#wiiiiip

[antisquare]

wiip??! wip? wip!!

[arthdoesart]

The Heavensbee heir: Too busy reading books than thinking about marriage proposals. Absolutely NOT a rebel. You can trust him with your life.

[slumbergoblin]

he looks soooo much better now

[ruwubyl]

This is taking so long but it’s worth it

[arthdoesart]

WIP Wednesday

Wrote this before the Sunrise book announcement, so this will most definitely undergo "changes" to stay a little bit compliant 👌 (tho be warned, since it's not grammatically polished)

“When do you think Andromeda will be back?” 

The little one, Nettles, pipes up in a small voice. Haymitch peels away his view from the balcony and migrates to her round face and soft, doe eyes. His gaze particularly adheres to the details of her tiny feet, which are childishly swinging on the front skirt of the couch. They don’t even touch the carpet. He shudders at the thought of her not making it past the Cornucopia.  

“Beats me,” Kaiser shrugs all the way from the dining table, already piling the omelet on top of his amalgam concoction of food. “She doesn’t really care about us. So why should we in return?” 

“We don’t have anyone else besides Andromeda,” Maysilee joins in the conversation, plopping next to Nettles on the couch. “As the only District with no Mentor, we can’t exactly be picky with what we have.” 

“Course we can,” Kaiser snorts, fetching a wine glass with a vee-shaped bowl that ladles sparkling amethyst water. He sniffs it before taking a careful sip. “Our Escort sucks anyway. Hey, Mitchie! Wanna try this with me?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Haymitch guns him a bone-chilling glare. “I don’t want to drink.”

“Suit yourself.” 

All of them immediately perk up at the shuffling sound of footsteps coming their way. Their Escort, Andromeda, waddles first within their line of sight, her octopus hairdo highly unmistakable and too ridiculous to miss.

“Well, here they are. They’re not much to work with.” 

A new voice startles them. 

“We’ll be the judge of that.” 

Haymitch pauses in his stride, gaping at the two new arrivals that’s tailing their Escort. Maysilee does the same, whereas Nettles and Kaiser sprint excitedly towards the newcomers.

“What’s going on?” 

Andromeda settles her focus on them, and they’re met with a mad glint of artificial eyes that burns a dent through their skull. “Since it’s the Quarter Quell, the higher ups have permitted District 12 to loan Mentors from the other Districts for this year’s Hunger Games! Luckily for the four of you, we have two eager volunteers.” 

“Sorry, volunteers?” Haymitch slits his eyes in suspicion. “You’re saying that our Mentors are from another District?” 

“Well, yes. That’s exactly what I said,” Andromeda says. There’s something in her tone that makes him feel stupid. “You should be grateful that someone is stepping in to ensure your survival, young man.”

“How do we know they won’t sabotage our chances so their Districts can win?” Haymitch asserts boldly, standing his ground. Maysilee mimics his skepticism. This ripples an effect on the other two where Kaiser stiffens in alarm, and little Nettles is reduced to a bundle of nerves.

“Because that will be considered cheating, a risky tactic that would condemn not just the person who committed the act, but their entire District as punishment.” 

The culprit is clad in a stylistic gray jumpsuit with long puffed sleeves at the top and a dark denim tie that’s formed loosely in a bow. The red in her hair has been washed off its merrier color, like it's beginning to tread near unpigmented gray, stripped back in a high ponytail. 

“And which District are ‘ya from?” Haymitch asks, shoving his fists inside his pockets. 

The girl refuses to acknowledge his question. She sways her head to where Andromeda is standing uselessly between them. 

“I apologize for this one's behavior,” His Escort says, waving him off as if he was some disgruntled child that's throwing a tantrum. “I would have started with the introductions sooner if Haymitch wasn't so rude to interrupt me.”

“Haymitch wasn't being rude,” Maysilee comes to his defense. “What he's asking is valid. Why now, do we have Mentors? And how do we know we can trust them in keeping us alive?”

“If you impertinent children are this ungrateful to the people who are willing to help you, then you don't deserve Mentors to begin with!” Andromeda snaps. 

“Oh, leave them be. They have the right to be suspicious,” The other one, the one with warm hazel eyes, says. “I honestly don’t see anything wrong with them questioning such a change. They have some backbone, which is good in my book. ”

She gives them a welcoming smile, a stark contrast to the blunt poker expression that her companion is frostily emitting. She trudges past their stunned Escort and introduces herself to them.

“I'm Mags Flanagan, and I've been a Mentor for exactly thirty-eight years now.”

Tagging the few who would like to indulge 🫣 

@lorrainestea @littlemarianah @thelettersfromnoone @persephoneprice @thegoddessprose

[arthdoesart]

WIP Wednesday

Would like to thank @littlemarianah and @zenkor123 for the tag  😇 Normally, I'd draw, but WIP Wednesdays extend to writing too and this one is an old draft of an upcoming chapter I plan to update 🥴

Johanna could never forget about Finnick’s games, the same way every other Mentor was forced to gaze on painful replays projected on the screens of the Gaming Center. In her first year of mentoring, past all the sophisticated and high-tech passageways of automated sliding doors, Blight has led a generous tour towards the wide expanse of the Atrium where they’re mandatorily expected to interact with rabid fans — fans that could afford a VIP entry, and whom she thinks are there to personally annoy them. 

However, she’s only tolerant of one job, and that’s for meeting up and playing nice with potential sponsors. 

Johanna ignores the foyer leading to the glass roof on top, pretending not to see the floor withholding private bedrooms that are clearly not just for sleeping. 

“It’s alright,” Blight flanks her side instead of placing a comforting hand to her shoulder. A wise move, she thinks. Otherwise, he would have caught a nasty punch to the face. “Being less popular means less trouble.” 

Johanna appreciates his cautious approach. She fastens her back straight and abandons any unwarranted hostility from her end. “Good. I’m not really up for any kind of sleepovers right now.” 

Blight only clears his throat. “Well, easier for me to give the tour then. Anyways, most of the glass walls that are scattered around the Atrium are LED displays. As last year’s Victor, they’ll be occasionally playing your games in between a rerun of the parade this morning. It won’t hurt to try and scour a few sponsors here and there.”  

“The question is, am I popular enough for that?” Johanna testifies with a challenged brow, hoisting it rhetorically. She’s well aware that her triumph had caught the Capitol by surprise, and not in a good way. “I thought I wasn’t interesting enough after I destroyed a good portion of the betting pool.”

She spots Blight’s warning glare glint from the corner of her eyes. Instead of reasonably shutting up, she stubbornly crosses her arms and runs her mouth again. 

“The only thing they liked about my games was the arena. At least they put in the effort of redecorating this place after that hell hole.” 

The Atrium undergoes a makeover every year, depending which highlight of the previous games have particularly stuck with the audience. Apparently, it’s the Crystal Lake Forest. Osvaldo Starcourt is thoroughly particular with littering the halls with stone crystals that are nearly identical from the ones that jutted out from her arena. Instead of stunning passerbyers and causing them to have brutal seizures, the ones on decoration merely emit a casual glow that changes color every few minutes. 

Still, Johanna shields her eyes on instinct, remembering how fast her Tribute partner had succumbed to the florae muttation and how damaging his seizure was. 

Blight moves seamlessly and covers the display with his torso. He extends his hand and gestures with his head for them to take another route, but it isn’t like those stone crystals were easily escapable. 

“You don’t have to do that,” She mutters, uncharacteristically low. “I’m good. Really.”

“Sure you are,” He says, nodding toward an LED display with a sudden scowl on his face. 

Johanna trails where his eyes have glowered and is met by an old video of Finnick Odair, fourteen-years-old and bravely fisting a bronze trident in hand. On screen, he’s tousling with a mutt that’s zipping fast under the water, and a few feet away, his Tribute partner hovers by the surface, motionless and painting the shallow depths red with her blood.

There’s a bold, golden text that says ‘65TH HUNGER GAMES’ in the bottom left corner. A crowd has gathered, hollering and rooting for young Finnick to slay the mutt as if he’s never done it before. 

I'm not sure who to tag, so maybe just a few of my moots if you guys would indulge (completely your choice by the way :) ))

Tagging: @lorrainestea @effieotto @thegoddessprose

[excalipurrghost]

[nerd-breached-containment]

Sonic, Jet is a hawk, he has wing-like arms for arms.