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estapa-edwards · 1 month

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PHYSICAL THERAPIST - Q. HUGHES

paring: Quinn Hughes x fem! reader

word count: 3k

requested? yes - the hughes family all being together at quinn’s game for playoffs and they notice he’s really close to the physical therapist for the team and can tell he’s absolutely smitten

warnings: use of y/n.

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The atmosphere in the arena was electrifying as the Hughes family gathered to watch Quinn Hughes play in the playoffs. With every stride, every pass, the tension mounted. Jack, Luke, and their parents were on the edge of their seats, cheering fervently for Quinn and his team. But amidst the excitement of the game, something else caught their attention – Quinn's undeniable closeness to the team's physical therapist, Y/N.

As Quinn skated off the ice during a break, the Hughes family couldn't help but notice the subtle glances exchanged between him and Y/N. Jack, the ever-observant middle child, nudged Luke, drawing his attention to the unfolding scene.

"Look at Quinn and Y/N," Jack whispered, his eyes narrowing as he watched them converse by the boards. "I think Quinn's got a thing for her."

Luke followed his brother's gaze, a mischievous grin forming on his face. "Seriously? Quinn and the therapist? That's unexpected."

Their parents, seated beside them, hadn't missed the exchange either. Their mother, Ellen leaned in, curiosity evident in her voice. "Do you think there's something going on between them?"

"I'm not sure," their father, JIm, replied, squinting as he tried to decipher the situation. "But Quinn does seem rather taken with her."

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Quinn and Y/N found themselves seated on a bench near the locker rooms, away from the hustle and bustle of the arena. The excitement of the game still lingered in the air, but in that moment, it was just the two of them, lost in conversation.

"So, tell me, Y/N," Quinn said, a playful glint in his eyes, "what's the most bizarre injury you've ever had to treat?"

Y/N laughed, her eyes lighting up with amusement. "Oh, where do I even begin? There was this one time when a player managed to sprain his ankle... while tying his shoelaces."

Quinn chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're kidding."

Y/N shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "I wish I was. It was quite the sight to see."

As they continued to swap stories, Quinn found himself drawn to Y/N's infectious laughter and easygoing demeanor. Every now and then, he would reach out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle yet lingering.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, covering everything from hockey to their favorite movies. And with each passing moment, Quinn felt himself growing more captivated by Y/N's presence.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to more personal topics, and Quinn found himself opening up to Y/N in a way he hadn't with anyone else. It felt natural, as if they had known each other for years rather than just a few months.

And as the ambient noise of the arena faded into the background, Quinn realized that in Y/N, he had found not only a friend but someone he could truly connect with on a deeper level.

But amidst their laughter and shared stories, there was a tension – a palpable energy that lingered between them, unspoken yet undeniable. And as Quinn reached out to brush another stray strand of hair from Y/N's face, his touch lingered longer than necessary, a silent acknowledgment of the growing attraction between them.

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Quinn and Y/N often found themselves in their own little world whenever they were together. Whether it was amidst the chaos of a crowded arena or in the quiet solitude of an empty locker room, they had a way of tuning out the world around them and immersing themselves in each other's company.

As they sat together on the bench, their conversation flowing effortlessly, Quinn couldn't help but feel as though they were the only two people in the room. The ambient noise of the arena faded into the background, replaced by the sound of their laughter and the gentle hum of their voices.

Time seemed to stand still as they talked and laughed, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. Quinn found himself captivated by Y/N's every word, hanging onto her every laugh and smile as if they were precious treasures.

And amidst the chaos of the playoffs, with the pressure of the game weighing heavily on his shoulders, Quinn found solace in Y/N's presence. She was his anchor, his calm amidst the storm, and whenever they were together, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

Jack found himself watching her more than he watched the game, intrigued by the way she moved, the way she interacted with the players. And then, as if sensing his gaze, she looked up and their eyes met for a brief moment before she turned her attention back to the ice.

Jack couldn't explain it, but there was something about Y/N that drew him in—a warmth, a kindness that seemed to radiate from her every pore. And as he watched her, he couldn't help but wonder if Quinn had noticed it too.

Sure enough, as the game progressed, Jack began to notice Quinn stealing glances in Y/N's direction whenever he thought no one was looking. There was a certain lightness to his step, a sparkle in his eye that hadn't been there before. It was clear to Jack that his brother was smitten, completely and utterly captivated by the young woman on the sidelines.

But as much as Jack wanted to tease Quinn about his newfound crush, he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was something about the way Quinn looked at Y/N, something so genuine and pure, that it warmed Jack's heart in a way he hadn't expected.

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As the final buzzer sounded and the crowd erupted into cheers, Jack couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him. The game had been intense, nail-bitingly close, but in the end, Quinn and his team had emerged victorious.

As the players filed off the ice, Jack caught sight of Quinn heading in Y/N's direction, a nervous energy emanating from him like a halo. Jack exchanged a knowing look with his parents before they all made their way down to the locker room to congratulate Quinn on the win.

As the final buzzer sounded and the home team emerged victorious, Quinn wasted no time skating over to where Y/N was gathering up her equipment. His heart raced as he approached her, unsure of what to say but knowing that he had to say something.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice slightly breathless from the adrenaline of the game.

Y/N looked up, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Hey, Quinn. Great game out there tonight."

Quinn grinned, feeling a surge of confidence. "Thanks. I couldn't have done it without your help."

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. "Oh please, you would have scored that goal with or without me."

Quinn's grin widened. "Maybe. But having you on the sidelines cheering me on definitely didn't hurt."

As they talked, Quinn felt a sense of ease wash over him. There was something about Y/N that made him feel comfortable, like he could be himself without any pretense or expectation.

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As Quinn's family entered the bustling locker room, the smell of sweat and adrenaline filled the air. Players were celebrating their victory, exchanging high-fives and laughter. Amidst the chaos, Quinn stood, his eyes searching for his family amidst the crowd.

"Quinn!" Jack called out, waving his arms to catch his brother's attention.

Quinn's face lit up when he spotted them, and he quickly made his way over, a wide grin on his face. "Hey, guys! Thanks for coming out to support me."

Ellen enveloped him in a tight hug, her pride evident in her voice. "We wouldn't miss it for the world, Quinn. You played amazing out there."

Jim clapped him on the back, a smile playing on his lips. "That was one heck of a game, son. We're so proud of you."

As they congratulated Quinn, Jack couldn't resist teasing him once again. "So, Quinn, when are you going to ask Y/N out on a date?"

Quinn's cheeks flushed slightly, but he laughed it off. "I told you guys, we're just friends."

Ellen raised an eyebrow, her motherly intuition kicking in. "Are you sure about that, Quinn?"

Quinn hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, Mom, I'm sure. We're just friends."

Despite his words, Jack could see the uncertainty in Quinn's eyes. He knew his brother well enough to recognize when something was bothering him. But before he could press further, the coach called for the team to gather round for a post-game pep talk.

The family bid Quinn farewell, promising to catch up with him later. As they made their way out of the locker room, Ellen couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Quinn's relationship with Y/N than he was letting on.

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The first time Quinn and Y/N met was a moment neither of them would soon forget. It was during a particularly intense practice session for Quinn's team, and tensions were running high. Quinn had suffered a minor injury during a drill, and Y/N, the team's newly appointed physical therapist, was called onto the ice to assess the situation.

As Quinn skated over to the boards, wincing slightly from the pain, he couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension. He had heard about the new therapist joining the team but hadn't had the chance to meet her yet. Now, as she approached him with a concerned expression, he found himself momentarily captivated by her presence.

Y/N was a breath of fresh air amidst the chaos of the rink. Her warm smile and calming demeanor immediately put Quinn at ease, despite the discomfort he was feeling. As she examined his injury with gentle hands, Quinn couldn't help but be struck by her professionalism and expertise.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly as Y/N tended to Quinn's injury, her soothing voice providing a welcome distraction from the pain. Quinn found himself opening up to her in a way he hadn't with anyone else, sharing stories and anecdotes as if they had known each other for years.

From that moment on, Quinn and Y/N's bond only continued to grow stronger. They would often find themselves deep in conversation after practice, exchanging jokes and sharing moments of quiet companionship. Quinn admired Y/N's passion for her work and her unwavering dedication to the team, while Y/N appreciated Quinn's determination and resilience on the ice.

As the weeks turned into months, Quinn and Y/N became inseparable. They would often grab coffee together after practice or sneak away for quiet walks around the arena, lost in their own little world. Their friendship was a source of comfort and support for both of them, a constant amidst the ever-changing landscape of professional hockey.

And as they stood side by side on the sidelines during games, cheering on Quinn's team with unwavering enthusiasm, it was clear to everyone around them that Quinn and Y/N shared a bond that went beyond the confines of the rink.

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The playoffs were in full swing, and once again, the Hughes family gathered at the arena to support Quinn in his quest for victory. As they settled into their seats, they couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation in the air. But this time, there was something different. Quinn wasn't just focused on the game—he seemed to be eagerly searching the sidelines for someone.

Jack nudged Luke with a knowing smile. "Looks like someone's hoping to catch a glimpse of Y/N again."

Luke chuckled, glancing over at Quinn, who was scanning the area with a hint of excitement in his eyes. "He's got it bad, doesn't he?"

Jim grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think he's finally met his match."

As the game got underway, Quinn's determination on the ice was evident. He skated with purpose, his eyes constantly darting towards the sidelines between shifts, searching for a familiar figure.

Meanwhile, Y/N was hard at work, tending to the players' needs with her usual skill and efficiency. She moved with a grace that caught Quinn's attention every time he stole a glance in her direction.

During a break in the action, Quinn skated over to the bench, stealing a quick moment to catch his breath. As he glanced towards the sidelines, he caught sight of Y/N, who was focused intently on her work. Without hesitation, Quinn made his way over to her, determined to steal a moment of her time.

"Hey, Y/N," he greeted with a smile as he approached her.

Y/N looked up, a surprised expression crossing her face before she returned his smile. "Hey, Quinn. How's it going out there?"

Quinn shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Could be better. Could be worse. But seeing you on the sidelines definitely makes it better."

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. "Smooth talker, huh?"

Quinn grinned, feeling a surge of confidence. "Only when I'm talking to someone as amazing as you."

Y/N's cheeks flushed pink at the compliment, and she ducked her head shyly. "You're not so bad yourself, Quinn Hughes."

Quinn's heart skipped a beat as Y/N's words washed over him, her shy response warming him from the inside out. He couldn't help but grin, feeling a surge of happiness at her compliment. But then, a sudden realization hit him like a slapshot to the chest.

He forgot he was mic'd up.

Quinn's eyes widened in horror as he glanced down at the microphone clipped to his jersey. He could practically hear the collective gasp from his teammates and the roaring laughter from the announcers up in the broadcast booth. How could he have been so careless?

Y/N's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink as she realized what had just happened, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh my god, Quinn. Did you forget you were mic'd up?"

Quinn winced, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry about that."

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head in amusement. "Well, at least it was a nice compliment. I'll let it slide this time."

Quinn chuckled nervously, feeling a bead of sweat forming on his brow. "Thanks. I'll try to remember next time."

As the game resumed and Quinn skated back onto the ice, he couldn't shake the embarrassment of his slip-up. But as he glanced towards the sidelines, he caught Y/N's eye, her smile reassuring him that it was all in good fun.

Meanwhile, the broadcast team couldn't help but gush over the adorable moment between Quinn and Y/N. Tweets and comments flooded in from fans, expressing their delight at seeing the budding relationship between the hockey star and the team's physical therapist.

"Looks like we've got a new power couple on our hands," the announcer joked, a grin plastered on his face.

Back in the stands, the Hughes family exchanged knowing glances, their hearts swelling with pride as they watched Quinn and Y/N's relationship unfold before their eyes. It was clear that they had something special, something worth rooting for.

As the game continued, Quinn couldn't shake the smile from his face. Despite the pressure of the playoffs, being with Y/N made everything feel lighter, easier to bear. And as they shared another laugh, Quinn knew that no matter what happened on the ice, having Y/N by his side made him feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

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The arena erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause as the final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game and the culmination of months of hard work and dedication. The home team had emerged victorious, clinching the Stanley Cup in a thrilling overtime victory.

Quinn Hughes skated onto the ice, his heart pounding with excitement and adrenaline. He couldn't believe it—they had actually done it. They were champions. But amidst the chaos of the celebration, there was one person he couldn't wait to find: Y/N.

As Quinn made his way through the jubilant crowd of players and staff, his eyes scanned the sidelines until they landed on Y/N, who was standing near the bench, a wide grin on her face. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Quinn knew that he had to talk to her.

"Y/N!" he called out, pushing through the throng of people until he reached her side.

Y/N turned towards him, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Quinn! Congratulations!"

Quinn grinned, feeling a surge of pride at the sight of her. "Thanks, Y/N. We did it!"

Y/N laughed, reaching out to give him a congratulatory hug. "You did it, Quinn. I'm so proud of you."

As they pulled away from the embrace, Quinn hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, he thought. This was the perfect moment to finally ask her out.

"Hey, um... Y/N," he began, his voice slightly shaky with nerves.

Y/N looked at him, her smile softening. "What's up, Quinn?"

Quinn took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I was wondering if, uh... maybe you'd like to go out with me sometime? Like, on a date?"

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, but a smile slowly spread across her face. "I would love to, Quinn. I'd love that."

Quinn's heart soared at her response, and he couldn't help but grin like a fool. "Really? Awesome! How about dinner tomorrow night? Just you and me?"

Y/N nodded, her smile growing wider. "I'd like that. Dinner tomorrow sounds perfect."

As they stood there, basking in the glow of their victory and the promise of something new, Quinn felt a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him. The Stanley Cup was theirs, but even more importantly, he had finally mustered the courage to ask out the amazing woman who had captured his heart.

As they joined the rest of the team in celebrating their historic win, Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something incredible. And as he looked at Y/N, he knew that he was ready for whatever the future held, as long as she was by his side.

The canucks have never won the Stanley cup, so just pretend.

#quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #hockey #nhl x reader #vancover canucks #vancouver

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what-even-is-thiss · 2 months

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They say that Ulfric Stormcloak killed the high king with his voice, shouted him apart!

However, Ulfric only knows unrelenting force and disarm. I’ve used these shouts. I’ve seen Ulfric use these shouts. I don’t think it’s possible to kill someone with just those shouts.

I can think of perhaps three things that might’ve happened there.

1. Ulfric just disarmed Torygg and then stabbed him while he was confused

2. Ulfric knocked Torygg over and then stabbed him while he was getting up

3. The duals for high king take place on top of a secret floating smash bros style fighting arena above solitude and Torygg got Fus Ro Da-d off the side and exploded

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oweninadaydream · 6 months

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𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐩𝐭 𝟏 || 𝐅.𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : Say Don't Go (Taylor's version) (From The Vault) or 4 times you say 'I love you' and Finnick says nothing back.

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 : Finnick Odair x reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : 2K

𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼 : angst/fluffy ending (in part 2), (not really) unrequited love?, insecure reader, jealousy, TW: sexual exploitation (second story).

𝓪/𝓷 : This is my first time writing for Finnick and I'm so exited for you guys to read it!!! Hope you enjoy this fic :) Part two is already posted!!! You can find it here. If there are any mistakes I'm sorry , English is not my first language.

𝟣. 𝒟𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝑒

The quietness of the night was only being disturbed by the sound of crickets and mockingbirds. The cold breeze was the only thing keeping you awake. Well, that and Finnick. You were seated next to him on the porch of your house which was right next to his. Three years had passed since you won the 67th Hunger Games and you still weren't used to the gloomy sight that was Victors Village, especially not at night, when the solitude and darkness of the streets made you remember things you thought (or hoped) were long gone in your memory but that deep down you knew would always haunt you, until the day you died.

Finnick scooted closer in order to share his blanket with you "Stop being so prideful, I can see you shaking" he scolded you for being so stubborn. " I did it on purpose, I just wanted to make you cuddle me" you joked, as it was normal in your friendship.

He had been your mentor the year you were reaped , you got along well but didn't become that close then. You knew that those were his second games as a mentor and you could feel that he wasn't emotionally prepared to bond with you just to see you die days later. Still, he prepared you the best way he knew and was always kind towards you. After you emerged victorious from that nightmare, the Capitol decided to profit off of your charm ; you were too young, scared and lost, just like Finnick once had been (and still was). That's when he took you under his wing , and you would forever feel grateful for that.

He was your rock, your light within the dark, your safe person and he saw you as his happy place, someone he could rely on, his partner in crime and the person with whom he shared his deepest thoughts, his dreams, his nightmares and hopes for an utopian future. Finding each other seemed something simply destined to be. You needed each other in ways that no one else could wrap their head around.

Despite having that special and heartwarming relationship with him, you wanted more. You were utterly and madly in love with him. Your infatuation had begun during training and only grew stronger after he approached you after the games. The thing between you was so fragile, so special that you had never thought of confessing your love. The possibility of driving him away caused your heart a kind of ache worse than any stab received back in the Arena. Your feelings felt selfish, how could you want more? Your greedy passion would ruin everything (or so you thought), so you settled for what you had.

On the inside, you knew he wasn't the kind of man that would dismiss your feelings rudely and that he would continue to consider you his friend , but it just wouldn't be the same, and seeing your dynamic change in such a way would be a more fatal fate than dying at the games.

" The way they're shining, how beautiful" he quietly mumbled loud enough for you to hear. "I know, the stars look unreal tonight" you agreed while staring completely mesmerized to the night sky. "I was looking at your eyes" you turned to see that he wasn't in fact stargazing like you were. You were out of words. He was usually flirty and he never ran out of lovely words to dedicate to you, but you still reacted as if it were the first time. "Charming as always, dear" you replied as you rested your head on his chest. He moved so you could be more comfortable and you wanted to stop time at that exact moment.

" Thank you for always being there for me" he said in a more serious tone. " You know that I'd do anything for you. Are you okay? Where is this coming from?" you asked with a worried frown adorning your face. "These past few days apart have been rough and it made me appreciate you more" he confessed timidly. How privileged were you to be able to see him in his most vulnerable state. The moon, his hands holding yours, the heat you felt on your face, it was simply too much.

"FINNICK!" a blood-curdling scream came on the scene, startling you both. He quickly stood, as he had already identified the person behind such a yell. "ANNIE?!?!? WHAT'S WRONG?!?!?"

Annie was the victor of the last Hunger Games. She had been mentored by Finnick just like you, but unlike with you, Finnick had rapidly grown fond of her ever since they first met. You knew you shouldn't have thought too much of it, but your mind was your worst enemy. You couldn't stop yourself from imagining a very near future where he chose her over you , leaving you behind and all alone in this world. You liked her : she was kind, delicate but strong and very beautiful, but for those very same reasons you were becoming jealous of her and her chances of getting together with your best friend.

Annie appeared in front of your porch wrapped in a blanket and trembling while sobbing. " They're gonna get me" "Hey hey Annie c'mon, no one's gonna hurt you anymore, you know I'll make sure of it" How caring was Finnick, it was just natural for him to become the protector in every situation. "O-okay" Annie said with little confidence in her voice "Would you stay with me tonight? I had a really bad nightmare" her doe eyes had the reflection of the full moon in them ; it truly was a breath-stealing sight "Sure thing darling, I'll be there in a second, wait for me at home, all right? It's okay " his soothing voiced and calmed her down enough to return to her house by herself.

He turned around to look at you "I'm sorry, I have to go" "I know, Finnick, it's okay" you assured him, even though you were shocked by the term of endearment used for her, as it took Finnick quite a while to refer to you as sweetheart, honey or your favorite, love.

What was wrong with you? That poor girl had just got out of the games and was terrified out of her mind after dreaming about a traumatic experience she had recently been through (just like you did in you day) and the only thing you could think about was how jealous you were because she was being comforted by Finnick in such an intimate and caring way, because she had his full attention and she would be the one lured to sleep by his calloused hands running through her hair that night. You were not thinking logically and you lost control of your actions.

"Hey" you shouted to catch his attention, as he had already begun to leave towards Annie's house "I love you Finn, I just wanted you to know" you confessed as your froze in place . You told each other how much you loved each other all the time, but it had never been like this : not under that light, not with all that sentiment in your eyes and definitely not with such a voice tone. It was clearly a confession and you could't believe what you had just done.

He stared and smiled, transmitting you his appreciation for such kind words and he continued the way to his destination. Oh fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck. He hadn't interpreted your words as you spilling your guts about your feelings, it was just a friendly 'I love you' to him. Annie was perfect for him, you could never give him that sweet innocent love you believed Finnick deserved. The anxiety quickly transformed into anguish and you went back inside to prepare yourself for a night full of tears and stupid hypothetical scenarios about them. About him.

𝟤. 𝐼𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒

Looking around the enormous gardens you couldn't spot a single person you genuinely cared about. This Capitol party, as the previous ones, were filled with members of high society that gazed at you and the rest of victors as if you were exotic wild animals.

Reaching your secret hiding spot, you felt yourself letting your guard down. Even if distracted, you noticed the warm hand on your shoulder. You spun on your heels to identify the person behind that unexpected and yet comforting touch. Of course, Finnick Odair. Your confident, your best friend, your protector and the love of your life (role that's he's unaware of). "Shit Finnick, don't do that!" you playfully reprimanded him while smacking his chest. He pretended to be hurting but ended up laughing at your little tantrum.

"Wow, Cinna has outdone himself, you look charming my dear" he said as he gently took your hand to make you spin and admire the fine clothes you were dressed in that evening. Based on the pink blush that adorned his cheeks you quickly arrived to the conclusion that he was far from being sober and you didn't blame him, these events were unbearable if not intoxicated. "You're not bad yourself, Odair" .

The two of you danced, talked, drank more than you'd be able to remember the next day and flirted, a lot. Your heart couldn't take one more touch nor one more compliment from this man . "There's something you're not telling me, I can see it in your pretty face" he commented while hugging you from behind. He'd always known everything about you, so that remark was not surprising. Still, your heart started beating at an alarming speed and you felt the sweat coming out from your shaky hands.

What if you told him? Based on the spark in his eyes during the party you could only assume he was at least interested in you as more than a friend. You were intoxicated and wrapped between his arms, what if you just told him? "I... I love... you..." you mumbled while closing your eyes as if that would make you invisible to him. The deafening silence brought out your worst fear : rejection. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. You've fucked up real bad this time. You turned around to face him and get this done as fast as possible.

That's when you realized : he hadn't heard you confessing your most cherished secret. You had an opportunity to go back in time, to act as if nothing had happened. You couldn't risk losing him. You locked eyes with him and Finnick tilted his head to the side in drunken confusion as he hadn't caught on to what you had so shyly whispered. Smiling sympathetically you shook your head as if to not give importance to what had been previously said. He didn't give too much though to your dismissive answer. "Would you like another drink, love?" His characteristic smirk accompanied the proposal perfectly, inviting you to give in ; as always, you couldn't deny him anything.

Before you had the chance to approach the drinks table , one of Finnick's regular clients grabbed him by the waist and whispered something into his right ear. His eyes suddenly darkened and his once relaxed features stiffened significantly. You already knew what was about to happen. You were no stranger to the services President Snow forced him to provide to Panem's elite. In fact, you were another of the poor miserable souls in charge of satisfying every desire of anyone who was wealthy enough to afford the luxury of laying with a victor.

Telling the wealthy woman to wait at their usual meeting place, he shook her off. Finnick approached you, feeling guilty and not wanting to part from your side. After a single chaste kiss on your left cheek, he left in the same direction as his client. You let out a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding and tried to prevent the tears from falling. As common as this was, it never got easier for neither of you.

Later that night you found yourself in a similar position as Finnick. The man caressing your body didn't pay any attention to the way you were spacing out and you felt thankful for that. Your mind was elsewhere, replaying over and over again the moment you almost told Finnick how in love you were with him and wondering what would have happened if you had had the courage to repeat those three words just a little bit louder . But it doesn't matter, not anymore. He was drunk and so were you, nothing sincere would have come out of his mouth at that time and you highly doubt sober him would have corresponded your feelings anyway. If only things were different.

#the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair imagine #female reader #male reader #gender neutral reader #the hunger games imagine #oweninadaydream

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byechristopher · 5 months

Note

soooo it’s ur biggest fan here 🤣! so idea. chris is a hockey boy. i need something angsty or something

also a fluff idea reader is a dancer and chris is hockey player and reader has a competition the same place chris has a tournament. and it’s just them supporting each other

although just do what ever you want but hockey chris>>> i feel like you’d do him justice

Jealous guy.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO ANGST & FLUFF.

Author's note: I worked hard on this because it's for my biggest fan. You know I love my angsty shit, so I took your idea and combined it with mine. I hope y'all like it. 🤍 Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Ps. I'm the kind of bitch that gets all giddy and shit when Chris says "my girl" in my OWN FIC. Okay.

Warnings: not really a warning but mentions of fighting and a lil bloody lip. Mwuah. Didn't proofread, sorry!

[ YOU ]

"Okay, and what the hell do you want me to do about it?" I almost scream, turning around to look at Chris.

He was fuming, to say the least. His hair was messy, he didn't have a shirt on but wore his usual gray sweatpants. His glare was deadly.

"Uhm, I don't know, tell him to not send fucking flowers to OUR apartment?!" he shouts, throwing his phone on the couch. The irony in his voice is more than evident.

I couldn't believe it when I saw it either Honestly, I never expected him to go to such lengths. Despite being just a co-worker, he's become a relentless presence in my life. Whether it's showing up everywhere at work, bringing me coffee, or bombarding me with emails – it's relentless. The boundary crossed when he managed to find my address; literally searching for my goddamn address and sending me flowers? That is wild. Of course I told Chris about it, but he acts as if it is my fault this psycho found our address.

"I don't even know his phone number, Chris! How would I ever know that he'd search for the address and send me flowers?" I sigh, still very angry.

"I'll beat the shit out of him, I swear.. the game starts in less than an hour, fucking hell.." he says, checking his watch, "how the fuck am I ever going to play when I'm like this?"

I don't reply to him – he really makes it sound like it's my fault and despite my initial enthusiasm for the game, it's waned due to his blame game. Still, I don't want to come off as a heartless bitch, especially on the eve of his crucial match. So, I grab my phone, wallet, and keys before heading over to him.

"I really hope you win." I whisper, placing a soft peck on his cheek before exiting the bedroom and shortly after, leaving the apartment.

[ CHRIS ]

She left. Fucking hell. I always do bullshit like this – I can't keep my big mouth shut and now she's not even coming to the game. I really needed her in this one. But that is my own fault.

In the quiet solitude of our apartment, I try to prepare for the upcoming game; amidst the dim glow of our living room, I meticulously don my team jersey, each movement an attempt to shift my focus. Taking a moment, I inhale deeply, trying to be as calm as possible before the game.

With a determined resolve, I grab my gear, the familiar scent of the hockey bag triggering a surge of adrenaline. As I step outside, the crisp evening air hits me, momentarily clearing my mind. The journey to the rink is a silent contemplation, the distant echoes of the city fading as I immerse myself in mental preparation.

Arriving at the arena, I feel the familiar anticipation. The ambient sounds of the crowd and distant echoes of skates on the ice envelop me, grounding me in the moment. I exchange nods and greetings with teammates. The locker room door creaks open, revealing the sanctum where emotions are set aside, and the game becomes paramount. Amidst the hum of chatter and the clatter of equipment, I sigh; I really want her to come. I still have hope, although I doubt it. The tension lingers as I tighten my skate laces, and Jake, my teammate and friend, notices my distraction.

"You seem off, Chris. Everything okay?" Jake asks.

"Yeah.." I look up at him, and he seems like he already knows, "..just had a big fight with my girl before I left. Can't shake it off," I confess.

Jake pats me on the shoulder. "I understand, man. I wish I could say something but you gotta leave it behind for now. We've got a game to win. Sort things out later."

On the ice, rival players almost immediately target me, seeming to be aware of my vulnerable state; it must be that fucking expression of mine. I can't hide it. During the first period, a smirking opponent skates by, taunting, "trouble at home, Chrissy? Should focus on that instead of the game." he smiles.

Enraged, I retaliate with a forceful check, earning myself a penalty, "keep your temper in check, Chris!" warns the referee.

In the penalty box, I mutter under my breath, "I can't fucking believe this."

As the match progresses, rival players intensify their attempts to provoke me; we've played with those fuckers before, and if anyone has seen me in a game, they know very well the only thing that can affect the way I play is her. Undeterred, I channel my anger into my plays, determined to win this goodamn game while internally wondering if she came to see me after all.

In a breakaway, I find myself one-on-one with the opposing goalie. With a swift deke, I send the puck into the net, equalizing the score. The crowd erupts, and my teammates cheer.

Rival players persist in their attempts to get under my skin. During a tense moment, an opposing forward sneers, "look, your girlfriend's probably enjoying the show. Make sure to not embarass her again."

After that, I almost lose it, and in a heated moment, a rival defenseman delivers a high stick to my face, splitting my lip. Blood drips onto the ice as I stumble backward. The referee signals a penalty, but the damage is done.

Undeterred by the bleeding, I clench my fists, "you think that's going to stop me? You fucking coward!" I almost scream to make sure that fucking asshole hears me.

The game continues, and during a power play, I push through the pain. I charge towards the net, ignoring the throbbing pain in my lip – the only thing on my mind is her and making her proud.

Fueled by a surge of anger and determination, I respond with a spectacular goal that secures the lead for my team. I skate past the jeering opponent, acknowledging the crowd's cheers.

As the final buzzer sounds, signaling our victory, I finally spot my girlfriend in the stands. My heart beats faster. A mix of emotions plays across her face, and I realize the significance of my performance. It's like no one else is around, just us and that is the only thing that matters. I keep eye contact with her, even when my teammates are cheering for me and I smile, even with that bloody lip – she smiles back and I want to kiss her so bad.

[ YOU ]

When I saw Chris' bloody lip, I almost lost it – the restraint within me, resisting the urge to jump in and shove my fingernails into that asshole's eye sockets, is beyond words. I was well aware they were deliberately provoking Chris; his simmering anger was very evident. The recklessness in his gameplay during the initial stages of the game made it even more obvious that he was more focused on what they said than the actual game.

I kept yelling his name at the top of my lungs, unsure if he could hear, but I desperately wished for his victory, especially after that intense fight. Witnessing him wince from the pain now and then, I felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

As he scored the decisive goal and secured the victory, I couldn't contain my excitement, jumping up and down. It brought back memories of our younger days when I always cheered him on during his games.

When all of this was over and I just stood there, I could see him looking at me. His gaze finally finds me in the midst of the crowd, and my heart feels like it might leap out of my chest. Everything else fades away, leaving only him in my line of sight.

I notice all of the team leaving, probably going to the locker rooms and I quickly head to the exit door.

In the dimly lit corridor outside of where the locker rooms are, he finally comes outside and spots me waiting there, my expression a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

"Hey," he calls out, his voice carrying a hint of both excitement and apology.

I look up, meeting his eyes, "hey," a subtle smile playing on my lips, "you played amazing out there."

Still trying to catch his breath, he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug, keeping me close for a while. We are not saying anything, I just hold him close, my fingers buried in his sweaty hair.

"Thank you so much for coming." he whispers.

"I would never lose any of your games. Even when you're being an asshole." I smile, which I am sure he can hear when I'm speaking.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to put the blame on you. I just.. I am fucking jealous. I don't want any other guy near you." he keeps his voice as low as possible.

"Shhh, I know. Let's take care of that lip first and then you can apologise to me all you want." I pull away but he doesn't let go of course – I cup his cheek and take out some tissue that I keep in my bag for emergency with my free hand. I gently pat the skin, trying to clean the blood as much as I can without hurting him.

His eyes soften, "seriously, baby. Thanks for coming. I always play better when you're cheering for me."

I look up at him, my gaze softening as well as I cup both of his cheeks now, "I know. I am so, so proud of you. You were amazing, as always." I whisper, leaning in to play the softest kiss on his little wound.

"God, I love you." he whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist, hugging me close to him.

"I love you too."

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plutogist · 7 months

Text

HANG OUT WITH THEM

i. part two: hang out with these characters (part one)

ii. gender neutral. reader | unedited version (lmk if I used any gendered terms!)

iii. cw: spoilers in manga (chrollo's part), mentions of death, massacre/slaughter, torture, trauma, and violence. stealing, fluff & semi-angst (?)

iv. characters: gon freecs, killua zoldyck, kurapika kurta, chrollo lucilfer, feitan portor.

GON FREECS

You hang out with the boy a lot as the two of you develop a rapport with one another and grow closer. The two of you would often be perched on top of a tree branch as he casts his fishing line into the middle of a swamp. He would ask you questions about your past, how you lived in YorkNew City, and even about yourself constantly while he was fishing.

Talking to Gon is comforting, although he is extremely enthusiastic. You might find yourself baffled as to how he appears to be fulfilled while not harboring any unwelcome feelings or thoughts. But naturally, that wasn't the only thing. He would take you around the town's outskirts. And to pass the time if you were in his place, you two would play a variety of board games.

KILLUA ZOLDYCK

When Gon wasn't allowed to practice Nen for two months because of his injudicious decision of fighting Gido, you and Killua trained together without Nen because Killua don't want Gon to be left behind. Since neither of you was particularly talkative throughout your training session-unlike Gon, who frequently emits a lot of commotion when the three of you are together-it was really awkward and silent.

You're just reluctant to approach him because you two weren't really close. But even so, he would give you advice on how to grow more powerful and tell you about what you should concentrate on. As an outcome, the more you two trained together over the course of the two months, the closer you two grew.

The two of you are hardly alone together unless it involves training, combat, etc. The three of you traveled to Whale Island after leaving Heaven's Arena to meet Mito Freecs, Gon's aunt, and Abe, his great-grandmother. They were quite friendly to you, and his great-grandmother told you and Killua plenty of stories about Gon. Gon once left the two of you because his aunt asked him to go get some supplies she needed to prepare later.

You offered your assistance to Aunt Mito with the laundry. Killua was watching you as you washed the clothes since he isn't really sure how he can help you or do things like that. He would speak about his experiences and escapades as an experienced assassin, a member of the notorious Zoldyck family, and the future heir to the family to keep you entertained. However, it wasn't all that entertaining to hear about how he was actually tortured as a baby.

You also shared your stories with him when you were younger. Being from your typical family, you didn't find it particularly interesting. To your surprise, Killua laughed and thought you were humorous when you were younger because of both your foolishness and your intrepid nature. You attempted tossing him your left slippers, but he deftly sidestepped it. Indeed, the day was enjoyable.

KURAPIKA KURTA

(Prior to the massacre of the Kurta Clan)

He would come and see you in your leisure time and encourage you to read in the neighborhood library with him. You would undoubtedly concur that it is Kurapika after all. You two would sit side by side on the couch in the serene library, and before starting a new book, he would offer that you execute an exchange. For instance, he may recommend a book to you and vice versa.

The majority of the novels he read are far more serious than you may think. He always recommends history or biographies of philosophers who lived a century ago, as well as crime, mystery, and science fiction, works. Despite how much you like it, you feel a little ashamed about the works you're recommending to him since they seem so plain to him. [Unless you have the same taste w/ him]

Most of your hangouts are just solitude and calm, but you like that tranquility. Along with Pairo, the three of you are going to stay in the forest as you three would for an adventurous hangout. You would capture fish or other creatures that are suitable for human consumption.

(After the massacre of the Kurta Clan)

You feel much closer to your childhood friend now that you've seen him again. He lost his positive outlook since, as you are aware, criminals killed the members of his clan. If you were in his position, you wouldn't have any optimism at all. Therefore, you are always at his side to lessen his sense of isolation and provide him with emotional support. A conversation with him may be quite intense and passionate. He would often speak to you late at night about his unsaid emotions, his grief, his trauma, his enmity, and the survivor's guilt.

He's still a huge book nerd, so you two would borrow books from the local library and read them together while relaxing in the calm setting. You are just brought back to the past by it.

CHROLLO LUCILFER

(When you were still living in Meteor City)

Chrollo introduced you to Father Lisores, the owner of the church that you saw. (First chapter) And now, you're affiliated with him because you look like you're on the verge of death and he pities you. In exchange for your assistance with his charitable endeavors and your assistance each time there is a mass for children and other Meteor City residents, he provides you with a place to live, food, and other requirements.

Furthermore, you got to know some of Chrollo's friends. They all treated you well, but Chrollo is the one you get along with the best. Despite the difficulties of his life, he is bursting with positive energy. He frequently stops by the church and enjoys bringing you unusual items.

Most of your time together would be spent in the church's rear chamber, where he would show you other items and instruct you in speaking Gelman. (In the universe of Hunter x Hunter, probably English). His discoveries and his astute thinking never fail to captivate you. He frequently blushes when you praise him, but in all honesty, he kind of craves it since he wants to impress you.

Chrollo requested you, Sarasa, and Pakunoda to voice dub a Mighty Sweepin' Power Cleaners VHS tape into your mother tongue so that the kids in Meteor City could watch and understand the episode. It gave you an immense thrill to voice-dub the role that was given to you, and it warmed your heart to see the children moved and enthralled.

(Phantom Troupe / After the slaughter of Kurta Clan)

After Sarasa's death, Phantom Troupe was established with the intention of exacting retribution. You presently hold the fourth rank and are a member of the Phantom Troupe, a group of malevolent thieves. You two don't spend much time together since Chrollo is so busy keeping up his leadership role, looking for items that can be of great use to the group, or if he wants to steal a particular item. In fact, it only happens once in a blue moon.

But you can't blame him after all. Though when all of you are gathered up for a meeting, he would give you pieces of jewelry, books, and others that you love, which you presumably think that he stole, it feels nice that he's thinking about you.

While waiting for the remainder of the members to arrive, you would speak with them about significant topics and share what you had learned from your mission. His responses to you are brief since he is still engaged with the book he is reading. You feel sort of sad about it but chose to not complain.

FEITAN PORTOR

While the troupe was in York New, he would pay you many visits at the gaming shop where you work, and would practically gaze at you as if you were a ghost or something - well, he's waiting for you to end your shift. You can't concentrate on your work due to his scary glances, and he physically stares at everyone that walks into the shop.

You would advise him to cease doing that after your shift, but he would act unaware even though he understood what you meant. You two would saunter through the Saloma Mall, only glancing at the merchandise in the storefront windows, not bothering to go inside because you're saving up your money.

But there was a time when you spotted a bracelet that piqued your curiosity, but it was so pricey that your wage wasn't sufficient to pay for it. Feitan was aware of this but remained silent. After dropping you off at your flat, he goes to the shop where you spotted the bracelet you like and snatches it violently.

He handed you the bracelet the next day. Unaware that he had stolen it, you were perplexed by how he was able to purchase it. When you questioned about how he was able to afford it, he just said that they were confidential.

Feitan isn't a particularly chatty person, and neither are you, but whenever he comes to see you while you're at work, you strike up a conversation with him, and honestly, talking to him is much more comfortable than talking to other people because he's direct and doesn't sugarcoat his words, which is what you like best.

He just listens to your rambling while paying attention to what you're saying, but he obviously won't be overt about it. The two of you would play video games in your flat after your shift. Because he has a strong sense of competition, he usually defeats you. He constantly invited Phinks and Shalnark as well.

#hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh #hxh fanfic #gon x reader #killua x reader #chrollo x reader #kurapika x reader #headcanons #feitan x reader #reader insert

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rascal-xo · 1 year

Note

What's up! Umm, I got a request another actually ideas be popping in my head. For ghost x reader, where the reader is a world-class boxer and is like undefeated like the reader is pretty much female Mike tyson (BTW if you don't know who Mike tyson is he was pretty much a scary boxer who knocked people ass out , people were scared of him and he bit someone ear off ) and reader is like so deadly in the ring she almost kills someone or gets called this pretty sick nickname and everyone on the task force is afraid of her but ghost being ghost doubts the readers skills and challenges the reader in the ring and gets his ass beaten badly like a REALLY bad broken nose, jaw or like gets his ass knocked out. Just a thought: I hope this is acceptable 🙏. I love your writing.

Sunday Punch | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Chapter summary: You’re a lethal fighter in the ring, and a seasoned soldier in the field. The 141 get front tickets to your underground double life.

Warnings: Fights, bodily injury, blood, language

Tags: @glitteryeggalmondherring @fiveshelmet @madamemelancholysstuff @myguiltypleasure @pukbadger

A/N: Ty for sending in another amazing request! you keep my brain happy lolll 🩷🩷 I hope you enjoy! (It’s a long one i’m sorry LMAO i got carried away)

P.S: Sunday Punch is just another way of saying KnockOut.

It’s no secret that you’re a talented soldier. With every move you make in the field, you showcases an unrivaled combination of skill, agility, and raw power. You holdheld quite the reputation around base, especially for your skills in combat.

Most of the younger cadets at the academy were also hesitant to be paired up with you, mostly afraid to get knocked out.

Whether it's engaging in close-quarters combat or taking down enemies from a distance, your every move is calculated and executed to your advantage. Your training has molded you into a formidable force, capable of adapting to any situation with ease.

But you haven’t always been like that. Going through the ranks before and during your recruitment to the 141, you were pushed beyond your boundaries and worked through.

Now you’re lethal, and one of the military’s strongest assets. But like anyone else, you have hobbies. Dangerous hobbies.

You step into the dimly lit underground arena, the air thick with anticipation. It's early, and the entire space lies empty, granting you a moment of solitude before the chaos ensues. The only sound is the distant hum of the overhead lights, casting an ethereal glow over the barren ring.

With a focused gaze, you tighten your fists and step forward. Your first strike connects with the bag, and the impact reverberates through the arena like a gunshot. The sound echoes off the empty seats, filling the air with the thunderous force of your blows.

The scent of sweat and anticipation lingers in the air, fueling your senses. Your muscles ripple beneath your skin, coiled and ready for action.

Your teammates on the 141 know you lead a mysterious life when you’re not at work, but have never seen you in action. You decided that it was time to let your most trusted friends in on your endeavors. Mostly because Soap was dying to see you in the ring.

The Captain isn’t very fond of you putting yourself into dangerous situations outside of your already severely dangerous occupation. He’s like a father to you, but he also understands and respects your talent.

Now as you sit in your dimly lit dressing room, the anticipation of the upcoming underground boxing match courses through your veins. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and determination, mingling with the faint echo of distant cheers from the eager crowd.

The mirror before you reflects the flickering glow of a single bare lightbulb dangling from above, casting shadows across your face.

You take a deep breath, the adrenaline surging within you as you run your fingers through your hair. The rhythmic motion of braiding your hair has always been a ritual before each fight or mission, a way to focus your mind and steel your resolve.

“Quite a crowd tonight, Bullet.” A voice breaks the silence. You look up to see Anchor, the man who arranges the fights. You’ve been fighting in his arena for 3 years.

He’s wearing his signature navy blue suit, his hair gelled and a championship ring on each finger. He throws you an envelope and you catch it on your bare lap. “Three thousand. Five when you win.” He winks, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve got Tank Gomez tonight.”

You open the envelope and glance at its contents, the crisp bills tucked neatly within. Anchors the only other person you’ve ever trusted besides your team. He trained your mind to always be lethal and ready, coming from a fighting background himself. “Copy that.” You say, a smile at your lips.

“When do you deploy?” He asks, crossing his arms. “People don’t seem to care about me when ‘Bullet’ isn’t in the ring.” You shake your head at the nickname you’ve acquired.

“3 days. So don’t scuff me up too bad.” You tease, getting up to put on your robe.

The crowd awaits, hungry for the spectacle that is about to unfold. But it's more than just a performance; it's a test of your mettle, an opportunity to showcase your mastery of the craft.

With Anchor's support, you step forward, ready to embrace the chaos and reclaim your rightful place in the ring. The anticipation builds, the sound of the crowd growing louder as you make your way through the corridors.

As you step into the ring, the air crackles with anticipation. The crowd roars, their excitement reverberating through the arena. Across from you stands your opponent, a formidable figure, a big man whose sheer size alone could intimidate the faint of heart.

As you take your stance, a flicker of movement catches your attention from the corner seats. Soap, Price, Gaz, and Ghost, are there, watching you intently. Soap sends an energetic thumbs up, cheering you on.

Yet, as you meet Ghost's gaze, you notice his eyes. The usual seriousness is replaced by a coldness, an intensity that makes it unreadable. He looks away. Ghost has never been one to support your hobbies, but watches along anyway.

The referee's voice cuts through the tension, signaling the start of the fight. The world around you narrows, and everything else becomes a blur. It's just you, your opponent, and the dance of combat.

You move with purpose, your training guiding your every step. Dodging, weaving, and countering, you navigate the ring with grace and precision. Each blow is calculated, your fists finding their mark with practiced accuracy.

The big man lunges forward, his power evident in every punch he throws. But you refuse to be overwhelmed. Your speed and agility become your greatest assets, allowing you to evade his strikes while retaliating with your own punishing combinations.

“Argh!” One of his punches land, striking you right under the eye. You curse knowing the bruise it’s gonna leave later. You feel a little blood drop down your cheek. Recovering quickly you bounce back.

With each passing second, the intensity of the fight grows, both you and your opponent refusing to back down. Sweat beads on your brow, mingling with the taste of blood and adrenaline on your lips. The rounds blur together, time becoming inconsequential as you immerse yourself in the battle, fully present, fully alive.

As the final bell sounds, the crowd erupts in applause. The fight is over, your opponent is out cold, and you've given it your all. You stand tall in the center of the ring, catching your breath, as the referee holds your victory arm up high.

After a grueling workout, you find yourself in the open gym on the military base, sweat glistening on your brow and a towel draped around your neck. Your bruised knuckles draw your attention, serving as a reminder of the battle you fought in the ring just a week ago.

As you examine them, lost in your thoughts, the door swings open, and Ghost walks in, his presence commanding attention. “Hey.” You say to him, with a nod.

“You’re here.” He replies, monotonously. His normal gear is now replaced with gym shorts and T-shirt. He trades out the full skull mask with a black balaclava.

“Why wouldn’t I be.” You chuckle, watching as he sets down a weight. You would normally work out with Ghost as you’ve got sort of a friendship that’s built over the years.

Today he seems awfully distant. You feel the tension growing between the two of you. You knew he was never a fan of you fighting for show, he was the first person you told about your endeavors, and he wasn’t too thrilled.

Ghost's eyes briefly meet yours before shifting away. You lean against the hanging punching bag, and cross your arms. It's evident that he's harboring a deep anger, his normally calm demeanor shattered by the concern that has festered within him.

“It was nice of you to come out the other night.” You say, testing the waters. His head turns in your direction as he takes you in. His gaze stops at your knuckles.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He says, looking right through you. You scoff a dry laugh.

“Haven’t yet.”

“You think this is funny?”

Ghost's voice cuts through the air, his anger palpable. You straighten up, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. The tension between you escalates, the air crackling with unresolved emotions.

"No, Simon, I don't think it's funny," you reply, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and defiance. "But I also don't think it's fair for you to dictate what I can or cannot do. This is my choice, my path."

Ghost's eyes narrow, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Your choice? This isn't just about you, Y/N," he snaps, his voice biting with a sense of betrayal. "Every time you step into that ring, you're not just risking your own life; you're risking everything."

His words hit you hard, the weight of his disappointment bearing down on you. You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to convey your own perspective.

“I've trained for this, I know what I'm doing."

Ghost scoffs, his disbelief evident in his tone. "Trained? You think a few months of underground fights make you invincible?”

“Fuck you. You never fucking supported anything I do!” You throw your towel down, needing to get away from him and get some fresh air into your system.

An hour later, Price calls you and the guys for the group training session. He divides the team into pairs for sparring, and to your surprise (or perhaps fate's twisted sense of humor), you find yourself standing face to face with Ghost.

The tension between you is palpable, the lingering anger and hurt casting a shadow over the training session.

Price's voice breaks through the silence, setting the rules and reminding everyone to "play nice." But deep down, you know that the emotions swirling inside you threaten to break through the facade of control.

The bell rings, signaling the start of the spar, and you and Ghost cautiously circle each other. As the seconds tick by, you feel the anger inside you bubbling to the surface, fueling your movements.

His movements are measured, his punches and kicks executed with surgical precision. He weaves in and out, his strikes landing with pinpoint accuracy, but you matche him blow for blow, refusing to back down.

The sound of fists meeting flesh echo through the training room as your strikes collided. The intensity of their spar escalates with each passing second, the energy between you crackling like electricity.

Without warning, you lash out, throwing a punch fueled by a mix of frustration and pent-up emotions. Your fist connects with Ghost's nose, the impact resounding through the air. Time seems to slow down for a moment as he staggers back, blood staining his balaclava from his broken nose.

The realization of what you've done hits you like a punch to the gut. The anger dissipates, replaced by a flood of guilt and regret. His eyes meet yours, raging and stone cold. “Fucking hell. You just don’t know when to stop do you?”.” He curses, his shoulder hitting yours as he leaves the mat.

“Si-wait!” You call after him, but before you can say anymore Price stops you.

Enough," Price's voice cuts through the air, firm and resolute. His gaze shifts between you and Ghost, assessing the situation. "Take a breather, both of you."

He gestures towards the side of the mat, signaling for you to step aside. You comply, your mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions.

A/N: That’s all I got for now or else imma be writing like 10,000 words just on this LMAO

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty smut #fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #141 x you #141 x reader #task force 141 #modern warfare smut #simon riley x reader #captain price #soap mactavish

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fatallyfalling · 6 months

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Sea-Green~ ♆

“waves crash , time slows , and all that’s left are those stupid sea-green eyes”

warnings: hurt/comfort - fluff if you squint, it’s the Hunger Games so canon perceived violence/trauma, Finnick is soft, vague/brief insinuation to Finnick’s place in the Capital, talk of nightmares, brief panic, comforting touch, slight language, etc

{{ word count }} 2.7 k

{{ prompt }} you didn’t want to be a victor, you don’t think anybody in the districts does really. It’s the wee hours of morning - sun still asleep below the endless sea and you can’t help staring into the water, it brings a comfort you can’t quite describe. However your peace is interrupted by a certain “Darling of The Capital” looking for his own escape.

{{ a/n }} this is my first fic in like.. three years please be kind >< this is also my first time writing finnick so i’d love feedback! please enjoy <3

The evening air by the sea is salty, intertwined with damp earth and a hint of pine as you take a deep breath in. You can feel the malleable sand beneath your fingernails keeping you grounded as you perch on the beach with your knees drawn close to your chest. There’s a chill that nips and a breeze that whips but you don’t mind it, if anything it helps keep your grip on reality to feel the sensations.

The sun is still sunken deep below the horizon and there’s only the oceanic chorus of the tide mixing with nature as District 4 remains in its slumber for a while longer.

You hadn’t bothered to check the time when you had shrugged on a sweater and crept out of Victor’s Village to escape the shadows of your nightmares, but it was definitely two or three o’clock in the morning. At least the sea was close so you didn’t have to go far to find solitude with the water. The soft murmurs of the crashing waves and the lull of the tide brought a peace you hadn’t been able to find anywhere else, not that you had much peace, to begin with these days. In fact, you used to fear the ocean, its watery depths murky, unknown, and brimming with secrets. However, you found yourself sneaking away to visit the rolling waves more often than you could keep track of now.

The sounds were comforting, the push and pull of the sea foam was a steady cadence to help focus your thoughts away from the night terrors. You managed to drag your arms away from the wet sand to wrap themselves around your shoulders, another shaky inhale and a squeeze of your closed eyelids as the tiny granulated pieces of earth clung to the knit sweater making it a bit scratchy.

The dampness had suddenly felt too much like blood.

You tried to focus in again on the sounds of the water, your earth-covered nails digging slightly into your skin as you kept attempting to steady your breathing. The terrors that came with the setting sun were your least favorite change thanks to the deadly arena you had been trapped in years ago. Unfortunately, as much as it felt like an eternity had passed, the terrors made it feel just as fresh and raw in your mind.

The 67th annual Hunger Games.

You had been sixteen, now twenty-two. The arena had confined and demolished your heart and senses like a meal, you still found yourself jumping at the kettle whistle and reaching for a phantom knife on your hip. You hadn’t even intended to last let alone win, as many tributes as you had managed to outlast in the first two days you were still forced to reckon with death and the sticky metallic scent of blood and copper following the sting of salt as you fought a fellow tribute to prevent drowning in a river.

You gripped yourself a bit tighter as you tried to shove away the memory and the sudden tightness constricting your throat.

A harsh shiver raked through you as the cold finally seeped into your bones and snapped your awareness to a shifting sound a few paces behind where you hid. Instinctively you whirled, sand kicking up in a small spray as your distorted view and trembling hands scrambled for anything to defend yourself. There wasn’t anything but sand, not even a shell within reach as you rapidly blinked to focus on the darkness in front of you.

Your gaze landed on the tall figure a few yards away, the waves crashing as time seemed to drag itself across the sand and you met a familiar set of sea-green eyes.

You let loose a breath you hadn’t quite noticed you’d been holding as the blossoming warmth of adrenaline on your skin fades to let the cold once more seep in. Collapsing your knees back onto the sand your hands dig into the wet beach along with a sharp inhale, the sense of danger slowly ebbing away as the figure continues to approach, a thin whistle swimming into your senses as he stops a pace or two away.

He allowed a brief apology as you adjusted back to your curled-up position on the sand, failing an attempt to brush the clustered sand off your pants with a sigh.

“It’s fine, Finnick..”

You weren’t exactly ecstatic about the so-called ‘Darling of The Capital’, his smirks and the drip of confidence off his tongue tended to rub you the wrong way, but considering the mere constant watch of Capital elites and a vague awareness of the many lipstick sealed letters and ‘visitors’ coming and going from his home in Victor’s Village you tried to keep your patience on a tight leash. A pang of concern stung inside however as you noticed the too far away look washing over his tanned features as he slumped down beside you.

“Can’t sleep?”

A tense muscle fluttered in the Darling’s jaw as he rested his elbows on his knees.

“No..”

Your brows stitched together in a bit of confusion but you didn’t pry, the air around Finnick Odair was colder, more solemn than the usual radiating warmth and the lack of any suggestive comeback from the bronze-haired male sparked a wonder of what might be going on inside. If he was awake at this hour and out here the same as you, it could only be assumed he had a similar reason to your own.

Quiet resumed for a while as you both sat in silence listening to the crash of the waves. You tried not to look too long but in your peripheral, you could notice the messier than usual mop of bronze hair, a smudge of purple beneath his eyes and the ivory knit sweater Finnick wore was bunched over his hands as if to mimic mittens. He caught your glimpses after a minute and you quickly reverted back to looking at the horizon, hugging yourself a bit tighter as the wind swept the disturbed sand around your boots.

Inhaling through your nose for a brief moment you decided to break the silence, it hadn’t been awkward but by the twitch in Finnick’s jawline, you could tell he didn’t exactly prefer the quiet.

“Do you get nightmares too..?”

Your voice was a bit meek, toeing the line of a whisper as you kept your eyes trained on the water beyond. You tried not the notice the tension release in his shoulders as he dropped his head to look at his hands, a small but forced smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as an empty ‘tch’ huffed out with his reply.

“Was it that obvious ?” the slight tilt in his head as he turned to look at you had a few bronze waves falling over his forehead, the tug on the corner of his mouth showing his too-white teeth in a coy half smile. Ever so slightly turning to meet his gaze you couldn’t help marking the crinkle in the corner of his eyes or the slight dimples on his cheeks. No wonder the Capital adored him.

“What is it - three? No - four in the morning? You mustn’t think I’m out here for an evening stroll Odair.” you huffed, your tone slightly playful if only to keep the smile on his face. Your ploy worked as his cheshire grin widened, a small head shake tossing his bronze waves back and forth as his gaze flickered between yours.

He hummed in response, the brief glimmer of mischief returning to his sea-green eyes for a moment before quickly deflating again. “It’s hard to sleep when there’s always eyes watching,” he murmured, his gaze dropping back to his sweater mittens.

You paused, biting back a remark about his trade in secrets. To receive one from Finnick without a form of repayment was rare if ever from your experience watching the victor at capital functions in the upper districts. But you could tell he wasn’t asking for any repayment, that far-away look had glazed over his face again in an all too familiar way. “Sometimes I have to throw blankets over my windows just to feel any sense of privacy..” you softly return, you couldn’t know the full extent of his experience but you had your fair share of watching eyes from the Capital as a fellow victor.

Finnick’s gaze snapped back to yours, this time it was his turn to knit his brows in confusion, if it wasn’t for the nature of the conversation you might have taken the perceived concern - or was it..worry? to heart. But when it came to the Capital’s Darling you found it a bit puzzling to figure out which reactions were genuine, though a sneaking whisp of knowing allowed room to think this was true.

“I’m sorry…”

Your name sounded foreign on his tongue, had he ever directly addressed you before? It didn’t matter, you tried to push away the warmth that clung to your heart, averting your gaze from his stupid sea-green stare.

“It’s not your fault Finnick.”

You tried not to notice the spread of the warmth as his name left your lips.

He pushed a hand through his messy hair, no doubt dragging sand through it as well to be inevitably washed out later. Quiet returned, the soft rushing of water filling the silence as a small glow started to peek over the horizon. You enjoyed sunrises more than sunsets, watching the world slowly rise from slumber and start their day was a feeling you relished being one of the only ones to experience it sometimes.

“It’s hard… remembering the arena. Waking up feels more like a dream than the memories sometimes..” You sighed, feeling a weight start to press in on your shoulders as you spoke. “I know I’m not physically there anymore… but it still feels inescapable - like if I blink too fast I’ll be put back in with no way out..”

Drifting your hands up from your shoulders to your head, not quite covering your ears as they threaded through your hair, you blinked hard to try and fight the growing sting in your eyes. There was no way in hell you’d cry in front of him, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and meet his gaze either.

“It just… it’s just horrible, what they make us do... a-and even after we survive we can’t have any form of peace.” You were starting to ramble, a familiar tightness creeping across your chest and throat as you subconsciously picked up a quicker breathing pattern.

The fear stung as you gripped your hair a bit tighter, trying to remember the sound of the ocean across the way and that Finnick was beside you. You didn’t feel much comfort at the fact he was practically watching you fall to pieces in front of him - actually, you felt awful for doing so. Horrors flashed behind your eyes that you furiously tried to blink away. “I-I’m sorry..”

You didn’t register a reply if he gave one, instead finding a sudden but gentle heat on your back. The warmth slowly spread, like flames starting to lick up your shoulders and neck and drawn in small, slow circles with an even pressure that oddly helped calm the rising panic in your system. You apologized for getting yourself worked up, it wasn’t fair to dump such a thing on him.

“It’s okay,, we all have a few skeletons in our closets..” He mumbles, adding that you didn’t have to apologize. For someone who excelled in confidence and strength, it was a tad odd to see the one and only Finnick Odair be gentle if not comforting to someone. There was a beat of silence and a falter of his hand on your back that brought in a nip of cold air at the absence as he must have realized what he’d been doing, “Is - is this okay,,?”

A simple nod and small hum in return from You and he resumed the gesture, your fingers slowly leaving your hair to gather on top of your boots, fidgeting with the sandy laces as you let your eyes flutter closed, wetting your lips and trying to control your uneven breaths.

“I get them too, not just the night terrors but the panic attacks..”

Your eyelids fluttered open, braving to meet his eyes as you listened to his confession.

“Usually I have to dunk my head in ice cold water to break out of it.. other times diving into the sea..”

Finnick’s gaze was tender, his lips pressed into a thin line as he peered over at you, another secret kept hidden under that Golden Boy mask revealed. You returned a small, tight-lipped smile as your gaze faltered from his out of a sudden nervousness.

“I guess there’s more in common between our Capital’s Darling and us mere mortals than I thought.“

You breathed with a small hint of a laugh. That cheshire grin was quick to make an appearance once again on Finnick’s face as he let out a low chuckle.

“I’d hardly place myself above anyone..” Finnick shook his head again, bronze waves whisking around in the wind but his grin didn’t falter.

“Hmm,” You hummed in response. The Darling’s circles on your back had slowed to a stop as you calmed down, eventually returning to its place over his knee. “Thank you.. for that, i-it helped a lot,” you murmur in thanks to him. He simply nods, telling you not to worry about it as the warm light of early morning starts to wash over his features. The weak light brings a new look to the Darling, and it’s the first time you’re able to notice that the brave Golden Boy facade of Finnick Odair is nowhere to be seen.

It’s refreshing, to say the least, he seems more relaxed, at ease in a sense as he watches the waves. The posture he normally holds isn’t there and the messy bronze waves of his hair make him seem almost nothing like the charming playboy the Capital adores, more human than anything to say the least.

You couldn’t bring yourself to really resent or dislike him in any way either, he may shine in the spotlight and favor of the Capital and career districts but you knew it was a light he didn’t choose nor have a say in. You’d heard the murmurs and noticed the prying eyes of the elite, always watching as if ready to pounce on the Darling victor. But Finnick carried himself with a self-assuredness that could put even the best victor to shame. He didn’t let the Capital see the fruits of their torture for what they did to him and if anything you could only admire his strength.

“You’re staring y'know ~ “

shit!

Shock smacked you in the face like a punch as an uncontrollable flush tinged your cheeks and ears red, averting your gaze to anywhere but those stupid sea-green eyes. “S-sorry..” you mumble, bending your head as if it could hide the embarrassment burning your face. Finnick’s laugh rises over the rolling waves as he tilts his head back, the coy smirk on his face downright insufferable if not…cute.

“It’s alright, you can stare if you want to,”

Finnick leaned to gently bump his shoulder to yours, a reassurance that you hadn’t made him uncomfortable in the slightest. Sighing through your nose you playfully reach out and shove him away, a small grin spreading on your own lips.

“In your dreams Odair.”

Your eyes meet once more as the sky turns from blues and purples to pinks and oranges, the weight that had been pressing on you only lingered now, much lighter than before and you could tell the same proved true for Finnick. The small giggle that left your lips had the smirk on his face growing wider by the second, dimples well and truly defined and his too-white teeth flashing in the morning light. Maybe, just maybe, you could learn to be friendly with him. It was… comforting - to have someone to confide in after the isolating years following your games.

“Would you like some tea ?”

“Drinking tea with a mortal? I’m flattered” You feign a dramatic wave across your forehead but accept his offer with a smile.

Another bout of laughter rises from Finnick’s throat and you no longer feel the cold or the wind. Your heart feels lighter, almost like a piece has managed to pick itself back up from the damage.

And maybe you could get used to those Sea-Green eyes.

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earthtoharlow · 3 months

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Flashing Lights

16) Denver

Jack Harlow x Singer!OC

Series Masterlist

Jack ran a hand through his hair in frustration and let out a sigh as he tried to write. He looked towards Urban & Nemo who were hanging out in his hotel room to “keep him company” but he knew they were worried about him and wanted to keep an eye on him. Jack had been on tour for a month now, and while he was enjoying hearing the crowds sing his songs back to him every night he longed for the simpler days where he could move through the world with anonymity.

The demand for him was at an all time high and Jack hated letting his team and fans down so he continued saying yes to everything Jason threw at him. He was exhausted and felt like he stretched himself too thin. Sometimes he just really wished for some quiet moments of solitude where he could simply be himself without the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

The absence of Maryse was also weighing heavily on him. Seeing glimpses of her adventures traveling around the world on social media only made it worse as pangs of loneliness pierced his heart with each passing day.

Urban interrupted his thoughts, “Hey, dude it’s time to go to the arena for sound check.” Jack simply nodded, grabbing his things and following his friends out the door, longing for when he could be in the comfort of his own bed with Maryse.

Jack’s phone vibrated, breaking the silence in his dressing room backstage. He usually kept his phone on do not disturb most days and only a select few could get through. With a curious glance, he picked it up, his heart quickening at the sight of a message from Maryse. With a tap, he opened it, and a video began to play, showing Maryse with her guitar singing in a stadium halfway across the world.

As he watched the video of her performing, pride swelled within him, threatening to burst forth in a wave of emotion. Despite the ache of missing her, he couldn’t help but marvel at her talent, her presence commanding the stage with an effortless grace that left him breathless.

And as the video came to an end, he couldn’t help but smile, sending her a quick text back as he heard a knock on his door telling him he was on in 10 minutes.

“You’re killing it! So proud of you, M!” Jack slid his phone in his pocket as he left the dressing room and headed towards the stage.

Jack stood behind the white curtain and smiled as he heard the crowd cheering as they watched the opening video. The cheers got louder as the opening chords of Talk of The Town started playing, he stepped on stage as the curtain fell ready to put on another performance with Maryse in the back of his mind.

***

Maryse yawned, adrenaline rush from the concert rapidly fading away as she exited the stadium with her team to head back to the hotel as they were going to be in town for a couple days. She couldn’t wait to head back to her room to shower and hopefully catch Jack before he got his day started as he would probably just be waking up.

After a quick shower to wash away the sweat and exhaustion from the show, she settled into bed and pulled out her MacBook to call Jack, anxiously waiting for him to answer.

At first all Maryse could see in the camera was that head full of curls, and it made her smile. “Hey, baby.” Jack said through a yawn, laying in bed in his own hotel room. “You look beautiful, I’ve missed your face.”

“I’ve missed yours as well, it’s been a crazy few weeks.” she said, giving him a tiny grin and she felt her heart ache. She missed him so much it hurt. The distance between them felt unbearable, and tears welled up in her eyes as Maryse struggled to hold back her emotions.

“Hey, hey, none of that, no tears! It's too early here in the states for me to start crying. You did amazing tonight though, I can’t stop watching that video you sent.” Jack said softly. “I wish I could have been there to see you in person.”

Maryse laughed, wiping the fallen tears. “It’s not the same without you here.” She admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know, I know.” Jack said, trying to stay strong for the both of them. “I miss you more than you can imagine but just think in a couple of weeks we’ll be together again when I perform in Brooklyn.”

In three weeks, Maryse was off for a couple days and it just so happened that Jack would be performing at the Barclays Center for the first time.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking…”

“That can’t be good.” Maryse joked, not being able to hold it in.

Jack laughed before shaking his head at her. “What do you think about us moving in together when our tours are over?”

Maryse’s heart sank at his question, not because she didn’t want to but because the timing felt off. “I…I don’t know,”

The hurt on Jack’s face killed her. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just… we’re both on opposite sides of the world right now. Maybe we should have this conversation in person, when we can really discuss it properly.”

Jack nodded slowly, hurt still flickered in his eyes. “You’re right. Let’s wait until we’re together again to talk about it.”

“Thank you,” Maryse whispered, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, more than anything,” he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.

As they hung up the phone, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in the depths of his chest.

Was Maryse holding him at arm's length because of her past relationship with Nate?

Maryse's hesitation to discuss moving in together left him feeling unsettled, as if there were unresolved issues lurking beneath the surface. He knew that he needed to be patient and understanding but that didn’t make her reaction hurt any less.

He tried to remain optimistic but sometimes he wondered what more he had to do to show her that he loved and cared for her.

***

Maryse tossed and turned all night after her phone call with Jack. She knew that he was more upset than he let on despite his understanding demeanor. His words had a hint of sadness that made Maryse’s own heart hurt. She buried her head in her pillow and let out a deep sigh struggling to push away her thoughts.

Maryse hated that she unintentionally hurt him by shelving the conversation about moving in together. She didn’t want Jack to think she was holding him at arms length because of Nate. She just wasn’t sure if she was ready to make that leap just yet, and she knew she needed to have this conversation with Jack in person.

As sleep eventually claimed Maryse, she whispered a silent prayer that when the time came, everything would fall into place, and that everything went smoothly.

***

AN: 🫣 let’s gossip! Let me know your thoughts!! :)

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astrojulia · 9 months

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Scorpio Sun + Moon

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ੈ♡˳ Aries Moon: The Aries Moon bestows upon you a robust and unyielding character, always ready to confront life's challenges headlong. Your emotions run deep, and within you simmers a fervent impetus that fuels your determination. This fervor, however, can occasionally manifest as impatience and intolerance towards those who don't share your unwavering resolve. Yet, it is precisely this tenacity that empowers you with a vast reservoir of courage, propelling you to surmount hurdles and accomplish exceptional feats that others might shy away from.

ੈ♡˳ Taurus Moon: The Taurus Moon casts a sensual and artistic hue upon your persona, endowing you with an affinity for life's finer pleasures. Your tactile senses are finely attuned, drawing you towards creative pursuits such as horticulture, where your ability to nurture and cultivate beauty shines. While your grounded nature ensures a steady and reliable presence, there's a tendency towards stubbornness, a trait that can sometimes hinder your willingness to embrace change. This innate obstinacy, however, is balanced by an unshakable trustworthiness that makes you an invaluable friend and companion.

ੈ♡˳ Gemini Moon: With a Gemini Moon, your life's tapestry is woven with threads of curiosity, intelligence, and a touch of melancholy. The early chapters of your journey may have been marked by a sense of loss or turbulence, fostering a skeptical lens through which you view the world. Yet, this very skepticism has honed your keen intelligence, allowing you to perceive truths that often escape others. Your intuitive grasp of human nature is a remarkable gift, guiding you through the intricate web of emotions and motivations that shape our interactions.

ੈ♡˳ Cancer Moon: The Cancer Moon casts a gentle glow upon your demeanor, endowing you with an aura of approachability and empathy. Your perceptiveness is uncanny, enabling you to read not just the words, but the unspoken emotions that dance in the eyes of those around you. This heightened sensitivity extends beyond the realm of humans, as you find yourself in tune with the silent language of animals. However, the ebb and flow of your inner emotional tides can be your Achilles' heel, leading to occasional bouts of instability that challenge your otherwise calm and collected facade.

ੈ♡˳ Leo Moon: With the Leo Moon's radiant influence, your emotions burn with the intensity of a sun's embrace. This luminescence grants you a magnetic presence, drawing others into your orbit with ease. While your fixed nature ensures unwavering devotion to your family and loved ones, it also casts a shadow of rigidity when faced with contrasting viewpoints. Your passion is infectious, but it occasionally transforms into drama, especially when minor details are blown out of proportion. Your gift for theatricality is matched only by your ability to bring matters to a resolute and satisfying conclusion.

ੈ♡˳ Virgo Moon: The Virgo Moon has bestowed upon you a measured and pragmatic disposition, forged through the crucible of a challenging childhood. Solitude may have been a familiar companion, a factor that has honed your intelligence and sense of duty. Your analytical mind is drawn towards the intricate complexities of the medical field, where your meticulous nature can thrive. Yet, beneath your composed exterior lies a yearning for connection and trust, a vulnerability that requires careful nurturing to fully blossom.

ੈ♡˳ Libra Moon: With a Libra Moon, your essence exudes a captivating blend of charm and intellect, creating a symphony of diplomacy and ambition. Your attractiveness isn't merely skin deep; it's woven into your very being, casting a spell that draws people towards your magnetic presence. This combination primes you for a potential role in the political arena, where your knack for balancing competing interests and perspectives can be a formidable asset. However, this quest for balance extends beyond the realm of governance, occasionally leading you to choose between asserting your dominance within the family dynamic or sacrificing it at the altar of your professional aspirations.

ੈ♡˳ Scorpio Moon: Under the enigmatic gaze of the Scorpio Moon, your emotional landscape is akin to a tempestuous sea, both captivating and unpredictable. Passion courses through your veins, igniting a relentless zeal that propels you towards your desires with an intensity that borders on obsession. Dominance comes naturally to you, and you possess an uncanny ability to attain the unattainable through sheer force of will. This fervor can be a double-edged sword, empowering you to conquer challenges, yet also threatening to consume you if left unchecked.

ੈ♡˳ Sagittarius Moon: The Sagittarius Moon illuminates your path with a beacon of wisdom and perception. Your intellectual faculties are sharp, complemented by a deep understanding of the human psyche. This potent combination equips you for roles that demand keen insights, be it in the realms of law, business, or investigation. However, it's your irrepressible sense of humor that acts as a compass, guiding you through life's labyrinthine twists and turns. This ability to find joy even in the face of adversity ensures that you remain grounded, regardless of the challenges that come your way.

ੈ♡˳ Capricorn Moon: With the Capricorn Moon's steady gaze upon you, your emotional landscape resembles a bedrock of determination and responsibility. You approach life with a seriousness that commands respect, embracing challenges with a resolute spirit that leaves no room for surrender. Success is your constant companion, as your unwavering commitment to excellence ensures that you excel in any endeavor you undertake. However, this unyielding pursuit of achievement can sometimes relegate personal matters to the background. It's only as you mature that you learn to strike a harmonious balance between ambition and emotional fulfillment.

ੈ♡˳ Aquarius Moon: The Aquarius Moon infuses your persona with an air of independence and innovation. Your bright and inquisitive mind is constantly in pursuit of new horizons, and your intuitive instincts guide you towards uncharted territories. Decisiveness is your hallmark, allowing you to navigate life's choices with confidence. Yet, this very decisiveness can occasionally manifest as intolerance and brusqueness, qualities that add a touch of spice to your multifaceted personality.

ੈ♡˳ Pisces Moon: Under the influence of the Pisces Moon, your emotions flow like an ever-changing river, weaving a tapestry of intuition and creativity. Artistic inclinations are your forte, particularly in the realm of music, where your soul finds solace and expression. Your innate desire to alleviate the suffering of others or contribute to the healing arts is a testament to your empathetic nature. However, when confronted with adversity, you have a tendency to withdraw into the sanctuary of your thoughts, seeking refuge in quiet contemplation.

Extra Sources: Drawing by Destina Eroland; Template by dayslily on tumblr

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

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opencommunion · 2 months

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"Dead are my people, gone are my people, but I exist yet, lamenting them in my solitude. Dead are my friends, and in their death my life is naught but great disaster. The knolls of my country are submerged by tears and blood, for my people and my beloved are gone, and I am here living as I did when my people and my beloved were enjoying life and the bounty of life, and when the hills of my country were blessed and engulfed by the light of the sun. My people died from hunger, and he who did not perish from starvation was butchered with the sword; and I am here in this distant land, roaming amongst a joyful people who sleep upon soft beds, and smile at the days while the days smile upon them. My people died a painful and shameful death, and here am I living in plenty and in peace. This is deep tragedy ever enacted upon the stage of my heart; few would care to witness this drama, for my people are as birds with broken wings, left behind the flock. If I were hungry and living amid my famished people, and persecuted among my oppressed countrymen, the burden of the black days would be lighter upon my restless dreams, and the obscurity of the night would be less dark before my hollow eyes and my crying heart and my wounded soul. For he who shares with his people their sorrow and agony will feel a supreme comfort created only by suffering in sacrifice. And he will be at peace with himself when he dies innocent with his fellow innocents. But I am not living with my hungry and persecuted people who are walking in the procession of death toward martyrdom. I am here beyond the broad seas living in the shadow of tranquillity, and in the sunshine of peace. I am afar from the pitiful arena and the distressed, and cannot be proud of ought, not even of my own tears. What can an exiled son do for his starving people, and of what value unto them is the lamentation of an absent poet?

Were I an ear of corn grown in the earth of my country, the hungry child would pluck me and remove with my kernels the hand of Death form his soul. Were I a ripe fruit in the gardens of my country, the starving women would gather me and sustain life. Were I a bird flying the sky of my country, my hungry brother would hunt me and remove with the flesh of my body the shadow of the grave from his body. But, alas! I am not an ear of corn grown in the plains of Syria, nor a ripe fruit in the valleys of Lebanon; this is my disaster, and this is my mute calamity which brings humiliation before my soul and before the phantoms of the night. This is the painful tragedy which tightens my tongue and pinions my arms and arrests me usurped of power and of will and of action. This is the curse burned upon my forehead before God and man.

And oftentimes they say unto me, the disaster of your country is but naught to calamity of the world, and the tears and blood shed by your people are as nothing to the rivers of blood and tears pouring each day and night in the valleys and plains of the earth. Yes, but the death of my people is a silent accusation; it is a crime conceived by the heads of the unseen serpents. It is a sceneless tragedy. And if my people had attacked the despots and oppressors and died rebels, I would have said, 'Dying for freedom is nobler than living in the shadow of weak submission, for he who embraces death with the sword of Truth in his hand will eternalize with the Eternity of Truth, for Life is weaker than Death and Death is weaker than Truth.' If my nation had partaken in the war of all nations and had died in the field of battle, I would say that the raging tempest had broken with its might the green branches; and strong death under the canopy of the tempest is nobler than slow perishment in the arms of senility. But there was no rescue from the closing jaws. My people dropped and wept with the crying angels. If an earthquake had torn my country asunder and the earth had engulfed my people into its bosom, I would have said, 'A great and mysterious law has been moved by the will of divine force, and it would be pure madness if we frail mortals endeavoured to probe its deep secrets.' But my people did not die as rebels; they were not killed in the field of battle; nor did the earthquake shatter my country and subdue them. Death was their only rescuer, and starvation their only spoils.

My people died on the cross. They died while their hands stretched toward the East and West, while the remnants of their eyes stared at the blackness of the firmament. They died silently, for humanity had closed its ears to their cry. They died because they did not befriend their enemy. They died because they loved their neighbours. They died because they placed trust in all humanity. They died because they did not oppress the oppressors. They died because they were the crushed flowers, and not the crushing feet. They died because they were peace makers. They perished from hunger in a land rich with milk and honey. They died because monsters of hell arose and destroyed all that their fields grew, and devoured the last provisions in their bins. They died because the vipers and sons of vipers spat out poison into the space where the Holy Cedars and the roses and the jasmine breathe their fragrance. My people and your people, my Syrian Brothers, are dead. What can be done for those who are dying? Our lamentations will not satisfy their hunger, and our tears will not quench their thirst; what can we do to save them between the iron paws of hunger? My brother, the kindness which compels you to give a part of your life to any human who is in the shadow of losing his life is the only virtue which makes you worthy of the light of day and the peace of the night. Remember, my brother, that the coin which you drop into the withered hand stretching toward you is the only golden chain that binds your rich heart to the loving heart of God."

Gibran Khalil Gibran, "Dead Are My People," written during the Great Famine of Mount Lebanon, in which 200,000 people were starved to death by a blockade imposed by European forces to weaken their Ottoman opponents in World War I. The man-made famine killed one in three people in Beirut and the surrounding Mount Lebanon Mutasarrifate (which encompassed today's North, Keserwan-Jbeil, and Mount Lebanon governorates). This peasant population was strangled by threefold oppression: from the European imperialist war machine, Ottoman Turkish imperial oversight, and the local capitalist class. The boom and bust of the global silk industry, monopolized by France, destroyed Mount Lebanon's silk-centered economy shortly before the war, leaving the population impoverished and vulnerable. The famine was key to the European victory which led to the occupation and partition of the Levant and enabled the colonization of Palestine. The partition placed Lebanon under French control, fulfilling a longstanding French colonial desire for Lebanese land and labor.

Further reading/listening: Graham Auman Pitts, "Was Capitalism the Crisis? Mount Lebanon's World War I Famine" and "A Hungry Population Stops Thinking About Resistance: Class, Famine, and Lebanon's World War I Legacy" Kais Firro, "Silk and Agrarian Changes in Lebanon, 1860-1914" Melanie Tanielian, "The War of Famine: Everyday Life in Wartime Beirut and Mount Lebanon (1914-1918)" and The Charity of War: Famine, Humanitarian Aid, and World War I in the Middle East The Fire These Times, Lina Mounzer and Timour Azhari, Legacy of the Great Lebanon Famine (audio)

#lebanon #history #colonialism #imperialism #maronite #syriac

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3d-wifey · 6 months

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And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 8

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 4.8k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag List: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Are yall mad at me 🙁🙁 Your outfit & Finnick's outfit.

Past (ix) - You

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL

You like Johanna, you decide after only a few minutes of talking to her. She’s clever and somehow always simmering with rage. With her stature and how meek she seemed in her interviews, even you were surprised by the 180 she did in the arena. It's easy to see how she won.

It's admirable. Admittedly, your games were more animalistic than strategic. The careers had turned on each other pretty early on, leaving behind those who were desperate to stay alive. There was even a boy who resorted to cannibalism, eating the heart of any tribute he killed. His name was Titus. He was only thirteen. When they airlifted you out, it felt like you were taken out of the wilderness and brought into captivity.

You also note, despite her permanent scowl, or maybe because of it, she’s pretty. And that thought plants dread in your chest. You know the future for pretty, young victors all too well.

Is this how Finnick felt when he first met you?

There are ways around it, you note. Though the consequences are pretty grim. Enobaria comes to mind. She won her games by ripping another tribute’s throat out with her teeth. An act of desperation turned into her main selling point. She was smart. Went to an extreme and sharpened her teeth to garner more Capitol appeal while simultaneously dissuading Snow from selling her body. She’s pretty, but no one’s jumping to get into bed with teeth like that.

And Haymitch…well, Haymitch wasn’t given much of a choice considering Snow killed any leverage he might have had over him.

You make your rounds, jumping from group to group, barely being able to pull away from those who want your attention. Obviously, you aren’t mingling because you want to. There isn’t a single client you’d willingly interact with, ever . However, what you want doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. A fact made all the more apparent when you get cornered by a particularly tenacious Capitol.

Ursa Lowvale—a notable actress old enough to be your mother, with a surprising amount of political influence—has one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your waist. Her makeup, in Capitol fashion, is cakey and clashing. You force down the impulse to move away because no matter how long you’ve done this, it never ceases to amaze you how uncomfortable their touch makes you.

“Did you get the care package I sent you, dearest?" She asks, rubbing a thumb over your cheekbone. You take her hand from your face and move it to rest over your heart, just above your breast. Her touch makes you nauseous, but you play it off as if you’re showing your sincerity and not your disgust.

“I did. And I must say, your kindness knows no bounds.” You threw the package away immediately. You didn’t even bother looking inside. “You’re so giving.”

“Oh, I’m giving in all aspects . As I’m sure you know.” She moves her hand down to rest on the crest of your cleavage and you play none the wiser to what she’s insinuating. That’s the personality you’ve cultivated over the past four years; shy, docile, naive—if not a bit ditzy. It’s that very image that ropes them in. Corrupting the ‘innocence’ of a victor is awfully appealing.

“I’ll be sure to set up another meeting sometime soon. It’s been far too long.” She leans down and places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be waiting.”

You wait until she’s out of sight to drop your smile. You take a sip of champagne out of the flute and then you take another. You’ll never drink enough at one of these events to lose your wits, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little tipsy. If more encounters like that happen, you’ll need it.

You stick to the outskirts of the party, savoring the limited solitude while it lasts. You watch on as Johanna turns another person down. You don’t know how they even work up the nerve to ask her to dance; she certainly isn’t welcoming. She seems to tolerate victors well enough, but anyone else—well, they should know better than to approach her.

You jump when toned arms slide around your waist, champagne sloshing out of your glass.

“ Stunning as always, Star. ” He whispers, voice husky in your ear. You relax in his hold.

“Finnick Ewan Odair, I swear if you made me drop this glass—”

“I know, I know,” he smirks against your cheek and you can’t tamp down your smile, “Missed you.” He kisses your temple and moves back. It wouldn’t be perceived as strange for Finnick, of all people, to hang off of you, but you keep it to a minimum as a self-imposed rule. No one would blink twice at innocent affection in public, but you both know how easy it would be for the two of you to get carried away. There’s flirting and then there’s flirting.

“Mhm, I’m sure you did.” You chuckle into your drink, playing at being impassive and he sighs dramatically.

“You see, now, normally, when somebody says they miss you, you’re supposed to say…?” He prompts with his hands and trails off. “C’mon, Star. I know you know this one.” You blink up at him, silent. He scoffs in faux offense, turning to walk away and you drop the act.

“Okay, I’m sorry ,” you laugh, pulling him back by one of his billowy sleeves to hook a finger in one of his belt loops, “I’m sorry. I missed you too.” In the past six months since Johanna’s games, you’ve only seen each other seven times. Odd, since you’ve both come to the Capitol at least twenty times combined, and usually, the two of you are brought in to work at the same time.

“Now, was that so hard?” He teases and you poke him in his stomach where he’s ticklish. The muscles in his abdomen twitch as he snorts unattractively. Or, it would have been if anyone other than Finnick did it. “You’ll catch a cold in that.” He notes with a quirk of his eyebrow and looks you up and down for longer than what’s strictly necessary. He’s referring to the newest dress your stylist stuffed you into. It seems like she gets more and more daring with each outfit. This time you’re in a thin strapped evening gown with an almost see-through corset bodice. There’s a slit up your left thigh reaching your hip. You try not to toddle in red heels that are truly too high.

One of his hands goes to your waist and moves you to sway with him to the music the live orchestra is playing. Your free hand trails up his strong shoulder to play with the hairs at his nape.

“I can say the same for you.” You tug on the shark tooth necklace that definitely isn’t his. He’s in a loose, khaki-colored wrap shirt with a deep v-neck. Deeper than deep, honestly. It’s sheer like yours and tucked into the front of his white slacks. The sleeves cinch at his wrists and the whole thing offers very little coverage to his bare chest and stomach, which is probably the point.

“I guess we’ll have to find a way to keep each other warm then.” He bites his bottom lip with a grin that spells nothing good for your patience.

You pinch his side.

“Ow! I’m kidding .” He raises his hands placatingly, grinning broadly.

“ Behave .” You scold through your teeth and your cheeks hurt with the stretch of your smile.

“You gonna punish me if I don—”

That earns him a smack to the bare skin of his chest.

“You are so irritating,” you scold and he laughs loud and unrestrained with his head thrown back. A sight that never ceases to leave you breathless. Finnick usually never lets himself be this carefree in public, but maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s your presence. He catches his breath, ruddy cheeks dimpling. He looks awfully pretty under the soft yellow lights, hair shining like gold. A possessive thought sinks its claws into you. You don’t want anyone to see him like this. No one else deserves it. You aren’t even sure if you do.

“You love it.” He’s still letting out breathy little giggles as he beams down at you, big doe eyes twinkling.

You shake your head with an insurmountable fondness. “I love you .”

He wrinkles his nose and your eyes are drawn to the faint freckles dotting the bridge of it. “See, that’s not fair.”

“Oh?” You cross your arms, balancing your glass precariously while playfully sizing him up as one would before a sparring match. But that train of thought makes you think. Could you take Finnick in a fight? You snort. Can anyone? “Please, Mr. Odair. Please tell me all about how unfair it is that I love you.”

“ Ouch . Mr. Odair?” He huffs at your expectant stare. “You use it for evil .” He mirrors your stance by crossing his arms, and drawing your attention to his biceps. His loose-fitting sleeves are doing a horrible job of hiding their shape and size as they flex with his movement. Hmm . You bring back that thought of fighting Finnick, but now it’s not that funny. You picture you and Finnick spent and sweaty as you wrestle on a mat, he would be red in the face and grinning from exertion as he pinned you down and—

You take a sip of champagne.

“Well, I guess I’ll just stop saying it all together then if it’s such a hardship.” You shrug.

He raises his hands like he’s fending off an attack. “Woah! Alright, alright. I’m willing to come to a truce.”

The pair of you are still joking and giggling together when you get approached by a couple. Edgar, one of Finnick’s regulars, and Karlo, his husband whom you’ve had many meetings with yourself. Anyone else in your position would have jumped apart, and put as much space and plausible deniability between you as possible—and maybe you would have done that when you were younger, but you both know now that the best way to squash any suspicion is to act like there’s nothing to be suspicious of.

You and Finnick share a glance. Breathe and endure , you mouth to him while your back is still turned to the encroaching couple. You welcome the wry twist of his lips.

“What are you two drinking that’s making you so smiley?” They ask and you both sober up. Well, not literally. You don’t know about him, but you’re still a little fuzzy. You shiver as the silk of Finnick’s shirt brushes your bare back as he wraps his hand around yours and takes a sip from your glass.

“Champagne.” He supplies, with that charming smile that you don’t even have to turn around to know is there. “It hits quicker than you’d think.” This is partially true, but, really, the only thing you’re drunk on is Finnick.

You lean back into the heat of Finnick’s chest and his hand goes to your hip to steady you, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip.

“Looks like someone’s drunk more than her fair share.” Karlo laughs as they crowd in on you both and if you really had been as drunk as you’re pretending to be, you would have thrown up from the smell of their strong perfumes clashing. Both sickeningly sweet and fighting to clog your lungs. “Don’t tell me you’re drunk already.”

“Honestly, I barely drank any. I must be a lightweight.” You laugh, fake to your own ears and you’re sure to Finnick’s too.

“Really? That’s quite surprising. You know. With your rough background and all.” Edgar says with genuine confusion. It’s odd to be insulted so sincerely. Finnick scoffs behind you in what could be mistaken for amusement, but the grip on your hip says otherwise.

You stay quiet for the rest of the conversation. You chime in here and there, but Finnick carries the bulk of it. It isn’t normally like this. Many people usually fall over themselves trying to be the first person you talk to. But there are a select few who prefer you to stand there and look pretty. You can essentially dumb your way out of a conversation, Finnick isn’t so lucky.

“You’ll have to show us some of your poetry sometime, Nick,” Edgar says while walking his fingers up Finnick’s arm and you almost wince for him. He hates that nickname. Writing, specifically poetry, is the hobby Finnick was forced to take up after his games. Something that’s supposed to give a layer of complexity to his playboy image. Though, unlike most victors, it’s actually something he enjoys and is quite good at.

You, on the other hand, wished you were given any other skill to hone. If your fingers hadn’t already been callused, the violin strings would’ve left them mangled.

“He always forgets to ask that, but I’m sure it’s because you have him suitably distracted.” Karlo laughs and Edgar cackles along with him. You don’t know what’s tighter, your grip on the glass or your smile. You wonder which one will shatter first.

“Ah, anyway. We must be off.” Edgar, thankfully, pulls away.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Karlo takes your unattended hand and kisses the back of it and you instantly regret talking your stylist out of giving you elbow-length gloves.

“Likewise.”

You hold your breath and release it when they’re out of sight. You feel Finnick’s chest expand with his own sigh of relief.

“Alright,” he plucks the champagne from your hand, handing it to a passing server. You’re tempted to complain, “Let’s go. We’ve shown our faces long enough that Snow shouldn’t care.” You’re hesitant for a moment, but you can’t act like the idea of being alone with Finnick isn’t more than enough to convince you.

Other than the constant security and monitoring, the Training Center isn’t a terrible place to stay. As you and Finnick walk hand in hand down the hall, you can take comfort in the fact that you won’t run into anyone you’ll have to hide this from. The soles of your feet ache with each step. You yelp when you almost trip for the third time, your ankle turning inwards. Maybe you really are a lightweight.

Wordlessly, Finnick squats down and pats his thigh. You're confused before he taps your ankle. And he waits patiently like it’s the most natural thing in the world to take your shoes off for you. Your chest warms from something other than alcohol. You place your foot on his thigh and he takes off your heel and does the same with the other. He keeps the strap of your shoes looped over his finger as he stands.

“C’mon,” he puts one arm under your knees, another behind your back, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You really do try your best not to gawk at his strength, but from Finnick’s flustered giggles, you’re failing miserably. You wrap your arm around his neck.

“My hero,” you put the back of your hand to your forehead and his chest vibrates with his laughter.

“My star, light of my life,” you laugh as he spins you, “The least I can do is save you from a broken ankle.” He presses a featherlight kiss to your lips. Your eyes flutter shut and you can’t help but smile against his lips.

You and Finnick have unintentionally established a pattern. More often than not, you both would be in the Capitol at the same time for the same reason and one of you always ends up in the other’s room. But the elevator doesn’t stop on either of your floors.

The elevator opens on the rooftop and he’s yet to put you down. You’re amazed at how long he’s been able to carry you without any strain.

The gardens are sprawling and well-maintained, a surprising amount of care for something unprofitable. There was a kid, a tribute from one of the early games, who jumped off the roof. They claimed he fell by accident and the force field was put in place as a safety measure. But you all know what really happened—the districts know what happened. And you suspect he’s the reason the garden was implemented. A poorly planned distraction on the Capitol’s behalf.

Finnick sits on one of the garden benches behind a tall hedge of roses with you on his lap. You rest your head on top of his, tracing random letters on the back of his neck.

Finnick clears his throat. “There were kids at the reception. Running around– chasing each other. They asked me to play tag with them.” He laughs. You conjure up an image of Finnick chasing a gaggle of children that don’t even come up to his waist, because of course he did, and suddenly, you can think of nothing else. “Have you ever thought about having any?”

“I did when I was younger.” You hum. You thought of a lot of things when you were a kid. When you were young enough to be shielded by your parents from the brutality of your district, young enough to dream. That period didn’t last and you haven’t been a kid for a long time.

“But?”

“But, I didn’t think I’d live long enough to have any.” You didn’t even think you were capable of that kind of love. You didn't think it was in your capacity. It was bred and beaten out of you, especially after your games. But Finnick’s in the business of proving you wrong. “And to bring them into this world, into Eleven, seems cruel.”

The chirp of crickets fills the silence. Fireflies dot the sky and blend with the stars.

His fingers tap on your thigh. “I always thought I’d have two. They’d be close in age so—”

“—They’d be friends.” You finish and he gives a slow nod that picks up speed.

“Yeah, a boy and a girl.” You want to picture it. You want to imagine a world where it’s possible to have that life together. But you fear the fate of a child that would look like you and Finnick.

Your eyes drift from constellation to constellation. Perseus, Pegasus, Pisces. The stars are clearer here than at the Marquis, but not by much. It’s times like this that you miss your dad the most.

“If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear some more of your poetry.” You mutter into his hair. What Edgar said got you thinking. You don’t want Finnick to associate his talent with those people. Everything he writes is a piece of him. It amounts to more than that, more than them.

“I would think you’d be tired of it by now, considering how much I write in my letters.”

“Mmm, I’ll never be tired of anything you do. You really do have a gift, Finn, and you shouldn’t waste it on them.” The words were out of your mouth before you even had time to comprehend them. You lift your head when he moves to look at you, “It’s true.” You say, somewhat embarrassed. You aren’t really the emotionally forthcoming one in this relationship, but you weren’t expecting what you said to be met with surprise.

He places a kiss on the shell of your bracelet. You shiver as he trails his lips down to the tip of your fingers. Your heart speeds up in anticipation. He presses his cheek to the back of your hand and he sits there with his eyes closed, before speaking.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you.” He laces your fingers together, eyes still closed. “A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I.” When he opens his eyes back up, you’re swept away by the sheer adoration. That’s something you should get used to, right? You don’t think you’ve seen Finnick look at you any differently. And you don’t think you ever will.

He shakes his head with a smile as bright as the sun. “Everything I do, I do for you.” He whispers and just when you catch your breath, it’s gone again.

You’re not sure who leans in first, not that it matters. No, all that matters is this moment—just the two of you.

He pulls back, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

“So,” he speaks, lips twitching into a smirk, and you brace yourself for the sheer strength of the eye roll that’s certain to follow whatever he says next, “your room or mine?” Your eyes truly come close to rolling out of your head, but you snort despite yourself and that smirk becomes a full-blown smile.

Present (VIII) - You

[23 & 24 ] - TRAINING CENTER

You inhale through your nose and release the breath through your teeth. Your arms burn from your fingers to your biceps and you try to adjust your grip on the bar, but the strain in your shoulders convinces you to tap out. You drop to the ground and the screen next to you reads four minutes and eight seconds, but you know you can make it to five.

You bounce on your toes and shake out your hands. Just as you’re about to jump back up, you notice a crowd forming around the archery station. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you’re able to slip to the front and see what the commotion is about. Inside, Katniss shoots down the hologram opponents with deadly proficiency, seemingly sensing the enemies before they’re even there. The arm strength involved with shooting a bow and arrow is nothing to scoff at. Especially with the fluidity and speed she’s going.

After she hits the last hologram and the exercise shuts off, everyone else stands impressed—yourself included. You're starting to understand why Haymitch is putting so much stock into her.

In terms of basic survival, there’s nothing for you to improve on. Shelter making, fire starting, weapons, hand-to-hand—there isn’t much for you to learn within the day you have left. You think about stopping at the camouflage station but think better of it. As long as there’s something to climb, you’ll have camouflage. Mags hovers by the fish hooks station, but you worry if you go near her, Finnick won’t be far behind. You don’t know what he wants from you, why he even wants to speak to you. It’s not like he responded to any of your letters, so why now ? Why now when you’ve finally come to terms with the way he wanted things to be?

On the topic of avoiding Finnick, you also steer clear of the knot-tying station. He’s there now teaching Katniss how to tie what looks like a noose. You’d run out of fingers if you tried to count the number of knots he’s taught you. You never thought you’d ever have to use any of them, but there’s no telling what will happen in the arena.

Edible insects are much easier to distinguish than plants, but you’re more than adept at both. The same can’t be said for Peeta. You must have been watching him for nearly thirty minutes and he’s gotten close to nothing right.

He still has the paint that the female Morphling—Megan, you’re pretty sure—painted on his arm. Swirls of the orange, yellow, and purple trail from his wrist to his shoulder.

The screen flashes red as he organizes the plants incorrectly.

“You are terrible at this.” You walk forward to lean against the control panel, “Like, extraordinarily.”

Peeta looks up from the buttons. It’s technically the first time the two of you have talked, not counting that meeting after the chariots where Chaff kissed Katniss.

“I just,” he scratches at the back of his head and frowns, discouraged, “I can’t remember the names. I know nightlock, obviously. But not much else.”

“Well, you’re able to recognize where you fall short. That’s good. You’re trying to match the names to the fruit, but you don’t have enough time to remember all of that. It’s pointless anyway.” What good is remembering the name of a berry if he doesn’t know if he can eat it or not?

“Then, what am I supposed to do?”

“Instead of figuring out the names, try to focus on what they look like and whether or not they’re edible. That’s all that matters, honestly.” You restart the exercise, changing the parameters so he’ll have to organize the plants into categories by picture.

“You’re helping me?”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you die because you decided to tussle with the wrong berry.” Hundreds of kids have died in Eleven from eating something they shouldn’t have. Not because they didn’t know it was poisonous, but because they were so hungry that they took their chances. “Trust me, that’s not a fight you wanna pick.”

It’s touch and go for a second, but it’s not long before Peeta starts catching on. He’s a quick learner, and it’s much easier—more beneficial—to memorize what an edible plant looks like rather than what it’s called.

While Peeta is distracted with a timed matching game, your eyes trail to where Finnick goes through different motions with a trident while Katniss watches with laser-like focus. He stops to say something to her and glances your way. You’re quick to look back down to the task at hand.

How are you supposed to work with him in the arena if you can’t even handle being in the same room as him?

“I’m just not good at this.” Peeta laughs with a hint of self-deprecation. The screen shows he was only able to get half of the plants organized before the timer went off. For somebody starting from scratch, he’s selling himself pretty short. He just needs a little more time and you’re confident he’ll be able to recognize what can and can’t be eaten within an hour.

“I watched your games. You could definitely be better.” Poisonous berries are the leading cause of death in the arena. Followed closely by being killed, either by another tribute or the arena itself. This will help protect him from the former. He doesn't need to master this. He just needs to know enough to get by.

”Yeah, Katniss is definitely better at this kind of stuff.” He looks over his shoulder to where Katniss and Finnick are still training. This time Katniss holds the trident and her movements are nowhere near as polished as his were. Despite that, Peeta’s eyes shine.

You look at Peeta— really look at him—and realize something.

"You actually love her, don't you?" You marvel. It hadn't even crossed your mind that their feelings could be genuine. He looks at you surprised, before whatever persona he's embodying slides into place.

"What, do you think it's an act or something?" He laughs.

"I did. But your eyes gave you away. They hold this kind of—softness whenever you look at her, whenever you talk about her," you turn back to the screen but don't restart the exercise, "I'd recognize that anywhere." Of course, you would. It's how Finnick used to look at you.

You're both quiet. He looks from you to his hands on the controls.

"I do." He breathes, hard to hear over the cacophony of sounds in the room. "I really do."

You take a breath and let it out in a sigh.

"I'm sorry then."

"For what?" His brows furrow with confusion.

"You shouldn't have to go into the arena with someone you love. It's cruel." Your heart aches for him. You don't know how much Katniss reciprocates his feelings—you're starting to think she doesn't at all. For that, you can't help but feel sorry for him—can't help but see yourself in him.

Haymitch was right, after all. Peeta's a good kid. He doesn't deserve this.

"Then, I'm sorry too." You glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You're right. We shouldn't have to." You don't say anything for a second and he doesn't press you to. You doubt anyone told him about you and Finnick, so maybe he's just that observant. And smarter than anyone notices. An oversight you're sure he takes advantage of.

You don't bother denying it. Instead, you nod. He nods back. A sense of comradery is shared between the two of you, but it doesn't last long. You still have training to do. You press on a random square and a creepy-looking plant appears. A red stalk with shiny, white berries spins in a slow circle on the screen.

"White baneberry, poisonous or not poisonous?" He contemplates it.

"Poisonous?" He asks more than tells you.

"Just to eat?" You prompt and he shakes his head.

"You can't touch it either." He answers far more confidently and you smile. There might be hope for him yet.

"Good. Next."

A/N: SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!!! PEW PEW PEW!!!!

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #hunger games catching fire #masterlist #finnick x reader #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #and they'd find us in a week #finnick

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oweninadaydream · 3 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

“I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar.

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)"

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead.

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept.

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her.

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However, nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body.

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature.

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience.

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day.

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured :

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

#oweninadaydream #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #female reader #fem!reader #the hunger games imagine

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mydarllinglover · 5 months

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Playing Favourites || Three

Lake hopped off the Chariot, lifting Cove down, by the waist, as they were greeted by their mentors and stylists, at the Training centre.

"You both did great, no one can shut up about you guys." Oscar told them.

"Thanks." Cove grinned, hugging herself tightly, it was freezing down here.

"Here." Finnick had noticed her shivering, he was quick to drape his jacket over her, he knew how humiliating it was to be practically naked for the world to see.

"Thank you." She nodded at him, slipping her arms into the sleeve's.

"Let's get you guys upstairs, Remus is probably already up there, pacing a hole into the floor." Oscar said, moving towards the elevators.

The stylists followed, as they made their way to the Elevators, all clambering in, before the other districts could.

As the door's closed, Cove spotted the same two pairs of eyes that had been watching her earlier, but this time, their tribute partners were following.

"They either hate me, or plan on killing me first." Cove muttered, maintaining eye contact with them, until the doors were fully shut, and they were travelling to the fourth floor.

"Who?" Oscar asked.

"Careers." Lake answered for her.

"Hm, we will talk about your strengths and skills during dinner." He decided. "Your first day of training is tomorrow."

Cove adjusted one of the lashes, as it was irritating her, but her hand was quickly slapped away by Linus.

"Do not touch the art." He told her.

"The art is my face." She replied, but there was no fight in her tone.

"You may take it off, when you get to your own quarters, for now, I want us all to revel in my work."

"Can I make a suggestion for your next design?" Cove raised her hand, sheepishly.

"What might that be?" He folded his arms across his chest, raising a brow.

"Underwear." She replied.

Lake, as well as their mentors, scoffed at her comment, stifling chuckles behind coughs, as Oscar attempted to tell her off.

"Cove, do not be so rude!" He mimicked Remus.

"What?! I am about to be sent to my death, I'd like to take a bit of dignity to my grave."

"Tippet." Finnick shook his head disapprovingly, as everyone else had gone quiet.

"Just being realistic." She muttered, casting her eyes back done to the ground floor, where all the citizens had gotten smaller.

The elevators doors opened, and they walked into an beautiful apartment, their home for the next week.

"Welcome to District 4's floor." Remus introduced, before walking the two tributes around the place, showing them their own quarters.

Cove didn't bother looking around her room, instead, headed straight for her ensuite bathroom, that was larger than her own bedroom, at home.

She took another look in the mirror, letting her true thoughts invade her mind.

She hated the outfit, and she felt humiliated at the fact that the whole of Panem saw her in it, saw her barely dressed, it was enough to churn her stomach.

If being preyed upon, and lusted over was her way to victory, she truly would rather die in the arena, fuck what Finnick thought.

Cove had a go at pressing the many buttons, figuring out what they all were, before splashing her face with cold water, breaking up the make up on her face, before pulling the lashes off her face, freeing her eyes of its weight.

She grabbed a wash cloth, wetting it, then scrubbed her face roughly, until her eyelids were no longer blue, her skin was it's natural hue, and she could recognise it.

She then untangled herself from the dress, un-braiding the two fishtails from her hair, and slipping under the hot steamy water.

Running her fingers through her hair, the pearls dropped to the floor, she could feel it going back to its normal way, her curls coming back, the gel leaving.

She sighed, trying to find peace in the solitude, but she still felt trapped, she wanted to go home, she missed her father, her life, her jobs and the people, she wanted her bed and her shark.

Tears began trailing down her cheek, before the sobs started, too, until she collapsed to the ground, knees to her chest as she rocked back and forth, she hated it here, she hated the citizens of the capital, her stylists, her mentor, and the president, she hated President Snow more than anything in the world, he took her brother away from her, then her mother, and now, he was about to take her life, too.

She always wanted to spend her last days by the sea, around the people she loved, that's what she'd spend late nights thinking about, but now, he was taking that away from her, too.

It was a while later, when she joined everyone for dinner, dressed in long trousers, and a turtleneck, she'd hope her stylist would take a hint.

"Oh, if you asked, I could've showed you the button for your hair." Remus told Cove, using his knife to point at her wet curls, dripping down her back.

"That's okay." I prefer my hair like this." She replied, taking a seat beside Lake, once again, sat opposite Finnick, who was looking at her, as she placed some salmon and rice on her plate

Linus dropped his fork on his plate.

"Your hair looks lovely, Cove, let's talk tactics." Oscar swayed the conversation.

"Finally." Lake commented, taking a bite of his own food.

"Alright, per your enthusiasm, we'll start with you. What are you good at?"

All eyes turned to the boy.

"Uh... I..." He shrugged his shoulders, trying to think. "I was good at the academy, pretty good with combat, I can wrestle." Lake decided on.

"Yeah, that can be useful, if you plan on body slamming all the other tributes." Oscar shared. "What about weapons?"

"Look, I know what I can do, my issue is her." He nodded his head at his female partner. "Help her."

"Excuse you." She scoffed at him.

"Cove?"

"Sorry, eating." She looked back down at her meal, uninterested, now.

"S'good with knives." Finnick spoke up, to everyone's surprise. "Quick, too. Good climber."

"Yeah, until she stopped applying herself, when she dropped out." Lake rolled his eyes.

"I don't wish to fight anyone." She nibbled a piece of Salmon.

"Alright, fine, before I give myself an aneurism, lets focus on the crowdwork, we already know that they love you, you're good at what you're doing, so far, but being kind and polite, people are going to get bored of that, quickly. Lake, you said they were eyeing our girl up?" He looked at the boy, again.

"Yeah." He smirked. "You could feel their thoughts all the way from our chariot."

Cove felt a sharp kick to her shin, her eyes shot to the blond sat in front of her, spotting how his jaw was clenched, he had become stiff, as he sipped his wine, his eyes on his drink.

She moved her legs back, further from him, as she listened to her partner and mentor talk.

"Look, this can either be really good for you, or really fucking bad." Oscar rubbed his temples as he thought. "So, during this week, in training, I want you to get to know them, know them good. Do tasks with them, converse during lunch, if they approach you, act inviting, basically, you're gonna flirt with them so much, that they forget they wanna kill you."

Cove choked on her rice, as she heard what he said.

"What?" She gasped.

"Flirt, I want you to flirt, come on, it's not that hard of a concept to understand."

"I'm not doing that." She awkwardly chuckled.

"Or don't know how." Lake supplied.

"Huh? No, you know how to flirt, be serious." Oscar batted the idea away.

"No... he's right." She mumbled, her cheeks turning a rosy colour "I wouldn't have a clue."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen..."

"And you're telling me you've never flirted with anyone?"

Cove really hated this conversation.

She shook her head.

"Seriously?" He looked her up and down, not believing her.

She nodded.

"Pfft, okay, uhm, who do you fancy?" He tried.

"Excuse me?" She glared.

"Just answer the question." Lake told her.

"Fine, no one. What is this, a slumber party, are we all gonna braid each others hair and share our deep dark secrets?"

"Close your eyes." Oscar told her.

"Why?"

"I'm your mentor, I ask the questions and make the demands, close your eyes." He pointed at her.

She did as she was told, with a long sigh.

"Okay, now I want you to picture who you fancy, think hard, who you crush on, at school, who you wish would take you out on dates, who you wanna end up with, for the rest of your life."

Cove did as he said, trying to picture a person in her mind, thinking hard about the people in her class, who did she think about romantically?

"Now, tell me who."

"Uhm..."

"Cove, what did I say?"

"Fine." She opened her eyes, meeting those sea-green iris's, who were staring intently, at her, then she looked at her other mentor. "Marsh Scute."

"Marsh?!" Both Lake and Finnick demanded, though the latter had even slammed his cutlery on the table, slightly standing up, shocked by the reveal.

"Yeah..."

"Marsh is?" Remus asked.

"A boy in our class." Cove replied, twirling a strand of her hair. "He works at the docks."

"Okay... and what do you like about him?" Oscar asked.

"Is he cute?" Linus queried.

"Well... his Mom cooked a casserole for me and my dad, once, and he brought it over, and another time, I was singing at the tavern, and he gave me flowers."

"That's it?" Finnick asked.

"Yes." She nodded. "I thought it was very sweet."

"Oh brother." Lake shook his head.

"And, you never thought to make a move?" Linus asked.

"No..." She shook her head. "I wouldn't know what to say."

"See, I thought you were just holding out until you and Odair finally got back together, and popped out a shoal." Lake played with his food, as he thought out loud.

"Huh?" Cove's jaw dropped, as her head spun, to look at him.

Finnick's eyes had shot wide, his eyes moving from Cove almost instantly.

The adults around the table looked at the two, as though they were observing a tennis game.

"What's this?" Remus asked.

"Nothing!" Cove objected. "Lake, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Y'know, how in love you two were, before he went off to his games, come on, you don't think anyone noticed?"

"We were not in love." Cove argued.

"Yeah, just friends, that was it." Finnick agreed.

"Is what you told yourselves."

"Wrong!"

"Awe, Finnick, you didn't tell us you're friends with a tribute." Remus smiled.

"He's not." Cove replied. "Not for a long time."

"Oh..." He let out a disappointed sigh.

"Right, shall we get back on topic?" Oscar asked, still watching the two, the boy staring at the girl, with sad eyes, he remembered how the kid had opened up about the girl from their district, throughout the years he had known him, Oscar just never realised it was her.

"Yes." She nodded.

"Okay, look, I know you can do this, kid, look how you are on the stage, at home, you're passionate and charismatic, there."

"Yeah, I'm really passionate about being able to put food on the table, and a roof over my father and I's head." She blinked, her fingers interlocked with each other.

"Well, be passionate about staying alive." He waved his hand. "Then, you won't ever have to work a day in your life, and you will have a new and better roof over you and your fathers head."

"Look, I can try, but I don't know what I'm doing."

"I can teach you." Remus, Linus, and Lake's stylist, spoke up, all at the same time.

"What?" She asked, as the other three turned to them.

"It's easy, and with a face like yours, and a chest like that, it should be second nature." Linus told her, bluntly.

"Oh, uhm." She folded her hands over her chest, as she looked back down at the table.

"Okay, we'll talk more, at breakfast, it's bed time, need my tributes to get a lot of rest." Oscar stood from the table, taking the wine canteen with him, heading in the direction of where Cove guessed his room was.

Cove also got up from the table, heading for her own chambers, quickly, in the event that no one would stop her.

She looked around her room, sitting down on the large bed, taking it all in.

She had to give props to the Capital, letting the districts live a limited time of luxury, before their death, she guessed it was to show what the Hunger Games were for, why the districts were divided, so that they could live this everyday.

Cove picked up the remote, that was sat on the table beside the bed, pressing a button, and then her room sounded as though it were raining, the wind flowing through leaves, as drops of water fell.

Then she pressed another button, and suddenly the walls had turned into tree's it was dark, and she was surrounded by nature, out in the woods during a storm.

She laid down on the bed, before pressing the same button, now, she was in a desert.

She pressed the first button, again, hoping to find what matches with this, and she wasn't disappointed, as the sound of shifting sand travelled to her ears.

Another button was pressed, and she almost felt like she was home, as she looked at the beach around her, the beautiful water crashing around rocks.

She could've cried when the sounds followed, and then she did, she felt like she'd cried more this week, then the past 4 years, which was enough to make herself feel pathetic.

Her best friend being shipped off to the games, and coming back as a different person, her brother being reaped and killed, and then her mother too, and her father losing himself. But the fact that she can no longer be in the sea, brought up the old feelings of the past, was what got the waterworks going, huh.

She layed on the bed, spread out like a starfish, as she stared at the ceiling, listening to her favourite sound, she didn't even know for how long, before once again, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

She stared at it for a moment, before there was another, this time, it sounded a lot more impatient.

Cove rolled her eyes, getting up and heading for the door.

"What?" She asked.

"I wanted to talk." Finnick replied.

"Okay, so talk." She waved for him to continue.

"May I come in?" He brushed past her, walking into her room, for the second night in a row.

"You're not allowed in here." She told him, closing the door.

"You think rules apply to a victor?" He smirked, looked over his shoulder, at her.

"Apparently not. What do you want?"

"I just..." He sat down on her bed. "It's just that... Marsh, seriously?" He looked up at her.

"Are you- Finn, get out of my room." She glared at him.

"No, no, I'm confused, you owe me an explanation."

"Uh, no, I don't think I do, it's none of your business, actually." She shook her head. "But are you here for a real reason?"

"Well, yeah, but also I wanna know why you would be interested in a guy like Marsh, out of all people."

"I happen to think he's really nice."

"Nice?!" His brows shot up. "You're settling for a guy who's "Nice", that's it?"

"We're not getting married, just, I don't know." She shrugged, falling backwards, onto her bed, beside him. "I was under pressure, he was the first guy I thought of."

"You can do better." He laid down, looking at her.

"Oh yeah? Mr Capital darling, everyone loves me." She poked him, doing a poor impression of the boy.

He cracked, chuckling at her poor imitation, as he grabbed her finger, pushing it away from his face.

"Y'know, someone's Mom actually passed out, when you walked on stage, at the reaping." She shared.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yeah, didn't you see?" She furrowed her brows, at him.

"No, guess I was just focused on something else." He looked away from her, up at the ceiling instead.

"Hm, well, you're very popular in our classes, as well, especially with Tampa Riverbank."

"Tampa Riverbank?!" He almost snapped his neck, as he looked back at her.

"Yup, pretty sure she had some secret fan club, for you."

"Oh, god." He sighed, a grimace on his face. "Its a curse, to be this devilishly handsome, y'know."

"Oh really?" Cove teased. "So you wouldn't know anything about that, then?"

He let out a gasp, as he rolled onto his forearms.

"Cove Tippet, you don't think I'm handsome?" He asked.

"Hmmm." She tapped her chin. "No." She shook her head.

"Liar." He grinned.

"I don't think so."

"Yeah, you do, you think I'm really handsome, more handsome than Marsh."

"No way." She snorted.

Finnick sat up, leaning over her, his hands beside her head as he looked down.

"Admit it, Cove, you were part of the Fanclub, weren't you?" He asked, his face full of seriousness.

"I definitely was not."

"You were the president, huh?"

"Get off of me, Finn." She laughed.

"No, you gotta fight me off."

"What? Come on, move." She tapped his side.

"I'm another tribute, I'm about to kill you, what do you do, Cove?"

"Saying my last goodbyes." She replied, boredly.

"Seriously, come on."

With every second, he began to put more weight on her, urging for her to hurry up.

She pushed at his shoulders, but he refused to move.

But then, like a second instinct, she wrapped her leg around his hip, using all her strength, to rock him, before knocking him over, onto the bed, letting her straddle him.

"Is this where I slit your throat, and accept my crown?" She asked, not bothering to move.

"That was good, but, if I actually wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead, by now." He tapped her thighs, to get off, which she did, letting him sit up. "Come on, I wanna show you something."

"What?" She asked, following him, as he got up from her bed, heading for the door.

"The training room."

#finnick x you #finnick x oc #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick fanfic #hunger games finnick #finnick x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair headcannons #finnick odair #finnick x y/n #catching fire

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elliemarchetti · 3 months

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Gwynriel Weeks Day 3

I really wanted to participate in this year’s @gwynrielweeksofficial, but since at the moment my free time is decidedly limited I opted for writing a collection of drabbles, a story that can be read all together or as standalones. I don’t know how many chapters I will actually be able to publish, but I present you the first, set after ACOSF and whatever happened in the last CC book (I haven’t read that saga and I don’t intend to, so I don’t know if the timeline is right)

Prompt: Confessions

Warnings: Angst

Words: 625

"I thought about you while you were gone."

Gwyn’s soft voice broke the comfortable silence, making him wince. Her words hit harder than any blow he ever received in his long life as a warrior, striking straight to the heart. He had found her on the stands of the training arena, her hair down, her feet bare and only a light nightgown to cover her slender body. The full moon made her look like a forgotten goddess he wanted to worship, a physical reaction that reminded him why he had to stay away.

“I feared you wouldn’t come back,” she went on, her usual sweet smell mixing with that of the alcohol she previously drank. Her teal eyes were wide, but uncharacteristically veiled with sadness, as if she still didn’t believe he was real and alive, next to her in the dark. Ever since Azriel had returned to the Night Court, they had never been alone. He had made up all sorts of excuses to postpone their private training sessions, and when she was with the Valkyries, he had let Cassian lead her training, for every moment he spent too close was a suffering, a test of his honour and morals.

“Do you want me to escort you inside?” he asked, when the absence of her words became too much to bear, ready to offer his jacket to cover her figure on the short journey. While he was on his mission, he had a lot of time to ponder. He usually liked the solitude, to be away from useless chatter and invasive questions, but the sound of Gwyn’s voice was music, the only thing capable of silencing the constant buzz of his thoughts and the fussing of his shadows. He had missed her incredibly, and when he saw her again with the other priestesses, the breath had left his lungs, making him gasp and eager to hold her in his arms, something he never did before and certainly couldn’t do at the moment, out of the blue.

In response to his question, Gwyn simply shook her head, the long hair escaping from behind her left ear, framing her face like a burnished cascade. For an instant, Azriel deluded himself that they were the only beings still existing in the world, light and shadow colliding with the stars as their only witnesses. He had to resist the impulse to retreat when she touched the tips of his flame-torn fingers with her own, smooth and tapered, and he had to will his instinct to not drag her on top of him and fuck her senseless. He wasn’t like those beasts who had violated her, but he was rough, and flawed and…

She’s about to kiss you, purred one of his shadows, the sound audible to him only. It was true, and as much as he had to, Azriel didn't stop it from happening. He responded to the delicate peck on his full lips as if he were afraid he might break her just by moving too fast, and he followed her lead with the fluidity of a centuries old spy.

“I’m sure Lady Elain is more capable than me, but after all the apprehension of the past few weeks, I had to do it,” she murmured when they finally parted, and something in Azriel broke. His detachment capitulated like the walls of a conquered city, and decades of repression resurfaced, freezing him in place. He watched her walk away, her back straighter than he would’ve expected, her pride intact. She was a force of the nature, incapable of regret, unaware that she had just left ruins and destruction in her wake.

“I thought of you too,” he whispered to no one, the words lost in the wind.

#gwynrielweeks2024 #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #acotar drabbles

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heartsandhischier · 1 month

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Offside Emotions

andrei svechnikov x female!reader

summary - 951 words. Andrei finds himself thinking, hoping that it was all real part 8 of The Pretend Play

author's note - This man... honestly. I can't get him out of my head

warnings - fluff just fluff

The rink, usually a place of roaring crowds and the sharp scrape of skates against the ice, was tonight transformed. As the Carolina Hurricanes hosted a special meet-and-greet skate, the air still cold enough to make breath visible, was infused with the warmth of laughter and chatter. The sounds of fans mingling with the team, the occasional clink of hockey sticks, and the gentle glide of skates created a symphony of human connection. The rink usually a place of competition and athleticism, had transformed into a vibrant hub of interaction. Around the arena, banners in vibrant red, white, and black fluttered from the stands, crafting an atmosphere of festive camaraderie rather than competition.

It was a stark contrast to the solitude of early morning practices or the focused tension of the game nights. Here, the barrier between player and fan, between the ice and the stands, seemed to dissolve.

Andrei observed as fans eagerly mingled with their hockey idols, capturing moments in photographs and basking in the glow of their presence. His teammates, usually seen in the heat of the game, were now sharing laughs and stories, their guards down, their faces lit up with genuine smiles as they mingled with fans.

And there, gliding across the ice with an elegance and grace that made her seem like she belonged there as much as any of the other players, were Y/N. Her laughter, bright and genuine, cut through the chill of the rink, drawing Andrei's gaze time and time again. She engaged with fans and teammates alike, her responses tinged with wit yet overflowing kindness.

Andrei, watching from a distance as he signed autographs and engaged in small talk, couldn't help but steal glances at her. The ease with which she navigated every interaction, the open affection in the eyes of his teammates when they spoke to her, and the way she seemed to glow amidst the cold, artificial lights of the rink.

"Vyglyadit tak, budto ona pokorila vseh, a" Pyotr nudged him, following his gaze. ("Looks like she's won everyone over, huh?")

Andrei's gaze lingered on her as she glided through the crowd. "Da, ona... ona zaamechatel'naya," he found himself responding, the warmth in his tone reflecting his genuine admiration. ("Yes, she's... she's wonderful.")

There was something about the way Y/N interacted with the crowd that captivated him. Her laughter, sincere and infectious, and her way of making each person feel seen, seemed to light up the chilly rink. He observed as she laughed at a fan's joke, her head thrown back revealing her beautiful smile, and then turned to offer an encouraging word to a shy child clutching a hockey stick almost as tall as herself. Each interaction seemed to leave a little sparkle in its wake, and Andrei couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading through him — a warmth that had little to do with the physical setting.

"Svechy, ty vitaesh v oblakah," Pyotr's voice pulled him back, the playful childing in Russian grounding him once more. ("Svechy, you're daydreaming,")

"Prosto smotryu," Andrei shot back, a defensive edge to his words, though his attention remained fixed on Y/N. ("Just looking,")

Y/N came over to him, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of the day. "Your fans are amazing, Andrei. And your team... they're just as wonderful off the ice as they are on it," she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine admiration.

Seeing her so animated, so utterly perfect in his eyes, Andrei was struck by a profound sense of longing. If only this wasn't just for show, the realisation hitting him with the force of a body check. The warmth of her presence, the sound of her laughter, the way she seemed to fit perfectly by his side — it all felt painfully right.

"You were incredible with them," Andrei said, his voice carrying a warmth he didn't attempt to disguise. "It's like you're part of the team already." Watching her interact with fans and teammates alike, Andrei realized she wasn't just fitting into the setting — she was fitting into his life.

Y/N smiled, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Thanks, Svech. But I'm just following your lead," she replied, her use of the nickname so casual yet so intimate, it felt like a caress. The playful punch she landed on his arm didn't just break the tension; it shattered it, leaving Andrei with a sense of connection so profound.

Leaving the rink behind them, stepping out into the crisp night air, Andrei found the chill less harsh than it typically felt. His mind was awash with emotions, the clarity he had once possessed about their arrangement now clouded by a deep, burgeoning desire for authenticity. The echoes of her laughter, the mental image of her illuminated by the rink's artificial lights, her engaging interactions—it all painted a picture of a future he'd never before allowed himself to contemplate.

Y/N's hand found Andrei's with a grace and ease that took him by surprise. It was a gesture so fluid, so natural, it was as if all the barriers that had stood between them melted away in that single touch. The warmth from her hand seeped into his, a tangible connection that seemed to echo the warmth he felt whenever she was near, now manifesting physically between them.In that moment, with their fingers intertwined, Andrei felt a profound shift. Y/N, who had entered his life under the guise of pretense, had quietly, irrevocably woven herself into the fabric of his existence. She had become the person he envisioned by his side, not just in victory but in every aspect of life, if only their connection hadn't been a facade.

#andrei svechnikov fanfiction #andrei svechnikov fanfic #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov x you #nhl fanfic #hockey fanfic #hockey fic #nhl fanfiction #carolina hurricanes fic #canes fanfiction #carolina hurricanes imagine #carolina hurricanes fanfic #canes fanfic #canes #as37 #andrei svechnikov x y/n

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