#rise hunger games au

[daboyau]

Chapter ten of the Rise Hunger Games AU! Remember when I said this would be about six chapters total? Boy, was I wrong! We’re at double digits now, and not even into the meat of the Games yet. Hope you enjoy the calm while it lasts!

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Here, have the tag list. Fingers crossed it actually works this time!

@boots-with-the-fur-club @qwerty-keyboard-is-superior @theonlybrightowl @dandywonderous @dandylovesturtles @elijah-doodle @fredquinn @sady-is-secretly-an-alchemist @heckitall @beannary @brightandfullofglory @purplepixel @pomelined @imagionationstation @daughterofskylark @eb177 @lilysplash @midwesternvibes @burritello3000 @justchillininthebackground-06 @snowleopardtherebel @kiaxet

Knives have never been Donnie’s preferred weapon. He can appreciate the versatility of them, and how easy they are to carry or conceal, but he has never particularly enjoyed how close one has to be to use them effectively. It’s messy. Plus, contrary to popular belief, they aren’t really all that efficient at killing a human being unless the wielder knows exactly the right place to stab or slash, and has very good aim.

If he had the choice to pick any weapon, he’d go for a gun. He’s often eyed the Peacekeeper’s weapons, wishing he could get his hands on them, if only to take them apart. He wants to learn all their weaknesses, and figure out how to make his own better version. There’s a reason that precious few of the Districts have ever tried to fight back against them, despite having significantly more numbers. 

Unfortunately, guns have never been an option during the Hunger Games in the past, and he suspects that won’t be changing this year. Luckily for him, papa has ensured that he does indeed have all the necessary knowledge to use a knife, as well as a number of other weapons.

He adjusts his grip around the hilt and strikes out at the training simulation, a quick slash to its holographic throat causing it to crumble to pixelated dust. Another quick hard jab, and the next has joined its pixelated brethren in the great technological beyond. He whirls at a soft click behind him — the telltale indicator that there was another digital opponent spawning, he had surmised early on — and a backhanded stab to the throat has the indistinct figure dissipating before it has the chance to fully form. 

The room slowly begins to brighten as the simulation ends, and Donnie steps off the platform. His breathing is a little harsher than he usually allows during training, and the uncomfortable stickiness of sweat has the back of his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He shudders at the feeling. His back still feels strange after Draxum had poked at it the night before. The phantom sensation of pins and needles linger despite the exo-spine having no real nerve endings to speak of. Worse, if he moves too fast or bends too far, he can feel his legs tingle and he begins to lose sensation in his toes.

“The worst of those side effects should only last about 12 hours,” Draxum had told him dismissively, when Donnie had informed him of what he was feeling. Apparently, with his growth the last 14 years, the device had to be recalibrated to ensure it would continue functioning as intended. It had made him feel vulnerable and sick, forced to sit on the edge of the bed as Draxum fiddled with the most vulnerable part of him and his legs had suddenly stopped being able to hold his weight. The lingering sensation of fingers against his skin and the electric pain of tools inside his exo-spine had kept him up throughout most of the night, long after Draxum had left and Donnie had kicked his papa out to retire to his own room, not wanting to upset him with having to watch as Donnie rode out the after affects of having something integrated with his nervous system messed with. Yoshi had reluctantly given in, leaving Donnie gritting his teeth and hissing with each new spark of pain or each terrifying loss of sensation and control over his own body alone. It was the first time he actually felt glad that he wasn’t sharing a bedroom with his twin; the last thing he wanted was Leo (or anyone else) worrying about him.

He doesn’t trust that the man hadn’t done something; sabotaged him in some way, or installed some feature that would come back to bite him later. The fact that he couldn’t effectively examine his own back for signs of tampering just made it all the worse. If he could only take a look at it, then he might at least be able to soothe the anxious pounding of his heart that threatened to overwhelm him whenever he spent too long thinking about how dangerous it was to allow anyone he doesn’t trust implicitly to have access to his back. If it needed any cleaning or maintenance at home, he’d usually instruct Leo or April on how to do it, while Mikey or Raph held up mirrors at various angles so he could keep a close eye on the proceedings. Not an option now, but maybe he can have papa hold a mirror, at least.

After returning the knife to one of the weapons racks, he sighs and slinks over to grab a sealed bottle of water off the little table of refreshments that had been set up in a corner of the massive gymnasium. The other tributes are scattered throughout the space, a handful of them looking determined while most of the others just look lost. Donnie was one of the few to find a weapon and get to work immediately, and he knows that that decision means that there will be eyes on him now. That fact could work against him, painting a target on his back, or it could help him to form potential alliances if he chooses to go that route. It’s hard to say, since past games can’t offer conclusive data considering the participants — and therefore line up of personalities and group dynamics — change each year.

Not like he is any better, of course. He’d made sure to note which of his fellow tributes had moved with confidence and which had hung back or hesitated, just the same as all the rest of them. He knows better than to discount any of the more hesitant ones, though. A smart strategist might put on a front to keep attention off of themselves. That would have been what Leo would do in his place, he was sure. After all, Donnie is also holding back. 

“You were really good in there,” a voice says from right beside him, and Donnie chokes on his water. Apparently, being attentive while lost in thought is a skill he’ll need to work on.

The girl standing beside him is young, maybe 14 or 15. She stares up at him with wide green eyes when he turns to face her, like she’s expecting a response. Donnie clears his throat and casts a quick glance around them and then towards the other tributes, hoping to find that she was talking to someone else. No luck there. He looks her over, taking in the blonde hair and round freckled cheeks, trying to remember which District she belongs to, before it clicks.

“Ah, you’re from Eleven, right? The…sexy corn girl?” 

She stares up at him, mouth popped into a little ‘o’ of surprise, and he’s pretty sure that means he said the wrong thing. He looks away, focusing on the other tributes once more. He has just enough time to think at least if I’ve offended her she’ll leave me alone, before he hears a little snort beside him, and when he looks towards her once again he’s surprised to see her smiling. 

“It was really bad, right? The stylists for my District were awful this year.”

“They were,” he agrees easily, still confused as to why she’s talking to him. She nods and hums, and she hasn’t stopped staring at him. There are bags beneath her eyes; evidence of how the last few days and the impending Games have been weighing on her. He imagines he must look just as tired and beaten down.

“I heard about how you helped the District Three kids,” she says. “It was kind of you to do that.”

He almost doesn’t realize what she’s referring to, staring at her blankly before it finally clicks. He snorts derisively and waves the words off. He wishes she would stop smiling at him.

“It was easy to fix, the stylists were just idiots,” he mutters, taking another swallow of his water. He hears her giggle. 

“Yeah, it seems like there was a lot of that going around this year.”

He hums his agreement, and takes a half step further away from her. He’s nearly ready to get back to his half hearted training montage, but he’s not sure where to focus his energy next. He’s been eying the survivalist area of the training grounds, but one of the other boys has been hogging it for nearly an hour. He’s not really interested in sharing right now, or in socializing with other tributes. 

Speaking of which. 

“Bye,” he says dryly to the girl as he drops his empty water bottle back onto the table and turns to leave. 

“Wait! I wanted to ask you something.”

He probably shouldn’t bother, but he is curious. He turns back, eyes narrowed and arms crossed as he waits impatiently for her to finish her thought. She won’t look him in the eye, but after a beat, she finally gets herself together enough to blurt out, “Can you teach me how to use a knife?”

He stares at her for a long time, trying to figure out if she’s joking or not. It’s in poor taste, if she is. She stares back with those wide green eyes, hands clasped together as she rocks on the balls of her feet. He squints. 

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah! I’ve never had to use one to fight before.”

“Ask one of them,” he tells her dryly, gesturing vaguely to the Capitol-provided trainers. She makes a face he doesn’t know how to read, then shakes her head quickly. 

“I already tried that! They’re just interested in the Careers. The guy that was showing me kept getting distracted the whole time!”

“Right…but consider this; Why would I teach you to use something that you could then turn around and kill me with in four days?” 

“Because I won’t be able to learn enough to be at that skill level from just a lesson or two, but it might be enough to keep me from dying immediately?” she tries, grinning sheepishly. Donnie frowns and his eyes wander back towards the survivalist center. Still occupied. She clears her throat. “And also, what if I promise not to fight you in the arena?”

“What, like an alliance?” He can’t help the way his voice drips with disdain at the word as his gaze slowly move back to look at her. He’s watched enough games to know exactly how well alliances tend to go. There can only be one survivor, after all.

It’s difficult to meet her eyes, but the long strands of her hair sway when she shakes her head. Her voice comes out soft as she says, “No, nothing like that. More like a promise, I guess? I won’t kill you. You won’t kill me. We won’t have to help each other outside of that.” 

The words almost make him smile. Silly things like promises will never survive the Hunger Games, but it’s a nice thought. Probably something Raph or Mikey would take her up on. His heart does a painful little twist in his chest, and the tips of his fingers tingle. He swallows, hard, and then sighs. 

Well, not like he has anything better to do, right? The only thing he’s interested in working on at the moment is still being hogged. And papa did always say teaching others was the most effective way of honing your own skills.

“Go find a knife that feels comfortable in your hands, then come find me,” he says by way of answering, and the girl makes a small, excited noise and hurries off to do as he’s asked. Donnie watches her go with a scowl on his face, already knowing that he’s going to regret this. Raph is going to be so disappointed in him if he dies because he spent his training days helping other tributes instead of focusing on himself. But it’s not like there’s much here that he can learn from anyways…he hopes. 

He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face, then pulls them back quickly when the smell of sweat and whatever oil is used to maintain the knife he’d been practicing with hits him. Looking around to see if he can find somewhere to wash his hands, his mind drifts back towards Draxum once again and his eyes wander towards the cameras tucked away in the corners. The elevated balcony where the Capitol politicians and Gamemakers will sit is unoccupied for now, but he wonders whether Draxum or any of the others are watching them. 

I made it, Draxum had said, his fingers never stilling in their methodical examination. He had seemed to catch the way Donnie had gone stiff with surprise at those words, and he had felt more than heard the soft huff of amusement against the bare skin of his back. Goosebumps had prickled uncomfortably over his flesh.

“I was not expecting that,” he muttered, eyes staring stubbornly towards the blank expanse of wall. Draxum twisted something that made a jolt of pain light up his nerve endings, and it was only force of will that kept him from crying out.

“No, I suppose not. It would be too much to expect Lou to have ever told you the truth.”

“Lou?”

“Your father.”

“My father’s name isn’t—“

“Yes, yes, he prefers to be called Yoshi now. I’ve heard.”

Donnie had frowned at that, irritation at the dismissal of his papa fanning the smoldering embers of barely repressed rage in his chest. At his side, his fingers kept twitching and jerking without his input. A cold sweat had broken out on his brow, and it was only the trepidation at how vulnerable he was at that moment that kept his mouth shut and his hands at his sides. He wished that his papa could be in the room with him. Some support would have been nice. 

“Is this one okay?” A voice asks, and Donnie is proud of the fact that he doesn’t startle at the sudden interruption. He accepts the knife the District 11 girl is holding out to him without looking at her. It’s well balanced, and the blade is dulled so that tributes won’t accidentally (or intentionally) injure themselves during training. Its hilt feels small in his hand, but it should fit her fine.

Are tributes this small every year, or is it just a bad haul this time around? He tries to remember, but they always seemed so distant on the holoscreen. It’s usually easier not to think about the little ones. They never last long enough to leave an impression once they enter the Arena.

“This’ll work,” he says, flipping the knife and handing the dull blade back hilt-first. She accepts it with a shaky little smile he doesn’t want to look at. “Follow me.”

He leads her to a small outcropping of fake, plastic trees. They’re intended to be used to practice climbing and camouflage, but they provide enough cover that hopefully he can do this one lesson without drawing attention from the other tributes. Though he doesn’t plan on saying anything to her about it, there’s a good chance that if the others believe the two of them are planning on working together, she’ll end up with a target on her back. 

He circles her with a critical eye, adjusting her stance and the way she grips the knife. Her nails are painted, pink and sparkly, reflecting the dim glow of the buzzing overhead lights. Her knuckles have gone white from how tightly she’s holding it, so Donnie taps the backs of her fingers until she takes a deep breath and loosens her grip. Then, he takes a few steps back and gets into a familiar beginning stance. 

“Come at me like you’re planning to attack me,” he tells her, and can’t help but smirk a little at the shock that flits across her face. “You won’t hurt me, but it will be a good chance to see where you’re at.” 

She chews her bottom lip as he speaks, then slowly nods. “If you’re sure….”

“Oh, worry not. I’m quite sure you won’t be able to get a single hit in.”

Unfortunately for her chances of survival, he’s correct.

.

Donnie waits until the clock in the corner of the holoscreen reads midnight before he gives up on trying to sleep. Hours of tossing and turning in the too-soft bed are just wasted effort and lost time, and he’s finally settled enough that the idea of food doesn’t make him want to vomit. Might as well get a snack while he still has the chance. He’s sure food will be scarce inside the Arena. 

He moves with silent steps, listening carefully, almost hoping that he’ll find Kendra waiting in the kitchen again. He hadn’t seen her during the training session earlier, and she had avoided his gaze during the tense dinner hour. 

Much to his displeasure, he had realized about halfway through the meal that he did, in fact, miss what little scraps of camaraderie they’ve found with one another over the last few days. As prickly and generally unpleasant as she is, at least Kendra’s simmering fury at their situation feels familiar. It’s preferable to Atomo’s overly eager cheer or his papa’s barely masked sorrow. At least they don’t have to pretend as much when it’s just the two of them. 

Donnie sighs, shoulders slumping, when he finds the kitchen dark and empty. The light from the refrigerator feels blinding when he swings it open, and the soft suction of the seal giving way seems unspeakably loud in the sound proofed silence of the large apartment. He knows he’s allowed the freedom to wonder the cage-slash-living-quarters, and that there are more than likely already eyes watching him through the glass lenses of the cameras positioned all around the apartment, but it still feels like he’s doing something wrong by being out of his bedroom so late at night. He’s gotten used to never being left alone. It’s not a pleasant realization.

He hurries to find something palatable, settling on fruit and some plain crackers he scavenges from the cabinets. He hesitates only a second before he shrugs and decides to bring the snacks to his bedroom. After all, what will it matter to him if the apartment gets ants or he stains the fancy sheets? It’s not like it will matter; just a few short days, and he’ll be either dead or the lone survivor of 24 children. They can put him - or his body - in a different room if this one is still dirty by then. He’s not going to be in any state to care either way.

The slick tile floor melts away to plush carpet as he pads through the living room and back towards the hall lined with their rooms. He pauses briefly outside the first door, hands tightening around the edges of the plate in his hands. The ceramic makes a sound that has him cringing as his nails scrape over its surface, and he wonders if his father might finally deign to look his way if he makes an offering of food. It’s not cake, but maybe…. 

Donnie takes a step closer and does his best to swallow down his jittering nerves. It’s not like he’s never had to find ways to get his father’s attention before, but it feels much worse to have to fight for his affection when they may have one another for only a few more days. Plus, he doesn’t even have April or his brothers here to compete with. Shouldn’t it be easier now? 

His hand pauses just inches from the intricate metal plated carving that decorates the door. He frowns, and leans a little closer, ear pressed to the cold metal. He heard his papa’s voice, but who…?

For one horrible, disgusting, disappointing (but not surprising) moment, Donnie thinks it must be Atomo in there with his father. He leans back slightly, ready to turn tail and bolt, when the female voice speaks again and—

It’s Kendra. Somehow, that is both infinitely worse and also far more suspicious. He braces himself and leans close again, but though he can hear the muffled voices, he can’t make out what they’re saying. It just sounds like droning, low and secretive, rising and falling like the tide as Kendra’s anger ebbs and flows and his father fights to get a word in. 

Donnie’s throat feels tight. Suddenly, he’s not that hungry anymore. He leaves the plate of food on the little hall table he hasn’t figured out the actual function of yet and retreats to his own room, trying not to let the sting of betrayal cut too deep.

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

A crossover of No Fun in Fungus and A New Shade of Red by @daboyau for competition propaganda under read more!

@tmntaucompetition

Raph rushes from one room to the next. Being suddenly transported to some kind of competition filled with other turtles and or people somehow connected to said turtles is chaotic enough, but fate decided to ramp it up even more.

It brought those mushrooms with them as well.

He split up from his brothers since there were way too many people to help and they were probably the only ones who knew how to handle what’s going on.

Raph knows he has to check every nook and cranny. For some reason everyone brought here just keeps losing each other.

The lost and found luckily seemed mushroom free but everywhere else was free game.

Despite some people being fairly similar to him and his brothers, their worst fears could still vary widely.

He passes by another room.

There’s sounds of crashing and someone hitting different things multiple times.

He’s only able to open up the door a little when a sharp object flies through the air. It’s only dodged just in time before it sticks itself into the wall behind him.

The door is slammed closed so Raph can collect himself before trying again.

He creates a clone in front of himself and has it open the door this time.

More things are thrown, but luckily none of them are sharp.

Raph can finally see who’s being doing it.

The person immediately reminds him of his dad back when he was still human and in his peak.

However, this person clearly has been through a lot.

His clothes are torn, wet, covered in sludge and-

Is that blood!?

The person breathes heavily like he’d just been running for a long time, far and fast most likely.

There’s a fearful look in his eyes.

It’s not one of someone who’s only scared now, but for a long time.

���Kendra! Leave me alone! You already knew what the games were! Don’t drag me down with you!” He screams.

Raph stills.

That’s Donnie’s voice, and he mentioned Kendra.

This must be a human Donnie.

It shouldn’t be surprising considering the swan and computer screen Donnie he saw before but it is.

Maybe because of just how ragged he looks.

Ralph gets rid of the clone and kneels down to be near his level since he’s sitting in a defensive way.

“Donnie?” He asks apprehensively, still not completely sure his guess is right yet.

Donnie’s eyes change from an angry narrow to a surprised widen.

“Raph’s voice….?”

“Uh, I am Raph, I just don’t know if I’m your Raph….?

Donnie cautiously leans in a bit to get a good look at him.

Raph nervously glances off to the side.

“No. You’re clearly another hallucination. The capital really emphasized emotional reactions this year…..”

“I know I’m not human, but I am real. We’re still brothers and I’m not leaving ya in this kinda state alone. You’re a Donnie, I bet you’re dying to wash that stuff off you.”

Donnie clearly still has reservations but looks down at himself and grimaces.

“Dying is a very poor choice of words.”

“You know Raph isn’t good with them. I’m not at least.” He holds his hand out.

Donnie gently takes it, knowing very well that he won’t be able to stand much on his own.

The moment their skin touches Donnie is rushed with emotions.

The effects of the spores had been washed away since Donnie could tell exactly who’s hand is in his even if it is more turtle like.

One is shock because this Raph was not kidding about not being human.

Another is a feeling of safety he hasn’t had in so long thanks to the constant death battle he’s been in.

“You….you are a Raph.”

Raph smiles softly.

“I am.”

Donnie’s face doesn’t shift in the slightest as he begins crying.

Over the course of the games it would just happen. Allowing his emotions to show too much would sap precious energy he needed so he just didn’t.

He watches as Raph panics over his tears.

It hurts so much to see a version of his brother who looks so much lighter of mental burdens than his own.

There’s still some sort of trauma in his eyes, but something in them still has innocence of bloodshed.

Donnie wonders if his eyes show how many lives he’s taken.

Raph slides his large arms under Donnie’s, lifting him up as he stands.

He’s held like a toddler and wracked with sobs as if he was one.

“Let it all out, it’s okay….Raph’s got ya.” He soothes, squeezing him as if it could get rid of every bad thing he saw.

Donnie fights passing out. The adrenaline that had been keeping him going is waning badly.

“I….I’m sorry. I tried to do what you said….I just couldn’t….I had to….I wanted to….”

Raph presses his forehead against Donnie’s, catching onto the fact that he’s not in the capacity to remember what’s going on.

“You did a good job. Raph’s real proud of you. Everything is gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of all of it. You can rest now.”

Donnie’s eyes quickly shut.

His big brother knows best.

He can finally, finally sleep.

A soft rumbling and his warm arms lull him into unconsciousness.

[purplepixel]

Hiiii I just wanted to say how excited I got when I saw the art you made of rise hunger games donnie!! It made me so happy when I saw it!!

I'm so glad you liked it!! I've been wanting to make fanart for awhile since I haven't seen much and this was an excuse for me to do it! PLUS I LOVE YOUR FIC SO MUCH! :]

[daboyau]

I am shooketh oh my god i love this so much?!?

also i imagine that RHG Leo is watching his brother get that gift and is just utterly baffled 😂

Hi!! I just wanted to say congrats on winning the prelim bracket!! I’ll look forward to voting for you in the next round!! ^_^

Thank you so much! Can’t wait to see what else you write. In the meantime, here’s a little gift

Inter-dimensional brothers, human or not, are still brothers 💙✨

~ Starr

[gillotto]

BKDK Hunger Games AU (3)

(sorry about this one)

[labyrinthhofmymind]

CRIMSON RIVERS IS THE MOST ANXIETY INDUCING FIC TO EVER EXIST

i’m rereading the arena breakout, why the fuck am i so stressed???? I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS

[thisbarbiereallylikesbirds]

okay this is probably (definetly) just because of the whole ☆battle nexus champion☆ thing but the rise boys are SOOO child of a hunger games victor coded so now im thinking about an au

their home district would probably be 2 (or maybe 4 because of promity to water plus 4 is my favorite lol) but i imagine them all secretly having heritage from other districts because of the whole "all of the are different species of turtle" thing

splinter probably won the games forever ago (lets make it the first quarter quell since thats interesting) and has sort of faded into obscurity due to there being a constant influx of young attractive victors for the capitol to fawn over

draxum would be a peacekeeper. big mama would be a district escort like effie. shen is another victor who lives close to them. she and yoshi are probably secret rebels

i think for the most part the boys wouldnt fall for all of the propaganda in 2...except for leo. that poor lad has such low self esteem and the idea of making his family and his district proud would be SO enticing. luckily his brothers never let him volunteer

i can imagine the boys wandering around victors village (which would be much more populated than the one in 12). leo would be awful and go all "do you KNOW who my FATHER IS???" everytime he doesnt get his way

when splinter is brought back to the capitol to mentor the boys would probably be taken care of by draxum. hes not pleased in the slightest

theyd mostly hang out with their friends april (who dreams to some day be a journalist if the capitol ever lets THOSE exist in the districts again) and casey (a future former peacekeeper in training)

theyd all eventually aid in the rebellion, and probably stay in their home district post war, though i imagine theyd like to visit the other districts at least once to see where theyre from

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

Everyone vote my Rise bestie’s Rise Hunger Games AU when the time comes!!

Part 2 of everyone in the prelims going tomorrow!

Thank you @allyssl for getting links for every AU in the prelims!

Links to all the competitors in the prelims!

[writer-rider-flirty-thirties]

I reread The Black Games trilogy and I realized I never truly finished the last two chapters of the third installment (despite reading the whole triology at least five times) and y'all...

It rocked me emotionally.

Anyways, I love the trilogy so much and I'm so happy I finally got to finish it!

(also, it has my favorite OCs ever!!!)

[daboyau]

And another rise hunger games chapter! Wow, just training and interviews to get through, and then the real fun begins. First person to correctly guess who the president is gets a prize or something idk

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tag list! as always, let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. 💚 thank you to everyone who reads and interacts with my stories. I definitely wouldn’t be updating as often or as eagerly without you guys.

@boots-with-the-fur-club @theonlybrightowl @dandywonderous @dandylovesturtles @elijah-doodle @fredquinn @sady-is-secretly-an-alchemist @heckitall @beannary @brightandfullofglory @purplepixel @pomelined @imagionationstation @daughterofskylark @eb177 @lilysplash @burritello3000 @midwesternvibes @justchillininthebackground-06

The roar of the crowd is deafening as they emerge into the City Circle. Donnie doesn’t drop to his knees and cover his ears, no matter how much he may want to. Kendra presses herself subtly closer to his side, making his skin crawl as she tests her weight slightly against his arm, and once she’s confident that he isn’t going to let her fall, she lifts both arms high in the air in a dramatic flourish that has the crowd going wild. 

Well, that just won’t do. The competition for attention (and for their lives, though he’s trying not to think about that right at the moment) has begun, and Donnie has been a middle child for far too long to let someone else win. With a hand still bracing her, he lifts his free hand high to call attention to himself, then sweeps into a graceful bow as he uses that hand to flip the train of his costume and show off the way the scales shift and change with his movements. The excitement that gets him makes Kendra elbow him hard, digging into the leftover bruises from when Kendra had tackled him. Despite the slight sting, he turns to smirk down at her, smug as she glares back. He’s grateful for the distraction. It makes it feel a little easier to ignorr the ever increasing urge to start screaming.

White and yellow chrysanthemums rain down all around them, carpeting the streets and getting crushed beneath the wheels of the chariots. Donnie sputters as one nails him in the face, and when Kendra tilts her head back and laughs, he forces himself to do the same, all too aware of the eyes and the cameras trained on them. Kendra plucks it from where it had fallen to his shoulder and tucks it behind her ear, grinning at him with a gleam in her eyes before turning a bright smile towards the cameras. More cheers, and suddenly the flowers raining down around them feel a lot more intentional. Oh, she is good. 

There’s not much room in the chariot for them to do much more than wave or bow, or make a few subtle gestures at one another as they try to disguise jostling and thrown elbows as incidental closeness. Every time either one of them does a little half-twist or bows, the crowd goes crazy as their costumes ripple and change in a complimentary dance of beautiful colors. For one stupid moment, Donnie can almost forget what’s at stake; this just feels like hassling April or his brothers over the last piece of a birthday cake or for their dad’s attention. It is stupid and childish and all the meanness without any of the malice. It’s almost nice. 

And then the feeling of a new set of eyes on him sends a prickling up his spine. This gaze is different. It is not the attention of the thousands of cheering fans, or even the grave watchfulness he can almost imagine he feels from the District people settled in their homes, watching the proceedings on their holoscreens. It is cold and dangerous and close. 

Donnie snaps upright from his latest sweeping bow, careful to maintain his facsimile of a smile as sharp eyes sweep the crowd for the source of the gaze. He knows that it is foolish to actually believe that he can pick out or even feel a single glare amongst a crowd of over one hundred thousand, but he doesn’t know how else to classify the sudden creeping, choking sensation that has crawled up his spine and circled his neck like a noose. Alarm bells are ringing inside his head, drowning out all other sounds.

He scans the crowd, taking in the gleeful smiles and hungry excitement, before his eyes finally settle on the massive raised platform that they are barreling towards. The presidential mansion looms above them, bright and beautiful and utterly sterile. Lights are projected onto its side, fake fireworks exploding over the bone white surface in a colorful facsimile of true celebration. Standing high above them all, the president stares out with an expression that Donnie can only think of as regnant. He is impassive as he watches the proceedings, and indifferent to the fact that he holds so many lives in the palms of his hands. He is completely confident in his control of the situation and the people as he stares down at 24 soon-to-be killers. The distance between the procession and the presidential manor is still far too great for Donnie to delude himself into thinking that their eyes can meet, but he still shudders when that cold gaze passes carelessly over him. He knows where that sense of danger is stemming from now. 

Though his features are wizened and long greyed with age, the president still cuts an imposing figure. He has not let power make him soft. The cushion of Capitol living hasn’t done anything to dull his sharp edges. 

Not that Donnie is surprised, really. The man has been in power since before papa was born; an impressive feat, considering the immense power struggle that had occurred after the first rebellion failed. From what papa has told him - and what the cobbled together and highly sanitized history lessons have conveniently left out - there were an impressive number of assassinations during that time. He would have had to be sharp to survive. Unless, of course, he was the one ordering said assassinations in the first place.

Donnie narrows his eyes as they draw closer to the man who has created an age of prosperity for Panem, and has kept the Districts crushed thoroughly beneath his heel. He’s always looked minatorial during every holoscreen appearance he’s made, and papa used to warn them all of his propensity towards cruelty in hushed, fearful whispers. Donnie had never questioned his father’s words, but he hadn’t realized before now just how accurate those statements had been.

He keeps the smile in place, even as the lump in his throat grows and threatens to stop his breathing. He can’t tear his eyes away from the platform, or the figure standing atop it, flanked by his counsel. They watch the procession with a detached interest, like the children they are sending to their deaths are nothing more than pawns to be moved across the board.

Those cold eyes settle upon their chariot, raking over the beautiful costumes and sparkling gems, assessing the Tributes encased within. The president doesn’t seem impressed. He turns his attention on to the next set quickly, and Donnie feels tension prickle across his muscles as their chariots begin to slow, raising goosebumps across his bare skin as each one settles upon its predetermined spot before the presidential mansion. 

The crowd falls silent as the president steps closer to the podium, the slight electronic feedback of his microphone enough to have the entirety of the Capitol holding its breath. Donnie does his best not to wince at the sound as it needles at his skin and scratches uncomfortably inside his brain. The president’s eyes sweep over the gathered tributes again, slow and thoughtful. He does not smile, but he does incline his head at each chariot, as if acknowledging each individual District. 

“We gather today, to welcome our tributes,” he says, his deep voice soft but commanding the attention of the crowd with enviable ease. Donnie can almost feel each onlooker sit up a little straighter. “We salute each of you for your courage and your strength.”

The crowd erupts into applause, more subdued now than the previous raucous cheers and screams, but no less enthusiastic. The president smiles, just the slightest tick of his lips, and his gaze moves slowly over the crowd before snapping back towards the gathered tributes once again.

“We honor our tributes,” he says slowly, as his eyes come to rest directly upon Donnie. “—and their families. We recognize the sacrifices made for the sake of peace and prosperity. We thank you.” 

His gaze moves on, but the feeling of it lingers. Donnie stays frozen, fingers digging hard enough into the handrail that he can almost feel the flimsy metal warp beneath his grip. His heart is pounding. The lights are too bright. Everything is so loud.

He just wants to curl up in the familiar comfort of his own bed, tucked beneath the weight of his blankets. He wants Mikey to sit on his thighs to to provide much needed pressure while he hides away in the darkness of his covers. He wants Raph to hum and rub careful, comforting circles on his back. He wants Leo—

Well. He just wants to be home. He wants his family. 

“We wish you all a happy Hunger Games,” the president says serenely. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

The crowd cheers. Fanfare plays. The fake fireworks pop and explode all across the walls of the mansion, painting it bloody red and fire orange. Donnie stares at the bursts of color, wishing the fires were real. The president stares back, eyes narrowed like he knows the thoughts inside his head. 

The chariots begin to move with a lurch that nearly sends Digi and Gizmo stumbling off the back of theirs, and has Kendra clutching at his arm to keep her balance. He can almost feel that chilling gaze lingering as they ride away. Kendra bumps him gently with her shoulder, and when he turns to look at her, she gestures for him to lean down. He obliges, mostly out of the desire for a distraction from the creeping unease.

Her lips brush the shell of his ear as she whispers, “That speech was total bullshit, huh?” 

His smile feels a little more real all of a sudden. 

.

There is a stranger waiting for them when the elevator doors slide open to reveal their fourth floor apartment. He is seated primly upon the pristinely clean and stupidly shaped sofa, ankle crossed over his knee, hands folded in his lap, head held high. He is invading the only marginally safe or private space afforded to them within the Capitol, and it rankles how much he looks like he belongs within this stupid fancy apartment.

He assesses them as they pile off the elevator, Donnie and Kendra both shuffling awkwardly forward as they clutch at the trailing fabric of their costumes to keep it from getting caught in the elevator door. They each keep a wary eye on him, suspicious of the interloper in their apartment. Atomo goes silent when she sees their visitor, her excited chattering about their Chariot Ride and the burgeoning sponsor interest cutting off with a sharp gasp. Donnie glares at the stranger, who surveys him with an expression that he has no idea the meaning of in return. He looks…excited, maybe? But that doesn’t quite fit. Certainly not upset, but not happy either. There’s a strange shininess to his eyes as they focus on Donnie’s face. He wishes Mikey or Leo were here to tell him what that expression means.

The stranger doesn’t stand until papa steps out from behind the cover of their small crowd. His eyes light up, yet his lips pulls down into a frown. He smoothes the fabric of his skirt and crosses his arms, muscles bulging in a way that even Donnie can tell must be purposeful. Yikes and gross. Talk about desperate. 

“Draxum,” Yoshi says, his voice low and full of a quiet rage that Donnie rarely gets to hear. His hands flex at his sides before curling into tight fists. Donnie steps to the side, train dragging in his wake and shimmering even in the dim apartment lights, intent on keeping both of them in his sights. As if sensing the brewing danger, Kendra and Atomo both hurry to join him, standing a few feet back like they hope he’ll act as a buffer.

“Yoshi,” the man returns, sounding more amused than angry, which tells Donnie all he needs to know about who holds the power between the two of them. The stranger’s eyes narrow as they move slowly up and down Yoshi’s body. It’s something that he’s seen done to his father before, but it makes Donnie’s skin crawl worse than usual this time. “I see you are as pathetic as ever. Maybe even moreso than usual, considering the…special guest this year.” 

Donnie stiffens as those sharp golden eyes drift towards him once again. Draxum’s lip curls, and if he didn’t know any better Donnie might have said that it almost looks like a smile. He stares back, too exhausted to bother trying to force even the barest hint of emotion into his expression. His papa hisses between his teeth, sharp and deliberate, and Draxum’s attention snaps back towards him immediately. 

“What do you want?” he snaps, and though Draxum has a significant height advantage, he somehow manages to look down his nose at him in the way only someone who knows their own strength can. This time, the twisting of Draxum’s lips can only be a smile, small and cruel as it is.

“There has been a report that your son requires medical intervention,” Draxum says, slow and soft, and Donnie feels his stomach drop at the way those words make his father’s face go all twisted and pale. He really doesn’t want to deal with this right now. 

So he won’t. 

“I’m going to shower,” he announces, refusing to meet any of the eyes that snap towards him. “If you’re still hanging around when I’m done you can look at my back then.” 

And then he turns and stomps away, ignoring the voices that call after him as he goes. It feels good to slam the bedroom door behind him, and as silence falls over the room he finally feels like he has a chance to catch his breath. Leaning against the door just in case anyone decides to follow him, he takes a moment to just try to breathe. His eyeballs feel hot and his chest feels tight. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears as his heart pounds, echoing the dull throbbing at the base of his skull. There is an uncomfortable tingling in his fingertips. 

Thankfully, no one tries to follow him. There is no pounding at the door or jiggling of the knob. He’s not sure what he would have done if someone did try to get in, but he’s sure there would have been blood. Exhaling slowly, Donnie steps towards the bathroom, mindful to stay close to the wall and out of the range of the camera’s ever watchful eye. Glittering gems trail in his wake, silent as they fall to the carpet. The sting as they’re pulled from his skin feels good. It feels real in a way very little else has today. 

He leaves the beautiful, glittering gown in a heap on the bathroom floor. His hands are steady as he turns the faucet, water gushing forth and filling the air with steam almost immediately. For a long while, he sits on the side of the tub and just watches the water as it circles the drain, breathing in the steam and the lingering smell of the shampoo he used when he last showered.

The water burns when he finally steps beneath its strong spray. His back tingles at the heat and the pressure, but it does not hurt. He thinks about the stranger in the living room, and wonders what he plans to do during the so-called medical intervention. His hands do not shake even though his lungs feel too small inside his chest. He takes his time. Thankfully the Capitol never runs out of hot water.

When he leaves the quiet sanctity of the bathroom, he’s not surprised to find Draxum in his room. The man is standing by the floor to ceiling window, which has been made clear again, and is staring at the city beyond. There’s something thoughtful and fond in his gaze, though Donnie couldn’t begin to guess at what he might be thinking as he looks out at the glittering expanse of white and silver. He clears his throat, impatient to get this over with, and Draxum turns slowly to face him.

“I’d rather this be fast,” he says simply, arms crossed tight over his chest, refusing to look Draxum in the face. 

“It should be a simple matter, as long as you haven’t caused any undue damage to yourself,” Draxum concedes with a tip of his head. Dark pink hair cascades over his shoulders with the movement, silky and long. Teal lines his eyes and lips, a strangely vibrant pop of color against his dark skin and dull grey clothes.

“Close the window.” 

Draxum arches an eyebrow at being ordered around but thankfully complies, and the late evening sunlight is dampened as the window goes opaque again. Donnie grits his teeth and stands by the foot of the oversized bed, wishing there was a chair or a desk or something besides a bed in this stupid room. He feels vulnerable. He hates it. 

“Shirt off,” orders Draxum, and the cold clinical tone he uses is actually almost enough to soothe some of the nerves sparking inside Donnie’s chest, screaming that this situation holds the hallmarks of both stupid and dangerous. Donnie shrugs his shirt off, but keeps it clutched tightly in his hands. Draxum slips on a pair of gloves, not looking at him. “Turn so I can examine your back.”

There is no gasp of shock as he takes in the scarred expanse of flesh and the metal exo-spine. He doesn’t even hum with interest or ask how a boy from the Districts could have come into possession of such a piece of technology. All he does is press forward, far too close for Donnie’s comfort. He can feel each of the man’s cool breaths on his back and feel the press of latex covered fingers as he examines the seam where skin and metal meet. Donnie grits his teeth and tries not to snap. 

“You don’t seem surprised by it,” he says instead, eyes trained on the ceiling, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself. Draxum scoffs, and his fingers press a little harder, almost to the point of pain. His gloved hands trace the metal spine, and Donnie feels his legs tingle. He hates it he hates it he—

“Why would I be surprised?” Draxum demands as he prods at one of the keloid scars on his shoulder. “I made it, after all.”

[please-help-this-little-lesbian]

Me when I think about the twin's relationship in TSMGOR

@xxqueenofdragonsxx @ukelele-boy @firealder2005

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

MY BESTIE’S AU LOOK AT IT

Do you know Rise Hunger Games AU by @daboyau??

Learn more about the AU by clicking here!!

Reminder!! Submissions are open!! You can use the submission form or the asks!! ^^

Submission Note: Just that I’m excited to potentially join! :)

[annonniiiiieeeee]

mona

teasing leo

about usagi

leo

teasing mona

about raph

they are such friendship goals i cant

They really are.

Mona and Raph are together at this point so Leo his just being an annoying little brother.

But Leo and Usagi are not. Leo hasn’t even processed his feelings for Usagi yet. To focused on keeping Raph and Mona alive in the games and keeping the three of them and their families safe in the aftermath.

But Mona, who hears just how much Leo talks about Usagi. How helpful he was, coaching Leo on how to getting them sponsors. She hears about all the other victors but Leo talks about this one a lot more then the others.

Then she sees the way Usagi looks at Leo when they go to ten for the victory tour. They get to meet the past victors. It’s a brief interaction and they can’t stay and talk for to long. There are speech’s to be made and places to go. But it’s easy to see how Usagi’s eyes track Leo’s movements. How he moves to always be able to see Leo. How he looks at him so warmly.

Mona’s putting the pieces together.

She knows the next time they see Usagi it will be at the next games. Where they will be trying to help kids survive by killing each other. It’s not good circumstances. But it’s almost a relief to know that when everything becomes to much at least she’ll have the distraction of watching Leo and Usagi fumble around each other. It’s a horrible situation but she trying not to think about the bad parts.

Then the announcement that the victors are to be reaped shatters all of this.

Now she’s guaranteed to go back in to the arena with either her lover or his little brother and only one of them is coming home.

[megabigfourfangirl]

to be alive | tadelsa

Tragedy is delicious. Death is divine. All eyes are glued to the 74th Annual Hunger Games when two tributes from different Districts volunteer to take their younger siblings' place: Elsa, a Victor's child from District 1 and Tadashi, a medical engineer from District 3.

Tadashi worked as a medical responder and engineer in his District. Everybody at home is rooting for him but nobody expects him to survive.

Elsa trained all her life to be a Victor. Glory is expected from her but how do you kill someone when they remind you how to be alive?

Tadelsa, Hunger Games AU. Written in non chronological order.

Status: ongoing Pairing: Elsa/Tadashi, slow burn General warning: Hunger Games-typical death/violence, dystopia, implied forced prostitution

Read on AO3

[pix-writes]

RISING TIDES: CHAPTER 2

Ezra x F!Reader | Ezra & Cee

AO3

RATING: Explicit (18+) | MDNI!

SUMMARY: Ezra & the reader are both past winners of the Hunger Games & must now find a path for themselves as victors and mentors. Ezra meets Cee for the first time.

warnings/tags: Canon-typical violence and topics, reader has backstory/a little description (kept to a minimum, but scroll on if that’s not your thing)

Word count: 2.2k

PREV | NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Whilst he didn’t end up taking fishing as his official ‘talent’, Ezra went out every week or so when the weather was fine down to the lake behind his home, gear in tow. It was a small lake in a deciduous little valley, in which the Victor's village sat. A long, looping path through the surrounding woods connected the lake behind his home to the other gardens and around to the main gate: the only entrance to the village.

 He wondered, not for the first time, whether the fish were natural here. Their iridescent scales, which sparkled in the cold sunlight, could be created by the beauty of nature. Though, their hardiness through the seasons and large bodies seemed as out of place as the fine sand, found underneath the weathered pebbles on the oval-shaped shores of the lake itself.

 He didn't need to fish but swinging the line out into the water and reeling it in was good practice for his arm coordination. If he caught anything, he threw it back most days.

Though, today his pantry was looking a little bare, aside from the Katniss roots he’d pulled up the day before. He hadn’t been to the main square in a while.

 All the more reason to go out to cast his line.

 The sun, which had been high in the sky when he began, started to dip when he heard the rustling within the sparse forest brush.

 Before he knew it, he saw the flash of something metal fly towards him, heard the sickening impact of something on the ground.

 A body.

 He saw the flash of a body, blood pouring from the neck, a familiar flash of recognition in their face. No, it couldn’t be!

 Heart racing, he stood bolt upright, reflexively taking out the small knife he carried with him.

 “Come out.” His eyes darted around the treeline. “There’s no use in hiding.”  

 Ezra closed his fingers round his knife when he heard a click.

 A crossbow.

 A rare sight anywhere, even if people in the district did carry weapons - something illegal in the eyes of the Capitol – most were scared enough of using anything that weapon-like, opting for their trade tools should they need to use violence.

 For a slight creature, the girl held the heavy weapon with some expertise. "Don't."

 He dropped his knife, raising his arms up in surrender.  

 “You’re out a long way from home.” He glanced back down at what had been struck - a bird. An arrow sticking out of its feathers. Not a body…

 “Grooslings are hard to come by.” Was the short reply. They were certainly valuable, if you didn’t get caught for poaching.

 “I suppose if you’re this desperate, you must be from the bench?” The girl shifted her stance. Perturbed. Anxious. “Long time since, but I grew up there. What’s your name? I’m guessin’ I don’t have to give any introduction of m-”

 “-I know who you are… I-I'm not supposed to talk to you.”

 "I don't know what you've heard, girl, but whatever it is, has likely been extorted from the truth and therefore not in my favour."

 She shook her head. "No, you stole from my father and- I'm not saying any more. Not supposed to."

 The pieces started to fall together, could it be Lin's child here before him? The blonde hair and the nose could be the same but… he wasn't sure…

 Anger and disbelief rose up in his chest, what was Damon doing? Letting his daughter - a young girl - go so far in the woods alone, for by her skittish behaviour she must be alone.

 And certainly, he hadn't gotten over this childish grudge, not that he'd expected that, but it stung, nevertheless.

 "Please tell me your name." There was no answer. The crossbow didn't move. The girl kept her lips sealed as if speaking to him alone in the woods would break some sort of promise.

 Perhaps it would.

 If she was his relation, he thought, she's definitely inherited the family stubbornness.

  "Look, you can take your spoils, I have no reason or inclination to involve peacekeepers in my life. None of my business what others do in these woods. Here." He dropped his arm slowly and stooped to pick up some of the fish.

 "Have some of my catch - a peace offering, if you like, I used to know your parents, so – you’re welcome to come back here, should you need help with anything."

 But the crossbow didn't move, although her eyes flitted down to the wrapped fish often in silent deliberation. She took a step back from his extended hand.

 "Little bird," the words were soft, almost a whisper, "take it. It was otherwise being thrown back in, I have no need of it."

 "Bird?" She said with a frown.

 "Well I have to call you something." He huffed, throwing the offer gently onto the ground between them.

 "Your call."

 He hesitated to look at her once more, watching as she lowered the bow, shuffling from foot to foot, before packing up his gear. He heard rather than saw her quickly snatch up all the spoils and retreat.

 By the time he had finished she had already reached the wall surrounding the village, giving back a final glance before hopping over it.  

  That's what struck him now, when he looked at the girl walking towards the justice building. Her stride was the same steady, quick pace. The same limp blonde hair tucked behind the ears.

 Cee. So that was her name.

 Cee Riley’s complex, grim expression was plastered on the screens.

 The two years that had passed since their meeting in the woods had clearly not been kind to her. Her clothes - clearly relics of her mother’s - hung off of her thin frame, cheeks sallow, arms bruised. His stomach twisted into knots.

 He could hear every rustle, every chirp of the crickets hiding in the dry brush around the square, the blood pulsing in his own ears. His mouth was as dry as the time it had been himself looking up to the stage.

 She reached it now, stumbling slightly, her long skirt catching on the step.

 Ezra tried to catch District seven's escort's eye. Johanna caught him faster. The Capitol man straightened up quickly and graciously offered a hand to the 'young lady', delicately plucking the offensive thread free. He could see Joanna roll her eyes again and gave her a conspiratorial glance. This wasn't the first time they've had to do the capitol representatives jobs for them.

 "Her. I want her."

 There was no explanation, no turning of his head or a need to raise his voice above a whisper.

 Johanna merely shrugged. "Makes no difference to me."

 The train wasn't much of an improvement on the woods.

 At first, he had given Cee her space, easily recognising that the circumstances are a lot to take in, seeing her eyes shining with unshed tears at dinner. Best that she get all the crying done now, privately, before any other cameras or tributes could see her and think her weak.

 He'd tried the next morning to broker the subject of his mentorship, strategies and so forth, but when he opened his mouth she turned away, eventually getting up from the table and taking her plates to her room.

 He heaved a big sigh.

 The male tribute, a malnourished boy of 15, was already smart enough to ask to train and strategize separately from his other district contender. He had as good a chance at winning, if he gained some weight in the upcoming weeks and had some skills behind him, as any other non-career.

 So, he decided to go to her. He picked up pastries, fruit and crystal glasses of fresh orange juice from the dining car, ladling steaming hot chocolate into a couple of bowls for good measure, using his steady prosthetic to prop up the laden tray.

 To his relief she opened the door when he knocked, from the dark bags under her eyes and weary look she hadn't gotten any rest. Stepping in he could evidently see the mess smeared on the walls, one plate smashed to bits but piled neatly onto one of the bedside tables. He made a mental note to have a kind word with one of the attendants later.

"So, I didn't know if you'd be hungry or thirsty, but if you need more things to smash, too, go ahead." He indicated to the tray which he set down onto the bed.

 To his surprise she does sit to eat, picking at one of the pastries. He rambles on at her, trying to say things or ask questions that could draw her out, but she still remains a little withdrawn.

 She picks up one of the bowls and hesitates.

 Ezra picks up the other and sips from it, slowly. “Use two hands if you can. I only have the use of one.”

 She does, taking big gulps of the hot chocolate. A little colour returning to her face. “You don’t use the other arm for a lot, do you?”

 “No.”

 “My mother… she was a healer, my father said that people who lost limbs in the mill used to come to her.”

 “That’s right. I used to know her.”

 “She helped you.” It wasn’t a question, though he got the sense that perhaps she hadn’t known about it before.

 “Yes. Relied on her a lot, when I came back home.”  

 Cee curled into herself, drawing her legs up to her stomach, head resting on her knees. “I’m not going to see home again.”

 “And why’s that?”

 Cee glanced at him and if he hadn’t been pulled into the same depths of darkness, he would have flinched at the intensity in her eyes. “The odds aren’t in my favour.”

 “Now that simply isn’t true! Careers may, certainly, get an advantage, but surely us other district victors are testament to the fact that the odds aren’t always in their favour.” But Cee just held onto her legs tighter. “C’mon, Cee, you’re sharp you’ve got more chance of winning than those blockheads in one or two… what about Damon, what did he say to you about the games, before you left?”

 “He didn’t come to see me.”

 It took everything in him to not let his blood boil over. That’s not what she needed right now. He knew very well what type of visits she had likely received, if she had any. The one many of his district’s tributes, the impoverished, starving kids, the ones picked for feeding themselves and their family with tesserae, received – a last goodbye.

 Even her own father thought of her as good as dead the moment she had been reaped. No doubt getting high as a kite to forget about it all. Ezra, not for the first time, felt the pangs of his brother’s absence at the association and he wished he could curse them both…

 But… right now, she needed someone to be there for her, to listen, letting in the rage would do nothing but scare her off. He thought to what his partner would say to him in such a moment, allowing himself the thrill of that bittersweet anticipation of their reunion, mere hours away, to pass over him.

 “Listen - I’m not a good man, birdie, I fought for my life and I survived – and I’m sure you can gather, that I’m not just talking about the games here-”

 Cee was caught on his words, sitting up to look at him with wide eyes.

 “-It was self-preservation plain and simple, but that has to count for something…”

“You’re a survivor, I’ve seen it first-hand, you’re smart and brave, birdie – don’t deny it!” He said when he saw her open her mouth to say something.

 No-one else would have…” He paused, he had to be careful with what to say, even now, on the off chance anyone could be listening, “…gone into that part of the forest, bold as brass to do what you’ve done. The thing about careers? They rely on strength, brute force – they often underestimate the tributes that are evasive and have gone through hunger before. And, on top of that, you’re quick, you know your way round weapons, doubt I have to ask, but you know how to use an axe by now, right?” Cee nodded, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards.

 “...now, you’ve got options. Think about your strategy, which way you want to go - I can help you with that. I can help get you sponsors, but you’ll need to put a little trust in me and be honest. Be honest with me and what you want from this. If you don’t engage with the audience, there will be no advantage for me to give you. So, if you hide away now, that will essentially be giving up. And, giving up is harder than it looks, birdie, when you’ve survived for so long - I won’t be able to keep you alive if you go down that path. We’ve only got a short time to come up with our plan, so I need you to listen carefully to what I have to say. We clear?”

 “Clear.”

[phoebepheebsphibs]

@boots-with-the-fur-club @daboyau is this accurate to rhg!Donnie???

WIP SNIPPET BELOW ↓↓↓

rhg!Donnie kneeled by the sofa and started to rub disinfectant on the wounds. Mikey hissed at the touch.

"Ow! That stings," he whinged.

"That means it's working. Stop moving so much."

Mikey did as he was told. There was something about this Donnie that was... different, but familiar. He was overprotective of Mikey, he knew the feeling of someone playing mother hen all too well. DvD acted like this a lot, especially after everything that happened with Draxum. He wondered what could have happened to his Mikey to make him want to take care of him like this... the protective drive was the same, but the reactions were different. DvD was overly gentle with him. rhg!Donnie was firm and stern, driven. Serious. He reminded him of DvD when they'd first met each other. Far too grown-up for their age, and with a determination that could kill you if you crossed them the wrong way.

rhg!Donnie was careful, but not entirely gentle. His rough and calloused hands were strict and commanding, no room for error or hesitance. Mikey winced as he took his wrist and turned it over a little too forcefully.

"Hey, careful!" Leon scolded.

"Do you want me to bandage him, or not? He has cuts all over his arms, I have to move him to get to them."

"Well, you could be a little more sympathetic with the guy!"

rhg!Donnie glared at Leon. He sighed.

"Sorry. I'll try to be more... sympathetic."

What sort of info do you need? I’d be happy to supply it lol

General character demeanor/attitude, how he might react to meeting characters, specifically UIFY guys --- also I have been informed that rhg!Donnie was portalled home after the prelims so how would he feel if he were to just suddenly pop back in (from wherever in the story he is now)?

Also... because angst....... how would he react to UIFY Mikey's scars and injuries? 😈