#i have a need of water near / district four

[65ths]

Swordfish, tuna, mackerel, salmon, squid, abalone, crab, prawn, and spiny lobster—District 4 is the Capitol’s source for seafood. The fisheries, canneries, and boat crews of District 4 work around the clock to supply the Capitol’s demand for ocean delicacies.

im not saying i had my little fisheries split up into certain kinds of catch and crews but i didn’t not split them up by certain kinds of catch and crew

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter four | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | Coryo being Coryo, elitism, panic attack (nothing too graphic), mentions of death, mentions of blood (just a tiny bit), male masterbation near the end of the chapter | lmk if i forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 they meet up in the library, Coryo has a panic attack, and low-key has issues 💀 but hey, he fucks his fist in the end of the chapter also let's his paranoia win lmao

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 reposting this!! Hope y'all like it!

beta read by @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation | previous chapter

You didn't disappoint.

He couldn't help the heavyweight leaving his chest, his shoulders relaxing and his face in a smile (which he quickly hides) as he sees you. You were sitting on a chair, a stack of books in front of you, parchments all over the table, cookies in a box and you were writing something with your pen.

Was it instinct? Was it the bond? He will never know but you look up and meet his gaze. Your eyes narrowed at him, for being late he reasoned but he noticed that you relaxed as well, your body nearly sagging into the chair.

“You're late,” you greet him as he sits across from you. He shrugged, his eyes looking at the cookie and he ignored the clench of his stomach. He had cabbage soup again for dinner, the tasteless veggie didn't do anything to satisfy his hunger. It served as a reminder instead of why he needed to win the Plinth Prize.

He replied, “Death does that.” He tried to keep his voice sad yet composed. How sad could one be when you lose a family who is poison with perfect teeth.

“Should have stayed at home to mourn then.”

“I plan to do that at the funeral.”

Your eyes meet his briefly when you hear his answer, he notices that your eyes are red. Like it would be when you're crying. He couldn't wrap his mind around why you would be crying. Arachne was never a friend to you, a district girl, if anything you were the one who received most of her scorn. And yet you were with tears in your eyes, instead of him, a Capitol boy, someone with the same blood as hers.

What does that say about him?

“I plan to do the same too… She's family after all.”

Not yours. He wanted to reply but didn't. He gave you a nod and went back to his work. Ignoring the way your hand subtly (not so much) wiped the tear away from your cheek, and the growl of his stomach when he smelled the chocolate chip cookies sitting right in front of him.

Hours bleed and both of you were still working with minimal talking. He wanted to ask what you were so diligently reading and jolting down. His mind is plaguing him with the fact that you have better ideas than him. You seemed well prepared enough with all of the books that were left open around you.

You make a soft humming noise, “Your father was a co-founder of the Hunger Games.” You chuckled, though Coriolanus didn't know what was funny. “And here you're writing a proposal on how to improve the Games. Like father, like son.”

You give him a small smile. And then it turns into a frown when you notice that the cookies remain untouched. “I made these for us, ya know. I promise that they don't have cyanide in them. You can try but no promises if it's good or not. As the cook I am biased but I would love your opinion.”

His lips quirked up at your joke. You always had an uncanny sense of humor and you were never hesitant to showcase. He was glad to finally have permission to taste those mouth-watering cookies. “Thank you,” he manages to reply cordially as he takes a cookie for himself to munch on.

Your eyes were innocently wide as you watched him eat the cookie. You had stopped your writing, the quill resting on the side of your proposal. He realized that you were waiting for his comment, waiting for his approval. And he squirmed in his seat as he realized that you were hanging onto his words for something as simple as a cookie.

“It’s delicious,” he said, his tongue licking his lips to get the remaining cookie crumbs. He smiled a smile that wasn't calculated like every one of his interactions with his peers were. He smiled a smile reserved for a soulmate he couldn't have.

He sees your grin when you hear his opinion. Your face brightens up and you give your attention back to your work with vigor. It made Coriolanus realize your confidence was a facade, just like his perfection was. There was a certain joy in knowing that for Coryo.

And the bonus point is the fact that you asked for his opinion on nearly everything since childhood, even after getting closer with Sejanus, it's his approval you sought.

It was such a heady feeling that always fed to his ego and calmed his mind down from jealousy. Even if your proposal was better than his, in the end, it didn't matter if he simply lied to your face about it.

Soon, he was over with his proposal. The cookies were now finished and his body filled with the rare satisfaction of not having an empty stomach. He looks at you and sees that you are revising your written proposal now.

He bites his tongue to distract his mind from the fact of how pretty you looked like this. Your lips parted, your eyes focused (will it be focused on him like that if he ever kissed you, or will your eyes glaze over with pleasure?). He hated how he felt at that moment, like a teenage boy with a crush.

He decided to distract himself with something better. Your proposal. “I check yours. You check mine?” He suggested, quirking his eyebrow for an extra measure to convince you.

You frown for a moment and he has to fist his hand to make sure he doesn't come forward and smooth the wrinkles away. “Sure,” you reluctantly agree, a hint of hesitation clear in your eyes.

“What?” He smirks, leaning forward a bit (close, close, but too far). “Afraid I will steal your ideas?” He asked his tone just a tiny bit condescending.

You looked down. Backing away from his challenging gaze, taking the fun out of it. “More like you'll laugh at my face,” you muttered.

Now it was his time to frown.

“That was one time.”

“One time too many,” you replied.

And then you add, “Give me yours first, and then if I like it I will give you mine.”

He grits his teeth, already knowing that your district stubbornness won't have you backing away. “Fine,” he said and he held the assignment in front of you. Yours for the taking.

Your fingers brush his as you take over the papers. The touch sends an electric jolt down his spine as he retrieves his hand back quickly. His breaths are shallow and cheeks burning, eyes diverted away from yours as the soulmate bond flares up.

It happens rarely, often in the comfort of his home that he feels his need for you. Like an addict. His need to be close to you, his need to hold, kiss, and love you.

It's a phenomenon restricted to those who try to reject their partners despite knowing who they are. And what better example was for that than Coriolanus Snow.

He could feel the blood rush. A high that was crashing, and he was the urge to just fuck it. Fuck you, claim you against the shelves, kiss you. Something, anything that would calm his baser instincts. But it didn't work like that.

He wasn't a District animal, he was a Capitol boy and he won't be losing control in this manner.

But he was so close to it and the worst part of it all? You weren't even doing anything except reading his paper, your shoulders relaxed as you leaned back in your chair. Your tongue peeking out to lick your dry lips, as you flick over the next page.

One of your hands on the table and your fingers tapping an unknown tune on the wood of the table. It was overwhelming. He felt his senses going haywire and he needed to be away, alone from you.

He stood up, ignoring the sound of a chair scratching the expensive floor. “I'll be back,” he said, his mind anxious but his face had no expression whatsoever. You didn't even look at him, just nodded, and that somehow frustrated him.

‘Look at me,’ he wanted to yell, ‘Look at the state I am in because of you.’

But he didn't, so he rushed to the bathroom. Closing the stall with the lock, and pulling down the lid so he could sit on it. He takes in deep breath, pulling his sleeves up as he begins to feel his legs shake, tapping the tiles with a tic, tic noise. He begins to pay attention to the noise more than his chaos of the mind, letting everything simply fade away as his breathing gets to normal. It takes a while, his shirt now sweaty clinging to his skin, and his curls now messed with his hands constantly running through it. But he was feeling better now, despite his throat being parched.

After washing his face several times in the sink, he gets himself outside of the bathroom. He frowns when he notices the time. He was there for nearly twenty minutes. Embarrassing, how was he going to explain that? Fuck.

Turns out he didn't have to because you were gone. He feels bewildered as he reads the note you left on the table.

‘Had to go! Will submit your proposal along with mine by tonight!’

He grits his jaw, he hadn't permitted you to do such a thing. Even though a part of him did feel grateful that he wouldn't have to walk the extra mile to submit his work. He still felt angry though, and it wasn't admittingly your fault.

But you were the cause of it. And with the current circumstances, it's not like he could punish you for it. He wanted to, there's no denying that.

When he reaches home, his anger boils, waiting to be spilled around those around him. Grandma'am was asleep, he ignored Tigris when she had sweetly asked if you were present. He locked his bedroom door, it was a miracle he hadn't slammed it shut.

He was mad. He was frustrated, so much so that he couldn't explain. He lets out a growl, his hands in a fist, as if he wasn't sure that the wall would break had he punched it. He would have.

You weren't a drug (you were). He wasn't an addict (he was).

So why did he crave you so much? Why just a few moments alone with you has him in ruin?

‘District, district,’ he repeats in his mind, ‘You’ll never be Capitol. No matter how many proposals you write to damn your people. No matter how much money you have, or how many years you have lived in the Capitol.’

Even when he was lying on his bed, his breath was labored, his skin too hot. He couldn't stop replying to the time he had spent with you today. It was impossible not to.

You were so you.

Perfect. Flawed. Beautiful. Horrible. Everything and nothing. You made him feel like he had fire in his heart but he was a Snow. It was so jarring.

He was simply a teenage boy, and you made everything so complicated just by existing. You made him hot, burning, and fuck, he hated how he felt right now. That the anger melted away but the fire didn't. That the blood rushed from his head to his cock. He couldn't help it.

It's your fault that you made him succumb to this state. It's in you that he had one of his hands under his blanket, his eyes shut, his teeth digging into the flesh of his lower lip. He muffled a whine, as he gripped his hard cock.

The pain he felt as he bit his lips couldn't compare to the relief that came as he slowly began to stroke his cock. He strokes it slowly, savoring the sin he was indulging himself in. When he felt blood in his mouth from how hard he had bit himself, he used his free hand to muffle his soft groans instead.

He felt so boyish as he continues to fuck into his fist now, his hips rolling upwards as he continues. His pre-cum coating his length and acting as the lube. His thumb rubs against his sensitive, leaking cockhead. It makes him groan so loud that for a moment he feels like Tigris has heard.

He stops for a moment, his breathing heavy as he waits to hear footsteps. He doesn't hear one and sighs in relief. He begins to stroke his dick again, this time the pace quick and rough. His other hand wandered down his body to cup his balls, his face buried into his flimsy pillow, his teeth biting onto it. His saliva dampens the pillow, creating a wet stain that he would later feel embarrassed about.

He whines into the pillow, wanting to cum. He was so close, he just needed… needed…

You.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He groans and then moans your name as the mere thought of you has him cumming. His eyes roll back and he gasps, his blanket ruined. His cheeks burn as he realizes the cycle he's in but he couldn't care less when his bones are jelly and his mind is filled with euphoria.

When he did come back to his senses, he didn't let his shame overwhelm him. Instead, he changed his sheets, the stained ones in the laundry basket (it was his turn to wash tomorrow). He sat in front of his desk, ignoring how early light seemed to be sweeping into the room from the window. He takes out some parchment, quill, and ink.

He begins to write.

Just in case, you steal his work.

No point in trusting someone from the district, right?

NEXT PART

[leggerefiore]

Quagsire

cw: fluff,

pairing: Rika/Reader

summary: You return from a trip to Johto with a gift for your girlfriend. She loves it for a different reason then you intended.

Rika sighed as she checked her phone again. Was your flight delayed? Her eyes went to a nearby screen. There was nothing to alert her to that. She ran her fingers through her hair. No messages from you, not that you could while the plane was landing.

You had gone out of the region on a trip to Johto, claiming to want to see the historical districts of Ecruteak and Violet City, while also seeing how different the battling style was there in comparison to Paldea. She would have loved to join you, but getting the time off just seemed impossible. There was always something that needed her attention as an Elite Four member. Though, she was glad to see you off, with a request that you bring her a gift back to make up for her not getting to go.

Today was your return from Johto. She had specifically requested off so she could spend some quality time with you. Yet, the universe still seemed to be denying her that. Shaking her head, she looked at her phone again. Nothing. Before she could wander away from the gates, though, a familiar voice yelled out her name. You rushed over to her with a bright grin while carrying all your luggage. Rika felt her lips twitch up into a grin at seeing you finally.

She caught you in a hug as you put down a bag to squeeze her tightly. A chuckle left her, “I thought your plane got lost or something.” Your warmth instantly soaked into her and dispersed any lingering frustrations. With a light laugh from you, both of you headed out of the busy place and went home.

Once you had your bags tucked away, you both crashed on the couch. Rika turned on the television to some boring show that mostly served as background noise as you cuddled up together. You were exhausted from the trip, and she was exhausted from the extra work she had to do to get today off. Her arm was tightly around your shoulders as she laid a kiss into your hair.

Everything seemed to be pointing to you both taking a nap.

Until you suddenly jumped out of the embrace to rush into the bedroom. Rika watched your rapid shift with a confused expression. You scrambled to search through your bags before returning with a pokeball in your hand. She cocked a brow up. A battle? Honestly, she would have preferred a nap, but if you insisted, she guessed. Before she could send out a pokemon, you quickly gave the pokeball to her.

“Your gift,” you smiled at her brightly, “I found a pokemon I thought you'd like!” Rika's eyes went wide. You got her a pokemon? Did Johto have interesting ground types? She did not think so, but the green-haired woman would never reject a gift from you. Sending it out, she watched a… familiar shape come out of the light.

A confused blue pokemon took shape as it looked around the apartment. Rika almost wanted to laugh. “A Quagsire?” she knelt down to pet the water fish pokemon, “Aren't you a cutie? You have a look in your eyes just like my Clodsire.” The Quagsire gave a “d'oh?” in reply to the woman's questions. It did lean into her hand, however, deeply enjoying the petting. “Babe, is this guy even a ground type?” she asked you, genuinely wondering. She knew they were related to Clodsires as they both came from Woopers, yet this pokemon just screamed water type. Then again, her Wishcash was both, too.

You nodded, “She's a water-ground type! I found her wandering alone as a little Wooper while exploring a route near a cave. She was too cute to just leave on her own, so I ended up training her.” Rika felt a bit flustered that you were gifting her a pokemon that you trained yourself. The Quagsire suddenly seemed even cuter to her.

“She's a great gift, no doubt,” she rubbed the pokemon's blobby head again, “Buuuut, what if you kept her, and we battled together as a Quagsire-Clodsire combo?” The idea entered her head and just would not leave. It was simply too much of a romantic thing for her to resist. You both standing side by side as couple trainers with your themed teams. Aces both being from the pokemon same family. She loved the idea a lot. When you two won, she could squeeze you into a hug and kiss you while your confused ground-fish pokemon watched.

You tilted your head in consideration. Quagsire could be bred to gift her a Johtonian Wooper in the end. Plus, there was an appeal to her idea. You nodded and knelt down with her to lean into her side. “Sure,” you agreed, “Let's become an annoying power couple in Paldea.” Her long hair tickled your skin as you nuzzled into her shoulder. A chuckle came from her.

Rika moved to peck a quick kiss on your lips to seal the deal.

[ms-nesbit]

Sweet home chicago (jason todd x afab!reader)

chapter one

Rating: 18+

Warnings: eventual smut, swearing, father figure dick grayson, skater tim drake, sad jason todd :(

Summary: dick and tim trick jason into taking a vacation in chicago. There, he meets someone he hopes to never forget.

Note: im sorry for dipping, yall. I really had some important things to take care of.

ao3

Amber and rose peeked through the hedge between the array of buildings on Michigan Avenue. Jason blended himself with the sea of tourists and chic aristocrats. He didn’t necessarily stick out like a sore thumb, as there were a few Chicagoans dressed casually like him; even in the late-November evening, he sported his signature red hoodie and straight fit jeans, tattered and dirty near the hem. No matter what, he wanted to appear mildly stressed, only mildly, so as to not draw more attention to himself than his six-foot-four frame already did.

He wondered how he got here. Was it the phone call from Dick, or the two dozen from Tim? Could it have been neither, and he perhaps wanted to rush the plane during the busiest season, nudged in a lousy middle seat between an obnoxious preteen and a middle-aged woman watching poorly edited, extremist conservative media? To be fair, Jason treated himself to Portillo’s once he left the airport - a well-earned reward for not lashing out at the self-absorbed individuals beside him.

He stepped briskly, moving in sync with the less-anxious of the crowd toward the shopping district notoriously named Magnificent Mile. On his left ear, he heard the excitement in the tune of indistinguishable conversations and the season’s final water taxis boarding; in his right, a wireless earbud, softly playing his childhood favorite, Diana Ross and the Supremes.

Once he reached the other end of the bridge, he strolled to the sidewalk in front of Tribune Tower, pulling his phone out and indiscreetly sending a message of his coordinates to-

A call. “As much as I love the smell of fish, garbage, and the crooked CPD, why did you and Tim want me here?” Jason was more curious than upset, but he’d rather not disclose his true feelings to his brothers.

“C’mon, Jay, it’s the Windy City! You ever been to Chicago?” Dick asked. “Beautiful everything here. Tim’s at the Van store up the street, and I’m grabbing a slice of pizza across from ya. You wanna come over and get a slice, grumpy? You get a little hangry sometimes.”

Jason sighed, and his stomach grumbled in response to the offer. “Alright, but I’m not goin’ outside. I sat next to some wackjob on the flight who sounded like she needed to be in the looney bin, and I’m not lookin’ to make friends.” As he spoke, he quickly turned his head before dashing across the busy street, waving off a car blaring its horn at him. “What’do’ey have?”

“How about you see?” Dick approached Jason, smiling mischievously. Jason ended the call, moving his eyes to Dick’s hands behind his back. “Guess what I got?”

“Dick, I’m not in the mood for games-”

“Ta-da!” Dick shifted in his coat, revealing a white box with a drawn pizza and the name Lou Malnati’s on it. Jason pretended like his mouth didn’t water at the smell of grease and garlic. “I had ‘em make a classic cheese with those square slices. How about we sit down on the riverfront and talk?”

And talk. No matter the temptation, be it a buttery, gooey pizza right under Jason’s nose, he still believed it wasn’t worth the compromise of having to make more than small talk with others. “Listen, Dickie, as much as I appreciate the offer, I don’t think I’m ready to talk about-”

“Dude, this isn’t about Artemis, if that’s what you’re about to say.” Dick shrugged in his beige peacoat, a piece of his thick, navy, knitted cardigan spilling from his waist. “I just want to, y’know, see if you want to go to this thing tonight.”

Jason cocked a brow in his theatrical manner. “So you and Tim badgered me, had me fly all the way to goddamn Chicago, all to just talk over some overpriced pizza?” Around him, he felt the glare of customers, but he doubled down, giving them knowing looks. “I’ve been here. Want a real place? Go to the goddamn place off Clark and Dickens. You’ll thank me later.”

Dick rolled his eyes, already tired by Jason’s heels in the sand. “Always gotta be a drama queen. Just…come with me. I’ll explain once we’re out of earshot.” His voice was hushed, signaling Jason to follow suit. They walked together to the riverwalk, sitting on the cold high-risen edging. Dick delicately opened the lid of the box, revealing the savory American delicacy and motioning for Jason to take the first slice.

Once Jason reached for the slice, taking his first bite and stretching the rosemary-seasoned cheese from its bed atop the crust, Dick began. “Tim and I were thinking that the three of us could use a break.” Jason grumbled indistinctly into his pizza slice, swirling the string of cheese around his tongue in a tight noose. “Bruce has been a handful lately - I mean, he always is - and I think it would be a good lesson for him to finally be on his own instead of taking us for granted, y’know?”

Jason nodded, rearranging his food to one side of his mouth so he could speak with the other. “You do know that Bruce is probably better off without me, right? Since I-” he swallowed the food, kissing the excess sauce and garlic from his teeth, “leave a ‘pretty big mess’, as he says.”

“You also help. Gang-related crime decreased about 37 percent when Red Hood regularly patrolled, and the Gotham Gazette did a poll, based on before and after Red: thanks to Red Hood, 6 out of 10 female Gothamites feel safe walking home at night, compared to the 3 out of 10 prior to Red Hood’s introduction.”

The statistic surprised Jason. He was used to the smearing from Justice League’s best, so it was nice to hear a compliment for a change. “And Timmy’s on board with this?” He didn’t hesitate to take a second slice, while Dick left the pizza untouched.

“He was the one who coined it.” Dick looked out at the river, mildly put off by Jason’s shameless eating habits. “We were patrolling one night and he just said it out of the blue. I get it, though.” He pursed his lips, staring wistfully. “I couldn’t tell you before because then you wouldn’t agree to it.”

Dick was right: when he’d offer to take Jason in after they reconciled, Jason refused. Though not Bruce’s blood son, Jason was comparably stubborn, sometimes surpassing the Dark Knight. “And where are we gonna stay?”

“That’s the best part.” Dick finally reached for a slice, folding it in half and dipping a chunk into his mouth to cut from the slice. “Tim hacked into Bruce’s business travel account and used some of his points to book a stay at some fancy place called Waldalf…lemme check.” Dick reached into his peacoat pocket and pulled out his phone, checking the reservation. He continued to chew, as did Jason, and Dick leaned over to show Jason the reservation email. “Astoria. It’s a couple of blocks here, I think. Worst case, we can just use a taxi or Uber there or something.”

“I’m banned from using Uber.” Jason said nonchalantly, squinting at the details on Dick’s pristine phone screen before looking the name up for himself. “I can walk as long as I can have another slice.”

Dick blinked at Jason blankly before glancing at the remnants of the pizza. “Take the small one right there.” Removing a wrinkled, discolored restaurant napkin from his back pocket, Jason snatched the slice with an asymmetrical, genuine smile, now holding a slice in each hand. Dick bit his tongue in his mouth to keep himself from laughing. If he hadn’t held a slice in his, he would have snapped a photo to send to the family group chat. “We’re already checked in, so just bring whatever luggage you have with you.”

Jason looked up from his slices like a deer in the headlights. “Sorry, I didn’t think to bring anything other than the usual.” With a slice, he vaguely gestured to his dirty clothes.

“I was…expecting that.” Dick chuckled lightly. “I brought you some clothes so you could go out and enjoy yourself for a change.” He spotted Jason’s eye roll. “You’re in your twenties, for crying out loud. Enjoy yourself! Make a friend. Would it kill you to just live?”

As Jason shook his head, a few strands of grey fell from his messily combed back hair and onto his forehead. “What, is coming back from the dead and seeking vengeance to blood-thirsty psychopaths not living?”

“No, it’s not.” a voice came from the other side of the riverwalk, by the bustling street: a lanky-built male, wearing a beige Santa Cruz sweatshirt and dark jeans, strolled on his skateboard toward the brothers. “And by the way, Jason, you look no different than the bourgeoisie skimming the racks at Urban Outfitters over there.” Jason’s frown dropped at Tim, already bugged by him. “Me and Dick were basically wanting you to, y’know, socialize like a normal human being. I know you’re an introvert, I get that, but you’ve gotta, y’know…converse.”

 Jason stood from the platform, brushing the suggestion from his broad shoulders. “Jesus, and you wonder why I don’t want to hang out with you guys.” he made an excuse and walked back toward Michigan Ave, finishing his slices along the way.

“By the way, Dick.” Tim nudged Dick with his elbow, showing him a photo of zoomed-in Jason, a few minutes earlier, smiling goofily with his two slices of pizza pie.

Dick erupted into laughter, doubling over and nearly knocking over the box.

-

“You got the terrace suite?” Jason muttered in blustering shock. “Bruce is going to be so pissed.” His lips stretched into a wide smile.

He plopped onto the sleeper sofa, sprawling his limbs out to relax. Dick assigned Jason to the couch (“Finder’s keepers!”), while Dick and Tim each slept in their separate rooms. “We already received a warning about how you’re dressed, Jason, so if you could please promptly change into something more appropriate, I’m sure this stay would be more enjoyable for all of us.” Dick managed to remain calm while conveying, despite the fatherly-level of disappointment underneath his skin.

Heeding Dick’s advice, Jason made his way to Dick’s room, where he opened up the luggage Dick neatly packed for him: a pair of dress shoes, two pairs of socks and boxer briefs (all red, for continuity’s sake), along with a lightweight, tightly knitted sweater, t-shirt, long-sleeve undershirts, and two pairs of slacks (one beige, one black). Jason sighed halfheartedly, bummed by the array chosen for him. He knew, of course, it was his responsibility to select his own attire, but of course he’d forgotten it, lost in the chaos of his everyday life; Dick anticipated Jason’s reaction, and packed something nonetheless, and although grateful, Jason still hesitated to express it.

While Tim and Dick explored the depths of downtown, Jason immersed himself into the room, quietly exploring the channels that Astoria offered.

Knock, knock. “Housekeeping!”

Jason yelled back, “Come in.” while munching on a bag of corn chips on the couch, eyes lasered on the television screen.

The housekeeper, wearing a black and sky blue uniform, pushed his trolley in. “Are you enjoying your stay, Sir?”

Jason shrugged. “My ma was a housekeeper for a bit. Don’t worry about the ‘sir’ stuff, it’s all good.” The response was new to the employee, who stood for a moment before excusing himself to clean the bathroom and bedrooms.

“Sir,” the housekeeper returned, gripping the trolley behind him with a single hand. “Would you mind vacating the room while I clean, or should I return if you are…busy?”

Jason looked at the chip crumbs on his hoodie before looking back at the housekeeper. “I’ve no problem leaving. I’ve gotta change, so I’ll go the other room. Could you just lock the door when you leave?”

“Absolutely, Sir.” the housekeeper said before Jason shut the bathroom door, slacks and sweater in hand.

—

Stepping out from the courtyard of the hotel premises, Jason wandered down the corner, unable to prevent himself from making grotesque faces at the high-end stores nearby. The breeze chilled the skin on his face to the point where it eventually felt like he was kissed by needles, and he unlocked his phone to find a place to settle down and (hopefully) eat. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an approaching blotch of yellow and blue, to which he immediately hailed down. A taxi parked along the curb, and Jason hopped in. “Could you please take me away from here? Some place with some good food?”

The driver gave Jason a look of uncertainty, pondering before nodding and starting the meter.

Jason sat back and relaxed as giant metallic letters standing proudly on top of clear, godliness glass storefronts began to disappear, one by one, until they were replaced with bulletins and signs, and tented storefronts matched with painted, worn down brickwork.

He exhaled in relief. Despite living with Bruce and his luxurious lifestyle, the unspoken language of wealth was still foreign to Jason. He didn’t understand why the affluent would whisper, and why evil would poison their tongue and burn away at their heart once their financial wealth accrued.

After slipping the taxi driver a couple of hundred dollar bills, Jason abruptly left the vehicle, reading the name of the restaurant to himself. “Like the song…?” he asked the driver, who nodded.

“Different spelling, different things.”

Jason inhaled nasily, chest rising. “Alrighty, thanks, man.”

The driver nodded once again before waving and merging back into traffic. Jason entered the restaurant and was instantly greeted with sweet and savory notes, causing Jason’s stomach to cramp in pain. He walked up to the counter, so clean that he could almost make his reflection out, and waited for an employee to serve him. While he waited, he studied the menu: sandwiches, soups, and more appetizers to choose from. He chewed on his bottom lip, distressed when deciding between pasteles (mix of plantain mix and meat, wrapped in a banana leaf) or mofongo (stuffed plantain).

“When you’re ready, I can take you.” A voice notified him as he stood like a bronze statue before the menu.

He didn’t take his eyes off the photos above the counter. “Sorry about this, I’m a first timer - what are your pasteles filled with?”

“Usually pork or chicken, but we make them with cheese now since there are some vegetarians.”

“Could I have just pasteles, one with cheese filling and one with chicken?” Jason asked.

The clerk pressed a button on the register, which was a tablet with a brightly lit screen. “Sure thing. Anything else?”

“Yeah, and…pastellitos de guayaba? Can I have that, too? And water.”

The clerk pressed the screen a few times, noting down Jason’s order. “Of course. For here or to go?”

Jason finally tore his eyes from the menu to look at the clerk, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the clerk: hair was tightly curled, coiled from their roots; lips plump and glossy, appearing much more enticing to Jason than the food he ogled at.

“Here.” he stuttered, feeling heat rise up to his neck. The clerk smiled at him, and they placed their hand on their wide hip, bringing Jason’s eye to it.

“It’ll be ready in a bit. We’ll bring it to your seat, yeah? Sientate.” They motioned with their nose at the dining area, a selection of polished wooden chairs and tables to choose from.

Before he could ask for their name, the clerk rushed to the kitchen of the restaurant, repeating his order to the rest of the staff. Jason watched them walk away, their bottom half swaying in the leggings they wore, before he realized his leering and chose an empty seat and table near the colorful mural.

Thoughts rushed to the tall man’s head, some impure ones welcoming themselves for the first time since he and Artemis parted. Their relationship was, in short, complicated, and neither of them were fully transparent toward another, leading to the inevitable diffusion of the once-kindled fire; it didn’t break Jason’s heart, but rather disappointed him, and he felt that his fate of inescapable loneliness was encapsulated.

The clerk reappeared from the kitchen, holding two plates of food. They walked past Jason, ignoring whatever eye contact he attempted to make at them, and attended to the table diagonally from his. “Y te quedas a tu mama, ok?” They spoke warmly but sternly to the couple, before leaving with a grin. “And you,” they pointed at Jason, “your pastellios should be ready in one to two minutes, okay?”

Jason nodded frantically, popping an optimistic grin. “Can’t wait.”

“I know.” they winked at Jason before turning back around and walking through the revolving door leading to the kitchen. Jason felt something distant in his stomach. Perhaps hunger?

In a few minutes, the mysterious clerk returned, holding what Jason hoped was his food. When they arrived at his table, settling the plates down delicately before handing him cutlery and a glass, he beamed first at the food, then at the beautiful clerk. He didn’t know which he was more excited for. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem.” they returned his smile, eyes glistening at him. “Our chef is working on something else for you to carry out, free of charge. Can’t let you starve out on us, right, big guy?” their eyes briefly scanned Jason’s figure, which caused Jason’s cheeks to flush a bright pink.

They’re hitting on me, the fuck. “Thanks! I was hoping maybe I can come back, get your name?”

“Oooh, I like the sound of that.” their voice dipped an octave, and Jason swore he felt his pants tighten under the table. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “How about I save you the trouble and tell ya now, that way next time you can take me out for dessert?”

Jason smirked at them, slowly checking their figure out before focusing his attention back on their eyes. “Sure.”

“It’s y/n.” they purred, reaching their hand to rest on Jason’s bicep. Their skin was soft, yet calloused. “And you are…?”

“Jason.” he grinned. “Sorry, I’m new at this.”

“Don’t worry.” they assured. “I’m here if you need anything. And if you decide to take me on that offer, my number is in the check right there.” they pointed to the black checkbook beside the plates of food. Jason’s skin was burning under their touch, and when y/n had to leave, Jason felt a twinge of sadness when they retracted their hand.

Unraveling his cutlery from the napkin, Jason made sure to make an important phone call before his vacation ended.

[may--hawk]

need your love so bad

need your love so bad

mayhawk

Summary:

In 1969, after he gives Crowley the holy water, Aziraphale comes to visit. Crowley lowers the bottle, catches him looking, and something strange and undefinable passes over his face, something Aziraphale thinks he recognizes. “Come on, then,” Crowley says, and his voice is low as he lopes over towards the low bed. “Nowhere else to sit, ‘less you want to try that thing,” and he points at something in the corner Aziraphale’s eyes had refused to acknowledge before. Aziraphale stares in abject horror. “That’s meant to be a chair?” He says, and he can feel, rather than see, Crowley grin. Besides, Crowley’s got the bottle, anyway, so Aziraphale follows him to the bed.

Rating: Explicit

Their fingers brush, very slightly, when Crowley takes the thermos from him. It’s a grotesque parody of the bag of books Crowley had handed to him eighteen years before. Heat flashes through Aziraphale, tingling out from his fingertips, as if the thermos is actually full of a hot potable liquid and not the holiest water, water that Aziraphale himself had blessed, water that just may end up killing his very best friend. No. Killing the being he cares most for in the entirety of existence. He can’t stop thinking of it. He’s restless, pacing the bookshop; it’s February, late winter, and there’d been a break in the weather, three or four days when the sky had opened to blue, and the air had gotten warm in the sun between the hours of one and three in the afternoon, lapsing back into cold at night. The buds were thinking about setting on the trees; Aziraphale wanted to warm them against such a foolish exposure.

He could feel Crowley around the city, lurking around the edges of Soho district, hours spent at a bar near Mayfair. Aziraphale wonders what it would feel like, this suicide pill he’s handed Crowley, will Aziraphale be sitting at his desk one day, responding to correspondence, or up on a ladder, dusting, and Crowley will be reassuringly there one moment, and just - gone - the next, Aziraphale left penning a letter to a recipient who will never get it, left hanging with a reservation for dinner that will remain forever unfilled?

Aziraphale’s not sure, exactly, what it means for them to be gone. He’s only ever Been, or Not, when She had called him into Being, and said his name, Aziraphale, and he had looked all around in wonder at hundreds of other glittering morning stars, and then he’d found they were angels, like him, one had said to Aziraphale, leaning in, saying it out of the side of his mouth, red curls flopping, except Aziraphale hadn’t known red yet, hadn’t known anything other than own own name, which he had just learned, and Love, which he had been created to do. Aziraphale doesn’t want to go back to that, to having only his name, and his useless, undirected love.

A few more days pass. It turns cold, then, back to winter, and starts raining, a cold, deadening drizzle. His windows are streaked, the interior of the bookshop so dim and gray that the lights don’t illuminate the corners. Crowley hasn’t come around. Best not to, really, if anyone’s noticed Aziraphale blessing the water, if anyone’s paying attention. They’ve been playing this game awhile now. They know how it works.

(Still, he’d been hoping he’d hear from Crowley; it’s not that he’s worried, really, it’s more about how a thank-you lunch wouldn’t go amiss. It’s simply good manners. “Expecting manners from a demon, angel?” Crowley might say, in that low amused tone, and Aziraphale would sniff, and say, “I know Emily Post was one of yours,” and Crowley would say, “Well she certainly is now, you should hear Beelzebub complain about her.” And they’d smile, and then Crowley would order another bottle, and perhaps they might even toast. To manners, they might say, instead of, To insurance.)

keep reading at AO3

[kidgetrash]

Drunk Kidge Confessions! Pidge to Keith!

Character:  Keith Kogane, Pidge Gunderson/Katie Holt

Pairings:  Keith/Pidge

Warnings!:  Drunken shenanigans. Throwing up. Eventual Hangover. Dirty flirting. mention of STDs

Summary: Pidge finally plucked up the courage to ask Keith on a date, only to see him with Acxa. She decides to drown her sorrows with the local alcohol...

A/N: You voted and I delivered! I have not, even slightly, edited this! I hope it's not too all over the place, but I will go back and fix it if I need to! It ran away with me and ended up hella long, but I'm sure that won't upset anyone! Well, it's back to drunk Keith for me!

Pidge sat at the bar of a local tavern.  She had never been happier that this culture took so much pride in brewing fruit based alcohol that not only tasted great but had one of the highest percentages she had ever heard of.  She had checked, checked, and triple-checked that it was safe for humans, and she was sure she could drink herself into unconsciousness without doing any permanent damage other than a galaxy-ending hangover, even given her small stature.

She was sick and tired of emotions.  She just wanted to blot them out, steep in complete oblivion for a few hours before having to go back to reality and stick a smile on her face while she faked she was okay.  Spoiler alert; she was not okay.  She chuckled to herself at the My Chemical Romance reference she accidentally made, then realised it reminded her of him again and returned to a pout.  Him.  Keith motherquiznaking Kogane.  She hated that she felt the way she did about him.  She hated that it had taken her this long to realise her feelings weren’t just admiration, or a crush.  But most of all she hated the fact that he would never feel the same.  She was sad for her, not mad at him.  He deserved to be happy, but seeing him happy with her was somehow painful.

This planet had a bustling shopping district that had been preserved by the Galra for its eclectic mix of produce, products, bars, and restaurants.  Now it was Galra free, in the political not literal sense, it was open for business to locals and saviours alike.  Which was the reason for Pidge being here.  She had found a restaurant that sold what closely reminded her of burgers and fries and was excited to share it with him, she had planned to finally do what her heart desired, and ask him on a date.  Yeah, well that idea had soon been blown out of the water.  No sooner had she rushed towards their temporary lodgings than she saw him with her, going into an accessories shop.  They were smiling and laughing and…and…and just so happy.  She was everything Pidge was not.  Tall, slender, a warrior not a thinker.  And the worst thing was Pidge didn’t even hate her, she couldn’t.  Acxa had helped the team, defected to their side, and she and Keith made such a beautiful couple.  After tonight she would be pleased for them, she decided.  But for now, she would feel sorry for herself.

She took the shot from the glass in front of her, the sweet burn travelling through her body as she closed her eyes for a moment.  This was number…four, five, six…wait, was that one glass or two?  Definitely nearing double figures.  Even more definitely double vision.  Given her weight and height she should still be able to make it back to their lodgings with ten in her system, she just might have to ask someone to give her a total.

‘Another?’  The gold tinged skinned barman held the bottle of pale pink liquid out with another glass.

‘How many is that now?’

‘Eight.’  She waved him to pour it before taking it.  ‘The ancient tradition of the barkeep, on my planet at least, is that of a bringer of alcohol and an ear to listen.  Should you need to talk, even some nonsensical human issue, I will listen and offer any advice I feel may suffice to appease you.’

‘Wow, no beating about the bush, just lip service until I’m satisfied, huh?’  She replied, taking her time as she struggled to form the words without issue.

‘Beating a bush seems a futile endeavour, and I am afraid our service does not cover lips any further than serving a drink that  may briefly touch them.’  He…wait, was it a he?  She pondered the thought as it ran through her head.  Okay, they, they had misunderstood her analogies.

‘They’re Earth sayings.’  She replied.  ‘One means to, you know what?  Doesn’t matter.  I’m here because of something…personal.’

‘Might I proffer a guess?’  She waved her drink to encourage him.  ‘Your inbibement of many alcohol leads me to believe your personal problem is that of a coital nature.’

Pidge spat out the drink she had just downed and took the napkins the barkeep offered.  ‘That one does count.’

‘Number nine, again.’  He poured her once more.  ‘Am I to assume your abrupt expulsion was due to the correctness of my statement and not due to the alcohol you have ingested all night suddenly disagreeing with you?’

‘You got that on the…’  She squinted at him and realised he didn’t have a nose, so that analogy wouldn’t work either.  ‘You got it absolutely right.’

He wiped down the sprayed bar and answered without looking at her.  ‘And this coital issue is due to your mate being unable to perform adequately?’

She was glad she had paused before drinking this time as that would have led to another bar spraying.  ‘Not in my wildest dreams have I ever considered he might be inadequate, and I’ve had some pretty wild dreams about him.’  She huffed a deep sigh before taking the shot in one.  ‘The issue is more emotional that physical.  More that I love him and he sees me as his friend.’

‘It is times like this that I am grateful we have evolved beyond the need for emotional attachments.’  He smiled wonkily, which made sense, as his mouth was at a diagonal like the rest of the inhabitants of this planet.  ‘So you have confessed your primitive affections and he has informed you of your unattractiveness to him, and therein lies the problem?’

‘Who has a problem?’ Pidge’s head shot round as Keith sat on the bar stool beside her and she waved at the bartender rapidly while tapping the glass in her hand on the bar.

‘Last one!  Let’s go!’

The bartender topped up her drink as Keith spoke.  ‘I’ll take the same.’

‘Very well, Paladin of Voltron.  And to answer your question, the problem is your small companion here and her unattractiveness.’

Keith blinked twice as he processed that statement before being able to reply.  ‘Wait…who said who is unattractive?’

‘Okay!’  Pidge downed her next drink.  ‘I’m done and going back to sleep!  Night!’  She hopped off the stool and that was her downfall, literally.  Her legs buckled under her and she ended up sitting on the floor between the two stools, looking around in confusion before looking up at Keith.  ‘You weren’t always that tall, right?’

Keith downed his drink, cringing at the sickly sweet burn that slid down his throat, before swinging his legs off the stool and taking Pidge by the upper arms and lifting her back to her feet, keeping a tight hold in case she couldn’t stay there herself.  ‘How many did she have?’

‘Ten.  She assured me in great detail that her body mass and lack of stature would allow her to ingest the measure of alcohol she stated.’

‘Gee, you’re pretty.’  Pidge breathed, looking up at Keith in wonder.

‘What do we owe you?’  Keith asked as Pidge wavered in his arms.

The bartender waved his hand dismissively.  ‘It is a pleasure to have had the opportunity to serve our saviours in the great war with the galra.’

‘Okay, thanks.’  Keith turned back to Pidge and crouched enough to get on her level.  ‘Pidge, can you walk?’

‘Of course I can walk, what kind of a question is that?  ‘First I’m ugly, and now I can’t walk.  Sheesh!’  She tried to shake off his hold but failed and he sighed.

‘Okay, fine, you can walk.  But I’m going to hold your hand, just in case.’

‘Keith’s gonna hold my hand!’  She stage whispered at the bartender as they started forward, making Keith chuckle.

Pidge sucked in a breath as the night air hit her, warm and humid it was like inhaling near an open fire, a shiver running through her body, making Keith stop.

‘You good?’

‘Wow, I forgot how hot you are.  It is.’  She rapidly corrected herself.  ‘And you don’t have to hold my hand.’  She tried to pull out of his grip but instead he tightened it

‘Either you hold my hand or I carry you.  Your choice.’

‘Fine I’ll hold hands but you’re gonna make her jealous.’  She muttered.

Keith didn’t quite catch what she said but at least she wasn’t trying to actively pull her hand out of his.  Whatever that drink she had managed to drink ten of made her smell like an alcoholic gummy candy and from the one taste he had could have been used as an industrial solvent.  He had no idea what had brought this on, she wasn’t one to even bother with more than one drink at a celebratory event, but she had even gone so far as to calculate her tolerance, if the bartender’s words were true.

‘So, tell me what made you decide to go out and get hammered?’

‘Nah.’  She shook her head, starting their hands swinging between them.

‘I have never known you drink that much, in all these years.  Something is bothering you and I don’t like it.’

‘You don’t have to like it, but you do have to live with it.’  She stated.  ‘Because the reason I drank so much is so I can forget what I’m trying to forget and not have to discuss it so I’m not discussing it.’

‘But I’m worried about you.’

‘Worry about yourself.  Space STDs are at an all time high, I hear.’

‘I’m more worried about you than me…wait what did you say?’  Keith’s head snapped around to find her staring at the ground as they walked, her lips pouting either in concentration or anger.

‘I said SPACE STDS ARE AT AN ALL TIME HIGH!’  She yelled loud enough to turn the heads of a few locals, causing him to tug her in closer and cover her mouth with his hand.

‘That’s what I thought you said!’  He hissed.  ‘What does that even mean?’

‘It means you might get cosmic herpes and if your girlfriend is the jealous type I’ll probably get my ass kicked from here to Olkarion.’

Keith pulled her to a stop, turning them to face one another.  ‘You really aren’t making any sense.’

Pidge looked at him, or tried to.  Her eyes were struggling to focus, but they did so as soon as she spotted the restaurant over his shoulder that she had planned on inviting him to.  ‘Oh!  This place!’

‘This place has…cosmic herpes?’  Keith asked hesitantly as he allowed her to pull him along.

‘No, burgers!  Cosmic burgers!’  She put him in front of the menu board and showed him.  ‘Tell me that’s not the menu of a burger joint?  Because I defy you to tell me that they sound like the best burgers this side of the Milky Way, or at least the only burgers this side of the Milky Way, and I’m going to vomit.’

Keith finally let go of her hand as she lurched towards the side of the road before throwing up heavily and very vocally behind a tree.  ‘Uh…you good?’  He called as she sank to her knees using the tree for support.

‘No, I’m not good!’  She called back, her voice cracking from not only losing everything in her stomach, which was only alcohol, and from the fact she was now tearing up.

Keith walked over to where she knelt and leaned on the safe side of the tree with his hands in his pockets.  ‘You know, people generally only drink this much to forget.’  He murmured quietly.

‘Well, it doesn’t work.’  She sobbed, curling over her knees with her hands over her face.

‘Then maybe talking will.’  He suggested as he fished in his pockets for the Altean equivalent of a breath mint, that foamed, cleaned, and freshened all in one little capsule.  ‘Here.’

She glanced up, her eyes red and brimming with unshed tears, but soon recognised what he was offering and and took it gratefully.  The fruity alcohol had left her with the equivalent of the trick jelly beans Lance had once passed around the garrison.  ‘Thanks.’  She shifted to sit crosslegged, not even caring that she was in the street beside her strangely glowing vomit.  ‘I was going to ask you to this place, you know.’  She grumbled as she swished the capsule’s contents around her mouth.

He shifted in his position, taking his hands out of his pockets and turning to look down at her curiously.  ‘You were?’

‘Yeah.’  She sniffed and dragged her sleeve under her nose.  ‘Like a get dressed up just the two of us date and everything.’

Keith processed this information as he realised maybe she felt for him the way he felt about her; more than friends, a closeness he didn’t have with the other paladins, the desire to hold her and be held, to protect and love her.  ‘Why, uh,’ he cleared his throat, ‘why didn’t you?’

‘Because I left it too long.  Too late.’  She sniffled before pushing herself shakily to her feet.

‘You could still ask.  We’re here for a few more days.’  He offered her his hand but she just stared at it for a moment before shaking her head as tears flooded her cheeks.

‘Can’t.’

‘Why not?’  He stepped closer, realising she wasn’t going to take his hand, before wiping at her cheeks with the pad of his thumb.  ‘You, me, dinner at a diner?  Alone?  Sounds pretty good.’

‘Forget it, I don’t get between couples.  And like I said, your girlfriend looks like the jealous type.’  She pushed past him and started walking wonkily down the street towards their lodgings, leaving him in absolute confusion.  Only a minute later he jogged to catch up with her as he sorted his mind out.  She had feelings for him and had wanted to ask him out, but she thought he had a girlfriend.  This confused him even more.  Unless she was seriously insulting Lance, the only other people she could mean were Allura, Romelle, or… ‘Wait, are you talking about Acxa?’

Pidge rolled her eyes as she swerved into the side street where their inn was located.  ‘I don’t want to hear that name.  That stupid, tall, attractive name.  That stupid, tall, attractive, not-me name.  That stupid, tall, attractive, not-me, dating you, name.’

Keith caught her arm, realising something had definitely been lost in translation here.  ‘Acxa and I aren’t anything, other than colleagues.’  He told her as she stared at his fingers on her bare skin.  ‘Where did you get a stupid, small, beautiful idea like that?’  He turned her words into something about her, at least he hoped she realised it was about her.

‘You think my idea is stupid?’  She pouted, wrinkling her nose in a gesture he could only describe as cute as hell.

‘Yeah, I do.  Not you, you’re not stupid, but your idea is.’  He smiled.

‘But I saw you!  You were all close and lovey-dovey when you were shopping together!  You put your hand on her back like a gentleman, you were laughing and she was giggling, and…and…it hurt!’

‘There’s nothing between me and Acxa.’  He repeated.  ‘Because for some reason a certain genius caught my eye and has been living rent free in my head and heart for the last few years.’

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, her mouth forming a small oh as realisation struck her.  ‘Matt?’

‘Quiznak, for someone so smart, you really are dumb sometimes.’  He pulled her against him and ducked his head, planting a soft kiss on her lips.  ‘I was shopping with Acxa because I wanted a girl’s opinion, or rather the opinion of a girl who was familiar with the situation and could advise me what to buy the team member I’ve been in love with for so long I don’t remember what it’s like not to love her.’  He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and brought out a small, plushie of the green lion, keyring sized, but adorable as hell.  ‘What better way to tell you it’s you, than with a mini effigy of your lion?’

She stared at him and then did something completely unexpected.  She laughed.  The tears that had been drying up beginning to leak out with just how hard she she went, and it was several minutes before she took a step back from Keith and wiped at her eyes.  ‘Quiznak, if I’d known drinking so much of this stuff would make me hallucinate I’d have just bought a bottle and stayed in my room!  It’s me.  That’s a good one, brain!’  She knocked on her temple a couple of times before staggering towards the entrance of the inn.  ‘Goodnight, imaginary Keith!  Thanks for making my night!’

Hunk trotted down the stairs opposite the entrance and past Pidge, she evidently said something to him as she leaned on the wall and slid her way up, as he frowned before turning to face Keith with a puzzled expression.  ‘What was that about?’

‘I just confessed to Pidge and she thinks I’m a hallucination.’  Keith leaned down slightly and watched to make sure she made it up the stairs okay.

‘I can’t say I’m surprised.’  Hunk shrugged as Keith glanced back at him.  ‘She’s pretty sure you will never feel the same way she does.’

‘She really does feel that way about me?’  Keith looked back after her in surprise.

‘For longer than you know, man.’  Hunk patted him on the shoulder then looked back at their companion as she slid down to sit on the top of the stairs.  ‘And please, this time, you be the one to put her to bed and listen to her whine about how great you are.’

‘She’s done this before?’

‘Go put her to bed, Keith.  Stick around.  You might be surprised.’  Hunk gave him a wink before leaving Keith watch Pidge lay down at the top of the stairs from her sitting position.

‘Oh boy.’  Keith breathed before running up the steps two at a time, this time not even pausing  before scooping her up in his arms.

Pidge snorted awake and looked at Keith from close up, fuzzy around the edges and jiggling with movement.  ‘Heeeeeey, it’s dream Keith!  Hey, dream Keith.’  She slung her arms around his shoulders and pulled herself closer to him.  ‘Did you always smell this good?  I don’t remember you smelling this good before in my dreams.’

‘I smell like I always smell.’  He smiled at her.  ‘And that’s probably because I’m not a dream.’

‘Hallucination, right, right.’  She corrected herself.  ‘So, what kinky shit are we going to do tonight, hallucinatory Keith?’

‘I’m not a hallucination either and…kinky shit?’  He gave her wide eyes of surprise as he realised she had been doing more than crushing on him.

‘Yeah, I know, I have to do all the work, but I close my eyes and there you are!’  She nuzzled into his neck.  ‘Above me, under me…down on me…’

‘Okay!  Let’s put that to one side for a while, alright?’  He spoke over her as she tried to add another position to her list.

‘Oh, gentleman Keith, this is new.  Normally you just rail me.  Okay, gentleman Keith.  What’s first?  Wanna go for alien burgers?  I know this great little place,’ she leaned in to his ear and whispered overly loudly, ‘but there’s a tree outside with pink vomit behind it, don’t go there.’

‘You’re going to bed.’

‘There we go!  Finally!’  She threw her arms in the air joyously.  ‘Where are we going?’

‘My room, I know I have some water pouches in there.’  Keith tried not to be distracted but her lips trailing up his jaw made it hard…difficult!  Definitely difficult.  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing enough that it caught her attention.

‘Oh, that’s hot, do it again.’  Her tongue lathed his skin as he reached his door, realising he had a problem trying to reach his key.

‘Can you stand for just a second?’  He didn’t give her time to argue and propped her against the wall, holding her in place with his side as he checked his back pockets first, passing the small plush lion between his pockets as he did so.

‘What did you lose?’  She watched his arms moving with absolute fascination.

‘The key to my room.’

Pidge didn’t even hesitate before putting both her hands in his front pockets and rather than feeling around she felt…him.

‘That’s not the key!’  Keith looked down at her as he grabbed at her wrists then swallowed again as she looked up at him over her glasses, grinning with her lip between her teeth.  ‘Damn, when did you get so naughty?’  He carefully removed her hands before finding the key and letting them in.  He couldn’t say he hadn’t ever fantasised about what she was doing but their first time wouldn’t be when she was impaired.  Right now he needed her to sleep and sober up so they could talk, but he had had no idea she had thought of him like this.  That alien alcohol had a lot to answer for.

It took some wrangling to get her into the room, and a little more to get her boots off.  He sat her on the side of the bed as he did so, then stood to help her under the covers, which was when she wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him down with her.

‘Bedtime!’  She grinned as he pushed up on one arm, looking down on her as she gave him the most innocent yet sexy gaze he had ever seen.

‘Sleep time.’  He managed to extricate himself from her arms and grab her a water pouch, making her sit up and drink some.  ‘I want you to promise me something.’  He sat facing her as she greedily drank the pouch, nodding avidly.  ‘That you’ll sleep and then we’ll talk when you’re feeling better.’

‘I feel pretty good now.’  She said around the pouch, dribbling somewhat.

He chuckled at her, sitting crosslegged with flushed tear stained cheeks.  He wiped at the side of her mouth.  ‘You need to do this with your wits about you, but I promise I will be here when you wake up.’

She lowered the water pouch and wrinkled her nose, looking down at her lap.  ‘That’s what you always say.’  She whispered, but in the quiet of the room he heard her easily.

‘What do you mean?’  He took the pouch from her and put it on the table beside the bed.

‘I mean this is how it always goes.’  She sniffed, and he hoped she wasn’t going to resort to tears again.  He hated seeing her like that.  ‘You tell me you love me and that you’ll stay with me, and then in the morning you’re gone.  You’re always gone.’

‘This time it’s different.’  He tucked her hair behind her ear before tilting her head to make her look at him.  ‘I give you my word, as a Paladin of Voltron, as a Blade or Marmora, I will be here when you wake.’

‘Uh huh.’  She nodded slightly and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

‘Go to sleep, okay, Pidge?’  He held the covers out for her to settle down.  He watched as she wiggled, smiling at the exaggerated movements she gave before covering her gently.  ‘If you need anything, I’ll be right here.’

‘Right here?’  She asked, pointing hopefully beside her.

‘You take the bed, I’ll be fine in the chair.’  He indicated behind himself but she shook her head vehemently.

‘Can’t you just hug me til I’m asleep?  Please?’

Her voice was so sweet he knew he had already lost, but he was determined not to encourage her in this state.  ‘Alright, just give me a minute.’  He was aware of her watching him as he toed off his boots and lowered the lights, ensuring the bathroom door was open and easily accessible should she need it in a hurry, then placing the small plush lion on the table.  He lay on top of the covers beside her and offered him his arm.  She scooched up close to him almost immediately, wrapping an arm around his waist and sighing contentedly.

‘Thank you, Keith.’  She murmured before yawning widely.

‘Any time.’  He kissed her hair as he squeezed her gently, his other arm behind his head.  ‘If you need anything, just shout.’

‘I only need you.’  She hummed.  ‘I know we always end up hugging until I fall asleep in my dreams, but like this ending maybe more than the others.’

‘I kinda like it too.’  He admitted, resting his chin on her hair as he decided not to argue the dream part any more.

‘Before this all ends, I just want to say something.’  She yawned again.

‘I’m listening.’

She leaned her head to look at him and he moved to allow her to do so.  ‘I love you.  I’ve loved you for a stupidly long time but I know you’ll never see me as more than one of the team, and all I have is my imagination that one day this might be real.  So, yeah.  I appreciate this more than you’ll ever know.’

A lump formed in Keith’s throat as he realised how much she really did love him and how little faith she had that he would ever love her in return.  ‘I love you too, Katie.’  He deliberately used her real name.  ‘And I will when you wake up, and every day after.  But let’s talk about this in the morning when your head is clear.’

‘You said that before too.’  She sighed as she snuggled down against him and closed her eyes.  ‘Love you.’

‘Sleep well, Katie.’  He whispered as her breathing deepened, quickly falling asleep.

This evening hadn’t gone how he had planned.  He wanted to give her his gift and ask her to join him for dinner.  He had no idea she had wanted to ask him the same thing, or that she felt the same way.  Instead, she had taken him shopping with Axca as a sign they were together and drank herself into a stupor.  He pondered how it was strange how things worked out.  How they had both felt the same but neither realised.  If he believed in fate, and after all that had happened, all the coincidences in his life, he was sure something existed, this had to be the most memorable he could remember.

Pidge woke with a pounding head and a fuzzy tongue.  She managed to crawl out of bed and over the muss of crumpled blankets and into the bathroom without having to open her eyes more than to gauge where the door was and kicked it closed behind her.  She went about her business, splashed water on her face, and briefly examined her face, pale skin and sunken, bloodshot eyes.  Never again, she decided.  It just wasn’t worth drinking this much, no matter how upset she might have been at seeing the man she loved with someone else.  She paused long enough to smile for herself about how last night she had dreamt he told her he loved her back, that it wasn’t a dream and that he would be there for her in the morning.  It had felt so real that maybe it was worth the hangover after all.  Sighing, she decided to spend the rest of the day in bed sleeping things off.  She wasn’t needed for anything and honestly, right now, the oblivion sleep offered sounded amazing.

Staggering out of the bathroom she scrunched up her eyes against how gritty they felt.  How could they itch and burn at the same time?  If she could bear the sunlight she would have gone back to the castleship and shut herself in a healing tube, but for now some water and bed sounded good.  She took two steps to the table by the bed and took up the water pouch, draining what was left before putting it back…and knocking something onto the floor.  She crouched and picked it up, squinting in the darkness at the small, round, fuzzy plushie that looked just like her lion while trying to remember when she had bought it.  It took a moment before parts of the night before came rushing back, including right before she slept.  But, that was a dream, right?  Right?!

One look at the bed convinced her it wasn’t.  Or rather who was on the bed.

The resulting scream of absolute shock was, she would recall later, perhaps the girliest thing she had ever done in her entire life.

Tada! Give me some feedback! I might even be able to continue this into a morning after fic, if anyone is interested!

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

A feud over spending cuts between hardline and centrist Republicans in the U.S. House of Representatives raises the risk that the federal government will suffer its fourth shutdown in a decade this fall.

Members of the hardline House Freedom Caucus are pushing to cut spending to a fiscal 2022 level of $1.47 trillion, $120 billion less than President Joe Biden and House Speaker Kevin McCarthy agreed to in their May debt ceiling compromise.

With Republicans also seeking higher spending on defense, veterans benefits and border security, analysts say the hardline target would mean cuts of up to 25% in areas such as agriculture, infrastructure, science, commerce, water and energy, and healthcare.

Centrists, who call themselves "governing" Republicans, say their hardline colleagues are ignoring the fact that their priorities are rejected by Democrats who control the Senate and White House, and that spending will wind up near the level agreed by McCarthy and Biden anyway.

The result is a major headache for centrist Republicans from swing districts that Biden won in 2020 and others with constituents in the firing line of hardline spending targets.

"The reductions are so deep," said Representative Don Bacon, a centrist Republican from Nebraska. "They want to make everything a root canal."

Hardliners view the 2024 fiscal year that begins on Oct. 1 as a test of Republican resolve to reduce the federal debt and move on to reform social programs including Medicare and Social Security.

"I don't fault any individual member for raising concerns and wanting to make sure that the bill is right for them and for their district," said Representative Ben Cline, who belongs to the Freedom Caucus, the conservative Republican Study Committee and the bipartisan Problem Solvers Caucus.

"What there has to be is an understanding that for there to be 218 Republican votes, the spending needs to be in line with pre-COVID levels rather than the debt-limit agreement."

One significant source of frustration is hardline demands for cuts to bills that have already been vetted by the 61-member House Appropriations Committee.

"We're not, willy-nilly, just trying to give money away. We're trying to focus and prioritize," said Representative David Joyce, a member of the appropriations committee who heads the 42-member centrist Republican Governance Group.

With Democrats opposed to hardline proposals, McCarthy can afford to lose no more than four Republican votes if he hopes to pass all 12 appropriations bills before funding expires on Sept. 30.

"I do not know how they get themselves out of this jam," said William Hoagland, a former Senate Republican budget director now at the Bipartisan Policy Center think tank.

TRICKY PATH

When the House returns from summer recess on Sept. 12, lawmakers will have 12 days to complete their bills and hammer out compromise legislation with the Senate or risk a partial government shutdown.

McCarthy acknowledged last week they may have to resort to a stopgap funding bill, known as a "continuing resolution," or CR, to keep federal agencies open.

That option could be complicated by hardline demands that it include some of former President Donald Trump's border policies, which Democrats reject.

Some House Republicans say the challenges are similar to disagreements McCarthy has overcome on other major legislation, including an April Republican debt ceiling bill that cemented his negotiating position in talks with Biden.

"The more appropriations bills we can get across the finish line, the more we'll have the leverage we need to negotiate a good deal with the Senate," said Representative Dusty Johnson, who chairs the Main Street Caucus, whose members describe themselves as "pragmatic conservatives".

Failure would mean another costly government shutdown starting in October, which would be the fourth in a decade.

SHUTDOWN RISK

House Freedom Caucus members say a shutdown could be necessary to achieve their objectives.

"It's not something that the members of the Freedom Caucus generally wish for," said Representative Scott Perry, who chairs the group of roughly three dozen conservatives.

"But we also understand that very little happens in Washington that's difficult, without someone or something forcing it to happen," he told Reuters.

Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer, the top Democrat in Congress, said last week that Republicans will be to blame for any new shutdown "if the House decides to go in a partisan direction."

Disputes over funding and policy have shut down the federal government three times in the past decade: once in 2013 over healthcare spending and twice in 2018 over immigration. A 35-day shutdown that began in December 2018 and ran into January 2019 cost the economy 0.02% of GDP, according to the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office.

This time, the slim 222-212 House Republican majority could pay a political price. A shutdown would disrupt the lives of Americans barely a year before the 2024 election, when Republicans must defend 18 House seats in districts that Biden won in 2020.

McCarthy could face the prospect of having to resort to a CR that requires bipartisan support to pass, neutralizing the hardliners, analysts said.

That could endanger McCarthy's speakership under a deal he struck allowing a single lawmaker to move for his dismissal.

Would the House Freedom Caucus end McCarthy's reign over a CR?

"I wouldn't go that far," Perry said. "That's a final option. We want to work with the leadership. We want to work with Kevin, and we think that we can."

[everthewip]

i said i want to pick a new WIP to focus on for a bit and I meant it, but indecisive as I am, I'm gonna need some help. So I'm making a poll. I don't have room to describe each snippet in the poll so im just numbering them and you can read the snippets below the cut

please don't feel obligated, but if you'd like to read and vote to help me out, i would much appreciate it!

These snippets will be very short because I don't want to make this lengthier than it needs to be, but if you'd rather read more let me know and I'll post more.

1. Music echoed from the city center as she guided me away from the crowds. I did not recognize the street she took. Electricity was in short supply and the magic had been focused on the festival, so the street lanterns were dark and cold. There is a reason folk go missing at this time of year; a reason these poorer districts see a rise in theft and murder every festival. Danger always lurked in shadows, but she moved through the darkness like a wraith; swift, silent, and sure of every step. Her hand squeezed mine as if she feared losing me, a silent challenge to the night – I dare you to steal her from me. My fingers were growing numb. My head was heavy from the festival drinks, my thoughts twisted by incense that wafted from the tents of fortune tellers and witches...

2.

Autumn leaves had covered the forest floor, keeping a soft cushion beneath the bare soles of her feet. It was a comfort she did not expect to last. Too soon the trees began to grow sparse, the blanket of leaves giving way to cold dirt and pebbles. Along the border of the woods was a rocky hillside that stretched wide in both directions. Rather than attempt to find a way around, she gritted her teeth and began the ascent over it. Tough as her feet were they could not withstand the sharp edges of the rocks. Blood warmed the cold stone as they cut into her, but she did not stop or give in to the pain. The sooner she passed over the rocky terrain the better.  On the other side lay a valley, surrounded on all edges by the forest. Tall, yellowed grass swayed in the afternoon wind as mountain peaks loomed to the near east. On the northern end of the valley rose a writhing snake of smoke, its source a low-burning campfire. A wagon was stationed near it, along with three figures sitting around the flames. Two horses grazed nearby.  There was a scent in the air, of burning wood and fried meat. For a while she stood there, letting the blood of her feet seep into the grass, watching the distant figures. Her tongue watered at the scents, stirring the hunger rooted so deeply in her belly - in her bones. 

3. They had been dead for three days, of this I am certain. The last threads of their lives still linger; as thin and fragile as the first string in a spiders trap, or the broken wisps of a long abandoned cobweb. I must brush these threads aside to view the bodies more closely, but they stick and cling to my fingers and hair. “Go on,” I urge, only somewhat agitated. “There's no point in staying now.” But they do stay, always; they never listen. I cannot blame them. There are dark things in the shadows, hiding in the crevices of life and death - waiting for the stray thread of a soul to drift onto their tongues, pinned between their teeth. The forest is hushed here and the trees stir without wind, disturbed by the bulk of unseen forms; stalking, waiting. Three days. My stomach turns to think these last few threads are all that remain, to imagine the rest have already been devoured. Perhaps I will let them cling to me after all.

4. The hummingbirds would go no further. Tyah studied the dark pass ahead, where low branches and thorny shrubs curved inward to form a tunnel. The trees were massive this deep within the ancient forest and little sunlight could pierce the near impenetrable canopy high above. No light at all seemed capable of illuminating the tunnel. The young scout could not blame the hummingbirds for pausing here, where scattered ribbons of thin light could still caress the forest floor. “We'll continue on foot,” Rysen stated as he dismounted. “And keep your wings down, lest they snag on the brambles.” Tyah shuddered at the thought and did as ordered, resting her wings against her back before she dismounted, stumbling a little on her landing. A quick glance toward Rysen proved he hadn't noticed, his focus set on the dark tunnel ahead. She exhaled a relieved sigh and adjusted her belted quiver. ... “What will we do if they refuse to help us?” Even in a whisper, her question seemed too loud, bouncing off the darkness as if it were solid. “We will leave, as swiftly as we can, and hope the horrors of the Darkbrier are no more than children's tales.”

[diddle-riddle]

Dark Night

[Warning for potentially triggering themes: - implied / referenced rape / non con (NOT between Bruce and Ed) - teen pregnancy - Alpha / Beta / Omega dynamics - An overall very creepy atmosphere in that one. I know I tend to be more of a fluff writer (especially in my short fics), but I also try other tones / settings.]

.............. ..............

Alone a freezing night in a shady district of Gotham City, wrapped in a worn out trenchcoat that once belonged to a scarecrow, Eddie Nygma is crying.

Sobbing. Salty water runs down his cheeks, his mint green eyes cloud with tears, a sour taste clogs his mouth, his throat dries, his hiccups rock his frame as strongly as if someone gripped his shoulders and shook his frail body. He is damaged. Sad. Angry at the world for the way it treats him.

His Omega biology has always been a burden he hauls behind him. His whole life, it brought nothing but abuse. Fifteen years of constant pain and repeated humiliations. From his family, from classmates at school, from random citizens he encounters since he moved to Gotham, from people he thought he could trust. From the person he thought he could... love...

Thinking about Jonathan exacerbated his fury. Crane dumped him many months ago, he should be over it... Yet the recent mess with Arthur Brown awoke older insecurities. While nothing near an intelligent or sympathetic fellow, Arthur had been supportive enough to host him under his roof when he most needed it. That is, until the man took more from him than he should have and Eddie ran away... then realized he kept a 'souvenir'.

The waves of hormones triggered by his teen pregnancy don't help when he meets thirsty clients in seedy places. Even though Omegas don't go into heats over the nine months they carry a life, then a couple of weeks post-delivery while they breastfeed, their spiced, pronounced pregnant scent often suffices to arouse Alphas as efficaciously as mating cycles. It was not a client but a colleague from the smuggling ring that couldn't keep her hands to herself tonight. The female Alpha cornered the younger male Omega after he fulfilled his drug dealer activity in the sordid network he joined. This pays and it's an evolution compared to selling his body to greedy Alphas during heats like he did previously... until it reached its breakage point and another Alpha acted again like a monster.

Edward locked the door of his minuscule studio behind him. It's a miracle in itself he obtained this undeclared lease agreement. Comprehensive, the male Beta who owns this apartment complex isn't regarding of the age or social status of those who rent his dingy flats.

He went straight for a shower. Cold: he can't afford hot water all month, but it's better than nothing. He appears clean on the outside whereas he feels so dirty, soiled on the inside.

What happened?

Crying in a lane, he lost consciousness, likely passed out from the pain and exhaustion. Then... the sensation of something sliding inside him, punctuated by a white noise in his head...

He blames this on the pregnancy and how critically it disturbs his hormonal cycle.

Among others, it pushed in him the poisonous refrain of 'I must find an Alpha to assist me, to provide for me, to help me raise my baby, to be the father of my future litters...'

The ginger felt a sudden warmth on his four-month-old baby bump, as if a gentle hand applied against the slightly distended belly and stroked the soft skin.

"You don't need an Alpha. I will protect you," a low, rocky voice assured.

Edward startled, he frantically looked around in the cramped bathroom...

"Worry not, little one. I've been watching you. I know you. I can take care of you. Of both of you. And if you want, I'll help you take your revenge on those who hurt you or dared to raise a hand on you. After all... I always had a soft spot for lost children and broken things."

In the mirror, Ed finally saw the creature, half-way through a black bat and a giant snake, whose neck is... attached to his left shoulder.

Eddie fainted at the sight, under the Bat's skeptical glance. How rude of his new host, not to greet him properly.

.................

Read “Dark Night” on AO3 here Discover the rest of the DC Symbiotes Series on AO3 here

[nickgerlich]

WFH Blues

The way we work was served a major paradigm shift during COVID. Suddenly, most of us found ourselves working from home 100% of the time. That whole thing about work-life balance suddenly tilted the other way, and in many cases, not only were we working from home, but working when we wanted to from home.



But now that COVID—although still among us, but in diminished numbers—is slipping into the rear view, companies have continued to demand their employees return to the office, at least for part of the week. Amazon is the latest, requiring a minimum of thee days’ presence starting this May.

Well, there’s all that real estate these companies have. Empty offices don’t make much sense, and since they are a sunk cost with likely ongoing debt service, I can understand why some CEOs and others in upper management want to see their employees return. Or maybe it’s really just all about control. You decide.



Regardless of how total WFH is slowly slipping away in a growing number of cases, even the hybrid model is wreaking havoc on other businesses. Notably, restaurants near office complexes—meaning either central business districts or corporate campuses—are feeling the effects of less employee presence. It has gotten to the point that Mondays and Fridays are becoming near ghost towns at some eateries, and they are struggling to adapt.

Restaurants that cater to the corporate crowd often find themselves rather quiet on weekends to begin with, but if the weekend is now four days, it means a new business model is needed, and fast. They are paying rent for 168-hour weeks, not just a few days. I’m convinced, though, that even those three remaining days may not be like they were before COVID.

It’s sobering to think that even just a couple of decades ago, WFH would not have been feasible for many people. Broadband internet had not become a public utility like it is now, and Zoom and Teams were not even an office worker’s dream. It was during the pandemic that I was able to see how much I could save by not dining out. It was then I fell in love with cooking, if only out of necessity. And once we returned to campus, I just started bringing my lunch many days. I hardly ever go out for lunch anymore.

And then there are the people who are still able to WFH all the time, in spite of the recent return to offices. These are people who not only do not need a prepared meal, but also do not need office wear. Can anyone say yoga pants and t-shirts? Yeah. Let the ripples through the economy continue.



As for me, I have been in hybrid work mode ever since 1997, when we started offering online courses. It is a blessing and a curse, because it means I can take my work with me. The problem is, I can take my work with me. It’s a seven-day-a-week job that goes on from daybreak to bedtime, all of which I am good with. But just know that sometimes I am coming at you from a hotel room.



I see the changes around me, too. I am not the only one doing WFH on a pretty large scale. Most of my colleagues teach two of their three courses online, because that is where the demand is. It also means fewer students on campus. All of this means fewer people dining in the food court in my building, or across the street at a variety of places. We’re just not doing life and work the way we did, and we can thank the digital era for it.



In the future, smart companies will figure out how to downsize their real estate footprint. I hear all the talk about collaboration and such, but I am not convinced. I collaborate just as well from afar, and prefer it. I get far more done at home than at campus, because I am always tempted to pop in someone’s office for idle chit-chat, and definitely not to collaborate, even if it is friendly fun. And then there are all the random interactions in the hallway or at the water cooler. Time sucks, I tell you. My most productive hours each day are the three hours I put in at home before actually going to work.

We are in a state of transition, and I suspect that once the current managers cycle out because of retirement, they will be replaced by the people who thrived during COVID and learned how to WFH. The workplace of the future will necessarily be connected, yet at the same time separated. Employees will work whatever hours they wish, unless there are scheduled Zoom meetings. Asynchronous will be the guiding principle.



Well, a guy can dream, right? I’m just glad I’m not one of those restaurateurs wondering if they’re going to make it to the end of the month.

Dr “Just Remember To Pay The Electric And Internet Bills“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[rita-rae-siller]

The Lies They Tell

A little teaser of chapter 1, which is live on my Wattpad!

“You look exceptionally sour tonight, Your Grace.” Aalvor nudged her arm. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him give her the same look he always did when he knew something was on her mind.

“I hate her,” Alura muttered under her breath as she shrugged him off. It was stupid to let Matilde get under her skin. She knew full well the woman did what—and who—she wanted when she wanted. Any attempt to reprimand her only made things worse. Two weeks spent crossing the desert from the city of Leto in the north back to the capital had been brutal, spent battling with the daytime extremes in temperature and limited access to water. Trudging through the midnight streets in search of her drunken partner was not at all how she wanted to be spending her first night back home.

“Yet you keep going back for more.” Aalvor nudged her again to get her to look at him. “She makes you miserable, Your Grace. Let her go.”

“I can’t,” Alura replied.

Aalvor scoffed. “How many more times must we do this before you realize that she will never change? I have serious doubts that this is what you want.”

“We all have our trials to overcome,” Alura shrugged helplessly. Her needs paled in comparison to the greater good. Matilde was one of the many burdens her duty to her emperor required her to bear.

“And yours tend to be self-inflicted. You always did love to make stupid decisions.” Aalvor gave her a look that clearly said they would be discussing the topic again at some point. He rolled his shoulders and peered into a nearby alley with a tired sigh. “Where do you think she is? We’ve checked damn near every brothel in the district, but she’s nowhere to be seen.”

“There’s one stop left; the Pink Pearl.”

“She’s rarely there—too high brow for her tastes.”

“Well, it’s the only place left to look for her. I doubt she would just go back home after what she did this time.”

“Let’s be quick about it before this stench makes us all ill.” Aalvor picked up the pace, holding a hand up to his face with a look of disgust.

The Pink Pearl was the city’s largest and most expensive brothel. It dominated the heart of the Red Light District, triple the size of any other. Four stories high, and spanning nearly an entire block, it would have been an impressive building were it not for the noises echoing out of nearly every window. Alura couldn’t keep track of how many high-profile citizens she’d seen coming and going from the establishment. For that reason alone, Matilde rarely ever visited. The risk of being seen by someone who knew the emperor or one of the Cardinals was too high. Tonight, however, she must have been feeling especially bold and brazen.

[65ths]

good morning! 19th birthdays are kind of a huge deal in district four. they mark avoiding the reapings and forever being free from entering the hunger games (unless a quell) so people will celebrate hard. some places might give you a free drink and the bakers might slip you a spare cookie. obviously for victors, the 19th birthday loses all of its usual meaning, and in some cases becomes completely commodified by the capitol as an excuse to drag you back into the spotlight and throw a celebration in your name and honor. finnick usually doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday or do anything around it— it follows just a month after the games. there’s nothing to celebrate, he feels too far from himself, there’s too many things to mourn. his sixteenth birthday haunts him more than anything

[dankusner]

Southern Gateway Park

The deck park over Interstate 35E will link Oak Cliff with the Dallas Zoo, serving long-neglected communities in southern Dallas.

Amenities will include lawns, play areas for children, a performance pavilion, water features and flexible spaces.

The design is by architects HKS and landscape architects SWA.

Budget: $82 million (Phase I); projected opening: 2026

FEDERAL GRANTS

$80M to reunite communities

New pedestrian zones will connect neighborhoods divided by highways

Four pedestrian zones aimed at reuniting Dallas neighborhoods divided by highways are a step closer to reality thanks to $80 million in federal grant awards announced Wednesday.

The North Texas Council of Governments, the regional transportation planning council heading up the projects, applied for the funds.

The money is a slice of the more than $3 billion earmarked for similar projects through discretionary grant programs backed by the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law and Inflation Reduction Act.

The projects include:

Structures for three pedestrian caps — such as parks constructed over highways — at Interstate 30 near the Dallas Farmers Market that will reconnect the Cedars neighborhood to downtown.

The project will align with the timing of the Texas Department of Transportation’s reconstruction of I-30 and “it is critical that the base structures be constructed now into the roadway project to avoid the inefficiency of taxpayers paying twice to retrofit later,” according to grant documents.

The second phase of Klyde Warren Park will extend the deck park farther south.

The expansion will extend the park, which connects Uptown with downtown over Woodall Rodgers freeway, 1.7 miles west.

The second phase of Southern Gateway Park will finish an initial pedestrian crossing to complete the plaza, stretching from Lancaster Avenue to Marsalis Avenue over Interstate 35E near the Dallas Zoo.

The deck for the first phase, from Ewing Avenue to Lancaster, has already been built, though the construction of amenities is not complete.

An inverted pedestrian deck at State Highway 5 in McKinney will include the construction of a bridge within the corridor and provide pedestrian access in the form of a below-bridge pedestrian plaza.

Local representatives have been outspoken advocates of several of the projects, which are aimed at addressing the impact transportation engineering has had on disadvantaged neighborhoods.

“This is great news for Oak Cliff and Dallas. I am so proud of the work we’ve done over the years to support this project and secure federal funding,” U.S. Rep. Colin Allred said in an email. “The Southern Gateway Park is more than just a park, it is about connecting communities back together and spurring economic growth in the process.”

Rep. Jasmine Crockett said the projects are a chance to right a “historical wrong” in Dallas.

“Decades of redlining and a legacy of discriminatory infrastructure policy has left majority Black and brown districts like mine divided and disconnected by noisy, disruptive highways,” Crockett said.

“Historically Black neighborhoods like The Cedars and Oak Cliff are crisscrossed by highways that sever our communities and isolate our residents, with little economic benefit to show for the destruction.”

The funding accounts for just over 33% of the more than $236 million in estimated costs for all four projects, but several have already received additional funds from other sources.

“All four highways capped by this project disrupted and displaced local communities, removed historical landmarks and resulted in unequal distribution of resources, leaving one side of the highway more prosperous while the others experienced disinvestment,” a grant document reads. “North Texas highways in many cases were used to intentionally cut off access to daily needs. This project will address these historic inequities.”

[scentedchildnacho]

I told David a pool crowd is way better here at night then during the day.....I had a stalker that was trying to call something my spot......it's way better to get kicked out by community ownership then by my stalkers plans to see a jail rape....ya know the type that wants to see four armed uniforms use random objects to molest a lady

The democrats have a hard time doing anything until things are shocking enough....

Ya know if it's finally about chaining people up or children getting cancer or unarmed undamgerous and defenseless civilians like women then they finally stop processes

They could have made a decision awhile ago to just not enjoy the executive corporatism as much as something snobbier but it only gets better if I'm under threat of more cop rapes and the cops with serial night stalking habits constantly put up on TV for it

The pool isn't a resort it's a sport pool like it use to be for school districts so I asked David if he actually knew any of these families

Or do they all travel to here?......David said he didn't really know.....

I started realizing it's not just me that has to find them very unfriendly strangers

I confessed to David I just feel very laid over here I want to get to California as soon as possible I don't ever want to spend a winter as cold as Las Cruces ever again it was so cold my hands and feet felt battered with something electric....and I was screaming at shelter staff that I don't care if their given assault and battery records for human trafficking and claiming aid just to sell people very very cheaply

I've thought of surrounding populations are involved and it is just the shelter system and the creepy executive that owns it

I explained otherwise new Mexico is way too awful for migrantcy if you don't have state sponsorship there is no peace it's so awful the worst most unregulated space ever so awful

So the dark people were showing me about work that they go through these weird shock processes so I would stop finding the pool too inexplicable

Pushed back into the water that's the fishing to do though

David thought more lights on the lawn so I said no David please don't God....if it was Alaska where a natural gas economy makes sense near Russia I would say yes but when it's here....you are technically suppose to be allowed to train to see in very dark spaces....

No one can see in the dark anymore?

Everything is light you can train to see very microscopic light levels...

Most people with natural gas here display that their need for schedule causes them homicidal ideation there were several hit and run threats

I'm not sure about locomotion and renewable energy but gas pumps have a lot of personal solar on them

Dermatology most spaces can be sued for taking in excess retail theft then never augmenting their business to a resort standard none of the money stays in the space...

Like this space could really benefit from filters on the outside security lights it's always a cop drama

That's what I have learned about perpetration in my life it can't be provoked if you play the scene or fantasy it wants it's psychopathy just kind of gets bored or better then you and leaves you alone

I told David I was welcomed here but even if it hadn't been shockingly psychologically and emotionally abusive to me in new Mexico I don't want to fit in here...I think about getting a glass ceiling complex and feeling old and trying to be young again but I really wouldn't want it here

Anyway I told her even if the situation wasn't abusive in my world if seasonal one can't stay because it's make believe and others get to go otherwise the united States is a harsh climate

I have had to learn about myself that my relationships are much better if I give others personal freedom....if people may come and go I avoid a lot of the awfulness some of my bad relationships were

[luminenwalker]

[6-6-2023]

The changes time has wrought have been a disaster for the human race. From industrial hellholes, to the wastes surrounding our fine city. Remember how we got here, because the way out is a bloody one. //Luminen

Data Day, Day to day: Traffic Warning in the New Dundee district as the 71 hour siege of the 'Free Cincinnati Autonomous region' ends in gunfire and bloodshed. Travelers are warned that Tower has checkpoints on all roads, while many people are attempting to flee and are advised to find alternate routes, NOT to pick up hitchhikers, and to allow for extra time. //Data Daily

Data Day, Day to day: Celerity Chef Gordon Bennet killed by sous-chef in his flag ship restaurant today. Said an observer "He's always shouting at people and getting in their faces, with all the knives back there I'm amazed it took this long". All the details, and advice of where else to eat, tonight with:- //Data Daily

Data day, Day today: Tonight with Data Daily, we talk to Stony Tark, owner of what is set to be the hottest new club in interstate. That's because his new endeavour the Noctis Labyrinthus promises a dark shadowy corner to brood in for every cover, along side distinctive mars themed décor and the 'Deja Thoris' body shot. //Data Daily

Data Day, Day to day: And now the weather "The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel." So thats blue skies and no break to the heat in Riverside, and across Cincin. Stay cool out there! //Data Daily

How could I rejoice in victory and delight in the slaughter of men? My men cheer me on as if I was the victor… but Sorrow is the sole winner and I adorn my Midnight Veil in honor of the fallen.//Little Bear

Data Day, Day to day: Drony Mc Droneface, oldest and longest serving of the city's cargo drones arrives in the shipyards today for decommissioning after 50 years of service despite a buy out bid by the Cincin Historical society. We'll be here with the history, and the protests, of this distinguished work horse only on: //Data Daily

Big shipment turned topsy-turvy on Hoppie Street outside Bob's. All lingerie. Come get some. You are welcome. //Caderina

Fun is Infinite when you party under the devils moonlight. //Ms. Translation

Data Day, Day to day: General Lois Cannibal to face trial for war crimes for the Secession Wars battle of Bethesda. "There can be no trial of me, for there would have been no court here without me" Gen. Cannibal told the press. Only tonight on: //Data Daily

Your holding a key, but that lock takes none. What do you do with a lock that blocks? Pick it or shoot it. That doesn't work? Shoot the hinges. Door unbreakable? Break the wall, and the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, no floor. //Jackfuck

So, was out for a walk today, and you know what I found? A spike, left on a long broke water sipping fountain. Very funny. Its all kinda of funky with my RFID reader too… gonna give it to my roommate and tell him its a Xara One. //FFF

Truth Bomb: Bill Culmson is a Tower drone technician, his home is on the corner of Burch and Madison. Now I'll teach you how to make a makeshift riot shield. First you need a thick steel door. Bill has one, it's password is 1941. Next you need… //TB

Whoever has the apartment near the noodle shop that keeps blasting traphop out the window, please play the last two tracks again. My dog seems to enjoy it. //Col. Einhorn

sta-tic sta-tic sta-tic sta-tic… and all I could see was the Abyss in my heart, when I saw a mirror, darkly. The Flint Station is no longer Flint Station. Three Eff is dead, his blood sang all over the floor. Long live the Number Station. Two. Four. Eight. Sixteen. Thirty-two…. sta-tic //Countdown, Ace of Spades.

Mouth to mouth resurrection. I speak again(what is dead may ever prattle). My storage brain found a newthink home (WILL I JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?!). Sun shines, but it's in-sin-sear and uncold. //FFF & CD

The world is a joke, the past hundred years have been a joke. I hope the people responsible see their ambitions turn to dust, I hope their technology turns on them, I hope their methods of control prosecute them to the fullest extent of buckshot. //Luminen

[ilguna]

Aubade - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: you'll never truly be free from the Capitol.

warnings; swearing, murder, gore, death, mention of suicide, lots of puke.

wc; 23.9k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

There is one undeniable fact about this arena, one that you’re so sure about, that you’d bet your chances of winning on it. And you haven’t even fully risen out of the tube just yet.

You’re surrounded by salt water.

The smell is as blinding as the sun. It’s a hard and stinging slap to your face, it’s refreshing. You inhale deeply, because this arena smells like home, which makes you hope that it’s time for District Four to thrive. There’s no need to worry about the cornucopia anymore, because you’re going to have the biggest advantage against the other tributes. Careers included.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin!” Claudius shouts, the words echo over the water, which is lapping on the metal plate and straight to the tip of your boots.

The sun is already a problem, you’re trying to squint and blink through it, but there’s little spots blocking your vision. You only have sixty seconds to check your surroundings, find Katniss or Peeta, and form a plan. By the time your sight clears, fifteen seconds have already passed.

You’re absolutely surrounded by water, there’s no question about it. When you look to see how deep it goes, you’re unable to see the bottom. It’s not all that surprising, the Gamemakers have to make the cornucopia a challenge. Since there’s no chance of wading through the water, your fellow tributes are going to have to learn to swim, fast.

The golden cornucopia still sits in the middle of the arena, on a around black island. It seems to be made of rock and sand, but you can’t tell from here. There are twelve spokes that connect the cornucopia to the land behind you. In each spoke are two tributes, you ignore the District Six man to your left, you’ll figure him out in a second.

You turn around on your plate to see what you’ll be dealing with landscape-wise. It looks like a fucking nightmare. About ten feet of beach, and beyond that is jungle.

The beach spreads around the entire circle, the same with the jungle. You can’t see any drinkable bodies of water from here. If it really comes down to it, you guess there’s a way to purify saltwater. It’s time consuming, though, not worth the effort when it can be spent on finding freshwater.

The jungle is all lush and thick greenery, tall trees, and brightly colored flowers. You’re sure that there’s some nightmare-fueled mutts hiding somewhere, it’ll be a matter of time before any of you run across them. You’re not looking forward to it. And the ground seems to angle uphill, too. 

You turn around again to face the cornucopia, trying to find any weapons or supplies that should be displayed around the back. You know that they’ve put all the easy weapons at the front, everything you’ll be wanting will be at the very back on the inside. With the water, it should delay a bulk of the tributes, making it less dangerous to actually head inside.

All you’re going to want is a sword and a couple knives, which is easier said than done.

The good news is that District Six is part of the alliance, so you could care less about what he does. He’s not going to hurt you, and you’re not going to go out of your way to kill him. You keep searching around the podiums, finding a few friendly faces, none of them being Finnick. It isn’t until you look to your right, do you find one of the two tributes you have to protect.

Peeta.

He’s not directly on the other side of the black rock, though. The male from Nine is standing between you and Peeta. Nine isn’t in the alliance, and with the twelve that Peeta was cursed with, there’s not a doubt in your mind that Nine will jump to take him out.

One more time, you look around to find Finnick or Katniss, but they’re not near you. They must be hidden on the other side of the cornucopia, hopefully near each other to make it easier on Finnick. All you have to do right now is save Peeta from Nine and get him to the block spoke near him, then once you’re on your feet, you’ll figure shit out.

After all, the most dangerous part of the games is the bloodbath.

You count down the final seconds with the clock, breathing in and out accordingly. You adjust your feet, preparing to dive to your right spoke. The adrenaline is seeping through your body, preparing you for the dive.

And just before the gong sounds, you suck in as much air as possible.

The water swallows you whole, embracing your body. You’re only underwater for a second, but it’s the longest second of your life. A part of you had mentally prepared for the water to be cold, considering how deep it is. It’s as warm as bathwater, which was a pleasant surprise. It’s the unrelenting sun that’s making it this temperature.

You cut through the waves, they’re not nearly as violent as they can be back home. When you reach the black rock, you grip tightly to pull yourself out. As you’re preparing to dive to go on the other side of the spoke, a gust of cold wind blows through your body, chilling your core.

You grit your teeth, focusing on the situation in front of you. Nine has entered the water, heading straight for Peeta. Peeta’s clearly apprehensive about entering the water, meaning he must not know how to swim. Good on him for not being stupid.

It figures that Peeta wouldn’t know how to swim, there’s not a lot of water in Twelve. Is that the same case for Katniss, though? The two of them are almost complete opposites, she can hunt and he’s good with words. One incites a rebellion, the other calms it. 

You’ll have to ask Finnick.

You dive, following after Nine. He’s not nearly as quick as you are, the waves are posing a challenge. If he had even a little more practice with swimming, he might have actually had a chance. It’s a shame he chose death over survival.

He doesn’t realize that you’re basically on top of him until you’re wrapping your body around his from behind. With your legs around his stomach, arms bringing him into a headlock, the two of you begin sinking. You take a deep breath, and then get to work on killing him.

He’s fairly calm at first, trying to pry your legs off of his abdomen, causing you to tighten. You fix your elbow around his neck, using your other hand to pull back. You squeeze your eyes shut, throwing yourself backward.

You can feel the flurry of bubbles tickle your skin on their way to the surface. He’s choking, just as you intended. Nine begins to struggle, using more of his air to try and throw you off. He’s digging his fingers into your thighs, pinching, yanking at anything he can. You adjust your arms again so that it’s more constricting on his throat. 

The last bubbles float to the surface, he opens his mouth to breathe in.

It’s over from there, he’s as good as dead.

You continue to sink lower and lower with him, the pressure building in your temples. You have to make sure he’s dead, a few more seconds won’t hurt. The idea of you drowning is genuinely ludicrous, you used to hold your breath until your brothers were convinced you drowned. They’d search the water to find you stifling giggles at the bottom of the pond.

Nine’s thrashing grows weak, which makes you release his body. Instead, you place one hand on his jaw, and the other on his cheek and sharply twist his skull upwards, snapping his neck. You take his unmoving body as good faith, and use it as a headstart to get to the surface. 

You blow air through your nose, keeping your lips tight. Your lungs are burning, begging you for air. And the second your hand breaks the surface, your head follows. You take in a deep breath, looking around to figure out where you left off. Peeta’s still standing on the metal plate, looking like he’s about to take his chance with the water at the sight of you.

“We’re allies.” You manage to choke out, motioning to the earrings. It takes him a second to realize, “I can help you.”

Peeta’s not exactly happy, but he slips into the water carefully, and trusts you to swim him to the block rock. It’s not exactly easy, he’s a lot heavier than you had expected. The two of you manage to get onto the spoke, your legs trembling from the amount of exertion. You crouch, massaging your thighs while you try to figure out the next part of the plan.

The cornucopia, obviously. Finnick and Katniss must’ve taken over it by now, but it’ll only be a matter of time before it belongs to the careers. They’re persistent, they’re trained to be that way. Your enemy’s going to exhaust sooner or later, and you’ve got to outlast them. It’s the same logic when it comes to hunting other tributes in the arena.

You stand, “Stay behind me.”

The two of you jog up the spoke, heading toward the shining gold horn. You can’t see anyone from this side, only a few useless weapons discarded in the black sand. You stoop low enough to catch one of the swords in your hand, the metal hot to the touch, heavier than what you’re used to. 

You swing it in a circle, rounding the side of the cornucopia, prepared for the worst. Instead, you’re met with the back of Finnick’s head, and Katniss stopping a few seet away from him to talk. She manages to catch a glimpse of you and Peeta, jerking to grab her bow.

“It’s just us.” You let go of your temporary sword, Finnick turns.

A smile crosses his face, Katniss loosens. You rush to Finnick, squeezing him tightly and kissing him briefly. He’s not wounded, he’s in perfect condition, allowing you to brush past, heading inside of the cornucopia. Your sword is displayed on the back wall, as well as several knives you recognize from the Training Center. Almost as if they’re placed here for you. You tuck a few knives into the purple belt, and then pull the sword off its hook.

When you join Katniss and Peeta at the mouth again, Peeta’s loaded up with an additional sheath of arrows for Katniss, and a machete. With your return, Katniss cocks her head toward a spoke, “Let’s clear out.”

You motion for her to lead the way, not as worried about the careers as they are. Gloss and Cashmere aren’t going to jump at the opportunity to kill you, they’re probably dreading the moment you cross paths in the future. Just as much as you are.

Enobaria and Gloss are hitting the sand when you pull up the rear of your group, knife in hand.

We’ve got allies,” Peeta murmurs, one hand in Katniss’.

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended.” Katniss isn’t thrilled.

“Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks, glancing at her.

Katniss shakes her head, you avoid eye contact with Peeta. Haymitch was right about Peeta accepting an unplanned alliance, Katniss is as well as expected. You’re not sure how they’re going to react later on, when Johanna, Blight, Beetee and Wiress join you. Or when they receive the news that Six, Eight and Eleven were also in on this plan.

While looking around the arena, you spot a tribute, flailing in the water, “Finnick, right.”

Finnick places a hand over his eyes to shield the sun long enough to see the tribute, “It’s Beetee, he figured it out.”

He’s right, it is Beetee. You didn’t recognize him at first, likely due to the fact that he’s hardly treading water right now. You can barely make out his features. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t lose his glasses at the rate he’s splashing at.

“What?” Katniss asks.

“The belts. They’re flotation devices,” Finnick says, “I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they’ll keep you from drowning.”

Katniss makes a noise after a moment of staring, “Let’s keep moving.”

The four of you run to the end of the spoke, onto the sand where Peeta and Finnick switch, and Katniss forces you to the middle. You spare one last glance at the cornucopia, where you think you make out Cecelia’s dark hair. There’s this sick feeling that fills your body after that, hoping that she wasn’t stupid enough to actually join the bloodbath. You wish you could go back for her. 

Peeta leads the way in the jungle, using the machete to cut away at the greenery. The journey uphill begins, adding to the strain in your legs. The air is heavy and wet, the sweat making you feel sticky. District Four’s humidity never gets this bad, even when it rains. You put your knife back into your belt to free up a hand, and gently rest the flat side of your sword on your shoulder. Finnick reaches back, seeking yours.

You grip his fingers tightly, happy to have some comfort. There isn’t any conversation for a while, only the occasional grunt from Peeta. You can’t see Katniss, yet you’re able to feel the tension she’s radiating. The complete silence from her is only slightly unnerving. You already know that she’s planning out how she’s going to kill you two.

There’s a lot you had to realize last night, like how you’ll have to be malleable to Katniss. Her mannerisms are different, she didn’t grow up polite. She’s had to be rough with people for years, it’s the reason why she survived District Twelve in the first place. 

When she acts, it’s calculated. There’s a lot of thought that goes behind her movements, which means you have to be patient but assertive. You saw it all last year, how she reacts to people in different situations. 

She’s brave, and smart enough to actually execute her murderous plans. However, if she’s been paying attention to the victor’s around her, she’ll realize that she and Peeta will lose before coming close to a kill. They’d have better luck abandoning the alliance during the night than fighting their way out. 

Then again, maybe that’s exactly why Katniss is worried, she did her research. She saw Finnick use a net to trap tributes and kill them with his trident. Only, the net he had then was made out of vines, and the one that’s slung over his shoulder right now is Capitol-made. He did all of that with little to no help from Thyme.

And you had single-handedly taken out a tribute three times your size. You turned on Allio while he was sleeping and almost got away with it. You curated a plan even though you were on death’s door. And then you fought off a boy that had been trained his entire life to win.

There’s a good chance that she recognizes the danger that she’s in. The arena isn’t a playground anymore. If she thinks that she has even the slightest advantage, she’s wrong. There’s about fifteen more tributes in this arena, each of them with their own special set of skills that could take her down, outlast her.

It’s a good thing Haymitch assigned you and Finnick, you’re sure Johanna would’ve killed her by now based off of irritation alone.

After about an hour of hiking, Peeta wants to take a break. You and Finnick pick a shady area to crouch in, escaping the sun. You wish it was this easy to get away from the heat. It’s easily ninety degrees in here, similar to how hot it can get in Two during the summer.

District Four’s never this hot. 

As you watch Katniss talk to Peeta, Finnick leans in to speak in your ear, “I don’t trust her.”

“Neither do I.” You murmur, bowing your head to rub the back of your neck. The heat is beginning to make you nauseous, and now your hand is coated in sweat.

Katniss turns around, “I’m going to get a better look, hopefully find some water.”

Since she’s got experience climbing trees, she flies up the first ten feet, and then disappears in the branches and foliage. It’s impossible to see the cornucopia from down here, so she’s going to have the perfect view. You can imagine it yourself. The amount of blood in the water, bodies floating aimlessly. The careers are still there, defending their territory.

If it weren’t for this alliance, you and Finnick would be with them right now.

You roll your neck, trying to stretch, “Does Katniss know how to swim?”

Finnick makes a face, nodding, “She’s quick, just about beat me to the cornucopia. Did you run into any trouble?”

“Only the man from Nine.” You nod towards Peeta, who’s preoccupied with staring up at the tree, trying to find Katniss, “To save him.”

His face twists, “Peeta can’t swim.”

“Yup, and he’s heavy too. I won’t be able to carry him if he gets hurt.” You pick at your nails.

“Good to know.”

You use your sword to stand, no longer crouching. The cornucopia’s going to be a gruesome sight, might even remind her that she doesn’t want to take a chance on this alliance. Finnick seems to think the same, getting to his feet to wait too. He holds the trident casually, you know better. This is how he stands to fake out the students back home.

You remember the cornucopia the first time around. The amount of dead teenagers that littered the ground, the way their blood created clumps of sand. Two of those bodies had belonged to you. They earned you respect from the other careers, and later nightmares from the experience.

“Do you know the name of the guy from Nine?” You ask, looking at Finnick.

He makes a face, thinking, “Daniel, I believe.”

You press your lips together, looking at the direction you all came. Daniel didn’t make much of an impression during training. When he did show up, the first thing he did was puke all over the gym floor, too hungover to actually participate. The two of you didn’t even talk. 

Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you shake your head. By accident, you catch Peeta’s eyes, and find a sense of understanding. He was there, obviously. He watched you wrap your body around Daniel like a snake and then sink to drown him. To some degree, he’s grateful that you risked your life to save him. 

He doesn’t even know the half of it.

Katniss finally comes down the tree a few minutes later, a grave look on her face. It’s enough to confirm your suspicions, but the second she sees you and Finnick waiting for her, there’s a shift.

“What’s going on down there, Katniss? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?” Finnick teases.

“No,” She says.

“No,” Finnick repeats, “Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance.” He pauses to look at Peeta, who’s staring between you three, “Except maybe Peeta.”

Katniss doesn’t say anything further, thinking about what Finnick’s said. The only reason why you stand here now is because you took the initiative ten years ago. You chose the path that was best at the time. If joining the careers and killing half the competition was going to carry you to win, then why wouldn’t you do it? 

While you were drowning Daniel to save Peeta, who hadn’t even thought to start; Finnick was killing the man from Five. Katniss was shooting arrows at the careers. And now everything has fallen back into place, exactly how it does every single year. While the careers defend the cornucopia, other tributes blindly run inside despite knowing better.

It’s like you said last night, when you were all holding hands. For one night, you’re a team, standing together as one against the Capitol. And then today, you’re at each other’s throats, forgetting the solidarity.

Katniss is rigid, staring between you and Finnick, contemplating whether or not she’d be able to kill you both and escape without a scratch. The answer is no, the arrow wouldn’t even touch the bow before Peeta would have a blade to his throat. And really, that’s all it’ll take for her to fold.

She wants to keep Peeta alive? She won’t make stupid decisions.

You tilt your head, waiting.

Peeta steps in the middle, facing Katniss, “So how many are dead?”

“Hard to say,” Katniss says, annoyed, “At least six, I think. And they’re still fighting.”

“Let’s keep moving. We need water.” Peeta halfway turns his body to look at you.

“Better find some soon,” Finnick mutters, relaxing, “We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight.”

You can’t help the snuff that leaves you, “Tonight? They’ll probably start within the next hour.”

Katniss nods slowly, “I’ll take up the rear.”

Peeta begins walking uphill, resuming his position as leader. He swings his machete at any stray branches that get in the way. Right before Finnick goes to follow, he murmurs something about leaving an obvious path for the careers to find. You hide a smile.

With what happened at the tree, you try to keep conversations light with Finnick. You focus on each step you take, and less on the distance you’re covering. And the fact that Katniss has her bow in hand, prepared to shoot an arrow at the smallest movement. She needs to relax before she sets Finnick on edge again.

The bright side is that the bloodbath should be over in a couple hours. Once the cannons start, you’ll get a general idea of how many tributes are left. You know that the men from Five and Nine are gone, so that’s two already. There’s probably going to be another five, at the very least. You don’t think that Woof made it off of his podium.

The career pack will be intact, maybe one of them is hurt. Finnick told you that Katniss managed to get Gloss in the calf with an arrow. Regardless of whether or not they volunteered to be here, they’re prepared for whatever the arena will throw at them. They’re alive, for now.

“Could you imagine doing this with Mags?” You breathe, brushing a stray hair out of your face.

Finnick lets out a laugh, “Please, I’d be carrying her the entire time.”

“Well, she’s pretty light so it couldn’t be that bad.”

He laughs again.

About another mile uphill, Peeta announces that it looks like you’ve reached the top. When you glance around Finnick, you see what he means. The treeline disappears, which means that your next adventure will be to go downhill. 

“Maybe we’ll have better luck on the other side. Find a spring or something.” Katniss sounds hopeful.

Peeta continues forward, lifting his machete, going to swing at the vines in his way. You use your sword as a crutch to take a breath.

“Wait—!” Katniss begins, jerking forward.

A sharp zip fills the air, sparks flying. The trees and vines are gone, replaced by the sight of an open stretch of land on the other side for a second. Then Peeta’s in the air, heading toward you and Finnick from the blow of electricity. You manage to catch sight of the machete, just before Finnick’s colliding with you. 

The sword slips from your hand, falling away from you. Finnick lands on your legs, rolling off with a twisted face. Katniss, unaffected, disregards the two of you and falls to her knees next to Peeta.

“Peeta?” She asks.

“Oh, fuck.” You murmur, touching your lower back. You managed to land on the root of a tree. Finnick got the soft landing for once.

Katniss is hovering over Peeta now, fingers brushing his lips before she presses her ear to his chest. Without a single word being spoken, Finnick judges the look on your face, and whips around to face the other two.

“Peeta!” Katniss’ voice is shrill, hysteria seeping in. She’s rocking his body from the force she’s shaking him, “Peeta!”

Finnick jumps, pushing Katniss out of the way to get some room, “Let me.”

CPR, a tool you’ve never had to use once in your life. It’s only reserved to save the little kids, the ones that don’t comprehend the idea of swimming yet. Once you hit a certain age, swimming is almost first nature. It’s like you’re drawn to the sea.

You sit up, watching Finnick go over the point in Peeta’s throat to find a pulse. He then readjusts Peeta’s body to be more convenient, finger running over ribs and spine. Finnick pinches his nose shut.

“No!” Katniss screams, jerking at Finnick.

You move quicker, tackling her to the dirt. You manage to pin her down, forcing her to watch Finnick tilt Peeta’s head back to breathe in. You’re not taking any chances with her and her bow. Below you, Katniss sobs out a plea not to kill him.

“Katniss, he’s saving him.” You say, “Watch.”

She quiets, Finnick blows air into his lungs. Peeta’s chest rises and falls again, so Finnick moves on to unzip Peeta’s suit and begins compressions, with the heels of his hands positioned over Peeta’s heart. Beneath you, Katniss relaxes, making you comfortable enough to get off of her.

Finnick’s precise with his movements, proving that he’s done this plenty of times, which makes sense. The two of you had two different upbringings, while his family went to the beach for fun, you went to find dinner. Or to make extra cash, if you were more behind than usual.

Katniss is sitting on her knees, leaning over to watch him work. He ignores her, persisting as the minutes drag on. When finally, Peeta coughs, allowing Finnick to sit back.

She flings herself at Peeta, gently touching his face, “Peeta?”

Finnick shakes his head, looking at you. You join his side, combing a hand through his wet hair to get it out of his face. 

Peeta’s eyes flutter open, “Careful,” his voice is weak, “There’s a force field up ahead.”

Katniss laughs, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof. I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.”

“You were dead! Your heart stopped!” Katniss cries out, and then places a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

“Well, it seems to be working now,” Peeta says, “It’s all right, Katniss.” She nods silently, not saying anything, “Katniss?”

You get to your feet, “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” You say, Katniss and Peeta glance over, “From the baby.”

You’ve got a hand on the top of Finnick’s head, keeping his hair from flopping back in his face. He leans back against your leg slightly, panting from the hike and saving Peeta.

“No. It’s not—” She manages to get out before she’s hysterically sobbing. She glares at you through her tears, unhappy with your reasoning.

When you look down at Finnick, his eyebrows are drawn together, looking between Katniss and Peeta. You know that he’ll tell you later, whatever he’s thinking about. He shakes his head, moving forward, “How are you? Do you think you can move on?”

“No, he has to rest.” Katniss insists, rubbing her nose. 

You back out of the situation, letting Finnick handle the rest. You recollect the weapons that were strewn in three different directions.

“Is that your token?” Katniss asks, she’s got a gold disk that hangs from Peeta’s neck.

“Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says.

“No, of course I don’t mind.” 

The machete’s a little harder to find, all you saw was that it was flying away from you. That’s all you cared about in the moment, not being accidentally decapitated by Peeta. Although, if it had been heading toward you, there wouldn’t have been much that you could’ve done, anyway.

It’s stuck in the base of a tree, one good yank and it’s out.

“So, you want to make camp here, then?” Finnick asks.

“I don’t think that’s an option,” Peeta says, sitting up on his elbows, “Staying here. With no water. No protection. I feel all right, really. If we could just go slowly.”

“Slowly would be better than not at all.” Finnick’s relieved. He helps Peeta to his feet, you redistribute the weapons, returning the sword to your shoulder. 

Katniss looks over her sheath to count her arrows, and does the same with what Peeta has. After transferring some, she turns to look at you guys, “I’ll take the lead.”

Peeta’s shaking his head, when Finnick speaks, frowning, “No, let her do it. You knew that the force field was there, didn’t you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning.” Katniss is nodding, “How did you know?”

Katniss doesn’t say anything right away, so there’s got to be some sort of secret that she can’t reveal. Something she learned before the arena, because she wouldn’t have risked Peeta’s heart stopping to prove a point.

“I don’t know. It’s almost as if I could hear it. Listen.” She tries.

The four of you fall silent to listen to the forcefield, except there isn’t noise. Only the animals in the trees, and the occasional breeze that brings warm air into your face.

“I don’t hear anything.” Peeta says.

“Yes,” Katniss says, “it’s like when the fence around District Twelve is on, only much, much quieter.” You pause, still nothing. “There! Can’t you hear it? It’s coming from the right where Peeta got shocked.”

“I don’t hear it, either.” Finnick says, giving you a skeptical look, “But if you do, by all means, take the lead.”

You’ve been near the fences in District Four a good number of times, mostly running away from homework to sit at the fence and stare at the woods. You’ve said it before, Four does have forest, but it’s thin and hardly anything to gawk at. The real trees are on the other side of the fence, likely the same for Twelve, too. Only, Four always had the electricity running because they were more worried about people running away.

Katniss hums, “That’s weird.” She turns her head from side to side, “I can only hear uit out of my left ear.”

“The one the doctors reconstructed?” Peeta asks.

“Yeah,��� she shrugs, “Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things you wouldn’t ordinarily think have sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground.

You motion for her to lead, “Go right ahead.”

Katniss begins walking, Peeta directly behind her. Finnick notices his trouble walking, not even close to being recovered from the blast. He makes a staff for Peeta to lean on while he walks, and the four of you move a little faster. You take up the very back, pushing Finnick to be behind Peeta.

Even if she’s sure about her abilities, Katniss occasionally throws a nut at the forcefield to ensure you’re all heading in the right direction. It’s bullshit, there’s no question about it. Even Finnick wasn’t buying it, and he’s pretty gullible at times.

This goes on for another hour, following Katniss as she looks for some sort of chip in the forcefield. You saw the other side, you doubt that the jungle goes downhill, if you haven’t found it already. When Finnick gets bored, he falls back to walk side by side with you.

And as soon as he thinks that it’s safe to talk, he leans over, “It’s not an act anymore.”

Your face scrunches, thinking about what he said. What’s not an act? She’s always shown her hatred for Finnick, unless he means that he thinks she hates you now. If that were the case, she sure as hell wouldn’t allow you to walk behind Peeta. 

You raise your eyebrows at Finnick, waiting.

He sighs, rolling his eyes, “Come on, (Y/n). Them, in general.”

Oh. Oh!

“You think?” You ask, looking back at Katniss and Peeta. You’re not entirely convinced, there are moments where she seems too irritated. You can see why he thinks that. You did have to hold her down, and she did beg you two not to kill him, “I guess you’re right.”

Finnick nods.

A few minutes later, Katniss sighs and turns to look at you. Her eyes linger on Peeta, “Let’s take a break. I need to get another look from above.”

Peeta slides to sit down, and Katniss chooses a tree to climb. Once again, she flies up the branches, you sink to join Peeta on the ground. It feels good on your back and knees, especially after all the running. Finnick crouches, rubbing your upper back.

“Are you okay? I meant to ask after you fell.” 

“I’m good, no damage done.” You smile, “A little jealous that you got the soft landing.”

“Okay.” He laughs.

Katniss comes down, wearing that same grave look that she had last time. You’re less worried about it, mostly because she’s already shaking her head, “The force field has us trapped in a circle. A dome, really. I don’t know how high it goes. There’s the cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. And not very large.”

“Did you see any water?” Finnick asks.

“Only the saltwater where we started the games.”

You run a hand through your hair, pressing your lips together. The Gamemakers never not include a water source, otherwise that’s a sure way to kill off your tributes without entertainment. And yes, that seems to be the whole point of these games, kill as many victors as possible and end up with one that isn’t insufferable. The only problem is that it’ll anger the Capitol citizens. To them, it’ll be a waste.

“There must be some other source.” Peeta’s serious, “Or we’ll all be dead in a matter of days.”

“Well, the foliage is thick. Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere.” Katniss sounds unsure, “At any rate, there’s no point in trying to find out what’s over the edge of this hill, because the answer is nothing.”

“There must be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel.” Peeta insists, sitting up.

You get back to your feet, the only option is to head downhill. You could give boiling the saltwater a try, but that’s going to be time consuming. It’s going to take you another couple of hours to get to the beach, and then you’ll have to successfully stay out of career eyesight. That’s going to be practically impossible, unless they leave the cornucopia fully unattended. 

And in Peeta’s condition, not all of you would be able to go down to the beach. 

It’s a shame you don’t really have much of a choice.

Katniss helps Peeta back to his feet, and then begins to lead the way downhill, still walking around the curve. The sun is worse this way, because now it’s directly overhead, making your hair hot and your skin tender. You keep up with them for another half hour, but have to switch with Finnick because you’re falling behind.

Katniss calls it at that point, because it’s too hot, and Peeta’s dragging his feet.

Finnick directs you all back uphill, and decides to make the camp ten feet away from the force field for defense purposes. You don’t argue, because being cornered isn’t always bad, and sometimes it’s the easier position to hold. You sit in the grass, in the shade to try and ease the nausea that’s making waves through your body.

Since Finnick can’t sit still, he picks out sharp, tall blades of grass for you to weave into mats. You work quickly, happy for the distraction. Peeta bounces the same nuts that Katniss was using, off the force field to roast them. Katniss guards nearby, continuously moving, either watching Peeta or the trees.

After you’ve successfully completed two of the four mats, Katniss huffs, “Finnick, why don’t you stand guard and I’ll hunt around some more for water.”

“You sure that’s a good idea? I can go with you.” Finnick offers, handing you the next blade, you weave it through.

“No, I don’t want help.” She pulls her bow out, “Don’t worry, I won’t go far.”

Peeta frowns, “I’ll go, too.”

“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can.” She crouches next to him, “I won’t be long.”

She places a hand on his shoulder, and then gets up to go hunting. It’s only a few seconds before she disappears completely in the trees. You let the silence be for a few minutes, making sure that Peeta isn’t going to start asking questions, before you start humming old fishing tunes while you work. Finnick softly murmurs the words to himself.

You manage to finish the last two mats a few minutes later, dropping them all in one pile together for later use. When you get up to check on Peeta, you see that he’s using a leaf to put the meat of the nuts on. It sparks another idea, so you get to work on weaving a bowl.

These are all stupid practices that the elders in District Four teach. When you and Finnick had finalized the idea of the boarding school, the idea of going around and talking to the elders was sparked after Mags. Of course, she knows a bulk of the little tricks that you can use inside of the games, because she’s been a mentor for sixty years. There’s others, though, that taught you how to traditionally weave items, or identify berries that used to exist in Four before being terribly exhausted.

Most of what they had to teach are now stations inside of the Training Center, so you already knew what they had to say before they were done. Still, they’ve got other ways to do it, sometimes easier, or time consuming, or thorough. One very important lesson you’ve learned while mentoring is that you can’t have too much knowledge. If one method doesn’t work, then you’ve got others to back you up.

“Here.” You say, holding the bowl out to Finnick. It’s tightly woven, it could even hold water, if you guys ever come across it, “For Peeta.”

Peeta turns at the mention of his name, Finnick delivers the bowl to him. He smiles slightly, dumping the leaf full of nut meats into the bowl. If you really wanted to show off, you could make a lid for the bowl. You’re sure that Finnick would get a kick out of that.

Just as you move on to your next idea, the first cannon finally comes through. Peeta stops immediately, Finnick tilts his head to hear them better. The bloodbath at the cornucopia is finally over, after hours of battling. You don’t remember the start of your games lasting nearly as long as this, but then again, you were focused on surviving, not how long it’d take you to kill another teenager.

Eight cannons blast, and the silence in the trees after is hauntingly appropriate. The worst part about the bloodbath is that you don’t know who’s left. If it’s people that you care about and have kept you going all this time, instead of the older victor’s that you’ve never held a conversation with before this year.

All you can do is hope until tonight.

“Eight.” Finnick says, turning to look at you, “Five male.”

“Daniel and Woof, too, I think.” You murmur, shaking your head, “Five more?”

“Not as many as usual.” Peeta says, “Last year there were more.”

“We had nine during our bloodbath.” You shrug, “It depends on the year, I guess. To be fair, we’re all victor’s, so I’d hope that not all of us would run inside.”

With that, you all fall back into semi-silence again. Finnick gets tired of patrolling and comes to sit next to you again, weaving aimlessly. That’s what you think, anyway, you’re not entirely sure what he’s making until it begins to look like a table. He doesn’t stop, it continues to get bigger. The moment he sets it on the ground to measure, you realize what it is.

“Are you making a fucking house?” You laugh, scooting closer, “Who taught you this?”

“Remember that day you got sick?” He asks, going back to weaving, “I went anyway and this lady taught me how to make a hut.” He pauses, reaching for the mats, “I’m gonna use these.”

“Be my guest.” You motion, he makes a roof, and flooring.

It’s sturdy, he picks it up and moves it out of the sun, onto a grass patch nearby, that also happens to be in the shade. You discard your sword outside of the hut, crawling inside. It’s big enough to fit several people. The heat’s all the same, no matter where you go, so you have to give up that hope as fast as it comes.

You lay down inside, and instantly feel better. The nausea isn’t as bad, there’s a good chance that you’re already hungry. However, you have a feeling that it’s the sweat and dehydration that’s making you feel this way. Finnick seems to come up with an idea of a pillow, and you’re able to rest your head for a while.

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to nod off. All you know is that the snap of a branch makes you jolt awake, grabbing your knife. You creep around the door of the hut, trying to find out who it is.

It’s just Katniss.

“No, no water. It’s out there, though. He knew where it was.” She holds up a large, ugly rodent animal. “He’d been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn’t find his source. I swear, I covered every inch of ground in a thirty-yard radius.”

“Can we eat him?” Peeta asks.

“I don’t know for sure. But his meat doesn’t look that different from a squirrel’s. He ought to be cooked…” Katniss trails off, staring at it.

Immediately, at the mention of eating it, you feel sick again. You press the back of your hand to your forehead, finding it wet with sweat. If only you could escape this heat, maybe you’d feel better.

“We could cube it and throw it at the force field to roast it, like the nuts.” Peeta suggests.

You gag, coughing. You take deep breaths, trying to calm your heaving stomach before you lose what you ate today. It’s too late, though.

“Oh—!” You crawl out of the hut as quickly as you can, not wanting to puke inside of it. Finnick seems to notice your haste as you scramble to get to your feet. 

Your mouth is watering, warning you that you’re going to vomit. You make it several feet away, hand gripping onto a tree, right as you puke. You lean over your knees, squeezing your eyes shut while trying to ignore the fact that you can’t breathe.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick’s behind you, his hand finding the middle of your back. He’s rubbing slightly, “I’m here.”

You cough between, trying to catch your breath, hands balled into fists. You rub the tears out of your eyes with the back of your hands, you don’t even feel better. You feel worse, and now you know it’s only a matter of time before it happens again.

Finnick presses his hand to your forehead, wanting to check for a fever. He shakes his head, “You’re pale, but you’re not warm or anything.”

“It’s the heat, I think. And the thought of eating the rodent just threw me over the edge. I’m fine, really.” You stand up, face twisted, “Honestly, I think this is it for me, today.”

Finnick nods, the two of you make it back over to Katniss and Peeta, who’ve made a dent in the rodent meat. You try not to look too hard, as you go back inside the hut. 

“Are these nuts even edible?” Katniss asks, “I’ve never seen them before.”

“I have.” You say, laying down, “During Nori’s games.”

“That’s right.” Finnick snaps, “One of our recent victor’s had these in her games. I was wondering why I knew them. Yeah, you can eat them. A few of the tributes had survived off of them.”

Finnick brings you a handful of the nut meats for you to chew on, and makes a joke about your breath before going out of the hut. You meant to kick him on the way out, but he’s got surprisingly good reflexes. You guess he has to, with the mouth that he has.

While they’re eating, Finnick drills Katniss about the rodent. Where it was exactly, how high up in the tree it was, if there were more. Katniss doesn’t provide much, admitting that she was thinking about the cannons and the other reptiles and insects nearby. They decide to start calling it a tree rat, instead of rodent.

The sun sets, which is around the same time you decide that you’d rather sit up. You stay in the doorway of the hut, occasionally joining in on the conversation, until it fizzles out. The moon’s rising higher, which brings on another event that you’ve been dreading.

The Fallen is about to begin.

Finnick joins your side, Katniss and Peeta following soon after. The four of you huddle together, staring up at the sky to see who’s died today. There hasn’t been a single cannon since the bloodbath, which means that the careers are going to be up late tonight, trying to catch slackers.

The birds and insects are still fairly loud, which means while you can see the Capitol seal appear, you can’t hear the anthem playing behind it. The first face that appears is the man from Five, the one that Finnick killed. All careers survived, then. And somewhere in this arena, hopefully with Blight and Johanna, are Beetee and Wiress. The male morphling from Six is next to appear.

You press your lips together, heart pounding in your chest.

Cecelia’s face appears next.

You clap a hand over your mouth in time for the first wave of tears to appear. You knew you saw Cecelia, you were just hoping it wasn’t true. You had to believe she wouldn’t be stupid enough to go into the cornucopia. She’d have better chances outside.

Oh fuck, you can’t breathe.

“Move.” You manage to choke out, elbowing Peeta as you get out of the hut again.

You can’t see where you’re going, just away from where you puked earlier, and not anywhere towards the force field. The hut’s still in sight when you crouch to the ground, removing your hand from your mouth. You gasp, throat closing up.

It doesn’t matter who else is dead.

This can’t be happening, this isn’t reality anymore. You can’t continue without Cecelia, she’s your older sister. You’ve got pictures of her family hanging up in your fucking house. She’s got your wedding pictures in hers. She’s family, she’s your family, and now she’s gone.

“I can’t breathe.” You sob, sinking to your knees, “Please, please.”

You want to go home. You don’t want to do this anymore. 

If you can lose Cecelia this easily, then who’s to say Finnick’s safe anymore? You can’t protect your best friends. You can’t rely on this stupid plan anymore. If Katniss breaks even the slightest, she’s dangerous. You can’t ensure Finnick’s life with her around, or Peeta. You have to get him to the end…

And even if you do, then what? What happens when you’re not there to get rescued? Or he’s not there? You can’t just leave him. Wherever he goes, you go. It’s been that way since the beginning, since you were teenagers. How are you supposed to get out of this alive?

The tears turn into hyperventilation, black and white stars eating away at your vision. 

The seal in the sky must disappear, because you’re plunged into darkness. Finnick calls out your name, coming to look for you again. It doesn’t take him long, he can hear you gasping for air in the grass, nails digging into your shoulder to try and distract you.

“Honey,” Finnick breathes, getting to your level. He relaxes your hand, and then cups your face, “It’s okay, breathe with me. Here.”

He takes your hand, placing it on his chest, taking exaggerated but measured breaths for you to mimic. In, and then out. You choke on your tears again, you didn’t want it to be Cecelia. You wanted her to make it out of the arena.

“Come here.” Finnick pulls you into a hug, squeezing you tightly. You rest your head on his shoulder, sniffing.

You want to know who did it. Was it Cashmere and Gloss? Enobaria and Brutus? Some other tribute that was in the cornucopia? Who killed your sister? Who couldn’t spare her? She’s got three kids, all three of them were at the reaping clinging onto her dress. Oh god, and her husband too…

“This isn’t fair.” You breathe, forehead against his shoulder, “She did nothing wrong.”

Finnick gently untangles your hair, “We can hold a proper funeral once this is all over,” he softly murmurs.

“I hope.”

You pull away from the hug, touching the side of Finnick’s face. He gives you a smile, “Can I tell you the others that died?”

“Sure.” You sniff, falling back on your butt. You wipe your eyes with your thumbs, feeling the urge to cry again. You’re going to have to stop this, this isn’t time for tears. You have to save it for when you’re out of the arena, you’ll have all the time in the world to grieve then.

“Are you sure?” Finnick asks, eyebrows drawing in, trying to catch your eyes.

You nod, smiling, “Yeah, hit me.”

“Okay,” he’s skeptical, but continues, “Woof, both from Nine, the woman from Ten, and Seeder.”

You nod, wiping your nose, “Sounds about right. At least Johanna and Blight are still alive somewhere. I bet we’ll run across them sometime tomorrow.”

“Probably.” Finnick agrees, “Are you okay to come back?”

“‘Course.”

Finnick gets to his feet first, holding out his hand to you next. You get up, wiping the dirt and leaves from your butt, and then go join Katniss and Peeta. Neither of them say anything about the outburst, which you’re partially grateful for. It’d be better for them to ignore it, because you’re not going to let it happen again. 

You stay outside the hut with Finnick, working out which groups are still in play. There’s yours; you, Finnick, Katniss and Peeta. The careers; Cashmere, Enobaria, Gloss and Brutus. The secondary alliance; Johanna, Blight, Beetee and Wiress. That’s twelve, and with eight dead, there’s only four randoms somewhere in this arena. The woman from Five, the female morphling from Six, Chaff and the man from Ten. 

So, at the end of the day, there’s ten people left in the rescue plan, and six outsiders. That checks out, gives you a slight advantage. The only problem is there’s no guarantee you’ll find all of them, or if they’ll all live long enough to get out of the arena. Which is all part of the sacrifice, you guess.

Either way, you’ll make sure this wasn’t for nothing.

The quiet sound of chimes breaks the silence between the four of you. It’s not the Capitol anthem, and it’s not human-made. It isn’t until it comes through the tree branches, tilting from side to side, do you see the silver parachute. The first sponsor gift is here, and no one reaches for it.

It lands just outside of the hut.

“Whose is it, do you think?” Katniss asks after a moment.

“No telling,” Finnick says, “Why don’t we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?”

Peeta breathes out a laugh, reaching forward to grab the metal bowl. He unties the cord, and the square of silk falls, revealing a small metal object. You stare at it, and then get closer, squinting.

“What is it?” Katniss asks.

“Uh—” You look at Finnick, unsure. You’ve never seen anything like it at the boarding school, or in your ten years of mentoring, “Fuck if I know.”

“Me neither.” Finnick says.

Katniss picks it up, turning it over in her hand to look at it. She gives it to Finnick, you lean in to get a better look. It’s a hollow metal tube, tapered on one end, and the other has a small lip that curves downward. 

You make a face, “Great, I’m sure Mags and Anchor are having a field day.”

“Tell me about it.” Finnick hands it back to Katniss, she rolls it back and forward in her palm.

It’s a gift intended for Katniss and Peeta, there’s no question about it. Your mentors probably had some input on it, trying to find a gift that would help all four of you. The only problem is that right now, the only thing you’re missing is water. You’re sure that it’s useful in some way, they wouldn’t send something that wasn’t.

Katniss continues to look it over, you grow tired of the mystery, pulling your sword out of the grass. You wander around, watching the trees. The only reason why the careers would come after you is because of your teenagers. They wouldn’t go out of their way to kill you and Finnick.

Then again, that’s what you thought when it came to Cecelia, because she was their friend too.

“I give up. Maybe if we hook up with Beetee or Wiress they can figure it out.” Katniss mutters, falling inside the hut.

Finnick sits outside, watching you move around. The last thing you want is to all gather inside of the hut again, since the heat hasn’t let up, even though the sun went down already. It’s a good thing this jumpsuit is thin, you would’ve ripped it off the second you came inside if it was even a little bit thicker.

Now that you think about it, maybe shedding the top half of the jumpsuit isn’t such a bad idea. You could tie the arms around your waist, tuck it into the belt, whatever. At least then your skin would have a chance at cooling, not so much getting rid of the sticky feeling.

You fling your hair over your shoulder, not wanting it to stick to your neck.

“A spile!” Katniss suddenly shouts.

“What?” Finnick asks.

Katniss comes out of the hut, “It’s a spile. Sort of like a faucet. You put it in a tee and sap comes out.” She pauses long enough to take a look at your option for trees. All green trunks, you’re not sure if they’d produce water, “Well, the right sort of tree.”

“Sap? Finnick asks, you make a face, turning to look at them.

“To make syrup.” Peeta clarifies, “But there must be something else inside these trees.”

Oh, syrup. The sugary substance that’s supposed to go on top of pancakes. The thing you couldn’t afford until you won, because luxury was for the rich and you were poor beyond belief. Even before your parents died.

Finnick holds out his hand for the spile, wanting to hammer it into the tree.

“Wait. You might damage it. We need to drill a hole first.” Katniss shakes her head, and then begins to check her weapons.

They don’t have anything of use, but you sure as hell do. You pull out one of the knives you have hidden in the belt, “Which tree?”

Katniss sees the knife, nodding approvingly. She points at one nearby, just as green as the others. You hope this works, because there’s no need to dull a good blade for nothing. You stick the tip of it into the tree, and start drilling it in, creating a decent enough hole. It’s two inches deep, automatically wide enough to fit the spile.

She carefully wedges the spile in, and the four of you wait, watching it. One single drop of water comes down, and drips from the end of the spile. Katniss jumps forward, readjusting it, until a thin but steady stream of water begins to come out.

Immediately, she drops to hold her mouth beneath the stream, taking a good mouthful before backing off. Peeta moves in next, and Finnick insists that you go before him. Once you’ve all taken a turn, Peeta comes over with the bowl you made earlier, now empty from the nuts, and holds it beneath the spile to collect water.

The water’s warm, yet it’s refreshing. After the bowl’s been passed around, and everyone has gotten a good intake of water, the leftover water’s used to splash your faces. You use a good handful to slick back Finnick’s hair, watching it run down the back of his neck.

The basket is emptied, and filled one more time. Then, Katniss takes the spile from the tree and attaches it to her belt with a vine. 

“I’ll take first watch.” You say, causing the three of them to look at you, “Get some rest.”

“(Y/n), I’ve got it.” Finnick shakes his head, “You were up all night last night.”

“I wouldn’t volunteer if I were tired, Finnick, I’m serious.” You get back to your feet, placing the sword on your shoulder. You smooth his hair back, “I love you.”

“I love you.” He says back.

Katniss tilts her head, “Wake me if you want to switch.”

“Sounds good.” You agree, moving away from the hut. 

The three of them all crawl inside, probably all cramped and curled up in uncomfortable positions. It’s part of the reason why you want to be out here, the other is because you want to be able to think to yourself. Even if you were tired, there’s no chance that your mind’s going to stop running long enough to let you sleep. 

If Haymitch follows what he planned out, tomorrow you should receive the signal about what day, and what time you’ll get out of here. That’s why you want to be with Johanna, Blight, Wiress and Beetee. It’d be easier to figure out a plan to corral Katniss and Peeta. She hasn’t really put up a fight since Peeta’s temporary death, so you think she’s come to realize that she does need you.

There’s also safety in numbers, whether or not she wants to admit that. In her eyes, she’s got two careers that have ditched the pack to join her. She has to know the advantage she has with you and Finnick, whether she wants it or not.

You go over this again and again, roaming around the hut, watching the trees. You don’t know how much time passes, hours? You switch to thinking about District Four at some point, mostly your family. Reed and Mox are probably up right now, watching you if you’re on screen. They wouldn’t go to bed. 

You were told a few months after you came home the first time, that they took turns sleeping on the couch, one of them awake the entire time. They didn’t miss a single thing that went on in that arena. Caspian made sure of it, he made your house his own, he refused to leave your brothers, even for a minute.

If it’s night out there too, Alyssum will be in bed, Reed wouldn’t let her stay up this late. Regardless of whether or not she’s anxious, he’d want her to be well-rested. Besides, they’ll be awake the entire time, she’ll be grabbed if anything happens to you.

You hope she’s okay.

It can’t be easy, watching you on the screen, knowing that you’re in danger. She wasn’t able to experience the first time, far too little. You doubt she even remembers what it was like without you for a couple weeks. It’s for the best, if she were any older, she might’ve been afraid to approach you. The things you did inside of the arena still gives you nightmares.

Now that she’s older, you’re not sure if it’s any better. Alyssum understands the circumstances, that you’re doing it to survive. You didn’t volunteer because you wanted to be here, it’s because you had to be. You would give anything for her not to watch you take down victor after victor as if you’ve waited for this moment. 

Once you’re done with this, you’ll explain this to her.

The sound of bells tolling, draws you out of your thoughts. They’re loud, one after the other. You count each one, wondering if it’s like the cannons at all. Maybe there’s a reasoning behind it that you’ll figure out later. After all, this arena hasn’t been anything like the fiftieth games so far.

You notice Finnick sticking his head out of the hut, confirming that he’s awake, “I counted twelve.”

You nod, agreeing, “Are they awake?”

“Only Katniss.”

“Mean anything, do you think?” You hear her whisper.

“No idea.” Finnick says back.

The three of you wait for any indication from the Gamemakers. An announcement for a rule change, an invitation to a feast, anything. Not a single word comes out of the sky.

Lightning does.

A bolt comes straight out of nowhere, striking a particularly tall tree, marking the beginning of a lightning storm. It’ll likely be water, for the tributes that couldn’t get it before. It’s close, but doesn’t seem to be moving any closer.

Katniss creeps out of the hut, stretching, “I’ll take watch, (Y/n). It’s my turn, anyway.”

You shake your head, “No, I’m fine.”

“You can’t stay awake forever.” She reasons.

Your face twists, “You’ll wake me first if you want to sleep, not Finnick.” You tell her, dropping your sword outside of the hut.

Peeta’s on the other end of the hut, facing toward the wall. You sit down on the mat next to Finnick, watching him open his arm for you. You lay down, wiggle closer, and rest your head on his arm. Neither of you get too close, not wanting to overheat. Finnick’s got one hand on his trident that’s behind him.

He relaxes, falling asleep before you do. You watch his face, how calm it starts at first. It doesn’t stay that way, his eyebrows will twitch, mouth turning into a frown. You’ve seen him sleep like this back home, only when he’s troubled. He has all the reason to feel like that now.

The lightning goes on for an hour, you think. The sound of rain finally comes through, bringing in the drowsiness with it. With Four being on the coast, you get a lot of rain. The smell of it is the best part, you remember sitting on the porch with your mom, watching the downpour. The puddles were your favorite part, stomping in them. And having a warm bath right after.

A cannon jolts you awake, hands grabbing at the knives in your belt. Finnick lets out a loud breath, turning his head away from you, he’s alive. You lean to the side, looking through the doorway of the hut. You can see Katniss, bow loaded in her hand, staring at the sky slightly. She looks down, and then moves on. Peeta turns over.

With your heart slowing down, you lay down next to Finnick. You’re not tired anymore, even though the rain is still pattering nearby. You watch your husband sleep restlessly, occasionally moving the hair out of his face for him because it’s sticking to his forehead. 

The rain stops, never hitting the hut. You’re lucky, a whole hour of the downfall would make the hut weak and useless. Might as well just sleep out in the open at that point, risk getting a cold in here.

You roll over, cuddling closer to Finnick. A cold breeze is coming into the hut, making you cold because of the sweat that’s pouring out of your body. The wind must be because of the rain, maybe you’ll get hit after all.

A faint sugary smell fills the air, reminding you of the candy store back home, the one that Calandra works at. You’ve been going more often lately, since you can afford to buy the sweets that used to be a luxury. Sometimes you even buy enough for the boarding school if you’re feeling particularly kind.

The headache starts small, but the throbbing quickly increases. The scent’s making you nauseous, too strong to be just from your imagination. Almost as if it’s artificial.

Your eyes snap open, sitting up.

“Run!” Katniss screams, right outside the hut, “Run!”

You can see what she’s retreating from, it’s a milky white fog, steadily heading toward the hut. Finnick jolts awake, trident raised to help fight, but the second he catches sight of the fog, his plan seems to change. He grabs a hold of your hand, yanking you out of the hut. You reach for your sword in the grass, pulling it out and throwing it over your shoulder.

Finnick doesn’t hesitate to start running after you’ve got your weapon. Katniss and Peeta are right behind you—not as quick—but they’re moving as fast as their legs will carry them.

“What is it? What is it?” Peeta asks.

“Some kind of fog. Poisonous gas. Hurry, Peeta!” She cries, pulling him with her. When you glance behind, you can see that he’s slowing her down. It’s the force field, that’s the only reason you can think of. He’s getting stuck at every challenge the jungle floor has to offer.

You continue like this for another minute, before you’re shaking your head, “They’re falling behind, Finnick. It’s right on them.” You glance again, “We have to grab Peeta, or we’ll lose both.”

Finnick checks for himself, mouth agape to gasp for air, “Fuck.”

The two of you watch in horror as Peeta’s prosthetic leg catches on a snarl of vines and leaves, falling forward before Katniss has a chance to catch him. She jerks forward, helping him up, “Peeta—!”

She lunges forward, they both stumble, and then start forward. Only, they’re twitching, the both of them are. Their arms are jerking around from where the fog has touched them, Peeta’s legs are moving spastically. As Peeta lurches forward again, Finnick catches him, pulling him along with Katniss. You try to plan out a path for the three of them to follow, but Finnick stops.

“I have to carry Peeta, you go ahead with (Y/n).” Finnick pushes her forward.

You continue going, swinging your sword at the vines and bushes to make sure that Finnick has a clear path. The fog’s now being unpredictable, reaching out further and further, narrowing the path you can take. By the time Finnick gets through it, it’s touching him, you can hear the grunting. 

You don’t stop, aiming for the cornucopia, anywhere near the middle will work. As long as you get out of this fucking hellscape of a jungle, you could care less what you face next. The career’s are going to be easier than this, they can be defeated.

Up ahead, there’s only one way down, and it’s steep. You try your best, staying upright the entire way down. Katniss stumbles, managing to right herself at the last second. The moment you begin a solid path again, you hear crashing. 

Followed by Finnick’s scream.

You whip around instantly, finding Finnick’s twisted face—a mix of pain and fear—the god closing in behind him, the hand on his ankle. He’s twisted his ankle, he can’t carry Peeta anymore. You’re nowhere near close to the cornucopia yet, either.

“Katniss—grab Peeta now!” You shout, hurrying back up the hill, “Don’t stop, keep going!”

Katniss pulls Peeta to his feet, the two of them hobble down the hill together. You only have a couple of seconds with Finnick, who’s going to be heavy. He’s beginning to twitch himself, which means that the fog affects the nerves, that could maybe lead to paralyzation. You haven’t touched it yet, although you have a feeling that’s going to change in a second.

You get down to your knees, “Bare with me, honey,” you breathe, pulling Finnick over your shoulders. One hand on an arm, the other on his thigh. Getting to your feet is a struggle, but once you’re got your feet planted, you focus on following Katniss and Peeta down the hill. He’s got a tight grip on your arm, panting from the running. 

Katniss continues to glance to check in on you and Finnick, making sure that you can handle his weight. There’s no question about it, you’ll carry Finnick until you collapse. The two of you have practiced this before, it’s usually easier for him, considering that he carries you all the time. You only carry him when you’re making sure that it’s still possible, for emergencies.

A sharp pain, a large needle, stabs into the back of your calf, nearly making you fall. Smaller needles seem to stab in that same place, snaking its way up the back of your knee, and stopping. A warning to move faster, you’ve finally touched the fog, and it’s worse than you could’ve imagined.

You pick up the pace, always watching where you step, steering in the direction of Katniss. You can’t fall behind again, you can’t. The pain alone is bad enough, you can’t imagine how Peeta and Katniss are feeling. They’ve gotten a bulk of it, Finnick too, actually.

You can’t tell how long you go on for, going down the hill, dodging roots and vines. It all seems to blend together, the colors all one big blur. The pain tears into the back of your legs, Finnick’s quiet groans in your ear. You can feel Finnick’s beautiful bronze hair tickling your arm, his nails digging into your skin. Katniss is slowing down, she’s having trouble bending her knee.

And then finally, her foot gets caught and she hits the ground, taking Peeta down with her.

You slow down, allowing the pain in your body to creep to the front of your mind, telling you that you’re not as okay as you might think you are. Peeta rolls over, watching as your knee buckles next to them, letting Finnick down harshly. He grunts on impact, you fall into the grass, gasping for air.

You go to get up again, wanting to encourage them to keep going—only you can’t make it to your feet. Both of your legs are on fire, the imaginary needles relentlessly stabbing over and over. It’s bad, and with the white fog coming closer, you’ve got to make a choice. Choose suicide, or choose life.

“Finnick.” You breathe, reaching for him.

The fog’s thickening, but it’s not coming any closer. Tears spring into the corner of your eyes, relieved that the Gamemakers have decided not to kill you after all. You press your forehead to the dirt, squeezing Finnick’s arm.

“It’s stopped.” Katniss croaks out. Peeta makes a noise, he’s alive.

You watch as the fog drifts upward, disappearing into the sky until there’s not a single hint of it left. The only evidence that it happened at all, are you four. They’re all twitching, gasping for air from running for so long. You think you can feel your ankle start to follow in the footsteps of the poison.

A few minutes pass, Peeta motions upwards, “Mon-hees.”

You follow what he’s gesturing at, revealing a pair of monkeys on a nearby branch, their heads tilted to look at you. You’re sure none of you have actually seen a monkey before, outside of books from school. Their fur is orange, and they’re about the same height as a ten year-old. They stare back at you, and when they’re bored, retreat into the trees.

Mutts. That’s the first word that comes to mind. These are muttations, there’s no fucking way that this is just some coincidence. Those creatures are huge, and judging by the size of their teeth, they’re not herbivores. They’re got to be omnivores, there’s no reason why a plant-eating animal would need sharp teeth. 

The only thing you’re not sure about, is why the Gamemakers would show off their fog and then tease you with the next trick up their sleeve.

You’ve got to get out of this jungle.

One small movement at a time, you manage to sit on your knees, observing the state of your allies. Katniss and Peeta are both eyeing you, and they’ve still got some control over their body, because they’re moving around. As for Finnick, he doesn’t look like he registers the fact that you’re over him.

“Finnick,” You whisper, throat raw from the panting, “Hey.” You crawl to be next to him, moving the hair out of his face. He doesn't say anything, much less look at you. The poison’s caked on him to the point where it looks like he blotched sunscreen on his skin and didn’t bother to rub it in. At least he’s breathing.

You grit your teeth, stabbing your sword into the ground, using it as a crutch to get to your feet. It’s a struggle, for a second you’re sure that you’ll have to drag yourself to the beach, but you manage to lock your knees in time. It’s not too far, you can see the beige sand through the trees.

Leaving the sword behind, you carefully step around Katniss and Finnick, leaning down to grab Finnick’s wrists. There’s no way you’ll be able to pull him over your shoulders again, you can hardly hold your own body weight. The best you can do is slowly pull him to the cornucopia.

“Come on.” You say, looking between Katniss and Peeta, “Get up, I can’t drag all three of you there.”

One step backward at a time, you get further from the teenagers. It takes Peeta several tries to roll himself over to his hands and knees. He’s pale, trembling from every movement. Katniss is a little smoother, managing to keep up with Peeta just fine. She’s the only one that brings her weapon with her.

It’s harder to pull Finnick through the sand, your feet are being swallowed up to your ankles. If the water weren’t so close, you’d give up, take a break and get back to it. It’s only a few more steps away, though, you know it.

The water laps over the back of your foot, a startled scream leaves your throat from the pain it causes. You jump away, taking Finnick with you. You try to take another step, and collapse from the fire that’s licking up your achilles tendon.

“Oh—!” You grip the area, tears appearing in the corner of your eyes. Spots eat away at the corner of your vision, making you lightheaded, “Oh fuck.”

Katniss continues forward anyway, you watch as the waves run over the bottom half of her face, making her jerk back. Peeta doesn’t move further because of your reactions, resting his head on his forearm. Katniss persists, she places a shaky hand inside of the water, grimacing at first, and then relaxing.

The three of you watch in silence as the poison leaches out of her arm. With this discovery, Katniss immediately begins to unbuckle her belt, and strip to her underwear. The jumpsuit is scraps, the poisonous fog has eaten away at the fabric. The only parts of her outfit that haven’t been touched are the boots, belt, and undergarments.

You slowly follow in her footsteps, watching the way she dips one part of her body in the water at a time. Peeta’s also decided that he might as well give it a try, before he’s forced to. You chew on the inside of your cheek, hands hovering over the clasp of the belt buckle.

It’s going to be easier to get the poison out of your skin without the clothes, that’s what you have to tell yourself while you undress. The Capitol’s going to have their moment, and you need to get over that. They saw you tied up in rope during the Tribute Parade, nothing can be worse than that.

You step out of the jumpsuit, and carefully shuffle your way into the salt water. The burning sensation resurfaces, worse than the first time. You hold your breath, letting the tears build. Fire, clawing its way up your calves, leaving long scratches down your legs. You lower yourself onto your knees, nails digging into your palms from the pain.

The blue water’s turning a lighter shade because of the white seeping out of your skin. Once the burning pain subsides somewhat, you get to work scrubbing your legs with handfuls of sand, trying to get all of it out. It’s not just your legs, though. You slowly drown yourself in the water, feeling the sting shoot up your spine.

By the time you’re feeling well enough, there’s a tingling sensation in your toes, making you realize that they’d been numb this entire time. You walk back over to your belt, pulling one of the knives out, and then making your way to Finnick. The sand’s sticks to your knees when you get down to cut the jumpsuit off of him.

“It’s going to hurt.” You whisper, pulling him out of the suit, “But you’ll feel so much better, Finnick. I’ll be right here.” 

He lets out a moan, turning his head to the other side. You grab his ankles this time, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle all the pain at once. You hardly could, and all you had was your legs, mostly.

When you let his legs down, the water’s up to his calves. He lets out a sharp hiss, face twisted, jaw clenching, until he lets out a breath of relief. If he wants to stop you from moving him in, he doesn’t let it be known. You continue to pull him in, little by little, washing the poison out of his skin, watching as the sunscreen effect goes away. 

Katniss gains control of her body again, rolling her shoulders, bending her knees. She repeatedly submerges her face to ensure that it’s not in her sinuses. As for Peeta, he’s still a little slow when it comes to moving around, likely because of the force field. However, his face is returning to normal, it’s no longer half-paralyzed.

You sit in the water, moving Finnick so that his body is completely soaked from the neck down. He opens his eyes, mostly watching your face. You move the hair out of his face, slicking it back with small handfuls of water. 

Finnick stretches his arms above his head, letting out a small groan. 

“It’s only your head left, babe.” You whisper, “It’s the worst part.”

He nods, sitting up. You let him take your hand, gripping it tightly. He takes a second, shakes his head, and then he purges his eyes, nose, and mouth. You watch the water turn clear, how he gasps for air when he’s done. You wipe the saltwater from his eyes.

“I’m going to try to tap a tree.” Katniss says, pulling her belt back on. She holds up the spile for you guys to see.

“Use one of my knives.” You tell her, nodding at the pile of your belongings, “Once Finnick’s okay, I’m going back for our weapons.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got the water.” Peeta says, starting towards the jungle, “You stay with him, I’ll grab the weapons too.”

“Thank you.”

Finnick rolls out of your lap, sitting in the water for a moment. He goes to swim away, when you cup his face, gently pressing a kiss to his lips. When you pull away, he gives you a smirk, and then backstrokes out into the water.

You sit with your knees up, arms wrapped around the back of your thighs. The waves rock your body back and forth from the force they’re coming at you with. It’s warm, even with how late it is. The reflection of the moon on the water is warped, constantly moving with the waves. You watch Finnick dive under the water, occasionally popping up to get air.

Katniss floats on her back, and then her stomach. You can barely see Peeta from where you’re sitting, yet the sound of the knife hammering against the trunk of the tree is crystal clear. The knife is probably done for, anyway. Might as well have it be the designated spile knife. You’re not sure how much it’ll be able to take, though.

Finnick shoots water out of his mouth, spraying it in the water, only for it to rain down nearby. He clears his throat, “(Y/n), come here.”

You get to your feet, wading into the water to join him. He must not have been standing, because he suddenly grows a few inches in the water as you get closer. When you’re within arm's reach, he pulls you closer for a hug, holding you there for a few seconds.

“How’s the ankle?” You ask, resting your head against his chest.

“It’s not broken.” He laughs, “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.”

“Same here.” You pull away, “So we’re even.”

Finnick laughs a little louder, “Should we start keeping score?”

“At this point, maybe.”

He snorts, staring off behind you, “How long can you hold your breath?”

Your face twists, “Three minutes or so, it really depends. Why?”

“We should scare Katniss.” A mischievous smile spreads across his face, “Just once.”

You roll your eyes, pulling away from him, “I’m sure she’ll enjoy this.”

Humoring him, you dive into the water, releasing half of your air to sink to the floor. Finnick follows, watching you go down, he crosses his legs, breathing out. He sits next to you, leaning back against his hands. 

You should’ve asked Finnick how long he can hold his breath, so you could have a silent competition going on. You close your eyes, since the salt is making your eyes sting. The water’s colder down here, meaning you’re no longer boiling in the warmth. If you weren’t afraid of running into some mutt in here, you’d swim deeper. Hell, you’d sink lower than yesterday if it meant that you’d be cold.

This entire arena is a whole new ordeal, compared to the last Quarter Quell. The only reason why you know this is because of Elysia. The night of the reaping, after you’d watched the recap, she managed to find one old tape that she thought would help. It was a recording of the only other Quarter Quell still on record.

The Fiftieth Hunger Games.

There’s no doubt about it, Haymitch’s games were, by far, the most beautiful. Perfectly clear blue skies with pure white clouds, a green meadow with patches of exotic flowers that stretched for miles. The woods and the snowy mountains were straight out of some children’s book. And to top it all off, the golden cornucopia was shining in the sunlight. The arena was stunning.

Despite that, it wasn’t easy for Haymitch to survive, he had to second guess everything he came across. If the water hadn’t come from the sky or the food from the cornucopia, it couldn’t be trusted. The lakes, the animals, the insects, the fruit on bushes, all of it was some trick. A bulk of the tributes died in the bloodbath, but the number of people who died in nature were almost the same.

Although, you’re not sure how this arena’s worse, yet. Besides the sick twist to draw from the pool of victor’s, there hasn’t been a single instance where you thought that this wouldn’t be survivable. The fog was horrible, but it wasn’t impossible. The Gamemakers aren’t really living up to their reputation this time.

You don’t want it to get any harder than this, yet it makes you wonder if they’re holding back.

Finnick grabs your shoulder, using you as a crutch to get to his feet. He must be dying already, because you’re barely feeling the burn in your lungs. Either way, you get to your feet, and push off from the bottom. You reach the surface after Finnick, rubbing the salt from your eyes.

“Don’t do that.” Katniss suddenly says, you swim your way to shore, tired of being in the water.

“What? Come up or stay under?” Finnick asks.

“Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave.” She says, you laugh, moving your hair out of your face. “Or if you feel this good, let’s go help Peeta.”

You pull your belt out of the sand, giving it a slight shake. As Peeta promised, he brought the weapons out of the jungle, and laid them nearby. Finnick puts his belt on, running his fingers over the plastic. He pulls your sword out of the sand, handing it to you, and then takes his trident. You make him and Katniss walk in front of you, taking the opportunity to observe the way Finnick’s walking on his ankle. 

It’s a limp, but it’s not too noticeable. Hopefully it was the poisonous fog that made it feel worse than it actually was.

Katniss’ pace slows, growing tense. You adjust the sword in your hand, preparing for an attack, when she carefully touches Finnick’s arm, and gestures upward. You follow the movement, and immediately lose the air in your lungs.

Mutts, the monkey’s that you’d seen earlier, just after the fog. They’re here, in the trees, and it’s not just one anymore. It’s more than twenty, all weighing down different branches, watching you walk into their trap. Finnick reaches his hand back, looking for you. You squeeze his hand as soon as you make contact, trying to cast your eyes away from the mutts in the trees.

Katniss loads two arrows onto her bow, Finnick twists the trident in his hand anxiously. There’s four of you, counting Peeta. Can the four of you take down almost fifty monkey mutts? Is that even possible? Ten per person?

“Peeta,” Katniss begins carefully, “I need your help with something.”

“Okay, just a minute. I think I’ve just about got it.” He says, continuing to drill into the tree. “Yes, there. Have you got the spile?”

“I do. But we’ve found something you’d better take a look at.” She says, adjusting the bow in her hand, “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

She’s smart, she knows that the mutts will react to Peeta, considering he was the one that was causing all the noise in the first place. If they wanted to attack you three, they would have already. They didn’t care when you came into the jungle, it’s Peeta they’re waiting for. 

Peeta turns in your guys’ direction, breathing heavily from the work he was putting into the tree, “Okay.” He moves casually, walking as quietly as he can manage, which is practically not at all. He’s almost made it to the three of you, when he looks up at the mutts. It’s not even for a full second, but it’s long enough for the monkeys.

They explode into a shrieking orange mess, closing in on him. They’re all moving in different directions, all at the same speed. Sliding down the vines, moving from one tree to another, claws the size of small knives. Just as you suspected, they’re mutts, worse than any natural creature.

Katniss echoes your thoughts, “Mutts!” She gasps, as you all jerk to join Peeta in the jungle.

The sword is lighter in your hand when you roll your wrist, preparing for the war that Peeta’s accidentally brought on. You recall the blades on your belt, minus the one that Peeta took, which brings it to four. Four knives and one sword.

Every move counts, the second you stop running, you’re swinging your sword at any body part that’ll bring death. You try to count the amount of bodies you drop, but it’s impossible to keep up. The second you bring down one monkey, another is behind it to take its place.

The air’s growing thick with the scent of blood, causing your throat to close up. The mutts smell like sweat, salt, mud, and tree bark. No matter how fast you swing, you can’t keep up with the sheer amount of bodies that are closing in. You catch a glimpse of Finnick’s work, skewering them like kabobs and flinging their bodies out of the way.

With them coming from every direction, the four of you end up back to back in a square formation. Katniss is to your right, Finnick to your left. What they can’t get, you try your best to make up for. One of the mutts comes flying out of the trees, and you manage to get it in the throat before it’s reached Katniss.

They’re getting smarter, watching the way you react. They’re not making the same mistake twice, darting in and out of trees, playing tricks on your eyes. You’re sure you see one, and then it’ll come from a different direction, claws positioned for your heart. 

Katniss throws her bow over her shoulder, switching to her knife. You take a quick glance to see that she’s out of arrows. 

“Peeta!” She shouts, “Your arrows!”

Peeta tries to slide out of the sheath as quickly as possible. You could only afford to look once, check to make sure that he’s actually got arrows. The most you can do is hope that Finnick or Katniss will be able to cover him during the time it takes to get the arrows to her. A monkey comes down from above, giving you only a second to react.

It’s not enough time.

The mutt’s feet slam into your shoulders, shoving you to the ground. Your head whips back against the ground, sword falling away from your hands. You reach for a knife, when Finnick turns and stabs the trident through the monkey’s throat, swinging it away from you. He offers his hand to you, pulling you to your feet.

A shriek fills the air, loud enough to momentarily silence the mutts, pausing your next move. You watch as a bloodied woman runs at a monkey aimed for Peeta, wrapping her arms around it. She’s thrown to the ground just as its fangs sink into her chest.

Peeta slips out of the sheath, dropping it to the ground because his attention turns to the tribute that’s sacrificed her life for him. Peeta raises the knife in his hand, slamming it into the monkey’s back over and over, until it loosens its jaw. Katniss has the sheath on her back now, bow loaded for another round of the mutts.

You regrip the sword, eyeing the mutts that’re still circling the trees. Finnick’s sucking in air, preparing to jump back into it.

“Come on, then! Come on!” Peeta shouts at the mutts, waiting for them to attack.

This must be it, though, because they’re retreating into the trees, climbing up branches, disappearing in the distance. None of them take their eyes off of your group, wary about you attacking them. They must’ve gotten what they wanted, excitement for the Capitol, and another injury. 

“Get her,” Katniss says to Peeta, “We’ll cover you.”

Peeta sweeps the tribute into his arms, and for the first time in several minutes, you’re finally able to see her face. It’s the morphling from District Six, one of your allies. She must’ve been hiding in the trees this entire time. Hell, she probably watched you drag Finnick all the way to the beach.

He carefully carries her the rest of the way to the beach, while the three of you trail behind him at a slower pace, watching the trees. There’s not a single movement in the trees, no rustling of branches. Not even the insects and birds resume the noises they’d been making prior. The only leftover danger are the dead mutts on the ground.

Peeta lays her in the sand, Katniss cuts away at the fabric over her chest. When she rips it open further, she reveals the four puncture sites from the teeth. Despite how deep they are, only a small amount of blood runs down her skin. She’s got internal damage, she’ll be impossible to save, even if the Capitol sponsored you right now. There’s no way you’ll be able to fix what’s inside.

Katniss holds her hand, watching the way she gasps for air. The morphling girl—Megan, you think her name is—has her eyes on Katniss, captivated by her. She’s unnaturally pale, and starved enough to the point where you can see her ribs. It’s the drugs, you’re sure of it. It took away her appetite for food and replaced it with the need for pain relief. 

“We’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says to them, taking you hand to bring you with. He doesn’t stop at the treeline, continuing to walk inside the jungle to get away from the scene on the beach. You can’t blame him, you’re a little grateful that he’d pulled you away in the first place.

The two of you wander back to the circle of trampled greenery, finding it still soaked in blood, but not a single mutt carcass in sight. Finnick pauses his steps, turning in a full circle while looking at the trees, anticipating the dead coming back to life. The snap of a branch makes the two of you whip in the direction.

Vines and tree roots reach out of the ground, wrapping around the last body, and then dragging it into the nearest bush. There’s more snapping, branches shaking violently from the body. The vines cease to move, and the silence resumes.

“There’s something really wrong with this arena.” You mutter, shaking your head, “We should gather the arrows and return them to Katniss.”

When you begin to gather the arrows, a cannon interrupts to signal the newest death. It’s Megan, she didn’t have much time left with her. Finnick lets out a quiet sigh, pressing his lips together as he picks up another arrow. They’re still wet with mutt blood, you hold your breath slightly, not fond of the smell.

By the time you’ve grabbed almost all the arrows, the hovercraft has taken Megan’s body away. You start back to the beach, Finnick walking right beside you. He reaches Katniss first, “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks.” She says, watching the arrows get dropped next to her in the sand. 

You let go of your sword too, wandering into the water until it’s up to your thighs. You shake your hands in the water, changing the color from blue to a gentle pink. When you’re done, you pick underneath the acrylic nails, trying to get the blood out from there too. Finnick’s by your side, rubbing his hands together, and then dipping his trident in the water.

Katniss has the same idea, focused on individually washing each arrow, and then throwing them onto the sand. She moves quickly, and when she’s done, heads toward the jungle again. She comes back a minute later, hands full with moss, “Where did they go?”

“We don’t know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone.” Finnick reaches up to scratch under his chin, face twisted.

You grab his wrist, “Don’t do that, it’ll scar.”

Katniss looks up to see what you’re talking about, nodding approvingly. Her attention turns to Peeta, who’s doing the exact same thing that Finnick was. Where the fog had touched your bodies, are now covered with scabs. Finnick’s face has a good number of them, and the more he scratches at it, the longer it’ll take to heal.

“She’s right,” Katniss says, drying her arrows with the moss, “Peeta. You’ll only bring infection. Think it’s safe to try for the water again?”

You let out a breath, “Does Peeta still have that knife I gave him?”

Peeta nods, pulling out the bent knife. Yeah, you’re not going to ask for that back anytime soon. You all go back into the jungle, standing around Peeta with your weapons out, waiting for any mutt to appear. He works the spile into the tree, and instantly water begins to gush out of the tree. He’s the first to get a good mouthful of water before going back to the beach to retrieve empty shells.

Katniss is next, taking her time to rehydrate, and then backs off. While watching her crouch and run the water over her head, you can tell that her hair’s obviously thinned since the fog. It makes sense, since it ate away at the jumpsuit like fire. You try to run a hand through your own hair, only to have it get caught in the hairstyle that Laurel fixed.

You can’t go the entire games with it down, anyway. It survived the first day, that’s the part that matters the most to you. You wanted the Capitol to see you with the same hairstyle that you wore last night, when you were holding hands with the other victor’s. You wanted to bring a part of your prep team in here with you, which you did.

So, you search along the braided crown that Beth had done last night with your fingers. Finnick notices this, and guides your hands over to the hair tie. You give him a small smile, before pulling the braid out, combing your fingers through the waves to make sure that it’s not braided anymore. 

This makes your stomach churn, because your hair hasn’t been as protected as you were hoping it would be. The chunks are small, that’s what you’re grateful for, and it doesn’t hurt, either. There’s an obvious clump in the grass growing with each brush, but the longer you comb, the less hair comes out. 

You pull your hair into a ponytail at the top of your head, right around the same time Katniss decides that she’s done. Peeta’s coming back into the jungle, holding four separate shells in his hands. Finnick motions to the spile, forcing you to go first again. You wet your hair first, hoping that’ll keep you cool, even if it’s for a few hours. You drink several handfuls of water before you feel sick.

Finnick follows in your footsteps, shaking his head beneath the water, running a hand through his hair to slick it back once again. It’s getting long, almost time to cut it again. He likes it when you do it for him at home, you’ll bring a chair into the bathroom and sit him in front of the counter. Sometimes you’ll talk nonsense, or if you’re feeling productive, the two of you will work on boarding school ideas. 

Finnick stands up, stretching his arms above his head, and backs off to allow Peeta to fill the shells. He fills them one at a time, handing them out to each of you. Katniss pulls the spile from the tree, and just like that, you’re heading back to the beach.

The moon’s high in the sky, there’s still a chance to get a few more hours of sleep before the Gamemakers force the sun to rise. Katniss is thinking the same, because she speaks first, “Why don’t you three get some rest? I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather.” Finnick cuts you off, Katniss nods slightly.

“All right, Finnick, thanks.” She says, picking her spot to lay down. 

Peeta and her are right next to each other, he closes his eyes and relaxes a few minutes later, confirming his sleep. Katniss rolls over so that her back is to you two, bow settled nearby. You take off the boots, sinking your feet into the warm sand, staring at the cornucopia. Finnick sits so that his arm is directly behind you.

Neither of you speak for a good fifteen minutes, waiting until Katniss has also fallen asleep. It’s not too long, she lets out a loud sigh, and that’s it for her. 

“Fourteen tributes left in the game.” You murmur.

“Fourteen?” Finnick asks, face twisted, “It’s fifteen, right?”

“No, we lost one a few hours ago. It was after the lightning storm, there was rain. Just one cannon.”

He hums, “You should rest, too. You’ve been up this entire time.”

You press your lips together, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be right here.” He promises, “I love you.”

“I love you.” You echo, gently kissing him afterward. 

You settle in the sand on your back, slightly turned in the direction of Finnick. You can feel him move hair out of your face, before you’re drifting off, too.

The nap doesn’t last as long as you wish it would. The moment the sun’s risen high enough, you’re woken by the light. When you open your eyes, you can see that Finnick’s tried to fix that, by weaving a mat and carefully balancing it on the branches above. The shade’s nice, cool compared to the warmth on your legs. 

When you sit up slightly, you’re able to see that you’re not the first one awake. Katniss is sitting up, dusting sand off of her hands and face. You look over to see Finnick right beside you, his leg touching yours while he cracks shellfish open with a rock. He pulls a chunk of flesh out with his teeth, chewing, “They’re better fresh.”

He tosses the shell aside, reaching for a new one. This time, he drops the cracked shell inside of a basket, which looks just about full. A few feet away are two other woven baskets, they look like they’re full of freshwater.

Finnick glances in your direction, probably to check up on you. He has to stop and take another look, tilting his head at you, “Well, good morning.”

You give him a smile, Katniss gives you a nod as soon as you’ve sat up. The scabs itch, worse than before you’d gone to sleep. You run your hand over them, hoping that it’ll calm the feeling, but it doesn’t help. Katniss goes to reach for a shell, and stops herself when she sees how bloodied her nails are.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection.” Finnick says casually, you let out a laugh.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” She agrees, smiling but rolling her eyes. She goes into the water to rinse her hands of the blood. As she’s walking out of the water, she stomps her foot in the sand, looking toward the sky, “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.”

You share a look with Finnick, wishing that it were that easy. Except, it is, apparently. The sponsor comes almost instantly, a silver parachute teetering down to where she’s standing. She holds her hands out, letting it fall into her hands, “About time,” she mutters.

She comes to sit next to you and Finnick, screwing the lid off the tube. She squirts a little of the ointment out of the tube, which is dark in color and disgustingly powerful in smell. She makes a face, squeezing a bigger amount onto her hand. She rubs her hands together before spreading it down her leg, letting out a moan.

Katniss pushes more out onto her hands, handing it off to you while she starts on her other leg. Finnick gives you a doubtful look, “It’s like she’s decomposing.”

“So?” You ask, putting a good amount on your hand, giving it to Finnick, “Come on, you know it’ll feel better.”

He sighs, not arguing with you. He waits to watch your reaction, which is a nice hum as you spread it up and down your legs. It smells nasty, like pine trees and asphalt mashed together, but it takes away the itchy feeling. It’s like the lotion your prep team uses when they’re waxing tributes, how it’ll cool the skin, numbing it from the pain. However, unlike the lotion, the ointment is turning your skin a greenish color.

Finnick spreads it over his face first, and works his way down. His face is twisted the entire time, still deciding whether or not he actually likes it. He can’t deny it, it feels good. He’s going to forget about it in an hour or so, anyway.

“Poor Finnick.” Katniss begins, giving him a mock pouty face, “Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?”

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks, unfazed.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it.”

“Not if I keep looking at you.” He snorts.

The three of you work together to cover your bodies in the ointment, even taking turns spreading it down each other’s backs. You pull your boots back on, and find relief that they’re not rubbing against the scabs as badly as they had been earlier.

“I’m going to wake Peeta.” Katniss says, getting to her feet.

“No, wait,” Finnick’s giving her a funny smile, “Let’s all do it together. Put our faces right in front of his.”

Here you go again with messing with the others. Katniss makes a face, but agrees to the idea. The three of you shuffle over to Peeta, where they position themselves so that they’re on either side of his face, while you’re right in the middle. She’s practically touching his nose from how close she is.

“Peeta. Peeta, wake up,” Katniss softly says, shaking him.

His eyebrows push together, eyes slowly opening, and then he flies two feet in the air, screaming.

Your laughter pierces the air, stumbling away so that you’re not directly laughing in his face. Katniss and Finnick have collapsed in the sand, reeling. Peeta stares at you with a straight face, not at all amused. Each time they seem to calm down, they’re brought into another round just from his face alone.

You wipe the tears from your eyes, “That was golden.”

The sound of sponsor music makes you look up, there’s another silver parachute coming in your direction. You catch it this time, moving the silk away so that you can properly see the bread. It’s still steaming, and it smells wonderful.

Finnick gets to his feet, no longer smiling. He takes the loaf from the tin, turning it over in his hands. It’s tinted green, and when you pinch off a corner of the crust to taste, it’s salty. It’s the bread from District Four.

The two of you make eye contact, remembering Haymitch’s plan. If it’s from District Four, it’s meant to be the fourth day, and since it’s one single loaf of bread, the rescue will be at one in the morning. You chew the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. How will either of you know the time exactly?

Finnick looks at the baskets of water and shells, and says, “This will go well with the shellfish.”

The two of you move the baskets under the shade while Katniss helps Peeta slather himself in the ointment. You’re sure that this bread won’t be the only sign from Haymitch, he’ll have to send another one to confirm the time. To make sure that you guys understand fully.

Finnick methodically cleans the meat from the shellfish, tossing the empty shells to the side. The smell isn’t the part that gets to you, it’s the sight of it alone. The way that Finnick pops the meat into his mouth makes your mouth water, and it’s not because you’re excited to eat the shellfish.

You press the back of your hand to your mouth, knowing you have only a few seconds before you puke. You stumble towards the jungle, taking deep breaths, hoping that you’ll be able to bypass it this time. You’re not that lucky.

You lean over a patch of deep green vines that are shaped like snakes, overlapping one another. It only takes one gag, and then it’s all over. The vomit burns coming up, and since you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning, there’s no food, only bile. The taste is toxic, bringing tears to your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick calls.

“I—” You choke on a gag, squeezing your eyes shut, “I’m fine!”

You don’t feel like it, you know that you’re hungry. Watching Finnick eat made you realize that, but there’s no chance you’ll be able to eat the shellfish without gagging. This isn’t right, puking at the sight of food when you’re nauseous because you’re hungry. It makes no sense.

You use moss to wipe your mouth and nose, joining the others back on the beach. Finnick’s got his eyes on you, not missing the way you position yourself away from the shellfish. He rubs a hand up and down your back.

“You can have my part of the bread,” Peeta offers, “Really.”

“No, I’m okay with what I’ve got.” You wave him off, taking one of the four slices that Finnick’s cut with a knife. 

“She’ll take mine, don’t worry.” Finnick sets it on your knee, giving you a pointed look. You don’t argue, nodding. That’s not a fight you’d win, anyway.

They all feast on the shellfish and the salty District Four bread. Finnick makes sure that your shell of water doesn’t empty, since the bread’s all that you’re eating. You need to stay hydrated, combat the salt at the very least.

The arena’s coming back to life, birds are singing their songs in the trees around you, the insects chirping loudly. The sun doesn’t feel nearly as bad as it did yesterday, and you have the ointment to thank for that, it’s acting like a buffer. And it’s also causing the scabs to peel off of your faces.

Once they’re done eating, you feel comfortable enough sitting against Finnick. Coincidentally, Peeta’s too full to eat his bread, so he insists that you take it, since your meal couldn’t have been as filling. You know it’s bullshit, but you thank him anyway. 

“I think we should keep to the beach.” Katniss says, drawing shapes in the sand, “We don’t know if there’s anything else in the jungle.”

“Sounds good.” You agree, “I mean, it was fine yesterday, so I don’t know what’s changed.”

“The Gamemakers.” Peeta mutters, none of you say anything after that.

It’s only a few minutes later, when a scream fills the air. You look over, hearing it come from the same wedge that’s directly across from you. It’s beginning to vibrate, as if you’re all about to be hit by a huge earthquake. Instead, a gigantic wave towers over the trees, coming down the hill in your direction.

It hits the water surrounding the cornucopia, and continues toward where you’re all sitting. You’re the first to get to your feet, grabbing your sword from the sand to hold. The water easily comes up to your knees, stretching a few yards behind you into the jungle, before retreating back to the cornucopia. 

They manage to collect the baskets and weapons as the wave returns. The only three items that don’t make it, are the three jumpsuits that had been eaten away at the fog, none of you protest when they disappear into the water.

A cannon blast fills the air, forcing a hovercraft to materialize over where the tide had originally begun. The silver four-pronged claw is sent into the trees to retrieve the body, taking its time with claiming them. The hovercraft is gone once the claw’s back inside.

Once you’re sure that the cornucopia’s waves aren’t going to come at you again, belongings are placed back onto the now-wet sand. Katniss is about to sit down, when she freezes, reaching for her bow, “There.” She nods.

You follow her gaze, seeing three figures stumble onto the beach from the jungle. They’re two spokes away, which is fairly close. The four of you go back into the jungle to watch them, unsure of what to do. They’re a deep red color from head to toe. One of them is dragging another onto the beach, while the third walks in circles around the other two.

“Who is that?” Peeta asks, “Or what? Muttations?”

You share a look with Finnick. Katniss draws an arrow back on her bow, preparing to fight without an attack from the group. You watch as the dragger drops the other, who collapses on the beach instantly. They stomp their foot into the sand, shoulders squared, and start toward the one walking in circles. In one simple motion, she shoves the circling one over.

“It’s Johanna,” Finnick breathes, standing taller, “Johanna!” He calls, starting out of the jungle. You follow after him, lowering your sword.

“Finnick!” Johanna shouts back, sounding relieved, “(Y/n)!”

As you get closer, you’re able to see that the two other tributes are the ones that she and Blight were tasked with retrieving. Beetee, the one that collapsed, is lying on his back, unconscious. Wiress has already gotten back on her feet, going back to making laps around the three of you.

They smell like blood, which might explain why they’re red. It doesn’t explain why they’re covered from head to toe in blood, though. What’re the chances that Johanna joined the bloodbath and didn’t rinse off afterward?

“What happened?” You ask, looking between her and Wiress.

Johanna throws her hand out in the direction of the jungle, her face turning dark, “We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

Katniss and Peeta have finally joined, only Katniss looks less than thrilled to be in the presence of Johanna. You hope that she doesn’t fan the flames, because the last thing you need is for a fight to break out between them.

“I’m sorry, Johanna.” Finnick says, you shake your head, eyes finding the ground. It’s hard losing a partner from the same district you came from. You might not have experienced it first hand, but Annie is a living example of that.

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much but he was from home,” she sighs, “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee with the tip of her shoe, “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

You all look over to Wiress, who’s beginning to sing a song to herself, “Tick tock. Tick tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock.” Johanna spits. At the mention of her nickname, Wiress heads for Johanna, stumbling into her. And just like before, Johanna shoves her to the sand, “Just stay down, will you?”

“Lay off her.” Katniss suddenly snaps.

Johanna’s eyes narrow at Katniss, “Lay off her?” She hisses, and in one fluid motion, steps forward and slaps Katniss across the face, “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—!”

Finnick swings her writhing body over his shoulder, limping into the water because of the extra weight on his ankle. She’s still screaming profanities at Katniss, despite Finnick repeatedly forcing her head under the water like a drowned cat. After making sure Katniss has put away her arrow, you go into the water to join them.

The water’s turning pink again from the blood that was dried on her skin. Finnick relents on dunking her, solely because she’s now gasping for air, water running down her face. She slaps away his hands when he reaches to help, giving you a proud smirk. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re inside of an arena now, you’d give Johanna a piece of your mind about slapping the ally that you’re supposed to be keeping alive. 

“Let me help.” You sigh, Johanna jerks away from you.

“Don’t touch me, bitch.” She snuffs, trying to fix her hair.

“You’ve got blood covering every inch of your body, get over yourself for a second and let me fucking help.” You place your hands on your hips, watching as she flips her head back, hair unevenly settling.

She looks you up and down, like she’s deciding if she’d rather take you in a fight. She then waves her hand in the air, “Fine, whatever.”

You manage to get her out of the jumpsuit, which you hand over to Finnick to wash clean. Johanna sits in the water, rubbing her skin with saltwater while you massage the dried blood out of her hair the best you can. Despite her original protest, she doesn’t complain about you helping.

“So, what happened with Beetee?” You ask, “You said he went into the cornucopia?”

“Get this,” She starts, you can imagine her rolling her eyes. Finnick moves closer to hear the story, “After flailing in the water, he somehow manages to get onto one of the spokes, and runs directly for the cornucopia. I mean, headfirst into your career friends like they’re long lost buddies. Enobaria chases him into the fucking cornucopia because, hello.”

She waves her hand in the air, “And by the time I get Enobaria off of him, he’s got this nasty cut down his back, but he’s holding onto a fucking spool of wire.” She turns to look at you and Finnick, “I managed to get him out of there, only because there were axes nearby, but he should be dead. It’d probably be for the best, anyway.”

You make a face, nodding, “Blight got Wiress out?”

“Something like that.” Johanna mutters, “We met on the beach and went straight into the jungle. Have either of you gotten a sponsor yet?”

“A couple.” Finnick admits, “One of them was a loaf of bread from District Four.”

“Have any of it left?” 

“No, but we’ve got a bunch of shellfish, if you want it.”

Johanna runs a hand through her hair, which is mostly clean, “I do.” She stands in the water, making a face at the color it’s turned. She pauses for a moment, “Thank you.”

The three of you walk back to the beach, seeing that Wiress and Beetee have been cleaned to the best of Katniss and Peeta’s ability. Beetee’s now lying on his stomach on Finnick’s mat, moss over where the gash on his back is, with vines wrapped around to secure it in place. Wiress is no longer covered in blood, looking more alive than before.

Johanna hangs up her jumpsuit on a nearby tree branch to allow it to dry, unbothered by the fact that she’s in her underwear. You can’t really say you’re surprised, she is the one that stripped before stepping into an elevator with Peeta and Katniss. If there’s anyone that’s going to care less, it’s going to be her.

Katniss is beginning to work the jumpsuit back onto Beetee’s body when Finnick brings over the food and water. Johanna doesn’t hesitate, digging into the shellfish meat and gulping down water. She listens as Finnick tells her the story about the fog, and the monkey encounter right after. Johanna’s unimpressed by the fact that the arena’s a giant wild card.

Since the sun isn’t all that high in the sky just yet, Finnick works quickly to weave a bigger mat to balance in the trees to create shade to rest in. Beetee is dragged beneath first, since he hasn’t moved a muscle after being brought here. Wiress sits next to him, and the rest of you follow suit.

The exhaustion has caught up with Finnick, you can tell. He offers to guard while everyone else sleeps, but Katniss insists that she takes first watch for once. He places an arm beneath his head, trident barely positioned under the shade nearby. You play with his hair, watching him relax until he’s finally fallen asleep.

The others don’t last very long. Wiress curls up nearby to Beetee, Peeta lays in the sand and rolls over so that he’s facing Katniss. She’s sitting right next to Johanna, who’s practically ignoring her enemy's presence.

You’re convinced that you’re not tired for a few minutes, wanting to stay up with them. You know that it’ll be hard to sleep with the sun up, then you yawn once, and it all goes downhill from there. You lay next to Finnick, scooting so that you’re right behind him, leaving a bit of space between the two of you.

The sound of the waves lapping on the beach lulls you to sleep, like the rain. 

—

The thunder cracking against the tree yanks you out of sleep, heart pounding in your chest. 

Katniss hardly glances at you, focused on watching the lightning storm on the other side of the arena. It’s taking place in the same area that it did last night, continuously striking the tallest tree, and the ones around it.

You let go of your sword, which is half-buried in the sand, relaxing. Once you’re sure that nothing’s going to happen, you get to your feet, stretching. Finnick’s got an arm thrown over his eyes to block away the sun. For the most part, you guys were inside of the shade, but not enough to shield you entirely.

You run a hand over your skin, finding it tender from the sun. It’s not too bad, so you find a nice spot in the shade, bordering between sand and grass, and take a seat. Neither of you speak, observing the lightning, the pattern it follows.

“Tick, tock,” Wiress sighs, barely conscious. She rolls over right after.

When you take a look at Katniss, you see that her face is screwed, gears turning in her head. And then her eyes widen, getting to her feet. 

“What is it?” You ask.

Katniss watches the lightning for a moment, her eyes moving around the jungle one section at a time. She looks at the lightning storm, moves to where you are now. And suddenly turns to look at the other side, where the tidal wave had come from on the other side of the lightning. 

“Tick, tock.” Wiress says again, this time asleep. The lightning storm stops, and the rain begins, pattering musically against the greenery of the jungle. Although, you now know that it’s not any rain, it has to be the same rain that caught Johanna’s group.

“Oh,” Katniss lets out, “Tick, tock.” She looks around the jungle one more time, eyes landing on you after she’s done the full sweep, “Tick, tock. This is a clock.”

You can physically feel yourself pale the moment the words leave her mouth. It makes sense now, why Haymitch couldn’t tell you all the details, because you’d figure out a good portion of it inside. And now the bread makes sense, too, how you’ll know where to go exactly.

Your eyes find the lightning section, and move over one wedge to where the blood is coming down at. The plan right now is that on the fourth day, you’ll be in the rain at one in the morning, because he said military time. This is the same rain that killed Blight, he couldn’t see where he was going. And he expects the rest of you to safely navigate through it enough to be rescued?

It’ll be possible, you’ll just lose a person or two on the way.

Like you said earlier, he’s going to have to confirm it, send another basket of bread to make sure that you’re interpreting it correctly. He also sent it before Johanna had reached you, so maybe that wasn’t necessarily a signal, just a test run to see if you’re paying attention.

Haymitch better not make this more difficult than it already is.

“Get up,” Katniss says, shaking Peeta and Johanna. You reach over, carefully moving Finnick’s shoulder to get him awake, “Get up—we have to move.”

She waits until everyone’s moving and able to register what she’s saying before she starts explaining why. The arena works like a clock, with the lightning last night signifying that it was midnight, the start. The blood rain started at one, and went until two, which is when the fog picked up. At three, the monkeys attacked, and at ten, the wave appeared.

Where you guys are sitting currently is between the fog and the monkeys, a chance that she’s not willing to take. She’s worried about the monkey’s coming onto the beach, or the fog coming farther than it had last time. And with how painful it was to experience, you’re not going to disagree with her.

While she’s talking, you, Johanna and Finnick are sharing looks. Now that the arena’s been figured out, Haymitch can really start with the signals. Finnick briefly leans over to tell you that the Four bread must not have meant anything, just a sponsor from your mentors. You’re glad that he’s thinking the same thing that you are.

Johanna knows that Katniss must be right, but she rolls her eyes and shrugs it off anyway, not too concerned about it. You suppose that since she survived the blood rain, she’s got other ideas. Still, she doesn’t put up a fight when Katniss insists on all of you moving away.

You pull down Beetee and Johanna’s jumpsuits from the tree, which were probably dry hours ago, considering the heat in the arena is baking you alive. You hand Beetee’s to Finnick so that he and Peeta can work together. Beetee’s still unresponsive to the movement around him, you’re really hoping you’re not going to be dragging a body around for the rest of the day.

Johanna comes over, letting you help her into her suit. She uses your shoulder as a crutch while she steps into the legs. She jumps into it, since it fits snugly against her body. You make sure that nothing’s sitting awkwardly on her body, gaining her trust. And then, as a little form of payback for the wedgie as the tribute parade, you yank her underwear so far up her ass that it disappears.

“You—!” She shouts, jerking away. She sends you a hostile glare, digging the wedgie out of her ass, “Fuck you.”

“Doesn’t feel very good, does it?” You tease, “Turn around so I can zip it up.”

“No, get the fuck away from me.” She swats your hand away, reaching behind herself to pull the zipper all the way up.

You snort, shrugging your shoulders. There was no way in hell you were going to let her get away with that, especially in front of other victor’s. Finnick hides a smile, shaking his head while he pulls one of Beetee’s leg through the hole.

Katniss crouches next to Wiress, “Hey, Wiress.” She places a hand on her shoulder.

Wiress snaps awake, “Tick, tock!”

“Yes, tick, tock, the arena’s a clock. It’s a lock, Wiress, you were right.” Katniss says.

She nods slightly, calmer now that Katniss understands, “Midnight.”

“It starts at midnight.”

She looks over at the section they’d all come from, the blood ran, “One-thirty.”

“Exactly. One-thirty. And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there,” Katniss points at the jungle, “So we have to move somewhere safe now.” Wiress smiles, standing up, “Are you thirsty?”

She’s given one of the bowls of water to rehydrate, and it’s clear by the amount that she drinks, that she’s been thirsty. She drinks an entire quart before deciding that she’s hungry, which is when Katniss offers the leftover shellfish to her. You wander away during this, taking your still-bloodied sword into the water to rinse off. It hadn’t bothered you earlier, but seeing everyone else’s weapons clean have made you reconsider.

“Wire.” A voice says.

You look over to see Peeta trying to pull the jumpsuit underneath Beetee to finish dressing him. All that’s left are the arms, and then zipping up the back. 

“She’s right there.” Peeta nods up at Wiress, “Wiress is fine. She’s coming, too.”

Beetee doesn’t stop wriggling, “Wire.”

“Oh, I know what he wants,” Johanna flicks her hair over her shoulder, crossing the beach and picking up the cylinder of wire. You remember her talking about it earlier, but you never actually saw it. Katniss and Peeta tossed it aside so that they could wash Beetee thoroughly. It’s completely coated in dried blood. “This worthless thing. It’s some kind of wire or something. That’s how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don’t know what kind of weapon it’s supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?”

“He won his games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap,” Peeta says, “It’s the best weapon he could have.”

You don’t miss the look that Katniss gives Johanna, the head tilt before she straightens out again. You’re sure she’s going to keep her thoughts to herself, until she doesn’t, “Seems like you’d have that figured out. Since you nicknamed him Volts and all.”

Everyone—with the exception of Katniss and Peeta—is aware of what the wire is for. Johanna knows that Beetee’s not going to cut his precious wire in little bits to kill people. He doesn’t have the strength for that. Her trying to steer Katniss into thinking that was a mistake. Katniss is a thinker, she plans ahead of her actions.

It doesn’t surprise you that they did their research, watching old games. It follows what you were thinking yesterday. Katniss knows better than to enter a situation completely blind. Haymitch might’ve even been the one that suggested her to watch the old victor games in the first place.

Johanna turns her body to Katniss, narrowing her eyes, “Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She’s measured, calm but annoyed, “I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what, again? Almost getting Finnick killed off?”

Your head snaps in Katniss’ direction, ignoring what Johanna’s said. Finnick falling in that jungle wasn’t her fault, it was a steep path that you’d chosen. Katniss’ hand tightens around the knife on her belt. You step forward, prepared to intervene.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.” Johanna smiles.

Katniss doesn’t move, despite the fact that she’s obviously done with Johanna. You can’t blame her, Johanna knows exactly how to fuck with someone at the right time. To be fair, though, this was territory that Katniss shouldn’t have stepped in the first place. Regardless of the fact that she was right. This could’ve been kept to herself.

“Maybe we should be careful where we step from now on,” You warn Katniss. You don’t want to end up breaking up a fight between them, because that won’t end up how either of them would like it to.

Finnick’s got the spool of wire, bringing it to Beetee, “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.” 

Now that he’s got what he was asking for, he doesn’t put up a fight against Peeta anymore. They get him into the jumpsuit, zip up the back, and help him to his feet. Peeta looks up between you guys, “Where to?”

“I’d like to go to the cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.” Finnick smooths his hair back, tilting the trident forward in the direction.

You shrug, “I’m game.”

There’s no disagreement, so Katniss takes the lead toward the nearest spoke, bow loaded in her hand in case the careers are inside of the cornucopia. You ease her thoughts somewhat, telling her that they would’ve attacked by now, snuck out the other side if it were possible. They’re not the type to be sitting ducks, you never were.

You take up the very back, watching the trees in case your friends decide to run up and take you like this. They’ve got to be watching, waiting for their perfect moment. A group of six allies isn’t anything to pass on, it’s too many people, especially with the few people that’re left. Your group, the four careers. Besides that, there’s three other random tributes spread out in the arena.

To them, this group is the threat.

The cornucopia is empty, as expected. You push past the others, heading inside of the cornucopia to get a good look at it, making sure that it’s completely vacant. In past games, tributes have hid inside and gotten the jump on the careers. When you’re done, you move back to the mouth, tilting over a box to sit on.

Peeta sets Beetee down in the shade, backing off. Beetee motions Wiress over, and she crouches next to him, taking the wire when he hands it over, “Clean it, will you?”

She nods, heading over to the edge of the black rock, sitting down. She dunks the wire, singing the same song she was when you first ran into them today. She’s quiet when saying the lyrics, but Johanna hears her anyway.

“Oh, not that song again,” Johanna rolls her eyes, “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

Wiress suddenly gets to her feet, pointing her finger to the jungle, “Two.”

You follow, watching as the fog seeps out of the trees and onto the beach. You can’t imagine the residue that’ll be leftover from it, if it’ll have the same power as touching the fog itself. It won’t matter after ten, because the wave will sweep the poison away, offering the sand another chance. Until then, you’ll have to avoid the area.

“Yes, look. Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.” Katniss says.

“Like clockwork.” Peeta agrees, “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

She beams, and then sits back down to continue to clean the wire. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says, “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

Beetee’s looking better, not as pale. He needed rest, after what happened last night, that’s pretty clear. It was the same way for Wiress, who was saying two single words, but once she was cleaned, fed and watered, she’s been saying more. Obviously not in full sentences, just enough to understand what she means.

“What’s that?” Finnick asks, turning his attention to Katniss.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” She shrugs.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks.

“It stops singing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.” Katniss’ eyes drift to the ground, staring absently. She then shakes her head, “I’m going to restock.”

Johanna goes inside the cornucopia too, poking around in what’s left of the weapons. A lot of swords and knives, and some specialty items like sicles and spears are scattered around. Anyone who was at the cornucopia yesterday already got what they wanted. You can imagine that your career friends are covered in different blades, deadly from head to toe.

As for the tributes that made it here and died, their weapons are at the bottom of the water, fallen off when the hovercrafts came for their bodies. Or if their bodies are particularly stiff, especially in winter-type arena’s, their hands will manage to hang on the entire time. That’s if their fingers don’t snap mid-air and send the weapon back down to earth.

And you can’t forget the tidal wave, there’s a good chance that it took out a portion of the weapons.

Still, Johanna manages to pull out a pair of axes from the pile, turning them over in her hand. She gives you a funny eyebrow raise, as if telling you to watch, and then throws it at the cornucopia’s golden walls from the other side. It sticks, blade halfway into the wall. She lets out a laugh, and yanks it out without breaking the handle.

Peeta’s drawing on a large leaf that he brought from the jungle, starting with a circle. He draws the cornucopia first, the waterline, and then the treeline. He’s careful when he draws the twelve dividing spokes, being specific about the placement, “Look at how the cornucopia’s positioned.”

Katniss is leaning over his shoulder, looking over the map, “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, and then begins to write the numbers in to fill the space in each pie wedge, “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He writes ‘lightning’ underneath the number the best he can, and does the same for two, three and four. 

“And ten to eleven is the wave.” Katniss says.

Finnick and Johanna come to join you now, more knives prepped in their belt in the case of danger. You tilt your head back to look at Finnick, he gives you a white smile before leaning down to kiss you. 

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks Beetee and Johanna. Both of them shake their heads, “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m gonna mark the ones where we know the Gamemaker’s weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta says, drawing a line through the fog and wave. He then sits back, “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

There’s a moment of silence, where you all nod. 

Silence!

You find him first, glistening in the hot sun, water running down his body. Gloss’ blonde hair is stuck to his forehead, recently coming out of the water. If he weren’t holding a dead Wiress, who’s slowly sliding to the ground, throat slit wide, blood gushing down her skin—you’d smile and hug him. Invite him to the alliance, convince him to turn his back to the Capitol.

You jump to your feet, one knife in each hand for less than a second before they’re leaving in two different directions. One knife slams into Gloss’ forehead, dead center, head whipping back, eyes rolling. He crumples to the black rock in an awkward position, Wiress still halfway in his arms.

The other knife is for his other half, the girl that you used to call your best friend. Her blonde hair is thrown over her shoulder at the moment, a single strand hangs in front of her ear. Johanna’s raising her ax to swing at her, but the knife punctures her heart first. Cashmere’s mouth opens, eyes locking with yours, one hand reaching up to make sure that it’s there.

She moves so slowly, head turning to her brother, and then she too falls over. Her hand is still loosely holding onto a glittery knife that was meant for one of you. Her eyes are still open, staring up at the sun.

They’re dead. Cashmere and Gloss are dead. Your best friends are fucking dead.

And you killed them.

There’s only two people that could’ve convinced them to go through with this.

You grit your teeth, taking deep breaths as you glare at Enobaria and Brutus.

You yank one knife into each hand, watching Brutus throw a spear aimed for Peeta. Finnick swings the trident, knocking it from his path, and twists his body so that he takes Enobaria’s knife in his thigh. It sticks, and it’s the opposite leg of the twisted ankle. He’s grabbing the handle, beginning to yank it out when you start after the District Two tributes.

You throw both knives, one aimed for each head, at the same time an arrow lodges into the cornucopia’s wall. That’s what saves them, the golden walls. If it weren’t for that, the knives would be buried in their skulls. The blades have disappeared completely in the wall, but they’re at the perfect height.

You’re the first to run after them, pulling the last knife out of your belt, watching as your former friend and her tribute partner hightail it around the cornucopia and down the nearest spoke. Three cannons blast, each of them overlapping before the last one can finish. They echo over the water, in your mind. Wiress, Gloss, Cashmere. 

You killed your best friends.

You spin the knife to grab the blade, swinging your arm back and launching it forward. You’re about to reach the first inch of the spoke, finally gaining the right footing, when the ground suddenly jerks to the left, throwing you off-balance to the right. You hit the rock, hard, but watch as the knife slams into the back of Brutus’ shoulder. One more inch to the left and he’d be dead.

The ground doesn’t stop moving, it’s only the round part that holds the cornucopia that spins, picking up speed with every second. The jungle’s a big blur of green and brown, the blue sky hardly blending in. There’s a moment where everything is still on the island, before the sand begins to fly, and the slope sucks you down toward the water, which is kicking up violent waves.

You slap your hands into the curves of the rocks, digging your fingers into the holes to try and gain a good footing.

The rock breaks off in one big chunk.

And then you’re sent flying backward.

The small breath of air is useless, because it’s all gone the second you slam into the black rock, and again into the concrete water, both stealing the breath from your lungs. You sink into the water, bubbles and waves consuming you. You try to swim to the surface, and find your body thrown in deeper, underneath the cornucopia.

The water’s colder down here, pressure tight on your skull. You manage to get up a reasonable distance before you’re being thrashed around. The burning in your chest is strong, and for a second—only one—you forget you’re underwater.

The water invades your mouth and nose. The burning’s different, worse, slamming your sinus’ with a sledgehammer. It’s saltwater, you forgot that it’s saltwater. The cornucopia’s still spinning above you, you’re still hopelessly stirring in the water.

You’re going to die.

You’re going to join your best friends, the two you just killed. They’re probably in the water right now, too. They couldn’t hold onto the rock, how could they? They’re dead. You killed them. It was Enobaria and Brutus’ idea but your knives. Their blood is on your hands. You deserve this. Your friends, how could you do this? 

The cornucopia stops without slowing down. You struggle to get through the waves, not that it matters. The surface is too far, now. You won’t make it.

You grab your throat, black and white static crossing your eyes, spots eating away at the corners.

This is it.

What’re the chances of a Four tribute drowning?

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AUBADE IS PART 3 OF A TRIOLOGY //MASTERLIST//