#Final Countdown: 9

[home2tuck-ediit2]

Catgirl Roxy Lalonde Pesterquest Edit Perhaps?

Over three years you've waited and finally:

Catgirl Roxy Lalonde Pesterquest Edit.

The very first Pesterquest edit from yours truly, I like how it turned out >:]

But also turns out I have no clue how to make them transparent

Wasn't sure about the cat to girl ratio, I hope that I got a good balance

-mod Terezi

#homestuck #mod terezi #pesterquest sprite edit #pesterquest edit #homestuck roxy #hs roxy #roxy lalonde #Final Countdown: 9

[leaveherwildliketheflowers]

WE SET AN INDUCTION DATE!

#personal #triple rainbow baby #final countdown #9 days or less #let's fucking go

[lupeintheclouds]

Single digit number countdown now 🫣😆

#cassandra clare #shadowhunters #the last hours #chain of gold #tsc #chain of iron #chain of thorns #9 days #it's the final countdown

[ginaporterr]

#good afternoon idk why this was in my drafts sdkjfns #foreboding energy of it is v intriguing #anyways 9 DAAAAYS #S4 OUT NEXT WEEK???? #INSAAAAAAAAAAANE #gonna finally have some sets start rolling out tomorrow hopefully THE COUNTDOWN'S ON #txt

[clerc16]

new year’s kiss ; charles leclerc

a/n: since the new year is coming up ... :)

summary: in which the clock hits 12:00 and charles finally goes for it.

warnings: none!

── ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Charles loved you. Like, it was no secret. He was absolutely head over heels for you and everybody could tell, except for you.

So when Charles received the message from you inviting him to your new year’s party, he immediately agreed. Screw any plans he had made on that day, his aim was to attend your party.

He was one of the first ones to arrive, as always. You didn’t know if that was something he only did with you, but you didn’t mind it.

“This is gorgeous, isn’t it?” You smile, looking up at the fireworks. Charles nodded, despite not even looking at the sky. Just you.

“Charlie, look at the fireworks, not me,” you snicker, making him blush and shake his head.

“Shut up,” he says playfully as he looks up at the fireworks. Sure, they were beautiful. But he preferred seeing them from the reflection in your eyes instead.

As the clock turned 11:59, many thoughts were racing in Charles’ head. You looked stunning, he thought. You always did, but something about tonight...

The countdown of the last ten seconds began, slightly catching his attention. You were cheering the numbers along with the rest of the crowd, clearly excited.

10, 9, 8 ...

Charles wanted to join in, but he didn’t.

7, 6, 5 ...

His eyes went on you again helplessly. Tonight was special, no?

4, 3, 2 ...

Why not make it more special?

1 ... Happy new year!

And so he kissed you. In front of everyone, he didn’t care ─ to him, you were both the only people in the world at the moment.

You finally pulled away, breathless, a sparkle in your eyes.

“First kiss of the year... not too shabby, hm?” You giggle playfully.

“Shut up,” he laughs, his dimples showing.

“I mean... I didn’t mind it. Just saying,” you reply playfully. He leans in to kiss you again gently. You wouldn’t have liked to have a new year’s kiss in any other way than this.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 x you #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 #charles leclerc x you #fanfics

[amonthofwhump]

It's that time of year again! AMonthOfWhump's Winter Whumperland event runs from December 1-12, with a collection of prompts for your inspiration each day. To participate, create in any medium and share your works on Tumblr. Use the event tags or @ us in your post to get reblogged here. Prompt list transcript, tagging info, and a free-to-use post header under the cut.

1: Santa Claus

Claustrophobia

Forced Celebration

Panic Attack

Comfort: Secret Santa Exchange

2: Krampus

Sensory Overload

Temptation

Whipping

Comfort: Decorating Cookies

3: George Bailey

"We've lost everything we have."

Disowned

Drowning

Comfort: Christmas Market

4: The Grinch

Sedatives

Blackmail

Yandere Whumper

Comfort: Ugly Sweater Party

5: Ebenezer Scrooge

Power Outage

Time Loop

Overworked Whumpee

Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

6: Jack Frost

Post-apocalyptic Winter

Amnesia

Comfort turned to Fear

Comfort: Snowball Fight

7: Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

Inhuman Whumpee

Exile

Self-sacrifice

Comfort: You’re Not Alone

8: John Mclane

Held Hostage

Russian Roulette

Forced to Watch

Comfort: Rescue

9: Jólakötturinn

Feral Whumpee

Left Behind

Collared

Comfort: Wiping the Other’s Tears Away

10: Tio de Nadal

Conditioning

Left to Die

Final Countdown

Comfort: Holiday Traditions

11: The Yule Goat

Branding

Stitches

Public Whump

Comfort: Trimming the Tree

12: Elf on the Shelf

Trapped

Bedside Vigil

Used as bait

Comfort: Mistletoe (or avoiding it)

Event Tags: #amow winter whumperland 2023, #day1, #claustrophobia, (tag the prompt you're using)

And lastly, here is a post header to use for the event if you like. Happy whumping!

#whump event #amow winter whumperland 2023 #whump prompt list #whump challenge #whump community

[itsvelyria]

"new years eve with the boys"

Charles Leclerc

the festive chaos envelops the Leclerc home, everyone having gathered to watch the countdown. bubbles of champagne dissolves in your mouth as you giggle over shared jokes with a friend. hollers of "10, 9, 8"s shocks you, whirling to watch the numbers flash a touch too brightly on the TV screen. "7, 6, 5," has you craning your head over the exhilarated crowd, struggling to find charles. you wonder if he's somewhere outside as someone shouts "4, 3" right into your eardrum. now you're half sure you're deaf as the tipsy mess screams the final numbers. a muscular arm finds its way around your waist, twirling you round to meet the eyes of your much-missed boyfriend. "happy new year," he whispers along with the rest of your loved ones, soft lips meeting yours to celebrate a new beginning with your love.

Carlos Sainz

carlos steps onto the red carpet, polished loafers gleaming black against the textured fabric. his hair is coiffed and a watch that costs a little too much on his wrist. but all that pales in comparison to the jewel on his arm. an air of sophistication surrounds you two as you attend a glamorous new year's eve gala for ferrari. the elegant event has celebrities you had only seen through screens milling around, dressed in stylish attires. your partner turn heads with his charismatic presence, grinning at cameras with his boyish smile. in the buzz of lively conversations and artistically plated food, you clink glasses with people whose names go right over your head. when dawn breaks, all you can recall is carlos' voice calling you his and all you can care about is the expanse of warm golden skin beneath your head.

Danny Ricciardo

the dark colour of the ocean should scare you but all attention is drawn to the huge bonfire in the centre of the sandy shores — the heart of danny's new year's eve celebration. the beach is a turquoise canvas that has been painted with shades of relaxation, with the rhythmic sound of waves and the crackling fire creating a carefree atmosphere. friends and acquaintances huddle together in groups, boisterous laughter intertwining with the music that echoes along the shoreline. you perch on a washed-up piece of driftwood nursing a beer, watching the bonfire flames dance against the night sky, casting playful shadows on daniel’s face as he goofs around with his friends. cheers sound against the crashing waves as a chugging competition begins, your boyfriend at the heart of the chaos. and even in the midst of it all, he manages to pull his gaze away to search for yours, a bright smile crossing his face when he notices your attention already on him, waving you over.

George Russell

in a last-minute attempt to avoid the holiday craze in London, you and george decide escape to the secluded beaches of Koh Samui, far away from the adrenaline that seems to pump through everyone’s veins during this period. on the serene beaches, far from the public eye, you send off a selfie you two took lying yesterday with the stunning fireworks. a reply shoots back quickly from your mother, a thumbs up and heart. putting the phone aside, your attention turns to your boyfriend who is fast asleep beside you on a hotel towel, having fully embraced the peaceful surroundings. burning the image of your boyfriend in a state of tranquility, you decide you quite like him here, not needing to share him with the rest of the world and all for you.

Lando Norris

in the heart of new york, the city that never sleeps, someone had done a fantastic job turning their apartment in a haven for celebration. the floor length windows was recently polished in preparation for viewing of the ball drop and fireworks. the cityscape was stunning, the lights in almost all the building windows – everyone awake to ring in the new year with their loved ones. a familiar hand proffers a beer at you and you take it gratefully. the heavy arm slings over your shoulders, a familiar weight, and pulls you closer to its owner. lando presses a long kiss to the side of your head, silent words telling you he had missed you in the few minutes away. and in the countdown that would come soon, he would cup your face in his cold hands, ignoring the shivers that ran down your spine, and kiss you with an intensity that seemed to grow with every exchange.

Lewis Hamilton

lewis, in classic hard-working fashion, has orchestrated an exclusive charity gala, the festive spirit of the date infused with purpose. the sophisticated venue had been adorned in blues and greens, with the flair of a charitable celebration. influential figures and friends gather, floor length gowns and full suits bringing an air of sophistication. as his partner, you find yourself at the main table, beaming as he takes the stage, not only as a host but as a force for change, raising funds for a cause dear to his heart. if being with lewis has taught you anything, it was that your support and presence meant more to him than any present you could gift. and you have grown to love the man and all his ambitions and dreams. but if you find yourself in the backseat of a car later, being thanked by a barrage of kisses, it would be your little bonus.

Max Verstappen

max opts for a quiet night in, a private new year’s celebration with just the two of you. he had spent the day setting up the apartment, delicately strung fairy lights on windows and a lit scented candle he had found somewhere near the TV. the flickering candlelight on the dining table between two intimate place settings giving rise to an house of warmth and mellowness. as the clock ticks toward midnight, max holds you close, his deep breathing music to your ears, unknowing of how it feels like a drug on you. the cloying scent of vanilla marks the moment and the calming joy of the evening is found in the simplicity of shared memories, tender smiles, and the promise of a new year together.

#f1 imagine #f1 headcanons #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz x reader #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x reader #george russell fluff #george russell x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x reader #formula one fluff #formula one x reader #my writing #itsvelyria

[transformation4life]

New Year New Ford

New year's Eve, 2023. 11:55pm. You were watching your local channel that had the New York Ball Drop. Like past new year's you were alone in your apartment. All your friends had got invited to parties besides you so here you were. However one of your friends handed you something interesting last you saw them. "I heard that if you blow the candle and make a wish right as midnight hits it'll come true!" Your friend said as he handed you a star candle.

It sounded like superstition but this year was rough for you as you found yourself unsatisfied with your life and your job so hey it can be worth a shot! You remembered that right before you went to watch the countdown you enviously scrolled Instagram to where you followed a concerning amount of bodybuilders. They seemed to have the perfect lives. Big beautiful body, a loving partner, sponsorships, and getting to show off. Just thinking about it makes you a lil' hard. One bodybuilder that you saw while scrolling caught your eye in particular. He looked so perfect... so large...

"If only I looked like him..." You mutter. Then you hear the people cheering on from 10 to 9 then 8 and so on. You look at the counter with the candle and a lighter and then the tv screen. It was a mad dash to light the candle and put it close to your face closing your eyes and speaking your wish. "I wish I was a bodybuilder with big huge muscles!" You blow out the candle right as it hit midnight.

You open your eyes again and find yourself looking the exact same. What a disappointment. Time for bed though you are very tired. You grab your green blanket and settle down on the couch as you snooze. Unbeknownst to you, your life was going to get a whole lot better.

As you slept, your body started to glow as your white pale skin became that of a bodybuilder tan for competitions. Your clothes evaporated from your body leaving you completely in the nude. Your body now started to expand in all directions. Your flat chest filled with meat and become thick pecs. Your arms became thick like trees. Abs popped in, shoulders becoming bigger, back widening. Your legs became thick and juicy like a drumstick. Your hands became calloused and worn and just a bit bigger. Your small pencil dick increase to a girthy 8 inches of a beer can while your adam's apple became more prominent and neck more thick. Your flat ass became large and bounced like a bubble. Your hair was cut into it was a buzzcut as your body physically aged. The transformation was now complete as you continued to rest. snoring in a much deeper tone.

As the morning came you were still fast asleep unaware that you had a completely new body.

You yawn as you awake not yet realizing your muscular body as you scratch your ass. You seem to forget that you were wearing clothes last night as you walk to your bathroom, letting your new dick dangle. You reach the mirror in the bathroom and rub your eyes and that's when you realize. "OH MY FUCKING GOD?!??!?!" You scream. You finally realized your body changed.

It wasn't long until you started to explore your new body, commenting on your new ass and big dick. While you tested out your new body the scenery around your bathroom became bigger and much more luxurious. In fact, Your entire apartment was remade into a much more massive house not that you knew this was happening. You just let your muscles captivate you. You closed your eyes and you put your massive arms to your head as you thought about your new life. As that was happening your bodybuilder tan slowly disappeared and a cross necklace wrapped itself around your neck and some workout shorts covered your member. No underwear though.

You eventually put your arms down as you realize you should probably check your phone to see if it changed in any way so you leave your bathroom completely blissful of the changes to both your house and bathroom. You head to your new bedroom and check your phone. Much to your surprise, there are notifications from many including dating apps. Seems like the new you gets around. You rub your head as you realize the reality of your new life is going to be a doosey.

As you ponder what to do next you feel something happening in your brain. You can feel your brain processing slowing down. Most academic knowledge you ever had being flushed down the metaphorical drain as it was replace with solely the need to bulk your already large body. You space out as this was happening and a little drool came out of your mouth before you snapped back to reality. The only thing on your mind now is to go to the gym and get RIPPED. So you grab the workout gear you suddenly now have and ride in your car to your favorite place in the world.

You arrive at the gym and scent of musk overwhelmed your nose and it felt like home. With it being the new year you see many new people but that doesn't stop your grind. You walk to the gym lockers and your instincts lead you to a locker with the name "Lunsford". You put your bag into the locker and get back to the gym floor. With ease and effort you work out for hours. You always loved that pump. After working out you adjust your sweaty tank and hand to the gym area with full body mirrors.

Once you arrived you immediately stripped into just underwear and socks and flexed. God you looked so good. You loved your body. You loved your life.

A few months later...

Your life has been such a breeze and you were invited to the beach with some bodybuilder friends you made over the months. In a cocky fashion you flex on the beach before stripping into your beach attire.

was only a matter of time until someone wanted a picture or a video of you. With the first person who asks you put on some shades you had in one of your pockets and put them on, only to take them off immediately after and wink at the camera.

"it's going to be a good year!" You say to yourself as you jog to the water with glee.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hey everyone! Late new year story for ya! Hope this year brings you good fortune and fun! See you in the next story!

#muscle transformation #muscle tf #male tf #reality change #mind change #mental change #bodybuilder tf #male transformation

[alcinaslittlemaid]

Naughty Little Lamb~

Pennywise 2017xFem!reader

•Warnings: Smutty smut, degradation, spanking (a lot), angry sex.. and much much more, Mild DD/LG (tiny bit) uses of pet names

(I’m not great at writing buts it’s the red hour 😳🌶️)

Come join the clown~

🎪🎈🤡

——————————

The hour was very late, you had struggled to get to sleep and Pennywise had gone out hunting. You felt a familiar throbbing in your underwear, by god you were missing him so much, your hand slipped down between your silky thighs and coating your fingers were your own sinuous juices.

You smirked and began pleasuring yourself, grabbing your vibrator imagining penny’s long slippery tongue slurping your insides out, your toes began to curl as you bucked your hips in submission, your mind travelling further, now imagining how smaller tentacles would slither out, gripping your thighs to keep you in place, long slimy tentacles restricting your movement, as his long, hard alien-like tentacle is forcible pushed into your tight hole, the ridges of his length hitting your clit as he completely ruins you.

Trying to get his entire length inside your tight, little cunt, you were getting close, finally going to be rid of your need for him (until tomorrow that is) you were almost riding your vibrator with pleasure

“Dooonnnt youuuu Dareeee~” that taunting voice in your head rang out like a bell you had recognised all too well

“Fuck…” you whined “Watch your mouth little slut” the voice growled, it’s raspy voice grunted in your ear as you slowly peeked up at the darkened side of your room, there…two golden orbs stared back at you, dark red circles rimmed it’s golden stare

“Oh my~ look at the filthy mess you’ve made, you dirty little slut” pennywise barked, stepping towards you “my! Dirty little sewer slut” he grinned before sitting down

“Come” he snapped patting his lap “But you said I couldn’t-“ you attempted a joke, but the state he gave you was stern, cold and deadly

“I said…COME!” He snapped, before dragging you roughly over his knee, your ass now presented to him like his next meal on a silver platter “Ah! Ow your hurting me! Penny what the fu-“ you were soon cut off by his to clawed fingers “Good little girls should be seen and not heard” his fingers were almost in your throat, you hadn’t a clue what was happening.

“You’ve been such a naughty, filthy little lamb Y/N” he teased before hiking your skirt up higher, his tentacles keeping you tightly in place as his hand slowly lifted behind your rear

“Now, we’re gonna play a little game~” he began, you shook your head at his silly games, but he was having none of it

“your gonna count every time I spank that little ass” he continued “and if you mess up or miss a number, they’re gonna restart and be even harsher…got it?” He hissed, you squealed and tried to squirm out of his grasp

“Ohhhh you wanna play hide and seek? Okay! If hide and I don’t find you in under 2 minutes I won’t punish you! We can doooo whatever you want~” he had crossed his fingers behind his back while saying that. You nodded and took off running, trying to find a hiding place he hasn’t seen yet, meanwhile the clown began to the countdown to your demise

“1…..2……3”

“Shit” you winced

“4…..5….6”

“Fuck fuck fuck!”

“7……8….9…”

You finally found a spot, sliding into it and shutting the door behind you ever so silently, you sunk beneath the piles of sheets and bedding

“10! Ready or not little bunny! Mr wolf is coming to find you hahahah” He cackled maniacally and began searching for you, his boots thudding against the ground in desperation. This was horrifying, he could do anything to you…you could hear doors opening and the disappointed sigh when you weren’t there “Oh my little lamb you are clever..” He then opened the door to your linen cupboard “but not clever enough- oh! Oh fuck where on earth is that little girl?” He slammed the door shut and began walking away…or so you thought

As soon as you heard a door downstairs creak open, you poked your head out and began sneaking back to your bedroom thinking you had won.

You were suddenly pinned to the ground by his clawed glove “You! You are so gullible…you think I couldn’t smell that throbbing, aching slit? Hahaha oh little one, you fell for the oldest trick in the book! You are a fly in my spider web” he giggled maniacally in pure pleasure, before dragging you back to the bedroom, a thread of drool trailing behind and a sinful, sadistic look in his eye.

@sootrootdoot

@pennywise-fucker

End of part 1🎈

Lemme know what y’all think and I’ll write the next part!!

#pennywise fluff #it pennywise #pennywise art #pennywise the clown #pennywise x you #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #pennywise #it 2017 #smut #slashers #slasher smut #pennywise smut #slut4pennywise #clownfucker #pennywise the dancing clown #it fandom #it chapter one

[lost-rxverie]

saturday | march 9

finals countdown: 2 days

friday was my last day of classes, so now i'm spending the weekend studying as hard as i can for my finals on monday! there's a lot of information to cover but i'm feeling pretty decent about both exams.

#studyblr #studyspo

[freedomfireflies]

iFall for Harry pt. 9

Summary: The ninth part to iFall for Harry

Turns out, destiny has other plans for you and Harry.

And you're taking a trip...back to the future.

Word Count: 2.2k

Grieving Harry is linear.

The moment the call goes dead, so does your connection to him.

Your heightened emotions dwindle down to nothingness. Your memories, your pain, your past. Every cheese pun, every sexy text, every word from his lips.

You erase them all.

You shut out a majority of the world. Revert back to a state of mind where you refuse to trust or engage with anyone. You protect yourself. Punish yourself for letting him get away. For being so broken. For being everything he doesn’t want.

And for making him everything you do.

You don’t work through the problem. You don’t even allow yourself to admit there is a problem. You simply tuck him away into the darkest corner of your mind���and you forget him.

Your friends are worried about you. They reach out, they plan dates, they arrange sleepovers. 

You decline them all.

You stay in your apartment, and you watch old reruns of The Big Bang Theory, and you pretend to laugh at the jokes you’ve heard a hundred times before. 

But most importantly, you pretend like Harry didn’t mention this was one of his comfort shows and that that’s why you’re watching it.

Two weeks go by. Nothing changes for you. You’re still a hollow version of yourself. Dedicating each day to wondering why you couldn’t have just…gotten over your fear. Gotten over what happened to you. And just…let him in.

Your therapist tries to tell you that healing takes time. Trauma lives within the body and no amount of cute boys and perfect scenarios will change that. Until you learn to forgive yourself, you will always be stuck.

 She might be right. But unsticking yourself now doesn’t bring him back.

Occasionally you’ll hear that he’s doing well. He’s on tour. He’s booked a new movie. He’s been caught making out with a model.

But it falls on deaf ears. Passes right through you like air. You’re indifferent now. Choosing to pretend as if he never existed to you.

Now he’s just that famous guy nobody will shut up about.

But on those late nights, when the fragility of your heart slips the crack of your apathetic persona…you pull up his contact.

You have it blocked. Nearly deleted it countless times so you’d lose the temptation to memorize his number and find a way to reach him.

Still, you can’t resist typing out a message. You’ll pour out your heart, write him paragraphs of apologies and explanations. You’ll wish for things to go back. Wish for his happiness. Wish for everything.

And then, you’ll hit the delete button.

Erase everything you want to say, exit out of his information, and turn your phone off.

You almost don’t see the email.

You’re going through your inbox, cleaning it out, responding here and there. But mostly rifling through all the ads so you can delete them and create a bit more space.

The name Marty McFly is what catches your eye. And despite yourself…you click.

Back to the Future! One Night Only! Buy your tickets now!

Your local theater is doing a triple feature, one movie each night for the next three days. You almost don’t consider it. Almost click out of the advertisement and move on.

But then you think of Harry. Think of how you promised to take him, and your heart sinks a little as you stare at the painted poster of Michael J. Fox standing in front of the time traveling car while staring at his watch.

You decide to go. It’ll be nice to watch something that fills you with so much joy. It’ll be good to laugh again. And to revel in the opportunity to forget, at least for a couple of hours.

You think about it for the rest of the week. Countdown the days until you can finally make your way for the theater. 

It feels good to go out again. Feels good to have the sunshine on your face and the promise of a good time ahead of you.

When you slide up to the booth, you’re wearing a smile. A real, genuine smile.

“Hi! Can I get one ticket to the five o’clock showing?” you ask the ticket taker, who nods and accepts your cash.

With that, you’re waved through the doors, and your heart begins to pound. The smell of popcorn and promise washes over each sense as you grab your snacks, and look for your specific door.

After slipping your way inside, you take a look around the darkened theater.

However, the room is empty. At least a hundred seats without a single soul to use them.

Your brows furrow. “The hell is everyone?”

You walk along the aisle, looking for the best seat until you decide on the middle chair about halfway back. 

Snuggling down with your popcorn, you settle in, and wait for the opening credits. Truth be told, you feel a bit odd to be taking up a whole theater by yourself, and you have to wonder if perhaps you got the date wrong. Or maybe the time? Maybe you’re early? Although according to your clock, the movie should be starting any second now.

And then…someone else walks in.

You release a relieved breath as the dark shadow strides along the aisle similar to how you had, looking for a seat as well. Selfishly, you hope they don’t get too close.

Then, they turn down your row.

Shit.

Returning your focus to the dark screen, you pretend not to notice, instead studying the velvet red curtain that’s draping on either side.

The stranger stops right beside you.

Assuming that they’d like to pass by, you glance over, and begin to pull your legs in.

You make the mistake of looking up.

And your heart instantly sinks to the soles of your shoes.

Harry.

“Hi. S’this seat taken?”

The sound of his voice makes your stomach drop to your toes. Even in the dark, you can make out the familiar slope of his nose and sharp curve of his jaw.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know if he recognizes you or if he knows what he’s even doing.

Either way, you swallow thickly, and nod once.

He smiles.

After settling down into the chair beside you, he sighs, and wiggles back into his seat to get comfortable.

You try not to look at him. Try to pretend like you can’t smell his expensive cologne wafting toward you. Try to pretend as though his hand isn’t right there, dangling over the armrest as if taunting you.

And then, the movie begins.

You try to get lost into the world of Marty and Doc. A world you’re already so familiar with.

But it’s nearly impossible with the way he continues to shift, or laugh, or snort beside you. As if trying to distract you.

You have half a mind to turn to him and hiss, “Shhhh.” 

Somehow…you resist.

“Doc…are you telling me…that you built a time machine…out of a DeLorean?”

Harry laughs beside you, chin resting in the palm of his hand, and for some reason…your chest swells with pride. 

You want him to enjoy this movie. Enjoy the lines you used to memorize as a kid. Want to be able to talk about it with him after and exchange favorite moments.

But the second you start to indulge in this fantasy…you remember.

And your smile quickly slips.

The rest of the movie is spent with your focus glued to the screen. You don’t sneak any extra glances. You don’t listen for his sounds. You don’t allow your peripheral to catch him. 

And when the infamous car flies toward the camera before disappearing in a flash as the title card explodes across the screen, you jump to your feet.

You don’t waste another goddamn second. You get up, you turn on your heel, and you book it toward the middle aisle.

“Wait…wait,” you hear Harry murmur as the dramatic score carries you out of the theater. “Ladybug, wait.”

The nickname nearly makes you flinch as you slip through the door and rush for the lobby. You can tell he’s following after you, the sound of the seats flipping up as he pushes by following you out.

You nearly reach the double doors before his large hand wraps around your upper arm and yanks you back. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, brows furrowed as your eyes meet his chest.

You can’t look at him.

“Listen, I know you wanna go, but I just need to talk to you for one second,” he continues, but his fingers won’t leave you. “Please.”

Your heart is hammering inside your ears. You can’t seem to look anywhere else but the buttons on his shirt.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Then, you nod.

He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I know…I know why this shouldn’t work. I understand the mechanics, and the difficulties, and the issues. I get it. It shouldn’t work.”

A beat of silences settles between you as you apprehensively allow yourself to travel your gaze up.

“…but it does,” he whispers, and your mouth goes dry. “It works, and I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. But I can’t fucking let you go and it’s driving me up the goddamn wall.”

You don’t know what to do. What to say, what to think.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he continues. “I don’t want to block you or remove you. I don’t want to miss you. Or have to remember you as just some fucking thing that happened. I want to talk to you. Wanna send you pictures of the sky and play games with you. Wanna watch TV and bitch about Sheldon with you. Wanna beg you to let me come just to have you do that little smirky thing you do that makes my fucking stomach flip.”

You take a deep breath. And then another. And then another, but nothing helps. Nothing seems to unwind this knot that’s growing tighter with each confession. 

“I can’t wrap my head around you,” he says, and his voice is heavy. And confused. Almost as lost as his expression. “I can’t wrap my head around this—us. I just…I fucking try to think about anything else and it always comes back to you. Every goddamn time.”

You know there are tears in your eyes. You wish there weren’t but they’re coming faster than you can stop them.

“And I know why you’re nervous,” he sighs, squeezing your arm once. “I know. And I can’t fix it, and I really fucking wish I could, but I…god, I’ll do anything to make your future better than your past. I will do anything…to keep you, Cheese Girl. Whatever it takes, whatever you want. Name it, and it's yours.”

“I don’t want you to do anything, Har,” you nearly whimper, head shaking quickly. “I never wanted you to feel responsible for my shit—”

“I don’t. I don’t, I just…you can’t carry this alone. And I can help you—”

“But why should you? You have your own life, and your own trauma, and you deserve the fairytale ending—”

“Ladybug,” he breathes, cutting you short. “We met over text and now we’re here in a movie theater while I profess my adoration for you. Tell me how this isn’t a fairytale.”

Despite yourself…you smile. “Yeah, how…how did you even know I’d be here?”

He releases you now, but only so he can grimace and run a hand through his curls. “Okay, don’t…don’t judge me, but I just…I paid them a shit ton of money to let me rent out the building for…a day or two.”

“A day or two?”

“Well…I wasn’t sure if you’d see the email in time, so I had to keep sending it until you came—”

You rear back. “You sent the email?”

His nose scrunches. “I was desperate, all right? You had me blocked, and I figured you wouldn’t agree to meeting.”

Your lashes flutter as you work in this new information. “Shit, Har. That’s…that’s a lot of work to go through just for one person you barely know.”

He suddenly surges forward, palms pressing to your cheeks until he can take hold of your face and tilt it up. “You’re worth it. My god, Cheesy, are you worth it.”

“Cheesy?” you repeat incredulously, but your smile is big. “God that’s…”

“…cheesy?” he finishes for you. “About as cheesy as renting out a theater in hopes that the girl I like will show up and take me back?”

You nod quickly, lip between your teeth. “Yeah, but…cheese is kind of our thing.”

“It is,” he agrees, chuckling to himself as he pulls you closer, your chest brushing with his. “Listen, I can’t…I know this isn’t some sort of magic fix. But please…please let me try. Just…just let me keep you. For a little bit at least. Let me make all those puns worth it.”

Maybe you know better. Maybe this is a horrible idea. Maybe every red flag is waving wildly in your face.

And maybe…you just don’t care.

“What if I’m your destiny?” he finishes, and your heart just about breaks. “Or…density.”

You both laugh as he catches a stray tear that travels down your cheek, eyes pleading with yours. 

And when you offer the subtlest of nods…everything changes.

He kisses you before you can take a breath, his lips warm and full of promise.

You stand there in the middle of the lobby, trapped in his arms as the soft sounds of Back to the Future play on in the background.

Maybe he is your destiny after all.

One more part 🥹 Will be sobbing violently

Dedicated to @nof0odallowed for the original ask! 💞

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~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

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Taglist:

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[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 13

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 9.9k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn, @xngelsau, @coriolanussnowswife Chapter Summary: I've moved the arena around a bit, but nothing major; nothing starts until day 2 1: Blood rain 2: Giant poisonous bugs 3: Toxic Fog 4: Monkies 5: Jabberjays 6: Beast 7: Unknown 8: Unknown 9: Fire 10: Flood 11: Unknown 12: Lightening A/N: this bad boy is 10k, one more chapter b4 we go into mockingjay!!!!!!

Present (XII)

THE ARENA; SECTION 5  (12:23 pm-12:59 pm)

The smell of freshly rained earth lingers around them as they traverse the jungle, and Finnick thinks of you.

During the countdown, he saw you. He locked eyes with you, and, stupidly, he thought that would be enough to tide him over. Just one last moment between the two of you before performing for the cameras. But if that were true, he wouldn’t have looked for you as soon as he reached the Cornucopia—before that, even. When he surfaced from the water, over Katniss’s shoulder as he grabbed a weapon, out of the corner of his eye when he was looking for Peeta; desperate for a glimpse of you. 

And when he finally found you—no, when you found him—your voice carried his name to his ears like a gift. He didn’t need to think; his body was automatically attuned to you like a compass. He had his trident poised and ready to defend you from whatever he considered a threat—a knee-jerk reaction. But when he turned, there was only you. 

You looked at him as though there was a taut rubber band between your bodies, and you had to use all of your strength to resist giving in to that pressure. The desire to run to you was instinctive.

What would that have accomplished other than showing Snow their hand early? It’s not like he could have swept you up in his arms like he wanted to. He couldn't hold you close and make you promise that you'd come back to him, whole, healthy, and his. Being that bold this soon in the Games would benefit no one. Not when you still had to be separated. 

He had almost stopped to watch and make sure you made it out with Johanna, but, as you subtly reminded him, he had to stick to the plan. Plus, seeing you drive your sickle through the head of a man at least two times your size definitely reassured him that you could handle your own.

Not that he didn’t know you could bring a man to his knees. He’s had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of your firm hand enough to—he shakes his head, scolding himself like a misbehaving dog.

Not the time, Odair. 

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.  

Even now, he’s thinking about how it felt to sleep next to you for the first time in eons—head against your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat as you hold him in your embrace. If he closes his eyes, he can feel sure fingers carding through his hair and dull nails scratching softly along his scalp. 

But he can’t close his eyes. No, he needs them open to dart between Katniss’s sprinting form and over his shoulder as they run for their lives through this fucking jungle. 

They’ve covered a good chunk of land in a relatively short amount of time. He’d say it’s taken them about ten minutes to cross a mile, maybe more. He’d be more confident in his estimate if they weren’t traveling up such a steep incline.

Around this point, Finnick decides they’ve put enough space between them and the Career pack that it should be okay to take a short break. He can feel Mags’s heart pounding against his back. Not ideal for a woman this close to ninety.

“Okay, hold up. Hold up.” He calls out, and they all come to a stop. He bends at the knee to help Mags down. “Okay. You alright now?”

He lowers himself to the ground, holding her hand as they sit down. “Okay?” He asks, and she nods, frail fingers gripping his tight as her other hand pats his bicep. Adrenaline makes her shake a little, but she waves off his concern. The four of them sit for a second, gathering themselves.

“God , it’s hot.” Peeta pants and Finnick senses that the oppressive heat might be more to blame than the hike. It’s like he’s choking on it; the air is so heavy that his nostrils don’t feel big enough to inhale it. He breathes in through his mouth and it’s only marginally better. He’s soaked. Something stings as it drips into his eyes and he genuinely can’t tell if it’s saltwater or sweat. “We gotta find fresh water.”

Water. Finnick looks around for any indication of nearby drinking water, listening in for a river or stream. He’d even take a pond. Water would be amazing, preferably without a high salt concentration.

Unknown insects chirp around them in unison; it sort of sounds like a snake. It’s so loud that he’s almost able to ignore the weight of Katniss’s stare. It’s not even like she’s glaring. It’s nearly bird-like how she appraises him—waiting for him to act like the predator she thinks he is. 

Three cannons fire in quick succession. The others look to the sky, but he stares at the tree over Katniss’s shoulder. Any one of those cannons could be you. He holds back a flinch at the thought. You’re not dead. No. No, you wouldn’t do that to him. He's only just gotten you back. And even after two years apart, the two of you are so deeply intertwined that Finnick’s sure his own heart would give out when yours stopped.

With a derisive snort and a shake of his head, Finnick says, perhaps a bit manically, “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” His chuckle is met with disapproving silence. Too soon?

Katniss regards him with a look of contempt. Definitely too soon then. “You think that’s funny?"

No, not particularly. He thinks. But what else is there to do but laugh at the absurdity of it all?

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.” He lies. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all he’s capable of. Even now, in the midst of this death sentence, he still can’t be honest about you. He can’t afford to be. Not until he knows you’re safe.

“Good to hear.” With a sly grin, Finnick observes Katniss taking a machete out of her quiver, seemingly more as a threat than a precaution. It’s promptly wiped from his face when she says your name. “Does she know that? If that’s the case, you should have killed her back at the Cornucopia. She didn't even have a weapon. It would have been easy for you.”

“She’s our ally, Katniss." Peeta attempts to caution her or maybe admonish her; Finnick doesn’t know. And he doesn’t really care, honestly. Not with how focused he and Katniss are on each other. He can’t even acknowledge Peeta defending you, as odd as it is. 

Unbidden and without provocation, the mental picture of him killing you takes shape. If he wasn’t already so lightheaded from the moist air, he’d be nauseous at the idea. Is she trying to get a rise out of him by bringing you up? Is that what this is? Or is she—is she threatening you? Whatever the hell her angle is, whatever tactic she’s trying to maneuver, he won’t let a threat against you stand—empty or not.

“You know, Katniss. You really shouldn’t speak on things you know nothing about.” He shakes his head as he ignores Mags’s warning grunt, mouth curling in that frosty way of his that entices those who are stupid enough to mistake a predator baring its teeth for a smile. But Katniss isn’t stupid. This is a language she’ll understand—the language of hunting animals. Her back straightens. His remains deceptively lax. “I mean, can't say that’s ever ended well for you, can we?”

“Are you threatening me, Odair?”

“Threat—” He can’t help but laugh because, honestly. 

This is the girl they’re laying down their lives for? The girl you’re laying down your life for? Emphasis on ‘the girl’, because she’s too naïve to be an adult. 

People like her—they're too busy fighting shadows to figure out what’s casting them. Too focused on watching their backs that they don't bother wondering why they have to watch it in the first place—and she’s supposed to lead them to salvation?

He wants to laugh. Instead, Finnick bites his cheek. Maybe he’s bitten into another pipe dream.

“No,” he scoffs. “I’m saving you.”

“Saving? Please , you don’t care about anyone but yourself—”

“Let’s keep moving.” Peeta rises to stand in between them, stopping to give Katniss a long look that she doesn't return, before marching forward and taking the machete with him. The two of them size each other up. For someone so emotionally stunted, her thoughts are broadcast clearly on her face. 

He can see her weighing her odds against him in a fight, whether her speed with the bow is any match for him and his trident, and Finnick’s weighing how much longer she can stand being a team player. He’s not cocky enough to not consider her a threat; she’s a fighter—but, then again, so is he. That’s not what’s staying his hand. Her survival is their only way out of here—not to mention how disappointed you’d be in him if you found out. He won’t be the one to snatch this chance away from you. Not unless she throws the first punch.

He subtly shifts his grip on his weapon into something more defensive, and she gives him one last withering look, or her version of it, before following Peeta. 

He wishes you were here with him. For several reasons, but in this particular moment, to show Katniss how wrong she is. Show her how much he does care about you and how much you care about him in turn. Is it childish that he feels the need to prove anything to a teenager? Maybe. Probably. Most likely.

He bends down to help Mags onto his back, scowling at Katniss’s retreating back. 

It’s definitely childish, but still. He sighs. You’d understand. All the more reason to wish you were here. He knows things were touch and go—more go than touch, really—between the two of you at the time, but would it have killed Haymitch to pair the two of you together? Johanna and Blight are more than capable of playing escort for those two brainiacs.

To be fair to the other man, Haymitch had no way of knowing if Finnick would succeed in reconnecting with you.

He takes a moment to really think about it. Namely, how much anger you’ve been harboring over the past two years and the way you drove your sickle through that man’s skull. He tilts his head, squinting. What’s that saying about a woman scorned?

Pairing you together may not have killed Haymitch, but it certainly could have killed Finnick.

His train of thought is violently cut off by Peeta crashing head-first into the force field.

SECTION 11 (12:49 pm-1:12 pm)

“We’re almost at the edge of the arena,” Johanna calls down to your group, climbing halfway down the tree before jumping the rest of the way. 

“What does the arena look like?” Beetee asks, pushing his glasses up for what must be the tenth time since you all decided to stop and get your bearings. The sweat on his face provided no traction to hold them in place.

“One big ass circle and we’re almost at the edge. Other than the beach, there’s nothing but jungle.” She sighs, stomping over to where you sit on the ground. Beetee gives a clinical nod.

“How close is ‘almost’?” You ask, handing her axe back. 

“I’d say at most a quarter of a mile. We’re closer to the edge than we are to the Cornucopia.”

“What do’ya suppose’ll happen if we hit the edge?” Says Blight in his heavy district brogue, so different than any you’ve heard before. You had asked Johanna about it at some point—the contrasts of their voices. She explained that Blight was born further north than she was, practically on the border of Seven. 

It’s not like everyone in Eleven speaks the same, but there’s at least some level of similarity that can be distinctly found in Eleven—in the southernmost districts in general. It shares a likeness with Eight and Ten. The same notes that you can sometimes hear in Katniss and Haymitch’s voices, but not in Peeta’s.

“Most likely? I’d imagine some sort of boundary or force field.” Beetee informs you all.

“Regardless. We won’t know until…” Wiress starts, trailing off as something you aren’t privy to catches her attention.

“—Until we’re upon it.” Beetee finishes for her.

You clear your throat. “I’d say it’s best we don’t find out ‘less we have to.” You drawl, dropping the Capitol accent you’ve been forced to assimilate for what you realize will be the last time. You replace the over-enunciation and grating lilt with slanted vowels and a melodic tempo.

“We can probably head in a little more and then cut to the left or right,” Johanna suggests and you realize she’s talking to you. Not just you in the sense of the whole group, but you specifically. You glance around. They’re all looking at you. It seems you’re the de facto leader.

When the hell was that decided?!

“Right. Well,” you clap your hands, picking your sickles up as you rise, “let’s get a move on. We need to go further while there’s still daylight. Then, we'll find a place to set up camp."

Hopefully.

Blight takes the lead, getting a headstart at cutting through the tightly packed vegetation with his machete.

“C’mon.” You smile down at Wiress as you help her up. She returns it gratefully and Beetee offers her his arm before they trail behind Blight. As you and Johanna carry the flank, you eye the long gash along his shoulder blade that’s steadily bleeding. Your main objective is to get these two to the pickup point, but you’d prefer if you got them there in one piece.

Chaff had said he’d be teaming up with Woof and Cecelia. As well as the morphlings, if they can find them. Unlikely, since they’re masters of stealth. You remember how they didn’t stray far from the camouflage section. You had asked Peeta about the swirls of color on his arm while you were training and he told you it was supposed to be a sunrise that the female morphling painted. She’s apparently fond of them. With skills like that, you know they’ll only be found if they want to be. 

The morphlings. That’s like if you only referred to Haymitch as ‘The Alcoholic’. You scold yourself mentally for using such a needlessly cruel nickname for them just because everyone else did. Either one of your parents would’ve pinched the skin off of you if they knew that.

I can’t keep calling them that. It's probably an odd time to do so, but you decide it’s high time you learned their actual names. Before now, you had very little reason to since you rarely interacted with them. Yet, even if they hadn’t been rebels, they still deserve the basic respect of being acknowledged as people, not just in conjecture with their addictions. You don’t expect to be BFFs after you make it out of the arena, but you’d like to, at least, be someone who knows and uses their real names.

“Thanks. For what you did back there.” Johanna takes you out of your musings, swinging her axe to and fro on her other side. “Taking that guy down for me. You didn’t have to.”

You scowl at the reminder, pretending to be focused on navigating your steps along the tricky jungle floor instead of looking at her. You didn’t want to think about that. How killing him was the first solution that came to mind. It’s not that you’re naive enough to think that talking him down was even an option. He wasn’t on your side. He wasn’t one of you. He had made his own bed of flowers by turning down Haymitch’s offer. But why couldn’t it have been Gloss or Enobaria that killed him? Why did it have to be you? Why not you? “I know I didn’t.”

“But you did, and,” she sighs, jutting her jaw to the side as if it’s taking a lot out of her to say this, “and I’d probably be so minced that the hovercraft would have to make multiple trips to get all the pieces if you hadn’t stepped in, so...thank you."

You smile at her awkward discomfort, ignoring the glances she shoots you out of the corner of her eye and acting oblivious to her increasing agitation.

“Are you gonna say ‘you’re welcome’, or what, asshole?” She scoffs.

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” You knock your shoulder into hers and she knocks yours right back.

“I owe you one.”

You laugh. “God, I hope not.”

SECTION 5 (1 pm-1:34 pm)

The force of the blow is enough to send Peeta flying backward, knocking them over so fast that Finnick can barely register that he’s not still standing.

“Peeta’s not breathing!” Katniss cries and it’s a blur of motion as he moves into action, his body acting on autopilot. “Peeta’s not breathing!”

Prop Mags up against a tree. Check for a pulse that isn’t there. CPR. Tilt his head at an angle. Pinch his nose—a stiff hand to Katniss’s sternum—pinch his nose, blow air into his deflated lungs. Ignore the arrow pointed at his head. Put his body weight behind each pump. Push his will into the unresponsive body. From his shoulders, down his biceps, and into the heels of his hands, to where Peeta’s still heart lies.

C’mon, Peeta. C’mon, c’mon.

“C’mon, Peeta!” He can feel the anticipation of the viewers boiling in on them from all angles, his hair standing on end as he tries to pump Peeta’s heart for him. If they lose Peeta, they lose Katniss. If they lose Katniss, they lose the revolution. If they lose the revolution, they’ll lose, they’ll lose, they’ll lose—“Come on! Come on!” 

He’s got no idea why they haven’t called it yet, why they haven’t blown the cannon, despite his heart stopping before he even hit the floor. Maybe they’re hoping, like he’s hoping, that Peeta will come. The fuck. On.

A small gasp, a cough and—

Finnick falls back on his haunches, hands on his hips and panting as the muscles in his arms buzz. He’s lightheaded again from supplying so much of his air to Peeta. And the heat isn’t doing anyone any favors.

“Be careful. There’s a force field up there.” Peeta huffs and Katniss chuckles, half-hysterical, before dipping down to kiss him. Finnick pauses in the middle of a much-needed inhale, watching the two with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, my God. You were dead. You were dead. Your heart stopped.” Katniss sobs as she drapes over Peeta, shrill and so resoundingly real that Finnick blanches for a second. He’s never seen her hands waver when drawing her bow, but they tremble now as they hold Peeta close. 

Huh.

“It’s okay.” He assures her, still smoldering and smoking a little. “It’s working now.” She helps him up, still sobbing. Or maybe choking? Choking on her sobs. Peeta looks upon her with concern. 

“Katniss?” Peeta prompts, starting to look increasingly panicked and Finnick can’t handle them both freaking out. 

“It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” Finnick is slow to stand, looking them over quizzically. “From the baby.”

“No. It’s not—” She cuts herself off with more choke-sobs. There’s something here—something he couldn’t see before. Something he hadn’t considered concerning these two, concerning Katniss. That something is familiar. What does it remind him of? It’s nagging at the back of his skull. That staunch fear, the protectiveness followed by the open gasping relief. He recognizes it. Where, where, where—

“She can't possibly care about him that much."

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

Of course, he recognizes it—that familiar, desperate love. He’s felt it.

Katniss glares at him, snotty and defensive, and he stares, mystified. He shakes his head, pulling himself from his revelation-induced stupor. The two lovebirds hug each other like they’re the only things holding each other up. And with their current states, they might as well be. To give them some privacy, he walks over to check on Mags and finds her knowing gaze. He can’t have been the last one to know this love story isn’t much of a story at all, right?

SECTION 3 (6:50 pm-10:20 pm) 

Finnick rolls his trident back and forth between his hands as they all wait for Katniss to come back from scouting in the trees. Mags cracks open and eats another one of the nuts Katniss has been using and substantially cooking by bouncing them off of the force field to show the rest of them where it is, considering she can hear it. He has no reason to believe otherwise; there’s no evidence to indicate she’s lying, but Finnick doesn’t buy that she can hear it just because of her hearing aid. If that’s the case, why hasn’t she mentioned it before now? He has no reason to call her out on it, so he won’t. Any advantage they have in the arena, the better. 

He can feel the water evaporating out of his body like a sponge being wrung dry. He feels like a beached whale. They can’t have been in the arena for that long, but the heat—it’s not the kind he’s used to. The sun in Four has nothing on this. He’s never been so thirsty before, not even in his previous Games. They all perk up when she comes back down, hoping beyond hope that she’s seen drinkable water. That hope is crushed when she shakes her head.

“The force field…it’s a dome. We’re at the edge of the arena.” She wipes her sweat-slick hair out of her face. "I couldn't find any signs of fresh water.”

They all sit in dehydrated silence. The human body can only go on for so long with no water. Food, while an amazing plus, won’t be a real problem for weeks. And between the nuts and all the fish they could catch, it’s a problem with a simple solution. Without water, however, they will almost certainly die in five days, with their organs starting to shut down in three. He's seen it back in Four. Dead men brought back from sea shriveled and arid. He always imagined it must be torture to be surrounded by all that water and unable to drink any of it. 

Now, it looks like he might find out.

And with that depressing thought, Finnick moves forward. “It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected.” Knowing the consequences of touching the force field, they’ll be able to use the arena itself as a weapon. “We should set up camp. Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

“Not a chance.” Katniss scoffs.

He tilts his head.

He knows the heat is just making everything worse, only fueling his irritability. But he is so over her and this teenage snippiness. Peeta’s so easygoing that he honestly doesn’t mind his company; he can see how the two of you became such quick friends. But Katniss? She is a remarkably hard person to like. 

How much longer will she treat him like a criminal? As far as he’s concerned, the only thing he’s guilty of is giving her the impression that she has authority over him in any way, shape, or form.

Burying the blunt end of his trident into the ground, he uses it to leverage himself up.

“Honey,” he mocks, his voice long-suffering and chiding, like he’s explaining something that really should be common sense to a child who's a little behind the curve. Which, honestly, doesn't seem too far off. “That thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called ‘saving his life’. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would have done it by now."

He holds her eye before he rips his weapon out of the ground. He’s too tired to have a stupid argument over this, so he nimbly picks his way over to Mags so they can start making camp. 

-

When the Capitol anthem blares throughout the arena and the insignia projects across the sky, Finnick watches with rapt attention. He inhales sharply, watches, and waits.

Portraits of the dead flash beside the full moon. The man from Five that he killed, the man from Six, both from Eight, both from Nine, the woman from Ten and then…it stops. There’s the Capitol seal again and then nothing. No more portraits light up the sky; your portrait doesn’t light up the sky.

You’re still alive.

You’re alive. He knew that. He did. He did. He would have known, he would have felt, otherwise. After all, you had promised him, hadn’t you? In those scant few hours in the early morning before the Games, you both promised to do everything in your power to get back to each other. Promised to see this through, knowing what future waited on the other side—a future together.

He knew you were alive, but the confirmation is—

He lets out the breath he’s been holding, tension easing from his shoulders. 

“Seven,” Katniss says.

“Mhm.” He acknowledges.

Seven victors. His brows furrow. The two from Eight, Woof and Cecelia. The male morphling. All dead.

But he’s still alive. And so are you.

SECTION 1 (12:55 am–3:26 am)

In the white, spectral fog of the jungle, Johanna smacks something big and hairy off the back of her hand. Are the bugs even real?  

She wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to mutate them—control the mutts to crawl all over them and kill them in their sleep. But that’s too boring a death, too kind. Plus, it doesn’t make for good television. And eating bugs would probably make the audience more squeamish than child murder.

Thanks to you, they at least had something to eat. Berries, mushrooms, and, oddly enough, leaves. Not much, but it was something. But there was still the water issue—meaning there was none. They hadn't stumbled upon anything they could drink. No ponds, no rivers. Not even a fucking puddle.

She and you both agreed that there had to be water in the trees; it was too humid for there not to be. But with no way to collect it, they were all shit out of luck. Luckily, depending on how long it takes to get here, they’re expecting a rain cloud. It was the only logical assumption after they heard lightning strikes not too far off. Makes sense. Short of a sponsor gift or the magical ability to make salt water drinkable, there’s little for the victors to do in terms of battling dehydration.

If this rain doesn’t pull through, she’ll be tempted to tell you to bite the bullet and request a spile or something. Though she understands why you haven’t done so yet. Just the thought of begging those simpering morons to empty their pockets to help keep her alive makes Johanna shiver and she doesn’t even have the same history with them that you do. Knowing your fans, they’d probably get off on you debasing yourself.

Johanna knocks her head against the tree she's leaning on. She offered to take the first watch because she needed time to think. It was smart of Katniss to want you as an ally. It's easier on Johanna's part too, because at least you can take care of yourself.

And, had the rebellion not been afoot, it would've guaranteed Finnick as an ally too. Maybe Peeta is the one who picked you because Johanna doubts the girl on fire is sharp enough to think that far ahead. Or mature enough to pull her big girl pants on and notice anything around her that didn't actually revolve around her.

Johanna is woman enough to admit that she's jealous. Jealousy is nothing to be ashamed of when it's entirely warranted. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her family, not really. Because the Capitol just adores them. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her self-autonomy, her dignity, her innocence while in bed with a stranger. Katniss hasn't lived with the grief of what she's experienced long enough for it to turn her bitter or make her find an escape through substances.

And yet, here they are, protecting her even if it kills them. No, Johanna reminds herself. They're protecting the rebellion. Katniss just happens to be the face of it.

It’s almost pitch black. Without the sun to shine through the dense tops of the trees, the moon could hardly pull its weight. But it’s been dark for so long that her eyes have adapted a bit. They slept closer to the force field than she would have liked, but she understood your logic. No one can sneak up on them from behind with the force field at their back.

She digs the sharp metal part of her axe into the dense ground, pulling it out, and hacking away again.

She looks over to where the others are sleeping, Nuts and Volts guarded on either side by your and Blight's sleeping bodies. At least they aren't completely useless.

Even if Katniss hadn't wanted them as allies, they would've had to guard them anyway. Haymitch made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they're the brains of this operation. Or at least Volts is. She zeros in on the spool of wire he clings to in his sleep.

She isn't one hundred percent sure how they plan on busting them out of the arena, but it probably has something to do with that. Or at least, it better. He nearly lost his life trying to get it. And she nearly lost her head trying to get him.

They need to meet up with Finnick, but she has no idea where his group is. It's not like they can just bury their heads in the sand and wait for them to show up. The plan rides on them all being together at the pickup point.

A drop of water wets her scalp and then another. It, like everything else in this place, is uncomfortably warm—bordering on hot. But beggars can’t be choosers. The drops of water feel heavier, but that could just be her imagination.

Rain? Finally.

She’ll wake the others up once her vocal cords stop feeling like she’s starting a fire every time she talks. It slowly but steadily picks up—drops landing on her forehead and dripping down her nape. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth and the dry, cracking chasm that she used to call her throat trembles in anticipation of the oncoming relief. 

When it touches her tongue, she recoils. Thick, bitter, and metallic. It's only then that Johanna realizes the warm liquid isn't water. She holds out her hand to catch a drop and it stains red.

Blood.

And, as if the Gamemakers were waiting for her reaction, the sprinkling of rain turns into a downpour.

“Get up!” She screams, scrambling to her feet. “Get up! Get the fuck up!”

You wake up, alert, with your weapons in hand. Springing to attention like you were never asleep to begin with. When you see no enemy you can fight, your vigilance gives way to confusion. The other three are slower to rise until the blood starts pelting them like coins.

They stumble up, much like she did, but they don’t know. They don’t understand what’s falling from the sky.

“Don’t drink it—!” She tries to warn them and gets a mouthful of tacky, festering blood for her troubles. It’s thick and greasy and viscous and slippery, so the remnants of it stay behind when she tries to spit it out. It coats the back of her throat, creeping its way up her nose and slicking in between her molars. 

“Blood!” The last thing Johanna can see before her vision goes red is your blurry face going from stark relief to abject terror as her words fully sink in. “It’s–it’s blood!”

From then on, there’s no room for coherent thought. Instead, Johanna gets stuck in a cycle of gagging on blood, spitting it out, and heaving in the fucked up, muggy, contaminated air, only to start it all over.

She tries to shield her eyes, but the blood creeps underneath her hands like its goal is to take out as many senses as possible. The sound of it sliding off the top of the canopies and hitting the ground is deafening; it almost drowns out your attempts to call out to Johanna. But calls for each other are only answered with blood.

They all flounder about, tottering around on unsure feet. Johanna wipes her eyes and tries to squint around it. But it’s no use. Even if her eyes weren’t compromised, the blood falls so thickly that it curtains everything around her.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t realize she’s only seeing three red silhouettes instead of four.

She gives up on her eyes and works to save her lungs instead. She cups her mouth and nose, coughing and hacking so hard that it feels like her chest is on fire. She breathes through her nose and immediately stops when it burns her nostrils. She breathes through her mouth and it’s somehow worse to taste the sickeningly sweet iron-rich mist. She gags and breathes and gags again. 

She still can’t see, but she crouches down low, hesitant as she pats the ground. Trembling hands feel around for her axe, but, apparently, everything feels like an axe handle if your eyes are closed. She can’t afford to let another victor catch her in such a vulnerable position. She may be blind, but she refuses to be defenseless.

She doesn’t find it.

They must stay there, stumbling around fully blind and half-mad for hours before a masculine shout accompanies the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground. So loud it overtakes the sound of blood that isn’t hers rushing in her ears, the sound of the rain. They must have flown before they crashed, must have been thrown back to be that loud— the force field.

“Blight!”

A cannon fires. And then. It stops. All of it. The rain, the yelling, the torture. The heat and the smell remain, if not made worse by each other. Johanna can’t figure out which one is making her stomach roll more.

“Everyone—” she gathers the blood in her mouth, along her cheeks and tongue, and spits it on the ground with disdain. She can feel the frothing, light pink saliva and drool dripping down her chin from doing the same thing three dozen times already. “Everyone alright?”

Surprisingly, the voice that calls back first is Beetee’s. 

“I–I managed to hold on to Wiress. Blight, however…”

She knows not to expect Blight’s voice and that’s a pain too tender to prod at yet. You, however, don’t respond. And, unlike Blight, there’s no reasonable explanation for your sudden silence. She calls your name, but there’s no reply. There is, however, a spark of panic in her chest right next to her heaving lungs, but Johanna only heard one cannon.

She doesn’t know if the heat encourages it or keeps it at bay, but, just that fast, the blood is starting to congeal. Johanna pries her eyes open and it’s almost like they’re still closed. Now impossibly darker, the jungle is a nightmare. Made even worse by the fact that you aren’t here. She lurches up to spin in circles, shouting after you as Wiress keeps mumbling something. She staggers around, cutting herself off by coughing up the blood that’s managed to get into her chest. There’s nothing, no sign of you or where you could have gone. You are not here.

It’s like you disappeared.

A spotlight shines down on them—No, on Blight. On his cooling body. The hovercraft claw descends open-mouthed, dipping down to pick him up. Beetee pulls Wiress away before she can wander closer. Johanna watches as they take him away. 

Blight is thirty, she thinks. Blight is a burly man with a big beard to match. Blight has a wife, a son. Blight’s from Zone Q, the same zone kids used to make fun of for the funny way they talked. Blight had always been kind to her. Blight now hangs limp, covered in blood. Skin singed and smelling of burnt hair. This is the last thing he will ever be.

He’ll never see the culmination of the rebellion he was willing to give his life for. He wasn’t the sharpest axe in the, well, anywhere. But…it would have been nice to give him the District Seven sendoff he deserved.

She gives herself a shake. They need to find you.

“Come on, get up.” She waves the remaining two up with her axe. “Let’s go."

“Tick, tock.”

“Where?” Beetee attempts to look at her from under his blood-smeared glasses.

“Tick, tock.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our group has been dramatically cut from five to three—”

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock!”

“—And what the fuck is her problem?!”

“I think she might be in shock.”

“Right. Of course. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.”

There’s an odd clicking coming from the right and some hindbrain prey instinct warns Johanna away from it. She practically drags her damsels in distress behind her as she scours as much of the jungle as she possibly can in the dark in her search for you. Down to where the sand starts, back to the edge, and then off to the left—away from the clicking. They can’t be as quiet as she would like to be, considering Beetee’s heavy steps and Wiress’s insufferable mumbling. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, fucking tock.

How the hell did she get stuck with Nuts and Volts, of all people? You and Blight have left her alone and now, Nuts is even nuttier than before, and Volts—

“I can’t—I can’t go on. I must, I need to rest.” Beetee gasps. She glowers over her shoulder at his weak form. He raises a hand before falling on his ass. She groans, stomping back to stand over him. Even in the low lighting, he’s a sorry sight. Alarmingly pale, even for someone from Three, he looks like he might faint at any moment now.

“And what the hell is wrong with you?”

“My wound—I believe I’ve lost a fair bit of blood.” He gestures minutely behind him, and she squints at his back. He grunts as she positions him a bit better in the moonlight and his entire left flank is warm with his blood. The wound hadn’t seemed that serious earlier, long but superficial. What does she do if he’s losing more blood than any of them realize? She isn’t trained in medicine and it’s not like they can just request some kind of aid. If you were here, maybe. They’d have much better luck getting a sponsored gift if you were the one asking for it. 

“Great. That’s just lovely. You know, this is exactly what we need right now.” She paces. Kicks a rock. hurts her toe. “Fuck. Fuck!” Johanna drives her axe into a nearby tree, yanking it out to only hack at it again. They’ve been searching for you for over an hour and there’s no telling where the hell you’ve wandered off to.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know! I don’t—!” She throws her hands up, not even bothering with rebuffing Wiress when she sways into her with her ‘tick, tock’ shit again. She groans, head hanging low. The plan has been monstrously derailed already and it hasn’t even been two full days yet. “I don’t know.”

Hopefully, you’re closer to finding Finnick than they are.

SECTION 2 ( 1:40 am-2:26 am)

You finally come to a stop, feet tripping over gnarled roots and fallen logs. You cough, blowing blood from your nose like snot. You’ve gotten far enough away from the rain that you can almost start breathing normally again. You look around you, turning in rough half-circles as you try to get your bearings. You’re careful to keep in mind the direction you’ve come from because the jungle looks the same as it has for the last mile and a half.

You want to rub at the stitch developing in your side, but you’re too afraid to take your hands off your weapons, even for a second. 

That blood rain was unexpected, to say the least. Not to mention cruel. You’d never seen anything like it. The Gamemakers must have gotten a real kick out of that, knowing how readily y’all were waiting for rainwater, knowing how thirsty you were.

The blood doesn’t behave like it should. It’s made your hair dense and heavy, almost oil-slick somehow, despite the frizz from all the humidity. It dries on your skin in thick, itchy patches. Not unlike the aloe vera paste used in Eleven to heal burns and the like.

There’s no telling if the blood shower is heading in your direction or not. Can you handle that again? That suffocating force clawing its way past your esophagus, into your stomach, into your lungs—hot and thick? The taste is still on your tongue and for a moment, you’re in the eye of the storm once more. Fighting to see, to breathe, to live.

You gag and you push it down, but the longer the taste of iron soaks on your tongue, the harder it is to stop it. You gag again, hard enough that your belly cramps up. Eyes watering, you rock forward, nails digging into the wood of the handles as scorching stomach acid claws its way up your throat. You throw up what little you’ve eaten, and you despair, because it may not have been much but it was something.

You stay that way, hunched over, panting open-mouthed as more spit forms rapidly in your mouth just to drip down into the puddle of sick you’ve already left. You’ll be even more dehydrated than before. Your chest burns with acid reflux, your nose runs, and your mouth pools with drool you can’t afford to lose. You want to cry. But you don’t have that luxury. You want someone to rub your back, but you don’t have that either. 

I wish Finnick was here.

You allow yourself that small moment of pity. You pull in a surprisingly cool breath before straightening up. You push your shoulders back, determined to march forward through whatever may be waiting for you because you know that on the other side, Johanna and the others need you. You walk forward, even though the idea of willingly entering that blood-filled hellscape makes your stomach lurch like a threat. 

The blood still proves to be an issue without the Capitol’s input. Some of it drips down your face and neck like sweat, damn near blinding you all over again. You can only wipe it away with the back of your hand so many times. You're still trying to find a way to keep the blood out of your eyes when you hear it.

It's like when a bug flies too close to your ear but louder. Buzzing and clicking that makes the hair on your neck stand, foreboding. 

You’ve never had much of a problem with insects, you weren’t allowed to. You can’t exactly claim ‘fear of bugs’ as a reason for not doing your job, even if you are six years old. After working around tracker jackers to pick various fruits, spiders climbing over you as you wade around the flooded cranberry fields, overzealous slugs as you pull carrots, to name a few, that fear dissipated. That’s not to say you love them, only that you’ve learned to work in proximity to them and ignore them if all else fails. You turn around, spinning in circles as the noise gets louder. You can’t ignore this so easily. You’re six again, trembling in fear as a peacekeeper directs you to a giant tree with an equally giant tracker jacker nest. That old fear makes a reappearance. It takes root, maturing from childish panic to fresh, genuine terror because something is coming toward you. 

You hear flapping, wings. Your vision is still blurred from the blood and you're in a particularly dark part of the forest with barely any moonlight, but you can see it. Some kind of bug hurtling towards you faster than you can run. It’s massive—mutated, most likely—close to the size of a wolf. You duck as it dives at you, bulky mandibles snapping.  

You’d rather fight the wolf.

It flies a few feet away before turning around and you curse the fact that you didn't pick up any long-range weapons. Where the hell is Katniss when you need her? 

You’ve trained for months. Your stamina, your dexterity, your core and upper body strength. But especially your hand-to-hand combat. Woefully, you consider how well that translates into fighting a giant mutt.

For a split second, you get the urge to hide. That animalistic impulse to find a small space to burrow into that the much bigger animal can’t get you and to find it fast. You’ve felt this before in Eleven and in the Capitol. It’s only fitting that you’d feel it here in the arena too.

It hovers in the air for a moment. It's almost as if it’s thinking. As you both regard each other, it begins to feel like it really might be thinking. Just how intelligent is this thing?

It’s a beetle; you can tell that much, which means an exoskeleton. You’ll have to go for the head, the eyes. There’s no indication that it’s about to happen, it just charges you. And you realize far too late that it'll be impossible to get a clear hit at its head. You lunge to the side, but you aren't fast enough. You yell when its pincer strikes you in the side. You pitch over, rolling along the ground. You barely manage the precarious balance of covering your head and keeping your blades away from your body.

It's not done with you. But down here, you have a better chance of avoiding its bite.

The blood makes your grip on the handles slippery. You flip the one in your dominant hand upwards and keep the other one face down as it gets ready to charge you again. You roll under it, slicing upward along its stomach as it flies over you. You're quick to stand up as it wavers in the air, wings stuttering the longer it bleeds.

You’ve both weakened each other, but neither of you is dead yet.

Your mind is quiet. Only one thought echoes in the abyss back to you.

The head. The head. The head. Go for the head. Go for the head. Take the fucking head!

It swoops down at you, wobbling in the air, but still clicking. You kneel down with your sickles turned outward and cross your arms in front of your face. You wait for it to get closer until you can see its head peeking over the gap your weapons leave and straighten your elbows, decapitating it. You close your eyes as black blood rains down on you and its head and body hit the ground with two distinct thumps.

Its body convulses on the ground and its head stays still, but you don't have time to check if it's really dead. Like the man from Nine. More buzzes and clicks come from your right and you're running before you even register that your feet are moving.

You don't look behind you, you don't need to. You can hear them, closing in on you. You just keep sprinting, lungs burning in exhaustion as you push yourself faster. You don't know where you're running to, but you know you have no way of fighting off more than one.

There's a hill a few feet ahead of you, and you prepare yourself to roll down. You throw your weapons to the bottom and cover your head as you tumble down, scraping yourself on stray twigs and rocks.

You scramble to stand up at the bottom of the hill and look up in time to see the bugs hovering at the top. They're stopped by what looks like a force field. But that doesn’t make any sense. You—you just came from there. Suddenly, they lose interest in you like you were never there to begin with and they turn around. They bump into each other as they fly away, probably on their way to swarm someone else.

A piercing scream comes from the direction the mutated insects flew off to. Better you than me, you think and regret it immediately. That could be someone you care about. Chaff, Johanna, Katniss, Peeta.

Finnick, your brain supplies. You shake away the thought. You don't have to worry about that because he promised you.

"He promised me. He promised me." You repeat to yourself in a whisper.

You stumble back into a tree, chest heaving.

Once the adrenaline rush passes, another problem presents itself. The blood on your body has grown cold, so it's surprising to feel a warm rush of liquid on your side. 

You look at where your jumpsuit is torn above your right hip. You stretch the fabric and see two holes about six inches away from each other. Twice the size of a bottle cap, one's a little above your hip bone and the other rests a little before where your back starts, both wider and deeper than you would like—but you don’t see muscle, which counts for something. They're rough, not perfect circles. Skin hangs haphazardly from them both, peeling away at the edges with jagged incisions going towards the middle. As if being punctured like a piece of paper wasn’t enough, they've been torn from the pincers still being buried in you and then violently ripped out after you fell.

Now that you're aware of them, they throb in sharp waves.

"Shit," you curse, breathing around the tears that bubble up from the pain. Your breaths are shuttered, halting. You're bleeding at a pretty steady pace and you won't last long with the wound out in the open. Especially if there's a creature out here that can smell blood. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whimper.

You scream as cramps rocket through your abdomen and the ability to be quiet is beyond your pain-addled mind, you can’t stop it. Luckily, it comes out of your dry throat more of a raspy croak than a real scream. You press a shaking, blood-soaked hand to your mouth anyway. You don’t know what other killer insects may be out here with you and you can’t afford to grab their unwanted attention just because you can’t control yourself.

Your medical knowledge isn’t extensive. Honestly, it’s a little below average for what’s expected in Eleven, but probably far more than what an ordinary citizen in the other districts would know. Not everyone can afford the services of doctors, especially if they live in the Shacks, so you were all taught how to help each other. You don’t know any of the fancy shit they probably teach in the academies, but you were taught how to heal with the land—old methods and practices passed down from before the Dark Days.

Your first thought is to clean it, but with what? You don’t even have clean water to drink. Your second thought is to pack it, if not with cotton then with aloe vera—it’ll ward off infection for a while, right? You have no way of disinfecting it, not by yourself and not with what’s available to you, so stopping the bleeding is the next best thing. 

This may not be your environment, may not be your plants, but you learned a thing or two while training Peeta in the Edible Plant section. This is the perfect environment for natural, as natural as the arena will permit, aloe to grow. But it’s still dark. You can’t go looking for it, not by yourself. And you aren’t desperate enough to start begging your sponsors for help. 

You sigh. You’ll have to settle for the bare minimum. 

You pull both of your sleeves down where they detach at the shoulder and even that little movement makes your stomach cramp again. You flinch as the muscles underneath the wounds spasm, pumping out more blood. 

You tie one end of both sleeves together, working past the hurt, and, God, does it hurt. But the hurt is unavoidable. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you’ve always told yourself. You let your mind drift, taking you somewhere else.

The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable.

Sweat drips down your back, or maybe it’s blood, as you move the makeshift tourniquet around your waist. You lay a flat piece of the fabric on the wound and nearly black out as you tie the two loose ends in the back. You tie it again just for good measure, biting around a scream as you pull it tight enough to staunch the bleeding.

Your vision swims as you gasp in big gulps of air. Your hands shake from the pain and yet another adrenaline drop. Your legs feel weak, barely holding you up as you lean most of your weight against the tree.

You need a game plan.

Another canon fires.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyes closed, head tilted back, pitying yourself. But by the time you decide to get moving, you notice something. Something’s…wrong. 

Everything sways when you move your head up. You blink nearly twenty times before your eyes can focus again. You feel warm. Not warmth from the humidity. Not warmth from exercise. But warmth from a fever, a sickness. Nausea creeps upon you and, fuck, please, you can’t throw up again—you can’t . An injury this nasty will certainly come with symptoms, but you shouldn't have this kind of reaction. You try to remember what kind of bug it was. You remember it was a beetle, but you rack your brain for what it looked like. Your muscles spasm around your wound, reminding you how open and exposed they are even when covered with fabric.

You’ve got two plugs taken out of your side, you’re covered in blood, both real and synthetic, you’ve been poisoned, and you’re alone.

Alone. There is no sound other than your labored breathing because you’re alone. That’s the worst part somehow. 

You’re slow as you lean down, wincing at the slightest movement, and snatch up your sickles. If just that is enough to sap you of your energy, then—

You can’t stay out here in the open where you’re vulnerable, no one to watch your back, no one to protect you. You’re an easy target, no help to the revolution like this. You take a few quick breaths to psych yourself up. You push off the tree, grunting as the smallest use of your abdomen aggravates the wounds. You hobble along, heading in the opposite direction of where you left Johanna and the others.

Hopefully, Finnick’s group is having better luck. 

SECTION 3 (3:17 am-3:28 am)

Finnick is sure that there are certain moments that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. His reaping, the first person he killed, meeting you. These moments, these entries penned into the book of his life, define him. They’re all weaved into a tapestry, sewn into a quilt that illustrates his past and blankets his future. Who he is today, and who he will be tomorrow, is shaped by these moments. He’ll remain irrevocably changed by these events. 

He’s sure this moment will be one of them.

The fog creeps behind them and he’s suddenly so glad you aren’t a part of their group. A spectral wall of wispy gas that observes their suffering with the same indifference as the Capitol does. Peeta is a solid weight on Finnick’s shoulder and he’s thankful for it. It’s a reminder, the weight of what he’s defending. He clenches his teeth against the fog's stray tendrils and their poisonous grasp, increasing his speed even as pain licks at his heels. 

“Fhinnic’, Fhinnic’!” He skids to a stop, looking behind him at Peeta’s slurred insistence. He turns in time to see Katniss and Mags crash to the ground. He rushes over to them. Mags sits concerned next to Katniss who’s beginning to blister.

“It’s no use,” Katniss says. He kneels beside them and he can see she’s feeling the effects of the fog. Her left leg is getting stiffer and her face has begun to droop. “Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” The confidence in her voice is interrupted by the grimace on her sagging face.

Mags has been touched by the fog less than the rest of them, if at all. Probably for the opposite reason that Finnick seems to have the most damage, she’s small. By this logic, it should be easy for Finnick to carry her along with Peeta. It should be easy.

“My arms aren’t working. My arms, they aren’t—” From his shoulder blades down to his fingertips, the muscles in his arms are ruined. They spasm sporadically, jerking uncontrollably as they hang limp at his sides. He’s even relying on Peeta to hold onto his trident for him. “I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t, I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” He apologies. He keeps apologizing to her and he can’t see why, too focused on the wave of white threatening to seize them. 

It’s all so quick. Mags has realized what Finnick himself is too stubborn to acknowledge. There’s a heaviness in his chest that he tries to swallow around but it only spreads to his throat. His throat gets tight. His senses feel heightened, his heart beating faster, lungs heaving harder, but he’s still trying to find a way out of this. His mind is moving at the speed of light, determined to fix it, determined to row this impossible boat upstream—thinking about everything but the only realistic outcome here.

They never talked about this. Never discussed the possibility. A situation where he would ever have to—it just never, never came to mind. He never thought to imagine it. And yet, she’s taking off the bracelet she’s wearing—his bracelet that she wore as a token for him. The same bracelet he made under her roof, under her knowing gaze. She slides it up his wrist, tightening it before grabbing his face between her weathered hands. She places a gentle peck on his lips and that’s when he realizes she’ll be leaving, whether he’s ready to say goodbye or not.

“Mags? Mags? Mags!” Tears blur his vision as she dodders uphill into the fog. Katniss grabs his wrist, stopping him from going after her. “Mags! Mags!”  

“Finnick!” He can see her silhouette just past the veil of mist, convulsing violently before—a cannon fires. He sits there, desolate. He can’t tell if the numbness spreading through him is organic or from the nerve damage.

“Finnick, we have to go. We have to get outta here.” He’s slow to turn around and look at Katniss. “We have to go.” 

Finnick climbs to his feet, accounting for Peeta’s weight, as Katniss drags herself behind him. He sniffs once, twice, three times. 

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

A/N: 1.) Blight's accent is the Canadian accent - specifically Letterman Kenny 2.) reckon the covey (Lucy Gray's group) traveled to the north from 11 to 12 during the 1st rebellion and got trapped in 12 after they lost. the Seam now has a distinct accent that sounds vaguely southern. 3.) i headcanon there's no singular southern accent in 11, using this map:https://fineartamerica.com/featured/vintage-map-of-panem-from-the-hunger-games-design-turnpike.html?product=art-print you can see just how much southern land it covers. So that's a mix of Creole, Irish, Mexican, and deep south roots. I'd imagine the mix of Creole, southern aave, and Spanish makes for a very particular accent. but if I had to pick one, it's closer to the southern drawl than the southern twang. 4.) the capitol accent basically the transatlantic accent 5.) You and Finnick think the same, since it was his idea to sleep next to the forcefield and use it as a weapon. yall literally think the same. also finnick wakes up the same way you do in the book when katniss screams about the fog. 6.) in the book, Lucy Gray is quiet but cunning. She doesn't have the "girl bossified quirky" demeanor she does in the movie and I blame Disney for that. As such, she doesn't have the "loud and proud/nothing affects me/cocky without a cause" attitude in my canon. What attracted Snow to her was that survivor instinct he saw in her that he felt he had. Everything that made Lucy Gray interesting to him can be found in Star (and Peeta.) I think Katniss's personality wise is so much like Sejanus's that it pissed him off. close enough to District 12, but not exactly. district eleven has the exact background that Snow wishes he had with 12. He has more control over Eleven, they're easier to control/oppress as opposed to the free-spirited District 12. With Star, he strives to fix what mistakes he made with Lucy Gray. my beta reader said "i agree honestly like i think thats also why people are misreading snow in the movie bc they don't actually understand lucy gray and therefore misunderstand why snow even liked her" 7.) eleven is mainly a black and indigenous North American (Canada, US, and Mexico) population

#3d wifey talks #3d wifey answers #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #and they'd find us in a week #hunger games fic #hunger games finnick #hunger games smut #hunger games fanfiction #thg finnick #thg series #thg #thg fanfiction #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #hunger games #peeta mellark #johanna mason #catching fire #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games trilogy

[4rtificialfolio]

Baby Doll - Dom folio x F!reader (short)

Genre: smut, fluff at the end

Warnings: 18+ Dominant Nick, Sub reader, use of spread bar and handcuffs, Wand, Edging, blindfold, face & vaginal slapping, orgasm denial, orgasm countdown

I couldn’t get dominant Folio out of my head so enjoy :)

nsfw under the cut, not proof read

master list

“No no, stay still baby doll. Only good girls get to cum, you can be a good girl can’t you?”

“But Nick-“ you whine in frustration as he holds the wand to your swollen bud. He’s been teasing you relentlessly all day; wearing your favourite tee of his that hugs his biceps just a little too tight, walking around the house shirtless glistening with sweat after drum practice, purposefully “forgetting” his towel resulting in him walking into your bedroom naked with a smug look on his face, rubbing and squeezing your thigh as you watch tv. All day he’s been pushing and pushing you to the edge so, you thought, why not have a little fun yourself? In hindsight that was a mistake, a happy mistake but a mistake nonetheless. It wasn’t you “accidentally” dropping ice cream on your t-shirt and stripping it off in front of him that made him break, or you putting on a very thin, white crop top with no bra afterward. No, it was the eye roll you gave when he called you a smart arse for correcting his sentence. That stupid eye roll is how you got yourself in this situation; your hands handcuffed to the spread bar that’s keeping your legs open, pussy dripping on full display for him, blindfolded and begging him to let you cum. He’s not always dominant, Nick can be so sweet and caring during sex. He loves to worship you, praise you, and give you all the pleasure even if it means sacrificing his release, but now and then, if you push him far enough, he’ll break.

“c’mon pretty baby use your words, tell me what you want” A sharp sting travels through you as he spanks your dripping cunt with his tatted hand.

“Please let me cum, I’ll be good i promise” you wriggle your hips in a desperate attempt to gain any sort of friction and relief.

“oh but you haven’t been a good girl, have you doll? think you can show me how good you can be” frantically, you nod your head, desperate to show him you can behave. He removes your blindfold and tosses it aside so he can look you in the eyes as he reapplies the wand to your clit.

“I’m gonna count to 10 then you can cum, but don’t you dare cum before or you won’t get to cum for a week. Think you can do that for me doll?” God this is torture and he’s loving every minute of it, seeing his pretty baby so fucked out and desperate for him.

“1..2..3”

The countdown feels like its going on forever, every slight movement you make sends you closer and closer to the edge. You’re in such a daze that you’re struggling to focus, barely able to hear him counting. All you can think about is the pleasure pulsing through you. Just the feeling of your nipples brushing ever so slightly against your arms, sending a tingling feeling through your chest, makes you fling your head back into the pillow; but Nick isn’t happy with that, he wants to see you pleading with your eyes as you struggle to hold on.

Giving your cheek a quick slap, he grabs your jaw to make you look at him.

“Nuh uh, eyes on me baby, that’s it”

To make matters worse, he pushes two fingers inside you, dragging them in and out at a relentless pace making you whine louder and louder.

“7..8..9 oh you’re doing so well, nearly there beautiful”

You’re right at the edge, arching your back trying so hard to hold off until he reaches 10, but he won’t say it yet. He wants to see his baby shake just a little longer.

“hmm Nick-“

“You’ve done so well baby, you ready to cum for me?” You swear you’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

“10. that’s it, good girl cum on my fingers”

Pleasure pulses through your body as you finally reach your climax, You scream Nick’s name as your vision goes cloudy and your legs begin to shake. Nick removes his fingers, watching you clench around nothing as he unbinds your wrists and ankles.

“you did so good baby, so good” He pulls a blanket over you and holds you as your body starts to calm down, giving you kisses all over your face as he gently strokes your hair. This is your favourite side of nick, of course dominant nick is beyond hot, sexy, fun and thrilling but, this Nick? Sweet Nick who would do anything for his baby girl, who loves just to hold you in his arms, drawing circles on your back as you’re nuzzled into his chest, watching as you swiftly drift off to sleep. That’s your favourite Nick, but any Nick will do for you.

#nick folio #bad omens #bad omens band #nick folio smut #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #nick folio fic #nick folio x reader #noah sebastian #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #bad omens fic #bad omens smut #4rtificialfolio

[herecirmsims]

Tied Hearts

Well here we are, at the end of the Countdown To Valentine's collab, and on this final day we have a posepack from all three of us! 6 couple poses and 3 trio poses for your Sims to express their love to the world. We really hope you've enjoyed this countdown as much as we did! We've certainly loved seeing your pictures! 🥹❤️

These poses were made with masc and femme frames and should be gender neutral, but as always, there may be clipping or floating depending on clothing and body type.

You will need: - Pose Player - Teleport Any Sim or MCCC 

TOU: you may adjust for personal use to avoid clipping etc., but please do not reupload/paywall/claim as your own.

Download here (always free): SFS | Patreon

DAY 1 | DAY 2 | DAY 3 | DAY 4 | DAY 5 | DAY 6 | DAY 7 | DAY 8 | DAY 9 | DAY 10 | DAY 11 | DAY 12 | DAY 13 

Extra special thanks to my friends and collaborators, @simmireen and @simmerianne93, who are two of the hardest-working, talented, and very sweetest people I know. They give so much to the community and deserve to be celebrated. When I jokingly mentioned at the end of 2023 that I should do a Spice Week with all the spicy packs I made last year but never shared, Irene and her unbeatable skill set immediately made the idea a reality and Anne joined us despite, in her own words, "not really doing spice" - I think we can all agree that she made some HOT poses for us to enjoy!! Thank you both for being you. ❤️

Simmireen: Patreon | Tumblr | Twitter | Instagram Simmerianne93: Patreon | Tumblr | Twitter | Instagram

@ts4-poses @alwaysfreecc

#ts4-poses #sims 4 poses #sims 4 posepack #sims 4 couple poses #sims 4 group pose #simmireen #simmerianne93 #herecirmposes

[lxkeeeee]

—scaramouche x fem! reader

fanart by @MNCE_o at twt

“Soulmates? What a load of bullshit.”

“I do not need a man and I am perfectly fine without ever meeting him.”

Spoiler alert: they really wanted to meet each other.

—two people were destined to meet each other the problem is... They're from completely two different timelines.

His countdown timer on his wrist -1,920,000 hours and hers is 1,920, 000 hours. They didn't have any hope in meeting each other, thinking it was a cruel joke made by fate itself... If only they knew.

CHAPTERS:

CH. 0 — PROLOGUE

CH. 1 — LITERALLY FELL IN YOUR ARMS

CH. 2 — IT IS NICE TO FINALLY MEET YOU, SOULMATE

CH. 2 — IT IS NICE TO FINALLY MEET YOU, SOULMATE (HER POINT OF VIEW)

CH. 3 — HOME SWEET HOME

CH. 4 — GETTING TO KNOW EACH OTHER

CH. 5 — FEELINGS

CH. 6 — LOVERBOY

CH. 7 — DOMESTIC STUFF

CH. 8 — WE'RE NOT MARRIED... YET.

CH. 9 — MOVING OUT

CH. 10 — MOVING IN

CH. 11 — I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU

CH. 12 — SHIT... I'M SO TOUCH STARVED

MORE CHAPTERS TBA...

Chapter titles are subject to change.

Plot is fast paced, love at first sight, soulmate au.

©lxke 2023

PLAYLIST | CHARACTERS | CH. 0

taglist: open<3 (colored means I couldn't tag you 🥹)

@vxcmx @k1an4a @lazy-sanns @ulquiorraswife @luciledreamz @magica-ren @featuredtofu @sketcheeee @im-the-ruler-here @scarasbaby @veekoko @zxdksimpo @beriiov @kiokiee @ylapsha45 @alatusorrow @c3rtifiedsimp @lyzisbitchingagain @xtobefreex @ayuaraye @rororomi @sheraffim @neesachan

#—SOULMATES? WHAT A LOAD OF BS [MASTERLIST] ©lxke

#god i hoped i did the math right #lmao #idk lmao #i spent so much time overthinking if im doing the math right #or if my grammar was okay #cuz i was having doubt on which one to use #between -44858 days ago or 44858 days ago #and some how it ended up with me overthinking what should the number in his wrists would be #anyways #i decided to yolo it #new fic I'll probably not finish #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche headcanons #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche #—SOULMATES? WHAT A LOAD OF BS— [MASTERLIST] ©lxke

[harleehazbinfics]

Home is where my Heart is.

Chapter 9: Dad beat Dad pt. 1 Table of Contents | Profile

Word Count: 1235

It was late at night, most of the people at the hotel were still asleep. Aside for two.

“Charlie? Dear, why are you still up?” I asked finding her in the living room section downstairs.

“Ah! Miledy! Hi! Umm, I was just figuring out why our hotel isn’t working,” she replies looking at the ‘documents’ in her hands, while she sat by herself on the couch then lifting her head to look at her cork board.

I sit beside her, subconsciously placing my hand over her back in comfort and asked, “Is this about the countdown?”

Her eyes widen finding my touch comfortable and familiar, and softly lets out, “Yeah, we’ve been doing everything, and nothing’s been working that can help them achieve redemption. I just feel a little bit hopeless.”

“Aw, starshine. It’s ok,” I tell her as I pulled her in for a hug which she accepted, her breathing slowed down as she had slowly melted in my touch. “I think a break will do you some good. Say, do you want to stay here with me and cuddle?”

She jumps out of my embrace and replies embarrassed, “N-no! It’s fine! I don’t want to trouble you! Besides, I’m this old enough already I don’t need—”

I just take her hands in mine and asked with a slight smile, “Are you sure you don’t need it?”

She gives me a hesitant look before finally admitting defeat and laid in my embrace. We sat there, my back against the couch while I held the princess in my arms that she had her eyes closed to.

“You feel so warm,” she comments quietly breathing onto my chest where she put her head onto.

I tittered and answered, “That’s a first, most people comment on how cold my body is. I did die from drowning, you know?”

“N-no.I meant that, you remind me of how I was held by my mom,” she said finally opening her eyes but refusing to look at mine while her eyebrows furrowed.

My smile falters and I softly sigh, remembering the story that Lucifer told me. How he wanted me to be there for Charlie when he failed to do so. When he still couldn’t accept himself, when he couldn’t get better. So, I did.

“You know…” I started, “This isn’t the first time we met.”

“What do you mean?”

“7 years ago, I was asked by your father to take care of you when he couldn’t.”

“But why can’t I remember you?”

I give her a grin and asked, “Do you remember having a little stuffed turtle?”

Her eyes widen recalling her favorite toy she kept. It often felt cold but when she was distraught, feeling everything all at once, she hugs the toy and feels like she was wrapped in a warm embrace while she fell asleep crying.

“That gift was from you? I never knew, I always thought my mom gave it to me cause of the melodies it sang,” she mutters in disbelief. “How come you never came and told me?”

I smiled sadly petting her head, “Who knows? All I remember was such a broken girl. She had a hard time picking herself up after her parents split. I can’t imagine how painful it was for you.”

Her eyes welled up in tears remembering more painful times, burying her face more into my chest.

“How did you meet dad?”

“Well, I performed once in Lu Lu Land by popular demand and our friendship started from there. I was quite surprised that he wasn’t appalled by me. You know how his majesty is with sinners,” I laughed.

She only sighed, and replied, “If only he could listen to me. I’m doing this for our people and yet…”

“This might sound like an excuse but, your father, despite being the sin of pride feels ashamed of himself, Starshine. He’s ashamed that what he thought want humans needed ended up being the root of evil. He’s ashamed of the gift he gave us sinners, but he never knew or understood what good it brought to the world, only believing that he had caused all of this. For them to end up in his dominion, only reminding himself further why he’s here in the first place,” I explained to her combing through her hair, “So the next time you see your dad, go easy on him, okay? He might not be the perfect dad, but he’s the only one you got. Got it?”

She nods and smiles, “I can see why Dad became friends with you so easily. When he needed a friend the most you were there.”

We both fall into a comfortable silence and after moments gone by without saying a word to one another, I started to hum a song for her. Slowly and steadily, her breathing became even falling to a well needed rest.

--- a little later

Charlie woke up a couple hours later with a newfound energy bounding around the room trying to think of a solution to their problem. One by one, all the members of the hotel gathered round watching her fall into a spiral.

“Yikes.”

“Come on, come on, come on, come on.”

“Charlie? Sweetie? You, uh, you good?” Vaggie asks worriedly behind the couch I was sitting on, while I just looked at Charlie sipping my first tea of the morning.

“Nope! No, not really. Ha ha. I've been up all night trying to figure out why the hotel isn't working. We've done trust falls, we've tried sharing our feelings, we only have a couple months left before the angels come,” she briefly transforms into her demon form then returning, “And at this rate—"

“Maybe it's time—"

“NO.”

“—to ask—”

Charlie then runs forward closer to Vaggie screaming, “DON’T SAY IT.”

“—your dad.”

Charlie then groans while Vaggie tries to explain to her, “Charlie, I know you don't want to, but we need every advantage we can get.”

“I approve of this. Save yourself the energy,” I remark lifting my cup at her.

“Not you too…” she groans. “He let the extermination happen to begin with. They just had a meeting and said, "Go ahead and kill everyone"—gasp Wait, that's it!”

“Kill everyone?”  Vaggie and I asked in unison looking at each other wide eyed.

“No! He could get me a meeting with Heaven!”

Didn't we already try that?” Vaggie asks.

“Well. yeah with Adam, he was an asshole~. But he isn't in charge of all of Heaven. We could go to the top. There's sure to be some angels who will listen,” she suggests pulling her phone out.

“What's the holdup? You got daddy issues?” Husk digs at her.

“No, we just have never been close. After he and mom split, he never really wanted to see me. He calls, sometimes, but only if he's bored or like needs me to do something,” she answers unconfidently.

“Daddy issues,” Husk smirks drinking from his mug.

“Well, I'd like to meet the big dick in charge,” Angel leans on the couch from behind me.

“The ultimate bad boy,” Niffty sings with a knife in her hands that Angel throws away, “I bet he's scary.”

I shrug, lifting my hands making the teacup disappear and answer, “Eh, he’s more like a puppy actually. Better go and get my husband filled in on the plan then. Toodles~”

#hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x oc #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #harleehazbinfics #hiwmhi