#tumblr fanfiction

[mudhamster]

Fake freckles (Bkdk, humor, 700words)

Katsuki held up the tape barrier and Izuku, his hand on his aching hip, slipped underneath with difficulty, panting: "Thanks, Kacchan."

The blonde let the tape snap back without a word, the unmistakable sign for the reporters to storm the scene. They watch as they come, and Katsuki squares his shoulders in resignation.

"I hate this part."

Izuku quickly limps in front of him, a filter for both parties, and looks reassuringly over his shoulder into a dirty, grumpy face, "You did great. Don't worry."

"Hero Deku," the first round of questioning begins, "how long does it take to repaint your freckles every time?"

Izuku actually gasps in surprise at this, and the reporter leans further over the barrier, "What product do you use? I'm Mako, from the beauty channel-"

"Fuckin' what?" Kacchan's deep, scratchy voice asks from behind him and Izuku lets out a small, disbelieving laugh, fighting sudden goosebumps.

"Sorry," he apologizes immediately, "but I don't-"

"You think those are fake freckles?"

"Kacchan-"

"Are you guys fuckin' stupid?"

The reporter swings the microphone up while Katsuki crouches over Izuku like a shadow, "Have your shitty eyes checked, you-"

The reporter has no objection at all to changing the subject to the blonde in order to stop his impending barrage of insults.

"Hero Dynamight, you too are often seen with freckles in the summer-"

Literally smelling the nitro, Izuku jumped in, "Kacchan doesn't have any - ugh, it's mostly ash that sticks to his sweat-"

"Deku used to have freckles when every motherfucker and their aunt out there called them ugly," the blonde cut him off and Izuku pursed his lips a little embarrassed, "he has freckles on his elbow, behind his knees and on his goddamn ass."

"Kacchan-"

"How the hell is he supposed to paint there? Huh?"

Izuku rubbed the bridge of his nose and looks apologetically into the camera, but Katsuki wasn't done yet.

"You think he's got nothing better to do than get his ass fake-freckled after a fight?"

"Oh my god," Izuku breathed, subtly tugging at one of Kacchan's gauntlets, "I think that's enough. No one even remotely thought about my butt-"

But Katsuki had wriggled out of his grip and pulled out his cell phone. To Izuku's growing horror, he opened a rather green album and almost stuffed the phone into the reporter's mouth.

"Eight years ago, see? Four of them, right under his eye."

Izuku had never seen anyone flip through an album so violently. All cameras zoomed in on Kacchan's fingers, which aggressively zoomed in on his cheeks frame by frame. 

He tries again, "Kacchan-"

"Fuck off, Deku."

Then he takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Six years ago, four years – last year! Look, you dump jackass."

The whispering grew louder and Izuku bit his lips, mentally playing bingo as to what the headlines would be tomorrow. His ears burned. His face was warm. 

"Seen enough?"

The crowd backed away as Kacchan reared up to his full height, and Izuku was too slow to slap away the hand that gripped his collar tightly. With shameful ease, he was lifted from his feet and held up to the camera like a plushy.

"Kacchan-"

"Four here," he turned his wrist until Izuku's other cheek was almost stuck to the camera lens, "and four here. Amateurs y'all, shit."

Izuku pinched Katsuki's hand until the grip on his collar loosened and he found himself safely on his feet a second later. He was flushed from his knees up to his ears by now.

With what was left of his dignity, he tried to bow, thank the civilians for their support, and turn away - but he only managed the first as he was dragged away by the collar again. A storm of flashbulbs exploded behind them, the shouts drowning each other out. The reporters were ecstatic.

"Fake freckles," Kacchan hissed beside him, his little finger crackling with murderous intent, "I've never heard such a load of shit before."

They turn the corner and Izuku side-eyes his best friend.

"You've got a soft spot for my freckles," he concluded with a tiny grin. 

Katsuki punched him hard in the upper arm.

"Ow-"

"Shut the fuck up."

[thewordswewrite]

The Drought of an Ocean

Chapter 2 - As Tribute

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Story Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Chapter Summary | Finnick thinks back on the years since his own games as the reaping for the 70th annual Hunger Games takes place.

Chapter Warnings | canon typical violence, nonexplicit forced prostitution, mentions/situations of sexualizing minors, anxiety inducing situations, explicit language

W/C | 1.5k

A/N | wow guys I know this is prewritten but we wrote two chapters in two days and planned out the rest of the fic. we’re doing so good. -Smoe<3

Donations | Link  

|Masterlist|

In the years since becoming a victor, Finnick continued the tradition of mentorship alongside Mags and the few others who sporadically made appearances when they had an extra bit of incentive from the capitol. However, being the youngest victor wasn’t all it was cracked up to be when it came to tributes on the older side, the seventeen and eighteen year-olds who thought little of him for his ‘peacocking’ in the capitol and his age. Even knowing he was skilled with traps and his trident didn’t earn him much respect. They trusted Mags, for she was about as old as the games themselves. Her old age gave the illusion of knowledge, but she only fought once, just like him and she had been a teenager then too. 

Still, it didn’t matter much for they rarely returned home except for one in recent years and he, being eighteen, had favored his independence both during training and the games. Finnick was occupied with other endeavors anyway, a job less glamorous than being a mentor, where his patrons didn’t deal in respect either but found him more useful than any tribute had. 

On his sixteenth birthday, Finnick received his very first gift from President Snow. 

He was returning home from a training session with the Stafford kid when he was met with peacekeepers stationed at his front door. Upon entering, his mother rose from her chair, ushering him into the dining room where Snow was sitting at the head of the table making conversation with his father.

“President Snow,” Finnick grinned, turning on the charm that was usually left at the door. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” Hearing his voice, his father stood from his chair and left them to their private conversation, giving Finnick’s shoulder a squeeze on the way out. 

“Mr. Odair! I think a celebration is in order. It's not every day a victor turns sixteen,” Snows teeth were lined in red when he smiled, a waft of rose replacing the metallic scent in the air before it had time to set in.

Finnick felt his heart begin to calm, it was just for his birthday. “Ah, of course I’m honored that you’d come see me personally but I couldn't possibly accept any gifts”  Snow had given him plenty; he hadn’t wanted to seem greedy. “You’ve already given me so much.”

Snow tutted at him and began to rise in his seat as if to leave. “Well, if you’d deny my gifts-”

“No! I’d never!” Finnick interrupted but immediately regretted it. He’d talked over the president and now there was nothing he could do to take it back.

Snow’s eyes glinted with a moment of fury before he smiled once more. “Maybe I could ask you for a favor, hm?”

“Absolutely, you’ve always been so generous,” Finnick’s nails were digging into his palms, his smile strained. “Anything.”

Of course, when Finnick had learned of what Snow had wanted from he refused; how could he not? He had learned early on however, that you do not refuse the President. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Odair but if you can’t accept the opportunity I have offered you with grace, then I’m afraid I’ll have to take matters in my own hands,” Snow hissed, his barely restrained anger threatening to escape.

“What…what does that mean?”

Snow gave a ‘come hither’ gesture and before Finnick could utter another word, his father was on his knees in front of him, a peacekeeper pressing a gun to his head. In the blink of an eye, he was fully collapsed on the floor, his blood staining the ornate carpet. His mother was dragged in next, the butt of a gun slammed into the side of her head.

“I accept!,” Finnick screamed, “I accept!”

Since that day, Finnick had been doing business for Snow. He made trips to the Capitol monthly, normally getting through four or five customers per excursion. It didn’t matter whether or not he was in the mood, it didn’t matter that his ‘clients’ were his mother’s age or older, it didn’t matter because he had something to lose and as long as that was the case, he was a slave to Snow’s whims. 

・・・Ψ・・・

Finnick stood at the back of the crowd watching as those of reaping age began to file in in front of the stage. He remembered how terrified he felt the day of his reaping when he was told he was meant to volunteer. Nobody knew who was to be picked until right before they pulled the names out of the bowl. Not even the tributes themselves. This year was different for him; Mags had recently fallen ill. Combined with the illness and her being frail with age, she was unable to aid him in his mentoring, meaning this year he was on his own for the first time. He hadn’t been concerned at first for now he'd helped a tribute win but without the guidance of Mags, if his tributes died the blame was his to shoulder.

The escort had been the same since his own games, often lingering around Victor Village and inserting themselves into the lives of the past victors for the Capitol's pleasure. Unlike 12’s escort with the ridiculous gold hair, who he knew preferred picking the ladies first, 4’s escort switched off each year.

“Boys first,” the escort was dressed in red-orange, spikes protruding from the outfit, the likeness of which resembled a lionfish. Finnick had to admit, out of all the outfits he'd seen them wear, this one he almost approved of, still though the wasteful extravagance of the Capitol left him with distaste. 

He didn’t care to listen to the name that had been pulled for he knew there was a boy who had been predetermined to volunteer, just as he had. While in the lower districts the reactions to the name-pulling were terror-inducing, in career districts it was safer to have your name pulled for someone would take your spot no matter the circumstances; parents could spend the night before the reaping resting peacefully with the knowledge that their children would be safe. 

The boy who volunteered in the reaped one’s place was nothing special but he knew how to play to a crowd, an advantage that many tributes had learned with Finnick as an example. He hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of the boy around town, spending most of his time at the Victor’s Village or in the Capitol nowadays but he recognized him as someone capable with a spear. Ultimately, it was up to the boy whether or not he was interested in cultivating other skills.

Finnick was nearly dozing when the female tribute was reaped. He waited for the telltale sign of the career to follow, the over zealous exclamation of ‘I volunteer’ to which the crowd would fawn but it didn’t come. Instead, a hand raised slowly above the crowd, fingers barely extending upwards towards the sky. The words could scarcely be heard as they were uttered, calm as a waveless sea.

“I volunteer,” the voice huffed, murmurs in the crowd wondering if something had gone wrong dampening the sound of her voice.

“What’s that?” The escort replied, making a show of leaning in closer to the crowd.

“I volunteer. As tribute.”

“Oh,” the escort crooned, “it seems we have another volunteer. Wonderful!”

Finnick smirked, watching the girl trudge her up the steps of the stage. To some degree, he respected her defiance, a trait he lost long ago, but he knew it would be her downfall and as any good mentor would, he would tell her to lose the attitude before it lost her her life. 

Finnick hadn't seen her before which he guessed meant she was from an orphanage that specialized in training volunteers. He couldn't stand to linger around them for he knew the pain of losing family and the thought of being around them depressed him more than he already was. The training rarely paid off anyway; the tributes produced by the orphanage had no life to return home to and little will to fight. She looked to be around his age meaning she was likely to age out soon and was chosen based solely off that. He could only guess those circumstances added to the resentment that was clear from a mile away. 

She would say her last goodbyes to her ‘family’ now if any of them had bothered to show up. Knowing what was coming next, Finnick found a peacekeeper to lead him to the train. He was always delighted by seeing how the volunteers would react to the decadence of the Capitol for it was one of the very few privileges that they had. It would be a short wait before the tributes were ushered on to the train along with the escort, whose name he really should have learned by now. He didn't see this year as a possibility for a district victory, which eased the pressure off his shoulders but filled him with guilt beyond belief. The next few weeks he had to look these two tributes in the eye and tell them he believed they could win.

Finnick heard the door to the train open and the telltale sound of boots coming up the stairs. With practiced ease, he slipped on a smile and grasped his hands behind his back looking both tributes in the eye.

“I’m Finnick Odair, your mentor.”

|Masterlist| |Previous Chapter| |Next Chapter|

[weirdozjunkary]

I did another fic in the PIB AU. This time of the infamous panic attack scene. It’s fairly long, but not the longest I’ve ever written

———————

KA- FWEEEW!!!

A spectactical aray of confetti bursted from the baker inspo the air. Sonic splat, the confetti clinging to himself. At any other time, this cluster of colourful paper adorned with a cute party horn would’ve been cheerful, but now it seemed more gruesome.

“BLEGH! What?!”

“OHOHO! So that’s what they do!” Ivo cheered. He was already aiming up another shot. Unicorn horns are deadly. “Cool!”

“NO! ITS NOT COOL!” The iridecent beatle shouted, appalled at the doctors amazement by this spread of colourful destruction.

Another horn stuck into a bakers side. “AUGHYOU SHOT ME-“

KA-FWEEEW!!!

Another explosion right in the hedgehogs face. He sneezed at the dust and confetti in the air. “Ugh! The sight is off!” He heard ivo groan. And just as he could stop himself from sneezing, Sonic was hoisted up by his bandana.

“I got him mister Horner!” Another horn stuck into the bakers side.

“MY BAD!”

“Oh no.”

KA-BLAM!!

Silence. Only accompanied by a faint growing ringing through the hedgehogs ears as he flew through the air slowly. It didn’t stop till he tumbled against the ground, his bandana untying itself from his throat. There, just within arms reach, it was the map. It had fallen out of his grasp through the explosion. And as the world around him moved by in slow motion, he propped up on a knee and reached out a hand to it.

He froze. That sound. That sharp and sickening melody that made his hair stand up on end and his stomach twist violently. He could hear it. Just a few feet behind him.

He gasped out air from his lungs. Hoping to god that when his eyes drifted from the map behind him that he wouldn’t see what he dreaded to see. But once his body was fully turned around. As his heart pounded in his ears and his lungs felt tight and empty. He could see it. That jackal. Unsheathing his sickles from his dark cloak. Staring at him with his vibrant eyes.

He is here. HOW is he here? The last time he saw him was running from Ivo Horner’s bakery. And still, those eyes, so glassy but vibrant like marbles. They pierced frozen daggers into his. It made them ache.

His body moved before his brain caught up. His heart raced in his ears, pounding so hard his chest hurtt. His lungs were on fire as he wheezed while he ran. Ran away. Ran far. Ran fast. Just get away from this fucking maniac!!!

“Sonic? SONIC! WAIT!” Tails shouted, grabbing his fallen bandana and chasing after him.

“Tails?” Shadow puzzled. He took his eyes off of the map for a second. Just enough for the face of a large hammer to whack him away.

“Thanks for the map, Stripes!” Amy gawked as she laid her eyes on the map she snatched up from the ground. It sparkled and shimmered. Changing the scenery on it and then the world around them. The ground broke and shifted, sending cliffs and pine trees high into the air.

“NO!” Both Shadow and Ivo shouted in anger at the group that ascended higher into the air.

“HEY! You’ve just been crimed by the Chaotix Crime family!” The young bee shouted.

“So long, you plonkers!” Amy added and left with the rest of them. Projectiles flying past them as they ran into the newly formed forest behind.

“!LOS VOY HACER A TODOS ALFOMBRAS DE BAÑO!” Shadow angrily shouted. He kicked the ground and bared his teeth in frustration. “GRAGH!!! SONIC!!! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

His legs could barely keep him standing. The only reason why he didn’t fall over yet was the proper yak motion of his legs keeping him going forward. His footsteps were heavy and sporadic, so was his breathing. He heaved with each step, each movement of his arms. His eyes darting around the dark forest. He could’ve sworn he saw him. His face. His eyes. Him. The one trying to take his life.

“SONIC! SONIC!” The twin tailed fox cried out with worry. Where could he have gone?

There. He was at the base of a tree. Huffing and heaving as his eyes continued to dart around in front of him. That hunter is near. He’s just waiting to pounce. Waiting to strike. He’s here. He has to be.

“Sonic! Sonic! Are you okay? What’s wrong?!”

Tails’ voice fell deaf on Sonic’ ears. He huffed and wheezed with tears in his eyes. He was waiting for him, the jackal. The moment for him to strike. He didn’t know if Tails was truly there or not. And Tails. This boy was so worried for his friend. He felt helpless. Moreso Sonic to Tails.

But, he looked at Sonic’s face. The pure terror and panic in his eyes. And almost as if he had done this before, he rested his head against his chest. He could feel it, hear it. His heartbeat so fast and loud. A sporadic rhythm that pounded so hard that it could leap right out of his chest.

But as Tails laid there, his eyes shut and an arm wrapped over the hedgehog, he felt a hand lay gently on his head, and the hedgehog’s heart and breathing slow. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t even open his eyes. He just laid there as Sonic pet him. He only looked at him once he heard him huff out a sigh.

“Thank you, Tails.” He said.

“What’s going on with you, Sonic?”

Sonic stammered and looked away. He couldn’t look this sweet boy in the face. Not to tell him what’s really been going on. Why he decided to pursue this star. What his wish truly was. “I… I am down to my last life. And I…” He gulped down a hard lump. “I am afraid.”

“Well, it’s okay to be afraid.”

“No! Not for Sonic the Hedgehog! I’m supposed to be a fearless hero. A legend.” He slumped further down the base of the tree. “But without any lives to spare. I am… nothing.” He shot up and clenched a determined fist. “I need that wish to get my lives back!”

“You should tell Shadow, then. He would understand-“

“No no no! He can’t hear none of this stuff!” Sonic said as he put a hand over the fox’s mouth briefly to silence him.

“Okay?”

What neither of them knew, was not far behind them was the black hedgehog, slicing through the prickled grass. “¿Adónde fueron ese idiota y su zorro?” He muttered to himself. His ears shot up once he could hear the blue hedgehog.

“Shadow will never trust me again. Not after Santa Coloma.”

“But that was just one bad heist.”

“Santa Coloma wasn’t a heist, Tails. It was a church. With a priest and guests… and Shadow.” He reminisced back to that day. A sour feeling painfully waved over his chest. “Everything but me. I ran away then too.”

“Oh...” Tails responded, letting his mind wander a little. “Oh.” He finally gasped in shock once the realization hit him. “OH! You left him at the altar?”

“It was wrong, I know. I’m ashamed of it.” He sighed. “I just wish I hadn’t hurt ‘em so badly. I regret that day a lot.”

“So… maybe you should tell that to Shadow. It might make you feel better about it. It might make him feel better about it, too.”

Shadow stood behind the tree, arms crossed and a look of uncertainty clearly on his face. Of course Sonic wouldn’t have said this to his face, his pride was too fragile to admit defeat. But, something about what he said, perhaps the tone or what have you. It felt genuine, though full of sadness and melancholy.

He had been running all his life, both of them. Running from enemies, from friends, loved ones, eachother. Running out of fear. Fear of being betrayed, of being hurt again. He was like him, even if they didn’t know the extent of it— of each other— they both were running. Maybe. Maybe they don’t need to run.

“Sonic! Fox!” Shadow called as he came into their view. “There you two are. What the hell happened?”

“S-Shadow!” Sonic stammered and stood up, finally tying his bandana back on. “I-uh- I lost the map. I messed up.”

“We’ll get it back, don’t worry. We’ve been in worse prickles.”

“WHAT?! Who told you that name?!” Sonic shouted, only to receive a confused look from shadow.

“…What name?”

“Uh… n-nothing!”

[likesomekindofcheese]

Hi everyone!

This is your reminder for fanfic writers-

If you think your idea for a fanfic is too “weird” or “not traditional” or “off” or that “no one will read it…”

WRITE IT! WRITE IT ANYWAY!! WRITE THE DAMN FIC!👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

Trust me, there were a couple passion projects of mine where I was worried about notes or what people would think or that it wasn’t this kind of fic that was popular right now.

BUT GUESS WHAT??

People read it- reblogged it, kudos’d it, commented, gave me asks praising them…

So just do it! At least three souls out there want to hear your story and give it attention and a listen and will be touched, moved, or enjoy it!!!

So whatever it is, don’t be ashamed- WRITE! THE! FIC!!

[hanakin-starwalker]

I just read this comment on the fanfiction community on Reddit and it blew me away, which is a hard feat so.

They were talking about how they write hurt/comfort and they’re extra heavy on the comfort, which, apparently, isn’t big in their fandom. They were telling the story to encourage fic authors who don’t get many comments because even if you don’t get a comment, you never know just how your fic impacted them.

Someone for years read their fics, especially the ones from that certain fandom. One day this person commented telling how they loved the fics and they always brightened their day and after class they would get the print outs and read them. They had read the fics for years before commenting and telling the author how they were a source of joy for them. Now, the reader is a doctor and they still have the fic print outs and read the author’s work. Incredible.

Even if someone doesn’t tell you, or me, we can never know just how much an oneshot, to a short story effects the reader’s life, it might be their only source of comfort and motivation and positivity. You can never be sure, even if they never say. I know of fics that have changed my life and never said. When I was 16 my life was hard, coming home and reading a comfort story was sometimes my only source for comfort and peace.

You brighten someone’s day, whether you know it or not.

🦋✨💞

[stargazingcarol]

I still see memes about encountering fanfiction in lower case. But i personally don't see it as often as i used to years ago. So...

pls reblog and if u choose you wouldn't read it state why 🫶 very curious 👀

[fishermanshook]

patched up (novelist x gn!reader)

howlpendragons on Pinterest

content warnings: mentions of blood and scars, possible spelling and grammar errors, second person POV, use of y/n like twice

The manor games are brutal, but even brutal is an understatement at how horrible they can really be. Consisting of blood, sweat and tears, all you can do is run. But running is tiring, especially when you know that no matter how many games you escape, you’ll be stuck here in this hell hole forever. 

And during these death games, getting hurt is almost always guaranteed. And if you don’t have the Doctor in your match to speed the (healing) process up, Survivors must take it upon themselves to heal them and their teammates. 

—

You're not too sure when your fingers started going numb during decoding, but with only 1 cipher being left undecoded, you’ve got to keep up the pace. 

Just minutes ago a loud announcement roared through the air, scaring the crows and other unearthly creatures that inhabited this manor away from where they were originally perched. The announcement let everyone know (who was in the game) that the Patient had been chaired and sent back to the manor. But you didn’t need the announcement to know that, as his screams rippled through the air only seconds before his inevitable doom. 

Now the Enchantress has been left with keeping the hunter occupied, and thanks to her pinning her location through a special piece of technology, you know to stay clear of that area. 

You let your fellow teammates know the area you're decoding in, the cipher being at least 50% completed. You're lost in concentration before a certain voice comes from behind you. 

“Hey,,y/n?”

Your head immediately jerks up, almost missing a calibration in the process. 

“Holy, oh my gosh Orpheus you scared me- oh.”

You look at Orpheus who’s slightly hunched back and has a small smile on his face. His pristine white trench coat looks like it's been relentlessly torn and ripped apart, smeared with dirt and what looks to be blood. Following the crimson trail, you spot that he’s cradling his left arm closely near his chest where his whole hand has been painted red. 

“Mind patching me up really quickly?”

How can you refuse? He’s your teammate after all and you can’t leave him standing there in a pile of his own blood.

“Always.”

— 

You and Orpheus sit closely near each other, with Orpheus sitting up with his legs out and your sitting criss crossed. You’ve produced your small medical bag that the manor has provided you with. It always gets restocked before every game by some unknown source, but that doesn’t really matter right now. All that matters is getting Orpheus patched up quickly so you two can finish decoding the last cipher and get out of here. 

You whip out the white medical gauze inside of the red bag and hastily get to work. Orpheus has stripped off his coat so you can get to the main source. You don’t have time to wash off any of the blood or even give him something to hold on to, but you make due with what you're given. 

Before wrapping the gauze of him, you take a rag from the kit and gently but rapidly wipe some of the blood from his arm. You hear him suck in a quick breath, but all you can mutter is something along the lines of “‘m sorry” before quickly wrapping up the gauze. 

Unfortunately, due to some previous trauma, the process takes a few minutes. With your shaking hands and Orpheus’ winces, it brings back some unpleasant memories. 

You may have accidentally tightened the gauze a little too harsh, because it sends Orpheus throwing his head back and grabbing onto your thigh. 

“Ah, shit, I’m sorry y/n.”

You're taking back a bit, looking the other way to avoid contact, pretending to get something else from your bag. 

“Don’t worry about it, just try your best to sit still, okay? If it’s really that bad then you can squeeze my thigh, k?” You say with a small smile.

Orpheus’ eyes widened a bit, but not before shaking his head and staring forward into the abyss. 

You get back to applying the gauze onto his arm, but it’s a little hard when you can’t forget how warm his hand feels gripping onto your thigh. 

—

The rush of adrenaline you get when the final cipher pops is insanely overwhelming, but you’ve learned to just embrace it and take off as far as your legs will grant you. Using that adrenaline, you find yourself rushing to type in the code to the exit gate, then the anxiety gets the best of you. 

“You're not going to be able to type it if your hands keep shaking like that,” Orpheus says, taking your hand and removing it gently from the keypad “let me please.” 

As you stand there with your wobbly legs, Orpheus wonders if you’ve ever noticed how he doesn’t necessarily treat you the same as he treats the others. He’s so much more kind to you then the others, not that he’s necessarily rude or mean to the other inhabitants of the manor though. It’s just that you’ve caught his attention and now he can’t take his mind off of you. 

He wonders if he told you, would you feel the same?

But something pulls him out of his thoughts, as a blood curdling scream comes from the distance. Orpheus and you both look behind yourselves and are met with a bloody and messy Patricia. 

Her clothes have been tattered and abused, her sparkly purple outfit has been ripped to shreds as wounds decorate her body, spilling cardinal red blood. Red blood that perfectly matches the way the Sculpture eyes light up when she meets your gaze. 

Orpheus is quick to put in the code as the Enchantress shouts to go for the tie. He quickly grabs your hand, forcing himself to ignore the way you scream Patricia's name. He pulls you and him through the gate before you can get hit by a sculpture. 

When you two make your way through the gate, he’s still holding your hand as he asks you if you're alright. Are you hurt? Are you in pain? You shake your head side to side but can’t help the tears that silently fall from your eyes and cup your cheeks, almost in a loving way. 

Orpheus doesn’t want to see you cry, and so, acting on impulse, he pulls you in for a hug. Softly shushing you as he combs his fingers through your hair. The two of you sit in silence as you wait for the old and battered carriage to take you back like it always does. 

—

The carriage is dimly lit by a small lantern hanging from the ceiling of the moving vehicle, and he can’t make out the person in the front, but he isn’t really too worried about that right now. 

He’s just thankful you can’t see the blush that’s crept up the back of his neck and spread itself across his face. 

Your head lays loosely on his shoulder, his head on top of your as he rubs his thumb in circles on your palm. Your tears have dried and stained your cheeks, but you're too exhausted to wipe them away. Orpheus isn’t sure what made you start crying, especially when he knows this isn’t your first match. Was it due to exhaustion? The wearing of adrenaline? Or did everything that had just happened catch you off guard? Multiple questions plagued his mind, but the Novelist knew better than to bombard you with his onslaught of wonders, so he just sat with you. You and your tattered body, covered in scars from previous matches. 

To hell with those Hunters, if they ever die. 

— End

note: i say kinda b/c i feel like this isn't really a fic but it'll happen to do,,, this fic sucks i’m sorry you guys

(2023)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, or repost my work on any other platform

[darkestwolfx]

Already it is Wednesday again!

So, one of my current WIP's is based on this one shot I wrote back in 2020 for one of the march prompts I was doing before I went away.

This is pre-international rescue, so younger Tracy family, and expands on the back story mentioned here. Hopefully it will be enjoyable when it's done!

Some of you may remember the lengthy notes for it that I included on the tumblr post here about the type of centipede that featured in it!

At the time I had been very lucky to only hear stories. I would just like to say I have now seen one of these critters on my return trip and I was not a fan. Forget butterflies and spiders, the Amazonian giant Centipede is the scariest insect in my opinion. Feel free to start a debate on scary insects here!

P.S. I have noted my inbox. Thank you all!

The forest– jungle– area (for there had been some debate for some time as to which it was officially classed at) was probably the biggest thing to get used to. It covered a large part of the island and for miles was all you could see. From the house it looked as lush as an emerald forest from the fantasy stories and as tropical as the mix of colours upon fruit swimming in a punch bowl. What the terrain was like underneath the growth was hard to tell, for the island had a distinct rise in its mountainous rocks, but whether the forest had paths or shear drops or impenetrable places, had never been mapped. “And rightly so,” Dad had explained. He’d told them it was densely packed and that he’d gleamed such immediately from flying overhead with not a slither of sight to the land in which the tree roots entwinned themselves. It was dangerous, was the undercurrent of the explanation, and – despite having been known in his youth to live on the edge of danger himself – he has no intentions for any of them trying to throw caution to the wind. That was what the eldest three sons had taken away from the stern sit down upon their first arrival at the completed house on the island at least. It wasn’t like there wasn’t enough space on the rest of the island for them to take up their time with.

[sarahowritesostucky]

To all the other Tumblr Writers out there:

How do y'all be posting smutty fics and get away with not slapping a community label: sexual content on there??

Even with the 'continue reading' breaks and warnings and ratings and authors notes and DNIs, I post a fic with a damn kissing scene and the Tumblr staff is in my notifications within the hour, telling me they "decided my post needed a community label," and have done me the favor of adding one.

What gives? Does my illiberal staff frienemy really stalk my content that much??

[cityzenchick]

Here we are starting 2024 and it's time to reflect on all the amazing footballer fanfiction we have read here on tumblr in 2023! 👏

Firstly a huge thank you to those writers who regularly post their superb 'free' stories for our enjoyment (nomatter what club or player they are writing about!!) 🫶

How lucky are we to be able to read romantic angsty smutty fics about the players we love (and lust over🥵!) - gifted to us daily by our favourite tumblr writers?? They enable our sexy footy dreams to come true via their ideas and creativity! 🥰

So, next time you read a chapter or imagine on here that you love, don't just ❤️ it - let the author know they are appreciated and let them know which bits you loved best 😉 👏👍

Footballer Fanfiction is my Addiction ⚽️❤️💋

[smolvenger]

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr

[anamelessfool]

The hardest part of reading fics on Tumblr is keeping them organized. I have no idea how to hold onto them! Especially ones I have yet to read so I don't want to reblog immediately (so I can add tag comments!)

How do you save and organize fics on here? That's why I like AO3 so much.

[thewordswewrite]

The Drought of an Ocean

Chapter 4 - Trained To Kill

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Story Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Chapter Summary | The tributes arrive at the Apartments and begin their training for the games.

Chapter Warnings | canon typical violence, nonexplicit forced prostitution, mentions/situations of sexualizing minors, anxiety inducing situations, explicit language

W/C | 3.8k

Taglist |   @lem0ns77   @lostintheendlessvoidthatislife @curlycarley​   @bela-nov  

A/N | guys we had to split this original chapter in two and I think this and the next chapter are genuinely some of our best. We’re so excited for you to read!!-Smoe<3

Donations | Link  

|Masterlist|

“Each set of tributes receives their own floor and, being from District 4, we’ll be staying on the fourth floor.”

Finnick followed alongside the escort as they led the tributes to their apartments, where they would stay up until their games. He had been to this part of the Capitol more than he would care to admit and not just on the fourth floor with the tributes but with customers on other levels; it was often the case that he would be double booked between being a mentor and being a bed warmer during the games. Tonight however, he was allowed a break from his extracurricular duties and would be able to enjoy a room to himself.

Glancing back at the tributes briefly, he got a better look at their parade attire and couldn’t help but feel a deep dread at their overexposed bodies. A part of him tucked far away from the light considered the idea that they might be better off ending up dead than as a victor; sometimes, late into the night, laying amongst a stranger, he thought the same thing about himself. Finnick had trouble keeping his eyes off the girl, her entire chest exposed. He must have kept his eyes trained on her for too long for when he met her gaze again it was unwavering, punishing even.

Finnick’s face grew warm from being caught, his flush no doubt extending down his neck and he coughed to break the tension. Almost in apology, he found himself removing his sweater.

“Here,” Finnick offered it out to her as they waited for the elevator. “So you can…” He gestured to her body.

“Oh, I um,” She seemed startled and her steeled gaze was swiftly broken, seemingly in an internal battle. Finally she relented, “Thank you.” She wrapped the sweater around herself and the tension in her figure dissipated. Finnick pitied her; he knew just as well what it was like to be on display for the entertainment of the Capitol.

The four of them stepped into the elevator and when it began to move upwards, he noticed the girl grab onto the side rails so tightly he thought the metal might bend. Out of all the luxuries he tried not to take for granted, he never considered an elevator to be one of them.

The double doors opened to a foyer that reflected the garish style of the Capitol; the walls and floors were mostly neutral, made of granite and stone while the furniture and other decor were in a range of extreme colors, the shapes and designs created for fashion rather than function. Even now, it looked strange to his eyes and he could only attempt to remember what it was like to view it for the first time.

“We’ll let you two get comfortable and we will all reconvene for dinner,” the escort clapped their hands together in excitement.

・・・Ψ・・・

They’d been eating for about ten minutes when Finnick began to get antsy, the seat across from him glaringly empty. They were all supposed to meet in the dining room for dinner and now the girl’s food was getting cold.

Finnick stared at the empty spot before setting his cutlery down and getting up. “I’m going to go see what’s keeping her.”

The sound of his loafers against the marble floor followed him out of the dining room and into the hallway until he found himself nearing the entrance to her room. The tributes were not allowed much privacy, their rooms having no real doors other than to their ensuite bathrooms, in case they got any ideas about finding their own way out of the games. It certainly wasn’t unheard of.

There was one more corner to turn before he would have a full view of the room but Finnick hesitated. He could stop there, call out to her and ask if everything was alright, returning to dinner in a timely manner, but something pulled him forward and he politely knocked on the entrance wall.

The girl bolted upright at the sound, nearly jumping out of bed where she previously laid in silence. Her arms wrapped themselves around her, the wet tangles of her hair sticking to her shoulders.

“Sorry to startle you, but dinner’s started,” Finnick smiled softly, leaning just inside the doorway.

“Oh, I was just going to go to sleep for the night,” she shrugged, “wasn’t very hungry.”

“Not hungry? You’re in the Capitol now. You know, they have a drink for that, for not being hungry. It was quite the experience the first time I tried it,” Finnick laughed at himself, “I was throwing up all night, couldn’t keep anything down.” His smile faded when she looked at him, disgusted, her mouth turned down in a thin line.

“It makes you throw up?”

“Yeah, so you can…eat more food.” Finnick finished lamely remembering the scarcity of even his own district. To eat at all in a day had, at one time, been a privilege for him too. He scanned the room, trying to conjure something, some topic of conversation that could salvage what he meant this conversation to be. His eyes caught on his sweater, clumped near her pillows at the top of her bed; besides the tribute herself, it was the only thing in the room that had not been provided by the Capitol.

Her eyes followed his line of sight to the article of clothing and she flushed.

“Did you wan-”

“No, no. It’s yours,” Finnick offered, clearing his throat. “I have more than I could possibly need.” He grimaced at his own words as she shot an eyebrow up in the air. He was digging himself a hole so deep he wasn’t sure he could climb out.

“That’s the life of a victor, I guess,” She smiled hollowly. “If you don’t mind I’d like to…” She gestured vaguely to the bed and Finnick's eyebrows shot up.

“Yes, of course!” Finnick tossed his hands in the air in front of him, conceding, “I’ll let everyone know you’ve gone to sleep,” He turned to leave, making it only a step before lingering at the entrance. He turned to look at the girl and based on her heavy eyes and deep set frown, he knew he was overstaying his welcome but couldn’t help but take the opportunity to save at least one part of the conversation.

“I remember my first night in the apartments, my mentor showed me this,” He made his way back over to her and picked up the remote from the bedside table. With ease he started flipping through options until the familiar sight of the ocean graced his eyes. The light from the image illuminated her face, casting a shadow over her look of awe. “I figured it might be easier to sleep with a piece of home.”

She looked up at him uncertainly before easing, “Thank you.”

“It’s my job to try and make this easier for you,” Finnick set the remote back down and made his way to the exit, “Have a good night.” He tapped his fingers against the doorway, sighing to himself before making his way out.

“Finnick,” She called out from behind him and he whirled around.

“Yeah?” He answered expectantly.

“Good night.”

・・・Ψ・・・

The spandex of her training suit stuck to her like a second skin. She yanked at it in various places but it didn’t give. Yet again she was on display, a common theme she didn’t think she would be ridding herself of any time soon. Finding no resolve in adjusting, she took a deep breath in and pulled her shoulders back to stand tall; if she was going to be made into a joke, it would be on her own terms.

The morning had already turned her mood sour; Finnick had barged into her room just as he had the night before, this time turning on all the lights and forcing the last remnants of sleep from her. Despite the fact that she insisted she would not go to training, he wouldn’t let her rest, ushering in the Avoxes to begin preparing the room for the day.

“Hey,” A figure bounded up next to her and she turned in shock, her mind still longing for rest, and quickly tried to compose herself. Her eyes met Finnick’s sea green ones, that infuriating crooked smile on his face, and her posture dropped. He cocked an eyebrow before chuckling softly. “I was going to ask how you slept but I can see someone could’ve used a few more hours of sleep.”

“More than a few,” She huffed, pushing her hair back behind her ears. Finnick laughed heartily until he must have seen the expression on her face for he stopped as quickly as he started. She walked faster, leaving Finnick to struggle to keep pace.

“Touchy this one,” Sagan tutted at her. “Smiles on everyone, let's show them we’re a team!”

Sagan’s hope was misplaced as Pike was walking with them but paying no mind to the group, obviously not playing into the whole team mentality. He had already made it clear to Finnick that he was going into the games alone and as much as she had tried to as well, her mentor was persistent, obviously determined to have another victor under his belt.

“This is your first meeting with the rest of the careers. They will be your strongest allies.” Finnick explained, undeterred by her insult and attempts to escape his unsolicited advice, “It’s integral for you to show your skills in order to create a strong alliance. First impressions are everything. It’ll mean the difference between being the hunter or the hunted.”

“Yeah, I got it, play nice with the other kids,” She joked. “I’ve spent my whole life around careers, just like you, just like everyone else from District 4. I know how this works.”

“Take the advice or don’t but it's starting to seem like neither of you really want this.” Finnick fired back. “You’re careers. It’s time you start acting like it.”

“Hey, I want this. I’ve trained for this my whole life, it's not my fault you’re not telling us anything new,” Pike scoffed at the possibility of him not wanting to win. “She may be a lost cause though,” the boy added, turning his false sympathetic look from Finnick to her,  “Better listen up, you need this way more than I do.”

She didn’t dignify his comments with a response, keeping her eyes trained ahead. It wouldn’t do her any good to give him the reaction he wanted; she didn’t doubt that that cockiness would come back to bite him eventually. What many of the male careers she had grown up with, including Pike, didn’t understand was that no matter how tough you are or how much brute force you possess, there are always going to be situations in the games that rely on wit and those will be the killers.

“Listen, I don’t care if you two don’t like each other but careers stick together, at least until the end,” Finnick warned, his tone that of someone with years of experience, though he was only a year older than herself.

“Aw, are you afraid I’m going to hurt the little girl’s feelings?” Pike feigned a whine, sticking out his bottom lip. His words combined with her exhaustion formed a toxic chemical that seeped into her veins and she lunged. Before she could even get a hand on him, Pike stumbled backward and she felt a pair of arms around her waist, holding her back.

“Oh, dear!” Sagan gasped to themselves, looking distraught at the notion of violence. The hypocrisy.

She felt a warm breath fan over her ear, “Not with the peacekeepers around.” Finnick’s arms tightened as she glanced around where the masked guards now had their weapons drawn and sagged against his hold. Finnick let her go and placed himself between her and Pike, not even letting their eyes meet.

“What is it you trained with?” He sounded exasperated, obviously trying to move past their fight.

“I’m skilled with a whip, and have extensive hand to hand combat training. Not even Pike over here ever beat me,” She throws a thumb over her shoulder with a scowl referring to the hulking boy. Finnick looked back confused before turning to her again. She heard Pike huff, however restrained by their mentor, and inwardly smirked.

“You’ve fought Pike before?” He asked seemingly dumbfounded. She could see his eyes appraise the other tributes form.

“Yep, and I would’ve done it again if you hadn’t stopped me,” She rolled her eyes.

“Watch it,” He warned, stopping them both in their tracks, his hand clutching her upper arm. Pike and Sagan continued on, not bothering to wait up for them.

“It doesn't matter anyway, Pike is their winner this year. I’m just a placeholder until the next victor is chosen.” She shrugged. She wasn’t going to try and tell herself she had a chance when there had been so much fanfare over Pike throughout the years; it had only ever been a matter of time until he volunteered.

Finnick’s eyes searched her own. “You’re telling me you’ve consistently beaten him in hand to hand and you think it's him and not you?”

Getting up in his face, she prodded a finger into his chest. “I’m not going to kid myself and you shouldn’t either. Nobody thinks it’s me.”

・・・Ψ・・・

She stood amongst the crowd of tributes, sticking towards the back while Pike made his presence known at the front. Looking around, the number twenty three suddenly seemed much larger. Each one of the people around her had their own lives, families, and what little could count as dreams in Panem. Only one of them, however, would make it out. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that she deserved it any more than one of these people.

The head trainer went through his spiel with little enthusiasm, explaining the importance of training in areas other than combat. Even as he was speaking about the fate of their very lives, he couldn’t seem to care less about what actually happened to them; for him it was just a day at work. She noticed a tribute a few people over from her who had tears silently trailing down her face. It was likely she knew what they all did, that ultimately, the training days were a mere formality, something to make the whole thing seem more ethical as if sending children to their deaths could be morally sound.

As the tributes began to disperse, she saw the careers from 1 and 2 as well as Pike join together to head towards the weapons training, outwardly ignoring the advice from only moments prior. She thought back to Finnick’s advice about making an impression and shook the thought from her head, turning toward an instructional station on fire building.

Walking over, she saw laid out across a steel table was a flint, log and some kindling. She was familiar with the basic concept of starting a fire with nothing but a log and stick but she grabbed the flint instead, deciding to start out easy. This was simple, strike the flint with a knife onto a small pile of the kindling and you have a fire. She did this three times over with little difficulty so she decided to move onto the stick and log. It was important that she knew this method as it wasn’t like they’d provide flint and even if it was in the Cornucopia, she wasn’t confident she would beat the other tributes to it.

Over and over she tried and failed, watching the instructional video looping on the monitor above her and trying to replicate it exactly without much success. Her hands were beginning to become raw from rubbing the stick between them and she huffed, throwing the materials down and standing up.

She rubbed her hands on her pants and looked around. She needed a pick me up, something she was good at. Her eyes stopped on a corner of the training facility where mats had been laid out and tributes were practicing hand to hand with instructors. This is exactly what she needs. She walked over confidently, this was one thing she knew she could do and maybe she could gain the attention of the gamemakers watching them from above.

She waited in line, none of the tributes very impressive in their abilities and suddenly she was hit with the reality that she was the one with the advantage. It wasn’t like back home where everyone trained from the time they were young; the people around her were just kids who got unlucky. This is what being a career meant.

When it was finally her turn she stood ready, the instructor overseeing the match trying to give her tips as she strapped on headgear and sparring gloves but she drowned him out in her head, her only focus on the large man in front of her.

“Begin!”

The man came at her quickly, throwing a punch she easily dodged under, using the opportunity to get closer. She retaliated with three consecutive punches to the abdomen but was thrown back as the man regained his bearings and shoved her off of him. She used the momentum of the push to roll backwards over her shoulder and onto her feet. Wasting no time, she sprinted full speed towards him and slid between his legs. In a split second, she jabbed the back of her attacker's knee, forcing him to the ground where she had the advantage. Her arm wrapped around his throat in a basic chokehold and she squeezed, not enough to break his neck but enough that he couldn’t breathe, leaving him grasping at her arm.

Just as she’d thought he’d tap out, she’d been thrown over his shoulder and onto her back. Her breath momentarily knocked out of her, the man took the opportunity to send a forceful jab to her face and she turned away just in time for it to hit her cheek rather than her nose. Still on the ground, she reeled from the pain and whirled around, grabbing his head between her thighs. The man was stronger than she anticipated for he slowly stood as she was once again choking him out, her back rising from the ground below her. This inequality of strength was typical for her, especially when pitted against a male opponent but she was trained for this.

Using the strength of her core, she hoisted herself up into a sitting position on the man’s shoulders and threw her bodyweight forward. The man slammed backwards, the back of his head hitting the mat below them. Holding her hands together, she swung her fists down into the man’s face, hearing the satisfying crunch of his nose and the familiar sight of blood gushing out onto her hands.

She burst to her feet, forming a defensive pose as she waited for the next strike but the man didn’t get up, instead raising his arms above his chest in surrender. Her heartbeat struggled to return to its resting state as her chest heaved. When she finally stopped seeing red, she turned from the mat, wiping the sweat from her brow and did a double take of her surroundings.

At some point during the fight, a crowd had formed around her and now her fellow tributes were looking on in awe; all except Pike, that is, his mouth drawn down in a scowl as he watched her recover.

“Hey, Bruiser,” the male tribute from 2 called out, “Why don’t you join us for lunch?”

・・・Ψ・・・

For the next couple of days, she continued to train, now in the company of the other careers much to the chagrin of Pike who she could only assume had thought she wouldn’t be a problem. Finnick, on the other hand, was almost in high spirits now that she had begun to play along, at least for now. Her days at the Capitol winding down as she prepared for individual evaluations, which would be the last chance for her to show off her skills before she was thrust in front of the cameras and off to the games.

She had hoped to move forward with hand to hand combat but Finnick had recommended presenting her proficiency with a whip for it was more likely that there would be one in the arena if they thought she might provide some valuable entertainment with its use.

In the last thirty minutes she had watched the first six tributes leave the waiting area, anxiously awaiting her turn. She pitied the tributes from 12 who would perform last. They had five minutes to complete their desired skill and she thought that was far too short to try to convince the gamemakers they were worth a score that would play a large role in their success in the games.

“Next Tribute,” The voice over the speaker called, cutting through the few hushed conversations in the room.

She wiped the sweat from her clammy hands and walked through the now open door to the testing room. The gamemakers sat in a balcony above watching her closely, drinks and plates of food all around them as if this was a mere social gathering and they weren’t a deciding factor in the fates of twenty-four children. She introduced herself and her district before she was instructed to begin.

The whip before her was long and black with a metal spike adorning the end of it. It was unlike any one she’d trained with before since no one wanted expensive damage back at the District 4 training facilities but she figured everything from here on out would be far more permanent.

She took the smooth leather in her hands and did a few practice swings to gauge the weight before moving in front of a set of dummies. She drew her arm back before quickly throwing it out, striking the bullseye at the heart of the dummy and creating a deep slash in the material. She continued striking whip after whip, building up a sweat before finally putting her all into one last swing and piercing the forehead of the final dummy, lodging the metal spike deep into its head and pulling it down and off its neck with a thud.

She wrapped up the whip back into its original coiled form to the sound of the gamemakers applause above her. When she looked up she saw the head gamemaker, Hyacinth Clio, nod her head in bemused acknowledgement as she clapped. She gave a closed mouth smile to the woman looking down at her and exited the room.

|Masterlist| |Previous Chapter| |Next Chapter|

[sisyphusshrugged]

hey... i really like being mutuals with you y/n 😳

[thisismysecondrodeo]

One of my favorite things about posting fics on Tumblr is watching as someone goes through chapter by chapter. I'm on the edge of my seat watching y'all read I'm so sorry for stalking lol

[writing-desk-rae]

Guess what! Youre getting part 2 early!

Please like or reblog if you plan to use a prompt and I would really appreciate it if you tag your work with "rae's prompt extravaganza" and "rae's coldflash 2023" so I can see it! If your work is on ao3 you can add/bookmark it to the Collections Rae's Prompt Extravaganza or Rae's Coldflash Prompt Collection 2023, or tag it so I can find it!