#monkey wrench mention

[rockanroller]

Insights Into "good" vs. "bad" Animation Rates & Why Animators Might Agree to Work for "low pay"

with the Discord screenshot going around from Spindlehorse Writer and Production Supervisor Adam Neylan revealing some rates they offer, i thought i'd give some insights into the complex topic of animation rates and animators as someone who has done animation work and had many a conversation with peers & mentors about what i should/shouldn't agree to when it comes to pay and productions.

to start with a general statement:

most of what i'm about to say can apply to any and all jobs. animation is not the only industry with low-paying jobs ppl still agree to work, and "currently, 30 states and Washington, D.C., have minimum wages above the federal minimum wage of $7.25 per hour." that means 20 states still only pay $7.25/hour for minimum wage which is not livable, of course jobs in those states may offer more.

i do not say that to downplay or forgive poor wages, only to show animation isn't an isolated case, but it doesn't make it any less awful. and the tricky thing with animation/art is there are more factors to consider than a simple yes or no answer.

and, for your consideration, these are the wages listed by the Animation Guild, they are shown mostly by hourly and weekly rates, and range from $35-$57 per hour, and mainly apply to big studios. you can see wages from specific Big Studios on this page. including Bento Box whose wage minimums ranged from $22-$42 per hour depending on the job as of July 7th, 2023.

any opinions expressed in this post are my own or summarized from others i've spoken with, they're subject to change in the future as i learn more. the goal of this post is to be informative.

"why would an animator agree to a job paying low wages?"

needing the money no matter how poorly it pays and/or having a hard time finding work in the current state of the industry

plain old artistic passion (((they love the work or the project so much they want to be a part of it even if it means low pay)))

they want/need to build their portfolio or resume

they've been recommended to do it by a friend or mentor

they know the crew/studio provide a good work environment despite their low pay

they feel they can get the job done fast enough for it to be worth the pay

they have something else supporting them financially (another job, their family/spouse/partner, etc.) so they can afford to work a side gig for pocket change or just for fun

being a friend of the creator OR anyone on the production, leading to a desire to help out even if it means they wont be paid much

they live in an area of the US or another country that has a lower cost of living (((i.e. if your rent is $3000/mo VS. if your rent is $1000/mo)))

they agreed with the job/rate the employer/client initially offered them, but the employer/client changes or adds onto the job once production starts (((sometimes this can be a situation known as "job creep" where you agree to do one job, but later they ask you to take on responsibilities or "small tasks" from other jobs while only paying you for the one job.)))

on that last bullet you may be thinking... "well they should just quit then, why wouldn't they?" here's some reasons why, some are the same as above:

needing the money/not being able to find another job so badly they find a way to do whatever is asked of them

same plain old artistic passion mentioned above (((they want to see it through/complete the task/complete the vision even if it means they might experience stress or burnout)))

they have something else supporting them financially so doing more/extra work isn't a huge hinderance

they have friends on the production they may not want to "abandon" or "let down" OR, alternatively, having friends on the production makes the work easier to stomach

despite the extra work/low pay the work environment is enjoyable for one reason or another (community, support, fun, etc.)

fearing it could ruin their reputation as a worker / burn bridges with their connections on the production / limit their ability to get another job with the same studio or other studios later on

fearing saying "no" might breach their contract or agreed terms

not being experienced or confident enough to stand up for themselves in the workplace/not knowing their rights (this isn't uncommon, many people do not know the extent of their rights as a worker.)

"what makes an animation wage good or bad?"

this gets a bit trickier bc it is a complex subject that can change based on the project and your personal skills/needs as a worker.

"paid per second"

the "per second" wage is one that's used bc it's very easy for the client to plan their budget with. but it's been debated back-and-forth among workers whether or not it's "fair," especially if the client isn't open to discussion or willing to pay extra for exceptions.

some workers, even though they will agree to work for it, feel this method shouldn't be used bc there are factors it doesn't take into account, while other workers are fine with it.

the limitations of the "per second wage" are:

not every animator works at the same speed

if you're paid $35/second and 1 second takes you an hour to animate then you made $35/hour, but if 1 second takes you 3 hours you made only $11.66/hour, and so on. one might argue an animator simply needs to "improve" in order to make the same "worth" as their peers who work faster--but everyone works differently, and if an animator who works slower is good enough/a more thorough worker, they can still be preferred over a faster one.

it doesn't take revisions/retakes into account*

*this limitation can be remedied if the employer/client includes revision/retake rates or amounts, or is open to discussing extra pay for excessive revisions/retakes. revisions/retakes occur when someone in the pipeline (the lead, the supervisor, etc.) discerns that something was missed or needs to be improved / fixed in an animation. generally one or two small revisions (missing a line, there's a small area that didn't get colored, etc.) are not a big deal and can be fixed quickly. but if there are a multitude of revisions (multiple missing lines/color) or huge revisions (having to re-do an animation completely) that can create a bigger workload for the worker or whichever co-worker their work gets passed to. and you might think "well the error was the worker's fault therefore they shouldn't be paid to fix it" but it's a part of the job. no animator is perfect, and unless you're senior veteran Disney level you're going to get a few notes back. (even the veterans aren't perfect and get notes as well.) not to mention leads might disagree on what is or isn't a necessary fix or adjustment to make on an animation.

it usually is a flat rate that doesn't take complexity into account*

*this limitation can be remedied if the employer/client includes higher rates for more complex shots or is open to discussing a higher per-second rate for more complex shots or additional pay if the job becomes more work than previously thought but, for example, if everyone is being paid a flat $35/second rate no matter what and you get a shot where all you have to animate is a character taking a sip from a glass, but your co-worker has to animate a shot of a character doing crazy parkour, one is going to take longer than the other while getting the same amount of pay. if you complete yours in 2 hours you made $17.50/hour, if your co-worker completes theirs in 5 hours they only made $7.00/hour for a more complex shot.

so overall the "per second issue" has limitations but they can mostly be remedied if a client is open to discussing extra pay/higher rates when the workload exceeds the original agreement.

hourly rates are generally a more "financially secure" option for workers.

however hourly rates can get more expensive and are harder to plan a budget for, since everyone works at different speeds, thus why many clients, especially for productions with limited budgets such as indie, go for the "per second" rate.

job scope

this is where things get difficult to judge bc they vary depending on the production as well as your needs/availability/skills as a worker.

for the sake of example lets compare something that came up in discussion over the screenshot linked at the top of this post: Monkey Wrench's rate VS. Spindlehorse's rate.

breaking down the workload

generally speaking, most shots are only a few seconds. they tend to average around 2-8 seconds, but can be as long as 10+ seconds.

the last rate offered for Monkey Wrench's 3rd episode was $20.38/second, at that rate you could make anywhere from $40.76-$163.04 or $208.30+ per shot of completed roughs or completed clean-up.

at Spindlehorse's rate they chose for Hazbin Hotel's finale episode with A24 & Bento Box of $35/second you could make anywhere from $70.00-$280 or $350 per shot of completed roughs or completed clean-up.

is SH's more than MW in this case? yes. however, there are other factors to consider:

what was the framerate? (12 fps VS. 24 fps, etc.) (((how many frames get displayed per second)))

what were they animated on? (1s, 2s, 3s, 4s, etc.) (((this means how often you make a new drawing, 3s = a new drawing every 3 frames, 1s = a drawing on every frame. at 24 fps that's 24 frames in a second, on 3s that would be 8 drawings on 1s that would be 24 drawings.)))

how detailed are the characters/show style?

how complex is the movement?

how long did you have to complete the animation? (((if you have 1 week to complete an animation you will need to work more hours each day to complete it VS. if you had 2-3 weeks to complete the same one you could work less hours each day, maybe even take one off if you're working efficiently enough.)))

were you asked to take on a bigger workload than you signed on for? and did they offer to pay you the same or more for it?

how many revisions are included in your rate? what's the pay for additional revisions that aren't included in the rate?

was the workplace environment good or bad?

in other words, speaking hypothetically, if you have to animate several frames of detailed characters doing complex movements and you're asked to do more work than you agreed to in a bad work environment, making that $70-$350+ per shot is gonna suck and might cause you stress or even physical/mental harm from burnout that could hinder your ability to continue working...

...to the point that even if you still had to animate several frames of detailed characters doing complex movements, you may prefer to work the job that pays $40.76-$208.30+ per shot if, at the very least, it's a better workplace environment. although you may still choose to do work for the higher-paying job if you really need the money.

we can't make a super clear call on if SH or MW's wages are fair with all of the above factors bc they're either difficult or impossible to know unless we have worked, or hear from people who did work, on the productions themselves. however we *do* know that Adam Neylan claimed the animation for HH's finale episode would be "less intensive" in the screenshot linked at the top of this post, and at least one person who agreed to the offer received shots that were on 1s which *is* more intensive. (link to one other instance of this claim.)

budget / studio size

this topic also gets complicated as an employer/client doesn't typically tell you the exact budget they're working with and where all the money is going.

though they do tend to inform their workers with something like "we're working with a small/limited budget" or "we have plenty of budget" and all you can do is trust that they're being honest. however, indie productions like Lackadaisy and Monkey Wrench have been transparent about where their budget goes. (Lackadaisy budget, Monkey Wrench budget.) So far to my knowledge Spindlehorse has not. (as of making this post on 1/8/2024)

now first and foremost: yes, everyone deserves fair pay regardless of how big or small a client/studio is or how large or limited their budget is.

that being said, sometimes workers are willing to grant exceptions to smaller clients with smaller budgets, especially if they're passionate about the project, they have faith in their employer/client, or are having a hard time finding work and really need the money even if it's not a lot.

the reason many people are upset with the SH screenshot is that, while SH says they offer $60/second normally on Helluva Boss (which while on the better end of per-second rates is still not ideal), they can only offer $35/second, despite the fact they are doing work for A24 / Bento Box, with Bento Box usually offering minimum wages of $22-$42 PER HOUR depending on the job (page 4).

whereas for a much smaller indie project like Monkey Wrench, workers might be more forgiving when most of the money comes straight out of Zeurel's own pocket, as well as the fact that Zeurel does a lot of the animation himself.

and while SH pays much more per second for their indie show compared to Monkey Wrench, SH may have much more money coming in from views & merch sales, they also have much more heavily detailed characters. (in other words an animator might be willing to agree to less pay per second if the characters aren't very detailed or aren't doing a lot of complex movement.) that doesn't mean it's "good" that MW can only afford to pay $20/second, but some workers may be more forgiving given the circumstances.

what if some people are saying they had a good time working on a project while others are saying they didn't?

in relation to everything i've already stated above, the personal experience one has working on a production is equally varied.

generally speaking there are few projects who come out with a fully satisfied crew. there will almost always be at least one worker who had a bad time.

when considering if someone's bad experience is a sign of a bigger issue on a production you have to use your best discretion and accept you may not be able to make a clear call for sure until more information comes out.

sometimes people are telling the full truth of their personal experience, and the workplace *is* bad. other times they're telling the full truth of their personal experience but the factors that caused their bad experience were specific to them/their life, and the place they worked *might* be good for a majority of people.

on the flip side...

use caution when you see the "well *I* had a good time" or "well they were nice to *me*" defense

while numbers can be good (such as if more people are saying good things than bad things) one still has to be wary of confirmation bias as well as why someone might not speak up about a bad experience.

for confirmation bias; someone simply declaring that they had a good time on a production/with a creator insinuating that therefore others couldn't have had a bad time is, simply put, naïve. not to mention disrespectful and ignorant.

example: a group of people can go to the same party where one has a bad time and the rest have a good time. that doesn't mean the party was undeniably good. the party was a different experience for all of them. the host can potentially do something different at the next party to make it better for the one who had a bad time, or that person may decide not go to those parties anymore. if multiple people had a good experience at the party, then sure it's more likely it was "good" by majority, and more people should go--however there could still be an unseen problem such as "the host frequently attempts to get unwilling people drunk," and only a small handful of people have experienced or witnessed it. that's a problem that needs to be fixed, but the majority of party-goers might object to this because they "can't believe it's true, I had such a good time, the host is so nice, & he's never done anything like that to me." yet something bad still happened to a small handful of people and it needs to stop happening.

so, why would someone not speak up if they *did* have a bad experience? here's a few reasons:

they want to move on to other things in their life

they want to avoid getting involved in drama or making a stir even if they had a bad time

they could be afraid speaking up will make it look like they are "taking a side" on something that will cause friction and/or rejection from their peers or friends they don't want to lose

they could be afraid it'll affect their reputation as a worker, or burn bridges with their connections

they could be afraid of the response they'll get from the public (such as being blamed, ignored, invalidated, harassed, etc.)

they signed an NDA and/or are afraid of breaching a contract

should someone accept a low-paying job just for the "good opportunity" alone?

that is completely up to an individual's choice and varies greatly.

personally, i don't believe you should ever *tell* someone to go for something beyond the shadow of a doubt *just* for the opportunity alone, not unless you've taken into consideration the facts of the opportunity *and* the facts of an individual's availability/skills/life situation as well.

sure, "work at Disney" sounds like it's a good opportunity that anyone should take no matter what.

but, if Disney's paying pennies for the opportunity, and an individual isn't ready, doesn't have support, doesn't feel confident about the job or their ability to commit to it, then it isn't a good opportunity for them. you could uproot your entire life for a "good opportunity" only to discover you weren't cut out for it or it didn't lead anywhere. at the end of the day jumping for an opportunity is always a gamble even if it's a gamble that is tilted in your favor.

of course, i also believe sometimes you have to take a risk, sometimes mistakes happen, and you can still learn a lot from "failed opportunities." if it doesn't work out it isn't the end of the world bc you learned more about yourself/the job in the process and you can still pick your life back up. i just don't believe in making uninformed gambles just for the sake of a vague "opportunity," i believe you should consider all the available information before taking a leap.

whether or not something is a "good opportunity" depends on if it's worth it to you and/or you feel confident enough in your availability and skills to do the job even if it isn't going to pay much.

closing remarks

i think that's about all i can say on it, i know it was a lot of information (it's hard to simplify) so thank you truly if you read it all and i hope it was helpful and informative.

the topic of fair pay in animation is an on-going conversation with a lot of opinions and a lot of factors to consider, especially with the rise of interest in indie animation. everyone, including myself, should stay open to this conversation and avoid drawing hard lines in the sand of what is or isn't "fair" unless there is an obvious problem.

personally, due to the claims we've seen over time, i do feel there may be a problem at SH that needs to be reviewed in order for them to be a healthier and ultimately more productive/efficient studio.

i also think it'd be great if indie productions in general could pay more, but the reality is it just isn't there yet, and some animators are willing to deal with it for the sake of their passion or bc they really need the work no matter what.

if you have any questions or confusion about anything i talked about in this post, feel free to shoot me an ask.

ty again for reading.

[maudiemoods]

Shrike? More like uh shloser or something idk

[toastedclownery]

Okay I'm gonna be a bit crazy on the main tag and share a theory

I think Beebs tried applying for Civil service but couldn't because of his... History

I think it went like this

He was studying/training for it and he was about to be accepted

Something... Tragic happened. The "accident" where he lost his limbs? That might or might not have been his fault. But he was charged for it

He was no longer able to apply because he has a criminal record now?

We've seen a couple of times that he's ready and prone to help and protect people, it's just something in his nature

Also he's very quick to adapting to other species' customs or societies, or their biology. Like being respectful to Punti, and being surprisingly chill when he was communicating with the Agari's phantom.

It would explain the speech he gave before attacking Us, it'd be something that he learned from his training

Maybe his glove which is a similar blue to Killix' uniform and his multi-tool?

Now I don't have evidence for this last point but it's giving me vibes okay. I think he might have been banished from his home planet for what happened in the accident, too.

We barely know anything about Walrinian culture, but I figure their tusks are important. At least with real walruses, tusks are a form of status. I think him removing his tusks (or possibly having them removed against his will?) could be a sign of dishonor.

Or maybe he just lost them in the accident and he just filed them down. But either way, the Symbolism is still there. He no longer has a connection with his home planet and culture.

Beebs strikes me as someone who knows what it's like to lose it all, and he really doesn't want it to happen again, so he plays it very safe with everything he does. Like for example how he wants to slowly build up on the Monkey Wrench company

And I'm willing to say he's taking this approach with Shrike's friendship too.

He's the opposite to Shrike, he dislikes risk. I think it was this accident or... Whatever happened that shaped him into what he's like today. And it would make this conversation with Us make more sense.

If all of this is right (or close), that means he's lost so much. The majority of his limbs, the direction he was going to take with his life as a civil servant, possibly the link to his family and his culture. All of this happening so quickly might have motivated him to...

Yeah.

[angelxd-3303]

I don't know if you like Angst but if you do I was thinking of Mario hurting his leg and just laying in bed upset, that he can't do much then he starts getting anxiety attacks out of nowhere as shadow figures surround him. A lot of people tried to hurt him and Luigi. Saying terrible things to him but it all goes away after Peach, Luigi, or Dk comfort him after finding him covered in flames from the anxiety.

Can someone tell me why DK is so satisfying to draw??

Tw: blood and injury, as well as anxiety

[spagheddiesquash]

artfight friendly-fire of Iris Clair aka “Bluey” who belongs to @toastedclownery :^)

[smallturtlebomb]

“Whelp, just finished re-watching monkey wrench. I’m gonna hop on the splatty ^_^ see what it’s up to.”

*plays 4 a few hours*

“Mr krabs…. have an idea….”

i even put me & @in3fin mw personas in splatoon too

Bonus drawings ^_^

[havockingboo]

silly ass oc doodles

[screwpinecaprice]

Monkey Wrench - The Ghost Egg

Sharing this because this had been under my radar for 8 months???? and maybe it's the case for anyone who's seeing this post.

[shyshiny]

Hello everyone! Good morning, afternoon or evening, depending on when you are viewing this post.

I had no ideas until I remembered again the relationship that Shrike and Zeckoy would have (in addition to recently watching "Cut along the dotted line" and its sequel) that's why I wanted to draw them but not just with the two of them alone, this is Zero ( from the series already mentioned before, I love him btw), Vivi (again) and Juno (@havockingboo oc). Just that, I wanted to draw all 5 of them because I wanted to do it lol

[simiansmoke]

"Had enough?"

"...not....even...close."

[vaaaaaiolet]

You accidentally throw a monkey wrench into supermodel Leon's Calvin Klein photoshoot, but you can't sweet-talk your way out of this one. Kennedy's got your tongue and your panties in a bunch.

Better hope you've got a fix up your sleeve.

f / m, slight nsfw, you just thirst over leon + you're REALLY awkward, fluff + romance, stupid one-liner attempts at humor + hunnigan mention!! I GIVE MYSELF THE ICK.

word count: 913 // read on ao3

a/n: @chesue00 made this GODLY ART. and i RAN INTO PEOPLE in PUBLIC looking at it because it got me so dizzy. i don't know what to DO WITH MYSELF 😭

find more drabbles in my collection: sketches for my sweetheart the drunk!

You’d passed all your English classes in college, but right now? It’d be a hell of a lot more useful to have taken a few in sign language.

“What’s wrong with her?” 

The camera crew’s never been able to perfect the art of the whisper. 

“Did she lose her voice or something?”

You fumble with the reflectors for the millionth time, bright material projecting your flushed face to high heaven on all three of the cameras’ viewfinders. 

There’s a really unfunny joke that starts like this: a photography intern walks into a bar.

Said bar happens to be supermodel Leon S. Kennedy’s back because you weren’t watching where you were going on the biggest day of your career, a Kennedy x Klein collab shoot starring the man you’d only been crushing on for, what, ever since you picked up your first fashion magazine? You’d left a sizeable smear of makeup on the pristine white of his T-shirt as a parting gift, and after that, you’d lost your ability to form words in shame. Mortifying, paralyzing shame.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

And as if in agreement, Leon’s agent bristles on the break couch behind you. 

He’s still in that stained shirt, by the way. Sipping thoughtfully from a bottle of water while his agent sounds off beside him, but the only thing on your mind is what you’d give to be on his drink’s business end. Condensation drips onto the coffee table when Leon sets it down, drop by tantalizing drop sliding down his fingers, ice melting in his palm that’s just big enough to grab a plush handful of your- 

His agent tears through your daydream, madder than a wet hen. ”There’s no time to order an exact replacement!”

“It’s just a shirt,” Leon chuckles, and you hear rolling thunder on the horizon. You’ve got it bad.

“It very clearly states in the Kennedy x Klein contract that we need a picture of you in a white T-shirt.”

“A tiny bit of lip gloss-” 

“An obvious stain!” the spectacled woman squawks. 

“Stain, whatever – just stop freaking that poor girl out, yeah?” 

Your ears perk up rabbit-style.

“Look at her, Ingrid,” Leon continues, and every cell of your body lights on fire because he has to be training his gunmetal eyes on right on you. “Poor thing hasn’t said a word since you started going off about that tiny mark. Turn around, sweetheart, just a moment.”

Who put your feet on a turntable? 

“See? Eyes bigger than the goddamn moon.”

And you just might faint, too. But you’ve got to fix this before you do. 

“Uhm, we…we could…” he nods when you stutter, patient as a saint, he’d talk you through it for sure, “take…the shirt…off?” 

A tilt of his handsome head. “Come again?”

You need to put your money where your mouth is. Even if the latter’s on strike right now. Pointing your chin back towards the set, you jerk your head for him to follow. Leon’s agent pinches the bridge of her nose, mumbling something about leaps of faith from chandeliers and not again, but the man in the stained shirt couldn’t seem to care less. His eyes gleam.

“Hands-on, then.” Leon cracks a grin, rising to his feet. “I’m all yours.” 

Leon is desire painted monochrome.

You nearly throw yourself over the table at the back of the shoot the minute Leon pops up on your monitor. The printer spits out picture after picture that couldn’t be safe for work in your wildest dreams, but here you are, getting paid to take softcore of Calvin Klein’s newest poster boy, and your jaw is about to make friends with the floor.  

You didn’t know eyes could talk before Leon Kennedy. 

In one shot, he’s gazing at you from the glossed page, bedroom blues sizing you up. He’s daring you. Drag your eyes down the page. Go on.

And oh, if the the journey doesn’t reveal the ridged muscles lining Leon’s stomach as he reaches to shuck the shirt off his shoulders. The stain is a forgotten memory replaced by a new one burned into your brain for the rest of eternity, and you’re not the talking about the cologne. You’re staring at the patterned Calvin Klein waistband of his boxers. Slung dangerously low over his hips, begging to be relieved of their duty, so close you could pull them off with your teeth. 

“Any closer and you’re gonna lick the page, doll.” 

And mess up his pretty face? You wouldn’t dream of it.

Leon laughs when you go ramrod straight. “Seriously. You did amazing with that shirt-pulling save,” he says. “I know it’s a little intimidating to work with Ingrid and my team, but you handled it like a champ.” 

He tugs the photo out from under your fingers, uncapping a nearby pen to scribble something onto its backside. His tongue pokes out when he writes. He’s the cutest Adonis you’ve ever seen when he hands it back. “I knew you could,” he adds.

And then all too soon, just as your own tongue regains feeling, Leon leaves amidst the flurry of post-production. Leaves is the polite way to put it; his agent practically hauls him out by the collar by the time you muster up the courage to wave goodbye. 

Really? After everything’s all done? 

Well, almost. You flip the photo to read his note.

Pretty eyes, pretty mouth too. Put that second one to use next time? :)

They do say practice makes perfect.

click for my full drabble collection, and find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

[amymbona]

Challengers - the band

Among equally famous Arctic Monkeys or Gorillaz, fans have got nuts over the quickly rising indie band formed in 2006. Challengers consists of three uniquely charismatic members, each one equally as genuine, and yet they all fit together like pieces of puzzle, creating a what fans appreciate as the trio of the decade.

Fitting into the genre of pure english indie, the trio doesn't fear to bounce into the world of rock or deliver a heart-touching ballad, so versatile that it appears unbelievable to many. The critics deem Challengers as an immortal piece of music that will continue to live on and be appreciated decades into the future. Even the thirsty fans seem to agree.

Tashi Duncan

The frontman - in this case the front lady - carries the aesthetic part, providing a gentle caress with each of her smiles, known widely by her fair amount of dark toned lipsticks and pairs of leather pants. As the main vocalist, her voice is heard in most of the songs, and she is essentially the voice of the band.

The gorgeous grace with which she carries herself can hardly he matched, and by many, Tashi is often refered to as the bitch, which takes away from the beauty of her soul. Contrary to a popular belief, Tashi Duncan is a gentle human - a fact supported by all the fans that have met her - as she never misses an opportunity to hug a fan or sign a paper.

A sex symbol, often compared to Amy Winehouse or Fiona Apple, she's often reduced fo a pretty face - much to her fans' disappointment. The talent she possesses is nothing short of a gift, given to her by gods above, and certain female singers have expressed both their jealousy towards and support to the star.

Art Donaldson

Known as the people's sweetheart, the most one could spot of Art Donaldson is the messy mop of his curls peeking from behind the drum set. With often admired set of muscles - which many female fans attempt to grasp once the drummer ventures in public - it's no issue for him to be pounding into the drums and cymbals all night.

His steady beats offer a stable background to all of the band's songs, resembling the rhythm of our heartbeats. But the man who's been named as the best drummer of the current music wave is much more than that.

It's no secret that Art Donaldson does most of the songwriting, providing his fans an insight to his soul, which doesn't resemble the harshness of his clothing style at all. Upon further observation, it's clear that most of the lyrics are centered around love, affection, eroticism and gut-wrenching feelings. This gentle compassion, paired with a cute smile, makes Art the most wholesome face of the genre of indie.

Patrick Zweig

This man is not famous just for his pretty face, though it is the feature he is the most recognized for. With the electric guitar constantly glued to his hands and the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old, Patrick Zweig jumps from one side of the stage to another. Some might say he is a bad influence, supported by the handful amount of evidence of nicotine and alcohol induced behaviour.

Known for his unrealistically swiftly executed guitar riffs, Patrick is the one to transform the ideas into music, as the band itself has mentioned. Most of the early hits were made purely under his supervision, which helped set the initial direction the band would evolve in. Perhaps he is the one we should thank for having Challengers become real.

It was particularly Patrick who stole the hearts of many young ladies, successfully earning himself the title of the womanizer. Multiple women were spotted leaving the Zweig residence over the last few months, wearing evidently less clothing that they entered the luxurious villa in. As the most extroverted and publically followed member, Patrick Zweig might as well be the loudest element of the three-man band.

[scottishmushroom]

Alright, there were so many great ideas shared in my other post that I would love to get some input about how we feel about this scene, particularly Aziraphale’s facial reactions. Because even with the 26,749 times I’ve watched this scene, I’m still conflicted about some of the decisions here.

First, we have Crowley starting his confession:

Crowley: I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We’re a team, a group. A group of the two of us.

And the camera cuts to Aziraphale seemingly nervously looking towards the window:

What's he looking at fam? My interpretation has always been that he's recognizing where the conversation is going, this forbidden and unspoken thing between them. And he instinctively feels the need to check to see if anyone is watching. *Side question: Did he see Muriel standing there when he looked? Just casually watching their divorce?

But it's the rest of his upcoming facial expressions that bother me deeply. Crowley says the following:

Crowley: And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't.

And we get these expressions from Aziraphale as he says it:

Utter confusion. If anyone has been overly and outwardly smitten post-apocalypse, it's been Aziraphale. And yet when Crowley speaks it aloud, Aziraphale's reaction comes off as pure bafflement and as though he doesn't understand. WHY? I can understand the nervousness of being “caught” but the confused expression confuses me very much. Is he confused that Crowley is choosing now to say these things out loud? Is it that a huge monkey wrench is being thrown into what he thought would happen?

Then we get the heart wrenching part of Crowley's confession, and when he mentions that Gabriel and Beelzebub ran off together he finishes with:

Crowley: Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven. We don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, what do you say?

Here's a video clip for emphasis (no volume) of Aziraphale, as Crowley is saying this:

The head shake. It guts me.

I'd love to know what you make of these choices - the look towards the window, the confused squint, the head shake.

**There is no right or wrong answer here - I think there's a lot of room for interpretation with this scene and one person’s idea doesn’t negate someone else’s**

[mrsnancywheeler]

the lakes (12) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous chapter / next chapter

masterlist

7.9k words

warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, extreme mental health issues, suicidal ideations, gore/violence/death, self-hate, allusions to trafficking, use of explicit language, more angst, mentions of vomiting, dissociation, terms of endearment, unedited, no use of y/n, a codependent couple with a shared savior complex, paranoia

When you'd realized the monkey mutts had stopped where the beach began you wanted to collapse into the sand in relief. All you could do was stare on as Peeta tried to comfort the Morphling woman who'd sacrificed herself for him before her body was raised from the waters. Even if Plutarch was supposedly in on the plan, it seemed like the arena couldn't wait to kill you all off as soon as possible. The conversation switched to finding food, another thing your brain couldn't care less about. You supposed you should be from all the running, fighting, and sweating, but you just had a huge pit in your stomach as you thought about how Finnick could have died not long ago.

It had always been a possibility that you were very consciously aware of, but the imminent threat wasn't really present. You had no qualms that he would be able to protect himself, yet he hadn't been able to when the fog came rolling in. Well, he would have been able too if hadn't come to Peeta's rescue, but to get out, that was a requirement. Adrenaline has kept you going after that, when the monkeys attacked, but the dread filling you now was like lead.

“Hey," One of Finnick's warm, calloused hands cupped your face, “What's going on, sweet girl?" His face had that endearing always somewhat cocky smirk on it that was a permanent source of comfort in your life. But you just stared at him, at those ocean eyes you would drown in if given the chance. The look in his eyes shifted to one of higher concern, “Are you hurt?" He looked up and down your figure, looking for sounds, tilting your head to see the back, looking for signs of infection and grew more concerned when he found nothing to send off alarms. “Angel, you gotta tell me what's wrong." He urged.

You tried to blink yourself out of your stupor, "Nothing just wanna be with you.”

"You are with me.”

"Yeah I know.” He looked at you suspiciously, but knew better than to push. You grabbed this hand and he squeezed it, pulling you along as he went on his search for oysters. When he was sure he found a spot and began his digging you sat down in the water. Letting the soft waves ripple across your legs, if you closed your eyes you could pretend to be home again, this was so similar.

“I'd never leave you alone, you know?" Finnick's voice brought you back from the fantasy and you looked at him quizzically. He was still digging through different areas, of course the oysters were in such unnatural places, that was a reminder of how fake the fantasy was. "I'd always come back to you. You don't have to worry about me leaving you behind, or making you feel abandoned.” You looked away, staring at the glistening waters once again. There was no words you could think of to say, you wondered if you were still in shock, it felt nothing like how it had been described, but maybe this was all some weird, fucked up trauma response the universe had left you with as further punishment. Your mind was blank of anything other than how he, your amazing, smug, caring, generous, loving Finnick could actually be taken from this world and it would keep on spinning without him. Then his hand grabbed yours once again and he effortlessly pulled you from the water to walk with him back to Katniss and Peeta.

You laid your head on Finnick's shoulder as everyone began to eat. He opened one of the oysters up and offered it to you, but you just shook your head. There was no room for hunger, no room for anything except trepidation.

He shook his head back at you, “You need to eat." Finnick offered it back to you, he was so bossy and it made you love him even more.

“I'm not hungry, Finn." You knew you were exposing yourself with the nickname, which you only used when you felt most vulnerable, but it slid off your tongue so easily in the moment.

“You're gonna talk to me now?" He asked playfully, trying to lighten the load. You scowled at him, lightheartedly elbowing him in his side and he laughed.

“You're so mean to me." You burrowed your head back into his shoulder.

He scoffed, “I just put all my effort into a monologue of my devotion to you and then you decided staring at the waters which are in front of us all the time was more interesting.”

He was right of course even if it was all in jest, but you weren't going to let him win regardless of that fact. “It was hardly a monologue-" He turned to you abruptly, you frowned when your head lost contact with your shoulder but he grabbed your hands in his.

“I don't understand why you have cared about and loved me so deeply, except in the way that I know that's how I feel about you. You being here is the bane of my existence because I know that there isn't a day I could live without seeing your smile or sweet domesticity. You don't understand why I want to protect you so badly, but it's the same way you want to protect me. There isn't a universe where I could leave you when I know you need me, I married you as a promise that I would always return to you, protect you even if you're stubborn and here anyways. Death couldn't part me from a world that you were still in.” His sea green eyes were so serious and it did reverberate within your heart, but you still let yourself laugh.

"You are such a sweet-talker.” You announced with an eye roll, knowing he was right about how you felt. Except maybe selfishly if death parted the two of you, the only assumption you had made was he'd find someone else, some other smarter, braver, prettier partner who only couldn't compare to you in their adoration of him, but maybe that was a stretch as well.

“And you are impossible to please." He quickly packed your lips which left your yearning for his honey-dripping lips for seconds longer, if you suffocated with them on your own it would be the happiest you'd ever be. “Now eat, my love." You could melt into the sand thinking about how this man would pour out a heartfelt monologue just for you to leave your head long enough to eat, he was perfect, there would never be anyone else like him, and there never had been. He was it for you.

Screams interrupted your thoughts and you instantly stood up, “That's new." Peeta said as he rose as well, you all stood, staring across the beach where water seemed to be overflowing a portion of the jungle. Flooding that rushed from the trees and was so tall it was as high as the Cornucopia that bounced against, leaving large waves to rush up your feet. A drone came to pick up a body and it solidified in your brain that regardless of what Plutarch had planned these were never meant to be long Games, nor particularly violent with all the events occuring.

“Someone's here." Katniss said sharply, quickly pulling out an arrow, ready to shoot. You looked at the figures approaching from the jungle, not too far away. The aggressive motions of one of the figures nearly instantly told you who it was.

“Johanna." You whispered out and then Finnick was running forward.

“Johanna!" He shouted, catching her attention. You followed after him as she yelled back at him. Beetee and Wiress instantly run into the water when you realize Johanna’s figure was so obscured because she was covered head to toe in blood.

“Oh my god, what got you?" You asked, there was no way that much was hers or even someone else's. It was clotted in her hair, her skin, each piece of fabric.

“We were all the way, deep into the jungle where I thought it was going to be safe. That's when the rain started, I thought it was water, it turns out to be blood. Hot, thick blood, coming down. It was choking us! We were stumbling around, gagging on it blind.” Johanna signs through her explanation, ignoring Wiress’ mutters of tick, tock, tick, tock. Which you push away as well as just Wiress being Wiress. “That's when Blight hit the forcefield, he wasn't much, but he was from home.”

"What's wrong with her?” Katniss asks about Wiress, still muttering.

“She's in shock." Beetee is washing the blood of his glasses in the sea water. “Dehydration isn't helping, do you have fresh water?"

“We can get some."

Wiress is clinging to Johanna, desperately repeating her mantra. Who's trying to shove the older woman off, for most of you this is just the dynamic that's been accepted. You've each accepted a role to maintain relationships with one another, Wiress the crazy one, and Johanna the aggressive one. Katniss is put off and runs to Johanna, ready to fight.

“Hey what're you doing?" Johanna yells, Finnick trying to pull her away as you try to get between her and Katniss. “I got them out for you!” They're finally ripped apart when Peeta has his arms around a visibly confused Katniss. "Let go of me, Finnick!”

"Let's just go get you cleaned off.” You tilt your head walking with her and Finnick into the water. "I'm sorry about Blight.”

"Yeah.” She says gruffly as she dunked her head into the water, blood instantly beginning to spread into the once clear waters.

"And I didn't really get to thank you for saving me earlier, so thank you, Johanna.”

"Well I'm sure he would've killed me himself if I hadn't.” She nodded her head at Finnick. “Better go make a better impression with the Girl on Fire over there." She rolled her eyes, stalking over in that direction.

“Deep down she appreciates a thank you." Finnick's wrapped his arms around you from behind and you sway in the water. You hummed in agreement, just enjoying the feeling of his arms around you. What you would give for this to be the two of you in your kitchen back home is immeasurable as well as the things you would do to get that back.

“Were you serious though?" You blurt out, forcing yourself to acknowledge your feelings with him. There's a beat which you figure must be confusion as he tries to figure out what you're referring too. Before you have a chance to add on, he'd seemingly figured it out though.

“Of course I was serious. You don't have to worry because you're not gonna get rid of me that easily, angel." He chuckles, his lips pressed to the side of your head. You nod slowly,

“Thank you." You mumbled out, embarrassed that you'd even let the anxiety take over, but also not completely convinced. It felt shameful that no amount of words or actions was seemingly able to convince the deepest parts of your soul of anything but the worst.

“It's a clock!" Katniss yelled out catching everyone's attention, she helped Wiress out of the water where they've been sitting and began walking towards the Cornucopia . “This entire arena seems to be laid out like a clock, with a new threat every hour, but they stay only within their wedge.” Katniss explains and you all follow her, "It all starts with the lightning, then the blood rain, fog, monkeys, that's the first four hours. At 10 that big wave points from over there.” She points forward, Wiress stops walking. As if she's cautious of something.

“Wiress, you're a genius." Finnick smiles as you all keep trekking forward.

“The tail points at 12." Peeta observes when you reach the shining Cornucopia.

“That's where the lighting strikes at noon and midnight.” Katniss further explains.

“Strikes where?" Beetee asks, holding his coil of wire close.

“That big tree." She points once more and Beetee seems pleased, Wiress sits down on the edge of the rocks murmuring a nursery rhyme to herself.

"Great job, Wiress. We'll try and listen more next time.” You patted her shoulder before following the rest of the group to where a circle is being drawn out in the sand. Dividing it up in the clock like sectors of the arena. Trying to find out what comes next in each portion of the arena.

“It doesn't matter as long as we steer clear of whichever sect is active, we'll be safe, yeah?”

" Relatively speaking.” Finnick nods along and then Wiress' ambience of nursery rhymes is quiet and she gasps. Your head shoots towards where she would be and there's Gloss, knife in Wiress' chest. Before you'd even had a chance to react Katniss’ arrow had pierced through his chest, you'd no clue where she'd come from, but you could hear a sound of outrage from Cashmere. You followed the sound and saw her lunging forward, blindly trying to avenge her brother. Without a second thought you'd shoved Katniss out of the way and a knife was flying out of your hand into Cashmere's heart. Her head hit the ground and that dreadful buildup of guilt was returning. She'd always been kind to you, there were amicable jokes and small complaints to one another at parties. An understanding that you'd struggled through the same, ever present issues and now you were once again the person cutting that life short after allowing a bond to be created. But you had to keep Katniss safe, to get her out of the arena, regardless of the consequences.

The Career pack had seemingly crept up on all of you, Finnick and Peeta were fighting off the attacks of Brutus and Enobaria. Your next knife barely missed Enobaria as she fled to the other side of the Cornucopia, Katniss’ arrow doing similarly with Brutus. Peeta tried to run after them, even if people talked about him like he was the weaker one, you'd seen from the way he trained with Brutus that it was anything, but true. Finnick knew that regardless of Peeta's strength he needed to be protected, kept alive, so he blocked him from the chase. Katniss; however, did try to follow after them, make sure the two were gone, Johanna followed behind. Under no circumstances could you let the Mockingjay get hurt, Peeta was because of that, but she was the one you'd been instructed to get out.

You looked over at Finnick, trying to communicate with him that you'd be following and he gave a curt nod. Only a few steps in though you were completely thrown off your balance, your brain started buzzing. You weren't sure what was going on except that your hands were desperately searching for crevices in the rocks to hold onto. The force of the wind whipped at your skin so hard it genuinely hurt and your fingers tried not to slip on the wet rocks. It was spinning, the Cornucopia was spinning around at full force, trying to throw you off, you tried to calm down. Focus on seeing if you could spot Finnick through the water sprays and the way it hit your face in harsh droplets. It wasn't that different from being on a boat, crabbing when the weather got difficult, being tossed around. Maybe if you shut your eyes that's what you could imagine this was, but then your hands were slipping and you were trying to force your body to stay still. Fingers blindly searching for another crevice, rocks scratching at them as you tried to dig your fingers into the rock. Body sliding down, it didn't matter that you could swim, if the impact was too harsh you could go unconscious on impact and no amount of experience in the water could save you from that.

Finnick would be okay though, if anyone was fine it would surely be him. He'd know exactly where to place his grip, he'd be strong enough to hold on, he could probably hold onto someone else too. Those thoughts are quickly cut short when you hear yourself screaming as something, something sharp, has lodged itself into your back. Breathe, you tell yourself digging your fingers into the rock deeper. Something is tearing into your back, the pressure of the wind definitely isn't helping, and you're barely able to focus on keeping hold of the slick rocks. Through the wind you can hear more screams, shouts, too obscure to make out who the belong to, but it reminds you that you need to survive long enough to rescue Katniss, you need to keep holding on.

Finally, the movement is slowing down, at least you think it is, maybe your perception of speed has just changed. By the time the Cornucopia comes to a stop you still feel dizzy, like a phantom of the spinning. When your brain stops buzzing the pain in your back is worse than you expected. It's torturous to try and stand, but you bite your lip, trying not to groan as you stand. Your legs are wobbly at first and then you hear Finnick call your name.

“Finnick there's something in my back." He's running towards you, eyes full of concern. Your taking deep breaths to try and move through the pain, “I need you to take it out."

Soon he's behind you and before you can say anything more his hand grabs yours from behind, "This is gonna hurt a lot-”

"Don't tell me, just rip it out, like a bandaid.”

"Angel, I can't do that. I'll do it as fast as I can, but I can't just tear it out without causing more damage." His fingers are rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

You're crying a little and even though it causes more pain you laugh a little, “It's one of those stupid scalpel chains isn't it?"

“Yeah, sweet girl, squeeze my hand as hard as you need too." You're nodding, putting the free arm to your mouth to try and muffle yourself if you scream at all. Trying not to bite when you realize this is just as excruciating as the fog had been, fingernails digging into Finnick's hand as he pulls out each piece of the chain. “I've got you, angel, it's okay." By the time all the pressure from the chain has left your back you feel faint. “There we go, all done, you did such a good job." There's no chance to acknowledge him when you're letting yourself run to the edge so you can hurl into the water.

You force yourself to keep standing, “How bad is it?"

“Just deep enough to stick, but you're gonna be okay.” Finnick helps you steady yourself, avoiding the tender wounds on your back.

"Let's just get what we need and get off this bloody island." Johanna says and everyone complies.

“I can carry you, if you want." Finnick offers, already helping you across the rocks.

“I can walk, Finnick, I'm sure soon enough we'll be hit with something else that gives me enough adrenaline that I won't even feel it." You shrug, trying to force yourself to have good spirits. “And I still think hypothermia was worse so-"

He lets himself laugh, shaking his head, “You say that about everything."

“Because it's true! I was so cold that I felt like I was on fire and I was seeing things, I'm sure my back can take a few hits."

"Okay, angel, whatever you say.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You don't know how long had passed since they stripped you of your wet, muddied, bloodied clothes, or since they injected you with something that made you pass out until you woke with seemingly no injuries to remind you of the past except the stitches in your side. You do know that now they've allowed you rest, before you're thrust back into the Capitol to be seen, to be crowned. The blankets felt like the softest thing to ever grace your skin and the mattress itself is a blessing, but you can't appreciate it when your eyes bore into the wall, guilt infesting your bloodstream.

Light floods into the room and you fear that you've been lost in your head for so long it's already time for them to play dress up with your lifeless body. But his scent is something you've always known instantly, saltwater, sand, the smell of home. You don't even look at him, there's no point, you need the darkness to engulf you and let you have a redo.

“I wish you let me die in that arena." You don't recognize your own voice, so hoarse, so numb.

He took a cautious step into the room, “I know." Finnick sounds like he's already resigned himself to this, to whatever this is. You finally tear your eyes from the walls, briefly having let them pass over his figure, but doing nothing more than scooting over. You hope he got the message you silently urged for and of course he does, he gets you so well. When his body heat is by yours once again, you resent that you're able to have it, that you fought to have it.

‘You don't deserve to cry,’ is what you had begun to tell yourself the moment they grabbed you from that arena. The tears of a murderer do little to those whose blood they've shed. Yet when his hand is cupping your cheek, you feel the tears returning. The longer the silence persists, the better you'll be able to hold back from crying, but eventually you succumb to the uprising of tears and you've probably stained whatever Finnick is wearing.

“He's my best friend Finnick." Was. He was your best friend. Before you dug your talons in, chewed up the parts you needed, and kept the blood on your hands. That bright, beautiful boy that by all means you were supposed to end up with. You'd resisted that ending so much the universe had seemingly decided to make it a tragedy instead. “My best friend." His home was yours, his family was one with you, but you had to be selfish and greedy, so karma took its place.

Finnick's hands cradled your head, and you let yourself push away just to melt right back into them. “And he tried to kill you."

It made you seethe, how dare he be right, "Because I used him, I did that to him. He should have killed me, I'm not meant for this, Finnick.”

"Angel, the Capitol is eating out of your hand, you go out there, you smile and laugh, they love it. And then you walk straight off that stage to me.” You've sat up, trying to stop the hyperventilation that's taken control of your body. You can feel his hands on yours, trying to guide your breathing, but your brain felt too loud to even attempt to follow.

“Why'd you let me do it? You should've told me it was stupid, you should've let him win. He has a family who cares about him, oh my god his family!" Maybe it's not fair to blame Finnick, it had been your idea after all, but it helps because you felt like the insurmountable grief would eat you alive.

He pressed his forehead to yours, “I know, I know, angel, I'm sorry." Later you'll feel more remorse for what you said, but now you could barely breathe.

"You'd said you wanted to keep me safe and now I've screwed it all up because the world is punishing me."

Finnick had gone back to trying to steady your face, for his hands to calm you, which only works to remind you every one in a while to breathe. “Nothing is punishing you, this isn't your fault."

“No, it is, it's all my fault, Finnick! I couldn't just be satisfied with how my life was supposed to be. I wanted you so bad and pushed away my fate and so now the universe has to punish me"

“Stop it." His voice is grounded, caring but stern like the way he's been holding your face. “Don't do that, sweet girl, no one is getting retribution against you for anything.”

"What are the odds? Who does that happen to, Finnick? I just happened to get pulled in the same year as my best friend who everyone knows I'm supposed to end up with and then suddenly you want me again?”

"The odds are never in anyone's favor. And I wanted you anyways.”

You've begun scratching at your chest, which you've never done before, but the newfound anxieties seem to have taken over. But Finnick instantly is pulling your hands away. "I'm not meant for this, I'm just supposed to be the person who gets married and lives in some small house on the beach, who goes to the markets, not this.”

“And you put on a show for them, angel, and then we get to go back home and live that life as much as possible. You only have to keep the act up for them." You didn't have it in you to keep explaining otherwise, you were exhausted, although part of you told yourself you'd be better off without sleep, that you didn't deserve rest. Finnick could of course sense it all and pulled you into his chest. The warmth you'd so missed finally fully surrounding you, protecting you from everything, even your own thoughts for a little while. It was a heat you so desperately craved and the idea you'd never feel it again had haunted you when you'd almost died in the cold. So you nuzzled yourself deeper into his chest, "Get some rest, sweet girl.” His lips pressed to the top of your head.

Your brain refused to rest peacefully, but if you so much as mumbled in your sleep Finnick was there to soothe you until it passed and eventually he was waking you. For a moment, when your eyes had just fluttered open, it was easy to imagine that it was just you and Finnick back home, that none of that had occurred had ever happened. Maybe if you convince yourself of that delusion for long enough it would be an easy enough fantasy to slip into whenever you needed to give the Capitol a facade of joy. You were a victor after all.

“They're just going to do the same process that happened before the parade before your stylist gets whatever she had planned ready. I'll be there when you're done."

"Finnick, I'm sorry.”

"You don't have to apologize to me.” He understood what you'd gone through, he'd been there too and even though you knew that it still felt cruel to have blamed him for anything related to your actions.

"I-” He interrupted you with a kiss, you'd almost forgot what his mouth was like, the taste of honey on his lips.

"I’ll meet you after, angel.” He parted ways with you at the sleek, silver door to a scarily, clinical room. Soon enough you were being surrounded by a flock of your designing team to get your primped to the nines.

“You literally had me on the edge of my seat, it was divine." One of them squawked, making sure your body was completely devoid of any hair they hadn't specially planned to be there. You simply smiled as gratefully as you could, nodding along with each remark they made.

“We need more games like you, I mean they're all interesting, but you brought such a kick to it. One of the most entertaining by far!" One squealed, trimming your nails. Making a small look of disgust when he pulled out the dried mud and blood lodged underneath your fingernails.

“Oh, you'll be a must have at my big birthday gala next month. You will come won't you?” The woman with bright green hair who was powdering something onto your face asked eagerly.

“Of course, you've all done so much for me!" Your face hurt from the forced smiles as you gushed, and they oohh’d and aahh’d at your performance.

“You are the sweetest little thing, I could just burst!" The green haired woman waved her hands around expressively, the others nodding along with her.

“Anyone who doesn't already love you, will have to now!" The man announced, putting down your hand.

“Well we've done the makeup Cambrie requested, so we’ll let her know you're ready for the dress. It's simply divine. You'll wait right in there." You were ushered into a much more comfortable looking room and the smell of food instantly made you salivate. You'd forgotten how long it had been since you'd last eaten, especially something more than small fish, rabbits, berries, and nuts. Instantly you dove into each dish you could, eager to finally fill your stomach that has longed for food for over a week now.

You'd nearly eaten your fill when Cambrie’s bright voice filled the room. “I knew it would be you, I told everyone I could how much of a sweetheart you were! And now everyone wants one of my looks. You are such a blessing!” She kissed both of your cheeks,"You know what they're calling you?” You shook your head, not sure if you really wanted to know. "A Princess!” She squealed, obviously filled with glee."That's amazing to work with."

You smiled as big as you could to match hers, “Oh I'm flattered, but why that?"

“I mean look at you, the sweet, little girl from District 4 with two men pining to have her. Not a slob like some of the victors from past years, perfectly kind and refined." If it was considered kind and refined to manipulate and kill other children, then you guessed you would fit the bill. “So your dress reflects that, the princess style as one would say. I would've loved to incorporate a tiara, but since you'll be crowned at the end of the night we had to forego that."

The dress shimmered like the ocean in sunlight,"It's beautiful.” You said starting at the gown, it felt wrong to dressed in the Capitol's finest as Conway was being shipped in a wooden coffin back home.

“Just like you!" Cambrie clapped her hands together before leading you out of the room to where you'd wait to be presented back in front of Panem. Finnick immediately caught your eye and you resisted running straight to him.

“You look beautiful." He had a twinkle in his eye, that made you want to slip back into the fantasy that all of this wasn't because you'd won the Hunger Games, that it was just a regular day.

“You're not too bad yourself.” You shrugged with a playful smile. Then faster than anticipated it was time to go, Finnick squeezed your hand encouragingly. You let your smile fall for a fraction of a second to take a deep breath before plastering it back on.

“You've got this.” He whispered, kissing your hand before releasing it as you walked towards the steps of the stage.

“You know her, you love her, our very own Capitol Princess and victor of the 69th Annual Hunger Games!" He shouted your name into the microphone to a resounding applause as you walked onto the stage. Making sure to wave to everyone you could each of whom flailed their arms in excitement. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we're very excited to have you back." People cheered in agreement as you let out an airy laugh in response.

“Well Ceaser, I'm glad to be back, everyone is so kind!" You were smiling so hard your nose scrunched up, in hopes that they found it adorable.

“I would ask you what you're most excited for now that you're back, but I think we know the answer to that one." He quirked his eyebrows and the audience murmured in agreement.

You felt your face getting hot and looked down shyly, “Oh Ceaser-" You tried to make yourself seem as much like a hopeful romantic, innocent girl as you could. Maybe it could reverse the effects that manipulating Conway may have had on how you were perceived.

“Am I right? Have you been able to rekindle flames with a certain Capitol Darling?" You hid your face in your hands for a second, kicking your legs, the audience laughed, and you were certain there must be cameras somewhere planted on Finnick to try and capture a reaction. "I think we know what that means.” Caesar shot his blinding smile at the crowd who cheered.

“All I can say is there are many things I'm excited to return to, and people." You'd accepted since your interview that if you did win then your romantic life would be of great interest to the Capitol, so you didn't shy away from playing into it, giving a small, longing look off the side of the stage that the cameras would be sure to pick up.

“And I suppose for now you'll make us settle for that as an answer?"

“For now, Caesar, a woman has to have her secrets." You repeated, alluding back to your original interview, and the audience gave a playful groan.

"Well then, for now, that's an answer we'll have to be happy with. But I know we're all burning to go over these highlights with you.” The highlights, your moment to try and keep up the persona while rewatching the moments already ingrained into your mind. Everyone watching seemed eager with anticipation of the cheers were any indicator.

“I wouldn't want to keep anyone waiting then." Your gaze was purposely wide and as doe-eyed as you could make it be. The Bloodbath was first, your kills, the alliance and you were able to maintain the facade as he pestered you about your abilities with the knife. You distracted your brain with how cold the auditorium seemed to be, how thin the fabric of the dress was which left you trying not to shiver. Then it was conversations with Conway and you tried even harder to play into the act while trying to detach yourself from reality.

“I know some people were definitely rooting for you and Conway in the tragedy of it all, but I have to ask, and I want you to be honest. Did you love him?"

“He was my closest friend in the world, of course I loved him." Not like how he wanted you too, or how you knew logically you should have loved him, but it was love. Your voice was soft, sweet, and trembled with the fear of tears. Which you decided could actually be helpful at some point to keep painting yourself in this light.

You could have sworn you saw audience members crying, not because they cared about you, or him, but because to them this was a tale of tragedy that added a kick to their entertainment. Caesar hummed, “But you loved someone else more?" His voice was softer in the microphone as well.

You looked at him, “Only one of us was going to come out of the arena, it wasn't a matter of who I loved more." What a lie, if it was Finnick you were certain you'd give it all up for him in a split second. Sounds of sobs filled your ears and you pushed down the anger you felt at these people for how they'd ripped your life, Conway's life apart , just to cry over it now. Next was the highlight where you'd almost died and that was much easier to talk about, besides the fact that you could currently feel how cold your nose was getting which made your body want to curl up, you took every muscle to resist that impulse though.

“What were you thinking when that parachute was flying down from the sky?"

“Honestly, Caesar, it's fuzzy, but I'm pretty sure I was hallucinating." You forced a nervous laugh which the audience returned in full force and so did Ceased. You turned your body to face them, “However since then all I've wanted to say is thank you, to all of you who sponsored me during the games." The tears about Conway you let spill in full force about this instead, silently hoping it would win even more people over. “I'm just so grateful for all the generosity you've shown me and I will forever be." The crowd gave out noises of approval.

When the coverage of the battle between your allies and the Careers began and all the way up to those you cared about most in those Games, you let your soul float into the clouds. Allowing a smiley, teary eyed autopilot to take over your brain. You don't remember leaving autopilot until you were seated in some sort of throne-like chair, President Snow giving a speech to the citizens of Panem. He turned to you and you rose as he approached you with a crown, a crown that represented how you backstabbed your way to the top.

You bowed your head slightly as he placed the cold metal on your head, “Wonderful job, my dear." He said gruffly with a smile and although you could feel your body shaking, you forced one back.

“Thank you, Mr. President."

Yet he reiterated his statement in a way that gave you chills that you couldn't understand, “A wonderful job, you've really proven what these games are about."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Did we leave the spile in one of the trees?” You ask, dehydration certainly isn't helping how lightheaded you felt.

Peeta nods, “Yeah, impossible to know which one though."

"I'll go find it then.” You volunteered.

"I need to give the beach a good walk around, as well, let my brain finish thinking something up.” Beetee stood up, coil of wire in hand.

“You're not going alone." Finnick objected, ready to go with you.

“I'm not going alone, I have Beetee. We'll be fine, Finnick, it's a circle you'll be able to see us the whole way around." He looked reluctant, but knew there wasn't much he could do unless he followed you around, but he couldn't leave Johanna to take care of both Katniss and Peeta.

He sighed, “Be safe." His tone was even, straight-laced, “Beetee make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."

You scoffed, “I'm looking for a spile!" But Beetee nodded to Finnick. “I’ll be fine! If I need you I'll scream." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I'll send out a search party if you're not back in 20 minutes."

You looked around the arena slowly before looking back at him, “I'm sure there's no way of telling, but I'll be back. I promise." You smiled and he's still frowning, but he kisses your forehead and lets you walk off with Beetee.

“20 minutes!" He shouts after you as you begin walking around the perimeter of the beach, looking around the trees.

“So what's your plan with that?" You nod towards the coil Beetee is fiddling with.

“We've got water, lighting, a conductor, everything we need to electrocute." Beetee responds, you're ducking in and out of the trees. Searching for where the spile could be nestled in. You're far enough that you can't really see the group through all the trees, but that doesn't bother you until you hear a scream. It's far enough away that it's faint, screams of a young girl and then Katniss. You and Beetee are looking around, listening to the noise that's carried only by the breeze, when another voice enters the cacophony. It's familiar to you, but your brain struggles to process the sound. “That's you." Beetee says slowly.

Your brain does; however, instantly register the next scream, calling your name, Finnick. Instantly you'd ran out of the treeline back into the sand, back to where you'd left the group. “Finnick!" You screamed back, heart racing in panic. “Johanna, where's Finnick?" Both him and Katniss are gone, you can hear their shouts on top of the other noises.

“He followed her in." Johanna tilted her head towards the jungle and your legs instantly started moving, to find him, to show him the screams aren't really you. “It's already closed off, you can't go in."

"What do you mean, closed off?” You get your answer instantly when your hands touch the shield surrounding the woods the screams are coming from. You see Katniss running forward screaming and Peeta comes up by you, telling her it's just the birds. What birds? She's being hounded by them as she falls to the ground and you realize the screams are coming from them.

“Jabberjays." Beetee says, coming up behind you. You let your hands trace along the wall as you keep walking.

“What're you doing?" Johanna asks, exasperated.

“I have to find him, if he can at least see me-" Her scoff interrupts you but you keep darting your eyes through the trees in this clear cage, following it.

“He knows by now that it's not really you.”

"I know that!” You don't mean to snap at her, it frustrates you that you even pulled your eyes away from the jungle. "I know him, Johanna, and if he can see me then he'll know for certain that I'm okay." You're about to turn in the jungle as you follow the wall but Johanna grabs your arm, you start to shove her off. “Let go of me!”

"You go in there and it could be the next hour, the moment those stupid mutts are done, whatever is in there you'll be stuck with.”

"I don't care!”

She grabs you again, "But he does!” The frustration makes you want to cry all over again. She's right and that infuriates you, looking back inside the bubble when you catch a glimpse of him. Sitting, knees to his chest, covering his ears as he whispers something to himself, eyes clenched shut as birds flutter around him.

You don't care if he can't hear you when you hit the wall, “Finnick! Finnick!" Johanna mumbles something, but you don't listen. Too busy trying to beg him to look your way, but he doesn't. All you can do is watch him as he talks to himself, the way his fingers dig into the side of his head, how hurt he looks. You hate yourself, for disregarding him to go search for the stupid spike, for letting him be there for you and now not being there for him. "There's gotta be a way to break it.” Your voice cracks.

"I helped design the technology, it's unbreakable." Beetee’s voice is quiet in the clamor going on in your head. You hate him too right now for giving them this, something to stop you from getting to him. Forehead pressed to the wall as you let yourself cry, let the shame take over your body. You've forced yourself to keep your eyes on him, to suffer more, a just punishment for allowing this to happen. If you'd stayed out then the screams wouldn't have ever lured him in deeper. At some point he removed his hands from his ears and began to stare forward numbly. Allowing the birds to screech in his ears with your stolen voice, you resent yourself more for not trying harder, for letting him slip into such a state even if there was nothing more to do. Centuries seem to pass when suddenly there's a silence and your head falls forward, the wall is gone, the birds are lying on the jungle floor.

Instantly you're running forward, you want to scream out in relief that it's finally over, but you're terrified to startle him. You kneel down in front of him, there are streaks on his face from what must have been tears, but now he's just blank. “Finn?" It's whispered, so as not to put him on alert.

Slowly his eyes moved to your face, at first it's somewhat untrusting, like he doesn't believe it's really you. The worry on your face must prove to him otherwise because that look is soon gone.

“Are you okay?" You know the answer is no, but you don't know what else to say, too guilt ridden to think of a way to help.

“Yeah, I'm fine." He mutters and you nod just kneeling by him.

Your stomach is churning, it felt like your blood was full of pure, unfiltered anxiety, so you force your foot not to tap, but you can feel your toes twitching. “I'm sorry.” You croaked out and he shook his head again, "No, I am, I'm sorry Finnick. I should've stayed with you, I should've-"

“Are you hurt?" His hoarse voice asks, it's numb like the way his eyes are.

“No, Finnick, I was fine, I am fine!"

“Then it doesn't matter." He shrugs.

“It matters to me." Finnick looks at you, like your words are finally sinking into him. Cautiously you bring your hands up to his, “Do you wanna go to the beach? We can, we can go there." Besides the fact he always wanted to be at the beach back home, that was especially true when the episodes of not being able to ignore the burden on his shoulders happened. Your own uncertainness made you angry with yourself, he was always putting on a facade to be strong when you needed him too and now when it was your turn, you couldn't even stop your voice from shaking. His head moved ever so slightly, “Yeah? Come on." Slowly you began to rise, keeping your hands on his as he stood as well. As carefully as you could you guided him back to the sands of the beach, to the waters.

He instantly submerged himself in the water as he sat down, letting waves rise on him. You followed suit, wrapping your arms around him and he leaned back into you. “Don't leave me either." Finnick eventually spoke, the setting sun highlighting his face.

You shook your head furiously, “I won't." Maybe you didn't understand what about you he found grounded or endeared him, but you did know you never wanted to see or even think of him the way you just had, again. You also accepted there would never be a day where you didn't think about it, what you did, how he looked, how he acted, how scared he seemed. It would haunt you and you would let it, if only to make sure it never happened again. Part of you wished the seawater would consume the both of you here, forever immortalize you with it and make sure there was never a moment you could be parted from each other's arms. Yet a larger piece of you was more determined than ever to execute the plan the best you could so you could be free of the control and mind games of the Capitol, so you could just live the rest of your life out with Finnick the way you'd both intended. To end it all, no matter what it took, so nobody else would have to live the life of the so-called ‘Victor.’

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

I cannot thank you all enough for reading, this was a longer one and I'm sorry it took so long to get out. feedback, likes, comments, reblogs, are all super appreciated and my ask box is open, I'm slowly getting through requests as well! you're all so amazing and sweet, it's really kept my passion for this series alive and I have so many ideas. again thank you all so much for reading 💋

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[smallturtlebomb]

I saw this and i wanted to do it with luz (since she’s a brainworm 4 me basically) and i forgot to add some other scars

[idanart]

My new OC's of Monkey Wrench 🐙

I'm not good at creating stories for my original characters, but here we go. Aqua is a shy, nervous but self-confident boy, as well as a biology lover. He really likes discovering new planets as well as discovering new species, he is the voice of reason in the group (Yes, I am still working on his 2 friends who accompany him on his adventures discovering new things)

I forgot to mention that Aqua has a Bo as a weapon, I mean if you are going to discover new planets like the nature of this one, you must defend yourself from any threat :))