my-heart-beat-for-anime

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

The Newcomers

The silence after the second game was louder than any scream.

Inside the vast warehouse, the survivors barely moved. Some curled on their bunks, numb. Others sat in clusters, whispering behind hollow eyes. A few paced aimlessly, like they could walk off the weight of what they’d done.

The lights buzzed overhead, cold and too bright. One flickered.

Somewhere, someone sobbed.

The air tasted like iron—metal and sweat and something sharper, like fear soaked into concrete.

No one spoke of what might come next.

Then the lights flickered.

Just once.

A few players glanced up. A woman near the wall muttered a prayer. No announcement came.

Then it happened.

Near the rear wall—just above the floor—the air began to ripple. At first it was a shimmer, like heat off pavement. But it grew darker, heavier, light curling in on itself. Purple and silver and something wrong bled together, forming a swirling circle in the air. The surface looked like water—but it hissed like fire.

Someone whispered, “Is this part of the game?”

No one answered.

And then—it opened.

Two small figures tumbled out.

A girl landed first. Maybe twelve. Small and wiry, with deep brown skin and a halo of tight braids falling into her face. Her light brown shirt was torn and streaked with blood. Dark green pants. Burnt jacket. Mud on her boots. Blood on her hands. Panic in her eyes.

She scrambled to her feet and spun around.

The boy crashed down beside her—maybe thirteen. Slighter build. Olive skin, brown curls, and wide, green eyes filled with terror. He clutched his side, gasping like he’d run through fire.

The girl gripped his wrist tight.

“Please,” she cried, eyes darting across the frozen room. “Please—don’t hurt us. Hide us. She’s coming.”

No one moved.

Someone stood slowly. A few crept closer. Most stayed where they were—afraid this was some kind of test. Or trap.

The girl swayed, but didn’t fall. The boy pressed against her side, trembling.

They didn’t look like players.

They looked hunted.

The boy tried to speak. “We didn’t mean to come here. We were running. From the—”

He choked, eyes flicking toward the still-swirling air behind them.

Then the portal flared again—with a sound like tearing cloth—and spat out someone new.

She didn’t stumble.

She landed.

Taller. Older. Seventeen maybe. Built like a soldier, face like carved stone. She wore the same dark arena jacket from the Hunger Games, tight tactical pants, boots laced for war. Her eyes, sharp and cold, found the children instantly.

“Well, well,” she sneered. “District Eleven and Twelve, playing hide and seek. How precious.”

The girl flinched.

The boy whispered, “Rue.”

Rue gripped his hand harder, her eyes searching for a way out.

The tribute stepped forward, voice low and mocking.

“Your little protector isn’t here now.”

Rue’s knees wobbled.

“She stayed behind to buy you time. Brave of her. Stupid, too.” The girl grinned, teeth flashing. “Cato’s going to make her scream. Said he’d carve her slow. Just so you can hear it before you die.”

Something broke in Rue.

She dropped to her knees with a sound too soft to be a cry. Like the air had left her body. She covered her ears, rocking slightly.

“No,” she whispered. “No, she told us to run. She told us to go. She said—she said—”

Turen stepped in front of her like a shield, arms out, voice shaking with fury. “Don’t talk about her like that. You don’t get to.”

The tribute reached for her belt.

Her fingers found the knife’s hilt—

“Don’t,” snapped a calm, steely voice.

Hyun-ju stepped into the space between them. Her gaze didn’t waver. Her stance was balanced. Ready. Controlled.

The tribute raised an eyebrow. “You going to stop me with your bare hands?”

Another voice answered from behind her.

“You can try that.”

It was Gi-hun.

He stood slowly, pale but steady. His eyes were locked on the children—Rue, still trembling, and Turen, still standing tall in front of her. Then he looked to the girl with the knife.

More footsteps behind him.

Geum-ja moved quietly, gently. She knelt beside Rue without speaking and wrapped her arms around the shaking girl like she’d always known her. Rue didn’t fight it. She folded into her like a child into a mother.

Turen stayed up, chin lifted. “I’m Turen,” he said clearly. “She’s Rue.”

The tribute’s lip curled. She took a step forward—

And stopped.

The players were rising now, one by one. Silent, still, but standing. A wall of unspoken refusal.

She was outnumbered.

And she knew it.

But she didn’t back down.

The girl’s hand hovered at her knife.

She sneered, her gaze sweeping the room like a blade.

“If you don’t hand them over…” Her voice dropped, low and slow and bitter. “…you’ll die with them.”

No one moved.

The lights above buzzed again. The portal still shimmered, alive behind her.

The tribute stepped forward, slow and confident, twirling her knife between her fingers like a toy.

“Aw, look at this,” she sneered, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Two lost little birds flapping around without their mama.”

Rue stiffened. Turen shifted protectively in front of her.

The girl chuckled. “Where is she, anyway? Your brave little forest rat. The great and noble Zinnia.”

She drew out the name with venom.

She smirked. “ You really think she is coming back for you?”

Her laugh was cold and sharp.

“Let me tell you something about heroes,” she said, raising her voice for the room to hear. “They don’t last long. Not in our world. And definitely not in the arena.”

She looked towards Rue.

“She told you to run, didn’t she? Said she’d catch up. Said she’d protect you.”

Rue looked down, biting her lip.

“How sweet,” the girl said mockingly. “How stupid. You think Cato and the rest just let her walk away?”

She scoffed.

“She’s not behind you. She’s not on her way. She’s probably bleeding out under a tree right now. Or worse.”

Turen’s fists clenched, his voice tight. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I do,” the girl said with a smirk. “Because people like her? They burn bright and fast. All courage, no survival instinct.”

She pointed her knife, first at Turen, then at Rue.

“You’re alone now. And if these people don’t hand you over…” She glanced at the Squid Game players watching from every corner. “…they’ll be joining you soon enough.”

She took another step closer, voice low and threatening.

“This isn’t your world, kids. No trees. No hiding. Just walls, fear, and people like me.”

She grinned again.

“And trust me—without your little protector, you’re already dead.”

For a long breath, no one moved.

The tribute’s final words still hung in the air like smoke.

Without your little protector, you’re already dead.

Rue's hands trembled at her sides. Her lips pressed into a thin, shaking line. Turen stayed in front of her, fists clenched, eyes burning—but he was just a boy. And the girl standing before them had killed before. She’d do it again.

Behind them, the warehouse stayed silent. Tense. Unsure.

The tribute lifted her knife slowly.

“Last chance,” she said. “Hand them over—”

She didn’t finish.

A sharp whistle cut through the room.

Then—thwack.

The arrow landed clean in her throat.

Her eyes widened, the breath stolen from her before she could scream. She staggered once, dropped her knife with a clatter, then collapsed onto her knees.

Blood bloomed at her collar.

She fell sideways onto the concrete floor, limbs twitching once, then still.

Gasps echoed through the warehouse.

All eyes turned.

There, standing just inside the now-flickering portal, was a girl.

Her frame wavered, barely held together by will alone. Seventeen or eighteen at most, but she looked older from the pain written into every inch of her.

Her arena jacket was torn and scorched. Blood streaked down her right arm from a deep gash that hadn’t stopped bleeding. Her left leg dragged behind her, wrapped in burnt cloth and smeared with dirt and ash. Sting welts dotted her neck and collarbone—angry red punctures. There were claw marks beneath her collar. A long bruise across her ribs.

She was limping, panting, half-conscious.

But her grip on the bow never wavered—until it slipped from her hand with a thud.

“Birdies

…” she breathed, voice cracked and raw.

“Zinnia!” Rue cried, sprinting to her.

Turen ran close behind, face frozen in disbelief and hope.

They reached her at the same moment—but before they could throw their arms around her, Zinnia suddenly dropped to her knees.

Her face twisted in pain—but there was fury too. A deep, electric rage.

She gritted her teeth, reached across her body with shaking fingers, and dug them into the open wound on her right forearm.

“Zinnia, what are you—?!” Rue cried out.

With a strangled gasp, Zinnia ripped a small, silver disc from beneath her skin—a thin, blinking device, smeared in blood. Her whole body shook with the effort.

She held it up weakly.

“Not dying with this Capitol trash in me,” she hissed. “I won’t die as their property.”

Then she flung the tracker to the concrete floor.

It clinked once.

And she collapsed.

“Zinnia!” Rue and Turen screamed together, catching her as she fell.

She sagged in their arms, unconscious at last.

The flickering portal behind her sparked once more—then fizzled out with a final hiss, sealing shut.

Geum-ja was already at their side, pulling cloth from her sleeves.

“Quickly. Compress that wound.”

Hyun-ju crouched beside her, calm but urgent. “Right arm is torn deep—she tore the tracker straight through muscle. Burns, punctures, venom. She’s losing too much.”

Gi-hun helped ease her onto her side, careful to avoid the worst of the injuries.

Rue held her hand. “She saved us again. Even when she—”

Turen looked down at the blood pooling beneath her.

“She didn’t want to bring a piece of them with her,” he said quietly. “Even if it killed her.”

Around them, the warehouse remained still. The other players—men and women who had thought they’d seen the worst already—just stared.

None of this was part of the game.

And Zinnia, even unconscious, had made one thing clear:

She belonged to no one.

I hope you like it. If you want other part or you have any other request please let me know :)

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Fanfic Idea

So I have an idea in my head about making squid game x hunger games fanfic.

Or if you have any other request my inbox is open to any crazy idea

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Fighter and Mother Cato H. x OC lV.

part I. part II. part lll.

Effie, with a flourish of dramatic enthusiasm, guided us toward the elevators, while Haymitch rubbed his temple like he was trying to survive the sheer force of her excitement.

"Each district has its own floor in the Tribute Center," Effie explained in a singsong tone, like a preschool teacher giving a tour. "District One is on the first floor… and so on. We, my dears, are on the very top — District Twelve. Closest to the stars, wouldn’t you say?" she added with a smile, as if it were some grand privilege and not a reminder of our place at the bottom.

When the elevator doors slid open, what lay before us looked more like the dwelling of gods than a temporary home. The suite for District Twelve wasn’t just beautiful — it was absurdly extravagant. The space was vast, bathed in golden light that shimmered across polished marble walls and chandeliers shaped like blooming flowers. Towering windows revealed the Capitol at night — a glittering city that pulsed like a living organism.

The carpets were plush, like moss from a deep forest. Cream and champagne-colored sofas disappeared beneath mountains of pillows and throws. Bowls of fruit — some I didn’t even recognize — sat atop polished tables. In the halls, vases taller than Turen stood like silent sentinels.

We stood there, Turen beside me, caught in a silence that was part awe, part something heavier — the quiet breathlessness of knowing we didn’t belong here.

“This… this is…” Turen couldn’t finish. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, as if afraid a single touch might shatter everything around us.

“I feel like a thief in a temple,” I murmured.

Haymitch had already wandered over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of something amber and saying, “Get used to it. If the arena doesn’t kill you, luxury just might. But hey — could be worse ways to go.”

Effie crossed the room with a small lacquered box in her hands. “Each bedroom has custom-tailored wardrobes, hygiene chambers with fragrance selections, and of course — the meal button. Anything you want, at any time. Don’t be shy — the Capitol loves to show off its generosity.” Her smile stretched so wide it looked like her makeup might crack.

I stayed where I was, suspended between wonder and guilt. I thought of Sunny curled up with Mads, of Lerus probably making tea no one would drink, and of Lucila pretending to sleep while reading by lamplight. And there I stood, in a silk-trimmed suite lined with gold, expected to become something I never wanted to be.

But I said nothing. I simply walked to the glass wall, placed my hand on the cold surface, and stared out at the city — a place that felt beautiful and merciless in the same breath.

After a moment of awkward stillness and shared silence, Turen and I quietly agreed to explore our rooms. We followed a softly curving hallway, like the spiral of a seashell. Each door bore an elegant metal plaque, our names etched into it in that ornate Capitol script. I touched the one that said Zinnia Reid — and with a soft hiss, the door opened.

My room... felt like a dream. And maybe a little like a nightmare. Everything was bathed in warm cream and pale rose tones. The walls seemed to shift hue depending on the lighting, and the floor was so soft I could walk barefoot without missing the ground beneath me. The bed wasn’t just a bed — it was a sea of pillows, blankets, and decadence. A small fireplace cast gentle light across the ceiling like flickering stars. In the corner stood a wardrobe — or rather, a smooth paneled wall waiting for my command. And opposite that… the bathroom.

At last, I could peel off the ceremonial costume — beautiful as it was, it had begun to feel like a second skin I was no longer willing to wear. I laid it carefully over the prepared stand, where a soft light bloomed beneath it — as if even the clothing here had its own pedestal of glory.

The bathroom gleamed — all glass and metal, spotless to the point of sterility. The control panel beside the shower had more symbols than my grandmother Icaria’s old sewing machine. I spent a few minutes experimenting: a wavy triangle, a starburst, a spiral — each one a mystery. When the water finally flowed, it was exactly the temperature I needed. Like an embrace I hadn’t realized I was aching for.

After my shower, the wardrobe responded to my request, dispensing loose, comfortable trousers and a soft cotton shirt in a warm, earthy green. The fabric touched my skin like something familiar, not foreign — like home. Except this time, there were no patches or itchy seams.

I had just settled on the edge of my bed when a soft knock came at the door, which opened on its own. Effie, composed and immaculate as ever, peeked inside.

“Darling Zinnia, I hope you’re settling in,” she said in a tone meant to sound warm, though a flicker of tension crept in around the edges. “Dinner will be in ten minutes, in the dining hall. I do hope you're hungry — the chef has truly outdone himself.”

I nodded. My stomach was turning — not just from hunger, but nerves.

“Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

Effie smiled, clearly pleased, and disappeared again.

I gave the room one last look before stepping out into the hallway, where Turen was already waiting. He looked a little anxious, but his eyes were wide, still captivated by all that surrounded us.

Without a word, we walked together toward the dining hall — toward the room where feasts are served... for those who will soon die.

When Turen and I arrived at the dining room, the table looked like it had been set for royalty. A dark, polished mahogany surface, draped in silk and adorned with silver cutlery, bowed under the weight of food I couldn’t even name, let alone imagine tasting.

There was everything — tiny crystal cups filled with clear jellies, golden pastries, meat roulades, grilled fish with a shimmering glaze, fruits in colors like gemstones, and plates of iridescent sauces that gently bubbled as if they were still somehow alive.

Effie was already seated, perfectly upright, her napkin folded delicately in her lap. Beside her, Corvel — my stylist — poured himself water infused with slices of soft pink fruit, every motion smooth and deliberate. Next to him sat Imre, Turen’s stylist: a sharp-featured man in slate-blue satin, his calm expression bordering on dreamy.

Haymitch, unsurprisingly, was last to arrive. He stumbled slightly before collapsing into his chair like someone who’d just survived a fall from a great height.

“What a surprise,” Effie said dryly, “You’re on time. I almost thought you’d insist on having your meal delivered to bed again, like last year.”

Haymitch yawned and poured himself a glass of wine. “And I almost hoped your personality wouldn’t taste like polished pine this year.”

Before she could fire back, I cut in — my voice sweet as spun sugar:

“Wouldn’t you really prefer to enjoy your dinner in your room, Haymitch?”

Corvel chuckled softly, elegantly. Imre raised a single brow. Effie gave me a sharp look but ultimately just waved a hand, as if deciding my tone was a little too honest to be proper — but forgivable. Turen gave me a quiet smile.

Then we attacked the feast. And I… I ate. Wide-eyed and with a hunger that felt like it had been waiting all my life. Food that smelled of caramel, both savory and sweet. Some things had strange textures, others melted on my tongue like snow. I ate some bites just because their shape fascinated me. Plates disappeared, only to be replaced by new ones. Had I been more restrained, I might have looked civilized — but instead I felt like a starving child let loose in a temple of abundance.

“Slow down, Zinnia,” Effie said. “We’ll be in the Capitol for several more days.”

“I’m not saying I won’t get used to it,” I mumbled with a full mouth, “but if I survive this, I’m taking the recipe for that…” I waved my fork toward something orange and glittering, “...thing.”

There were a few laughs and compliments tossed around, light jokes over wine and glowing platters. Then, finally, Haymitch leaned back and peered at us over the rim of his glass.

“Well. Now that you’re clean, dressed, scented, and praised like painted cherubs—let’s get to what actually decides whether you live or die. What can you do?”

He turned his gaze directly to me, his tone devoid of patience.

“No talk about heart or the will to survive. What can you really do?”

I set down my fork, wiped a drop of juice from the corner of my mouth, straightened in my chair, and met his eyes head-on.

“I can handle a knife. Not perfect, but effective. Learned to throw them—mostly for hunting. Shot a bow a few times when I could get one — nothing precise, but I know the basics. I can find water, move quietly through the woods, and I know my way around plants. I’m not the strongest, but I’ve got speed. And I don’t quit.”

Haymitch gave a slow nod, his expression no longer entirely skeptical.

“Now that… sounds like someone who knows the arena isn’t a picnic.”

Then his eyes shifted to Turen, who had gone a little red but lifted his chin with quiet resolve.

“And you? What’s your deal, kid? You can’t even handle cutlery right, but can you keep yourself alive?”

Turen swallowed but answered steadily.

“I’m no fighter. But I run fast. And I’ve got a good memory — I remember routes, patterns, layouts. Back home, we played map games. I can climb. I know how to find my way around a space. And… I watch people. I notice things others miss.”

There was a beat of silence. Imre gave a thoughtful nod. Corvel looked at me and offered the faintest smile — like someone who’d just glimpsed the first spark of potential. Effie seemed to forget how to eat her dessert for a moment. And Haymitch poured himself another glass of wine, muttered something like, “Well, at least you’re not completely useless,” and then added:“Training starts tomorrow.”

Dinner was over, and I finally retreated to my room. For a while, I stood by the window, watching the Capitol’s nightlight spill like a silken veil across the streets. Then I quietly changed into a thin nightdress made of soft fabric that seemed to melt between my fingers. I tied my hair back with a ribbon and slipped beneath the silk covers. My body ached from tension and exhaustion. My eyes began to close...

And then came a soft knock at the door.

I froze. It was light, almost hesitant. I got up, pulled a robe over my shoulders, and opened it.

Turen stood there. His eyes were glossy, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. He looked smaller than usual.

“I couldn’t sleep…” he whispered. “Those dreams again. I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

Without hesitation, I stepped aside. “Come in.”

I closed the door behind him and led him to the bed, letting him sit at the edge.

“You can stay. Lie down if you want.”

He did, still trembling slightly. I pulled the blanket over us both and lay beside him. Quietly, I ran my hand through his hair, like I used to do with Sunny or Mads.

Then, just like I had in the little shack by the stove, I began to hum a lullaby I’d known since I was small — a soft, melancholy tune about returning home, about a distant light that never fades.

Hush now, little flame, don’t cry tonight, The stars are watching, soft and bright. Close your eyes and dream of trees, Of mountain winds and whispering leaves.

The fire may fade, but love stays near, In every song that you will hear. Sleep now, darling, while I stay— I'll guard your dreams till break of day.

Within a few verses, Turen began to relax. I heard his breathing slow, and in the silence between two notes, he drifted into sleep.

Soon after, I followed — with the thought that sometimes, the thing we need most is simply someone being there.

Morning came with a sharp knock on the door and Effie’s voice ringing out like a trumpet:

“Good morning! Rise and shine, my darlings — big day today! Training begins! Breakfast in ten!”

I groaned and sat up. Turen was already on the edge of the bed, blinking sleep from his eyes.

“We must look like we slept for two weeks,” I muttered. He gave a sleepy smile.

We both got ready quickly. I chose a practical training outfit — something between a tracksuit and a combat uniform — black, stretchy, high-collared, with a clean, minimalist cut.

Haymitch was already waiting in the dining room, nursing a cup of coffee. The dark circles under his eyes said he’d barely slept.

“No one’s gonna hold your hand today,” he began, stirring his coffee slowly. “Focus on what you can’t do. Work on your weak spots. And the things you can do — save those for the private evaluation. Don’t show your cards until it counts. Got it?”

We both nodded. Turen was munching on a pastry that smelled like almonds, and I savored a sweet fruit pudding while trying not to overthink what the day might bring. The memory of nightmares still sat heavy in my chest — but with Turen beside me, it didn’t feel quite so terrifying.

When we finished, Effie — as always, a little overly poised — escorted us to the elevators.

“The training center is on the ground floor. All tributes begin at the same time, but... remember: the Capitol watches everything. So be charming. Or at least… useful.”

The elevator descended. The metal doors opened with a soft click — and before us stretched a space so vast, even shadows seemed to lose their way inside.

Training had begun.

As soon as Turen and I stepped into the vast training hall, my heart began to pound. All around us were the other tributes — some stood silently in the corners, others already scouted the stations eagerly, as if hoping to conquer them before anyone else. The air was thick with the scent of metal, oil, sweat… and tension. It felt like the hush before a storm.

At the center of the hall stood a tall woman in a Capitol suit, her dark bob as precise as her stance. Her voice was clear and commanding.

“My name is Atala. I’m the head trainer here,” she began, once we’d all formed a loose circle around her. “This is where you’ll learn to kill. This is where you’ll learn to survive. There are many stations — medicinal plants, traps, weapons, fire-making, knots, and combat training. Use them wisely.”

As she spoke, my gaze wandered over her shoulder... and locked with another. Sharp. Blue. Cato. District Two.

He stood not far off, slightly hunched forward, as if Atala’s speech didn’t interest him in the slightest. His eyes were fixed on me. Measuring. Weighing. Assessing. I swallowed hard. Maybe I was imagining it, but there was almost an amused expression on his face — like he knew exactly how much he frightened me. I dropped my gaze to the floor.

He’s already planning how to kill me.

When the speech ended, I grabbed Turen’s arm and led us toward the station for plants. A table was laid out with herbs, berries, roots, and toxic blooms. To my surprise, I recognized many of them — thanks to my grandmother and our daily survival back home. I felt a flicker of pride. I even identified a few poisonous specimens before the instructor pointed them out.

Turen mostly tried to keep up, but he listened with interest.

Next, we went to the knot-tying station. The instructor — a graying man with a calm voice — watched me for a moment, then nodded approvingly once he saw I had the basics down.

“I’ll show you a few tricks, then,” he said with a wink, pulling out a thicker rope. He demonstrated several types of traps — some simple, others cunning, some for catching small game, and one meant for people. That last one made my stomach tighten. Suddenly, the arena felt a lot closer than I’d like.

We moved on to the fire-making station. We knelt by synthetic fire pits, and I focused on rubbing the sticks together. It was physically exhausting, but I managed it — sweat beading on my forehead. Turen grunted beside me, determined to keep up.

And that’s when we noticed her. A small girl with dark skin, big eyes, and tiny braids. Rue. District 11. She stood nearby, watching us with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

“Want to join us?” I offered softly. She smiled and nodded shyly.

Within minutes, the atmosphere shifted. Rue was sharp, observant, and incredibly nimble. She and Turen hit it off immediately — in temperament and age. They laughed and worked together naturally. I occasionally glanced toward the edge of the room, where a strong, serious-looking boy sat watching us from a distance — Thresh. Rue checked on him with her eyes now and then. So did I.

It was strange, how easily we connected. No words were needed. Just the shared understanding that we were here because of them — the younger ones, the vulnerable ones.

When lunch came, the three of us sat together. Rue was giggling with Turen about some ridiculous Capitol machine for heating food. I sat quieter beside them, and Thresh across the way. We didn’t speak, but our eyes met once or twice. There was a kind of silent agreement there. We weren’t enemies. Not yet.

What I didn’t notice was that from a nearby table, Cato was watching me again. Just as quietly, just as intensely. As if fascinated by something he couldn’t quite name. I gripped my fork a little tighter.

After the meal, the four of us headed to the climbing station. Rue was unbelievable — gliding across ropes, scaling walls like she’d been born in the trees. While the rest of us slipped and grunted, she showed us how to grip, how to shift our weight, how to hold on with just your toes.

I watched her in awe. That tiny girl… there was strength in her. Freedom. Like a bird. I knew she could be dangerous in the arena. But I couldn’t imagine ever raising a hand against her.

Before we knew it, the training day was over. The hall slowly emptied, and I felt a strange mixture of exhaustion and peace.

Dinner was already set when Turen and I returned to the apartment. The table, once again, overflowed with luxury — plates with shimmering edges, food we couldn’t even name, and seated in the center were Haymitch and Effie. Both turned their attention to us the moment we walked in.

“So? How was your first day of training?” Effie asked, her voice almost painfully cheerful.

“It was fine,” I replied as I sat down. “We met Rue and Thresh. From Eleven. They seem… well-prepared, each in their own way.”

“Rue’s like a squirrel,” Turen added with a grin. “She climbs ropes like she was born in the trees.”

Effie nodded and jotted something down in her shiny notepad, but Haymitch simply took a silent sip of his drink. His eyes were fixed on me.

“What about the others?” he asked. “Anyone paying you special attention?”

“I… think Cato was watching her today. In the training hall.”

Silence.

Effie raised her eyebrows and turned to me. I froze and stared at my empty plate. Haymitch slowly dabbed his mouth with a napkin and gave me a long, thoughtful look.

“Watching?” he repeated quietly. “How? Was he provoking you? Did he say anything?”

Turen shook his head. “No. Just… staring. More than once. Too long. It was weird.”

Haymitch rubbed his chin, lost in thought. “Careers don’t pick their targets at random. If Cato’s watching you, it means one of two things: admiration… or he wants you out of his way. And admiration, from guys like him, usually hurts.”

Effie inhaled sharply, as if she wanted to say something encouraging — but then simply pressed her lips together and stood up from the table. The rest of the evening passed under the shadow of Cato’s name.

Back in the room, I quickly changed into my nightclothes, tied up my hair, and tried to sleep. Turen showed up a few minutes later — he knocked softly, his expression speaking volumes.

“The dreams again?” I asked quietly.

He nodded, and I lifted the blanket without another word. Sharing a bed had become routine by now. I was used to the sound of his breathing beside me, to the way he turned once in the night and then settled again. But tonight, sleep wouldn’t come.

The silence in the room felt oppressive, shadows stretched long into the corners, and Cato’s presence wouldn’t leave my mind. Eventually, I slipped out of bed, pulled on a thin cloak, and left the room.

Rue had mentioned the roof earlier. Said there was a garden up there. No guards. No cameras.

When the elevator reached the top of the building, the cooler night air greeted me like a whisper. The garden was dreamlike — trees in stone planters, flower beds divided by low walls, and tiny wind chimes strung between them, chiming softly like ghostly whispers in the breeze.

I stopped beneath a blooming tree and sat down on a bench. I dropped my head into my hands. My heart ached. For home. For the children. For a normal life, where night didn’t mean fearing death.

And so I took a breath… and began to sing a song my grandmother had once taught me. A old song from District Twelve.

“Black dust on my fingers, smoke in my chest, home is a fire that won’t let me rest. River of coal, carry me slow, back to the valley where wildflowers grow.

Night in the mountains, stars burning wide, lost are the faces I keep deep inside. Hush now, my darling, don’t make a sound, hope walks in silence, where hearts are unbound.”

My quiet song was interrupted by a voice behind me.

“They really sent a little songbird.”

I hope you like this chapter, if you have any request please let me know. =)

erika-simps

nowayhomenever

kittykataerokitty

@zelabee

@sopitasopita

@meiisamotherbitch

@the-death-defying-night-crawler

@chelseyyouraverageluigi

@google1000

@greengarbanzobean

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Fighter and Mother Cato H. x OC

part I. part II. part lV.

After a sleepless night full of tossing and heavy dreams, I finally gave up trying to fall asleep. My eyes burned, my body was tired, and my heart felt like it was carrying the weight of the whole world. Every touch of the silk that the Capitol had forced me to wear felt like a reminder of everything that had been taken from me. I was lying in a bed — soft, fragrant — and yet I had never felt farther from home.

I slipped off the nightgown and reached for my old shirt. It was the one I wore at the Reaping — pieced together from scraps of fabric the children and I salvaged from homes where no one saw their worth anymore. The cloth was mismatched, in faded tones, but embroidered with bright threads. Suns, birds, leaves, and here and there a child’s attempt at a flower. I’d embroidered them in the evenings, when everyone else was asleep. Every stitch carried meaning. And now, as I pulled it on, I felt like myself again. Not because it was warm — but because it was mine. It belonged to my life, my children, my work. In the Capitol, it looked completely out of place — but I was done bending to their rules.

I walked into the lounge, where the servants had already laid out breakfast. The table was buckling under the weight of food — shiny pastries, glistening fruit, delicate dishes I couldn’t even name. The smell was intoxicating, but my stomach remained twisted in knots.

Still, I filled three plates. Not for the taste — but out of strategy. My grandmother used to say: “If there’s food, you eat. A strong body has a better chance of surviving.” I could almost hear her voice in my head — calm, amused: "With color on your cheeks and a song on your lips, everything goes a little easier.”

Turen appeared a little while later. He sat beside me, the traces of yesterday’s tears still lingering in his eyes, but he was quiet. He scooted closer, a bit awkwardly, and began to eat. I placed a hand gently on his back. That was enough. He was here. I was here.

Then Effie swept in, like something from another world. Bursting into the room with her peppy energy, she launched into a speech about the schedule, the preparations, and the importance of staying positive. Her voice was like silver-wrapped cotton candy, but inside me it just rang like a hollow drum.

Eventually, Haymitch shuffled in. Hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, reeking of wine and fatigue. He dropped into a seat across from me, poured himself a strong coffee, and stared at me for a moment.

“That…” he said, eyeing my brightly embroidered shirt, “is not Capitol standard.”

“It’s not,” I replied calmly. “It’s mine.”

Something shifted in his eyes then. Just for a second. As if he understood more than I expected. He gave a small nod and said nothing more.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I said quietly, no drama in my voice.

He watched me for a long beat, then finally muttered, “We all deal with it differently. Some drink. Some go quiet.”

We ate the rest of the breakfast in silence, until Effie suddenly straightened and pointed toward the windows.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she declared, “I present to you… the Capitol!”

And that’s when I saw it for the first time.

The glittering city stretched all the way to the horizon. Towering buildings like crystal needles, colorful trains gliding on high rails, waterfalls of light, and sculpted gardens that had more lights than all of District Twelve put together.

Turen pressed against me, eyes wide with awe. “This isn’t real,” he whispered.

But I knew it was. And that’s exactly what made it so dangerous.

The train slowed, then stopped. The entire machine, so quiet and smooth during the journey, seemed to suddenly hold its breath. A chill ran through me as the metal wheels gave one last screech against the tracks. I looked over at Turen. He sat silently beside me, no longer crying, but his eyes still held that childlike helplessness — the look of someone torn away from the only home they've ever known.

“We’re here,” Haymitch muttered, groggily rising from his seat. Effie was already standing tall and rigid, a synthetic smile glued to her face.

“The Capitol! Our beloved viewers await!” she sang, gliding gracefully toward the door.

As we stepped off the train, light rained down on us. We stood on a platform that sparkled like it had been dusted with diamond powder. Screens blinked all around us, cameras, shiny objects I couldn’t even name. And people. Dozens — maybe hundreds — of Capitol citizens lining the path, cheering, waving, some with glasses in their hands, others holding banners, and a few… a few wore expressions of twisted delight.

“Ohhh, that boy is adorable!” called a woman with pink feathers instead of hair. “I know that girl! That’s the one from Twelve — the embroidery one, right?” someone else shouted. “Give us a smile, sweetheart!”

A shiver went through me. Not just from the shouts, but from how little we seemed like real people to them. We were props in some kind of show. Dolls soon to be thrown into the arena.

I smiled — or tried to — but the smile froze on my face.

Haymitch turned to us. “This is where you end. From here on out, you're products. Goods. Let them do their job. Don’t make a scene — the stylists know what they're doing.”

We were led into the styling center — a towering, windowless marble building, with endless corridors and doors, every surface gleaming. They split us up. Turen went one way, I went another. Soon, I found myself in a room that smelled of perfume and wax.

At first, I only caught flashes — shimmering lights, rustling fabrics, the clinking of bracelets, and clouds of sharp scent. Then they appeared.

Alistar a man with skin dyed turquoise, his eyes framed with black sequins, his lips coated in a glittering iridescent gloss. He wore a sheer silver mesh dress — if you could call it that. “Ohhh! Heavens above, this is her! The Twelve girl, in the flesh! And that SHIRT!” he shrieked theatrically. “Is that handmade? It must be! Those stitches!”

Next to him floated Valeria her hair a massive neon flower, her eyebrows shaped into spirals, her dress shifting color with every move. “So beautiful, and yet so... natural. But don’t worry, darling. We’ll fix that. We’ll let your beauty shine!”

And finally, Remus silent, with a shaved head and eyes that changed color like photo-reactive lenses. He wore a latex coat, and his long, slender fingers were adorned with silver rings topped with crystals. “Your face has... gravity,” he murmured. “Not much to fix. We’ll just lift you into Capitol light.”

Without further hesitation, they handed me a silk robe. “Off you go, sweetheart. We’ll be gentle,” Valeria winked.

I had no choice but to obey.

I stood there — naked, tense — while they buzzed around me like small, glittering birds. They stripped away my hair, clipped my nails, rubbed scented oils into my skin, washed my hair in warm, fragrant water, buffed my heels, applied creams. Everything was soft, precise — but impersonal. I was no longer a person. I was a body being prepped for display.

Valeria worked through my hair while Alistair examined the shirt I’d folded so carefully. “The embroidery — it’s like a diary. Look here — the sun. And this one... is that a poppy? Poppy? Is that a name?”

I nodded silently.

Back home, people overlooked the embroidery. Here, in the Capitol, it wasn’t survival — it was fashion. And if it was beautiful, it had value.

My head was buzzing. Somewhere behind the walls, Turen was being readied too — decorated, reshaped, just like me.

Two figures from a different world, dressed up and tossed into a trap.

And as their hands moved, the scents swirled, and the lights blinded me, I thought of home.

Of children’s hands. Their voices. The rustle of grass at the fence. The herbs in the old tin bowl.

And I held onto it — all of it.

So I wouldn’t disappear in all this shine.

When the prep team finally withdrew, taking their last cotton swabs, brushes, and tissues with them, I remained seated in front of the mirror, surrounded by soft lighting and the lingering Capitol scent that still didn’t sit right with me. My hair had been braided into a loose plait that draped over my shoulder, ending at my waist like a silk rope with delicate pearls woven into the strands. The skin on my hands and face was smooth, my nails neatly done with a subtle shimmer I’d never been able to afford before. But still, I felt like myself — just a washed and polished version of Zinnia from District Twelve.

When they carefully helped me to my feet, Valeria clapped her hands and turned toward the door. “And now, to your stylist. I believe he’s going to fall in love with you.”

They led me down a narrow hallway laid with glossy tiles until we reached a door that opened on its own, as if welcoming me in. Inside was a tall, airy studio, scented with glue, fabric, and something that reminded me of oranges. A man stood at a table — slim, with pale skin and jet-black hair cropped close to his head. He wore a long coat made of heavy fabric with a high collar, and every movement he made was slow, gentle, as if he lived at a different tempo.

“Zinnia, right?” he said softly. His voice had a strange kind of melody to it, like he was composing sentences to a rhythm only he could hear. “I’m Corvel.”

I nodded and said quietly, “Nice to meet you.”

He studied me for a moment. “Interesting,” he said. “We’re used to inventing stories for our tributes. But you already have one. I just have to translate it into fabric.”

Then he walked over to the wall and pulled down a design that had been covered by a fine cloth. He turned it toward me, and for the first time, I saw what he had created for me.

It wasn’t kitsch. It wasn’t a parody of fire or coal. It was an image of survival.

“Everyone would dress you in flames and soot,” he said, “but I want them to see what grows from the ashes.”

He pointed to a pair of dark, slim silk trousers that shimmered like soot under the light. They had an ornate waistband stitched with tiny cross-stitches — a tribute to embroidery. The top was light, made from silvery-gray fabric, delicately embroidered with black, red, and gold thread, with patterns that resembled charred wood and sprouts growing from scorched earth.

“This pattern is your fingerprint,” he explained. “I created it based of your shirt.”

Floating over it all was a cloak of sheer organza, falling to the ankles, threaded with tiny metallic strands that sparkled like drifting ash. It was light as breath.

“So,” he asked, “are you ready to become a story?”

“If you’re the one writing it,” I said — and for the first time all day, I smiled from the heart.

Once Corvel summoned his team, everything moved very quickly. Remus, Alistar, and Valeria began dressing me without unnecessary words. Every swipe of fabric over my skin was careful yet firm. They pulled the shirt over my head, slipped the vest on, and fastened the cloak with the precision of people born to adorn others. I could only feel the light touches, the rustling of fabric, and their quiet whispers. Before I knew it, I was ready.

Corvel measured me once more, from head to toe, slightly adjusting the cloak on my shoulders before he smiled — that soft, satisfied smile of an artist proud of their work. "Ready," he said quietly, nodding toward the door.

I was then led away from the prep room, down the long, glossy hallways, and outside, where richly decorated carriages were waiting, each drawn by two beautiful dark horses. Under the glow of Capitol lamps and spotlights, everything sparkled and shone, almost unnaturally.

Turen was already waiting for me, nervously shifting by our carriage, and when he saw me, he smiled in relief. He was also dressed in a simple yet beautiful outfit that matched mine. He quickly jogged up to me and quietly mumbled, “You look amazing.” I smiled at him, squeezed his hand, and that’s when I felt someone’s gaze on me.

Through the crowd of other tributes, I caught his eyes — steel-blue and cold. Cato from District Two. He was casually leaning against the side of his carriage, arms crossed over his chest, wearing an expression that was a mix of interest and predatory curiosity. He was openly studying me, as if appraising me before we even stepped into the arena.

His gaze ran over my costume, my hair, my posture — and in his eyes, there was no pity, but a kind of curiosity. I held his gaze for a moment, then lowered my eyes back to Turen. I realized that my fingers were trembling slightly beneath the costume.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered to Turen, more to calm myself. “We can handle this.”

Above our heads, the Capitol drums were beginning to thrum, signaling that the ceremony was about to start.

The carriage was majestic — black with dark glossy sides, without a driver, only two muscular, coal-black beasts adorned with golden harnesses, waiting silently, almost indifferently, as if they knew this was a ride for applause, not escape. Slowly, Turen and I climbed aboard, his small hand clutching tightly at my elbow. The rest of the tributes were already seated, arranged by district. We, as always, were last. District Twelve. The end of the line. The shadow of the system.

As soon as our feet touched the floor of the carriage, the horses moved without a single command. Automatically. Like puppets on strings, led by the Capitol’s invisible will. We marched forward into the glare of spotlights, the roar of the crowds, and the blinding shine of glory.

The road was narrow, lined with thousands of Capitol citizens waving, shouting, laughing. The lower levels of the buildings were packed with spectators in vibrant costumes, hair dyed in rainbow hues, faces painted like festival masks. People reached out toward us—some tossed flowers, others confetti. Light and perfume filled the air.

“Look how her shirt sparkles!” “She’s the one with the kids, the girl from Twelve!” “Does she make her own clothes? So talented! And that look on her face!” “That child with her… this is going to be the real tragedy.”

Turen pressed close to me. His eyes were wide open, but his lips were tight. He wore the kind of face children wear when they’re trying to be brave — clenched and fragile. I placed a hand on his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, and then forced myself to smile. Not even for the audience. For him.

As the final carriage arrived at the end of Victory Lane, the lights intensified, and everything fell into a hushed, expectant whisper. President Snow stepped onto the balcony above the square. His pace was slow, but not from hesitation — from precision. His presence sent a chill down the spine.

He stood at the microphone, folded his hands behind his back, and cast a brief glance over all the tributes. His gaze was like a cold breath of winter against the neck, even though the square burned with torchlight.

“Citizens of the Capitol… people of Panem,” he began, his voice calm, yet it carried far. “Today, as every year, we gather to honor the memory of those who paid the price for peace. Those who gave everything for unity and balance among us. Today we welcome the new tributes — a girl and a boy from each district — and we wish them honorable games. May the odds be ever in their favor.”

At his words, golden flames erupted above the square, illuminating all the carriages as the crowd broke into deafening applause.

The procession resumed — this time heading back — and Turen and I sat still, almost stiff, until the carriage finally returned us to the underground section of the Tribute Center.

As we stepped down, our team was waiting, ready to greet us like heroes. Effie clapped her hands in delight and exclaimed, “That was absolutely, absolutely enchanting! You shone! Corvel, you genius!”

Haymitch, who for once was actually standing upright, welcomed us with a mock-pat on the shoulder. “Didn’t look like arena meat, congrats,” he said with a smirk that came dangerously close to a real smile.

Valeria from my prep team looked like she might cry. “You looked like… like someone out of legend. That embroidered shirt beneath the cloak, it was just so… authentic!”

Turen stood silently beside me, red-faced but with a sparkle in his eyes. It was his moment — and he had survived it.

Then Haymitch noticed someone lagging behind. He turned his head and frowned. “Well, isn’t that sweet… looks like someone’s watching you.”

I followed his gaze — and there he was. Cato stood on the far side of the hall, surrounded by his team, but saying nothing. His eyes were fixed directly on me. No blink. No smile. Just a stare like a black hole’s gravity — it won’t let you leave, and somehow, you don’t want to.

Effie quickly intervened, ever the social diplomat: “All right! That’s enough staring — time for rest! Your suites are waiting. We’ve prepared everything you might desire.”

She led us to the elevators, which carried us high into the upper floors of the Tribute Center. The whole ride up, I could still feel Cato’s gaze lingering on my back — heavy as stone, hot as a warning, unreadable as a dream I wasn’t ready to wake from.

I hope you liked it. Part IV.???

If you have any tips or request i am happy to help =)

erika-simps

nowayhomenever

kittykataerokitty

@zelabee

@sopitasopita

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Fighter and Mother Cato H. x OC part ll.

part I. part lll. part lV.

The sun was high in the sky, heating the stony ground of the square and making the air heavy and suffocating. People stood close together, waiting silently, their eyes fixed on the stage where the fate of one boy was about to be decided. Effie Trinket reached into the glass bowl and mixed the slips of paper inside. The tension was thick in the air.

She pulled out a slip, unfolded it, and loudly read the name.

"Turen Dreft."

Her voice echoed over the square, sharp and loud. For a moment, everything was silent. A cold, heavy silence.

I immediately remembered his face. Turen Dreft. A twelve-year-old boy, small with light blonde hair that always fell into his eyes. His eyes were now wide with fear. He was always quiet, almost invisible. He wasn’t the type to fight or yell; he was the one who helped, who stepped back. I had seen him a few times, carrying water with his mother, stacking wood, petting a stray dog. He was the kind of kid you wanted to protect.

And now, he was going to the arena.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

Then, Turen slowly stepped forward. He climbed onto the stage, his small shoulders shaking. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to look brave, but his lip quivered.

I wanted to say something, do something, but I knew I couldn’t.

Effie Trinket then reached toward me and announced us as tributes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here are the tributes from District 12: Zinnia Reid and Turen Dreft!"

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, someone in the crowd moved.

A hand rose. Three fingers pressed to the lips, then raised toward me.

Another. Then more.

Soon, the whole square was doing it. A sea of hands in a silent gesture. A sign of respect. A final goodbye.

My breath caught in my throat.

Then, I heard Zira sob. I looked into the crowd and saw my children.

Lucila had her face twisted in pain, but she stood tall. Poppy was shaking, holding onto Lerus’s hand like she could protect him. Lerus had his face buried in Lucila’s skirt, his eyes tightly shut. Zira... Zira had tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t screaming; tears just silently ran down her cheeks. And Sunny – Sunny stood there, jaw clenched, eyes full of fierce determination.

I forced myself to stand tall, even though I was falling apart inside.

The Peacekeepers then led us into the town hall.

For a moment, there was silence, but then the doors opened, and the room was filled with the sound of tears, hands, and desperate pleas.

The children. My children.

Lucila threw herself around my waist, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Poppy hugged me tightly, her nails digging into my skin. Lerus tried to climb into my arms, while Zira cried out loud, without holding back.

"Don’t go!" Poppy cried between sobs. "Zinny, please, don’t go!"

"Don’t leave us," Lucila whispered, her voice trembling.

Mads was in Sunny’s arms, kicking his legs and reaching out for me.

I knelt down and held Lucila and Poppy’s hands. "Listen to me," I said firmly. "You have to take care of each other, okay? Sunny will take care of food, but you have to help him. Go to the Seamans, trade clothes for bread or meat. Keep the house in order, don’t forget about Mads. And most importantly... stay together."

"But what if you don’t come back?" Zira whispered, her voice breaking into tears.

My throat tightened.

How could I promise them something I couldn’t guarantee?

Sunny stood in front of me, his brown eyes locked on mine. "You have to promise," he said hoarsely. "You have to promise you’ll try. You won’t give up."

My voice caught.

I couldn’t lie to them. I couldn’t promise that I’d come back.

But I could promise them I’d try.

I grabbed Sunny’s hand and squeezed it. "I promise."

Lucila began crying loudly. Poppy hid her face in my dress. Lerus pressed so tightly against me I could hardly breathe.

Then the doors opened again.

"Time’s up," the Peacekeeper said.

The children clung to me as tightly as they could. I had to break free from their grasp. Mads started crying when Sunny had to pull him away. Lerus sobbed. Poppy screamed my name.

The doors closed.

And I was left alone.

No one greeted me anymore.

I sat alone in the quiet room of the town hall, my hands folded in my lap, fingers tightly interlaced until my knuckles turned white. The walls around me were bare and cold. The door was closed. It felt like the world outside had stopped existing, as if this small, enclosed space was all that remained, where I waited for what would come next.

There wasn’t much I could do. Crying? It wouldn’t help. Begging? There was no one to beg. So, I just waited.

And then the door opened.

“It’s time,” the Peacekeeper said.

I stood and left the room. Each step was heavier than the last. My body felt incredibly light and yet so heavy, like my legs were made of lead. I didn’t look back.

When we arrived at the station, a train was waiting – huge, shiny, and silver, gleaming in the sunlight like a knife. Tall, long, beautiful, and terrifying all at once. I had never seen such a train up close.

And certainly not from the inside.

Turen was already there. He stood between two Peacekeepers, small and fragile. His shoulders were hunched, and his hands were shaking. He looked so… lost. When our eyes met, I saw something in his gaze that pierced my heart – fear, panic, desperation.

I wanted to go to him, to tell him that we would make it through, but before I could do anything, the Peacekeepers pushed us onto the train.

As soon as the doors closed behind us, we were in a different world.

The first thing I noticed was the air. It smelled different – fresh, clean, with a hint of sweetness. In District 12, the air never smelled like that. It was always full of ash, coal, and dust. But here...

The floor gleamed so perfectly I could see my reflection in it. Above us, crystal and metal chandeliers hung, sparkling like broken pieces of stars. The walls were lined with dark, polished wood and decorated with intricate patterns. Everywhere around us were soft couches, fluffy pillows, long tables with tall crystal glasses.

I had never seen anything like this.

I never even imagined such a place could exist.

A soft sob came from next to me.

Turen.

I looked at him and only then noticed that tears were running down his face. He had been crying quietly, so quietly that I hadn’t even realized.

Then he pressed against me and grabbed my hand.

It was small, warm, and his fingers tightened around mine in a desperate grip. I squeezed his hand back.

“It’ll be okay,” I said softly.

I didn’t know if that was true, but at that moment, it was the only thing I could say.

The door opened, and Effie Trinket entered.

Her dress was in soft shades of pink and lavender, perfectly matching her makeup. Her hair was done in a complex updo, and her lips were painted into a perfect, careful smile. She looked exactly how I remembered her from the screens – polished, flawless.

“Well, come on in!” she sang cheerfully, as if she weren’t sending us to our deaths. “You need to rest a bit, my dears!”

My teeth clenched, but I didn’t say anything.

Effie led us to a sitting room, where she placed us on a couch. It was soft, too soft. I sank into it, as if it wanted to swallow me.

Turen still held my hand.

“Make yourselves comfortable!” Effie continued, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll go find Haymitch.”

She muttered something under her breath about alcohol and irresponsibility before disappearing behind a door.

We were alone.

Turen squeezed my hand tighter and buried his face in the sleeve of my coat. His shoulders were shaking.

I raised my free hand and gently placed it on his back. Slowly, carefully, as if I was afraid he might break.

It was the first time I let myself relax my mask, even just a little.

And then a memory surfaced in my mind.

Of Haymitch Abernathy.

I remember him when I was younger. He wandered around like a ghost. He never spoke to anyone. He never really looked at anyone. He was always either drunk or on his way to getting drunk.

Once, I saw him sitting outside the Hob, leaning against the wall, a glass in his hand. He was dirty, wrinkled, his eyes distant and empty.

I was walking with Lucila and Poppy. I remember how, for a split second, he looked at me.

There was something in his gaze… something unreachable. It was like he saw me, even if just for a moment. And then he sank back into his numb emptiness.

And now he was supposed to be our mentor.

I looked at Turen, who was looking up at me with eyes full of fear.

I had to protect him.

And if that meant relying on Haymitch Abernathy… so be it.

Turen had calmed down a bit. His breath was still shallow and uneven, but he wasn't shaking as much. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, and his fingers, which had been gripping me tightly, loosened a little. He still held on to me, though, as if he feared that if he let go, I would disappear.

We sat in silence, listening to the monotonous hum of the train and watching the landscape outside turn into blurred smudges. Then, Turen finally spoke.

"Do you have family?" he asked softly.

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond.

"I have... kids," I said after a while. "Lucila, Poppy, Lerus, Zira, Sunny, and Mads. But they aren't my own."

Turen frowned. "So who is their mom?"

"No one," I replied after a pause. "Or rather... me."

I looked at his face. He was thinking it over, maybe piecing together parts of my story in his head, maybe imagining it in his own way.

"And your real family?" he asked quietly.

I ran my hand through his hair and lowered my gaze to the polished table.

"I never knew my parents," I began. "But when I was about five, a woman took me in. Icaria Gold Baird. I called her Grandma."

"Grandma?" Turen repeated.

I nodded. "She was an old seamstress. She taught me how to sew. How to hold the needle, guide the thread, connect fabrics to make something new. She said that if I could sew, I’d never go hungry."

I remembered her wrinkled hands, the way they shook when she threaded the needle. How she always sang simple tunes as she worked—tunes that stuck with me in my memory.

"She had this old box," I continued. "Full of colorful ribbons, fabric scraps, threads in every color you could imagine. She always said that with color and song on your lips, everything goes better."

I smiled, but there was bitterness in it.

"When I was thirteen, she died. And I was alone."

Turen lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It’s alright, little one," I said softly, pulling him into a light embrace.

We sat quietly. I felt him relax, his body fitting against mine, seeking refuge.

"And then?" he asked after a while.

"Then Sunny came," I answered.

I remembered the day I found him. I was thirteen, still unsure how to care for myself, and yet I took him in. He was so small, thin, starving. His eyes pleaded with me without him saying a word. And I couldn’t walk away.

"Then came Lucila and Poppy. Lerus. Zira. And finally Mads. They all found their way to me. Or maybe I found my way to them."

Turen was silent for a long time.

"So... you saved them all?" he whispered.

I shrugged. "We saved each other."

Turen looked at me as though he were seeing me for the first time. Then he quietly pressed closer to me.

Just then, the door to the compartment swung open.

Haymitch Abernathy stumbled in, looking like he had just crawled out of a ditch. Which, frankly, might not have been too far from the truth.

He smelled like alcohol and held a glass of amber liquid. He glanced at me, then looked at Turen, who immediately pressed closer to me, and finally collapsed into the chair across from us.

"Well, well, who do we have here this year?" he grumbled, eyeing me.

"You look... strong. That’s a plus."

I sized him up for a moment. Yes, I was thin. Every bone in my body was visible beneath my skin. But strong? Maybe he was right. My hands had sewn dozens of fabrics, pulling needles as my fingers quickly joined pieces together. My legs had carried me through the woods, where I learned to gather what would keep us alive. My arms weren’t strong in appearance, but they held the bow steady enough to bury an arrow into a rabbit's body.

I was used to hunger. To pain. To cold. And maybe that was what made me strong.

Haymitch then looked at Turen.

"And you..." His gaze slid to the boy who was still holding my hand. "You look like you’re already crying for your mom. That’s a minus."

Turen immediately shrank back, his body tensing.

I felt a surge of anger rise inside me.

"Leave him alone," I said firmly.

Haymitch stared at me with his clouded eyes. "Look, sweetheart, if you want to survive, you’ll have to get used to worse things than a few harsh truths."

"Maybe," I snapped, "but not now and not from you."

He stared at me for a moment longer. Then he chuckled.

"Well, well," he muttered, raising his glass in a mock toast. "This is going to be interesting."

“You have no idea how this world works, girl.”

I felt my pulse quicken. “And you have no idea what it’s like to be this young and going into a slaughter.”

Haymitch’s gaze darkened. He set his glass down and leaned in closer. “Really?” he said quietly, but there was something sharper in his voice than any knife.

“Yes!” I snapped at him. “Maybe you’ve gotten used to sending someone to die every year, but I haven’t! I can’t get used to it, because I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep kids alive! And now you want me to send one of them to the arena? To go there alone? And instead of helping us, you just sit there and drink!”

Turen froze beside me. His small fingers gripped my hand tightly, but I was too angry to calm down.

Haymitch slowly smirked. “And what exactly do you want from me, sweetheart? You want us all to sit in a circle and hold hands? Tell each other how we feel?”

“No, I want you to act like our damn mentor!” I yelled.

“And I want them to stop sending me two kids every year who are just going to die!” he yelled back.

The compartment went silent.

Turen sniffled and closed his eyes tightly. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Haymitch leaned back in his chair, picked up his glass, and took a deep drink.

“You think it matters?” he said bitterly. “That if I act differently, it’ll save you? That if I give you a few tips, you’ll... what? Beat everyone else and go home to your kids? Do you really believe that?”

I wanted to say something, but the words stuck in my throat.

“The best thing I can do for you,” he continued, his voice tired, “is to prepare you to go in there and die as quickly as possible. Painlessly. Because that’s the best you can hope for.”

I felt tears welling up in my eyes. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“You’re wrong,” I said quietly, but firmly.

Haymitch looked at me with weary eyes.

“I’ll come back,” I whispered. “No matter what, no matter what I have to do, I’ll come back. Because those kids won’t survive without me. And I won’t leave them alone.”

For a moment, it seemed like I had surprised him. Maybe something like pity flashed in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

At that moment, Effie burst into the compartment.

“Come on! We can’t be arguing, Haymitch!” She threw up her hands. “They need your guidance, not your insults!”

“Arguing is part of the training,” Haymitch grumbled, taking another drink.

Effie sighed and straightened her skirt. “Let’s go watch the other reaping videos. We need to know who we’re up against.”

I could feel Turen still trembling beside me, but when I took his hand, he squeezed it tightly.

“Come on, little one,” I said softly. “Let’s see who we’ll be fighting.”

And with that, we stood and followed Effie to the main lounge of the train.

We entered the main lounge of the train. It was a huge space with polished mahogany tables, soft carpets, and couches that looked so comfortable you could get lost in them. When I thought about our little room back home – one big bed, old blankets, wooden chairs I had fixed myself – I felt like I didn’t belong here.

Turen still gripped my hand. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes were red and hazy. Fear still lingered in them. And who could blame him?

We watched all reapings including ours and I could tell that my hopes to return home was crushed. Too many people went there with and just only one will win.

When the screen darkened and the echoes of my own image faded away, my stomach twisted into a tight, hard knot. Seeing myself up there, seeing Sunny with Mads’ little fist clenched in his hand, seeing Lucila, Poppy, Lerus, and Zira holding onto my skirt—it was almost unbearable. I thought I might cry. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

I can’t cry. Not now.

Turen didn’t move. He just kept holding my hand, staring off into space.

“Well,” Haymitch said, stretching and sipping from his glass. “Now we know who you’re up against. I’ll tell you right now, surviving next to the volunteers from Districts One and Two will be… to put it mildly, a problem.”

District One – the boy and girl volunteered. They both looked like they couldn’t wait to get into the arena. The girl was beautiful, strong, and confident. Calm, as if she had known this was her fate all along. The boy – Marvel, I think his name was – had a strange, almost amused gleam in his eyes when he stood on the stage.

Then District Two.

The girl, Clove, looked wild. The way she smiled when she stepped up, that hungry look in her eyes… it was almost worse than anything else. But Cato – he was worse. The way he stood, tall and self-assured, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in almost eager anticipation.

My fingers itched. If anyone really wanted to be in the arena, it was him.

Idiot. The exact type I’d keep as far away from kids as possible in our district. Maybe I’d call him… The Butcher. Yeah, that would suit him.

I pressed my lips tightly together. I’ll have to keep an eye on him.

And then Rue.

That little girl from District 11. When she stepped up on stage, it was like the world swallowed her up—it was too big for her. She looked so fragile, like even a stronger wind could break her.

My heart tightened.

This wasn’t a fair world. It never was.

Effie theatrically cleared her throat. “Well, I think we’ve seen enough. Now, we should head to dinner. After all, it’s important for you to be strong and… in good condition!”

I got up, even though I felt sick. Eating was the last thing I wanted to do, but I forced myself. The wisest thing I could do was gain a few pounds. Once we’re in the arena, hunger will be the least of my problems.

Dinner was lavish. The tables were piled high with food I had never seen in my life. Meat, sauces, bread, exotic fruits. I wanted to dig in, but just the smell made my stomach turn.

Turen sat next to me and cautiously picked up a fork. He looked at it confused, as if he had no idea what to do with it.

“Come on, hold the fork like this,” Effie scolded him, wrinkling her nose in disapproval.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Turen. Like this,” I showed him how to hold the knife and fork. “See? It’s not that hard.”

Effie rolled her eyes. “I really expected these children to have at least some basic manners.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes, because when you’re poor and spend your life fighting for food, the biggest concern is how to hold a fork,” I said dryly.

Haymitch, who had been silently watching, suddenly laughed. I looked at him in surprise—it was the first genuine, heartfelt laugh I’d heard from him since we met.

Effie sighed and was just about to launch into another lecture when Haymitch abruptly stopped and stood up. He staggered out of the room.

A loud bleating sound came from the next compartment.

Effie turned pale. “Oh my God.”

“Well, at least he knows how to use a fork properly,” I remarked calmly, continuing to load my plate.

Turen chuckled quietly.

It might have been the worst night of my life. My stomach might have been clenched with fear. I knew that in a few days, I’d be fighting for my life.

But at least for a moment, we laughed.

In the end, I couldn’t eat anymore. Every bite felt like a stone, one I couldn’t swallow. The footage of the reaping kept playing in my mind, the sound of my children's cries still ringing in my ears. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the image – Sunny clutching Mads, Lucila and Poppy reaching for my skirt, Lerus and Zira huddling together.

I put my utensils down and sighed. “I think I’m done.”

I found him in his room.

Or rather, what was left of it.

He was lying on the floor, half-naked, his shirt crumpled beneath him, his legs awkwardly tangled in the spilled bottles. The air was thick with the stench of alcohol and something worse.

I frowned in disgust. I should just leave him here.

But then the thought flashed through my mind – we need his help. Turen and I. Without him, we’d be lost in the arena.

So, I sighed, approached him, and lifted him by the arms.

“Come on, Abernathy,” I muttered. “Get up.”

He did nothing. Just mumbled something incomprehensible, his body as heavy as a sack of stones.

Reluctantly, I dragged him toward the bed, but as soon as I managed to get him onto the mattress, he collapsed back down, and I barely caught him in time.

“Come on, work with me here,” I grumbled.

His breath reeked of alcohol, his skin sticky with sweat and something I’d rather not identify.

I glanced at the bathroom door. A large bathtub, shiny faucets, clean towels.

Fine. If I can take care of six kids, I can handle one drunken mentor.

I dragged him into the bathroom with every ounce of strength I had. When I finally managed to prop him against the tub, I turned on the cold water.

Haymitch shuddered and tried to move away, but he lacked the balance to properly resist.

“Yeah, exactly,” I muttered. “If you’re going to drown, at least you’ll be clean.”

The water washed away the grime, sweat, and most of the stench that had built up on him throughout the day. When he started coming to, he looked at me with glassy eyes and tried to say something, but it was incomprehensible.

“You should stop drinking,” I said dryly.

He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant laugh. It was bitter, harsh.

“You’re telling me that?” he mumbled, trying to straighten up. “A girl who’s walking to her death and still trying to play mother to everyone?”

I clenched my jaw. “You know what? Maybe I should just leave you here.”

He didn’t answer. He just rested his head against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes.

After a moment, I sighed and turned off the water.

“Alright. You’re going to bed.”

Getting him back to his room was a nightmare. He stumbled, muttering something about me leaving him alone, almost falling several times. When I finally managed to get him onto the bed, I quickly threw a blanket over him and stood up straight.

“When you wake up tomorrow and feel like crap, well, good for you,” I said.

He didn’t respond. He was already asleep.

I watched him for a moment. In this state, he didn’t look like the victorious mentor who had survived the Hunger Games. He looked more like a lost, broken man who had given up the fight long ago.

I left him there.

When I returned to my compartment, everything felt foreign. As if I had stepped into another world, one where nothing made sense. On the bed was a silk nightgown, delicate and light like a spider’s web. When I picked it up, the fabric slipped through my fingers like water. It was beautiful, but cold. Like everything here.

Slowly, I undressed, peeling off the clothes I had worn all day. They felt heavy, soaked in sweat, exhaustion, and memories. When I pulled the nightgown over my head, its softness surprised me. It was so different from what I was used to. The clothes we wore at home were made for protection, for survival. This? This was just for decoration.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed my face into my hands.

All day, I had held it together. I had pretended to be strong. But now, I didn’t have to anymore. Now, I was alone.

And so, I cried.

Not loudly. There were no sharp sobs that shook my body. Just quiet, slow tears, sliding down my cheeks and soaking into the silk of my nightgown. Each tear was weighed down with emotions I had buried deep inside. Fear. Despair. Regret.

I let them flow.

I felt like I was falling apart.

I saw the faces of my children.

Mads, clinging to me, refusing to let go.

Sunny, trying to protect me, his voice trembling just like his hands.

Lucila and Poppy, panic in their eyes, even though they tried to be brave.

Leruse and Zira, screaming as if their voices could stop the inevitable.

My children. My family.

And I had left them.

I reached under the pillow and pulled out a small piece of fabric I had hidden there. It was a patch from one of our old, worn clothes. I kept it because it reminded me of home. The fabric was embroidered with colorful threads – my work. I ran my fingers over it, trying to remember the sound of the children’s laughter.

But instead, I heard only their cries.

I lay down and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

My body was exhausted, but my mind was too loud. I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the train racing along the tracks.

And then, the nightmares came.

I was in the arena.

I didn’t know exactly where, but everything was bathed in blood-red.

I heard screams.

I saw the children.

I saw Turen, trembling with fear. I saw Rue, the little girl from District 11, huddled between tree roots, hiding from something that was closing in. I saw Sunny, but he wasn’t real. He wasn’t in the arena, but somehow, he was there.

“Don’t leave us!” he cried.

I tried to run to him, but I couldn’t move. Something was holding me back.

And then I saw him fall.

I stared at his body, the blood pooling beneath him.

And I screamed.

But then something changed.

The screaming faded.

The mist that had covered everything shifted. And from it, a figure emerged.

Cato.

He stood there, a sword in his hand, his gaze locked directly on me.

His clothing stained with blood. I couldn’t tell if it was his or someone else’s.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

He tilted his head, the corners of his lips curving into a smile. “You should run.”

“From what?”

He didn’t answer. He took a step toward me.

And I backed away.

My heart was pounding wildly.

He should have scared me. But in that dream, in that nightmare, I didn’t just feel fear.

There was something else.

His gaze was intense. Like he was studying me, probing me.

And then, suddenly, he was right in front of me.

I could feel his breath on my face.

“What if I don’t want to run?” I whispered.

I don’t know why I said it.

I don’t know why I felt that his closeness didn’t hurt me, but protected me.

He raised his hand. Gently, carefully.

His fingers brushed across my face.

It was just a touch, fleeting, but it shot through me like an electric current.

But then—

A blow. A scream.

I turned.

And he was gone.

I was alone again.

And in the distance, something was coming closer.

I woke up with a jolt.

I breathed deeply, my heart pounding in my chest.

The silence of the compartment was unbearable.

Cato.

Why did I dream of him?

Why him?

I gripped the patch in my hands and closed my eyes.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

I hope you liked it. Part III.???

erika-simps

nowayhomenever

kittykataerokitty

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Fighter and Mother / Cato H. x OC

Part ll. Part lll. part lV.

The night was cold and long. The house we call home is small and simple, but inside, there are seven of us—me and the six children fate has placed in my care. There isn’t much space, so we sleep together on a large bed made from a patchwork of old mattresses and blankets. We press close, not just for space but for warmth.

Mads, the youngest, is curled up against my chest, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of my nightgown. Beside me sleeps Sunny, twelve years old, the only one who might still remember what it was like to have parents of his own. His breathing is steady, but I know he never sleeps deeply. His body is tense, always ready to wake and take care of the others.

Lucila and Poppy, ten-year-old girls, sleep on the other side, entwined like two delicate branches. They are inseparable, each the other's anchor. Poppy murmurs something in her sleep and nestles closer to Lucila, who instinctively pulls her into a gentle embrace.

Lerus, seven, is sprawled across the bed, his light hair tousled, legs stretched out so far that one of them dangles off the edge. And little Zira, only five, is curled up near Lucila’s feet, clutching the rag doll I once stitched together from fabric scraps.

Something wakes me. At first, just a slight movement—Mads shifting in his sleep—then a soft whimper. I open my eyes. The room is still dim, the first morning light barely seeping through the cracks in the walls.

I know what day it is.

Reaping.

A familiar weight settles in my chest. It’s the same every year. The worst part is always the morning—that brief moment when everything still feels normal, when the children are still asleep, and the house is quiet. But then comes the moment when we have to face reality.

Mads stirs again and lets out a faint whine. I run my hand gently over his back and pull him closer. “Shh, little one, I’m here,” I whisper.

Beside me, Sunny shifts slightly. “Zinny? " His voice is quiet but alert.

“Lie down for a little longer,” I whisper back.

“It’s Reaping Day.”

I know he knows. But he says it anyway. Maybe to remind himself that it’s real, that we can’t escape it.

“I know,” I say.

There’s a pause. Then, I feel him inch closer, just a little. Like he used to when he was younger, when nightmares woke him in the middle of the night.

“It’ll be alright, Sunny,” I whisper. Though I’m not sure if I’m trying to comfort him or myself.

Before long, the house stirs. Poppy shifts and stretches, Lucila smacks her lips in her sleep. Lerus rolls onto his side, pulling half the blanket with him, making Zira grumble in protest.

“Stop that,” she mutters, still half-asleep.

“I’m awake,” Poppy announces, sitting up. She rubs her eyes and yawns. Lucila follows suit.

“Good morning,” I say softly.

But no one responds with the usual morning cheer. Everyone knows what today is.

I rise first. Mads is still clinging to me, so I lift him into my arms, stroking his back. “Let’s make some tea,” I suggest.

Lucila stretches. “We still have a little chamomile,” she muses.

Poppy glances at the shelf where we keep the herbs they gathered from the Meadow. “We could mix it with mint.”

The children move into their small morning tasks. Sunny rekindles the fire in the hearth while I heat water in our old pot. Lerus helps bring the cups, though his hands are still clumsy with sleep.

In these moments, we are just a normal family. We may not be bound by blood, but we are bound by something stronger. The older ones care for the younger ones, and I care for them all.

Breakfast is simple—a bit of stale bread, traded for a mended coat, and warm tea. We eat in silence. Mads sits on my lap, nibbling on a crust.

Then comes the time to dress.

Our clothes aren’t luxurious like the ones children from wealthier families wear, but they are clean and carefully mended. Every piece of fabric was once something else, but I’ve tried to make them beautiful. Even though we are poor, each garment is embroidered with colorful threads to hide the seams and patches.

“You look beautiful,” I tell Lucila, smoothing down her sleeves. She smiles, but her eyes betray her nervousness.

Poppy adjusts her skirt. “We look like a rainbow,” she whispers.

“And that’s a good thing,” I reply.

Once everyone is ready, the hardest moment arrives.

We have to go to the square.

The sun was slowly rising over District Twelve as we stepped out of the house. The air was heavy, thick with unease that hung over the town like a suffocating fog. The walk to the square was short, but today, it felt endless. The children stayed close together, moving in silence.

By the time we arrived, the crowd was already forming. Peacekeepers stood at their posts, motionless like statues, ensuring that everyone took their designated places.

I knelt down beside Lucila, Poppy, Lerus, and Zira, gently brushing my hands over theirs. "You have to go there," I said, nodding toward the gathered spectators.

"I don’t want to," Poppy whispered.

"I know," I replied softly. "But you must. I’ll be right there, with Sunny. When it’s over, we’ll find each other. Alright?"

Lerus clung to Lucila’s hand, his eyes filled with worry. Zira only gave a small nod, her tiny fingers still gripping the fabric of my skirt.

Lucila took a deep breath and squeezed their hands. "We’ll go together."

I watched them as they disappeared into the crowd. Zira glanced back one last time before vanishing among the sea of people.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to Sunny. His jaw was clenched tight, but he gave me a small nod. Together, we walked toward the entrance of the designated area.

The Peacekeepers stopped us as soon as we reached them. We had to go through the registration process.

Without a word, Sunny extended his arm to have his blood drawn. I stood still, though I felt Mads shifting against my chest, letting out a quiet, unhappy whimper.

"You can’t take him inside," one of the Peacekeepers said.

Mads’ soft whimper turned into a distressed whine.

"If I put him down, he’ll cry loudly and cause a disturbance," I said calmly, though I was boiling inside. "I don’t want trouble. Just let him stay. I won’t put him down."

The Peacekeepers exchanged glances. One of them, an older man with a stern face, frowned slightly and shook his head but ultimately stepped aside.

"Fine. But no trouble."

I nodded.

Sunny glanced at me briefly, and then we stepped into the designated area. Around us, the other boys and girls from the district stood in their best—yet still humble—clothes. No one spoke. No one smiled.

Then Effie Trinket stepped onto the stage, and the bright, practiced smile she wore was like a slap in the face against the silence.

Effie Trinket stepped onto the stage, a false smile plastered on her lips. She spoke a few rehearsed phrases that no one was really listening to, and then she reached into the bowl.

"The female tribute for the 74th Hunger Games is…"

I felt as if the entire district held its breath.

"Zinnia Reid!"

For a moment, the world went silent. It was as if everything had stopped, and the only thing that existed was that name, spoken into the microphone. My name.

"Zinnia Reid!" Effie Trinket repeated, louder and clearer this time.

At first, nothing. Just silence as everyone in the crowd processed those two words.

And then—a scream.

"No!"

Lucila.

Then more voices.

"Zinny!" Poppy pushed through the crowd, shoving other children aside as she ran toward me. Lerus started sobbing, his tiny fists clutching at Lucila’s skirt. Zira just stood there, shaking, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

"This is a mistake!" someone from the adults shouted.

"She can't go! Who will take care of the children?" another voice called out.

The Peacekeepers started moving, slow but determined. I saw one of them step toward the children, ready to hold them back.

And then—Sunny.

Sunny, who never cried. Who was always the reasonable one, the calm one, older than he should have been. Sunny, who wrapped his arms around me, buried his face in my skirt, and sobbed.

"Don’t… don’t go… please…"

His shoulders shook, his fingers digging into the fabric.

I took a deep breath. My heart was pounding, but I knew I couldn't hesitate. If I did—if I let myself falter for even a second—there would be no coming back from it.

I knelt in front of him, placing my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were filled with tears, but beneath them, there was something else. Panic. Raw, pure panic.

"Sunny," I said as steadily as I could.

He shook his head. "No… don’t go, Zinny, please…"

"I have to."

"But—"

"Look at me," I interrupted, my voice firm. "Look at me, Sunny."

He swallowed hard, his gaze locking onto mine.

"You have to be strong," I said softly. "You have to take care of them. Do you understand?"

"I don’t want to…" His voice broke. "I don’t want you not to come back."

I took another deep breath, as if that could somehow hold back the pain ripping through my chest. I didn’t tell him I would come back. I couldn’t lie to him. Instead, I pressed Mads into his arms, and the little boy immediately squirmed and whimpered.

"Promise me," I said. "Promise me you’ll protect them."

Sunny was trembling. I could see the war inside him—the part of him that was still a child, wanting to say no, and the part of him that had never had a choice but to grow up too soon.

In the end, he pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Okay," he whispered. "I promise."

I ran my fingers through his hair one last time before rising to my feet.

Poppy grabbed my hand. "Mom…" Her voice was shaking.

I smiled at her, even though it hurt. "It’s going to be okay."

It wasn’t true. But maybe she needed to believe it.

I cupped her cheek gently, then turned away. One last glance at their faces—Zira, still silent, tears dripping down her chin; Lerus, clinging to Lucila; Sunny, standing there with Mads in his arms, looking as if he was breaking into a million pieces.

And then I walked toward the stage.

With every step, it felt like the world around me slowed. Every breath was heavier, every stare from the crowd burned into my skin.

When I reached the platform, I turned.

Lucila had fallen to her knees. Lerus was crying loudly. Zira had finally collapsed into Poppy’s arms. And Sunny… he just stood there, holding Mads tightly, looking like his entire world was being ripped apart.

I tried to stand tall. To be strong.

Because if I broke—who would be strong for them?

PART 2?

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Life in Overdrive

The pit lane was chaos, as usual. Team Nissan’s drivers were finishing their practice laps, engines roaring and tires screeching, while the crew scrambled to reset for the next round. Amid it all, Eva Mardenborough worked like clockwork in the medical tent, tending to minor bruises and strains.

“Easy on the wrist, Callum,” she said gently as she wrapped the injured crew member’s hand. “You don’t want to make it worse before the next race.”

“Good thing you’re here, Eva,” Callum said with a grin. “Otherwise, we’d be crawling by mid-season.”

She liked staying out of the spotlight, far from the inflated egos and soap-opera drama that defined the racing world. But no amount of preparation could have shielded her from Nicholas Capa.

He was a disaster in human form, every bit as loud and reckless off the track as he was on it. From the moment he entered her world, it was as if he’d decided that irritating her was his new favorite sport.

“Emma,” his voice sliced through the organized chaos, sharp and smug. “Or should I call you Dr. Ice Queen? How’s life in your frosty little kingdom?”

Emma didn’t look up at first, her shoulders stiffening as her pen hovered above the clipboard. “Still better than whatever you call that mess you drive on the track,” she replied coolly.

His grin widened as he stepped closer, leaning casually against her table like he belonged there. “Ouch. That was almost as painful as watching Jann overtake me last week. What’s it like having a brother who’s better than me?”

Her hand tightened around the pen, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a visible reaction. “Get out of my tent before I report you for harassment,” she said evenly, still not looking up.

“Harassment?” he echoed, tilting his head like he was considering the word. “I call it… team bonding.”

She finally turned, her eyes locking onto his with a sharpness that could cut steel. “Call it whatever you want. Go bother someone else, Nicholas. I don’t have time for you.”

He leaned closer, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You know you secretly love this. Admit it, Emma—I’m the best part of your day.”

“Highlight of my nightmares,” she muttered, jabbing a finger toward the door. “Out. Now.”

He shrugged, walking backward with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But don’t miss me too much.”

As soon as he was gone, Emma exhaled, gripping the edge of the table to steady herself. She hated how easily he got under her skin, how he always seemed to know exactly which buttons to press. But what she hated even more was the nagging thought that maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong.

The tension between them didn’t go unnoticed. Fans loved the way Nicholas seemed to seek Emma out, the way their verbal sparring turned every interaction into a scene from a rom-com—or at least that’s how the internet saw it. Viral videos and memes exploded across social media, with captions like: “Enemies? Lovers? Both?” and “Nicholas annoying Emma is my new favorite thing.”

“Why do you even care?” Jann asked one evening, watching Emma scroll through her phone with a scowl. “It’s just Nicholas being Nicholas. He’s doing it to mess with me, not you.”

Emma frowned, his words stirring something bitter in her chest. “You think this is about you?”

“Obviously. Nicholas doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

She wanted to agree, but something about that didn’t sit right. Nicholas was infuriating, yes. Arrogant? Absolutely. But there were moments—rare and fleeting—when his bravado seemed to falter, when his cocky grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. Moments that hinted at something deeper.

Any lingering doubts about him disappeared after the race in Spain. Nicholas’s aggressive overtake had forced Jann dangerously close to the barriers, leaving Emma white-knuckled as she watched from the pit wall. When the race ended, her fear erupted into rage, and she stormed into the drivers’ lounge to confront him.

“You could’ve killed him!” she shouted the second she saw him. He was still in his race suit, his hair damp with sweat, leaning against the counter with a water bottle in his hand.

He straightened, his expression guarded. “It was a clean move.”

“Clean?” she spat, her voice shaking with anger. “You nearly sent him into the wall, Nicholas. All for what? A podium? Is winning so important to you that you’d risk someone else’s life?”

He set the water bottle down with deliberate calm. “That’s racing,” he said flatly. “Your brother knows the risks.”

“That’s a pathetic excuse, and you know it!” she snapped. “This isn’t about racing—it’s about you being too arrogant to admit when you’ve gone too far.”

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, the cocky mask slipped. “You think I don’t know the risks?” he said, his voice low and sharp. “You think I don’t live with them every single day?”

The rawness in his tone caught her off guard, and her anger faltered. “Nicholas—”

“You don’t know me,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “You’ve already decided who I am: the reckless asshole. The villain in your little story.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Save it,” he said, brushing past her toward the door. But before he left, he turned back, his eyes burning into hers. “You hate me, Emma? Fine. But don’t pretend you understand me.”

She stood frozen long after he was gone, his words echoing in her mind.

In the days that followed, Emma couldn’t stop thinking about him. She hated it—hated how his voice lingered in her thoughts, how his words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. She tried to convince herself that he was just another self-absorbed racer, but the vulnerability she’d seen in his eyes refused to be ignored.

It wasn’t until the next race weekend that she found herself seeking him out. She caught him alone outside the paddock, leaning against a railing as the sun dipped below the horizon. He didn’t notice her at first, his gaze fixed on the empty track below. For the first time, he looked… tired.

“You were right,” she said, her voice quieter than she’d intended.

He turned, startled. “About what?”

“I don’t know you,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “But I think I want to.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Emma.”

“So are you,” she replied, taking a tentative step closer. “But maybe it’s time we both stopped.”

His lips quirked into a bitter smile, and he let out a quiet, almost broken laugh. “You really are infuriating.”

“So are you,” she shot back, a small, hesitant smile tugging at her lips.

For the first time, the tension between them felt different—less like a battle and more like the fragile beginnings of a truce. But as they stood there, the silence heavy with unspoken words, Emma realized something that terrified her: she didn’t hate Nicholas Capa. Not even close.

And that was the most dangerous game of all.

Part ll. ??

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

I was wondering if you could write crackle from Carmen sandiego x reader! My whole account is dedicated to him and I'm hopelessly in love with him 😭🩷🩷

Maybe flirting on a mission ? Or just being on a mission in general! I enjoy him being portrayed as a bit more rude, he doesn't mean to be but he is...

I LOVE HIM SO BAD you obviously don't have to but I'd love it so much. He's my favourite ever!!!

SPARKLY MISSION

The city lights twinkled like a million tiny stars against the night sky, casting long shadows on the rooftops. You stood on the edge of a tall building, the cool breeze tousling your hair as you kept your eyes on Crackle. He was a few feet away, checking his gear with the kind of confidence that came naturally to him. Tonight’s mission was like any other VILE operation: infiltrate, extract, and vanish without a trace. But this time, there was a difference—you were partnered with Crackle.

“Ready to rock and roll?” he asked, his voice dripping with that familiar cocky edge. He moved closer, his presence as electrifying as his name suggested. The corner of his mouth curled up in a sly smile that was half tease, half challenge.

“Always,” you replied, your tone calm, but your heart was already pounding a little faster. “The real question is, are you ready to do this without getting us caught in some sort of electric mess?”

He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Where’s the fun in that? I thought you liked a little excitement.”

You couldn’t deny it—missions with Crackle were never dull. His unpredictable nature, his sharp wit, and the way he could make any mission feel like a high-stakes game kept you on your toes. And though you’d never admit it out loud, you found his cockiness a bit…charming.

Crackle moved to the edge of the roof, peering down at the balcony several stories below where your target was located. “So, who’s going first? You want me to show you how it’s done, or are you gonna surprise me?”

“I’ll let you take the lead,” you said, a teasing grin playing on your lips. “I want to see if the legend matches up to reality.”

“Oh, so now you’re calling me a legend?” he shot back, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Careful, keep talking like that, and I might think you’re starting to like me.”

“Starting?” you scoffed lightly, but your heart skipped a beat as you watched him. “You wish.”

He flashed a grin that was equal parts arrogant and endearing. With a graceful leap, he vaulted over the ledge, landing silently on the balcony below with the agility of a cat. He looked up at you, his grin never fading. “Your turn, if you can handle it.”

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you followed suit, landing beside him with ease. As you straightened up, your shoulder brushed against his, sending a wave of electricity through your skin. It wasn’t just his abilities that could shock, apparently.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer, almost concerned, though the playful glint never left his eyes.

“Perfect,” you replied, trying to steady your breathing. “Just didn’t expect you to actually stick the landing.”

He leaned in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Oh, I can stick all sorts of landings,” he whispered, his tone low and teasing. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

A flush crept up your neck, but you refused to let him see you flustered. “I’m not here for your... gymnastics skills, Crackle.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Really? Because I could’ve sworn I caught you checking me out earlier.”

You scoffed, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I was just wondering how you manage to fit that giant ego through the door.”

He chuckled again, a deep, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. “It’s not easy, but somehow I manage.”

Before you could respond, a noise from inside the building caught your attention. Crackle’s hand brushed yours as you both instinctively moved closer to the wall, hiding in the shadows. The contact was brief, but you swore you felt a spark—more than just his usual electric touch.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice suddenly serious, but still tinged with that playful tone. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

“I can handle myself,” you whispered back, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his proximity.

“Never doubted it for a second,” he said softly. “But just in case… you know I’ve got your back.”

You nodded, grateful for the darkness that hid the heat rising to your cheeks. For a moment, you let yourself feel the thrill of it all—of the mission, of being this close to him, of the danger and the flirting that danced between you like a live wire.

Crackle pressed a gloved finger to his lips, signaling for silence as he moved toward the balcony door. With a deft flick of his wrist, he disabled the lock, the faint crackle of electricity illuminating his smirk in the dark. “Ladies first,” he said, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow.

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t suppress a smile as you slipped past him. “Such a gentleman.”

“Only when it counts,” he replied, following you inside.

The room was dimly lit, shadows casting long shapes on the walls. You both moved silently, your footsteps perfectly in sync as you made your way towards the display case in the center. Inside was the artifact—an ancient necklace rumored to possess powerful abilities.

“Looks like we’re almost there,” you whispered, but Crackle’s eyes were on you, not the prize.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. “Almost.”

You felt your heart race again, but you focused on the task at hand. With a quick glance around, you nodded to Crackle, who stepped forward, his fingers dancing over the alarm system. Sparks flew, and the system short-circuited with a satisfying pop.

“Nice work,” you said, genuinely impressed.

“Thanks,” he replied, his voice low. “But I think we both know the real challenge is yet to come.”

You arched a brow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“Getting out of here without causing a scene,” he said, but his tone was suggestive. “Though, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind causing a little trouble… with you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he shot back, his grin widening.

“Maybe,” you admitted, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “But let’s get out of here first, okay?”

“Deal,” he agreed, but as you moved to grab the artifact, his hand brushed yours again, lingering for a moment too long.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. For a moment, the world seemed to slow, the mission forgotten as you stood there, caught in the electricity between you.

Then, with a knowing smile, Crackle pulled back. “Come on, partner. Time to make our getaway.”

You nodded, your heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the danger around you. Together, you slipped out of the room, back onto the balcony, and into the night, leaving the thrill of the chase—and the tension between you—hanging in the air.

As you made your escape, you couldn’t help but glance back at Crackle, who caught your eye and winked.

“Until next time,” he murmured, his voice full of promise.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, a smile playing on your lips. “Until next time.”

⁹And somehow, you knew there would be a next time—another mission, another dance, another chance to feel the sparks fly.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Hi. If you are interested, please write about Chase/Carmen.

There are several ideas here, you can choose all, one or nothing.

1. It's been a few years since the end of season 4. Chase got into a car accident and lost his memory (he only remembers the first season of the animated series) and forgetting that Carmen is his wife. But Carmen does not despair, she spends the whole day with Chase and tries to remind him of important moments in their relationship.

2. Chase discovers Carmen in his apartment when he returned home after work in the evening. Carmen is studying his board with interest with notes about finding V.I.L.E. They talk and Carmen tells him about her past. This is after the end of season 4.

3. After a joint mission in Egypt, Chase turns out to have Carmen's phone number. Chase mostly sends questions about her, jokes, and old memes for Carmen. They begin to communicate often and Carmen's mom jokes that her daughter has a fiance.

Thank you for your request. I choose the topic number two, and I hope i didn't disappoint you.

If anyone has any idea about fanfic i would be happy to write it for you.

With love your author.

Chase Devineaux pushed open the door to his apartment, his body aching from another grueling day at Interpol. He could feel the strain of the day etched into his muscles, the relentless chase for V.I.L.E. operatives ever-present in his mind. With a sigh, he loosened his tie and tossed his keys on the counter, making a mental note to have a glass of his favorite scotch before calling it a night.But as he walked into the living room, he froze.

There, standing by the large bulletin board plastered with notes, photos, and strings connecting various V.I.L.E. agents and operations, was Carmen Sandiego. She stood confidently, her iconic red coat and fedora silhouetted against the dim light of his desk lamp. Her gloved hands were clasped behind her back as she studied his board with a keen interest.

"Carmen Sandiego," Chase said, his voice steady, hiding his surprise.

"What an unexpected… intrusion."Carmen turned around, a smirk playing on her lips. "Bonsoir, Devineaux. Nice to see you, too." Her tone was light, almost teasing. She glanced back at the board.

"You've been busy, I see."Chase's eyes narrowed as he tried to understand what game she was playing.

"How did you get in here? And what do you want?"She shrugged, a casual gesture that seemed to be her trademark.

"Getting in wasn’t too hard. You should consider upgrading your locks" She turned fully to face him, her expression becoming more serious.

"And as for what I want… I’m here to talk.""Talk?" Chase echoed, crossing his arms.

"You’ve never been one for small talk, Carmen."Carmen chuckled softly.

"No, I suppose I haven’t. But tonight is different. I’ve been thinking… about V.I.L.E., about my past, and… about my future."Chase raised an eyebrow.

"Your past? Why would you—""I wasn’t always Carmen Sandiego, the master thief," she interrupted.

"I was once a student, like anyone else, though perhaps more… impressionable." Her eyes flickered with a distant sadness, a shadow of old memories.Chase uncrossed his arms, curiosity piqued.

"Go on."Carmen took a deep breath and began to share her story. She spoke of her time at V.I.L.E. Academy, the deception, and the moment she realized she didn’t want to be what they had trained her to become. She spoke of her decision to leave, to fight back against V.I.L.E., to become someone who could right the wrongs in the world, even if it meant operating outside the law.Chase listened intently. This was a side of Carmen he had never seen before—vulnerable, introspective.

"You chose to become something different," he said slowly. "You chose your own path."

"Yes," Carmen replied softly. "But I can’t do it alone anymore. V.I.L.E. is still out there, still causing havoc. And I think… I think we might have a common goal after all.

"Chase felt a strange mix of emotions—confusion, intrigue, maybe even admiration.

"You want to work together?" he asked, almost incredulous.

"Something like that," she said with a faint smile. "At least for now. I need someone I can trust… someone who knows how they operate."Chase studied her for a long moment, weighing her words. Then, with a slow nod, he extended his hand.

"Alright, Carmen. Let’s see where this goes."Carmen shook his hand firmly, her eyes meeting his with a newfound understanding.

"Deal."As she turned to leave, Chase called after her. "Carmen… you know you’re still on Interpol’s most wanted list, right?"She glanced back, that trademark smirk reappearing.

"Then you’d better keep up, Chase." And with that, she slipped out into the night, leaving Chase alone with his thoughts—and the start of a most unexpected partnership.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Request

I recently decided to watch Carmen Sandiego again, and I loved it all over again. That's why I decided that if anyone is interested, I'll be happy to write anything for this fandom. Just write to me and I will try to fulfill your vision as much as possible.

I will write for every character.

I just really love the show and I want it get back to life

With love your author.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HIS SONGBIRD

Warning: english is not my first language, aemond is obsessed, mention of masturbation

Kings landing was always bustling, whether it was merchants offering their wares or whores luring passers-by into the house of pleasure. There were thousands of voices in the city, but recently there was one more that was louder and kinder than the others. A voice that used to sing for money, food, or a place to sleep. A voice that every innkeeper wished to have with him, because his sound attracted customers even from the outskirts of the city. Lately, the owner of the voice has been seen in very crowded marketplaces singing songs encouraging the common people to support the rightful Queen Rheanyra. These meetings were always ended by golden cloaks that began to make their way through the crowd, but the girl always miraculously evaporated in the adjacent alleys.

Aemond left the brothel in the early hours of the morning. He was tired, stayed up all night and told his woes to the madam in the brothel. He felt a little better, but he was still bothered by the fact that without the coin, the madam wouldn't even look at him. All he longed for was his soft bed with its silky, cool sheets. When he saw a female figure dancing and tapping a tambourine to the beat of a song. Her voice left him mesmerized, he was used to bards from the court, or the songs of dragons as they soared into the sky. Her voice felt like cold water after days of thirst, he listened to her voice so much that he didn't even realize the words of the song.

In the shadow of the palace, the people cry,

Underneath the gilded rooftops, where the hungry die.

Golden crowns and silver spoons, but empty plates,

While the children of the kingdom face their cruel fate.

From the throne, they preach of grace and charity,

But in the streets, there’s only pain and disparity.

Hey, King, can’t you see?

Your people starve while you feast.

Hey, Dowager Queen, hear our plea,

In your kingdom of the beast.

No more, no more, we won’t bow

We’re rising up, we’re shouting now.

These words, although not directed at him, angered him. How could this street rat say this about the royal family and how people seemed to agree with her.

And you know what they say don't make a dragon angry.,, Hey you, stop now.” he yelled at her. Her face immediately realized that silver hair meant trouble for her. Before he could blink, her dark blue skirt was already disappearing around the corner. He immediately ran after her, pushing several people out of his way. He couldn't even see her properly for several streets, he always caught a glimpse of her hair, or the edge of her purple scarf tied around her hips. In one street he thought he had lost her for good, when he heard the faint strumming of a tambourine coming from under the cloak of a veiled figure walking hand in hand with a little girl. He slowly followed them, the tall figure didn't turn, but the little girl periodically turned and watched him. When the figure, which turned out to be an unknown singer, finally approached them within two steps, she pushed the little girl into the next alley. “Run Jenny.” she called to her and ran into another alley that turned out to be a dead end.,, Now what about songbird, looks like you're trapped.” he taunted. "Don't worry, prince, I won't be in it for long," she snapped back at him. He didn't even realize it, but they were standing in an alley that housed a woodworking shop. A log was leaning against the wall that blocked the end of the street. Like a wild cat, the woman leaped onto that log and climbed onto the roof of the wall and kicked the log down so he couldn't climb up to her.,, Goodbye one eyed prince I hope you enjoyed my performance.” she taunted him.,, Once I will catch you and then your treacherous head will be exposed for all to see.” he cursed at her. "That sounds very good, you're very interesting Targaryen prince, maybe I'll write my next song about you." But before the girl could disappear, her scarf got caught on a piece of chipped wall, unfortunately the woman was already jumping to the other side of the wall, so her scarf remained gets stuck in the wall.

The next day, a new song about the one-eyed Targaryen was heard throughout the city.

Hey, Aemond, how’s it feel to be so bold? With all your fire, yet your heart is cold. Hey, Aemond, playing the warrior prince, We all laugh at your pretense. In the shadow of your brother, you try to stand tall, But you're just a puppet at the grandest ball. Scheming and plotting, with your dragon's might, But when it comes to bravery, you’re out of sight. You talk of honor, of strength and pride, But without your dragon, where do you hide?

Although the song offended him, something inside him warmed his heart. He made such an impression on her that she wrote a song about him. He could only smile and listen to her voice waft through the city as he pulled her scarf to his nose and breathed in her scent. It was a mix of herbs and smoke, the combination made his cock harden again, and his red head was already leaking some of his spending onto his stomach.

Oh, the next time he sees you won't run away from him, he'll keep you as his own little bird just for his pleasure, he'll put you in a golden cage so you'll never fly away from him again.

Pt.2????

If anyone have request i would be happy to write it for you.

And only best for you. kisses

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Jann Mardenborough x reader pt.6

Pt.1,Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5, Pt.6

Jann's accident came like a bolt from the blue and now I was sitting in the hospital waiting room with Danny and Jack, my heart pounding and my throat dry. Our fears were palpable, hanging in the air like a thick fog.

 Danny paced nervously as Jack tried to keep his composure, but his clenched fists and set jaw showed that he was just as scared. Finally the door opened and a doctor entered the room. I held my breath as I stood up and walked over to him.

 "How is he?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

 The doctor smiled, which calmed me down for a moment. "Jann was lucky. He has a few broken bones and bruises, but no life-threatening injuries. He will have to stay in the hospital for some time and undergo rehabilitation, but he should make a full recovery."

 The relief that washed over me was overwhelming. I turned to Danny and Jack who were staring at me with tense expressions. "He'll be fine," I said and couldn't help but smile spreading across my face. "He's got a few fractures, but nothing serious. He'll need some time to recover, but he should be fine."

 But our joy did not last long. When we entered Jann's room a moment later, he was asleep. His face was calm, but the sight of him connected to the devices scared me. I stood there staring at him, wondering how we were going to explain everything to him when he woke up.

 When Jann finally woke up, his look was confused. "What happened?" he whispered when he saw our faces.

 Danny was the first to speak. "You had an accident, Jann. It was serious, but the doctors say you'll make a full recovery."

 Jann tried to sit up, but the pain quickly stopped him. "Did I hurt anyone?" he asked quietly.

 Jack looked at me and I sighed. "That's not important right now, you need to focus on your recovery now."

 Janna's face contorted in anger. "I killed someone, didn't I," he said, his voice growing stronger.

 Danny scowled at him. "It was an accident, Jann. Nobody wanted it."

  "Someone died because of me."

 There was a heavy silence. "Please Jann calm down, stress is not good for you right now." I tried to calm him down.

"The spectator… the accident. He didn't survive," Jack said quietly. "I killed a man. How am I supposed to get back on track now? I'm afraid it's going to happen again." Jann began to hyperventilate.

 “It wasn't your fault love,” I said softly. "It was an accident. It's not your fault."

 "No, you don't understand," he said sharply. "I can't race anymore. I can't get back in the car knowing I killed someone."

 I made up my mind and moved closer to his bed. "Jann, you need time to recover. We will be here for you, we will help you."

 Jann stared at me, his eyes filled with rage and pain. "I don't want your help," he said coldly. "I want to be alone. Everyone get out."

 I was taken aback by his harsh words. “Jann, please, we're just trying to help you.

 "No," he cut me off sharply. "I don't want to see any of you. Get out!"

 We had no choice. We turned and left his room, our mood heavy and somber. We had only the best intentions, but Jann's reaction hit us deep.

 In the evening, Jack and I decided to go to a bar to try to forget the events of the day for a while. The bar was noisy and crowded but we didn't mind. We needed to react somehow.

 Jack handed me a drink and gave me an encouraging smile. "We have to give him time," he said. “It's hard for him.

 I nodded, but the feeling of disappointment and sadness was still gnawing at my chest. "I know you're right. It just hurts how he's driving us all apart."

 Just as I finished my drink, I noticed Nicholas Capa, one of Jann's rivals, approaching us. His expression was full of contempt and his smile was fake.

 "Well, let's see who's here," he began as he arrived at our table. "I heard about Jann's accident. Sad, isn't it?"

 I felt a surge of anger. "What do you want, Capa?" Jack asked icily.

 Nicholas laughed. "I just wanted to say that maybe you should reevaluate your priorities. Dating someone who can't even keep on track isn't the best idea, is it? Maybe you should try someone more capable. Like me, for example."

 I blinked in surprise. "You're disgusting, Capa. Jann had an accident and you're making fun of it?"

 Nicholas just smirked. "Why shouldn't I? He's just a broken racer now with no future. But you and I… we could have a good time."

 I felt my anger welling up inside me. "You bastard," I growled without realizing it. Then I stood up, clenched my fist and punched him right in the nose.

 Nicholas staggered back, clutching his bleeding nose. "I'll remember this!" he snapped at me before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

 Jack laughed and put a hand on my shoulder. "That was amazing," he said admiringly. “I think you've gained a few fans.

 “He had to hear it,” I said, feeling my anger slowly subside. "I'd better go. I'm not in the mood to stay here anymore."

 I left the bar and headed back to the hospital. I couldn't shake the feeling that I need to try to talk to him again. I hoped he would finally listen to me.

 When I arrived at the hospital, I found Jann still awake, his look still full of anger. "What do you want here again?" he asked sharply.

 "We need to talk," I said firmly. "You can't push us away like this. You need us."

 Jann paused for a moment, his face tense. "You don't know what I'm going through," he finally said in a low voice.

 "Exactly, we don't know," I replied. "But we want to help you, Jann. You're not alone."

 He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "You should go."

 "I'm not leaving" I stated firmly. “I'm here for you whether you like it or not.

 Slowly, reluctantly, Jann finally nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. “But you have to give me time.

 I nodded. "Alright. We'll give you as much time as you need."

 That evening I stayed in the hospital with Jann, his anger gradually subsided and we slowly started to return to normal. I knew it would be a long journey, but we were determined to be there for him, no matter what.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HEIRESS OF FIRE AND BLOOD

Pt.1

I hope you like it

In 131 AC, a bloody war was fought between the divided Targaryen house, at the end of the war, the daughter of the previous queen Rheanyra took the throne, the girl tried to return the whole kingdom to peace and tranquility. Unfortunately, the peace that the new queen tried to establish did not last long, as the greedy eyes of a powerful man focused on this very planet. And Harkonnen always got what he wanted.

The kingdom was recovering from a bloody dragon war, and all eyes were on the new dragon queen, Learys Targaryen. The young, barely nine and ten -year-old girl has already proven herself as a strong leader of armies, but also as a protector of the innocent in the cities, which were attacked by the green armies. Although she was a beloved ruler and wanted queen, she did not smile unless she was in the presence of the rest of her family. She kept her brother and cousin close by her side, refusing to let them out of her sight. Many servants recall how the young Prince Aegon sought comfort in her arms when the night terrors seemed all too real, or when the queen was found braiding little Jeaheara's hair into an intricate hairdo which she then decorated with flowers, it was also a rare case, when even the little princess smiled. Although many advisors recommended that Jeaheara be taken away from Kingslanding, the queen retorted firmly that the house of the dragon would no longer be divided according to the past war and that she would not send a daughter to suffer for the sins of her father.,, Jeaheara is of my blood and will therefore remain by my side where she will be granted shelter and welcome.” announced the queen to settle the issue once and for all.

 The peace that the kingdom needed was disturbed by the arrival of three harkonnen warships, which like shooting stars fell to the surface of the planet, which the ruthless na-baron was tasked to conquering and adding to his uncle's empire.

"My queen," the guard rushed into the gardens and called for the queen, who was trying to convince her little listeners that she had really flown to the sun on her dragon. "What's the rush?" asked the queen with tension in her voice.,, Three harkonnen warships are approaching, lord hand wishes to discuss strategy in the throne room.",,Take the children to one of their rooms and keep them inside." she ordered in a commanding tone as she made her way to the throne room with her guards.

 Once seated on her throne, the Queen was presented with information that Harkonnens are about to land near Storms End, and that from the equipment they were carrying, it looked like they were ready for war.,, When will they land Grandsire” she asked her grandfather and the lord hand, Corlys Velaryon.,, Over the next three hours." the girl just nodded and then shouted at the guard.,, "Prepare my dragon." The guard just bowed down and rushed to fulfill his order.,, Your Grace you can't be serious, you can't..” began one of the lords but was immediately silenced.,,I am the queen, and as queen I will protect this kingdom with my life. My dragon is the fastest and strongest in the kingdom. We will end it with the Harkonnen as quickly as possible so that they do the least amount of damage and there is no one to change that because if they try to take this planet they will meet nothing but fire and blood.” the queen finished her battle speech.,, Now if excuse me my lords, I must go prepare for battle.” All the men in unison bowed to the departing woman and lowered their eyes to the floor in respect to her.

Learysa was fitting the last piece of her war riding armor when there was a knock on her chamber door. Thinking that it is her servant, the queen gives permission to come inside. What she didn't expect, however, was her brother with tears in his eyes. "What happened my sweet boy?" his sister asked him. Instead of words the young prince ran into her arms where he nestled like a little bird. "I don't want you to go, I don't want to lose you like the rest of our family ." Aegon cried. Learysa gently stroked his hair and whispered to him,, You will never lose me my little dragon, I will always come back to you, but right now I really need you to stay with Jeaheara and take care of her, would, you do this for me my brave knight.” The prince just snorts and nods. The siblings share a last moment before a servant comes in to say the dragon is ready.

 Feyd-rautha had just been informed that contact would be made with the planet's surface in ten minutes. He couldn't wait for his new blade to taste new blood. He looked forward to the conquest, war and bloodshed as he planned. There was no way the little princess who called herself queen would manage to get an army together. This planet was theirs. Just as his planning was peaking the ship landed and the na-baron rushed forward to start the whole thing. However, he did not expect that when the door of the ship opened, that the only one figure would be waiting for him. He didn't even count on the fact that he wouldn't be fighting against a princess or a queen, but against a fucking dragon.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HEIRESS OF FIRE AND BLOOD

After the end of the Dance of Dragons, Rhaenyra's daughter takes the Iron Throne as her mother's successor. She played an important role during the war, killing her uncle Aemond at the Battle of the God's Eye and preventing the Green Army from slaughtering the cities. She became the desired ruler thanks to the fear she instilled with her dragon, but also to the kindness she showed to ordinary people. When Baron Harkonnen learned of this situation, he decided to send part of his army, led by Feyd-rautha, to defeat the weak girl playing queen so that he could claim another planet. But little did he know that his army would be met with resistance of fire and blood.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Feyd-rautha x Atreides reader headcanons pt.3

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

- the black sun burned on the sand of the arena, which was soaked with the blood of the slaves killed in honor of yours and Na-Barons engagement

 - the Atreides were appalled at how many lives were lost just to celebrate

 - Feyd was standing in the middle of the bloodied bodies, staring intently at his betrothed, who was sitting next to his uncle

 - he made his way towards the tower with quick steps and when he reached just below the spot he dropped to one knee and looked up at the figure of his betrothed

 - I was confused as to what he was waiting for and why all the people watching this fight were suddenly silent and watching you with the same focus as na-baron

 - the baron's huge hand landed on your shoulder, " He is waiting for his prize Lady Atreides."

 he grunted in your ear and nodded to the slave who was handing me the knife. My confused expression must have told the baron that I had no idea what to do.,, He shed blood for you in the arena, now you must go through, now you need to spill yours blood for him."

 - I approached the edge of the balcony and looked down at the waiting Feyda, whose eyes were wide in anticipation.

 - I cut my hand with a sharp knife, held it out in front of me so that the blood could fall freely.

 - but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Feyd-rauth as he swallowed my blood as it dripped onto his lips

 - after a while Feyd stood up and shouted something in the Harkonnen language, which I didn't understand, but the crowd went wild, thanks to the words and shouted the same words as my future husband.

 - the baron laughed behind me and pointed out, "My lady they are shouting for you, they are shouting for their na-baroness."

 - at that moment I was filled with pride and excitement

 - in the end it won't be so bad to marry him, there was still the boy in him who carried me on his back when i got hurt

 - the morning of the wedding arrived and the servants were swarming everywhere to prepare everything in time

 - the wedding was supposed to be mainly in House Harkonnen style, but my father was able to talk the baron into allowing one tradition of House Atreides, that the bride and groom have a net soaked in water draped over their heads during the ceremony to bind the new couple together into a happy future.

 - this tradition was one of the oldest in Caladan and I desperately wanted to follow it, I didn't want the whole wedding to be based on my future husband's lineage, but I wanted to have a piece of my heritage there as well.

 - the whole day passed too quickly and before I knew it I was standing in front of the door of the ceremony hall.

 - my father had tears in his eyes and gently kissed my forehead before he offered his arm and we both walked towards the altar.

 - Feyd was happy, he knew from the first moment he saw her that she would be his. Even if he had to start a bloody war because of her, he would do it. And now he was finally going to have her, watching her float to him on her father's arm.

 - as if in a dream he stretched out his hand to her and helped her climb up to him, he didn't even notice when someone threw a wet net over them and cold water started running down his neck, he didn't notice the words of the man who was giving them away. He snapped out of his stupor, when he and his soon-to-be wife were invited to pour their blood into cups and drink each other's blood. He didn't even notice the blade that cut my palm, I could only watch her as she slowly swallowed my life-giving liquid.

 - Oh how beautiful her lips looked when red blood glittered on them

 - her blood was sweet I wondered what her next fluid would be so sweet. Now finally came the favorite part of Harkonnen weddings, namely the hunt.

 -,, If I were you, I would run away, my na-baroness."

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

MASTERLIST☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜)

HUNGER GAMES

CATO

fighter and mother cato x oc Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4

DUNE

Feyd-rautha Harkonenn

the true peace feyd-rautha x reader x paul atreides

Feyd-rautha x Atreides reader headcanons Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

he loved her feyd-rautha x wife reader

heiress of fire and blood feyd x targaryen oc

Paul Atreides

the true peace feyd-rautha x reader x paul atreides

GRAN TURISMO

Jack Salter

imagine jack salter x reader

Jann Mardenborough

jann mardenborough x medic reader, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5, Pt.6

Nick Capa

nick capa x mardenborough reader

life in overdrive nick capa x medic mardenborough oc

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Aemond Targaryen

his songbird aemond targaryen x singer reader

SPIDERMAN ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE

Miguel O´hara

Love in another universe, Pt.2

THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES

Coriolanus Snow

the snowflake young president coriolanus snow x first lady reader

Treech

his belladona, Pt.2, Pt.3 treech x mentor reader

Reaper Ash

lovers reaper ash x oc

CARMEN SANDIEGO

chase x carmen

Crackle

sparkly mission crackle x reader

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Idea for a Feyd x Atreides!reader:

Where a married proposal is made between Feyd and the Reader at the time the Atreides take over Arrakis for a “peace” between the two houses but all the events of the movies end up happening and on the final battle between Paul and Feyd she tries to convince him not to fight (they have a good relationship considering feyd psychotic behaviour and what happened to her family) but he does anyway and when things start getting serious she tries to separate them but Paul accidentally stabs her… how would Feyd react and maybe she was pregnant but it wasn’t noticeable yet just to had even more drama 😅

Feel free to completely ignore this and sorry for my English it isn’t my first language 😊

HE LOVED HER

The day the last of the Atreides learned of her family's murder, Giedi Prime heard a scream so painful that even her husband's heart sank. Feyd-rautha hated and despised her at first, she was Atreides after all, she was weak, but that opinion changed when she first punched him in the nose so that it bled. He didn't love her, he knew, but he no longer despised her. He wasn't made for love, so why was his chest tightening when he heard her screams, he wanted it to stop. Rushing into her chambers, he grabbed her by the slender shoulders and shook her hard enough to make her understand that he was her only family and not weak poor house Atreides. He wanted to scream at her, but before he could open his mouth, his wife slammed her head into his face and hissed, "GET LOST" in her voice, his body and movements were no longer his, but following her orders. He was enraged by her taunting, but at least she wasn't screaming out loud anymore, the only thing that happened was the sound of the room being locked.

 Although he hadn't seen his wife in days, she still managed to annoy him. The only news he had about her was from her maids. They informed him that she would never let them into her chambers, and if they insisted too much, that she would send them away by her voice. When one of the servants brought him the same news on the fourth day, he cut her throat in a fit of rage and went to his lady wife's chambers. When he reached the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked, as if she had been expecting him. Inside the room was dark and unfriendly, but what shocked him the most was the body huddled in the corner of the room. He slowly approached her, she was still dressed in the same nightgown she was in four days ago. Her hair, her beautiful hair, was greasy and tangled. And there was weariness and sadness in her normally cheerful eyes. He slowly walked over to her and knelt at her level, watching her silently. Her bloodshot eyes with black circles stared over him into the distance, as if she was staring intently at something that was not visible to other eyes. He wanted her to scream at him, he wanted her to yowl, he wanted her to hurt him, but she didn't even accept his presence yet. He held out his hand to her cheeks and only his touch called her into the presence. She looked into his dark eyes for a long time and gently tilted her head into his touch, and a solitary tear escaped her eye and slowly flowed down her pale face. At that moment, Feyd scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the next room, where a large tub was located. He gently placed her on the step that led to the tub and began to pour warm water. When the water almost reached the edge, he began to strip her of her nightgown, he found it strange that at that moment he did not feel any of the excitement that usually came with seeing a naked woman's body. He carefully carried her to the bathtub where he carefully washed her body and hair. After the bath, he dressed her in a clean nightgown and carried her to bed where he covered her with a duvet. As he was about to leave he felt her hand holding him tightly.,, Please don't leave." her husky voice begged him. And he stayed, he would always stay.

For the following years, he became her support, her protector. He was the only one she let in. She learned to love him.

 So why did everything lead to this moment. The moment he held her in his arms and this time he couldn't bring her to reality. When the final fight between him and her brother was about to come, she begged them both not to do it, to realize where this would lead. She begged him not to harm her brother, to refuse the emperor's request. If only he had listened to her then, if only he had paid more attention. One moment Atreides' knife was pointing at his torso, and the next the figure of his wife was standing before him with her stomach ripped open. She fell into his arms, clutching his hand painfully. There was so much blood everywhere, he never minded blood and he had spilled it a thousand times, but her blood was never supposed to leave her body. He would never kneel in front of people, but this time he was kneeling with her body in his arms in front of a hundreds people. But one thing he knew for sure, he would never let her go. He didn't even realize he was screaming until the pain in his throat from the overuse started to sting. He tried to return her blood to her body and with it her life, but among the blood and entrails he finds a small body, the body of his child, the child that was the product of their love. Their little baby, he lost everything today, his love and their child which didn't even have a chance to see the light of day. That's when he realized something he should have realized a long time ago and told her every day that he had her by his side. He loved her, loved her hard and wildly. The pain was replaced by rage, he knew how much she loved her family, yet her brother and mother stood meters away from her, watching her corpse without remorse. He watched them hatefully with tears in his eyes, he wanted to cause them the pain he was experiencing. But just the thought that he would let go of her body and his arms made him feel tormented. And so he knelt there with her body in his arms, ignoring the approaching Atreides. He didn't even notice when the cold knife pressed against his soft neck. He didn't even realize he had lost his life, but he wouldn't mind, he wanted to follow her and their child. In a moment of darkness and nothingness, light finally comes to him. He saw her on a vast green plain, wearing a beautiful airy white dress. She turned to him and waved at him with a big smile. He rushed towards her like a mad man and gave her the deepest kiss, he couldn't even comprehend what he felt for her. He was stroking her small bump with his other hand, smiling as broadly as she was.

 Feyd long ago read a quote from an author whose name had been forgotten. He had laughed at those words of love before, but now he understood their depth, he couldn't help but disagree.

 " If I were to kiss you then go to hell, I would. So then I can brag with the devils I saw heaven without even entering it,,

It was their new beginning and he wanted to start it with the words thought of when he lost her ,,I love you"

I am sorry if there are any grammar errors. English is not my first language. If you have any request i would be happy to hear it.