#she would have survived the quell without you

[effieotto]

i love how Peeta was like “ i have to go into that Arena with Katniss cause i need to protect her”, like Katniss hadn’t spent half of the first book trying to save his ass while keeping them both alive by herself

[ellecdc]

If you are still taking finnick request, could you please write something with protective finnick !! Only if you want to of course :)

thanks for the prompt! & thanks to @unstablereader for talking this one out with me <3

Finnick Odair x district four!reader who doesn't swim anymore [1.2k words]

CW: fem!reader, 75th hunger games, quarter quell talk, pre-games, reader has some PTSD that revolves around being completely submerged in water/swimming, someone shoves her into a pool, Finnick threatens murder

It was gimmicky, you could admit that much. A District Four victor who survived her games due to her ability to swim no longer could. 

You supposed it was less that you couldn’t, seeing as the skill was still there. Rather, it was your brain that had decided the water was no longer the safe, fun, and brilliant escape that it used to be.

Sometimes you missed it; you missed it most when Finnick would return from a swim, pink in the cheeks with his eyes bright and smile wide as his curls dripped down into his eyes, and sometimes into yours if he leaned over for a kiss before passing a towel through it. 

Sometimes you missed it on the nights you couldn’t sleep; wishing for the relief of being able to tire your body out without it feeling like torture. 

The water used to feel familiar; like a warm embrace from an old friend welcoming you home after a long day. 

Right now it felt like white hot terror striking down your spine as your hands desperately grasped at nothing around you. 

Finnick had tried to pretend that the itchy feeling in the palms of his hands was simply due to being here again; not as a victor, not as a mentor, not even to see clients, but because he was once again at one of the galas as a tribute to the 75th annual Hunger Games for the 3rd Quarter Quell. 

The thought made him sick to his stomach, let alone the fact that he’d now be facing it once again with you.

It was hard enough back when he was simply your mentor; taking a liking to you yet not having done anything about it at the time since you were, at that point, just another tribute he was sending off to their potentially untimely death.

And then you came back to him.

And then he finally felt brave enough to give the two of you a shot, just to be thrown back into the ring five years later. 

Maybe the two of you still did; if he could just get the fucking Mockingjay to stop looking at him like a threat, he might still stand a chance of getting the two of you out of that arena alive. 

But then he feels his blood run cold at the sound of your scream followed by a crowd murmuring.

Mags - acting once again as District Four mentor - is on him in a second, frantically grabbing at his wrist and pulling him towards the pool along the grounds of the President’s manor where a crowd was quickly growing and one half of the Mockingjay duo was bending over to reach into the splashing water.

Mags shoves him at the same time Finnick’s lips form your name, sprinting into action and jumping into the pool without a second thought to grab for you. 

You hold onto Finnick’s shoulders near painfully as he surfaces the two of you and you let out great, heaving breaths that were broken up by sputtering and sobs.

“You’re okay, you’re alright. I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry; you’re okay.” Finnick chants as he holds you close to his chest, keeping as much of your body out of the water as he can while he shares a look with Peeta before his eyes fall on a furious looking Johanna being held back by two peacekeepers. 

“The fuck happened?” He shouts over the nonsense; watching Johanna let some of the fight leave her now that she knew she wasn’t on her own anymore. 

“Thought she was makin’ it up, you know?” The male tribute from District Five that Finnick was quite glad he’d never bothered to learn the name of offers with a flippant shrug of his shoulders. “Thought everyone from District Four could swim.”

“You could have killed her!” Johanna shouts, forcing another sob out of you that has Finnick quickly tucking your head further into his neck before he returns his attention back to your assailant. 

“I wasn’t trying to kill her.” He drawls with a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Besides, the knight in shining armour came to save her, yeah? A happy ending for everyone.” 

Finnick lets out a humourless laugh as he makes his way towards the steps of the pool, never breaking eye contact with the prick. 

“Oh yeah,” he decides aloud, “you’ll be the first to go.” 

And damn the Capitol, damn the games, damn Snow’s party, and damn the Mockingjay; Finnick kept you tucked against his chest the entire way up to the District Four floor of the tribute centre as he rubbed soothing stripes up and down your back. 

“I’m sorry, Finn.”

“Whoa, whoa, sweetheart.” He murmurs into your wet hair as he presses a kiss to your head, sitting you against the tub and rubbing your arms before he starts to fill it. “Why on earth would you be sorry?”

You sniffle as you tuck your shaking hands underneath your arms. “I hate this.”

“Honey-”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me.”

Finnick stops dead in his tracks as he turns his entire body towards you. “You are the smartest and loveliest person I have ever met in my life but that is without a doubt the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of someone’s mouth.” 

Stunned, your mouth falls open as you look at your boyfriend as though he’d grown a second or even third head before a disbelieving breath leaves your lips. 

“What?”

“Sweetheart,” Finnick sighs in exasperation, moving towards you on his knees as he pulls your hands out from your sides and begins dotting kisses across your knuckles as you silently will them to stop trembling, “I am the luckiest bastard in all of Panem to get to protect you-”

“But-”

“Just like you protect me. That’s what partners do, yeah?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look that quickly turns forlorn. “How do I protect you?”

Finnick scoffs as if you had said something particularly ridiculous as he turns his attention back towards adding oils and bubbles to your running bath. “Please, sweetheart; give yourself some credit. If it hadn't been for you, I would have killed that guy right then and there with my bare hands." He admits with a smile. 

“You wouldn’t have had to kill him if I wasn’t there.” You sigh.

“Not true.” Finnick argues facetiously. “I hated his face, thought it could use some rearranging.”  

“You’re ridiculous.” You murmur, but Finnick is happy to see a smile - albeit a small one - returning to your face. 

“Yeah?” He asks, smile growing when your eyes meet his and threaten to crinkle at the corners. “Am I insane?”

“Crazy.” You agree, falling for his trap.

“Crazy about you.” 

You let out a disgusted groan as you hide your face in your hands. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.” Finnick chides as he pulls your hands from your face and encourages you to stand. “Now let's get you out of this dress and then get into the bath, hm? I’m exhausted from being the luckiest bastard in all of Panem.”

[fanfoolishness]

messy

When Elgar'nan and Solas battle in Rook's mind, she gains a new sense of empathy for Lucanis' struggle with Spite -- and Lucanis finds a new fear. Lucanis x Rook, a little angst, a little whump, lots of cuddles and conversation. 2500 words, post-"Blood of Arlathan."

---

Lucanis followed Rook and Neve, his senses muted and muffled. This was not the real world, this trap of Elgar’nan’s. He knew that much even without Spite raging in the back of his mind. The world shimmered around them, gauzy and insubstantial, as they tried path after path only to be transported back to the beginning.

“We’re wasting time,” Rook lamented, her pale eyes wide with worry. Soot and blood smudged her cheeks, remnants of their earlier battles against Ventatori and darkspawn. “We have to find the clan!” She charged forward again into the fog, then stopped suddenly, looking confused.

“Did you two hear that?” she asked, gaze fixed on something Lucanis couldn’t see. 

“Hear what?” Neve asked, giving Rook a curious expression.

There is nothing here, Spite agreed. Trapped! We cannot get out!

“No,” Lucanis said, troubled.

Rook took a few more steps into the mist, then stopped, twisting her head to one side as she had when Elgar’nan had attempted to sway them all. She rubbed at her face, her eyes darting wildly. “I just heard Solas. Tell me you heard that.”

“No,” Lucanis said slowly as Neve shook her head. Rook winced, distress crossing her face.

“I don’t know how, but I can hear him. He says there isn’t much time, that he’s going to try to distract Elgar’nan somehow. Come on. I think it’s the only chance we’ve got.” She led them into the haze, and Lucanis matched her pace to stay by her side. 

He had long ago learned to control his fear, something all Crows faced young. One could not survive as an assassin by operating from a place of fear. Fear led to exploitation by enemies, to holding back when the killing blow was at hand. He had not been afraid for his own life for many, many years.

But seeing the way Rook stopped abruptly, tilting her head with one long ear pressed against her shoulder, her grey eyes vacant -- new fear roared up within him, and he did not know how to quell it. 

He waited for her to speak, praying that she came back to him.

“They’re fighting,” Rook said, each word looking like it took great effort. “It’s nasty. They loathe each other.” She gritted her teeth. “Come on.”

“Are you all right, Rook?” Neve asked, reaching out and touching her on the shoulder. Rook startled at the touch, her eyes wide and haunted. 

“I’m fine. We’ve just -- got to keep going.”

Not possessed! Something else, Spite said urgently, and Lucanis wanted to believe him. But Spite was a normal demon, if there was such a thing; he was not a god, and he did not have the powers of one. Who knew what Elgar’nan and Solas could do to Rook?

Mist billowed around them, then a sensation of shifting, the sense that they were back on solid ground. “You led us out!” Lucanis said proudly. 

Rook gave him a wan smile. “Thank Solas, not me, and hurry.We’ve still got time to save the clan.” She broke into a run over the stonework path, staff held tight in one hand, and Neve and Lucanis ran after her. 

“She’s got this, Lucanis,” Neve said under her breath. “I don’t think whatever’s happening is hurting her, exactly. We’ve just got to hope it helps.”

Can’t see it. Can’t hear it! Spite said. I would know a demon!

And a god? Lucanis thought. But then Venatori rounded the corner, rushing at them, and he and Spite flowed together, a blur of blades and blood. Neve was right. They had this, and they would find a way to stop the sacrifice and save the Dalish. 

He parried a Venatori’s blade, then drove his own deep between the man’s ribs, Spite cackling with glee. Around the battlefield magic flew, the iron stench of blood magic, Neve’s crisp clean ice spells, the musty-sweet scent of Rook’s necromancy. The tide was turning --

“Rook! On your left!” he shouted as a Venatori knight rushed her from the side, shield raised and sword at the ready. She should have sidestepped, skimming across the surface of the Fade to reappear safely on the other side. He had seen her do it a thousand times. 

But she didn’t turn, didn’t respond at all, and his heart leapt into his throat. “Rook!” He ran to help her, Spite urging him on faster. He was nearly there when a burst of ice magic shattered against the knight just as he reached Rook, battering her with a single blow of his shield as the chill took hold. She crumpled. Lucanis’ dagger tore through the man’s throat an instant later, and he shoved the body aside, turning his attention to Rook.

Lucanis dropped to the ground beside her. “No, no --” He turned her over, his heart pounding, Spite incoherent and frantic. Relief washed over him.

She was pale but alive, dazed but conscious. His hand scrabbled at his belt for a healing potion, and he forced himself to steady his hands as he tilted it to her lips. She swallowed, coughing, the color in her cheeks looking better instantly. “Thanks, Lucanis,” she gasped, taking his proffered hand as he hauled her to her feet. 

His heart slowed again, and Spite ceased his agitated chatter. Rook. Is all right!

Lucanis scanned the battlefield. There was only one more enemy left, and with a howling blizzard conjured up by Neve, the Venatori mage collapsed and breathed her last. He let out a long sigh and turned back to Rook. “What happened? I tried to warn you, but I couldn’t get there in time --”

“I couldn’t hear you,” she admitted, nearly in tears. “They’re deafening.” She winced as he reached out to touch a slash on her head. “Never mind. We have to --” She grimaced, twisting her head to the side, one ear down toward her shoulder. “Shut up already!” 

Neve reached them, her face tight with worry. “Rook. Come on. I know you have this,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Rook said, breathing heavily. “Let’s finish this.”

Rook hurts. Help Rook!

I don’t know how, he thought, and he shoved the fear down as deep as it could go.

---

It seemed like days since the battle and rescue at Arlathan Crater, but realistically it was a matter of hours. They’d found the elves at last and gotten to safety. Somehow they made it through what happened: the hike back to the Veil Jumpers’ eluvian, making sure the rescued elves were safe, tending to injuries and meeting with the team. 

So much in such little time. Lucanis felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. He knew there was still so much more to come -- slaying Elgar’nan’s archdemon and killing the gods, aiding Treviso, Minrathrous, their team. He hoped he could manage to sleep tonight after everything.

But he knew he’d never manage it if he still feared so for Rook. The way she’d gone so distant, face empty; he’d lost her even though she was right beside him. That loss, even for a moment, had been terrifying. And the thought that kept crawling back into his head, just as terrifying --

Is this how she feels when Spite takes over?

He shook the thought away as best he could. She was here now, safe from Elgar’nan, safe from Solas doing whatever he’d done. He had to believe it, for her sake as well as his own.

He took the stairs lightly, then made his way down the narrow hall to her room. He raised a hand and rapped at the door. “It’s me. May I —“

The door swung open before he could finish the sentence. Rook smiled tiredly at him, a welcome sight. She’d traded her armor for soft linens in Mourn Watch greens and violets, and she’d let her dark hair down for the evening, hiding some of the fresh scratches on her face. “Well, well, well. I’d been getting ready to come see you. Thanks for saving me the trip.”

His face creased into a smile. “You’re all right.”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said. She smiled back at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Anyway, do come in. I wanted to say… that is, there’s some things I wanted to…” She crossed her arms, heading back to the settee. He followed her and closed the door behind him, and they sat down together. “Eurgh. I’m a mess right now.”

“A beautiful one,” Lucanis pointed out.

She snorted, then laughed. “How are you somehow the most earnest man who ever lived?”

“It is easy to be earnest when speaking the truth,” he said, shrugging with a soft smile. He hoped to have put her at ease, but as her laughter faded, he could see something dark and shuttered behind her eyes. Not all right, then.

He reached out cautiously. Their first attempt at a kiss had been disastrous, but he was growing more comfortable with the language of touch, especially smaller touches like her hand in his, a close embrace, small, still-clumsy kisses. But those had been moments of stolen sweetness, not attempts to offer comfort after dark times. He rested his hand on her shoulder, hoping this was right. 

“How are you really?” 

She looked up at him, her smile gone, her face stricken. Then she closed the distance between them, scooting beneath his arm and resting her head against his chest. He froze for a moment in surprise, then softened, welcoming her closeness. 

“Sorry,” she said, her voice muffled as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I just — wanted to feel you were here. That I was here.”

He let his arm relax around her shoulders and pulled her closer, sighing. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He took a deep breath. Her hair smelled freshly cleaned, with faint scents of lavender and woodsmoke —

Smells like fear. Confusion!

He frowned. “So… you are all right. Only in a manner of speaking.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

”For what?” he asked, bewildered. “You led our team safely through a den of vipers. We rescued the elves. What more could you have done?”

”It’s not that. It’s… I understand better now. What it must be like to have Spite in your head, all the time.” She lifted her head, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. “Solas has been in my head since this all started, but… it’s different. The connection between us is tenuous, and he’s only been able to make contact through the Veil when I meditate and drop all other thoughts. It’s been my choice to contact him. The prison he’s in in the Fade is powerful, and it keeps him bound.” She shivered. “Until Arlathan.”

”What did you hear?” Lucanis asked gently. “Neve and I never truly heard what you did. You said that Elgar’nan and Solas fought —“

”It wasn’t just words,” Rook said, releasing her arms from around him and leaning back against the settee. She reached up to where his arm circled her shoulders, and took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. “It was all-encompassing. It was difficult to see, to fight, to walk, even to breathe. Their rage was so tremendous. Their power. I felt like an ant beneath them, and as for my own thoughts — when I could get them back — I kept thinking, And Lucanis struggles with Spite, all the time.”

We have a deal! Spite chimed. Not a struggle! Not now. Not so much.

“It is better between us,” Lucanis said. Not a struggle still wasn’t exactly true, but it was not like the early days, when he stayed awake for two or three days at a time, refusing to sleep and lose control. He shivered. “Not like a god. I think… I know how to bear him now.” He sighed. “But you, Rook… it was hard to see you like that.” He squeezed her hand, his heart aching.

“Why? What was it like?” Rook asked haltingly.

He thought for a moment. “You are fierce in a fight, you know. Your focus, your power, your magic -- you are brilliant.”

She gave him an awkward, surprised smile. It was terribly charming. “I’m sorry, was I asking why I’m so incredible?”

Lucanis chuckled. “You may as well have been.” His smile faded. “But seeing their voices in your mind, knowing I couldn’t help you -- it frightened me, Rook. And I am the sorry one.”

She reached up, laying her hand against his cheek. “What could you have to be sorry about?”

“If you -- feel as I do --” He ducked his head. “Then seeing Spite take control of me must be…” He exhaled heavily, and she looked at him, her eyes too bright. He closed his own, hesitating.

“Before, I did not wish you to see me that way for my own sake. But now I wonder if you felt this same fear as I did. Seeing the woman I--” Not that word, not yet. But… soon. “-- care about, struggling against what could not be controlled, knowing I could do nothing to save you --”

She gazed into his eyes, then rested her head on his shoulder again, drawing him close once more. “Lucanis, you never need to apologize for who you are. For what Spite is. If I worry for you, that’s mine to bear. What was it you said before? ‘I deserve better than you and your mess’? Well, it’s too late for that now. It’s our mess.”

She felt so right in his arms, solid and true, warm and close. He bowed his head over her. “Our mess. I think I can handle that.”

She laughed, warm huffs of breath against his neck. He shivered. Oh, but she felt good this way.

“Lucanis?”

“Yes, Rook?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“But of course.”

She sat up, the smile on her face fading. “Would you… stay the night tonight?”

For a moment his mind whited out, Spite curious and cackling in the background, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. Rook’s face flashed immediately with understanding, and she rested her hand on his vest. 

“Not for that. I’m exhausted, and I know you’re not ready,” Rook said gently. “I just meant, could we fall asleep together?”

He felt a smile slide over his face. To hold her in his arms for longer, to wake up beside her in the morning? That would be a fine thing indeed.

“I am yours, Rook.”

---

They did not sleep at first; there was still much talking to do of the elves, of the gods, of Treviso and the Antaam. Her determination and her clever plans were just as intriguing to him as her smile and her laugh. But when at last Rook’s eyes fluttered closed and her breathing grew deep and heavy, Lucanis leaned back against the settee, finding a way for them to fit together. Her elbows nudged his ribs, and her chin was somehow dagger-sharp, digging into his breastbone. But she was warm and soft and safe within his arms, and he fell asleep beneath the Fadelight, his fears at last forgotten.

[spencerrsmopbucket]

Tides of Venom | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Summary: During the Tribute Parade of the 3rd Quarter Quell, Finnick meets an infamous female tribute from District Seven. She's just as interesting as everyone says.

The people of Panem knew your name as well as, or maybe better than, they knew their own. You were Y/n L/n, or better yet, The Snake of Seven. The victor who had turned the 67th Hunger Games into a masterclass of strategy and survival. At sixteen, you were reaped from the sawdust-strewn streets of District Seven—a girl who looked too small, too quiet, too fragile and too beautiful to survive the bloodbath. But you had fooled them all.

You didn't survive by brute force, God no. You didn't have the size for it. You survived by being smarter, colder, and crueler when it mattered. You waited, watching from the shadows, letting the other tributes tear each other apart. When you struck, it was precise, calculated, and lethal. You weren’t just a fighter; you were a predator. You turned the arena into your hunting ground, weaving snares from vines and luring enemies into deadly traps. When you got them captured, like a rabbit in a trap on the snow covered ground, you quickly and efficiently did away with them.

By the time you’d reached the finish line of success, the area was soaked in blood — close to none of it yours. You had outlasted them all, and not just through skill, but by ensuring that every single thing you did was deliberate. Every alliance you made was temporary manipulation, every smile a well-placed mask. When the final cannon fired, it wasn’t just because you had survived. You had conquered.

The Capitol adored you, of course. They polished your image until you gleamed like the blade that had won you the crown. They said your name with awe and fear: The Snake of Seven. To them, you were the perfect mix of beauty and terror, a creature that captivated even as it threatened. Of course, your biggest fan was President Snow. But for all the Capitol’s praises, you knew the truth. The arena hadn’t just taken your innocence; it had carved out pieces of your soul and left them to rot in the jungle where you’d won. The nightmares came often, visions of the traps you’d set, the image of you slitting a throat, the screams that followed, and the sickening silence afterward.

Even still, you played the role you’d been given. It was that or die. It was that or lose your family (an ultimatum given by Snow.) The Capitol needed you to smile in your interviews, to look stunning in gowns designed to look like snake skin, to sip champagne with Snow’s favorites. You did it without flinching. You’d learned through the experiences of others before you that defiance came with a life ruining price. And so, with snake-like venom aimed inward at yourself, you were poisoned until only steel remained.

The 3rd Quarter Quell was nothing like any previous Hunger Games. It was a reminder of the Capitol's absolute power, and this year, they chose to mark it with a brutal twist: the victors, those who had already been crowned, would now be thrown back into the arena. Every single one of them—a brutal celebration of their own suffering. And you, The Snake of Seven, were no exception. When you'd been Reaped, you stepped forward, ever confident, your e/c eyes the sole vision of determination, focus, and bloodthirst. But you were always so good at keeping people at arm's length, never letting them see how you truly felt.

You were devastated. You felt doomed — but the worst part? You'd always known you were from the start. This was just the confirmation.

Today was the Victor Parade.

The streets of the Capitol buzzed with an unsettling energy. The crowd, with its eager eyes and gleaming teeth, watched as the tribute chariots rolled down the grand avenue, a parade of former winners paraded as if they were just another form of entertainment. The Capitol was reveling in their cruelty, and you knew, deep down, that it was more than just the games this time. The Capitol wanted to break the victors, to make sure they knew they were never free, never truly safe. You had survived the Games once, but this time, survival would come at a greater cost. You were by far the most thrilling tribute to watch, solely because they knew you'd do anything to win.

Your district partner, a tall, athletic and somewhat shy Victor named Reid, stood beside you. He was a few years younger than you, but his respect for you was evident in every glance. He had a crush on you. It was easy to see in the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his voice caught when he spoke your name. But, much like everyone else in the Capitol, you weren’t here for love or affection. You were here to survive—and if you had to, you’d use Reid’s infatuation to your advantage. But, you’d never admit it aloud.

Reid was a good fighter, but he wasn’t built for the Games like you. His focus was too soft, too sentimental, which made him vulnerable. He wanted you to recognize him as a friend rather than just a district partner. Rather than just an ally that you'd eventually have to turn on. But you? You knew. Reid would have to be the first to go. You'd put him out of his suffering before any other Victor could get their hands on him. In a cruel sense, it was you being kind. If anyone else got him, his death would hurt much more.

Your outfit, designed by Capitol stylists, was as extravagant as it was deadly. You weren’t just a symbol of beauty; you were a living weapon, and your outfit reflected that. The stylists had draped you in a shimmering black gown that hugged your form, slithering down your body like the skin of a serpent. Silver, delicate scales shimmered along the bodice, almost seeming to ripple as you moved. A thin, sharp line of emerald green ran across your eyes, reflecting the coldness that had taken root deep inside you. Your hair was twisted into a sleek, tight braid that framed your sharp features, the tendrils of the braid curling at the ends like snake’s fangs. The design was meant to evoke fear. To show that beneath your beauty was a creature that could and would strike. The Capitol admired you, but they feared you too.

As the chariot lurched forward, your eyes scanned the crowd—thousands of faces staring back at you, each person either adoring or shocked. The screams, cheers, and jeers mixed into a cacophony that only heightened the tension in the air. It was a celebration of blood, and your life was the prize. But you didn’t need their approval. You didn’t need their affection. You were here to survive—nothing more, nothing less. You forced your cold eyes forward, staring at the person that continued to ruin your life, over and over again.

Snow.

He gazed down at you with a lukewarm smile, one to say, 'welcome back, Snake.' You simply glared back, fighting the snarl that threatened to develop on your lip.

As the chariot rolled forward, you could feel Reid’s nervous energy beside you. His hands gripped the edge of the chariot so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his broad shoulders stiff as though he were bracing for an attack. His unease was palpable, and while you could sympathize with it, you didn’t have time to coddle him. This wasn’t his first Games; he should know better than to show fear in front of the Capitol. Weakness was blood in the water, and the Capitol’s sharks would circle the moment they saw it. It would draw attention to the two of you, something you didn't need more than you already had.

“Relax,” you muttered, your voice low enough that only he could hear. Your eyes remained fixed on the glittering horizon, refusing to meet his. “You look like you’re about to jump out of the chariot.”

Reid’s head snapped toward you, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “I’m fine,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed him.

“Sure you are,” you replied dryly. “Just remember, they’re not cheering for you. They’re cheering for the show. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re the opening act.”

Your words cut sharper than intended, but it was necessary. Reid needed to toughen up, and fast. This was no place for soft hearts or shaky hands.

The chariot came to a halt in front of President Snow’s viewing platform, and the crowd’s roar reached a deafening crescendo. Snow himself stood like a vulture on his perch, his thin smile radiating smug satisfaction. His presence was suffocating, a reminder that every move you made was under his watchful eye. You held your head high, refusing to let him see the disgust simmering beneath your carefully constructed mask. If he wanted a performance, you would give him one.

You stared at the other Victors. You knew who they were, of course, since you'd been paraded around with them before. The most notable ones were the ones from the Career districts -- and District 12. You saw Cashmere and Gloss looking disgustingly gleeful. They were District 1 Careers, always loving the attention they were getting and the idea of getting to put up a fight. Brutus and Enobaria, District 2, were the same way.

Your eyes lingered on the Careers for a moment longer, taking in their smugness, their overconfidence. Cashmere’s sharp laughter cut through the murmur of conversation, a high, shrill sound that grated on your nerves. She and Gloss stood close together, their matching golden armor glinting under the Capitol’s harsh lights. Their every move screamed superiority, a reminder that they had been bred for this, groomed for the arena like thoroughbred horses. You didn’t doubt their skill, but you also didn’t fear them. They were predictable, and predictability was a weakness.

Your gaze swept past them to Brutus and Enobaria, whose confidence bordered on feral excitement. Brutus’s bulk made him look more like a battering ram than a man, and Enobaria’s predatory grin, with her infamous sharpened teeth, was a haunting sight. They thrived in the chaos, their bloodlust an edge that couldn’t be underestimated.

But it wasn’t just the Careers you had to worry about. Your eyes flicked to Beetee and Wiress, District 3’s champions. The Capitol often overlooked them, mistaking their quiet demeanor for weakness, but you knew better. Their minds were their greatest weapons, and they could turn the arena itself into a deathtrap.

Then, blurring out the other Districts, there was District 12.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark stood together, the Capitol’s golden pair, their unity a sharp contrast to the division around them. Katniss’s stormy eyes locked with yours for a fleeting moment, and you could see the fire smoldering behind them. She didn’t trust you—good. Trust was a luxury none of you could afford. Peeta, on the other hand, exuded a calm that was almost disarming. Almost.

And then there was Finnick.

He sat casually in his chariot, his trident resting at his side, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes roamed the area, sharp and calculating. His sea-green outfit, designed to evoke the beauty of District 4’s oceans, only served to heighten his allure. Beside him, Mags sat with quiet dignity, her frail form a stark contrast to his vibrant presence. Yet, there was strength in her weathered gaze—a reminder of the resilience that had carried her through her own Games decades ago. The Capitol adored Finnick, just as they adored you, but his charm was a weapon, honed and deadly, and Mags was his anchor, her mere presence a testament to the bond between them and the wisdom she carried into the arena.

His gaze caught yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. His lips curved into a faint smile—not the easy, flirtatious grin he reserved for the Capitol’s audience, but something quieter, more genuine. It was unsettling, that smile, because it felt like he saw through you, saw the armor you’d worked so hard to construct.

You broke the connection first, turning your attention back to Reid, who was fidgeting nervously at your side.

“Stop moving,” you muttered under your breath. “You’re drawing attention.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and apologetic.

You sighed, the weight of his unexpected inexperience pressing down on you. If he didn’t toughen up soon, he would make you look foolish too. He didn't act like a Victor. And the rest did.

Snow’s voice crackled over the speakers, his tone smooth and syrupy as he addressed the gathered victors. “What a spectacular display,” he said, his words dripping with false sincerity. “You are all reminders of the strength and resilience of Panem. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The room fell silent as the announcement ended, the weight of his words settling over you like a shroud.

Reid leaned closer, his voice barely audible. “What now?”

You glanced at him, your expression hardening. “Now?” you said, your voice cold. “Now we wait. And when the time comes, we fight.”

Finnick’s laughter rang out suddenly, drawing your attention. He was talking to another Victor, his posture relaxed, but his eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment. There was something in his gaze—challenge, curiosity, maybe even understanding.

You turned away, refusing to engage. Whatever Finnick Odair was playing at, you had no intention of getting caught in his game.

As the outro anthem of Panem played, you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Your gaze flickered to the chariot beside yours, where Finnick Odair stood, resplendent in a sea-green ensemble that glittered like sunlight on the ocean. His golden hair caught the Capitol lights, making him look every bit the god they believed him to be. But his expression wasn’t one of triumph—it was of quiet defiance, a subtle rebellion that only those who knew the arena could recognize.

When the anthem ended, the victors were led to the holding area behind the parade route. The Capitol’s cheers faded into a low hum as you stepped off the chariot, your gown shimmering with each calculated movement. Reid stayed close to you, his presence a reminder of the responsibility you didn’t ask for but couldn’t ignore. Capitol stylists swarmed you both, fussing over stray folds and imagined imperfections. You barely acknowledged them, your focus already narrowing on the other tributes gathering nearby.

"Reid," you muttered under your breath, your tone sharp but quiet enough to keep Capitol ears from catching it. "Stand tall, and stop looking like you're about to bolt."

He straightened, though his hands still twitched at his sides. You suppressed a sigh.

Before you could step further into the mingling chaos of tributes and Capitol elites, a voice laced with sugar-coated steel sliced through the noise.

“Well, if it isn’t the darling of District 7. You’re just as intimidating as they say.”

You turned to see Cashmere gliding toward you, her golden locks framing her face like a halo, though the icy gleam in her eyes was anything but angelic. Her gown shimmered like molten gold, every inch of her radiating Capitol-perfect elegance. But there was no mistaking the predator behind the polished façade.

“Cashmere,” you greeted, keeping your tone neutral, even bored. “You flatter me.”

“Oh, it’s not flattery,” she replied, her smile sharp enough to cut. “It’s admiration. You play your part so well. Cold, dangerous, untouchable—it’s a wonder the Capitol isn’t already throwing parades in your honor.”

Reid shifted uncomfortably beside you, his unease a palpable presence. Cashmere’s gaze flicked to him briefly, her smirk widening as if she found his nervousness amusing.

“Who’s your little shadow?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. “Does he speak, or is he just here to look pretty?”

Reid’s jaw clenched, but before he could stammer a response, you stepped in.

“He’s my district partner,” you said coolly. “Focus on yours.”

Cashmere arched an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the tension. “Protective, are we? How sweet. Though I can’t imagine there’s much point. If he’s anything like my dear Gloss’s partners, he won’t last long.”

You took a deliberate step closer, your gaze locking with hers, sharp and unyielding. “And yet, here you are, wasting your time on him—and me. Be careful.”

Her smile faltered for the briefest moment, the crack in her composure almost imperceptible. But then she laughed, a light, airy sound that somehow felt more menacing than genuine.

“Always the sharp tongue,” she said, tilting her head. “I suppose it’s what keeps you alive. Just remember, darling—words can only cut so deep. Out there, it’s the blade that matters.”

“Thanks for the advice,” you replied, your tone as biting as hers. “I’ll be sure to remember it when the time comes.”

Cashmere’s eyes narrowed slightly, the playful mask slipping just enough to reveal the steely determination beneath. “Do that,” she said, her voice a whisper of warning. “I’ll be watching.”

With that, she turned and strode away, her golden gown catching the light with every step.

Reid let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, his voice low. “What was that about?”

“Don't worry about it,” you muttered, watching her retreating form. “Everyone’s playing their own game. Hers just happens to be gilded in gold.”

The energy in the Capitol’s holding area was electric, each victor carefully eyeing the others, feeling the tension rise with every passing second. The air was thick with power and the weight of what was to come—the 3rd Quarter Quell was unlike any other, a twisted reminder of the Capitol’s dominance, and each victor knew they were not only fighting for their lives but for their dignity as well.

Reid stood close, his nerves still apparent, his eyes darting from one tribute to the next. You could feel his discomfort radiating from him, and though you didn’t have time to indulge him, you found yourself slightly irritated by it. This was supposed to be a place for cold calculation, not weakness.

“Take a breath,” you muttered again, your eyes scanning the crowd of tributes. “You’re making us stand out.”

“I—sorry, I can’t help it,” Reid replied, the sincerity in his voice mixed with frustration. “This place... It’s too much. I never imagined I’d be back here, much less be facing them again.”

You took a deep breath, letting the noise of the Capitol’s elites wash over you. It was a dull hum compared to the chaos of the arena, but the stakes here were just as high. You weren’t just a Victor anymore; you were the prey.

“I get it,” you said, your voice colder than before, but not unkind. “But you need to act like one of them. We’re not here for anything other than survival. And in case you haven’t realized, that means playing their game better than they do. Don't let them think you're weak, even if you think you are.”

Reid nodded, his jaw set in determination, though the unease still flickered in his eyes. You didn’t think he’d ever truly understand. His idealism would be his downfall, you could already see it. The Capitol’s games had broken you, stripped away your humanity, and in the end, it had made you stronger. You knew better than anyone that to survive in this world, you had to be willing to kill what remained of your soul.

As the seconds ticked by, the other tributes continued to mingle—some more comfortable than others. A few whispered amongst themselves, their eyes darting in calculated glances, while others stood proudly, basking in their newly cemented fame. You didn’t join them. You had no need to.

A moment later, a voice rang out in the distance, one that cut through the tension in the air like a blade—soft, melodic, but with an undeniable edge.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Snake of Seven.”

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. His voice was unmistakable, like the sea itself, deep and quiet but filled with a hidden strength. Finnick Odair.

You met his gaze, not surprised to see him standing at the edge of the crowd, his trident at his side, the shimmering blue of his outfit contrasting with his golden hair. His green eyes gleamed, mischievous yet sharp. His dimpled smirk only deepened when he noticed the way you studied him—cold, calculating, as always.

“Finnick,” you replied coolly, your voice betraying no emotion, even as your insides clenched. “I didn’t realize the Capitol was still fascinated by my name. I thought they’d moved on to the next little toy.”

His smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving yours. “Oh, they’ll never tire of you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, almost like a whispered secret meant only for you. “Not with your reputation. It’s not every day that the Snake of Seven steps into the arena, is it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sound almost impressed.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?” Finnick’s tone was casual, but there was an edge to it that made the words feel like a challenge. “The odds of you making it this far... I’m curious how you’ve done it.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the curiosity in them. There was something in his gaze that felt like he wasn’t just talking about the Games anymore. His eyes raked over you, not in the way the Capitol admired his victors, but like he was trying to peel away the layers and understand the person standing in front of him.

“Survival,” you answered simply. “It’s not as hard as people make it out to be. If you’ve got the right instincts, the right drive, you can make it through anything.”

“And you’ve got both,” he said, his voice quiet but unmistakably admiring. “I can see it. But I think there’s more to you than that. More than just the survivor everyone sees.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, just holding his gaze as the crowd around you continued to buzz with their typical Capitol energy. There was something about the way he looked at you, though. Like he wasn’t just sizing you up as a potential ally or foe, but like he was seeing through to something deeper. And it unsettled you.

“You’re not one to mince words, are you?” you asked, your voice sharp, trying to redirect the conversation, but you could feel the pull of it all the same.

“Why bother?” Finnick’s expression softened just the slightest bit, his eyes glinting in a way that made you wonder if there was something he wasn’t saying. “This game’s already full of lies. We don’t need to add to it.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “And what would you suggest, Finnick? That we just lay it all bare? Is that what you think is needed to win this?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Maybe. Or maybe the truth is the only thing we’ve got left.”

The words hung between you, a quiet tension settling in. His gaze didn’t waver, but something in his stance softened, almost imperceptibly. For a moment, you saw past the Capitol’s golden boy, the victor who had charmed his way into the hearts of millions. You saw the man who had fought in the arena, who had survived the same twisted game that you were now part of. And for a fleeting second, there was a vulnerability in his eyes, something raw and unspoken.

“You know the game better than anyone,” you said quietly, your tone softer now, the challenge gone. “But we’re not all playing by the same rules, Finnick. I don’t think you understand that.”

His smile faded slightly, and he tilted his head. “Oh, I understand more than you think. But you’re right. Not everyone is playing by the same rules. And that’s why I’m curious about you.”

You didn’t respond immediately, the weight of his words sinking in. There was something in the way he said it that made you feel like a puzzle he was dying to solve. But you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

“Curious about me?” you repeated, stepping closer to him, your voice low but firm. “Why? Because I’m a challenge? Or because I’m something you can’t control?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. If anything, he took a small step forward, closing the gap between you. “I don’t want to control you,” he said, his voice steady. “I want to understand you.”

The words were simple, but they carried an undertone of something that felt more intimate than anything you’d heard in a long time. His eyes searched yours, the playful mischief replaced with something darker, something more serious.

You almost faltered. Almost.

"Then understand this," You lean in, boring your eyes into his. "When you lean into the face of a snake, it sinks it's teeth in."

Finnick’s eyes gleamed, a flicker of admiration dancing in the depths of his gaze. His smirk only deepened as you leaned in, the challenge clear in your words and your posture. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down—if anything, the tension between you only seemed to grow.

He paused, taking a slow breath before responding, his voice low and even, carrying a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

“Well, I’ve always been a fan of a good bite,” Finnick said, his tone smooth, but there was an edge to it now, like the words themselves were an invitation, a dare. He stepped just a fraction closer, narrowing the distance between you with a kind of quiet, deliberate confidence. “But don’t mistake my curiosity for weakness. If you sink your teeth in, be sure you’re ready for what comes after.”

His eyes never left yours as he said it, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air, and for a moment, you could almost feel the pulse of something dangerous, something thrilling, between the two of you. Finnick Odair wasn’t afraid of a fight. But neither were you.

Finnick’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer, his lips curving into a more playful smirk as he took another slow step back. But the mischievous glint in his eyes told you that he wasn’t done with you yet.

“I have to admit,” he said, his tone lighter now, but no less charged. “You’ve got grit that I wasn’t expecting. Most people would’ve backed down by now, but not you. No, you’re… interesting.”

He took another step, the air around you thick with an undeniable pull. “You know, I like a good challenge. But you,” Finnick continued, his voice dropping an octave, “you’re something different. Something… unpredictable.”

He leaned in just slightly, his breath a faint whisper against your ear. “I’ll admit, I’m curious to see what else you’re capable of.”

You glare at him as he leans away.

"Curiosity killed the cat, now didn't it?"

Finnick’s grin only widened at your sharp retort, the gleam in his eyes turning into something almost predatory. He didn’t seem offended—if anything, your challenge made him more interested.

"Maybe," he mused, his voice soft, playful, but still with that underlying edge. "But I’ve never been one to shy away from danger. And I’m not the type to get caught in a trap either." He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the game between you two.

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment, his green eyes flickering with amusement. “You’re quick with your words, but I have a feeling you’re not just all talk.”

His gaze traveled from your eyes to your lips, lingering just long enough for it to be obvious, before returning to your gaze, the tension between you thick enough to slice. “Tell me, what else do you have up your sleeve, hmm? Because I’m starting to think you’re not just some venomous snake. There’s something else there… something more.”

He stepped closer again, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, but not quite enough to touch. The space between you seemed to shrink with each word, with each look, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Finnick wasn’t just teasing anymore. He was genuinely intrigued.

"You’re right," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Curiosity might’ve killed the cat, but satisfaction, well, that’s what makes it all worth it, don’t you think?" He let the words hang in the air between you, daring you to respond, to challenge him once more.

Finnick was getting closer to you now, but there was no rush in his movement—he was taking his time, savoring the moment. The air between you felt charged, a magnetism that was impossible to ignore.

“Just remember,” he added softly, his lips yet again dangerously close to your ear, “you started this game. And I’m not the type to lose."

With that, Finnick Odair strode away, looking over his shoulder to give you one last dimpled smile.

[thefloatingwriter]

the victors as complex characters will always be more interesting than making them amazing people.

like these are people who did absolutely everything in their power to survive something as traumatic as the games. most of them probably sleep with weapons in their hands. the thought on the forefront of most of their minds is survival. everything else—anyone else—can wait.

they sacrificed everything to crawl out of a killing game. their mental stability. their innocence. their childhood.

and after all of that, they realized that the games never really end. that they would sacrifice ever having a good night sleep without being plagued by nightmares. they would sacrifice their brains to help the capitol. they would sacrifice their bodies, something that should have always been their own, now snatched away from them. all for surviving a killing match that twenty-three children didn’t.

no victor is immune to this either. do you think cashmere doesn’t regret being so excited to go into the games after her brother after staying the night in a strange man’s bed that she doesn’t know? do you think gloss doesn’t regret not warning his sister about the horrors that await her after she wins? do you think brutus doesn’t sometimes wake up in a cold sweat after having yet another nightmare about being on the receiving end of his weapon, just as all of his victims were before everything faded to black? do you think enobaria doesn’t run her tongue over her sharpened teeth and wonder if it was worth it?

do you think beetee doesn’t flinch every time he sees lightning? do you think wiress doesn’t think of how if she hadn’t learned acrobatics that the 48th hunger games would have gone very differently? do you think finnick doesn’t see nets in the same way ever again, after he saw the girl from nine begging for her life tangled in a net he set up before he stabbed her with a trident? do you think annie doesn’t think about if she hadn’t spent all of that time on the beach growing up, playing in the water, that she wouldn’t have survived the dam breaking in her arena? do you think mags doesn’t think about how she left her district partner to die in the first ever traditional career pack? how if maybe, if she had been there to take the blow for him, there would be a different victor of the 11th hunger games?

do you think that blight doesn’t wonder what would have happened if the boy from two had looked up a little bit sooner, looked a little bit closer at the treetops above him, before the knife previously in blight’s hand found it’s way to the boy’s back? do you think that every time johanna picks up an axe, she doesn’t think about what if felt like to stab someone with it, what blood felt like when it splattered you? do you think she doesn’t wake up in a sweat, thinking the moisture on her skin is blood, that she’s back in the third quarter quell? do you think she doesn’t ever walk into her house in the victor’s village and think she sees a glimpse, a shadow, of her lost loved ones?

do you think that woof doesn’t use real knives anymore because every time he sees one, he remembers how it felt to stab blindly at the boy from seven? that even when he was seventy-five and the male tribute from eight for the third quarter quell, he couldn’t even look at the utensil and had to get cecelia to take it away from him? do you think cecelia can’t look at seashells anymore, that she could barely stand district four on her victory tour, because the girl from four was her last kill? that her necklace, a pretty one her sister made for her with a seashell strung through the string, was what cecelia used to choke the life out of her?

do you think that chaff doesn’t ever feel the phantom feeling of his hand? doesn’t ever touch the stump where it used to be and feel the phantom pain of it being sawed off like it was yesterday, even thirty years later? do you think that seeder doesn’t ever feel the hot sun of her arena on her body, doesn’t ever think she’s back, waiting for her death to come?

do you think that haymitch doesn’t start shaking every time a blowgun is provided at the cornucopia? do you think that he didn’t see the gold pin on katniss’ arena wear and have to sit down, remembering a very different girl with blonde hair and a quick witted humor with the same pin? do you think that peeta doesn’t hear foxface’s voice during her interview, over and over and over, until it’s so distorted he can’t even remember what she had actually said? that he doesn’t ever think of the girl from eight, a girl he might not have even known the name of?

do you think that, years down the line, katniss doesn’t realize the fate that waited for glimmer if she had won? do you think that she doesn’t wonder what would have happened if cato was a little quicker to get to the cornucopia to save clove? do you think she doesn’t wonder what the girl from four was like, what her name was, what her parents were like, what she was like? do you think that she doesn’t think about what would have happened if marvel was just a little bit quicker with his spear than her with her arrows, what would have happened if she was just a little bit slower to get to rue?

the what-ifs plague them. their games will never leave them. they will never escape their experiences. their lives will never be their own, if they ever were, ever again.

[mt-oe]

I love ur workkkk 🥺🥺 … my heart melted

Can I request a mizu x reader in which reader was upset with mizu , and mizu trying to make reader feel happy with her ( I know I worded it poorly 😭😔. English is not my first language 😔). this can be sfw or nsfw. u write the spiciest nsfw stuff 😉

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

Thank you so much for requesting! I'm so sorry if this was WAY overdue. I'll try to make up for it by writing as best as I can <3

Also, please don't think too much about how you worded it. Trying to communicate your ideas, regardless of how you worded it, is already enough.

On an unrelated note, I am temporarily closing my inbox so I can catch up on requests. I wouldn't want to rush since that might compromise the quality of the fics. I deeply appreciate the messages and comments and would really like to answer them but I'm still too shy ;; I promise I'm really trying. Please don't get mad or disappointed in me. Thank you for understanding!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

Mizu has done a lot of things before. Her sword has known the blood of many, cut through numerous organs, and had seen death like it was the next door neighbor. The fights she had fought were more ferocious than what most warriors could stomach. With a will of steel and the mind of a tactician, a capable swordsman she truly was. But...

How the hell was she going to get through this one?

Cerulean orbs narrowed as she watched you, or more precisely, your back. Her gaze roaming from the tips of your hair to the way your back slumped. Your huffs and whispered grumbles were the only sound that could be heard from the room.

She could feel her palms sweating and her fingers running cold. Not a single coherent thought formed in her brain from how unnerving the situation was. For the first time in her life, she was faced with an opponent she did not know how to defeat.

And this opponent was strong. Not even the swing of her sword or the strength of her hands could quell the wrath and sheer rage of this enemy. Mizu knew she had to plan her next move well or this could cost her everything.

And this opponent...was her wife's anger.

Yes, the ronin who quite literally bit someone's nose, survived a fall from several stories high, burned down Edo, was utterly helpless under her lover's wrath.

"I said I was sorry. What else do I have to do?" she asked, placing a hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you to face her. A groan of frustration boiled at her throat as you shrugged her hand off harshly. "I said I was sorry. What else do I have to do?" you mocked her, imitating her low voice before sticking your tongue. "Go figure it out yourself! Hmph!"

This was so stupid, she thought. But despite the words in her head, she was utterly lost.

All this drama just because she missed a kabuki show that you wanted to watch?

Sure, you had told her ahead of time. Sure, you already planned it out. Sure, you were already at the venue. But it was just a goddamn stage play, what were you so upset about? There would be another show next week with the same story anyway, and if you were so excited to watch, you could have watched it without her.

So what was the big deal about it?

She rolled her eyes before standing up, looking at you in resignation. "Fine, sulk," she grumbled in response, to which you stuck your tongue out. She rolled her eyes once again before strapping her sword to her waist. "Talk when you're no longer acting like a brat." And with those words, she left, slamming the door and causing it to bounce open slightly.

Upon hearing her footsteps fading, you immediately let out a loud sigh. You turned to look at the spot where your lover had previously sat on with a sense of hurt. "But I wanted to go on a date..." you whispered to yourself, throat tightening.

This was one of those moments where you really just had to say, 'it is what it is', and pretend to not get hurt.

You knew Mizu wasn't the most romantic person on the planet. Hell, it was even a surprise that she asked you out. However, there were times when you wished you could open her head and shove some cheesy romance novels, because how the fuck did she not get that you were asking her out on a date?

Urgh.

"What am I even expecting?" you asked yourself out loud, bringing the tickets you had bought for both of you. Tickets that were wasted just because she thought training and buying supplies were more important than spending 4 hours watching a play in a theater with her wife. "Maybe next time I'll just watch her train."

You love her. Of course you did. And you knew she loves you too, but sometimes her inability to understand or express romance made you question it.

Slowly and painfully, you tore up the tickets and fed it to the candle flame, watching as it turned to ashes. Welp. There goes your idea of a romantic evening. "And I planned it for so long too," you sighed as you brought your knees to your chest.

Unbeknown to you, your wife had secretly sneaked back, sitting beside the small door crack she had intentionally made earlier. A small frown on her face as she realized how much she fucked up.

You were right.

You did plan it for a long time. She could see your eyes widen every time the two of you passed by the theatre whenever you went out for supplies, filled with excitement that she couldn't understand then. And you already told her early, so it wasn't like it was out of the schedule or out of the way. Most of all, you were already at the venue.

You were waiting for this for such a long time.

You were waiting for her for such a long time.

And she wasted your efforts. She somehow thought that what you were so eager for was something she could trade for a few hours of extra training.

Guilt welled up in her as she continued to listen to your sighs, peeking inside the room every now and then to make sure you were okay. Her heart clenched in an odd, unfamiliar, yet extremely uncomfortable way at the sight of your frown.

Damnit. Mizu knew she messed up big time. However, even if she felt absolutely terrible, she also knew she couldn't just come back in and reveal that she had just watched you go through five stages of grief in less than an hour or else you'd feel like you forced her to apologize. But how could she make up for this?

As she was deep in thought, thinking of ways on how she could apologize, she suddenly heard the soft padding sound of your feet on the tatami mat as you stood up. "I guess I'll take a nap. Maybe I'll feel better when I wake up," she heard you sigh for the umpteenth time.

Her eyes watched you stretch before pulling the futon out of the closet and set it up. Your hands carefully undid the pins stuck to your hair before laying down, pulling the covers over you, the frown you wore never dissipating.

She could feel her conscience weighing down on her, telling her what a dense idiot she was. The feeling hitting her like a ton of bricks as she watched you slowly fall asleep with a heavy heart.

No, she wasn't going to let your day go on like this. If she fucked up, she's fixing it up.

Slowly and carefully, she got up and sneaked away, leaving the inn and going to the market. No matter how unexperienced or how unknowledgeable she was with how to comfort a person, Mizu was going to try her best.

-

Hours passed and the short nap you had planned turned into one of the longest one you've had yet. It wasn't a pleasant one, but it wasn't the worst either. Your eyes slowly fluttered open before squinting at the faint glow of the candle. The world felt slightly heavy and tilted as your head spu—wait? The candle?

"Oh shit," you whispered, shooting up and looking around in panic, head still spinning from grogginess. Oh no, you forgot to blow out the candle before your nap and accidentally kept it burning. Mizu was going to pissed at you, especially since it was the last one.

But wait—

Shouldn't it have burnt out already?

You brought the back of your hand to your eyes, rubbing away the sleep and grogginess to have a better look around. However, upon looking up, surprise took over your senses.

The room was...decorated?

Or at least there was an attempt.

At a distance from the foot of your futon sat your lover with a wooden crate in front of her. A bit of relief washed over your body as you realized that she had taken care of the candle for you, but still, you were heavily confused. "Mizu...what's going on?" you asked, yawning a bit.

She looked at you with the same emotionless stare she had before sighing. Her hands slowly turned the crate around so the opening was facing you. It was decorated too, and even if it was poorly recreated, you could recognize the setting. It was very similar to the kabuki theater you wanted to go to.

From her back, she brought out two dolls. One wearing a kimono in a color similar to what you were wearing, and one male doll that looked like a samurai. A heavy exhale could be heard coming from her as the embarrassment started kicking in. Was she really going to do this? Yes, yes she was.

Clearing her throat, she moved the dolls to the makeshift stage as she began her narration. "Once upon a time, in a small village, stayed a ronin and her wife." She glances momentarily at you before looking down again, a faint dust of blush on her cheeks. "Her very beautiful wife," she clarified.

Your eyes widened with a mix of delight and surprise. The grogginess from your sleep wore off at the sweetness of your lover's effort. You couldn't believe it. It was a stage play. A stage play about the two of you.

Her hands moved the dolls on stage, making them hold hands as she narrated the events in the story. "But one day, the ronin, being very foolish, decided to go up in the mountains and train instead of accompanying her wife," she said, dolls moving to match her words.

"And her wife..." she continued, moving your doll to look like it was sulking, "...got very upset." Blue eyes looked at you once again to check if you were still watching. You could tell that she was being very sincere about this.

"Not knowing what to do, the ronin went out to think and realized that she was indeed wrong and had been inconsiderate, that her wife was really just trying to bond and spend time in merriment."

She slowly set the dolls down and readjusted, sitting up straight before bowing her head slightly. "And so, the ronin apologized," she said with all seriousness. "I'm sorry, love. I knew you wanted to go out for so long. I should have appreciated your efforts more. I have no excuses."

Silence embraced the room after, completely amplifying the pounding of her heart as she awaited your response. Jitters ran through her body from nervousness. Mizu didn't dare look up, not until you gave her a response.

Seconds felt like minutes as she waited. An unexplainable kind of anxiety holding over her. What if you didn't like the little show she put? What if she just made your anger worse? Her thoughts were scattering by the millisecond. She wanted nothing more than for you to forgive her.

Her heart stopped as she saw your hands reach for the dolls, looking over them before making your doll face her doll.

"And the wife accepted the apology," you giggled, bending your dolls head slightly so it would kiss the representing her. Before she could speak, she felt your lips on her cheek. The sweet sound of your laughter soon followed, making her blush.

You lifted the dolls up to eye level and looked at them fondly. "You really went out and beyond, didn't you?" you laughed, wiggling them around in some form of cuteness aggression. She lifted her head and smiled softly. "I didn't know what to do," she admitted, finding your fondness for the dolls adorable. "And I really wanted to go back to my wife."

"You could have just said sorry, dummy. But.." your voice trailed off, eyes looking back at your wife's, leaning closer to her. "This made me unbelievably happy," you admitted. "Thank you, love."

Your wife's smile widened as you leaned in and kissed her softly. Her hands instinctively pulling you closer. Love and affection radiated from her as both of you pulled away, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Her breath hitched as you opened your mouth, anticipation building up regarding what you were going to say.

"But next time you do that, you're sleeping without a futon."

"Yes ma'am"

[azes-silliness]

Hiiii:) could I please request some Scaramouche/Wanderer fluff?🩷

OFC 💙💙💙✨✨✨✨

~Without your hat, my dearest hat guy.~

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff, Gn!reader x Wanderer (No pronouns and bodily descriptions but written with Fem!reader in mind 😅), 

An: Ofc I can 💙 I hope your not disappointed 😭😭 Ily your works and I hope you like this one 🫣 If its bad you can tell me 💙

Summary: Your boyfriend always has a (annoyingly big) hat which serves him no purpose aside from aesthetic and to hide his cute blushing face! So when you see a group of birds, a mother protecting her eggs from a ruined nest, you finally get an idea on how to use his hat 😏

“Without your hat, my dearest hat guy”

“You’re just, my dearest guy right? Isn’t that nice?” You insist, your pouting face already starting to quell your boyfriend’s annoyance. “Tsk. First, I should be your only ‘guy’. Second, that does not excuse you taking my hat while I was asleep. Can I not have a night when you don’t try something?” He scoffed, huffing in already waning irritation. His sharp gaze met your huffy one as you continued to stare at him with a look akin to a puppy. Thats hardly fair, in all honesty, who allowed such a cute human to exist? He thought as his expression softened. “Argh, argh fine, how long do you think those birds are going to use my hat as a nest?” He demanded sharply, yet with no bite. The wanderer  decided also to deny the way his chest seemed to leap when your expression brightened into a smile.

“…Hmm…maybbbee a month or two?-”

“You’re explaining to Nahida, not me.” He shot back, rubbing his forehead while sighing, his mind already on the many questions he will receive both from The Dendro archon and his peers in the Akademiya. How troublesome. As if that torture method in the name of homework wasn’t enough. “You owe me  days of kisses and a month of cuddles for this.” He huffed, turning to meet your eyes again, trying to keep his usual stern demeanor that always seemed to disappear with you. Damn you and your pretty face.  

His words, though, brought out a cheeky smile from you as you spread your arms cheerily, “Oh, I’m rich in those. I think I’m paying extra.” You declared as he sighed, pulling him into a hug and kissing his forehead gently, making his whole body feel weird and warm. He gently nuzzled your chest with his head affectionately, reminding you of a cat. Fiercely affectionate but in denial of so. ‘Scarameow…’ you thought to yourself, causing you to giggle lightly. The wanderer bumped your chest, already knowing you well enough to think you were making fun of him for the nth time.

“…What?” Nahida gave you two a confused smile, seemingly still trying to absorb the situation. How ironic, the goddess of knowledge herself struggling to comprehend the wanderer let someone (who survived) take his hat and use it for a bird nest of all things! Wow…was he…growing? Perhaps she was tearing up like a proud mother, so happy the wanderer seemed to have finally let someone close to his heart again. “Sooo…Yesss…would you mind explaining to all our dear guy’s classmates, oh greatest dendro archon?” You asked weakly, quite embarrassed. You could also immediately tell that the ‘guy’ in question was holding back a laugh and probably a couple of teasing words that might get him in trouble with Nahida.  “I…see. Well, birds usually will live in a nest for maybe a month or two? So hat guy…sure…I can explain to your classmates in the meantime.” Nahida offered, outstretching her hand with a pleasant smile. Wanderer seemed to relax at that, his shoulders slightly less tense- as tense it could get, anyway. “…Alright-“ You nudged him on the shoulder, giving him a sharp glance, “I mean, -Thank-you“ he managed, the words obviously not often leaving his lips. 

“Awww…they hatched!!!” You gushed, gasping excitedly, tugging his arm as if he didn’t have eyes too. He sighed, turning to look at the nest of birds, a mother and her newly hatched chicks, with a appalling gaze. This nest, by the way, was still inside his hat. How irritating it was. To be fired by questions every day about where his hat went, and how someone actually convinced him to lend it. Usually he didn’t even allow anyone to touch his hat, much less borrow it for a good time. 

“Yay. Do you think I’m getting that back any time soon?” He sighed in an exasperated tone, glancing at the birds nested in his property. They looked very comfortable. Maybe he wouldn’t mind them staying there a few more months.

“Nope. Sooo…I guess I still owe you more cuddles and kisses?” You giggled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Of course you do. And there is interest.”

“I’d be happy to pay~”

THANK YOU SM FOR FIRST REQUEST 💙💙💙💙💙 

[hiskillingjar]

Free Use (Strade/MC)

i’m at work, i have meetings all day, and i’m sick as a fucking dog. put me down like old yeller.

I’m gonna spend the next few days working on commissions and university stuff btw so. taking a break until tueday where i’ll come back with something very very fun :) 

strade’s girlboss lawyer is @miveus' oc btw. check her out i love her

day 23: free use second person

"God, needy little slut, isn’t she?"

You moaned with barely quelled distress against the stranger's cock, pulsing halfway down your throat, your bound wrists straining behind you in latex and metal. Your thighs and calves ached painfully, just trying to hold yourself upright as you bounced on another cock, desperately, needily, underneath you. 

Hands like gnarled claws, ungroomed fingernails and calloused skin, curled around your soft thighs and kept your legs spread wide open as whoever thrust deeper inside you, mostly silent (lest they give away any potential identity to the blinking camera filming the whole thing), save for the occasional grunts of pleasure when you clenched tightly enough around them, made yourself a tight little toy for their pleasure.

They were maybe the third person (not including the dildos, beer bottles, knife handles and other phallic objects they could find to fill you with) you'd had inside you tonight, though they might have been the fourth for all you knew. 

It was easy (and, perhaps, integral to your survival) to lose count of just how many people has already fucked you and just dissassociate completly, especially so when your brain was in the process of leaking out of your ears from the sheer amount of cock being rammed against it.

Though, in retrospect, your dissociative haze was probably because of the “complimentary” cocaine and date-rape drugs the host had forced upon you (that Strade had let them force upon you without a word of complaint) that made everything blur into one.

Not that you had a problem with some casual narcotic use, though.

Things like that certainly did the trick at loosening up your nerves, or, at least they had done in the past.

"Takin' it like a fuckin' trooper too. Must be the fourth guy who's fucked her at this rate."

“Fourth? Ah, I should be charging by now. I didn’t know bringing a ‘plus one’ would cause such a stir~”

Ah. So it was the fourth.

The cock in your mouth came unexpectedly down your throat without a word (or vague noise or grunt) of warning, and your head was pushed away like an abandoned fleshlight, spittle and cum leaking from your open, gagged mouth and trickling down the latex panel covering your jaw. 

You might have been annoyed, in a previous life, forced to taste some grimy stranger’s cum (and lord only knew what diseases they might have been carrying and passing onto you), but another climax must have implied that you were getting closer to the end, didn’t it? That you were almost finished playing the party’s sex toy? 

How many people could there have been at a meet-up like this?

“You wouldn’t let anyone miss out on this opportunity, would you? I mean, you were kind of asking for it, bringing a hot body like that, wrapped up and mumbling like some cute, little retard.”

“Hah! I did not know you had a preference for the mentally disabled, TJ. I’ll have to keep that in mind, ja?”

When you (involuntarily) clenched on the cock buried inside you (the familiar growl of your master so close by enough to make your body react), they couldn't help but spill over too.

Filling up both your holes. It was kind of sinful just how much that idea turned you on, now.

Now that you had been broken in.

When they withdraw from you and pushed themselves away with a grunt, unexpectedly strong and gentle hands (but not his, you knew what his hands felt like) held your hips tightly to support your shaking body against the cold, cement ground, presumably so you didn’t fall like a rag doll and hurt yourself. 

A warm cocktail of cum dripped down the inside of your thigh, and you didn't even try and stop the delirious gurgle of arousal that slipped from your lips when you felt it.

“Maybe you should go legit and make real porn instead of snuff. I mean, the pay is shittier, but you’ll have a business when we’re shut down.”

“When? So pessimistic!” He cut himself off with a hearty laugh, the warmth of it making you relax in your binds. “No, no, I’d never turn sex into a business. I’ve already turned one passion into my income, I can’t do another.” 

You barely had a moment to really catch your breath, before another person was approaching you, jerking your body upright (easy when you were as docile as you were) as they unzipped the front of their jeans with the low drag of metal on metal. Without an order to, you obediently moved in closer with an low murmur, rubbing your covered cheek against the hard on underneath the layers of fabric.

Playing the good toy, the best toy, he must be so proud of you for this, mustn’t he

“No no, you shouldn’t worry about the site going bust. I’ve got that, ah, anwaltin, lawyer girl keeping my slate clean. She’s a pro with those sorts of things.”

“Oh yeah, I know her. She’s a hot piece of ass, ain’t she?”

“Don’t I know it. Wouldn’t mind sinking into her one of these days.”

You felt the smooth glide as a set of barbel piercings pressed against the drooling width of your tongue and it was enough to make you moan even more as you moved in closer, dragging your tongue needily over the length as soon as you had the space to, and taking the half hard cock into your mouth. 

Your whole body trembled when you felt it harden between your spread lips and your core clenched up tight, making it harder for another body to invade you as they pleased.

“Haha, careful! That’s how you lose a court case.”

“Doubt it. She’s too worked up trying to outwit me to try anything like that. Kinda gets me going, knowing how clueless she is.”

Delicate, feminine fingers then started to rub against your erect clit, giving you some stimulation while you were servicing everyone else so readily. All the while, a ripped, muscled hardbody kept you stil as they squirmed underneath you, another hard cock prodding at your entrance that was gradully loosening, as your hips bucked towards the acrylics teasing your slit.. 

Whoever had decided to show mercy on you worked you over slowly, pushing you closer to your edge and taking abdundant enjoyment in the way your body trembled, the sound of the shaking moans at the top of your throat as it got fucked, the desperation in your eyes as they squeezed tight to stop overwhelmed tears pouring down your face.

“Mm, make sure the camera is zoomed in on their face. I want to keep that expression for the photo album.”

“You’re a dirty motherfucker, you know that? Complain’ about me using them, shit…”

“Mmf,” You groaned helplessly, straining against your bondage and swallowing around the pulsing cock half-way down your throat.

The very idea, the very prospect of you maybe being seen at one of these places made your core throb even harder. 

A missing person, abandoned and presumed dead a long time ago, suddenly appearing in a sordid, quasi-snuff porn film, not only taking everything that was given to them but seemingly enjoying it too. 

Long gone was the person you used to be, replaced by a puppet that looked like you, a puppet that smiled through torture and death, as long as their master treated them with kindness afterwards.

In spite of it all, the idea was undeniably arousing and a rush of deeply desired humiliation and shame made your head spin.

 More hands stroked down your shivering body, fingers worming into your holes (even the one that hadn’t been touched yet) to test out just how stretched and thoroughly used you already were. You were sure that you could have taken the next one up your ass without any prep and bone dry, if you were in a particularly masochistic mood.

Which you were. Almost one hundred percent of the time these days.

And things like this were the perfect outlet for every one of your self-destructive urges.

[alohamoramylove]

whatever you do dont think about the hunger games from gales perspective

dont think about gale as a twelve year old boy when his father dies, learning to hitch snares and catch food, knowing his three siblings will starve without him. dont think about him finding katniss in the woods, and beginning to hope for the first time that he wont have to be alone, that he can have a friend and a partner in staying alive. dont think about how he spent years learning her (and himself through her), about the solace and the peace he finds in hunting with her, about the way that no one in his entire life has ever known him in the way she does, about how it is easier to stay alive with her. dont think about him as a 17 year old boy trying to survive, making due as he always has, and waiting out his reaping years. for the love of god dont think about the reaping day from his perspective. about him hearing prim's name and knowing instantly, probably even before katniss herself, that she will be going into the games. do not think about him swallowing his grief and rage and terror, the knowledge that he is about to lose the person most important to him. he knows what he has do to. he watches katniss move toward the stage. he bites his tongue and moves forward too. he grabs prim and holds her tightly, clenching his jaw against her thrashing and screaming. dont think about his visit with her, the sharpness of his hope, the depth of the promises he will now uphold.

dont think about him going into the woods alone for the first time in years, all of the pain and rage and sorrow and grief and despair rushing up at him in the hollow of the trees. how he still has to hunt, how he still has mouths to feed. about his weekly visits to the everdeen house to drop off game, how their house is empty of her, how alone he is now, how the loneliness has returned more viciously than it ever has been because now he knows what companionship means, how the task of surviving becomes less burdensome in the presence of love. and the whole time, he is watching the games. he is staring at her face, noticing every change with the capitol's makeup and waxing, watching her play the game before shes even in the arena. holding out hope, and watching her be traumatized in real time. eventually, watching her pretend to fall in love with another man, and maybe knowing it isnt true but knowing that it doesnt matter anyway, that she will be bound to those lies even if she survives. watching her kill and watching people try to kill her, watching her hunt and be hunted. he watches her notch her arrows in teh swift and familiar motion he has seen countless times, and he resents the eyes he knows are boring into her all across the country. because their relationship, the sacredness of their survival, will never be their own again. knowing that even if she comes back, nothing will ever be the same. and then she makes it, and shes home, and everything is different. watching her move away, and change, and process, seeing her have more money than he has ever seen in his life, knowing that she would provide enough for him that he would never have to hunt again, but she never offers because he would never accept it. working in the mines, where his father's remains still sit, where he was always headed. watching the capitol freaks visit her, dress her up and strip her down, watching the camera crews roll into town and steal her away and she is so distant now, so distant and never comign back. and still he loves her. still he knows her better and more deeply than anyone in the world. they still hunt together, but infrequently and she doesnt do it out of necessity anymore. snow threatens her and him, and she has to marry peeta and he knows she has to and still his mouth is soured at the thought. and then the announcement of the quarter quell strikes. she's going back in. he'd be a fool to think she will ever return. he readies himself for grief again, but this time it's different. shes married, and distant, and things havent been the same since the reaping anyway. and still, he prepares to watch his best friend die. the games progress, and she has allies now. people hes never met, could never trust. she used to be his ally, and him hers. and then the allies turn on her, and hes watching her bleed out on screen, and then shes fumbling with her arrow, and she is about to die. then the screen is black.

then the hovercrafts come in, and he saves the people he can but the ones he cant he watches burn, hears them scream. his entire home obliterated, his best friend likely dead but undoubtedly unreachable. three hundred mouths to feed and no foreseeable end. an eventual rescue and they let him see her, and he looks at her battered body and knows he has to tell her, and knows too that she will know her arrow sent the hovercrafts. but now his people are fed, and katniss is safe. or at least here with him. and he is trying so hard to connect with her but she is distant and scared and angry and there are parts of her now that he will never understand. and she is being used as a pawn again, just like she was in the capitol. but he is a soldier now, and he is fighting the war he has always wanted to. and he knows that she needs peeta out of the capitol, so he volunteers to save him. not because he cares for peeta, but because he knows its what she needs. and the decision wasnt even hard. and now peeta is rescued but it was a trap and peeta is a weapon and now he knows that he will never compete with peeta, that she will never look at him how he wants her to ever again. but he still has a war to fight, and so they do. he works on designing weapons, he films propos, he stays by katniss' side because thats what he does and it was never even a question. the war progresses and he watches her die a thousand times, sees that coin is trying to kill her. he fights beside the mockingjay and remembers a time when they were children in the woods together. they have never stopped trying to survive together. and the war is nearing a close and they are separated and katniss cant or doesnt shoot him. the war is over and someone is telling him that prim is dead. someone is telling him about the bombs that killed her and he recognizes it as his own trap. he is sick to his stomach and being torn apart. he spent his entire life trying to keep her alive. he can hardly face katniss. he is so riddled with rage and grief and trauma and guilt and he cant even fathom how it got to this point. he has lost everything. he has nothing left, everyone who loves him has died or stopped loving him. so he moves to 2, hears stories about katniss and peeta, about her children that she swore she'd never have. and maybe katniss was right, and war and death wasnt the answer, adn he gets that now, he really does. and its too late, and his understanding is worthless now. but he remembers that girl in the woods. the soft spoken, beautiful girl with wit and grit and incredible aim. he remembers the girl that taught him about love, and how to make a bow. he remembers that girl, and how they were each others survival, and he lives the rest of his life tremendously sorry.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Yandere Kars X Pillar woman reader who survived because she was with baby Whamu and baby Santana, protecting them.

This idea makes me go monkey brain, had to write a short on this and upload at nearly 2am.

Defy nature

(Yandere Kars X Female pillar woman reader)

You frantically shushed the crying baby in your arms as you cradled him in an attempt to quell him.

“Please stop crying or they'll find us” you quietly pleaded. Not wanting to draw the attention of Kars and Esidisi. You'd already watched them mow down even the strongest of their own kind, dead set on killing everyone that opposed them. You'd been told to flee with the only two children Wammu and Saitana as everyone tried to defend against them.

You turned to the basket you were kneeling by. Saitana began to stir.

“No no no, not you too” you muttered before you heard steps approaching.

You threw your head towards the source of the sound and your blood went cold.

“(Y/n)” Kars lulled your name, covered in the blood of your own.

“you never were a fighter, always so tender my flower” he said as he took another step forward.

Tender, a word he described you with a great many times. Sickened you to think he'd been one of your paramours now that he had massacred so many.

“I won't let you kill them too!” You proclaimed as you put wammu back in the basket.

“No I don't intend to kill them, children have such impressionable minds… I shall train them to serve me” he said. Your gut churned, use children to fulfill his own sick twisted plans. You couldn't understand his thought process.

“Why? Why would you do such a thing to yourself?” You questioned.

“I wanted to carve a path for our kind, we were once revered by the humans as God. Now they are trying to kill us. Once I find a way to release our true potential we shall be the ultimate lifeforms” he explained.

“Yes that was the case before but any creature does not wish to be ruled by another, fear is a necessity for any to survive… what you intend to do is go against nature itself” you seethe, looking him straight in his eyes. He was different, frenzied with an insatiable appetite.

“What you've become now is a sick mockery of our brethren, the ones you have slayed without even a thought!” you yelled. Both babies now wailing.

“I never thought I'd see the day you'd yell” he said in an amused tone.

“I hold no manners to you, you will just kill me like everyone else” you told him.

Within the blink of an eye he was now right beside you. Holding your head in his hand.

“I couldn't,” he confessed.

“In truth I always felt a burning Jealousy towards your other partners. For so long I've wanted you to myself” he continued as his free hand delicately toyed with your horn, something he knew you'd usually take great pleasure in but not now. It felt more  perverse than before with that hungry gaze, like a boa seconds before it eats its prey whole.

“And now I do” he said.

[librivore42]

A beast in the belly

@garnetdawn's illustration of Gale sent me into an angsty brain spin so you all get to suffer with me. Wheee.

Word Count: 703

Warnings: Some violent intrusive thoughts

Arcane hunger is so aptly named, if he does say so himself. A little arrogant to say, perhaps, since he was the one who named it. But one must find pleasure in the little things, even if that means feeling clever about naming the very ill that will eventually take his life.

The very ill he earned for himself by feeling far too clever. There’s an irony in that which he’d rather not examine, even as it stood there in the shadowed corner of his tower. In the long year alone, he avoided its gaze.

It isn’t until now that he realises just how easy Tara and the tower had made things, lonely as it was.

Tav’s wary assistance has done him some good, of course. But it’s been quite some time since they’ve gotten their hands on another magical artefact, and he can feel it starting to claw at him, shredding his resolve.

He’s told the others that the urge is like a forest fire, or a war. Something to keep at bay certainly, but manifesting as a distant, looming danger that he was simply a passive conduit for. It’s felt different, lately. More active. More searching. More savage.

It grows in ways more bestial than he’s ever been used to. It has teeth and claws and the frightening willingness to use both. It is no longer a burning, a frantic urge to be quelled. As he had so aptly, accidentally named it, it comes as a hunger, a starvation that fuels a primal instinct to be fed, to survive.

He refuses to confront the question of how far he would go to sate it. With whom would he bargain, to what degree would he take if it was not freely given? He clutches at the burning in his chest, staring at the wall of his tent, and avoids the question’s eyes as it lurks in the dark.

Alone, wracked with the strange starvation and the certainty that by noon tomorrow he must either absorb something or disappear before he kills everyone around him.

To die alone.

For all his fine statements that he would teleport himself somewhere he would do no harm, he finds the plan falling apart the closer he comes to it.

He doesn’t want to die.

A frightening thought flickers at the back of his mind. Tav. The vivid, violent image of sinking teeth into the sorcerer's skin to inhale the magic in their body. A fragile mortal shell full of potential power, waiting to be cracked.

The thought makes the breath catch on the existing pain in his chest as he struggles to pretend he never thought it at all. It was someone else, something else, not him. He is not violent. He’s not cruel or wicked, he’s just starving. And alone. Afraid. A wounded animal.

No, to call it an animal is inaccurate. It implies that if he gave in to the urge it would be a loss of control, a wildness for which he is not truly responsible. A separation for which he should suffer no consequence. But he knows better. It does not rip the power from his hands and pull him helplessly forward. It simply lurks, whispering darkness that is horribly, terribly pragmatic. Waiting for him to see the sense of it and act.

It’s only to survive.

It’s for the good of everyone.

He takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the faint silhouette of Karlach through the tent fabric as she moves around on the night watch. Some of them have been worried about him, rightly so, for he’s kept them at arm’s length all day, uncharacteristically silent. But Karlach still pauses outside his tent as she passes. It’s a good thing to focus on. Because if he sleeps, he’s afraid of what visions might bubble up from the darkest corners of his mind, thrown up by the dying throes of that wounded animal.

First light takes years to arrive. Lae’zel’s voice is a blessed harshness as it cuts through the dawn air, thrusting an amulet into his tent and stalking off with a click of her teeth and without a backwards glance. He nearly sobs with relief as he grabs at it clumsily, presses the cool metal against the burning and breathes freely for the first time in so many days.

Time. He has time again.

[writersblockiskillingme]

District 7 | Johanna Mason

Pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader (victor!reader)

Summary: Johanna and you seek some peace in District 7 after the rebellion.

Waning/s: angst and fluff, nightmares, talks about the games, tears, panic, curse words?, talks about Johanna's torture, rebellion, war, weapons (Johanna's ax), short fic, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I agree with you, dear anon. Lumberjack!johanna has me like 🙇‍♀️🧎‍♀️🤰 Also, I tried my best, hope you enjoy!

Request -> Hi :) Can I request a Johanna x fem!reader that takes place after all the events of the mockingjay? The reader is also a victor of her games and is now living in district 7 with Johanna. I want to see what their life is like after the games and rebellion. What they’re like taking care of each other after nightmares and triggering situations. Also because happy times good, what is domestic life like for them now (Like lumberjack!johanna oof 😮‍💨). Give me all the angst, all the sadness, all the domestic feels, and all the fluff!

You felt like the war will truly never end. It was suffocating from the very start. Especially during the quarter quell and after. Since the moment Katniss shot that arrow into the whole of the force field that destroyed the arena and the power knocked you unconscious, you had a bad feeling. The moment you woke up and Finnick told you that the Capitol captured Johanna and Peeta you felt like you couldn't breathe.

The physical and mental torture that your lover had suffered during her time in the Capitol undet Snow's clutches and the mental torture that you had to fight with in the safety of District 13 didn't make your time there any earlier.

You were quite literally lost without her by your side. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day that you spent worrying about her, whether she was being killed, whether she was in unbearable pain, whether she was even alive made your head spin from just remembering it. But the moment that Johanna was back in your eyes everything felt so much easier. Since she was finally rescheduled, for the first time ever, you felt like you could actually make it through this rebellion. But you didn't allow yourself to be filled with hope too much, yet.

At Snow's execution you were quite literally freezing while standing between Johanna and Haymitch, your eyes never leaving Snow that was placed a few feet in front of you as you tried to pull your jacket a little bit tighter around your body.

The air was still thick with loss caused by the death of Johanna's and yours mutual friend Finnick and every other person that you have lost throughout the many years of Snow's tortures ruling of the Panem.

Shock ruled over your entire body as you watched Katniss fire the arrow that nested itself inside of Coin's heart. As she fell down, people all around you stepped forward to kill Snow. Both of the rulers were dead. At last there will be peace in the whole Panem.

The peace that you decided to chase with the love of your life. Her hand tightly placed into yours as you said your goodbyes to the rest of the poor, tortured souls that somehow survived against all odds.

The first step onto the train that would send you both to District 7 felt like freedom. The silent breeze that cherished your cheeks and hair as you walked towards Johanna's house, hand in hand with her, the smell of the lumber in the air was a sign that you could perhaps find peace with the one you fought so hard for.

District 7 was good for you. It was different from your old home, for sure, but it was a good change. A change that your hears, soul and your spirit in general needed to live. During the day, when your therapists didn't visit or when you didn't have to visit them in the Capitol, Johanna and you would take calming strolls along the woods of her District, the smell of lumber became familiar. A sent without which you would probably, quite literally die, felt like peace. The word that both Johanna and you continued to chase endlessly.

But it wasn't easy.

The nightmares were overwhelming most of the time. Both of you would wake up in a cold sweat, practically screaming yourselves awake. Tears and panic was endless, but the presence of each other brought a great comfort to both of you.

One time you were laying in Johanna's and yours bed, molded into the sheets and pillows that were practically drowning you, hiding you from the world, as you tried to chase the sleep that you didn't get last night because of Johanna's nightmare. It didn't matter, though. As long as she was safe nothing else to you mattered. Just as you fell asleep, the nightmares from your own games started to drag you in.

The cold sweat covered your skin as you screamed yourself awake. Your breathing was heavy, you couldn't control it. Your hand reached over to Johanna's side of the bed feeling the cold grace your fingertips and you felt like someone spilled a bucket of freezing cold water over your head.

"Johanna!" A scream broke free from your throat as you dashed out of the bed in a lightning speed, trying to reach the door of the house to go outside.

You were forcefully put into a panicked frenzy as you practically broke down the door of the house, your head turning around in every possible direction. You were trying to find her.

And there she was. An ax in the hand, standing a few feet away from the house as she chopped the wood, the pile of lumber growing bigger and bigger with each swing. Her arms flexing as she was lightly covered in sweat from the hard work. Her eyebrows frowned in concentration. Her gorgeous pair of crystals looked at you in confusion and light concern as she watched your panicked expression.

"You good, dummy?" She asked you as she struck her ax into the wood before whipping away the sweat that glued her freshly grown bangs against her forehead.

"I just..." You sighed in relief once again as you watched her. "I just had a nightmare and you weren't there when I woke up, but it's okay."

Johanna quickly brought you into her arms, wrapping you up in their safety as she whispered sweet nothings into your ear in a desperate attempt to calm you down.

"It's okay. You're okay. I'm okay."

"You're okay." You breathed out once more following her lead.

She separated herself from you for a moment before she brought you in for a delicate kiss that was oh so her.

"We're okay. We will be." She whispered against your lips, her arms never leaving once she wrapped them around your neck.

->

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->

TAGLIST:

@caroline-books @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[agent-grey-fics]

Scarred survivors part 2 | Finnick Odair x reader

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Wordcount: 1k

Summary: The Capitol announces a twist in the Quarter Quell: victors will be reaped, again. Y/N Green, the "Huntress" and winner of the 69th Hunger Games, is forced back into the arena. Furious and betrayed, she faces Finnick Odair, who volunteers to participate in the games once again, reigniting old tensions.

You were still seething as the Peacekeepers guided you off the stage. The Capitol escort's overly cheerful voice grated against your nerves, and every step felt like a death march. Finnick walked beside you, his presence a constant reminder of the impending nightmare. You wanted to scream, to lash out, but you held it together, determined not to give Snow or anyone else the satisfaction of seeing you break.

There was no one for you to say goodbye to, everyone you loved was gone. Snow made sure of that. You were waiting in a small room until the peacekeepers came to put you on the train. From the shuffling and crying in the corridor, you could hear that Finnick did have company. You could recognise Annie's sobbing through the door. Finnick had her wrapped around his finger, she did everything he asked her to do. He once had you wrapped around his finger too, until he didn’t want you anymore and Annie came into the picture. He never gave you a proper explanation, he gave you the ‘it isn’t you but me’ bullshit that you saw on tv. You rolled your eyes in annoyance when you remembered the conversation. The crying stopped as you heard a knock on the door before it opened. ‘Bring him home y/n, promise me you’ll make sure he survives these games.’ She was truly crazy. ‘Do you hear yourself?’ Tears started running down her cheeks. ‘I can’t live without him y/n.’ It took all your effort not to roll your eyes when she said that. ‘Well though luck love, ‘cause if it comes down to me or him I’ll try my best to be the one that gets out of there.’ All the colour left her face when she heard your words. ‘It isn’t fair to ask me that Annie, we’ve both been through hell and back and I’m not dying in that arena so you can play happy house with him. No, I won’t do it.’ She turned around without saying another word and that was the last time you saw Annie Cresta in a long time.

You were pushed onto the train, no big exit, everything was quick and hush-hush. ‘They want us at the compound by this evening,’ was the only explanation you got. The transport to the Capitol was a blur of sterile corridors and whispered conversations as you made your way through the train. Finnick tried to engage you several times, but you shut him out, focusing instead on the pounding of your heart and the tightening of your throat. The thought of returning to the arena was almost too much to bear. You had barely survived the first time, and now you were being thrown back into that hell.

The silence gave you some time to think, this time everything was different. You had been a mentor, you had coached other tributes so you didn’t need the support of Mags right now. You could do this on your own. You were going into the arena with other victors, ones who were way more skilled than you were, slimming your chances of winning the whole ordeal. Unconsciously you crack your knuckles, a thing you did when you were stressed. Killing the others, fine you could live with that. But killing your friends? Physically you could. You were as good as they were in hand-to-hand combat no one would doubt that. But emotionally was something else, you could never bring yourself to kill them. They had made you a murderer  once and now they were forcing you to do it again. A shiver ran down your spine as you thought back to the blood of the first tribute on your hands. It had been a you girl, she must have been not older then thirteen. 

‘Earth to y/n?’ You were startled from your thoughts, he leaned casually against the doorframe. ‘You ok?’ His brows raised and he gave you a confused look. ‘Just thinking about how I’m going to kill you.’ You shrugged your shoulders. A smirk formed around his lips, mischief in his eyes as he looked you up and down. ‘What had you in mind?’ You chuckled. ‘Waiting as long as possible until you get tired and then hunt you down. You’ll be tired, less focussed and let’s be honest you could never hurt me.’ The sparkle in his eyes dropped a couple of seconds when he heard your last words but he bounced back. ‘Only if you ask nicely.’ He gave you a cheeky wink which made you roll your eyes. If you weren't careful, he could wrap you around his finger again in no time.

‘How are we going to kill them? At least half of them will be our friends, I can’t hunt them down and kill them with no mercy. They are our allies, they went through the same things as us. They are family.’ You dropped your head in your hands, just thinking about killing Joanna made you shiver. You could hunt down those you didn’t care about but most of the victors were your friends, the careers were the only ones you didn’t care about. He shuffled to the spot next to you and took a seat on the sofa. ‘We will figure this out, it won’t be for another two weeks before we’ll go into the arena. We still have some time left.’ A sarcastic laugh left your lips, time. ‘Two whole weeks, wow.’ You shook your head. Who were you trying to fool. You were going to die, and soon.

‘Why did you volunteer? It would be way easier if it was me and Thomas, they are going to pit us against each other we both know that.’ He didn’t answer immediately so you continued. ‘Did you know that Annie came begging me for your safe return?’ He took a deep breath when he heard Annie’s part. ‘You know that she doesn’t mean a thing to me. Yeah sure, she’s totally swooned by me and it’s fun but it’s no feelings. At least not for me.’ ‘You are such an asshole, that girl would die for you. She would do everything you asked her.’ ‘Oh I know she would but I never promised her anything. She can go wherever she wants, I don’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to.’ He shrugged. ‘Such an asshole.’ It was a mumble. ‘Why did you even come home? Aren’t you a celebrity in the capitol?’ Pain flashed through his eyes, he wasn’t able to hide it. ‘I needed a break.’ He tried his best to act nonchalantly but you could see right through him, ‘They loved you too.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘They loved the persona I portrayed, I couldn’t keep doing that not after they took away everything.’ The Capitol adored you at one point, you could have flourished if you wanted to but you went home. You weren’t made for the glitter and glamour and fakeness. Especially after he broke your heart. He brought nothing against it. He slumped down in the sofa and closed his eyes, you still had a long trip ahead of you. When Finnick closed his eyes, he saw Snow in front of him. He had threatened to kill his loved ones if he did not do as he asked. Little did you know that he had done that before, back then he had to leave you behind for your own safety but you did not know that. You hated him for it, you thought he was leaving you for another but he could never. 

He was back into the same spot as he was before. He had to do what Snow asked him to do because of you. But this time everything would be different.

[summerdiphylleia]

The next right thing

Chapter 2: The Quarter Quell Announcement

Summary: The 74th Hunger Games were over, and Felicia ought to have anticipated how often she'd find herself pondering over what could've happened if Seneca Crane had been a smarter man.

pairing: coriolanus snow x wife!oc

Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

***********

“One.”

“Two.” 

“Three.”

Felicia forced her eyes shut, waiting for the bangs that announced the death of the tributes to go off, but they never did. She flinched when the voice of a man echoed through the room instead. 

“Stop!”

If Seneca Crane had been a smarter man, he would’ve kept quiet. 

“Stop!” She heard the gamemaker shout once again. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners of the 74th annual Hunger Games.” 

Felicia went still, as images of the District 12 tributes –victors, she corrected herself– embracing each other glided through the screen. She knew she ought to feel happy about it, surely all of the Capitol was celebrating, but Felicia couldn’t bring herself to share such joy. She was happy the tributes –victors– were alive, but she’d seen something more in their actions than simply two young people in love that could not survive without each other. She’d seen defiance. And she was sure her husband had seen it too. A daunting frown claimed her face, and her hands were closed into fists so tight she could barely feel her nails attempting to dig into the skin of her palms. Katniss Everdeen had defied the Capitol, and the Capitol had allowed it. Worse, it had rewarded it. 

The television had gone black by the time she jumped from her seat, and started hurrying through the manor’s empty hallways. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Lan was following her path. He moved like a cat, barely making any sound, but the man had been like a shadow to her for the most of twenty years, and took his job of protecting her very seriously. He was a tall man, surprisingly fit for someone who was around her age. More often than not a calculating scowl claimed his features; and she took pride in knowing that his rare smiles were reserved for her. She didn’t like thinking about what she’d do without him. 

“Don’t do anything foolish, Felicia.” He warned her, taking up a vigilant stance just outside the room. It had been nothing but a whisper, but she had understood. Their eyes locked in a silent exchange, her apprehension mirrored in his gaze, and she nodded, before moving forward. 

Felicia walked into the sunroom, and found her husband tending to the roses. He was standing with his back towards her, but she could already tell he was livid. He stood rigid in his feet, as his arms worked stiffly against the flowers, occasionally cutting them with more force that was necessary. 

She approached him, keeping a steady, dull pace. “Coriolanus?” She asked, calmly. 

The President didn’t move at the sound of her voice, as if he had been expecting her already. He kept on trimming the roses, and a heavy silence filled the air between the two. “What are you going to do to him?” She asked, voice trembling just the slightest. He turned around, slightly taken aback by her question. It wasn’t usual at all for her to acknowledge such things, and he didn’t like it when she stepped out of his comfort zone. It wasn’t her place to question his actions. He let confusion show on his face for just a few seconds, before his lips split into a smile.

“Well, he had a very simple choice to make. I’m just going to present him with another very simple choice.” He shrugged, as he drew nearer her, while cleaning the pruning scissors on a cloth.

Felicia gulped, and shifted uncomfortably in her place. “And her?” She wondered if she was crossing a line by making such a question, a dangerous line. She’d always been so sure such a thing would never exist when it came to her, as she’d always spoken somewhat freely around her husband, but the look on the President’s face made her think otherwise.

She insisted that the Games were barbaric and maintained her stance on that. In return, he insisted that they were necessary and maintained his stance on that. It had always been like that. But never had someone from the districts dare to defy him in the way Katniss Everdeen just had. Or at least they hadn’t done so in front of the cameras, showcasing their actions to the whole of Panem. 

“As long as she understands that what she’s done, she’s done for love, she should be no problem.” He said, throwing the scissors into a cushion. “You must be happy with how everything turned out.” He muttered, as he lifted his hand to gently stroke her cheek. 

“I am,” she sighed, frozen by his touch, “two children get to live.”

“Hm, darling,” he chuckled, leaving a kiss on her temple, “you can be so naive sometimes.” 

*********** 

The Games were left behind and the air started to cool, as Felicia eased into her usual routine once again. She wrote letters, attended charity events and couture fittings, helped Theodore with his Academy homework, bought unnecessary decoration for the mansion, visited her children at the hospital; hosted hollow, vacuous parties for Panem’s high society. 

With the cold, her already aching arthritis got worse, and she was instructed by her medics to use a walking staff, to help her ease her sore ankles. But it only helped in making her feel impossibly old. 

“Everyone’s going to make fun of me!” Felicia complained one night, in front of her family.  She stood barefoot against the velvety rug, switching the cane from one hand to the other, playfully showing it off. Her two older children had come to the manor for a casual dinner earlier, and the five of them had moved onto the sitting room to enjoy some tea. Night had fallen terribly cold outside, but the interiors of the manor were warm and cosy, as it had been instructed that every fireplace within shall be lighted.

“You’re Panem’s First Lady,” Arabella laughed, “no one is going to make fun of you.” She remarked, as she sat next to Coriolanus on the sofa, with a cup of warm tea in her hand. Max and Arabella had been spending so much more time in the manor lately, and Felicia was the happiest she’d felt in a long time. Whether their newfound fondness for being with her stemmed from a sense of responsibility as she aged or a simple desire to visit her, she didn’t know. She chose to believe the latter. 

“But surely everyone will think of me as an old bat,” she whined in a silly fashion, as Max walked towards her. 

“I promise no one will think that”, he reassured her, while resting a gentle arm around her shoulders. 

“Hm, I might.” Coriolanus sneered from his place on the couch, holding back a smile. 

Felicia gasped, and theatrically put a hand against her chest, pretending to be utterly offended at his comment. Arabella grabbed a cushion and playfully hit him with it, “no you won’t!” She warned his father, as the two boys kept on cackling.

“Best thing about this staff, mom,” Theo explained, taking the walking stick from her hands, weighing it in his hands,“is that if anyone dares making such comments, you get to do this!” He dashed against his father, and repeatedly patted on him with it, acting as if he were hitting him. 

The boy’s action managed to break Coriolanus’ stoic facade, and his laughter started to echo through the room alongside the rest of his family’s.

Scenes like that one repeated themselves in the months that followed, as snow stubbornly settled into the city, and life in the Capitol finally appeared to be returning back to normal. But Felicia heard the reports —information not meant for her ears, but the manor could be an awfully small place to keep such volatile secrets. Rebellions were happening all over the country; no amount of peacekeepers were enough to keep the insurrection in District 8 at bay, and District 11 was at the brink of following their lead. 

Coriolanus refused to share such things with her, limiting his conversations with her to trivial matters, which had started to put a veil between the two. He kept on retreating into himself, and she noticed he was being more paranoid than ever; cameras had made their way into every room in the manor, their bedroom included. And, although she had no way of proving it, she was sure she’d also heard the distinct sound of jabberjays’ echoes around the gardens. Felicia couldn’t help but worry once again about having spoken out of turn after the Games. 

She was settling into bed one night, later than usual, about to read for a while, when her husband walked into the room, coat still on, snowflakes only just melting into the fur. She hadn’t seen him in three days. It wasn’t usual of him to disappear like that. 

“Coriolanus!” She gasped, and got out of bed as quickly as her wrists allowed her, to help him get out of his heavy clothes. She took his coat and scarf, and left them on the sofa right outside the crystal doors to their bedroom. 

“Where were you?” She asked, out of breath, as she wrapped her hands around her chest. The manor wasn’t cold, but a chill had somehow still managed to run through her spine. He reached down towards her, and kissed her with a closed mouth. “You should go back to bed, dearest, it’s already late.” He gently pushed her aside, and strided towards the bed. 

“But where were you, really?” She repeated herself, following his motion. 

“District 12.” He uttered, pulling the bedding over. And by the way he said those words, Felicia knew she wasn’t allowed to ask any questions. She just nodded, pursing her lips, and let him embrace her, as she closed her eyes. 

*********** 

Felicia wished for but one thing: to go to bed. Her feet hurt, her face felt too tight, and she was bored out of her mind. Yet, as the First Lady, her role at such events had but one purpose: to introduce people, excuse the President’s absence, and, most importantly, look radiant. At least she had managed the latter, or rather, her stylists had.

On that morning, a whole assembly of them had barged into her room to prepare her for the evening party. They had bathed her, coloured her hair, applied makeup to her face, and dressed her. Her stylist had chosen a metallic purple dress with an asymmetrical cut, paired with a golden undergown that stood out on her chest and highlighted her legs. Matching heels and shimmering makeup completed the look. Her hair was styled in a loose chignon adorned with golden accessories Tigris had once given her as a present. She knew her picture would be plastered all over the newspapers as the best–dressed of the evening.

“Ms. Cardew, may I have a dance with you?” Felicia heard a man’s voice behind her, as she sipped on what must’ve been her fifth glass of wine that night, but she paid no mind to it, it wasn’t directed to her, or at least she thought so. The music was too loud and the lights were too bright, her head had started to hurt and it was difficult to discern scenes on her whereabouts.

“Ms. Cardew?” She heard again, and seconds later she felt someone put a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

Felicia had but turned around that Lan was already on her side, discreetly putting himself between her and the stranger. She studied the man for a moment, and then exchanged subtle glances with the bodyguard. Lan left at once, and Felicia extended a hand towards the man in front of her. 

Plutarch Heavensbee. A plump, middle–aged man, and frighteningly clever, maybe too much for his own sake. 

“Ms. Cardew,” he repeated himself, leaving a polite kiss on her hand,“you look the epitome of grace in this sea of extravagance. I apologise for frightening you.” 

“Mr. Heavensbee,” she smiled, “it’s me who should apologise; I didn’t realise you were speaking to me, I’m afraid it’s been years since I was last called by my maiden name.” Thirty eight years, to be precise. 

He hummed in response. “Would you care to join me for a dance?” She really didn’t want to. The wine had started to make her feel light–headed, and her ankles were sore.

“I’d be delighted, Mr. Heavensbee.” She smiled, allowing him to take her a few steps down into the dancing floor. People moved around, making space for them, and the cameras that followed. 

Felicia rested one hand on his shoulder as he placed his on her back, and they started to glide across the room, matching their steps with the music. 

“I thought that you could do with some invigorating conversation.” He leaned towards her, to avoid the cameras and people around from hearing their conversation. 

“Well you know what a rare thing that can be here in the Capitol.” She replied in a murmur, with a cheeky smile directed towards the cameras. “I hear you’re to be our new Gamemaker.” 

“Ah, news travel fast in the Capitol,” he smirked, “yes, I’ve been appointed as the new Head Gamemaker.” 

“A very prestigious position,” she smiled, as he made her twirl, “I suppose congratulations are in order.” 

Plutarch nodded with a meekly gesture, turning the corners of his lips downwards. “Thank you, Felicia. It's a role that demands creativity and innovation, wouldn't you say?” He added, raising an eyebrow. 

“Indeed,” she agreed, as she relished in the small amount of bravery the alcohol had given her, and added “although I must admit, the… nature of such creativity often leaves me conflicted.” 

The man simply stared at her, with an implacable expression on his face, making it difficult for Felicia to assert how he felt about her statement. 

“The Games are a spectacle, Felicia, but the true spectacle often lies in the shadows. Oh? It's all a matter of perspective, really.” He stated, with an esoteric look on his face. She was about to comment on it, but he interrupted her. “I’ve recently met your two oldest children.”

“You have?” Felicia asked, slightly taken aback. “And why is that?”

“I had to spend a couple of days at the hospital a handful of weeks ago, nothing too serious luckily. Very bright children indeed. I can see they’ve inherited your intelligence—

“Oh Mr. Heavensbee,” Felicia chuckled, feigning modesty ,“you’re being too—

“And defiance.” He cut her off, voice barely audible, as he had leaned in towards her so much, his mouth brushed her cheek. 

Felicia went still. “What…?” She began to ask, but they were interrupted. 

“Plutarch Heavesbee!” The voice of a woman resounded in her ears, even above the music. She was accompanied by two other people. Felicia, who was still hesitating on how to feel about Plutarch’s statement, almost jumped at the sight of them. 

“Katniss. Peeta.” The flashy woman clamoured. “This is Plutarch Heavensbee, Head Gamemaker. Successor to Seneca Crane.” 

“That’s a tough act to follow.” The young man commented, shaking Plutarch’s hand.

“Peeta!” 

Plutarch just laughed, as he seemed to have found the comment amusing rather than somewhat unpleasant. “May I introduce you to Felicia Snow?” He said, pointing towards her. 

“Mrs. Snow,” The woman said, with a modest curtsy, “you look radiant, as always.” 

“Thank you, Euphemia, you look very lovely yourself. It’s a pleasure meeting you both.” Felicia added, nervously staring at the two teenagers, who returned a polite smile and shook her hand. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Thank you, we are very happy about it.” Peeta answered, as a grin claimed all of his features. How intriguing. He genuinely seemed happy about it. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he added, with a soft smile, “they show you all the time on the television, you’re even more beautiful in person.” 

“Oh,” she giggled, bringing a hand to cover her mouth, in a flustered fashion, “well, my stylists are very good at their jobs. How are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s excessive.” Katniss was quick to answer, her voice steady. 

Felicia smiled graciously, acknowledging the tension between herself and Katniss. The dance floor seemed to tighten around them, as they got caught between the profligacy of the Capitol and the stark reality of the Games.

“The Capitol has its own way of celebrating, doesn’t it? But I agree, the extravagance can be a little overwhelming.” 

“Overwhelming is an understatement.” The girl answered, bluntly, eyes staring into Felicia’s. 

“What Katniss means,” Peeta was quick intervene, “well, it is a bit much, but make it any simpler and you might as well deprive the Capitol of all its fun, right?”  

Katniss shot him a quick side–eye, and then forced a smile on her face, turning towards her once again. Felicia offered her a weak smile. She could tell the girl didn’t like her, and Felicia understood that. She privately boasted about not enjoying Games, commended herself on being –What, exactly? Morally superior to the rest?– and yet had never actively acted against them, except for complaining. Nothing but sanctimonious bluff. She was in no way better than the rest; no different than those gaudy, self–absorbed, fake individuals she so very bragged about not tolerating.  I am no better than my husband. 

Felicia realised that she wouldn’t be able to keep on feigning a smile in her face for that much longer, and studied the room around her. There were many other people lingering around them, waiting to talk to the victors, staring with jealousy at her. She briskly made her excuses, claiming she was expected to make some introductions, and left. 

She tried walking in a straight line through the path she knew would eventually lead to her room, but such an action was proving difficult with the amounts of alcohol she had in her blood. Her movements were marked by an unsteady sway, and more than once, she stumbled over her own feet, struggling to maintain her balance. 

Lan found her before she could make a spectacle of herself, discreetly grabbing her by the waist, and quickly guided her away from the party. He didn’t comment on her uncharacteristic drunkenness, and they settled instead for a calm stroll, thankful that the ear–splitting noises from the party were nothing but a muffled sound at that point. 

Minutes into their walk she looked up towards him, and sullenly leaned into him. “They hate me you know,” she whispered, lips turning into a pout and eyes glossy, as he led her through the empty hallways of the manor, “Katniss and Peeta.” 

But voicing such thoughts didn’t bring her any solace; she didn’t get to complain that her actions, or rather the lack of them, had had consequences. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes, and she couldn’t make them stop from falling into her cheeks. 

“They don’t hate you.” Lan comforted her, eyes softening. She looked up towards him, locking her gaze on his. He had such a gentle stare; warm, soft watercolour eyes that reminded her of the sea. She wondered if he ever missed the ocean, if he ever missed his district. District 4. They weren’t strangers to the Games over there either. She wondered how much he’d suffered by her actions, surely he’d been affected by the Games at some point. No one could escape from that, her husband made sure of it. 

“Yes they do,” she whimpered, lips quivering, clumsily wiping the tears on her face, “and they have every reason for doing so.” 

*********** 

Winter weaved into spring, and the Capitol once again started buzzing with excitement for the upcoming Games. Games unlike any other, for that year marked the 75th Hunger Games, the most anticipated Quarter Quell. It turned the citizens crazy, which was the ultimate goal Felicia supposed, through the introduction of twists and challenges that made each iteration unforgettable. They served as a reminder of the Capitol’s control and a testament to its capacity for innovation in the pursuit of entertainment. 

Felicia started to see Plutarch Heavensbee more often than not around the manor, holding private, clandestine discussions with her husband. The significance of these meetings left Coriolanus with scarce time for her, reducing their exchanges to the necessities, often focused on their children. He no longer slept in their shared bedroom, except when his personal needs dictated otherwise. Oddly enough, she always welcomed him. It felt good to be desired. 

She was less than excited when Coriolanus announced she was expected at the presentation of the Quarter Quell, but as always she simply forced an amicable smile into her face and waded through the charade. Standing once again before the entirety of the Capitol, Felicia steeled herself for the announcement of the 75th Hunger Games.

“...and now on this,” her husband spoke to the microphone, standing in the atrium above the Avenue of the Tributes, “the 75th Anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the 3rd Quarter Quell as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol.”

A most imperceptible frown appeared in Felicia’s forehead, puzzled by such remark. He wouldn’t. 

 “On this, the 3rd Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of Victors in each district.” He declared, as his lips turned into a very subtle smile. Gasps born from indignation erupted from the crowds, and for the first time in all her years as the First Lady, Felicia's façade crumbled. Her eyes widened, and she brusquely turned her head towards the President. Though her lack of composure lasted but a moment, she knew he would have noticed. “Victors shall present themselves on Reaping Day, regardless of age, state of health, or situation…” She could hear Coriolanus still talking, but it felt as if he were speaking from a distant, muffled place. 

She fled to her bedroom as promptly as she was allowed, hunted by the screams of Cato under the mutts.

*********** 

“This is your doing, and the consequences shall rest upon your shoulders.”

No, she kept on shaking her head, as tears fell on her cheeks, none of this would've happened if Seneca Crane had been a smarter man.

*********** 

I hope you enjoy! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it

[captainlunaxmen]

All for the cameras

Chapter 4

Finnick Odair x reader

This is a repost since the old blog doesn't work anymore. 🥰

Chapter summary: a little about the making of the Games, the reaping, and the Parade.

Chapter warnings: talking of lethal threats, Cal has his own warning, Snow, forced marriage.

Masterlist

I take a huge gulp of wine as I sit in Plutarch's living room.

He did convince Snow to make me his personal assistant for this Quarter Quell, Plutarch told him it's a perfect way to show my "participation". Although I hate to keep up such a facade, I love that I can use it as an excuse to not stay, nor spend any time with Cal.

"Careful with that," Plutarch comes back into the room with his own glass, "we need you lucid for this."

"Trust me, I built a strong resistance to alcohol... no amount would help endure this shit anyway..." I mutter, looking at my fucking ring.

"You spent too much time with Abernathy, I'm afraid," he comments, he's not judging, no, he's probably just teasing.

"Or not enough," I tease back, he smirks amused by my answer.

He then suddenly turns the TV on, on display my answer to Cal's proposal.

I groan as I see that.

"I gotta say, that was smart," he compliments me, referring to the kiss.

"Could you turn it off? One fucking time was enough, thank you." I tell him.

"Not telling you about the Quartel Quell was smart too," he throws this out like nothing, my head snaps towards him.

"You little... that's why..." I start, but his proud stance stops me, "fine... smart thinking on your part too, okay."

"Thank you very much," he does a little bow before turning serious, "I'm sure now you can know more." He declares.

"Really?" I ask, I really want to know more and help, but at the same time I don't want to risk everyone.

"Yes, miss L/n. But... you have to know this, all this, will require a lot from you. From all of us, actually. So just know... you can still change your mind and no one will hold it against you." He explains, I can feel he is sincere, I know I can trust him.

I take a deep breath, this is a good chance to actually change things here... I won't pass this opportunity.

"Anything." I say and he smiles.

"Alright, our primarily goal is to get Katniss out." He starts and I nod, of course she would be the face of the revolution, "every Victor involved knows that,"

"Did you warn them? The ones involved?" I ask.

"Didn't have the chance... not everyone... I also need you to start thinking that not everyone will see this revolution starts." He says bitterly.

"I..." I don't know what to say, so I try to reason it, "yeah... of course... if not all of them know... the others would just want to survive, as always."

"Reasoning won't help you much this time," he says and he uses the remote to change the scene on the screen.

The reaping ceremony of each district.

"Cashmere and Gloss... God... they're brother and sister.."

"It never stopped the Capitol before. It just adds up to the drama." Plutarch sighs.

"I know," I sigh as the next district's reaping starts, "it may sounds cliché, but Enobaria is actually a sweet person... when you get past the teeth," I try to chuckle to ease my tension. Yeah... I might not see some of them after...

"Please tell me you were smart enough to recruit Beetee," I look at Plutarch who nods confidently.

"Oh..."

"This is where I wanted you," he says softly.

"Finnick... yeah... I... it makes sense..." I say as I see him walking up the stage.

"You need to..."

He doesn't have the time to finish his sentence before I let out a big gasp.

"Mags volunteered..." I whisper, "she... she can't... they can't... not them both... oh c'mon..."

"I'm sorry. When the time comes we will do our best to take everyone to safety, but..." he explains.

"But you can't control what happens in the arena..." I mutter, "not without raising suspects. I know."

I hear him sigh and walking closer to me, offering a comforting hand on my shoulder, I nod and we go on watching the reaping.

Johanna of course... I know she has all the skills to protect herself in there, but she's still my friend and I can't not worry. Especially knowing she has nothing left to lose.

Finally we get to 12 and of course Katniss, being the only living female victor, she's reaped.

Time for the male.

Haymitch's name is said, and for a split moment my heart breaks, but Peeta is quick to volunteer for him. I see Katniss shocked and terrified expression and I know she asked Haymitch to volunteer in his place if the roles were reverse.

"That was rigged... wasn't it?" I ask.

"Exactly, we need Haymitch here and..." he motion for me to go on.

"She needs Peeta there," I say earning a proud nod from him, "she just doesn't know it."

There's a moment of silence, where I take a second to recollect myself and take a sip of wine.

"Now," he claps his hands, "to make your participation more believable... you need to write down 2 ideas for the arena."

"What?" I ask, "I thought the arena was already decided."

"The arena yes... not the threats inside." He says.

"What do you mean?" I'm actually confused right now.

"This year arena is... quite special," he starts explaining, showing the concept on the screen, "it's divided in sections, like this, each section hosts a threat. Like these: acid fog, monkeys, this big wave... And so on."

"Acid fog? Isn't it a little too much?" I ask getting nervous for my friends.

"I told you it's gonna be hard," he gives me a sympathetic smile, "and we need your suggestions to be... authentic. It has to look like you're actually putting an effort."

I sigh, bouncing my leg.

I need to think of something that's horrifying, but safe at the same time.

They're all there... all my friends are there. The only family I've ever known since... I shake my head and drink more wine.

"Okay. Yeah... I get it." I nod, "when do you need it?"

"Tomorrow." He answers, "I have faith you can do it and... you can say you're busy working for me." He winks at me with a reassuring smile.

"That's the only good thing," I let out a humourless laugh and take one last gulp of wine before standing up. "Then I should get going. Thank you, Mr Heavensbee."

I walk towards the exit when Plutarch's voice stops me.

"One more thing," he calls and I turn my head, "even though you'll try and think of the least lethal threat... they might kill someone anyway. Keep that in mind."

I nod and walk out.

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

As I enter my apartment I instantly smell flowers... lots of them.

I look around and I see, probably, more than 10 bouquets of flowers.

"Oh god..." I sigh, defeated. I look at some of them, noticing most are from "admirers" congratulating me for my engagement.

But there are three that catch my eyes more than the others.

One, huge, bouquet is made by all sort of flowers, I don't think I've ever seen such variety of flowers in the first place. I look at the card... I groan, it's from Cal.

"My love, everyday I count the days that separate us from being finally together.

I can't wait for you to be mine.

Properly mine.

Enjoy your job, my sweetness, and happy Hunger Games!

Love,

Cal Kingslay. "

I throw the whole bouquet with the rest, and just look at the other. It's simple and small, my favourite flowers and a few seashells here and there, the thing holding the bouquet it's not paper... it's fish nets... Finnick. I unconsciously smile as I take the card.

"I wanT to congRatUlate you, my SweeT girl!

TheY tOld me the news jUst now! Miss L/n, You shouLd've tOld me, I've neVer beEn so happy!

Congratulations!

Dario."

He signs each letters, making it look like it was ink fallen from the pen... smart.

"I trust you, my love"

He even signed it with an anagram of his name. I let out a laugh at that and move to the last bouquet.

Even smaller then Finnick's, a few green leaves are like a frame for the one, white rose.

I shakily take the card in my hand.

"Congratulations on your engagement, my dear. I look forward to see what you'll come up with for our Games.

I'm sure one day you'll make a fine Gamemaker."

There's no sign, not that he needed to...

"Gamemaker... yeah... sure." I scoff.

I go to the kitchen to get myself some wine. As I'm about to pour a glass, I look at the bottle and just... take it all with me to my room.

I sit on the desk in my room and, as I take some gulps from the bottle, I try to come up with some ideas.

Plutarch mentioned a few potentially lethal threat already, I mean... acid fog, deadly monkeys, that I'm sure will be modified.

What to do, what to do...

Other animals maybe, but a non lethal one... something that creates a hassle, but not death.

Bugs?

I shake my head, no, they would make it poisonous no matter what my suggestion is.

Something else, something else.

Jabberjays. Yes!

I write down my idea and take the bottle to take a big gulp, but the bottle slips from my grasp and falls on the desk spilling the liquid all over the desk and the pavement.

"Shit!"

I manage to safe the paper I was writing on and I immediately go take a towel to wipe the wine off.

As I kneel down cleaning the liquid, I find myself staring at the little drops of wine falling from the desk to the floor.

The dark liquid looks a lot like... blood.

Blood rain.

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

I walk nervously behind Plutarch, he just told me Snow wanted to hear my ideas himself, so now, as I'm walking I clench my fists nervously.

"You couldn't have told me sooner?" I ask him.

"He didn't ask me sooner," Plutarch answers as we finally stand out of Snow's office, "you wrote it?"

"Of course," I slightly scoff at his answer.

"Then take a deep breath and... show time," Plutarch smiles and knock on the door.

"Come in," Snow's voice gives us permission to enter.

"President," Plutarch greets him.

"Good morning, sir," I say, putting up the best 'diligent student' appearance.

"Good morning, Mr Heavensbee," he nods towards Plutarch and then turns to me, "and what a pleasure, miss L/n."

"You said you wanted to hear her ideas for the arena, right?" Plutarch starts.

"Oh, of course!" Snow's suddenly happy, as if he's about to hear a good story, "tell me, my dear girl, what did you think of?"

If it were a different universe this could've seemed a sweet exchange. The old "mentor" interested in his protégé ideas...

"When Plutarch showed me the arena and the already existing threats, I have to admit I was intrigued," I start and I see, from the corner of my eyes Plutarch smiling proudly, "but at the same time, I was a little bored." I say and that earned a surprised 'oh?' from Snow, "I mean... from those you either die or survive... so I thought of something more psychological."

"Oh, now that's interesting, my dear, please go on." Snow is pleased so far.

"I thought of a section of the arena where... uh..." I pretend to stutter for a second, to give him the impression that I'm nervous because I care for his opinion.

"Don't be shy, I'm open to all suggestions,"

"I thought of a blood rain... sir." I say.

I see him pondering the idea, then a smile creeps it's way on his face, it makes me sick.

"I like it," he finally says looking at Plutarch, "she's smart, isn't she?"

"Very smart, sir." Plutarch agrees.

"I'm even more curious to hear the other idea, please don't leave me hanging," Snow's 'sweet' tone almost freezes me to the spot, but I swallow hard and just ignore this feeling.

"Jabberjays." Is all I say.

He looks a little taken aback, and motion for me to elaborate.

"I thought about using Jabberjays that imitate the screams of people the tributes know." I say, pretending to feel unsure of my idea, "maybe create a sort of an invisible wall that prevents them from escaping if they finds the birds."

Snow looks at me, considering me for a moment, then he smiles, that sick smile once again.

"You were right in recruiting her, Mr Heavensbee. Good thinking, miss L/n, very good thinking." He compliments Plutarch and me.

"Thank you, sir." I smile.

"No, thank you," he says, "now, one more thing before I dismiss you."

I nod and stay put, even though I was ready to run, or better walk very fast, out of here.

"This role of assistant Gamemaker won't exonerate you from your duty to assist the mentors," he tells me.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir, I've always taken my role very seriously," I tell him, faking pride as I speak.

"I know, my dear." He smiles, almost as if he knows I wasn't exactly fond of it, "we were supposed to randomly assign you to one district, like every year, but we thought to just let you stick to 12. Apparently the Capitol's people loved your... friendship with the two victors." He says the word 'friendship' with a not so convinced tone, almost repulsed.

"Of course, sir." I nod my head, eager to just get out of here.

"But," he adds, probably keeping me longer to see when I'll crumble, I look briefly at Plutarch who keeps his confidence stance, "you'll be assisting all of the districts." I look at him confused and he continues, "I mean, you'll be present during the training sessions and will help."

"Oh, yes, sir, of course." I nod again.

"That's all." He claps his hands, satisfied, "the tributes arrive today so... better be there to welcome them home."

'Home'...

"I'm going right now, sir." I promptly tell him, he smiles and motions me to go and to Plutarch to stay.

"Send my regards to Cal Kingslay when you see him," I hear him say as I walk out, not bothering to answer him I just go straight to the tributes living centre.

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

I enter the building and see Haymitch, Effie, Katniss and Peeta arriving.

"Well, well, well, aren't you lot a sight for sore eyes?" I say once I'm close enough to pull Peeta into a hug.

"Oh! We got the Princess this year too, uh? The president is spoiling us," Haymitch jokes ans I roll my eyes as I hug Katniss.

"Rather spoiling me," I greet Effie too, in the perfect 'Capitol style', "lots of opportunities."

"I figured," Haymitch says wrapping his arms around me.

"Now," I say holding my arms open, theatrically, "let's take you to your apartments."

I start walking towards the elevator, heading to the attic, again.

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

Once inside we start to have lunch, the atmosphere is quite tense before Effie breaks the silence.

"All right," she starts, clearing her throat, "before we begin, I've had a thought."

"You don't say?" Haymitch jokes, unimpressed.

"Be nice," I tell him, throwing a balled-up napkin at him.

"Katniss has her gold Mockingjay pin. I have my hair. I'm going to get you three something gold." She declares, as if it were something obvious.

Haymitch looks at both me and Peeta, confused, before asking why.

"A token." Effie explains, "Show them we are a team. And they can't just..." she starts getting emotional and Katniss takes her hands.

"Thank you." She tells her, meaning it.

Effie might be too theatrical sometimes, but she's so much more than that, I'm grateful I got to know this side of her. I take her hand too.

"That's really sweet, Effie." I smile at her, "and... thank you for including me."

I notice both Peeta and Katniss sharing a look as if I said something unbelievable, but I ignore it.

Not the time.

"Now..." Effie composes herself, "everything will be different, because it's a Quarter Quell. The Capitol has spared no expense. A new training centre. New Tribute living quarters. And of course, a very special arena."

I tense at that, I took part in that...

"But this year you'll be facing other Victors." I step in, " all Capitol favourites. Smart, cunning, skilled... angry. And they all know one another. You two are the outsiders."

" I want you guys to forget everything you think you know about the Games. Last year was child's play." Haymitch starts explaining, he's the best to mentor them about a Quarter Quell, "this year, you're dealing with all experienced killers."

"All right," Peeta speaks up, "what does it mean for us?"

"Allies." I tell him, "you'll be needing allies."

"Okay. I think that if..." Peeta's reply is quickly interrupted.

"You're not the problem." I say and, I don't have to say anything more, Haymitch is already pointing at Katniss.

"No." She sternly says.

"A little help, Haymitch?" I ask him.

"Look, you're starting at a disadvantage. Most of these people have been friends for years."

"That just puts us higher on their killing list." She replies, annoyed.

I roll my eyes, she needs to do her part.

"Do it your own way, but I know these people. You go it alone, their first move is gonna be to hunt you down." Haymitch keeps explaining, patiently, "both of you."

"Katniss, come on," Peeta's sweet tone seems to convince her... a tiny bit.

She sighs deeply, which usually mean she's gonna listen, even though she doesn't agree.

"How could any of us even trust each other?" She then asks.

"It's not about trust. It's about staying alive," he states.

Peeta and Katniss look at each other and finally Katniss nod her head.

"Great!" I cheer, "time for some brainstorming, shall we?" And I stand up walking to the living room.

They soon follow and Haymitch turns the TV on, so they can see who the other Victors are, and who might seem like a good ally.

"Cashmere and Gloss. Brother and sister. District one. They one back-to-back Games. Capitol favourites. Lots of sponsors." He shows them the siblings.

"They will be lethal." I add and Haymitch nods, strongly agreeing.

"And the other half of the Career Pack, Brutus and Enobaria."

"What's with her teeth?" Of course, Katniss asks about the teeth.

"She... well... she had them filed into fangs..." I respond, "so she could... rip people's throat out better."

"She's committed. I'll give her that." Peeta comments, I can sense some tension in him... which is very understandable.

"Wiress and Beetee," Haymitch keeps on presenting the tributes, "not fighters, but brilliant."

"Very brilliant," I agree.

"And weird." He adds, earning a glare from me, "real texh-savvy. He won his Games by electrocuting six tributes at once." He changes the scene again, "the Morphlings. Masters of camouflage. Basically, won their Games by hiding until everyone was dead. Self-medicating ever since. Which I applaud. Not a threat."

We arrive at District 4 reaping.

"Finnick Odair, right?" Katniss asks.

Haymitch looks at me, silently telling me to explain this one myself, there's a hint of a smirk on his face that makes me roll my eyes for, what feels like, the millionth time today.

"Yep. The one and only." I starts, "he won his Games at 14. He's the youngest Victor ever... of course modesty is his peculiarity." I joke.

"You're kidding."

"Kinda," I chuckle, "he's very confident. Very. But... he's the Capitol's darling. They all love him here." Unfortunately, I want to add. "He's smart, he's skilled at combat, especially... especially in water."

"What about weaknesses?" Peeta asks, interested.

"Only one..." I sigh, deeply, "Mags. She... she volunteer for Annie. Mags was his mentor, the year that I was assigned to 4, she raised him, basically. He will try to protect her, even though it would expose him."

"A guy like that has to know she's not gonna make it," Katniss shakes her head, unconvinced, Haymitch looks at me knowingly, "I bet when it really comes down to it, he won't protect her."

I really want to hit her right now, but I know it's not her fault, she thinks this because it's what the Capitol wanted everyone else to think. That's what he had to pretend to be.

"Well... she's an amazing woman, Katniss, I... I just hope that... if... w-when she goes, she goes quickly." I stutter out. It took everything in me to say that... I want to hope we will rescue everyone before that happens... I really do.

I space out as Haymitch goes on explaining and introducing the other tributes.

I can feel his eyes on me every now and then, but I stopped pay attention minutes ago now.

Mags is the mother I never had... if there is one person who deserves to see a free Panem, it's her.

---------‐---

I was walking on the train heading to the restaurant car where I found an old lady sitting there, drinking a cup of tea.

"Hi..." I shyly said.

"Oh hello, dear." She greeted me with such a kind smile, I felt so much better and less nervous.

"I'm... I'm Y/n." I started to introduce myself, but her hand gently taking mine stopped me.

"I know, dear. I'm Mags." Another kind smile, "you're here to assist me, right?"

"Yeah." My hands were getting sweaty... I was so nervous.

"Hey, no need to worry about it. We can do it." She reassured me.

"I hope so..." I muttered under my breath.

She sighed and offer a seat to me, I took it and stared at the cups on the table.

"I watched you last year," her voice was soft as she spoke, "you were assigned to... what district?"

"5"

"But you were helping the little one from 11, right?" She asked.

I snapped my head to her, eyes wide open.

"Please, don't worry about it. I never told anyone." She assured me, handing me a warm cup, "I just meant that I saw you're not like the rest of them, my dear. You care."

"My tributes didn't want to listen, they were older than me and thought I was just a spy... which is understandable." I sadly kept my head low. "That boy from 11 was my age and... he was having trouble with some essential survival techniques."

"He got pretty far thanks to those." She tried to make me feel better.

"Not far enough," I bitterly replied.

"I'm sorry." I let her take my hand again, "it's not a consolation, I know, trust me, but... I have a feeling we can do it."

"They won't trust me," I told her, referring to the tributes from 4.

"Not at first... and most likely not the girl... but the boy, he seems to be more open to suggestions." She explained.

"I'm not sure he would accept suggestions from me."

"He's a smart one. Same age as you. Just be yourself and he will trust you." She smiled.

I considered her for a moment before nodding. Hope growing a little more.

The door of the car opening had my head turning immediately.

"My dear Y/n," Mags stood up and walked towards the boy entering, "this is Finnick Odair. Finnick, this is Y/n."

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

"Are you okay?" Haymitch's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Uh? Yeah... yeah, sorry, I zoned out." I apologise.

"I noticed." He sits with me.

"Where are they?" I ask, noticing no one else was in sight.

"Getting ready for the parade." He answers.

"Right... I better get going too. I have to check everyone is ready..." I tiredly sigh as I stand up, but Haymitch softly pulls me back down.

"If you take a few minutes it won't be a tragedy." He tells me, "what's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing... I just started to think about Mags." I whisper, afraid someone might hear.

"Plutarch gave you the speech?" He asks and I nod, "I'm really sorry, Y/n."

"It's okay... I mean, it's not, but I think it was inevitable... she would've never let anyone else go, not if she had any say in it." I tell him, "she's strong." I see him starting to speak but I beat him to it, "I know better than to keep my hopes up, trust me, I know."

He just sighs and wrap one reassuring arms around my shoulder.

"I really better get going now, gotta check on those outfits." I stand up.

"You do that, sweetheart." Haymitch smiles at me and I walk to the elevator.

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

I walk out of the elevator heading to where the parade is about to begin and I instantly loom for someone.

I spot immediately Peeta talking to Cinna, who's probably refining last minutes details.

"Hello." I greet once I'm close enough, Cinna turns around giving me a small smile and a hug. "You look good, mr Mellark."

"Only with his help it's possible." Peeta, humble as usual, replies pointing at Cinna.

"I'm not a magician, I can make people look good if they're worthy." Cinna shakes his head, waving off the compliment.

"I couldn't agree more." I sigh, "so, are you lot ready? Where's Katniss?"

"She's should be here soon, her dress is a little more complicated than Peeta's." Cinna answers, "and, since you're here, I was thinking about them not doing anything out there."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, no waving, no smiling, nothing of sort. Act like they're above them. What do you think?" He explains, genuinely interested in my opinion.

"I think it's perfect." I smile and he return it.

"Oh, there she is." Peeta points behind us, I turn seeing Katniss talking to Finnick, who's a lot close. I hope he's not putting up his flirting persona, I don't think Katniss would trust him so easily then.

Peeta excuses himself to join her, just as Finnick walks away... spotting me.

"Snow asked..." Cinna gently nudges my arm and lowers his voice, "or better, ordered me to make her wear a wedding dress for the interview."

"Of course..." I roll my eyes. "You good with that?

"Oh yeah...I got a great idea for it." He says, I look into his eyes seeing determination so I don't ask more questions.

"Better get them ready to go, it's almost time." I tell him.

Cinna walks to Katniss and Peeta and I turn to check if someone else needs a hand with something or needs advice, unlikely, but never say never.

I see Mags petting a horse so I decide to go to her.

As soon as she sees me her smile grows ten times, warming my heart.

"You look very beautiful," I tell her, once we're close enough I hug her, "I'm so sorry." I whisper into her ear.

She pulls away gently, looking at me with that kind smile that always makes me feel better. She caresses my cheek with her hand, reassuringly, nodding her head to tell me that it's alright.

I nod too, taking a deep breath.

"Do you think I look presentable?" A very familiar voice says from behind me.

I look at Mags, rolling my eyes, glad I made her laugh a little.

I turn around, fully admir... noticing his naked chest and the golden fish net tied at his... oh shit.

"My eyes are up here, sweetheart." He smirks and I just turn my head away, shaking it as I try to pull myself together.

"Did your stylists finished the fabric?" I finally say, "I could've ordered some, if they told me."

"Of course," he smiles and walk closer to me, leaning down to whisper into my ear, "just between us... I'm wearing it just for you."

My head snaps to him, our faces mere inches apart. I notice his eyes looking down to my lips, I instantly put some distance walking up to district 3.

"And here I thought you would never come to say hi," Beetee waves.

"Did you lose all hope in me? And here I thought you were the smart one." I tease back.

"It's a pity seeing each other here, under these circumstances." Wiress shakes my hand.

"I know. I wish it were different..." I look down, sad and ashamed too, Beetee softly touches my arm. I look up at him noticing him mouthing something on the line of 'it's gonna be fine' so I smile at him. "Well, don't you two look great?"

I compliment them, just before the announcer warned us of the beginning.

I wave them goodbye for now and head back, watching every district ride out there.

When it's Finnick's turn he turns to me and winks at me, earning a big eye roll. When it's finally District 12 turn as they pass by I nod my head, encouraging them. I see them looking st each other and straighten their back proudly.

I walk towards the end of the parade, where they should get off the chariots and head back to the elevators, and I wait.

I look at them in the distance, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves.

All of a sudden I feel someone watching me from behind.

"You did a pretty good job, my sweetness." His voice makes me wince.

I turn around, showing the usual fake smile I show to everyone in the Capitol, pretending to be happy to see him.

"Cal... hi." I say, holding back from walking away as he nears, "what are you doing here?"

"I missed you. I didn't scare you, didn't I?" He says with a smile, that clearly shows he's proud he did.

"Of course, not. I was just thinking." I tell him sweetly.

"What about?" He ask, curious.

"Well, I have a lot to do these days and when they're back I'll have to make sure everything is organised." I tell him. "And also, taking part in the making of the Games... Plutarch asked me to write down some ideas."

This is probably the only time I'm glad I have this job, if I didn't, Cal would've kept me basically locked up, in his apartment. 'All to himself'... the thought makes me shiver.

"Would you share them with me?" He whispers.

"I can't ruin the fun, can I?" I say back.

"Aahh... you're killing me, babe." He shakes his head chuckling.

If only...

"No special treatment, Cal." I smile, feeling uneasy from the way he's looking at me.

In that moment, thankfully, I hear the parade is ending, which means everybody is about to get back.

"Such a diligent girl." He moves his hand to take mine. I let out a nervous laugh and a 'thanks', and finally, one district at a time, they're back.

I lock eyes with some of the Tributes, who noticing Cal with me, tense and give me sympathetic smile.

Then Finnick's back.

As soon as he sees me, he can't keep up the fake smile and his expression darkens.

"Well... I'm sorry, but I have to go now. I'll see you." I say, starting to turn around, but his hand grabs my arm. Rather harshly, which makes my eyes widen at that.

"We hardly see each other these days... I miss you." He looms over me, a dark look in his eyes.

"Well... uh..." I clear my throat, looking at the tributes still arriving, "I have a job to.. to do."

I see Mags and Finnick, she has a hand on his arm, to stop him from coming here.

"Good thing that when we're married you won't need to work, then." He tells me directly into my ear, "I would be able to have you any day I want."

"Wouldn't that be a dream..?" I choke out, my throat tightens. I still look at Finnick, more to check he doesn't intervenes than anything.

"There you are!" We both look at the source of the sound, Johanna.

I let out a sigh of relief as she walks closer.

"I was looking for you." She says, "they told me to ask you for the schedule."

"Yes... yes! I got it." I tell her.

Johanna pretends to notice Cal just now and extends her hand towards him.

"Oh hey there! You must be the lucky one, uh?" Johanna greets him.

Cal looks at her sceptically before shaking her hand.

"Yes, that's me."

"So nice to finally meet you, she talks about you all the time!" Johanna's (fake) cheery personality and flattery seem to work on Cal, who smiles smugly, "you don't mind if I steal her, do you?"

Before Cal could answer, she pulls me to her linking arms and walks away.

"God, he looks so annoying." She groans.

"He is... he is." I sigh, relieved.

"I thought about stepping in before Finnick over there could rip his eyes out," she teases. "So... how are the lovebirds?"

"They're completely in love." I tell her, she nods smiling knowingly.

I spot them talking with district 11 tributes, I wave at Haymitch, letting him know I'll be up in a second.

"Ugh... he still looking this way," Johanna complains getting in front of me, "is he always like this?"

"Even worse." I roll my eyes.

"Alright," she take the end of her dress in her hands showing it to me, "Plutarch told me."

I understand now what she's doing with her dress, she's pretending to show it to me, so it looks like we're talking about the dress.

"I know," I say touching the fabric, pretending to check it out, "you're sure about doing this?"

"Of course I am," she now turns to 'make me see her back', "never been more sure."

"I'm just sorry," I tell her, motioning for her to turn back around.

"No need too," she smiles, an emotionless smile, "oh he's gone.. finally."

"Thanks for saving me," I tell her.

"Anytime," she says, she turns her head towards the elevator, "well... I'll go introduce myself."

"Be nice." I tell her, she winks at me and walks away to the elevator with Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch.

I go over the last details, seeing the horses are attended to, the chariots are about to be put away, everything seems fine.

I then walk to the elevator myself, I lean against the elevator's wall as soon as I enter.

Before the doors can close, someone rushes in, I look up finding myself face to face with Finnick.

Being in a confined space with a shirtless Finnick is...

"Hi, my love."

Shit.

[effieotto]

you said u don't see haymitch having a long term relationship with anyone but effie in ur last ask....i am being very greedy and asking if you can tell us your reasons (i agree with you btw but just interested in your thoughts)

Personally, i think is the same reason why Katniss and Gale could never have been anything more than friends after everything. The Game changes you! The victory, plus his two decades as a mentor, gave Haymitch a perspective of life that no one out of that universe could ever comprehend; and this lack of understanding would be a big rock in the way of any kind of relationship between him and anyone else

Haymitch didn’t have another mentor to work with, Effie was his one and only partner for god knows how long. She was his fellow victor, she filled this role- something that other escorts didn’t. She was the only person in the whole Panem that had been through the same shit he did, regarding to his mentor years. They share it! They shared the same grief, the same pain, the same nightmares of all the tributes they lost together. They were alone in that penthouse every day from all those years during the games, and this creates an emotional atmosphere that is hard to break. He was used with her. They witnessed the worst and the best of each other. They knew each other’s insecurities and fears and nightmares and triggers. Shared secrets in the middle of the night between glasses of wine or during shout matches after loosing a tribute. Effie was the only constant person in his life who survived the war…she was the only one who knew him well

The pain of the Quell -his nightmares with Maysilee- The pain of losing his family. The pain of all those years mentoring hopeless kids who died bloody in seconds. The pain of the war…Haymitch has so much baggage that allowing someone new into his life would require a type of vulnerability that I don't know he would be willing to allow. The effort of explaining about his nightmares and alcoholism to someone who could never understand the real pain of what he had experienced in all those years…

Of course, Effie is not a victor, she doesn’t understand the concept of winning the games; just like Haymitch don’t understand the implications of her imprisonment and torture. They have things the other wouldn’t comprehend and they probably would have to work through some shit, but they share a handful of traumas and this familiarity allow them to love each other without any judgement. Haymitch would not have this bound with anyone else without a lot of effort, and he was too broke to start this with someone knew for something he doesn’t even care about. Haymitch never chose to love Effie, it was something that happened. He wouldn’t make the decision to go through all his wounds just for love