Nina, deciding she had nothing better to do than try and figure out what the absolute fuck was wrong with Finnick Odair with all his flirting and weird moral compass, made it to the tavern not long after the last message was sent (and no, she hadn't bothered replying to being called annoying again, or else this would go on forever). Since her excursion with Davrin, she had since obtained an actual coat and wasn't just walking around with her skin exposed to the cooling temperatures outside.
Upon arrival, she tugged a chair out with her foot and flopped down in it, arms crossed and leaning back. "I assume you ordered the drinks already."
He's still sort of holding a grudge against Nina. It's rare that Finnick dislikes someone, but she really hasn't done anything to endear herself to him. She's only rejected him, insulted him, and almost beat the shit out of him. Still, he's willing to give her yet another chance, for some reason. Maybe he finds her entertaining in an annoying way. He does respect women who have a fire in them, like Johanna, he just prefers when the fire is aimed away from him.
He slouches in his chair, arms also crossed, brooding a little as she approaches.
"Ugh." The least he could have done was have them at the ready! Nina stood back up, wandered over to the bar, and returned a few moments later with two mugs of standard ale, one of which she shoved in his direction, then took her seat again. "They'll keep them coming until we call it. See how easy that was?"
"Anyway." She motioned vaguely at him. "What's your deal?"
"No? I think you're a dumbass with no game but I don't hate you." Hate was a strong word, sir. One reserved for people that deserved it. A guy flirting with her who was kind of a pain in the ass was not on the list. "I don't know. You've got a weird way of approaching people — like you're trying to be suave."
"Nothing, unless that's all you do. You just don't get along with people who aren't into you then?" She asked, because that seemed to be the way it was going with the two of them. "Do you come in hot with everyone you're meeting for the first time?"
"I flirt with most people to start, but I don't mind being rejected. I'm friends with a lot of people, whether they're into me or not. You rejecting me isn't the reason we don't get along." He tries to keep the irritation out of his tone, but it's definitely detectable.
"Have you considered not doing that?" He must have been lucky that most people took it well (she assumed), and she would admit he was attractive, so the odds of such an opener working were high. But still. "Seems like it's your whole deal. Even mentioned it as a skill."
Nina snorted. "Was it the concussion that did it, then?"
"That you think it's my whole deal means it's working. Though I am surprised you're the first person who's reacted negatively since I've been here for months. People here are way too nice."
He scoffs a small laugh, though there isn't a lot of humor in it, it's almost a frustrated sound.
"That certainly didn't help." He grasps the side of his head vaguely where she smashed it. A lump did form there, and it's still sore.
"So is it some kind of act to win people over? Shit never works on me." Hadn't worked when Nils or Song Spinner or any other fake flirty twat tried it.
She shrugged. "Could have been worse. You're lucky Zevlor was there — I've been itching for a fight since I got here."
"I don't like fake people." She took a long swig of her ale. "I asked you why you are the way you are, but you haven't told me shit. All I know is you're bullshitting people, then you're pulling some self rightous nonsense out of your ass in the museum. Was that an act too? Do you really give a fuck about the dwarves and their history?"
"Why would I tell you about myself? You're a stranger who's done nothing but insult and hurt me since we met. Doesn't exactly inspire my trust in you. Maybe if you shared something first. My policy is a secret for a secret, at the very least."
He leans back.
"I don't particularly care about dwarves, but I do care about regular people getting fucked over by people in power. I can't fight much against the status quo in my world, so I guess it's freeing to do it here." He shrugs.
"If I recall correctly, it was 'buy me a drink and I'll talk.' Now it's a secret for a secret?" Joke was on him though, Nina didn't really have any secrets. Thing was — no one really asked about the shit she didn't just blurt out outright.
She finished her drink, set it on the table, and lifted her hand up to motion for a barmaid to refill it. "That's the first reasonable thing you've said since we met." She said. Nina tapped her fingers against the table.
"Interrogating someone doesn't inspire trust either," he mutters. Goddamn, this is already getting exhausting. He decides to chug his drink right after her, putting it down on the table with slightly more force than necessary.
He sighs, wanting to aim her own question back at her: what's your fucking deal? But that's just going to lead to more bickering. So he asks what he usually does to new people.
"What sort of world do you hail from? What's your life like there? Aside from ogreslaying."
Nina just stared at him. All signs pointed to you're hiding something and at this point she was just too stubborn to stop harassing him until she figured it out.
"It's a lot like this one. Except less magical in most places, especially where I'm from where it's primarily human." With an odd elf tossed in, maybe some others, but they were pretty few and far between. It wasn't as diverse as Caldera unless you traveled west. "I'm an adventurer. I kill monsters, I clear out bandits, I travel around and do odd jobs for people for food, coin, or jack shit. I have an older brother, Caleb, I compete with to see who can be the biggest hero. I'm winning."
"... A hero." He says it very flatly, raising his brows at her but changing nothing else about his unimpressed expression.
In this moment, he thinks they have nothing in common. He's extremely bitter that his world has no heroes, no one to save all those children from their untimely and unjust deaths. Even Victors are just cogs in the machine of suffering that churns endlessly, every single fucking year.
"My world doesn't have heroes," he says, and the bitterness and cold apathy seeps into his tone. He then sips his drink.
"Ask me a specific question, and I'll answer it honestly."
Nina wasn't Ciriuss Whiteheart levels of hero — not pure of heart and valiant, but she and plenty others considered herself as such for all the good she inevitably did, even if it was usually a messy sort of good. Finnick's incredulous response wouldn't make her think otherwise.
"Why do you think there aren't any heroes in your world?" And that seemed to be her question.
"Because if there were, children wouldn't suffer and die in needlessly cruel and unusual ways at the behest of the fucking President. Someone like Nina Ironfist, the Ogreslayer, would swoop in at the last minute and save them all from their collective doom. But that doesn't happen. Not once, not ever."
His tone is icy and aggressive. It's clear the nice-guy facade is completely gone, exposing his raw hatred for the state of things in his world. If this is an act, then he must be an amazing actor.
Suddenly, in a tavern full of people, with a burning hearth and warm ale in her belly, Nina felt cold. Children suffering and dying because of some — she assumed by the title of president — high and mighty prick was a little too familiar. And there was no hiding the tension in her hand as it squeezed around her mug.
"How — what do you mean? What is he doing to them? Why isn't anyone helping?" The questioning started low, but each subsequent question sounded more frantic.
yeehaw. cw capital punishment, general totalitarian dystopia vibes
He doesn't expect her questions, doesn't expect her to give a shit. Even though everyone in Caldera he's told does give a shit, it's so normalized in his world that he always expects people to say so what? Especially Nina, who seems endlessly unenthused with him.
But she obviously does care, and urgently so. It's a little concerning. Finnick leans forward slightly, forearm on the table.
"He's taking 24 kids, 2 from each district, every single year, and putting them into deathmatches where only one can survive. No one is helping because the whole system is designed to prevent a rebellion. If you so much as speak out of turn in protest you could be whipped in the street or have your tongue cut out or killed on the spot. And we're constantly surveilled."
It was fucking unreal how familiar it was. Different, yes, because through some form of mercy the entirety of Valsheria was not like that, but familiar enough to her.
The wooden mug started to splinter under her fingers, ale spilling between the cracks; knuckles bone white. There was a fury in her eyes that raged more intensely than the seemingly perpetual anger they usually held. And somewhere beneath that fury — was fear.
Finnick's eyes widen as they stare at her hand cracking her mug. Good lord. He moves his hand subtly to splay his fingers toward the mug, using his water manipulation power to keep the beer from spilling everywhere.
"Yeah. When I was fourteen. They call us Victors, the kids who survive."
She didn't notice. Nina didn't notice a lot of things in those few moments; the edges of her vision suddenly blooming with red.
"Fuck." She cursed. Nina didn't fully understand how that situation led him to act the way he did now, but for all she knew that's just how he dealt with the trauma. Much like how she dealt with her own by being angry. "I'm sorry. I — holy shit." She flustered, tongue tied. "You won't fucking believe me when I tell you that I understand how you feel."
Finnick's brow furrows, his eyes widening slightly. Still keeping her beer vaguely inside the breaking mug. People always lose their shit when they learn about this, huh?
But then she says she understands, and he cocks his head to the side quizzically. No, he doesn't quite believe her, not yet.
"You understand? How?"
Please don't tell him there is another world with Hunger Games.
The thing about the Guild of Shadows was that it worked underground, a well kept secret known only to those with money and power enough to earn it. It wasn't as big an event as Finnick's Hunger Games, but it hit all the same notes.
"Because I've won plenty of similar matches." She said, her voice cracking. "When I was... seven or eight, me and a handful of other kids were kidnapped and forced into pits to fight for the entertainment of masked nobles. I was down there for years, so I'll let you guess how much blood is on my hands."
Finnick's jaw drops, as does his spell, the beer spilling onto the table and the floor. Seven or eight? For years?! Even Snow wouldn't reap kids under 12, and once you won, you never had to do it again.
"You-- You're..."
A Victor. And not even from his own world. He blinks rapidly.
"I'm sorry- this is- what the fuck? You were... So young. Twelve is our minimum age."
And truly, seeing a 12-year-old in the Games is horrifying, but his heart breaks to learn she was barely old enough to read or write or know anything about the world around her and that was what she had to learn to survive.
Nina growled and pulled her hand back, flicking the liquid off her hand and shoving the broken mug off the table. If people wanted to complain about it, she'd throw them a few Bones and tell them to suck it up.
"Yeah, the Guild of Shadows didn't have a minimum." Just old enough to fight. "I would have died down there eventually, if Roland Ironfist hadn't come to save us, once he figured out how to find the pits. Kicked their asses — the nobles, the guild members — and took the kids back to their parents, save for me and three others. Caleb, Amelia, and Jacob. He adopted us when he couldn't find our homes."
Her gaze softened. Still angry, but easing more toward sad. "I'm sorry there isn't a Roland Ironfist in your world."
He listens with a furrowed brow and a concerned frown. He still can hardly believe she went through something similar...
Hearing that she was saved makes him feel a myriad of conflicting things. Envy, gratitude, grief, each flashing up for just a small moment.
"I'm sorry, too. But I'm grateful there was one for you, and that you found a family." He smiles, small and soft and sad. No wonder she believes in heroes.
"The thing with my world isn't that there's no one as brave or strong as Roland Ironfist, but that there's no way one person can stop the Games on their own, no matter how awesome they are. It's too big. We need a rebellion, we need all of us to stand up at once and fight against it, but we're constantly told a revolution will spell death for all of us. A lot of fearmongering and propaganda."
She hated to think she was lucky in that the Guild of Shadows was the heart if that shitty operation and not the entire world. But she was, in a way. It was small enough a single man could put an end to it and save those children that survived.
"Shit like that is scary for common folk." She muttered. "Rising up against people in charge that are stronger, have more money and manpower. A lot of shittier nobles take advantage of their positions to keep people in line, make examples of them with public executions... I understand the sentiment, if nothing else."
There was a pause, then a loud bang when her fist hit the table. "No one else is supposed to understand this shit."
Finnick nods. Fear is the reason, and the Capitol is very effective at stoking fear. The faceless Peacekeepers that patrol each district holding guns also don't make one feel at ease.
He doesn't flinch as she bangs the table.
"I know. Some people here are from shitty places, like literal hell, but I didn't expect anyone who wasn't from my world to have an almost identical situation..." His tone is regretful.
This seems to change everything between him and Nina. He no longer feels the deep mistrust and grudgingness. He feels inclined to tell her more.
"I can... I can answer your original question that brought us to this bar, if you want. Why I'm like this, with the flirting. But I guarantee you won't enjoy my answer, so it's up to you. I don't like dumping it on people who aren't prepared."
"Neither did I." And it was awful to think anyone had suffered a similar situation that she and her siblings had. She never wanted anyone else to be in a situation where they had to fight for their life — especially children. Gods. Why always children?
Nina watched him for a moment, unfurling her fist to rap on the ale soaked tabletop. "Can't surprise me anymore than you have tonight. Go ahead."
Finnick generally doesn't feel too sorry for himself, but the tributes he mentors year in and year out, almost all of whom die, are another story. The grief stacks, becomes so heavy he has to disassociate. He feels that grief now, for Nina, too. For the childhood she lost.
He isn't sure what she says is true; that he can't surprise her more. But he'll go on anyway, because it seems important to her to know what makes him tick.
Thankfully, more drinks come just in time, and the barmaid mops up the spilled ale. Finnick thanks her quietly with a small smile, and once she's gone he takes a healthy sip and speaks.
"I'm the youngest Victor in Games history. Every tribute has their own strategy, their unique strengths for survival. The main reason I won my Games was that I was liked. If rich people like you, they can sponsor you, send you things in the arena that can save your life or give you an edge. I was so well-liked that I was sent a Trident in the arena, my weapon of choice. It was the most expensive gift ever given in the Games."
This is important, for Nina to understand why he's 'fake' and cares so much to be liked. He had to be. Has to be still, not so much here, but in his world.
"If a Victor is desirable, then once they win, the President sells them to the rich in the Capitol. For their bodies. Of course, I was a prime candidate. If I refused, he would kill someone I loved. They were supposed to wait until I was sixteen to really go for me, but of course, not everyone is that... Upstanding. For ten years I'd make trips to the Capitol and sleep with people. People far too old for me, with power over me, and I had to do what they asked of me. I had to be good at it and maintain my perfect image to keep my people at home safe."
He presses his lips into a grim line and takes another long drink.
Now she felt lucky, even if the fact that she did so made her feel equally as awful; made her stomach roil. She had suffered for years in those pits, fighting for her life, knowing only the crack of fragile bones and the smell of blood. But she had been freed eventually, taken into a noble house and cared for by a man too good for the shit world they lived in. She had a family, a home, and a life of adventure in the years where Finnick was still subjected to the horror of his reality.
Nina was violent because it was all she knew for so long. Fighting was what she was good at, so she kept doing it. Despite the comforts offered to her, she never left that fight or flight mode that was stuck in fight. And Finnick couldn't turn off that charm — that need to seem desirable, that need to be liked because it meant he would survive.
A part of her wondered if it was some inherent knowledge of their similarities that made her press him to begin with. Some ability to see past the facade and not knowing entirely why.
"A lot of things suddenly make sense." She said quietly, voice low to try and stem the fury rising in her throat again. "I'm sorry doesn't change shit, but I am sorry you had to go through that, on top of everything else. You were just a kid." She bit the inside of her cheek. "You don't deserve that shit."
Nina saw through him, even if she didn't know exactly what she was seeing. Really, it isn't too hard to catch onto Finnick; there are always times when his mask cracks, or when he says something so offbeat and cynical that even his charming smile can't cover up the dark undercurrent beneath it. She isn't the first one to notice, but she is the first to blatantly call him out, the first not to play into his flirting. Hell, there are people here he fucks regularly who don't know any of what he just told her. If people want to keep it surface level with him, he will play along, but he does silently judge those who don't make an effort to get past his facade. When people push through the niceties and ask him about the horrors, it shows they really care, that he's worth more to them than just a quick fuck or a flirtationship.
Despite her aggressiveness, he's glad in the end that she interrogated him.
His gaze is cast down at the table now, a sad smile on his face.
"Thanks," he says quietly and sincerely. "It's fine, though. I'm fine now."
Heavily debatable, Finnick. He inhales deeply through his nose and looks up at her again, as though to snap himself from his thoughts and break the tension.
"I'd love to say all of that is why I'm annoying, but truthfully I think I was born that way." He grins.
Nina didn't believe him for a second. No one was fine now after that. If she had to guess with some simple math — he was being sold off into his twenties, and there was no way in hell he was much older than that now.
For once though, she didn't say anything. Nina had gotten enough out of him — a lot more than she expected, really.
"It only made you more annoying. Got it." She quipped. "I'd say I can't believe that shit works on people, but I've known plenty of guys who do the same thing and people are falling all over them."
He's definitely not fine now. But he can lie to himself and everyone else, and if they turn this shared drink into a therapy session they'll be here all night talking about his shit. Best to move on.
"It certainly didn't help," said with a smirk. "I often can't believe it either. But rich people are stupid and the people here are too nice. They probably just pity me sometimes," he shrugs. "And people like compliments. They like being noticed."
Rich people are stupid. True. Nina nodded her head in agreement to that, having attended her fair share of noble gatherings and listening to the inner workings of the higher ups just fucking shit up repeatedly.
"Too nice. Like — Zevlor levels of nice? Because I don't know if I can handle that from everyone."
"Zev's pretty high up there for good guy-ness. But there's plenty of others I've met who are up there with him, or at least way further toward good on the scale than I'm used to."
He's used to the rich, and other Victors. Rich people are 'nice' but not kind. Victors are... Well, no one is a Victor by mistake. There's always some crookedness in there somewhere.
"But hey, at least we have each other for a good refreshing insult or punch to the head." The punching done by Nina, not him, obviously.
Loki is perfectly game to meet at a familiar tavern, and after a brief hashing-out to determine timing, the assignation, as it were, is set. In his mind, it isn't a foregone conclusion that this will end in sex--it feels more like the negotiation session before a foray into kink--but having a genuine discussion is enlightening regardless, and he's starting, warily, to like Finnick.
He is no longer wearing his fine Asgardian leathers everywhere, outfit toned down into a linen shirt that looks way too light for such cold weather, sleeves rolled up to the elbow in a way that unintentionally shows off the runic ridges on his hands and forearms. There's already a bottle of wine on the table when Finnick arrives, and an empty glass, and Loki makes an inviting gesture at the seat across from him. Or in the booth beside him. Whichever the other man is more comfortable with.
"It's a sweet red. I didn't know what you prefer," he explains of the drink. "Hello."
Finnick isn't exactly sure what he thinks of Loki yet. He isn't 100% certain they'll even get along, long-term. They both seem to have big egos and Finnick wonders if they might clash. He just doesn't have enough information yet. But, the man is handsome and smart, and Finnick finds himself a bit intrigued.
Bondage isn't something anyone here has suggested to him yet, let alone on a public forum, and he likes that boldness. It shows Loki is open-minded and they could probably have some fun together, of a kinkier variety. God knows Finnick gets tired of vanilla sex.
He smiles as he sees Loki, sits across from him and leans forward on the table.
"Oh, how niiiice," he drawls. "I'll drink anything. Thank you."
He allows a beat of silence, to look into Loki's eyes with a tiny, slightly mischievous smile. "Hi."
"Charmer," he purrs, and picks up the bottle, pouring the wine for him. "I got the impression that flirting is how you get the measure of a person, and so I didn't assume you were genuinely interested. Perhaps that's just me projecting. I often find myself prodding at people verbally, and sometimes pushing them away, before I settle in to liking them."
He doesn't always mean to test people, but 99% of the time he tests them whether he means to or not.
"How organized is the kink scene you're accustomed to? Negotiation? Safe words? Best if we don't speak at cross-purposes. I'm not interested in causing anyone harm. Not in bed."
Finnick's smile widens a little as Loki pours the wine.
"You're right, it's my go-to approach to get to know people. Usually puts me in their good books, and if it doesn't, I have other strategies." He feels comfortable being plain about the fact that he's a bit manipulative, probably because Loki has openly admitted to being deceptive.
"But I don't outright lie. I don't make someone think I'm interested in them if I'm truly not." It's just that he's... Interested in a lot of people. And the compulsion for sex is at times so strong that he's willing to look past some things.
"Uh..." Finnick is somewhat caught off-guard by the question. It's a good one, but he isn't sure how to answer. Finnick has a lot of experience with kinky activities, but he doesn't know the terminology of it all. He just... Does it.
"My situation is... Somewhat unique. I have a lot of experience, but... Negotiation was a little biased against me," he hedges, projecting a thoughtful tone that's more confident than he feels as he swirls the wine.
More like a lot biased, Finnick.
"So I would say... Not organized. Someone wanted something, I would do it for them."
cw more dubcon implications, this might be a trend in this thread
Loki usually has a sixth sense for someone who plays social games because that's how they learned to defend themselves. Takes one to know one. Finnick threw him off a little, for whatever reason. Maybe his mask is just that good. Listening to him now, the godling feels some of his own uncertainty ease, though. There is common ground to be found here. He smiles a little, faintly, though it drops away as the other man explains further.
His eyes are very intent, vibrant red, an almost reptilian gaze, but he makes a point of not interrupting, and when he's done, Loki sips his own wine, taking a moment to process his own thoughts before responding. "With me, negotiation is not biased against you. I use whatever tactics I have to for the power to defend myself, and my ends may not always justify my means. I can be a nasty piece of work, and I know it. But there are lines I don't cross. I don't misuse my lovers, whether there's an emotional connection or whether it's just for fun."
"I...spent some time marooned on a red light district of a planet not that long ago," he adds with a sigh, glancing into his own cup. "Only a few weeks, but it was educational. The social structure of the place was set up such that survival was most easily achieved by fighting or fucking. I liked my chances better with the latter. Obviously, I survived, but I wouldn't wish the whole experience on anyone else, either."
There's something restrained about that. Understated. There's a lot going on in his head.
"Anyway, I prefer the standard Midgardian--human, that is--best practices. Safe, sane, consensual. A system of verbal cues to make sure no one oversteps. Either party gets to tap out if they're overwhelmed. I'm not about making my bed partners miserable. I'll make everyone else miserable, just not in the bedroom."
It certainly helps Finnick that he does enjoy flirting and sex and meeting new people. It isn't like he has to pretend and mask all that much in Caldera, because most of the Visitors here are genuinely kind and likable.
For some reason, Finnick's hair stands on end slightly at Loki's use of the words 'tactics' and 'power', but the end of that sentence puts him more at ease.
He continues to listen intently, until Loki mentions fucking or fighting as a survival strategy, and Finnick laughs, though the sound has no mirth or joy in it. He actually sounds deeply uncomfortable.
"I've used both fucking and fighting as survival strategies. I also wouldn't wish it on anyone." He feels a little sick. He swallows, looks away, tries to mask his discomfort by sipping his wine.
"You'll have to teach me those practices. I need them." For his own sake, and the sake of others he sleeps with. Finnick never wants to treat anyone else the way he's been treated, not even by accident.
There is persistent cognitive dissonance that haunts Loki regarding Sakaar. While he recognizes the inherent brutality of the Grandmaster's dictatorship, his feelings about the man himself are ambiguous. The reason for that is because he has been in the hands of masters far more vicious. When you fall into someone's hands and expect to be slowly tortured, having them merely insist you play along with their whims and come to their parties feels like an easy ask. Stockholm Syndrome set in with the first breath he took on the planet.
It's not okay, and he's not okay, but compared to his terror of Thanos, Sakaar and the Grandmaster just feel like mild embarrassments. And he's not sure they should, or what it says about him that he can look back at what he did there with only a little personal discomfort.
Finnick's reaction tells him he should probably set the topic aside for now. That it was wise of him, perhaps, not to specifically reference the arena, or the orgy ships. "That's true of many of us," he says, with respect to survival strategies. "The universe is a nasty place."
"I'll teach you whatever you'd like to learn," he says, and it certainly could sound like innuendo, but his voice is neutral for the moment. Like he said, he's not interested in pushing Finnick, or making him miserable. "Negotiation beforehand is the first step. What you're willing to do, and what's absolutely off the table."
"I'm comfortable experiencing levels of rough treatment that most humans couldn't bear, for example," he says. "But I cannot be bound and left alone. If I'm helpless, someone has to be within my line of sight--or touching me, if my eyes are covered."
Finnick nods, still looking away, rubbing his sweating palm a little too hard against his thigh. For some reason, this conversation about their pasts is almost too much for him. It's odd, because he's told other people in Caldera about his sexual trauma, and while not pleasant, he wasn't this uncomfortable. It was actually more cathartic than anything. It must be his lack of trust in Loki, his fear of how the man might use the knowledge of his vulnerabilities to control or abuse him. Loki has already said point-blank that he doesn't want to harm anyone in bed, but the fact that he didn't put harming people in general off the table doesn't make Finnick feel too great. Should he even be getting close to this strange man, let alone delving into risky sexual acts with him?
For now, he'll listen to Loki, and if he's still having doubts by the end of their discussion, he'll raise them.
Finnick then looks at the other man again with interest, leaning forward and nodding, seeming to be very ready to learn.
"Okay, that's good to know. Um... It's not easy for me to identify what I like and what I don't. I had to pretend a lot and I started to fool even myself."
He thinks for a few moments, looking off into the distance.
"One thing I definitely hate is choking on cock. Over time my gag reflex got worse instead of going away as it does for some people, so it can make me sick. So if I'm sucking you off, just don't push on my head. I do love my hair being pulled, though."
He can tell he's anxious. Maybe this was a bad idea? But presumably backing out of the whole thing now would insult him, and so Loki's best course of action, he assumes, is patience, and trusting Finnick to tell him to fuck off if he gets too uncomfortable.
"It's also perfectly fine to decide what's going on isn't what you want, in the spur of the moment," he says, trying to sound reassuring. "That's what the verbal signals are for. Generally you have a safe word that you can say at any point--something that wouldn't normally be spoken during pillow talk, like, I don't know...'alligator' or 'telephone'. If either person says the word, everything stops immediately, you catch your breath and talk it over."
His gazes softens a little at the confession, but he smiles faintly. "Ah, see, that's good to know because I'm the opposite. Absolutely treat me as roughly as you want if I'm going down on you, I like choking on cock. But I understand your aversion and I'll keep to your boundaries."
"...on that note, though, I, mmm...I'm intersex. While I do have a cock, at the moment I also have a vulva. When I get my powers, I can shapeshift to either/or, but until then, I have exactly what my parents gave me, no more and no less." Another pause, then: "Also it's all very blue down there right now. I suppose you'd have guessed that already but I'm not used to it."
Finnick listens to the bit about the safe word, thoughtfully, then speaks a little shyly.
"... That's a good idea. I... Don't know how possible it'll be for me to speak up if I don't like something. I'm very much conditioned to do the opposite. Stay quiet or lie."
'No' was never an option for him. 'No' could spell the death of Annie and Mags.
"But," he says quickly, "I'll do my best to use the word. And you should be able to tell by my body language, anyway, if I'm uncomfortable. I won't hide it." He's a good actor, but he doesn't intend on acting like he likes something that he doesn't, not in Caldera.
Finnick's face lights up as Loki says he's intersex and has both.
"Really? Wow! That's so cool! And yes, I was picturing your dick as blue, that's not a surprise." Maybe it's a surprise to Loki that Finnick was already picturing his dick, but it shouldn't be, really. It's Finnick.
That confession, subtle as it is, makes Loki want to reach out and try to comfort him, although...it's hard to tell if they're there quite yet. He extends a hand tentatively and gives him a light squeeze on the wrist, before withdrawing again. Stilted, but well meant.
"If we do this--and you're allowed to back out at any point, no ill feelings--you would be in charge the first time, anyway. The other method I've seen for checking in is having a sort of color code. Green for "I feel fine, keep going", yellow for "I'm not sure about this, go gently", or red for "stop". Maybe that would be easier for you? If I ask how you're feeling in the middle of something?"
He still might lie, might feel compelled to say he's good when he's not, but the 'yellow' option makes it easier to back out of things than having to directly call for a sudden halt.
The positive reaction to his own confession earns a smile in return, warmer and less guarded than most of Loki's facial expressions have been. "Some people like the versatility, I've found, but other people feel weird about it. I feel weird about the blue-ness, I'm not used to spending so much time in this shape, but that's my hang up, I guess, and no one else's."
His eyes glance to Loki's hand as he squeezes Finnick's wrist. A nice gesture, and he does find it comforting, if a little awkward. Loki doesn't really seem like the touchy-feely type, so Finnick assumes that was probably a big move for him. He gives a small smile.
"Oh... Yeah, that sounds really helpful. I'm sometimes unsure about things, but I don't want that to be taken as a no right away." He already knows he will be far more likely to speak up if he doesn't have to say 'no' or a word that means stop. And even if he says yellow but means red, things will slow down, and allow some time for him to muster up the nerve to be honest.
"If you'd ask me about the colors, that would mean a lot to me," he says sincerely. Loki being the one to check in, rather than the onus being completely on Finnick to shout out a word randomly, would help a lot with his ability to communicate. Besides... It's just nice to be asked. No one ever does that, really, in his world.
"Just sounds like double the fun to me," says Finnick in a more lighthearted tone. Then cocks his head to the side. "Wouldn't it be weirder if your dick was the only part not blue, though? Besides, lots of people here are funky colours. I fucked someone red already, and another blue-ish person, and a demon-spider with a fuzzy pink retractable dick." Hopefully those examples will make Loki feel less out of place.
There is a barrier that has to be broken before Loki gets touchy-feely with anyone. His inclinations, especially in this shape, are to maintain a personal space bubble. That might vanish if they sleep together, though.
For now, for just a moment there's an interesting shift in Loki himself, a brief burst of uncomplicated contentment because evidently he said something right. He smiles, bright and hopeful, and takes another drink of his wine.
Finnick's commentary about his dick makes him laugh. "Norns, no, you're right, that would be disturbing. I mean, a strap-on is one thing, those can be any color..."
Wait, hold on a sec. "Demon-spider? You saw him? I thought I had hallucinated him entirely!" Sorry, this is exciting news, he's so pleased he's not losing his mind. "Damn, now I'm sorry I didn't proposition him, myself."
Finnick smiles warmly, as well. He's also hopeful. He's almost never had such a frank discussion about consent, aside from his relationship with Annie, and even with her, they didn't have all of these methods and tools for safe communication. They sort of just... Muddled their way through with love and understanding. It's mind-blowing and eye-opening to Finnick that there even are safeguards like this that exist, and he's immensely grateful to be taught about them. Now, he can use them with any partner, and no one will feel taken advantage of (in an ideal world. The real world is of course messier).
He chuckles.
"No! He's real! And it was more like he propositioned me first. It really threw me to be beaten to the punch! He was a porn star in his world, so, we hit it off about our similar professions. Haven't seen him since, though... I really hope he's okay."
Finnick didn't get to learn a lot about Angel before they jumped in bed together, but anyone who can relate to Finnick that much about sex work, he worries for.
"Oh, now I'm jealous," he says, without sounding jealous at all. "We were looking for that child in the well, it wasn't a good place for anyone to be propositioning anyone else, let alone following through. I have to know, was the fluff as soft as it looked?"
His smile turns a little wry then, and he nods slightly in understanding. "Hard to say what happens to people who just...vanish from here like that, isn't it? Theoretically at least he's returned home and has a fighting chance there."
But then, Loki didn't talk to Angel Dust long enough to really get the picture of what his home life was like.
"Oh my god, so soft!" Finnick raves with enthusiasm. "That was the best part, besides all the hands. Six hands, touching everywhere... Ugh." He shivers with pleasure to remember it, grinning as his eyes roll back behind his fluttering lids a little.
But then his frown returns.
"I couldn't find the username he gave me on the network, so he must be gone. And that's the thing... He's from hell. If he went back home, that makes me even more worried. He acted like he enjoyed his job, but... That kind of work is easily exploited in a place like that." He scratches his temple, looking off to the side with worry.
"Anyway, uh, I'm getting off topic. Was there more you wanted to negotiate? I'm really enjoying learning from you. I wish I knew this stuff years ago." Not that it would have really helped, in his situation, but still.
"Damn," Loki sighs plaintively. "I should have asked for a quick snuggle. Maybe we'll see him again some day."
His expression sobers at the news, although it doesn't really surprise him to hear that a demon came from Hell. "Mm. Well, if it makes you feel any better, he mentioned he normally had guns, and seemed reasonably capable with a knife, so he's likely capable of defending himself."
Not that being able to physically defend oneself means you're exploitation-proof. Far from it, but maybe they should talk about lighter things. "Well. As long as we're talking about it...I should add that aside from abandonment, I can't tolerate much heat. No hot wax, thank you. Actually, I'm not sure how cold you'll find skin contact with me. That may be a matter for experimentation before we get into anything too physically intimate."
He's not going to give anyone frostbite with casual contact, but that doesn't necessarily mean the coolness of his skin will be comfortable for a human.
"Oh, that's good," he murmurs, nodding. It definitely doesn't mean Angel Dust is completely safe, but at least he has some way of fighting back.
"Only one way to find out." Finnick reaches out his hand without hesitation, laying it palm-up on the table and open for Loki to grab. If he does, Finnick will not only hold it for a moment, but then begin to slide his hand up Loki's inner forearm, wrapping his fingers gently around it as they glide over his skin.
Loki smiles at the offer of his hand. He would have asked, had Finnick not taken the initiative, but based on their conversation earlier, it feels better to let him lead. He places his hand in the other man's, curling his fingers gently. His touch is cold, but not in a way that feels inhuman. More like someone who's come in from a brisk walk in the snow. The texture of his skin, on the other hand, is very smooth, silky, save for where the Jotun ridges etch across it. They're symmetrical, fine, raised lines, about the width of a violin string on his fingers, but growing a little wider as they arc up his forearm.
As Finnick slides his hand up, Loki makes a faint sound of surprise, and his eyes close briefly. The ridges are more sensitive than he realized, at least in the context of touching and being touched by living flesh. "That...feels strangely new."
It feels new to Finnick, too. The chill of his hand, the tiny raised lines on blue skin. The sensation gives him a slight shiver as he examines Loki closely. The other man closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the touch more than Finnick expected he would.
"New?" Finnick tilts his head, curious. Loki did say he doesn't spend much time in this form, but he wonders what exactly is new about it.
He releases a shaky breath, and smiles wryly without opening his eyes again. "Nnh. I...it's a long story, but I wasn't even aware of this form until about a decade ago. I was adopted, and my parents built enchantments around me to hide my species. Asgardians look like humans, aside from being taller and stronger. Their skin is shades of ivory, or brown, or pink. Not blue, and not..."
He waves his free hand as if to indicate the ridges. "I'm a fool. It never occurred to me until now that I hadn't actually been touched in this shape, aside from in battle. Or handshakes, since arriving here." Part of him is still surprised anyone wants to, but saying so would sound pathetic at this point.
Thoughtfully, and still holding Loki's hand, Finnick uses his other hand to run over the back of it gently, then caress up the outer part of his forearm, taking care to touch as many of those ridges as he can with warm palms and outstretched fingers. Slowly, he makes his way up to Loki's elbow, then back down to his hand again.
If there is one person who knows what touch can communicate about a relationship, a person's worth to you, and what you think of their body, it's Finnick. A touch can make one feel disposable, or like the most precious thing in the world. Finnick is going more for the latter here, obviously, encouraging Loki's curiosity of this new form, as well as showing his own acceptance of it.
He speaks gently, quietly. "It's cool... I like getting to know everyone's unique features. And if it feels good and new for you, then... All the better, right?"
The gentleness is unexpected. Finnick struck Loki as conscientious, someone he could trust not to cause him gratuitous harm, else he wouldn't have put himself in this position in the first place. Actual kindness is a pleasant surprise. His eyes remain closed a moment longer, but his smile grows more relaxed, and he finds himself leaning closer instinctively.
"...oh, I like you," he says softly, and finally looks at him again, red eyes sparkling. "Your hands feel very warm. In the interest of full disclosure, I should warn you the lines do go all the way down. I may need to start out a bit more gently than I thought I would."
"But we have all the time we need, don't we?" He curls his fingers around Finnick's and pulls his hand gently to his lips, kissing the back.
Hearing Loki explicitly say I like you makes Finnick's eyes visibly light up, the corners of his lips lifting unbidden. He has to restrain the urge to say really? like a little kid, because he wants to play it cool. However, it's rare someone gives him such a direct form of praise on something other than his looks. Finnick needs to be liked, as a form of survival, but he also very much wants to be liked, perhaps because his sense of self worth and identity never had a chance to grow. He was taught many lessons about his worth over the years, absolutely none of them good.
"Loki, you don't need to keep warning me about your body and what it looks like. I assure you, I can handle it. Bodies of all types are my specialty, after all." He smiles with his teeth, like he's assuring a customer who has doubts about a service. There seems to be some shame there, and Finnick wants to snuff out any negative body talk before it starts, because he's not about that life.
He smiles softly again as Loki kisses his hand. Having attention returned to him so readily is making him swoon a little.
"But yes, I'll be gentle with you, as I trust you will be with me. We can take it as slow as you like." Loki will check in with him about consent, and Finnick will be mindful of the newness of this body for Loki, and try to check in as well.
There are underlying currents here, similarities between them that Loki can feel exist, even if he couldn't put words to them. His experience is vastly different from Finnick's, of course. He's a prince, grew up with all the material and educational privilege a child could possibly have, but affection always felt contingent upon his behavior--except with Frigga. And his behavior was never up to par (also, except with Frigga), and so he spent a lot of time scrambling for some sense of identity he could live with.
Which then got shattered brutally by the revelation of his Jotun skin. His sense of worth is bound up in his divine providence now: god of liars, tricksters, mischief-makers, outcasts. Sower of chaos, which is sometimes good and sometimes terrible, but always leads to change.
At one time, not so long ago, sex workers were part of his providence as well, which means he picks up on that customer-service smile, and while it's okay--confident charm is endearing--he wants to clarify his own position, too. He reaches out and strokes along Finnick's jawline with the backs of his fingers, unmistakably gentle rather than cloyingly possessive.
"I know you can handle it. I'm impressed that you're being so kind about it, particularly since I didn't think I needed that." Didn't think he deserved it, is what he means, but there's not much difference between not-needing and not-deserving in Loki's head. "I like that."
The bar is clearly on the floor here, if Finnick's simple acceptance of Loki's body is such a likable thing, but there are plenty of forms of basic human decency that shock Finnick when he receives them, as well. Lioriley giving him food and gifts with no strings attached, Halsin telling him he could have a hug any time. When you're not used to such kindnesses, they hit you like a truck.
At the question, Finnick smiles and nods. He didn't expect Loki to like him so much, or to want to kiss him tonight, but kissing is as easy as breathing to him. Keeping their hands clasped, Finnick deftly moves around the table to sit next to Loki in the booth. He gently puts a hand on Loki's cheek to turn his face, and leans in to kiss his lips. Softly, slowly.
Most of Loki's long-term acquaintances regard him with wholly justified suspicion, which unfortunately precludes simple verbal expressions of kindness. He is a villain, in his own mind, however much he may protest it when someone else takes him to task. Something a little soft, a little gentle, is a better way to disarm him than any weaponry.
So, maybe the bar is low for them both. No shame in that, as long as they keep it to themselves.
His lips are cool, but smooth and silky as the rest of his skin, and he responds to the kiss with finesse. He lets Finnick lead the kiss, lips half-parted in invitation, and the hand that just stroked his cheek slips down to rest on the back of his shoulder. Eyes closed, he's conscious of warmth and the scent of the ocean.
...Oh, yes, he could to like this man quite a bit.
In contrast, Finnick's lips are warm, but a bit chapped from the amount of time he spends outside, his hands rough and calloused from cold wind and salt water and working with rope. His thumb strokes Loki's cheekbone, and he takes the kiss slow, deepening and opening it little by little. There is something about kissing in a public place that Finnick loves. Finding a moment of quiet tenderness among the chaotic din of the bar, showing his affections for all to see. His tongue slips into Loki's mouth, and he's for some reason surprised that even the inside of it is oddly cool. He hums softly and nips gently at the other man's upper lip, a playful smile growing on his face.
Loki is relatively indifferent to the place. He is not, by and large, a touchy-feely person. Hugs he doesn't see coming will result in wincing or pushing away, a hand in the wrong place at the wrong time might get injured...but that's all about his personal space, not about who's watching. He has consciously relinquished his personal space here.
The more involved Finnick grows in the kiss, the more Loki seems to melt into it. Touch-starved? Sure, we'll go with that. This is a form of physical comfort he can accept.
When they pause for breath, Loki's eyes are dark, pupils wider in the sea of red iris and sclera. He strokes across Finnick's shoulder, halfway down his chest, and back up to his cheek. "Mm. I needed that."
Finnick finds it very sweet, the way Loki melts against him. He's quite surprised he was able to get Loki's guard down so soon, considering they both have a bit of a distrustful, defensive strategy with new people. Perhaps this could all go better than he expected, but he won't count his chickens before they hatch.
As he meets Loki's gaze, Finnick's eyes look much the same; a large void opened up in the midst of sea-blue. It was a very nice kiss, and he's slightly breathless now.
"Me too," he murmurs. His thumb still strokes Loki's smooth cheek, a small smile on his face.
"What else do you need, Loki?" He asks in a quiet murmur.
That's the problem. Loki's surprised he was able to get his guard down so soon, too. His throat aches, a hollow, dark pain that feels suspiciously like the precursor to tears. The soft little touch of Finnick's thumb sends an additional shiver along his skin, tingling along the ridges there. Half of him is ready to beg for more, and the other half is suddenly alarmed by how little it takes for him to throw any semblance of propriety and control out the window.
What does he need? Gods, that's a long list. He leans in and nudges his forehead against Finnick's, closing his eyes again. "Opinions vary on that point," he answers, a quiver in his voice. "Everything from therapy to a swift kick in the arse has been suggested."
"I...I don't know." He says, and truer words were never spoken. "I don't know."
Finnick does have a knack for that. Not that he's planning on using the skill in any kind of malicious way, not here in Caldera. There isn't any need to be manipulative or deceptive with the people here. They're all just... Kind. No one that he's encountered has anything but his best interests in mind.
Finnick laughs softly through his nose. "I wasn't asking for anyone's opinion but yours."
When he says he doesn't know, Finnick continues gently, tucking some dark hair behind Loki's ear.
"That's okay. I never know how to answer that, either. How about some options? We could stay here and chat a little more, get to know each other better. You could... Come to my place, which isn't too far of a walk. Or we could think things over and plan to meet another time."
Loki might get the sense that Finnick has practice with this sort of conversation, and not with his clients, but with someone he cares for. That comes through in his voice now, though he hopes it isn't condescending.
He could back out gracefully now, or turn and run, and in the long term he's pretty sure Finnick would forgive him for either, especially given how careful Loki's been to leave him an out. He's not sure he'd forgive himself for backing down, though, and instead he does himself the courtesy of just...waiting. Catching his breath and thinking things over.
Which gives Finnick the opportunity to be rather sweet, so it works out in the end.
He smiles, finally, as the desperate feeling fades. "I think...I want to be touched, and seen, but sex might honestly be too much tonight. What are the chances of us going to your place and just sitting together like this for an hour or so? Is that too precious?"
"No, of course we can do that. Buddy will be pleased I brought him a new friend." Finnick smiles back, looking into Loki's red eyes again before stealing one more quick kiss. Then he nods to the wine on the table.
"If you paid for that bottle already, you should bring it."
"Buddy? Your dog?" He makes a little mm sound and leans into the kiss briefly, then smiles and picks up the wine bottle. "I like animals. Most of our dogs were working dogs, when I was growing up, but I used to play with them when I could."
He notes Finnick's hand still in his and threads their fingers together, a surprisingly soft gesture. This is a kindness; he won't forget that.
"Did you find your dog here, or did he come from your world?"
"Yeah." He smiles, leading them out of the bar. Once he's out there he remembers winter exists (ugh!!!!) and puts on his coat, hat, and gloves.
"I never had a pet in my world. I found Buddy here. His owners were victims of a tragedy here. A piece of Heaven's Bow fell into the sea. He was wandering the streets, and when he found me, he adopted me."
He considers Buddy to have saved and adopted him just as much as he saved and adopted Buddy.
"He's very friendly, as his name suggests." Finnick grins.
As if it's appeared overnight, there's an envelope tucked under Finnick's door one morning--a large envelope, very sturdy and flat. When opened, there are two pages; first, a simple note written on white paper, in a graceful but spidery hand:
Dear Finnick,
I was not prepared for Yule. It's been some time since I had the time to celebrate, rather than merely officiating other peoples' celebrations. The idea of gifts didn't occur to me until Lioriley's arrived at my door. I hope you will pardon the simplicity of this offering. Had I magic and time I would conceive of something more useful, or at least unexpected. Alas, this poem is what I have, for now.
I don't know if you will have heard of the writer. He was human, though from a time before your own. There is a beauty, bleakness, and defiance to his work that has touched me since I first became familiar with it. I hope you will see what I see in the words, and that they will be of some reassurance to you.
Yours sincerely,
Loki Odinson
The poem attached is copied over in a much cleaner calligraphic hand, with a few drawings of stars, celestial bodies, and a compass rose in the corner of the page.
On some other handwaved occasion, Finnick gives Loki a piece of art he made from shells, and a note.
Loki,
Your gift isn't simple, and it doesn't seem rushed. It's lovely. I like poetry, and the fact that you put thought into choosing a piece that has relevance to me during a difficult time means a lot to me. I'm starting to think you may be sweeter than you believe or advertise yourself to be. ;)
In return, my own gift feels too simple as well. I find peace in doing things with my hands, which is partly why I'm still so good with rope. Recently I've found enjoyment in creating things, mostly food and little crafts made of beach materials. Adding something new to the world feels good, even if it isn't anything momentous, even if it won't change things at all. Art makes life more pleasant, I guess. That joy leads to hope for things to be better, and I suppose that's why those in power in my world wanted to rid us of that kind of joy. In Caldera, I'm able to discover it for the first time, really, and it feels so good to share it with the people I care about.
I made this while thinking of you. For some reason, it felt right to depict darkness and light in an elegant way. Interpret that as you will, because I have no idea what it means, myself.
It's beautiful, and Loki finds himself admiring it for a long, long while, imagining how carefully each natural shell was arranged on the canvas. Brushing his fingers lightly over the surface as if Finnick's prints might linger there. There is nothing he likes better than a gift made by hand.
Finnick,
I would never call myself sweet, but I admit I have soft spots, and among them is a fondness for people whose experience or outlook echoes my own. I'm grateful for your presence here, and your friendship.
I love it, the art. The slight asymmetry in color, where the shells are placed with such careful regularity, is exquisite. Whenever I can, I reject symmetry and balance, but the wheel of change, the comfort of cycles, is everything to me.
I'm glad to hear from you, Solus. I tried to find you so I could properly thank you, but you were asleep. It's going well- still getting back up to 100%, but pretty soon I'll be good as new.
[His tone is pleasant and polite, though there's something guarded in it as well, like the lightness is covering up for something, maybe.]
Ah— yes, my apologies. I am not typically in the position to act as a healer, and overextended myself.
Good. That is good. [There is a long, somewhat awkward pause. He's building up to something.] I must offer another apology as well; as I recall, my work was not clean. You will likely have a scar, if my memory is accurate?
[Solas despises this; he should have been able to push through the exhaustion, should have been able to do the work properly. Barring that, he should have known it was futile and asked... someone. Now this man will bear the mark of Solus' failure. And there's nothing he can do about it.]
I should have found another to take my place, much sooner, and to serve my pride, I did not. I can offer nothing to you but my condolences in the matter. I doubt that will be of much use.
No, no, don't apologize. I wanted to apologize for that, actually. I feel terrible for draining everyone's energy and time so much. I never want anyone to cause themselves harm in order to heal me... [It sounds like he's a little torn up about it.]
The, uh... There's actually very minimal scarring. Almost none. [He actually doesn't sound happy about this- states it almost grimly.] Lioriley is a very powerful healer, so I think that helped.
[At Solas' further apologies, he has to take a breath.]
... Listen, everyone did as much as they possibly could for me, according to their abilities. I have no doubt of that, and I have nothing but gratitude for all of you. You probably should've got someone sooner, just so you didn't exhaust yourself so much. But you don't even know me, and you used the very last of your energy to help me. Don't apologize for that.
That... [What? No scar? He's honestly shocked. How powerful must Lioreley be?] That is gracious of you. I am come only recently to this Caldera, and I have few friends here, as of yet.
[Let him believe, Solas thinks, that these two things are the reason for one another. There is no need to mention Rook, there is no need to cause this man to seek out the warranted rumors of emnity. He may yet find a foothold in this.]
If I wished only to heal only my particular acquaintances, I might as well not have come. But then of course, we are all in this together, are we not? If you are well, and satisfied, then at I have at least fulfilled my duty.
You're new, and you can already heal like that? You must be busy with quests.
[Sorry Solas, Nina has already warned Finnick about you. But while he'll be carefully analyzing Solas, he's more than willing to give him a chance. Finnick's moral compass is pretty flexible, anyway. If he personally likes someone and finds them trustworthy, there are many deeds he's willing to overlook.]
You... Really think of it that way, already? No suspicion for this place or its leaders?
[There is an overlong pause. Solas considers the merits of rebellion in the manner of a dog worrying at a bone. True, it was foolhardy to even imagine it, but he had never considered long odds a barrier to the attempt, where it was warranted.]
Are you familiar with the parable of the carrot and the stick?
If we are diligent, then perhaps our new masters shall be merciful, or so they claim. Beyond that, I cannot say much.
You are not a leader of this place, except that you are known amongst our fellow "visitors". [Can you hear the quotation marks, Finnick? Does this feel like a "visit" to you, this adventurous little kidnapping?] If we are not to band together, than how shall we prosper? Your suffering can help nothing. I was glad to be able to ease it.
I mean, they back up their promises of bestowing powers and other things we want, if we aid them with the quests. Other than that, we don't yet know if they're merciful or what their true intentions could be.
[No, it's not a visit for Finnick, as he's dead. It's here or oblivion, unless someone else yanks him to yet another new world.
He does listen thoughtfully. He feels like there's something off, but can't put his finger on what, so for now simply accepts these words.]
That makes sense. I didn't really used to feel that way, myself, but I've come around to the idea of being in this together. Helps that there are plenty of people here I'd die for, anyway.
[That which is given can be taken away, and once given can act as a chain and a threat in one. Solas makes a small, thoughtful noise at that last, just the same.]
A noble sentiment. I will hope, for your sake, that it does not come to that. In the meantime, if you require further assistance, I am at your service.
[He hesitates, after that last part. He finds himself still not trusting it. What is Solas' motivation, exactly? Just to be a good healer? Finnick doesn't really buy that he has an allegiance to the Visitors already, being so new.]
That's okay, I won't trouble you again. But let me know if there's any way I can repay you.
Special Delivery - a couple days after post volcano domesticity
At the front door, a small deerskin pouch is left waiting with a note addressed to Finnick. Inside is a bracelet made of dried juniper berries. The note is as follows…
These are ghost beads, crafted by man and nature as one. Juniper berries fall and are consumed by animals that strip the flesh and burrow into them to make a hole. Men collect them once they’re dried and make another so they can be strung. They’re supposed to protect you from evil spirits and nightmares.
[Leaving his house, Finnick stumbles upon the pouch. He smiles as he opens it and reads the note. He examines the bracelet closely, then puts it on. How sweet...
My fucking god. Your level of charm puts even Finnick Odair to shame, sir. It's a feat to make me blush, yet here I am, smiling and flustered like an idiot.
Dinner somewhere I think you would like. Mess around on the beach, fun stuff. Could be a walk by the waves, collect shells, or try to fish a little. Maybe even see what happens if we team up, me human and you some sea animal, then back to your place or mine for drinks or coffee or something. Sex optional, but it would be a perfect date if we slept together again.
[Yes, John has thought about this. No, he is not accepting criticism for daydreaming about his crush on Finnick Odair, fight him.]
[Yes John Rambo is giddy that the guy he has slept with literally and figuratively just agreed to go on a date with him, shut up. He has to try and be charming right now, nobody look at him.]
Nah. You like to pretend you have a bigger ego than you really do. After all, your head isn’t so big it takes up all the room on the pillow, so you’re safe.
I’m just as excited. Now let’s hope Yakov doesn’t ask you out, too. Might tempt you to cancel. ;)
[John Rambo has learned to emoji. Be afraid. Be very afraid.]
Hey, I've slept in your bed. It's really comfortable. No one with any sense would let their head get so big they couldn't fit on the pillow, much less fit through the doorway. Just logic.
You're sure about that? I've heard Yakov is a sexy bastard. Blonde, great body, gorgeous blue eyes and dimples for days.
Only reason I didn't ask him out myself is he hates pranks. No sense of humor.
Well, that's a long story, Davrin. Short version: Gadriel and I don't get along, but Nina thinks of both of us as her brothers. Is there something in particular you want to know? I assume Nina's told you some of it.
I'll paint you a picture of my first impression of him, if you weren't at the tavern for that mingle. He walks in, sees Lioriley, a good friend of mine and well-known visitor, who is an elf with blue skin. Apparently she looked like a type of evil magic elf from his world, so he started accusing her of wicked magic, calling her a witch, insisting that she must be hurting and manipulating the other Visitors here, generally freaking out and upsetting her. Several people told him to back off, but he only got more intense about it, and Astarion was about to pounce, so I tried to usher Gadriel out of the bar, but he wouldn't move. Then Loki (who also had blue skin so was assumed to be an evil elf) goaded Gadriel to follow him out, and Gadriel started CHASING him. Gadriel is like 9 feet tall in armor, if you've never seen him, so uh, needed to stop him from killing Loki. Night Sky wrapped him in vines, me and Loki then threatened him with knives. I went... A bit far with it, because I wanted to hurt him, and I wanted to make myself the target rather than my blue friends. I cut his throat, but purposely not deep enough to kill him. Then Lioriley healed him.
I heard almost nothing from him until he informed me on the network that he killed Night Sky, then basically told me to come and kill him for real. I went, mainly because I wanted to know more, and I was pissed. Nina showed up too. Arguments ensued, but I didn't hurt him. I just yelled at him and left. Then Nina came after me.
I told Nina I would try harder to get along with him. It's clear he means a lot to her.
My main issue with him is that he won't see past the way things work in his world. He tries to force everyone else to think and act the way he expects them to act based on what he knows from his fucked up world. He's got Nina convinced that he brought corruption here from his world, which is that evil type of magic I think, and I just... Don't think that's really how it works, unless you get the magic from the leaders, which he didn't.
I tried to see his side of things, the other day, but he's just... Difficult to talk to. You don't know me, Davrin, but I'm not boasting when I say I can get along with almost anyone. When Nina and I met, she literally asked me "what the fuck is your deal?" and interrogated me. Now she's my little sister. I can usually work past initial ill feelings and poor first impressions, and I will try to do that here. But I'm not sure if it's possible either.
I've pretty much told him the same thing about the world being different from what he's used to and he can't expect everything to be the same. I don't know him but there must be something good about him for Nina to care so much, so I'm trying to give him a chance.
Not that I'm happy to hear about this corruption shit. I'll have to find out more about that.
Still...I have a friend and we didn't get along either at first until someone important to us both got us to figure it out. It took a bit of time and a lot of work but we got there. Trust me, it wasn't easy at first though. Maybe you'll see eye to eye or maybe you won't. Maybe you just need a better understanding of each other. I know you probably can't force it though but it's a thought.
I just want to protect Nina, she's important to me.
I think a lot of people have told him that. He's slow to learn, but hopefully he will eventually. I think there's good in him. He obviously cares about her and wants to protect her. He is selfless- in his own fucked up way, but he is.
I told her to ask on the network if anyone's had similar experiences.
I'm open to working things out between he and I. I don't want to hate anyone here, especially not someone Nina is very close to.
I want the same, and feel the same. Nina and I have a very similar past. From the moment I learned this, she became family, in my mind. I would do anything to protect her. You have my word.
The three of us are at least on the same page about that, so there's always at least one thing we can agree on.
Hopefully something or someone will get through to him eventually. Some people find it hard to change from what they know.
Thanks, Finnick. It's nice to know other people are looking out for her. And I apologize for messaging you out of the blue. I'm sure she'll give me shit for doing it but I'd do anything for her.
If you ever need help with something, I'm easy to find.
That's okay. I'm glad you checked in. I'd like to meet you, sometime, too. She says there's a lighthouse and a griffon involved, both of which are interesting to me.
Thanks. Back atcha. I have minor healing and I'm working on getting the major version, so if you or Nina are ever injured, please let me know as well.
I think we are going to go away for a little bit, just to have some time to ourselves but you're welcome to visit once we get back. But reach out to her sometime.
Once the party winds down, John helps to clean up a little. Most things can wait until morning, but there’s something he likes about puttering around with Finnick after Maedhros and Stiles have retired. Gathering up a few stray glasses, putting away the perishables…snagging some leftovers for their own little private party.
John doesn’t have anything huge planned. He got some candles to light in his room just to make it a little romantic, at least. Mostly he just wants to curl up with Finnick, maybe eat a little…and give him his main present for the day.
He does, however, have another one for public consumption, so once John has a plate of some snacks and has grabbed a couple glasses for drinks, he sets them on the counter in the kitchen, easy to grab, and catches Finnick’s hand to pull him into his arms.
“So, uh…I got you something special for Valentine’s Day, but you only get it in my room.” He explains with a grin, pausing to steal a kiss. “But…I also got you something G-rated, too. Which present do you want first?”
Whew, what a night. Finnick really enjoyed the celebration of love, seeing all his hot friends in great outfits, seeing cute couples be gross, and getting a little action himself. But the final act has yet to begin, and he is really looking forward to unwinding with John.
He finishes blowing out most of the candles, but decides against taking down any decorations. They're cute, he and Lioriley worked hard on them, and he's too damn tired after such a full day. He readily moves into John's embrace with a slow smile.
"Ooh," he murmurs, stealing that peck, rubbing John's shoulders gently. "I got you a couple things too. Give me the G-rated one first- I need to recuperate some energy before anything sexy."
Despite the fact that John is fairly spoiled for physical affection these days, he finds his shoulders rolling into the sweep of Finnick’s hands to chase the contact. Maybe it’s the recent trouble with the strange, harsh moon that left him hollowed out and despairing…or maybe it’s the holiday.
John can’t remember ever really having a Valentine of his own—and he’s kind of trying to chase down every sweet moment.
Like this one: smiling, John pulls a small paper package out of his pocket and offers it to him. It’s simple, bound in twine, but there’s a fairly decent little drawing on top of a pink candy conversation heart that reads BE MINE.
“For you.” He murmurs, kissing Finnick’s cheek—and when he opens it, inside he will find a bone pendant carved into an anchor, wrapped and strung on a deerskin leather cord.
Finnick takes the package, and exhales a surprised "aw" as he sees the drawing of the heart. He grins as he opens it carefully, easily untying the twine and making certain not to rip the paper, in order to keep the drawing intact.
He gently takes the necklace in hand, awestruck as he turns it over.
"Wow. This is... Beautiful. Did you make this?!"
He knows John made the bracelet that Finnick now never takes off- a permanent fixture along with his undine sapphire necklace and golden locket with Annie and Mags inside.
"I love it so much, John." He lifts his gaze to meet John's eyes, his own sparkling with adoration. "Thank you." He pulls him in for a kiss.
He nods a little, blushing and beaming as Finnick's face lights up.
"Yeah--I, uh, started it a while ago. Wanted to give it to you before, but it took some time and then I found the junipers, so I made the ghost beads." he explains shyly. "Thought about using twine but I'm not as good at knots as you are..."
He trails off as Finnick kisses him, gladly sinking into it as he pulls him closer, burrowing his hands into his hair. He doesn't pull, though, not when Finnick said he wants to chill out for a moment. Besides, this? This is what having a Valentine is all about, at least as far as John is concerned. Someone to hold, someone to kiss--someone to just be with for the day, and this is...more than he dreamed of.
"Happy Valentine's Day." he whispers with a smile as the kiss breaks, reaching to cover Finnick's hand holding the pendant. "Can I help you put it on? Here, I made the cord adjustable so it won't tangle with your locket 'n stuff..."
"It's perfect. Leather is more comfortable to wear than twine, anyway. What's the pendant made of?"
He hugs John closely after they kiss, just holding him for a moment. After all the excitement is over, it's so nice to have someone to be with. Someone steady who he knows will stay. Someone who really, truly loves him.
"Of course," Finnick says softly, offering the necklace to John. "That's sweet of you to think of."
John enjoys the quiet moment of just...holding him, the hand in his hair curling around the back of his head to draw him closer, hold him securely, safe in his arms. It makes his chest tight, that simple and uncomplicated embrace, and reminds him why that isolation under the moon hurt so fucking much.
I will kill to keep this. I'll fight any war to hold you.
The violence of that silent promise to himself, and to Finnick, is strangely soft, tender, and dripping in so much blood he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue as he releases him to take the pendant and slip it over his head. He adjusts the cord so it rests well below his faction talisman and his locket, safe from tangling.
"It's bone--big coyote I took down." he explains. "Coyotes are trouble, but they're tricksters. Wily, smart, y'know? Smart made me think of you, and since Loki's a trickster, too, thought you'd enjoy that extra bit. Keep him close, too."
A token of his own love, and a quiet show of his acceptance--a reassurance that this form of commitment from Finnick: to love him and keep loving him, to protect his badly bruised heart at all costs, is more than enough for John.
Finnick touches his fingertips to it once it's on. It seems to fit perfectly. It feels right, sitting there below his collarbones.
"You're so sweet," he murmurs. It's thoughtful and so kind that he'd include Loki in the gift when he really didn't need to. "And quite the craftsman. I'll wear it with pride. How does it look?"
He smiles softly- his shirt is now way more unbuttoned than it had been at the beginning of the party, and his waistcoat is undone too, since he was feeling sweaty and too stifled. Thus, his chest is pretty exposed.
"Come up to my room," he takes John by the hand. "Your presents are in there." He'll help John carry the snacks and drinks up.
John looks him over--and it's hard not to do so with an appreciative eye. Not just because he's gorgeous, but because he's unkempt, tousled. This intimate view of him, just a little rumpled and relaxed and on display, both lovely glimpses of his body and how relaxed he is...
"Beautiful." he breathes, looking right into Finnick's eyes as he reaches up to smooth his hand over Finnick's cheek. He surrenders it almost immediately as Finnick indicates his room, letting him take John's hand as they both pick up some of their snacks and drinks.
"Lead on, Macduff." he replies, then remembering Finnick's world...
"That's, uh--from a famous play where I come from. Kind of slang for 'lead the way' if you wanna look smart."
John calls him beautiful, and somehow it's different from any other time he's been called it. It's clear John isn't just talking about his appearance, but his entire... Being. It makes him smile bashfully and duck his head a little.
Scampering upstairs, he feels a little giddy.
"Macduff is a funny name. You should call me that more often." Missing the entire point, Finnick, but okay.
Arriving in his room and putting all the stuff down, he pulls out a small box, and it's tied with a ton of pink and red and white ribbons in elaborate knots, bows, and curls. It looks beautiful, if a bit crazy.
"Kinda went overboard with this wrapping. It was fun. The other one isn't wrapped at all." He opens a drawer and pulls out a small succulent.
"I was shopping with Solas and he suggested you might like to have something to take care of. Y'know, other than me and Delmar and the roommates," he laughs slightly, half-sitting and half-leaning on top of his desk. "I thought the succulent was fitting because it grows in a harsh environment where it's not given much of what it needs, but it adapts and survives strong anyway, while retaining its beauty and softness. That reminded me of you. I didn't choose a cactus because you're not prickly, even though I think it would be fair if you were." He holds it out to John with a small smile. "And hey, maybe if you like having a plant you can get more. It could be a hobby, I thought."
John definitely needs some hobbies, and the only way to figure out what you like doing is to... Try stuff.
When he sees the plant, John’s chest gets tight, and it gets tighter by the moment as Finnick keeps talking. The thought and care he put into the gift, with no clue as to what else it might mean…
Reaching for the succulent, John tries to remember the last time he saw one back home and can’t. Not the trees, the sparse grass, the cacti. Touching one little leaf, he’s surprised to feel a tiny pang of homesickness for the familiar things that are worlds away from the humid jungles of Vietnam. The dry hot air, the earthtones…
He put so much thought into this, and he didn’t even know John was raised in the desert. When he looks up at Finnick, his eyes are shining but not spilling, and he’s smiling.
“That’s—I love it.” He replies, laughing a little. “Surprised me…I grew up in the desert, where these come from. The fact that you put so much more thought into this…it means so much. So much—thank you.”
He pauses, then snickers as he leans in to kiss Finnick soundly.
"Oh, right!" He laughs. John had told him he grew up in the desert, but for Finnick that was so long ago that he'd forgotten. Funny how he'd coincidentally picked something relevant, or maybe some part of his subconscious remembered. "A piece of home, too, then." Finnick imagines if he was somewhere without the ocean he would love to grow, say, seaweed for the nostalgic smell.
He smiles and kisses John back.
"Yes! Open it!" He insists excitedly as he pushes the box into John's hands. "Uh. You might need your knife," he laughs again.
Inside the box, wrapped in paper, John will find a necklace made of seaglass with a cord tied into a celtic knot.
With a grin—and yes, to show off a little—John draws his knife from the small of his back where it’s sheathed and slices through the ribbons with the tip.
Yes, he was armed at the party. Strangers in his home, with his friends and loved ones…
Opening the package, John’s breath rushes out of his lungs at the sight of the pendant. The gleaming green sea glass with the delicately woven knot—the same kind he told Finnick he does so much better than John…
For a second, he’s reminded of Co’s Buddha pendant, and he wonders if he met her for this reason. A good woman who gave him so much hope, wearing her own beautiful green gem so he would know, when he found someone else who gave him as much as she did, know them by their gleaming green sea glass.
He knows, in that moment, he has to get the Buddha back. That it’s for Finnick—that this, them, that it’s forever. Open hearts and all.
“This…means more than you know.” He replies softly, beaming up at him. “You made this, too, didn’t you? It’s…fuck, it’s perfect. It’s so perfect, it’s gorgeous. I love it-here, help me put it on? Please?”
Finnick had assumed he was armed at the party, because... Well, it's part and parcel with John's whole deal.
His partner seems somewhat stunned by the gift, which- Finnick doesn't think it's that amazing, it's rather simple really.
"Of course I did. Oh-" He smiles and ducks his head bashfully. The praise feels overboard, but it's nice. "It's not all that, it was easy to make." He takes the necklace from John. It's adjustable, too, with well-placed tiny knots that act as stops to keep the string from letting out once tightened, but aren't so tight you can't still loosen it manually by pulling. He loosens it, lifts it over John's head, and then tightens it to hang right in between his collarbones.
"Looks perfect now that it's on you," he murmurs. The triangular glass almost emulates the shape of the anchor, and seems to suit John, somehow.
"Seaglass is one of my favourite things, as you can tell." He laughs slightly and gestures around his room at the seaglass that's accumulated on surfaces, in little jars, and displayed in art pieces. "So, only fitting to claim one of my most favourite people with it."
Claim. John likes how easily that falls from his lips, loves the way it makes him feel. Special and loved and…cherished.
…and wildly possessive in a way that brings some relief with it. Not of Finnick as a whole, but this bit of him. This little moment when he’s reading John like a book and treasuring every word, open and sharing and eagerly being his Valentine’s date for tonight.
“Property of Finnick Odair. Now that sounds like Heaven.” John murmurs, reaching up to touch the pendant where it sits against his chest. He catches the glass in his fingers, brings it to his lips to kiss, then releases it to pull Finnick in for another kiss of his own.
“I like being yours…and I like you being mine.” He admits softly against his lips. “My gorgeous sailor…my Finnick.”
He laughs softly, thinking of giving all his serious partners this kind of jewelry, as a way of signalling to others who they're involved with- like having a brand, again, but this time it's his choice.
"I'll try to treat you like the precious thing you are," he purrs.
He wraps his arms around John's neck, stroking the hair at the back of his head, kissing him slowly.
"I like it, too," he breathes. "My handsome, adorable sweetheart." He kisses John's cheek.
"You had another gift for me? Did you want to do that, or just relax for a bit?"
John is, understandably, a little distracted by having Finnick stroking his hair and pressing close and using that tone he can’t resist—the one that always makes him melt. So it takes a second for him to find the words to answer with a shy smile.
“Well, uh—depends if you still want a break before getting frisky.” He replies, nuzzling Finnick’s cheek. “It’s uhm…something you get to sit back and enjoy while I unwrap it for you.”
"Well, I can certainly sit back. Sounds like a nice break to me. Let me just get more comfortable."
Finnick smiles, gives John another peck, then takes off his suit jacket and vest, draping them on his desk chair. He grabs his drink and the little plate of cheese and such and splays out on his bed, sighing with relief to finally be off his feet. Slowly, he sips at the drink, nibbles at the food, and rolls up the sleeves of his half-buttoned floral shirt, allowing John to do... Whatever it is he's going to do.
John feels his heart start to race as Finnick settles in. It starts out as nerves, but by the time he’s rolling up his sleeves, putting himself on display in that casually intimate and nonsexual way, it’s more anticipation.
Having Finnick’s undivided attention like this—he feels a little crazy for the fact that he’s feeling just a little bit turned on and he’s still fully clothed.
A striptease isn’t something John can really…do, not without looking stupid, so he doesn’t try. He just reaches up and takes his time, slowly sliding each button of his shirt through each hole. One by one, he undoes them, and pauses to tug his shirt a little further open with each one. Slowly, his chest and stomach are laid bare to his gaze, one button at a time leaving John naked to the waist save for his faction talisman and Finnick’s pendant.
Then, taking a deep breath, John starts to undo his pants in the same way after kicking off his shoes…and slowly, the boxer briefs he finally settled on buying at Vestiture come into view, gradually revealed as John starts to slide his pants down off his hips.
Soon, it becomes clear what John meant by 'unwrapping', and Finnick's eyebrows raise suggestively. He settles in to watch John slowly reveal his beautifully muscled abdomen, in his own sort of shy endearing way.
"Oooooh," he says, once he starts to see the black mesh boxer-briefs, sheer enough to see some of what's going on underneath, but not all.
"Very nice..." He bites his lip with a grin, putting his plate to the side to watch while sipping his drink, propped on his elbow. He feels a little like a Capitol pig, but... A little voyeurism can be his little treat for being a good boy, right?
John is very aware of Finnick watching his every move. He can feel his eyes, and it’s like he’s physically touching John, the sweep of his gaze leaving heat in its wake.
Once he’s pushed his pants down his legs and bent to step out of them, he can’t resist picking them up and turning to drape them over a nearby chair, giving Finnick a chance to check him out from behind.
By the time he faces Finnick again, he’s visibly hard as he smiles, shy but with a hint of shaky boldness.
“Do, uh…do you like it?” He asks, half aware of absently smoothing a hand over his chest and stomach. “It’s—it’s not usually my thing, but I know you’re used to people sitting back and admiring the view. So, tonight, I wanted you to have something you thought was pretty to look at instead.”
And thinking about that even as he says it has John’s hand sweeping a little lower on his stomach as his hands slides over his belly, palm skimming over the waistband of his briefs as he feels his cock throb with a fresh wave of heat.
His eyes do sweep over John thoroughly, drinking him in. Every curve of that tanned skin, every shift of muscle under it.
And that ass. Oh, it's perfect, muscled and juicy and plump cheeks under that tight mesh, the curve of it illuminated well by the candlelight.
Perhaps most enticing, though, is the way John touches himself. Finnick's not sure what it is, whether he's thinking of his own hands doing it or if it's just the idea of John's skin being touched at all that's enjoyable... Or if it's the prospect of John making himself feel good with his own touch. In any case,
"I love it. You're beautiful, love, and very sexy." A small grin. His eyes glance to John's obvious erection.
"You like it, then? Me watching you? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
The last thing he would want is for John to feel how he felt, drooled over like a piece of meat while naked and bared for the world. Sure, it could be fun at times, but it also had made him feel... Empty, like no one cared about the person underneath. Like he'd be worthless without his beauty.
The hand smoothing over his chest and stomach starts to linger over his chest, feeling and seeing Finnick’s eyes moving over him making him feel warm all over in the best way possible. The compliments still get a shy smile, still make him blush, but the color creeping down his neck and chest is as much arousal as it is bashfulness.
He feels anything but empty or devalued. He feels like his every movement is being catalogued, studied, memorized like poetry or music. Like he’s the center of the universe, Finnick’s own personal sun to orbit.
“I’m…outta my comfort zone.” He replies honestly. “Not comfortable, but not a bad thing. Just not used to this, and…yeah. I do, I think, like you watching me like this—“
The way he’s touching himself does feel nice, maybe a little self soothing, but is still mostly unconscious. Then his fingers slide just so, his nail catches on the edge of one of his scars, and John discovers that apparently that is an erogenous zone he didn’t know he had.
His eyes shut with a gasp, shoulders dropping as he reflexively tries to chase that delicious shock of sensation, and his hips just barely cant forward like they’re looking for something to press against.
It makes sense that this is out of his comfort zone. He thinks back to Cinna saying that John has no idea how good he looks. He imagines it's hard for him to find the confidence to show himself off like this. Finnick's not sure if something or someone in John's past made him feel ashamed of his body, or if he's just not naturally very confident, but either way, it's nice that he's pushing himself to do something like this. Finnick will treat it with the care and sensitivity he needs and deserves.
"I think you do, too," he murmurs slyly with another look to John's erection.
Then something happens- Finnick isn't quite sure what, but John reacts.
"Found something that feels good? Try doing it again," he encourages gently.
John knows he likes being told what to do, the strange, delicious way it messes with his head. This isn’t it, doesn’t bring the golden fog. The gentle question and encouragement smooth away the mild embarrassment of his knee jerk reaction, leaving just the pleasant heat of a blush and that low, electric hum of excitement he’s discovering when he’s being watched when he’s on display like this.
So, very deliberately, he does it again. Running the edge of one nail very gently along the scar highest on his chest, the sparks of sensation make him shiver pleasantly as he sighs. Heat pools low in his belly, and it feels so good he just—
John opens his eyes before he can be swept away by that urge: to slide a hand down to palm himself through that sheer material, tease himself, get himself off with Finnick watching him. Just thinking about it…
…makes him realize he wants it. To let Finnick have that moment, where he was forced to be this for other people, John wants to be for him tonight. Not to play with power but to let Finnick be the one indulging himself with John. To know he can ask for anything and get it, and that John will enjoy it.
So he moves closer to the bed, close enough to touch—to reassure him with a greater sense of intimacy that he’s giving Finnick a gift still and not playing games as he smiles down at him shyly…and gently scratches that scar again with a hum of pleasure that isn’t remotely exaggerated.
“That does feel good. What, uhm…what else should I do? That you think might feel good, or—y’know—that you just want to see?”
I am not given to complaining more than is absolutely necessary, but circumstances have compelled me to register a complaint. I find the accomodations of the so-called "book-club" completely unacceptable!
Having received and duly read the melodramatic tripe foisted upon me at the inception of this ""book club"" which I, having originally joined in search of friendship and literature, joined in good faith and eagerness to share my opinion. And yet! Not only did I find my arrival not anticipated, but my physical presence wholly barred from the supposed """club""" to which I was meant to be part! Indeed, I was barred from the entire interior of the house!
Because it's too damned small! For some members! Of the """"book club"""" to enter!
Did you do any research at all! Did you pay attention? I would believe anything of such a person who, in all honesty, ought to be ashamed of himself! Whether this came about from stupidity, ignorance, incompetence, or malice, you'd better believe I'm not done complaining about it!
See to it that you do better, young man, or I'll better yourself for you! At top volume, if you make it necessary!
Your neighbor and fellow Visitor, Skandranon Rashkae The Black Gryphon
PS: Snd the """""book""""" was terrible! Who's picking these things? Do better!!!!
[In reading this, Finnick goes on a journey. At first he's alarmed and concerned, then offended and a little pissed... By the end, realization dawns and he sort of just finds it funny.
Okay, so this is the gryphon guy he's been seeing around because uh, he's very hard to miss, and he's mad he was unable to enter Finnick's house. Which! That's not good! He would have tried to accommodate him, had he realized in time. But the dramatics are a bit too off the charts to take seriously (and also, if he takes it seriously it's very rude, so he'd rather just laugh).]
Hi Skandranon,
Thanks for bringing me your complaint. Harsh as it is, I'm glad you brought up the issue.
I apologize deeply for your exclusion from the book club and my party due to the size constraints of my house. I wasn't aware of your participation in the book club- I should have asked Lioriley for the sign-up list, but it's her club, not mine. I was just hosting. I don't appreciate the insinuation of me being stupid, incompetent, or malicious, but I admit that I was ignorant. Neither of us would ever want to bar anyone from participation for any reason, so I feel horrible that this happened.
Next time we'll be sure to have the meeting outside, or in an indoor space that can accommodate your size (and any larger-sized individuals; now that I think of it, Gadriel may have trouble as well, though I'm not sure if he's signed up or wants to attend).
Lioriley picked the book this month, and I enjoyed it. A different Visitor will get to pick the book each month, which means you'll have your turn to delight us with your taste in literature. In the meantime, I'd appreciate you not insulting my friends' choices.
I might have been a bit harsh with the line about stupidity, but you do admit your fault, so. I'll suppose we let bygones be bygones, only if you don't let it happen again.
It's difficult enough being brought here without so much as a by-your-leave, and worse when there isn't a house you can fit into, an eatery that'll serve you, and most people treat you like a performing animal. In winter, no less!
But that's not an excuse for letting it get the better of my temper.
Your friend does have bad taste in books, though. But I've no business addressing that to you. My apologies.
That sounds very hard. I'm sorry you're in that situation- it doesn't seem fair at all. I've been here for a while and have a good number of connections and Bones, so if there's any way I can help, please let me know.
It's okay. You don't have to like the book or say good things about it- I think the point is to be honest with our thoughts. Just please don't insult her directly. You might find my patience is thin for people mistreating her in particular. She does a lot for the people here.
I know you're not begging, and I know I have no debt to you. I'm just offering. Part of being a Visitor is helping each other. With quests, and keeping each other safe from threats, but I've also been helped in a lot of other ways, and it's really turned things around for me. I want to pay that forward where I can.
It's one thing to watch each other's back, or to lend a hand for which you'll be paid, but to call it a community takes more than wealth and connections.
Alright, I'll hear it: what do you imagine I have to offer you, then?
Ha! If you'd made that offer last week, you'd have been out of luck. They took the use of my wings off me, when bringing me here. I've only had the sky back for a day and a night.
But if you're so insistent on proving your point, go pick out a mission and we'll see what you're good for. I know where you live, at least for now. Meeting up shouldn't be much trouble.
I'll have Assan deliver hot soup directly into your face.
She stopped me from punching Cordelia down in Salt Spire. She also mentioned Panem. Like she was... taken there? Or some shit? Do you know what the fuck she's talking about or is she crazy?
Don't make that baby do your violent bidding! You got soup to throw at me, do it yourself tough guy
Hold on. You tried to punch Cordelia? Why?
Bit of both. The Panem thing is true. She was taken there from her world like how we were dropped here, and the same sort of resurrection thing happened there to send them into the Games over and over.
I existed there but she never met me? She met Annie though, and Katniss... The timeline of events was different, starting at the Quarter Quell (my second Games) I think. They brought in tributes from other worlds for it instead of choosing tributes from living Victors.
Because I was upset and didn't know who else to take it out on after Davrin almost fucking died and multiple people did that can't even come back.
That sounds insane. She didn't say much beyond dropping the name and saying she fought and bled with people in the games. I didn't mention you since it's not my place, but I told her she's not the only one that's dealt with shitty games before.
Either way, I think she's trying to... bond with me. Or some shit. She acted awfully high and mighty down there when she tried to stop me, then argued with me about gods. She better not be bossing you around, too.
Please don't actually :( I need the face it's important to my brand
Well. Okay fair but I don't think this was her fault... Then again it's pretty unclear what her part IS in this
Hm. No, not bossing me, but she is a little... Odd. Probably the trauma- it's not like we're normal ourselves. If she knows you're a Victor, she'll probably be protective over you like I am. But let me know if it's too much and I'll talk to her.
Agree with you there. Before this she was quiet for months, at least that's how it felt. Not to mention Anthem and I were practically taking on the cult of Triton by ourselves with no help from Cordelia.
That's understandable to be pissed about, I'd say. It can be off-putting to be called a friend before someone's actually earned your trust. She's a bit overly familiar with me, too. I consider all Victors family, but sometimes she acts like she knows exactly what I've gone through, but I'm sure our experiences are substantially different, and I don't think she actually knows the half of my stuff.
I'm doing better -- in large part, thanks to you and the triage you set up in your inbox. But, um--
Yes, that sounds good. I just thought -- well, I'm not sure if I can really talk about this with most people, they wouldn't understand -- but I knew you would, so...
[ She's rambling. Get it together, Lavellan. ]
--In the orb. I saw my future. I saw Solas and I. And... there was a baby. My baby. Our baby.
I never thought -- Oh, it was so perfect, Finnick. It was the sweetest little baby I've ever seen.
[ Oh no, now he's got Beleth feeling a bit weepy. She has been trying not to get overly emotional about the sight (again), but Finnick's reaction, and the news of his child, make that impossible to avoid. ]
You saw yours, too? And it was a boy? Oh, Finnick. I'm so happy for you. That must be such a relief.
[ He'd known his wife was pregnant, but with so much up in the air when he died, she can't imagine how it had been weighing on him -- at least she had not had that worry. ]
So much death had followed after the war. For both of us, I'm sure. I never thought -- Well, I never thought Solas and I would be in the position to be able to even think about children.
There was a time I thought children would be inevitable for me. But it wouldn't be... something that happened out of love. I thought it would be a duty, one I didn't look forward to. But it's entirely different, with Solas.
[There's a sniff. Don't mind him, having another little cry about this.
He tries to get it together as he listens to Beleth. He gets it- not thinking of kids as an option because it's impossible to see past all the immediate death and suffering. He'd always wanted kids but never wanted to raise them in such a cruel world- now, the knowledge that his son will grow up without fear is priceless.
He isn't quite sure what she means by having kids not out of love but out of duty- but it doesn't sound pleasant, no.]
That's so lovely. You'll both be such good parents. I'm so, so happy for all three of you- how lucky.
[He doesn't even feel a lick of jealousy that Beleth will someday have that future with Solas, while Finnick will probably never be able to be there with his family, not in the flesh. The grief of that still lingers underneath it all, but he's been processing that since his death, anyway. He's still just basking in the sweet knowledge that they're alive and okay. He's so happy for Beleth and Solas, happy that their love will be shared with a child. What a gift, for all of them.]
I found out that we won the war. Both of the tyrants were removed and Panem elected a new leader. My son will never have to participate in the Games, or even know about them, aside from a historical thing. Things will be more peaceful, at least that's my hope. It was all worth it.
[His sacrifice was not in vain. Finnick would choose to die a horrible death in a sewer 100 more times for this outcome.]
It must feel incredible to know that you built a world like that for your son. I know I said this before, Finnick, but I'm truly proud of you, and what you've done. That might sound silly to say as someone who isn't from Panem, but -- I really admire you.
[ Is the world that her child will be born to better? She doesn't know. Thedas was looking pretty rough when she left, and she and Solas would be living with the Fade, a thing few had accomplished. What life would their child have?
She'd figure something out. She always did. ]
I wish... that we could have our children play together. Do you think they'd be friends?
I say that like I know anything about the child, aside from that it exists. I don't even know the gender. Just that it was mine. But -- I'll meet them, someday.
[Alright, give him a second, because that made more tears well up and his throat get tighter. What a sweet thing to say, and he's torn between wanting to brush it off because it's so much, and just being absolutely touched.]
It wasn't- [A sniff. A steadying breath.] It wasn't just me. There were so many people working tirelessly and making huge sacrifices for the rebellion. But thank you, Beleth, that truly means a lot to me.
[And their kids playing together- well, that sends a rush of serotonin through his brain. He laughs a little breathlessly.]
I think they would. They both will have such cool parents, so how could they not be cool too?
[She'll meet them, someday. Yes. That's where a little grief, and a little envy seeps into him. Still, he's smiling, happy for her.]
I'm aware that it wasn't just you. Few are the rebellion that manages on the back of one person's sacrifices. [ Even Solas had help, at one point. ] That doesn't mean that I can't respect what you did. What you helped build.
[ She laughs when he talks about their parents being cool. Is she cool? Is Solas cool? She'll have to tell him--
The thought of Solas, along with Finnick mentioning that she can't wait, makes her realize she'll have to tell him... Ah. ]
...I'm looking forward to it, but I can wait. Because-- Finnick, I apologize for making this request after telling you something I was so excited for, but... If you see Solas, please don't tell him about the child I saw. Our child.
He's... not ready for that. He'd get in his head about it. He doesn't think he'll be any good as a father, and I think hearing about the baby would cause him undue worry. He'll be ready for it, eventually, but--For now. I'm sorry to ask it of you.
[ Sorry to ask him to hide this, and sorry that it needs to be hidden. But as bad as it feels to hide it, it would feel worse to see Solas so upset over news that had made her feel so giddy. It was not something she wished to experience. ]
Thank you. I appreciate it. It... It was fucking hard. So hard. So I'm glad it worked out.
[So much suffering, and so much of it could have been completely in vain. But it wasn't.
He listens with concern to Beleth's plea, and her apologies.]
Oh... Yeah, of course. It's not my place to tell him that, anyway. You do it when you're ready. And don't apologize.
[He definitely understands having doubts or trepidation about becoming a parent. It's a thing to be handled carefully, and only between the two of them. Finnick can understand, though, why Beleth wanted to tell someone about this who would understand and be happy for her, rather than someone who would be panicked by the news.]
Thank you, Finnick. [ She feels a surge of relief. Of course Finnick would understand, and would agree. ]
You are a true friend. As strange as arriving at Caldera has been, and the events that have transpired... [ First Finnick got hurt helping Ignacia, then Beleth got hurt during Cordelia's nonsense. ] ...I can't help but be grateful, anyway. That I've met such good people, and made friends of them.
I'm sure you're already aware of this, but if you need any help that I can provide, you need merely ask. How are things holding up with your inn?
I feel the same. [And perhaps the smile can be heard in his voice.] I'm glad we met, Beleth. You're a special kind of person.
You've already helped me, but I will. And you know it goes both ways.
The Inn is busy, but it's starting to settle out now, and it's been fun to meet all the new Visitors and get to know them. I'm enjoying it, even if I am bone tired.
Oh, thank goodness. Your gems were left behind, and your names on the network still existed, so I was trying to reassure myself and Rolan that you'd be back. But yes, we were worried.
I'm glad you're okay. Let me know if you need anything.
I sent him a message, too. He's a good man. A bit cocksure and abrasive, but an exceptionally good man.
We're fine. Finnick...we got married at the tabernacle in Baldur's Gate. Don't feel left out, though. It was a small ceremony there, and we're going to still have the one we were planning here.
That's good to hear. He and I got off on the wrong foot, but I can tell he really cares for you both. I brought him some wine and lobster and offered my help on the farm so I think we'll be able to work things out.
[Oh. That feels... Well, it's not really fair to be upset over that, is it?]
Well, congratulations. I'm still looking forward to your Caldera wedding. After all, the laws are different here ;) you need to make it official in both places.
He saved the children I could not, in the Shadowlands. For that alone I owe him more than I can repay.
But of course you're entitled to form your own opinion on his personality. He can be difficult, but he's the sort who will yell and complain and then go out of his way to help someone.
Honestly I cannot tell you how strange it was back home. I spoke to Halsin, Astarion, Rolan, even little Barcus, and not a one of them knew what I was talking about when I mentioned Caldera. Hells, I even saw Minthara but I wanted nothing to do with her. Only me and Anthem remembered. I don't know if that means we're from different versions of Faerun than the others here, or if there was some sort of memory erasure that affected them but not us.
But my fellow Hellriders wanted to stand witness to my marriage. It's a new chapter, not just for me but for them as well.
He had some... Choice words about you and Anthem, which confused me, and in trying to stick up for you, I just pissed him off.
That is strange. I didn't remember this place when I went home. It's hard to imagine that they'd each be from a different version of the place. I don't know- thinking about it too much hurts my head.
Yeah, of course. Uh... How is it a new chapter for them, exactly?
[Finnick doesn't actually know much about Hellriders, except that they're obviously badass.]
I...am trying to stay out of whatever goes on with him and Anthem. I had no idea they knew each other before, until I saw them sniping at each other in the Gate. They bicker like siblings, but I think however nasty they may be to each other, they'd immediately turn on any outsider who threatened to trouble them.
But don't worry about me. Rolan hasn't said anything that's not true. I know him. He's harsh, but he's no liar. And I can take anything he can dish out.
Hellriders were the elite cavalry sworn to protect Elturel, and the surrounding Kingdom of Elturgard. We swore a sacred Oath to protect the realm, the leaders of the city, and the innocent people therein. Not all Hellriders were tieflings, but there were quite a few of us in the ranks.
The thing about the Oath was that it was for life. You don't stop being a Hellrider. You don't retire. When you hit the point where you're about to be too old for it, or if you want to stop, you're given a final mission, one that you're not going to survive, and you go out in a blaze of glory.
Some Hellriders did marry and have families--Rolan's parents were Hellriders, in fact--but knowing you would die in battle no matter what makes that delicate business. I could never bring myself to settle down, knowing I'd leave a grieving spouse and children, probably with no body to bury.
We're not sworn to Elturel any longer, though. The city cast us out, and we're free to build a new oath from the ground up, and to marry with the expectation that whether we retire or not, we're at least not expected to die on a suicide mission.
I... See. I guess I'm just... Confused? What he said about you was harsh, but I could understand it. What he said about Anthem just didn't seem in line with her character. Like that she bullied him in school? And abandoned him when people were dying in Elturel? So if that wasn't a lie... Was he exaggerating? I mean, he was drunk.
Oh... I see. I'm glad that's not your fate anymore, even if the reason for that isn't good. I know how a suicide mission feels, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
I'm grateful you and Anthem will live long happy lives together, and grateful for the time I have with you here, however long or short.
[Even if ultimately, they leave and Finnick stays.]
It's not like her to gratuitously bully someone, no, although she's always been determined and sometimes sharp-tongued, and Rolan is...equally sharp-tongued and holds onto his pride so tightly it's a wonder his claws don't crack under the pressure. I can see their rivalry getting intense enough to hurt feelings, but as I said, I really didn't know they knew one another.
I suspect what he meant by abandoning him was that Anthem was with an adventuring party when Elturel was pulled into Avernus. She lost and sacrificed as much as anyone else in the fight to save the city, and without her and her companions there would have been no hope at all. But once the city was returned to the material plane again, she and her companions had additional work to do--there were further-reaching consequences of Elturel's fall, which they were honor-bound to respond to. They left shortly after the city's restoration, but before the political currents turned so viciously against the tieflings.
Anthem wasn't there when we were cast out. I've always been glad of that; I can only imagine it would have broken her heart. But it was brutal for all of us; perhaps Rolan wished she was there to lean on. He's always taken the brunt of the world for his siblings.
She's not to blame for any of it, but his feelings are his feelings.
Ooh, but where's the fun in that? I got a surprise for you anyway. So don't keep me waiting long~♡
The surprise being Angel not only laying seductively in the bed, lights dimmed to flickering candle light for ~ambiance~, but he was also sporting black lingerie he had just picked up that may or may not (it was) be laced with aphrodisiac perfume.
And as soon as the door opened: "Heya big boy. Come to collect the rent I owe ya?" Brow waggle.
And he does. He doesn't even change, still in his work clothes, which are just his regular clothes but a bit sweatier.
One perk of owning the Inn- you don't have to ask for a room number for your late-night visit.
As he knocks softly and opens the door, the scene before him does take him by surprise. It shouldn't; Angel is always a bit extra, but he figured since the text seemed spontaneous that he'd be snuggled into bed, or whatever.
"Whoa."
The cheesy line makes him laugh. "Yep. That's me. Big boy. Very large guy here to ask where my Bones are." He closes the door behind him and saunters over, looking down at Angel in the candlelight. His eyes wander, drinking him in.
Angel rolled over onto his back, upper arms resting above his head, one leg kicked out and the other laid flat, so long his boot covered foot dangled over the edge a few inches.
"Oh, mister landlord, I don't have any money! But I bet there's another bone I can take care of for you. Would that cover it?" His eyelashes fluttered, one of his lower hands pressing to Finnick's thigh. "Have mercy on this little ol spider~"
Look at him, suddenly a bonafide character in a shitty porno.
He squints at Angel, like he's a bit suspicious. "Hmmm..."
Bending down over him, one hand plants on the bed. With the other, he trails his fingertips up Angel's thigh, over the black lingerie, past the fluff on his chest, up to his chin. He holds it between his fingers, as though appraising the spider.
He leaned up just enough to properly return the kiss, sharp teeth catching on Finnick's lower lip as he pulled back. Not enough to puncture, but enough to sting as he dragged the points across.
"I dunno," he murmured playfully, fingers curling against his crotch and kneading. "I hear you're real good at filling holes, and I got a few that might need some caulking."
It's a bit like a brush with a bear trap, though definitely more of a pleasant thrill. Especially with that kneading, which makes Finnick hum.
He laughs in turn, softly.
"I can fill your holes, babycakes. But how about... Letting me on the bed with you, first?" Ever heard of foreplay, Angel? No, he's a porn star, of course not. Well, time to learn.
He knew what foreplay was!!! Did he participate in it often? No, but shut up.
"Plenty of room, doll." He pulled his long long legs up and scooted over to make room, not entirely sure which direction he wanted to go, but clearly willing to adjust accordingly.
"You like that, baby?" He purred. Angel put up no resistance to being manhandled either, and happily rolled onto him, one of his many hands carding through his hair while they kissed. The other three that were currently out worked on sliding up and under his shirt, and down to his crotch again, tracing the outline of his cock through his pants.
"I do," he hums back. "And so soft... And so sexy..." He keeps murmuring against Angel's lips, moaning softly as his many hands light up his senses.
He reaches down to grope Angel's ass, pressing the spider's hips against his own in the process. He grabs angel's lip between his teeth, pulling on it gently before letting it slip through.
"Sure hope you can't come up with rent any time soon..."
His hips lifted obediently, a heady moan rumbling in his throat. His own dick was still tucked away — but god damn could he feel Finnick's hardening first in his grasp, then in the cradle of his thighs when he pressed their bodies together.
"Mm. Maybe we can make this a permanent arrangement? Money's kinda tight, but I got something tighter you might like better."
"That tight little ass will work just fine," he growls, squeezing it again. God, Angel is just dredging up the skeeziest parts of him. It's kind of fun, even if it is ridiculous.
Hands, everywhere, grazing his abdominal muscles and gills, around his cock, in his hair. His own hands wander Angel further, exploring.
It was fun and no one was making him do it. Angel got to enjoy the silly little game all on his own and Finnick seemed to be having fun — so what was the harm?
He had hands everywhere, and one left still to reach back and pull a drawer open in the nightstand so he could fish around, pull out a pair of handcuffs, pause, and then snort out a laugh. "Looking for the lube so you can bend me over and fuck me into the sheets. Maybe we can play with these later." Unless...
Anyway. Lube. Handcuffs tossed onto the bed, vial pulled out so he could pop the cork off. Did he time the pop with the exact moment his dick sprung free and pressed between them?
I hope you accept these glasses and such for any non-human guests. They're sturdier than what's made for humans since glassware and such here is too fragile to be manipulated for hooves, claws, and mouths alone.
I'll try and think of something but really most of the times I don't realize the issue until I bump into it. I broke a ridiculous amount of glasses holding them between my hooves up until I got my telekinesis back. Which works fine for Alicorns like me or Unicorns but Pegasi and Earth Ponies would be struggling since they don't have that kind of magic.
It's a tricky thing, adapting for hooves and talons and stuff, but I'm sure it's possible if we put our heads together. Always trying to make things easier for folks, and make them feel more welcome.
Here's what Angel did during the whole Triton fiasco:
Nothing.
Well. That wasn't entirely true. He drank a lot, played cards with whoever was still hanging out at the inn, and just sort of hoped whatever bullshit was happening outside wouldn't come inside. Thankfully, it didn't. This place was holding up pretty well. Shame the owner wasn't.
"Rough couple of days, babycakes?" Angel finally asked a handful of days after the whole... ordeal, leaning his elbows on the bar and his chin in his hands.
Finnick is glad that Angel stayed safe, and watched over the Inn while he was gone. He's also glad nothing happened to the Inn. Small victories. Well, there's also the big victory of defeating and redeeming a fallen star god, but somehow that doesn't really feel as important as all of Finnick's people being okay. It's just important insofar as... Triton is done with fucking shit up for his people (hopefully).
"Rough... Whole month, honestly." Finnick admits as he puts some pint glasses away.
"How are you doing?" He looks up and over at Angel.
He shrugged. "Not bad? Not much happened over this way while you were all out fightin." Could he have helped? Not... really. No demonic powers, no guns, no nothing useful to really aid in a crisis. Hence why he stayed at the inn and hoped it held.
"You wanna talk about it or should I just sit here and look pretty to distract you?"
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Nina, deciding she had nothing better to do than try and figure out what the absolute fuck was wrong with Finnick Odair with all his flirting and weird moral compass, made it to the tavern not long after the last message was sent (and no, she hadn't bothered replying to being called annoying again, or else this would go on forever). Since her excursion with Davrin, she had since obtained an actual coat and wasn't just walking around with her skin exposed to the cooling temperatures outside.
Upon arrival, she tugged a chair out with her foot and flopped down in it, arms crossed and leaning back. "I assume you ordered the drinks already."
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He slouches in his chair, arms also crossed, brooding a little as she approaches.
"No. You're buying, remember?"
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"Anyway." She motioned vaguely at him. "What's your deal?"
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"My... Deal? Care to be more specific? Why do you want to know, anyway? Don't you hate me?"
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"No? I think you're a dumbass with no game but I don't hate you." Hate was a strong word, sir. One reserved for people that deserved it. A guy flirting with her who was kind of a pain in the ass was not on the list. "I don't know. You've got a weird way of approaching people — like you're trying to be suave."
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"I have game, thank you very much," he mutters indignantly.
"I just like flirting and giving people compliments, what's wrong with that?"
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Nina snorted. "Was it the concussion that did it, then?"
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"That you think it's my whole deal means it's working. Though I am surprised you're the first person who's reacted negatively since I've been here for months. People here are way too nice."
He scoffs a small laugh, though there isn't a lot of humor in it, it's almost a frustrated sound.
"That certainly didn't help." He grasps the side of his head vaguely where she smashed it. A lump did form there, and it's still sore.
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She shrugged. "Could have been worse. You're lucky Zevlor was there — I've been itching for a fight since I got here."
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He sips again. She's really fucking annoying.
"I didn't want to fight you. I only had a dagger on me and I didn't really plan to use it unless you put me in a bad position."
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"I don't get you."
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He leans back.
"I don't particularly care about dwarves, but I do care about regular people getting fucked over by people in power. I can't fight much against the status quo in my world, so I guess it's freeing to do it here." He shrugs.
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She finished her drink, set it on the table, and lifted her hand up to motion for a barmaid to refill it. "That's the first reasonable thing you've said since we met." She said. Nina tapped her fingers against the table.
"What do you want to know?"
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He sighs, wanting to aim her own question back at her: what's your fucking deal? But that's just going to lead to more bickering. So he asks what he usually does to new people.
"What sort of world do you hail from? What's your life like there? Aside from ogreslaying."
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"It's a lot like this one. Except less magical in most places, especially where I'm from where it's primarily human." With an odd elf tossed in, maybe some others, but they were pretty few and far between. It wasn't as diverse as Caldera unless you traveled west. "I'm an adventurer. I kill monsters, I clear out bandits, I travel around and do odd jobs for people for food, coin, or jack shit. I have an older brother, Caleb, I compete with to see who can be the biggest hero. I'm winning."
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In this moment, he thinks they have nothing in common. He's extremely bitter that his world has no heroes, no one to save all those children from their untimely and unjust deaths. Even Victors are just cogs in the machine of suffering that churns endlessly, every single fucking year.
"My world doesn't have heroes," he says, and the bitterness and cold apathy seeps into his tone. He then sips his drink.
"Ask me a specific question, and I'll answer it honestly."
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"Why do you think there aren't any heroes in your world?" And that seemed to be her question.
cw child death
His tone is icy and aggressive. It's clear the nice-guy facade is completely gone, exposing his raw hatred for the state of things in his world. If this is an act, then he must be an amazing actor.
It's all downhill from here
"How — what do you mean? What is he doing to them? Why isn't anyone helping?" The questioning started low, but each subsequent question sounded more frantic.
yeehaw. cw capital punishment, general totalitarian dystopia vibes
But she obviously does care, and urgently so. It's a little concerning. Finnick leans forward slightly, forearm on the table.
"He's taking 24 kids, 2 from each district, every single year, and putting them into deathmatches where only one can survive. No one is helping because the whole system is designed to prevent a rebellion. If you so much as speak out of turn in protest you could be whipped in the street or have your tongue cut out or killed on the spot. And we're constantly surveilled."
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The wooden mug started to splinter under her fingers, ale spilling between the cracks; knuckles bone white. There was a fury in her eyes that raged more intensely than the seemingly perpetual anger they usually held. And somewhere beneath that fury — was fear.
"Were you in one? The deathmatch."
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"Yeah. When I was fourteen. They call us Victors, the kids who survive."
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"Fuck." She cursed. Nina didn't fully understand how that situation led him to act the way he did now, but for all she knew that's just how he dealt with the trauma. Much like how she dealt with her own by being angry. "I'm sorry. I — holy shit." She flustered, tongue tied. "You won't fucking believe me when I tell you that I understand how you feel."
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But then she says she understands, and he cocks his head to the side quizzically. No, he doesn't quite believe her, not yet.
"You understand? How?"
Please don't tell him there is another world with Hunger Games.
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"Because I've won plenty of similar matches." She said, her voice cracking. "When I was... seven or eight, me and a handful of other kids were kidnapped and forced into pits to fight for the entertainment of masked nobles. I was down there for years, so I'll let you guess how much blood is on my hands."
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"You-- You're..."
A Victor. And not even from his own world. He blinks rapidly.
"I'm sorry- this is- what the fuck? You were... So young. Twelve is our minimum age."
And truly, seeing a 12-year-old in the Games is horrifying, but his heart breaks to learn she was barely old enough to read or write or know anything about the world around her and that was what she had to learn to survive.
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"Yeah, the Guild of Shadows didn't have a minimum." Just old enough to fight. "I would have died down there eventually, if Roland Ironfist hadn't come to save us, once he figured out how to find the pits. Kicked their asses — the nobles, the guild members — and took the kids back to their parents, save for me and three others. Caleb, Amelia, and Jacob. He adopted us when he couldn't find our homes."
Her gaze softened. Still angry, but easing more toward sad. "I'm sorry there isn't a Roland Ironfist in your world."
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Hearing that she was saved makes him feel a myriad of conflicting things. Envy, gratitude, grief, each flashing up for just a small moment.
"I'm sorry, too. But I'm grateful there was one for you, and that you found a family." He smiles, small and soft and sad. No wonder she believes in heroes.
"The thing with my world isn't that there's no one as brave or strong as Roland Ironfist, but that there's no way one person can stop the Games on their own, no matter how awesome they are. It's too big. We need a rebellion, we need all of us to stand up at once and fight against it, but we're constantly told a revolution will spell death for all of us. A lot of fearmongering and propaganda."
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"Shit like that is scary for common folk." She muttered. "Rising up against people in charge that are stronger, have more money and manpower. A lot of shittier nobles take advantage of their positions to keep people in line, make examples of them with public executions... I understand the sentiment, if nothing else."
There was a pause, then a loud bang when her fist hit the table. "No one else is supposed to understand this shit."
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He doesn't flinch as she bangs the table.
"I know. Some people here are from shitty places, like literal hell, but I didn't expect anyone who wasn't from my world to have an almost identical situation..." His tone is regretful.
This seems to change everything between him and Nina. He no longer feels the deep mistrust and grudgingness. He feels inclined to tell her more.
"I can... I can answer your original question that brought us to this bar, if you want. Why I'm like this, with the flirting. But I guarantee you won't enjoy my answer, so it's up to you. I don't like dumping it on people who aren't prepared."
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Nina watched him for a moment, unfurling her fist to rap on the ale soaked tabletop. "Can't surprise me anymore than you have tonight. Go ahead."
cw sex trafficking, child sexual abuse
He isn't sure what she says is true; that he can't surprise her more. But he'll go on anyway, because it seems important to her to know what makes him tick.
Thankfully, more drinks come just in time, and the barmaid mops up the spilled ale. Finnick thanks her quietly with a small smile, and once she's gone he takes a healthy sip and speaks.
"I'm the youngest Victor in Games history. Every tribute has their own strategy, their unique strengths for survival. The main reason I won my Games was that I was liked. If rich people like you, they can sponsor you, send you things in the arena that can save your life or give you an edge. I was so well-liked that I was sent a Trident in the arena, my weapon of choice. It was the most expensive gift ever given in the Games."
This is important, for Nina to understand why he's 'fake' and cares so much to be liked. He had to be. Has to be still, not so much here, but in his world.
"If a Victor is desirable, then once they win, the President sells them to the rich in the Capitol. For their bodies. Of course, I was a prime candidate. If I refused, he would kill someone I loved. They were supposed to wait until I was sixteen to really go for me, but of course, not everyone is that... Upstanding. For ten years I'd make trips to the Capitol and sleep with people. People far too old for me, with power over me, and I had to do what they asked of me. I had to be good at it and maintain my perfect image to keep my people at home safe."
He presses his lips into a grim line and takes another long drink.
cw: descriptions of violence against children
Nina was violent because it was all she knew for so long. Fighting was what she was good at, so she kept doing it. Despite the comforts offered to her, she never left that fight or flight mode that was stuck in fight. And Finnick couldn't turn off that charm — that need to seem desirable, that need to be liked because it meant he would survive.
A part of her wondered if it was some inherent knowledge of their similarities that made her press him to begin with. Some ability to see past the facade and not knowing entirely why.
"A lot of things suddenly make sense." She said quietly, voice low to try and stem the fury rising in her throat again. "I'm sorry doesn't change shit, but I am sorry you had to go through that, on top of everything else. You were just a kid." She bit the inside of her cheek. "You don't deserve that shit."
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Despite her aggressiveness, he's glad in the end that she interrogated him.
His gaze is cast down at the table now, a sad smile on his face.
"Thanks," he says quietly and sincerely. "It's fine, though. I'm fine now."
Heavily debatable, Finnick. He inhales deeply through his nose and looks up at her again, as though to snap himself from his thoughts and break the tension.
"I'd love to say all of that is why I'm annoying, but truthfully I think I was born that way." He grins.
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For once though, she didn't say anything. Nina had gotten enough out of him — a lot more than she expected, really.
"It only made you more annoying. Got it." She quipped. "I'd say I can't believe that shit works on people, but I've known plenty of guys who do the same thing and people are falling all over them."
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"It certainly didn't help," said with a smirk. "I often can't believe it either. But rich people are stupid and the people here are too nice. They probably just pity me sometimes," he shrugs. "And people like compliments. They like being noticed."
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"Too nice. Like — Zevlor levels of nice? Because I don't know if I can handle that from everyone."
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"Zev's pretty high up there for good guy-ness. But there's plenty of others I've met who are up there with him, or at least way further toward good on the scale than I'm used to."
He's used to the rich, and other Victors. Rich people are 'nice' but not kind. Victors are... Well, no one is a Victor by mistake. There's always some crookedness in there somewhere.
"But hey, at least we have each other for a good refreshing insult or punch to the head." The punching done by Nina, not him, obviously.
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Loki is perfectly game to meet at a familiar tavern, and after a brief hashing-out to determine timing, the assignation, as it were, is set. In his mind, it isn't a foregone conclusion that this will end in sex--it feels more like the negotiation session before a foray into kink--but having a genuine discussion is enlightening regardless, and he's starting, warily, to like Finnick.
He is no longer wearing his fine Asgardian leathers everywhere, outfit toned down into a linen shirt that looks way too light for such cold weather, sleeves rolled up to the elbow in a way that unintentionally shows off the runic ridges on his hands and forearms. There's already a bottle of wine on the table when Finnick arrives, and an empty glass, and Loki makes an inviting gesture at the seat across from him. Or in the booth beside him. Whichever the other man is more comfortable with.
"It's a sweet red. I didn't know what you prefer," he explains of the drink. "Hello."
Blanket cw that this thread is nsfw
Bondage isn't something anyone here has suggested to him yet, let alone on a public forum, and he likes that boldness. It shows Loki is open-minded and they could probably have some fun together, of a kinkier variety. God knows Finnick gets tired of vanilla sex.
He smiles as he sees Loki, sits across from him and leans forward on the table.
"Oh, how niiiice," he drawls. "I'll drink anything. Thank you."
He allows a beat of silence, to look into Loki's eyes with a tiny, slightly mischievous smile. "Hi."
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He doesn't always mean to test people, but 99% of the time he tests them whether he means to or not.
"How organized is the kink scene you're accustomed to? Negotiation? Safe words? Best if we don't speak at cross-purposes. I'm not interested in causing anyone harm. Not in bed."
cw hypersexuality, dubcon implication
"You're right, it's my go-to approach to get to know people. Usually puts me in their good books, and if it doesn't, I have other strategies." He feels comfortable being plain about the fact that he's a bit manipulative, probably because Loki has openly admitted to being deceptive.
"But I don't outright lie. I don't make someone think I'm interested in them if I'm truly not." It's just that he's... Interested in a lot of people. And the compulsion for sex is at times so strong that he's willing to look past some things.
"Uh..." Finnick is somewhat caught off-guard by the question. It's a good one, but he isn't sure how to answer. Finnick has a lot of experience with kinky activities, but he doesn't know the terminology of it all. He just... Does it.
"My situation is... Somewhat unique. I have a lot of experience, but... Negotiation was a little biased against me," he hedges, projecting a thoughtful tone that's more confident than he feels as he swirls the wine.
More like a lot biased, Finnick.
"So I would say... Not organized. Someone wanted something, I would do it for them."
cw more dubcon implications, this might be a trend in this thread
His eyes are very intent, vibrant red, an almost reptilian gaze, but he makes a point of not interrupting, and when he's done, Loki sips his own wine, taking a moment to process his own thoughts before responding. "With me, negotiation is not biased against you. I use whatever tactics I have to for the power to defend myself, and my ends may not always justify my means. I can be a nasty piece of work, and I know it. But there are lines I don't cross. I don't misuse my lovers, whether there's an emotional connection or whether it's just for fun."
"I...spent some time marooned on a red light district of a planet not that long ago," he adds with a sigh, glancing into his own cup. "Only a few weeks, but it was educational. The social structure of the place was set up such that survival was most easily achieved by fighting or fucking. I liked my chances better with the latter. Obviously, I survived, but I wouldn't wish the whole experience on anyone else, either."
There's something restrained about that. Understated. There's a lot going on in his head.
"Anyway, I prefer the standard Midgardian--human, that is--best practices. Safe, sane, consensual. A system of verbal cues to make sure no one oversteps. Either party gets to tap out if they're overwhelmed. I'm not about making my bed partners miserable. I'll make everyone else miserable, just not in the bedroom."
always a trend with finnick
For some reason, Finnick's hair stands on end slightly at Loki's use of the words 'tactics' and 'power', but the end of that sentence puts him more at ease.
He continues to listen intently, until Loki mentions fucking or fighting as a survival strategy, and Finnick laughs, though the sound has no mirth or joy in it. He actually sounds deeply uncomfortable.
"I've used both fucking and fighting as survival strategies. I also wouldn't wish it on anyone." He feels a little sick. He swallows, looks away, tries to mask his discomfort by sipping his wine.
"You'll have to teach me those practices. I need them." For his own sake, and the sake of others he sleeps with. Finnick never wants to treat anyone else the way he's been treated, not even by accident.
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It's not okay, and he's not okay, but compared to his terror of Thanos, Sakaar and the Grandmaster just feel like mild embarrassments. And he's not sure they should, or what it says about him that he can look back at what he did there with only a little personal discomfort.
Finnick's reaction tells him he should probably set the topic aside for now. That it was wise of him, perhaps, not to specifically reference the arena, or the orgy ships. "That's true of many of us," he says, with respect to survival strategies. "The universe is a nasty place."
"I'll teach you whatever you'd like to learn," he says, and it certainly could sound like innuendo, but his voice is neutral for the moment. Like he said, he's not interested in pushing Finnick, or making him miserable. "Negotiation beforehand is the first step. What you're willing to do, and what's absolutely off the table."
"I'm comfortable experiencing levels of rough treatment that most humans couldn't bear, for example," he says. "But I cannot be bound and left alone. If I'm helpless, someone has to be within my line of sight--or touching me, if my eyes are covered."
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For now, he'll listen to Loki, and if he's still having doubts by the end of their discussion, he'll raise them.
Finnick then looks at the other man again with interest, leaning forward and nodding, seeming to be very ready to learn.
"Okay, that's good to know. Um... It's not easy for me to identify what I like and what I don't. I had to pretend a lot and I started to fool even myself."
He thinks for a few moments, looking off into the distance.
"One thing I definitely hate is choking on cock. Over time my gag reflex got worse instead of going away as it does for some people, so it can make me sick. So if I'm sucking you off, just don't push on my head. I do love my hair being pulled, though."
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"It's also perfectly fine to decide what's going on isn't what you want, in the spur of the moment," he says, trying to sound reassuring. "That's what the verbal signals are for. Generally you have a safe word that you can say at any point--something that wouldn't normally be spoken during pillow talk, like, I don't know...'alligator' or 'telephone'. If either person says the word, everything stops immediately, you catch your breath and talk it over."
His gazes softens a little at the confession, but he smiles faintly. "Ah, see, that's good to know because I'm the opposite. Absolutely treat me as roughly as you want if I'm going down on you, I like choking on cock. But I understand your aversion and I'll keep to your boundaries."
"...on that note, though, I, mmm...I'm intersex. While I do have a cock, at the moment I also have a vulva. When I get my powers, I can shapeshift to either/or, but until then, I have exactly what my parents gave me, no more and no less." Another pause, then: "Also it's all very blue down there right now. I suppose you'd have guessed that already but I'm not used to it."
cw hella dubcon/noncon implications
"... That's a good idea. I... Don't know how possible it'll be for me to speak up if I don't like something. I'm very much conditioned to do the opposite. Stay quiet or lie."
'No' was never an option for him. 'No' could spell the death of Annie and Mags.
"But," he says quickly, "I'll do my best to use the word. And you should be able to tell by my body language, anyway, if I'm uncomfortable. I won't hide it." He's a good actor, but he doesn't intend on acting like he likes something that he doesn't, not in Caldera.
Finnick's face lights up as Loki says he's intersex and has both.
"Really? Wow! That's so cool! And yes, I was picturing your dick as blue, that's not a surprise." Maybe it's a surprise to Loki that Finnick was already picturing his dick, but it shouldn't be, really. It's Finnick.
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"If we do this--and you're allowed to back out at any point, no ill feelings--you would be in charge the first time, anyway. The other method I've seen for checking in is having a sort of color code. Green for "I feel fine, keep going", yellow for "I'm not sure about this, go gently", or red for "stop". Maybe that would be easier for you? If I ask how you're feeling in the middle of something?"
He still might lie, might feel compelled to say he's good when he's not, but the 'yellow' option makes it easier to back out of things than having to directly call for a sudden halt.
The positive reaction to his own confession earns a smile in return, warmer and less guarded than most of Loki's facial expressions have been. "Some people like the versatility, I've found, but other people feel weird about it. I feel weird about the blue-ness, I'm not used to spending so much time in this shape, but that's my hang up, I guess, and no one else's."
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"Oh... Yeah, that sounds really helpful. I'm sometimes unsure about things, but I don't want that to be taken as a no right away." He already knows he will be far more likely to speak up if he doesn't have to say 'no' or a word that means stop. And even if he says yellow but means red, things will slow down, and allow some time for him to muster up the nerve to be honest.
"If you'd ask me about the colors, that would mean a lot to me," he says sincerely. Loki being the one to check in, rather than the onus being completely on Finnick to shout out a word randomly, would help a lot with his ability to communicate. Besides... It's just nice to be asked. No one ever does that, really, in his world.
"Just sounds like double the fun to me," says Finnick in a more lighthearted tone. Then cocks his head to the side. "Wouldn't it be weirder if your dick was the only part not blue, though? Besides, lots of people here are funky colours. I fucked someone red already, and another blue-ish person, and a demon-spider with a fuzzy pink retractable dick." Hopefully those examples will make Loki feel less out of place.
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For now, for just a moment there's an interesting shift in Loki himself, a brief burst of uncomplicated contentment because evidently he said something right. He smiles, bright and hopeful, and takes another drink of his wine.
Finnick's commentary about his dick makes him laugh. "Norns, no, you're right, that would be disturbing. I mean, a strap-on is one thing, those can be any color..."
Wait, hold on a sec. "Demon-spider? You saw him? I thought I had hallucinated him entirely!" Sorry, this is exciting news, he's so pleased he's not losing his mind. "Damn, now I'm sorry I didn't proposition him, myself."
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He chuckles.
"No! He's real! And it was more like he propositioned me first. It really threw me to be beaten to the punch! He was a porn star in his world, so, we hit it off about our similar professions. Haven't seen him since, though... I really hope he's okay."
Finnick didn't get to learn a lot about Angel before they jumped in bed together, but anyone who can relate to Finnick that much about sex work, he worries for.
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His smile turns a little wry then, and he nods slightly in understanding. "Hard to say what happens to people who just...vanish from here like that, isn't it? Theoretically at least he's returned home and has a fighting chance there."
But then, Loki didn't talk to Angel Dust long enough to really get the picture of what his home life was like.
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But then his frown returns.
"I couldn't find the username he gave me on the network, so he must be gone. And that's the thing... He's from hell. If he went back home, that makes me even more worried. He acted like he enjoyed his job, but... That kind of work is easily exploited in a place like that." He scratches his temple, looking off to the side with worry.
"Anyway, uh, I'm getting off topic. Was there more you wanted to negotiate? I'm really enjoying learning from you. I wish I knew this stuff years ago." Not that it would have really helped, in his situation, but still.
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His expression sobers at the news, although it doesn't really surprise him to hear that a demon came from Hell. "Mm. Well, if it makes you feel any better, he mentioned he normally had guns, and seemed reasonably capable with a knife, so he's likely capable of defending himself."
Not that being able to physically defend oneself means you're exploitation-proof. Far from it, but maybe they should talk about lighter things. "Well. As long as we're talking about it...I should add that aside from abandonment, I can't tolerate much heat. No hot wax, thank you. Actually, I'm not sure how cold you'll find skin contact with me. That may be a matter for experimentation before we get into anything too physically intimate."
He's not going to give anyone frostbite with casual contact, but that doesn't necessarily mean the coolness of his skin will be comfortable for a human.
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"Only one way to find out." Finnick reaches out his hand without hesitation, laying it palm-up on the table and open for Loki to grab. If he does, Finnick will not only hold it for a moment, but then begin to slide his hand up Loki's inner forearm, wrapping his fingers gently around it as they glide over his skin.
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As Finnick slides his hand up, Loki makes a faint sound of surprise, and his eyes close briefly. The ridges are more sensitive than he realized, at least in the context of touching and being touched by living flesh. "That...feels strangely new."
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"New?" Finnick tilts his head, curious. Loki did say he doesn't spend much time in this form, but he wonders what exactly is new about it.
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He waves his free hand as if to indicate the ridges. "I'm a fool. It never occurred to me until now that I hadn't actually been touched in this shape, aside from in battle. Or handshakes, since arriving here." Part of him is still surprised anyone wants to, but saying so would sound pathetic at this point.
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If there is one person who knows what touch can communicate about a relationship, a person's worth to you, and what you think of their body, it's Finnick. A touch can make one feel disposable, or like the most precious thing in the world. Finnick is going more for the latter here, obviously, encouraging Loki's curiosity of this new form, as well as showing his own acceptance of it.
He speaks gently, quietly. "It's cool... I like getting to know everyone's unique features. And if it feels good and new for you, then... All the better, right?"
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"...oh, I like you," he says softly, and finally looks at him again, red eyes sparkling. "Your hands feel very warm. In the interest of full disclosure, I should warn you the lines do go all the way down. I may need to start out a bit more gently than I thought I would."
"But we have all the time we need, don't we?" He curls his fingers around Finnick's and pulls his hand gently to his lips, kissing the back.
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"Loki, you don't need to keep warning me about your body and what it looks like. I assure you, I can handle it. Bodies of all types are my specialty, after all." He smiles with his teeth, like he's assuring a customer who has doubts about a service. There seems to be some shame there, and Finnick wants to snuff out any negative body talk before it starts, because he's not about that life.
He smiles softly again as Loki kisses his hand. Having attention returned to him so readily is making him swoon a little.
"But yes, I'll be gentle with you, as I trust you will be with me. We can take it as slow as you like." Loki will check in with him about consent, and Finnick will be mindful of the newness of this body for Loki, and try to check in as well.
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Which then got shattered brutally by the revelation of his Jotun skin. His sense of worth is bound up in his divine providence now: god of liars, tricksters, mischief-makers, outcasts. Sower of chaos, which is sometimes good and sometimes terrible, but always leads to change.
At one time, not so long ago, sex workers were part of his providence as well, which means he picks up on that customer-service smile, and while it's okay--confident charm is endearing--he wants to clarify his own position, too. He reaches out and strokes along Finnick's jawline with the backs of his fingers, unmistakably gentle rather than cloyingly possessive.
"I know you can handle it. I'm impressed that you're being so kind about it, particularly since I didn't think I needed that." Didn't think he deserved it, is what he means, but there's not much difference between not-needing and not-deserving in Loki's head. "I like that."
"I'd like to kiss you. May I?"
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At the question, Finnick smiles and nods. He didn't expect Loki to like him so much, or to want to kiss him tonight, but kissing is as easy as breathing to him. Keeping their hands clasped, Finnick deftly moves around the table to sit next to Loki in the booth. He gently puts a hand on Loki's cheek to turn his face, and leans in to kiss his lips. Softly, slowly.
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So, maybe the bar is low for them both. No shame in that, as long as they keep it to themselves.
His lips are cool, but smooth and silky as the rest of his skin, and he responds to the kiss with finesse. He lets Finnick lead the kiss, lips half-parted in invitation, and the hand that just stroked his cheek slips down to rest on the back of his shoulder. Eyes closed, he's conscious of warmth and the scent of the ocean.
...Oh, yes, he could to like this man quite a bit.
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The more involved Finnick grows in the kiss, the more Loki seems to melt into it. Touch-starved? Sure, we'll go with that. This is a form of physical comfort he can accept.
When they pause for breath, Loki's eyes are dark, pupils wider in the sea of red iris and sclera. He strokes across Finnick's shoulder, halfway down his chest, and back up to his cheek. "Mm. I needed that."
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As he meets Loki's gaze, Finnick's eyes look much the same; a large void opened up in the midst of sea-blue. It was a very nice kiss, and he's slightly breathless now.
"Me too," he murmurs. His thumb still strokes Loki's smooth cheek, a small smile on his face.
"What else do you need, Loki?" He asks in a quiet murmur.
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What does he need? Gods, that's a long list. He leans in and nudges his forehead against Finnick's, closing his eyes again. "Opinions vary on that point," he answers, a quiver in his voice. "Everything from therapy to a swift kick in the arse has been suggested."
"I...I don't know." He says, and truer words were never spoken. "I don't know."
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Finnick laughs softly through his nose. "I wasn't asking for anyone's opinion but yours."
When he says he doesn't know, Finnick continues gently, tucking some dark hair behind Loki's ear.
"That's okay. I never know how to answer that, either. How about some options? We could stay here and chat a little more, get to know each other better. You could... Come to my place, which isn't too far of a walk. Or we could think things over and plan to meet another time."
Loki might get the sense that Finnick has practice with this sort of conversation, and not with his clients, but with someone he cares for. That comes through in his voice now, though he hopes it isn't condescending.
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Which gives Finnick the opportunity to be rather sweet, so it works out in the end.
He smiles, finally, as the desperate feeling fades. "I think...I want to be touched, and seen, but sex might honestly be too much tonight. What are the chances of us going to your place and just sitting together like this for an hour or so? Is that too precious?"
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"If you paid for that bottle already, you should bring it."
As he stands, he keeps hold of Loki's hand.
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He notes Finnick's hand still in his and threads their fingers together, a surprisingly soft gesture. This is a kindness; he won't forget that.
"Did you find your dog here, or did he come from your world?"
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"I never had a pet in my world. I found Buddy here. His owners were victims of a tragedy here. A piece of Heaven's Bow fell into the sea. He was wandering the streets, and when he found me, he adopted me."
He considers Buddy to have saved and adopted him just as much as he saved and adopted Buddy.
"He's very friendly, as his name suggests." Finnick grins.
Holiday Gift Delivery
Dear Finnick,
I was not prepared for Yule. It's been some time since I had the time to celebrate, rather than merely officiating other peoples' celebrations. The idea of gifts didn't occur to me until Lioriley's arrived at my door. I hope you will pardon the simplicity of this offering. Had I magic and time I would conceive of something more useful, or at least unexpected. Alas, this poem is what I have, for now.
I don't know if you will have heard of the writer. He was human, though from a time before your own. There is a beauty, bleakness, and defiance to his work that has touched me since I first became familiar with it. I hope you will see what I see in the words, and that they will be of some reassurance to you.
Yours sincerely,
Loki Odinson
The poem attached is copied over in a much cleaner calligraphic hand, with a few drawings of stars, celestial bodies, and a compass rose in the corner of the page.
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Loki,
Your gift isn't simple, and it doesn't seem rushed. It's lovely. I like poetry, and the fact that you put thought into choosing a piece that has relevance to me during a difficult time means a lot to me. I'm starting to think you may be sweeter than you believe or advertise yourself to be. ;)
In return, my own gift feels too simple as well. I find peace in doing things with my hands, which is partly why I'm still so good with rope. Recently I've found enjoyment in creating things, mostly food and little crafts made of beach materials. Adding something new to the world feels good, even if it isn't anything momentous, even if it won't change things at all. Art makes life more pleasant, I guess. That joy leads to hope for things to be better, and I suppose that's why those in power in my world wanted to rid us of that kind of joy. In Caldera, I'm able to discover it for the first time, really, and it feels so good to share it with the people I care about.
I made this while thinking of you. For some reason, it felt right to depict darkness and light in an elegant way. Interpret that as you will, because I have no idea what it means, myself.
Happy Yule, my friend!
Finnick
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Finnick,
I would never call myself sweet, but I admit I have soft spots, and among them is a fondness for people whose experience or outlook echoes my own. I'm grateful for your presence here, and your friendship.
I love it, the art. The slight asymmetry in color, where the shells are placed with such careful regularity, is exquisite. Whenever I can, I reject symmetry and balance, but the wheel of change, the comfort of cycles, is everything to me.
Blessed Yule, friend!
Loki
voice @dreadwolf
My name is Solus— I was among the mages who healed you, at the recent... Adventure.
[He keeps his tone even, but he'd like to call it something less flattering. Still, what's done is done.]
How goes your recovery?
voice
[He recognizes the voice and the name.]
I'm glad to hear from you, Solus. I tried to find you so I could properly thank you, but you were asleep. It's going well- still getting back up to 100%, but pretty soon I'll be good as new.
[His tone is pleasant and polite, though there's something guarded in it as well, like the lightness is covering up for something, maybe.]
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Good. That is good. [There is a long, somewhat awkward pause. He's building up to something.] I must offer another apology as well; as I recall, my work was not clean. You will likely have a scar, if my memory is accurate?
[Solas despises this; he should have been able to push through the exhaustion, should have been able to do the work properly. Barring that, he should have known it was futile and asked... someone. Now this man will bear the mark of Solus' failure. And there's nothing he can do about it.]
I should have found another to take my place, much sooner, and to serve my pride, I did not. I can offer nothing to you but my condolences in the matter. I doubt that will be of much use.
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The, uh... There's actually very minimal scarring. Almost none. [He actually doesn't sound happy about this- states it almost grimly.] Lioriley is a very powerful healer, so I think that helped.
[At Solas' further apologies, he has to take a breath.]
... Listen, everyone did as much as they possibly could for me, according to their abilities. I have no doubt of that, and I have nothing but gratitude for all of you. You probably should've got someone sooner, just so you didn't exhaust yourself so much. But you don't even know me, and you used the very last of your energy to help me. Don't apologize for that.
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[Let him believe, Solas thinks, that these two things are the reason for one another. There is no need to mention Rook, there is no need to cause this man to seek out the warranted rumors of emnity. He may yet find a foothold in this.]
If I wished only to heal only my particular acquaintances, I might as well not have come. But then of course, we are all in this together, are we not? If you are well, and satisfied, then at I have at least fulfilled my duty.
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[Sorry Solas, Nina has already warned Finnick about you. But while he'll be carefully analyzing Solas, he's more than willing to give him a chance. Finnick's moral compass is pretty flexible, anyway. If he personally likes someone and finds them trustworthy, there are many deeds he's willing to overlook.]
You... Really think of it that way, already? No suspicion for this place or its leaders?
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Are you familiar with the parable of the carrot and the stick?
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Uh, yeah?
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You are not a leader of this place, except that you are known amongst our fellow "visitors". [Can you hear the quotation marks, Finnick? Does this feel like a "visit" to you, this adventurous little kidnapping?] If we are not to band together, than how shall we prosper? Your suffering can help nothing. I was glad to be able to ease it.
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[No, it's not a visit for Finnick, as he's dead. It's here or oblivion, unless someone else yanks him to yet another new world.
He does listen thoughtfully. He feels like there's something off, but can't put his finger on what, so for now simply accepts these words.]
That makes sense. I didn't really used to feel that way, myself, but I've come around to the idea of being in this together. Helps that there are plenty of people here I'd die for, anyway.
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[That which is given can be taken away, and once given can act as a chain and a threat in one. Solas makes a small, thoughtful noise at that last, just the same.]
A noble sentiment. I will hope, for your sake, that it does not come to that. In the meantime, if you require further assistance, I am at your service.
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That's okay, I won't trouble you again. But let me know if there's any way I can repay you.
Special Delivery - a couple days after post volcano domesticity
These are ghost beads, crafted by man and nature as one. Juniper berries fall and are consumed by animals that strip the flesh and burrow into them to make a hole. Men collect them once they’re dried and make another so they can be strung. They’re supposed to protect you from evil spirits and nightmares.
I’ll protect you from everything else.
-J
wehhhh ;_;
He takes out his bird and messages John.]
How do you always know just what I need?
ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: INFLICT EMOTIONZ(tm)
But if I did? I’d say it’s less a case of knowing what you need and more knowing what I want for you. To feel safe and sleep well.
Shame I have no idea what you mean though.
[Troll, thy name is John Rambo.]
HOW DARE
You're far too sweet to me. What am I going to do with you?
EASY. I HAVE FEELS. I DRAG U DOWN WITH ME. XD
Be with meLet me loveStayI’m about half as nice to you as you deserve. Not enough hours in the day to give you everything.
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No way. You're sweeter than honey. If I get a cavity, I'm blaming you.
Thank you. I love it. I'm never going to take it off.
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Be careful. I may never stop making you dumb presents to put a smile on your face.
You know. If I was responsible for any presents. Which I’m not. All Yakov’s fault.
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Don't know any Yakov's, but I probably have a secret admirer or two. Yakov sure does his research, though... Must be following me.
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As for poor Yakov, well, he probably can’t help himself. Bet you smiled at him. That’s beautiful enough to make anyone want to keep you safe.
That or he heard you laugh. That laugh is life changing.
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My fucking god. Your level of charm puts even Finnick Odair to shame, sir. It's a feat to make me blush, yet here I am, smiling and flustered like an idiot.
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Never mind. I’m just gonna stick with stating facts to get you giddy.
Sky is blue. Water is wet. You make me so happy it’s stupid. Two and two make four. You’re cuddly. Fire is hot.
You swooning yet?
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I feel like you actually trying to flirt would either be super cheesy, or I'd overdose on sweetness and go into a coma.
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Or “hey, did it hurt? You know, when you fell from Heaven.”
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Hit me with something. Let’s see if I agree to sleep with you.
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How do you do it? No pen, no paper, and you still manage to draw my attention every time.
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…goddamnit that’s hokey as hell, I’m almost mad at how riled up I am right now. Big stupid grin and everything.
I think you’re gonna have to pay for your adorable crimes by letting me take you on an actual date sometime, you smooth motherfucker.
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A date, hm? What kind of date would you take me on, big guy?
[Not a single person in Caldera has asked Finnick Odair on a date, believe it or not.]
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[Yes, John has thought about this. No, he is not accepting criticism for daydreaming about his crush on Finnick Odair, fight him.]
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[Yes John Rambo is giddy that the guy he has slept with literally and figuratively just agreed to go on a date with him, shut up. He has to try and be charming right now, nobody look at him.]
You free tomorrow?
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As it happens, I am. Let's do lunch, so we can get to the beach while it's still light out?
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I’ll pick you up at your place? I know a place in Grey Ward we can go.
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Sounds good. Can't wait. ;)
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I’m just as excited. Now let’s hope Yakov doesn’t ask you out, too. Might tempt you to cancel. ;)
[John Rambo has learned to emoji. Be afraid. Be very afraid.]
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Nah. Nothing could tempt me to cancel. Yakov can wait.
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You're sure about that? I've heard Yakov is a sexy bastard. Blonde, great body, gorgeous blue eyes and dimples for days.
Only reason I didn't ask him out myself is he hates pranks. No sense of humor.
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Oh, so Yakov is my evil twin? No wonder he wants me. He's vain, and I'm just the better version of him.
text; @greywarden
But how to start this weird conversation? ]
Finnick?
This is Davrin. I don't know if you're aware of who I am...
Text, @odaring
Nina mentioned you. That she's seeing you?
What's up? Is she okay?
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[ He figures she can't get mad for mentioning she was upset because he was sure they knew it. ]
I'm trying to get a better understanding of what was going on. Gadriel? If you don't mind me asking, what's the issue?
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Well, that's a long story, Davrin. Short version: Gadriel and I don't get along, but Nina thinks of both of us as her brothers. Is there something in particular you want to know? I assume Nina's told you some of it.
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Why don't you get along?
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I'll paint you a picture of my first impression of him, if you weren't at the tavern for that mingle. He walks in, sees Lioriley, a good friend of mine and well-known visitor, who is an elf with blue skin. Apparently she looked like a type of evil magic elf from his world, so he started accusing her of wicked magic, calling her a witch, insisting that she must be hurting and manipulating the other Visitors here, generally freaking out and upsetting her. Several people told him to back off, but he only got more intense about it, and Astarion was about to pounce, so I tried to usher Gadriel out of the bar, but he wouldn't move. Then Loki (who also had blue skin so was assumed to be an evil elf) goaded Gadriel to follow him out, and Gadriel started CHASING him. Gadriel is like 9 feet tall in armor, if you've never seen him, so uh, needed to stop him from killing Loki. Night Sky wrapped him in vines, me and Loki then threatened him with knives. I went... A bit far with it, because I wanted to hurt him, and I wanted to make myself the target rather than my blue friends. I cut his throat, but purposely not deep enough to kill him. Then Lioriley healed him.
I heard almost nothing from him until he informed me on the network that he killed Night Sky, then basically told me to come and kill him for real. I went, mainly because I wanted to know more, and I was pissed. Nina showed up too. Arguments ensued, but I didn't hurt him. I just yelled at him and left. Then Nina came after me.
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Shit.
I told him to try fixing things with you for Nina's sake but I'm not sure it's possible.
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My main issue with him is that he won't see past the way things work in his world. He tries to force everyone else to think and act the way he expects them to act based on what he knows from his fucked up world. He's got Nina convinced that he brought corruption here from his world, which is that evil type of magic I think, and I just... Don't think that's really how it works, unless you get the magic from the leaders, which he didn't.
I tried to see his side of things, the other day, but he's just... Difficult to talk to.
You don't know me, Davrin, but I'm not boasting when I say I can get along with almost anyone. When Nina and I met, she literally asked me "what the fuck is your deal?" and interrogated me. Now she's my little sister. I can usually work past initial ill feelings and poor first impressions, and I will try to do that here. But I'm not sure if it's possible either.
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Not that I'm happy to hear about this corruption shit. I'll have to find out more about that.
Still...I have a friend and we didn't get along either at first until someone important to us both got us to figure it out. It took a bit of time and a lot of work but we got there. Trust me, it wasn't easy at first though. Maybe you'll see eye to eye or maybe you won't. Maybe you just need a better understanding of each other. I know you probably can't force it though but it's a thought.
I just want to protect Nina, she's important to me.
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I told her to ask on the network if anyone's had similar experiences.
I'm open to working things out between he and I. I don't want to hate anyone here, especially not someone Nina is very close to.
I want the same, and feel the same. Nina and I have a very similar past. From the moment I learned this, she became family, in my mind. I would do anything to protect her. You have my word.
The three of us are at least on the same page about that, so there's always at least one thing we can agree on.
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Some people find it hard to change from what they know.
Thanks, Finnick. It's nice to know other people are looking out for her. And I apologize for messaging you out of the blue. I'm sure she'll give me shit for doing it but I'd do anything for her.
If you ever need help with something, I'm easy to find.
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Thanks. Back atcha. I have minor healing and I'm working on getting the major version, so if you or Nina are ever injured, please let me know as well.
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We'll keep that in mind. Thank you again.
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Valentine’s Day After Party
John doesn’t have anything huge planned. He got some candles to light in his room just to make it a little romantic, at least. Mostly he just wants to curl up with Finnick, maybe eat a little…and give him his main present for the day.
He does, however, have another one for public consumption, so once John has a plate of some snacks and has grabbed a couple glasses for drinks, he sets them on the counter in the kitchen, easy to grab, and catches Finnick’s hand to pull him into his arms.
“So, uh…I got you something special for Valentine’s Day, but you only get it in my room.” He explains with a grin, pausing to steal a kiss. “But…I also got you something G-rated, too. Which present do you want first?”
Yeehaw. Blanket NSFW warning lmao
He finishes blowing out most of the candles, but decides against taking down any decorations. They're cute, he and Lioriley worked hard on them, and he's too damn tired after such a full day. He readily moves into John's embrace with a slow smile.
"Ooh," he murmurs, stealing that peck, rubbing John's shoulders gently. "I got you a couple things too. Give me the G-rated one first- I need to recuperate some energy before anything sexy."
Bow chicka bow wow. XD
John can’t remember ever really having a Valentine of his own—and he’s kind of trying to chase down every sweet moment.
Like this one: smiling, John pulls a small paper package out of his pocket and offers it to him. It’s simple, bound in twine, but there’s a fairly decent little drawing on top of a pink candy conversation heart that reads BE MINE.
“For you.” He murmurs, kissing Finnick’s cheek—and when he opens it, inside he will find a bone pendant carved into an anchor, wrapped and strung on a deerskin leather cord.
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He gently takes the necklace in hand, awestruck as he turns it over.
"Wow. This is... Beautiful. Did you make this?!"
He knows John made the bracelet that Finnick now never takes off- a permanent fixture along with his undine sapphire necklace and golden locket with Annie and Mags inside.
"I love it so much, John." He lifts his gaze to meet John's eyes, his own sparkling with adoration. "Thank you." He pulls him in for a kiss.
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"Yeah--I, uh, started it a while ago. Wanted to give it to you before, but it took some time and then I found the junipers, so I made the ghost beads." he explains shyly. "Thought about using twine but I'm not as good at knots as you are..."
He trails off as Finnick kisses him, gladly sinking into it as he pulls him closer, burrowing his hands into his hair. He doesn't pull, though, not when Finnick said he wants to chill out for a moment. Besides, this? This is what having a Valentine is all about, at least as far as John is concerned. Someone to hold, someone to kiss--someone to just be with for the day, and this is...more than he dreamed of.
"Happy Valentine's Day." he whispers with a smile as the kiss breaks, reaching to cover Finnick's hand holding the pendant. "Can I help you put it on? Here, I made the cord adjustable so it won't tangle with your locket 'n stuff..."
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"It's perfect. Leather is more comfortable to wear than twine, anyway. What's the pendant made of?"
He hugs John closely after they kiss, just holding him for a moment. After all the excitement is over, it's so nice to have someone to be with. Someone steady who he knows will stay. Someone who really, truly loves him.
"Of course," Finnick says softly, offering the necklace to John. "That's sweet of you to think of."
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I will kill to keep this. I'll fight any war to hold you.
The violence of that silent promise to himself, and to Finnick, is strangely soft, tender, and dripping in so much blood he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue as he releases him to take the pendant and slip it over his head. He adjusts the cord so it rests well below his faction talisman and his locket, safe from tangling.
"It's bone--big coyote I took down." he explains. "Coyotes are trouble, but they're tricksters. Wily, smart, y'know? Smart made me think of you, and since Loki's a trickster, too, thought you'd enjoy that extra bit. Keep him close, too."
A token of his own love, and a quiet show of his acceptance--a reassurance that this form of commitment from Finnick: to love him and keep loving him, to protect his badly bruised heart at all costs, is more than enough for John.
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"You're so sweet," he murmurs. It's thoughtful and so kind that he'd include Loki in the gift when he really didn't need to. "And quite the craftsman. I'll wear it with pride. How does it look?"
He smiles softly- his shirt is now way more unbuttoned than it had been at the beginning of the party, and his waistcoat is undone too, since he was feeling sweaty and too stifled. Thus, his chest is pretty exposed.
"Come up to my room," he takes John by the hand. "Your presents are in there." He'll help John carry the snacks and drinks up.
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"Beautiful." he breathes, looking right into Finnick's eyes as he reaches up to smooth his hand over Finnick's cheek. He surrenders it almost immediately as Finnick indicates his room, letting him take John's hand as they both pick up some of their snacks and drinks.
"Lead on, Macduff." he replies, then remembering Finnick's world...
"That's, uh--from a famous play where I come from. Kind of slang for 'lead the way' if you wanna look smart."
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Scampering upstairs, he feels a little giddy.
"Macduff is a funny name. You should call me that more often." Missing the entire point, Finnick, but okay.
Arriving in his room and putting all the stuff down, he pulls out a small box, and it's tied with a ton of pink and red and white ribbons in elaborate knots, bows, and curls. It looks beautiful, if a bit crazy.
"Kinda went overboard with this wrapping. It was fun. The other one isn't wrapped at all." He opens a drawer and pulls out a small succulent.
"I was shopping with Solas and he suggested you might like to have something to take care of. Y'know, other than me and Delmar and the roommates," he laughs slightly, half-sitting and half-leaning on top of his desk. "I thought the succulent was fitting because it grows in a harsh environment where it's not given much of what it needs, but it adapts and survives strong anyway, while retaining its beauty and softness. That reminded me of you. I didn't choose a cactus because you're not prickly, even though I think it would be fair if you were." He holds it out to John with a small smile. "And hey, maybe if you like having a plant you can get more. It could be a hobby, I thought."
John definitely needs some hobbies, and the only way to figure out what you like doing is to... Try stuff.
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Reaching for the succulent, John tries to remember the last time he saw one back home and can’t. Not the trees, the sparse grass, the cacti. Touching one little leaf, he’s surprised to feel a tiny pang of homesickness for the familiar things that are worlds away from the humid jungles of Vietnam. The dry hot air, the earthtones…
He put so much thought into this, and he didn’t even know John was raised in the desert. When he looks up at Finnick, his eyes are shining but not spilling, and he’s smiling.
“That’s—I love it.” He replies, laughing a little. “Surprised me…I grew up in the desert, where these come from. The fact that you put so much more thought into this…it means so much. So much—thank you.”
He pauses, then snickers as he leans in to kiss Finnick soundly.
“And I still got the box to open, shit…”
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He smiles and kisses John back.
"Yes! Open it!" He insists excitedly as he pushes the box into John's hands. "Uh. You might need your knife," he laughs again.
Inside the box, wrapped in paper, John will find a necklace made of seaglass with a cord tied into a celtic knot.
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Yes, he was armed at the party. Strangers in his home, with his friends and loved ones…
Opening the package, John’s breath rushes out of his lungs at the sight of the pendant. The gleaming green sea glass with the delicately woven knot—the same kind he told Finnick he does so much better than John…
For a second, he’s reminded of Co’s Buddha pendant, and he wonders if he met her for this reason. A good woman who gave him so much hope, wearing her own beautiful green gem so he would know, when he found someone else who gave him as much as she did, know them by their gleaming green sea glass.
He knows, in that moment, he has to get the Buddha back. That it’s for Finnick—that this, them, that it’s forever. Open hearts and all.
“This…means more than you know.” He replies softly, beaming up at him. “You made this, too, didn’t you? It’s…fuck, it’s perfect. It’s so perfect, it’s gorgeous. I love it-here, help me put it on? Please?”
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His partner seems somewhat stunned by the gift, which- Finnick doesn't think it's that amazing, it's rather simple really.
"Of course I did. Oh-" He smiles and ducks his head bashfully. The praise feels overboard, but it's nice. "It's not all that, it was easy to make." He takes the necklace from John. It's adjustable, too, with well-placed tiny knots that act as stops to keep the string from letting out once tightened, but aren't so tight you can't still loosen it manually by pulling. He loosens it, lifts it over John's head, and then tightens it to hang right in between his collarbones.
"Looks perfect now that it's on you," he murmurs. The triangular glass almost emulates the shape of the anchor, and seems to suit John, somehow.
"Seaglass is one of my favourite things, as you can tell." He laughs slightly and gestures around his room at the seaglass that's accumulated on surfaces, in little jars, and displayed in art pieces. "So, only fitting to claim one of my most favourite people with it."
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…and wildly possessive in a way that brings some relief with it. Not of Finnick as a whole, but this bit of him. This little moment when he’s reading John like a book and treasuring every word, open and sharing and eagerly being his Valentine’s date for tonight.
“Property of Finnick Odair. Now that sounds like Heaven.” John murmurs, reaching up to touch the pendant where it sits against his chest. He catches the glass in his fingers, brings it to his lips to kiss, then releases it to pull Finnick in for another kiss of his own.
“I like being yours…and I like you being mine.” He admits softly against his lips. “My gorgeous sailor…my Finnick.”
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"I'll try to treat you like the precious thing you are," he purrs.
He wraps his arms around John's neck, stroking the hair at the back of his head, kissing him slowly.
"I like it, too," he breathes. "My handsome, adorable sweetheart." He kisses John's cheek.
"You had another gift for me? Did you want to do that, or just relax for a bit?"
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“Well, uh—depends if you still want a break before getting frisky.” He replies, nuzzling Finnick’s cheek. “It’s uhm…something you get to sit back and enjoy while I unwrap it for you.”
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Finnick smiles, gives John another peck, then takes off his suit jacket and vest, draping them on his desk chair. He grabs his drink and the little plate of cheese and such and splays out on his bed, sighing with relief to finally be off his feet. Slowly, he sips at the drink, nibbles at the food, and rolls up the sleeves of his half-buttoned floral shirt, allowing John to do... Whatever it is he's going to do.
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Having Finnick’s undivided attention like this—he feels a little crazy for the fact that he’s feeling just a little bit turned on and he’s still fully clothed.
A striptease isn’t something John can really…do, not without looking stupid, so he doesn’t try. He just reaches up and takes his time, slowly sliding each button of his shirt through each hole. One by one, he undoes them, and pauses to tug his shirt a little further open with each one. Slowly, his chest and stomach are laid bare to his gaze, one button at a time leaving John naked to the waist save for his faction talisman and Finnick’s pendant.
Then, taking a deep breath, John starts to undo his pants in the same way after kicking off his shoes…and slowly, the boxer briefs he finally settled on buying at Vestiture come into view, gradually revealed as John starts to slide his pants down off his hips.
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"Oooooh," he says, once he starts to see the black mesh boxer-briefs, sheer enough to see some of what's going on underneath, but not all.
"Very nice..." He bites his lip with a grin, putting his plate to the side to watch while sipping his drink, propped on his elbow. He feels a little like a Capitol pig, but... A little voyeurism can be his little treat for being a good boy, right?
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Once he’s pushed his pants down his legs and bent to step out of them, he can’t resist picking them up and turning to drape them over a nearby chair, giving Finnick a chance to check him out from behind.
By the time he faces Finnick again, he’s visibly hard as he smiles, shy but with a hint of shaky boldness.
“Do, uh…do you like it?” He asks, half aware of absently smoothing a hand over his chest and stomach. “It’s—it’s not usually my thing, but I know you’re used to people sitting back and admiring the view. So, tonight, I wanted you to have something you thought was pretty to look at instead.”
And thinking about that even as he says it has John’s hand sweeping a little lower on his stomach as his hands slides over his belly, palm skimming over the waistband of his briefs as he feels his cock throb with a fresh wave of heat.
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And that ass. Oh, it's perfect, muscled and juicy and plump cheeks under that tight mesh, the curve of it illuminated well by the candlelight.
Perhaps most enticing, though, is the way John touches himself. Finnick's not sure what it is, whether he's thinking of his own hands doing it or if it's just the idea of John's skin being touched at all that's enjoyable... Or if it's the prospect of John making himself feel good with his own touch. In any case,
"I love it. You're beautiful, love, and very sexy." A small grin. His eyes glance to John's obvious erection.
"You like it, then? Me watching you? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
The last thing he would want is for John to feel how he felt, drooled over like a piece of meat while naked and bared for the world. Sure, it could be fun at times, but it also had made him feel... Empty, like no one cared about the person underneath. Like he'd be worthless without his beauty.
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He feels anything but empty or devalued. He feels like his every movement is being catalogued, studied, memorized like poetry or music. Like he’s the center of the universe, Finnick’s own personal sun to orbit.
“I’m…outta my comfort zone.” He replies honestly. “Not comfortable, but not a bad thing. Just not used to this, and…yeah. I do, I think, like you watching me like this—“
The way he’s touching himself does feel nice, maybe a little self soothing, but is still mostly unconscious. Then his fingers slide just so, his nail catches on the edge of one of his scars, and John discovers that apparently that is an erogenous zone he didn’t know he had.
His eyes shut with a gasp, shoulders dropping as he reflexively tries to chase that delicious shock of sensation, and his hips just barely cant forward like they’re looking for something to press against.
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"I think you do, too," he murmurs slyly with another look to John's erection.
Then something happens- Finnick isn't quite sure what, but John reacts.
"Found something that feels good? Try doing it again," he encourages gently.
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So, very deliberately, he does it again. Running the edge of one nail very gently along the scar highest on his chest, the sparks of sensation make him shiver pleasantly as he sighs. Heat pools low in his belly, and it feels so good he just—
John opens his eyes before he can be swept away by that urge: to slide a hand down to palm himself through that sheer material, tease himself, get himself off with Finnick watching him. Just thinking about it…
…makes him realize he wants it. To let Finnick have that moment, where he was forced to be this for other people, John wants to be for him tonight. Not to play with power but to let Finnick be the one indulging himself with John. To know he can ask for anything and get it, and that John will enjoy it.
So he moves closer to the bed, close enough to touch—to reassure him with a greater sense of intimacy that he’s giving Finnick a gift still and not playing games as he smiles down at him shyly…and gently scratches that scar again with a hum of pleasure that isn’t remotely exaggerated.
“That does feel good. What, uhm…what else should I do? That you think might feel good, or—y’know—that you just want to see?”
text 🦅 @blackbird 🦅 TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
Having received and duly read the melodramatic tripe foisted upon me at the inception of this ""book club"" which I, having originally joined in search of friendship and literature, joined in good faith and eagerness to share my opinion. And yet! Not only did I find my arrival not anticipated, but my physical presence wholly barred from the supposed """club""" to which I was meant to be part! Indeed, I was barred from the entire interior of the house!
Because it's too damned small! For some members! Of the """"book club"""" to enter!
Did you do any research at all! Did you pay attention? I would believe anything of such a person who, in all honesty, ought to be ashamed of himself! Whether this came about from stupidity, ignorance, incompetence, or malice, you'd better believe I'm not done complaining about it!
See to it that you do better, young man, or I'll better yourself for you! At top volume, if you make it necessary!
Your neighbor and fellow Visitor,
Skandranon Rashkae
The Black Gryphon
PS: Snd the """""book""""" was terrible! Who's picking these things? Do better!!!!
text, @odaring
Okay, so this is the gryphon guy he's been seeing around because uh, he's very hard to miss, and he's mad he was unable to enter Finnick's house. Which! That's not good! He would have tried to accommodate him, had he realized in time. But the dramatics are a bit too off the charts to take seriously (and also, if he takes it seriously it's very rude, so he'd rather just laugh).]
Hi Skandranon,
Thanks for bringing me your complaint. Harsh as it is, I'm glad you brought up the issue.
I apologize deeply for your exclusion from the book club and my party due to the size constraints of my house. I wasn't aware of your participation in the book club- I should have asked Lioriley for the sign-up list, but it's her club, not mine. I was just hosting. I don't appreciate the insinuation of me being stupid, incompetent, or malicious, but I admit that I was ignorant. Neither of us would ever want to bar anyone from participation for any reason, so I feel horrible that this happened.
Next time we'll be sure to have the meeting outside, or in an indoor space that can accommodate your size (and any larger-sized individuals; now that I think of it, Gadriel may have trouble as well, though I'm not sure if he's signed up or wants to attend).
Lioriley picked the book this month, and I enjoyed it. A different Visitor will get to pick the book each month, which means you'll have your turn to delight us with your taste in literature. In the meantime, I'd appreciate you not insulting my friends' choices.
Best,
Finnick
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It's difficult enough being brought here without so much as a by-your-leave, and worse when there isn't a house you can fit into, an eatery that'll serve you, and most people treat you like a performing animal. In winter, no less!
But that's not an excuse for letting it get the better of my temper.
Your friend does have bad taste in books, though. But I've no business addressing that to you. My apologies.
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That sounds very hard. I'm sorry you're in that situation- it doesn't seem fair at all. I've been here for a while and have a good number of connections and Bones, so if there's any way I can help, please let me know.
It's okay. You don't have to like the book or say good things about it- I think the point is to be honest with our thoughts. Just please don't insult her directly. You might find my patience is thin for people mistreating her in particular. She does a lot for the people here.
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Aside from some recent rudeness, which you've already apologized for, you haven't done anything worth being indebted about.
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If it suits you better, we could trade.
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Alright, I'll hear it: what do you imagine I have to offer you, then?
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I'm sure you'd be helpful on quests, especially Sylph ones, if you can fly. And I'm very extroverted, so I'm always looking for more friends.
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But if you're so insistent on proving your point, go pick out a mission and we'll see what you're good for. I know where you live, at least for now. Meeting up shouldn't be much trouble.
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How ominous. Well, maybe this catching the wind one?
post event
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We're fine.
Also.
Do you know Shepard?
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Yeah, I met her recently and she's staying with us at the moment. Why?
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She stopped me from punching Cordelia down in Salt Spire. She also mentioned Panem. Like she was... taken there? Or some shit? Do you know what the fuck she's talking about or is she crazy?
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Hold on. You tried to punch Cordelia? Why?
Bit of both. The Panem thing is true. She was taken there from her world like how we were dropped here, and the same sort of resurrection thing happened there to send them into the Games over and over.
I existed there but she never met me? She met Annie though, and Katniss... The timeline of events was different, starting at the Quarter Quell (my second Games) I think. They brought in tributes from other worlds for it instead of choosing tributes from living Victors.
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Because I was upset and didn't know who else to take it out on after Davrin almost fucking died and multiple people did that can't even come back.
That sounds insane. She didn't say much beyond dropping the name and saying she fought and bled with people in the games. I didn't mention you since it's not my place, but I told her she's not the only one that's dealt with shitty games before.
Either way, I think she's trying to... bond with me. Or some shit. She acted awfully high and mighty down there when she tried to stop me, then argued with me about gods. She better not be bossing you around, too.
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Well. Okay fair but I don't think this was her fault... Then again it's pretty unclear what her part IS in this
Hm. No, not bossing me, but she is a little... Odd. Probably the trauma- it's not like we're normal ourselves.
If she knows you're a Victor, she'll probably be protective over you like I am. But let me know if it's too much and I'll talk to her.
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She already said we were friends and I was one of her people, or something. She doesn't know me for shit though. I was just nice to her at the bar.
Kind of pissed me off.
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That's understandable to be pissed about, I'd say. It can be off-putting to be called a friend before someone's actually earned your trust. She's a bit overly familiar with me, too. I consider all Victors family, but sometimes she acts like she knows exactly what I've gone through, but I'm sure our experiences are substantially different, and I don't think she actually knows the half of my stuff.
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Do we need to have a Victor meeting, like you and I did that first time?
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Maybe? Might be good to all get on the same page?
[Could be disastrous, but Finnick is used to the messiness of Victors.]
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I'll leave the coordination of that up to you, once you're feeling better.
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Alright, I'll do that soon.
voice @enasal
I don't want to attempt to speak to you about something frivolous if you are not in the mood.
voice @odaring
[He sounds pleased to hear from her.]
It's been a bit. I'm okay, all things considered. How are you?
Mmm, on the contrary, I think a lighter conversation topic might do us some good, right about now.
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Yes, that sounds good. I just thought -- well, I'm not sure if I can really talk about this with most people, they wouldn't understand -- but I knew you would, so...
[ She's rambling. Get it together, Lavellan. ]
--In the orb. I saw my future. I saw Solas and I. And... there was a baby. My baby. Our baby.
I never thought -- Oh, it was so perfect, Finnick. It was the sweetest little baby I've ever seen.
[ Not that she's biased or anything. ]
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[As he listens, his head tilts to the side, curious and slightly concerned about what it is that only he would understand--
Oh.]
Oh, Beleth.
[Instantly, there are tears in his eyes, and it can definitely be heard in his watery voice.]
I'm so happy for you! I'm sure your baby was absolutely beautiful.
[Ugh, Beleth as a mom, Solas as a dad, the two with a little bundle of love... It's too much to even imagine.]
I saw... I saw my baby, too. My wife was holding him, and they looked--
[His speech gets interrupted by his breath hitching.]
They looked healthy- they looked okay.
[It sounds like he's still awestruck by this fact- like it's a miracle.
And it is, to him.]
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You saw yours, too? And it was a boy? Oh, Finnick. I'm so happy for you. That must be such a relief.
[ He'd known his wife was pregnant, but with so much up in the air when he died, she can't imagine how it had been weighing on him -- at least she had not had that worry. ]
So much death had followed after the war. For both of us, I'm sure. I never thought -- Well, I never thought Solas and I would be in the position to be able to even think about children.
There was a time I thought children would be inevitable for me. But it wouldn't be... something that happened out of love. I thought it would be a duty, one I didn't look forward to. But it's entirely different, with Solas.
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[There's a sniff. Don't mind him, having another little cry about this.
He tries to get it together as he listens to Beleth. He gets it- not thinking of kids as an option because it's impossible to see past all the immediate death and suffering. He'd always wanted kids but never wanted to raise them in such a cruel world- now, the knowledge that his son will grow up without fear is priceless.
He isn't quite sure what she means by having kids not out of love but out of duty- but it doesn't sound pleasant, no.]
That's so lovely. You'll both be such good parents. I'm so, so happy for all three of you- how lucky.
[He doesn't even feel a lick of jealousy that Beleth will someday have that future with Solas, while Finnick will probably never be able to be there with his family, not in the flesh. The grief of that still lingers underneath it all, but he's been processing that since his death, anyway. He's still just basking in the sweet knowledge that they're alive and okay. He's so happy for Beleth and Solas, happy that their love will be shared with a child. What a gift, for all of them.]
I found out that we won the war. Both of the tyrants were removed and Panem elected a new leader. My son will never have to participate in the Games, or even know about them, aside from a historical thing. Things will be more peaceful, at least that's my hope. It was all worth it.
[His sacrifice was not in vain. Finnick would choose to die a horrible death in a sewer 100 more times for this outcome.]
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[ Is the world that her child will be born to better? She doesn't know. Thedas was looking pretty rough when she left, and she and Solas would be living with the Fade, a thing few had accomplished. What life would their child have?
She'd figure something out. She always did. ]
I wish... that we could have our children play together. Do you think they'd be friends?
I say that like I know anything about the child, aside from that it exists. I don't even know the gender. Just that it was mine. But -- I'll meet them, someday.
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[Alright, give him a second, because that made more tears well up and his throat get tighter. What a sweet thing to say, and he's torn between wanting to brush it off because it's so much, and just being absolutely touched.]
It wasn't- [A sniff. A steadying breath.] It wasn't just me. There were so many people working tirelessly and making huge sacrifices for the rebellion. But thank you, Beleth, that truly means a lot to me.
[And their kids playing together- well, that sends a rush of serotonin through his brain. He laughs a little breathlessly.]
I think they would. They both will have such cool parents, so how could they not be cool too?
[She'll meet them, someday. Yes. That's where a little grief, and a little envy seeps into him. Still, he's smiling, happy for her.]
I bet you can't wait.
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[ She laughs when he talks about their parents being cool. Is she cool? Is Solas cool? She'll have to tell him--
The thought of Solas, along with Finnick mentioning that she can't wait, makes her realize she'll have to tell him... Ah. ]
...I'm looking forward to it, but I can wait. Because-- Finnick, I apologize for making this request after telling you something I was so excited for, but... If you see Solas, please don't tell him about the child I saw. Our child.
He's... not ready for that. He'd get in his head about it. He doesn't think he'll be any good as a father, and I think hearing about the baby would cause him undue worry. He'll be ready for it, eventually, but--For now. I'm sorry to ask it of you.
[ Sorry to ask him to hide this, and sorry that it needs to be hidden. But as bad as it feels to hide it, it would feel worse to see Solas so upset over news that had made her feel so giddy. It was not something she wished to experience. ]
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[So much suffering, and so much of it could have been completely in vain. But it wasn't.
He listens with concern to Beleth's plea, and her apologies.]
Oh... Yeah, of course. It's not my place to tell him that, anyway. You do it when you're ready. And don't apologize.
[He definitely understands having doubts or trepidation about becoming a parent. It's a thing to be handled carefully, and only between the two of them. Finnick can understand, though, why Beleth wanted to tell someone about this who would understand and be happy for her, rather than someone who would be panicked by the news.]
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You are a true friend. As strange as arriving at Caldera has been, and the events that have transpired... [ First Finnick got hurt helping Ignacia, then Beleth got hurt during Cordelia's nonsense. ] ...I can't help but be grateful, anyway. That I've met such good people, and made friends of them.
I'm sure you're already aware of this, but if you need any help that I can provide, you need merely ask. How are things holding up with your inn?
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You've already helped me, but I will. And you know it goes both ways.
The Inn is busy, but it's starting to settle out now, and it's been fun to meet all the new Visitors and get to know them. I'm enjoying it, even if I am bone tired.
text, @justzevlor
I heard you were worried. We're fine. It's been...over a month for us, but it's been a good month.
@odaring
Oh, thank goodness.
Your gems were left behind, and your names on the network still existed, so I was trying to reassure myself and Rolan that you'd be back. But yes, we were worried.
I'm glad you're okay. Let me know if you need anything.
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We're fine. Finnick...we got married at the tabernacle in Baldur's Gate. Don't feel left out, though. It was a small ceremony there, and we're going to still have the one we were planning here.
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[Oh. That feels... Well, it's not really fair to be upset over that, is it?]
Well, congratulations. I'm still looking forward to your Caldera wedding. After all, the laws are different here ;) you need to make it official in both places.
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But of course you're entitled to form your own opinion on his personality. He can be difficult, but he's the sort who will yell and complain and then go out of his way to help someone.
Honestly I cannot tell you how strange it was back home. I spoke to Halsin, Astarion, Rolan, even little Barcus, and not a one of them knew what I was talking about when I mentioned Caldera. Hells, I even saw Minthara but I wanted nothing to do with her. Only me and Anthem remembered. I don't know if that means we're from different versions of Faerun than the others here, or if there was some sort of memory erasure that affected them but not us.
But my fellow Hellriders wanted to stand witness to my marriage. It's a new chapter, not just for me but for them as well.
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He had some... Choice words about you and Anthem, which confused me, and in trying to stick up for you, I just pissed him off.
That is strange. I didn't remember this place when I went home. It's hard to imagine that they'd each be from a different version of the place. I don't know- thinking about it too much hurts my head.
Yeah, of course. Uh... How is it a new chapter for them, exactly?
[Finnick doesn't actually know much about Hellriders, except that they're obviously badass.]
CW for passive suicidal ideation, I guess?
But don't worry about me. Rolan hasn't said anything that's not true. I know him. He's harsh, but he's no liar. And I can take anything he can dish out.
Hellriders were the elite cavalry sworn to protect Elturel, and the surrounding Kingdom of Elturgard. We swore a sacred Oath to protect the realm, the leaders of the city, and the innocent people therein. Not all Hellriders were tieflings, but there were quite a few of us in the ranks.
The thing about the Oath was that it was for life. You don't stop being a Hellrider. You don't retire. When you hit the point where you're about to be too old for it, or if you want to stop, you're given a final mission, one that you're not going to survive, and you go out in a blaze of glory.
Some Hellriders did marry and have families--Rolan's parents were Hellriders, in fact--but knowing you would die in battle no matter what makes that delicate business. I could never bring myself to settle down, knowing I'd leave a grieving spouse and children, probably with no body to bury.
We're not sworn to Elturel any longer, though. The city cast us out, and we're free to build a new oath from the ground up, and to marry with the expectation that whether we retire or not, we're at least not expected to die on a suicide mission.
cw suicide missions
Oh... I see. I'm glad that's not your fate anymore, even if the reason for that isn't good. I know how a suicide mission feels, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
I'm grateful you and Anthem will live long happy lives together, and grateful for the time I have with you here, however long or short.
[Even if ultimately, they leave and Finnick stays.]
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I suspect what he meant by abandoning him was that Anthem was with an adventuring party when Elturel was pulled into Avernus. She lost and sacrificed as much as anyone else in the fight to save the city, and without her and her companions there would have been no hope at all. But once the city was returned to the material plane again, she and her companions had additional work to do--there were further-reaching consequences of Elturel's fall, which they were honor-bound to respond to. They left shortly after the city's restoration, but before the political currents turned so viciously against the tieflings.
Anthem wasn't there when we were cast out. I've always been glad of that; I can only imagine it would have broken her heart. But it was brutal for all of us; perhaps Rolan wished she was there to lean on. He's always taken the brunt of the world for his siblings.
She's not to blame for any of it, but his feelings are his feelings.
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It's not really my business, but it's good to have insight. I hope they can work it out.
In any case, he was a mess without you two.
text; @angel♡dust [3:23 am]
Text, @odare
Can't sleep, princess?
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[...]
Of course I do.
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I'll even unlock the door for you~
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[He could always be skeezier, after all.]
You can probably reach the door from the bed anyway, longlegs.
Just closing up the bar. Be there in a few.
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Ooh, but where's the fun in that? I got a surprise for you anyway. So don't keep me waiting long~♡
The surprise being Angel not only laying seductively in the bed, lights dimmed to flickering candle light for ~ambiance~, but he was also sporting black lingerie he had just picked up that may or may not (it was) be laced with aphrodisiac perfume.
And as soon as the door opened: "Heya big boy. Come to collect the rent I owe ya?" Brow waggle.
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A surprise? I'm running. I'm skee-daddling.
And he does. He doesn't even change, still in his work clothes, which are just his regular clothes but a bit sweatier.
One perk of owning the Inn- you don't have to ask for a room number for your late-night visit.
As he knocks softly and opens the door, the scene before him does take him by surprise. It shouldn't; Angel is always a bit extra, but he figured since the text seemed spontaneous that he'd be snuggled into bed, or whatever.
"Whoa."
The cheesy line makes him laugh. "Yep. That's me. Big boy. Very large guy here to ask where my Bones are." He closes the door behind him and saunters over, looking down at Angel in the candlelight. His eyes wander, drinking him in.
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Angel rolled over onto his back, upper arms resting above his head, one leg kicked out and the other laid flat, so long his boot covered foot dangled over the edge a few inches.
"Oh, mister landlord, I don't have any money! But I bet there's another bone I can take care of for you. Would that cover it?" His eyelashes fluttered, one of his lower hands pressing to Finnick's thigh. "Have mercy on this little ol spider~"
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He squints at Angel, like he's a bit suspicious. "Hmmm..."
Bending down over him, one hand plants on the bed. With the other, he trails his fingertips up Angel's thigh, over the black lingerie, past the fluff on his chest, up to his chin. He holds it between his fingers, as though appraising the spider.
"I think we could work something out."
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Angel gave his best doe-eyed look, lip trembling, head tipped back with the curl of fingers under his chin.
"Oh, thank you, mister landlord. I'll do anything you want." He purred, hand trailing up to brush between Finnick's legs.
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It's an adorable look, not that he's particularly falling for it. He is, however, getting a bit warm in the face for some reason.
"Anything, huh?" It feels like the script is already written for him, but he does purr his line out deviously, like he was born to be a porn star too.
he keeps Angel's chin tilted up as he drifts down to kiss his lips softly.
"And what did my sexiest tenant have in mind?"
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He leaned up just enough to properly return the kiss, sharp teeth catching on Finnick's lower lip as he pulled back. Not enough to puncture, but enough to sting as he dragged the points across.
"I dunno," he murmured playfully, fingers curling against his crotch and kneading. "I hear you're real good at filling holes, and I got a few that might need some caulking."
Okay that was bad. Angel laughed. "Just fuck me."
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He laughs in turn, softly.
"I can fill your holes, babycakes. But how about... Letting me on the bed with you, first?" Ever heard of foreplay, Angel? No, he's a porn star, of course not. Well, time to learn.
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"Plenty of room, doll." He pulled his long long legs up and scooted over to make room, not entirely sure which direction he wanted to go, but clearly willing to adjust accordingly.
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"You're so... Grabbable." He demonstrates by lifting Angel atop himself, hands sliding up and down his sides as he kisses the demon again.
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He reaches down to grope Angel's ass, pressing the spider's hips against his own in the process. He grabs angel's lip between his teeth, pulling on it gently before letting it slip through.
"Sure hope you can't come up with rent any time soon..."
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"Mm. Maybe we can make this a permanent arrangement? Money's kinda tight, but I got something tighter you might like better."
Stupid.
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Hands, everywhere, grazing his abdominal muscles and gills, around his cock, in his hair. His own hands wander Angel further, exploring.
"Show me how you like it, baby."
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He had hands everywhere, and one left still to reach back and pull a drawer open in the nightstand so he could fish around, pull out a pair of handcuffs, pause, and then snort out a laugh. "Looking for the lube so you can bend me over and fuck me into the sheets. Maybe we can play with these later." Unless...
Anyway. Lube. Handcuffs tossed onto the bed, vial pulled out so he could pop the cork off. Did he time the pop with the exact moment his dick sprung free and pressed between them?
Yes. Obviously.
Donation For Non-Human Guests
I hope you accept these glasses and such for any non-human guests. They're sturdier than what's made for humans since glassware and such here is too fragile to be manipulated for hooves, claws, and mouths alone.
Sincerely,
Cadence
@odaring
Thank you so much for your donation! These are really great. If you have any other suggestions for adaptive stuff, I'm always all ears.
Cheers,
Finnick
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I'll try and think of something but really most of the times I don't realize the issue until I bump into it. I broke a ridiculous amount of glasses holding them between my hooves up until I got my telekinesis back. Which works fine for Alicorns like me or Unicorns but Pegasi and Earth Ponies would be struggling since they don't have that kind of magic.
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Nothing.
Well. That wasn't entirely true. He drank a lot, played cards with whoever was still hanging out at the inn, and just sort of hoped whatever bullshit was happening outside wouldn't come inside. Thankfully, it didn't. This place was holding up pretty well. Shame the owner wasn't.
"Rough couple of days, babycakes?" Angel finally asked a handful of days after the whole... ordeal, leaning his elbows on the bar and his chin in his hands.
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"Rough... Whole month, honestly." Finnick admits as he puts some pint glasses away.
"How are you doing?" He looks up and over at Angel.
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"You wanna talk about it or should I just sit here and look pretty to distract you?"