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Bros Before Ho!Ho!Hos

Summary: Finnick, Peeta, and Gale attend Thom and Delly’s annual New Year’s Eve bash in the hopes of sending the year out with a bang. 

A/N: Rated E for explicit language and sexual situations. With many thanks to three girls on my star squad, @myusernamehere@dandelion-sunset, and @jennagill for their friendship, support, and betaing skills. I love you girls! 

For @etherealfinnick, from your truant THGSS. I didn’t forget about you, chica. I’m just a horribly slow writer, especially since my family has been in town for the past two weeks (cue the violins). You asked for a fluffy holiday Odesta drabble, and hopefully you’re okay with whatever this turned out to be… <3c   

The house looked like a PG-13 version of a strip club. Thousands of gaudy lights pulsated in time to the “Carol of the Bells.” Thom’s idea, no doubt. A neon sign in the front window cheerfully proclaimed the presence of “Ho!Ho!Hos!” beyond the glass pane, a classic Delly touch if ever there was one. On the snow-covered lawn, a winking plastic Santa, finger knowingly nudging the side of his nose, sat like a pimp in his sleigh. His paunchy gut and rosy cheeks implied a shade or two of debauchery, a taste for something stronger than the occasional Christmas cookie. And the twinkle in his eye suggested he’d been more than a little naughty, too.

There was a fine line between a stripper pole and the North Pole, and Thom and Delly had plowed gleefully through that line, balls out and no looking back.

Finnick half-expected to be greeted at the door by a scantily clad elf in sequined pasties and reindeer antlers—he just hoped Thom wasn’t the elf. There were hardships he could endure in this world, but the sight of Thom’s voluminous manbreasts was decidedly not among them.

“Okay, here’s how this works, broskis,” Finnick said to his friends, flipping up the collar of his wool coat to shield his pretty face against the bracing wind. “Tonight shall henceforth be known as ‘Operation Hit and Quit It.’”

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Bare Hands

Or, five times Fitz and May don’t talk about the shooting, and the one time that May does.

Notes: For thewasabipea, who requested a Five Times + FitzMay fic, and for leopoldfitz, who is my inspiration for all things FitzMay.


They don’t talk about the shooting when they’re scavenging what they can from the Hub, weaving back and forth in a mad dash to load up the plane with supplies.

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