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#victor: evening haze
thatoneweirdo14 · 4 months
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this isn't a revelation or anything but i just wanna say as a person with extremely shit vision, meaning that objects too far away are literally just blobs without my glasses, people with terrible eyesight can still recognise people/objects from far away as long as they are familiar enough. The same way you can recognise a close friend or smth from the back of their head. Like if my sister was standing halfway across the street she'd look like a brown blob but id still be able to tell it was her even if she was surrounded by a dozen other brown blobs of people.
I like to think that in the same way, at the end of his performance when he's looking directly at Victor, even though Yuuri can't see shit without his glasses and Victor is surrounded by a million other people, he can still pinpoint exactly where Victor is because he's such a familiar person, the only blob Yuuri can fully tell apart. He is Yuuri's blob.
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cavillscurls · 3 months
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it rains, it pours | finnick odair x f!reader
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pairing: finnick odair x f!district 4 reader
summary: finnick consoles you after being trapped in the blood rain. based on this request.
warnings/tags: angst. fluff. general hunger games violence/lore. depictions of fear and anxiety. mentions of blood, murder, and death. annie doesn’t exist and mags was not reaped. some mutual pining. no description of body type, age, or race.
word count: 1.2k
a/n: hello! this is my first time writing finnick, & while i’m incredibly excited to add him to my repertoire, i’m also terrified lmao. it’s very short, so expect longer stories in the future. please be kind & patient with me while i learn my method of his characterization! any & all constructive feedback is always welcome.
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You thought some of it may have seeped into your lungs.
Water. Just get to the water.
It didn’t matter that you had done this all before: suffered, fought, killed. The Capitol kept finding ways to surprise you. To terrify you. A cruel, never-ending cycle.
You were vaguely aware of the shouting voices that picked up once your blood-soaked group reached the beach. Most of them were drowned out by Johanna’s shrill expletives, or Wiress and her incessant tick-tock’s. But through it, you hazily made out the sound of your name being called. Repeated and strained as it echoed over the water you were frantically moving towards.
It was all your body knew how to do.
Keep moving.
Keep fighting.
You made it waist deep into the water, numbly unaware of the way your limbs were trembling and your breaths were heaving, before the source of your name calling was splashing in after you.
Closer, it was getting closer. It reached for you, grabbed at your sticky biceps, and attempted to shake you back to reality. It was in front of you, eyes still hazed with crimson, unable to decipher what exactly it was. Who it was.
But there was a familiarity in how they called your name, desperate now.
“Look at me. Hey, look at me, sweetheart. You’re alright.”
It was the first time he had spoken to you since the reaping. Even with the knowledge of Plutarch’s plan seeded in you both, there was a lingering rule between you: you simply didn’t speak anymore. Not since the blonde haired boy you knew so well stepped into that arena for the first time ten years ago, and came out a different person.
In fact, before the reaping — where he commanded you through gritted teeth and whispers to stay alive, no other information to follow — you weren’t even sure you could pinpoint the last time you had spoken to Finnick Odair.
Childhood friend turned victor.
Hopeful victor turned a shell of himself, his body no longer his own, sharp mind in constant torment under Snow’s ministrations.
Tormented man who abandoned home, abandoned you, even when it came time for your first sacrifice to the games.
You may as well have been strangers. And yet, no one in that arena, in all of Panem, knew you as well as he did. Not even the passage of lost time could change that fact. A lifetime of memories reduced to a singular moment.
“It just—it came out of nowhere.” You didn’t recognize your voice, nor the bloody reflection of yourself in the water.
How much more were you expected to endure before there was nothing left of you? Scattered pieces of the Capitol’s puzzle broadcasted for the entire country to consume, but never for you to discover again. Lost to the games.
“I know. I know, but you’re out. You’re safe. I need you to stay with me,” Finnick consoled, a rushed whisper. He meant stay lucid, of course. Don’t lose yourself, not yet. Not when we’re so close.
You thought he must have known every idea coursing through your head: where did it come from? Whose is it? When would it come again?
His firm hold on your arms was the only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you sane. You allowed his words to soak into your skin, praying they would reach deeper than blood. To the bone. To your core, where you knew a cause greater than yourself was just beyond your fingertips. You blinked once. Twice. Forcing the haze out of your vision, and finally, seeing him clearly.
Sea-green eyes blown wide under furrowed brows. Golden curls matted with sweat and dirt. Precious lips, plush and full, downturned. Familiar. Safe. You felt your throat begin to burn with rising tears.
“Get it off,” you croaked, eager to push forward. “Please just – just help me get it off.”
He didn’t think twice, ushering you further into the water until it hit your chest. He stood at your rear, instructing you calmly to tilt your head back until it reached your hairline, and you complied. Never doubting for a moment he would catch you if you fell.
He placed one hand at your waist; stable, although tentative. The other began to work tenderly through your knotted hair, tainting the cerulean water around you with the evidence of rain. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, focusing on your breath, and the soothing touch of his fingers against your scalp.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered, a futile attempt to shield you from the cameras that were undoubtedly pointed your way. He must have heard the way you were struggling to keep your breath from sputtering through your nostrils. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.”
“I’m trying,” you whimpered, eyes still shut. His fingers worked around your ears now, over your forehead, careful not to pour any over your mouth and nose. You focused on that; the tactile cue of someone who wanted to help you, who cared about you.
“I know,” he asserted. “And you’re gonna keep trying. Hold your breath—”
You obeyed, taking in a deep gulp of air and letting the weight of your skull fall into his palm. He lowered you into the water at your set pace, and for a moment, the world was quiet. Still.
You could pretend you were back in four, on your own shoreline, familiar grains of sand, and the sound of children's laughter. That the man cradling you below the water was once just a boy and you a girl. And maybe, just maybe as time went on, and the boy became a man and you a woman, the affliction of admiration could be acted on. Perhaps it would even be reciprocated, wanted. A life, no matter how tedious and meaningless to those with more money and power, could continue in isolated bliss. Where there were no sacrifices. No torments.
No games.
You shot up from the water with a gasp, frantically wiping the droplets from your eyes, and turning to face the man behind you. Finnick stood as he had before, shrouded in concern, eyes searching you as if he was looking for the next bit on the verge of breaking. There was no discernment or contempt. He wasn’t running from you or avoiding you. He was there. Alive and breathing. And suddenly, years of resentment faded with the realization that, nowadays, people had so little.
But you still had him.
You heard the momentary breath of surprise evade him when you lurched forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face into his neck. A beat, and then, he flushed your chest against him, hugging you around the waist. A bit more snug than he ever had before. The water made it easy, keeping your bodies afloat while you clung to one another, a singular solace in a hellish cage. When you closed your eyes then, you could feel that fantasy come to life. And for just a moment longer, you indulged in it.
“Please don’t leave me,” you muttered into his skin, voice trembling and arms squeezing him closer. “I can’t do this alone.”
Finnick shook his head earnestly. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, and you believed him. He pulled back then, only enough to find your eyes, a similar urgency in his. He leaned forward, touching his forehead to yours. You let him. “We finish this together, alright?”
You felt the weight the size of the world fall off your chest, a forgotten feeling taking its place.
Hope.
“Together.”
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bruisedboys · 2 months
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finnick odair + being enamoured with his s/o
requested here. finnick odair x reader (implied fem!r)
finnick odair who’s so sickeningly in love with you and worships the ground you walk on !! it shocks you at first, because he’s the capitol’s golden boy, he’s a victor, and before you met him you were so sure he had everything anyone could ever want. but he treats you like you’re the only thing he could ever want or need. he tells you you’re the one thing his heart has been waiting on for years and years. his soul is yoked to yours forever, he says. the world could fall away and he’d cling to you.
finnick claims he was meant to love you, in a sleepy haze one quiet evening, after a long day of morning markets and swimming at the beach and tending to the garden. his hair’s still damp at the roots, but curling at the tips, golden and sunkissed. he’s got you on his bare chest, one arm curled around your waist. he smells lovely, this intoxicating mixture of sea salt and soap and his natural heady musk.
his forearm drags up your back and down again, “I love you,” he says, a murmur so soft you barely hear it. he’s tired, seconds from being pulled into sleep, and yet. “I think I was made to love you.”
you blink, glad he can’t see the look on your face. he’s always surprising you and saying such heavily romantic things as if he doesn’t know how hard they puncture your heart. you should be used to it by now. you’re not.
“finnick,” you say. you’re lost for words for a few moments. you think he’s fallen asleep when you finally say, “I love you, too,” but he hums, this lovely, low sound that vibrates his chest where you’re smushed against it, and presses a kiss to the top of your head.
you both fall asleep in a lovesick tangle, and then in the morning he follows you around like a puppy, brushing your hair away for you when you wash your face, helping you pick out clothes, plucking your apple from your hands before you can take a bite so he can cut it up for you first. (he knows you like apple slices better than whole ones. you’ve never had to tell him, but he figured it out).
he likes watching you while you get ready, too. he likes how your fingers look while you braid your hair (he offers to do it most mornings, but today his tongue is too tied up in knots with how lovely you are), how your skin looks after you’ve moisturised. how, when you pull away your silk pyjama top to change, your shoulders and neck are littered with faint red love marks from his mouth.
you’ll ask him if he’s okay, probably because he looks a bit faint. he’ll nod. “yeah, I’m okay. just love you.”
you never doubted it.
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wonderlandwalker · 3 months
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He Knows Better | Finnick Odair x Reader
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THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox
Summary: Finnick tells himself not to get close to you, because what is the point? But when you survive your games he finds that he can't stop thinking about you. When he finally comes to see you, you're in pieces, and he swears to himself he will put you back together, no matter the costs. Find part 2 here: Should've Known
Content Warnings/Tags: Mentions of prostitution/sex trafficking, angst, Finnick deserving better, crying, bad representation of a panic attack, not proofread
Word Count: 1.6k
Requested by Anon: I loveeeee love love love your Finnick fic. It was the perfect mix of sweet and so angstyyyyy !! I'm having constant Finnick brainrot 😭 I was wondering what you think about writing a finnick × reader fic sort of loosely based on Hozier's "It Will Come Back" where reader is maybe a tribute or another Victor and the first person to show Finnick softness and kindness without asking for anything in return in so long and he's like "dont let me in with no intention to keep me" and "dont be kind to me" and he just is totally feral and obsessed with the reader ? You're such a talented writer !! ❤️❤️❤️
A/N: There is this Dutch expression which goes ‘the monkey comes out of the sleeve’ loosely meaning the hidden meaning is revealed and I couldn't for the life of me think of the English equivalent that made sense to me, so, well, I hope the story is coherent. As usual, divider by @saradika
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He remembers first seeing you, you were so young, but to be fair, so was he. In previous years he had always become quick friends with the tributes he was supposed to mentor, how could he not? But it didn't take him long to figure out that they never made it back, and while the company was nice for a while, the hurt in the end wasn't worth it anymore. There's something about you that he can't quite place, but it doesn't matter, because he's not going to get attached. When you first stepped into the training hall you didn't look scared, you didn't even look excited, no, you looked like you had made peace. 
He didn't get to talk to you much, you spend most of your training with Mags, not learning how to fight, but learning how to survive. And every time he watched you, he watched how your eyes lit up when learned how to filter water, he watched how proud Mags was of you each time. And he felt something tugging at him, he felt a need to get to know you. But he knew better.
Because what were the odds, he had seen this before, he had done this before. No, he shouldn't get attached to you. And yet, for the first time after returning from his own, he found himself watching the games. Watching the tributes become fewer and fewer, hoping, praying, that you'd make it through. The fewer left the more desperate he became. You've gotten this far, don't let the luck run out just yet. He saw how your last opponent fell, and he saw your face in the centre of the screen, of virtually every screen. And once again, you didn't look excited, you looked like you had found peace again, and maybe, just maybe, he let himself believe he could too, that you could show him. 
He didn’t go see you after, it wouldn't be of any use. What more did he have to offer you, you did not need a mentor anymore. He had made peace, he had made peace with never seeing you again. So what was the difference if you were alive or not? That's what he thought, if he gave in now, he didn't think he'd ever be able to let go, it would keep coming back. 
It wasn't until a few months later when someone knocked on his door, and in a sleepy haze, he opened it without thinking. He had spent the night at the capitol, and he never managed to get much rest after. Usually, when he had been gone for the night, Mags would come to check in on him, and have Valerian tea with him. He doubted it actually worked, but the effort was enough to brighten his day. So he opened the door, but it wasn't Mags, it was you. Your face was fuller, it had more colour, but the bags under your eyes were still there. Would Mags bring you Valerian tea as well? No, no he needed to stop thinking about you. The last time he had actually seen you was when you won. He had forced himself to avoid you ever since, he hadn't been completely sure why anymore, but now he knew again. The way you looked at him gave him hope, hope he couldn't afford. “What do you want” he asked, he sounded upset, and in a way he was, but the way the sparkle in your eyes dimmed made him regret it. 
And so he opened the door further, stepping aside, and you didn't need more of an invitation before you walked in. You took a seat at his small kitchen table, and he decided it would be impolite not to join you, so he sat down as well. He was about to talk, but you beat him to the punch.
“Snow came to see me.” There is was he thought, the reason, everyone always had a reason. Still, he found himself allowing you to continue, wanting to hear your voice again, even if it brought bad news. 
“I talked to Mags about it, but she said I should come see you, so here I am.” You chuckled, but the situation was not something that asked for it, must be nerves, he thought, but why were you nervous, surely he didn't make you nervous. 
“Look, I don’t want to bother you with my problems Finnick, I know you're dealing with enough yourself, but I don’t know what else to do.” Your eyes glossed over, and you looked like you were about to start crying, but you didn't. He wanted to say something, to comfort you, but what was there to say? And so you two sat in silence, he was looking at you, he was memorizing your face. This was the last time he would let himself see you. He didn't want to get close to you, and with how mesmerizing you were to him, he knew better.
And yet, as days passed, he found himself thinking of you. Whenever he needed comfort, he thought of you, the way you smiled at him when he told you a nervous joke. He could get lost in the memory of your eyes, and more often than not, he did. Every day he spent without seeing you made his heart hurt. 
Without thinking, he found himself walking to your door. It was like he wasn't in control of his own feet. He was in constant agony with himself. He wanted to be with you, but your kindness was one he couldn't afford, because it had the power to break him. He knocked on your door, not even aware he was doing so until he heard the sound echo back to him. He heard rustling, but he didn't hear you approaching the door, so he knocked again, and for good measure, he decided to call out. “Y/n? It’s me, it’s Finnick”. He heard someone approach the door at that, and a little bit of hope sparked inside him that you wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you, but he knew better. 
The door opened, but it wasn't you that he came face to face with, it was Mags. She was standing in your hallway with a sad smile on her face, and she didn't say anything, but she looked to the stairs on the right end corner. He didn't need any more encouragement, and he sped up them, taking two steps at a time. He knocked on the door he was in front of, but there wasn't an answer. But when he listened more closely, he could hear crying coming from the other side. You were crying. His mind was reeling with possibilities, but whatever it was that had caused this, he swore to himself he would fix it, even if it broke him. 
And so he entered the room, opening the door softly so as not to startle you, but it didn't matter. He saw you in the corner, you had pulled your knees to your chest and he couldn't see your face from where you had hidden it, but his heart broke over it nonetheless. He walked towards you, testing the waters, testing his luck. He was scared for you, but mostly, he was scared you wouldn't want to see him. When you heard him, your head shot up to look at him. The way in which your eyes were bloodshot and swollen made him want to punch a hole in the wall next to you. The way your voice cracked when you said his name made him want to curl up right next to you. he got closer to you, kneeling down in front of you. Allowing you to take the next steps on your own time.
After a few minutes, you had slightly calmed down while he was tracing patterns on your knee with his thumb. You spoke to him, but you didn't look him in his eyes.
“They’re bidding on me Finnick, they’re bidding on me like I’m something to possess”
The feeling of dread that came over him was something he had never felt before. He thought he had gone through all someone could. He thought there was nothing that could hurt him anymore in a way he didn't already, but he had been wrong. 
He was willing to do anything for you to be spared from this, but he knew it wasn't any use. 
He knew better. And so he did all he could, taking you in his arms and whispering reassuring words, until your crying and your shaking stopped, and you seemed at peace again. 
He had tried himself to get away from what snow had wanted, what the capitol had wanted, he tried everything he could think of, but he couldn't get away from it. He had made peace with the fact that people always wanted something from him, and maybe that's why he couldn't get you out of his head, because you were the only person that was at peace with him, without anything more, just him. So he told you the only thing he could. He told you he’d be there for you, that you’d get through it together. He wasn't sure if he believed it, but he knew it was what you needed to hear, it was what he had needed to hear, except there had been no one to tell him. He would spend the rest of his life wondering if you needed him.
But he won't shut you out again, he knows better.
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Part 2: Should've Known
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hadeantaiga · 6 months
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anyway I love Haymitch and I while I completely understand why he didn't get as much attention in the books because he is not the main character,
I still think about him.
Guy hated the hunger games just like everyone else, but he doesn't even try to play by the rules. He is openly resentful and mocking of the whole affair from his first interview in the Capitol.
He tells Katniss and Peeta not to fight the stylists. I wonder how much trouble he gave his stylists. He must've been a nightmare.
Did he even have a mentor? According to the wiki, the prior District 12 victor won 40 years before he won his quarter quell. I'm betting she was dead. He had no one to help him.
So he goes into the arena and just. Avoids everyone almost completely. Allies up with the girl from his district, but truly does not "play the game". He just goes looking for the edge of the arena. And finds it. And exploits it. And wins.
The Capitol tries to control him after he wins, tried to sell him for sexual favors just like they later do to Finnick, but Haymitch refuses.
So The Capitol kills his entire family.
Downside is now they have no way to control him. Upside, they don't have to since he spends the next few decades trying to drink himself to death.
And then suddenly these two kids show up on the train and one is stupidly in love and the other is stubborn as hell and oh no he sees so much of himself in her, and suddenly there's a glimmer of hope in the haze of pain that has been his life.
And he manages to pull it off. District 12 wins. Not only does District 12 win, but they both live. But it doesn't fill his heart with joy. He sees the danger, probably saw it the second Katniss pulled out the berries. He knows she's in trouble because he was in trouble for "defying" the Capitol, too.
So he does everything he can to help them through the next few months, and then the disastrous mid-year District tour, and he knows it's hopeless. Who knows how long he's had connections to the rebels, but I'm convinced the failed District Tour, seeing 11 and the other districts starting to revolt - that pushes him fully into the resistance.
The choices he makes. We all see it from Katniss' point of view, through her lens of resentment at being used as a pawn and feeling powerless to all the adults in her life - the Capitol Gamemakers, President Snow, Haymitch, President Coin, etc.
Idk. I love Haymitch.
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squoosheez · 4 months
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Lavender Haze
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Peeta Mellark x Reader
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summary: You wake up in the bed of none other than Peeta Mellark. Frantic that you’re gonna miss your train, you recall the events of the previous night.
setting: The last night of the victor’s tour. It’s the after party and you’re completely wasted, so Peeta takes you up to his room to get cleaned up.
pairing: Peeta Mellark x Fem!Reader
warnings: smut, drunk sex/dub-con, p in v, reader’s an absolute menace
notes: i didn’t put too much effort into this but i hope it’s not horrible 😭 short n sweet ig
word count: 3.1k
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socials: ao3
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You feel your head pound as you down your second Advil of the day. It’s quite evident now that you should not have gone to that after party. Another reason to support your claim is the fact you don’t know where the fuck you are.
Usually, you would’ve called yourself an Uber by now, but the pounding in your head was enough to make you stay just long enough to locate the nearest pain medication. You scan the room, trying to find any sign of where you may be. It’s definitely in the Capitol. Yesterday was the last day of the Victor's Tour, and the train doesn’t leave until.. well today. You feel panic start to set it.
The train. You completely forgot how important it was to know where you end up the morning of the after parties. The train. You spring up from the barstool and sprint back into the bedroom from whence you came.
Your heart pounds as you attempt to gather all your things. The tight, black, sequin dress you wore last night paired with some black stiletto heels. You don’t remember much, but you remember they hurt. You fumble around, reaching for your bag and not really bothering to change your clothes. That will definitely stir up your fans.
You move groggily around the room after you pick up all your belongings. As you start to make your way towards the door, you see the handle turn and hear a set of keys jingle on the other side. You take a step back as the door opens to reveal none other than Peeta Mellark.
You let out a sigh of relief as you run into his arms. He shoots you a confused look, but embraces you in his arms anyway. Before he can get a chance to speak, you drag him to the ground. He lands on top of you gracefully, giggling and laughing without knowing why.
“Oh, Peeta. I was so scared I was gonna be late, and I think I slept with a stranger last night.” You groan into his shoulders. Your words cause a piercing laugh to escape Peeta’s lips. You look up at him in confusion.
“It wasn’t a stranger,” he remarks. It all comes flooding back to you. You can’t tell whether to be relieved or panic even more. Your face flushes red with embarrassment as you think about the consequences of your own actions.
You gently slam your head against his marble countertops and make a loud noise that can only be described as a wail. Your dramatics are not making Peeta feel any better about the situation. He is sitting on the couch, watching the screen attentively while you rethink your entire life decisions.
Through all the blurred vision and distorted noise you recall happened last night, you finally start to remember what exactly had happened after the party.
It was a normal after party, except much more extravagant. It was the after party after you visited the presidential mansion. The party with the president was nothing less than over the top, but it still seemed very strict. You had to put on a good show and pretend like you were enjoying yourself the whole time, despite experiencing quite the opposite.
The after party was much more laid back. More drinking, less talking. You danced until your legs couldn’t hold you up, which ultimately led to Peeta carrying you up the stairs and to his bedroom. His bedroom?
He laid you on the bed and started to run you a bath. You squirmed around trying to decipher whose bed you were in. You heard the running water and decided it’d be nice to take a bath. That’s when you felt the vomit stirring up in your stomach. And in just a second, it’s out of your stomach and ruining Peeta’s brand new sheets.
He immediately rushed into the room and lifted you up, trying to keep you from completely coating yourself in puke. He sighed hard and had you sit on the toilet while he cleaned the mess you so generously made.
Alcohol poisoning was not unfamiliar to you, with all the parties in the Capitol, this was a normal occurrence. Peeta doesn’t enjoy cleaning up after you, but you’re his best friend, so he puts up with it. Though, you’re almost as bad as Haymitch at this point.
Once he’s finished stripping the bed and putting a set of fresh new sheets on it, he returns his attention towards you. You’re mumbling something barely audible and Peeta gives you a laugh in response. Due to your puking incident, he didn't want to put you in the bath first. He grabs the shower head off of the shower and ushers you into the shower.
You whined, thinking you were gonna get a bath. Before he gets the chance to ask you, you’re struggling to discard your clothes. Your shirt is stuck on your arm, and he just giggles at your useless attempt. His hands help to lift the shirt above your head, revealing your curvy figure and shimmery skin. You murmur something about staring and he gives you a forced laugh in return. He then softly asks you if you can remove your pants, in which you have no shame in doing. It makes his face grow red and his ears grow hot.
He turns on the water, and allows you to rinse yourself off at first. This quickly goes to shit when you try to spray him in the face. He wipes the water from his face, and discards himself off his sopping wet shirt.
You’re a giggling mess as Peeta hoses you down, your body barely being able to stay up against the wall of the shower. Once Peeta decides he’s gotten all the puke off, he escorts you towards the bath. Your body sinks in and the warm water feels so good on your skin.
Peeta reaches over to grab a clean plastic cup. He scoops up some water and instructs you to close your eyes. He pours the water over your head, wetting down your hair so he can wash it. He squirts a bit of shampoo onto his hand and rubs it gently into your scalp. He does the same with the conditioner on the ends of your hair. He takes the cup again and rinses the suds out of your hair. You look up at him every now and then, giving him a beautiful smile that always gives him butterflies.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he says as he finishes rinsing the last of the soap out of your hair. You grab a bar of soap and begin to rub it over your body, but you get tired halfway through. You place the soap on the side of the bath closest to him, assuming he would take it and finish scrubbing you.
His breath hitches. He looks at you with a disappointed look on his face. “I can’t help you here. You can do it,” he encourages. Obviously, since you’re drunk, you take this statement as he doesn’t want to help you and wants to leave you here completely defenseless. Tears well up in your eyes and you choke on your tears. Small sniffles can be heard as Peeta immediately tries to comfort you.
He whispers reassuring words in your ear as you continue to cry. He decides against making you wash yourself and just helps you out of the bath. He grabs a towel and dries off your hair before wrapping it around your body. You shiver at the cold air hitting your wet skin, but you’ve stopped crying. So that’s a plus.
His hands guide you onto his bed, most of the guests have already left. The music volume has decreased greatly and only faint conversation can be heard. Peeta just hopes no one comes up here with you laying in his bed.
For some reason, you’re still wide awake. You wait to feel Peeta’s warmth climb into bed beside you to fall asleep, but he’s taking way too long for your liking. You throw your legs over the side of the bed and make your way over to the closet. Without even bothering to ask if he’s in there, you pull the door wide open to reveal Peeta’s almost naked body. He’s standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers while he tries to pick out a pajama shirt.
Your cheeks flush an embarrassing shade of red. He quickly shuts the door back and throws the first shirt he sees over his head. When he opens the door again, you’re sitting in front of the closet with tears running down your face. He immediately crouches down to be on your level. He wipes a tear from your cheek and speaks softly. “Hey, It’s okay. You wanna head to bed?”
You nod and let him pick you up and carry you onto the bed, placing you there gently. You feel your body relax as he climbs into the bed next to you. He allows you to lay your head on his shoulder as he turns the TV on. He watches as you drift off into a soft sleep.
Later in the night, Peeta awakes to find you moving around in your sleep. Tossing and turning, mumbling words that he can’t quite make out. It’s not until he hears you breathe out his name that he comprehends what’s happening. He curses under his breath.
Your body is facing him, the towel slipping off your figure as you continue to squirm around. He debates waking you up or just letting you enjoy your dream. He takes a deep breath in, feeling his own arousal building in the pit of the stomach. It feels so wrong to watch you like this, so he wakes you up.
You hear his voice whisper gently and your eyes flutter open. You let out a whimper of disappointment when you realize your dream is finished. The disappointment slowly fades away at the sight of Peeta. You smile and place a messy kiss directly on his lips. His eyes widen at the action.
He lets the kiss linger before breaking it gently. Your eyes are fixated on his lips and his biceps. You let out an involuntary whimper in the absence of his lips. All you can manage to say is name.
Peeta groans against the crook in your neck. His breath is warm against your cold skin and it sends shivers down your spine. You can still feel the lingering effects of intoxication as his hands travel up and down your body. You allow his eyes and hands to explore every inch of your body he can as you indulge in the sensation.
“Peeta,” you whisper softly. His eyes flick up to meet yours.
“Yeah?” He says quietly. You bite your lip as you feel your arousal swelling in your lower stomach, heat radiating from in between your legs.
“Touch me,” your voice shakes as you look up at him with pleading eyes. His expression is tense. He wants it so bad, but it feels wrong. He wants you to want him when you're sober. He wishes you would ask him these things when you’re not drunk.
This isn’t the first time this has happened. Almost every time you get drunk Peeta cleans you up and holds you close and you try to get in his pants. Every time, he tells you no. Usually you take it pretty well, but for some reason you seem extra emotional today. He fears what may happen if he denies your request.
It’s an inner conflict for a moment before you decide to take matters into your own hands. Your hands travel down from his chest to the band of his boxers. He bites his lip as your body moves in closer. The towel is slowly slipping off your frame and it’s much different from how you looked when he was bathing you.
There’s a hunger in your eyes. Dark and cold. Your lips connect again and you can still taste the traces of tequila in his mouth, he’s far less drunk than you are, but the taste makes you long for more. You completely discard yourself off the towel. You have zero intentions of dragging this out.
You flip around, landing on top of him. Your hips straddling his thighs like they were made for him to be in between them. He’s completely taken aback by your movements, and he doesn’t even try to stop you anymore. You grind your hips against the growing bulge in his boxers, soaking them with your dripping arousal.
Peeta mumbles curses every now and then while you continue to grind relentlessly into him. You pull him in for once last sloppy kiss before he takes matters into his own hands. He pulled you towards him, immediately suctioning one of your nipples into his mouth. Your eyes roll back at the sensation. You let out a loud gasp as his hand roams freely on your body. They make their way to your throbbing clit, giving it the long awaited attention it deserves. Your back arches and you let out another loud moan at the action.
“Fuck me, Peeta.” Your words slur together, reminding him you’re still intoxicated. He buries the shame of his desires deep down and gives you a small smirk.
His hands travel down towards your ass, giving it a hard slap (that definitely left a mark). Your chest heaves as his hands squeeze and grip at your ass, and all you can think about is taking him so deep.
“Of course, baby.” He responds, his breath shaky and far from stable. You scoot up to give him room to slip off his underwear. He pulls them down to his ankles and you can feel his erection spring up to hit your ass. You smile as you breathe out another soft moan.
You move back to your previous position, his cock hitting your stomach with every small movement. You give him a couple strokes, watching as his expression grows more needy. Your thumb traces over his slit, earning a lewd whimper from Peeta’s throat. You lean over placing yet another kiss on his neck, sucking a dark hickey on his pale skin.
You position him near your entrance, sliding his cock back and forth between your folds, teasing him ever so slightly. He lets out a hiss as you finally sink yourself down on him. Your back arches as his cock fills you to the brim, legs shaking while you try to hold yourself up.
The room is filled with ah’s and mm’s as you pick yourself up and slam yourself back down onto him. He hits your g-spot, but only softly with very little effort. His hands guide your hips in a circular motion. He grits his teeth as you let out a moan that can only be described and slutty when he slams straight into your sweet spot. Tears well up in your eyes as your hand moves to circle your swollen clit.
Peeta gives your ass another slap, causing a string of profanities to slur out of your mouth. Your whole body feels like it’s floating. The pleasure is unimaginable. His sweaty blonde hair sticks to his forehead and you watch as he fucks up into you, letting small groans escape his lips occasionally. “You’re so tight,” Peeta hisses.
Your moans echo throughout the room, flooding Peeta’s head with the sounds of your pleasure. He feels the bubbling in his stomach grow stronger when he feels your walls clench around him. He curses under his breath and continues to use his hands to force you down on him.
Tears, drool, and sweat drip down your face, creating a mixture that cannot taste good. Peeta doesn’t mind. He pulls you down and connects your lips in a sloppy, wet, unorganized kiss. You don’t know how he manages to do it. He drives you crazy with every movement and you cannot get enough of it.
He continues to pound into you, your knees lock and you let him fuck you as hard as he can. A few shrill moans leave his throat as his climax approaches rapidly. You feel the same, your moans becoming much more erratic and louder. His thrusts become sloppy and less careful. He speeds up and your back arches as you feel his cock pulsate inside you.
“Peeta- I’m gonna, fuck—” you barely manage to give him a warning before your orgasm takes over. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you swear you see stars. Peeta’s face is concentrated, beads of sweat pouring down his chin, needy moans escaping from behind his lips.
He can feel his own orgasm building as you grab onto his biceps for support. It’s all too much and more tears stream down your face as the overstimulation sets in. You feel his body tense up and he pulls out as fast as you’ve seen any guy pull out. He gives himself a few fast strokes before cumming all over your tits. “Jesus.”
Peeta almost collapses on top of you, stopping himself before he accidentally crushes you. He locks your lips in a gentle kiss this time, not as messy or needy as before. He gives your nose and forehead a matching kiss as well. He brushes your hair behind your ears and you shoot him a ridiculous smile. The last thing you wanna do right now is move. You close your eyes as Peeta walks over to the bathroom. You hear the sink running and can only assume he’s wetting down a rag.
You’re right, of course. He places the rag in between your breasts, wiping away any of the cum residue he left there before placing another kiss right in between them. You giggle softly and pull him down towards you.
Your cheeks flush read at the sight of a completely fucked out Peeta Mellark. You feel a little proud of yourself as he swoops in for one last kiss before pulling you closer. You fall asleep knowing you’re in the arms of the man you feel most safe with.
That’s when you’re snapped back into reality. Peeta rushing around the room frantically trying to gather all his things and Peeta calling to alert the two of you the train’s arriving in twenty minutes. Your face is hot and you’re clearly embarrassed at the acts of your drunk self, but Peeta just seems to try to ignore them.
You try to regain control of your thoughts when Peeta breaks the silence. “Everything alright?” His voice is sincere and coarse. Just like it was that night.
“Yeah, I’m all good.”
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friendship-ditch · 4 months
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You came back
(Katniss Everdeen x Fem Reader) ❀
Summary: After everything in the Capitol had begun to settle and your memories are stable, you return to the Victors Village for Katniss.
Warnings: Katniss is suicidal and very depressed, but the rest is just hurt/comfort/fluff—Also, not a warning, but you’re basically Peeta in this situation. (SFW)
Word Count: 3450
Carving holes into the dirt was tougher than you had expected it to be. The world was warming up around you, and flowers, just as the Primroses in your hand, were blooming in the woods, but the Victors village was stuck in a gloomy time warp. Just stepping through the archway onto the dry grass was like stepping into another realm.
Everything was the same as it was when you last saw it. Gloomy and empty, the truest resemblance of the life of a victor.
You planted the Primroses outside of the house, bringing a little bit of life back to the wasteland. You watered them once they were in the ground and then you went up onto the porch. It was a miracle the village wasn’t obliterated by the bombs, but it felt even heavier than the rest of District 12. Life had continued on outside these concrete walls, nature reclaimed the ruins with haste, but inside it was as if nothing had changed.
The door was cold as your knuckles rasped its surface. You held your breath.
Nothing.
After another failed attempt at knocking, you felt worry snake through your heart. The only thing you could think about was the worst outcome of them all.
She’s gone.
No, no, that couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. You rammed your shoulder into the door and popped open the old lock.
The inside of the house was just as depressing as the outside was. The lights were off and a layer of dust coated practically everything. The air was heavy and musty, smelling mostly old and just… bad, but the smell of death was lacking.. That was good at least.
You could barely make out some footprints on the floor that headed to the living room. Following the only sign of life, you took a deep breath and entered the living room. The curtains were drawn over the windows. You stumbled into the room, hand running along the wall and looking for the switch. When you finally found it, you took in a breath and then turned on the light.
There was a lump on the couch that shifted slightly as the lights flickered on.
You let out the breath in a sigh of relief. She was alive. Right? You did a double take.
Her hair was an utter mess of grease and tangles. Her skin was nearly white, the only flush of color tinting her nose and darkening under her hollow eyes. Her body was thin and frail beneath her loose clothes.
The only reason you figured she was alive was that her chest was frantically rising and falling, her breath shaky and hoarse. She said nothing, empty eyes locked on you.
“Katniss.” You breathed softly.
The living corpse still didn’t speak. You could just barely see the thoughts whirling in her mind beneath the haze in her eyes, but her raw lips didn’t move. Her body was present and hanging on by a thread. Her mind was gone.
You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t this.
You couldn’t figure out what to say. Words didn’t seem right for this, for the broken and numb soul in front of you.
Quietly you held your hands up, showing Katniss that you were empty handed, except for the small pack on your back that you set down on the floor with a thump. You cautiously approached her, taking notice of the orange cat curled by her feet that was staring back at you.
Hoping for some flicker of recognition, you waited at the edge of the couch.
After she studied you for a moment the fear faded from her eyes. She didn’t say anything and just lowered her head, looking at her lap blankly. She didn’t have it in her to be scared of you.
“I would’ve come back sooner.” You said softly, taking a seat on the edge of the cushion. “They wanted me to stay for a while longer to fix my memories… but I’m okay now. I remember it all.” You murmured.
Katniss didn’t respond, didn’t give any sign that she heard you at all.
The worry filled your chest once again, your heart sinking ever so slightly. For a split second you were worried that she was bitter at you for everything you’d done while hijacked, but you knew better than that.
You hadn’t seen Katniss since she killed Coin and had been sent back. You begged Haymitch and Plutarch to let you go home with her but they refused, encouraging you to make sure everything was okay with yourself first before trying to fix another destroyed girl. When the chance came you hopped on the train with nothing but one goal: Get back to Katniss.
But this wasn’t the Katniss you once knew. Yes, the games had changed both of you, had ripped out your brain and your heart and tarnished them with regret and pain, but returned the vital organs when finished. While you were tortured in the Capitol, Katniss tortured herself. Your reunion was cut short by Snow, and then Katniss lost the last flower that was keeping her alive, lost her brain, and her heart.
Prim was gone. And so was Katniss.
“I’m back now.” You said softly although you knew it was no use. “And I’m not going to leave, alright? I’m going to take care of you…”
She remained mute. She wasn’t even a human anymore. She’d lost all senses and control of herself. She was just a body waiting to die.
You couldn’t stop the sad sigh from escaping your lips, but you weren’t upset with her. You were more focused on your new task ahead: Get Katniss back.
After soothing her back to sleep, or at least getting her laying down in her catatonic state, you started a fire in the fireplace. You took a quick walk of the house. It was the same as yours had been so you knew the layout well, you just wanted to survey the damage.
Most rooms were just dirty, some of them a little wrecked from natural causes. The worst thing you saw was the bathroom that had a mold filled tub and a severely leaky sink, but you could fix that. The fridge was full with moldy food that you threw out. Katniss probably hadn’t eaten in days, much less showered.
Luckily you’d thought ahead and picked some herbs when you were in the woods. Sure, there wasn’t much food left but you could make her some soup. It would be enough to get both of you through a few days.
You simmered a pot of warm soup on the stove and cleaned most of the kitchen up. There was some old crackers stored away that you found too.
“Katniss! I made you some food.” You called softly but received no response as expected. So you poured a bowl and carried it out to the living room.
Katniss didn’t put up a fight as you sat her up, but when you offered her the bowl she turned her head like a petulant child. You tried again. She simply just stared at the soup as if she didn’t know what to do.
“You need to eat, honey.” You sighed again, taking the bowl back. Katniss was always stubborn and you didn’t often force her through things, but this was a literal life or death situation.
Carefully you scooped some of the soup up into the spoon and held it to her lips.
Katniss didn’t look at you or the soup, dead eyes staring ahead blankly. She slowly opened her mouth by instinct, letting you feed her. No reaction came across her face but she didn’t seem upset.
You fed her about half of the bowl, wiping the remaining droplets off her face. You figured she couldn’t handle solid foods yet so the crackers were an abandoned idea, but you were glad she was finally eating something.
The rest of the day was spent cleaning up some of the house. You tidied up the living room and the kitchen until the sun set, then went back over to the couch, pretty tired.
“I’m going to head back home.” You murmured softly, watching Katniss avoid your gaze. She wasn’t mentally there.. but you could hear you, and that was enough. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”
Katniss showed no reaction.
You kissed the side of her head and tucked her in. She just closed her eyes, lost in the fog of a catatonic depression.
Katniss may have given up, but you hadn’t. She wanted to die, but you weren’t going to let her. You would come back tomorrow, and every single day from there on. Katniss was the only person left in your life that you cared about and you weren’t about to let her slip away just as everyone else had.
The next few days weren’t exactly fun, but you and Katniss both made it through.
You started by coming and coaxing her to eat breakfast, then you continued to clean the house up while she rested. The more you checked on her, the more she began to trust you again. It wasn’t that she had forgotten you, but she’d forgotten how to be a human. You were the last glimpse of familiarity in her life and she clung to you like a raft. You still weren’t exactly sure what terms you stood on, you’d been girlfriends back in the Games but you weren’t sure if that was truly an act or not, but that was the last thing that mattered.
As Katniss fell into routine, you began to give her the tiniest tasks, just to get her up and moving. Her body was weak and frail, and she couldn’t stand for long at first after weeks of malnourishment but she was improving slowly. You managed to get her to help you clean the dishes and dust the floors, giving her something to do and look forward to.
It took a while but soon enough the small jobs had given her some sense of humanity again. She didn’t speak, whether it was a choice or she simply couldn’t, but she was connecting with you more. And she was eating better and moving around too. You’d finally convinced her to sleep in her bed rather than on the couch.
Your next goal was to get her to shower. It was pretty evident that she hasn’t cleaned herself once since her return home.
“Hey, Katniss.” You handed her a wet plate, running the other one beneath the sink. “I fixed the tub and shower in the bathroom. Do you think you’d be up for taking a shower?”
Your question confused her and she looked up at you. The blank expression in her gaze had slowly but surely been replaced by comprehension and she was beginning to interact more with you. The only problem with that was that she also had remembered she could say no.
Katniss shook her head and returned to drying her plate.
“Come on, Katniss… You need to clean up. You’ll feel better.” You urged her gently, withholding the last plate from her.
Katniss stared at you, almost offended that you’d force her to do this. She knew you were right but the thought of a shower made her shudder. She couldn’t do that… the thought of washing out her hair and cleaning her body after so long of marinating in dirt made her want to cry. And the idea of feeling better was scary.
Katniss just turned away from you. You shook your head.
As you were doing your last rounds that night, making sure the fireplaces weren’t blocked by anything, you saw Katniss standing quietly at the bottom of the stairs, watching you with teary eyes. You wondered if she had a nightmare and came down to find you, then your eyes found the brush in her hand.
Katniss had tried to brush her hair out but her hair was so greasy and tangly that the brush ended up getting stuck. She stared at you helplessly, her lip quivering. She hated being helpless but her mind hadn’t reformed enough for her to be able to handle this yourself.
“Oh, honey.” You went over to her. She said nothing, just stared at the ground, embarrassed and upset.
It took you a few minutes to free the brush. You were going to tuck her back into bed but you had become pretty good at reading her expressions and knew you couldn’t just leave her like this. Katniss had reluctantly accepted her inevitable fate.
You spent the next hour brushing out her hair. It was awful and tears were shed by both of you, but the result was worth it.
The shower was a little finickier than you thought it would be but soon the water was warm and running. You weren’t sure how this was going to work exactly.
Katniss stared at the water silently but her eyes reflected fear. She refused to move, refused to do anything.
“How about… how about you can sit down and I’ll clean your hair?” You offered, pulling an old chair into the bathroom.
It wasn’t ideal but it worked.
Katniss sat, still clothed, on the chair beneath the water. You stood behind her in your clothes too, shampooing her hair for the third and final time. She was as quiet as usual but she seemed to enjoy the feeling of your fingers on her scalp.
After shampooing her hair, you added one round of conditioner. Then you got ready to leave so she could wash herself off. You were about to step out of the shower when she grabbed your arm.
Washing Katniss wasn’t an easy process either. You stood behind her for the most part, gently scrubbing her off with a cloth and some soap.
She hated being exposed and vulnerable but she let you clean her because she knew nobody else would. You were the only one she trusted to see her true form; her thin and weak body, and the scars that painted it.
When it was all over, you wrapped her up in a towel, got her changed, and put her to bed.
Things changed from that night. They weren’t perfect or good, but they were certainly better than before. You and Katniss had grown closer overtime and on bad days, spend most of the daylight just cuddling on the couch. Katniss also had found a way to communicate with you that didn’t require her voice.
She’d found an old notebook and pen and was scribbling in it when you found her. You were late that morning because of the storm outside, and she was clearly upset.
When you finally got inside she handed you a note.
The writing was mostly incomprehensible, a lot of loose scribbles and misplaced words but you could make out what she was trying to say.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
Your expression softened and you sighed. “I’m sorry.” You said softly. “I would never not come, I promise. I just got held up..”
You were scared Katniss’s fragile trust in you would break, but she seemed to understand. Her greeting hug lasted longer that day.
You had also begun to stay the night at her house. Sure, you lived about 25 yards away but sometimes the guest bedroom just looked so inviting… and sometimes she couldn’t make it through the night alone with her nightmares. You stayed with her through the night, cuddled around her, and she finally started to get the sleep she hadn’t had in years.
There were a lot of days where you couldn’t get her out of bed, but you understood and you laid with her. You held her while she cried, your own eyes sometimes filled with tears. You let her breakdown with grief in your arms, and you comforted her when she was aware enough to listen to you. You were nothing but patient and kind with her, something she’d never experienced before.
As Katniss began to heal, so did the world around her. The Victors village finally felt the warmth of spring. You started to bring Katniss out of the house with you.
“It’s just over here.” You murmured, your hand clasped around hers. You carefully took her down the slightly worn path of grass and stones, being careful of the wildflowers dotting the ground.
The ruins of District 12 were painful to look at, but in that pain was beauty too. The nearest town center was no longer a dark, gloomy heap, but had instead been recovered by nature itself, flowers sprouting and animals returning.
Katniss said nothing still, looking around in silent awe. Her eyes were teary but there was no sadness in them.
“Up here. You’re doing good.” You say, bringing her to one of the taller ruins of an old building. Together, you climbed up the side of it to a small platform that gave the most beautiful view.
A few tears dribbled down Katniss’s face, but they were tears of relief. She didn’t flinch when you gently tilted her head towards a nearby field of flowers; of Primroses.
Her expression softened and for the first time you saw something new on her face: love. She looked at you through a teary gaze and you nearly fell off the ruin.
The edges of her cracked lips were drawn into a smile. It was small and weak, but it was a smile.
“Do you like it?” I couldn’t help but smile back at her.
Katniss nodded. She slowly opened her mouth and let out a few hoarse croaks, then she finally managed to speak.
“Pretty.”
You almost burst into tears. It had been so long since you heard her voice, and you were so proud of her, but the last thing you wanted was to make her uncomfortable. You let your smile grow and patted her back gently.
“Very.”
Not every day was good, but Katniss had begun to speak more after that. Sometimes she’d go days without a word, and sometimes she’d only utter the most heartbreaking sentence like the one night she asked you why you wouldn’t let her die, but she never stopped communicating with you whether it be by words, pen, or even kiss. She was looking healthier and even happier.
At the peak of summer, you took her herb collecting. Katniss brought her bow just in case of any worthy game, but she was more than happy to tag along and help you collect plants. It was an activity that reminded her of Prim, just as you did. Both of you were the peace in her life, her grounding rock, her hope and strength. You were no replacement for the sister she lost, but you were something new, and somebody she could love just as unconditionally.
After your basket was filled to the brim, you two sat down on a rock near a creek. The cold water babbled and the birds sang.
You hummed with them, sitting behind her and braiding flowers into her hair.
Katniss sat quietly. She was smiling and watching the water. When your hands stopped ruffling through her hair, she turned to look at you.
“Did you ever think this would happen?” She asked quietly.
“What would?” You questioned, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head.
“All of this…” Katniss leaned into you a little, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “That we’d end up here again, together.”
You leaned back into her, your chin nestling on her shoulder as the two of you look out at the water and the woods beyond. “No. But I wouldn’t want anything else.”
“I wouldn’t care what we had… as long as I had you.”
You giggled softly. “Stop trying to one-up me.” You scold her teasingly, planting a kiss on her flushed cheek this time.
Katniss chuckled. Her head shook with amusement and she instinctively found your hand, playing with your fingers.
“Alright, fine. I’m just… I’m really happy you came back. I’m glad I hung on long enough for you to come back…”
“I just wish it was sooner.” You whispered quietly. “I wish I could’ve gotten out of there sooner and then—.”
“Shh..” Katniss hushed you gently with a kiss on your lips. “Just be quiet.”
You smiled and hugged her a little tighter from behind. “I would’ve come back to you no matter what.” You whisper. Your arms tightened a little again around her torso.
Katniss turns to look at you and she smiled softly, leaning her head against your neck.
“You came back, that’s all I care about.”
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http-finnick · 9 months
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𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡-𝐮𝐩 | 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐬.𝐞
katniss everdeen x fem!stylist!reader
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summary: you find your victor with smudge makeup when you visit her cabin one night and help her remove it
cw: fluff, sitting on katniss's lap
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"katniss" you called out as your knuckles throbbed from banging on the door to her cabin, you stepped back as the rush of air hit you and the door retracted sideways into the wall
"yes?" she answered, drowsiness tugging her eyes and face bloated from sleep as she leaned against the wall
your eyes searched her face before landing on the mess smudged around her eyes.
it wasnt just drowsiness stuck on her, it was makeup too.
"did you just go to sleep? no wash-up?" you questioned as her face turned from your unknowing insult
"-your face" you tried to correct but the scowl only grew deeper as you tried to save yourself from offending the victor even more
"makeup! did you remove all your makeup?" you almost shout as the word comes back into your brain and you struggle to speak, she rubs her eyes as you assume they must be itchy from all the dried mascara she just left
"...yeah?" her brow was raised as her foot inched closer to her bed, ready to pounce after a quick goodnight to the annoying stylist
"you didn't remove all the makeup, let me help." you try a softer approach and she seems to give in as her hand blocking the entrance fell and she made room for you to come in
"how long will it take?" she grimaced, probably assuming it would take just as long as it did to put on
"not long- how do you usually remove your makeup?" you ask as you reach over to unhook the miniature makeup bag on your belt, placing the dramatic ombre bag on her nightstand as she plopped on the bed
"I just shower?" you cringe at her confession and move to look at her foundation-stained cheeks and dark-smudged eyes
you motion for her to stand and she reluctantly does, you walk into the bathroom and she drags herself to follow. you crouch and dig in the cabinet until you find unopen soap and start tearing the paper coverings
you held it under the warm water of the sink before suds started sliding down your wrists, you spun around and she flinched when you brought your fingers to her face
"I'm just gonna wash your face, it'll be less itchy" you reassure and she nods
your fingers rubbed onto her cheeks, moving up onto her eyebrows before delicacy going over her eyes. the bubbles clouding her face quickly turned tan and black as the makeup came off smoothly.
"don't open your eyes yet." you ordered as you reached for the washcloth and soaked it in the warm water, turning back to her you swiped it against her until the soap was cleared
"can I open them?" "yes." you guided her back to the bed and to your colorful bag as you dug through products
"you can sit, these are the last couple of things..." you said as you pulled the wipes from their cushiony packaging. moving back to her you climbed on the bed as she closed her eyes. rubbing the wipe on her lashes to collect the last bits of mascara, you struggled to find a good position to keep still
"hold on- I just-" you mumbled as you tried to move comfortably before having your knees on either side of her lap without fully sitting on her, her hands gripped your hips instinctually and her soft fingers kept you put.
her eyes were still shut as she waited for you to continue and you snapped out of your haze and moved back to her lashes
"last step" you whispered against her as your arm stretched back to grab the mini bottle of lotion you kept
you massaged it into her face as her eyes got more droopy by the second, relaxing into your hand as you swiped the cream into her pores
her skin glowed, thankful for the hydration and you were tempted to stay put but ultimately moved up to start packing your things away
her eyes fluttered open as you zipped and clipped the bag onto your belt
"goodnight, katniss" you said before she smile and nodded back at you
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an: YOU GUYS! we hit 500 followers! I can't believe this and I'm so happy and grateful for each and every one of you!! mwah mwah mwah! annnnd..this is the first time I'm writing for any other character that isn't finnick! I hope you guys liked it! <333
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venexus · 1 year
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Similarity
Scaramouche x GN!Reader x Albedo
[genshin masterlist]
word count: 1.1k
summary: you take a freshly-therapized Scaramouche all the way to Mondstat to meet an old friend of yours
warnings: 3.2 archon quest spoilers!!!! brief mentions of anxiety
i wanna be like 'hey heres the thing i temporarily abandoned event requests for' but i have in fact written this just now in a 2hr-long haze LMFAO anyway i am here to push an agenda towards you all and this is merely the very first step of many <3 i am still desperately trying to get to grips w a post-sumeru arc scara characterisation that i like btw so bear with me with him KSJHGDKSH
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“There’s someone I want to introduce you to,” you say to Scaramouche in the aftermath of his infamous rise and fall in Sumeru. “I think you’ll get along well.”
“I’m not interested,” he bites. “You’re annoying enough, I don’t want to meet anybody new.”
But he is interested once you arrive at the gates of Mondstat (where he promptly removes his hands from yours so nobody else can see the gentle intimacy he has allowed you to indulge in on the trip) and you lead him through the streets to the headquarters of the Knights of Favonius. 
The building looms high and intimidating overhead, a handful of people dressed in armor filtering through the tall wooden doors. You walk through as if you own the place, waving politely to people who seem to recognise you. Some younger knights run up to you excitedly, bumbling around you as you greet them and ask how they’ve been. 
Though Scaramouche would never admit it aloud, it’s downright daunting to be in this building. He’s still not entirely used to this new lease of life, waltzing into a place packed with the very types of people he was conspiring to take down not too long ago. Not a single one of them looks at him with any resentment, despite the fact that he’s almost certain at least some of them would be able to recognise him (and his image wasn’t exactly kept secret, after all.)
Yet you share a glance with him, a kindness in your eyes he knows you shouldn’t even be directing his way, and he feels his resolve harden once more. 
A strong chemical scent permeates the air as you lead Scaramouche up the main staircase and through to a quieter section of the building, something both familiar and foreign to his nose as you lead him towards what looks like an experimental lab of sorts. He can’t stop the tightening feeling in his chest as you knock on the door, the way his palms slick and his breath quickens at the memory of glistening lights and technicians bustling all around him as he’s fitted into a role he was never really meant to play. 
And then a stranger pokes his head out from within, observes you and Scaramouche with a quick up-and-down glance, before pulling the door open wide. 
“Scara,” you begin, reassuringly tapping your fingertips against his. “This is Albedo, we’ve been friends for a while now. Albedo, this is Scaramouche. He’s been through a lot lately, but we’re good friends now.”
“We’re barely friends,” Scaramouche interrupts. “Acquaintances is more like it.”
“Best friends,” you beam, wandering inside the lab. 
There’s a warm cup of coffee steaming away on a desk in one corner, papers piled high in a precarious tower beside it. Various vials and alchemical equipment are set up across the room, something steadily bubbling above a bunsen burner and even some strange glowing cylinder pulsing a subtle green light across the worktop. 
The shelves lining the walls are crammed full of textbooks, with a very distinct section near the bottom that seems to be populated by… bright and colourful children’s books? Even one section of the walls is covered in what can only be described as a war waged between someone very tiny and a jar of ink. It’s been furiously scrubbed away at, but the aftermath of the victor’s conquest is still very much present. 
This lab is nowhere as clinical and lifeless as the underground laboratory that Dottore had brought Scaramouche to during the construction of Shouki no Kami. In fact, it feels wholly reminiscent to an at-home study as opposed to a professional workplace environment. 
“It’s nice to meet you, Scaramouche. I have a few things left to do here, and then I’ll be able to give you both my full attention. Make yourself at home, please. Archons know they already do.” Albedo gestures across to you with a small smile, as you settle yourself down comfortably on the worn sofa that rests opposite the desk. 
There’s an amicable air between you both, not unlike the pleasant warmth that seeps into the moments you share with him. He wonders briefly if you have shared moments like that with Albedo, quiet conversations where the whole world seems to fade away around you. And, for some reason, it doesn’t fill him with the same type of jealousy he thinks that it should. 
Scaramouche steps over to the sofa cautiously, as Albedo busies himself across at the experiment he’s currently running. You pat the seat next to you, enticing him to join you, and once he’s settled you lean in close to him. 
“He’s like you, you know,” you whisper. “You see that mark on his neck?”
He does, as it happens, notice the yellow diamond across Albedo’s throat. He had assumed it was merely a tattoo, but he leans into you in turn to prompt you to continue, interest now piqued. 
“He was created by a really powerful alchemist. That symbol is like… you know, the same way humans have those little holes left behind from being attached to the womb.”
“I didn’t realise there were other people foolish enough to play around with the concept of life,” Scaramouche comments with a sneer. 
“People will be people, I suppose,” you say. “Or… archons and alchemists will be archons and alchemists…?”
“Is he that type of alchemist?”
Scaramouche glances back to Albedo. 
His fingers course roughly through the blond bangs framing his eyes and push them out of the way, only for them to flop back into place unceremoniously. With a dissatisfied pout, Albedo turns his attention back to the task at hand. Pouring one liquid into a larger jar with some other undiscernable chemical with the steadiest hand he can muster, involuntarily flinching as the reaction fizzles and pops within its glass confines. 
Albedo is intriguing to watch, moving about with all the same quirks and motions of a real living human. If you hadn’t pointed it out, Scaramouche wouldn’t have even been able to tell that he wasn’t just as carbon-based as you are. 
“He’s just as human as we are,” you assure. “He’d never do something that could hurt people.”
Scaramouche hums in thought. 
Across the room, Albedo lifts the results of his experiment to his nose and promptly sneezes, knocking the jar flying all the way over to the sofa. Miraculously, it doesn’t shatter on impact. Instead, it rolls defeatedly towards Scaramouche’s feet, bumping against his toes as the mystery liquid seeps into the rug.  
Yeah, he supposes that they might just get along after all. 
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pleaseleavemetowrite · 10 months
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Should have built a home | Cato x tribute!reader (pt1?)
I am working on my finnick fic - but it’s a massive slow burn so have this bc i’m going through a phase rn.
also love clove but for my own convenience, she isn’t here - we’ll jus say she didn’t get reaped
requested? yes/no
requests are open!
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(Y/n)’s eyes swept over the other people in the crowd, eyes cold and detached as looked at the faces around her. However, for a brief moment, her gaze softened. Hard features relaxing slightly when she locked eyes with Cato. His familiar face bringing a semblance of comfort to her, and easing the unfamiliar dread she felt in her chest. With the lingering thoughts about how this is the last time either of them could be reaped, and how she longed for Cato to not do something stupid.
But the moment died as soon as it happened, with both of them averting their eyes. In their district, the reaping was a chance at glory and pride, and definitively not the time to show weakness. Most children were born for this moment, wether they loved or loathed it.
(Y/n) and Cato being a part of this majority. With the former not having much keeping her attached to any sentiments to her district and the people within it. She had a decent family, but they weren’t close. A mother too focused on material aspects and a father who was simply distant, and no siblings. Cato however, had more motivation to keep his district pride, with an undeniable thirst for success. This was one of the only parts of Cato that (Y/n) didn’t understand. With him having parents that loved him dearly and an older brother.
(Y/n)’s thoughts however were cut short when the reaping actually began. Her face fell stoic and apathetic as she regarded the Capitol representative on the stage.
“We’ll start with the ladies, shall we?” The crowd made no effort to respond, and the representative didn’t seem to expect one either. Their expensive shoes clicked on the floor as they sauntered to the glass ball. With some young women looking gaunt with fear while most seemed to almost shake with excitement.
“(Y/n) (L/n)” The voice was clear and loud. (Y/n) exhaled through her nose as she calmly walked over to the stage, movements sure and clear. As she faced the crowd before her, she saw envy on some faces, pride on others. But (Y/n) didn’t feel particularly lucky, despite being a part of academy to train for the games, she had no care for it. She didn’t wish for glory, or acclaim. Nor did she really want to kill to survive.
As the boy’s name was about to be chosen, (Y/n) let her eyes meet Cato’s once more. With his eyes holding a stubborn haze. She knew what he was about to do, and a small part of her wanted to believe it was driven by her own name being reaped and not for victory. Capitol cameras caught the moment between the two, lingering on (Y/n) and the hint of something tender deep in her eyes.
The tributes name was hardly able to be announced before Cato declared himself as a volunteer. With cameras split between the two, having documented the moment prior.
Cato basically strut onto the stage, his cockiness was obvious, and (Y/n) held back an eye roll. Recalling a moment when he claimed he wasn’t dramatic. As Cato stepped to his place, the side of him that (Y/n) couldn’t bring herself to see as fully himself took over. He looked angry, enraged even. He was making his intentions clear to his district, to the game makers and to all of Panem.
The difference between the two was jarring, (Y/n) seemed indifferent, almost like it wasn’t her going to the games. While Cato’s eyes blazed, eagerness present on his face.
As the two were sent to separate rooms to bid their farewells, (Y/n) finally felt the gravity of everything hit her. She was going into a game with one victor and one of her competitors would be the one person she had ever loved. Forcing the tightness of her throat down and stiffening her upper lip, she awaited her parent’s arrival.
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[CN] Victor’s Cold Winter Date (Eng Translation)
⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 凛冬之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡
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[Translation under the cut]
•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•
【Subbed Video】
[anika’s notes]: I do very very very highly recommend to watch the video for full immersion + absolute god-level voice acting + the gorgeous music pieces!!! ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽
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【Prologue】
I behold  My homeland disappear in the daylight, and emerge in the night.  I behold  The everlasting power engrain within the vast blood of my people.  I behold  A snow-white rose bloom in the winter,   And I behold as it withers in the winter – each petal sailing across the ocean,  To a kingdom no one can reach. 
•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•
【Chapter 1】
As the night gradually deepens, the heavy curtains in front of the window are drawn by the attendants, veiling the silvery, meandering moonlight. 
I take a deep breath and push open the doors to the royal bedchamber engraved with a luxurious imperial coat of arms. 
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Inside the bedchamber, my newly wedded husband, King Victor, is fast asleep. 
Not long ago, at the behest of my father, Duke William, I was betrothed to Victor.  
Regrettably, before the ceremony could be held, my parents died of ailing health. 
However, the wedding was not delayed due to the unexpected tragedy, and the ceremony proceeded as scheduled, with the Church as witness. 
After all, to those people, what mattered the most was not the protagonists of the wedding, but the wedding ceremony itself. 
–– That’s right, it’s not just me; even the king, Victor, is not held with significance in their eyes. 
After all, it’s known to everyone in the capital that the royal family’s influence is eroding with each passing year. And since Victor succeeded to the throne, he remains in a coma all year round and is merely a puppet in the hands of the Church and nothing more. 
The elusive fragrance of beeswax pervades the air in the room. I step on the soft woolen carpet and draw closer to the bedside. [1] 
Lately, the capital has been shrouded in a haze of doubts and suspicion regarding the disappearance cases, and it was not the appropriate time for grandeur. Therefore, after the hasty wedding, I was ushered into the imperial palace. 
And tonight marks the third night I’m spending alongside His Majesty, the King, who’s been in a state of perennial coma. 
Victor is still in a deep slumber. 
The light from a few candles illuminates one side of his profound features, while the lingering shadows dance across his face as if with fondness. 
Throughout the generations, the kings have always been in robust health. But during Victor’s reign, his health has been continuously plagued with illness. 
It seems even the gods cannot bear to be too cruel to him. His illness has only brought a touch of frailty but has not marred his looks. 
I inhale softly and sit on the edge of the bed, propping my chin up as I gaze at Victor in his slumber. 
MC: ...why are you still sleeping? 
I’ve already started to grow accustomed to this— the bedchamber echoing only my own whispered monologues. 
MC: I thought the Church was so wary of you because you had some secrets that were unknown to the outsiders.
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MC: Now it seems your biggest secret is that you were born this good-looking. 
I crack a joke to myself, which also lightens my mood considerably. 
MC: When I think about it this way, being married to you is far better than being forced by the Church to marry one of those evil, rotten old men. 
In addition, within the palace, at least, there are no hypocritical relatives and those ever-watchful eyes— 
I have enough space to contemplate my plan for revenge. 
MC: Revenge... revenge...  MC: But how can I go about taking revenge on the Church... 
Clutching a corner of Victor’s blanket, I cover my face with it in anguish. 
The Church conspired to murder my parents. 
Because my father was a leader of the reformist faction, they extended their malicious hands targeting my family. 
And this marriage, which was arranged by my parents, is now being wielded as a means to threaten my life. 
As I ponder on this, the resentment in my heart swells. I heave a sigh, deciding to change my mood and say something interesting. 
I sporadically recount some happy and entertaining anecdotes from the past, treating Victor as a well-behaved “sleeping beauty doll.”
MC: ...in autumn, you know, there wasn’t much to do. Winter, in comparison, was way more fun.  MC: When I was young, what I loved doing the most was building little snowmen in the courtyard of the duke’s mansion after it snowed. Look, I could make them this big— 
Of course, Victor can’t see any of this, and there’s no hope for a response either. After mustering the spirit to prattle on for a while, all I am left with is endless emptiness. 
I tug at the corners of my lips, forcing a smile, and as if driven by some strange impulse, I reach out and poke Victor’s face, wishing to get him to have the same expression as me. 
MC: Sigh, it’s no fun. I won’t say anything more.  ??(Victor): Why won’t you say anything more? 
An icy voice suddenly sounds in my ears, carrying with it the raspiness of just being awakened. 
I turn my head and nearly let out a scream. 
MC: Y-Your Majesty... when did you...! [2] 
I’m not sure when, but Victor has regained consciousness at some point. Leaning on a soft pillow, he rubs his temple with one hand.
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Victor: I’m conscious, not revived back to life. 
MC: ... I’ll sincerely obey Your Majesty’s command! 
In a low voice, I respectfully offer him a curtsy. Victor seems to find my behavior amusing, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 
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Victor: The term of address was “you” even just a moment ago. A certain someone changed her tune rather quickly. [3]    MC: I’m not “a certain someone,” I am...    Victor: I know, Duke William’s only daughter.    MC: [surprised] Eh...? 
Victor: At the age of seven, you received a scolding for building a snowman with the servants. When you were nine, you had a quarrel with a parrot and suffered a crushing defeat–– 
MC: Wait a minute, you... you heard all of that? 
Victor: You’re too noisy. It’d be hard not to hear, [breaks into a coughing fit] cough, cough... 
His words are cut off by a cough. I hastily pour a cup of water and offer it to him under his scrutinizing gaze, keeping silent. 
I can’t help but break into a cold sweat. 
Could it be that... all the past events I casually mentioned, all those self-deprecating remarks, and even... did he really listen to everything? 
But, two days ago, when I plucked up the courage to poke his face, he didn’t react at all... So, when did he actually become conscious? 
A vague, looming sense of oppression involuntarily makes me shrink my neck, and I tentatively open my mouth. 
MC: ...you know about everything regarding me? 
He tilts his jaw slightly upwards, studying my features. His eyes are submerged in the shadows cast by the candlelight, reminiscent of a predator in the dark night. 
A good while passes before he eventually accepts the cup, speaking in a tone that is neither amiable nor impassive. 
Victor: I do. 
I nod and, after a rapid mental calculation, make up my mind. I take a step forward, wearing a small smile on my face as I speak. 
MC: Including the fact that I was sent as a spy by the Church? 
Victor: [seemingly chokes on water] … 
Victor: Are you aware of what you’re saying?
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MC: Yes, I’m aware. 
I wish to work together with the king to bring down the Church. 
And when working with a person like Victor, being transparent and honest is the first principle.
I crouch down at the edge of the bed, looking up at Victor from below. 
MC: Your Majesty, I don’t want to hide anything from you. 
MC: Prior to our nuptials, my parents were brutally attacked by the Church due to their advocacy for the reformation of the Church. 
MC: The Church, to exploit my worth, spared my life and assigned me to spy on you. 
Victor arches an eyebrow, clearly still assessing the credibility of my words. 
Victor: Continue. 
I press my lips together and lower my head, trying to convey my utmost sincerity. 
MC: ... I’m unsure of to what extent you know about me, but I’ve never once considered surrendering to the enemies who murdered my parents. 
MC: Now, in terms of both sentiment and reason, we are a family, and I cannot betray my husband. 
MC: So... Your Majesty, will you take me under your wings? 
I blink my eyes at him with a pitiful look, not knowing whether Victor would buy into it. 
Victor: … 
As if in need of a moment to compose himself, Victor seems to momentarily avert his eyes before he turns them back to me again. 
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Victor: Family... you seem to have accepted your new identity quite readily. 
MC: Besides you, what else do I have to rely on? 
MC: On the contrary, even after hearing my confession, if you’re unwilling to help me, I don’t have anything to lose. 
I flutter my eyes at Victor. 
MC: Your Majesty, I’ve already got nothing left to lose. 
Victor holds a straight gaze on me. In his eyes, while there is finally a hint of recognition, it’s more as if he is peering into the past through me. 
Victor: ...I will help you. 
His well-defined hand sweeps my loose hair strands back for me. But before I can breathe a sigh of relief, the next second, my chin is cupped and pivoted to face him. 
Victor: The prerequisite is that you can offer sufficient value to me. 
His grip is surprisingly strong for someone who has just regained consciousness. As our eyes interlock, his penetrating gaze intently scrutinizes my innermost thoughts. 
Victor: In your eyes, your husband, whom you’d never met before, is nothing more than a puppet who remains in coma year-round, isn’t that right? 
Victor unfolds his hand to me, revealing a gem as vividly red as the human heart in his pallid palm, and then he encloses his hand— 
In the blink of an eye, the signs of illness are shed off his face, and a rosy hue colors his cheeks, and he seems to be bathed in a divine light. 
MC: This is... do you know witchcraft?! 
Victor places the gem back in its case, then casts a brief look in my direction, apparently turning a deaf ear to what I’ve said. 
Victor: This doesn’t concern you. 
He slowly curls his lips, and his pupils, akin to the deep sea in the darkness, are as profound and enigmatic. 
Victor: There’s a set of clothing on the bedside table. If you want to prove that you’re not just a noble canary— 
Victor: Tomorrow morning, change into it and accompany me out of the palace. 
────────── 
[Notes]:
[1] Beeswax is often considered a symbol of “eternal love” in Eastern cultures. 
[2+3] During her monologues in the 1st quarter of the date, MC was addressing Victor by “你” (informal ver. of ‘you’) pronoun. But the moment he butts in, i.e., gains consciousness, MC immediately switches to “您” (courteous/ respectful ver. of ‘you’) and the respectful address “Your Majesty,” which he teases her about here, haha. 
Point to be noted: MC doesn’t switch back to the informal terms of addresses until the 3rd chapter of the date, when they’re already in love and inseparable for the time being. ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ 
•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•
【Chapter 2】
While I’m still struggling with myself, Victor has already closed his eyes again. 
Victor: You can sleep anywhere you want; just don’t make any noise. 
MC: ...Yes, Your Majesty! 
The idea of having this mysterious and aloof king sleeping next to my pillow feels more chilling to me than freezing in the cold itself. 
I don’t hesitate at all. I swiftly grab a pillow from the bed and get prepared to spend the night on the sofa. 
But it turns out I actually overestimated my ability to withstand the cold. Before the clock hands have even moved a few notches, I quietly tiptoe back to the bed, hugging the pillow. 
MC: [to herself] It’s just that the weather is too cold. I just want to feel a bit nice and warm— 
With a huff, I murmur in a soft voice and gently lift the coverlet to slip inside. 
Once I’ve got my body settled comfortably, I cautiously look towards the person on the pillow next to me. 
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Victor isn’t awakened by my movements. Even in the darkness of the night, his skin is luminously white, his features handsome— he is reminiscent of a sculpture crafted from snow. 
Considering this person’s track record of feigning sleep, I simply watch him quietly without making any more rash moves. 
As I continue watching like this, my mind inexplicably begins to wander. 
Although just moments ago, I kept addressing him as “my husband” repeatedly, when I look at Victor’s cold and handsome demeanor, I always find it difficult to connect him with that identity. 
In my impression, the image of a husband and wife is like that of my parents. So, in the future, will Victor and I also be joined at the hip and inseparable like that? 
Thinking about that reserved and unsmiling face, I can’t help but get chills. 
In his eyes, I seem to be nothing more than a “useful person.” But what value can I provide for him? 
The more I ponder, the more my head throbs, and it’s not until the horizon starts to turn slightly pale that I eventually drift into sleep. 
────────── 
With the break of dawn, I promptly get out of bed and change my attire. Victor has woken up as well. 
Seemingly noticing the dark circles under my eyes, he arches an eyebrow, lifts his hand, and tosses a cloak over to me. 
Victor: It seems like while your courage is not at all small, your confidence sure is lacking. 
MC: I just don’t wish to unnecessarily show off in front of you. 
I fasten the cloak tightly and purposely straighten my neck. 
MC: Your Majesty, please lead the way. 
We exit the palace through a small gate, cross through the commoner’s district, and Victor leads me straight into a small house. 
────────── 
Going from the small house into the cellar, and after navigating through a labyrinth of winding pathways, the cramped field of view suddenly opens up to a wide panorama. 
Everyone: Your Majesties. 
I never anticipated that the entire hall would actually be filled with guards, all standing in a perfectly ordered formation. 
— To pull together an assembly of so many armed personnel, Victor must have spent a substantial amount of time, hasn’t he? 
I’m hardly able to restrain my inner shock as I think back to the frequent news in recent years of nobles associated with the close-knit sects being removed from power or inexplicably meeting tragic ends. Now, it seems... 
Every single person, myself included, severely underestimated this “dying” king standing before me. 
At this moment, Victor picks something up from the long table, and it’s only now do I notice that there are all kinds of torture equipment laid out on the table. 
The appearance of these torture instruments is menacing, and at their tips, dried blood remnants are still visible. 
Practically, the moment I get a good look at them, the reeking of blood and rust assaults my nostrils. I subconsciously cover my nose and mouth, tightly gripping the cuff of my sleeve. 
Subordinate: Reporting to Your Majesty, these are the “refining” equipment we found at the scene. 
Subordinate: But those people are as cautious as rats at dusk; we’ve only found these pieces of material evidence so far. The remains of the blood sacrifice are still being sought. 
Victor nods calmly, and once the arrangements are made, the guards depart in an orderly manner through various secret passageways. 
Victor and I are the only ones remaining in the large hall. I make a conscious effort to restrain myself from looking at those torture instruments, regulating the rhythm of my breathing. 
MC: Your Majesty, did you bring me here to witness something so horrifying to disclose some kind of truth to me? 
Victor: Face has turned pale, but still got some courage. 
A smile tinged with what appears to be praise appears on his face, as he takes out from his bosom the gem that resembles a human heart from last night. 
The crimson light radiating from the gem spreads across his cheeks, eerie yet bewitching. 
Victor: The purpose of all these blood sacrifices is to provide energy for this “Blood King Crystal.” 
My eyes widen in incredulity as I stare at the pulsating vivid red in his hand, sensing a faint inkling of what it might signify. 
MC: When you hold this Blood King Crystal, your complexion appear rosier, and you don’t cough as much... 
MC: Could it be that the Church officials want to extract energy from commoners to enhance their physical strength? 
Victor: Not the Church; it’s the Royal Family. 
Victor doesn’t shy away from nodding his head. He stares fixedly at the red gem that provides him with strength, but in his eyes, there is only icy coldness. 
Victor: The vitality and longevity of successive kings across the dynasties were all due to their possession of the “Blood King Crystals” that were assembled from the lives of countless ordinary people. 
Victor: The Church refines it, and the Royal Family uses it, thus resulting in the Royal Family being controlled by the Church from then on. 
Victor: And anyone who uncovers this secret will die. 
My thoughts go back to my parents, as well as the reformist cabinet ministers— could it be that they all had...? 
My heart immediately falls into a valley. 
I close my eyes for a moment, then fix my gaze firmly on the unwavering king before me, a king who has endured extreme hardships and made sacrifices to stand where he is now. [4] 
MC: Your Majesty, currently, there is a significant following of the Church among the populace. We must find the evidence of the blood sacrifices and bring it to light for everyone to see. 
MC: I will carry on my parents’ legacy and work alongside you to find evidence of the Church’s blood sacrifices. 
In those forever serene eyes of Victor’s, I see the glint of a smile. 
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Victor: [assuredly with obvious happiness] It appears you’ve perfectly inherited the chivalry and wisdom of Duke William. 
MC: Well... it’s not entirely that. Whether in public or private matters, it’s only right that I stand by your side. 
I wink at him, half-jokingly breaking the somewhat somber atmosphere. 
MC: After all, I’m not only the daughter of Duke William. I am your wife and, more importantly, the queen of this country. 
Victor: Is that right? It doesn’t seem to me that a certain someone possesses the temperament of a queen. 
MC: Regarding that... I will work hard, so you can’t keep teasing me all the time. 
Victor laughs in spite of himself and reaches out his hand, gesturing for me to take his arm. 
Victor: [laughs helplessly] Very well. My Queen, we should return now. 
────────── 
After coming out of the subterranean passageway, we follow the same path back. We were in a hurry when we came here. It’s only now do I take notice of the surroundings. 
In the nearby roadside, peddlers are selling fresh produce, while in the distant square, a group of less fortunate are circled around a fire, warming themselves and singing songs. 
The streets in the commoner’s district are intersected, narrow, poverty-stricken yet bustling with life, in stark contrast to the overwhelming dead silence of the royal palace. 
I hardly ever left the mansion, so I find myself unable to resist taking in the surroundings repeatedly. 
Victor: Does the Duke’s daughter find these things interesting? 
MC: ...no, no, I’m just looking around in passing, that’s all! 
Victor’s hand offhandedly adjusts a corner of my cloak. He takes a long stride, veering from the route back to the palace and heading in a different direction. 
Victor: That path is too narrow. Let’s stroll this way and get some fresh air. 
We slowly stroll along, taking in the surroundings as we walk. Not far ahead, there is a dilapidated small tavern. Victor gestures for me to take a look. 
Victor: I just suddenly recalled that you mentioned being curious when you were little and licking the snow with a fork. 
Victor: During winter, the iron cups in the tavern also have an element of sweetness. You should try it some other time. 
My scattered thoughts, fluttering around like wild and untamed grass, suddenly drop to the ground, and I can’t help but choke. 
MC: ...Your Majesty, are you teasing me? 
There is a slight curve at the tip of Victor’s brow as he gently curls the corners of his lips into a smile. 
Victor: [laughs softly] Perhaps I am, or perhaps, it is a sincere recommendation. 
MC: Could it be that you’ve drawn that conclusion after experiencing it firsthand? 
Victor: You could say that. 
Seeing him take the bait, a massive smile spreads across my face. 
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MC: So, speaking of, does that mean that you’ve also stuck your tongue to an iron cup in the past? 
Victor seems to choke on his words for a moment. He shoots me a wordless look and walks forward, paying no mind to me. 
MC: [teasingly continues] So, did that really happen? Did it happen or not... 
We’ve almost circled the area surrounding the palace. Victor is tall and has long legs, but from the beginning, he has maintained a matching pace with me, making it so that I can always touch his shoulder by simply turning sideways. 
The weather is very cold today; my hands and feet are freezing, yet I deeply breathe in the bitingly chilly but liberating air. 
Even though I cannot purchase any dubious items to bring back to the palace, and even though I know the end of this path leads to the imperial palace that holds me captive— 
But perhaps because I have someone walking alongside me, I feel surprisingly at ease. 
In my sight, obscured by the chilling breeze, I see Victor squatting down and petting a skinny kitten at the corner of the alley. 
The cat stretches its body and lays down lazily under Victor’s hand, meowing. Victor smiles, and both of them then look at me together. 
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Victor: [extremely softly] The winters in the future won’t be as chilling anymore. 
────────── 
[Notes]:
[4] The idiom used here is “越王勾践,” which came to life from the true story of King Goujian. I’d encourage you guys to just even google and see the small wiki on him if you can. This idiom in and of itself is the essence of the date in terms of Victor’s perseverance, and how he imposes suffering on himself for the constant reminder of what it is he’s fighting for by refusing to use the “Blood King Crystal.” 
•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•
【Chapter 3】
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Victor soon announces the news of him regaining consciousness to the masses, sending waves of shock to everyone across the country. 
Amidst the reigning turmoil among the Church and the nobles, he proposes visiting the prominent noble households. 
In my capacity as the queen, I rightfully visit every noble residence with him, where we find numerous correspondences implicating the collusion between the nobles and the Church. 
The nobles kept the letters for the purpose of blackmailing the Church, both sides engaging in mutual exploitation, but they never once considered that there could be one day when they’d have to face the consequences. 
Using the letters as a starting point, a series of pivotal evidence regarding the Church’s blood sacrifice is unearthed through Victor’s thunderous methods. 
I, on the other hand, use my identity as an orphan of the reformers to help him win over the newly elevated nobles. More and more people begin to rally to our side... 
When a former subordinate of my father hands me a letter, as if in tacit agreement, both Victor and I simultaneously realize that the final piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. 
It’s about time for the verdict to be pronounced. 
────────── 
Tomorrow, Victor will convene a National Convention to expose the crimes of the Church to the masses. 
I can’t fall asleep, so I rise from the bed and pace around the bed chamber in my nightgown. 
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Victor: [laughs helplessly] If memory serves me right, the person set to address tomorrow is not the queen; it’s the king. 
He is lying in bed with drowsy eyes. Turning towards me, he speaks in a low, raspy voice, infused with a teasing tone. 
MC: ...I didn’t realize I’d wake you up despite the carpet being so thick. I guess I’ll just go outside and sleep elsewhere. 
As I drape on my outer garment and am about to head outside the chamber, my wrist is suddenly gripped from behind, pulling me back onto the bed. 
Victor: [in an overwhelmingly sensual tone] You’re the queen. Where do you plan on sleeping when you look like this? 
Tangled up in my thoughts, I have tousled my hair, causing it to become disheveled. Victor sighs, who then picks up a comb and sits behind me. 
Victor: [switches to an overwhelmingly tender tone] Dummy. What is there to be nervous about? 
The moderate pressure on my hair pacifies my restless heart. I rub my ears, which have heated up, trying to shift the topic of conversation to conceal my shyness. 
MC: In the past, when my father would go to visit the king, my mother would become anxious like this and often wouldn’t even be able to eat anything. 
Victor: So, what would happen next? I’m afraid the duke probably wouldn’t let his duchess remain in a constant state of worry. 
MC: Mm-hmm. Whenever this kind of situation arose, my father would always hold my mother’s hand... 
As I speak, I immediately begin to regret it a little. It feels like I’m sending a rather awkward hint. 
Without waiting for me to dwell on more embarrassing thoughts, Victor’s hand has already enveloped mine, and the warmth from his palm flows to my icy fingertips. 
His temperature is reminiscent of dandelions in a garden, floating gently, landing on my face and neck. 
We are the puppet king and queen, husband and wife in name only. Even though we reside together in the same bedchamber, we’ve never been this intimate. 
I feel a sensation as if a feather quill is caressing my throat, making it impossible for me to conceal the true feelings harbored in my heart. 
Reflexively, I tighten my grip on Victor’s hand and turn to face him. 
MC: Victor, to be honest, even though I never mentioned it before, I used to think you were quite unfeeling. 
Victor: There was no need to say it; it was written all over your face. 
Victor: Also, not addressing me as “Your Majesty” anymore? 
MC: In any case, you are not going to hold it against me now, will you? 
MC: During this period of time that I’ve spent with you, running here and there together, I’ve come to realize in every passing moment that I hardly knew anything about you before. 
MC: For instance, in the case of those Church henchmen, according to the old laws, their families should have been exterminated, but you chose to exercise your discretion and grant amnesty to those who were unaware. 
MC: And regarding the commoners who have fallen victim to the blood sacrifice, you’ve been supporting their families with long-term financial aid. 
MC: You always project an image of keeping people at a thousand-mile distance, but in reality, there is also a tender side to you. 
A flicker of astonishment crosses Victor’s eyes, but he simply tightens his grip on my hand. 
Victor: [with a very evident hesitation in his tone] It sounds like... getting to know me is something that brings you joy? 
MC: Yes, it does. I wish to know you even better— the past you, the present you, and the future you. 
I gaze deeply into his eyes. 
MC: But you’re so encumbered by everything. I can only utilize the little time you set aside for me each day to learn about you amidst the calls of the people. 
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Victor: ...MC. 
Victor’s eyes tighten, and a heartfelt and regretful emotion swirls within them. 
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MC: I don’t wish to rob you of your time because of my selfish desires. 
MC: So, after the National Convention concludes, and when you’re no longer so busy... 
I draw in a breath, low and slow. And like that, just like the first time I met him, I lay bare all my yearnings and affections before him. 
MC: Reserve some time for me, will you? Not in your role as the king, but as my husband. Share your stories with me. 
MC: Will you, Victor? 
All my thoughts translate into clumsy words, pouring out like the way winter grass eagerly awaits spring rain, confessing everything I have in me. 
Victor continues gazing at me like this, until that gaze of his becomes infused with almost sorrow and a reluctance to part. 
Before I can decipher those cryptic code words, he has already cast his eyes downward, veiling the emotions within. 
Is this a silent rejection? I exert myself to force a smile, intending to crack a joke to ease the situation, but then he speaks first. 
Victor: [if a person’s voice alone could shatter one’s heart, I swear this would be it] There’s no need to wait till later. Let’s do it now. 
In astonishment and jubilation, I look up, locking eyes with his sincere gaze. 
On the night before the pivotal moment in destiny, I finally witness Victor’s wordless confession. 
────────── 
The following day, the National Convention proceeds as scheduled. 
Attired in royal robes, Victor stands at the forefront. Below the platform, countless eyes, some treacherous and others devout, are all converged on him. 
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Victor: In my capacity as the king, I stand here only to declare one thing. 
Victor: The mysterious disappearances in the capital over the years have all been caused by the Church. 
The earth-shattering statement stirs up a commotion among the people, and the followers of the Church appear visibly unsettled. 
Victor: The Church extracts energy for the “Blood King Crystal” through the massacre of civilians in blood sacrifice rituals. 
Victor: As for the particulars, I will leave it to the Knight Commander to elucidate. 
The attendants toss numerous sheets of paper into the crowd off the platform, each containing records of clear and unmistakable evidence. 
In a matter of moments, the crowd transitions from initial silence to restlessness, ultimately erupting into an agitated uproar. 
It turns out that the matter of the true culprit behind the disappearance cases has been an enduring emotional anchor for the people, completely overturning everyone’s cognition. 
Some hurling curses, some wailing, and some even charging to express their scorn at the Church... 
Amidst the chaos, only Victor’s voice, his calm and powerful words, continues forward with a steady resolve. 
Crowd: Overthrow the Pope, give us back our people! Overthrow the Pope, give us back our people! 
As the chants and shouts cease and amid the furious uproar of the crowd, the Pope, who is ringed, calmly casts a glance in Victor’s direction. 
The Pope: Silence. Dear Compatriots. 
The elderly Pope walks slowly to the center of the platform, an inscrutable and chilling smile playing on the layers of wrinkles on his face. 
The Pope: His Majesty speaks the truth. The Church does indeed extract energy for the “Blood King Crystal,” and the blood sacrifice of civilians has truly occurred. 
The Pope: However, all these casualties and deaths stemmed from the demands of the royal family! 
The Pope: Throughout history, every king has relied on the “Blood King Crystal” to survive, and even our righteous and dignified king, His Majesty, is using it at this very moment! 
The Pope: The very purpose of the “Blood King Crystal’s” existence is to secure the longevity of the king. Without a king, who will lead the country? How can the kingdom have a future? 
The Pope raises the scepter high, directing it towards Victor. 
The Pope: Your Majesty, the Church has been faithful and devoted to the Crown for all these years. As you pronounce judgment on the Church’s sins today, do you not feel a sense of guilt? 
The wrath of the masses below the platform has no outlet after his manipulative and distorted speech, and their eyes shift to Victor. 
Silent inquiries and judgments flood the eyes of the crowd, prepared to tear everything to shreds at any second. 
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The noble king, however, has maintained his impassive demeanor from the beginning. He lapses into a moment of silence, gazing into my eyes. 
Amid the scrutiny of the spectators below, I lock my eyes with him, and in that gaze, I see the very same expression of unwillingness to part that I wasn’t able to discern last night. 
But at this moment, I seem to understand its meaning. 
Holding back the bitterness in my eyes, I take a step forward and speak in a loud voice. 
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MC: What the Pope said is true. The kings of the previous dynasties colluded with the Church for their personal gains, resulting in the slaughtering of civilians. 
MC: However, the Blood King Crystal has never been a precious treasure, but rather a curse. 
MC: As each king became more reliant on it, the health of the royal descendants suffered increasing repercussions, which led to an even deeper dependence on the Church. 
MC: His Majesty has been working tirelessly to put an end to these nefarious activities, solely for the sake of the future of this country. 
MC: As for the Blood King Crystal... 
I close my eyes, my eloquent speech coming to an abrupt halt. This elicits puzzled murmurs from the crowd off the platform.  
At this time, Victor walks to the forefront of the stage. 
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He retrieves the vivid red gem from his bosom, and the blinding luster falls on his chest, projecting an image as if blood were coursing through. 
Victor: Behold, the Blood King Crystal. 
Before anyone can comprehend, Victor swiftly exerts a slight force with his fingertips, and the Blood King Crystal instantly disintegrates into fine fragments in his hand. 
Pope: You...!! 
Countless crimson red powder, reminiscent of blood, streams out from between his fingers, and his complexion has already turned a shade of pallor. 
The elixir of immortality, amassed from the sacrifice of countless human lives across generations of kings, the venomous sac upon which the Church depends for survival, has been completely eradicated before the eyes of everyone. 
Victor: Those deserving of being brought to reckoning, not a single person will be spared. 
Victor: That includes the Church, as well as the Royal family. 
He unfurls the hand that holds the Blood King Crystal. His palm now only holds a thin layer of gemstone powder, and he allows it to be carried away by the northern breeze. 
Victor: Henceforth, dust will return to the earth, and blood will be bestowed upon the people. 
Victor: I shall personally redeem the filth that has accumulated for far too long. 
•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•
【Chapter 4】
In the wake of the National Convention, Victor instigates a series of reform policies to root out corruption, setting off a massive surge across the country. 
He works tirelessly day and night, paying no heed to my attempts to dissuade him. There is an urgency in him that I don’t want to understand, a rush that drives him to get everything in order. 
Throughout this time, I’ve been seeking out renowned physicians from everywhere, but all I’ve received are negative answers filled with a mix of dread and despair. 
Until one day, he slips back into a coma again, and even the duration of his coma seems to be stretching longer and longer as the days elapse. 
And all I can do, or more accurately, want to do, is simply to remain by his side. 
With his eyelashes hanging low, a gentle shadow falls upon that beautiful yet pallid face, and it seems even his breathing has become very light. 
As I gaze at Victor’s side profile in deep slumber, I can no longer find the same relaxed and carefree state of mind I had when I first stepped into the royal bedchamber. 
He is no longer someone who could have confined me, the husband I had never met before, but rather my beloved with whom I have been through thick and thin together. 
My only wish is for him to open his eyes and look at me, share some dry jokes, and then walk with me through the streets and alleys again and observe how people are living nowadays... 
Victor’s life began wither away the instant the Blood King Crystal was shattered. All he can do now is expend every ounce of the remaining warmth. 
He knew the consequences better than anyone else, yet he still orchestrated his own ending with his own two hands. 
I remain by the bedside, tightly holding onto his hand. I can’t tell whether I’m trying to comfort him or myself. 
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MC: [sobbing] Victor... 
Tears well up and stream down my eyes. A hand reaches up to caress my cheek, gently wiping away those tears. 
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Victor: Why are you crying? 
Victor has woken up at some point without my notice and is now frowning as he looks at me. 
Quickly, I wipe away the tears in a haphazard manner, the corners of my eyes stinging from the abrasion of my forceful fingertips. 
MC: I’m alright. Are you hungry? What would you like to eat? 
Victor doesn’t answer. Instead, his gaze passes over my shoulder and settles on the view outside the window. 
Victor: It’s snowing. 
It’s only now do I take notice that the imperial palace courtyard has already been blanketed in snow, transforming into an expanse of pristine white. 
Victor: Weren’t you most fond of building snowmen when you were a child? Why not give it a try now? 
MC: But your health... 
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Victor: [in an even tender and heart-wrenchingly weaker tone] It’s just building a snowman. 
I press my lips together. The truth is, I have long grown to despise winter, and I don’t like building snowmen anymore. 
After the death of my parents, the attendants who had been my companions from childhood to adulthood were all substituted with the informants from the Church, and the duke’s mansion became eerily cold and desolate. 
The winter season I once loved became increasingly colder as time went on, and I no longer had the desire to go out. Warmer seasons began to become more likable to me. 
But none of these are worth mentioning to Victor. Because this winter— it is marked by the moment I met him. 
I nod. 
MC: Of course. 
MC: In that case, I must show you the snowmen-building skills I’ve honed since childhood! 
I force a smile and step outside with Victor after donning our outer garments. He tucks my hand into his cloak. 
Victor: A certain someone was shivering in the cold during the last outing, and she still forgot to bring her gloves this time. 
MC: I did it intentionally. Otherwise, how could I get Your Majesty to help warm my hands? 
With this said, I slip my chin into my cloak, and the smile at the corner of my mouth instantly fades away. 
Victor’s hand is much colder than mine. Taking a deep breath, I grip his hand even tighter, and together, we step into this pure white world. 
────────── 
The chilly breeze howls as Victor and I tread through the snow, neither of us uttering a word. [5] 
Reminiscent of a wanderer losing its way, the mist hangs over the frigid ground and eventually dissipates into the pale grayish expanse above. 
Victor suddenly loosens his hold on my hand. 
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Victor: Didn’t you want to showcase your skills to me? Why aren’t you going yet? 
I cast a brief glance at the mounds of snow under the trees, nod in silence, and reluctantly let go of his hand despite my heart breaking. [6] 
MC: Well, Your Majesty, please wait for just a short while. 
I tighten Victor’s cloak for him, then dash to the snowdrifts and begin building a snowman. 
My hands move at a blazing pace. There is only a single thought circling in my mind right now, and that is to swiftly end this time-wasting game and return to his side as fast as possible. 
To add to my woes, the newly fallen snow proves challenging to shape, much like bleached wool. Despite my vigorous efforts to press the snow together time and again, the snowballs continue to fall apart, each and every time. 
A mix of vexation and restlessness churns in my heart. I have nearly exhausted all the strength left in my body to mold the snowballs, and both my hands are now aching from the cold. 
Victor: [with endless helplessness] Dummy, no one is competing with you for first place. There’s no need to be in such a rush. 
Subconsciously, I pause in my movements, turn my head, and find him gazing at me with a serene expression. 
The urgency and anxiety in my heart seem to find equilibrium, and my hands unconsciously settle into a steadier motion. 
Regrettably, the snowman I end up crafting doesn’t even qualify to be described as “adorable.” Even so, Victor earnestly lowers his head, observing it with the bearing of a connoisseur appreciating a gem. 
Victor: To create this shape without it falling apart is indeed a testament to skill. 
His teasing remark elicits a chuckle from me. I pick up a twig and walk over to him. 
MC: There’s still one last step, but it requires Your Majesty and me to complete it together. 
Placing the twig in his hand, I then hold onto his hand, and together, we draw eyes and a mouth on the snowman’s face. 
Victor chuckles softly, and conversely, he grasps my hand, guiding it to make strokes. 
Victor: You’re holding so tightly; its eyes are all crooked now. 
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Looking at the snowman with its enlarged eyes due to our modifications, I’m just about to crack a few jokes when I notice a touch of weariness on Victor’s face. 
MC: We’ve almost completed the snowman. Would you like to rest for a while? 
Victor: I know a tavern. Come with me. 
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We’ve arrived at the alley where we met that kitten before. It has undergone a complete transformation, and the newly opened tavern is bustling with patrons. 
It’s a snowy day, and the tavern is filled to capacity. I initially thought that there would be no seats available. However, the owner leads us straight into a room. 
MC: Huh? Did you reserve the room with the owner in advance? But you weren’t... 
Victor brushes away the snowflakes off my head, seeing through my puzzlement. 
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Victor: I arranged it in advance, yes. 
Victor: Since I didn’t know when I would be awake, I told the owner beforehand that I would have this room reserved for as long as it snows. 
The fire in the hearth produces a crackling sound. Victor’s facial features are enveloped in the cloud of heat, his eyes gentle. 
Victor: I just thought that one day, I would take you out to see the snow. 
We sit on the terrace, sipping the warm wine. Amidst the aroma of wine wafting in the air, he speaks in a soft tone. 
Victor: I did stick my tongue to a cup in the past. It happened when I was five years old and had a taste of my father, the king’s red wine in secret. My mother, the queen, had gotten quite the shock. 
MC: Eh? What are you talking about... 
Victor: Dummy, aren’t you always clamoring about wanting to hear my stories? 
He says it as if it were the most natural thing, as if this were merely an ordinary winter day, as if we were an ordinary married couple offhandedly conversing about our everyday life while enjoying a drink and keeping ourselves warm by the fire. 
The north breeze makes my eyes sting, but I still force myself to smile as I look at him. 
MC: So, it turns out that His Majesty was a dummy, too, when he was five years old. How about when you were six? What was it like? 
Victor: When I was six... 
In the back-and-forth questions and answers, more than twenty years of Victor’s life have become etched in my mind. 
I dare not listen. I can’t help but feel as if once I’ve heard everything, he will leave me. And yet, I listen carefully to every single word. 
I listen to the way he speaks each word— the way his teeth collide, the way his two lips meet, the way the nuances of his trailing notes alter between closing and releasing. 
Victor: Next, it’s the day when I got married to a certain someone. 
MC: ...there’s no need to tell the next part of the story. After all, the stories related to me have only begun. 
Victor pauses, but doesn’t follow up my words with a playful remark.
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MC: ...Victor? 
Victor: What’s wrong? 
I shake my head, and when I open my mouth again, the name that has been lingering on the edge of my lips and weighing on my heart spills out involuntarily. 
MC: Victor.  
Victor: Mm, I’m here. 
He tacitly acquiesces to my almost naïvely foolish behavior, responding to my call of his name over and over again. It feels as though, if only I can keep confirming like this, the hole in my heart would be filled. 
MC: ...Victor. 
This time, he doesn’t speak. The silence forces me to stop. 
MC: [sobbing] I just want to know... what can I do to make you stay... [7] 
Victor sighs softly and beckons to me. 
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I lean over and nestle in his frigid arms. 
As if he can no longer support the weight of his long, ink-black eyelashes, he casts his gaze downward. His nearly translucent skin appears as if it’s about to blend with the sunlight. 
Victor reaches out and touches my cheek, his finger pads caressing the contours of my face with utmost gentleness, as if sketching my features. 
His fingertips carry with them the chill of death, making me shiver involuntarily. 
Slowly and stiffly, I weave my words together, but the sentences that come out of my mouth are still shakily out of tune. 
MC: [teary-eyed x1] Victor, do you find it a little chilly? Maybe your cloak is too thin? 
MC: [x2] The fire is obviously burning so strongly, and the mead is also very warm... [8] 
MC: [x3] Look, there’s a kitten on the eaves over there. Isn’t it the one we met that day? 
MC: [x4] It looks so lively today. Seems like its frame of mind is as cheerful as ours. 
When I utter the last sentence, I hear his gentle sigh. 
At the same time, the laughter of playful children chasing each other, the chatter of young people, and the sighs of emotions of the elderly can be heard amidst the wind and snow. 
Victor: Hear that, the sounds outside. 
The sunlight seeps through the terrace, haloing and enveloping the surroundings with a layer of warm and bright haze. 
Bathed in that glow, my body’s consciousness returns little by little. I tightly clutch his hand, no longer shaking. 
MC: [x5] I can hear it. It’s almost New Year, and the streets are bustling and serene. 
Victor: The snowfall this year is promising. So, the harvest will be abundant next year. 
MC: [x6] Yes, people will become more affluent and happier. 
Victor: You will be a part of it all, too, and that’s really good. 
I bury myself in his chest, silently listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, one beat after another. 
The heartbeat in my ears, following its rapid pace, begins to grow increasingly feeble. A realization dawns on me, and I force myself to lift my head and look at him. 
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He is akin to a wan rose, wilting before my desperate eyes that seek to make him stay, withering within my outstretched arms as I reach out to hold on. 
From limbs to blood, to the light in his eyes— bit by bit, the luster fades. 
My king entrusts the future of this country to me, and then he steps out of time, heading toward eternal peace. 
I gently incline my body, kissing his peacefully closed eyes. 
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MC: ...good night. 
This time, I don’t receive any response from him, but the snowstorm suddenly ceases. 
The curtain of the evening has already descended, and the vermillion sun sinks below the horizon. The final ray of the splendid afterglow thaws the ice and snow of the land. 
MC: Victor, I will take you to witness the tomorrow of this kingdom. 
────────── 
[Notes]:
[5] The exact phrase here actually was “冷风呜呜作响,” which literally means “the chilly breeze is producing a mournful sound”-- the “呜呜” used here is the onomatopoetic word for “sobbing/ wailing.” wanted to include this note as an example to gush about the brilliant atmospheric descriptions LZY writers use, e.g., the picture painted here echoes that even the nature is mourning at this slow, rather unfair, transition, mirroring the heroine’s and LZY’s pain of parting. ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ 
[6] The expression used here is “依依不舍,” one of my favorite phrases and hated ones to translate LOL. You’d usually see this phrase being translated as “reluctant/unwilling,” but it doesn’t even come close to expressing the depth of its meaning. The phrase means “reluctance to part with sb you love/ being broken-hearted at having to leave,” with an underlying tone of “wanting to be with that person regardless,” -- and I tried to retain the OG meaning without being too wordy haha~ 
[7] Not sure how much of the sentiment I could make it come across in the translation—the term (留住) MC uses here literally means “ask sb to stay/ keep sb for the night/ ask them to wait.” the beauty of it lies in the fact that it expresses such a multitude of emotions— desperately wanting to keep sb in your life despite knowing it’s not up to either of you so you want to know if they can wait for you even though you know it’s not possible~ ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ   
[8] Mead (蜂蜜酒), also known as honey wine, is a type of alcoholic beverage made by fermenting honey mixed with water and other fruits. You can google it to know about it in detail if you want LOL.
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rose-pearls · 1 year
Text
That's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend - Part 7
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It isn’t a surprise that she isn’t able to sleep, she hasn’t been able to do so since her games, since Prim died. But still she finds herself trying to fall asleep, her throat still hurts after the altercation with Peeta, and memories resurface. She tries to block them out, they have been appearing again since Peeta and you have come back from the Capitol, and they won’t leave her alone.
--
Leaving the mentor centra, you by her side as you had decided to split up with Haymitch and Peeta. It would’ve been too obvious to leave with them, or with other mentors while the 77th games were still playing on the screen. The both of you had said that you had to go to the toilet and instead of taking the hall left you both took a right, to the landing platform where your escape plan would be.
It had all been going well, too well for her. She should’ve known it wouldn’t go well as the two of you had agreed to be the last ones to leave. Yet the memories still haunt her of that day.
“Hey, stop right there. Where are you going?”, Katniss feels scared, the peacekeeper is looking at them with hard eyes and Katniss tries to think of something.
“We were just going down to the training center, staying on a stool all day long isn’t really ideal for our bodies.”, she hears you say with a sweet smile, and she could’ve been fooled herself by your words if she didn’t know what was happening.
“Really? So not up to the platform where all of the other victors are?”, Katniss felt her body get even more tense at the words, they were done, the capitol seemed to know what was happening.
“I’m sorry I don’t think I understand what you are alluding to. We are just going to do a workout, or do we need permission to do that?”, you still seemed unfazed, but Katniss could see your nervous tick, your hand was trembling just like it had done in the arena. 
“Stop playing your stupid game. Either you come with me willingly or we do it my way.”, the tone in his voice makes Katniss feels sick in the stomach and judging by your look, it seems to be the case for you too.
“I’m sorry.”, the man seems confused before he gets shot incredibly close to his genitals and Katniss feels a hand on her arm, ripping her into action.
“Let’s go!”, she hears you yell and the two of you start to run while the man radio’s for back up.
“Why didn’t you kill him?”, she can’t help but ask as you run through the halls, your feet running as fast as you both can.
“Couldn’t really get myself too, plus he probably has a family.”, Katniss smiles at the words, although the two of you hadn’t really talked after your games or gotten along, she was happy to get to know you better now.
The both of you are getting closer to the final door when a gunshot can be heard, it nearly misses her and before Katniss can say anything you take her on the floor.
“Do you have a weapon on you?”, she shakes her head, she hadn’t thought of that, not in the haze that she had been since Prim.
“Alright, here is the plan.”, they don’t have much time and you quickly get up to shoot at the peacekeeper making him fall on the ground.
“Beetee showed me a map of every possible way to escape or block them if we have an attack. The last resort was here.”, your voice is tense, and Katniss tries to breathe through.
“There is a button here that will make some sort of shield, so that they can’t get through it without a ton of programming.”, Katniss thinks they finally found a solution, but she then sees the sad smile on your face and feels scared.
“One person needs to stay behind to push both buttons that need to be activated for it to block according to plan. One button to make it go down and another one to push when it’s closed to keep it locked.”, she starts to understand what you’re saying, one person needs to stay behind, one of you. Another peacekeeper arrives and you both can hear the steps in the distance of many more.
“What do we do?”, she can’t help but ask and you smile at her reassuringly, just like you had done with Prim when you helped her.
“You continue, I’ll stay here and activate everything, I know how to do it.”, Katniss feels sick at the thought of having to leave you behind, but you don’t give her enough time to think before shooting another peacekeeper and dragging her up from the floor.
“There has to be another way, right? Think of Finnick.”, Katniss urges you and she sees your sadness at the name, filled with guilt.
“Tell him I love him, but I have to do this.”
“You don’t have to do anything!”, Katniss tries to stay calm, but she can’t help but yell, hearing the peacekeepers arrive.
"It's me or you. And in this case, we need you more than me, Mockingjay.”, the words are final, like it’s already been decided before she can even say anything, your eyes are determined, and no fear can be seen in them.
“I’m sorry.”, you whisper, and Katniss doesn’t have the time to say anything before she gets pushed towards the door and you push a button, the first button.
The shield forms himself in front of her and Katniss feels sick, she tries to say something, but you can’t hear anything. A sad smile is on your lips before you turn around and hit the second button and turn towards the upcoming peacekeepers, shooting at them.
Katniss tries to find her balance again, willing her feet and legs to work again, but she feels like they are made of jelly as she opens the door. She doesn’t realize tears are streaming down her face as she looks back towards the closing door. There is smoke on the other side, the only thing she can see is blood, your blood probably.
“Katniss!”, a loud voice yells and she sees Haymitch in the distance, already on the carrier taking them to district thirteen. 
She runs, does it for you so that your sacrifice doesn’t mean anything. Haymitch is looking at her with frantic eyes, looking behind her as if you would magically appear.
“What happened?”, he asks as the door closes behind her.
“Peacekeepers, we couldn’t both get out of there. We needed to activate a shield-”, she tries to let the words out, but she isn’t able to, tears streaming down her face.
Beetee looks at her with understanding eyes before looking at the floor with sadness, the realization of what you just did hits him too.
“She sacrificed herself.”, Beetee says slowly and Katniss nods quietly while Haymitch swears.
“I swear to god, these two are the exact same. Sacrificing themselves as if it would make everything better.”, Katniss feels something cold creep up at the words and she looks around the carrier.
“Where is Peeta?”, she asks, feeling scared of the possible answer and the anxiety builds up in her chest.
“We were together, peacekeepers arrived, and he pushed me out the door before closing it behind him. Sacrificed himself.”, Beetee says, and Katniss feels like she is going to throw up at the words.
“No, no.”, Haymitch tries to reassure her, but she pushes him away.
“No, don’t do this to me, please.”, she whispers and Haymitch whispers apologies as he tries to calm her down, but her sobs get louder and her breathing heavier, feeling like she can’t breathe.
“I can’t lose him too.”, she whispers over and over again while Haymitch tries to calm her down and eventually she feels drowsy, like someone gave her something to sleep.
--
The only thing she remembers afterwards is arriving in district thirteen and having to face Finnick, who at the news fell to his knees looking like he had seen a ghost.
She can still hear his sobs at night, his pleading in Johanna’s arms while she tries to reassure him. She can still see your sad smile as you push the button and your words in her mind.
When you came back it wasn’t easier, or so she had heard. She hadn’t been able to see you after you came back, too busy getting treated for her throat and then having to fly out. Her last altercation with Peeta had broken her down and she didn’t know if she would be able to face you, without any memories of you and her. 
The first time she saw you was in the meeting with Coin when she asked you to do the test, you had looked healthier and Finnick seemed lighter than he had in weeks. 
“Only if Peeta is also allowed.”, had been your final answer and Katniss felt scared at the answer of Coin, not trusting the woman completely.
“That can be arranged.”, the whole room started to disagree, but Katniss looked at your surprised expression, you hadn’t seemed to realize that Coin would be ready to do this.
“He isn’t safe yet.”, she hears Haymitch say, and Coin looks at him with cold eyes that could rival those of Snow.
“He isn’t safe around Katniss, but there isn’t really an issue with other people.”, she says like it’s the simplest thing in the world and Katniss feels sick at her words. 
“He got tortured and you want him back there?”, Haymitch says again, and Coin still looks unbothered.
“We will judge if he is ready for it or not by letting him pass the evaluation. If he passes them then he will be asked to join the squadron assigned to him. If he doesn’t, he stays here until further notice. Just like with her.”, Coin says as she shows you and Katniss wants to throw something at her face, and she can see that you want to do the same thing.
“So, train and get ready you will receive further information on the evaluation during the week.”, she leaves the room, but everyone stays in place, looking at each other.
“This is sick, and I’m the one saying that.”, Johanna says, and everyone agrees at her words.
“Well, we have no choice so we can choose to either stay here and complain or go train and show that tramp who we are. Because she seems to think we won’t pass her evaluation.”, the whole rooms look at you in surprise and after a moment Finnick smiles at you lovingly, like he is seeing you again after a long time.
“And I don’t know about you, but I want to kill that son of a bitch and if passing that test takes us a step closer to it then so be it.”, Johanna snorts and a smirk appears on her lips as she watches you.
“Glad to have you back. Now let’s show them how we do it.”, most of the people cheer in agreement while Haymitch smiles proudly at the girl in front of him, but worry can be seen in his eyes.
“Be careful and stay alive.”, he tells you, and you smile back at him.
“I may not remember a lot and it’s still taking time, but I know that we are a family, and we are doing this together, our way.”
The words bring everyone into action and the group goes towards the training space, Finnick staying close to you making sure the entire time that you are alright. 
Katniss knows that it isn’t the right time to talk about everything, you don’t remember a lot. You are just getting your memories back from the games and she know that Finnick is a priority. But she promises herself that when all of this is done, she would talk to you.
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Text
Just to kiss me (Part 2)
pairing: Finnick Odair x reader
Tumblr media
(AO3 mirror)
Part One, Part Three, My Hunger Games Masterlist
summary: You try to move on. This proves harder than expected.
warnings: none for this chapter. Small mention of blood.
required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross &lt;3
a/n: I take a lot of creative liberties because I do not know what the capitol or its government fucking look like! I haven't read the books in a while, and I try to build on the wiki and the movies, so sorry in advance. 
wc: 4k
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Oh, dilute me, gentle angel
Water down what I call being grateful ,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You didn't even tell him your name. 
That's the thought you sit with for the next few days, then weeks. You try your hardest to leave it at that; a simple conversation between strangers, an interaction to twist the lock on and take to your grave. A secret thing, a moment, just for you. 
The truth is, you're distracted. You've spent a defiant few years trying not to be swept up by the buzz around Finnick Odair, and in these couple of weeks you find yourself watching old interviews and articles about him. A lot of them, at first, but none of the portrayals match the man you met on the balcony. Too sanitised, too clean. Who was Finnick? Under the makeup, the lifestyle, the glamour; who was he really? 
Vonnie called you, the morning after, raving about how she had actually met Finnick Odair. 
"And God, I think he's even prettier up close! He was so funny, and he said he loved my dress… wait. Shit. D'you think he was flirting with me? We're about the same age, and we'd make such a power couple! The way he looked at me, you'd think-" 
You loved Vonnie, you really did. And you were happy for her. But the way she talks about him makes your stomach churn for some reason. You cut her off gently, with promises to continue later in the day. 
On the 4th week, you think you have snapped out of your month long haze; made peace with the facts of the matter. He didn't ask for your name. He doesn't remember you. He didn't look back. It was stupid, really, to expect anything else. You're at a fitting with your mother when you decide you're well and truly over it. Cinna tightens the corset of a gown, before peering over your shoulder to look at you in the mirror. You both tilt your heads; as if you would transform at a mere 45 degrees.
"Sleeves or no sleeves?" he asks. 
"Sleeves." you say. 
"No sleeves." your mother says at the exact same time. "Honestly, Cinna can we make it a little more…. more? It doesn't exactly say 'Councillor's daughter' " 
You dare to roll your eyes at her dramatics. "And what does it say, currently?" 
"It says 'District 4 tribute tour', my love. Too many nets for your own good. No offence."
You bristle, knowing Cinna made the dress to her exact requirements. 
"That's vile, mother. The dress is beautiful, as usual, Cinna."
His smile is well practised. He knows you mean it. "No sleeves it is, then."
'Masquerade' was the theme. A grand affair in the run up to the 72nd Games; everybody who's anybody would be there. Admittedly, this was last minute; with only your mother's money and status affording you these appointments. But the dress Cinna had managed to make was truly beautiful; draped silver netting with crystal beading, dripping down the dress like the froth of a waterfall. The mask was a similar affair; crystal droplets cascading down its side.
There’s the tell-tale chime of Caesar's show on the antenna; and you hear him announce the mentors for the next games. All past victors; of which Finnick's name is not mentioned. 
~~~
Without the sleeves, you’re cold and bare. Even the spotlights of the hall do nothing for warmth, so you are forced away from the draughty sides of the room, near the windows. Avoiding all events, for your own peace of mind, was rearing its ugly head. Never a conversationalist; you were even more out of practice and out of your depth. God, you didn't have the energy for this. Living in the capitol for a lifetime had desensitised you to the excess of your surroundings. Gaudy dresses, tawdry suits, body mods every which way; all to fit the theme of unmasking - lest they were named and shamed for a fashion faux pas in the papers. 
You had separated from your mother a while ago, not bearing to be picked apart for the whole night. So you floated, a half empty champagne flute in hand, desperately trying to blend in with the crowd. The masks helped, you suppose; you had never been good at remembering faces, so you compartmentalised and talked to 'the fox' or 'the doll' as opposed to the editor of Panem weekly, or the new candidate for the council. 
The lively uptick of music signals the ballroom is open. For a while, you are entranced by the dancing, the sway of bodies and ball gowns in time to the music. A sea of people in the flashing lights. And when that wave breaks, at its crest, is Finnick. 
You know it's him, despite the mask. You can feel it; as you watch him laugh something inaudible at his dance partner. She's beautiful, her suit in a complementary shade of blue to his signature gold. There's a shiver down your spine when you watch him lean close to her ear, and whisper something that has her holding back laughter. 
You have no right, you know. It tastes bitter to know you've joined the swathes of onlookers; analysing every move. Frustrated, you down your drink and shake it out of your system. You don't know him. Like everyone else, you don't know him. 
You make for the door and are swept up by the tide of people. Someone grabs you by the waist and spins you into the arms of another; waltzing with the current. A crescendo, and you've swapped partners, stumbling almost head first into another.
The fabric you clutch at is taut, expensive brocade. Gilded and… golden. You look up. Fuck. Vonnie was right: he is prettier up close.
In your stupor, you hear a snort. He's laughing. You're frozen and he's laughing, the little shit. 
"It is customary for one to dance at these things, you know." He looks at you, dead on, and you wait for the flash of recognition. It doesn't come, and you don't know whether to cry with relief or sadness. 
"I'm c-concentrating," You almost glare at him. Forward, right. Backwards, left. Rinse, repeat. You need something else to think about. You catch his foot with your shoe and he winces slightly. 
"And how's that working for you?" The rest of the sentence was silent. It's not. You splutter with shock at his bluntness, and ignore him. Forward, right. Backwards - 
"I know you." It's soft, under his breath. "From the balcony…. I-I remember you." 
That's when you look at him, deep green eyes pulling you in despite the mask. There's a smile threatening to break the surface of his face; hands on your waist like you were going to disintegrate. There's the crescendo of music again, and you're whisked away. 
"Meet….meet me by the south stairwell!" He shouts after you, before being swallowed up by the crowd. 
 ~~~
The "south stairwell" was deceptively specific, you realise too late. You're wandering the adjourning hallways after slipping out, more than a little lost. Every room looks the same; empty marble flooring and ornate crown carving. It's pristine, a little too evenly aged - a scene of birds and willows in the moulded furrows with a chip here and there. You'd heard once that Councillor Hadrian had ordered for the pieces made in District 2 to be specially aged - people working for months with chisels and hammers to imitate something ancient. A bygone era inside this hulking pile of glass and metal. Hollow. An old wives’ tale, perhaps. 
You click-click down the halls in search of a stairwell, let alone one in the south wing. Thankfully, it gives you time to think. You're excited, even though you'd rather perish than admit it. A feeling bubbling up in your gut, ever since you spotted him in the crowd. Now, it threatens to boil over because you've been vindicated. Desperately, you're trying not to overthink; to be a normal fucking human being about this, for once. It doesn't mean the same thing to him, you're sure of it, but it feels nice to pretend. 
After a maze of corridors that all look the same, you spot him. In the warm lights you can see him better: dressed in a brocade suit, and underneath, corseted at the waist of a flowing silk shirt. Even the mask suits him, a triple faced affair; deconstructed so his jaw and cheekbones are visible. He's leaning on the bannister, and as you round the corner, you spot someone else with him. She's got her mask atop her striking ginger hair, and tucked her hands into the pockets of a tailored jumpsuit; a complementary blue and silver to Finnick's gold and cream. Guarded when she spots you, Finnick speaks first. 
"Hi." He takes off his mask, as if he's seeing you for the first time. There's warmth in his eyes and that smile again. 
"Hi." You smile back. 
"This is-" He turns to the woman next to you. She can't be much older than you, maybe even your age. Despite her blank stare, she seems somewhat familiar, like you've seen her somewhere before. "This is Annie."
Rather curtly, she nods. 
"And Annie… this is who I talked about, before. This is.." you fill in the gap with your name. As if to test how it feels on his tongue, he repeats it after you. He turns back to Annie, a glint in his eye. "She's real, and I'm not crazy, she's-"  
"She's real." Annie looks at you once over, visibly unimpressed. 
"I didn't think this was your thing, to be honest." He says as he takes a seat on the steps next to you. 
"Stay home? And miss out on the vultures? You don't know me well enough, clearly." You stretch out, a little stiff in the dress. 
"You weren't at the banquet, or the Staffy twins' party, or Caesar's press junket… I was starting to think I'd never see you again." 
You think that means he looked for you; and your heart goes pitter-patter at the implication. 
Annie clears her throat. She stands, and when Finnick rushes upwards she sighs." I'm going back in. You can… stay here for a bit. If you need."
When she pads down the corridor, out of sight, Finnick's scratching his head. "She's nice. I promise." 
You hum. "I don't blame her. I fucking hate these things." He doesn't look at you. 
"You never get tired of it? The peacocking, the preening, the pleases and pardon-mes. I've been to two, I think. And I feel like my eyes are gonna roll back into my head. Permanently." You say that last bit a little dramatically, looking for a laugh. 
It doesn't come. "You play the game." Diplomarically, he shrugs. And too quickly, he turns to you. "You want to do something? Something a little stupid?" 
"Depends how stupid, s'pose…" There's a hand, rough palms upwards, stretching towards you. You take it and Finnick smiles. 
 ~~~
You're outside Councilor Hadrian's soiree, at the juncture between glassy buildings and the adjourning streets. It's tucked away from the Capitol’s centre, hidden behind manicured hedges and stony pavement. Finnick strays a little further out, furtive as he watches for anyone walking past. At this time of night, however, it is unlikely to meet a soul this far from the entertainment district. Only when you find the streets eerily quiet do you realise how stupid this really is: a midnight walk with a man you don't know, taking you to an unknown place, without anyone aware of your whereabouts. Currently, your only comfort was that this risk taking might send your mother to an early grave. 
In the hum of streetlights, you realise just how tall Finnick is. Broad shoulders, corded forearms exposed at his rolled up sleeves. His mask is long gone, discarded on some side table back at the party. You give yourself the time to appreciate the cut of his cheekbones and dimples threatening to expose themselves as he chews on the inside of his cheek. Despite himself, he seems on edge. Nervous. 
You haven't been walking long when he stops. A spot secluded by trees. He brings out something jangly in his pockets and points at the half-dark. That's when you see it. A car. 
An honest-to-god, 4-wheeled, shiny chassis, little blue car. You gasp. You haven't seen anything with wheels since you were a kid - so a car in this condition was a sight to behold. 
"This is- she's gorgeous…! I can't imagine where you got this from-" He can hear you beam as you circle the thing, pawing at its glossy frame. 
"His name is Lucas, and he was a gift." He says with a small smile. "Fixed him up myself, and he runs pretty smoothly-" 
"You can drive it? Does that mean…are we going to….?" He brings a hand up to pause you. With a little flair, he gently nudges you aside to open the door to the passenger's seat. 
 ~~~
You're having a little too much fun. You must look mad the way you squeal at every bump in the road that makes the car rock; or the way the lights dance in the side mirrors. The streets weren't made for wheels but you enjoyed it nevertheless. You'd been in pods, ships, the occasional hover bike; but none could compare to the feeling of riding down the streets of the Capitol with Finnick in tow. 
He took the sideroads; a route you didn't recognise but one he was clearly well versed with. 
"Where are we going?“
“A surprise." 
He keeps driving, his eyes flitting to look at you in the passenger's seat. You stray further from the Capitol; bleeding into its borders, where concrete gives way to grass and streetlights are swallowed by moonlight. He can't help but to get drunk on small glances of you. Your lazy chatter dies down as he pulls up to a clearing of trees offroad. 
He steps out to open your door. You grab his hand and your heels sink a little in the mud. The walk isn't far, and barely a few hundred metres from where he's parked. In the brush, you see the gentle shine of… water. 
A lake, crystalline in the low light. Willows sweeping its edge, and the gentle chirrup of cicadas in the rushes. A wooden jetty; solid but mossy with age. Frankly, you've never seen such untouched beauty this close to the Capitol. There's something in the air; crisp and clean, free from blood. 
You herd Finnick towards its banks, taking a seat, and he plants himself next to you; open-toed heels barely touching the water. You shiver. Always a gentleman, he gives you the suit jacket off his back. 
"I've never seen anything like this…" You look around in awe. "Never… not this close to the capitol. Untouched."
"Bureaucracy, I think. Saved it from a tomb of glass and limestone." He explains. "Once constructruction started, they realised it ran into an underground reservoir. So they abandoned it."
"They?"
"A nebulous, overarching, always-watching they. You know how it goes."
"S'pose I do." You gesture towards your dress. "That's why I'm dressed like this. Is that why you look like you sneezed into a vat of glitter?" 
He rolls his eyes. "Very funny. This is my signature look, apparently. I have a brand to maintain."
"A brand…? That's…. unsettling."
"What is?" 
You distract yourself by fiddling with the beads on the skirt of your dress. 
"I see you on the network. In interviews, on the radio; your face is plastered on half a dozen billboards in the capitol. I go past one on the way to work. The one where you-" You turn, curling your face into a smile, and attempt to wink. "-smiling, like this, I think. Half the nation thinks they know you. And you're good at it."
He doesn't look away. 
"Being a brand, I mean. You're good at it."
A pause. The wind causes the grass and willows to chatter in the silence. Fuck.
"You have a job?" 
"...could you at least pretend to be surprised?" 
"No- it's just, I thought you stop existing when I'm not here." He deadpans, and you laugh at his half-sincerity. 
"Like I'm a figment of your imagination? Because you're wracked with the guilt of all the rich fucks in the capitol you've pretended to like…"
"...something like that." He huffs, a little cryptic, but you continue. 
"Well, I'm real. And I have a job. A secretary. Data entry, organising meetings, taking minutes, all for Councillor Hadrian. That's how I got into the party." A small lie you barely notice, rolling off your tongue. You don't want him to know about your mother, not yet. 
"For Hadrian? You must see a lot, then. Tell me something I don't know."
You could tell him about the secret meetings with his "friends" at the boardwalk - the ones his wife doesn't know about. Or the tin of powder by his desk he scrapes into lines and snorts unceremoniously on stressful days. But Finnick runs in those circles, and was no doubt familiar with Hadrian and his vices. 
So you lean in, edging closer towards the man with a hand on his shoulder. 
"He's got an inclination for the mutts they use in the games…"
Finnick looks at you bewildered, at first, but catches the glint in your eye. Then, he laughs, a chuckle that turns into a roar until there are tears in his eyes. You laugh with him, glad to see him smile. 
"God- I almost believed you…!"
It's your turn to snort, loud in the billowy outdoors. "He's got blood on his hands, same as everyone else." He hums noncommittally. "But Hadrian's a greedy idiot - doesn't look at the bigger picture. It's worse when they're smart. Like….like Councillor Arachne-"
"-the closest thing to Snow's opposition?" 
You wave him off. "Opposition is a strong word.  All of her positions are inflammatory at best," Nothing too strong, or radical. The shiny veil of choice; two paths leading to the same cavernous pit. You explain:
"She's visible; appeals to both sides without alienating either. The one good thing she did; suspending the 57th games; was reversed, almost immediately. And the fact Snow hasn't offed her yet makes him look….” You search for the right word. ”...benevolent. But the moment she pivots to something that matters - and I mean something other than wine shortages and stretching curfews-"
" -she dies. A tragic accident. A deeply troubled woman pushed to her brink. She dies." 
"Wouldn't be the first time." The air is heavy with what's left between the lines. Nothing changes. Not really. 
"She's the favourite for overseer in District 4, isn't she?" 
"Something like that. She's got her fingers in a lot of pies." Of course, you’d know. Half of the Capitol’s inner circle in and out of your home in an attempt to expand her connections. Hastily, you add, "I guess they all do."
"Is that what you want to do, then? Go into politics?" 
"Oh, no. I want people to actually like me." And under your breath, you say. "I don't even care if it's fake. I just want them to like me."
"It's simple things, really." Your head almost snaps towards him. He stretches, and stands up; to lead you towards the pier. You watch as he takes centre stage on the wooden planks and you sit on the grass besides it. 
"You make them read between the lines. For example," His gestures are exaggerated, and he echoes across the lake. As a backdrop it's breathtaking, Finnick in gold against the silver gloom of mist and lapping water. "Mirror their body language. Laugh at their stupid jokes. You're personable and good-natured and approachable - you're the first person you need to convince. People already like you. Believe it."
Finnick helps you up onto his stage, and taps the small of your back. 
"Posture. Stand up straight. Ask about the little things. Remember the details." Words he recites like a checklist. He's closer now: manic, possessed. 
"When Caesar asks if you caught the show the other day, you say you had a late night. That means nightmares, again, but everyone else thinks it means someone seduced, not waking up in your own bed. You don't correct them. Instead, you turn to the camera - the one on your left, your good side - and you wink. Always the golden boy, but not too golden."
There's something there as he talks. Like the night on the balcony, something trying to break free. In a moment, it's gone, whatever you're searching for. 
"Eye contact, it's important," He's soft, lifting your jaw up so you're at eye level. Gently, he rests his hands on your waist like they were made for its slope. "And smiling, with your eyes, not your teeth. A little flirty; like you know something they don't…" For a flash second, he looks at your lips. "Little glances, barely noticeable. Make 'em go crazy. Get a little closer than you should."
You're holding your breath. Chest thudding in your dress, he's close, the tip of his nose barely brushing yours, Unwavering, pupils blown; the hot gaze of his sea green eyes burning your skin.
Your mouth moves before you can think. "But it's not… real."
Knee deep in his own performance, the glass shatters. He scrunches his mouth, a flash of dimple, and moves back. 
"No. It's not." 
Silence, for a bit. You've gotten too comfortable, you think, said something you shouldn't have. He gives you a weak grin. 
"Thank you." He says warmly. You're confused. 
"For what?" 
He shrugs. "For staying, I guess. For listening."
You nod slightly, still clutching at his silky sleeve. A groan comes from your stomach and you realise you've been out for a couple of hours, at least. You separate, gently, embarrassed. 
Finnick practically coos. "I've got some food and a blanket in my car. We'll eat, and then I'll take you home, if you want." He hands you the keys, and you pad off towards the car, grateful for the time to clear your head. 
Your back hurts from sitting on the ground, and you're cold even in Finnick's jacket - but your face aches from smiling so much. You ruined the moment, you know, but it was unlike anything you've ever felt before. He's disarming; able to get you to cut and spill your insides out onto the wooden planks, with only a smile and a touch of your shoulder. Dangerous. 
There's a blanket and water in the boot of the car, the fabric decorated with a pattern you haven't seen before. It's big, handmade probably, and loosely woven; reminiscent of a thick net. You sling it over your shoulder, and grab the water, looking for food. After rummaging around the car's front, you happen across the glovebox. Inside, packaged saltines; that look like the food packs peacekeepers carry; and a little box rattling around its bottom. Curious, you pop it open. Empty, save for a single pill. Many things could be said about you; but you weren’t stupid. You put the box back in its place.
With a click, you lock the car and begin the short walk back to the lake. A rough beaten path you trudge along, your heels long gone. You're not too far, when you hear something. A dull thud. And then, there's a crash, like a boulder thrown into the water. The weeping leaves of the trees block your view, so you hurry towards the noise. 
You round the corner. Something's wrong. 
"....Finnick?" You can't see him. Calling his name as you drop your things, you clamber onto the jetty. "F-Finnick?" 
You're shouting now, nearing the end of the wooden slats. Below you, even in the low light, the water churns. Your voice goes hoarse screaming his name, as you kneel down to get a better look. The planks are wet, warm; but not with water. Blood. You look down. A glinting mass pooling below the surface.
There's a person in the water. Unmoving. Bloody. Golden.
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lorata · 10 days
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I reread your fic where Misha and Devon mess with Claudius with the whole respect your victor sibling thing, and I ended up on a runaway thought train over what jokes they'd play on Other victors. Somehow this led to the idea of them having Alec on about it being a village thing that you wear your mentor's clothes as a sign of respect! It's a tradition! They take time to point out that Devon Is wearing Brutus' sweater at the time.
Of course, this is in the injured Creed au and Callista's outfits are. Those.
oh don't worry i had an INSTANT response to this
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“Bonding,” Alec says, instead of the word that immediately comes to mind, which is: Bullshit.
Artemisia and Devon aren’t bad liars, is the thing. Both of them won their Games through manipulation as much as martial prowess, and they’ve turned their skills up to full power for this little prank. They’re holding back the glee, they’re not overselling or going overboard with the sincerity, the delivery really is impeccable.
And, of course, as any trainer would tell you, all good lies contain a hint of truth. Alec has seen half the Village traipsing around in shirts too large for them. Most likely Victors do borrow their mentors’ clothing all the time as unconscious comfort objects, creating the kind of bonding element that the two in front of him are attempting to convince him is part of a formalized ritual.
It’s not their fault Alec was essentially raised in a nonstop bullshit-detection bootcamp since the day Selene learned to speak in sentences.
He could tell them, of course, say Ha ha, nice try and send them off, but then again … what’s the fun in that? They did go to all this trouble. “So what’s the best way to show respect?” Alec says.
“You have to steal it,” Devon says. “That’s part of the ritual. Then when they see you in it they know you went to the trouble to get it.”
That’s probably not the lie, Alec decides once they’re gone. Brutus grouses about Devon nicking his sweaters all the time in a way that’s clearly performative, if he hasn’t asked him to knock it off after over a decade he can’t actually hate it. Village rituals are complex and arcane, and the newbies have to be initiated somehow but they’re definitely hazing him, so the trick is figuring out what part of this is real and what’s meant to be the joke.
Years of dealing with Selene have made Alec eminently practical. He could spend hours trying to puzzle it out, or —
He lets himself into Callista’s and sits on the rug, cross-legged so that the cats can pool into his lap. “Why are Artemisia and Devon trying to trick me into stealing your clothes?”
Callista’s sharp bark of laughter startles Bartleby, who leaps off her shoulders with a disgruntled backwards glance.
“Ohhh,” Alec says, staring at the mind-searing array of outfits in Callista’s walk-in. The organizational arrangement defies description but appears to fall along a vague theme continuum of ‘dancing animals’ to ‘hardcore BDSM’. “I get it now.”
“You cannot convince me these are comfortable,” Alec grumbles as Callista adjusts the last buckle.
“My clothing does not promise comfort, it promises impact,” Callista says, beatific. “Although it should never hurt, darling, let me know right away if anything pinches.”
Alec will cherish several moments in his life — Aunt Julia’s hands patching up his wounds, that night on the roof before Creed entered Residential, seeing his name on the Volunteer list, the clear ring of the victory trumpets — but the absolute dead hush of conversation like an entire plate of cutlery falling to the floor at his entrance to the monthly signing party might top the list, at least right now.
“Hello,” he calls out cheerfully. He saunters over and drops next to Devon and Artemisia, Claudius scrambling away from him as though he’s on fire. “Did I miss anything?”
Petra has a face like she swallowed something sour, her eyes darting back and away from him like she can’t stop staring even though she’d really rather not. “What the fuck are you wearing. Did you lose a bet?”
Alec only smiles wider. “A bet? No. I’m bonding with my mentor just like everyone else. A normal part of Village life. Isn’t that right, mentor?”
Callista, settling down like a gentle cloud next to a delicately and professionally aggrieved Adessa, says, “But of course. I, for one, have never felt closer.”
“You knew,” Artemisia manages finally, accusing.
“Did I?” Alec reaches out and snags a chocolate from the box in front of her. “Did you want me to do something else?”
(Claudius, in a frantic whisper: “What the fuck is happening?”
Brutus: “Don’t encourage them.”)
Artemisia narrows her eyes, but finally points a finger at his face. “You know what? Well played, rookie. But I’ll get you.”
He gives her a Selene smile, sharp with challenge. “Go ahead and try.”
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the-man-becky-lynch · 7 months
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can I get a damian priest x reader story Where the reader gets injured from Rhea and Damian is handcuffed to the ring rope so he cant save the reader
Brutality || Damian Priest x Reader
Summary: You get injured in your mixed tag match and Damian is cuffed to the ropes, rendered helpless.
A/N: This is set before The Judgement Day was even a thing.
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The chaos of the match surrounds you as your heart races in sync with the crowd's cheers and roars. The adrenaline courses through your veins as you exchange fierce moves with Rhea Ripley, the tension palpable in the air. The clash of bodies and the echo of the crowd's excitement create a surreal atmosphere, a battlefield where you fight for victory.
But then, a sudden, brutal impact to the back of your head sends shockwaves through your body. The world tilts on its axis, and for a brief moment, everything goes dark. The pain radiates, and you feel yourself being engulfed by the abyss.
Through the haze, you hear the crowd's reaction shift from exhilaration to shock. The realization that you've been blindsided by a steel chair shot dawns upon you. The sharp pang in your head is a testament to the force of Rhea's attack, leaving you momentarily disoriented and weakened.
Your vision begins to clear just as you see Damian, your partner, struggling against the restraints of the handcuffs that Edge has used to confine him to the ropes. Helpless, he watches as Rhea continues her assault on you, his frustration and desperation evident in his eyes.
The sound of the bell and the announcement of Rhea and Edge as the victors is a bitter pill to swallow, but the match is over. The cuffs are removed, and Damian rushes to your side, his concern etched across his features. His touch is gentle but urgent as he checks on your injuries, his voice a soothing anchor amidst the chaos.
"Hey, are you okay?" His voice is laced with worry, and you can feel the tension in his hands as they cradle your face.
You manage a weak nod, mustering a small, pained smile for him. His gaze never wavers from you, his focus unwavering even as the world continues to spin around you.
Without a word, Damian gathers you into his arms, lifting you with a careful strength that reassures you. As he carries you out of the ring, the roar of the crowd fades into the background, and all that matters is the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.
His strides are purposeful, his protective presence a shield against the world's chaos. You cling to him, your injuries a testament to the intensity of the match, but also a testament to your determination and strength.
The journey to the backstage area feels like a blur, and before you know it, you're settled on a medical table, Damian by your side. His hand remains entwined with yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. "You're safe now."
As the medical staff tends to your injuries, Damian's unwavering gaze never leaves you. And in that moment, amidst the pain and the chaos, you know that you have something more powerful than any championship title—a partner who will always be there, ready to protect you, to carry you through both the battles in and out of the ring.
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jupitersrising · 3 months
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The Foxes Hunger Games Districts
So I recently did this with Divergent factions and I thought it’d be fun to do it with another franchise I was obsessed with as a preteen (i say this as though I don’t re read the books every year during spring break)
anywho long post under the cut
Neil Josten: he was raised/born in District Two, Military, but when Mary ran away they traveled all over. I think after she died (assuming she did in this au) he’d settle in District Six, Transportation. Partly because he could stow away in the next bullet train out of the station to get to the Capital or the coal trains and head further out. Plus it’s mentioned in the books that D6 has a morphling (drug victors used/abused to forget their trauma) problem, which as terrible as that must be, would work in Neil’s favor. If all, or the majority, of the people around him were high out of their mind or prone to hallucination or whatever other effects the drug has, it’d be hard to question them about the newcomer kid who they swore didn’t actually live here all his life. They couldn’t hold up being questioned because of the effects.
Andrew Minyard: I feel like Andrew would live in a place where he had A) access to weapons and B) a desensitization to violence. Which leads to three options District 7, 10, 12. District 7 is lumber—which would give easy and constant access to axes and saws. District 10 is livestock which shows that desensitized aspect to blood, gore, and butcher tools. District 12 is interesting because it's not technically a District where he could be desensitized or have weapons. Unless he was trading at the Hob, sneaking out of the fence to the forest, and somehow had access to said materials in the first place. I could see an argument for each of these Districts but I'm leaning more towards 10 or 12.
Kevin Day: Kevin was born in District One with the Moriyama's and was sent to a Hunger Games Training Center on the border between D1 and D2. Also he most definitely won the games and is a victor at some point in this au.
Aaron Minyard: He lived in District 8, Textiles. It was where he first learned how to do stitches (though it was for fabric originally). I could see him working as a doctor/healer after hours since D8 is probably (i think canonically?) just one big factory where a lot of hazing happens. Also D8 in usually squished in between or near Districts 9 and 11—grain and agriculture respectively—which I could totally see Aaron sneaking past the border/fence to collect herbs/plants and opening a secret medical practice. (Which I think it'd be cool if Katelyn was in D9/11 and help sneak plants to him and that was how they met and they had a reluctant friends to friends to lovers romance).
Nicky Hemmick: District 3, 100%. Even though it's far away from the twins there's no way Nicky doesn't live in D3. District 3 is the Technology District and considered far more wealthy than the twins' Districts. It's mentioned a couple times that Nicky's major is marketing and he's going to work for a marketing company in Germany right out of college. If we want to loosen the rules a bit here he could be from District 5 originally, power/electricity, and interned in D3 with Erik's family as this au's version of going abroad. idk.
Allison Reynolds: She would be the Effie of this universe. She'd be born to influential Capital parents who had a bunch of shady shit going on under the surface. I feel like she'd work for the Rebels in District Thirteen as a spy within the Capital as well.
Renee Walker: Another character who would 100% be a victor in this universe. She would live in District 7 and be like...the anthesis to Johanna Mason. She would go into the games as someone calm and collected, knowing that she would win. She would go in presenting herself as someone who could do damage and did. But when she came out she tried desperately to be a good person. To fade into the background. Her mom helps her immensely in their secluded cottage in the woods. For a while, when she's away from the Capital and the lumber yards, Renee can almost pretend she's a good person.
Dan Wilds: She grew up in District 12, coal mining and refused to go into the mines. She probably worked for the Hob or some other illegal trade through the District to keep herself and her aunt and cousin afloat. She promised herself that she would make it out of the poverty D12. She'd probably strive to be someone in the government of D12 and being offered a job as a representative of the rebellion in D12.
Matt Boyd: He would grow up in District 1, luxury items, due to the fact that his mom is a victor and his dad works for a big company. His mom probably came from a smaller District but got stuck with Matt's dad in D1. She taught Matt the ideals of smaller, poorer Districts as though he'd grown up there too. He was very vocal about things like that which probably got him drawn in the reaping. Though in D1 everybody volunteers so he was okay.
Seth Gordon: Seth grew up in District 12, I know this in my soul. He grew up with too many siblings and poor as shit. Possibly more than Dan only because he had so many siblings. He likely traded with Peacekeepers at the Hob in exchange for Morphling, which is the main difference between his and Dan's circumstances. Dan is trying to get better and get out while Seth is ready to cause as much chaos and shit as he can before he goes. (I could also see him getting drawn in the same reaping as Kevin and either dying by his hand. Or almost dying and then some other Career killing him.)
This was fun...I might do another for the Trojans and the adults!
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