#her eyeshadow game is strong...

[obaewankenobis]

close to you; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair x reader (afab, rare/no use of y/n, female pronouns are used)

word count: 14.5k (sorry)

warnings: the usual hunger games warnings (violence, child murder, prostitution, etc). also smut (fingering, p in v, oral (m receiving)) mdni -- pretty pls!

summary: you're both victors — him from four, you from eight — assigned to mentor tributes from district nine who lack a mentor. you hate him because he played the role so well, accepting the gifts and glory of the capitol with a wide smile and charming words. unbeknown to you, the feeling is not mutual.

a/n: crashing out because of sunrise on the reaping so i wrote this.

DAY TWO — THE OPENING CEREMONY

It had been too soon since you'd last seen him, six months ago at your victory celebration in the Capitol. The circumstances were vastly different now, but the routine remained the same.

Physically, you were feeling your very best: strong and healthy, plucked and scrubbed and painted to perfection. But your prettiness, and all the work your prep team had done to your face and body paled in comparison to the unattainable beauty of him.

He, of course, was Finnick Odair, the person next to you subtly coughing and dragging you from your own mind and into the real world. You chose to ignore the cough, knowing who it was from and that he was doing it on purpose.

“I know you can hear me,” the voice said in an almost sing-song voice. No response, you wouldn't give him that. “You’re standing right next to me.” Again, silence. “I know you’re just ignoring me now, I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” it slips out before you realize you’re supposed to be ignoring him, which only infuriates you further. Defeated, you turn to face the person with a voice so irritating you were about to commit a crime.

“Ha! Knew that would work,” Finnick smiled, showing off perfect rows of pearly white teeth. He was so perfect it was infuriating. You noticed, with an ounce of satisfaction, that his canines were razor sharp, sharper than most, and his front teeth stuck out from his lips ever so slightly when he smiled. It felt nice to know even the great Finnick Odair had flaws. Even if they only added to his charm, it made him imperfect, human.

“Whatever, Odair,” you rolled your eyes, trying to brush off the fact that he knew just how to get under your skin. It worked every time.

“Whatever, Odair,” he mimicked, raising his voice several octaves in a poor attempt to imitate you.

You were going to kill him, you were sure of it. Grab that stupid statue next to you of a soldier with a sword, and fashion it into a weapon of your own.

“Easy there, sweetheart. I can see you plotting already… so just remember, we’re supposed to be working together on this,” Finnick let out a chuckle as your eyes flashed in frustration, not because of what he said, but because he was right. You two were stuck with each other, whether you liked it or not.

“You two!” A high pitched, accented voice snapped, which you instantly recognized as Phaedra Day, the District 9 escort. “Please, come meet the tributes before the parade!”

Immediately you dislike her. Aside from her obvious disregard for her tributes’ wellbeing — that’s obvious from the way she shoves the two children forward — she’s the pinnacle of Capitol excess, and it shows everywhere. All the cosmetic surgery she’s had over the years gives her face an overly full effect, like a stuffed turkey.

She’s got this awful orange hair, not like the lovely ginger color you’ve seen, no, this is as bright as the flames of a house fire.

Her makeup, you think, is the worst of all. It’s hard to pull off orange eyeshadow, orange blush, and orange lipstick, and Phaedra is definitely not the exception. You suppose it’s meant to compliment her hair, but it just looks clownish.

Finnick greets her with a kiss on each cheek, and comes away with two orange splotches on both his own. You decide then you’ll hang back and let them do the talking.

“Well,” Phaedra nudged the two tributes forward. “They're your mentors, they're not going to bite. Introduce yourselves!”

“Hi.” The girl couldn't be older than twelve, with sandy brown hair, bright green eyes, and a smattering of freckles that made her look even younger.

“Eulalia!” Phaedra clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You can’t have expected them to remember you from the reaping, and that is not a proper introduction! What did we practice?”

The girl — Eulalia — straightens her back immediately, the curious, childhood look in her eye fading into something somber. “I’m Eulalia Overfell, I’m twelve years old, and I’m from District 9.”

“Nice to meet you,” you force a bright smile on your face, hoping this girl can't see the sadness in your eyes. You're rooting for her already, she’s your tribute, but you know realistically her chances are so very slim. You introduce yourself and look expectantly at Finnick, who seems like he's busy cozying up to Phaedra instead of paying attention to who actually matters: your tributes.

“Finnick Odair,” he rolls his eyes in a dismissive gesture, as if waving away the pointed glare you'd been shooting in his direction. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

You give him another look that you hope can only be described as shooting daggers.

Then he surprises you — sticks out his hand and greets Eulalia like a proper adult, giving her his undivided attention. “It’s nice to meet you, Eulalia.”

It’s so unlike the eye roll and bored tone he used with you; he’s done a complete switch in a matter of seconds.

“Miller,” Phaedra gives him a pointed nudge, reminding you there’s another tribute. “Go on.”

The boy wears a brooding expression, brown eyes dark with distrust and hate, refusing to open his mouth.

Phaedra sighs, like she’s been dealing with this all day and expecting no less. “This is Miller Keene, he's fourteen. He has yet to learn his manners, so don't mind him.”

She shoos him away like a fly buzzing around her head, and focuses all her attention on the two of you. Or maybe just Finnick, by the way she's batting her lashes and twirling a strand of her hair. “You know, I’m just so glad that I have you two for this year! Old Mazie was absolutely dreadful company! I mean, she could barely hold a conversation. Always muttering to herself in the corner…” Phaedra sniffed in displeasure, then turned back to Finnick. “I look forward to working with you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he flashes her a smile that's borderline seductive. You're about to object that this whole thing feels inappropriate when Phaedra is gone, rambling about finding the District 9 stylists and how they're never going to be on time at this rate.

You feel gross and uneasy in her presence for a number of reasons, however harmless she might appear. One, because of the way she was looking at Finnick, like she’d devour him in an instant. Two, because Finnick didn't even look bothered by the attention, no, he seemed to relish it. Three, because you knew of Mazie, of her story: she’d been driven mad during her games almost fifty years ago from a cumulation of starvation, dehydration, and witnessing multiple deaths right in front of her. Phaedra never had to worry about something every parent’s worst fear in the Districts. She had no idea how heartbreaking it must be, to lose your child once in the Reaping and then twice upon returning home.

Her comment also makes you wonder why Finnick was chosen for the task of mentoring tributes that were not his own. I mean, it made sense they’d give the tributes to you; you had no experience and the Capitol likely didn't care. But Finnick? The Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling? Wouldn't he be of better use mentoring his own tributes?

You zone out a bit, curious to be on this side of the parade — it was only last year you were preening in a chariot just like your tributes were now.

Unfortunately, your tributes didn't stand out in any particular way. You’d been chatting up a storm with as many people you could find, but none seemed interested in taking such a huge risk on two tributes who were not likely to make it past the bloodbath. Finnick had spent all his time with Mags, the aging District 4 mentor, and the Capitol citizens with her, instead of being by your side.

Right now you’re watching him as he talks with what you think is one of his many admirers, though you doubt he’s doing it in favor of Miller or Eulalia. No, her hand is squeezing his bicep and she’s laughing a little too hard for the conversation to be about sponsorship.

You feel a tug on your arm and tear your gaze away from Finnick and down, to find Eulalia slipping her hand into yours. You murmur a quick hello, unsure as to why she’s requesting your attention, when she whispers, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“What— oh, definitely not—” You splutter, your cheeks burning. “No, what would make you think that!”

She shrugs, “I dunno. You just keep staring at him. When my sister had a boyfriend, all she did was stare at him.”

“I—” How could you explain to a child that you were essentially slut shaming him in your head for not doing his actual job?

“Everyone stares at me, Eulalia. She just recognizes perfection when she sees it.” Finnick’s somehow snuck up behind the two of you and overheard everything, which is mortifying. He’s grinning at you, placing his hands on Eulalia’s shoulders while she giggles.

“Finnick’s a little self obsessed, don't mind him,” you say as you tug Eulalia back to your side, intent on leading her and Miller back to the tribute penthouse before he can bother you two any more.

When the two tributes are fast asleep, you whirl around to face Finnick, who has the sense to look a little bit worried at the anger etched into your features, though he still retains the easygoing air about him. His body leaned against the doorframe of his room — coincidentally across from yours — with his arms crossed in front of him. His eyes surveyed you with an air of caution, waiting for whatever storm that's been brewing in your brain.

“This is not something I’m doing alone! They were eating me alive out there, and you were gone!”

“Relax,” he sighs, dropping his arms so they now rest at his sides. “I’ve done this before, y’know. I know what I’m doing.”

“It didn't look like you were doing anything, honestly!”

Your heart is racing now, palms sweaty as the weight of responsibility comes crashing down on you all at once. His nonchalance bothers you even more. You wish he'd show a sliver of actual human emotion, not this cocky, flirty personality that leaves no room for anything else.

But it’s his, “grab a drink, honey, and calm down”, is what really sets you off.

“Look, if you want to do… whatever it is you do with all your Capitol friends—lovers—whatever, do it on your own time! Not when we’re supposed to be securing sponsors!” You whisper-shout, careful not to wake either Eulalia or Miller.

His mild expression melts into something unreadable. You think a hint of anger flashes across his face for a split second, but it’s gone before you can confirm if it’s real or just a figment of your imagination. You’re leaning towards the latter, because you’ve never seen Finnick angry before.

“You have no idea how lucky you are, do you?” He scoffs without bothering to give you a second glance as he retreats into his room.

“You better be here tomorrow at breakfast to help them before training!” You call after him, but he doesn't respond, just slams the door shut behind him.

It felt good to get a reaction from Finnick, but now, in the silence that followed, you couldn't help but feel a bit bad. Confused, but also guilty — your last comment had certainly struck a nerve. But what did he mean by lucky?

Lucky to be in charge of training two children who were bound for death? Lucky for your grandmother to die while you were in the arena, leaving nobody left in your life to care for you? Lucky for your friends to have all but abandoned you once you'd returned, off put by how much you'd changed?

If anything, he was the lucky one. He had Mags, who cared for and loved him like her own son. He was adored by everyone in the Capitol, and had a string of lovers that trailed behind him, ensuring he would never be lonely.

It was time to face it — maybe your anger towards him was misplaced and rooted in something else entirely. You were jealous of how he was surrounded by people admiring and loving him. It was something you yearned for so deep inside your chest it hurt.

DAY THREE — TRAINING

You were up before the first light, dedicated to making today better than the disaster known as yesterday. You were busying yourself before the rest of your ensemble awoke, pressing powders and creams into your skin, tickling your lips with a painted brush, and penciling in details that would make you seem up to date on Capitol trends without appearing too gaudy.

Soon you begin to hear the stirrings of everyone else in the apartment — Phaedra’s loud, obnoxious voice rang much louder than the quiet chatter of Miller and Eulalia as she directed them towards the dining room.

By the time you sat down for breakfast, almost everyone was there: both tributes, their prep teams and stylists, and Phaedra. The only one absent was Finnick, whose empty seat was directly across from you.

“I know you must be nervous,” you began, noticing how neither tribute had touched their food. “I want you guys to go to as many stations as you can, okay? Not just the weaponry — the survival stations really came in handy for me last year.”

Eulalia poked at her scrambled eggs with a fork, face pale and filled with concern, not disinterest. “Everyone’s a lot bigger than me.”

You weren't sure what to say to that, because it had never been an issue for you. You’d been eighteen upon your Reaping, and there were only two mouths to feed in your home: yours, and your grandmother’s. She’d owned a tailor shop, and while the two of you were never wealthy, you never battled real starvation. Compared to the tributes you had faced, you were fully grown and only slightly malnourished, like all district children were.

A scrape of the chair legs against the floor alerted you to the fact that Finnick had arrived and was taking his seat, saying, “Size can only go so far. You’re small, but you're quick. Use that to your advantage.”

Of course he would know something about that; he'd won his games at just 14, the youngest ever victor in the history of Panem.

“What about weapons?” You look towards Miller, surprised that he’s saying anything at all.

“Well… there will be stations that can teach you, find one that comes easier than the rest and—”

“You’d probably be pretty good with a scythe or pitchfork,” Finnick interrupts you like you weren’t even there. “I’m assuming, at least, since you're from District 9. Grain and all.”

Miller nods, sinking back in his chair as if to muse over what Finnick has said.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, shooting a pointed look at Finnick. “You shouldn't count on unusual weapons being in the arena, and tributes are rarely gifted their weapons of choice, even if they’re exceptionally talented.” That last part was a dig at Finnick, and you study him from the corner of your eye, hoping he’s just as annoyed as he makes you. You know it's petty and childish, but you're still upset about last night.

Of course, he doesn't give you the satisfaction. “The gamemakers want a good show more than anything. If you see something in the training center that you think you’d be good at, practice and use it later for your private session with them.”

“Don’t show off your skills in front of everyone,” you interjected. “You don't need to become a target.”

He finally turned to you, his voice laced with displeasure. “Well, they're already targets, sweetheart. They're going to be in an arena full of kids trying to kill them.” He turned back to Miller and Eulalia, who were both staring with wide eyes that shifted back and forth between the two of you. “Listen, the more practice the better. Focus on the weapons, it’ll give you the best chance.”

“Well, I was just telling them to go to all the stations, actually. Most tributes die from natural causes.” You’re trying not to grit your teeth for the children’s sake, but he’s making it exceptionally difficult by going against everything you’re saying.

“Okay, that’s fine and all, but I don’t think—”

“Well, I think they should be heading down now to the training center! Don't want to miss a moment of such valuable time!” Phaedra interrupts Finnick before it can turn into a full scale argument between the two of you, shooing Miller and Eulalia out the door before either of you can protest.

“What's your problem?” You ask Finnick once the room is empty.

“My problem?” His voice is brimming with disbelief. “You’re the one who's had a problem with me since the beginning!”

“I’m so sorry,” you almost let out a laugh at how ridiculous he was being. How could he not realize it? That he was a traitor to the Districts, and you weren't obligated to like him. “Is this the first time someone's ever disliked you? I mean, I know you're probably used to being pampered by all your Capitol buddies…”

“There you go again,” the muscles in his jaw suddenly have his mouth sealed shut with tension. “You make all these assumptions about me, and you haven't even bothered to ask if any of them are true. Do you know what I—” He cut himself off, glancing around the room like he's looking for someone. Or like he's being watched. “Nevermind.”

His fork clatters against his plate as he pushes his chair back abruptly, before heading off to his room.

Well, he was right about that. You did have your assumptions, but they were all based on everything you'd seen the past couple of years on live television.

Dinner is perhaps more awkward than breakfast, mainly because Finnick and Phaedra don't bother showing up, so it's just you, your tributes, and their stylists.

Making conversation is painstakingly difficult, mainly because neither of them seem to have much to offer to the questions you ask them past a nod or a short “yes” or “no”. Not that you blame them — no, that would be entirely unfair.

You’d spent the day alone in the Capitol, chatting up various people who'd sponsored you or were known to be particularly generous in past games. But it seemed like no one was willing to take a risk on a small twelve year old who looked no older than ten, and a brooding boy who wouldn't offer so much as a grunt to anyone.

“You'll have tomorrow and the following day in the training center,” you started. “But the last day is when they start to do the private sessions, so tomorrow’s your best bet to lock down any skills you've been working on.”

Eulalia nods. “The trainer at that foraging station said I was really nifty with plants,” she offers, but in a way that you suspect is meant to try to cheer you up more than anything.

“That's great, Eulalia!” You beam at her, because you remember the worst part of the Games — keeling over as sharp stabs of hunger plagued your body, while your throat turned as dry as sandpaper.

She asks to be excused the same time Miller stomps off to his room, leaving you alone in the living area of the penthouse.

I need a drink, you sighed softly to yourself, finding a near empty bottle of wine from dinner and pouring some into the same glass you’d used.

You turn the television on, flicking through the channels of awful reality shows, Panem news updates, and of course, recaps of previous Hunger Games in preparation for the 70th.

You’ve seen this one before— it's the one where the arena was a snowy forest, the freezing temperatures killing off nearly all the tributes in the first few days. You’re so engrossed in the recap you almost don't hear the door opening.

You do hear Phaedra’s loud laughs echoing down the hall from the entryway, and turn back to see her stumbling through the door. Finnick is right beside her, offering you a tight smile as he guides Phaedra, who has to be drunk, with one hand, and holds her heels in the other.

Not my problem, not my problem, not my problem, you repeat the mantra in your head, hoping your attention will go back to the TV in front of you.

You weren't drunk (you decided you’d want to be shot the day two glasses of wine inebriated you), but you were a little tipsy. Just a little. Enough for your filter, but not your inhibitions, to be gone.

The now empty wine bottle sat pitifully on the coffee table next to your equally empty glass, as if begging to be refilled. Since it’d been almost empty when you'd scavenged it, you weren't too far gone. Not far gone enough.

You happen upon the kitchen in search of another bottle as Finnick re enters it, not sure whether or not to make polite conversation or ignore him.

He makes the decision for both of you, “How’d they do today?”

“Alright,” you shrugged, biting back a jab about him not helping you during dinner. An awkward pause follows before you realize you're meant to give him something back, so you add, “Eulalia’s got a knack for foraging.”

“That's good,” Finnick’s clearly in his own world and paying little attention to you, searching the fridge for something to eat instead of asking for an Avox to do it.

He’s so lost in thought, saying absolutely nothing to annoy you, that you realize, for the first time, how young he is. You’d always associated him with being much older, since he had so many years of experience on you.

But his features were just so quintessentially… boyish. There were no lines on his face like there were so many other tributes, save for the small indents where his dimples popped out when he smiled. He was tall and lanky — not awkward with his long limbs, but like he still had time to grow into broader shoulders. His face, although perfectly chiseled and sculpted to perfection, had a fullness to his cheeks that could only be thinned out with age. The only thing that felt fully grown about him was the deep frown etched into his face at the moment, like he was worrying about something a nineteen year old wasn't meant to.

“I thought we already talked about your staring problem,” his voice is low and smooth, bringing you out of the trance you'd been in.

“I was just… observing,” you say, embarrassed at being caught in the act. You were just curious to know more about him, and whenever you spoke you seemed to stray further and further from that objective.

“Uh huh…” He squints his eyes at you, like he's studying you as well, to figure out what's going on in your head.

“Try to show up on time tomorrow.” It felt foreign to have a conversation with Finnick without it resorting to an argument, so of course you had to ruin the moment. “They’ve only got a day left before the private sessions, and I think… I think they could use your experience. And I think Miller likes you, for whatever that's worth.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “An insult and a compliment in the same sentence, all wrapped up in a bow just for me,” his teeth were beginning to poke from his lips, transforming his face into a full on smile. “You’re spoiling me.”

There was another beat of silence before you say goodnight and rush back to your room, hoping tomorrow will be better — it seems like that's become a daily wish before you fall asleep. One day it'll get better.

DAY FIVE — PRIVATE SESSIONS

Everyone was fast asleep in their rooms, the house silent save for the low murmur of the television as you watched an interview recap from previous years, a notepad in hand. You were trying to decide if it was a good or bad thing that neither of your tributes had nothing to make them stand out. With mediocre training scores, your job was turning more into an impossible task than ever.

The elevator door dings open, and you know it can only be Finnick, since he'd yet again left right after dinner.

“Why are you still up?” you ask as he passes by, though this time he doesn't bother slowing down and heading straight for his room.

“Just… preparing for tomorrow, I guess.” You notice his lips are inflamed and smudged with a lavender shade of sparkly lipstick, glitter trailing down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are just as puffy as his lips, red rimmed and glassy, but all that pales when you see the long, rather deep scratch on his chin. It’s still bleeding slightly and trickling down the same path carved by the glittery lipstick, disappearing beneath his shirt and leaving a slight stain against the white.

Your instinct want you to jump up from the couch and ask what's wrong, any disdain you have towards Finnick melting away for just a brief moment. You're not even sure why, but maybe it's because this is the first night in several days he's left after dinner and not returned until late.

“Are you okay?” It slips out before you can suppress the humanity in you entirely. It had to be the blood that was making you ask.

He doesn't respond, save for a short nod, and slams the door behind him. You're left feeling disgruntled at what you saw. Who’d hurt him?

You went back to your interviews, but your mind remained distracted by what you’d seen. You’re trying desperately to return to the state of engrossment you’d been at before you were interrupted, but it was no use. With a sigh you shut the television off, rubbing your eyes that were growing heavy with sleep. You’d just passed the door of your room when you heard a loud clatter of something against something ceramic, followed by a quiet fuck.

“Finnick?” You called softly, uncertain.

“It's fine, I’m fine,” came the hurried response, though it was accompanied by a hiss of pain.

You decided, against your better judgement, that you were going to investigate what all the commotion was about. As quietly as you could, you opened the door to his room and tiptoed towards the adjoined bathroom, where the soft glow of a light under the door crack gave away his location.

“Finnick? Are you okay? I— I’m coming in.” You wait for any sign of protest, but upon hearing none, take a deep breath and open the door.

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, leaning towards the mirror in front of the sink. “I’m fine.” The countertop was scattered with clutter, colognes and lotions and other knick knacks. There seemed to be an array of things that’d fallen into the sink as well, which explained the clatter you’d heard earlier.

“Holy fuck that looks horrible!” You blurt out, then instantly wish you hadn't said anything. The small scar was now oozing more blood than before, dripping down his face and neck. He hadn't bothered to wash off any of the glitter either, so now he just looked… well, horrible. As horrible as someone with Finnick’s face could look, which still rivaled you on your best day.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, not even turning to look at you, still obsessing over the wound on his chin. “You can go now.”

“You’re doing it all wrong,” you blurted out as he wiped at his chin with a cotton pad, which only further irritated it. “Here,” you made your way towards him, grabbing a gauze from the first aid kit he'd opened and carefully turning his head to face you, pressing the gauze gently into to the wound.

He didn't say thank you, but he wasn't protesting, either. Just watched you from the mirror out of the corner of his eye.

“How’d you get this? It looks…” nasty, “...bad.”

The smile that appears on his face is rueful. “Capitol trends have gotten a little wacky lately,” he begins, and then hesitates. “Some people have cat claws instead of fingernails nowadays.”

Oh. So it was one of his lovers? It certainly didn't look like he was okay with it, but what could he have done to warrant such a reaction?

You threw the gauze in the trash, craning your neck to get a closer look at the wound, before reapplying more. “That… that sucks.”

You want to ask him how exactly he acquired this, but something tells you he won't be forthcoming in his answer.

“Yeah,” he huffs, “It does.”

“You’re probably going to need stitches,” you squinted at the cut. It was precariously deep; you wondered why he wasn't more vocal about the pain he must be in. “You can probably go to one of the hospitals in the Capitol—”

“No,” he says abruptly. “Absolutely not, I don't… I don't need that right now.” He pauses, “Can you do it?”

“Oh, I don't think I’m—”

“I’ve seen you stitch before. Saved your own life with it,” he says softly, and you're suddenly embarrassed and flattered at the same time. He remembered your games? Where you’d stitched 17 and a half stitches into your own stomach, passing out before the 18th had been completed, just as the trumpets began blaring.

“But this is your face, this is like…” you splutter, hands beginning to tremble, “... a national treasure! I don't want to fuck it up, they’ll have my head for sure.”

“You just keep showering me in compliments.” A real, genuine laugh passed from his lips, and you're surprised at how different it sounds from the one he gives when Phaedra makes an awful joke, or when a Capitol woman lays her hands on him. This one is sweet, melodic almost.

“Just… are you sure?” You tug at your lower lip, drawing blood by how hard you bite.

He nods, so you lead him to sit on the toilet, and stand in front of him to get a closer view. The circumstances are much better than they were in your arena, but it's still far from ideal. You, a wannabe seamstress with minimal experience, should not be working on a face famous for his exceptional looks. This could all go so wrong, and you didn't even like him as a person, which made it worse, because if you didn't like him, then why were you so nervous to fuck it up?

You get to work soon after, trying desperately to calm the shaking of your hands.

You wet a washcloth under the sink and bring it to the wound, patting it carefully. Gently, you move the washcloth down to his neck, wiping away the glitter that stained his bronze skin. He didn't object, just sucked in a sharp breath as you tugged the collar down, revealing an angry but fading purple bruise and wiping the cloth over that, too.

The silence is so, so loud. Yo turn to grab an antiseptic, the quiet hisses of pain making you pause before he urges you to continue swiping it across his chin. One hand gently cleans while the other rests on his cheek, allowing you to move and angle his face to best suit your needs for the task.

Aside from that, there's nothing, not even an insult or two thrown either way.

Like when he'd been in the kitchen he's zoned out, allowing you to take a closer look at him.

His eyes, glazed over and off into some far off place, were a perfect representation of the ocean; mostly green with a light blue mixing together to form a beautiful seafoam that people always claimed to get lost in. He had that youthful look about him, the frown he wore had melted away into an almost relaxed expression, which was odd considering the situation he was in.

You continued to work in silence, taking an extra long time to clean the wound to avoid the stitching for as long as possible.

He let out a hiss of pain as the needle pierced his bronze skin for the first time, to which you immediately jumped back and said, "I'm sorry! I can stop, just tell me when you need a break. Please."

He shakes his head ever so slightly, in silent approval for you to continue. "It's fine. Just do it."

Your fingers steadied after the first stitch, like a natural instinct summoned all your grandmother's teachings and flooded them through you.

It was over quickly, but you forced him to remain still, busying yourself with preparing a dressing so you didn't have to acknowledge the way his eyes followed your every move.

"Just hold still," you said quietly, pressing the cream to his chin and leaning in ever so slightly to make sure every inch of your stitches were slathered in ointment.

When you step back to take a look at your handiwork, you feel like somehow you're overstaying your welcome.

You didn't like how the bathroom had grown hot and stuffy, didn't like how his eyes had gone from glazing over to staring intently at you and never leaving.

You didn't like how his hands, which had been resting motionless on his lap, had started to fidget with the loose fabric of his pants, occasionally brushing against your legs, which were pressed up between his — as you worked on his chin, of course.

And you especially didn't like how whenever his fingers accidentally brushed against the skin of your legs, you felt like jumping out of your skin.

"Change it tomorrow," you instructed, clearing your throat. He nodded, watching you leave.

DAY SEVEN — THE INTERVIEWS

Today had been no better than the last one, or the one before that. The only thing was different was that you and Finnick had gone an (almost) two full days without getting into any squabbles, which was a big improvement. Even Phaedra commented something about civility at dinner.

He’d also made an effort to help Miller and Eulalia prep for the interviews; he was so loveable in the Capitol it only made sense for him to take the reins on this one.

You’d tried to help when you could, adding in tidbits of information that you thought could be useful. Phaedra even chimed in once in a while, whenever she would wander back to the penthouse in between her very full day of… whatever she did. Certainly nothing useful.

Now, night was just beginning to fall, and only you and Eulalia were sitting on the couch watching the interviews. Miller hadn't even bothered to stay past mealtime, and Phaedra and Finnick were off doing who knows what.

Both tributes had remained entirely unremarkable, and while that was not to their advantage, it wasn't to their disadvantage either. They were brushed off as tributes certain to die in the bloodbath, nothing more, and as much as that angered you, you understood why people thought that way.

“You should go to bed, Eulalia. You have an early morning tomorrow,” you said once the interviews had concluded. You felt that alluding to the fact that she was headed towards her death was a better thing to do than outright say it.

Eulalia nodded her head, though she didn't make any moves to leave. “I’m scared to go to bed,” she admitted after a long moment. “I… I think I’ll have nightmares.”

“I know,” you purse your lips, remembering how you felt the night before your own games. “But you need sleep, you'll regret it tomorrow if you don't even try.”

With a resigned nod she stands up, making her way slowly into her room.

Then, it's silent on the District 9 floor, empty in the living spaces save for yourself.

You’re halfway through a much needed massage of your temples when you hear the door creak open and assume it’s an Avox, until you open your eyes and see Eulalia running out of her room with a terrorized expression frozen on her face.

“Eulalia!” You jump up from the couch and run to her, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I had a nightmare,” she whispered, eyes as wide as saucers.

“About tomorrow?” You asked, a hand on her shoulder and trying to coax an answer out of her.

She nodded, her bottom lip wobbling for a moment before she immediately burst into tears. “I miss my mom,” she let out with a sniffle, her little body shaking from the sobs that began wracking her body.

You could almost hear your heart smashing on the ground in a million little pieces. You were there in an instant, on your knees to be at eye level with her as you held out your arms. She didn’t hesitate, burying her face in your shoulder and continuing to sob, which only broke your heart further.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” you said in what you hoped was a soothing voice, trying hard not to let a tremor seep in. “It’ll be okay.” Now you’re just lying to her, an evil voice in the back of your head snaps.

She clung to you like a lifeline, her small hands wrinkling the silk of your dress but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

“It was so scary,” she hiccuped, “I didn't even make it past the bloodbath.”

You pried her hands from your clothes so your own could find her face, thumbs gently gliding over her tear stained cheeks. “You are so brave, remember that, okay? And remember what Finnick and I have been teaching you, and you’ll be okay.”

Her sobs turn into small hiccups as she listens to your words, trying to make the rational part of her brain take over. But she's so young, and she's feeling so much, it's only a moment before the tears explode once more, and she's inconsolable.

You wish there was something you could do, but all that comes to mind is helping her back to bed, a proper routine despite it being in the middle of the night.

The door open and Finnick walks in, stopping short at the sight of you two curled on the floor of the living room. His eyes widen when you mouth the word nightmare, Eulalia’s face still buried in your shoulder.

“Hey, look!” You said as brightly and spinning Eulalia around to look at Finnick. “Why don't we both put you to bed?”

Eulalia nods, still sniffling, and says, very meekly, “Okay. Finnick’s strong.” She says it like he'll protect her from her own mind. Then she straightens up. “Can we please stay out here? I hate my room, it's so dark and scary and—”

“Of course,” Finnick spoke up. “You know, the night before my games, Mags made a pillow fort for us in the living room.” He begins to drag pillows from your room, his room, and Eulalia’s room while you tend to her.

You take time to brush her hair before your fingers twist the long locks into two loose braids. Her sobs have quieted down again, her eyes closing on themselves as sleep began to lull her.

The two of you crawl under the couch, which Finnick has done up with pillows and blankets to make a true fort that eases Eulalia’s fears just a bit. Not enough to coax a smile, but enough to quiet her sobs and hiccups.

“Please don't leave,” Eulalia begs, looking slightly embarrassed, but it's clear she's too tired and worn down to fight the embarrassment completely.

“Of course.” You tuck the blanket under her chin, trying not to let the rising bile in your stomach spill from your lips. She was just a baby, with little tear stained cheeks and deep circles under her eyes. Too young to be weighed down with the possibility of imminent death the next morning.

You lay down next to her, still in your finery from the interview day, but you don't even let that bother you anymore.

You’re so focused on Eulalia you don't even notice Finnick’s been by both your sides the entire time, settling down a little ways away from the both of you, with Eulalia in the middle.

She’s fast asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, even snoring softly as she cocoons herself into your side.

When you wake, the sun is streaming through the cracks in the blinds. Eulalia’s gone, the only trace of her being the dried tear stains on your dress and the mess of blankets and pillows around you.

Your heart is heavy as you go through the motions of getting ready, allowing your prep team to do what they pleased. You’d be in the Capitol all day starting in an hour, watching the games.

DAY EIGHT — THE HUNGER GAMES

The night dragged on without an end to what had been a torturous day, which had passed at a snail’s pace that had only added to its misery.

Despite everything, all your blood, sweat, and tears, Miller didn't make it out of the Cornucopia. Not like you'd thought there would be a different outcome; he'd made it clear he didn't want to give anyone a show, he just wanted to die. He'd been slaughtered by a Career not even thirty seconds into the Games. Eulalia had surprised you, her face not projected onto the sky next to Miller’s, grabbing a pack by her feet and racing for the mountains.

That didn't mean you weren't miserable and drowning your sorrows in a bottle.

“I need another glass,” you decided out loud to no one but yourself, mustering up the balance to rise from the couch and head over to the kitchen and make the drink happen.

“Easy there, sweetheart. I don't think being hungover is a good look for sponsors. Especially since you seem to know best,” a small chuckle sounded behind you, scaring the ever loving shit out of you and causing you to drop your wine glass on the floor.

“Shit— What the fuck, Finnick?” You almost shouted, before realizing you had two sleeping children down the hall. “I thought you'd be out all night again!” You lowered your voice to a hiss as you crouched down to pick up the larger shards, not knowing if there was an Avox around at this time of night.

Finnick had been leaning casually against the doorframe until he heard the glass shatter, and was by you in an instant. “My plans ended early,” he offered little more than that.

You let out a sudden cry of pain as a shard sliced your palm open. The blood, dark and red and warm, immediately sent you into a panic.

Your heart quickened, a strangled cry barely managing its way past your lips as you were thrust back into the arena like you always were. Other people’s blood you could handle just fine, but the sight of your own caused your vision to become slightly blurry, from dizziness or tears you weren't quite sure.

Then, a palm on your shoulder. Grounding you, bringing you back to the present. You’d cut your hand on a broken wine glass, you hadn't just murdered a child. You were in the penthouse as a victor, not as a tribute. Blinking back tears you looked up at Finnick, whose hand was still on your shoulder, and stood up abruptly. You hated the look of pity in his eyes, it made you sick. You didn't need pity from someone who was contributing to the very system that made you like this.

You were about to open your mouth, lash out at him to distract from the pain of your hand, when an Avox melted from the shadow and hurried to clean up the mess you’d made.

“We should fix that up,” Finnick suggested gently, cautiously — like you were a wounded animal — his hand trailing down to the small of your back and gently guiding you to a bathroom. Normally you’d be brushing him away, because in what world would you accept help from him.

But you didn't have the strength to argue. Not when it was the night before. Not when Miller was dead and and Eulalia would soon follow. You simply nodded and let him lead you to the bathroom in his room, your head on autopilot as you stood leaning against the cool marble of the countertop.

You remembered being here a couple nights ago; things had remained the same except now your positions were reversed.

“Didn't think I was that sneaky,” Finnick joked as he looked around for first aid supplies, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“Don't give yourself so much credit, Odair,” you rolled your eyes, the quip making you feel slightly more normal. This was what you did. Show him you hated him through petty jabs and dirty looks. The past few days had been too pleasant for either of it to last.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, holding your wrist and gently examining the cut to make sure there were no glass splinters. “Then what was so interesting you didn't hear me open the door?”

“My brain. Duh,” you huffed, hoping he couldn't smell the alcohol on your breath.

“Your brain, or the wine?” Finnick’s eyes, that beautiful green flecked with blue that you pretended not to notice, were lit up with laughter.

“Maybe a little bit of— ow!” You yelped, trying to pull your hand away from whatever was making it sting so bad.

“Oh relax, don't be a baby,” Finnick kept a tight grip on your wrist so he could work, gently cleaning the wound with an antiseptic. “I know you've handled much worse.”

“I was so much nicer to you… This shit still hurts,” you grumbled under your breath, trying not to think about the last part of his comment. Yeah. You’d faced much, much worse. But perhaps the softness of the Capitol had grown on you, and you were becoming less and less accustomed to hardship. “Oh my god!” You exclaimed in horror. “I’m turning into you!”

This gave him pause. He had discarded the alcohol wipe and was reaching for a cream when he stopped. “I’m assuming that's not a compliment, coming from you… so tell me, what does that mean?”

You laughed, then hiccuped. “I’m getting soft! I’m letting all this nice stuff in the Capitol blind me from every horrible thing I’ve ever experienced at their hands.”

You’d meant it as more of a lighthearted jab than anything, but he’d gone completely still as he looked at you. His eyes seemed to darken, erasing any traces of blue or warmth, leaving an unreadable expression behind. Your eyes trailed down to his jaw, which was now clenched.

“Is that really what you think of me?” He asked softly. So softly, you thought you’d imagined it. It was then you noticed how close his face had gotten, forcing your neck to crane up and meet his gaze as he towered over you, your back pressed against the sink counter.

“I mean… yeah, sort of,” You shrugged. “People adore you here. I mean, look at all the gifts! All your friends and girlfr—”

“I hate the gifts. And they’re not my friends. Or my girlfriends,” he cut you off sharply. “You don't know… just… nevermind.”

His grip on your wrist tightened as he applied the cream, his movements slow and his eyes glued to your hand as to avoid eye contact.

“I— I don't know,” you admitted, watching his nimble fingers work expertly to wrap your hand. He exhaled sharply but didn't respond, pretending to be absorbed in his work.

“All done.” He dropped your hand and took a step back. Already you felt his body heat disappear from you, but it wasn't a warm welcome. You just felt cold. And mean.

“Wait, Finnick,” you grasped onto his wrist with your good hand, stopping him in his tracks and forcing him to look back at you. “Explain it to me.”

You wanted to know what he meant, and perhaps you felt a little bit guilty for the genuine hurt you'd seen in his eyes. One of the many assumptions you'd made about Finnick Odair was that he was immune to feeling anything but cool and charming.

He looks around for an escape, nostrils flaring and his palms closing and then flexing. Those famous sea-green eyes get that faraway look you've seen only a couple times.

Selfishly, you take time to notice the features you hadn't absorbed before. You observed veins of his forearms that ran up and disappeared behind his sleeves, where the muscle of his biceps were barely concealed through the thin material of his shirt. You even took notice of how his bronze hair seemed to match his skin, the pearly white of his teeth making his sun drenched tan even more striking.

“I won't judge you,” you say quietly, stupidly, because that's pretty much all you’ve done.

He seems to see the irony in your statement too because he laughs, coldly. “I’d tell you if I believed you even a little bit— but all you’ve done is judge me for things out of my control.”

“You're right,” you inhaled sharply, though it pained you to admit you were wrong to his face.

There's a long pause before he speaks again.

“President Snow sells me— my body. To the Capitol citizens. Those gifts… they’re pity gifts from people who buy me. I don't love any of them.”

Out of all the things you thought could come out of his mouth, that arrangement of words was something you could never even imagine.

“Oh.” Think of something better to say, you fucking idiot! You began cursing yourself for such a bland response, but nothing could compete with the overwhelming guilt that was rising in your chest.

Every awful, horrible, vile thought you'd ever had about Finnick Odair was based on the assumption he liked the Capitol’s attention, relished in it. But they were— they…

He took your lack of response as a dismissal. “Yeah, told you. Your hand’s fine now, so I think you can go now.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry!” You hurried to correct your response. “I didn't mean— I just didn't know he did that.”

It suddenly occurred to you that he might be listening in on your very conversation. Finnick sees your realization and shakes his head. “We’re fine in this room.”

“Oh.” Now you can't stop thinking about every awful, horrible thing you'd ever thought about Finnick, every malicious word you’d spat at him was now resurfacing as a bitter bile in the back of your throat. “Oh my god, Finnick, I had no idea, I’m so sorry—”

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I don't need your pity. There's nothing I can do to change it, he’ll… he’ll hurt Mags if I try to say no. I just wanted you to know so you’d stop looking at me like that.”

Suddenly his words make sense. Lucky. Because in a way, you had no one left you cared about, no one Snow could hold over your head. You were lucky, so lucky in that sense, you didn't even know it was a possibility.

“I know you don't want pity, but I really am sorry. Not just for your situation but— for every awful thing I’ve ever said to you. I would've never said any of those things if I knew.” How do you begin to bring up why you felt the way you did? That you were so incredibly jealous he could lead a life full of luxury and companionship?

“Thanks,” he shrugged. “You didn't know. How could you? Everyone you loved was already dead by the time Snow got his hands on you. You’re lucky for that. Once Mags goes…” Then I’ll be free, is what you're certain he wants to say.

There's a lapse in the conversation and you just stare at him, talking him whole in a completely different light. You don't even care that he's staring right back at you, when normally you'd be embarrassed with his undivided attention.

“Well thank you. For fixing up my hand.” You raised your bandaged hand up and saw a slight smile cross his face.

“Just returning the favor,” he responded simply. “Can you let go of my hand now, or are you planning on hanging around all night? Not that I mind—” You dropped his hand like it was a burning coal, much to his amusement.

“Can we… start over? Please?” You asked, feeling like a little kid on the school playground again. “As friends?”

“And here I thought we were friends all along…” He sighed dramatically.

“Forget it! I take it back!” You rolled your eyes and shuffled your feet in an attempt to bypass his large frame blocking the doorway, when his hand slid down to your waist.

“I was being serious! We’ve always been friends, since the day we met. You just didn't know it yet. You had to go through a mean streak.” His eyes bear into yours and suddenly the fingers splayed across your waist feel like burning embers against your skin. His eyes, that always remind you of the ocean, feel like they're setting you aflame with the intensity of his gaze.

“Alright, now you're just being dramatic,” you huffed after a moment, sidestepping him and heading towards the kitchen. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk, trying to focus on the ground in front of you and not the way your heart was beating so rapidly, like it was determined to leap out of your chest and run back towards the bathroom. Towards him. Your mind traced back to that drink you’d been in search of when Finnick scared you.

Every trace of your mess was gone, from the broken glass to the drips of blood that had threatened to stain the carpet. You rummaged around the cupboards for another bottle of wine, sighing in frustration when your search came up empty.

“It’s on the top shelf,” Finnick appeared out nowhere again, causing you to jump.

“You have got to stop doing that!” You whipped around. “Didn't you learn from literally ten minutes ago?”

He put his hands up in self defense, though a ghost of a grin outlined his features. “I’ll try to remember. For next time.”

“Can you grab it for me?” You asked, surprising even yourself as you looked back at him standing in the hallway.

With a nod, Finnick crossed the space between the two of you into the kitchen. Instead of asking you to move, you felt a feather light touch at your hip as his hand ghosted over your dress. You could now feel the heat of his body radiating on to your back, could feel the light, warm breaths he took as he stood for a moment before reaching above you. With a gentle firmness, he scooted you over so he could strain to reach the last of the wine bottles.

You sucked in a breath as you felt his chest against your back, sturdy and warm, and resisted the urge to lean into him. You were so tired of being strong for your tributes. You wanted someone to protect you, tell you everything would be okay.

But you didn't have that. Not anymore. Ever since your grandmother had died you’d been all alone — alone on your Reaping Day, alone on your victory, alone now.

“Red or white?” You felt Finnick’s lips almost brush against your ear, snapping you out of your morose thoughts and sending a shiver down your spine.

“Uh— I— you choose.”

The heat was gone just as quick as it had arrived, and the rest happened in a blur. Before you know it you were one, two more glasses into the newly opened bottle, your cheeks flushed from laughing and your body hot from the alcohol.

Ugh, how did you even hate him? He was so funny. And pretty. Especially his eyes. Had you mentioned how pretty his eyes were?

“I think I’ve heard it from everyone but you, to be honest,” Finnick chuckled.

“Oh— did I really say that out loud?” You hiccuped, now entirely sure you would fully overheat.

“Yeah,” he grabbed the glass from your hand and placed it on the coffee table in front of you. “Not to ruin your fun, but you should probably stop now. It’s… a big day tomorrow. You need to be ready. For Eulalia.”

“Right.” Suddenly the lighthearted atmosphere turned somber, like all the joy in the world had been sucked from the room. Your head was still heavy and dizzy, but you no longer felt as if your lips were so loose.

The two of you take your drinks to the couch, where you see a glimpse of Finnick’s real personality. He's still charming and confident, but not in a cocky way. He's surprisingly sweet, and somehow remembers everything about you. No seriously, everything. Things you hadn’t even mentioned directly to him or anyone around you, but from your interview and the interviews from your former friends once you’d reached the final eight.

In turn, you tried to learn more about Finnick, the real Finnick, and not the persona he put on. You learned his mother and father had died when he was young, just like you, and that he'd trained in the Career Academy in 4 as a poor substitute for finding a family. He found it in Mags, who’d been the closest thing he had to a mother, friend, mentor, and grandmother all in one.

“Does it get easier?” You asked after a particularly morbid joke about the Hunger Games.

Finnick shakes his head. “Not really. You just get more used to it,” he hesitates before continuing. “It's like grief. You just think about it less often, but it's always there. And when you remember…” his voice catches in his throat. “It hurts just as badly as when it first happened.”

“Well that fucking sucks,” you sigh, downing the last bit of your wine, earning a laugh from Finnick.

You chat a bit more about things that don't even matter, but there's something that continues bothering you as you talk.

“I really had no idea,” you blurt out, repeating yourself for what seemed like the millionth time that night. You’d apologize a billion more before you felt even an ounce less guilty.

“I know,” he says simply, and that's what you like about talking with him. He doesn't brush it off, say everything you said is okay, but he doesn't blame you either. He just accepts it as is.

“How'd you get so… okay about all of this?” You asked him.

He ponders for a moment, like he’s never really thought about it himself. “I’m just desensitized, I think. I care about Mags, and as long as she's safe… I can deal with the rest of it.”

“And if something happens?” You can't help but ask.

He shudders slightly. “I don't think you’d recognize the person you become.”

“Evil? Insane?” You half joked.

But he's not smiling anymore, and the glazed over look in his eye has returned. “No. More like damaged beyond repair.”

Oh. Well isn't that a morbid thought. Another question suddenly pops into your mind. “Why are you telling me all of this? I said all those things… I hated you up until like… four days ago.”

The smiles returned, though this one is unlike any one you’ve ever seen before. It's genuine and sweet but it's so, so sad. “I’m lonely, I guess.”

That hits you right in the gut because you’re lonely, too. So lonely.

So the two of you decide, at least for the night, to seek company in one another's loneliness.

DAY NINE — THE HUNGER GAMES, CONT.

Your mentoring had been cut short early into the second day. Eulalia, who'd done everything right, had been killed by a pack of bat mutts, who'd descended upon her while she sought shelter in a shallow cove in the mountains. With their huge wings and even bigger talons they'd dragged her off deeper into the cave system, though not before you’d witnessed them ripping out chunks of her flesh.

It was so bloody and gruesome you’d run off in the middle of a conversation and thrown up your breakfast.

That's why you were in the bathroom stall, leaning against the cool ceramic of the toilet and not caring how disgusting it was. You felt sick, so sick to your very core, wishing that Eulalia’s nightmare had been her reality instead of whatever had just unfolded before your screen.

All you want to do is go back home — not back to the tribute apartments, not your house in the Victor’s Village, but home. The little, shoebox apartment above your grandmother’s tailor shop in 8. It was tiny but it was cozy, perfect for the two of you and always smelling like the home you were now longing for.

But that's not an option. The most you could get away with was showering and retiring for a few hours, returning after lunch. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your shirt and force yourself to stand, wobbling a bit on your heels.

When you walk out the door you’re greeted by Phaedra, who’s got a sour expression on her face.

“Oh— there you are. Can you believe this! Day two and I’m already done for the rest of the Games! Why didn't you train them better! Oh, I bet Finnick probably distracted you— not that I can blame you, but you could've been a little less selfish!” You realize now that she's drunk, but that doesn't stop the anger boiling in your stomach at her comments.

She's probably one of the Capitol citizens buying him for her own pleasure. Your lip curls in disgust but you have the decorum and common sense not to make a scene.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” is all you end up saying. This just causes Phaedra to scoff and push past you.

Today is the worse day of your life. So much worse than your Reaping Day, than your victory tour, than anything. Because this time, it's your fault.

When you walk back to the apartment, it reminds you more of a graveyard than anything.

Finnick seems to think the same; you're not sure when he came back but he's sitting on the couch with his face in his hands.

There's nothing you want to say to him. Nothing you can say, really, but he says something that forces you to listen anyways. “It's better this way.”

“How,” you gasp in disbelief he could say something so horrid.

“The alternative would've been worse for her.” And suddenly it dawns on you what he's thinking, he says it at the same time the thought comes to your mind. “She would've turned out like me.”

“She was only twelve, they wouldn't have—”

“I was fourteen,” he cuts you off, though not harshly. If anything he seems pained. “They said they waited until I was sixteen, but they lied. For their own consciences.”

Yeah, now the conversation’s over. You make your way to your bathroom, trying as hard as you can to compose yourself, make yourself feel just the slightest bit human.

It doesn't work; you spend the rest of the day feeling like a zombie, laying on the plush mattress of your bed and not moving. The goosefeather pillows are so comfortable it has the opposite effect you desire, only reminding you more that you’re in the Capitol.

You only know it's become nighttime when Finnick comes in because the sun of midday and sunset have both passed, fading into a deep twilight that remains. All you want to do is sleep, wash away this horrid day with a good night’s rest, but you can't. You remain paralyzed on your bed, studying the intricate carvings of your ceiling, counting how many little birds there were in a row.

“Glad to see you're alive,” Finnick’s voice is grounding and familiar, but also a reminder of what has happened the past two days. Of who you’ve lost and how you lost them.

“Barely,” you groan without lifting your head to look at him, a numbness overtaking your body as you're brought back to reality.

“I told you it'll get easier,” he said, “the first ones are always the hardest.”

The bed dips and you can feel Finnick’s body heat radiating off of him, but you don't move, don’t. even turn your head to look at him.

“I know,” you sigh, defeated. “It just kills me that I can't do anything about this.”

There's a long moment before he responds, “I know. I hate feeling powerless, too.”

It's nice to lay with him, have him articulate every emotion you're feeling without even having to tell him anything at all. It's comforting.

You’re not sure how much time passes before you hear Finnick rustling around, and ignore it until he's tugging on your wrist. “I have an idea.”

You hope he's going to whisk you away somewhere so incredibly far from here, but your journey stops at the pillow fort you’d created two days ago. It feels like a memory frozen in time, too painful to look at but too painful to move.

You’re not even sure why you’re doing this, subjecting yourself to feeling your grief so strongly. When the two of you are comfortably settled into the fort, it's as if you're thrust back in time. It feels weird, but not unwelcome. You’re lying flat on your back like you were earlier, beginning to count each thread in the plush blanket.

“I don't even know why I feel like this! I barely knew them — I spoke like, four words to Miller!”

“Because you're human,” he responds almost immediately, rolling over and propping his head up with his hand. “It would be weird if you didn't feel so bad.”

You suppose he's right. Not mourning them at all would make you no better than the Capitol citizens betting on and cheering for tributes.

You’re burning alive. You pound on the door to the oven, begging and screaming to be let out, until your vocal cords are fried. You try to move, but it's such a tight fit you can't help but squirm uncomfortably, feeling restrained.

Let me out, let me out, let me out! You scream into oblivion, but no one hears you. It's just you, the oven, and a pile of burning embers that crackle and pop as they get hotter.

Stop moving, the oven groans, starting to shake you.

Then let me out, you struggle harder against the straightjacket that binds you.

Go back to bed, the oven grumbles again.

Wait — the oven?

You wake with a gasp with sweat dotting your forehead, desperate to inhale gulps of cool air.

What a weird dream, you think sleepily, the stuffiness around you making you feel as if you’re melting.

You remember, then, that you’re sleeping in a pillow fort, which has to be trapping all your body heat within the confines of the blankets and pillows. All you want to do is fling the blanket off you and strip yourself of the pajamas that stick to your skin like wet paper. And move away from this stupid heated pillow. Who even has heated pillows?

With a groan, you move to throw the blanket off you and sit up, only to find your arms trapped against your body. Now you’re a little more awake, blinking the sleep from your eyes as they adjust to the darkness.

“Has anyone ever told you about your sleep habits?” A very familiar, very human voice rumbles against your ear. “Because they suck. You move around so much.”

Oh.

You were not confined to a straight jacket. No, those were arms you had examined carefully when he wasn't looking, studied the smoothness of the tan skin, the muscles rippling underneath when he flexed to tighten his grip around your waist.

His arms circling your waist, tugging you closer.

His voice, causing vibrations in the chest that was currently pressed against your back, repeating the voice of the oven in your dreams.

“Wh— what are you doing,” you whispered, relieved your voice was working but hating how unsure you sounded.

“Dunno… kinda just woke up like this,” he yawned, not moving. “Think this means I’m irresistible even in my sleep.”

It's nice, but weird. His voice is heavy with sleep, making it sound deeper and rougher than it normally is. That, combined with the way his arms, corded with muscle, don't leave your waist, and the firmness of his chest… it makes your heart beat at an astronomical pace, your breath quickens, your knees weak.

“You’re trembling.” He's propped up on his elbow again, his fingers drawing small circles up and down your arms in a motion that's meant to be soothing, but it just makes you want to squirm.

Every fiber of your being is vibrating, all the emotions of the past week finally catching up with you in this very moment.

You’re not sure when the energy shifted, but it's gone from something warm and compassionate to something far more serious.

He loosens his grip enough for you to roll over onto your back, the breath catching in your throat at the intensity in his gaze. Yet again you’re reminded of the ocean, letting those sea green eyes with flecks of blue swallow you whole.

When you speak, your voice is shaking like the rest of your body, your words muffled with unspilled tears. “I’m so tired of being lonely, Finnick.”

“Then don't be.” Without hesitation, his lips dip down to meet yours, and it feels like you've jumped head first into a frozen lake, then dipped into molten lava the way you're both shivering and on fire at the exact same time.

They're warm and soft and they feel like the home you've been craving, and it’s crazy you could ever think otherwise. His hand reached up to cup your face and glide a thumb over your cheekbone, the rest of his fingers tangling their way into the hairs at the nape of your neck.

As he pulls you impossibly closer, the kiss deepens and you can finally taste him. It’s so new it just makes you hungrier, like you’ve been starving your whole life until now.

It makes you feel alive again.

You whine as he separates from you, then quickly change your tune as his mouth reattaches further down. The sensation of his cool teeth scraping against the delicate skin of your neck, followed by the warmth of his tongue elicits a moan which he quickly swallows with another kiss.

You want him more than anything you’ve wanted in your entire life, you're sure of it.

Still connected, your hands trail down the exquisite planes of his chest to the ridges of his abs, marveling at the hard muscle and how they flex instinctively with each touch.

He's just as touchy, mesmerized by the softness of your skin as his hand slips under your shirt and inches its way up to the underside of your breath, stopping immediately when you let out a soft gasp.

He whispers your name, coaxing the two of you apart just long enough for him to look at you. Really look at you — not just as an enemy, or a fellow mentor, or even a friend. He stares at you like you're the only other person on the planet, the only one that ever mattered.

The intensity of these emotions startle you and you instinctively draw back, because how can you feel so strongly for someone you’ve known for so little time?

“Are you okay?” He asks immediately, his hands leaving your body and leaving you not only cold, but wanting more.

You nod earnestly, “I just got overwhelmed for a second— I’m good. You don't have to coddle me.”

He shakes his head. “I'm not coddling— I’m just making sure this is something you want to do.”

You remember then, the conversation you’d had with him about Eulalia’s death.

And I was fourteen when it started, but they lied about that too.

Suddenly you feel ill— no, selfish. Your hand immediately retracts from its place by his torso. “I’m so sorry, I should've asked— I didn't even think—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, a sweet and gentle thing that eddies all worries from your mind. You doubt he's ever kissed anyone with such tenderness before, especially since he's said his only encounters have been with Capitol citizens. “It's okay,” is all he says.

This time it's you who surges forward and closes the gap, desperate to make up for the lost seconds you'd spent talking.

If you were going slowly and sweetly before, pulled back by hesitation, it's all gone now. Finnick’s fingers unfurl from the back of your neck and trail down to your hips, pulling them flush to his own. You felt his desire for you then and there, evident through the thin material of his pajama pants, and suppressed a shudder.

He continues grasping at your hips until he finally rolls flat on his back with you on top of him, head bumping against the blanket roof of the pillow fort.

One slow rock of your body against his and you know it's all over. “Please—” you beg, your earlier conversation still on your mind though you were desperate not to let it ruin the mood. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

His fingers gripped your hips even tighter, staring at you like you were ethereal. “I don't think I’d ever ask you to do that,” he admits, which only makes you blush harder, on top of the heat you were originally feeling. You kiss him again, desperate for the feel of his lips on your own.

Your hips rolled more forcefully this time, earning a moan from Finnick’s lips that barely escaped past your own. He broke the kiss for a moment, only to tug impatiently at the thin shirt that did little to cover your hardened nipples, which had grown sensitive to the slightest touch. Once the shirt was off and he was in full view of your newly bared skin, he reattached your lips immediately, then broke the kiss yet again to stare. He shifted you easily so that he was more in a sitting position with you on his lap, his back pressed against the bottom of the sofa behind you.

You felt slightly embarrassed at this and the way his sea green eyes roamed your skin, devouring every inch that he came into contact with.

It seemed like he was completely in tune with your mind, always knowing what you were thinking without you saying anything. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered, swallowing hard before bringing his hands up to your chest. They were large, warm and a welcome contact against your breasts, which were aching for something. You arched your back towards him, desperate for more, more, more, and let out a sigh of pleasure as he kneaded them between his hands before bringing his mouth to your chest.

He trailed open mouthed kisses around the swells of your breasts, teasing you as his tongue before taking one nipple into his mouth.

You don't think you can wait honestly. You're certain you’re a wet mess beneath the silk of your pajama shorts, so desperate to feel him you want to skip everything else.

Finnick seems to be keen on taking his time though. When his hands leave your breasts and trail down to the waistband of your shorts, you stop him, shaking your head ever so slightly.

“No,” you remove his hands and urge him to lie flat on his back, wetting your lips in anticipation. “I want to say sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” he looks at you through half lidded eyes. When you plant a kiss on his collarbone and suck a hickey onto the hard planes of his chest, his eyes immediately widen as he lets out a groan. You can feel his heartbeat increase rapidly as your kisses descend downward, taking your time to kiss every freckle, every scar, everything imperfect that makes him so much more real.

One hand tangles itself in your hair when you reach his waistband and palm him over his pants, while the other fists the blanket next to him as he tries to regulate his breathing.

He can't help it though, as his hips buck involuntarily at your touch. You know it's just his body’s reaction but it makes you feel desired; something you haven't felt in a long, long time.

Your fingers hook into the waistband of his pajama pants and boxers, a little nervous at the sight that awaits you. It's long and thick and already glistening with precum, twitching as you wrap a hand around his cock and truly feel him for the first time.

“You don't—” his eyes flutter shut, like doing anything but moaning requires great effort “—have to apologize for anything.”

“Finnick,” you laugh a little. “I want to.”

He seems to like this answer, his head falling back on the pillow behind him as you flatten your tongue and run it along the underside of his cock.

He’s so obviously into you there’s no time for any insecurities to cross your mind. It's given you a new state of confidence as you take the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around and lapping up the bead of precum that had gathered. Finnick’s hip twitch, like he's fighting the urge to thrust up into your mouth.

You don't want him to hold back, not even in the slightest. You want to see him completely unraveled at your touch, which is why you squeeze his hip and look up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck,” he gets out through gritted teeth, the hand in your hair tightening its hold as you begin to move, bobbing your head in a steady rhythm, determined to take him deeper with each one.

“You're so— I—” he can't even muster a full sentence as you moan around him, sending vibrations down. It's addictive, having so much power over him while also wanting so desperately to please him.

His hand that's in your hair pulls you back from his cock.

You begin a protest, “I wasn't done—”

“I need to feel you,” he chokes out, fingers still locked in your hair as he brings your head towards him. Your lips crash together in a perfectly synchronized move as he sits up, flipping you over so that your back is now the one pressed against the blanketed floor.

Despite his eyes being so wild with desire, Finnick is so, so gentle as he connects your lips together once again, this kiss being so much more searing than any of the ones you've had before.

He wants you, so bad he thinks he might die if he doesn't get you. But when he looks down at you, eyes wide and wanting, he knows there's no need to rush, because he has you. All of you.

His hands fumble with your shorts before he pulls them down your hips, tossing them to the side before returning his full attention to you. His hands tease you as they pry your legs apart, trailing slowly up your legs and rubbing small circles along your inner thigh.

“Stop— teasing—” you squirm, desperate for something, anything he could give you.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” he grins, his hands sneaking up further and further until they've just barely brushed your clit, but it's enough to have you whining again.

“Finni—” he cuts his name off with a kiss, this one just as sweet as the rest of them. At the same time, he connects fully to your clit, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles that have your hips bucking for more.

He takes this as an invitation to sink one long finger into you, enjoying how your back arched as you chased his touch. After more slow, easygoing pumping he added another finger.

“That's it,” he coos, his eyes never leaving yours.

You realize at this point neither of you have been very chatty — but that's probably because you prefer to have your lips connected, not spilling out ramblings.

“Please, Finnick— I can't wait any longer, I—” You let out a moan as he adds a third finger, and you can feel the familiar tingling sensation begin to take over.

“You can do it,” he coaxes, “Just a second."

You try, you really do— but when he curls his fingers inside you and presses his thumb to your clit the coil unravels and you're gripping his shoulders, crying out his name as your fingers rake through the soft bronze waves of his hair and tug on them ever so slightly.

You inhale and exhale quickly, trying to regain your composure. He's looking at you with a self satisfied smile, but you're not satiated. You want him, all of him, and you tell him so.

This time he obliges.

He leans in and kisses you once more, tongue sliding past your lips, and you can feel his cock pressed against you. He's hesitating again, half wanting to make sure you're okay, half trying to reassure himself it's not a dream. It's real, he's about to be inside you, and you're practically begging for it.

In an act of finality you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until in one thrust, he's done it.

It stings, and you gasp, only because it's been a while and his size takes some getting used to. His fingers grip your thighs as gently as he can muster, his lips never leaving yours.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Finnick groans, burying his face in your neck and peppering kisses along your collarbone.

His pace is slow and steady at first. As it becomes more comfortable, his pace becomes more relentless, his hips snapping against yours as he fucked you with deep, powerful strokes that leave you breathless, sending scratches down his back and marring his otherwise perfect skin.

His thrusts increase in both force and in pace as you feel every inch of him filling you.

You're overwhelmed with pleasure, unable to say anything and resorting to just squeezing his shoulders and digging your nails into them.

His lips find yours for the millionth time, and it's then you can feel that all too familiar pressure building.

“That's it, sweetheart,” he panted between kisses. “You’re so perfect — squeezing my cock so good.”

You can't muster a response as the overwhelming pleasure of your second orgasm overtakes you, not even noticing Finnick continuing his pace to chase his own release.

You feel him as he collapses on top of you, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before he rolls off you. You're empty and cold for a moment before his arms wrap around you. Their weight is a welcome presence. It makes you feel protected. Safe.

He falls asleep before you do, and in the pale morning light, not only is Finnick’s face relaxed, it's truly weightless. His arms don't move from your torso, even in sleep. His eyebrows occasionally twitch in response to whatever dream he's having, but overall he looks so peaceful. So much younger, too, without the frown or seductive smile he normally wore.

It's then that you decide you’re no longer as lonely as you thought, because you need to study him for the rest of your life.

You’ve never been inside the President’s Mansion. It’s even more intimidating than the grounds that surround it. The walls are tall and imposing, making the rooms feel empty and chilled and making you feel tiny and insignificant.

They’re decorated with wood paneling, hand carved with so many details it makes you dizzy trying to look at them all. Plush rugs just as ornate as the walls cover the dark wood of the floors, making your steps — and anyone else’s — near silent.

“Your home is beautiful,” you breathe out to the man in front of you. He doesn’t look that intimidating, but you are on the verge of screaming in terror if he doesn’t say something soon.

“Thank you, my dear. It’s a shame you haven’t gotten the chance to visit before now.” President Snow motions for you to take a seat in front of his desk instead of continuing to stand there awkwardly.

You fumble your way into the chair, and you hope he can’t hear your heart threatening to leap out of your chest and explode all over his beautiful carved oak desk.

“Have I done something wrong? Like— am I in trouble?” You force out the question that’s been eating you alive.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth pushing into his puffy cheeks. “How did you find mentoring with Finnick Odair to be?”

The way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes terrifies you, but not more than the fact that he hasn’t answered your question. The way his eyes, beady and cold, are staring at you expectantly suggests he knows everything that happened in the tribute apartment. Everything.

“Oh— it… it was fine.” Your nails are now digging into your palms, probably strong enough to draw blood.

“I’ve heard you and Finnick Odair have come to a newfound… friendship.”

Your blood runs cold, confirming every anxious thought you’ve had since stepping foot into this place. “We…”

He raises a hand to stop you, like he’s not interested in any excuses. “I’m sure he told you how he helps the Capitol,” he began, and you feel sick. Help was a poor excuse of a word to describe what Snow did to Finnick. “And I’m sure you know why you haven’t been asked to help as well.”

Because everyone who loves me is six feet under, you think. All except— no. He wouldn't.

“Well I’m telling you, that changes now. If you have any reservations about this, I encourage you to think of your new friend.”

There’s no way he would harm Finnick to keep you in line, he’s so much more valuable than you are. Surely he’s bluffing, and you want to say that, when he continues.

“If you’re willing to risk his life to see if I’m bluffing, there’s nothing stopping you. I would just encourage you to think hard.”

Panic is rising in your chest, threatening to force sobs out your throat as you nod. “Can I go now?”

He nods, and you try not to sprint out of his office.

Finnick, on the other hand, doesn’t need a meeting with President Snow to be reminded his newfound fondness for you has its consequences.

Once Mags had passed, he was supposed to be free. Now, he’s only extended his sentence to life.

[thebestsetter]

Imagine Barou Shohei deciding to spend a day having fun with his little sisters.

They dress him up like a princess, do his hair and put make up on him. And then he takes them to the park cause the girls wanted to play on the playground. And they didn't let him take the things off, cause according to them he turned out "so pretty!!". So, he just followed their orders like the great older brother he is.

Everything was fine, they were all having fun on the slides and swingers when all of a sudden...

"Pfft... Barou?! Is that you?"

Fuck.

You were there. You were the last person he wanted to see right now, while he had pink eyeshadow on his eyes and was wearing pink fairy wings.

"H-he even has a little crown!"

"He's not a maid anymore, he's a princess. Princess Barou"

"BAROU-KUN, SAY HI TO THE CAMERA!!"

No way. Isagi, Nagi and Bachira were here too.

Fuck. This was the worst situation he has ever been in.

"Turn. The camera. Off." He gritted

"Nah, I don't want to!!" Bachira smiled

"Focus on his blush!" Isagi laughed, and even Nagi was smiling a little

"He's wearing little bows on his hair!! Film them, Meguru!" You also laughed at him

He couldn't take the embarassment anymore.

"Turn this shit the fuck off or else I swear I'll fucking..."

"Sho?" He felt a tug on the pink ballet tutu he was wearing "Who are these people?"

"Yeah! Do they want to play with us?" Appeared a little girl on his other side

"Ownn, are they your younger sisters, Barou?" You giggled and crouched to match their height "They're soo cutee!!!"

"Thank you, miss" one of them smiled

"You're very pretty too!" The other one added, which made you almost melt

"Were you the ones who made this excelent work on Barou-chan?" Bachira asked them, finally turning off the camera

"Yeah!! Do you guys want to be princesses too?" They asked, eyes lighting up "We brought our make up kits with us!"

"Of course!!" You smiled at them, petting their heads "Turn me into the prettiest princess, please!"

"No way!" Bachira said "I'll be the prettiest one!"

"Well, if you're all going to participate, I will too." Isagi added, laughing

"Sounds like a hassle to get the make up off" Nagi said "I'll just watch you all"

"Come on mister! Let us at least do your hair!"

"Yeah Nagi, it's gonna be fun!" You tried to reason

"Boooo! Don't be a party pooper, Nagi!" Bachira suported

"Pretty pleasee" the girls said, batting their eyelashes

"I don't want to"

"I'll buy you a new character on that idiotic game of yours if you participate" Barou sighed, seeing as his sisters were almost crying (and he hated seeing them cry)

"Deal."

And so, you all spent the whole day having fun and playing with his sisters.

Sadly, the fun time came to an end.

"You're a great brother, Barou" you said to him when you were all parting ways

"Huh?"

"They're happy." You pointed to his sisters, who were playing tag with Bachira and Isagi "Thank you for making them happy"

You smiled at him, making him blush. Gladly, his make up was so strong that you couldn't see it.

"No big deal" he managed to compose himself

"Sho! Are they already going home?" His sisters interrupted the moment

"Yes, they are. You spent the whole day playing already. Come on, let's go" he grabbed his sisters arms and waved goodbye to you all

In the middle of the walk home, the youngest sister asked something that made Barou so surprised he almost jumped.

"Can your girlfriend play with us again tomorrow?"

"Girlfriend?!" Barou said with a high-pitched voice, but quickly calmed down "She's not my girlfriend"

"Why?? She's sooo pretty! And so nice, too! Call her tomorrow! The four of us can all go to the park together!" His sister begged

"...I'll see about that" he sighed and smiled, thinking about you playing with his siblings (and also wondering how great of a mother you'd be, not that he's ever admit it out loud)

The girls wanted to play with you on the park, just you four alone without anyone else to intervee. And what kind of brother would Barou be if he declined his little sisters' wishes?

It's not like it would be a date or anything, right?

Secretly, his sisters high five each other. They really liked you. It would be a shame not to have you in the family as Shohei's girlfriend. They're little geniuses, aren't they?

~ A/N: TAGGING THE BIGGEST BAROU FAN I KNOW @sharkissm

THIS ONE'S FOR YOU CAUSE THERE ARE TOO LITTLE BAROU FICS AND YOU DESERVE ONE. ☝️

Also, not proofread. This is basically just a word vomit lol

Masterlist

[emberdragon34]

Hermit hobby Headcanons pt 2

Joel calls himself a musician, but he makes all his music by recording himself jamming out on drums or electric guitar for hours, and then seeing what sounds good later. He calls himself Beats with Beans, and only Etho and Jimmy listen to his music unironically

Keralis makes it is ambitious to always slay, and always be the most flamboyant of hermits. And he does that with his insanely detailed nail art. He hand-paints every nail himself, gives weekly pedicures and manicures, has 500+ different nail varnishes sorted by colour, glitter, and how likely xB is to steal them. Yes, his long pointed nails are a health and safety emergency waiting to happen, and make precise work a nightmare, but it's worth it. Keralis has also been venturing into make up design and gathering an eyeshadow collection of the brightest colours he can find.

Whenever Mumbo gets stressed or terrified, he listens to meditation/self confidence podcasts. Scar's offered to make him some (he already records Cub comfort noise for when he's overstimulated). However, Grian immediately put him off that idea by (rightly) saying it would make him go insane. So Mumbo just finds self-confidence podcasts and can often be found hiding in a corner, lying down and muttering 'I am talented, I have purpose', and similar phrases with very little confidence. Grian's recorded him doing this.

Pearl's got a garden where she grows veggies and cooks soups with them. She's got a whole selection of carrots, beetroots, gourds, leeks, and has also been known to tell them all of her problems and sing them songs to 'help them grow big and strong and healthy'. Her soup is famous for being a Hermit cure-all. Once Bdubs claimed he accidentally cut off his finger and, after drinking some of Pearl's soup, it regrew completely. No one believed him. Grian also once joined Pearl gardening, but got impatient, used magic to help them grow, and all the carrots grew several pairs of eyes.

Ren gets overstimulated, so Impulse made him special dog-ear shaped earbuds, to wear. He now uses them for silent discos, late at night, mostly on his own, though False has joined on several occasions, and solo karaoke you can, unbeknownst to Ren, hear for miles. In Season 8, during the moon-big Doc heard Ren wailing and howling ballads basically every night, saw him appearing tired and a little disshevelled the next morning, noted the full moon, and became utterly convinced that Ren was a werewolf.

Scar colours in colouring books. He used to do adult colouring books, with all the patterns and details, and would spend days on each piece, making each incredibly beautiful. However, one Christmas, Cub gifted him 563 Disney/Star Wars/Space children's colouring books as a joke. They have unironically kept Scar busy for years colouring them.

Skizz plays solitaire and other solo card games. He always carries a pack of cards on him that he subconsciously will pull out his pocket and shuffle as a way of fidgeting. He's convinced there's some strategy to solitaire where you can win every single game, even though he's been told many times that it isn't mathematically possible. Skizz also realised, mid-season 10, that Cub also plays solitaire when he's bored, and gifted him a book of 1000 different solo card games. The two now discuss their favourite games or attempts with each other, and have invented 'competitive solitaire' to play together.

Tango always says he 'tinkers with coding sometimes' or does 'basic robotics'. What he means is that he's developing his own army of incredibly complicated AI-powered robots that are programmed to do his bidding. His famous iron farms are a guise to study how iron golems work and replicate their actions in his own little creatures. The latest set have been the Teknicians. No one knows how they are practically living creatures, but False, Cub and Scar, all reckon it's some kind of vex-magic trickery and soul power.

Wels trains falcons. Particularly one falcon named Jeramiah Engelbert Vincent Sebastian Thomas Ignosius Norbert Knight (Also known as Jerry or Jevstink). And he doesn't train Jerry just to fly in circles, or through hoops, or catch food in midair. He particularly trained him to annoy Jevin and Hypno, and to screech loudly outside their windows at 2am. Hels is trying to teach Jerry how to light fires. Jerry has been successfully taught to associate the words 'Fire' 'Flint and steel' and 'arson' with the action of flying onto Hel's head and doing a big poo.

Xisuma is obsessed with logic puzzles, particularly geometry or word puzzles. He just zones out, listening to heavy metal and trying to solve them within time restrictions. He says he's becoming really good at them, though Elex (Evil X) will reply by sharing the story about X struggling with the 'tough crossword puzzle with the grid of letters and crypic single word clues below' for 3 hours.

Turns out it was a word search.

xB, being a guardian hybrid, enjoys deep sea diving. He can often be found swimming with dolphins or sharks, exploring coral reefs, helping baby turtles into the water. All of the sharks he finds are called Snappy McSharkface, the dolphins are called Blubber McDolphinface, and every single fish is called Jimothy.

Zedaph had a habit of stealing bluetack from other hermits if they left it, unstuck to anything, in their bases, and used them to make model figures. Until X, tired of Zed stealing from him, bought him a whole ton of modelling clay to work with instead. Zedaph really ended up getting into claymation, and has made entire short films, getting Hermits to voice act in them. He wants every hermit to be part of at least one, even though some clearly don't understand it (no one will forget Doc's deadpan delivery of 'it's the end of the world. The worm apocalypse is upon us.'). Tango, Impulse and Zedaph himself voice most of the characters. And Zedaph still steals people's bluetack.

[kiwi-but-the-bird-not-the-fruit]

Hii!

Could you do more nefero and F!Reader?

Hallo! yes ofc love these two

Male nefera x fem! Reader

She/her

Using [Name] as substitute for y/n

Fluff/Simp Nefero/sensual insinuations (hope that's alright it's not that strong but it implied they sleep together)

Headcanons! ( I liked the headcanon I made for clawdeen x reader requests so I'm making it for this couple. I hope you like it!!)

This is the present 18/19 pair (guess who's older hehe)

(If it's not what you wanted and you wanted just Fluff headcanon or short fluffy story,please request it again with a promt that can help me and I'll write the fluffy story for you, I don't like the thought that it's not what you wanted and I like to correct if the sensual insinuations made you uncomfortable )

(I'll only make changes if anyone just wanted Fluff and didnt seem to specify, only time I'll change something but you'll have to request again)

__________________________________________

-Nefero is the type of boyfriend to buy you anything you tell him you want but it's not In a "buy me this that i told you" it's a "i'm thinking about buying this book/eyeshadow palette"t and you want his opinion and a day later he's got it for you

"Nefie you really didn't have to-" you were interrupted "Nonese my jewel I wanted too plus I have to say that this pallet will look amazing with your makeup"

- he loves to be chest to chest with you hugging, seeing your gorgeous face/eyes and soft lip gloss covered lips makes him go crazy, so he'll end up kissing you and your neck while you giggle and put your hands through his hair sometimes tugging at the root cause that makes him melt.

- cuddling you is his hobby, you as the little spoon as he holds your waist his head in the crock of your neck inhaling your vanilla perfume, his hands will then go to your hip dips and he'll just have them there squeezing them at times while your busy playing a silly phone game.

"Yeah Nefie?" You ask "Nothing my jewel just wanted to squish you hehe" he giggles his voice vibrating at the back of your neck making you blush cause wow is he fine especially with his morning voice! Just thinking about it makes you melt

-speaking of squeezing your hip dips he'll squeeze them if your sitting on his lap facing him while you prep his face with kisses or when watching drama shows you turned around, he love your thighs looking at them, sitting on the floor in between them and if your wearing shorts he'll kiss the inner part of your thighs, he knows it's one of your favorite things you let him do.

-Nefero always goes with what you want and wants him to do with you. He's your personal sugar daddy but he's your actual boyfriend that NEEDS to spoil you rotten but you always stay humble.

-bless the undead soul of any manster that tries to flirt with you. He's towering over them like it's nobody's business. The same goes for you to any ghoul you are also tall so you can bring a ghoul down especially with your glare. It's not like they can steal him from you he's practically one step closer to tattooing your hickeys you give him

-he'll take you on dates every Saturday night to you guys favorite restaurants yes restaurants he'll tell his servants to make a wheel with all the options and you spin it, he loves how you light up and clap your hands in excitement

- when you and him go out on theses dates he'll wait outside sitting at the edge of your bed holding one of your plushies on his lap,as you get change you'll then model for him in three dresses and he decides which one goes well with his and you give your take,it's a nice conversation of just fashion coordination.

-Nefero can't deny the way you make him feel 24/7,365 so he's giving you mountains of gifts books,flowers, perfumes, clothes anything he thinks you'll like and they he just KNOWS you'll love

-Nefero loves your feminine style the skirts and dresses, jumpers with embroidery, bell bottoms with a cute top,he's on his knees

-His favorite thing you do is when you wear a red lipstick and kiss his face and neck letting every jealous ghoul know that he's yours.

-another last thing for now is that you lay on his body when sleeping over and just be calm as he strokes your hair happy to have you with him,he thinks great fully that you actually gave him a chance even after hearing all his dumb stuff he did he's just so thankful for having his jewel, his queen the goddess sent from heaven be his one and only love.

[magicsprat]

Kitty Duval x fem OC

tags and warning: agnst, slow burn, age gap, hurt/comfort, lots of oc (probably, only Kitty is not oc), prostitution, mention of death and illness, murder, self-harm and its consequences, smoking and drinking alcoholic beverages, obscene language, Jewish characters, mention of religion

wc: ~2k

a/n: Hi everyone! It's... It's something unusual and new for me, but I would still like to share it with the world. I came up with this story the moment I saw the film adaptation of the play "The Time of Your Life" with Patti LuPone as Kitty Duval. All the characters, with the exception of Kitty, are original. Remember, English is not my native language, so I apologize for any possible mistakes and inaccuracies! 🤲🏻

Chapter One

Today was a rainy day. This fall, San Francisco was bathed in warmth and sunshine, and the drizzle in the morning seemed like a pleasant addition. Mildred sat on a high stool at the bar, her legs crossed, gazing into her glass of beer. This establishment, located not far from the building where her apartment was, had become a reliable refuge for the seamstress in this sweltering weather. The last few days had been particularly hard for Mildred. A sudden wave of despondency had washed over her, and for an entire week she had tried to immerse herself in her work. She sewed constantly, as it distracted her from her thoughts and brought her pleasure. But now, Mildred was in a terrible mood.

The entrance door of the bar opened quietly and then closed with a creak from the door closer. A girl slipped inside, wearing an old yellow blouse and a black skirt with a faded floral pattern. On her head was a small pale yellow hat that matched her blouse. Her lips were painted with gloss, and tasteless blue eyeshadow adorned her eyelids. Dark circles lay under her eyes, and within her chocolate-brown irises hid pain and sadness. She was small but strong — a beauty with a delicate and sharp allure that neither cruel circumstances nor ugly reality could shatter. Her appearance and rhythm formed the perfect accompaniment to this mournful American melody.

Mildred turned and looked toward the door as it opened. Her attention was drawn to the young pretty girl. She noticed everything, from the sad expression on the stranger's face to the quality of her clothing. An older woman watched as the girl moved toward the bar with a certain grace that was perhaps both sensual and melancholic. The old song playing from the jukebox matched the girl's appearance and the mood in the bar. Mildred couldn't take her eyes off her as she approached and sat down on the neighboring barstool.

This quiet bar, of which there were far too many in San Francisco, often attracted people from completely different social strata. Around the corner by the gaming machine lounged a young man about eighteen years old. At one of the tables sat a middle-aged couple drinking beer and discussing some news from the newspaper. And there was this girl — so young. But in her eyes lay so much pain and fatigue, as if she bore the weight of humanity's sins upon her shoulders. Despite this, her posture and movements were full of grace. And this sad American motif... The world had wrung this motif from her, then spiritually mutilated and broken her.

Mildred took a sip of beer and looked again at the young girl. The seamstress noticed that her shoulders were slightly slumped, yet she held herself with a certain dignity, like a delicate porcelain doll. The stranger ordered a beer from the bartender standing across the counter, but after taking her drink, she immediately stood up and headed toward one of the tables in the center of the small hall. She placed her tiny handbag on her lap and leaned one hand on the table. The girl looked as if she were waiting for someone or something. But her gaze was pensive and sorrowful. The calm music seemed to her soft and drawn out, somewhat weepy and melancholic. Sometimes certain circumstances distorted a person's perception of this world profoundly. The young beauty sitting at the table flinched at the sound of approaching footsteps. She lifted her eyes and saw a woman standing next to her. It was a beautiful lady in her early thirties, with hair styled in a simple yet pleasant manner. The girl's gaze fell on the woman's eyes, which were amber, almost yellow — exceedingly attractive. The girl put on a naïve smile, meant for any potential clients. No matter how unpleasant the thought was, the beauty wouldn’t mind if that woman showed interest in her. It was... it was certainly better than the drunken men reaching out to her with their calloused hands. Despite the sadness and fatigue evident on the girl’s face, her smile remained elegant, almost refined — a skill honed through years of experience. Mildred smiled in response.

“Is this seat taken?” asked the older woman, pointing to the spot across from the girl.

“No,” the stranger quickly replied, looking up at Mildred. Her voice was pleasant and soft, as she spoke with a slight breathiness. The girl’s eyelashes fluttered as she lowered her gaze, feigning innocence on her beautiful face. Why had Mildred turned to this lonely girl? Did she know who this girl was, and was she in any way interested in her services? The young beauty couldn’t be sure of any of that, so she lowered her eyes. Her cheeks flushed slightly. Mildred innocently scrutinized the girl while she answered her question.

“May I sit?”

The seamstress studied the features of her companion’s face, noticing the faint blush that appeared on her smooth cheeks when she looked down at her beer glass. Of course, how could she know who this lady was and what she did for living; she didn’t even know her name. But for some reason, the presence of the young girl strangely intrigued her. Burning with an uncharacteristic curiosity, Mildred awaited the girl's response.

“Uh-huh,” the girl breathed quietly and nodded. She did not resist the company of this unusual woman, as she had long stopped resisting anything that happened in her life. She allowed this relentless current to carry her along and ceased trying to struggle against drowning in this unpleasant reality. But this woman seemed very nice and kind, and did not repel the girl sitting at the table. Perhaps she would be lucky, and this stranger would spend some time with her for a pleasant price.

The older woman smiled easily as she settled into the empty chair. She looked at the young girl before her, examining every detail of her features and expression. The girl did not resist her company, and Mildred felt that the girl was yielding. Not yet knowing the true nature of the girl, Mildred quietly asked, “May I know your name?

“Kitty. Kitty Duval,” the girl replied softly, wrapping her fingers around the base of her beer glass. She lifted it to her lips but paused as if hesitating. However, Kitty still took a sip of beer and set the glass back on the table. She forced herself to raise her eyes and look at the woman sitting across from her. Kitty’s eyelashes fluttered again. Mildred leaned on the table, resting her chin on clasped fingers, listening to what the girl had to say. Kitty Duval sounded almost like a stage name rather than a real name for this girl. And the way the young girl pronounced it, with a slight stutter, only reinforced that impression. The older woman noticed the girl’s nervousness, her habit of fluttering her eyelashes when looking up at her. Yet that name suited her well.

“A beautiful name,” a light smile never left Mildred's face. The girl, who had deliberately avoided Mildred's gaze, turned her head and looked directly into her eyes. Kitty must have misinterpreted the woman's words and found condescension in her friendly tone. And that was not what she needed.

“Don't mock me,” said the girl, slightly raising her chin, trying to show that she wouldn’t allow a stranger to treat her that way. Kitty Duval was a persona. She possessed that wicked innocence and fierce pride, characteristic of simple and kind-hearted people — at least according to the girl herself.

The girl’s sudden readiness to defend herself caused a slight widening of the smile on the older woman's lips. For a moment, she felt even more intrigued, but at the same time, a sharp pain pierced her chest at Kitty's words and the proud expression on her face. Mildred quickly realized that the girl had taken her comment as sarcasm. She attempted to clarify.

“No, I wasn’t mocking you,” Mildred slowly shook her head. “I apologize if I’m overstepping, but I find your name beautiful. Truly.”

Kitty seemed only more upset by Mildred's remark. She pressed her lips together and exhaled sharply through her nose. The girl genuinely could not believe that the stranger she had randomly encountered in the bar could be so nice and friendly. Kitty had long learned from experience that any kindness always boiled down to personal interests. And she hadn’t believed for a long time that she deserved compliments.

“Excuse me, miss, but you don’t have to court me to...” Kitty began, fueled by her own disbelief and pain, but fell silent. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she whispered, “to take me.”

The woman’s smile quickly faded, replaced by a concerned and almost sorrowful expression as she listened to the girl's response. Mildred did not miss the note of distrust in her voice, as if no one had ever treated the girl kindly. From the way she spoke and reacted, Mildred understood that the girl had decided that she was trying to "court" her with the prospect of something more. Mildred's eyes widened slightly in surprise as she looked at the young beauty sitting across from her. The girl's last words confirmed her suspicions. She gazed into Kitty's brown eyes, filled with shame and anger, and bit her lower lip. Her heart ached, but she didn’t know what to say. Now everything fell into place. Kitty's appearance, behavior, and words only confirmed that she was a prostitute — one of the cheap ones. And she clearly thought that Mildred wanted to take advantage of her services. Poor girl.

Not taking her eyes off Mildred, Kitty involuntarily blushed with shame. She felt utterly embarrassed, and she hated herself for it. This world had spiritually crippled and broken her. She knew it. It angered her. She was angry at herself. She hated this miserable world and wholeheartedly pitied those beaten down, lost souls like herself. The younger girl clearly despised Mildred too, probably for wanting to "take her" for the night. The older woman could hardly imagine what this girl's life had been like, what events and circumstances had led her to such an end. Mildred was almost completely sure of what would happen next.

“No. I’m not interested,” she said confidently, shaking her head. Kitty stared incredulously into Mildred's eyes for a few more seconds. Her attempts to protect herself and show pride were difficult for her. But it seemed there was nothing to defend against. The girl's cheeks flushed again, and she quickly looked away, unable to withstand the stranger's sincerity.

“Then why are you here?” she asked quietly, meaning why on earth Mildred had sat at her table if she didn’t want to take her? What interest did this woman have in Kitty? The seamstress gave the girl a tender, kind look, hoping to convey that she meant no harm. She clearly saw the distrust and doubt in the beauty's eyes. But then Kitty turned away, and Mildred’s heart tightened with a strange feeling.

“I wanted some company.”

Kitty didn’t look at Mildred. She struggled to swallow and whispered in a quiet, uncertain voice, “If you have two dollars, then...” Mildred flinched slightly upon hearing the young girl's words. She already knew what Kitty would say, having heard only the beginning of her sentence, “...my company could be even more enjoyable.”

Kitty was clearly aware of what she was offering and to whom. Perhaps this woman was the only one in all of San Francisco who treated her with kindness and understanding in all the years that the girl had lived here. And realizing this, albeit weakly, Kitty offered her her services anyway. She needed money to pay for a hotel room, for mending clothes, and for food. Mildred's heart ached again as she looked at the young girl sitting alone and offering herself for two dollars. She didn't know what to do or say at that moment. A feeling of helplessness gripped her.

“No, listen, dear. I'm really not interested in that.”

“Then go,” Kitty whispered, barely able to get the words out of herself, “There will always be those who will be interested.”

Tears welled up in the young beauty's eyes, but she quickly wiped them away with the pads of her fingers. A soft sigh escaped her plump lips. Kitty picked up her half-empty beer glass again and drained it in a few gulps. The girl's fingers were visibly shaking. Kitty has made her position clear. And Mildred wasn't stupid enough or frivolous enough to argue with a complete stranger who was nothing but an ordinary whore.

The sight of the young girl desperately trying to hold back her tears sent another painful stab to Mildred's heart. It felt like a knife wound. But what could she do? The stranger sitting across from her was clearly stubborn, and any further attempts to persuade her were doomed to fail. Mildred swallowed, her throat dry, and she quietly replied, rising from the table:

“I'll go. Take care of yourself.”

With that, the acquaintance between Kitty Duval and Mildred Brown came to an end. Only when the woman was about to leave did Kitty realize that she hadn’t even learned her name. Perhaps meeting this stranger had been the most pleasant event of the year for Kitty, as she was the only woman who had been friendly and welcoming towards her. But when Kitty turned around, sitting at the table and holding her breath, it was already too late. Her gaze lingered on Mildred's back as she was already exiting the bar.

If you find any errors or typos in the text, please let me know! Questions and criticism are welcome in a mild form! 🫵🏻😘

[redwinetalks]

I Won’t Let You Sink

Chapter 1

Word Count: 4k

Pairing: Finnick x Fem!OC

Warnings: angst, thoughts of some self harm, miss girl has to sell her body

Summary: Silk Fabelle is the winner of the 68th annual Hunger Games and she’s finishing up her victory tour. She meets Finnick then returns home leading to a lil chit chat with Snow.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

The Capitol was the complete opposite of District 8. Full of bright colors and energy instead of dull and lifeless. Everything is perfectly placed and decorated. Artistically groomed trees and bushes. The Capitol elite expect me to think of this as a blessing. How much of an honor it is to get to visit. To be invited to these lavish parties and be dressed to the nines. But with each conversation I’m dragged into, I’m counting the seconds until I can go home and no longer be stuck with the people who use my trauma as a way to get off.

“Did you hear me?” I’m snapped back to reality by the woman who’s been speaking to me about my victory. Her blue and purple hair is tied up in an intricate bun. Her eyeshadow goes all the way to her temples and her eyebrows are adorned with jewels. To match her eccentric look, she’s wearing a bright purple gown that cinches her waist so much I wonder how she’s even breathing.

“Yes, sorry. I couldn’t help getting distracted by how beautiful everything looks tonight.”

“Oh, of course! I can’t even imagine having to live in that dreary district of yours. This must be such a culture shock. But, back to what I was saying. Your games! You really surprised us all. I mean, no one guessed that the little girl from 8 could win. A lot of people lost their bets after your victory. Don’t worry though, no one could stay upset about it. Not with how precious you are! You really are a doll just like they say!” A doll. That’s the pet name they’ve adorned me with. The Capitol’s doll they could dress up and play with however they so please.

“You’re going to be quite popular! But I must leave you, I need to get a little drink.” She gives me a wink and walks away. Im sure she’s off to purge and then continue to gorge herself.

When she’s gone I close my eyes and let out the deep sigh I’ve been holding. With each Capitol aristocrat I talk to I feel more and more suffocated. I grab a glass of wine and then move myself away from the crowd. This party is supposed to be dedicated to me to congratulate my huge “victory”. No one expected me to win. District 8 has a pretty poor relationship with the Capitol because of our rebelliousness. This kept me from getting any help from sponsors. It also didn’t help that I don’t look very strong, I’m shorter than most people my age, and the jobs back home don’t prepare us in the slightest for what’s to come in the arena. That’s not all true, though. I gained enough strength by carrying large amounts of supplies to and from the factories. Boxes full of fabric or Peacekeeper uniforms are much heavier than people think. I used my knowledge of different bugs and berries, used to make dyes, to help me keep from poisoning myself in the arena. My mentor Cecilia told me since I know how to sew, stitch, and weave that I have a good eye and a steady hand. She taught me how to make traps that I could use against other tributes or to catch food. She helped me learn how to use throwing knives, her weapon of choice. That proved to be significantly helpful during the bloodbath. The majority of my games I spent hiding. My arena was a rainforest so it wasn’t difficult to disguise myself. I was then able to trick some tributes with poisonous berries or trapping them in a net made up of vines and leaves. I’m sure it was a riveting show for everyone glued to the broadcast. Not at all traumatizing for them, only for the 17 year old.

“Not enjoying the festivities?” I’m slightly startled when he comes up and stands next to me. Finnick O’dair. The so called Capitol “darling” and youngest to ever win the games. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. Didn’t meant to catch you off guard.” He laughs.

“And what if I’m not?” I sip my wine and look at him, deadpanned.

“Don’t worry, it only gets worse from here.” He lets out a another light laugh and I hum in response.

“Thanks for the warning. I figured as much.” I think about walking away, but there’s something about him that compels me to stay put. It’s disarming. I don’t figure a Career would be too enjoyable to hang around, yet he has this air to him that I can’t walk away from. Maybe it’s how his tan skin and perfect smile are even more breathtaking in person. I could just be getting hypnotized by his beauty and charm. Which, I’m positive he uses to his advantage. He then turns to face directly in front of me and holds his hand out.

“If you’ll let me, I was hoping I could steal you away for a dance.” He takes my hand and gives it a small peck as I just look at him. I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you trying to charm me, Finnick O’dair?” He flashes me a perfect smile.

“And what if I am, Silk Fabelle?” He moves his face closer to mine and his voice, as smooth as velvet, is just a whisper. He smells like salty seawater and citrus. The hair on my neck stands up and I can feel the goosebumps creeping up my body. Maybe I am being hypnotized.

“I suppose you can. Hopefully it’ll keep everyone else from talking to me about my riveting games.” I say after clearing my throat and awkwardly adjusting my stance.

“You sure you’re not trying to keep me all to yourself, darling?” I stop and blankly stare at him. He rolls his eyes at me, “I’m kidding. Shall we?” I slowly nod and he escorts me back through the crowd of people.

“So is there a particular reason you decided to make my acquaintance?” I question him. No other previous victors have come to talk with me, at least not yet. It’s just been one vulture after the next. Maybe in his eyes he just saw a damsel in distress that he needed to rescue. He wouldn’t be incorrect per se.

“Maybe I just wanted to finally see your beauty in person. The broadcast is one thing, but there’s nothing like the real deal.” He says when we find a spot on the floor. He takes my waist and gracefully starts to guide me. It’s as if it’s second nature to him. I don’t know how to feel about his flirtations and it makes me a bit uneasy. I don’t know if I can trust him, but I’m not in the games anymore. He’s not another tribute trying to kill me before I kill him first. It sounds like he means what he says, so maybe I’m just overthinking it.

“You sure are quite the charmer, but I’m having a hard time believing that’s the only reason.”

“Oh please, I can’t just dance with a pretty girl? Must I have a motive?” I can feel his thumb rubbing my back. That plus the dancing is making me dizzy. My head feels like it’s spinning, but it could just be the wine causing that effect.

“Do you?” I press him, trying to remain focused, and he looks at me so softly.

“I just thought you might’ve been struggling to stay afloat. This place..these people..they’ll drown you. To them we aren’t real people we’re just toys. Entertainment. I remember how I felt when this was my party and I guess I just didn’t want you to have to go through that alone.” The playful banter has dropped and he speaks so genuinely. He’s not at all what I expected. I’ve only ever looked at careers with aversion. The way they suck up to the Capitol and get almost doted on in return. But they’re still district citizens. Even if they are on better terms with the Capitol, it doesn’t mean they aren’t part of this continuous punishment. They’re pawns in this game like everyone else, they just play differently.

“So you’re telling me no one whisked you away to save you at your victory party” I tilt my head when asking.

“Afraid not, sweetheart.” Even with his flirtatious banter back on I can see that there’s a sadness in his eyes. Like this confidence that he radiates is just an illusion to keep him from sinking. After winning the games they make you think you finally get to be free. You can finally be happy and you don’t have to live in fear. But the games never end. I can see it from the way Finnick looks at me. After you win the torment just continues. There is no freedom.

“I’m sorry you were alone. I appreciate, though, you being here for me even though you don’t know me. I hope..maybe..I can do the same for you.” I say that last sentence quietly. As if I’m not sure if I want him to hear it. I’m not quite sure if I mean it. He squeezes my hand a bit and softly smiles. His dimples showing only slightly.

“I can already see my days getting brighter.” He releases my waist once the song ends and brushes a hand through his golden blonde hair. The lights reflecting off of him in the most picture perfect way. “Unfortunately, I have to go, but it was lovely meeting you Silk.” He kisses my hand once more and walks away after I say goodbye. I’m left feeling frozen in place like a trance has just been lifted. Then, almost immediately I’m being pulled into another meaningless conversation with Capitol citizens. I try to stay present to what’s going on around me, but my mind keeps going back to Finnick O’dair.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

I’m on the train with Cecilia, finally going home after the victory tour. I’ve been sitting at the table moving my fork around my breakfast, too distracted to eat. I haven’t been able to push Finnick out of my mind. There is just something about him that is so alluring and mysterious that my teeth clench from trying to figure him out. I can’t help getting frustrated at myself for thinking only of him. Maybe it’s just because he’s so different from anyone I’ve ever met. His aura is so captivating and it’s like he knows just how to wrap you around his finger.

“How was last night?” Cecilia comes up behind me and takes my plate.

“I wasn’t finished.” I turn and look at her and she rolls her eyes.

“You’ve been pushing that blueberry around with your fork for 10 minutes. You’re finished.” Annoyingly, she’s right. I’m not even hungry anymore. I felt full after just a couple bites. I’ve only been able to eat small meals since leaving the arena.

“Last night was wonderful” she lets out a small laugh at my sarcastic reply.

“Did you meet any of the past victors? It’ll help having some of them close by.” I look down at the table where my plate was.

“I met Chaff and Seeder. They were nice, well, Chaff was a bit..overly friendly..but Seeder was kind. I was told Haymitch would be an ass, but I thought he was alright. Maybe just a bit abrasive.” I shrug. Cecilia hums in response while tapping her fingers on the table. I slightly glance up at her and she looks off and smiles.

“You seem to be leaving a certain person out.” I just look at her. “He’s much more genuine than people give him credit for. You should continue to get to know him. You’re still making allies you know, it doesn’t matter that you’re no longer in the arena.” I nod and turn to look out the window.

The only good thing about being on this train for so long is that I can look at all the trees. I can get lost in them. It brings me some sense of peace with my thoughts being so loud. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to normal. How I’m supposed to just go home and move on. How am I supposed to sleep peacefully each night when there are kids that are dead because of me? I’m not. That’s exactly the point. I’m supposed to feel like my insides are eating me alive and have these nightmares. That’s how Snow wants us to feel. He knows that the games will leave you forever traumatized and he loves it. He’s sick and cruel and twisted.

My nails have drawn blood on my arm from gripping myself so tightly. When I get up to grab a napkin, I realize we’re arriving at District 8. I thought I’d be excited to be home but I just feel numb. Nothing is going to be the same and it terrifies me.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

“You’re home” My mother says so softly. She runs up to me and wraps me in a tight hug when I walk into our new house in Victor’s Village. She cradles my head and rubs my back. The comfort she brings me is instant and I feel like I could collapse into her arms. Maybe I will be okay as long as she’s with me.

For my whole life I’ve only had my mother. I don’t remember my dad. He died when I was very young, but I’ve never felt like something was missing without him. I don’t feel his absence. When my father was 16 his older brother was reaped into the games and his death was so painful, that he swore to never have kids. He didn’t want to bring a child into a world where they could be put through something so heinous and vile, but he met my mother and accidents happen. My mother was anxious of course, but she still wanted to have me. She told me that when she realized she was pregnant with me, my father changed. Like some switch had been flipped. He became a completely different person. He was no longer kind, he drank, and he would have these sudden fits of rage. Mom tried to stay with him. To see if he would go back to the way he was. To see if he was just processing everything in some excessively horrible way, but he only got worse when I was born. So she kicked him out. When I was a bit older she told me that he had been shot by a Peacekeeper for some drunken altercation just days later.

My father didn’t want me and I don’t need him. I don’t feel his absence. All I feel is the love and protection that my mother has given me since I was born. She has never made me feel unwanted or like a burden. She is the strongest person I know and means more to me than anything in this world. If it wasn’t for her, I know I wouldn’t have gotten out of that arena.

“I missed you” I muffle into her shoulder. She puts her hands on my face and moves me to look directly at her.

“I missed you, too, my beautiful girl.” She then kisses me on the forehead, “Come with me. I want to show you want I’ve done with the place and then we’ll eat dinner.” She ushers me around the house showing me the different curtains and blankets she’s made. Most of the blankets she knit in our old home while I was in the arena. She told me that was the only thing she could do to keep from losing herself. While I was on my victory tour she sewed the curtains and a new bedspread for me. It’s a beautiful plum color and it makes the room much more cozy and inviting. Mom and I always try our best to make our home full of color to contrast how grey the district is. That way whenever we get home from a long day in the factories it’s an immediate breath of fresh air. We can almost instantly feel the dread of the day lift off our shoulders.

“You seemed to keep yourself busy” I say as she shows me the pillows in the living room.

“What else was I supposed to do to pass the time?” I laugh and smile so lovingly at her. It’s the first time I’ve been happy since getting reaped. I feel an overwhelming amount of relief that I never thought I’d get.

When she’s finished with the tour I follow her into the kitchen and sit at the table. We eat in a comfortable silence. Mom has always known whether I wanted to talk or not. She never tries to pry unless she knows it’ll help. It’s the first time in the while no one has expected anything of me.

A few days pass and I finally start to get a routine going. My mom goes off to work, thankfully not in the Peacekeeper factory, a different one where she makes an assortment of clothing and I start my morning by going just past the border to the shoreline. It’s the only place where grass grows since it’s far away from all the industrial fumes. I like to sit on the rocky beach and listen to the waves. I bring my sketchbook to work on designing clothes to make for the school children since I have the money to now. It’s something to do to keep me busy and help me feel like I’m doing something to help our community.

The walk home is long, but peaceful. I say hello to those moving on from one job to the next. One of the worst things that the Capitol does do the citizens in 8 is make everyone work long, grueling hours. When school lets out for the day the kids don’t get to go home and play. If there’s free time it means there’s time to work. Our labor is exploited and it’s unforgivable.

When I walk into the house it feels wrong. The air isn’t peaceful, it’s unsettling. It’s smells sickly sweet like roses. Everything seems to be in order, but the door to the study is ajar. I put down my bag and slowly walk through the hall making my way to the open door.

“There’s no need to sneak around in your own home. Please, come join me.” His voice is ice cold and it sends shivers up my spine.

“President Snow” I stiffly walk inside the study, “I apologize. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be home.” He’s sitting at the desk that hasn’t been touched since we moved it.

“Sit, I have some matters to discuss with you.” He gestures to the chair on the other side of the desk and I sit down, “I hope you enjoyed your victory tour.”

“Yes, sir. I did.” I clear my throat my uncomfortably and cross my arms to try and ground myself. I attempt to keep myself from digging my nails into my skin.

“Good, I’m pleased to hear that. I’ve heard lovely things about you. You’re well liked. Many of my colleagues have taken an interest towards you.”

“An interest, sir?” A pit opens in my stomach.

“Yes, Miss Fabelle. A sizable interest, in fact. And this is something that I cannot ignore. You see, these are the kinds of colleagues that sponsor the games and events such as your victory party.” He says as if it’s something I even wanted. He stands and starts to pace around the desk. The overwhelming smell of roses wafts back and forth with each turn. I can feel the nausea starting to grow. “The desire for you has grown quite large and I would hate to disappoint. I understand where they’re coming from. You are indeed a beautiful young woman. So, will you cooperate?” I could’ve gagged right then. He hasn’t said it outright, but I understand him clearly. These people want me. They want my body. His sinister smile grows when he notices how much I’m gripping onto my arms.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” I say looking down at my lap. I know I don’t, but a small part of me hopes that if I ask he won’t make me. But that’s just a silly dream. To believe that I could have a choice in any of this. My body isn’t mine. My life isn’t mine. It all belongs to him.

“Of course you have a choice, Miss Fabelle.” He sits back down and my head shoots up to look him in the eye. “But certain choices have consequences. And it would be very unfortunate for perhaps, your mother, to deal with the consequences of your actions.” He sits back down, clearly satisfied with how this talk is going.

The nausea is only getting worse. My mother. He would kill my mother. The only person I have. The only person that I love. Not only is she important to me, she’s important to this district. She’s always been a strong force in the community. She helps those in need in any way she can. She stands up for what she believes in. She’s part of the rebellion that may or may not even come. If something were to happen to her it would end me, but it would also impact so many of those around me. I couldn’t live with myself if something were to happen to her.

“I understand, sir.” I speak so softly, so defeated.

“Good, I’m very pleased.” He stands up to leave, but not before leaving the flower from his coat pocket on the desk. I walk with him to the front door, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall, and he takes a small look around the space. “Thank you for meeting with me, Miss Fabelle. I hope you are enjoying your new home. You seem to have settled right in. It’s very…eclectic. Oh, and I almost forgot to congratulate you on your victory. You did very well. Until next time.” He smiles so sickeningly and then finally leaves. How kind of him to congratulate me. As if him being proud would somehow fill me with such joy and satisfaction.

The nausea finally hits me with full force and I run to the bathroom to empty the contents in my stomach. The smell of stale roses still fills the air and it continues to make me gag. Once I feel well enough to get up, I brush my teeth and head to my room. I don’t even make it to my bed before I collapse, my sobbing overtaking my body. I feel so disgusting. How can this be allowed? How can they force me to kill other people’s children and then this? Is this what they think freedom is? I don’t have to worry about dying anymore, but I have to sell my body. And if I don’t, I have to fear for the life of the person I love most in the world? How am I supposed to do something so vile? How am I supposed to continue to survive like this? I feel like ripping my hair out. Like scratching at my skin until there’s nothing left but bone.

I rush into my bathroom and run a cold shower. I have to calm down. I have to find a way to live with this and keep my mother oblivious. The only way I know how to do that right now is by washing this whole afternoon off of me. Pretending none of it happened. And that’s what I’ll continue to do. When the time comes for me to visit the Capitol again, I’ll just pretend none of it is real. It’s all a dream. A sick, twisted, horrifying dream. And I’ll just have to go from there.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

Thank you so much for reading chapter 1! This is my first ever fanfiction that I’ve written so I know it’s far from perfect. I’m growing with my writing as I go, but I hope you still enjoy it! I appreciate any kind feedback!

tag list <3 (I tagged some of y'all who just liked the related posts so I hope thats okay)

@ghoulbabs @lusy98 @marvelescvpe @simplymurdock @marcyss @miserablebl00d @wife-of-all-dilfs @mrsnancywheeler

Next Chapter!

[spongebob-connoisseur]

So I went to Fan Expo yesterday! I wish I bought tickets for two days instead of one, i couldn't do all that I wanted. Most of my day was just waiting in line to meet voice actors.

Buuut the highlight of my day is that I met Dee Bradley Baker! I got a selfie with him and I asked what was his favorite Spongebob character to play. He said Bubble Bass's mom. He did voice impressions of them both. Its so weird to hear the voices come out of him since I'm used to hearing it on the TV. It was great though.

He LOVED my Slappy cosplay and said it was freaky. I am so so happyyyy. When I took a selfie with him, my friend said some lady also took out her phone to snap a picture of my cosplay. It may not be the most polite thing to do without asking but I really don't mind it lmao

It was my dream to go as Slappy since the first time I ever went to Fan Expo. Which isn't long ago but still. I felt like I was wearing his skin✨

I finally know how Slaps felt like in this instance wearing the Patrick costume

I spent the past week making the head out of paper mache and I'm very proud of it. It's not particularly strong because I was figuring this out while it was foing along. I spent most of my time sculpting and ensuring it LOOKED like Slappy, I didn't give much consideration towards visibility (his mouth is a seeing hole but you can just barely see. Also towards the end of the day, it began cracking around his jaw area so I couldn't wear it anymore. It's fine and easy to fix, I do kinda want to fix it up and make it stronger. Probably put a helmet on the inside and pad out the inside. I also want to give him false eyelashes lmao.

I had a lot of fun painting him though. It was like doing his makeup UwU he's also actually wearing makeup since I used an eyeshadow pallette to use as a highlighter on his skin. He's sparkly in person.

I also made his dorsal fin (I followed a basic fairy wings tutorial to make it) and my sister helped out and made the little gloves from socks. She finds this costume horrifying. I think that's the best part. I chased her around a bit as Slappy.

I also attended a panel and got an autograph from Neil Newbon who voices Astarion from Baulders Gate 3.

Mainly because my friend has been obsessed with the game lately. I didn't think I'd care much until I actually met him. Hes actually wonderful and witty and polite and professional, I could go on and on about it. My friend and I were both gushing about it. Even for the brief moment of meeting him at the table and he shakes your hand with both hands and looks you in the eye AHHHH✨✨✨😭😭

Unexpected but REALLY made my day <33

I ended up missing photo opportunity to meet Spongebob because the line was so long but this is a rare moment where I think it was worth it.

Especially since despite all of that, there are many folks who asked for pictures. Especially older folks. They were able to tell right off the bat that it was Peter Lorre related!

And the ones who were younger and closer to my age were still able to get it. I got a lot of people asking "is that Gomez Addams?" because Gomez is Peter Lorre inspired. Which was the PERFECT opportunity to infodump and tell them that Slappy and Gomez are both caricatures of Peter Lorre. I actually have a printed picture of Peter Lorre that I kept in my tote bag just for this purpose <3

When I was standing in line, one man was looking at the Slappy head for a bit and said "he has a face only a mother could love. He reminds me of a certain actor" to which I just had to say "Peter Lorre!" Hehehehehe

There was also a paramount section where they had Spongebob mini golf.

I actually met a dude while I was in line and he was also a Hardcore Spongebob fan. Its actually crazy to find someone as deranged as I am irl. It was soooo much fun just chatting with him. We ended up traded socials. I kinda wish I stuck around longer but we didn't have much time left ro really explore the con so my friend and I did a mad dash trying to get through as much as we could before the con closed.

All in all, I had fun. I'll probably reuse this costume next year. Perhaps I could find a brown tailcoat suit too so the cosplay can be 100% accurate.

Here are some miscellaneous cosplay pictures:

This one is my favorite <3

[deafeninggalaxycandy]

✨️BUTTERS STOTCH HEADCANONS✨️

TW: mentions of alcohol, child abuse, hints of homophobia.

• Leopold Victor Stotch

• He/Him, She/Her (Genderfluid)

• Born on September 11th, 2004

• 5'6"

• Bisexual

• Friends with almost everyone in school. Even the goths have hung out with him once or twice.

• Butters was the first one to cut off Cartman after he got involved in another stunt that ended in him getting grounded and beaten by Stephen.

• Once Cartman started being decent, Butters forgave him almost immediately but still kept a distance until he moved away from his parents.

• Still dresses as Marjorine.

• Put puts glitter eyeshadow on ninja star scar.

• Listens to Alec Benjamin, Carrie Underwood, Dolly Parton and Lana Del Rey.

• Wears cherry lip balm (and eats it)

• Got a hummingbird tattoo from Kenny

• Has a pair of pink sneakers painted Hello Kitty on.

• Also amazingly good at art and drawing hyper realistic portraits.

• After years of being grounded, abused, and forced into dangerous situations, Butters started to genuinely hate his parents.

• As a teenager, he completely lost all love for them and a particular hatred for Stephen. He addressed them by sir and ma'am instead of 'mom' and 'dad'. He didn't even bother smiling or appearing cheerful for them, he just kept a blank face and emotionless tone.

• He moved out on his 18th birthday and cut contact with his family immediately.

• He didn't see them again until his grandmother's funeral when he turned 20. He feels guilty about it, but he smiled a little seeing her dead body.

• His father immediately got angry because Butters hadn't called them and was dressing more feminine than he did as a child. Butters finally lost his cool and cursed out Stephen, releasing all of his pent up rage at his parents. He hasn't spoken to them since.

• Has a big crush on Kenny but he values their friendship too much to act on it.

• Plays Hello Kitty games on his iPad. And Candy Crush.

• Absolutely LOVES sunflowers and tulips.

• Went through an emo phase in middle school

• He dyed his hair with Kool-Aid because his parents wouldn't buy him hair dye.

• Butters tried to drink when he was 13. He couldn't handle the bitterness of most alcohol so all he drinks are margaritas and Long Island Iced Tea

• He's still the same cheerful, happy-go-lucky idiot he always was. But he has way less tolerance for people hurting him and will stand his ground much easier. And he's finally went to therapy so he's not this time bomb of suppressed rage.

• Dresses up as Professor Chaos for every Halloween.

• He's kind of strong but he doesn't exercise so he can't lift much.

• Feels like a badass eating raw cookie dough.

Yall, does him dressing as Marjorine and going by different pronouns as that persona, count as gender fluid? Let me know.

Also Butters is so sweet and adorable he deserves the world.

LOOK AT HIM HES SO CUTE IM CRYING-

[jojo-schmo]

Some Forgotten Land Roleswap Beast Pack lore!!

Thought it would be fun to share some more about the Beast Pack ruled by Clawroline, and my thoughts behind some choices I made when swapping their roles! More under the cut-!

The big three. Queen Clawroline, Leongar her enforcer and second-in-command, and Bandana Dee the Awoofy Prince.

I can't be too detailed about these three because I'd spoil my own comic! But think of Leongar and Clawroline swapping each other's roles like this:

Clawroline is the Queen now but also a sort of Ringmaster based on her circus theme (her boss fight location in Wondaria, and the magic tricks and acrobat attacks she does). That's why she keeps the cape and top hat but accessorizes it a bit more. Also, the jewels on her cape are the purple ones on canon Leongar's cape. You may have noticed in the first page of the prologue, I had Carol and Leon wear one jewel each as a sign of being co-rulers. But now she has both of them. >:)

Leongar is the Enforcer and loyal second-in-command. To be honest I thought his boss attacks were a little basic before Fecto takes full control of him. Biting, scratching... standard things you'd expect from a lion. So to keep with Clawroline's Ringmaster theme, he is now going to be more of a performer. I'm thinking of some fun moves for him. I mean, he's really buff. He'd make a powerful acrobat. So that's where the bow-tie and ponytail come from. (can't have your hair in your face.)

I can only say this about Bandee right now: He's the Awoofy Prince because he made a special connection to the Awoofies and they respect him. However, he rose to Number 3 rank in large part because of the special knowledge he could share with Clawroline from being a Waddle Dee, denizen of Popstar, and someone who has traveled between dimensions before. He becomes a really big asset and gets the Pack closer to their goals than they ever were before.

What goals are those? Sorry! Not spilling yet. :')

Some backstory on Skipperdillo (Roleswap Sillydillo) and Gorimonger (roleswap Gorimondo)! These aren't spoilers, just lore :P

Here's an old post that goes into detail on my thoughts when swapping these two. Basically I swapped the "Anchor Necklace" and wearing "Metal Signs as Armor" aesthetics and things went really smoothly from there, haha.

They don't have a TON of personality in the canon game, so to be honest I broke down their basic characteristics (Silly is.... silly, creative, and chaotic- Gori is strong, territorial, and protective) and made them my own :P

As for why Gori doesn't like Bandee- part of it is because Bandee became Number 3 very quickly, but it also has to do with their first encounters which will be part of the comic :D

Gori and Skipper work together a lot because their jobs complement each other. They like to fistbump after a job well done- a tradition started by Skipper when it saw it on an old advertisement. :3

Finally, the Beast Council's eye makeup! Clawroline's distinct eyeshadow, Leongar's winged eyeliner, Bandee's eyeshadow and Awoofy markings, Skipperdillo's "eyepatch", and Gorimonger's "under-eyeshadow"

The reason I made the Roleswap Beast pack look so different to the canon one is because of the difference of my interpretation of Clawroline's leadership.

Leongar's Beast Pack in canon is more focused on returning back to primal roots. Really embracing the powerful beast within. Raw, untamed energy.

I wanted Clawroline's Beast Pack to be the opposite- under her leadership I think she'd evolve the Beasts forward as they learned from the remnants of culture left behind in the Forgotten Land. They wear a lot of "people clothes" for that reason. (the capes, bow ties, armor, hats...) In canon, she's the only Beast who wears true "people clothes" other than Leon (her top hat and cape). I took her canon interest in these "human behaviors" of magic tricks and clothes and ran with it. So her Beast Pack is very expressive in their appearances.

I think she wouldn't mind it because A) it doesn't directly interfere with their goals, and B) even while brainwashed, she's still a creative being at her core. In canon she wears glitter eyeshadow and learned some complex performing tricks like knife-throwing, acrobatics, and disappearing smoke tricks to complement her feline attacks. To learn all that, I like to think she must have had some respect for the cultural remnants of the forgotten world they live in.

However they're not eliminating the "Beast" part of themselves. They are still wild, but they're blending these ancient, forgotten aesthetics and interests with their own. They have plenty of natural talents and skills to fall back on when something doesn't go right.

So those are some of my thoughts behind this swapped Beast Pack! Since there's so much room to interpret them in canon, I had a lot of fun stretching it all further and in the opposite direction!

Thanks for reading! <3

[naycelium]

Who are your top 10 favorite Animal crossing characters?

1. Coco! She is so Normal™️ and I think that's great! She may not be very expressive but she's kind and caring, something that I find to be relatable.. I love Gyroids and I love bunnies so it's only fair that a silly mix between to two would be so cute! I like the mystery and implication behind what she is, considering the Gyroid's inspiration (Haniwa Statues) and what they symbolized.. her home has a very unique pottery sort of vibe to it which i think is fitting. this portrait has an odd choice of outfit but she also looks super cute in olive green in New Horizons, which works with her natural colors and is also one of my favorite colors! I hope she gets some merchandise someday..

2. Sable Able! She might be tied for all time favorite character with Coco, but it's hard to choose between the two I love them both so much for different reasons.. She's a bit shy but she is so loving and sweet when she gets a little more comfortable! Her color scheme is so warm and cozy and her eyes are so somber yet kind.. she's my favorite Special Character and it's a shame she always gets overshadowed by Mabel, she wasn't even included in the Lego set.. but regardless I will love her anyways! It's always so comforting to see her in each game, I'd love to try on outfits that she's worked on with her! If you find quills stuck in my sweater, no you didnt

3. Fang! This grumpy deep voiced guy is so handsome and has such a cozy sense of fashion! His home is also pretty comfortable too.. He may come off as a little cranky but I think he is as soft as his sweater. His purple eyeshadow is also super cute.. love this mans. He seems like he likes to read up on all sorts of things, I'd love to sit down and listen to him tell me about pretty much anything!

4. Maple! Another Normal personality type but that's okay! Girls can be a little regular sometimes! She is so cuddly looking like a teddy bear and her eyeliner is so clean and cute! Kind of just a classic brown bear, I like to imagine that she likes nature and going out on forest walks and stuff, a real down to earth girly.. it would be fun to hang out with her at the park and have a picnic I think!

5. Blanche! She's a bit snooty but when you're this pretty it's understandable! I love how tall she is and her eyes are so pretty! She comes off as a traditional yet high class sort of lady. Her japanese style home is super cozy and I think it would be so nice to sit down and drink some hot tea with her (even if I don't like hot drinks) she can be a little rude to me as a treat...

6. Sterling! My knight in shining armor! I'm not typically big on jock villagers but he's so cute and it's almost like he's training to be a strong warrior! He comes off as honorable and loyal! His home in New Horizons is a little concerning but I get what he was going for with the Medieval Dungeon theme.. his outfit and helmet are wonderful and I want to kiss his big silly beak.

7. Marina! One of the Octopus of all time, she's super cute and it's love her little eyelashes and girly girl outfits! She likes to sing too, it would be fun to listen to her sing her favorite songs! Her house is super pink, fitting for her aesthetic i think! Don't be surprised if you see me leaving her house covered in little red rings

8. Shino! A bit of a new villager that I havent gotten to know yet but her look is stunning! Her amber eyes and long horns are so pretty and i love her little fangs. Based on looks I wouldn't have taken her for a peppy type or much of a reader but everyone is different! Her home too is traditional Japanese styled and very cozy! Someday I'll get to know her better!

9. Ankha! I know I know she has a bit of a reputation and could be considered mainstream, but she has a charm to her! I love the Egyptian aesthetic and her snootyness comes off as deserved due to her almost royal presence. She gets bonus points for the little cobra headpiece. Her house is very fitting for her style and I like when she wears wrappings sometimes!

10. Gracie! She's a little Sassy and she's a little classy! I considered Label for this list, but having 2 of the Able sisters seemed odd.. Gracie unfortunately didnt get to shine in New Horizons, outside of her Amiibo Card interaction, but hopefully someday she will have the chance to talk fashion with us again.. giraffes are super cute and very unique in the Animal Crossing setting and although her vibrant colored outfits can be a bit much, she rocks those fishnets and eyeshadow! Slay, girl....

Thank you hope you like the list give me your thoughts and let me know your favorite characters!

[ennaku-sirri-da]

Old friends

[ ID: Digital art done roughly of Dr. Habit and Kamal Bora from my AU Roseverse of the game Smile For Me. Its a closeup. Habit is catching Kamal in his arms, Kamal struggles playfully, managing to get one hand out. They are both laughing. The background is sepia and the drawing is overall warm toned.

Here Habit is more vividly green, and has rose pink hair, and some facial hair. He has a snaggletooth fang and wears red lipstick, and purple eyeshadow. His nose is crooked. He is balding on one side. Here Kamal is visibly older, his jowls sag and he has a visible tooth gap. Some acne scars on his face and bushier eyebrows. He wears a single gold earring on the left. His hair is mid length, wavy, grey and white. End ID]

--

Let's give you all some Habismal moments to go with this picture...

At the PTA...

" ANNOUNCEMENT CAN ALL PARENTS IN THE ROOM 5A STOP PUBLICLY FLIRTING PLEASE" ((JUST DIRECTED AT HABISMAL))

Their gayass energy is so strong the failing marriages of three couples there suddenly reignite the next day with flames of passion so hot they rival jalapeno chillies

(seeing habismal as a couple is a test because people will either go “we used to be like that 😡💔” or “we used to be like that 🥺❤️”)

Kid: " MOM what are those two men DOING "

His mom: ",,,,I don't know dear I think theyre having a sports moment.

Maybe their favorite baseball team won last night's match"

Kid: "Are they MARRIED??"

His mom: " Shush they're just good friends"

Kamals like embarassed and going I cant believe they made an announcement just for us ?? But habit jokingly eggs him on like youre right how *dare* they we should walk while holding hands to the principals room, tie him up and then start flirting into the reciever

Kamal: " We don't have ? Rope ? "

Habit: "Eyye'lll use sume of my gutz! They're removable too"

Kamal: "That's GROSSSS i wanna see though "

A "thanks doc I hate it :>]" moment HAHAH

Maybe Habits like

[ ID: A frog toy that has removable plush organs, each labelled and attached to a string. End ID]

When they have to talk to the teacher they do calm down but theyre both looking at her with big eyes full of anxiety and habits rubbing kamals knuckles for comfort under the table( coinicidentally kamals own parents did that too with each other)

[teighveepao]

🩷🧸📷 for Paojade!!!

YAYYY THANK YOU FOR ASKING, BELLA!!! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و ask game!! for anyone that doesnt know, im a lesbian who yumeships with fem!jade in an au for twst :3

🩷 - What is one thing you love about each other?

🧸 - If you and your f/o were plushies, what would you be?

📷 - Do you take pictures together, or of each other? What do you do with them after?

🩷: hm.. for jade, id probably say that she loves paoyus raw honesty and strong work ethic! and paoyu loves jades loyalty and the elegance she carries with her ♡

🧸: well its kinda obvious that jade would be an eel.. but i like to think that she would have cute mushroom accessories and the hair clips she had in her birthday sleepwear card! paoyu would definitely be a glamorous flamingo LMAO sparkly eyeshadow and gold jewelry only for this flamingo plush 🙏

📷: jade likes taking pictures of paoyu, and paoyu likes taking pictures of the two of them together! jade keeps the pictures she takes and prints them out to put on her wall or mirror, and paoyu saves her pictures to be her phone wallpaper or little widgets on her home screen ^_^

THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!! sigh.. i love paojade 💔 i actually need to draw them more, i literally have so many drafts that i just left to rot bc i didnt like how they looked 😔

[crazyyanderefangirlfan]

Cat Tamami

"Your accessories are as tacky as your personality."

---+---

BASIC   

Name: Catrina Pearl Tamami

Nickname(s): Cat (by everyone) Kitty Cat (by close friends), KitKat, My Kitty Cat, Gorgeous, Babe (all by Lev).

Alias(es): Nekoma’s Wildcat, The Wildcat. Chaos Cat (St Trinians)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight

Ethnicity: Japanese/British

Blood Type: A

Age: 15-16

Birthday: March 9

---+---

APPEARANCE  

Hair: She has thick black hair that’s is often tussled, tied back in a large, messy bun which flares in every direction.

Eyes:  Sky blue with black eyeliner and dark purple eyeshadow.

Height: 160 cm

Skin:  Porcelain

Body:  Petite

Tattoo(s): A fake tattoo of a cat on her hip.

Piercing(s):  On her ears, she wears silver thorn dangle earrings.

Scar(s):  Deep scars on her sides

Other: She wears an aquamarine pendant 

---+---

SCHOOL  

Occupation: Manager

School: Nekoma High

Year: 1

Class:  3

Club(s):  Boys VBC

Number: None

Role/Position: None

Attendance Record:  Good

Average Grade: B

---+---

STATISTICS (out of 5)

Power: 4/5  

Jumping: 5/5  

Stamina: 5 /5  

Game Sense (ability to 'predict' or 'sense' the opponents next move): 1/5  

Technique: 2/5  

Speed: 5/5  

Overall (total): 22/30

---+---

CHARACTER  

Personality: Cat is often portrayed as a confident, independent, and determined individual. She's a skilled martial artist and jeweler and forger, she takes pride in her skills and considered to be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to jewelry making. Her eye for detail is also what make her an effective manager.

She's prideful of her work, even scolding a friend in one occasion for damaging a necklace she made, however, if the situation calls for it, she does not mind having them damaged and/or destroyed. She's also skilled in forging, able to create weapons disguised as jewelry.

Despite her age, she's an adept business woman, able to balance work and school life as well as handling vexxing customers. She commissions at three pieces a week and prioritizes emergency commissions. Her jewelry is highly popular both in and out of school, even teachers admire them. However if a teacher ever commissions her, she'll make it clear she doesn't want special favors and treats it like a normal transaction.

Cat typically communicates in an honest, direct style that can take some getting accustomed to. Her dispute resolution techniques may be viewed as unconventional because she dislikes wasting time on justifications. She possesses a strong sense of justice and a desire to protect her family and friends. Cat can be quite rebellious, often challenging authority and traditions that she believes are holding her back or harming others.

Cat never takes the conventional route and prefers to explore life from off the beaten track, relying heavily on her instincts and powers of observation to guide her through. She often has an air of indifference and her need for privacy often keeps her from making new friends, but she's deeply loyal to those who break down her walls.

Cat follows punk philosophy, which is promoting freedom of the individual and working against conforming to the cookie-cutter form, often wearing edgy and gothic clothes, wearing bold make-up and getting creative with her school uniform, the last often gets her in trouble but she doesn't care.

Though often the mediator in Nekoma, she is quick to use violence once they struck a nerve. It takes the entire team to hold her back from killing the person, but even they have a hard time holding due to her surprising strength and her sheer anger was terrifying. Inouka even commented she looked like a feral cat when angry.

Her relationship with Lev is odd to most people. Both of them would deny being in a relationship with each other but would act like a couple. There are many examples such as sitting on Lev's lap, cuddling whenever they can, eating each others food or just a bit too affectionate with each other. Another action that supports this that they scare off each other's suitors.

Likes: Family and friends, Lev, Jewelry, her cats Pancake and Waffle, katsudon, skateboarding, video games, music, parkour, naps, fun but dangerous places.

Dislikes: Johnny being overprotective, her food stolen, tacky jewelry , pranks that cause trouble for everybody, entitled people, harm to her friends and family, someone’s taking credit for her work, mustard, pencils with no erasers, her skateboard broken, fakeness.

Hobbies: Jewelry making, parkour, MMA (specifically Muay Thai, Brazilian jiu-jutsu and Krav Maga), singing, playing the guitar, video games, reading, watching movies, cooking, forging, skateboarding, snowboarding, hunting.

Goal(s): To have her own jewelry brand (and marry Lev)

Current concerns: Whether a sapphire or a topaz will look good on a silver chain.

---+---

SOCIAL  

Mother(s):  Mary Tamami

Father(s):  Jun Tamami

Sibling(s): Johnny Tamami (older brother)

Relative(s):  Unknown

Friend(s):  Nekoma VBC, Shoyo Hinata, Alisa Haiba, Akane Yamamoto, Yukie Shirofuku, Kaori Suzumeda, Marjorie Karanakaran.

Best Friend(s): Teresa Diamandis, Bridget Fortuné, Heather O'Cleary, Irene Song, Juliette Chaveleir, Skyla Barretto

Love Interest(s):  Lev Haiba

Rival(s):  None

Pet(s): Her Bombay, Pancake and her mixed breed Waffle.

[violetnerves]

The Rise and Fall of Jenny Hopkins, aged 15: Bully Genderbend Au/Rewrite. Chapter 1, Part 1:

So this is Part 1 of an au/rewrite I've been working on for a bit... And it ended up getting out of hand because I ended up hitting over 12000 words just for Chapter 1 alone.

As a result, I had to split Chapter 1 into 2 parts, and even after that, both parts ended up being over 6000 words. It seems like a lot to me personally, but maybe I'm wrong.

Anyway, here's a summary of the au:

In this Au/rewrite of Bully, Jimmy Hopkins is instead Jenny Hopkins, a 15 year old girl with a history of delinquent behavior. She exhibits some symptoms of Anti-Social personality disorder, even being diagnosed by a therapist with Conduct disorder.

The female cast has been expanded a bit, and some of the existing female members have been fleshed out a bit more, some of the male cast has been given some care too. As a rewrite some things have been changed about the Canon story, partly to fix a few plot holes and issues with the original that may have been caused by the original games rocky development history, though not to the point where it's unrecognizable since I do enjoy the game's original story, despite it's many faults.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy what I've written so far.

Part one of Chapter 1 starts under the divider. I'll also be posting the story on AO3, under the account: BlueEclipse7573

Total word count: 6565

Content warning for violence and strong language. If there's anymore I should list, please let me know!

'Here we go again'

I was laid back in the backseat of my stepfather's rental car, staring up at the roof. It felt as though we'd been driving for days, even though it'd been a 1 hour trip to Bullworth from the hotel at most.

"Jenny..." My mother spoke up, trying to get my attention after i'd decided to just ignore her for the whole trip. "...Please say something," her tone was aggravated at this point, annoyed that she was being given the silent treatment by her own daughter.

Yet again, I didn't want to bother with a response.

It's not like I wanted to be mean to my mom, but it was the nicest thing I figured I could do to protest against getting sent to yet another Boarding school while my mother ran off for the year with yet another one of her flings.

The silence, aside from the noise of the car, would continue on until my new step-father, who was old enough to be her mother's father, decided he was going to parent me despite the fact that I'd only known the old guy since last week, when we'd first me during my mom's wedding.

"Speak to your mother, Jane..."

*'Oh, please'*

"What? Who are you? Mom, this creepy old guy is talking to me, I think he might be one of those 'perverts' you've warned me about," I replied. Granted, the new guy - whatever his name was, mom went through men like one of those revolving doors you see in fancy and expensive hotels, so I never really bothered to catch his name - surprisingly hadn't been creepy around me, at least compared to the other men mom decided to have relations with.

Mom always did have shit taste in men.

Mom groaned, clearly being driven up the wall by my attitude at this point.

"Jenny, please be nice to your new step-father. He's not a 'pervert'."

I sat up.

"Yeah, you might be right, but he's not really doing himself any favors with the whole 'fat, old, and balding child molester' look he's got going on."

The old man sighed, and mom turned her head to look at me, her mouth twisting into a snarl. I wasn't phased, I was used to it at this point. The older woman looked like a clown with how overdone her makeup was, with her dark purple eyeshadow and lips covered in a cheap waxy red lipstick, and with a foundation that barely matched her actual skin color.

She looked so old and trashy with all that crap on her face.

"That's enough! I've had it with you, you little brat. All I want is a little peace and quiet with my new husband, and you insult him!" Mom wailed, setting a manicured hand on the old man's shoulder.

"Now look what you've done, you've upset your mother!" The old man growled. "I've got half-a-mind to beat you..."

I frowned, giving him a clear stink eye.

I knew it. Just another phony. Just like the others.

"I doubt you would, i'm sure you only do that kind of crap to the women dumb enough to marry you."

The two adults gasped.

"I can't believe you, you little monster! We'll deal with you when we get back from our honeymoon... next. year..."

Mom had left it at that, much to my relief.

Getting into arguments with mom never made me feel good, even if I did enjoy pissing off whatever awful man my old woman decided to bring into her, and therefore our lives. I didn't want our relationship to be so bad. She was my mom after all... So why couldn't she just act like it for once?

It was sooner rather than later when the car slowed to a stop, and I looked out toward the large, foreboding entrance to the school I'd be stuck in for an entire school year.

The entrance to the school was a large, old-fashioned, dull red and white stone archway, the red color clearly faded a bit with time and wear. Chipped into the stonework near the top of the structure were the words "BULLWORTH ACADEMY." The dark Iron gate doors were wide open, yet I couldn't help but think they looked the complete opposite of inviting. Like a fancy jail cell.

"Finally..." The old man sighed heavily with relief.

*'Yeah, feelings mutual you shriveled old bastard'*

"Here we are, young lady, Bullworth Academy, just the kind of place a girl like you needs."

I pushed open the car door, grabbing my purse on the way out. I didn't even bother to spare a glance at the two adults behind me in the car.

"Have fun, Jenny! I'll think of you from our cruise ship!"

Mom giggled in response to her new husband's goodbye, but all I could give was an eye roll in response.

"Whatever," I muttered, shutting the back car door behind me.

The car revved, and the vehicle left the property entirely. Against my better judgment, I turned and watched as it drove off the premises.

I couldn't help but wince, accidentally letting the hard, emotional barrier I'd built up over the years crack a little.

"Mom, why'd you marry that phony? What is wrong with you?" I asked no one but myself. A question that already had an answer, and one I'd asked so many times before.

Mom married that old fart for protection, for money, and just because she wanted to. Getting a good husband for herself and a good father never was a factor for her to consider, not with how much of a revolving door her love life was. I hadn't been a priority to her for the last 10 years. It was always going to be just *her* needs.

So what *wasn't* wrong with her?

"I can't believe this..." I said to no one. A lie, really. One I'd said way too many times.

And I'd probably keep saying it for as long as I lived.

I was so caught up in wondering why I still wanted to defend my mom from her own awful decisions that I hadn't noticed the clicking of heels against concrete slowly growing louder.

"You must be the Hopkins girl,"

I jumped and turned, taken aback.

"Huh? Where'd you come from?"

It was a woman who was doing a bad job of looking younger than she actually was. She wore a dark, long-sleeved dress shirt with a matching pencil skirt. Her hair was done up a bit, curled up into rolls at the ends. In general, the woman had a very... old-fashioned look to her, as if the act of stepping out of my stepfather's rental car had sent me back in time a few decades.

"We've been expecting you, welcome to Bullworth Academy... (sigh)," the well-dressed woman said, putting an odd emphasis on the word Bullworth as well as raising and dropping her arms in a slow, dramatic arc as she did.

*'So weird'* I let the thought hover a bit.

"I'm sure you'll be happy here, very happy indeed..." She shrugged, "Anyway, I can't spend my life waiting around for naughty little girls... I've got a *man* to make happy"

*'Yeesh, you already remind me of my mother. That can't be a good sign.'*

"The Headmaster is expecting you Hopkins, in his study,"

"Ok, I'll go see him then," I replied. I then immediately turned and walked in the opposite direction of the school.

"Oh no, no, no, his study is over *there* girl, in the main building?" The over dressed woman adruptly mentioned in a hasty manner. I frowned and turned back to the woman, who pointed a finger towards the largest building on campus.

"Right... my bad ma'am." I tugged on the strap of my purse, silently annoyed that I wasn't able to get away with fleeing and hiding out until the school year ended.

It's not like mom would've noticed if I'd done that anyway.

I walked in through the entrance to the campus, already feeling like a trapped animal despite the gates still being open.

"Don't keep Dr. Crabblesnitch waiting, he's a brilliant man... brilliant..."

The gates behind me closed, and along with it, my one chance at freedom.

The woman took off without me for some reason, and I was left to just look around the area.

In front and to my left and right were two other buildings, both two stories tall.

However, I was stopped in my tracks by a group of three male students, all of whom seemed to be lacking the sweater vests that they should have been wearing. Their dress shirts weren't tucked in and instead left to hang out. They weren't even wearing slacks either. Instead, they all wore denim jeans for pants. Were they even following the dress code for this place?

They crowded around the middle of the two routes to what I could see were the two dorms, separated by gender.

It seemed they immediately noticed me as well, eyeing me down as fresh meat, clearly noticing I wasn't wearing the uniform.

Well, things were already off to a good start. I was still near the frigging entrance!

That *had* to have been a record.

The one in front, a white blond with a pimple problem, but an oddly charming smile approached me. The two behind the blond were backing him up, a dark-skinned black guy with a rather enthusiastic tone of voice yelling excitedly at the blond to "put the new kid in an armbar" and another white guy, except he had brown hair, as well as slightly tanned with a slingshot sticking out of his front pocket. He was quietly looking over the situation, It's like he was scheming hard about something, and I had a feeling it couldn't be anything good.

I was short, even for a girl, standing at barely 4'10. So despite the blond probably being average height for a guy his age, that still meant he had the height advantage. Same for the other two guys, who were a bit shorter than the blond but still obviously taller than me.

But that didn't mean much, in my opinion. I always felt the saying, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall" was accurate for a reason.

And if he didn't want to back off, "blondie" here was going to learn why pretty damn quick.

"Hey, new girl, a pretty face like mine is expensive to care for... How about a little dono to help keep it lookin' good?" He stuck out a slightly calloused hand, palm up and in my face. The other two boys behind him chuckled as if the whole thing was just a practical joke to them. One that "I" was the butt of.

I spared a glance at his open hand and then up to the face of the boy it belonged to.

"Wash your face first fucko. You've got the little dipper growing out of your forehead," I mocked, hissing the sentence out spitefully and glaring up at the taller boy. The grip on my purse tightened a bit.

My response made the blond drop his smile. I was white-knuckling the purse strap at that point.

"Eh! Wrong answer!" the blond reached for my bag.

Friggin' idiot.

Before he could react, I grabbed the arm that was reaching out for my bag, tugging him forward. I drew my head back and slammed it on his jaw, sending him falling back as I let go of his arm.

The two boys behind him yelled something out - a name, "Trent" or something - but before they could retaliate against me, I ducked away and sprinted off in the direction of the main building.

On the way, I bumped into a few students, earning a few insults and curses thrown my way. Luck was on my side, though, as a student exited the school building just as I neared the main door. I ran in while the door was still open, and it slammed shut behind me. I let out a breath, stepping forward into the large room.

A few students had taken notice of my adrupt arrival, but only for a few seconds, because they quickly went back to their daily routines just as soon as they had stopped.

*'...I guess that could've gone worse...'* I thought, heading up the stairs and into Dr. Crabblesnitch's office.

The first room I entered into was weirdly dark, with the only bit of light coming from the ceiling of the other room, which looked to be Crabblesnitch's main office. I took a few steps inside until I was in the other room, catching Crabblesnitch's attention soon after.

The light above turned out to be a skylight set into the ceiling, illuminating the room in the sun's natural yellow glow. There wasn't any sign of artificial light in the entire room, which... gave me a few thoughts, the first being of how cool it'd be to take pictures in here. The second thought was of how comforting this place should feel... yet I couldn't help but feel so uncomfortable and tense. That clearly wasn't a good sign.

"Ah, yes, so you must be Miss Hopkins," the older man said, gesturing for me to take a seat on one of the chairs lined up right in front of his desk.

I sighed.

"Uh huh," I said, hoping to get out of this room as soon as possible.

Crabblesnitch's brow furrowed, clearly annoyed with my overtly informal reply.

"What? 'Uh huh', what?"

I grumbled quietly.

"...I meant 'yes sir'..."

"Very good, now let me see..."

I sat down as Dr. Crabblesnitch brought out a folder nearly bursting with papers, which were the documentation of my record from the last 7 schools I'd attended along with some police reports. I thought it was impressive how thick the folder was. Anyone else probably - rightfully so maybe - might've felt a bit of shame looking at it... but not me. You couldn't pay me to care really.

So it wasn't surprising that the papers pretty much smothered Crabblesnitch's desk, covering the fine maple in a sea of white. As well as some red and black, due to the pen ink on the papers.

Crabblesnitch feigned a gasp, dragging his finger over multiple spots on different papers.

"My, my, Miss Hopkins, you've done a lot of naughty things, haven't you? Vandalism, graffiti, bad language, violent conduct, disrespecting staff, a shoplifting charge, and is that..." He motioned to a particularly large bit of red writing. "Arson? Oh, I'm absolutely terrified of *you* Miss Hopkins!" Dr. Crabblesnitch concluded, feigning fear much like that gasp from earlier.

"Aw c'mon, give me a break. That last one was an accident..."

Aside from everything else. Arson was probably the one I *hadn't* meant to do, oddly enough.

Crabblesnitch didn't appear convinced.

"Regardless, I don't think I've ever met a girl like you, never in all my years! You must be the rudest little girl I've ever encountered!" He lowered himself down to meet me eye-to-eye. "Tell me, Jane, why should I waste my precious time on *you*?"

I shrugged in response.

"I dunno."

Dr. Crabblesnitch stood up straight.

"Because it's my calling! It's what I do!" The older man pointed at Jenny. "*You* excel at causing trouble..." He gestured to himself. "And while my expertise is in fixing little boys rather than little girls, I'm sure my methods could work on someone 'butch' such as you, eventually you'll be the respectable young woman that you're meant to be! I have a good feeling about you, Miss Hopkins, I'm sure you and I could grow to be great friends..."

*'Sure, whatever you say.'* was my first thought. Okay, not really. My first thought was actually: *'Did he just call me 'butch'? What does that even mean? That's a name, isn't it?'*

Regardless, I was able to see through this guy like glass. I was sure the Dr's definition of a "respectable woman" was probably a few decades passed.

I was starting to see a pattern...

"Now, you keep that nose clean girl, or I'll scrub it raw myself if I have to!" He turned to the open door of his office. The clacking of heels caught my attention, so I turned to look as well. The lady who'd met up with me and abandoned me at the gate earlier strutted through the door, a serving tray with a tea kettle and a matching tea cup set in her hands. "Ms. Danvers?"

"Yes, Headmaster, and I've got your tea..."

"You are good to me, Ms. Danvers"

"No more than you deserve... Headmaster," Ms. Danvers said demurely, setting the tray down on a nearby table.

*'Ugh, i'm gonna hurl. Might get me in trouble, but that's better than whatever i'm sitting through right now.'* I shifted in my seat a bit, looking away.

"Ms. Danvers, would you kindly take our new friend Miss Hopkins here to the girl's dorm so she can be properly attired?"

"Certainly Headmaster," Ms. Danvers turned in my direction. As she did, her expression instantly changed from pleased to something akin to a disgusted sneer. Like she was addressing a bug she'd accidentally stepped on. "Come along, girl. I haven't got all day,"

I stood up, but before I could finally leave, Crabblesnitch addressed me one last time.

"And remember, young lady, you will have a clean nose, so keep it clean; or we'll do it for you."

As I left Crabblesnitch's office, I pondered at my current situation.

*'So, here I am at the worst school in the country, whose alumi are nothing but arms dealers, serial killers, and corporate lawyers. Real scum. And that out-of-touch old creep thinks he can tame me? We shall see my friend, I only give people what they have coming to them'*

Oh, that's good, that's something I'll have to remember to write into my diary later. I stuffed it in my suitcase for safe keeping, which was *hopefully* put into my dorm room.

Ms. Danvers and I stepped back into the school's main office.

"Go, run along to the Girl's dorm, young Hopkins, i'm far too busy to deal with you." Ms. Danvers abruptly said, much to my confusion and a little bit of anger..

"Weren't you supposed to take me there? Like Dr. Crabblesnitch told you to do?" My mind thought back to those boys from earlier. I didn't doubt that they would try to harass me again, especially after what I'd done to their buddy.

"The girl's dorm is the first building to your right when you enter the school. I'm sure you can find it on your own. You'll have plenty of time to get unpacked as your schedule is still being set up due to your mother's inability to send in your admission slip on time. Now, get a move on, little miss." Ms. Danvers replied, pretty much ignoring the question.

Well, there went my security.

I struggled not to flip off Ms. Danvers on my way out as I left the building. On my way out I saw a group of well dressed guys who all simultaneously radiated an air of smug get into a fight with what I could only guess were a few background characters from the movie Grease.

What the hell was wrong with this place?!

*'Just gotta get to the Girl's dorm, and I can keep my head down till lunch. Seems like a solid enough plan to me.'* it wasn't like I had classes to go to, at least not until tomorrow, or, if I was lucky, the day after maybe; Until then, just keeping a low profile was the best option.

As I made my way down the steps, I noticed two of the bullies from earlier walking my way, the karate obsessed one and slingshot kid. Without hesistation, I began speed walking back to the large circle walkway near the entrance, the middle area separating the two dorms. In my haste, I figured going right was correct, going off of memory of what Ms. Danvers had told me minutes earlier. I mean, shoot, my memory couldn't have been that bad, could it?

*'Ms. Danvers said something about going right, so i'm going right. Screw it'*

It was only when I reached the front of the building that I realized I'd fucked up my directions. I could clearly make out the words, 'BOY'S DORM' above the entrance to the building.

The blond, Trent *if* my memory was correct - considering how I ended up here, I was justified in having my doubts - who had tried to shake me down for money earlier stood in front of the steps leading to the dorm's entrance. His lower lip was swollen and turning a nasty shade of red and purple. He was joined alongside two redheads - auburn on the right and maroonish in front of the two - dressed similarly to him on the stairs leading up to the Boy's Dorm.

"It's her! That's the new girl who did it, Wade! I'm gonna end up relegated to backstage duty for my next play because of her!" Trent motioned at me, then to his throbbing, already starting to redden lower lip as he addressed the leading redhead.

"YOU'RE GONNA GET IT WWIIMMMPPP" the other red haired boy to the left practically shouted out. I wasn't sure if the guy lacked an inside voice or if he was just *really* that mad about what I'd done to his buddie's lip.

"You're dead, new kid, DEAD!" The redhead who'd been referred to as "Wade" shouted, making his way down the steps with his fists up and at the ready.

I backed away and turned, ready to sprint away again. Instead, I found that there were 4 other people behind me. There were the two other boys from earlier, the karate kid and Slingshot blocking off the entrance along with a black haired boy with a hell of a black eye on his right eye in the middle of them, though he looked a bit nervous. I knew he was with them, though, with how similarly he was dressed, with the white school button up with jeans look.

Then there was the last member, and she probably stood out the most, even though she was clearly with them given her outfit. She was a blonde, like Trent; and while that probably didn't necessarily mean they were related, the way she smiled certainly matched the same one he'd had earlier. She had those... weird emo kid hairstrips, the ones with jagged purple and black stripes. Her button-up shirt was open, and under it was a black spaghetti strap undershirt.

Her makeup was all fucked up, streaks of eyeliner haphazardly swiped under her eyes onto her cheeks as well as on her lips, which had some purple lipstick on peeking out from underneath all the mess. It was like she'd done her makeup while she was in the middle of a mental breakdown, just swiping and swiping until she'd finally felt satisfied.

She wore striped arm warmers and even though she wore jeans to match with the other boys, they were noticeably ripped to the point where the right pant leg was just gone, cut off to probably the beginning of her thigh. Underneath that was a pair of thigh-high socks, similar in color to her hair strips and arm warmers. Her shoes were a pair of Chuck Taylor shoes, yet again, the same color scheme to the aforementioned other articles of clothing she had.

She still had the school issued skirt and tie, but even she'd managed to put her own... unique touch on how she'd worn them. The skirt was tattered, not really exposing anything since she wore jeans, but I was surprised she was bold enough to just wear them destroyed like that. Then there was the way she wore the tie, which had me all kinds of confused. She had it in her hair, using it as a hair tie to pull some of her long hair into a side ponytail.

It was kind of difficult not to notice and point out all the oddities of her outfit. It was just... all out there.

She held up a video camera and pointed it at me. Great, so she thinks she's gonna record me getting my ass kicked? Nice, real nice. What a goddamn joke. I was just gonna be a part of something her and her buddies would laugh at later.

"Yeah! Get her! Get the new kid!" the karate obsessed boy jeered.

*'Damn it, mom, why'd it have to be this school?'* I thought as Wade began to get closer and closer.

"You jerks are really pissing me off! That's not something you wanna do, I'm only gonna tell you once! Screw off!" I carried myself and threatened him in the most intimidating way I could. A part of me knew it wouldn't work, though. It rarely ever did.

It wasn't fair. People always just had to pick on me, and for what? For what goddamn reason?! Why was I some kind of target for people to pick on?!

"A bit late for that bitch! Now put up or shut up and i'll beat your ass!"

I grabbed at the strap of my purse, letting it slip off my shoulder and fall to the ground.

What right did these jerks have to push me around? What dumb justification did they have? It was probably some bullshit about them being sad or something, as if that gave them any right...

I scowled, stepping forward towards the taller red-head.

Well, no more. These guys were clearly asking for it, so they were going to get *exactly* what was coming to them. I'd make damn sure of it.

I didn't notice the growing crowd forming behind the bullies blocking my only exit. Mainly students lured by all the commotion going on. I hardly heard the yipping and yelling of the crowd, my anger and frustration causing it all to merge together into some incomprehensible mish-mash of sound.

Wade took a step toward me, getting within a distance where he could hit me; instead, my fist cracked against his face, and the sound of my knuckle hitting spongy skin made an unpleasant sound. The force caused Wade to stumble back. His body barely turned 180 degrees before he fell back. His body hit the stone ground, and, for a moment, it all went quiet aside for the sound of me exhaling angrily.

Trent and Troy looked down at Wade's knocked out body in surprise, then looked up at me. It wasn't long until Trent blurted something out.

"Grab her Ethan!"

Behind me, Ethan grabbed at my arms, clearly trying to restrain me, but I realized he wasn't that much taller than me, so I retaliated by headbutting him. I whipped around, realizing that it was the Kung-fu kid from earlier. I threw a hard punch at his gut, and it was enough to double him over.

With my back turned, Trent took the opportunity to grab what little hair I had on my head and yank me back, followed by him pinning my arms while Troy prepared to punch me in the face.

Bad idea.

I ducked at the last second, and instead of Troy's fist hitting me, he'd accidentally socked Trent in the jaw instead.

"OH NO, I DIDN'T MEAN TO-"

Trent let go of me, and I kneed Troy in the crotch. Returning the favor, my fist met the middle of Troy's face. I got a bit of a thrill as I felt some of the bones of his nose crack from the force. He screamed and fell over, his nose already gushing.

I backed away, now facing the rest of the jerks who were stupid enough to mess with me.

2 down... 3 more to go. Trent, black eye kid, and Slingshot.

The three came at me all at once. Black eye kid tried grabbing for me.

"Nobody beats on Tom's frie-AaagGGGHHhhh!"

I kicked the kid, whose name was Tom, apparently, hard in the groin. I slammed my head on the left side of his face, subconsciously hoping to give him another black eye just for being stupid enough to grab me.

Slingshot grabbed me, and I took Tom and shoved him at Slingshot, causing the both of them to topple over. Slingshot kid hit the ground rather hard, and with the weight of Tom, he was knocked out.

Then there were just two, me and Trent.

He caught me off guard. Trent threw a punch at my face, and it connected. I stumbled back, and he hit again. That time it was a kick to my gut.

I found myself stumbling back a bit, but rather than that screwing me over, instead I ducked his punches. Trent was a lot taller than me, and I knew an easy way to use that against him.

I backed off, ducking to avoid both his punches and kicks. This only agitated him further, and he tried to get closer.

Before he knew what I was doing, I charged at him. I ducked, wrapping my arms around his waist and tackling him to the ground. He couldn't even act, freezing up as I laid punches on his face and chest. I was nearly out of breath by the time I was done.

Eventually, Trent stopped resisting altogether, head lolling to the side as the only sound he made was some pained groans.

I stood up, and only then did I notice the crowd blocking the entrance.

Every single one of them was shocked, and for a moment, their reactions had me a bit giddy. Especially the other Bully girl who was dressed weird, who was still filming *everything.* She appeared as if she wasn't sure if she should still film everything or not.

I was tempted to laugh until I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Y-You! Bitch! Once I'm- I'm done with you! You'll be drinking from a straw!"

Behind me, Wade yelled, and I turned around just as he swung for my face clumsily, as if my earlier punch still had him a bit dazed. I grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn.

A smirk crossed my face knowing what I was about to do.

With Wade's back to me, I grabbed his jeans and gave him a wedgie, causing him to squeal in a high pitch. I kicked him in the lower back for good measure, and the combination of the kick and his dazed state caused Wade to lose his balance, and just like when I'd slugged him in the face earlier, he fell and knocked himself out on the concrete.

And then it was all over.

I turned to Trent, and just to rub salt in the wound, I snorted and spat a wad of snot and spit on him.

"That's what happens when you screw with Jenny Hopkins! Who's your momma! Yeah!" I raised a fist to the air in triumph. Sure, my face kinda hurt and I was sure it'd bruise like hell, but hey! Things were actually going my way for once! I totally taught those jerks a lesson!

The crowd at the entrance began murmuring, and while I didn't catch what everyone was saying, one sentence stood out to me for whatever reason.

"Wow, what an idiot. Russell isn't going to like this." One of the more snobbish, uptight voices in the crowd spoke, giving me pause.

I waved it off, and spat back.

"Pft, who's Russell? I'll kick his ass too!" I said proudly. I'd already beaten all these guys. How could another dude be any more trouble?

My newfound confidence proved to be short-lived, however, as I began to feel the earth shake from beneath me.

An Earthquake? In New England?

No, that couldn't have been it, did they even have earthquakes in New England? What else could it be?

Whatever it was, it couldn't have been anything good, judging by how the crowd that surrounded the entrance to the Boy's Dorm just seconds earlier seemingly vanished without a trace, including the weirdly dressed girl.

A loud, ear shattering bang of wood hitting stone sounded behind me.

I twirled around, my usual squinted eyes now wide open in *bafflement* at the sight of the possible missing link in human evolution that she'd kept hearing about from those Bigfoot hunting shows.

At the top of the steps to the Boy's Dorm, an overly large ogre of a - Adult? Teen? I couldn't tell - student, judging by the uniform, stood as tall as he was wide, his frame taking up the entirety of the double door frame. He took one look at me, and then the group of boys laying prone on the concrete.

If this was a cartoon, I was sure there'd be steam pouring out of his ears. His face was redder than a chili pepper from rage.

He yelled, literally roaring as if he was some kind of beast instead of a man... boy...

...Whatever...

"YOU'RE DEAD, NEW KID! DEAD! ROAARRR!"

*'Fuck my life.'*

The brown haired beast rushed toward me, and for the first time in forever, I was stuck in place and couldn't move.

His fist met my face, nearly knocking me off balance. I felt a hot fluid spray out of my nose from the hit, and my hands clasped my nose immediately after, coming back colored in a dark red that contrasted heavily with the light freckled skin of my hands.

I yelped, stepping back as the beast roared again and beat his chest like a goddamn gorilla. Before he could unleash another blow, however, a voice I didn't recognize yelled from behind me.

"Russell! Russell, no sir! Back off of that girl at once!"

I turned and saw as a thin, young adult woman with yellowish blonde hair ran towards Russel and I, getting in between the two of us. She started grabbing at my shoulders firmly as a way to get ahold of me and away from the much bigger boy in front of us.

My nose blood trailed down my mouth, and I tasted copper - A taste I was all too familiar with - as I looked to the woman who was now focused on Russell.

"That'll be enough of that young man! I know your mother taught you better than to lay your hands on a fellow student like that!" The woman who couldn't have been that much older than me barked to the boy who towered over her. The over developed brute didn't give much of a reaction. In fact, it didn't seem like the kid even had much of anything going on upstairs.

Yet he complied, stomping back into the Boy's Dorm, like a well-fed bear returning to its cave to hibernate for the winter.

I sniffed, looking up at the woman.

A teacher that actually gave a shit for once? It was like I'd found a 4-leaf clover... or something like that.

When the woman turned to me, her face looked like she'd been on the verge of bursting into tears at any moment. Yet when she spoke again, her voice was weak and quiet, but not really wobbly like you'd usually notice from somebody about to cry.

"Oh dear... Your nose is bleeding... I really ought to take you to see the nurse for that, it could be broken..." She pointed at the main school building, to the left door next to the main entrance. "The nurse's office is just right there."

I shook my head.

"N-no, it's fine. I know what a broken nose feels like and what I've got... isn't it." I said, blowing my nose and feeling a bit of blood ooze out. To say I was familiar with having my nose broken would be like asking me if I was familiar with eating. Or breathing. "I just need a napkin or tissue, whichever one I can get a hold of."

The lady still looked a bit worried, but she didn't hesitate to dig into the satchel she had hung on her shoulder. She brought out a small pack of tissues sealed in a plastic wrapping, opening it and offering some of them to me.

"Here, you ought to make your way into the Girl's dorm. It's the building just over there. Mrs. Peabody is inside, and she'll make sure you're taken good care of. She looks after the girls here in Bullworth Academy."

She stuffed the remaining tissues back in her satchel as I tore and stuffed the pieces of it up my nostrils to block the blood flow. I felt and looked dumb, but that was better than getting blood everywhere.

Begrudgingly, I thanked the blonde woman, and in response, she gave me a smile. It was... rather nice. But I didn't give much of a response other than a nod. Adults tended to be two-faced and phony, and for all I knew, this was just gonna be something temporary.

"Oh no need to thank me, miss, I'm just doing my job." she gave me a pat on the back, which simultaneously felt a bit patronizing... but also kinda nice.

Huh, it looked like she really was just a nice lady. At least something was going good for me today.

"My name is Dr. Lamb, i'm Mrs. Peabody's aid as well as the school's guidance counselor. We'll probably be seeing a lot of each other from now on," Dr. Lamb looked around at the bullies who were currently writhing around in pain on the ground. I noticed she had a frown on her face, which made sense given what she had to deal with now... thanks to me no less.

"Go ahead and get yourself settled over in the Girl's Dorm. Mrs. Peabody might be a little strict, but she genuinely does care for the well-being of all the girls here in the Academy. I'll just take these boys over to Nurse McCrae."

I looked around and only then really took in the carnage I'd caused. Trent, Wade, and the rest of their buddies were sprawled out all around us. At least two of them had a bloody nose, and the kid with the thick Brooklyn accent had a tooth knocked out and a small trickle of blood trailing down his lips. Yeesh, I might've headbutted him harder than I thought. Wade's underwear peaked out of the back of his pants as he laid face down, clearly stretched out from the wedgie I'd given him.

I felt like grinning, but I felt that'd probably upset Dr. Lamb. She'd already been so nice to me, fucking up her opinion of me by being my typical snarky bitch self would suck.

"Yeah, I'll just get going... Thanks Dr. Lamb..."

I looked to the Girl's Dorm, only to notice her, the girl from before who'd been recording everything, running back to the scene. I'd been prepared to beat her ass like I'd done to her friends when she just bumped into me, running past *without* apologizing and yelling:

"Guys! Don't worry, I've got my healing crystals!"

A chorus of groans came from the boys lying down, and I stifled a laugh before making my way to the Girl's dorm properly.

[sworn-in-blood]

ALT MUSE : JESSICA "JESS" DEVEREAUX

extra :

names/nicknames :

✧﹒Jessica "Jess" Devereaux Barlowe .

orientation/identity :

✧﹒lesbian ✧﹒cisfem. ✧﹒she/her

languages:

fluent french & english , limited spanish, russian, arabic & mandarin.

ethnicity

✧﹒french

age :

Varies . Looks like Jess at late twenties/early to mid thirties .

hobbies :

fears :

None on record .

occupations :

A mercenary by trade , Devereaux's history is incredibly affiliated and entertwined with the Connections . Cloned from Jess Barlowe , another well-known mercenary , she was kept secret until the time came where she picked up assignments on behalf of the organization . Why have one Jess when you can have two and double the efficiency?

tattoos :

None .

physical appearance :

Standing at about 5'9' , Jess typically sports short blonde hair , parted and clipped to the side , along with hazel eyes . Her typical wear consists of thicker jackets with inner pockets , semi-casual wear , gray suits , and darker colors , such as forest-greens , browns , blacks and greys . She wears a slight amount of eyeliner/eyeshadow on a regular basis . Tends to wear a lot of silver rings on her hands - a few of them seem to still have bloodstains on them if you look at it underneath the right light . She's an exact copy of Jessica Barlowe, and has been trained to opt for the original's sense of fashion and style.

scars :

Gunshot scar on left shoulder . Knife scars on her knuckles and left palm . Exact same as the original .

alignments :

neutral evil

comprehensive

**Devereaux has a personality that's almost the exact same and indistinguishable from her original's , but she tends to be a lot more focused on specific affiliations and loyalties whereas the original hardly cares about who she takes contracts for. See Jess' page for further information but Devereaux has essentially received a ton of both conditioning and coaching when it comes to the real Jess' tendencies, habits, relationships and her connections to others outside of the organization .

history/backstory :

Cloned from Jess Barlowe upon the other starting to take more regular contracts for The Connections , the organization kept the project under tight wraps as they sought to develop a bioweapon from the mercenary's skills and incredible decisiveness in combat . It was kept secret for several years before she was given her own assignments by the organization as now Jess Barlowe , and was tasked to infiltrate several government organizations and essentially provide both information and resources . Any history from before this is fabricated , but she is aware that she isn't the original Jess — and tends to be at strong odds with her and once Devereaux is discovered by the other mercenary , the two develop a strong rivalry and constantly play their game of cat-and-mouse to hunt each other down .

family && relations :

None . Exact copy of Jess Barlowe .

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Favorite headcanon for every ghoul! Go!

Mountain

obviously I’m a big advocate for puppy mountain 

Had a plant for each of the ghouls. 

Can grow flower and herbs in his hair. Grows mushrooms when he’s stressed

one of the best cooks. 

One of two ghouls that can drive.

Early riser, rises with the sun.

Ridiculously tall. Always hitting his head don door frames.

Big lover of kissing.

Favourite colour is green.

Loves reading poetry

Vegetarian

Ram horns

Collects bug and insects

Spider catcher of the ghouls.

Joins the girls for girls night

Rain

webbing between his finger and toes

Gills on his neck and ribs

Chronic biscuit maker.

Worst chef. Can’t even make cereal

Presses the flowers Mountain grows into books.

Big sweet tooth

Will only wear crop tops. Even in the winter.

Cold to the touch

Scales on his arms and back

Bellybutton piercing. It’s a little sparkly raindrop that Dew got him for Christmas.

Night owl

Super clumsy

Slightly slimy skin

Loves the aquarium

Dewdrop

 Kitty

has scars where his gills use to be

Blue eyes from being a water ghoul

Early riser with Mountain. They like to cuddle on the sofa together while eating breakfast

Obsessed with dinosaurs

Hot to the touch

Good chef

Sucks the spade of his tail

Scared of the dark. Can’t sleep without Aether

Loves baking with Cumulus

Gets used as a heater in the winter

Likes sleeping in the fireplace

Can explode lightbulbs if he sneezes

Calls cereal ‘boy kibble’

Can play drums

Unhealthily obsessed with milk.

Pescatarian

Swiss

Loves getting stoned with Mountain

Just dance champion. Seriously no one can beat him

Horrendous chef. Don’t even let him look at the kitchen

Is the reason salt lamps are banned from the den

Hawaiian shirt wearer

Paints his claws

Has an extensive skincare routine

Crazy strong. Can lift Dew and Rain up together

Steals the fluffy blankets from cirrus’ bed

Crooked fangs

Hates sleeping alone

Greek mythology obsession

Two tongues

Phantom

also puppy

Sleeps with a stuffed rabbit. Seriously can’t sleep without it

Loves hiking and being outdoors. Spends a lot of time in the greenhouse with Mountain

Loves worms

His quintessence is more focused on orthopaedics

Cries at anything

Loves cocktails

Scar on his cheek from when he was summoned

Also Sucks the spade of his tail

Cow-like ears

White strip in his hair

Always wears glittery eyeshadow

Obsessed with cats. Can’t see a cat in the street without stopping

Aether

Dad? No, mother

Also a Hawaiian shirt wearer. Him and Swiss share

Nurse at the abbey infirmary

Carries Dew and Phantom around like kits

Second ghoul that can drive

Red Mohawk

Nose, lip and tongue piercing

Vinyl collection

Best collection of hoodies. Will let anyone wear them

Loves fruit

Paints

Bonded with Copias rats

Can’t ride a bike

Cirrus

daddy

Wears rings

Buff af

She/her/he/him

Goes to the gym with Swiss and Aether

Mechanic. Can fix anything

Good chef

Big top little pants

Makes fun of Aether for not knowing how to ride a bike.

Clothes stealer

Really sharp fangs

Made a Battle jacket

Wine drinker

Flexible

Cumulus

literal Barbie girl

Sims player

Loves all games is so good cod

Whiskey enjoyer

Country music lover

Favourite colour is pink

Crazy curly hair

Has deep stretch marks on her belly. Swiss like to put edible glitter on them and lick it off

Gap in her front teeth

Steals cirrus’ battle jacket

Loves Valentine’s Day

Fluffy tail

Has feathers on her arms and thighs

Sunshine

Literal ball of sunshine

Has a Christmas tree in her room all year around

Should wear glasses but doesn’t

Mountain always grows sunflowers for her

Gold jewellery wearer

Super freckly

Has one yellow and one orange eye

Good at photography

Has a cat hidden in her room

Stayed at the abbey instead of touring because she was working in the nursery and fell in love with the kids

Aurora

kitty

vitiligo

Purrs the loudest

Literal princess. Always gets her way

Obsessed with space and the stars

Loves horror movies

Coffee snob

Can sleep anywhere

Scared of flying

Very good baker

Wears heart shaped sunglasses