#sorry if thats. disappointing to any of u. but they will continue to be human(ish)

[shayasay]

Im the same guy who requested that out of pocket reader and omg i love it sm !! Tysm for wiritng it 😭 would it be ok to request again HAHAHS yeah anyways angst this time with Teru, akane (sorry these 2 r my faves), and yashiro with reader thats involved with the supernatural stuff and they got into a battle with one before. Suddenly their body temperature keeps getting colder everyday, they dont have any blush on their cheeks and sometimes their hearing dont even work 😭 the characters eventually found out smth is wrong and thats when you confess you died ever since you fought with that supernatural but your body is still functioning (lets leave the reason on how exactly does that work) You dont know how much longer you can last until the seconds drain out (the r in reader stands for rip)

Thank u for writing my request again and you don't have to do it if u want to

HIII YES OF COURSEE IM SORRY IM LATE IVE BEEN BUSY MOVING AND IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT WRITING MHAAA! I hope this is good!

Finding out their S/O is dead

ft. Akane Aoi, Teru minamoto and Yashiro nene

Teru

- Teru realized something was wrong 2 days after.

- He realized that even if he complimented you or flirted with you, you would act all blushy blushy but… your face wouldn’t show any color.

- One day you told him that you wanted to speak with him

————————-

- “What?..” Teru couldn’t believe what he was hearing right now

- His beloved partner..is dead?..

- No this can’t be real he probably just imaged it

- For a while he just continues to stare at you in not only shock but with disappointment as well.

- Teru dislikes the supernatural and when he finds out that his s/o is one, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

- “Teru I’m sorry… If been meaning to tell you after that day..” you confess as you start tearing up “The day we fought that supernatural I died, and I didn’t know how to tell you so I kept quiet..”

- Teru just continued to stare, eventually he just turns around and walks away

- After that day you avoided him, you couldn’t stand yourself for what you did so instead you just hid yourself from not only Teru, but your friends as well..

Akane

- I feel like he discovered you were dead when you guys were eating lunch

- The reason being is because I feel like Akane likes spice and when he fed you something spicy

- You didn’t turn red even if you were fanning your face

- But a few days later you dragged him into the janitors closet and told him

- Even though he knew, he felt really guilty because he felt like he was supposed to be your knight and shining armour

- You kept telling him that it wasn’t his fault but he just sobbed his eyes out as he held you repeatedly apologizing

- “I’m so sorry S/O I truly am my love..” “Akane it’s not your fault..” you tell him

- Akane doesn’t care if you’re dead or not, he loves you anyway and he’ll continue to protect you even if you’re dead or alive.

———————————

- “I love you S/O, no matter what I’ll always love you. Even if I have to sacrifice my life for you.”

Yashiro

- After the fight she ran to you to hug you

- That’s when she realized that you were cold.

- In fact you were TOO cold, cold like Hanako

- And that’s when she realized that you were dead

- “S/O…You’re dead aren’t you?..”

- “Im sorry Yashiro…I dead during the fight..”

- You say as you start crying as you fell to your knees wiping your tears

- Since Yashiro was used to hanging out with the dead, she wasn’t disappointed that you were a supernatural

- She was just upset that she couldn’t save you

- of course Yashiro still treated you like you were a human, she still loved you and didn’t care what you were

- What mattered to her was that you were still with her (and that you loved her daikon legs).

————————

- “ I love you S/O no matter what!”

I HOPE THIS WAS GOODDDDD IM SORRY IF IT WASNTTTTTT! *sobs*

Note: Every character is 18+

[under-the-blue-sun]

come through (‘cause I just want to be with you) - chapter two

story summary: Dan is half-angel half-demon whose parents sent him to earth to try and live a normal life when he turned 18. In doing this, he lost any power he had, if proven he could live among them normally. The only rule? He couldn’t fall in love with a mortal. Fast forward 5 years later, just before his 23rd birthday, when things go downhill once he meets a barista in a coffee shop who he befriends and falls for.

story word count: 2759

rating: teen & up audiences

warnings: profanity

song of the chapter:  black sun - death cab for cutie

note: i know this is late but in my defense i'm gay and i can't count. i hope you enjoy this chapter!! also on another note isn’t the new tumblr font just terrible

link to ao3 | link to first chapter on tumblr

Chapter Two: how could something so fair (be so cruel)

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 Dan groaned, slamming the button on his alarm to stop the blaring noise. His bleary eyes squinted at the clock.

 “11. That’s okay,” he muttered, hiding under his blankets to stop the persistent pain in his stomach, as if his body was reminding him he should be somewhere.

 He suddenly rose from the covers.

 “10. Lecture. Fuck.”

 He leapt up, clearing his blurry thoughts from his mind, and ran to the bathroom, shoving a bottle of Listerine down his throat. Choking with disgust, he grabbed the first clothes on the floor to throw on, and sprinted out the door, black Muse tote bag stumbling out of his careless hands. Barely catching his breath, he staggered into the lecture room one hour and forty-five minutes late, seemingly unnoticed. He slipped into the back seat, laying out his notebook, pencil case and laptop.

 “Rough morning, huh?” Chris whispered.

 “It was actually a very good morning, until I woke up and realised I was one hour late for the lecture,” Dan whispered back.

 Chris sniggered. “I’ll bet.”

 Chris was one of the very few humans who Dan could talk to without seeming like a fool, mostly because Chris was very rather odd himself. Most people in his philosophy class were aesthetic, intelligent and very pretentious, but Chris made sure he was never two of those things at once. He was the person who introduced him to most of the human things he likes now, and has unknowingly helped Dan slip into human society very well.

 Dan glanced at Chris’ notes. “Anything important?”

 “It’s a philosophy class. Nothing is important, Dan,” Chris said. “I’ll give you the notes after, asshole.”

 “Rude. Exam’s on Monday, right?” Dan said.

 “Yeah, and the hand-in essay’s due before 12pm Wednesday.”

 Dan sighed. “Well, fuck. I better listen.”

 Chris wriggled closer to Dan, assuming his tea-spilling posture. “Have you-”

 “Shut up!” Dan hissed. 

 Chris rolled his eyes, slouching back into the chair, and resumed his note-taking for the last fifteen minutes of class before they were dismissed. 

 “Oh, hurry up. I have something to show you,” Chris said.

 “I haven’t had my morning coffee yet, please cut me some slack.” Dan yawned, slowly placing his items in his tote bag.

 “That’s what I was going to show you,” Chris replied. “Hurry up!”

 Dan finally finished putting his stationery away, and shoved his pencil in his pocket approximately five minutes later, after around one hundred carefully-crafted insults from Chris. “I’m done, what do you want to show me?”

 “I have found the best coffee shop in the entirety of London,” Chris announced, heading out of the lecture room. Dan raised his eyebrows.

 “I highly doubt that,” Dan said.

 “Okay, maybe it’s not the best. But the baristas?” Chris blew a kiss into the air.

 Dan shook his head, disappointed. “Chris, what did I say about objectifying people?”

 “Please, come. It’s called ‘Never Gonna Give Brew Up’,” Chris said, looking at Dan expectantly. Dan stared back, expressionless.

 “You know, like Never Gonna Give You Up?” Chris hinted.

 “Yes, I understand the joke. You keep sending me links to the music video.”

 Chris laughed. “Wait, you actually click on them?”

 Dan scoffed. “Of course not. I memorized the several URLs you’ve sent so I recognise it straight away. I also tend to distrust every link you send.”

 “As you should. Anyway, I am begging you to come. There’s one especially cute boy who I know works today, and I also know he’s very single. His name is Jack, and he is absolutely adorable.”

 Dan continued walking, making no response. 

 “Dan. You’re single, sad, very gay and very lonely. Just ask him out, go on a date, see how it is,” Chris begged.

 Dan snorted. “Like your love life is perfect.”

 “Hey, I may not have a long-term partner, but at least I’m going on dates and meeting up with people. In all the four years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you go on a single date unprompted.”

 Dan shrugged. “Haven’t found the right guy.”

 “Come on. Just come to the coffee shop, at least,” Chris pleaded.

 “Fine,” Dan said, deciding to humour Chris. “I’ll meet the barista.”

 ---

 Jack the barista was, in fact, very hot, just like Chris stated. They were definitely not the first people to notice that. There was a whole clump of people in the cafe hovering around him, eager for him to give them a chance, or a glance. It was ridiculous.

 “This is ridiculous,” Dan muttered, turning to leave. “I’m going to get out of here.”

 Chris grabbed his arm. “I’m not letting you leave, Howell.”

 Dan groaned as Chris pushed him back in the line and started ordering the food.

 “I didn’t come here to ogle at the resident hoe,” Dan whispered violently in his ear. “I am leaving.”

 “What did you just call me?”

 Dan froze, and looked to the unfamiliar voice that came from in front of him. 

 “Resident hoe. Don’t take it personally. I’m sure you’re a lovely person, I’m just lashing out and name-calling because my friend here is trying to set me up with you. I apologise.��

 Jack smirked in amusement. “At least let the resident hoe get you some coffee. You look like you haven’t slept in years.”

 “Probably because I haven’t,” Dan admitted. “And not in a sexy way.”

 Jack snorted, and handed Dan a drink. “I think this coffee has the most caffeine which you can possibly stuff in a drink.” 

 “Sorry for calling you the resident hoe,” Dan said, turning to go.

“Well, if you want to make a full apology, I’ll be here tonight as well,” Jack said. “Opening hours till midnight.”

 Dan grinned. “I’ll think about it.”

 ---

 “I cannot believe you won him over by calling him a resident hoe,” Chris said, as they were leaving the cafe.

 “What were you picturing?” Dan asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

 Chris shrugged. “I don’t know. Not that. But hey, it worked! And you have another chance to actually talk to him tonight. You are going back there tonight, right?”

 Dan clicked his tongue. “I’m thinking about it.”

 “You better go,” Chris warned. “He literally invited you back to the cafe. You’re not gonna get that chance again.”

 Dan glanced at his watch. “Well, I have approximately twelve whole hours to think about whether I should go back to the cafe to call Jack names, so that’s plenty of time to think. That’s philosophy, right? Thinking about stuff.”

 Chris sighed. “Yeah. You should probably head to the library to revise right now.”

 ---

 Dan looked up helplessly at his blank word document. He had been in the library for three whole hours, yet he had written absolutely nothing. He stared at the blinding white of his screen, mind completely empty. Frankly, he was incredibly amazed at his brain for managing to not have a single thought yet also have too many thoughts. Slowly and helplessly, he began to type random things that came to his brain.

 Are immortal people allowed to fall in love with human beings?

 Dan paused, then pressed the enter button.

 No.

 why?

 because theyll probably find out?? that you’re a demon angel fuckin thing whatever also theyll die before u and thats like sad idk yeah

 Dan sighed. A+ essay right there. 

 The thing is, he kind of really wanted to go on that date with Jack. He seemed like a nice guy. It would be kind of fun. Besides, it would really shut Chris up and he wouldn’t pester him for a few months. 

 It wasn’t like he was going to marry Jack, after all. Like, he was pretty much the resident hoe. 

 Dan sighed deeply. 

 But if an immortal person went to a cafe with the possibility of going out with someone who was not going to be a potential future partner, would that be wrong?

 After a long pause, Dan began to type again.

 No.

 And with that, he gave up on his essay, packed up his bags and left the library.

 ---

 Surprisingly, Never Gonna Give Brew Up was still open, and very brightly lit. Dan didn’t really know why he was surprised. He was told that it closed at midnight, after all. But still, he didn’t normally associate open cafes with dark evenings. He swung the door open and stepped inside with a wide grin.

 “Hey J-” Dan paused. “You’re not Jack.”

 The barista at the counter looked up from his screen with a smirk. “Astute observation.”

 Dan stepped carefully in the cafe, closing the door behind him to make sure it didn’t slam. The barista was watching him carefully, smirk still planted on his irritatingly handsome face. Dan was seriously beginning to think the only qualification for applying to this cafe was to be good-looking.

 “Well. This is awkward,” Dan said.

 The barista shrugged. “For you, maybe. For me, this is rather entertaining. Tell me, what service were you wanting from Jack? I’m guessing it’s not coffee.”

 Dan snorted. “Well, it’s a long story.”

 “Is it?” the barista said, raising an eyebrow.

 Dan thought over it. “Not really. I called him the resident hoe and I came here to apologise slash ask him out. That’s pretty much it.”

 “I’m sorry for cockblocking you. I’ll give you free coffee to make up for it,” the barista offered.

 “Thanks, I could use that actually. I have an exam I haven’t studied for and a hand-in essay I haven’t begun coming up in the next few days, so I’m guessing I’m not going to be getting a lot of sleep for a while.” Dan said.

 “You already look like you haven’t gotten a lot of sleep in a while,” the barista pointed out.

 Dan chuckled joylessly. “Thanks, everyone says that to me when I meet them.”

 “I mean, I also haven’t been getting a lot of sleep. And no offense to your Jack, but it’s kind of because of him.” 

 “Oh yeah? Give me the tea,” Dan said. Then he frowned. “Or the coffee. I don’t know whether you do make tea here.”

 “I’ll give you the tea and the coffee,” the barista joked, grabbing a cup to start making Dan’s drink. “It’s not really that interesting tea, though. I just have to keep on doing Jack’s shifts because he always says he’s busy last minute. He’s such an asshole. Probably did you a favour with the cockblock, mate.”

 “Damn. Thanks for that, I guess,” Dan said, and the barista laughed, giving Dan an odd warm fuzzy feeling inside. Before he could fully process what that was, the barista handed him the drink.

 “Here,” he said, and Dan took a sip, pleasantly surprised.

 “I have to say, this is a lot better than the one Jack gave me,” Dan commented.

 “Of course it is. Jack’s shit at making coffee,” the barista said.

 Dan laughed. “Yeah, it was kind of nasty.”

 “You should probably get to that essay soon, though,” the barista said, and Dan suddenly realised he may have overstayed his welcome. He cleared his throat.

 “Yeah, probably should. Thanks for the free coffee,” Dan said.

 The barista smiled. “Yeah, it was no problem.”

 “I didn’t catch your name, by the way.” 

 “Phil. And you are?”

 “Dan.”

 “Dan,” Phil said, like he was trying the name out for the first time. “Nice to meet you, Dan.”

 “Nice to meet you too, Phil,” Dan said, and left happier than he’d felt in weeks.

[markley]

amortentia — wjh

summary — where complicated feelings are so easily revealed with a simple potion

genre — hogwarts au, fantasy, fluff, comedy

warnings — n/a

word count — 2.5k

a/n — my first harry potter au! if u arent a slytherin im sorry :(

“hello class,” your potions proffesor says, looking out to the rest of the tired morning class. “for the next few days we are learning about amortentia. can anyone tell me what it is?”

many hands raise, not including your own. you knew, but didnt really care enough to answer the question, opting to read the section on the strong love potion in the textbook in front of you. suddenly, something hits the back of your head, and you turn to face wen junhui, or jun, balling up another piece of small parchment in his hands.

if there is one word to describe jun, it’s infuriating. normally, students from the same house tend to get along, but that definitely did not occur between you and jun, both headstrong slytherins with a need to be right— not traits for a good friendship.

it started when junhui questioned whether you were talented or not, as you were always so quiet and never showed any particular skill in wizadry. he challenged you to a duel, and lost. ever since then he has made it his duty to bother and annoy you until school ends, while you make sure to never give him the last laugh.

honestly, the bickering has just become a game of cat and mouse, and although its tiring, you wont lose. besides, what’s the fun in that?

���uh,” you start awkwardly, fully aware of jun’s silent laugh behind you. “a strong love potion that causes obsession rather than actual love? i believe it also varies in smell.”

“uh,” you start awkwardly, fully aware of jun’s silent laugh behind you. “a strong love potion that causes obsession rather than actual love? i believe it also varies in smell.”

“uh,” you start awkwardly, fully aware of jun’s silent laugh behind you. “a strong love potion that causes obsession rather than actual love? i believe it also varies in smell.”

mr. min looks satisfied, shaking through his dark hair with a hand. “correct, but don’t think i won’t notice you not paying attention ms. kwon.” he continues on explaining the properties of the tonic. you turn around slightly to glare at a smirking junhui, clearly proud. you shake your head, already thinking of ways to get him back.

the rest of the class period consisted of you taking notes on both the actual subject and mental notes on ways to make jun’s life absolutely miserable. the bell finally rings, signaling the end of class, and you jump up before jun is able to talk to you like he always insists.

you hear his annoying—albeit nice—voice from behind you, a teasing pout. with a roll of your eyes, you walk away to find your brother, soonyoung, knowing he’s somewhere in the hallways near you. although he is a hufflepuff, and an annoying as hell brother, you found him much easier to get along with than those of your own house— example? jun. obviously. 

soonyoung giggles as you approach him, a teasing smile playing along his lips. “aw, look at that. mr. slytherin is sad you’re avoiding him.” he says. you punch the redhead’s arm, not even needing to look back to know he’s right. jun always pouts. soonyoung insists he really likes you, but you know better—if the constant teasing and pranking is anything to go by. besides, you hated the boy anyway, even though soonyoung disagrees with that as well.

mr. min yells out a small “remember to be prepared tomorrow” throughout the dungeon hall. you turn to the professor, allowing junhui to finally catch up to you, putting an arm around your shoulder, with soonyoung long gone. “hey babe,” jun says, grinning, “good job on that thing today. fucking hilarious.” rolling your eyes, you shrug his arm off.

“fuck--”

“me?”

“off!” you correct, groaning internally at his constant teasing. he just smiles that same crooked grin before walking away with a mumble you didn't quite catch but sounded something like ‘you would.’ oh, how you hate him. or at least that’s what you tell yourself. 

whether you hated the guy or not, he was undeniably gorgeous and sometimes— only sometimes— kind of funny. but you still hated him. never have you been so easily annoyed with a human being before. 

with a small shake of your head, you walk back to your dorm to think of a way to embarrass junhui after potions today. you get there quickly as its right by potions class, but even by this time you had an idea, and not a pretty one. 

if there was one thing junhui prided himself on, it was his skillset. whether that was charms or potions, he was cocky about succeeding in it all. using this, you think of a great way to embarrass him the way you were embarrassed earlier— making a fool out of himself under mr min’s eye. oh how very fun this will be. 

on the other side of school, jun was bribing soonyoung for information on you, already knowing you were attempting to get back at him. you were known for needing the last word, after all. soonyoung being the kind hufflepuff brother he is, at least tried to avoid jun, but eventually gave up at jun’s offer of endless sweets. can you blame him? well yes, and you do the next day before potions when he lets it slip that he told junhui the name of your old crush— not that junhui knows its old. 

how you and soonyoung are siblings? you will never know.

the only thing giving you solace from punching soonyoung in the face is knowing the prank you are about to pull on junhui. the prank in question is completely fucking up his potion, a prank soonyoung called “absolute evil.”

in class, you were to make your own batch of amortentia, a difficult feat on its own, although quite easy for you and jun. the best part is to soon come, when you throw in something most definitely not in the potion. specifically something to make it explode.

maybe soonyoung was right. mr. min was not an easy teacher to impress but was definitely an easy teacher to disappoint—and jun hates disappointing professors.

you were evil. guess thats why you fit perfectly in slytherin—or atleast according to the rest of the school.

when class starts, mr. min is already talking about failure. “don’t worry,” he says, “i already know most of you will fail.” with that last piece of what was probably meant to be encouragement, everyone begins to work on the difficult potion.

soon after everyone barely makes it to the middle of the workload, you have already finished, and jun is right behind you. he moved away from his cauldron to fetch the last ingredient, and you take it as your time to throw in a little bit of porcupine quills quickly, an easy way to make his potion turn into something not made for love.

with a small smile at no one noticing, you return to your own finished product, mr. min looking at it in satisfaction. suddenly, a small pop is heard from behind you where jun is standing in front of a bright green potion— well, more like covered in it.

you burst into silent giggles at his predicament, mr. min having an opposite reaction, instead glaring at the failure. junhui himself glares too, but instead at you, with eyes full of hatred. you can’t help the feeling of pride spreading across your chest, which then drops at mr. mins snarl.

“who did it?” he asks, looking around and then stopping at you. you throw your hands up in the air with an exclamation of ‘it wasn’t me!’. the professor doesn’t seem convinced, raising an eyebrow. he then plucks a porcupine quill off your robes, and you give up. “that’s what i thought.”

you look over to jun, standing still in the green mess, but with an obvious smirk on his face. you mentally face palm at yourself for failing at making jun an embarrassment. fuck the little shithead...

“the both of you,” mr. min speaks, pointing to a downtrodden and no longer smiling junhui, “are to clean this mess up, as well as the entire class. oh, and the storage while you are at it. don’t break anything.” and with a small groan of protest from jun, the class is dismissed. mr. min struts out of the dungeon classroom, but not before flicking his wand towards jun’s robes, now spotless.

with a slam of the dungeon door, you and junhui are left alone. “this is your fault,” junhui snarls, pointing a perfectly manicured finger in your direction. “why do i always get looped in with you?!”

“because you started it. and you always retaliate.” you say with ever growing frustration. jun groans in irritation, looking as if ready to stab you at any given moment.

“how the hell are you and soonyoung siblings?” he asks, shaking his head while walking to the corner to begin cleaning.

“i ask myself that question everyday.”

after that small conversation, the two of you start cleaning up the green mess and then the rest of the dungeon classroom. it took a good hour or two, and you still hadnt even organized the messy storage yet. the entire time while cleaning you and junhui hadnt talked to each other, only sparing a few hate-filled glances and eye rolls.

the storage closet was a mess of premade potions and ingredients. it was so chaotic you feel the need to ask mr. min the last time he even thought about organizing it. shelves upon shelves held bottles of colors: red to black to clear. almost every potion in existence was held in this small closet.

you can’t help but find your fingertips brushing across the bottles of pretty tonics. jun follows you into the small space to clean after seeing you ogling instead of doing your job. “get to cleaning.” he says, already starting his organization process of what seems to be putting the potions in rainbow order.

rolling your eyes, you begin to help, grabbing the bottles of liquid. a small bright pink vial grabs your attention as you brush through the bottled ingredients. you pick it up, swishing the thick potion within the glass. with a cock of your head, you open it to be met with a strong fume of what seems to smell like... junhui? the boy in question is still diligently cleaning the small closet behind you, unknowingly to you, staring at you from his peripheral vison.

you take another sniff, hoping to be wrong—but no. that smell is distinctly jun; musky yet sweet. a hand grabs the bottle from you, peering at the label. “what does it smell like?” jun asks, raising an eyebrow at your extremely confused expression. “it’s amortentia, dumbass.”

at this, you grab the potion back, not believing him. there is no way in hell amortentia would smell like jun. however, the infuriating guy was right. the bottle was in fact labeled amortentia. your breathing hitches, and you can’t seem to come up with any words— or even look up at the boy in front of you.

jun seems to get more confused every second you dont answer him. “um, y/n? you alive there?” you finally look up, coughing awkwardly and handing him the vial back.

“yeah, im fine dork.”

“ouch. dork? im a nerd at best.”

“shut up, you nerd.” he smiles at your unconscious correction, turning back to the amortentia bottle unaware to the racing thoughts and heart you are currently dealing with internally. why, why would amortentia smell like the one person you hate the most behind soonyoung?!

“i bet it smells like minghao.” at this blunt statement you snap your head to a smirking jun. “i mean, you do like him right?” you remember soonyoung saying how jun bribed him with chocolate for this information and you write a mental note to kill your brother later.

“liked,” you mumble, walking as far away from the grinning asshole in front of you. the last thing you need is junhui teasing you about a crush while the strongest love potion ever smells like him. “as in no longer. over. done with. blah blah blah.”

“anyway, are you almost done with the rest of the potions?” you quickly change the subject of your old crush and the potion that reeks of your number one enemy. the questions in your head still wont end and you want to leave as soon as possible.

“wait wait wait,” jun says, very insistent. “if you dont like minghao anymore, who does it smell like?”

“why the fuck do you care, junhui?”

“i dont,” he says, twidling his thumbs awkwardly, but still staring you down with his dark eyes. “im just... curious.” that isnt entirely true and you can hear it in his hesitant voice.

you groan and glare at the brunet boy. you take the bottle, and pretend to smell it again, but already know your answer. it smells like the forest you found him in one night after curfew, that you just happened to be sneaking out to as well—that was the first time you two ever got along, agreeing to not turn each other in. the potion also smells of the fruity shampoo jun uses, and the mint gum he always chews. you hate to admit it, but the potion smells exactly like how you envision jun. and whatever that may mean, its true.

“the forbidden forest at midnight, mint gum and lemon-y shampoo.” you finally answer after a lot of internal debate of whether to be honest or not. pushing the bottle back to him, you begin to leave the small closet like space. jun reaches out an arm quickly, grabbing on to your wrist.

“that,” he starts, recognizing the scents as his own. “smells like-“

“i know,” you whisper, pulling your arm away. not ready to take his reaction, you start to run away and jun’s next words are the only thing that stop you.

“do you want to know what it smells like to me?” junhui says hopefully, but entirely expecting you to walk away. “hair dye and strawberries.” stopping, you turn back to jun. he had moved closer, now nose to nose with you. your breath hitches, and you almost think you arent breathing. “just like the purple hair dye you put in my shampoo and the strawberries i always see you eat every. single. meal.”

you look up to meet his piercing eyes that bore into yours with such intensity it takes your breath away. you look away for him to softly grab your chin. “look at me, please.” his voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it, just a whisper.

“what does that mean, jun?”

“it means look at me.” you glare up at him, him chuckling in return. he places his forehead against yours, and the exact mint gum scent that you smelled in the love tonic hits your nose. “it means i like you, dork.” jun’s lips move closer to yours every word he speaks until they are just barely touching

“im a nerd at best.” you mumble before pushing your mouth against what you believed to be your enemy’s. mental note: kill soonyoung later, for being right

maybe there really is a thin line between love and hate.

[system-of-a-feather]

Hi! I hope this is an ok question to ask. Sorry it’s random (& longer than the ask limit so I had to cut it into 4 asks, sorry! Wasn’t sure how to cut it down). It’s about Tom Holland & The Crowded Room. I thought I saw that you said you were a fan of him (or at least had been in the past?)—if that’s wrong, sorry! But if you are/were: I know people are worried that the show will be problematic in terms of misrepresentation, & that it’s not a great idea, & I completely understand & agree. [1]

[2] It bothers me that people would think it’s ok to make a show like that. My question is, has it affected how you feel about Tom? I’ve been struggling bc I’m a really big fan of him, and I’ve been super looking forward to some of his upcoming movies. But now that I know he’s going to be part of something harmful, I’m not sure if it’s wrong of me to continue supporting him. It sucks bc before this, one of the things I really liked about him was that he genuinely seemed nice & unproblematic.

[3] So, I guess my question is, as someone who has a more valid viewpoint on this than me, what do you think of him now? Are you still a fan? Does this change how you see him? What do you think of other people liking or not liking him? Or will it depend on what happens in the future? I’m just having a hard time figuring out what the “right” thing to do is in this situation, because I know I’m biased since I really liked him before.

[4 - last one, sorry for so many asks for 1 question!!] Here's a short version if u need it to post an answer: Has the Crowded Room news changed how you feel about Tom Holland? Do you think he’s someone people should no longer support or do you think it’s still ok to be a fan? Asking b/c I really like him but don’t want to be part of the problem by supporting someone I shouldn’t.

Short answer? I really don't care that much. I don't mean to speak for the whole community, because I find that in terms of a lot of things media / DID discourse related, my answer is usually "I don't really care".

Personally, I have kind of grown both used to and indifferent to a lot of misinformation and stigma of all forms being spread online and in media that I've just kinda accepted that its just gonna be a thing and that if I really care or want to make a difference, yelling into the online void about it really won't do much. It really did nothing back during Split, so doing it about Crowded Room probably won't do much. Most times, advocacy on the internet only gets so far so a lot of my energy and emotional focus / attachment to the issues have been focused more on forwarding my goals, my hope for going into Clinical Psych, and just I guess being myself (and mostly open about my DID) around people and letting that speak for itself to let them see for themselves that I am neither dangerous, nor "too mentally ill to exist" and do not need to be "thrown in an asylum", but also that I'm also not going to sit here and make it a game.

That's honestly my own perception on anything of "this thing is stigmatizing. How do you feel?" really.

Don't get me wrong through. Split is horrible and honestly, Crowded Room is probably going to be just as bad and I'm not a fan or looking forward to it. People who are upset and hurt by it, people who are boycotting it, people who are mad at Tom Holland for it, its valid and fair to feel that way. I personally just kind of have long since moved on from it since I lived through Split and the stigma that it brought and I really don't think its going to be anything new or huge of a change as people are likely thinking it to be.

Unless it is in their front door, I don't think the majority of people that stigmatized DID / see DID stigmatized will really care what some people on the internet says anyways, so just adding another really probably wouldn't make too many minds get any better or worse of an idea of DID.

As for my personal feelings towards Tom Holland? I'm disappointed. I was really kinda sad to hear that when I first found out, but he's just an actor really. I think he's a good actor - great even, and I think he has a good heart, but is just massively ignorant of what he is representing and the history behind it.

Still though, hes just an actor. I don't have much of a personal relationship to him and as far as things worth cancelling over, I really don't think this is that big of a deal. Plus he's also human and I'm mainly of the impression that he really just does not know the community he is representing or what DID is actually like to have because he probably doesn't actually know anyone with DID.

I also do hold some hope that it might not be that bad, but I dunno. I don't think he could so easily back out after its been announced if he found out that what he was doing was wrong and it sounds like a possible mistake.

So yeah, I'm disappointed. I put a notch / tally on the list of "problematic things" on him, but I don't think compared to what I know of him thus far, that the list is really anything large enough for me to just "disown" him.

To be quite honest, I really don't care about celebrities all too much and honestly don't really keep up with the scandals and stuff unless I hear it is something huge like being homophobic, racist, and/or doing a crime / harassments

Anyways though, this is just my opinion. It is probably way different than some other people's opinions and thats fine and valid.

TLDR: Honestly, do whatever really because in the large spectrum, I don't think it'll really do much. It'll come and fade mostly and if people are so easily to assume I am a monster despite my actions because they watched a movie, then honestly their kinda stupid and closed-minded and so it just saved me the time of possibly being their friend and finding that out a longer way.

Also this isn't to say that Split and stuff didn't make notable stigma that messed with potential friends and stuff with me. I'm mostly a bit open about having DID so I've had people ask all the stupid-horror-Split related questions. I just don't really care much about it at this point and if they want to judge me then they can cause it says a lot more about their character than mine and its just saving my time.

-Riku (Host)

[somedaypast-thesunset]

i want to practice just like going through the anger of his message without an actual response because like fuck him?

“i called you to say i was going to he wedding and caring for you and going to rehab potentially and you said that ou didnt know what to say because its not what you want to do”

false. and this is just crammed into a giant paragraph of other bullshit. man, you called me to tell me what you were going to do. and you have literally never in your life understood what it means to respect another person’s feelings or wishes outside of like a guest in your house for one night. again it was never about him going to rehab. it was the fact that its told to me like a slap in the face. its not like im involved in anyway its just im doing this see you later, maybe?

“and then you knowingly or not manipulate the situation by saying youre not doing the surgery because youre not having it your way just like you did a week ago when you realized my vision for the property is not the same as yours”

man. why is it that i can say something clear as fucking day, repeat it 400 times and this person will tell me straight faced that thats not what i did, thats not how i feel and i must feel this way and if i dont then im lieing to myself.

when i am confronted with a person aggressively asking me vague questions in regards to what was once a positive fucking discussion as a natural born human being it is within my capacity to react with really high suspicion as to how much this person actually respects me. because its not the act of changing your mind - you can change your mind a thousand times. but you can also say ‘man i was thinking about this and this and i was wondering about this and you were saying this’ instead of ‘how many x for this how much for this’ like wow. and then to turn around and use my reaction as a basis of just “not getting my way”? you are repeatedly at every fucking turn demonstrating a huge disrespect for my feelings and you think im a fucking slave that should have zero opinion or feeling on anything you do but continue to merrily go along with what you see for the future.

“i need help and thinking of other people first has prevented me from getting help for years because ‘you guys’ always do this. theres always something that im always ‘ruining’ if im not ‘there’“

literally for decades youve treated people consistently like fucking shit. you give false promises you masquerade in being sick. you refuse at any singular pointt o see any true priviledge you actually have and why that means you can never understand how these people felt like when you left them 200$ at xmas in a crackhouse and went on a family vacation. you ruined xmas bro. you fucking ruined it and you thought you did a good fucking deed. a good deed wouldve been being their family. period. and you didnt want to do that an thats okay but to act like you should be praised for what you did do when it barely made a dent? fuck you you self righteous prick.

“this is what happens at the property. i go to work everyday to pay for you all to eat and for the upgraes and equipment. you guys wake up at your leisure and do exactly as much work as you feel is necessary and then fuck off for the rest of the day when i come home and have to solve personal problems like you and jame or you and aaron”

omg. this is the exact paragraph that defines exactly why im officially out. like first of all you are of zero motherfucking help to all of the above people including myself to maintain a lifestyle we lived here that bruoght us nothing because you think some deep drive will make it better even though your ass is going to rehab. you have zero provisions for any of these people and all they can do is sincerely invest their time energy and money into preparing themselves and their belief in what can happen. to think this crazy man could provide more than two meals is literally foolish like you arent ready to survive if you think youre surviving off of this guy. and like i already know this pretty well. in no way does he understand that i lived in survival mode with a crazy person who claimed to be doing good for my life. i did that already. its a completely different ball game. i dont even believe in you. i believe in me.

“the fact that you feel entitled to a payout because you did two weeks of research demontrates that you have no idea the investment i am putting in”

excuse me, what? by me asking for fucking dignity and respect when you change your fucking plans that involve MY FUTURE that YOU PUT ME WITHIN i’m doing this on the basis of being entitled to a fucking payout? respect? the fact that you think this is “two weeks of research” demonstrates that you literally would throw people out on their ass because you ~owned the property and they didnt you know “invest enough”. and at no point will it be told to you how much you need to invest to be secure. at no point. so he will ask for free labour which to him is not free because he feeds you !!! right because that worked for the slaves.

“i understand that this will be the situation as i laid it out because ive been down this road before a few times and i’m not laying it out to put anyone down; its just how it goes and i know for a fact it will piss me off and cripple me because i am already extremely weak”

man. who the fuck are you? you want people to support you getting help and doing positive things and respect you for being a homeless shelter but literally shit on and disrespect and belittle and degrade the people you want to be with you? whyyyyyyyyyy in the fuck would i ever want to speak to a person who believes i’m lazy and lives off of him and causes problems. why the fuck would i do that. oh but like hes not putting me down its just “how it goes”. and hes telling me this like im going to be like “oh okay i didnt realize ‘thats how it goes’ sorry”. you are in no motherfucking way a savior to any single person nor will you ever be. to truly help another person in the ways you believe you want to help people you have to be born with a trait that makes you preconceived to these ways or you have to work every day at it to become like that and you have not even begun to put in the work it woul take to reach such a high standard of care and altruism. again, fuck you.

“that being said, it doesnt change my desire but i must find a way to prepare myself to see if is something i can handle because if its not youre out to weeks of research and get to go back on welfare but me, i own 17k have to give the boot to my friends and face god knows what other consequences will come from an ill fated venture like this”

just.

do you know how hard it is for me to not just give in to the worst of my feelings and be like can u just go fucking die already. like you are so much of my mother that the only way you will find peace is to just be dead.you are delusional and fucked up and in so fucking deep i dont think theres a way out for you because there is like next to no moments of true clarity.

‘youre out to two weeks of research and get to go back on welfare’

omg. am i real human being? do you think i am like a fucking search engine that aggregated a bunch of results for you and just displayed information with zero fucking care as to what was happening at all? do you in no way think that if you want me in ANY FUTURE CAPACITY to even SEE this opportunity that i have to manage my current life in a specific way? do you not KNOW this? if you dont know this just STOP. build a fucking cabin in the woods and stay the fuck away from people you ignorant piece of shit.

“it pisses me off that im always me with the same attitude when i try to do something like these people that are literally investing the most minimal part of their day into the venture act like im not putting my nuts on the line for someone else”

omg. you legitimately dont see other people as human beings like this all i can form from this. when i was a child, i saw my mother disappointed that she didnt have this bottle of wine she thought she had and she was like mock disappointed about it but i didnt get it and as a child i was just like.. i felt really bad for my mom. like she didnt have this thing she wanted and expected and i wanted at that moment to give it to her if i could and i just kept doing this to an extreme in my life where like i constantly consider another persons feelings so much that i feel true guilt to act in any malicious or shitty way because i feel like i can really empathize with their moments if i tried to so why is it okay for me to act in such a way. i want to be peaceful and understanding.

so to me i am literally fucking appalled that he cannot comprehend the “investment” one makes with their entire actual fucking livelihood but furthermore my “two weeks of research” led him to his own opportunity. without my “two weeks of research” hed just be a jackass going to rehab. in fact as i began to realize how little he was invested mentally and was just throwing money at a piece of land, i became very scared for him and myself and the concept of this idea because i realized no one knew what to do, no one was taking the initiative to actually look it up and this person is investng 17k. and at no point did they think of a building plan or project or outline of a business or anything, they looked up no regulations and just went on like the dreams of hearsay. i couldnt believe it. i began my journal of information out of pure anxiety and fear that this person wasnt actually going to do any of these things and when it came down to it we would be fucked because the landowner has no idea what he can actually do on his own fucking land. and this is very stressful. is it 17k stressful? i dont know. maybe. maybe not. but it is certainly a large investment of my time and a new creation of anxiety, a reason to distrust whats happening - a reason to no longer trust in what he was saying about this. he just wanted to do this and this the same way he wanted to do all the dumb ass things he did before.

“if i had of known this i would have spent 2 weeks looking shit up’ like fuck right off. im sitting here trying to figure out a way to give people a free fucking place to come and better themselves and i have to eat shit when i express concern for myself”

bro. come into the reality ive lived for 2 months. this all started all of it period started because i offered to help you save money. you did not want this. i suggested buying land to offer small houses of some sort for people to stay to capitalize on both his handyman skills and his hosting skills. then i looked up SEVERAL HUNDRED PROPERTIES and like extremely sorted through these for the best possible deals for the most amount of land with healthy landscape. PEOPLE ARE PAID TO DO THIS JOB. LIKE HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS OVER MONTHS. and i did this job for you for free and presented not just like 10 lots. i presented another 30 lots afterwards. i learned the fucking landscape of pei. i learned about trees and buying land and municipalities. i made maps and scales and put like all of my brain power into this its like saying because you went tothe store and bought the materials, you own whatever the fuck i built from it. and fine maybe you do. maybe in this capitalistic world you do. but omg why do you have to degrade the actual work i did which did not include me getting drunk in the middle of the woods at any point. like you struggled to figure out the meaning of a pit test when this is something i wouldve learned in a day. and i thought like this person knows already they id it before they already have this basic understanding all they need is like some updated info but nope. nope. youre not sitting there trying to figure it out. im sitting here trying to figure it out because no matter how much fucking money you throw at this it will not work without actual knowledge so fuck you man. fuck you. if i had of known you were such a piece of shit, if i had of known you would belittle and degrade any work and care investment i put into this which other people are literally fucking paid for - i wouldnt have spent any time on it at all. youd still be sitting there sobbing about your dead ex and the times you were strung out on k. fuck you bro. fuck you.

“dont talk to me about relationships dont hold this surgery over my head whenever you dont get your way. thats what i dont want to be part of because i have my own issues and if you dont want the care then ill spend my time caring for  myself”

iterally all of your time is looking out for and caring for yourself and any time taken away from that time is a huge fucking deal. like this person believes that just like hanging out with someone is an investment of his time because his time is very valuable. and if you dont appreciate that he took the time to even grace you with his presence when his time is so damn valuable then fuck you. and repeatedly hes said on multiple occasions for varying reasons “i dont want to be apart of this” and “this” is changed to suit whatever his need is for that time. so now he didnt say “this” like he never wanted me or the relationship its that he doesnt want “the drama”. no. no. you didnt and have not wanted the relationship and it has held you back and gave you all these issues you never wanted. period. this is what you said. period.

“im just so fucing exhausted i wasted 45 minutes typing out bullshit that started because i want to go to rehab and that doesnt jive with your insecurity”

.............. first of all on the basis of this entire fucing discussion you cannot in any fucking way ask me to consider the amount of time you spent on fucking anything at all. anything. it means absolutely nothing at all. it means nothing to what i feel. my feelings are more important. whether you invested time you didnt want to or not is of no motherfucking concern to me so fuck you you hypocritical asshole.

this all started because youre an asshole. youve always been an asshole and you literally cannot rehabilitate the fact youre an asshole. weed is not making you a piece of shit. its really truly not. if it is its like the first case in the entire world of it doing such things to someone because omg.

“not to mention i had to think about this shit for 6 hours yesterday”

no one caressssssssssssss. omg. you can sit and think about it for two weeks straight my friend. it means LITERALLY FUCKING NOTHING BY YOUR OWN DEFINITION.

“you know the only people that give me grief when i try to get help are the people who cant stand on their own legs

im sorry.

excuse me? in what capacity do you believe you have positively affected the direction of my life either mentally or financially or physically? you getting help affects me in zero fucking ways to the point that its not even goingt o make my relationship better with you because i really believe you cannot rehab an asshole. but it sincerely has zero affect on my financial or physical well being. what do you think ive been doing? like am i a zombie? im fucking depressed, not dead. this person has never paid my rent. he paid my phone bill as a christmas gift one year. he has really never actually bought me groceries, his mother has three times maybe.

you know, i have no anxiety. well no overwhelming anxiety and im not spiraling. heres a real true fact of life: if he didnt exist, i wouldnt have considered the surgery at all. in my life without him i wouldnt have had an opportunity to possibly have some kind of care (which i love now has an end date that has nothing to do with my recovery)  i wouldnt even have a drive home. so i wouldnt do it. and id be a little pissed for awhile - mostly at my parents more than anything and then just get over it because why dwell so hard on something not that important anyways.

ive been told by doctors its an option. its not like a recommendation - well it is, but its not like oh wow you really have to get this or else. i think people get really uppity about doctors and medical things for no reason and i get that they exist for a quality of life but i just dont think my life is so bad that i have to do this to myself right now.

and ive gotten - well what else are you doing now? whats different? and its true. fair enough. mark in the pro column. but that doesnt outweigh it. just because theres nothing else im doing doesnt mean i shoul do something i think is not a true importance to my life. like if i can have one month of physical care for a 3 inch incision with stitches - why cant i have one month of care for 15 years of severe depression? like all these doctors said im severely depressed, i need help, i need a support system, i need real resources they cant necessarily provide and everyons like wow i dont have the time or space to help you im sorry its too much for me and maybe you wont get better and i cant see you getting better so i cant feel good about how much time i migh have to spend on this.

but an incision. for a cyst. and a friend will take a week off work and spend everyday by my side. he will leave work to care for me, make me meals everyday, run my errands, help me out. and so my sick twisted mind in some ways in some moments looked forward to a real surgery. ike for a brief period of time i would get the care i needed from people but im too incapicitated to actually leverage any of the care i receive. like people would let me stay at their house for x amount of time and its just like man ive been nearly homeless and you acted like im diseased. its a fucking mockery to act like this cyst makes me deserve any more care than i already had. and i think thats why i really think deep down none of these people will do any of these things. i am sick. i am already sick. like really badly. and its all just like looking in from the outside bullshit. so why does this change now? why should i believe it changes?

and after all of this another nagging small thought is like okay so i finally get some kind of care and help and then it will all stop so he can go get better care and help in his priviledge an its like wow why bother. like well ur all healed now ur on ur own byeeee. i am tired of feeling bad for feeling bad. this is a manipulation. this is the true manipulation. it is using “getting help” and “going to rehab” as an excuse to compleely and utterly ignore anything i have to say about fucking anything at all. and hes trying to convince me of this that im the bad person and im not the bad person because ive never been against rehab.

i said “i dont know what you want me to say” instead of “so what about everything weve been talking about for the past two weeks what about the future what about buying land” after givng him all of this space to tell me on his own. what do you want me to say? its happening _ again _. good luck. hope it works out for you this time. i no longer give a fuck. i knew immediately when he sai h was going to rehab that all of the plans were up in the air again. again. again. again. like four hundredth time in a row and its like man how many fucking times o you want me to follow your bullshit because rehab is as genuine as your desire to be a better person and help all these people but youre fucking ruining people because you cant stay the fuck away. how many times am i required to give unconditional love without it actually fucking returned to me or to have what is returned be nothing but negativity towards my life?

you have no idea that the actions of other people really define how you will feel about them in your moments of weakness and need. you can see it but you dont know it. you dont know that it makes the difference of treating someone with actual kindness and respect because theyre a fucking human being not because “well they dont have that”. you havent graduated from giving someone something because you feel bad that they dont have it. you give them respect not because other people didnt vgive them respect but because this person deserved fucking respect all along. if you do it for the first reason its really all for your ego. you think youre doing something better than the next person. yuo know, “well iiiii woulnt be like that” - yeah you would, just in another circumstance.

i no longer regularly deal with outwardly shitty people. it was really important to me to find people who were caring in some respect but im learning even among those who are caring are abusers. theyre everywhere and its naive to think theyre not because thats how you fall victim. you just dont think its happening because it cant happen because theyre caring.

what i see myself truthfully terribly doing is nothing. although i clearly have a response for him, i dont. im just angry and i dont see how expressing any of my anger towards him will bring any resolution to any issue. and im not “just angry” like im just airing some grief but im angry. im very angry. and its no longer worth it. what can i reply? what could i possibly reply? “oh god youre so right im so sorry of course everything i did is nothing compared to you im sorry for being so selfish thank you sooo much for helping me” because it looks like the only available option now. and im not taking that option. i coul fight. argue all my points. tell him he was wrong. but why? but i think i may do so much nothing that i will just remain passive and hurt. semi forced into this scenario, upset and depressed. and i can see myself trying to accept help before stopping a few days into it.

i wish i could eternal sunshine him. i really do.

[arataandthegarden]

Feathers and Blood- an OC Hunger Games AU

Oh boy here we go. Just an AU we wrote with our characters. NOT CANON!!!

Trigger warnings: violence, gore, swearing, death, torture, slight rape mentions, suicide, my horrific writing skills, etc.

This story can also be read on Dragon’s Wattpad: ILackAesthetic

Yeah whatever it sucks but here it is. Also, the middle of the story is missing because I’m too lazy to actually finish that part. I’ll explain stuff when I get there and feel free to ask questions:

Dragon looked at the young pup with her fearful amber eyes. He seemed like he was only… twelve years old? She didn’t want to kill him, but she had to. Every wolf for himself.

After all, this was the Hunger Games.

Screaming “I’m sorry!” while running at the pup and ramming into him, she pinned him down. With chaos turning all around as other tributes fought for their lives, she bit down hard on his throat and jerked her head to the side. Sickening, hot blood sprayed her face and seeped into the dirt. One small and dying paw attempted to slash at her with a knife. It failed miserably.  She spat out the furry lump of flesh in her mouth and pried the blade from the fellow canines paws. She held the knife in her mouth and sprinted for the treeline, snatching up a black backpack as she went. She put it on with shaking paws..

As she ran she glanced back to see the avian wolf from District 1 fly the other direction with humongous purple wings. Dragon squinted and watched her soar away. The avian held no weapon. That made every inch of her pale blue fur stand on end. That wolf must’ve been skillful to go unarmed.

Wait wasn’t the avian a career?

Was she abandoning her pack?

Dragon nearly ran face first into a tree, snapping her back into reality. She bolted around the tree and continued her journey into the forest. She had no time to observe her surroundings; she had to get as far away from the Cornucopia as possible. Besides, she was fairly certain the entirety of the arena was woodland anyway. That was good, especially since she was a woodland wolf who came from District 7: the lumber district.

She was born around trees. She has lived around trees. Now she will die around trees.

Trees, trees, trees.

She missed her family and her few friends. It was unlikely that she would see them again, however. The odds weren’t exactly in her favor, and they never were. Back home she trained as a papermill worker, not as the typical District 7 lumberjack. She had never touched an axe in her life. All that she was talented in wielding were knives and swords. Already she was a disappointment to her district. She wondered what her family thought of her now

She slowed to a walk, feeling a little tired of running. Maybe the human boy who came with her was a little less of a mistake. His name was Johnny and sure, he wasn't much (he was a skinny fourteen year old) but at least he could use an axe and at least he wasn't “breaking tradition.”

A cannon blast made Dragon jump. She forced herself to calm down a little to count the shots. They were usually delayed after the bloodbath at the beginning of the Games. Two… three… four…

!!!

Only four?!

Thats gotta be a record for the least amount of tributes killed during the bloodbath. It worried Dragon further. There were still twenty other tributes alive, leaving plenty of competition for her to face. Dragon wondered how big the career pack must actually be as well. She irrationally imagined herself being hunted down by some super pack made up of everyone else left it the arena. She pushed that thought aside.

The red blood staining her muzzle, neck, and her paws began to get crusty as it dried into her fur. She could still taste its awful metallic flavor in her mouth. So naturally, she decided to take a break from walking to find a safe pace to wash it off. If there was no water in her backpack, she would have to make do just licking herself clean.

Dragon quickly found a giant cedar tree. She backed up several steps from it. Then with incredible speed, she ran straight up the trunk. Her heart skipped an entire beat when she nearly slipped (Her nails were trimmed before entering the arena. Apparently that made her more attractive, but how the fuck was she supposed to do anything with short nails?) but she was able to regain grip just enough to pull her body to a branch. She was thankful she could climb. It was one of the few skills she actually learned while living in District 7. She took a deep breath to force herself to relax and slid her backpack carefully off her back. She opened it as she plopped down on the tree limb.

Inside the bag was a roll of crackers (she wasn’t hungry yet), a bottle of water (half full), another knife, some rope, and a small black blanket. Such a lucky bag; all of the objects could be useful. She just hoped that it wouldn’t rain. There was no jacket in the pack. Wolves and canines never entered the arena with clothing since they survived well enough without it. However, humans who died easily of exposure required clothing.

She compared the knife to the one she took from the boy she murdered. The one she killed for was long and wicked sharp while the other was shorter, but seemed to have more utility purposes judging by the fact that it was serrated near the handle. She left the serrated one inside her bag and put the sharp one in the bag’s side pocket. If she needed it, she could grab it quickly.

As for the water, she didn’t want to waste it on cleaning herself. Water was precious in the arena and the bottle was only half full. So Dragon licked a paw and started to wipe at her face. She probably looked like a common housecat, grooming herself up in the trees. After hours of gently scratching and pawing at her face, she saw the blood coming out on her paw less and less. Eventually, she was satisfied enough to move on to her paws.

Just as she felt somewhat presentable, her ears pricked as she heard the Capitol anthem drifting over the treetops. She looked up to the sky, seeing the Capitol seal projected amongst the stars. It was already night time?! She had been so focused on cleaning herself that she had lost track of the time! She stood up to a sitting position and prepared to count the dead.

The first image in the sky was the pup Dragon killed. He was from District 6. She looked down at the ground, ashamed with herself. Back home, they would be replaying her kill in every bloody detail for all to see. Probably from multiple camera angles as well. And maybe in slow motion. She looked back to the air to see that a human from District 11 was dead and both of District 12 tributes were gone. Yep. Only four dead.

Dragon plopped back down on the branch, suddenly feeling exhausted and fatigued. Her stomach was turning anxiously. She needed to sleep, so she closed her eyes. However, a particularly frightening thought popped into her head: What about that winged wolf? Whoever she was, she could obviously fly. If the avian encountered her in the trees while she was sleeping, Dragon would be dead for sure. Of course, any flying creature in the games couldn’t fly very high. An invisible “net’ most likely covered the arena just over the tops of the trees. In previous games they existed for the sole purpose of keeping flying tributes from flying too high. When a tribute passes the limit, a nasty electric shock is administered through the tracking devices implanted in all of the tributes’ arms or forelegs. It wasn’t enough to kill the tribute, but it certainly was enough to deter anyone. Even a creature as mighty as a dragon.

Of course, dragons and other magical creatures were never put into the Hunger Games. Magical species lived in the Capitol and forced the non-magical to work for them in districts. That's how it’s always been and that’s how it’ll always be.

The woodland wolf put on her backpack and clambered back down to the ground. Hopefully, the avian will be more unlikely to find her on the forest floor. She found a fragrant flower bush (it was easy to find in the dark) and squeezed under its branches. In its leafy shelter, she drifted into a fitful and nightmare-filled sleep.

---

Dragon awoke to the sounds of rustling dangerously close. She lifted herself to a crouch as slowly and as quietly as possible, shaming herself silently when bright sunlight burned her eyes. It was nearly midday! How dare she oversleep! If whatever out there caught her, she easily would have been killed. Trapped beneath the thorns of the flower bush, escape would be impossible for the canine. She carefully scanned her surroundings through the bush’s entrance and nearly yelped at what she saw.

An arctic fox with silver blue fur stood on his hind legs, an oversized rain jacket clearly made for a wolf tied around his neck like a cape. He seemed to be dinning upon the raspberries of a nearby bush, glancing behind himself periodically. Dragon glared and sunk down a little further. She had completely missed the berries! First oversleeping, and now this! Hell, she was about as dead as a pork chop on a platter.

Mmm… Pork chops...

Holy shit she was hungry.

Berries aren’t all that different from pork chops, right?

No. Dragon froze. That fox she had seen during training. Wasn’t his name Lynx, from District 5? He was insanely quick on his feet and could very easily latch his tiny teeth around her throat, doing her in just fine. Armed, he might as well have been a miniscule juggernaut. She shouldn’t attack, but the idea of fresh berries sounded far better than those stale crackers in her pack.

How ‘bout raspberries on crackers? Fuck yeah.

Dragon prepared to pounce. If she surprised him, she would surely win. Picking up her knife, she inched forward on her belly towards Lynx. All she had to do was reach her paw around quickly and slit his throat, no problem. He just had to eat those berries for a little longer…

Leaves fluttered slightly overhead and Dragon ducked quickly back into her hiding place. Lynx turned his narrow face upward, ears swiveling wildly. Suddenly, he seemed terrified. In fact, he was scared stiff.

A blur of fur and feathers crashed in from the treetops like a great purple whirlwind. The avian! The winged wolf had the fox down in seconds with one silver paw obviously crushed between great blue jaws. She shook her head back and forth, shredding Lynx’s leg. The fox, screaming, was then thrown into the side of a tree. Dragon winced, hearing bones within Lynx’s ribcage snap (She also swore she heard the avian giggle quietly).

“No!” Lynx hopelessly pleaded with the avian and made an awful attempt to crawl away. “Let’s team up, Paint! No! STO-!!!” He cut himself off. To Dragon’s horror, he made eye contact with her through the bush. She shrank back further as he cried, “HELP ME PLEASE!!!”

But Paint (That seemed to be her name.) was upon him once again with powerful wings unfurling and this time she had his neck in her mouth. When Dragon saw her let go at last, terrible gurgling sounds escaped the fox’s torn windpipe, blood splattered into a slowing growing pool. A cannon finally fired and the avian seemed to relax. With wings closed neatly, Paint untied Lynx’s rain jacket and felt every pocket. Paint huffed loudly and tossed the jacket away, obviously finding nothing worth taking. Next, the avian regarded the fox’s body with clearly conflicted emotion until, to Dragon’s surprise, she picked up the body in her forearms and flew up and out of sight.

Dragon nearly left her hiding spot after waiting a few more moments just in case, but felt a warm and sticky liquid drizzle down her back. Blood was dripping from the treetops. She turned her head upwards hesitantly and nearly vomited at what she saw.

Paint, perched in the limbs of a towering cedar tree, had nearly her entire head buried within Lynx’s chest cavity, eating out the heart or lungs of the tiny canine. The dead fox was draped limply across a branch with still wide-open eyes staring blankly down at Dragon. As Dragon observed the avian, she began to shake in terror. Paint was insane!  There was no other explanation to the devouring of Lynx, but the explanation raised further questions. Why would the Gamemakers allow Paint to consume the dead body of a tribute? Usually, the Gamemakers killed those exhibiting those with cannibalistic qualities. Why hadn’t a hovercraft came to retrieve the body yet? That was a pretty standard procedure in the Hunger Games.

When Paint moved on to the stomach area of Lynx with a tremendous ripping of flesh (The poor fox was going to have to be cremated, if what was left of his body was to be retrieved!), a horrifying idea floated into Dragon’s head like a ghost. The Gamemakers clearly had something big planned.

And it had everything to do with the avian.

Suddenly, a cannon shot broke the air. Paint visibly jumped, as did Dragon. Another death! The avian stood up on the branch, balanced precariously for a moment, and spread her wings gracefully in preparation for flight. The winged wolf leapt from the limb and soared out of sight. This time, Dragon was certain Paint had left for good.

Dragon slunk out from under the bush and quickly made sure she had everything packed within her backpack. Then she put her knife in her mouth, brushed off her sapphire fur (It didn’t occur to her how unfortunately brightly colored her pelt was!), and proceeded towards the raspberry bush. A puddle of blood tainted the dirt nearby, making Dragon cringe a little. Lynx was terribly unlucky to die in that fashion.

“The odds weren’t in his favor, huh?” Dragon muttered with the knife still in her jaws, snorting once. Quickly, she covered her muzzle with her paws, dropping her blade. Guilt for laughing, even sarcastically, washed over her. The wolf turned up to Lynx’s hanging body. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to offend you. If I did, that is.” Blood merely dripped silently onto the leaves below.

She shrugged and returned to the raspberry bush. Bright red berries hung from bright green sprigs of leaves and prickly thorns. As fast as possible and while avoiding being pricked, Dragon ate quite a few straight off the bush. Their fresh, sweet flavor filled her mouth and satisfied her greatly.

When Dragon stepped back from the raspberry bush, she let out a terrified yelp when she trod upon something other than the forest floor. Her heart rate quickly returned to normal when she realized that what was under her paw was only the rain jacket. She picked it up and examined it. Blood stained the sleeves formerly tied around Lynx’s now gaping hole of a neck. Other than that, it appeared to be wearable. Dragon put on the jacket. It fit, but the sleeves were a tad bit too long; she rolled them to accommodate. The blue-gray material of the jacket hid her vibrant blue fur. She picked up her knife and trotted away, leaving the body of Lynx for a hovercraft to pick up.

As she was walking, she quickly realized how urgently she needed to find a source of water. There was nothing around the Cornucopia, but there had to be a creek or river somewhere. The Gamemakers wouldn’t let the tributes die off by something as tame as dehydration!

… Would they?

Dragon shook off the thought and continued through the flower forest. She finally could get a good look at it, now that she wasn’t running for her life. All around great blooms of mostly pastel colored blossoms sprung from grand bushes, vines winding up towering trees, and even from the trees themselves. Each released its own unique and extraordinarily fragrant perfume into the air. Some, as Dragon was beginning to grow wary of, shifted ever-so-slightly when she wasn’t looking. The tributes had to be especially careful of those, as well as any unidentifiable flower or fruit. Each could be poisoned or perhaps even bite.

Honestly, no one in their right mind was going to be tricked by a Gamemaker’s flower.

“In their right mind?” Dragon muttered. “If that's the case, Paint should probably drop dead from sniffing a flower. Any day now…” But she knew better than that. The avian may be insane, but she certainly wasn’t just a stupid brute from District 1. The way she had targeted his throat and ambushed him… and without a weapon too! Hell, she had a training score of eleven! Paint was clearly skilled and therefore couldn’t be much of an idiot.

Dragon wandered for about another few hours, pausing only to eat some more raspberries of another bush and to take a couple cautious sips from her water bottle. Since she couldn’t find any water, all that she allowed herself to drink was a drop at a time. As for the berries, they looked to be plentiful in this part of the forest, so why not indulge herself? She decided to save her crackers for another day.

Why haven’t the Gamemakers driven her to some more action, that was something Dragon didn’t know. Apparently, there was an event far more interesting happening elsewhere in the arena. A cannon fired, making Dragon smile. Such as a death, perchance? What did that leave… Seventeen? Quite a few, really. The Gamemakers better speed things up a little, or else the Capitol and maybe even King Scalro will lose interest. She shuddered, hoping that they won’t.

[Note (PLEASE READ): HEY HEY HEY IT’S ME THE WRITER BRINGING YOU A NOTE!!! The middle portion of this story is missing!!!! Wow!!!! So here is what happens between where we left off and the next part: Another tribute dies (his name was Mech). Dragon watches as careers (Bastion, Margret Marble, Kai, and Skylie) kill Johnny (also from District 7). Dragon runs and teams up with a wolf named Prism and a wolf named Capala. Prism dies and Capala is stabbed with a spear by careers. Dragon is still alive yay.

Next portion of the story is probably very triggering to people since it ramps up in intensity a lot. The story is kinda cringy, too. You have been warned.]

A loud, slowly approaching rumble awoke Dragon. The tree she had been sleeping in shuddered slightly, and she knew exactly what was happening. An earthquake obviously manufactured by the Gamemakers was literally going to “shake things up a bit.” Half falling, half climbing, she clambered down from the branches and onto the forest floor. Immediately, the quake was upon her.

The ground beneath her paws gave a massive roar as the earth rolled. Dragon fell on her face after briefly being thrown into the air. Her teeth clacked together, making her skull flood with a sudden pain and causing her eyes to tear up and see black dots swim through her vision. She yelped, and scrambled to regain her balance on the shaking arena. The world was a cacophony of cracking trees with roots abruptly clawing at the blue sky and wide, opening crevices speedily snaking their way towards her. The cries of animals, such as the deer now fleeing past the wolf, also filled the air. A cannon fired.

Dragon jumped up and bolted away from fissures, screaming. A cedar collapsed in her path. She was forced to backpedal and sprint in the other direction. Behind the wolf, entire trees and flower bushes were being swallowed up by the earth. Another cannon went off.

She soared over a gaping rupture, nearly falling to her death down below. Her pounding heart skipped a beat as she was caught hanging above the quivering chasm and had to claw herself up to “solid” ground. On the other side, huge spikes of rock shot through the dirt, a few impaling a couple of very unfortunate animals like giant bloody spears. Dragon prepared to leap into this minefield, but the arena suddenly silenced, the last booming sound being that of a cannon. Three. Three dead. She vividly imagined the last to die impaled upon the stone spears like some gory war trophy.

Just like Capala...

She crawled beneath the roots of a fallen oak to regroup. Her head and jaws throbbed from when she had fallen. She hoped that she didn’t have a concussion. Back in District 7, a kid couldn’t come to work for weeks due to a head injury. The doctor told him to rest, but if Dragon truly did have a concussion, there would be no resting in the arena. To add further insult to injury, several minor scrapes and bruises covered her body. The rain jacket was torn in several places. Apparently, she ran into quite a few brambles fleeing from the quake.

“Wh-where even am I?” Dragon questioned herself as she peered carefully around the roots of her hiding place. Her eyes widened. All around her, giant chasms yawned to the sky as plants and flowers lay entirely uprooted, rubble and dust coating everything. The beauty of the arena had transformed into ruins. The Cornucopia stood tall above the destruction, the one thing left completely untouched by the earthquake. Holy fuck it was so close. The Gamemakers had drawn her here, and perhaps many others, back to the starting point. Genius, really. She assumed that the resources still within the Cornucopia were safe. With the “natural” berries and fruits destroyed, it was the only source of food in the arena for tributes who couldn’t hunt.  

Dragon’s ears pricked, hearing voices from inside the Cornucopia. The career pack! Cowards! They probably ducked in there as soon as the quake began, as they never strayed far from easily obtainable sustenance. She shrank back when she saw Bastion emerge, his thick fur and build quickly recognizable. She watched as he sniffed the air and beckon for his companions, who all came out at once. Everyone seemed to be with him, but Dragon noticed that Marble was missing.

“Boy oh boy! That was one hell of a shaker, ay Sea Bass?” Syra said, giggling and nudging the wolf, who simply huffed. He obviously didn’t enjoy the nickname given to him by, presumably, the District 4 leviathan. A sea bass was a type of fish caught by the seafood district, right? Dragon didn’t remember.

“Well… We’ve lost Marble on the stone spikes, so our team has shrank,” said Marge, matter-of-factly. The pack must’ve been outside the Cornucopia when the earthquake happened. “That isn’t exactly something to celebrate. We’re weak now.” She had one hand on her sheathed sword. The human girl had something big planned, Dragon could tell.

Kai groaned. “Ugh, so what! That means we’ve knocked out another district! How many are out now…” He counted on his fingers. “Four? Marble being dead is a great thing! Far less to deal with!” Margret glared, but made no moves against him.

“SHUT UP!!!” Bastion yelled. The pack stared at him with wide eyes, Kai nearly dropping his trident. Dragon fought the urge to laugh out loud. The careers were genuinely terrified of him. “Who cares if Marble’s dead or not! Paint’s still out there, and we currently have no cover from avian attacks. Look around you! ALL THE TREES ARE GONE!!!” He took a deep breath and looked down at his paws. “So please just… chill, okay? Paint is our biggest concern.”

Kai and Syra mumbled in agreement but Margret continued to be unconvinced. “Really? REALLY?!” she shouted, hand now fully clasped around the hilt of her sword. Bastion flinched. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about! We haven’t even encountered Paint once! Fuck, I doubt she’s even as good as you say she is, Bastion. I think you’re LYING.” A slight squeak rose in Dragon’s throat when she saw Marge draw her weapon and jab it aggressively at Bastion, who jumped back to avoid it’s tip. The District 4 tributes simply watched.

“Wha-!” He shook his head, and picked up his spear. “I don’t understand!”

“YES, YOU DO UNDERSTAND!!! You’ve been using us since the start!” she wailed. “I think you’re trying to FUCKING PROTECT HER!!!” Margret swung her blade, but it was deflected by the raising of Bastion’s spear.

“STOP IT!!! I’M THE LEADER HERE, GODDAMMIT!!!” He rose onto his hind paws to jab the spear, but it was parried sideways by the girl. She lunged viciously, and the sword planted itself in Bastion’s ribcage. He slumped immediately, blade having pierced his heart and a cannon fired. Margret pulled out her sword and turned to the District 4 tributes, who both gawked at her. Dragon saw that her expression was one of sheer boredom, as if killing Bastion was just a waste of time and energy. It shocked the wolf to the core, far more than the murder itself. No, not murder. This was the Hunger Games.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The career pack, now only a trio packed up their things and ran off together. Dragon got up (with an aching complaint from her head), and slinked after them, ducking behind the trunks of trees to avoid being spotted. Maybe they knew of some type of shelter? Careers tended to travel with far more confidence, since they were deadly tributes to target with their large numbers and rarely rivaled skill in battle. Unfortunately, these careers obviously didn’t know where they were going. Arguing frequently, the journey to an unknown destination was slow and irritating. The District 4 tributes continuously glanced up at the sky. Apparently, Bastion’s words on Paint stuck with them. Thankfully, the avian was nowhere to be seen. She had probably taken to the skies when the earthquake occurred, flying off to a far side of the arena

At last, in the middle of the night and long after the fallen tributes were displayed in the night sky (Marble, a human girl from District 6, and a human boy from District 8 died.), the careers made a discovery. Dragon could tell simply by the loud and obnoxious whoops and shouts. She crept a little closer, careful to remain hidden behind a surprisingly undamaged raspberry bush. As she listened to the celebration of the careers, she popped quite a few berries into her mouth. Since she had been so invested in stalking, she completely forgot to eat! So damn forgetful…

The careers were standing at the edge of an enormous, twenty meters wide chasm, peering down into the depths. On the walls of the chasm were giant cracks and fissures, seeming to run farther underground and beneath their feet. They were tunnels, built by the Gamemakers to add an entirely new layer to the Hunger Games. Literally.

Margret soon found the entrance to a particularly large wall opening. A huge cedar lay diagonal, spanning the chasm in a natural bridge. Well, probably not too natural. The Gamemakers most likely added it for the specific purpose of being a path to the possible tunnels further beneath the earth.

“Come on,” Margret said. She shoved Kai towards the bridge with both hands. The boy stumbled forward and onto the log, wobbling precariously over the edge. Dragon held her breath and hoped that he would fall, but Kai quickly regained his balance.

He took two careful steps forward before glaring at the other two tributes. “What are you waiting for? Let's get going.” He continued slowly down the log and out of Dragon’s view. The sapphire wolf watched as the career girls looked at each other for a moment then followed Kai, Syra walking in front of Margret.

Dragon waited precisely thirty seconds (she counted in her head) before sauntering over to the ravine and peering over the edge. The crevasse was so deep, it made her injured head spin and her stomach turn; she wasn’t even afraid of heights! The careers were nowhere to be seen. They were probably in the tunnels.

She steeled herself with a slow, deep breath and placed one paw after the other onto the log. It wasn’t too hard to balance, but the thought of falling to her death made her legs shake a little. A gust of wind pushed her and threatened to throw her over the edge. However, she clung on well enough and managed to make it all the way to the entrance of the tunnels. She turned around to look at the bridge she had crossed. It would be hard for her to go back, especially because she was so afraid of falling!

Dragon sniffed the air of the dark tunnels and swiveled her ears, trying to figure out the location of the careers. They seemed to have retreated far into the caves. It was safe for her to continue.

She entered the tunnels. The air around her was cold and dry, but strangely pleasant on her fur. There was no light in the caverns, but her eyes adjusted well enough. Wolves could see pretty well in darkness.

There were separate caves everywhere! They branched off of the main tunnels and formed their own small rooms. Dragon quickly found a nice one and decided to enter. She could rest here.

Dragon sighed, taking off her rain jacket and spreading it carefully on the cold stone floor. She promptly lied down upon it, unzipping her backpack. She grabbed out the roll of crackers. She peeled back the plastic wrapping a bit and stuffed one into her mouth, chewing slowly. She was exhausted by hours of endless walking, but she must eat. She swallowed and gave an upset glance at the cracker package. She was going to run out of food if she didn’t forage or hunt soon, but if she ate only one cracker a day… No, that would be unwise and only leave her weak when she is attacked by a fellow tribute. She unwrapped the package further and was about to eat one more cracker, but froze when she heard pawsteps thunder down the tunnel.

A tribute was approaching fast!

Dragon felt panic rise in her chest. Maybe they would just pass by if she’s quiet enough… She fell silent… The pawsteps drew closer and were accompanied by the runner’s gasping breaths… Any moment now and they would pass…

A huge ultramarine canine crashed into her cave! They threw a small, brown, and furry lump into a corner. Then their purple gaze caught Dragon’s from behind a pair of brown goggles, and the woodland wolf gave a small yelp of terror. It was the avian, Paint! She unfurled her wings and pounced upon Dragon, pinning her to the floor. Dragon only then realized that her knife was lying on the ground three yards away.

Holy fuck I’m going to die, Mom and Dad please turn away, don’t watch, SHIT she’s gonna tear open my throat, then my stomach when I’m dead as fuck and chew on my intestines and liver and heart and lungs, then she’ll pluck out my eyes to make a motherfucking necklace, then wear my fur like a goddamn cape I’m dead I’m so fuckin-

She opened her mouth to scream for no other reason than to scream (Who was gonna help her, anyway?), but Paint’s paw hit her hard across the face. Dragon’s voice came as a weak little whimper instead. Her nose started bleeding and her injured head filled with an aching  discomfort, but that was nothing compared to the darkness sure to follow. Her eyes stung. The avian drew her face in closer. Dragon squeezed her amber eyes shut and braced for her death.

I’m dead!

“Don’t scream,” Paint whispered, glancing once over her shoulder. Dragon had never heard her voice before and it sounded far different from what she expected. She didn’t know what she was expecting. “Don’t scream or you’ll get us both killed.” She sounded fearful. Dragon opened her eyes and hesitantly looked up at her attacker, noticing at once that the avian was covered in deep scratches and ragged bite wounds presumably from a pack of tiny carnivorous animals. One of her ears were torn. She must’ve been fleeing something before encountering Dragon. Whatever it was, it had hurt her badly.

“Wha-”

Paint hit her again, this time a lot lighter than before. Maybe she had noticed Dragon’s pain? “Shut the fuck up! They can’t see!” Dragon was extremely confused but nodded vigorously anyway, simply thankful that she hadn’t been slaughtered ruthlessly. The avian glared at her before turning her entire face towards the room’s opening, Dragon doing the same. Both canines held their breath and the cave became as noiseless as a dark and starless night. A weasel-like critter of a decent size, slunk into the entryway. The creature had an unusual pattern of yellow fur on dark brown. Accompanied by three others just like itself, it sniffed the air with tiny twitches of its little nose. Dragon nearly cried out when she noticed its face. It lacked eyes, and its mouth was stained scarlet. Her heart pounded.

Gamemaker mutts.

The canines and the weasels were at a standstill for only minutes, but the minutes felt like hours. At last, the beasts disappeared, itsy-bitsy paws padding down the tunnel. When the pair could no longer hear the weasels, Paint stepped back and allowed Dragon to stand. The woodland wolf did just that and looked briefly at her knife, which was unfortunately behind the avian. She stared back at Paint, who gazed back with a stern expression, purple eyes never faltering. Dragon sighed and looked away at a wall. Awkward. “Are… Are you going to… To kill me?” she uttered weakly. Paint continued to stare, waiting. Dragon cleared her throat and wiped her bleeding nose with a back of her paw. A little red smudge stained her fur. “Uh, I mean, I’d rather that you… didn’t kill me, you know?” Paint tilted her head, making Dragon realize that the avian was thinking deeply. “But! But if you are, please make it quick. Just cut my neck, okay? Is that good?”

Paint turned to the side and picked up Dragon’s blade. The woodland wolf flinched. “I’m not gonna kill you,” the avian said, expression remaining the same. “But I want this knife in return.”

“Y-yeah, okay you keep it.” She decided not to mention that there was a second knife in her backpack, just in case. Dragon frowned, abruptly remembering the death of Lynx. Paint hadn’t even needed weapon to completely annihilate the fox early on in the Games. Why did she want a weapon if she was powerful without one? She narrowed her eyes. “Wait… Why do you need my knife if you easily slaughtered the shit out of the fox from District 5?”

Paint’s face shifted into a genuinely confused expression. “What? I don’t remember killing anyone? Did I?” The avian plopped down to the floor. The canine looked unaware of the coolness of the stone surface.

“Um… Yes?” Dragon was equally bewildered. She settled down as well, she herself shivering slightly at the icy surface chilling her stomach.  Did the avian really not remember? It seemed to be so. Paint really did have some sort of mental issue, most likely an amnesia problem by the looks of it. It sorta saddened her. To forget you’ve even killed anyone… She decided to not mention the cannibalism. “Yeah, you did. I sa-saw you kill him. I was hiding in a bush.”

“Oh,” Paint muttered. Then, she frowned at Dragon. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” She wiped her eyes, suddenly realizing that she was. “Yikes…”

“Look, Dragon? That’s your name right?” The sapphire wolf nodded and cleaned her nose again. Paint sighed. “I’m not killing you yet, okay? Fucking hell, just stop it. Trust me, alright? Not yet.” Yet. The word bounced in Dragon’s brain until Paint continued with, “I think you’re kinda nice. That’s a good trait to have in the Hunger Games, in my opinion. You probably get all sorts of sponsors… Wanna team up? For tonight?” She stood up and stuck out a dark blue paw, making solid eye contact. Dragon hesitated, but took it. If it was sponsors the avian wanted, she would be awfully disappointed by how Dragon had failed to receive any gifts from outside the arena. They shook paws.

Paint smiled warmly at her before turning to a corner and picking up the furry mass she had thrown away when she barged in. She displayed it to Dragon proudly. A dead weasel mutt! She held it by it’s tail so it dangled limply in the air with its gaping mouth revealing sharp and bloodstained teeth. It’s spine, crushed and broken, looked to be the cause of its passing.

“Whoa! Did you kill that?”

“‘Whole group of these fuckers attacked me when I was entering the tunnels,” Paint explained. She sat down across from Dragon, putting the creature between them “That’s why I was running and that’s why I’m hurt.” She stared at the animal and shook her head, solemnly picking up her knife. “I guess the Gamemakers want me dead. That’s alright.” She gutted the weasel, pulling out sticky entrails and setting them aside. Strange, considering that Paint had no problem devouring Lynx’s innards. “I wonder if it’s edible.”

“Eh… I wouldn’t eat it… It could be poisoned or whatever.”

“I doubt the dumbasses down in the Capitol expected us to eat their mutts, so why the hell would it be poisoned?” The avian did her best to separate the carcase in half and gave one side to Dragon, who took it cautiously, casting a mildly suspicious look at Paint. The winged wolf scoffed. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I didn’t poison it either! Look,” she said, taking a bite out of her piece. No blood remained inside the flesh, since it had bled out completely quite a while ago. As she chewed, she cringed quite a bit. “See? It’s fine. The meat tastes gross, but it's fine.”

Dragon unenthusiastically ate a bit of weasel. Paint was right about the meat tasting weird. It was tough and chewy despite being raw. The flavor had a musty, festering aftertaste that made Dragon want to vomit it back up right away. She stomached it, thankfully, but wasn’t quite sure if she desired any more. “This is absolutely disgusting,” she grumbled, pushing the carcass away. Paint watched her stand up, then curl up on top of her still spread rain jacket with her back facing the avian. “I’m done. Uh... goodnight then.” She shut her eyes.

“Wait! Don’t sleep yet!” Paint exclaimed, completely forgetting her piece of weasel. “We should talk more! I haven’t talked to anybody since entering this damn arena.” She picked up her knife and settled down on her side with her back to Dragon, letting her big feathery wings brush her fur slightly. Dragon shuddered at their touch and imagined Paint clutching the blade’s handle like a teddy bear. It both amused and frightened her slightly. There was a tense, suspenseful silence for several moments before Paint at last continued with the question, “Have you killed anyone yet?”

Dragon hesitated before saying no. She then scooted closer to the avian, pausing to see if Paint would do anything. She didn’t. “Uhm… Paint... Do you like… Flying?” Paint snorted.

“Yeah dude! Who wouldn’t? Also, are you stupid? I’m an avian!”

The pair talked like this for hours until they drifted off to sleep.

---

Dragon’s back suddenly felt cold so she awoke, realizing at once that Paint had gotten up. Despite feeling lethargic, Dragon’s mind immediately jumped to conclusions and slipped quickly into a whirling panic when she realized how little they had actually slept. Why would the avian get up so soon?

Shit she was planning to let me fall asleep then slit my throat when I was out, how could I be so stupid as to trust her? what if she sees that I’m awake? hell, she could fucking rape me no problem since I’m still so tired and I probably have a mother fucking concussion, then kill me, what is she doing? what’s taking her so long, anyway? KILL ME ALREADY.

Dragon flinched when a paw, thankfully not a knife, tapped at her back twice. She looked up and saw the avian staring down on her, her odd purple eyes locking with her’s. “Oh!” Paint chirped. “You’re awake!”

She yawned. “Yep.”

Paint helped her up. “I think teaming up with you was a good thing. I got a sponsor!” The avian held a small black metal canister. On one end, the number one painted in dark blue signified who the gift was for. A small red light flashed slowly, accompanied by a slight beeping sound. “Should I open it?” Dragon nodded then eagerly watched her unscrew the container and take out a small jar and a slip of grey paper. Paint read the paper, but quickly stuffed it back into the larger canister. The avian opened the smaller container and on the inside was a semiclear, thick substance. “Oh cool. Some kind of ointment.”

Dragon frowned, suspicious. “What was on that note?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me what the paper said.”

“No.”

“Tell me!”

“No.”

“TELL ME!!!”

Paint, who seemed a little startled by Dragon’s yelling, finally gave in by saying, “Alright, but you’re not gonna like it.” She took out the slip and handed it to Dragon. Words were on it, typed in a neat, bold font. She read it quickly.

       This is for bite wounds. After applying to your injuries, kill her. -K

The woodland wolf glared at Paint. “I thought we were allies.”

“I told you. You weren’t gonna like it.”

Dragon sighed and let her scowl drift away. The avian was inevitably going to slaughter her anyway, and “ally” was a meaningless word in the Hunger Games. No use in getting upset. “Okay. You were right. I didn’t like it.” She decided to change the subject. “But hey! Looks like you got some medicine or whatever! That’s good!” Dragon yawned, feeling the combination of her injured head and exhaustion take her over again. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Goodnight.”

The woodland wolf plopped back down, and shut her eyes but still she kept her ears listening. She heard Paint unscrew the ointment, and made out an audible wince as the avian was applying it. Eventually, the pull of sleep caught Dragon.

---

Dragon awoke relieved to be alive but she was a little startled by the avian.

Paint had one of her magnificent wings covering the much smaller woodland wolf like a blanket. She also had one paw around Dragon. The avian’s brown goggles sat near the other paw. The heat between them was frankly quite sickening and that hot sensation was probably the reason for Dragon awakening so… early? Was it early? Time was hard to tell underground. Yet another challenge in this year’s Hunger Games.

She carefully removed Paint’s giant, heavy paw from her side with some difficulty before squirming her way out from beneath her even weightier wing. A few feathers fell off the wing as she stood. She picked one up and inspected it. It had a lovely dull purple color and was a little ragged at the edges. Was her ally molting? Did avians molt like regular birds? There weren’t any avians living in District 7, at least any that she knew of. Perhaps they did, but was it significant?

Not at all, idiot… She’ll still kill you if you stay with her, molting or not.

Holy shit.

I’ve got to get out of here.

Stepping lightly, Dragon made her way quickly to her backpack and peered inside. Everything remained. She glanced longingly at her rain jacket, which was unfortunately trapped beneath the still sleeping avian. She knew there was no point in trying to take the jacket with her (it shouldn’t rain underground), but it hurt her a little to leave it behind. She despised wasting anything, especially now. Paint still had her knife (it sat beside her sleeping head), but Dragon decided to let her keep it. The weapon was a symbol of their temporary truce, mildly ironic as that was. It just seemed wrong to take the blade.

She swung on her backpack and took a deep breath. Time to go. The safety of solitude lurked just outside this cavern and in the tunnels outside. She reached the exit, but looked back one last time.

Something silver caught her eye.

The ointment! It was next to Paint’s head.

Dragon turned around and padded carefully over. The ointment could be useful later on. It would be so easy to steal since the avian seemed to be sleeping, but could she do it? Her heart thudded. If she woke up, the woodland wolf would without a doubt be slaughtered mercilessly for attempted theft. Well, she was going to die anyway…

She stretched out a paw and grabbed the jar.

Paint’s eyes shot open and the winged wolf launched herself at Dragon. Dragon cried out when sharp teeth sank into her shoulder, tearing deep into her flesh. Her head hit the ground harshly. Spots danced in her vision. She blinked them away, momentarily stunned, then kicked, shouted, and flailed. The jaws only tightened their grip. Tears welled up in her amber eyes. “I’M SORRY!!!” she cried. “I’M SORRY!!! LET ME GO!!!”

Don’t watch!

Paint finally released but hit Dragon hard across the face with a paw. Dragon yelped and shrank down further. The avian’s fur bristled savagely. “BITCH SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” hissed Paint. She struck her again. “I was gonna let you go but noooo, you juST HAD TO FUCKIN STEAL SHIT, DIDN’T YOU!!!” Paint’s fur bristled and fluffed up, making her look even more menacing.

“YOU WERE AWAKE?!”

“YEAH!!! I WAS!!!” Paint’s eye twitched once and she took a deep breath. “You’re lucky I missed your neck.” She got off Dragon, who was shaking. Her heart rate continued to race as blood oozed from her bite wound. Paint rolled her eyes at her and put on her goggles (it took her some time to find them) and said, “You can stand up now.”

Dragon rubbed the bite. It hurt. Dull pain stung her head. “N-nope. I’m good here.”

“Pfft! Okay.” Paint paced around. She had obviously cooled down (despite the fact that her hackles were still raised), but Dragon felt uneasy. Paint’s entire personality had shifted once, then shifted back, so quickly! She shut her eyes, listening to the cadenced pacing and allowing herself to calm down only slightly. Her original hypothesis, Paint was insane, still remained plausible. If her ally were to snap again, she most definitely won’t “miss.” She had to escape her. Her life depended on it.

“Hey! I asked you something!” Paint said, pulling Dragon’s attention back. She stared at Dragon expectantly.

“Uh…”

“I asked what we should do today?”

“Preferably not me haha...”

Paint looked at her questioningly before she snorted and rolled her eyes. “God… Look, I only slept like that with you so I would know when you got up.” Quickly, she added, “I really don’t like you, or whatever. Seriously.”

“Good.” Dragon felt herself relax.

“But really, what should we do?” Paint continued pacing and this time Dragon was paying attention. “The careers are still out there.” Paint paused and looked to Dragon. “How many are left? Four?”

“No. Three. Margret from District 3 killed Bastion.”

“She did WHAT?!”

“Sorry! I saw it myself! She stabbed him with a sword. He died quickly.” Dragon paused, thinking. “That sword sure was nice.”

Paint was silent; her eyes hidden behind her emo hair. She plopped down in front of Dragon, the avian lowering her head down onto her paws. A solemn silence fell in the cave. Dragon didn’t know why but she suddenly felt awful for Paint.

“Hey… We got this! Now the careers have to die, either because of us or because of the-” Dragon gasped, startling Paint. The most brilliant idea popped into her head. It was so good, it could kill two birds with one stone! “THE MUTTS!!! I have a plan!”

---

The pair wasted no time in leaving their camp, packing up all their things into Dragon’s backpack, including the rain jacket. Paint claimed that she still didn't trust the woodland wolf, but she still allowed her to carry the ointment in the backpack. “What?” Paint had said just minutes before. “You are the only one with a bag!” However, Paint kept her knife and did force Dragon to walk in front of her just to make sure the woodland didn’t try “anything stupid”.

Their plan (formulated entirely by Dragon) had two phases. The first phase was to find the weasel mutts and attract them somehow, preferably with noise. Once the pair had the mutts after them, they would set in motion phase two, which meant that they would let loose the mutts onto the careers, which they would find before phase one. Hopefully, the mutts will kill off the remaining careers, therefore improving the odds of all remaining tributes greatly.

A third phase was known only Dragon. During the chaos that would undoubtedly ensue during the ambush, she planned on fleeing the scene without Paint. She had to escape the avian soon, since she didn’t want to stick around when Paint snapped. The avian was the second bird Dragon planned on killing with that one stone, figuratively speaking.

Walking silently through the tunnels, hardly any conversation sparked between them. That fact remained until Paint asked, “How are we even supposed to find the careers? I don’t know how to track!”

Dragon, continuing to limp (her shoulder still hurt) ahead of Paint, responded, “I know how to track, well enough at least. You see, I have a great sense of smell.” She stopped and turned to Paint. The avian carried her blade in her mouth. “Can we take a break we’ve been walking forever.”

Paint stopped and glared at her. “No.”

“Fine.” Dragon turned and continued walking. “Sure all dragonican wolves can smell pretty good, but for some reason I’m great at it. It’s pretty handy when it comes to hunting back in District 7. All I need is a spoor to start out with.” She sniffed the air. The careers were nearby.

“So… You’ve been tracking the careers the whole time? Neat.”

Dragon ignored her and turned another corner. A small cavern created a dead end at this tunnel. The opening to this cavern gave a great view of of its contents: the entire sleeping career pack.

“Wow,” Paint whispered from behind the woodland. “You really are good.” She stepped in front of Dragon and gestured for her to turn back. Dragon obeyed her and immediately began her search for the weasels. The mutts left musty-smelling trails everywhere and they all seemed to travel in groups.

After just minutes, Dragon spotted the first weasel. It slunk about in the tunnel, lifting its head occasionally as if to attempt to see with its lack of eyes. The woodland wolf lowered herself to a crouch before she gestured for Paint to get down as well. The pair waited anxiously as two other weasels appeared, then another two. The five creatures squeaked to each other as if talking, before continuing down the hall away from the wolves lurking nearby. Paint, who had switched her knife from her mouth to her paw, glanced over at Dragon, but Dragon mouthed “wait” to her silently. They were going to need more mutts for this plan to work.

The pair of wolves prowled after the blind weasels, which were soon joined by four more. It was as if the Gamemakers were providing the allies with mutts. Perhaps the Gamemakers wanted the careers dead as well.

Dragon pushed the thought aside. All the Gamemakers wanted was drama.

She crouched lower, preparing to run. “Go.”

“HEY HEY HEY HEY!!!!” Paint screamed at the mutts. The weasels whipped around, surprised. “REMEMBER ME?! COME AND GET US YOU LITTLE SHITS!!!”

“YEAH GET US!!!”

The pair turned back down the tunnel and sprinted. The mutts screeched and barreled after them in a pack of terror. The group that they had following them doubled as several more joined in from branching tunnels and holes in the ground. One leapt high into the air and onto Dragon’s back, sinking its tiny teeth into the injured part of her shoulder. She yelped, but was able to shake the mutt off. She ran a little faster.

Just as exhaustion was about to catch up to the wolves, they rounded the final corner and burst into the career pack’s cavern. They ran into the back of the cave.

All three of the remaining careers woke up sleepily, but were instantly up and panicking when they saw the wave of weasels streaming in. Kai had no time to raise his trident before the mutts were upon him. The weasels attacked savage and ruthless, devouring the flesh off of his body, ending his life. A cannon fired.

Paint leapt for Syra as the cannon went off, wings unfurled and teeth bared. But Syra was quick. She rolled away, however, she rolled straight into the mass of squirming mutts. Despite this, was able to successfully shoot an arrow deep into the base of the avian wing before her cannon went off. Paint screamed and fell to the ground, clutching the shaft of the embedded arrow and dropping her knife. The weasels turned their bloody heads towards the winged wolf before leaping at her. Paint fought them off weakly and stumbled outside the cavern, the majority of the mutts racing after.

The remaining weasels turned to the final two tributes in the room (Marge had been crouched in the corner) and attacked. Four ran around Dragon, biting wherever they could. Meanwhile, Marge struggled with five others. She cut through two with a sweep of her sword and impaled another before charging at Dragon, sword low and aimed at the wolf’s neck. Dragon dodged to the side and backed up. She spotted the blade Paint dropped just as Margret lunged again.

Dragon leapt away, smacked a weasel from the air as it flew a little too close, and snached the knife off the floor. She stood on her hind legs and chucked the blade as hard as she could at the human girl. It zipped through the air and hit with an audible thunk.

The knife was in her throat.

Blood spurted around the knife as Margret sank to the ground slowly. She fell forward and onto her face as the cannon boomed. The remaining weasels immediately rushed over and began consuming her flesh.

Dragon turned and lurched silently out of the cave and out into the tunnels. As she was fighting, she didn’t realize how many times she had actually been bitten. Smears of her own blood were all over her fur and a fairly large chunk was missing from her lower back. She was exhausted too.

She soon found a small empty cave and passed out inside.

---

Dragon woke up an hour or two later, perhaps even longer than that (Once again, time was difficult to tell in the darkness of the tunnels). She used whatever was left of Paint’s ointment since it was still in her backpack, and her bite wounds healed well enough (including the bite from Paint). Nothing much happened in the following two days (she knew it was two days because every night she heard the Capitol’s anthem echoing through the tunnels). Only three times during these two days did she hear the cannons fire. She didn’t know who died since she didn’t go outside when the anthem was playing, but she was just glad there were less tributes to deal with.

She finished off her roll of crackers. They were very dry.

---

Pawsteps echoing down the tunnel, Dragon continued her wandering through the caves. She realized that the majority of the games consisted of her simply walking. She wondered how the Capitol never got bored of the Hunger Games, but then she reasoned with herself that she wasn’t the only one in the games, so other things constantly had to be happening in the arena. Things such as violence and murder.

But nothing happened today. There were only four more tributes left, if her math was correct. She didn't know exactly who was left and it concerned her. She really hoped Paint was dead, but deep down she knew that was highly unlikely.

Dragon rounded another corner, slowing down her pace. She tilted her head. Something smelled… off about this passage. The had a heavy metallic odor with a slightly salty undertone. Like blood and sweat. Something about the sweat part seemed familiar. She quietly continued on, but froze when she spotted something that made her heart race.

A purple feather.

“Fu-”

The avian suddenly appeared out of the darkness, barrelling straight into Dragon. Dragon’s scream was cut off as her head was slammed back into a wall, body slumping on impact.

She immediately lost consciousness.

---

Icy water splashed Dragon’s face, waking her almost immediately. Instinct told her to stand and wipe the liquid from her eyes but as she was about to do just that, she felt something restraining her. Her forepaws were tied behind a pole with some sort of smooth nylon rope. This same binding was wrapped once across her neck and three times around her chest. Her head ached. She was sitting in an upright position with her hind legs free to kick, which was alright, but her lower back hurt like hell. On top of it all, the humid air smelled unbearably of blood, rotting corpses, and agony.

She blinked the water from her eyes with difficulty and yelped at who she finally saw.

Paint was standing directly in front of her with an almost predatory and excited grin on her face. Almost her entire torso was wrapped in bandages, probably because one wing was completely absent from the avian’s body. Dark, nearly-dried blood seeped through the gauze around where the wing was once attached. The wing must’ve been amputated by Paint herself.

“P-Pain’t wh…. What’s going on?” said Dragon, pulling again a little more desperately at the ropes. She could hear the fear in her own voice. “Why am I tied up?” The avian simply continued to stare at Dragon. Dragon cautiously craned her neck to glance around the room (which turned out to be a cave of some sort), feeling Paint’s eyes follow her every move. The cave was illuminated by a small electric lantern. Behind the winged wolf, a another wolf was bound and gagged to pole similar to Dragon’s. She was small, orange-furred, struggling, and… Steaming? Dragon’s thoughts didn’t linger there for long and as she returned her gaze back to Paint, she asked shakily, “What are you going to do to me?”

The avian broke her silence and laughed, making Dragon flinch. The laughter wasn’t a particularly happy sound. “I’m gonna have a little fun of course! But, there’s another guest I have to take care of first,” Paint said, stepping away from Dragon and giving her a full view of the other tribute. The avian approached the orange wolf and sat down beside her while still facing Dragon. “This is False, from District 8. She’s a hybrid with a little bit of volcanic wolf in there somewhere. Therefore she’s a firebender and could easily just make a little flame and burn her way out of the ropes.” Paint turned away from Dragon to stretch out a paw to touch False’s face, but False pulled away with an audible growl. The avian snorted and gave up her attempt. “I had to douse her in water because she can’t do shit if her fur is wet. So she just sits here steaming and steaming, still trying to warm up.” She paused before turning back towards Dragon. “Her fur’s fireproof you know?”

“So…”

“I’m gonna keep her fur after I kill her slowly.”

Dragon’s mind fell into a panic. She didn’t want to watch whatever torture going to occur. She tugged on her bonds and kicked with her hind legs. Paint only watched, amused. “Let me go! LET ME GO!!!” cried Dragon. “PLEASE I WAS YOUR ALLY!!!”

“What do you mean, ally?” said Paint, voice full of ridicule. Dragon stopped struggling, confused. “Why would I be allies with… AHAHAHAHA!!! You were allies with HER!!! OHHHHH… Okay I see!” Paint laughed some more. “Of course I wouldn’t remember!”

“Who are you?”

The cave seemed to freeze in time at Dragon’s question. Even False seemed to quit squirming. Breaking the silence, Paint chuckled and gestured to herself. “I’m Paint, of course. I think you were talking to the other Paint.” She paused and added, “I’m the better one.”

Dragon ignored the last comment and instead focused on the previous. Her heart rate picked up a little more. The avian was insane with some sort of split personality disorder. She had heard of one wolf who lived in District 7 who had something similar. Some days he was himself, some days he was an eight-year-old pup, other days he was a forty-five-year-old human woman. Apparently the disorder was common in intelligent canids, but they were rarely violent. However, Paint seemed to be an unfortunate exception.  “You’re fucking crazy.”

“I know that,” Paint responded. “Well, let's begin shall we?” The avian walked calmly to one of several knives lined up on the floor and picked one up. It was small, but looked crueler and sharper than the rest. The blade caught the light in a somewhat beautiful white flash as Paint returned to False. The smaller wolf flailed about, steam rising off her body at a much higher rate that before.

With the sudden speed of a striking snake, Paint plunged the knife deep into False’s stomach and in that same motion, she swept the blade up towards the bottom of False’s ribcage. Greyish red intestines and other internal organs immediately oozed out of the gash along with bright, fresh blood. False kicked viciously, horrible sounds similar to those made by a dying sheep rising from her throat.

Dragon screamed, witnessing it all very clearly. “STOP!!! STOP PLEASE!!!!

The avian ignored her and drove the paw not holding a knife into the cut. She seized up a tangle of guts and tugged, effectively pulling out most of False’s insides. Scarlet liquid splattered the ground. Paint growled, seeing that some of the intestines were still stuck inside, and promptly forced her head into the cavity. Dragon soon realized that the winged wolf was eating, no, devouring False’s organs from both the still living body and the floor.

The sapphire wolf felt herself urinate in fear. Every inch of sweaty fur on her body was bristling. “STOP IT, YOU BITCH!!! STOP IT!!! SHE DOESN’T DESERVE IT!!!” She continued to screech, tears streaming from her face, until Paint seemed to have had enough with her shouting.

The avian’s ears swiveled in her direction, huge head soon following. Paint’s teeth were stained red, blood dripping from her chin. She was still smiling, and the grin was gruesome. She approached Dragon with a bit of intestine in one paw. The other paw shot out, grabbed Dragon’s muzzle, and forced her jaws open.

Don’t watch!

Paint shoved the guts into Dragon’s mouth and then held her jaws closed with a firm grip. The taste of blood soaked her tongue, the liquid dripping down her throat. It was warm and sticky. As she tried to kick and pull away, the avian giggled before leaning in and snarling, “Shut the fuck up you little bitch.” Paint let go and returned back to her other victim, whose struggling was weakening. Dragon spat out the intestines, felt vomit rise in her throat, and threw up whatever was in her stomach (It wasn’t much). The vomit stuck to the fur on her chest and drizzled onto one of her hind legs. She moaned and vomited a little more before lifting her head.

The winged wolf had picked up a smaller knife, leaving the old one on the ground. This new blade was embedded in the edge of False’s left eye socket. Paint was moving the weapon slowly around the eyeball, causing blood to drip down that orange face like red tears. The smaller wolf was wriggling, steaming and kicking weakly, but Paint didn’t seem to feel the blows in her side. With a small flick of the knife, False’s green eye popped out of her skull and dangled limp on the few attached nerves. Dragon simply continued to weep.

Suddenly, False’s steam stopped and the fire started. Red flames rose up from her binding in a flash, incinerating the rope around the smaller wolf in an instant. Dragon gasped as False screamed with whatever remaining energy she had left and pounced upon the avian, wrapping her fiery paws around Paint’s throat. Paint yelped, feeling the paws scald her neck.

But just as Dragon thought they had won for sure, the ultramarine wolf threw False to the dirt with little effort. “I HAD TO WASTE WATER TO RESTRAIN YOU AND WHAT DO YOU DO?! YOU BURN IT ALLLLLL AWAY, GODDAMMIT!!!” Paint angled the blade and began cutting through False’s skin, peeling it back from the pinkish red muscle. False’s remaining eye, full of pain, stared deep into Dragon’s own. The little wolf’s breathing was shallow, and it was obvious she was going to die soon. But somehow, a single tear fell from her eye as her jaw moved, almost like she was trying to call for help.

However, a cannon fired at last and False’s gaze went blank.

Dragon slumped, tears continuing to run down her face. She sobbed weakly as Paint continued skinning False’s dead body. Her chest hurt about as much as her head seemed to. The woodland wolf closed her eyes, trying to calm herself (it was unsuccessful) before asking for the second time, “Wh-what are you going to do to me?”

Paint stopped working on obtaining the fur and turned towards her former ally. The avian’s entire front half was covered in blood. Even her wing had a few splatters. The monstrous grin was replaced with a sly smile. “Do you really wanna know?”

“... Y-yes.”

The avian approached her slowly, stopping and sitting down directly in front of her. The knife was still in her paw. “I’m gonna use you to hunt for the last tribute besides ourselves, who is Apple from District 11. I know who the other tribute is because I watch the death recaps every night. Well anyway, I saw you hesitate when you entered my territory. You’re a tracker of some sort.” She paused, thinking. “You’re like a… Like a hunting dog. I want to treat you like a hunting dog.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m first gonna do some small adjustments to you. I’m first chopping off most of your tail. Then I’m going to sew your ears down with a sewing kit I got from a tribute so they look floppy,” Paint said. Dragon noticed the avian was moving in even closer to her body. “Finally,” Paint muttered, now standing over Dragon. She traced her paw softly down the woodland wolf’s stomach. Dragon flinched and tried to pull away, extremely uncomfortable. Paint giggled a little. “... I’m gonna spay you like the bitch you are.”

“Uhhhmm… Y-yeah you can’t pull that off.” Dragon was shaking. She was still crying, but she tried her best to sound strong when she said, “Get off me, please. I am literally covered in vomit and pee.”

Paint stood her ground, paying no mind to that last comment. “I can totally spay you. It can’t be that hard. In fact, I’m doing it tomorrow.” The winged wolf drew her face in closer to Dragon’s. The pale blue wolf could smell and feel Paint’s warm breath in her fur when she whispered, “In the meantime…”

Their noses touched.

Dragon shouted, completely disgusted and violated. She opened her mouth and bit down hard on Paint’s muzzle. The avian yelped and slashed her knife across Dragon’s chest, leaving a long horizontal gash and splattering a bit of blood on the floor. Dragon let go immediately and watched as Paint stumbled backward, clutching her injured snout. It was bleeding a bit, but not by much. The winged wolf looked up at Dragon, grin back on her face.

“You know what, pal?” Paint growled, picking up machete off the ground and dropping the other knife. “I think we should start a little early on your hound dog transformation.”

“No. No please,” Dragon begged. She flailed in the ropes, feeling them cut into her forepaws. Paint walked towards her. “NO!!! NO!!! YOU ST-STAY AWAY!!! FUCK!!! NO, PLEASE!!!”

The avian snatched up Dragon’s tail, pulling it out to the side. She raised the weapon in the other paw.

“STOP!!!”

Paint swung the blade down and the sapphire tail was severed in a single chop. Agony erupted in Dragon’s behind and traveled up her spine. Lightheadedness overtook her brain.

Dragon quickly passed out.

---

When Dragon first heard the buzzing, she thought it was just her head.

She awoke immediately and scanned her surroundings. A shadowy lump Dragon assumed was Paint slept peacefully in a corner. The smell of Dragon’s own piss, blood, and vomit choked the air, instantly making her want to pass out again. She would’ve killed for some fresh air. She quickly located the true source of the buzzing: A small, black colored drone.

It seemed to notice Dragon was awake, so it lowered itself near to the ground about a yard out from where she was bound. It hesitated there, hovering, until it carefully and quietly dropped a black container onto the floor with robotic grace. It delivered a sponsor! So that’s how sponsors were delivered in the tunnels!  The drone made a single beep before zooming away with a tremendous buzz of propellers. Dragon cringed at this, as the noise both hurt her head and could’ve been loud enough to wake Paint. But the avian didn’t stir.

“Thank you!” Dragon whispered to the air. “Thank you for saving me.” For a brief moment she felt tears well in her eyes but she forced them back down. There was no time for crying.

Now how will she reach the sponsor? She took a deep breath and tested the ropes holding her paws. Nope. Still tight. The only way she could reach the container was by stretching out and pulling it towards her with her hind legs and paws.

She extended a leg and immediately felt a jolt of pain shoot through the bloody stump of her nonexistent tail to the top of her spine. She cried out and pulled back. She glanced back over to Paint. She was still sleeping. Dragon turned back to the container again. She didn’t even come close to reaching it. She tried again, experiencing that same stab of agony, but this time she brushed the container with one paw and managed to bring it closer. She rested for a moment before stretching out one last time. She grabbed the container between her paws and slid it towards herself, wincing when she sat up straight to analyze the container. At last, she flipped it up to her chest (It took her about two attempts). Dragon twisted the top off awkwardly with her mouth. She must’ve looked ridiculous (Go ahead, let the Capitol laugh) but she opened her sponsor successfully.

A small and shiny razor blade sat at the bottom of the container.

Dragon wasted no time and snatched it up, holding it carefully in her mouth and between her teeth. She then craned her neck out and began slicing through the rope. The sound of splitting fibers filled her with hope.

The rope fell with a thunk to the floor.

Dragon stood, shakily and in pain of course, but she still stood. Without a glance back she bolted…

… Straight into a wall.

Dragon yelped and fell backwards onto her injured behind, clattering several metal objects she couldn’t identify in the dark. She froze on the floor, staring fearfully at Paint. The avian stirred, lifted her head sleepily, then turned her face towards Dragon. The woodland wolf’s heart thudded. Paint’s eyes immediately narrowed behind her brown goggles (Did she wear them to sleep this time??) and a grin slowly widened on her face. “I give you three seconds to run. Go.”

Dragon took no chances and sprinted out the entryway. She had to escape the tunnels and get outside. Her stump of a tail caused her to stumble once, but she righted herself immediately. The world behind her blurred away as she rounded corner after corner. She desperately sniffed the air for any odors of the outside, but she found nothing. Just blindly fleeing a deadly force.

She descended into panic when she heard Paint pursuing her clumsily. The avian was closing in on her target, but her pawsteps sounded uneven and awkward. Running without one of two wings must really throw off your balance. Dragon flinched when she heard Paint crash into a wall as they rounded a corner.

Light suddenly grew brighter in the tunnels and!! There it was! The log bridge! Dragon had found the exit! She was fre-

Paint slammed into Dragon with the force of a freight train and the pair fell to the ground together. The avian rolled on top of her, hitting Dragon’s head on the ground. Pain filled her skull and a dazed sensation threatened to pull her into unconsciousness. Paint’s paws were immediately at Dragon’s throat, choking her. The woodland wolf clawed at the paws around her neck, struggling. A flurry of falling feathers surrounded the pair as Paint’s remaining wing flapped madly and with little purpose.

“Where were you going? WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU GOING???” Paint screeched, continuing to suffocate the squirming Dragon. The avian’s maniac grin remained constant. “You have nowhere to go, no chance of survival. You and I both know that, now don’t we?”

Dragon felt all of her energy seep away and she dropped one of her paws from her attempt at clawing away Paint. But as she did, she touched something smooth and cool.

Her razor blade!

Dragon wasted no time grabbing the the blade. She quickly sliced wildly at Paint’s paws and when Paint let go with a yelp, Dragon swung the razor in a wide arc at the avian’s neck.

It struck.

The avian screamed and stumbled backwards Dragon saw immediately that the narrow scratch across Paint’s neck wasn’t at all life threatening. Paint was still alive. Damnit.

Dragon leapt for the log bridge but a paw struck her from the air and the woodland wolf fell down…

Down…

      Down…

             Down into the ravine.

She landed with a sickening crunch on the ground as her ribs and a leg snapped on impact. Agony ripped at her side and she screamed at the sky. Tears streamed down her face. Above her, Paint balanced precariously on the log, seeming ready to fall down herself, but the avian managed to back up into the tunnels. A few feathers drifted lazily down as she peered over the edge, eyes squinting behind her goggles.

Paint laughed and spat at Dragon, who did nothing to avoid the saliva. “BITCH!!! Look at what you’ve done!” A wave of giggling took over mid sentence as Paint rubbed at the cut on her throat. Her paws were bleeding quite a bit. “I’m hurt and now you’re gonna die down there you little shit!” Dragon felt lightheaded; the pain was too much and she was going to pass out soon. Paint flicked her own blood at the woodland wolf down below before muttering, “I hope you still have that razor. Or else it’ll be a slooowww death for you.”

Dragon drifted from consciousness as Paint turned and disappeared.

---

The sunlight barely breached the ravine but during midday, the sun scorched the broken land all the way to the floor of the crevasse. Dragon awoke around this time.

Flies buzzed about and landed upon her body, rubbing their greasy little insect legs together as if scheming her demise. She made no attempts to swat them away. Her body hurt too much and she was running out of hope. She was starving as well, but there was nothing to eat except a half dead berry bush that had obviously fallen in during the quake. However, the berries looked suspicious as well and Dragon had almost no strength left to drag herself to sustenance.

Numbing, horrible agony stabbed her swollen left foreleg and her crushed side. She knew that climbing out of the ravine was not an option, despite the fact that Dragon was actually on a ledge that hung over the actual bottom of the ravine. If she had fallen any farther, she would’ve been dead.

She wished she was dead.

Dragon’s razor sat passively in her right paw. It had cut her paw pads badly during her fall but in comparison to her other injuries, that meant nothing. She stared at it, remembering what Paint said before she left. Suicide did seem like the only option. Even if she did manage to claw her way out, Paint would most likely resume tearing her apart perhaps even slower than as she did with False. She was hopeless. She might as well just slit her own throat or bleed herself out somehow.

Suicide was the only option, but she wasn’t going to kill herself like that.

The berry bush caught her eye again. She lifted her injured head to look at it closer. The berries were reddish orange in color, with a blue seed visible through its transparent skin. It was obviously manufactured by the Capitol, so it was obviously poisonous. Dragon sniffed the air. The bush smelled… Spicy. Peppery, in a way.

Yep. Definitely deadly.

If she could just reach them… No she had to consider what was to happen after she died. If she ended her life, there would only be two tributes left in the games: Paint and Apple. Was her name Apple? Apple was another wolf, right? She couldn’t remember since that other tribute, clearly an unseen variable, had never been spotted by Dragon at all during the duration of the games. Whoever Apple was, she was an excellent hider. But would she have the strength to defeat Paint? She really hoped so. She definitely didn’t want the avian to win. The Capitol couldn’t let Paint win anyway; Paint was insane! Perhaps the Gamemakers saw all of this coming and planned for it all along. Maybe they had protected Apple for so long, just for Apple to be a “protagonist” versus Paint’s “antagonistic” ways. A story fit for the entertainment of the Capitol.

If she committed suicide, would her family be disappointed? Would her district be disappointed? Oh well, that wouldn’t be a problem if she was dead.

Who was she kidding. She didn’t have a choice.

She had to die.

She took a weak, shaky, and painful breath. First, she attempted standing on three limbs, holding her broken leg in the air. But this immediately proved to be unsuccessful. She cried out in agony as her entire ribcage seemed to fill with pain. Dragon quickly settled on simply dragging herself (Drag on, Dragon)  towards the berries, using her functioning legs to push herself forward. Every slight bump she hit made her wince, but at last she made it to the poisoned berry bush.

She forced herself to raise her head to the level of a small clump of of berries. Without another moment’s hesitation, she opened her mouth and ate them straight off the plant. They popped between her teeth, releasing bizarre, peppery juices onto her tongue. The flavor wasn’t too strong, therefore making the taste in no way unpleasant.

Just as she was about to eat a few more, a burning sensation struck her throat. It started out as pleasantly warm, but soon escalated into a painful scalding. She screamed clawed at the neck. It felt as if she was breathing fire.

Haha. Get it? Because she’s Dragon?

Hilarious.

Soon, her entire body burned, causing her to flail about in agony. She imagined the Gamemakers’ cameras aimed towards her, documenting her final struggle. But this brief imagining was cut off by a sudden, sharp pain in her chest. Her heart stopped.

The cannon fired.

Her still-twitching body was picked up by a hovercraft.

---

At about a few moments before Dragon died, Paint was relaxing peacefully in back her cave while bundled up in a fairly warm and fuzzy blanket. Killing took a lot of energy, so it was crucial for her to take a break in between slaughtering tributes.

She had a small notebook in front of her (She had brought it with her into the arena along with a few pencils), in which she drew a few sketches of Bastion under the light of an electric lantern with difficulty. Both of her paws were covered in what was left of the same roll of bandages used to wrap up her side after she amputated her wing. The avian was careful to wrap each finger (are they called fingers??) individually, so she could still have mobility in her paws when needed. However, that didn’t stop her paws from hurting. And fuck, they hurt pretty bad.

If only she had kept a hold of Dragon. Paint could’ve done so much to that bitch. She could’ve used that fancy box of matches one of her previous victims had (One benefit of murder was that one could get all sorts of free stuff after, and Paint loved free stuff.) and burned the woodland wolf to death in a bonfire. It probably would’ve smelled excellent, like cooking a pig. Or perhaps she could’ve done the burning bit a little slower, skinning Dragon alive at first (wouldn’t want to burn all of that beautiful fur) and then roasting some good wolf flesh.

A pleasant little shiver went down Paint’s spine, making her remaining wing ruffle a bit.

She would’ve loved killing Dragon.

She quickly forced those violent thoughts out of her head and continued drawing another Bastion. However, just as she was about to finish this one, a cannon fired and caused her to jump. When she flinched, her paw slipped and a long, dark pencil line was slashed across her paper. She grumbled to herself angrily and prepared to erase the mark, but then she stopped.

That cannon had to have meant Dragon was dead.

Paint closed the notebook and stood up, grinning. “It’s about time,” she muttered, raising one paw to rub the scratch in her neck. The injury wasn’t much in comparison to the cuts in her paws, but it stung every time she moved her head. Did the cannon mean Apple and Paint were the last ones in the arena? Who even was Apple? A wolf? Before the Hunger Games and during training, the avian had made an effort to memorize the names and districts of every tribute in both states of mind: Paint #1 and #2. However, since she had been so entirely focused on memorization, she couldn’t remember half of the faces that went with the names! Perhaps Paint #1 remembered, but Paint #2 didn’t exactly feel like leaving quite yet.

She turned off the lantern, leaving the room in darkness. She blinked her eyes behind her goggles to adjust her eyes to the light then left the cave with all of her stuff in it, ready to hunt for Apple. It was unlikely this late in the games for her stuff to be stolen. Besides, the stench of the cave caused by the four rotting bodies piled up in the corner (For some reason, body retrieval was nonexistent underground) alone was enough to keep anyone away.

Limping slowly through the tunnels, Paint thought about the other remaining tribute. Whoever Apple was, the avian had no worries about defeating her. Every tribute Paint had encountered she killed without too much trouble. Sure, occasionally they fought back and hurt her somewhat, but that was natural.

No one wanted to die in agony.

---

After hours of hunting for Apple with no success, Paint made her way towards the exit of the tunnels. She estimated that it was nearly night time, and the anthem would be playing soon. The avian wanted to watch the death recap and see proof of Dragon’s death. She wanted to see the district number of her deceased enemy. She wanted to see Dragon’s picture projected in the sky. Only then would Paint be satisfied.

The avian soon found the exit, illuminated by silvery moonlight. She stepped slowly towards the cliff and plopping down near the edge. Paint wouldn’t dare to attempt crossing the cedar log bridge. Without her other wing, she simply was too unbalanced and would likely fall down into the ravine. So instead, she settled on craning her head out over the ledge to stare at the stars.

The sky remained blank and starry until the anthem began to blare proudly in the arena. The Capitol’s seal appeared in all its projected blue glory, before fading into an image of Dragon, labeled boldly with “District 7.” This image stuck around for quite some time before the music gave one final flourish and faded out along with the image. The sounds of the night reentered the arena and Paint stood up, turned, and walked back into the darkness of the caverns with a grin.

That was that. Dragon was dead.

As she marched through the tunnels, Paint felt tempted to continue her search for Apple, but she knew that it was best to return to her cave. She was horribly exhausted and needed to sleep. Gotta rest up before she won the games. Tomorrow was going to be a great day for sure.

Turning one final corner, she finally reached the last tunnel that led right up to her cave. However, she froze. A massive reddish pink colored and female wolf (somewhat taller than Bastion was) stood several meters in front of Paint, effectively blocking her way back into her cave. Her giant head was lowered and her hackles were raised, making her body seem even larger. Her enormous paws held no weapon, but they seemed perfectly capable of crushing the avian without one.

The wolf was Apple and she looked pissed.

“You,” the District 11 tribute growled, taking an angry step towards Paint. The avian stood her ground, but she was shaking slightly. Apple barked and Paint flinched with a small yelp. “You’re crazy! I saw their bodies,YOU PSYCHO!!!” Apple took another step forward and this time Paint moved back a little. “You hurt them bad. Entire pieces of them were MISSING!!!”

The avian chuckled nervously and tried her best to put on a friendly grin. The end result wasn’t great; it was too awkward and desperate. “You don’t want to kill me r-right? C-Come on now? Who’s the real enemy here? You hate the Capitol, correct? I hate them too!” Paint nodded her head towards the end of the tunnel before saying, “Just let me walk pas-”

“NO!!!” interrupted Apple. The giant wolf advanced towards Paint at a brisk pace. “You deserve to DIE!!! I have killed NO ONE yet and you have SLAUGHTERED others like… like…”

Paint grinned genuinely this time. “Like pigs?”

Apple roared and launched herself at the avian. Paint lept to the side as the enemy wolf’s weight crashed down on the ground just next to her. When Apple rose back up, the avian bared her teeth and pounced at her throat. However, a red paw struck her in the side of her head, knocking her to the dirt like how a cat would strike a toy. Paint went flat on the ground, found herself at a perfect height to tear into Apple’s soft belly, and attacked with her jaws wide open.

Her teeth sank into warm flesh but that flesh belonged to her enemy’s foreleg, not her stomach. Hot blood seeped into her mouth, tongue tasting its metallic flavor. Apple screamed and used her free paw to smack Paint’s head and muzzle. The winged wolf’s tight grip loosened slightly, allowing Apple to loop her free foreleg under the avian’s chest and lift Paint off the ground. Then Apple threw Paint down the tunnel.

The avian’s remaining wing fluttered lamely as she tumbled through the air and onto the floor with a crash. She landed on her wingless side, horrible agony erupting in the amputated region, making her cry out and her eyes water. Paint snarled savagely and lurched to her paws with extreme difficulty before leaping on top of Apple’s back. The avian bit her in the back of the neck and shook her head vigorously, tearing through Apple’s skin.

Apple screeched, rolling over on her back and crushing Paint beneath her. A bone in Paint’s remaining wing snapped like a twig, making her scream in agony. She struggled and managed to push Apple off just enough for her to wriggle free. The avian leapt for the empty tunnel, but powerful jaws latched onto her wing. The winged wolf cried out as they tugged her from the air, slamming her to the ground and rolling her on her back.

Apple situated herself as if she was about to give Paint some form of CPR, huge red chest and forelegs raised a foot or two above Paint’s ribcage. Then, with the force and power of a hungry bear opening a metal trashcan, Apple brought all of her weight down on the avian using her forepaws. With a hollow but crunchy WHUMP!!!, Paint’s chest was crushed. The avian screeched, not yet dead, and attempted to wriggle away. But the paws came down again, again, and again.

WHUMP!!!

WHUMP!!!

WHUMP!!!

BAM!!!

-- The final cannon fired.

The last tribute standing stepped away (Breathing quite hard) and surveyed the dead body of Paint. Broken rib bones poked out from underneath the bandages wrapped around the avian’s smashed chest, breaking her skin. Blood, still warm, saturated the gauze. The same scarlet liquid oozed from her mouth, resembling chunky red vomit. Paint probably did vomit as she was dying.

Apple carefully walked around the wolf, avoiding the horrible blank gaze of the avian’s dead eyes. She made her way towards the exit of the tunnels.

Apple was the victor.

THE END

March 31, 2017

Posted by Dragon :) Feel free to ask questions!