this is a brand new problem, a problem without any clues

[electrumqueen]

PROCRASTINATION TIEMZ.

Let's have a commentfic promptfest! :D

RULES:
-> Post prompts. (POST ALL THE PROMPTS. YOU ARE NOT SPAMMING EVEN IF YOU THINK YOU ARE.)
-> Fill prompts. (See above parentheses.)
-> Lather, rinse, repeat.

ETA: For ease of access, it would be great if you could mark fills in the subject line :)

FILL LIST:

Comments

all the people wait around to rust // johanna/finnick

[electrumqueen]

he says, "so i have this plan." he will not meet her eyes.

her lip stings. her mouth tastes like copper. "not you," she says. "them."

"johanna--"

"finnick. this isn't your idea."

his thumb brushes across her knuckles. "it doesn't have to be. it's the right thing to do."

she thinks: i don't want to see you dead.

--

"when did we get so careful," he whispers against the slope of her spine, the fall of her hair.

"when we decided we wanted to live," she says. she is digging her fingers into her palm. she knows when she relaxes there will be red under her nails. there is a little of some official's cologne lingering on her collarbone.

his eyes hold an ocean. "that's not all i want anymore."

--

haymitch smells like a still but his eyes are kind; he has always liked her, liked her spark, liked her fire and her defiance. "be careful with this," he says.

she laughs, all the right sounds but nothing of the mirth. "careful gets you killed, these days." she wonders what the arena will look like.

"i'm sorry," he murmurs.

she steals his bottle. "yeah, yeah."

--

finn says, "jo." he looks tired, stubble marching across the line of his jaw. he doesn't say, i'm sorry but she's known him long enough to read the slant of his eyes.

she says, "this is the game, isn't it. we go in. we cross our fingers about coming out."
above them the stars are shining, too bright for her eyes.

he says, "if i don't get to say it--"

she kisses him, swift. there is still white liquor on her tongue. i'm on your side. there's no such thing as goodbye.

--

here's the sick thing: they rip her apart with needles and knives and drugs, pumping through her blood, and she feels like she's floating, like they can't touch her. the pain becomes a painting, distant and removed, her skin a blue-black-red canvas that is no longer part of her realm of existence.

she floats, and lets the pain scream through her nerve-endings, and thinks of finn on the other end. she thinks: i'm glad you never said goodbye, and waits for him to come back. (after all: where there is pain, there is finnick odair.)