masturbatorium | this is fuckin' awesome

this is fuckin' awesome

Open RP Post

⊛ find a character you want to play with and respond to their thread. can't find who you want? let me know!
⊛ we can make up a scenario, adapt a meme of some sort, or... something else? whatever the fuck we want.
⊛ if you need ideas, the random scenario meme has just about anything you could want.
⊛ wanna do a picture prompt? we can do some picture prompts.
⊛ FUCK YEAH WE'RE TOTALLY ROLEPLAYING RIGHT NOW!!!

Handy-Dandy Quick Links:
Vanessa Cleveland ⊛ Catty Turner ⊛ Finnick Odair ⊛ Belle Beaumont ⊛ Chloe Saunders
Commander Shepard ⊛ Piper McLean ⊛ Jordan Langley ⊛ Jaime Lannister ⊛ Eli Keaton
Sally Malik ⊛ Corey Carling ⊛ Shadow ⊛ Fenris ⊛ Meetra Surik
Revan ⊛ Keiko Nakagawa ⊛ Alyss Heart ⊛ Ava ⊛ James
Percy Jackson ⊛ Frank Zhang ⊛ Helen ⊛ Jason Grace ⊛ David Levin
April O'Neil ⊛ Galen Marek ⊛ Reyna ⊛ Jackson Swift ⊛ Jaime Reyes
Fran Zhang (AU) ⊛ Jasa Grace (AU) ⊛ Piper McLean (AU) ⊛ Gretel ⊛ Sirius Black
Cullen ⊛ Liv Durand ⊛ Maddie Moss ⊛ Daniel Bianchi ⊛ Finley Odair (AU)
Persephone Jackson (AU) ⊛ Derek Hale ⊛ Raleigh Becket ⊛ Allison Argent ⊛ Liam Hunt
Seph McCauley ⊛ Jonah Kinlock ⊛ Edward Kenway ⊛ Aveline de Grandpre ⊛ Gale Hawthone
Will Scarlet ⊛ Korra ⊛ Carswell Thorne ⊛ Scarlet Benoit

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

She does it without thinking, her arm lashing out into his shoulder. He'll probably catch her fist but she doesn't really care. It's the principle of the matter.

They're all dead the back of her mind whispers, and she stamps down on it, hard.

"You're a fucking creep, you know that?"

He doesn't catch her fist, and instead rubs his arm where she's hit him at. Wow, that's pretty rude. Rude little girls, all over the place.

"Most people seem to enjoy what I have to say."

That gets her to glance over at him, startled. Honestly, she'd half expected to end up on the ground again.

"You're a victor, no one cares what you have to say," she points out after a moment. "They only care about what the Capitol's saying through you."

He looks back at her with a small smile. Look, she wasn't attacking him. There's no threat here.

"Plenty of people care what I have to say, and I'm not always parroting Snow's words." He runs his fingers through messy, damp hair. A shower is desperately needed. "But that's our little secret."

She frowns at the smile, not understanding why he's giving it to her. Not understanding how she got in this situation to begin with. She's angry, she's enraged, but the comforting emptiness calls to her too. Because she knows that when she stops being angry, it'll hurt all over again.

"We don't have any little secrets," she snaps, except she doesn't exactly want him broadcasting her little episode around there. "How do you stand it? How can you do that to yourself?"

Honestly, Finnick has stopped trying to figure out things for years now. It happens, and he's left slightly bewildered, but he still goes for it. He feels... Bad for her, not that she'd appreciate it, but he does. And now she's alone.

"Because I don't have nearly as much pride as you to keep watching the people I love die," Finnick tells her, point blank. There's no softening of the blow there. "And because I was just a kid who had no idea what was going on. One day, I'm on the top of the world, the next I'm bottoming."

Literally.

She flinches like he hit her, and her fingers twitch, balling up before she forces them to relax again. For a moment, her breath comes shallow in her chest rattles around in there even as she forces herself to keep her face blank, uncaring.

This is how things are now. This is how things are always going to be. There's no absolution here, so there's no point on lingering on it.

"Winning was supposed to be the end."

Finnick thinks she can be as angry as she wants, but in the end, that was her decision. It was her fault. No choice is a good one, when you're a victor. But he sees the way she reacts.

She's not some drone.

"We didn't win, Johanna. We survived. Some of us do it better than others."

That drags a snort out of her. She tips her head up to the ceiling, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nice to have a talent, I guess."

Because she has survived. And despite the hollow ache inside her, she knows she'll keep on surviving, because she didn't make it through the nightmare that was the Games only to have what she'd fought so hard for taken away from her.

Because she hadn't been fighting for her district, or her family, or for glory. She'd been fighting to live. That was all that had mattered in the Games. And after everything, it was all that really mattered now.

"It's what we're good at, or we wouldn't be victors."

His skin is starting to crawl, but he wants to see her back to her room at least, wants to make sure she'll be okay for the night. Not that he really cares. There's no more room to care these days. Not when there's Annie and Mags and a family that will have nothing to do with him anymore.

They reach her room at the top of the hotel, the supposed seat of honour. It could be a hole in the ground for how glad she is to see it, but it's not like she has anywhere else to go.

"Look, we made it and no one died. Happy?"

Finnick shrugs. "I wouldn't go that far." Happy is a strong word, but he's glad that there weren't any problems, at least. Nothing that can come back and do more harm along the way.

"You going to be okay?"

She tugs her security card out of the bodice of her dress and swipes it; the door opens, and she steps through. "Probably not."

Johanna's pretty sure she's never going to be okay again. That's apparently the way it goes, for victors.

He nods slowly, looking her over again. She's a survivor, and too proud to just kill herself, so he's not going to say anything about that. "I'll see you tomorrow, Johanna Mason."

Johanna slams her fist into Finnick's door over and over, less of a knock and more of a punch. She's been playing the crowds all day, pressing her confidence and savagery, and she's just about done. She can bare her teeth in a smirk as much as she likes, but it'll never match the sight of Enobaria's animalistic grin. Maybe there's a select group that has always appreciated her tricks but they're a small group. Johanna has already played her hand.

Good thing she has other plans. But those plans revolve around some slip of a girl who lucked into a love story and a bunch of people who were ready to use her as a symbol.

The point is, Johanna is mad. Really angry, in a way she hasn't been in a long, long time. She could pretend like she doesn't know why she's going to see someone who annoys her most of the time, but she's not in the mood for lying to herself, either.

She needs a friend.

Finnick already knows who's on the other side of that door. He's put Mags to bed a little bit earlier. She needs the rest, should get as much as possible. Besides, she'd never try to beat the door down like some animal. That's not Mags.

Still, he sits on the edge of his bed, hands clasped together on his knees, head bowed as he listens to her pounding on the door. He doesn't want to bother. He doesn't want to leave this spot. Doesn't want to leave Annie. The idea of the arena doesn't scare him; not accomplishing what he wants does, though.

But the pounding starts to make him wince, and with a soft noise, he heaves himself to his feet. Makes himself walk to the door and opens it.

"Johanna."

The door opens, finally. But it's no accident that her hand keeps moving, shoving Finnick in the chest before she pushes past him inside.

"What the hell took you so long?" But already her anger has settled down a little. She wraps her arms around herself, hands holding onto the opposite elbow as she scowls at him.

He stumbles back when she shoves him, spinning around to watch her. She's angry. It's an understatement. She's livid, and scared maybe. Finnick knows her well enough for that.

"I was busy," is what he mutters in response. He watches her for a moment before reaching out and tugging her closer to him.

It's not really for her so much as it is for him.

"Bullshit," she bites out. "You were curled up like a jackass feeling sorry for yourself." But they're empty words, serving only as a vehicle for her anger. Nothing intended to actually hurt him.

Usually she makes a show of resisting, but she doesn't bother this time. Finnick reaches for her and Johanna is sort of already walking towards him the second she sees his arms moving. She doesn't hug him or anything, but her forehead is pressed to his chest, her breathing low and unsteady.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, because yeah. She's got it right. He totally was.

There's something unnerving about the way she doesn't resist him, but he's not going to ask questions. He's not going to ruin it. His arms wrap around her tightly, his fingers treading into her hair and clenching tightly as he holds her there.

"I don't have anything to say."

She snorts. "What, the golden boy lost his silver tongue?" His hand in his hair hurts a little but, but she doesn't care. Barely even notices.

She's silent for so long that it might seem like she's just going to stand there forever, but eventually she shifts a little, turning her head and stepping in again, leaning into him. "I don't need you to speak." She just needs him to be there.

"Something like that."

There's just nothing to say. No snappy remarks, no witty one-liners. This isn't a game that can be won, not really.

Finnick looks down at her, releasing his grip enough to brush her hair out of her her face. His mouth opens like he's going to say something in response to that, but she's right. He doesn't. His lips brush across her forehead, almost an apology that he can't tell her it'll be okay.

Johanna feels the touch of his lips on her forehead and her eyes squeeze shut. She knows she has to do this - not even because of the Capitol, but because of the seeds of a revolution that have been sown, a chance to end all of this.

But even with that noble goal, she doesn't want to go back into the Games. She doesn't want to do this, not when the layer of protection she'd built around herself the first time has been so thoroughly stripped from her. She's no innocent little girl now.

She turns her face up, forcing her eyes open again. There's barely anything sexual about it when she presses her mouth to his, more of a desperate plea than anything else. Usually she waits for him to make the first move, all things considered, but she needs this. Needs something.

"Just--" She lets out a shuddering breath against his mouth, and her hands leave her own body, fist in his shirt. "Just let me think about something else, just for a bit."

Finnick's expecting it, if he's going to be honest. He's expecting the way her mouth feels against his, and that desperation that's filling her body - the way her muscles tense and the awkward way she holds herself. He responds mechanically anyway, despite being ready for it.

There's a rebellion, there's a Game. They're going to die, they might live.

His last night with Annie was spent comforting her. He doesn't mind, because it meant he could protect her one last time.

It's a strange parallel to draw on, but it's similar to the way Johanna feels against him. A different kind of comfort, another type of protection. His hands move to her face, rough fingers moving over skin as his thumbs brush over her cheekbones. For a moment, he thinks about telling her no. Like this is a bad idea, like he can't let his last moment be with her instead.

"Okay," he breathes against her mouth before kissing her hard.

There's a thin tendril of disgust curling through her at the mechanical way he responds, although whether it's at him or her, she has no idea. Is she any better than them, using him like this?

Honestly, she's not going to examine that one too closely. He whispers okay and she doesn't have to (or is at least going to use it as an excuse not to).

She gives as good as she gets, dragging him closer. He's too good at this, but Johanna really doesn't care about that right now, tugging his lower lip between her teeth, fisting one hand in his hair. Something like heat washes through her, but it's a dim, muted thing, overwhelmed by thoughts of the arena, the screams of the dying, the boom of the canon. She curses against his mouth, pushing closer again like the more of him she gets, the less room there'll be for her past.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 17 of 27

«

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27

»