after I started leaving to go help my friend with her fake baby, he still asked if we were having sex later!”

At this, Peeta burst out laughing, and after Katniss realized exactly what she said, she joined him. As Katniss clutched her stomach, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, she almost missed what Peeta said next.

“That’s why I’ve kind of given up on dating.”

“Given up?” Katniss asked, her voice airy from her recent laughter and something silly like concern that she might have been wrong about the connection she felt with him all night.

“In grad school, every date I went on just didn’t have any spark. They were just mediocre. Then, I got so busy with trying to finish my degree, I just gave up on the whole thing.” For the first time that night, Peeta responded without meeting her gaze.

She’s not sure what made her say it. Maybe it was the second rum and coke she had gotten while talking with Peeta. Maybe it was that she felt like she had nothing left to lose after her first failed date of the night. Or, maybe it was because she knew she’d majorly regret if she didn’t try to continue with the something that she felt burning between her and Peeta, but she had to say it.

“I find that hard to believe considering this is probably the closest thing I’ve had to a good date in what feels like forever.”

At this, Peeta drew his head back in what appeared to be shock. His eyes met her again, an indecipherable expression plastering his features as he searched hers. Katniss shifted in her chair, somewhat uncomfortable with his unreadable scrutiny.

Finally, Peeta’s features relaxed. and he looked Katniss right in the eye with a neutral, if not somewhat strained, expression. “Tell you what,” he began, “I have to go to the bathroom, but when I come back, I’ll ask you out for real.”

Katniss shot him a curious expression, but as Peeta began to move, it clicked. He did not stand from his seat – he wheeled back from the table, towards the back of the bar with the bathrooms. His left pant leg tied off just below the knee. Katniss understood: he wanted her to see everything about him before she agreed to go on a date with him. He was giving her an out.

At this, Katniss’s gut twisted, both with regret and butterflies. She felt somewhat bad for him, wondering if this was a move he made from being rejected for his physical condition before. Wondering how anyone could do that to anyone, let alone a guy like Peeta. But overpowering this feeling were the butterflies. He liked her. He wanted her to see all of him. He was laying his insecurities bare for her. Most importantly, he already trusted her. In mind, body, and spirit, he couldn’t be any more beautiful.

A minute later, Peeta emerged from the bathroom, a goofy grin plastered across his face to perfectly match hers.

As soon as he reached the table, the words came tumbling out of Katniss’s mouth before she could stop them.

“So, I’m free all weekend. What do you have in mind?”

[valeriianz]

I am imagining a Bi-curious Dream. Human AU. Inspired by this post. (but not at all horny or much explicit). this got a lot softer than i intended.

----------------

Dream, who goes by Morpheus, has such a stick up his ass. And he’s always only dated women, and he’s always the one getting dumped. And after this last failed relationship, where Morpheus thought for sure he’d found The One (after a record breaking 5 months), Johanna takes him out to a bar to find him a hookup. A rebound. Morpheus grumbles that he doesn’t need a rebound but goes along with it all the same.

Johanna knows of Morpheus’ bi tendencies. Though Morpheus has only mentioned it in passing that he wouldn’t mind dating a guy “if the right one came along.” They went to undergrad together, where they met and how Jo knows Morpheus has certainly kissed a lot of guys, but the idea of ever actually dating one, let alone sleeping with a man, turns Morpheus all shy and unsure. She’s teased him enough about actually stepping out of his comfort zone and actually exploring his attraction, and figures now is the best time to put that curiosity to the test.

A few drinks in and Johanna spots Hob, an old co-worker and invites him over, much to Morpheus’ chagrin. They yell and get excited seeing one another, couple of extroverts that they are, and quickly exchange pleasantries, catching up. Morpheus is seemingly ignored, and he's making it his life’s mission to drown himself in gin and juice and become one with the sticky bartop.

Dream glares at Hob out of the corner of his eyes, sizing him up, hiding behind his drink. Then Hob turns to face him as Jo introduces him and the smile he throws at Dream nearly knocks him off the stool. Morpheus sits up quickly and has an annoying concern for how his hair and eyeliner look.

“Hello, Morpheus.” And Hob extends a hand and Morpheus takes it awkwardly, an unexpected buzz shooting up his arm from Hob’s tight grip on his cold fingers.

Morpheus nods in greeting, afraid if he opens his mouth his tongue might fall out. He’s always been passively attracted to men, found some cute or handsome, but figured it was a superficial thing, or something like envy. He’d never given conscious thought to what it might be like to share… intimacies with another man. His unconscious mind, however…

Hob looked like someone peeled right out of Morpheus’ darkest, lewdess, most shameful dreams. A man with bushy brows and scruffy beard, an easy smile, and kind, chocolate brown eyes.

Okay, maybe not the most erotic image to grace Morpheus’ vision. But the glint behind Hob’s eyes, the smile that was slowly sharpening to a smirk, and the way his fingers dragged along Morpheus’ skin as their hands finally dropped, filled Morpheus with a sudden urgency to drag this man to the nearest dark corner and let Hob have his way with him.

And later that night, fueled by liquid courage and a very confident Hob leading the way, Morpheus allows himself to be pulled against a warm, broad chest and kissed senseless against the wall of a house he’s never been in before.

Hob licks into Morpheus’ mouth like he’s a man starved and Morpheus is a 5-course meal, moaning loud enough to make Morpheus’ skull vibrate. And all Morpheus can do is try to keep up, working his jaw and swallowing down little whines that he can feel bubbling up. Hob is so vocal and handsy, his fingers trailing up Morpheus’ jaw, carding through his hair, gripping the nape of his neck with a teasing bite to his lip that makes Morpheus’ knees wobble, before one hand moves down to his waist, teasing the edge of his shirt and touching pale skin.

Morpheus, for his part, has his eyes squeezed shut and is almost fighting against the urge to give in. Wondering why this is so hard for him. He’s never been kissed like this before, never been held like a precious thing before, and– he knows he’s getting into his own head. Morpheus feels himself break away with a loud, wet gasp, turning his head and mumbling a half-hearted, 

“Wait…”

And, incredibly, Hob does wait. He stands in front of Morpheus and gives him a moment to breathe. To calm down from his own insecurities and nerves. Morpheus feels like Hob is the type of guy to go all the way. The way he’d been flirting with Morpheus at the bar gave him the implication that this wasn’t Hob’s first rodeo. He didn’t boast about experience or prowess, but it was in the way he carried himself, the way he couldn’t stop staring at Morpheus, smiling like he knew he’d end up following Hob home. 

And sure enough, as soon as they’d stepped through the threshold of Hob’s home, he’d turned and pinned Morpheus against the nearest surface and kissed him without warning.

“Hey, it’s okay. I got you.” And Hob kisses the corners of Morpheus’ eyes, rubs soothing circles along his pointy hip bones, and murmurs sweetness in a quiet, calm voice. A voice that slowly makes Morpheus unravel, relaxing in Hob’s hold and tentatively bringing his own arms around Hob’s shoulders and kisses him back, properly. Eagerly.

It’s slow now, lips-only and so sweet Morpheus’ lips part on their own accord and a rush of heat crawls up his neck as he makes a desperate, needy noise. He slips his tongue past Hob’s lips to distract himself from that moment of vulnerability, feeling Hob’s grin, tasting his muffled laughter.

It’s so sensual and soft, it makes Morpheus’ head spin. And then Hob presses his body flush to Morpheus’ and they both realize they’re hard.

Morpheus surprises himself by canting his hips forward, curious to feel how Hob is hard, for him. And smiling his own, self-satisfied smile as Hob sucks in a breath and groans, trailing his lips up Morpheus’ jaw and nosing along the underside of his ear. He grinds his own hips with a little more force and it rips a whine from Morpheus’ throat, his head falling back against the wall with a dull thud and he’s squeezing his eyes shut again.

They rut back and forth for a while, Hob’s hot breath hitting Morpheus’ ear with punctuated groans of pleasure and praise that tumbles from his lips. He bites Morpheus’ throat, gentle enough to not leave a mark but hard enough to make Morpheus jolt, getting a hand in Hob’s hair and encouraging him to continue, which he does with chuckling enthusiasm.

Eventually they slow down, only for Hob to come around, take Morpheus by the chin, and wait for him to open his eyes again. Something in them makes Hob growl, leaning in like he can’t help it and biting Morpheus’ lip.

“We don’t have to go all the way, if you don’t want to,” Hob says, breathless and barely holding himself back. “But I’m dying to suck your cock.”

Morpheus flushes again, grateful for the dim lighting in Hob’s living room and nods eagerly.

The next morning, Morpheus is awoken to the smell of coffee and Hob in his kitchen, preparing breakfast. Morpheus walks in with bare feet, bare chest, flannel pajamas that are hanging off his hips for dear life, and is suddenly hungry.

He sneaks up behind Hob, slotting his pelvis against Hob’s ass and winding his arms around his waist like he belongs there. Like they do this all the time and this isn’t a one-night-stand gone awry. Hob chuckles in surprise, dropping what he’s doing to turn around in Morpheus’ hold and be kissed sloppily.

Morpheus came to the bar with Johanna looking for a rebound, just some meaningless sex to help him forget his ex. But the next morning, he had a boyfriend.

[3d-wifey]

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 years—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. 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 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 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 ‘girl’, she’s far 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 brains.

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, which is so different from 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 at least some level of similarity can be distinctly found in Eleven—in the southernmost districts in general. It shares a likeness with Eight and Ten. You can sometimes hear the same notes 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 unless 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.

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 all 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 Finnick 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 any authority over him.

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 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.

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, hands 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. 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. 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. 

The blood rain was unexpected, 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 pain 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 pain is unavoidable. The pain is unavoidable. The pain 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 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

[gabessquishytum]

Okay, but the 1389 amnesiac Hob made me think of the sensibilities of medieval era vs now and how that would affect him. I mean, clothes are so revealing now!!!!

I can see his eyes bugging out of his head when he wakes up, being around his friends who are all wearing shorts and t shirts or something. Completely ignoring everything else going on (and even the fact that these clothes are nothing like he’s ever seen before) because he’s so stunned by seeing that much skin on so many people at once when not at a pond or river. He then freaks out MUCH more when he processes everything else that’s off.

Things are thrown very abruptly into chaos again when he falls asleep that night. Dream comes to collect his friend like he usually does, wearing his flow-y fabric thing that barely classifies as clothing. Hob, the pre any kind of self-reflection on any front, bastard that he is almost immediately jumps the very hot, very slutty man in front of him. I mean, Dream is slutty in that outfit by 2023 standards, just IMAGINE how it would feel for 1389 Hob?

On a slightly unrelated note, 1389 Hob being thrown in front of a TV by Johanna. He’d be glued to that thing for weeks on end

- 🎮 anon

Aksjsjsjsj poor Hob. Being thrust into the modern world with a 1389 mindset would be so crazy!! Just imagine - as far as he knows he's never even felt synthetic fabrics before. He's sitting there wearing polyester mix clothes that feel weird as hell, AND they don't even cover him up that much! He's blushing and covering his chest because his nipples show through his t-shirt. Where's a nice thick woolen cotte when you need it?!

But yeah I think he probably gets over his embarrassment very quickly and enjoys the fact that he can openly stare at people's bodies. 1389 Hob is an unrepentant manwhore so he's absolutely ogling everything and everyone. Jo quickly beats the feminism back into him before he can take that (literal) medieval attitude too far though.

Dream still gets an armful of horny, overwhelmed medieval mercenary when he goes to visit his friend though. Hob sees tits-out Dream and loses his very small amount of self control immediately. He's getting his mouth on the titties one way or another. And Dream doesn’t exactly discourage him (the robe disappears completely and Hob gets a nakey Dream - this probably cures his amnesia and any other problem he's ever had in his life).

And yes, 1389-mindset Hob watches the footie on TV one time and develops a slight addiction. Jo accidentally turns him into an ipad kid, oops.

[waywardangel-wilds]

sibling insults in my 'potential Peeta-Delly-Johanna dialogue' folder:

literally anything, 'Okay, I know you are but what am I?'

'stand over there. okay. wait. Got it, I knew you'd want a picture with your lover.' (next to something ugly or smelly or both).

is barely talking: ' Oh man, I'm sorry. I forgot the world revolves around you. My bad.'

Changes their hair or something minor. 'you look like a before picture.'

'Never be yourself. We've all suffered enough.'

Talks about something they want to do. 'Oh is that what losers like to do these days? I had no idea.'

'You're fat.' 'Oh, original'

'Your mom.' 'Thanks'

'I thought you needed a license to be that ugly?'

'You know what you remind me of?' 'What?' 'A cow' 'Amazing' 'But like the ugly sad ones' 'Great' 'Because you're ugly and sad' 'No, I get it.' 'Just making sure.'

'No one annoys me like you' 'Aw, love you too!'

'I would, but I don't hit girls. Too easy.' 'Well, I do' 'OW!'

'Ever wonder why you got that fuck ass name?'

[coryosmin]

What do you think the love language of the Hunger Games characters (of your choice) are?

omg okay i love this ask so much.

coriolanus - Coriolanus’ love language is definitely acts of service but towards him. If you ask him if he’s eaten, if he’s taking care of himself, making him a meal if he didn’t eat already, etc. He definitely would melt at how much you seem to care for him. His other love language is also physical touch. He can’t express himself with words often. So to show his care for you, especially out in public, he’d have a hand on your back or an arm wrapped around your waist.

sejanus - this man is a gift giver 100%. he will give you treats that his Ma made or buy you something he thought would look beautiful on you. he would give you many gifts to show that he loves you. he’s also a physical touch person, giving you kisses, having a hand on you whenever he can.

finnick - finnick is such a words of affirmation person. he would compliment you constantly and make sure you know how loved you are. and he would love it when you do the same to him because it shows him that you care for him more deeply than just physical. he needs to know that you’re in it for him and not just his body.

peeta - peeta’s is definitely acts of service mixed with quality time. he would make sure you’re doing good, doing whatever he can to help you, and then he would love to just sit with you while he paints and you read something. he just wants to be by you, enjoying time with you.

katniss - this is a bit of a hard one. i think she could be a mixture of all love languages. but the main ones for me would likely be gift giving (relatively) and acts of service. she would definitely be the type to hunt and give you the animals she hunted to keep you fed. and if you need help with anything, she’d always be the first to help you and never complain, happy to do anything you need her to.

johanna - PHYSICAL TOUCH!! johanna is so touch starved with everything that happened to her. so i think that she would show her love for you by holding your hand constantly, giving you cuddles, laying her head on your shoulder, etc. she’s such a physical touch girlie and i stand by that wholeheartedly.

[snazzynacho]

The Mermaid Mutt

Finnick Odair x Annie Cresta

Chapter 1/? Read on ao3. Masterlist.

Summary: As Finnick and the other previous Victors know, a Quarter Quell is much different from an average Hunger Games, and this year Snow has plans for a new type of Mutt to stir things up.

Warnings/tags: Mermaid, Muttations (Hunger Games), Human Experimentation, Canon-Typical Death/Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Annie Cresta Needs a Hug, Mutilation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Finnick Odair Loves Annie Cresta, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Suicidal ideation.

A/N: Please see the tags before reading as this fanfic deals with heavy topics. Minors do not interact, please.

Chapter One:

Everyone knows Mermaids are purely fictitious — A legend produced by a cocktail of piracy, aquatic creatures and alcohol. President Snow made plans with Plutarch Heavensbee, the new head gamemaker, to create his own Mutt, specifically for this year's Quarter Quell.

As the Quarter Quell is taking place, they almost let the mutt loose several times, but no other time was perfect enough than this one. Finnick, along with Johanna, Wiress, Beetee, Katniss and Peeta, have now formed one big loyal group. Snow, Plutarch and the rest of the viewers at home previously watched Peeta hit the force field, Katniss, Finnick, and Peeta survive the poisonous fog, with Mags sacrificing herself, and then killing feral monkeys, Johanna and her group with the hot, thick blood-rain, and near drowning experience with the spinning cornucopia. Now, they did not know what was to come.

They stand under the shaded area under the palm trees, drawing a diagram of the cornucopia in the sand. Thanks to Wiress, they now know it works like a clock with each hour coming with a new threat in its particular wedge.

Suddenly, a scream from the depths of the jungle cries, "Katniss!" It is a voice only Katniss recognises as she shouts her sister's name, "Prim!"

“Katniss! Wait!” Finnick tries to stop her as he knows its unlikely for Primrose to actually be put into the arena, but Katniss sprints off into the jungle, shouting after Primrose. Finnick runs after her, and when he reaches Katniss, she's looking around defeated.

"You okay?" he asks her with genuine worry and care.

"Finnick!" another scream of a different woman's voice is heard in the distance, which Finnick recognises immediately.

"Annie?!"

"Finnick! No, it's not her!" Katniss attempts to place her hands on his shoulders to ground him, trying to explain, but Finnick is instinctively already chasing after the scream.

"Annie! Annie!”

Even though Annie died five years ago, he still chases after her. Just the sound of her voice he has not heard in years sends him running towards it. Maybe this time she is miraculously alive, how could he know for sure unless he checked? He would run after her to safety in times of danger, and the Capitol knew this and are using this to their advantage, finding pleasure and entertainment in his distraught.

Finnick becomes closer to the whereabouts of Annie's screaming but there is no Annie. Like there was no Primrose. Katniss catches up to him and grabs him by the shoulders. "It's not her! It's just a jabber-jay. It's not her,"

He's confused and distraught, as Katniss explains but then he interjects. "How do you think they got that sound? Jabber-Jay's copy,"

To which, Katniss grows anxious. An inward turmoil begins in her head, as her thoughts spiral. Before she can verbalise her shared worries on how the Game-makers got the screams of their loved ones with Finnick, another shout, this time a man's, yells after Katniss.

"Gale?" She whispers under her breath as the realisation sets in. Then, a sudden swarm of jabber-jays fly around their heads, and the screams from Annie, Prim and Gale get louder and louder, deafening them.

It is terrifying and they start to run away, heading back to the group. The hive of jabber-jays chase after them, as they did to them. A few birds dive down every now and then, taunting them even more, as they emit stomach-wrenching screams. Peeta, Beetee and Johanna come into view, but something is wrong.

It looks as if Peeta is banging against an invisible wall. "It's okay! Katniss it's okay!" he says to her through the see-through barrier. She screams and bangs on the force field but it does not break. She ends up crumbling to the ground, and Peeta crouches down with her, and be never stops reassuring Katniss. She curls in on herself and hides, knowing she and Finnick are stuck with the screaming jabber-jays.

Finnick sits with his head in his hands, covering his ears. It's like hearing Annie die in The Hunger Games all over again, not being able to help her.

_______________🧜🏻‍♀️_______________

After the horrific hour is finally over Peeta holds a crying Katniss in his arm, as Finnick sits unmoving and traumatised.

They then travel back after a moment to the beach with the cornucopia, needing some time to recuperate. Katniss and Peeta sit down on the sand under the shade of the palm trees and leaves, watching Finnick walk straight into the sea, sitting in the shallow part of the water.

The sea has always been calming to him, and after Annie's screams from the Jabber-jays, he needs this more than ever. He sits down and closes his eyes. He hears the tide come in and out and feels water lap now and then. He focuses his whole mind and attention on those feelings and sounds, to ground him. After a while, he blinks his eyes open, ready to take in the scenes of the beach and water he misses from home.

Back on the sand on the beach, Katniss sits by Johanna and asks, "Who's Annie?"

Johanna takes a moment to respond, wondering to herself how she will answer. "Annie Cresta. She died like, four years— five years ago, at the end of her Games. Finnick mentored her,"

"Were they in love?" Katniss dares to ask.

"Mm-hmm, and even if she is six feet under, he'll never stop loving her,"

The silence after that while they process what's been said is long. "Love is weird," Johanna states after the silence and Katniss doesn't really know what to say after that.

Over in the water, Finnick spots something red in the sea. He decides to take a closer look. It may be of use to them, after all. He wades in the water to get nearer. Upon closer inspection, he realises it may just be seaweed swaying in the water. He's seen plenty of seaweed back at home in District Four, along with the sandy beaches, where he collects seashells.

His hand reaches out for it, and moments before he touches the water, bubbles begin to slowly rise. As if someone or something was breathing in the water. A shadow rises in the water and before he knows it, a webbed hand is attempting to claw his face, and its mouth is wide open with sharp teeth — sharper than Enobaria's — on display, and it screeches in his face. The aquatic creature's eyes, hair and complexion are the only things he recognises. They're exactly like Annie's.

The screeching, and the splash of water, attract the others as they come bounding towards him, weapons ready. The creature stares back at him. Its blue eyes blink and it retracts its claws. It recognises him, as he recognises her. The creature screeches, sadder this time, and retreats into the sea. As it flips back, he sees something he can't quite believe. The aquatic creature has a big fishtail, attached to it, or should he say her, human torso. His astonishment is cut short as Johanna exclaims his name worriedly, and he senses them clamber beside him, asking if he's okay, but he intervenes.

"It was Annie! I swear to God!" Finnick yells as he stands and faces the others.

"It was Annie! She's in there, she's in the water!"

The group look at each other with concern and silently communicate that the Jabber-jays must have planted Annie into his thoughts, more than normal, and this screeching creature has sent him over the edge. Everyone, especially now Katniss, knew Finnick had lost Annie when she was the last person to be killed during her games, which he mentored her for, but maybe they had not realised just how much guilt and love he still holds for her, except for Johanna.

Katniss steps closer to him, calming him down as she did for Wiress. Finnick, however protests, and even begins to cry. "It was her! I know it!" he pleads between sobs. Annie's screams from the Jabber-Jays combined with the aquatic creature who Finnick believes looks just like her and may full well be her, is all too much.

When Finnick has somewhat calmed down, though he's still adamant he saw Annie in the water, especially since no one else can rationalise where that screeching came from, they all stand around Beetee who hopes to distract Finnick and start building up a plan. They are still in a Hunger Games, after all.

YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Going buckwild at the way Hilda The Series portrays adulthood and loneliness. Kaisa has no one to go to to ask for help getting the due book back, even though all it would take was someone she could minimally ask to knock on an elderly lady’s door and ask for a favour; she’s in the library after hours, is shown to have no allies aside from the woman who raised her and who she lost contact with. Johanna is only ever seen working or caring for Hilda, and her lack of a life aside from those two activities is pointed out by her own daughter when she thinks that this is going so far as to affect their relationship. The bell keeper lives alone in a small cabin on the edge of town, barely within city limits and away from everyone, a house barely even inhabitable and clearly only a place to sleep and eat. He works a solitary job and he’s the only one in the town still working it, meaning he’s probably overworked and forced to pull inhumanly long shifts. Victoria hyperfocused so hard on her projects that whatever friends she had before - and she must have had some from college time at least - lost contact with her, and she never made any other connections in Trolberg, anything that would tie her to the city and it’s inhabitants and make it so it wasn’t worth it to live by herself at the top of a hill. Even when that was over, she still chose to isolate herself somewhere abandoned and keep what was essentially another machine she’d built as her source of company, something she could understand and control instead of an unpredictable human being. Gerda works a job she likes but is shown to be disregarded by the person she works the most around, her abilities and intellect thrown aside for the good of someone she has to bear because of a hierarchy she was forced to accept in order to keep working. She’s appreciated by the town, but other than the main characters, we don’t see anyone paying her any mind when they don’t need something from her.

Meanwhile no kid has ever been alone in Trolberg. The mean kids are a group, the good kids are a group, even the gloomy teenage girls are a group. One of nightmare inducing entities, but a group nonetheless. All children in that world seem to operate on a ‘no man left behind’ code, looking out for each other even if they aren’t exactly fans of one another, helping even grown ups without asking why and working together. And this logic seems to extend to the adults who work around children too; especially the Raven Leader, who we see that through the children works as a vital part of the community and a way through which it comes together.

This isn’t very articulate but do you see the point? Do you see how clever that is? That a show about growing up has these themes? You can be magical, kind, strong, intelligent, competent, but none of that will make you truly happy if you don’t keep the most important thing from childhood? If you don’t keep your friendships, your bonds, something to tie you down to your reality and your community? The adults in the show all made their choices, and it’s okay to want to be alone, we all need it and some more than others (this is coming from someone who needs it a lot), but isolating yourself completely is the one thing that will make growing pains truly painful. I’m just so emotional over it. It’s so subtle and so clever considering the whole Mountain King plot that Hilda is willing to change species because she feels detached from her main relationships and surroundings. I love this show so much.

[wcrriorhearts]

her heart is hammering in her chest so hard that she feels like throwing up as she enters the lobby of the hospital. the past two days have been a blur, from the moment the telephone rang, to her arrival at the capitol now. eight months have passed since finnick was declared dead and two days ago an apologetic capitol doctor called her, declaring that her husband had been found after the war, but that it had taken months for them to identify him and even longer to find a way to contact her, given there were no records of their marriage in the new world and he had no next of kin officially registered. for the briefest moment annie had expected it to be a cruel joke, until hope with the force of a thousand suns had flooded her chest and set everything ablaze. finnick was alive. but he was also dying.

or so the doctor had said. even after months of intensive therapy and care, his condition was critical and they didn't want to give her hope. they had asked her to come to the capitol to be by his side, but take into consideration that this might be their last goodbyes. after his death, annie had longed for one more moment with him to say everything that had been left unsaid, but now that she knows he lives, all she longs for is for him to survive. as someone who has worked at a hospital since the war ended, annie knows she has to be realistic, but there is this small voice in the back of her mind that tells her they can make it. as long as they're together again, they can beat all odds, just as they have in the past.

this morning, before she got on the train, annie called johanna, because she needed to call someone. the other victor promised she would come to the capitol as well to be with annie, knowing finnick's wife is eight months pregnant with the child he doesn't know about yet and should not go through so much stress alone. now she stands at the reception, however, so nervous that her whole body trembles, but she tries to keep her nerves under control. a friendly nurse comes to take her to finnick's room and gives her a short overview of what she can expect, before halting in front of a door. he is delirious most of the time, sleeps almost all day and might not react to her much. she can live with that. annie needs three attempts to bring herself to open the door and finally step inside, breathless from her racing heart and all the emotions exploding in her chest at the sight of him. pale, thin and sickly looking, but the man in the bed before her is definitely finnick. her finn, the love of her life, whom she has mourned since the day they told her he wasn't coming home. alive. nothing else matters for now. annie draws closer and quietly approaches the bed, sinking into the chair next to it. she reaches out tentatively and takes his hand into her own, which is pleasantly warm. "finny? it's me, i'm here now. everything's gonna be okay. we'll be alright."

@sleeplesswork

[solar-halos]

i’ve skipped so many mood board mondays, so here are a ton of mood boards. they’re all Annie Cresta themed and how i think she’d dress/accessorize in a modern au. this one is gonna be lengthy tho i luv fashion

don’t keep the devil waiting, old friend: queer couture*

comments: this one was the hardest only bc i couldn’t find a lot pics of patchwork jeans + smudged (and ugly in an on-purpose-fuck-beauty-standards type of way) makeup and i feel like that is a fundamental part of annies style in this fic. also shes in hs and i feel like that is the peak of diy-ing things that are ugly but obv pinterest didn’t have much of that. but in the fic she loves red+black color combos and sanrio and also mitski so i included that here. also, had to include a heathers pic. and before anyone says that this doesn’t count as alt pls remember something: i don’t care

* (as in annie is queer in this fic, not that u have to be queer to wear this. just btw)

fond boy with a flower in his heart: lipstick lover*

comments: her style isn’t rlly described that much in the fic but i think it’s very much winx and barbiecore. lipstick lover* to the max. she is also the queen of sporty spice athleisure

*in a “pink panther” by Scene Queen (the musician) way, not a luver of lipstick way. although annie is both in this fic

a deep dive into the mind of annie cresta: man eater couture

credits, first and foremost!

i found the first pic (starting from the top left hand corner) on pinterest. this is the second pic dress pattern. third pic is also pinterest but it gives me johanna and annie vibes. this is the fourth pic (it’s still a tester pattern so i just linked her account!). this is the fifth pic. this is the sixth pic. i found the seventh pic on pinterest. this is the eighth pic. i found the ninth pic on pinterest. this is the tenth pic (can you tell i love madebymolly? lol)

comments: okay, so at first i wanted to focus more on materials like linen bc i think d4 would be more focused on practicality than glam, but as you can tell it’s mostly crochet pieces bc i’ve saved SO many pics that gave me boho beach vibes. but also some outfits (like the green dress!) are outfits i described in the actual fic and then found on instagram later like “wait….. this was literally something i had in my head and they made it into something real.” like how fucking cool is that imagine sewing something from ur own two hands (esp lace!). but also the cheetah (leopard?) print underwear is so annie cresta after she won the games bc i feel like she’d embellish everything she owns like the fashionista she is

miscellaneous: i-t g-i-r-l

ok when i was first pondering abt annie cresta’s style @turtlesandwhales678 put this into the universe and i haven’t been able to stop thinking abt it: vintage styled annie cresta! i know i didn’t do this concept justice bc most of the outfits are condensed to a select few decades but there was an era in my life where i would refuse to post anything on my instagram stories except vintage pictures/photoshoots, so here are some i had in my arsenal that i dug up:

credits!

first pic (top left corner) is from the nanny! love that show u should watch it. i know the second pic looks like an invasion of privacy but i swear it was for a photoshoot in 1969 for life magazine. i found the third pic on pinterest, it’s lisa bonet on “a different world” i believe. the fourth pic is from my instagram stories archive arsenal. same with the fifth pic. this is the sixth pic. seventh pic is from my stories archive. this is the eighth pic

comments: i kinda said everything i needed to at the beginning. the ninth pic is giving me odesta vibes

okay, that’s it! i know this was sooo long but i was scared of uploading it to ao3 cos the last time i did something like that it got taken down. but to be fair it was sorta my fault. anyway this was sooo fun and im in a very big procrastinating mood so i will literally make a mood board out of anything / any other styles. i was thinking abt doing a cottagecore one but i heard that style has racist undertones? idk i haven’t looked into it but i should. anyway bye hope these were pretty

[jiliansky-blog]

Looking for a nightmare. Last chapter. Reveal

Pairing: Morpheus x FemaleReader

Rating: PG

Words: 1240

The nightmare brought you to some empty space. You didn’t even know where it was. It could be in another city. You understood that you needed to buy time for yourself while Morpheus and Constantine found you. You were sure that Morpheus wouldn't leave you alone.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked.

“Isn’t it obvious, little vortex?” he said. “I want you to make me real.”

“Then you’re wrong,” you replied. “Because you killed me before I had a chance to become the vortex”.

“Oh you still have potential to become the one,” he smirked. “Maybe instant danger can open up this in you.”

“Morpheus is going to turn you apart and send you to the abyss,” you said.

“You need to find me first,” he replied. “And that can happen after we finish. Did you fall in love with him?”

“What?” you asked, surprised, but you felt that you were blushing.

“He is not a hero of your dreams,” he said. “Even if he saves you, he is going to wake you up and never think about you. Or if you release your power, he will destroy you. Even if he doesn’t want you.”

“You can’t make me sad,” you replied. “I know that already.”

“You don’t know anything, little mortal,” he said. “You are not the first human to fall for him. But it only leads to disaster.”

“I didn’t even think about us,” you said. “Stop your mind games. You better tell me, What were you doing?”

“Watching you,” he replied.

“Why?” you asked.

“He sent me to watch young mortals,” he said. “To know if they are alright or if they are unusual. That’s how I know about vortex.”

“I don’t believe you,” you replied. “He wasn’t looking for a vortex like you. He must have other reasons to do this.”

“Like what?” he smirked.

“You’re playing with me again,” you said. “Morpheus said that he sometimes watches dreamers to make sure that everything is okay.”

“And you’re playing too,” he said. “Don’t think that I didn’t notice your tactic. You want to buy some time to wait for him.”

“So what?” you said. “I’m not going to play for you. “I don’t have any desire to become a vortex and to be killed by you or Morpheus.”

“I can make you,” he said, coming closer. “People usually breaks and reveal their true strength in pain. You won’t be any different.”

 «No!” You screamed and blocked his hand with mine. You won’t give that easily. Even to the nightmare. You just need to hold on until Morpheus finds you.

“Release your power,” he said. “And you can do whatever you want. You want to make the world your dream. And even be with him.”

“If he won’t kill me,” you admitted.

You tried to fight him back, but he caught you by the neck. It was so painful.

“Don’t make it hard,” he said. “Do it, or I will hurt you harder.”

And then he screamed and let you go. He behaved like he was tortured and then stood still. And Morpheus appeared.

“Morpheus!” you said, and you ran to him.

The nightmare tried to catch, but then screamed of pain again. Perhaps Johanna bound him with some spell.

“Are you alright?” Morpheus asked.

“Yes,” you smiled. “He didn’t have time to do me much harm. I suppose it’s Johanna who binds him there.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

He looked at you with a warm expression, but when he looked at your nightmare, his eyes became cold. There was no mercy for the man in the hat.

“You’re unforgivable,” Morpheus said. “You endangered not only Y\n but the entire Dreaming, if you succeeded in releasing her power.”

“Oh, don’t pretend that you care about her, Dream Lord,” he said.

“You shouldn’t follow steps of Corinthian,” Morpheus continued. “You almost killed her and killed the other human.”

“Oh, now I see,” he said. “You actually care about her. Since when have you cared about someone but yourself?”

“I changed,” Morpheus replied. “You would know that if you didn't run away from your duties in the Dreaming.”

“But you are going to punish me just like before,” the nightmare said.

“You deserved it,” he said. “One thing is that Gault wanted to become a dream. The other thing is when you want to become human. Meanwhile, kill them.”

“He doesn’t love you,” said the nightmare.

“Enough!” said Morpheus angrily, raising his hand. “Be gone!”

And the nightmare slowly turned into sand. Until only the hat left. You can finally breathe freely. Nothing is going to kill you anymore.

“Are you alright?” Morpheus asked you again and hugged you. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you before I came.”

“I’m alright,” you said, embracing his waist. “I was just relieved it was over. He tired of playing mind games with me, though.”

“What did he tell you?” he frowned.

“That you don’t care about me and that you will kill me or forget me,” you whispered. “Even if you save me.”

Those words still sting. It shouldn’t bother you. In which world will the god of dreams care about you?

“He was wrong,” he said, taking your head up with his fingers. “I do care.”

“You do?” you whispered and looked into his starry eyes.

“Yes,” and then suddenly he kissed you.

You thought that you forget how to breathe. His lips were soft and warm. He kissed you gently like he was afraid to scary you. And then his kiss became more persistent. And you didn’t mind when he kissed you hungrily.

   “Wow,” you whispered in his lips. “I didn’t even dream about it.”

“Good thing, that I create dreams then,” he smiled softly.

“Yes,” you said. “But what will that mean when I wake up?”

“We can be together,” he touched my hair softly. “I will allow you to visit the Dreaming and the castle.”

“And you should visit me in my world,” you smiled.

“Very well,” he nodded.

“Then we shall seal the deal with a kiss,” you smirked, and the king of dreams obediently kissed you. And then one more time, and one more.

Sometime later, you actually wake up in your world. But you still should stay in the hospital. Smiling at your family and friends, you were thinking when Morpheus came to visit you. You also thought that Lucy forgot about your conversation, but she waits till everyone leaves before talking to you about this.

“So you stopped him?” she asked.

“Morpheus did,” you replied. “I’m glad that the nightmare didn’t hurt you.”

“Who would think that you will be protected by god of dreams?” she smirked and you blushed. “Oh, I see, he is exactly your type.”

“Well…” you smiled. “He kissed me in the end.”

“Oh my god, what the adventure!” she smiled. “And so are you two together?”

“I hope so,” you smiled.

In the evening, Morpheus came to your room. He approached you carefully, like a cat.

“I’m glad to see you’re healing,” he said and sat carefully on your bed. And then slowly took your hand in yours.

“Thanks to you and doctors,” you smiled. “I’m happy that you come. I started to fear I dreamt you all along.”

“You were in a way,” he smiled.

And then he kissed you softly. He took you to the Dreaming. Where you were talking and kissing all night along. Who would know such a strange and terrible accident can bring you happiness too.

@shadowqueen1318 @mypsychoticlove @justathirstyhoe​ @ladymoztaza @sapphireonline @deniixlovezelda

[quietwingsinthesky]

I think, while I’m messing with shit anyway, that what I have to do for Tentoo in this AU is make her humanity a choice. Obviously, because I’m committed to the Chamelon Arch bit now, but also because it feels important that she chooses it. Even if there wasn’t much of a choice at all between that and a slow, painful death from not having nearly enough Time Lord in her to keep herself alive but too much to escape the burden of it.

Let’s set it like this—Donna burns because she’s trying to hold the universe in her head when she doesn’t, can’t, make enough room, and Tentoo is that universe without the fundamental physics to keep it in motion, collapsing in on herself no matter what she does.

Donna doesn’t get a say. That’s the tragedy the Doctor chooses for her. And the worst part is, maybe, that Tentoo has to watch and has to know that, gun to her best friend’s head, she’d do the same thing. Whatever the Doctor wants to claim about who she might be, whatever fire she was born in, they are, right now, still the same person. Until the moment Donna forgets, they’re the same person.

Because she’s got to start building herself somewhere, and she sets the foundation there. She won’t leave Donna. She’s survived having her hearts torn across dimensions before, she’ll live through it again, but even now, she has to know, losing Donna will kill her.

(She’s underestimating Rose, of course. She should know better. No one chooses themself as the crash dummy for a dimensional cannon unless they know they’d pick to stay where they land, no matter what breaks on the way. Maybe it isn’t the right choice, and god knows there will be five, ten, twenty, a hundred times Rose will regret it every time she realizes she’s never going to hear her mother’s voice again or see her little half-brother (full brother? the specifics of dimensional dna weren’t her specialty at her torchwood) grow up. She’d never pick differently, though. Fix this point in time. It can never be changed, no matter how it hurts. That’s one of the first things she learned running with the Doctor.)

It doesn’t change what’s coming. I think she’d wonder how many regenerations she has. Maybe they split the last one right down the middle, and neither of them will come out this next death whole but only half-formed and struggling to breathe. I think she wonders what would win if she asked for a breath of regeneration to fix herself from the Doctor she came from: his need to save a life, or the pragmatic decision to let his own end if it might save someone else in the future. And I think she realizes that she doesn’t want that power in his hands. Donna’s mind was spinning out a thousand new ideas the Doctor never would have dreamed of. Tentoo only needs one.

There is no halfway measure to it. All or nothing. Cling to being a Time Lord till her dying breath or roll the dice on humanity, hope she comes out the other side as someone she recognizes.

She’s choosing Donna. She’s choosing Rose. She’s choosing this terrifying not-quite-death, a new self, to change into someone who can survive this.

Because right now, she’s looking into the eyes of the man who never would. And part of her hates him for it so much she could scream. And part of her understands far too well and only wishes she had the words to fix it. To be honest, she doesn’t know which part is more Donna and which part is more Doctor. The lines are more than a little blurred. They think one thing in unison when she settles into the Chameleon Arch, and that’s I hope you’re happy like this.

She’s going to become Johanna Tyler (nee Smith.) (Not at first. Give her a little time. Gender is hard enough for humans, let alone aliens turned human who didn’t have it figured out either way.) Tomorrow, she’ll wake up from the strangest dream she’s ever had, and her best friend will be recovering from amnesia, and her partner will ask her if she’s okay many more times than she thinks she’d ever need, and the world will spin without her feeling it. She wouldn’t change her choice, either.