belated celebrations. // tunnel3day3.

[✨ zozo.]

"Son of a BITCH!"

Fuck a deep breath in, I yank that shit out on the expletive.

Red splotches hit the snow as the darts drop from my hands - "I'm gonna kill somebody today," a promise. A threat. "I swear to all fuck- I'LL KILL YOU!"

And I hope whoever set these traps is hiding amongst the trees shaking in their boots. Yelling up at bare white branches makes it look like I'm threatening to torch the whole goddamn forest (wait - that ain't a half-bad idea), a little insane. But you have to be a little insane to get like me. To have so much wrath in me that I don't know what to do with it.

If my axe hadn't gone with the wind in the night I might have chopped down the whole goddamn tower just to prove a point. But I don't have it, a stern growl at the little night light who despite my best efforts won't leave me alone ("You were supposed to be watching my shit, ugh!"). All my energy's gone into staying warm - a failed effort - and through chattering teeth I curse again and pull out the dart in my cheek, smearing blood across the back of my hands in a half-assed attempt to stop the bleeding.

"C'mon," I say to Rita, pointing toward a path in the forest that heads north with the tip of my knife. "Let's go find this clever little fuck."

---

If Harley were a sneaky little arctic fox she'd hide in the mines. That thought leads her deep into the blackened mouth, blood now oxydised into metallic brown splotches on her ugly uniform. No need to tell Rita she's a little bit scared of the dark. You get delinquints trying to re-break into your decrepit home in the middle of the night with nothing but your fists and a butter knife to defend yourself and things that go bump would make you unnerved, too.

But this ain't home, and there's far worse things in the mines than back in Three. Harley tells herself she's one of them. Her fresh wounds still ache and the bruise on her jaw wires itself shut, aching from the grinding of teeth in the night. Gravel scrapes with every step, thankful for her boots rugged soles as she walks into loose stones and avoids a twisted ankle on a boulder every other minute. Her friendly little creature guides the way with it's glow and Harley is silently grateful for it, no doubt she and Rita would walk into walls and circles or worse without the light.

And then suddenly it goes out, barely a candlewick flame, and hurries behind Harley. "What?" she hisses at it, unnerved by the sudden caution. The word bounces through the cavern and trails off, vanishing with the dark.

And then she hears it - them. Voices. Harley's hand gently halts Rita and the other pulls the gun she'd found in the tower, motioning it with a twitch of her hand to proceed quietly.

The light extinguishes and it grasps at Harley's duffel bag, guiding her ever so gently. Step. Step. Step. Closer, closer, rapid pulse between her eyes - she knows one voice, the closest. A far-away jingle tickles her memory. Candle light. Deep breath in...

"Birthday boy!" and with flash of light and a sound she's never heard the Seelie make before, Harley presses the muzzle of the gun to Lucky Nachtnebel's forehead and the tip of her knife to the soft flesh at the nape of his neck.

There's a sound that comes from her throat that she hasn't heard in so long. Not since those eons at the DC. Not since it was eat or be eaten. Here comes my old friend, Charlotte cowers in the dark and in comes Harley.

"See you found some friends after all. Now," she cocks her head to the side, paying his allies no mind, "give me one reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out right this second, hmm?"

gorgeous table by pogue!

Mine collapse damage - edited in by GM
ZDugXnrCkm4-9

4-9

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

The cold takes over at dawn.

Snow dust, colored in by the last moonlight, rushes past them in flurries and flurries as they trudge forward, step by labored step.

It’s cold. Frostbite on your other gun barrel when you try to take a piss cold. Not the sort of cold you could burn off with a cup of soju, although Gunner’s throat longed for that familiar heat, but a cold that had spent a whole night in his chest, had frosted each rib over, had filled him with its icy menace. A cold so vicious it was impossible to tell where it began and his skin ended.

Spending the night in the same tent as Lucky had, admittedly, helped.

The decision was spurred by his own tent being broken by the strong drafts during his first watch. Great fucking luck. And so, as he woke Lucky up for his watch, he nearly pulled a teeth asking the other to share his tent.

“Use Xylia’s,” Lucky murmured. He rolled his eyes. “And get stabbed in the back for it? No thanks, dude..”

And so here he was, laying begrudgingly in the his other’s ally tent, posture stiff and intent on making the other know, don’t get comfortable.

The same warning constricts his chest. Don’t lower your guard. Lucky Bechtnabel, no matter how charming, is an ally at present but an enemy for later. No matter how warm he is, no matter how deliciously the heat pulses from his body as they settle down, impossibly close, shoulder to shoulder.

“If you toss in your sleep and put your arm around me, you’re gonna lose another eye,” Gunner says in a grit-toothed murmur. He folds his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. The exhaustion catches up quick. He lets out a sigh. Warm. Meager warmth, but it is enough.

He sleeps undreaming, except for flashes of skin and body, body and skin.

The three of them wakes to more snow, more cold. The mines, the last resort of shelter, do come as a relief when they find it. “It’s a playbook trap,” he grimly reminds the other two again. “But guess the choice’s between hypothermia and whatever the fuck,” he nods towards the dark and yawning charms, “is down there.”

It turns out to be dust and damp and decay.

Shotgun drawn, Gunner stalks through the pools of shadows, trying to be as quiet as he can with Xylia and Lucky.

But the mines echo every step, every footfall. Each droplet of water bursts, each breath a death rattle. He gets reminded of stories about mines and canaries, folk tales from those who spent some time in Twelve before the borders were drawn. A shiver goes down his spine.

Regardless, they prowl together, flesh hounds, black dogs, and perk up in near unison at footsteps ahead. A flash of light appears up and - click, clank - the barrel of his weapon greets the intruder first. A girl’s face materializes from the shadows first. Then, Rita Jarkov’s. He nearly pulls the trigger.

But the first girl has her dart gun pressed against Lucky’s forehead.

His eyes flit towards her sharply, gunmetal grey in the gaslight. The girl grins something wicked, something familiar. Every part of her, dirtied by grime and the lifeless glow of the animal fat burning off on the walls, bears itself like a piece of grunge art. Not a career, he notes immediately.

His dead corvid pokes its bony beak out then, masking the left side of Gunner’s face as made out of pure gristle when he laughs and says, “because I’ll put a hole in yours right after.” A smile full of teeth, of the aggression he has kept at bay for the last two days. “Drop the gu-“ he is cut off then by a rumbling. Gunner nearly stumbles, then looks up.

Dust rains down on his face.

“You gotta’ be fuckin’ shitting me.”

ZMlHKMeQz44-9

4-9

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

It was lonely in the arena.

Even with her two ally's in tents nearby, Xylia never felt more alone.

The frigid wind bit through her tent, chilling her to the bone even with the endless layers of warm gear she had stacked upon her body. And as the sounds of the night crept closer, and the whipping wind threatened to blow her away, sleep evaded her and she was left with nothing but her own thoughts. She should be used to being alone. She spent her whole life staying apart from others, learning young that when you grew too attached, they always found a way to leave you. Most were scared of her and rightfully so. Winners didn't make friends. Restless dreams plagued her, alone in a dark room, until finally the sun broke the horizon.

One tent was in shambles. The other still stood and if she squinted she could make out two figures on the inside.

Like they've always said: it's lonely at the top.

She didn't say much as the trio trudged through the snow, afraid that her tongue may freeze off if she dared to speak. Normally, she would be worried about leaving such an obvious trail as they walked, but if anyone dared to seek them out they most likely have a death wish.

“It’s a playbook trap, but guess the choice’s between hypothermia and whatever the fuck is down there.”

Xylia forced her frozen shoulders to shrug upwards.

"I would much prefer my fingers attached," she said with an attempt to wiggle them in her gloves. "Besides, we have bait," she turned to Lucky and winked at her ally, but still found herself gripping her glaive tighter. She couldn't say goodbye to them.

Not yet.

No matter how hard she tried to stick to the shadows, her footsteps echoed loudly with each inch they dared to move. She cursed under her breath, knowing that the loss of stealth could be their downfall. Xylia was just about to suggest taking a break when the unlocking of a safety and the drawl of a female voice had her raising her weapon in defense ready to slaughter whoever dared threaten them.

"See you found some friends after all. Now, give me one reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out right this second, hmm?"

Harley Royce appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and instantly had her gun against Lucky's head. From behind her crept up Rita, and Xylia had to use every fiber of her being not from locking up. Her District partner, a girl she made a pact with of sorts, already standing in front of her. The plan was to avoid each other as long as possible, pick off the others one by one, but it seemed Death had other plans for them. She forced her face into stone cold indifference, pushing down any bit of panic that was slowly rising in her stomach.

“because I’ll put a hole in yours right after.”

She lifted her weapon, frost and the pure essence of cold beginning to swirl around her fingers and snake up her arms, a smile of pure wickedness played on her lips.

"And then I'll cut off you're head, just for good measure."

Gunner begins to speak again, but is promptly cut off as the ground begins to shake, rocks begin to fall, and the panic she so carefully pushed down begins to creep back up. The others stumble slightly and Xylia takes that split second to grab Lucky's hand, pull him away from their enemy and shove him forward, towards what is hopefully the exit.

"Let's go," she growled as she forced him away from the gun that was half a second from putting a dart through his brain. "This wasn't exactly the trap I had planned for, what about you Gunner?"

She ran.

And for once in her life, she didn't look back.

H4gWKGwkHN1-9

1-9

[mat]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

Unlike the first night, Lucky set up his tent outside the cabin beside Xylia's. Nosies-kneesies on who had to take the first watch, and of course the one who calls the game is the first down to his knees. Pitching the tent confused him, and Lucky ultimately copied Xylia nail-for-nail, fold-for-fold. It was easy to fit inside. Thankfully, each of them agreed to take one tent from the lodge instead of hoping they could cramp inside together. Maybe two people could fit inside if they didn't mind some PDA.

Lucky sprawled out in his tent, bunching his cloak up atop his leather harness to make a pillow. It was so uncomfortable to sleep on the cold mattress of the arena's earth. Was this how the handsome seventeen-year-olds from the Dark Days slept? Flat, with no cushion?

He rolled over restlessly, unable to choose which lit silhouette outside his tent to watch: Gunner or Xylia. Gunner was outside, no tent pitched for the boy who took the first watch. His shadow swayed back and forth, surveying the area. Lucky admired Gunner for how he managed to keep such a good posture despite his height. The boy from Four slouched often when he relaxed, but he could see Gunner's straight back and physique, still and strong as he watched on their behalf. And Xylia; just so beautiful. Even through two layers of tent, he watched diligently for every strand of her hair to gracefully fall as she laid down. Of course, she would kill him if she caught him watching.

Compared to the lodge, it was more difficult to sleep in the woods. The barren trees did little to keep the wind from terrorizing his tent. Lucky turned against the blowing wind, burying his face into the comfort of his cloak. His companion, a frozen blue now, paced around the tent, seemingly unbothered by the weather.

"Hey." A dejected voice spoke from outside his tent. Gunner's.

A light sleeper, Lucky picked his head up, unzipping the tent to see his ally surrounded by the darkness of midnight. "Hmm?"

Gunner asked to share Lucky's tent. Apparently, his was broken by the harsh winds already. How unfortunate for him! Half asleep, Lucky tossed over, shrugging him off. "Use Xylia's," he said, voice muffled into the pockets of his satchel. He refuted, somewhat agreeably, that Xylia would never say yes.

Once it became clear that the back-and-forth would never cease, Lucky grabbed his equipment and shoved it to the side of his tent, making room for Gunner. The boy from Nine was incredibly rigid on the other side of him, still in the night as Lucky readjusted to sleep, facing away from Gunner. He was an only child, so sharing his belongings did not come naturally.

"If you toss in your sleep and put your arm around me, you’re gonna lose another eye."

"Shh!" He groaned, stretching his legs to the end of the tent.

When Lucky woke hours later, his head rested on Gunner's chest and his body curled up beside him, taking up every centimeter of space between them.

He blinked ahead, the dim light of early dawn making Xylia barely visible through the snowfall. Was she watching?

He sat up, quietly pooling all of his things together to step outside. He was embarrassed. Lucky's body moved stiffly upon realization that he was lying that close to a boy, where his breath was Gunner's and Gunner's breath was his. He turned away, unable to look at Gunner after what had happened. His breaths were hurried and acidic as he wrapped his satchel around his neck and shoulder.

That was not what he wanted to happen. Did he know? Was he mad? A part of Lucky wanted to throw up as he unzipped the tent and went over to Xylia. He pulled up his hood, his gaze away from hers. He wanted Xylia. He wanted Rita. Lucky did not want Gunner. Did he? He did not want a boy. He did not want the world to think he would want a boy. "I'll watch, now." Lucky crossed his arms and pulled his goggles down across his face. The sun rose behind heavy clouds, but the rays still peaked through. All eyes on him.

The snow grew heavier, and the temperature grew colder. Xylia and Gunner spoke in the morning about the weather being dangerous and how the mines were the only reasonable shelter. Lucky nodded in silent agreement. He'd rather share a cavern than a tent after last night. Lucky's eye bounced between Xylia and Gunner as they rushed east, trying to gauge whether either of them was acting differently. Did they notice? Did they look at him like every fiber of his expression was disarmed?

He entered the cave first, spear drawn. Lucky straightened out his posture, every step more masculine than the last. "No more distractions, okay? Just stay focused." He spoke aloud, but the person he tried to sell it on the most was himself.

They rounded a corner and before he knew it, someone was ahead to surprise them. Harley Royce, his favorite party guest from Three! Within the blink of his eye, there was a flashy red gun at his forehead and a knife at his throat. Gunner was the first to react, drawing his gun at Harley. Xylia was next. His shoulders relaxed as he stood in silence. Maybe they hadn't seen, or felt in Gunner's case, what he did last night. If they had, would they have protected him like this?

Lucky's knee bent as the ground rumbled. Xylia's reflexes were the fastest. As the cave's innards shook, she grabbed his hand and pulled him back, but Lucky stumbled toward the far wall instead. It was the first instinct he had to pull Rita along with him as he flung toward the side of the cavern. He clung to her, shielding her head from the falling rock by towering over her with his hard hat.

The quaking settled, and his desperate clinging turned into a hug. So much for 'no more distractions!' Lucky was his own biggest hypocrite. His fingers ran through the back of her hair. "Fancy meeting you here," he spoke loudly at first, but continued in a whisper into her ear, "I didn't know you kept such gnarly and snarky company."

He looked her over for any injuries. "You okay? I tried to keep you safe. Bet you didn't need my help, though."

Lucky turned next to the others in the cavern, even Harley, although his spear rested defensively across his chest. "Everyone okay?"

k0WdAClFRg4-9

4-9

[sidney]

R I T A

i don't think people love me
they love versions of me i have spun for them

She didn’t want to be here, not at all. It wasn’t something Rita liked, enclosed spaces. Especially not ones she knew were underground and likely meant to bury the tributes - at least some - alive.   “Ugh, seriously?” A permanent chill had settled into her bones at this point, but down here it was even worse. Damp and dreary and dark and depressing! She needed to feel the sun on her face soon or she felt like she was going to begin to simply wither away, like she was going to turn rotten. It felt like a blight, this cold. And she knew Harley and she were going to need to find somewhere else to take shelter.  “I hate it down here. Can we just find a way out, please? I feel like I can’t breathe!”  She begins to panic, more and more, her heart beginning to race and breath becoming ragged. It was hard to inhale, but was that because she was starting to work herself up into a panic or because there wasn’t actually enough oxygen? Rita couldn’t tell. Thankfully before her face started to pale and her stomach started to churn, Harley jumped from something and it shook Rita back to earth. Yanked her back down into the tunnel was more like it.  Her ally whipped out a weapon without a second thought, a nasty threat laced in venom in her tongue, but then Rita saw exactly who it was she was warning to back off or get a bullet to the brain was Lucky. And she smiled.

[ mine damage ]

|YMHKY1XFu4-9

4-9

[✨ zozo.]

I actually very nearly do drop the gun - and then I'm saved by the bell.

Or rather, thunder. Thunder in the walls, in the floors, in the ceiling. In my very bones, vibrating and violent. I pull the gun back from Lucky's forehead and jump backwards, spine hitting the walls and narrowly missing a boulder that plummets in the space I had stood moments prior.

The dark shakes, crying tears of rubble as it collapses in on itself. The little seelie shrieks and takes off down a tunnel before u-turning and flying back to me, dead-end in its tracks. Something smacks my foot and I swear with a stumble, the word swallowed up by the groaning around us.

"Rita!" I holler, eyes darting back and forth in the flickering light afforded to me by my illuminated little friend. I see the Career girl's flash of hair, Lucky tumbling after her, his hand in Rita's own as she's pulled along the chain of limbs and into the dark.

Then my eyes narrow. I don't think so.

"Hey!" I snarl, jumping upwards from my crouched position and leaping over broken tracks to get to my ally. "Get your hands off of her!"

The shaking subsides, but my anger only grows. Nightlight hovers next to my head, revealing Rita and the rest brushing off dust and dirt from the tremours. That himbo wishes, with a face so punchable my fists instinctively curl at the sight of him. Gnarly, snarky, I roll my eyes at every single word.

Stomach-churning, this act. 'I tried to keep you safe'; yeah right. He gets a scoff that sounds a little bit like a gag for that one.

"Oh shut up Birthday Boy," I spit, swatting Lucky away with a light shove, eyes like daggers at his tongue poking out at me. As if he actually gives a shit about Rita. Someone's been doing their Hunger Games homework - they always root for the horny teens on deaths door clinging to the first sign of affection that comes their way.

"Nobody's falling for your boy next door schtick."

He reminds me of Hugo Belgrave but... worse, somehow. Hugo's got grit, at least. This kid is a squeaky as a Capitolite. God, I bet they love him up there. Ugh.

Digging myself into a bitter hole, I walk towards Rita and cross my arms in a huff. "Let's go," a command, a question. "Let the mines bury them." Will she stay? Does she actually want to? "I won't touch a hair on this nimwit's head," a promise to sweeten the deal.

I tilt my head toward the boy with the bones and the girl with the killer surname. "But no promises on those two."

gorgeous table by pogue!

zwxeqkpXZw4-9

4-9

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

The first wave passes.

The second wave pushes him off his feet with a violent lurch, making the world a swirl of black for a moment before the stars burst. He gasps aloud, but the rumbling chokes the sound. His left ear, part of the area where the impact had happened, rings a sustained note over and over again like an audible bruise.

His eyes snap open. 'For a moment, only dots.

Then the world reassembles itself somewhat, slowly and gradually, and his very first sight afterwards is of Lucky bodyshielding Rita. He instantly tastes something bitter at the back of his throat, sour and fermented.

Gunner almost recoils back onto his two feet. He can make out the shine around Lucky's neck, a metallic gleam where the gaslight meets the dog tags they'd exchanged. They make it easy for his hand to reach out and try to yank him back from the scruff of his neck.

"You wanna get buried alive with her?" The words come out in a sudden rush of vitriol and fury. He releases him, hard.

"Then be my fucking guest, Lucky."

A cursory glance of the area shows that Xylia's nowhere to be found. At least one of them is smart. "I'm going," he says, to Lucky, to the others, to himself. "I ain't dying without a body to be buried."

That way, at least the fuckers above have to go through the hassle of disposing his when they find no family for a return shipment.

fQqyH3jwLt4-9

4-9

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

filler because im at work all day!!! eep!


SW4ikgY80_4-9

1-9

[mat]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

The way that Gunner, Xylia, and Harley stared at him and Rita, one might think Lucky was holding her decapitated head. The first round of crumbling had subsided, but the walls shook. They were unstable. Harley pushed him away from her ally, referring to him as some phony 'boy next door.' Was his sweetness that insincere? Lucky rolled his eye as Harley started to move down the tunnel, with or without anyone who may want to follow.

He tried to predict the falling debris but in the cave's darkness, Lucky could only see the rocks seconds before they dropped, slamming against his hat and bumping off his shoulders. It was Gunner who grabbed him to start moving. He grabbed at the steel tag wrapped around Lucky's neck, pulling him further down the cave. Through wincing ows, he listened to Gunner speak. His fingers slipped out of Rita's grasp, Gunner's sheer force warning him not to resist it too much. He mouthed an apology to her, bracing from whatever seething emotion his ally was about to blow upon him. "You wanna get buried alive with her? Then be my fucking guest, Lucky." Lucky's feet planted on the ground, stable for the first time since the initial shaking. "Okay– okay!" Gunner shook him off.

"Let's just go. Sorry." His energy screamed airhead, but he sensed the attitude in Gunner's voice shift as his ally began to rush further into the cavern. Maybe he did know what happened last night and was happy about it. Lucky followed, moving as quickly as he could through the obstacles and debris already laid out on the cave floor. The joy of playing up his relationship with Rita was gone after seeing how upset it made Gunner. He was the last person that Lucky could tolerate losing. Perception and precision: the two skills in the Games that Lucky needed most. Things that he could not live without.

Rita was a temporary ally, a girl whom he liked and trusted enough to control the arena. As a person, he wished they met under different circumstances, but as a tribute? He could live without seeing her for a few more days. But Gunner– and Xylia, for that matter– Lucky needed them. Out of the twenty-two other people in the arena, they were the ones who rounded him out the most. Lucky knew Gunner wasn't running in the bloodbath because he was scared, he did it to survive. He would take a living and breathing Gunner a hundred million times over than him dying a preventable death.

Lucky caught up to Gunner, moving down the cavern by his side. He tried to help guide both of them through the crumbling ceiling, pulling them away from a sizable rock about to crush their feet.

"Are you mad at me?" He whispered, hoping the collapsing walls would be enough to hide what he said from the rest. Of course, Lucky meant why he was mad, more than if he was in the first place. Guiltily, he kept his eye off of Rita. "Please, I didn't mean to…"

Mean to what? Lucky stopped speaking after that. Even he was unsure about what he meant and what he didn't. But he was guilty of something, and he couldn't stand Gunner being upset with him.

BXjVlX6Znn4-9

4-9

[sidney]

R I T A

i don't think people love me
they love versions of me i have spun for them

filler xx

[ more mine damage ]

LqUNtyLiZk4-9

4-9

[✨ zozo.]

filler wip so we can get our posts up, will write today.

"i'm with him on this," she points at gunner. ignores the shiver down her spine SKSKKSKS!
"let's get out of here before we're crushed to death."

looks at lucky, thoroughly unimpressed. "you should take your ally's advice and skip. hell, i'll go with him in your place."

was that a threat? it was a threat. homegirl is having a no good very bad day today.

also looks at rita like girl what is going on here??? u coming or nah?

"great party. happy birthday, or whatever."

turns on her heel to follow her seelie out of the dark.

wNkqpKbEKM4-9

gets smacked in the head by a boulder, yells at the GMs "GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK! FUCK!"

ooc: claims overalls!

4-9

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

The dark ahead wobbled. Or, his vision did. He blinked furiously, again and again, trying to undo the stars plastered to his eyes, but he kept seeing Lucky and Rita like a stubborn stain.

Gunner gnashed his teeth. The feeling brought back some composure, the lock of his jaw locking the rest of his body. He could sense the dead bird in his hood quivering, then. That made him move. He wasn’t alone, not yet, not when a bony little freak of nature had taken temporary shelter with him.

One hand on rough hewn walls, the other vice-like around Grudge, he staggered and stumbled forth, each step a drunken wobble. Something wet was dripping down his cheek. In the dark, it could be anything, but he knew what it was from the dull, coalescing ache.

He rasped in a breath, yet little air entered.

Fuck, fuck, “fuck!”

The word bounced off the crumbling walls, ricocheted throughout and in all directions. Fuck this attempt to bury him, he’d crawl out of here if he has to. The anger in him flares up like a hot lump of coal, blazing enough to power his steam engine body.

When Lucky catches up, it turns white-hot.

“You’re a fucking idiot!” he says. The taste of blood assaults his mouth quickly after. He wipes whatever is smeared on his lips away. “Go back to her if you want, Luck-“

The other’s arms pull him back, merely inches but enough to prevent a rock from crushing his shorn head. The impact thunders. His heart does the very same. Fucking airhead saved him. Lucky saved him. Something else mixes with the taste of copper in his mouth, something sharp yet hungry, so full of twisted wanting. It’s dark here, so impossibly dark, but he can feel Lucky’s arms around him, feel his body mere inches away, can map out exactly where his mouth would be in conjunction to his own.

A shot in the dark.

He lunges and roughly presses his lips against the other boy’s. It is a sick irony how the taste of blood and Lucky blends together sweetly.

cb7tMBkCZq4-9

4-9

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

filler again because I work tonight and must return to my slumber!!

takes the water and slugs it


2rzsUGReow4-9

4-9

[mat]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

Lucky held on to Gunner's arm as he yelled at him, navigating the treacherous attempts the Gamemakers made to bury them. For once, Harley's advice sounded like a good idea in the grand scheme of things. Run before you get lost. "FUCK! You're a fucking idiot." Did that answer his question? No, but at this point, making it out safe and not getting clobbered by Gunner's fist was the immediate priority. If yelling kept him on task, then Lucky would take it. "Go back to her if you want, Luck."

Why was he so upset that Lucky ran to Rita instead of licking his wounds?

"She's my friend, Gunner!" Friend. One step forward in the cave, two steps back on his feelings. "I take care of my friends." How many days ago did Lucky make that promise to Gunner himself? He was capable of being by Gunner's side when he needed him to. With every word Lucky spoke, the muscles in Gun's arms tightened and the blood scraping his lips bent down. "If you wanted me to hold your hand through the entire Hunger Games… I don't know." Was he just making matters worse? Probably, but it irked him that Gunner protected him one minute and abandoned him the next all because he hugged a girl.

"Can we just talk about this–" There'd be no more talking. Gunner turned toward him and leaned in without warning. His lips across Lucky's, Gunner's hands on his cheeks, the leather on their chests bumped together.

Lucky's eye widened through it all.

He understood now.

He hated it, in the heat of the moment.

It took two and a half seconds before Lucky pushed him off. "DUDE?!" It was a panicked blend of complex emotions: shock, anger, confusion, fear, and hesitance.

The boy blinked once before releasing his grip on Gunner's arm. "Let's just…" What had happened settled in and how Gunner felt was clear. Guilt washed over him as the rocks around them rattled on the floor.

"just... come on." He ran.

qYNcIJwaB|4-9

4-9

[sidney]

R I T A

i don't think people love me
they love versions of me i have spun for them

filler xx

[ more mine damage ]

ddCPDclvpq4-9

[ rita claims sword from the day ]

4-9