#since she's (half) in the game and i assume more people are learning about her from there‚ i'll also tag this as

[hikayunas]

kirsten ('elly') isn't a witch that tends to get a lot of theorizing about her, but from what i have seen, there's been a lot of emphasis on the idea that, in life, she was an idol, and that idol culture and the hell that comes with it is what led to her downfall and ultimate fate as a witch. while i can see where that comes from, i think that's a rather surface-level reading of her themes and what's used to represent her --

judging by the other anime witches, their natures seem to represent and tie into the original magical girl more than their physical representations or anything else about them. oktavia -- who has heavy musical, symphonic imagery despite sayaka not having been the musical one in life -- is described as falling in love [恋慕], while gretchen's nature is described as mercy or compassion [慈悲]. and kirsten, with everything about her clearly screaming about how she must have been an idol, is described with nothing but 憧憬; the wiki translated it as 'covetous', but jisho's dictionary paints a better, more vivid picture -- aspiration; longing, yearning.

that is, i think it's safer to say that kirsten was never an idol. it was never something she was able to achieve or accomplish and the idol industry sinking its teeth into her is not what tore her down. the rest of her witch card seems to offer more insight into who kirsten was before she was kirsten -- she's described very bluntly as a hikikomori; that is, somebody who's completely cut themself off from wider society, family, and friends, never leaving the house unless absolutely necessary. anything she longs for is shut away behind glass -- that is, a tv screen or computer monitor.

but her witch card isn't the only thing that feeds us more about her. the designs of kirsten herself and her familiars (and how they operate) quickly make more sense when viewed from this angle -- kirsten is not the whole witch. kirsten is just the doll -- the witch's true body. and kirsten spends most of her time locked away behind a computer monitor; shut away behind glass. 'elly' -- the name scribbled on the monitor and the name of the idol figure that flashes and performs on the monitor -- is who kirsten presents herself as and is trapped within. kirsten need not be herself when she can be 'elly' instead.

but it goes deeper than that. it's not exactly visible in the anime, but when you look at kirsten's design sheets, it quickly becomes obvious that the doll body -- 'kirsten' -- only goes down to an empty, carved-out torso, trailing thick grime meant to resemble an idol's skirt behind her. she is, quite literally, only half a person. and this is a theme that continues into her familiars, too -- daniyyel and jennifer are angels, but each only has one wing; daniyyel a right wing, jennifer a left. they're each only half of a pair -- if they want to fly, as their job requires, they must work together. and speaking of their job, it's to carry things around the labyrinth, including 'elly' herself. 'elly' has wings -- a whole pair -- and looks like she flies around her labyrinth in the anime, but she's actually immobile and needs her familiars to move her around if she wants to get anywhere. and she can't attack intruding magical girls on her own, either -- all she can do is summon more and more familiars to do the attacking for her. immobile, helpless, reclusive. only half a person dreaming she was more.

and all of this even ties together nicely (or, rather tragically) with how kirsten is even introduced in the anime at all. we meet kirsten when she preys on hitomi and a crowd of others and has them attempt to kill themselves, many of them bemoaning how useless and worthless to society they are, while hitomi rants and raves about how this will bring them all to a better place. and the way they go about their attempted suicide? by mixing together two chemicals -- chemicals easily found in the house or to get your hands on, if madoka's flashback is anything to go by; harmless apart but deadly when combined.

immobile, helpless, reclusive. half a person dreaming she was more.

she can be more in a better place.

[demie90s]

The Way Life Goes

UConn WBB x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Your slipping—mentally, physically, emotionally. Your grades are tanking, her game is off, and her spark’s gone out. No breakdowns, no pleas for help. Just soft shrugs and quiet “I’m fine”s.

Genre: Angst, mental health decline, found family dynamic, emotional detachment, slow-burn comfort (implied)

Warnings: Depression, academic stress, sports performance anxiety, emotional numbness, isolation, mentions of disordered eating/sleep, no overt self-harm

Word Count: ~ 8.3k

I don’t remember the last time I felt like I was actually here.

Like—not just physically. But really here. In my body. In this life. In this uniform with my name stitched across the chest like it means something.

Most mornings I get up because I don’t wanna make anybody worry. Not because I have anything to look forward to. Not because I believe it’ll get better. Just because I don’t want someone knocking on my door, asking why I missed weights again. Or why I didn’t show up to film. Or why I haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t from a vending machine in two and a half days.

Coach yelled at me last week. Said I’ve been coasting. Said I don’t look locked in. I nodded. Took the hit like I should. My fault. I’ll get better. That’s what I said. But I knew I wouldn’t.

I’m tired.

But it’s not the kind of tired you fix with sleep. It’s deep. Rooted. Like my bones are waterlogged and I’m dragging around someone else’s body.

My grades are circling the drain. I missed a quiz two days ago because I genuinely forgot what day it was. Showed up to the wrong class building the next day. Laughed about it when Jana asked. Told her I was just “fried.” She smiled, but she looked at me too long after. Like she was trying to figure out if I was actually joking.

I wasn’t.

My car broke down last week outside the Shell station on Whitney. Smoke poured from the hood like my life was trying to take visible form. I just stared at it. Didn’t call anyone. Just sat on the curb with my chin in my hands and watched people pass like I wasn’t sitting in the middle of my own collapse.

I think someone recognized me. I heard, “Isn’t that—” and I smiled before they could finish the sentence. Not because I was happy. Just because it was automatic. I’ve learned if you smile while everything’s burning, people assume you’re fine.

They walked off. I walked to campus. Halfway there it started raining and I didn’t even flinch.

Hair wet. Socks soaked. Hoodie clinging to me like skin. I looked up at the sky and thought—at least it’s not snowing.

That’s where I’m at now. Finding gratitude in the bare minimum. No tears. No anger. Just… acceptance. Like, damn. This is what it is, huh?

I cracked a tooth in practice yesterday. Slipped on a rebound, elbow to the mouth, and all I felt was the crunch. I got up slow, spit blood into a towel, and shrugged when Ice asked if I was okay.

“Yeah,” I said, licking the jagged edge with my tongue. “Could be worse.” I smiled.

Azzi looked at me like I’d said something in a language she couldn’t translate.

I’m losing pieces of myself every day and all I can do is keep count. That’s all I got left. The keeping track of the downfall. Hair falling out in the shower? That’s six days in a row. Appetite gone? I’ve had a protein bar and three sips of water since Tuesday. Can’t sleep without waking up in a full sweat? I stopped counting that one. Doesn’t matter. I’ll still show up. I’ll still run. I’ll still fake it.

Because what else is there?

Sometimes I hear them whisper about me in the locker room. Not loud enough to be shady, but not quiet enough to be innocent either.

“She look tired.”

“She ain’t been eating.”

“She snapped at Coach the other day.”

“She smiled when her lip was bleeding.”

And I know it don’t make sense. I know I look like a warning sign in human form. But every time someone asks if I’m okay, I say the same thing.

“I’m good.”

KK tried to pull me aside last week. Put her hand on my shoulder and said, “You know you can talk to me, right?” Her voice was soft, real. The kind that makes you wanna break down just outta spite. But I couldn’t do it.

“I’m okay. Just a lot on my plate.” I smiled.

She looked at my plate like she could see straight through it. Like she knew there was nothing on it but air and pride. Still, she nodded.

I appreciated that.

Nika’s the only one who stopped asking. She just watches now. From across the gym, in film, walking out of class. Her eyes track me like she knows I’m about to disappear.

And maybe I am. Maybe I already did.

I put my airpods in before games now. Not because I’m listening to anything. Just so I don’t have to talk. Just so I can pretend the silence is a choice.

Sometimes I play that Trippie song, though. The one that goes, “I wish you would find your chill, ‘cause Lord knows this shit get real.” That one line feels like a prayer. Like someone wrote it with me in mind. I whisper it under my breath like a spell. Doesn’t work. But I say it anyway.

Coach pulled me into his office yesterday. Said he’s worried. Said the staff’s noticed. Said I look “distant.”

I nodded again. Said, “I hear you.” He asked if I needed anything.

I smiled. “No, sir. I’m good.”

He looked like she didn’t believe me. But what can you do? You can’t force someone to want to be helped. And I don’t. Not really.

I just want to float. Just for a while. Not swim. Not sink. Just… drift. I go to sleep hoping I don’t dream. I wake up hoping I feel something.

I laugh when I forget things now. When I show up to practice without my jersey. When I leave my shoes in the locker room. When I forget to eat. When I mix up plays. I just laugh. Not loud. Not crazy. Just a soft, “Huh.”

Like I’m watching myself from somewhere else. Somewhere colder. Somewhere quiet.

I’m not looking for sympathy. I don’t even want anyone to check in. It’s too late for that. I already made peace with it. This is the part where I fade out for a while. Maybe forever. Maybe just long enough to feel real again.

And if I don’t? Then I guess that’s just how the story goes.

———————————————————————————————

Practice was brutal today.

Not cause it was hard. Not cause I was sore. Not cause we were running drills ‘til our lungs gave out. I barely felt any of it. The burn in my legs, the ache in my shoulder—background noise. White static. I heard it, sure, but it didn’t matter.

What got me was Geno’s voice. Sharp. Heavy. Constant. Cutting through the gym like it was trying to fillet my spirit in real time.

“Are you serious right now?”

“What the hell was that?”

“You do know you’re not just here to jog around and look tired, right?”

“Pick it up. You been sleepwalking since warmups.”

I nodded. That’s it. No excuse. No attitude. No fire. Just… nod.

What could I even say? That he’s right? That I know I look like shit? That I feel worse than I look?

He moved on, barking at someone else, but his eyes flicked back to me like he knew he didn’t get through. Like he saw the dull in my stare. The silence behind my nod. The nothing.

At one point, Ice passed me the ball and I missed it completely. Like didn’t even move my hands. It bounced off my knee and rolled into the corner.

“She wide open and asleep,” Paige muttered, just loud enough. I smiled.

Not cause it was funny. Not cause I cared. Just cause I didn’t want her to think I’d heard it and been hurt. Easier to smile. Easier to act like I agree.

Later, in the locker room, no one really talked to me. Azzi handed me a towel. I said thanks. She didn’t move right away. Just looked at me like she wanted to say something.

I tucked the towel into my lap and bent down to untie my shoes. Silence is my defense now. Not cause I’m trying to be cold, but cause I don’t trust what’ll come out if I open my mouth. Maybe a scream. Maybe a sob. Maybe nothing at all.

Some of the girls are starting to get frustrated. I can feel it in the way they pass me the ball just a little too hard. The way they huddle without me. The way their tone shifts when they say my name.

Caroline called me out during walkthroughs.

“You’re not even running the plays,” she said. “You’re just kinda… there.”

I nodded. Again. Said, “My bad.”

She blinked at me like she was waiting for more. Something. Anything. But I didn’t have it. Didn’t even try.

They don’t get it. How could they? I used to be sharp. Funny. Reliable. I used to know every damn set like muscle memory. I used to lead warm-ups. I used to hype people up when they missed. I used to care.

Now I just… exist. Like a light switch someone forgot to turn off in an empty room. Coach Geno pulled me aside after practice. Private, but not gentle.

“You either get your head on straight, or you’re gonna sit. I don’t care how much talent you’ve got. You’re hurting this team.”

His voice was steady, not yelling. Almost worse. He sounded disappointed. And that—that used to break me. But now? Now it just bounced off. I stared at the wall behind him and nodded.

“You hearing me?”

“Yeah.”

“You care?”

That one made me blink. I didn’t answer. Just looked at him with eyes that probably said more than I could. Eyes that whispered, I’m trying. But I think I already drowned. He sighed. Walked off.

I sat in the locker room after everyone left. Hoodie on. Music low. Something old—Trippie, maybe. Something sad with too much bass and not enough hope.

Wish you’d get out my face

Might go MIA

Might just blow my brain…

I mouthed the words but didn’t sing. Just let them sit on my tongue like smoke I didn’t have the energy to exhale.

I haven’t cried in weeks. I want to. Desperately. I want to sob. Scream. Punch a locker until my knuckles split. But there’s nothing left inside to release. No pressure. No build-up. Just a flat line where my heartbeat used to live.

I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t feel my face half the time. I watch the world through glass, and nobody notices I’m behind it. Or maybe they do, and they’re just scared to tap on it too hard.

I laugh now, at everything. At nothing. Dropped my phone in the shower yesterday. Fried it. Laughed so hard I had to sit down.

Stepped in gum. Laughed.

Burnt my toast. Laughed.

Got an email saying I’m failing two classes. Laughed so long the girl next to me in the library moved tables. I think I’m becoming a ghost.And the worst part? No one can even say I didn’t try.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t go to practice today. Not because I overslept. Not because I was sick. Not because I had something else to do. I just didn’t feel like going. I knew what time I needed to be there. I knew what would happen if I missed.

I knew Geno would call me out, that the team would probably run for me, that my absence would be loud even if I didn’t say a word. But I stayed in bed for a while, then I got up, grabbed my hoodie, and walked off campus until I found somewhere with water.

It was some lake—I couldn’t tell you the name. I don’t even remember how far I walked to get there. I just sat down and watched the ripples.

The way they moved like they had direction, like they had somewhere to be, calmed me. Everything in my life feels stuck, but the water kept flowing. That made me feel less alone, in a weird way.

My phone vibrated in my pocket every couple of minutes. I didn’t look at it. I knew it was them—coach, teammates, maybe even someone from academic support. At one point, I think my mom called too.

I felt it ring a little longer than usual, which is what happens when she’s trying to wait me out. I let it pass.

It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that I don’t have the energy to pretend I do. I haven’t felt anything in weeks—not really. I eat because my stomach cramps when I don’t. I show up to class and sit in the back because if I don’t, I get flagged for attendance.

I speak in practice when spoken to. I smile when someone makes a joke. But it’s all fake. A tired performance I don’t have the strength to keep doing. So today, I didn’t perform.

I haven’t answered a call from my mom since last Thursday. I’ve opened her messages, read them in full, and just… set the phone down.

She keeps saying she’s worried about me, that I sound different, that I “don’t check in anymore.” And I want to say something. I really do. But nothing feels true. Nothing feels worth saying. What would I even tell her?

That I think I’m fading out of my own body? That I sit on the floor of my room at night and stare at the same spot on the wall for hours and it brings me more peace than any conversation could? That I don’t want to die but I wouldn’t fight it if it came?

I came back to my dorm once the sun started dropping. I took a shower without thinking—hot water on my neck, just standing there until I was dizzy. I laid in bed in a hoodie and let music play from my laptop, but I couldn’t hear any of it. I couldn’t feel it. The lyrics were there. The bass was low. But it didn’t reach me. It’s been like that for a while now.

I checked my phone briefly. Three missed calls from my mom. Two from my dad. One from Paige that just said, “You straight?” with a question mark and no follow-up. I didn’t reply. I stared at it until the screen dimmed, then flipped it over.

The team had bonding night tonight—Azzi posted a photo on her story. Everybody was smiling, even the ones who never smile.

I was tagged in it, even though I wasn’t there. I think that was someone’s attempt at pulling me in without forcing it. I didn’t repost it. I didn’t even look long.

They’ve stopped asking me to come to things. The invitations have turned into suggestions, and then into silence. And I get it.

I wouldn’t want to be around me either. I’m not fun. I’m not present. I’m not even angry anymore. I’m just… empty. I laugh at things that aren’t funny. I smile when I’m shaking. I tell people I’m okay when I feel like I’m made of glass.

And the worst part? I’ve accepted it.

I’m not trying to get better. I’m not journaling. I’m not meditating. I’m not reaching out. I’m letting it happen. Letting it all fade. Letting the world run past me while I sit still. I don’t think I want to be saved. I don’t want to be fixed. I want to be left alone, to let whatever this is run its course.

Maybe this is the end. Maybe this is just the part where I disappear without making a sound.

———————————————————————————————

The door wasn’t locked.

That’s the first thing I remember—hearing it click open. Then footsteps. Hesitant. Too soft for Coach. Too unsure to be campus security. It was one of them. Or maybe more than one. I didn’t look. I didn’t move. I barely even breathed.

I was curled up on the floor between my bed and the wall, right where the light didn’t reach. Hoodie on. Legs pulled to my chest. Arms limp. Not crying. Not asleep. Just still.

The room was dark. Not dim—dark. Curtains drawn. Lights off. Laptop closed. The only real sound was the faint hum of the mini fridge and the occasional creak of the building settling around me. I hadn’t cleaned in days. Maybe longer. Clothes everywhere. Trash untouched. Air stale. My toothbrush still sealed in the little cup of water I’d left it in three nights ago.

The silence broke when they stepped fully inside.

“…She in here?” someone whispered. A girl’s voice. Familiar. Too careful.

Another voice—closer. Lower. Less afraid. “Yeah. God…”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just focused on the cracked piece of paint on the baseboard across from me. I’d been staring at it so long I started seeing patterns in it—faces, rivers, maybe even a map if I tilted my head enough.

Then the light from the hallway stretched across the floor, and I felt it touch my hoodie. A hand hesitated in the air next to me. Didn’t grab. Didn’t shake. Just hovered like they were scared I’d shatter if they made contact.

I would have.

“Hey…” It was a soft murmur, like they were testing if I was still alive. I was. Barely. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. No energy left for anything but existence.

Someone crouched down. I heard a knee pop against the floor. Then breath. Real close.

“Can you… can you hear me?”

Yes. But I didn’t nod. Didn’t move. Couldn’t figure out if the truth mattered. What difference would it make? They were here now, and I was still on the floor.

Someone else walked around to the side of the bed. They were trying not to step on anything. There was too much to step on. I’d stopped noticing the mess. It had become part of me. Part of the decay.

“She’s not talking,” a voice said, somewhere in the corner. I didn’t know who. I could name every one of their shoes by sound, but their voices melted together. Gentle. Uneasy. Like I was something they didn’t know how to fix.

“She’s breathing, though.”

“Barely.”

“Fuck.”

The one next to me finally touched my sleeve. Just two fingers. Barely a nudge.

“You good?” she asked. Not because she didn’t know. But because people don’t know what else to say.

I could’ve laughed if I had the strength. Am I good? I was limp on the floor of my own room like a corpse that hadn’t made up its mind yet. Frail. Faded. My eyes were open but there was nothing behind them.

No hunger. No pain. No fear. Just… gone.

“She’s freezing,” someone said. “Her hands—look.”

There was rustling. A blanket. Arms. I didn’t resist when they shifted me slightly. I barely felt it. My body didn’t register the weight. I was used to being weightless now. Useless. Empty.

One of them settled on the floor behind me and let me lean into her. I think it was Azzi. I knew that smell. Subtle lavender, soft sweatshirt cotton. She didn’t say anything. She just exhaled and rested her chin against the top of my hoodie. Her arms wrapped loosely around my knees like she was scared to squeeze too tight.

The silence grew thick. Nobody tried to break it.

Someone turned on the lamp. Not the main light—just enough to see. The room looked worse in the glow. More real. More alive than I felt.

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” someone whispered.

“She’s been like this for how long?”

“I don’t know…”

“I didn’t think—”

“Nah. Me neither.”

I kept staring. Blank. Detached. Somewhere else. The weight of Azzi behind me was warm, but I wasn’t sure if I felt it or just remembered what warmth used to be.

The girls around us didn’t leave. They didn’t press. They didn’t cry. They just sat there, like they were waiting for me to come back to earth. But I wasn’t ready yet.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. But they stayed. And for the first time in days, I realized I hadn’t imagined the world outside my head.

———————————————————————————————

I could move. That’s what scared me most.

Not that I was stuck. Not that my body had finally quit on me. But that I could move—still. That there was just enough breath left to keep going even though everything inside me was begging to stop. I wasn’t paralyzed. I wasn’t dead. I was functional, and that was worse.

The girls were still in my room. Not saying much. Just there. One of them—Azzi, I think—sat behind me, quiet and steady. She hadn’t moved since I’d curled into her chest. Her hand rubbed small circles on my knee. It was meant to be comforting. It didn’t reach me.

The others didn’t say my name anymore. They’d said it earlier. Once. Twice. Too many times. It hung heavy in the room like smoke no one could wave away. They knew now. Knew this was beyond a rough patch. Beyond a bad day. This was a collapse. A full shut-down in a girl-shaped body. This was what it looked like when someone gave up and didn’t bother to announce it.

After a while, I shifted. Slow. Mechanical. Like I had to remember where my limbs went.

Azzi’s arms eased back as I sat up. Her hand lingered for a second, just in case I fell again. I didn’t.

I didn’t look at anyone. My eyes were blurry anyway. Not from tears—there were none left—but from everything being too sharp, too loud, even in silence. I stood. My legs ached like they hadn’t been used in years. My back cracked when I straightened. I felt everything. Every joint. Every bruise. Every rib like it was separate from the rest.

I walked to the bathroom with bare feet, stepping over wrappers, books, and clothes without reacting to any of it. The light in there stung, so I turned it off and let the hallway lamp behind me throw in a little glow.

I shut the door. Not slammed. Not even fully closed. Just… pressed it mostly shut. Enough to breathe without them watching. I didn’t lock it.

My knees hit the tile slower than expected. My hand found the edge of the bathtub. I climbed in, not to run water. Not to wash off. Just to sit.

I curled again, this time in porcelain instead of carpet. My hoodie was too big, but the weight of it felt safe. Like armor I didn’t earn.

I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. My throat burned. Not from sickness. From silence. From fear. From knowing that if I said what I was actually thinking, I’d never be able to take it back.

Because if I said it—if I really let the words come—it’d be too real. The part of me that’s been quiet would finally scream. And it’d sound something like:

“I want to die.”

And I wasn’t sure who I’d become after that. So I didn’t say it. I sat there with my lips parted, my voice crumpled in the back of my tongue, and I imagined what it’d sound like anyway.

What it’d sound like if I let the truth slip out the way it always tries to in my sleep.

I imagined the water filling. I imagined floating. I imagined peace. Not escape. Not relief. Just nothing. Blankness. Silence that didn’t need to be survived.

My fingers twitched in my lap. I wasn’t in pain. Not really. Pain implies sensation. I was beyond that. I was absence. I was empty space. But still alive.

That’s the worst part.

They didn’t knock. They didn’t call my name. Maybe they knew. Maybe Azzi put her hand against the door and waited. Maybe someone cried quietly into my pillow. Maybe Geno was on the phone already, demanding answers no one had.

I didn’t care. Not because I was selfish. Not because I wanted to make anyone feel bad. I just didn’t have it in me to care anymore.

Not about practice. Not about school. Not about the game I used to bleed for. Not about the people I love who love me back. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t resentful. I was just done. Done trying to fix it. Done trying to explain it. Done pretending like I wanted to stay.

The water wasn’t running. The light was off. The tile was cold. And I sat in the tub, knees to my chest, staring into a dark corner, breathing as quietly as possible, just waiting to either disappear or be left alone long enough to stop hoping I would.

And that smile—the small one I’d been holding on to like a shield—was still there. Tight. Faint. Fragile. But there. Because if I let go of that smile, even for a second, I knew what would come next. And I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. Not yet.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t plan to die that night. But I also didn’t plan to stay alive.

I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else. I was just… sitting. Letting the cold of the bathroom tile creep up through my bones, curled in the tub like a forgotten thing. My arms were wrapped around my knees, my hoodie damp with sweat and something else I couldn’t name. My lips were parted slightly, but no sound had come out in hours. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t try. My body was still, my mind somewhere far past quiet—hovering in that eerie space between numbness and surrender.

I could feel the edges of my thoughts turning darker. Not loud, not explosive. Just whispers. Steady, certain. You’re done. That was the tone. Not panicked, not afraid. Just done.

The room had been still for so long I’d forgotten how it felt to hear movement. When the door eased open, I barely noticed. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lift my head. But I felt the shift—the pressure of air, the faint creak of the hinges, the gentle sound of sneakers moving slow across the tile.

Someone was here. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Azzi.

She didn’t knock. Didn’t call my name. She must’ve heard them outside the room. Or maybe she saw my face back in that moment on the floor and couldn’t get it out of her head. I don’t know what pulled her in. All I know is that the second she stepped into the bathroom, everything inside me started to shiver. Not my body. My soul. Like it knew someone had finally come too close to the truth I’d been hiding.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She didn’t try to make sense of the scene. She didn’t stop to ask questions or assess. She just moved. Fast and certain. She dropped to her knees beside the tub and looked at me, like really looked—like she already knew she wasn’t going to leave without me.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. So she did the only thing she could. She climbed in.

I didn’t even realize what was happening at first. One minute I was alone, the next there was weight behind me. She pressed her body into the space, wedging herself between the edge of the tub and my hunched frame, and before I could think to resist, she wrapped her arms around me. Tight. Firm. Like she was physically anchoring me to earth.

I didn’t respond. Not right away. But when her arms didn’t loosen—when I felt her breath against the side of my neck, and her hands pressed flat against my chest like she was trying to catch my heartbeat—I broke.

Not loud. Not all at once. Just… cracked.

My head fell back against her collarbone. My fingers twitched against her arm. My chest rose in one sharp breath that didn’t quite make it out. I couldn’t speak. I was too afraid. Afraid of what would come out if I opened my mouth. I hadn’t said anything all day because I knew if I did, it would come out sounding like death. It would be the truth I’d been avoiding. The one I knew would scare her. Scare them all.

Because what I was feeling wasn’t just sadness. It wasn’t exhaustion. It wasn’t even hopelessness.

It was surrender.

If I had spoken, if I had said anything at all, it would have been, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” And once I said it, I couldn’t unsay it.

So I stayed quiet. But I held her. My hands clutched her sleeves, desperate and shaking. My head turned into her neck and I gripped her like she was the only thing keeping me here, because in that moment, she was. I couldn’t feel the floor. I couldn’t feel the tub. I couldn’t feel myself. But I could feel her. Warm, alive, breathing.

She rocked me slowly, not saying a word. Not telling me it would be okay. Not promising anything. She didn’t give advice or ask questions. She just held me like she knew I couldn’t hold myself anymore.

Eventually, I felt her whisper against my ear. Her voice was soft, cracking under the weight of her own fear.

“I got you.” That’s all she said. And that was enough to break me open.

Not in a messy way. Not in a way that made noise. Just in a way that finally let some air in. That allowed something inside me to tremble and not completely fall apart.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat was still too tight, my thoughts too dangerous. But I shifted closer. I pressed back into her like I was trying to disappear into her skin. Like if I held her tight enough, the darkness in me wouldn’t win.

And Azzi stayed. In that cold, dark bathroom. In the tub. On the floor. With her arms around a girl who wasn’t sure she wanted to live past sunrise.

She stayed. And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel completely alone. I still wasn’t okay. But I was still breathing. And for now, that had to be enough.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Truth is, I didn’t fall asleep—I passed out. There’s a difference.

Sleep is something you ease into, something your body chooses when it feels safe. Passing out is when your body decides for you. When it can’t take anymore and pulls the plug without warning. That’s what happened.

One minute, I was in the tub with Azzi wrapped around me like she was trying to shield me from my own thoughts. Her arms still tight. Her breath steady against the back of my neck. My hands still gripping the sleeves of her hoodie like she was the only solid thing left in a world I’d long since floated away from.

And then everything just… went blank. There was no fade. No tunnel vision. Just lights out. No pain. No panic. Just stillness. It was the most peaceful I’d felt in weeks.

Azzi said later that she didn’t even notice at first. That I was already so still, she thought I’d finally fallen asleep. She didn’t want to move me, didn’t want to break the fragile quiet. But then my weight shifted. My grip loosened. My head dropped just a little too hard against her collarbone, and I didn’t correct it. She said she whispered my name and I didn’t flinch. She shook me and I didn’t respond.

That’s when she knew. She screamed my name. Once. Loud. The girls outside the door heard. They came running. Somebody was already on the phone before Azzi could finish the sentence.

“We need Geno. Now.”

And that was it. That was the moment everything finally cracked open.

They couldn’t reach my parents right away. My emergency contact on file wasn’t even them—it was Geno. I’d put him down when I first got to UConn. It was a joke at the time. Might as well put the man who runs my entire life.

No one was laughing now.

They said he got there before the ambulance did. Said he pushed through whoever was in the way and didn’t stop moving until he was kneeling beside the tub, checking my pulse like he was trying to will it steady.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t panic. But his face was white. Like he’d aged ten years in five minutes.

He rode in the ambulance. Sat right next to me the entire time. Quiet. Holding the blanket around my shoulders like I was glass and he wasn’t sure which piece to catch first.

When I finally opened my eyes, the hospital room was dim. Clean. Too cold. Wires were taped to my chest. My arm had an IV. My mouth was dry and my lips cracked. I didn’t feel pain. Just weight. Like someone had replaced my blood with wet sand.

There were nurses nearby, moving soft, not saying much. I heard them whisper things like “dehydration,” “malnutrition,” “severe exhaustion.” But I didn’t care about any of it.

I turned my head—slow, foggy. He was there.

Sitting in the chair next to my bed. Elbows on his knees. Eyes red. Still in his UConn jacket. He didn’t look like Coach. He looked like a man trying not to break in front of one of his kids.

I could’ve asked for anyone. My mom. My dad. My sister. But the first thing I whispered—barely audible—was:

“Coach?”

He looked up instantly. Eyes sharp, like he was waiting on that single thread of sound to come through. His jaw clenched, but he nodded. Stood. Moved to the side of my bed and sat on the edge like he was scared I’d slip away again if he didn’t get close enough.

“I’m here,” he said. I stared at him for a long time. Didn’t say anything else. Didn’t have to.

Because for the first time in this whole spiral, someone didn’t need me to explain. Someone had already shown up. Without conditions. Without questions. Just… present.

He didn’t say I scared him. He didn’t say he should’ve noticed sooner. He didn’t say anything at first.

He just reached over and wrapped his hand around mine, careful and firm. Like he was trying to ground me to something that mattered. And I squeezed back.

Not because I was okay. Not because I was fixed. But because for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I had to hold myself together on my own.

———————————————————————————————

They put me on watch.

Not in the scary, screaming, strapped-to-the-bed kind of way. More like: someone had to be in the room with me. All the time. No closed doors. No unsupervised hours. And Geno made it clear—he was that someone.

When the doctor explained everything—dehydration, physical burnout, near syncope from starvation and stress—he didn’t blink. He just nodded once and asked, “What’s the recovery plan?”

They said rest. Fluids. Monitoring.

He said, “She won’t be alone. You have my word.”

That was two nights ago. He’s been here since.

I tried telling him to leave. Not because I wanted him to go, but because I felt guilty. Embarrassed. I was lying in a hospital bed with an IV and cracked lips, my skin pale, my bones sharp against the sheets, and he was sitting in a plastic chair next to me like it was his job. Like the Huskies didn’t have a game this week. Like film didn’t need to be watched. Like the world could wait until I got back on my feet.

I cracked my eyes open this morning and croaked, “You know you can go coach them now.”

He didn’t even look up from the stat sheet he was fake-reading. Just muttered, “Hush.”

I blinked at him, lips dry but tugging upward. “Yes, sir.”

He finally glanced over, the faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But almost.

He’d moved the rolling chair closer to the bed sometime during the night. I’d woken up once or twice, and he was still there—half-asleep, arms crossed, feet kicked out like he’d been guarding a door no one else could see.

Every nurse who came in, he asked questions. Double-checked vitals. Stood close but didn’t hover. When the attending physician came for rounds, Geno stepped aside but stayed in earshot, arms folded, listening to every word.

Later, the team came.

Not all at once. They rotated in. Small groups. Azzi was the first, obviously. She hadn’t left the waiting room since the ambulance pulled out. When they finally let her back in, she walked slow, like she didn’t trust the sight of me sitting upright in the bed, sipping water from a straw.

I gave her a tiny wave. She stared for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed and touched my wrist like she was making sure I was real.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she whispered.

“I know,” I whispered back.

Then we just sat there. No crying. No explaining. Her fingers slid between mine and stayed there until the nurse came back.

The others came in waves—Paige, Nika, Ice, KK, Caroline. Some brought snacks. Some brought cards. One brought a plush husky someone had won at an arcade a month ago. I think it was Inês. She sat it at the foot of my bed and said, “He’s ugly but loyal,” and I actually laughed.

Geno didn’t say much while they visited. Just stood in the corner with his hands in his pockets, watching like a quiet referee. Every now and then, his eyes would flick to me. Checking. Measuring. Not for performance. For presence. He was making sure I was still here.

That night, after everyone had left and the room was quiet again, I looked over at him and asked, “Why’d you stay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached up and rubbed the back of his neck like the words were heavy.

Then he said, “Because you’re mine.”

My throat burned, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. He kept going.

“I’ve seen injuries. Surgeries. Career-ending breaks. But this?” He gestured to me softly, eyes sharp but soft. “This scared me more than anything.”

I blinked up at him. My voice came out thin. “But I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “I know. That’s the part that scares me. You didn’t have to try. You just… stopped.”

I looked down at my hands in my lap. They were shaking again.

“I didn’t want to die,” I whispered. “But I didn’t care if I lived either.”

He was quiet for a second. “That’s what watch is for.”

I smiled again, small and cracked. “You really don’t trust me, huh?”

“I trust you enough not to lie,” he said. “But I don’t trust your body yet. Or your brain. So yeah. You’re stuck with me.”

“Great.”

“Hush.”

I snorted into the pillow. “Yes, sir.”

And then he leaned back into the chair, one foot propped up, arms folded again like always. Like he could sit there forever if that’s what it took. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe I didn’t have to fight alone.

Maybe I could let someone else stand watch for a while.

———————————————————————————————

The hospital cleared me to go home four days later.

Well—“home” was relative. Technically, I was allowed back in my dorm, but there was an asterisk on everything now. A counselor’s number. A new meal plan. A daily check-in from athletic staff. A list of suggestions that felt more like guardrails. I nodded through all of it. Smiled politely. Said thank you. But the truth was, I didn’t really hear most of it.

The one voice I did hear? Azzi’s. She rode back with me. Didn’t even ask. Just showed up at the discharge desk with my hoodie folded over her arm and said, “I’ve got her.”

And she did. Literally. She kept a hand on me the whole walk to the car. Not tight. Not possessive. Just… constant. As if her touch was the only proof I hadn’t disappeared again.

The team was already in my room when we got there.

Ice was sitting cross-legged on my bed with a smoothie in one hand and a protein bar in the other. KK was digging through my drawers looking for a clean hoodie to throw at me. Paige was trying to untangle my charging cord like it was a full-time job. Jana and Ayanna were at the desk building a Lego bonsai tree like it was life or death. Caroline and Inês? Hugging each other—until they saw me, and then it was me they were hugging. Hard.

I stood in the doorway, overwhelmed. I hadn’t said anything yet.

Then Azzi nudged my back gently. “Go on. They missed you.”

I blinked. Ice grinned. “Hey zombie.”

KK threw a hoodie at me. “Put that on. You look like you just broke out of a psych ward.”

Paige lifted her head. “Ok but if she did, that’s kinda iconic.”

And just like that, I was laughing. Not hard. Not loud. But real.

Paige’s eyes widened dramatically. “Oh my God. Did we just win?”

KK raised her fist. “YES. That’s one smile point for Team Dumbass.”

“Stop calling us that!” Paige yelled.

“We voted. It’s done,” KK said.

Azzi pulled me over to the bed and sat me down beside her. She handed me the smoothie Ice hadn’t touched and stared at me until I took a sip.

I raised my brows. “You watching me eat now?”

Azzi didn’t blink. “Yup.”

“I’m fine, Az—”

“Shush and drink.”

I sighed but took another sip. She held my gaze the whole time, like she was scanning me for secrets. I didn’t have the energy to hide anything anymore, so I just let her look.

Paige pulled KK up by the elbow like she was auditioning for Broadway. “Okay, so we’re doing a talent show.”

Azzi groaned. “Paige…”

“No, no—listen,” Paige said, spinning in a circle like a chaotic little planet. “KK’s doing spoken word, I’m doing a ventriloquist act with a sock, and y/n over here is doing—wait, what’s your talent again?”

I blinked. “Being alive?”

The room went silent. I let out a giggle. It was funny to me idk.

Then Paige clapped. “Honestly? That’s a showstopper. No notes.”

Caroline let go of my arm just long enough to squeeze my face with both hands. “We love you so much.”

Inês tackled me from the other side. “You’re never allowed to go ghost again.”

I mumbled into her shoulder, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Still not allowed.”

Azzi pulled me back into her side like she needed me closer. “You can sleep. You can cry. You can sit in silence. But you don’t disappear. Not from us. Not ever again.”

I nodded slowly. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t pull away. Jana tossed me a bag of Legos. “You’re on leaf duty.”

Ayanna handed me a piece with a wink. “It’s therapeutic. You’ll love it.”

And somehow, in the middle of my wreckage, I found myself surrounded by pieces that were trying—desperately—to build me back together. One sip. One laugh. One ugly little plastic bonsai tree at a time.

I wasn’t okay. That was the first piece I actually wanted to keep.

———————————————————————————————

The problem with recovery is that everyone treats you like you’re made of spun glass—pretty, delicate, and one good sneeze away from shattering.

I’d been out of the hospital for a week. Seven whole days. Enough to shower on my own. Enough to eat a full meal without Azzi breathing down my neck. Enough to walk across campus without someone holding my elbow like I might vanish mid-step. Or at least it should’ve been enough.

But everyone was still moving around me like I was some wounded bird they weren’t sure could fly again.

I was sitting on the floor in the locker room, lacing up my shoes before a light scrimmage when I finally snapped—gently, but loud enough.

“Guys. I’m fine. Please. Just… treat me normal.”

The room went still for half a beat. KK was mid-bite of a granola bar. Paige had one foot in a sneaker and the other on a bench like she was modeling. Ice was already halfway into her practice jersey. Azzi stood behind me, arms crossed, eyes locked onto my spine like she could see through it.

“Are you sure?” Caroline asked carefully.

“Positive.”

Inês looked like she wanted to hug me on the spot, but I held up a hand. “And no hugging. At least not every five minutes.”

That was it. That was the go-ahead KK needed.

She launched herself across the locker room with full linebacker energy, practically tackling me back onto the bench.

“I MISSED YOUUUUU—”

“KK!” Azzi’s voice shot out like a bullet. “Get off her!”

I wheezed, trying to suck in air under all the love and chaos. “Okay—okay, I take it back—”

“You said normal!” KK yelled, hugging me tighter. “This is so normal.”

“She’s not a jungle gym,” Azzi growled, stepping forward like she was ready to fight.

“Actually,” Paige chimed in, “this is exactly how KK treats people she loves. It’s terrifying. But very on brand.”

KK nuzzled into my neck dramatically. “Let me love you back to life.”

“I can’t breathe!”

Azzi yanked KK off me like she was detangling a toddler from a balloon. “Give her space, damn.”

KK threw up her hands. “Fine. But if she passes out again it’s not ‘cause of me this time.”

Azzi turned to me, kneeling a little to meet my eyes. Her voice dropped, calm but serious. “You sure you’re okay?”

I smiled, breathless but honest. “Yeah. I just… I want to feel like myself again. Not like a walking reminder.”

She scanned my face, searching. Then slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

Paige popped up behind her, holding two rolled-up socks like microphones. “So you’re saying you’re well enough to help judge our locker room talent show.”

I blinked. “This is still happening?”

“Absolutely,” KK said, already doing stretches like she had choreography planned.

Ice tossed me a mini whiteboard. “You’re head judge. Be brutal.”

Caroline wrapped an arm around Inês’s waist. “We’re doing a dramatic reading of Twilight.”

Inês gave me a solemn nod. “I’m Bella.”

“And I’m Edward,” Caroline said, voice dropping two octaves.

I cracked up.

Like full laugh. No hesitation. No guilt. Just joy.

Azzi looked at me sideways, her mouth twitching. “You’re sure you want normal?”

I leaned into her just enough to feel her warmth. “Yeah. I want this.”

And for the first time since everything broke, it didn’t feel like I was putting pieces back together. It felt like they were already fitting.

———————————————————————————————

I don’t really know when it started. I just… started sticking close to Coach.

Not in a weird, clingy way. Not on purpose. It wasn’t a cry for help or some dramatic emotional moment. It was quieter than that. Subtle. I’d walk into the gym and instead of joining the girls in the weight room, I’d drift into his office and sit in the spare chair. Not talking. Not doing anything. Just… there.

And he let me. That was the thing. He never once asked why.

He never asked what I needed. Never said, Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Never told me to go join the others or encouraged me to laugh more. He’d glance up from his laptop, see me walk in, nod once, and keep typing. Like it was normal. Like I belonged there.

Sometimes I’d watch film with him. Just sit off to the side while he muttered about shot selection and turnovers under his breath. Sometimes he’d slide me a notepad and tell me to track plays, and I’d do it without question.

One afternoon, I followed him to weights.

Didn’t even realize I was doing it until he looked behind him in the hallway and blinked.

“You know we’re not conditioning today, right?” he asked.

I nodded. “I know.”

He held the door open anyway.

There were days I didn’t say a word. Days I just sat on the bleachers while he ran drills with the girls. He didn’t force me to participate. Didn’t try to make me run reps. He let me sit there, hoodie on, water bottle in hand, eyes dull but present.

Once, Ice tried to tease me about it.

“Yo, is Coach adopting you or something?”

Coach glanced over and without missing a beat said, “You jealous?”

The team erupted. I smiled into my hoodie.

Paige started calling me “Geno’s shadow.” KK started calling me “coach’s emotional support player.” Azzi just shook her head, but she never questioned it. She knew. Everyone did.

I don’t know what it was about him. Maybe because he never flinched. Never coddled. Never tried to fix what he didn’t understand. He didn’t ask me to heal faster. He didn’t give motivational speeches. He just let me exist near him like being around someone who always had a game plan made the world a little less chaotic.

One day, I dozed off in the corner of his office—hood over my head, knees to my chest in that ugly green chair. He was on the phone, probably with compliance or someone from admin. But when I stirred a little in my sleep, I heard him pause and say, “Hold on.”

A second later, he draped a blanket over me. Didn’t say anything. Just picked up the call again and kept talking like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing to me. It was everything.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

[ilguna]

☼ odds are (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you and Finnick have never seen eye to eye, despite both being close friends with Johanna. it isn't until you save his life in the arena, does he see you different.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, blood, ehhh gore, death, drug mention, kinda starvation mention, suicide (mags), puke mention, the usual hunger games stuff.

wc; 9.6k

--

If there’s one thing that you’ve learned so far about the other district’s personalities since becoming a mentor, it’s that District Four produces the most annoying people by far. You don’t know if they’re born that way, or if it’s the water they drink, but they take that top spot without a close runner up.

Which is crazy, considering people like Enobaria and Gloss exist. They don’t know when to stop even when it’s obvious, yet they can be more mature than Finnick Odair is half the time.

He has the ego the size of a hovercraft and he just uses it to do whatever he wants to whoever he wants. He thinks that if he can smother someone enough, they’ll back down and let him have his way. Arguing with Finnick is truly like talking to someone who always assumes they’re right just because they’re older than you.

Except, in this case, it’s because he’s been mentoring longer, since he won ten years ago. It gives him seniority in calling the shots, or it does in his mind, at least. 

He wants to be the main ally that corrales Katniss and Peeta into doing what’s best in the arena. The problem with that is Katniss doesn’t like Finnick, which will make it a huge ordeal trying to get her to do anything for him. He seems to think that as long as Peeta trusts him, Katniss will follow.

Only, Peeta’s not a complete idiot and he knows how to think for himself. Beyond that, in a setting where there’s going to be twenty-two other tributes that have also won the Hunger Games in their own unique ways—Peeta’s going to follow Katniss’s lead. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that he’s going to let her take the reins and trust her to protect him in dangerous situations.

So, in the end, while Peeta might have his own opinions on what he’d like to do, he’s going to value Katniss’s opinion first. 

Finnick can’t seem to understand that. It doesn’t matter how you explain it to him, he doesn’t want you to be right. Even with Johanna standing here, telling him that you’re not wrong, he refuses to believe it. 

“You’re just going to make her mad.” You tell him again, throwing your hand up. “We all saw the way she looked at you yesterday, and today she’s gone out of her way to make sure she can’t talk to you.”

Finnick glances over in Katniss and Peeta’s direction. They’re on the far side of the Training Center, sitting with Cecelia from District Eight. This morning’s the last chance you get to train before the private session with the Gamemakers in the afternoon. From what you’ve been watching, they’re taking it easy.

“We already knew she wasn’t going to like me.”

“Does it have anything to do with the way you approached her during the parade?” You ask back, tilting your head. “You’re terrible at first impressions.”

“I am not.” Finnick’s face twists.

“Yeah, and that’s why we’re friends, right?” Your tone sarcastic. “I’m not asking for your permission, I’m going to tell Haymitch that you’ll meet up with us later on down the line.”

Finnick shakes his head. “That makes no sense. You are not a strong fighter, I need to be there to help with Katniss.”

“Katniss doesn’t need help!” You exclaim quietly. “What Katniss needed is someone she can trust, and that’s obviously me. I just spent the past two days getting to know her. She doesn’t want to be around either of you.” 

You then place your hand on Johanna’s shoulder, but she gives you a shrug. “I don’t care. She’s going to have to deal with me sooner or later. I have no preference.”

“You have basically no fighting experience, all you’ll do is get in her way.” Finnick tells you.

“Excuse me, I do know how to fight. I set the highest score when it came to hand-to-hand combat with a weapon.”

“When?” Finnick asks, not believing you.

“Today.”

“Bullshit.”

“Finnick, she’s not lying.” Johanna sighs. “And that’s besides the point. We can’t keep (Y/n) out of the plan just because you can’t get along with her. She’s right about Katniss.”

“I can and will keep her out of the fight.” Finnick tells Johanna, causing your face to scrunch up. “Who’s going to get to the Cornucopia first, you or me?”

“I’m not airheaded enough to think it’s me.” You snap back. “But—”

“Katniss knows how to swim, we saw it last year. She’s going to get there second. What stops me then?”

“Me, when I get my fucking hands around your neck.” You point at him. “What happens on the off-chance you chase her off? What’s your big idea then?”

“Haymitch is going to get me something to signal to her that we’re already allies.” Finnick shrugs. “I bet he didn’t talk to you about anything like that.”

“He doesn’t have to.” You laugh. “That’s the entire point. I don’t need him to signal to her about anything. She picked me as an ally on that first day. You can’t say the same. It says a lot about your character.”

“My character?” He’s unimpressed.

“No one likes you!” You shout at him.

“Okay,” Johanna says. “Let’s talk with Haymitch tonight, see what he has to say about the situation.”

“Fine, but I’m not spending the rest of my day with this idiot.” You tell her.

—

Monkeys.

At first, it was only a couple that were hanging above Peeta, who couldn’t be more oblivious. Now, a troop of them have gathered in the twilight in the time it’s taken you, Finnick and Katniss to assess the situation. They’ve completely appeared out of thin air, gathering on open branches.

And they’re all watching Peeta.

You eye Finnick, wondering what he’s thinking on how he wants to handle this. After all, he’s been directed to take charge in situations where Katniss and Peeta’s lives are in danger. Or rather, he asked Haymitch to make it official, because he couldn’t live with the idea that you might be the better fit.

Either way, there’s several different approaches you could take. Does he want to go to Peeta and guide him out of the jungle to make sure he keeps his head down or will that trigger the monkeys? You could try gathering around Peeta and set off the monkeys on purpose to ensure you’re in control, because they’re bound to go off anyway… right?

Or maybe it’s a better idea to lure Peeta out of the jungle and hope for the best?

Katniss makes a decision before Finnick does, carefully arming her bow with two arrows, just in case a fight shows itself. This causes Finnick to nervously adjust the trident in his hand, not ready for what she’s planning on doing.

You, on the other hand, trust her. 

“Peeta.” Katniss’s voice is calm, but there’s a slight edge to her voice if you listen closely. “I need your help with something.”

“Okay, just a minute. I think I’ve just about got it.” Peeta tells her, fiddling with the tree so he can put the spile in the bark. “Yes, there. Have you got the spile?”

“I do. But we’ve found something you’d better take a look at,” Katniss continues. “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

Katniss has decided to lure Peeta out, then. It’s not a bad plan. With how the monkeys are tracking Peeta’s every movement, anything mildly offensive could cause them to attack. And since eye contact is a form of aggression, he needs to keep his head down.

Peeta turns to face the three of you, panting from trying to drill into the tree with the awl that Mags had passed over before she died. “Okay.” He agrees, not an ounce of hesitation.

He begins to come in your direction, but he’s not at all being quiet whatsoever. This is expected, he wasn’t last year, either. He’s not used to hunting or gently shuffling your feet through leaves. He worked in a bakery, carrying heavy bags over his shoulder.

It doesn’t matter, as long as the monkeys are holding their position—and they are—despite the amount of noise he’s making. He’s only five yards from the beach, where you’re standing, when he finally feels how off the air is. His eyes dart up for only a split second, but that’s all it takes.

Their shrieking fills the air, almost causing you to cover your ears at the pitch. The monkeys launch themselves off the branches and aim straight for Peeta, ready to kill. They’re too quick for your eyes, making them one blur. They slide down vines, jump from the trees with teeth bared, hacked raised and claws as sharp as knives.

You jerk forward, drawing your sword back to swing as soon as you get into range.

“Mutts!” Katniss blurts, in case you haven’t figured it out by now.

Katniss and Finnick take off after you. You swing hard, right at the first monkey that thinks they can get their paws on Peeta. The blade cuts right through fur, slicing skin right open, blood flying everywhere. The mutt collapses, struggling to breathe.

It’s just the first of many.

You move on, drawing Peeta in closer to protect him easier. Katniss shoots her arrows two at a time, taking down twice the amount of mutts you can. Finnick tries to keep up with her pace by spearing several of them at once and flinging them aside. Peeta can’t do much with his knife, but you’re able to keep them off of him with just your sword.

The fight grows harder the longer it goes on as you try to see through the darkness, breathing in the cloud of blood and must. Even as you end up back to back with your allies, it doesn’t get any easier. 

“Peeta!” Katniss suddenly shouts. “Your arrows!”

Peeta stops swinging, briefly looking over at Katniss to see what she means. In an instant, he begins to slide out of his sheath so that he can hand it over to her. He doesn’t even wait to make sure the coast is clear before he does.

“Peeta!” You blurt.

You swing at a mutt that’s already coming at you, catching the sight of another one flying out of a tree, heading in his direction. For a moment, you think you have just enough time to fling the monkey off your sword to save him, but the mutt at the end of your blade grabs your wrist, yanking you out of the formation.

You’re thrown into the jungle, a blur of green and brown passing by, until you hit the ground. You roll for a couple of feet, and then come to a stop, staring at the leaves above your head, trying to get a hold of your air. There’s a dull pain on the right side of your body from the impact.

And then you get back up.

Katniss is running for Peeta, hands outreached to grab him before the mutt does, but she’s too far. 

A body materializes from one of the trees, screaming, jumping in front of him just in time. The mutt’s claws swing inward pulling—who you believe to be—the morphling from District Six in for a deadly hug as it sinks its canines into her chest.

You’ve managed to regroup with them now. Peeta wiggles out of the sheath, letting it fall to the dirt so he can bury his knife into the monkey’s back. He stabs it repeatedly until it finally releases its jaw, kicking it away. Katniss retrieves her arrows, loading her bow, waiting for another attack.

You turn to look at the monkeys in the trees, curious to see what they’re doing. They stare back at you, unmoving, observing you the same way. Beside you, Finnick is breathing heavy, trident resting on the ground. He must think that the fight is over, then.

“Come on, then! Come on!” Peeta shouts at the mutts, trying to egg them on. 

They seem disinterested in continuing though, satisfied with the life they’ve taken, retreating. They disappear into the darkness of the jungle silently, and even though it appears they’re gone, it doesn’t feel like it.

“Get her,” Katniss says, she’s talking to Peeta. “We’ll cover you.”

You eye the morphling, who’s audibly wheezing, not quite dead yet, but she will be soon. Peeta carefully lifts her, turning to leave the jungle, the beach being a few feet away. Finnick motions for Katniss to follow Peeta, you don’t even bother to argue with him about who goes next after that.

There are several orange bodies on the ground on the way out. You step over them, wary of the possibility that they could be pretending to be dead. As soon as you step foot onto sand, a shiver runs up your spine, causing your neck to shrink into your shoulders.

You tense too harshly, the pain in your side returns. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as you reach to grab your exposed skin. Since you no longer have a jumpsuit to protect you because of the poisonous fog, several cuts and scrapes have been inflicted across your skin.

“Cold?” Finnick asks, it sounds like he’s teasing. Before you can answer, he keeps going, “Or does your body hurt because you couldn’t handle some hand-to-hand combat?” 

You look over your shoulder to see him, eyes narrowed into slits. “You think you’re so funny.”

“What about my observation makes you think that I’m joking?” He asks, coming to a stop. “You just proved me right.”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, face twisting. “Prove you right, how? We’ve barely said anything to each other since the Cornucopia.”

“You have no fighting experience.” He tells you with a straight face. “You’re a danger to the alliance.”

You press your lips together, staring at him, holding back the urge to scream profanities in his face. 

What would he have liked you to do at that moment? You were occupied with a mutt, and Peeta just straight-up abandoned his job to give Katniss a sheath without thinking twice. You were off your game because you didn’t know what to do with a monkey flying at him, while trying to defend yourself at the same time. 

You’ll give it to Finnick, you made an error which could’ve easily have resulted in your death, but it didn’t. What he doesn’t realize is that you will learn from it, you don’t often make the same mistakes twice. You’re not a fucking child, either.

“You forget I was invited to the alliance.” You tell him, choosing not to engage in his behavior. “I don’t know why I bothered responding to you.” You start to move away from him. “All you’re capable of doing is criticizing people.”

You turn away from him, heading to Katniss and Peeta, who are hovering over the morphling girl. They have cut away the jumpsuit over her chest, revealing the four puncture wounds from the mutt’s fangs. There’s blood slowly running out of them, making the situation appear better than it is. 

She’s gasping for air, desperate for every lungful, holding onto Katniss’s hands, unable to control her twitching. A part of you wonders if she accidentally got caught up in the fog, but that can’t be the case. It has to be withdrawal, considering the green shade of her skin, her prominent cheekbones. She watches the clouds in the sky blankly, trying to hold on.

“I’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says, right before turning away from the scene.

You stare at the back of his head, and then turn your attention back to the morphling. Peeta moves to be on the other side of her, crouching down to gently stroke her hair, speaking quietly. “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.”

The morphling is completely encapsulated by his words.

“One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one.” Peeta murmurs.

Rustling of leaves drags you out of what he’s saying, you look over in time to catch the back of Finnick’s body, heading back into the jungle. You give a glance to Katniss, who seems to be in her own world at the moment, and decide that they can protect themselves for a moment while you have a conversation with Finnick.

You head straight in without an ounce of hesitation, following the sound of muttering, leading you straight to him. He’s picking the arrows out of the grass, swinging them out periodically to rid them of the mutt blood they’re soaked in.

“Listen,” You start, Finnick pauses long enough to look at you, before going back to what he was doing. “I get it, you don’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. I don’t need you up my ass about every decision I make. So, worry about yourself, and I will worry about me.”

“I’m not up your ass.” He scoffs. “I was pointing out what happened. You can’t fight, it’s a fact.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head. “While I was trying to kill the mutt, I was figuring out how to save Peeta, there was a monkey—”

Finnick holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I don’t need your excuse.”

You tilt your head at him, lips parted, actually speechless. You knew Finnick’s personality resembled a dumpster, but you’ve never experienced it yourself. It’s always been second hand retellings from your friends.

“Anything else?” Finnick asks after a moment of silence.

You’re stewing again. It’s insane how easy it would be to tear him down from the horse he sits on, but you can’t afford ruining the alliance. With how he’s acting, you wouldn’t put it past him to throw in the towel and tell you to do it yourself. Which you can do, it’s just a matter of whether or not you’d like to at this point.

While you’re glowering at him, thinking of a response that doesn’t end in the two of you fighting, something moves from behind his head. You take a step to the side, eyes searching the ground, but you quickly realize that’s not where it is. It’s up in the trees.

“What?” Finnick asks.

“We should leave the jungle.” You tell him, not wanting to mention it in case your eyes are playing tricks. “It’s not safe here.”

Finnick digs his heels in. “Now you’re being paranoid.” 

He turns around, going back to rummaging through the greenery to find the arrows for Katniss. He’s already got a good handful already, does she really need the rest? 

A branch dips, your eyes flicker to it.

Even though the sun is finally rising, the light hasn’t quite reached this part of the arena yet. You pat your hip for your sword, afraid of what’s to come, and realize that you left it out on the beach with the Twelve tributes.

“I’m serious, let’s go.” You tell him.

“I don’t care.” He says back, inching closer to the tree.

A hand creeps out of the darkness, a furry hand wrapping around the branch further down, as if preparing itself to launch at him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t lure Finnick out the same way that Katniss did to Peeta. And you can’t fight your way out of this situation without a weapon. As nice as it would be to turn around and leave him in here, knowing what’s behind him, you’d never be able to live with it.

“Finnick, just trust me this once. Katniss has enough arrows.”

Finnick stands, the movement is too quick, causing the monkey mutt to jerk into the light, revealing itself too soon.

“If you’re scared, you can go back to the beach, (Y/n).”

“Finnick, get down.”

He takes a step toward you, mouth opened to continue what he was saying. You watch in horror as the mutt’s body tenses, getting ready to attack Finnick. You rush at him, the same way the morphling did to Peeta.

“Get out of the way!” You shout, jumping to tackle him.

Finnick turns in time to dodge you and the monkey, putting you into each other’s path, forcing you to collide. The monkey’s claws dig into your skin as it throws you down, your head flying back. A sharp pain strikes your skull, your vision immediately going black.

A rough hand grabs the underside of your arm, jolting you awake. You blink quickly, trying to get rid of the blurry vision as you’re harshly brought back to reality. The person tries to pull you to your feet, but your legs aren’t ready for the weight. Your knees buckle, hand grabbing the shoulder of whoever it is to steady yourself.

The throbbing in the back of your head begins, feeling like a giant headache. You wince, gritting your teeth, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple. The back of your neck feels wet and sticky.

“Can you stand?” An irritated voice asks.

It’s Finnick, face twisted into a hard expression. The grip you have on his shoulder loosens, you lock your knees to keep from falling over. You’re trembling though, you can see it when you let go of him completely.

“Yes, I’ve got it.”

You reach back and dab your hand against the sore area on your head. Your fingers are coated in blood, shining in the sunlight that manages to escape the leaves. A sigh leaves your lips, hand falling at your side.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Finnick asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “There was a monkey in the trees.”

“You couldn’t have told me that?” 

“The same way we could’ve told Peeta?” You counter, and then motion to the jungle. “I didn’t know how many there were. I left my sword on the beach.”

“Another great idea of yours.” He says.

You don’t say anything to him at first, turning to go back to the beach. Just before you hit the treeline, you murmur, “A thank you would be nice.”

Whether or not Finnick actually hears you is a mystery, because he doesn’t respond. 

Katniss and Peeta are sitting together in the sand, side by side, looking out at the water. Your sword is tucked at Katniss’s side, right next to her bow. You come to a stop a foot or so behind them.

Finnick passes you, dropping the arrows in the sand. “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks.” Katniss says. “Where’s (Y/n)?”

“I’m here.” You tell her.

You continue dragging your feet through the sand, wanting to go to the water to clean the blood out of your hair before it dries. Katniss comes to join you soon after, mostly to clean her weapons. When she sees that you’re having trouble, she carefully massages the blood out.

When you’re done, Katniss goes to get moss from the jungle to dry off her arrows. You sit in the sand with your sword, haphazardly playing with the blade.

“Where did they go?” Katniss asks.

“The bodies? We don’t know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone.” Finnick says.

Katniss hums. The four of you sit on the beach in silence, staring at the water, watching the sky come to life. Katniss starts to scratch her arm, and then stops suddenly, looking at you, and then to the boys. You follow her gaze curiously, and find them scratching at their faces.

It’s the scabs from the fog, Katniss’s skin is covered in them, so is half of Peeta’s body and Finnick’s face. You, however, not so much. You were able to stay ahead of the fog, you thought to guide them out with the best possible path. Still, Peeta has trouble with his prosthetic leg and he needed support and…

Finnick never should have asked Katniss to carry Mags down the hill. You knew as soon as the words came out of his mouth that he was making a mistake. Katniss doesn’t have that sort of strength, she’s a skinny girl. She might’ve put on some weight since her Games, but it basically replenished what was taken in the first place.

He should’ve asked you. And even though you tried to object, he shut you down and told you to keep running. You didn’t have time to argue with the fog closing in, so you went right back to what you’d been doing before. It wasn’t even three minutes later when Katniss fell with Mags on her, causing Mags to take the situation into her own hands.

She kissed Finnick goodbye and walked into the fog.

None of you have mentioned it since it happened. You would like to say something to Finnick, but you’re sure it wouldn’t go over well with him. You can guess what he’d say back to you, taking none of your feelings about her into consideration. Besides, he seems to be holding it together pretty well, the last thing you’d want to do is accidentally send him over the edge.

“Don’t scratch.” Katniss tells them. “You’ll only bring infection. Think it’s safe to try for the water again?”

You don’t move from where you sit, letting them go back into the jungle to gather water. You’ve already had more than your fair share of injury in the past hour and a half, you’ll let them take their chances.

Peeta brings back a shell of water for you to drink, and even goes back one more time for a refill. You thank him and tuck the shell of water into the sand for later. 

“Why don’t you three get some rest?” Katniss asks. “I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather.” Finnick says.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Katniss concedes. “All right, Finnick, thanks.”

Katniss and Peeta lay down in the sand, you don’t bother. You turn your back to Finnick to ensure he knows you’re disinterested in conversing with him. You spend the next few hours picking the clumps of bloody sand from your sword and flicking them toward the water.

You’re not entirely sure what Finnick does, and you don’t really care. The more you think about him and the alliance, the more irritated you grow, causing your pounding headache to get worse. 

First, he tells you that he’s going to get you kicked out of the alliance by talking to Haymitch before you, and he nearly does. It’s a good thing that Haymitch doesn’t make rash decisions, otherwise you’d be on your own right now. He was almost convinced that you’d be more harmful than useful to the rebellion.

It wasn’t until Katniss made a comment about how much she trusts you, did he make up his mind and tell Finnick to deal with it. Katniss doesn’t like people easily. It was different for Mags, Wiress and Beetee because they don’t really pose a threat to her, and she doesn’t think that they’d go out of their way to kill her.

With you, all she told Haymitch was that it was easy to talk to you and she didn’t feel like she had to hide her true feelings. Which is an accomplishment and something you can use to your advantage later if needed. For right now, it’s pretty clear what she’s thinking even if she’s doing her best to hide it.

Anyway, Finnick doesn’t like that you don’t have to try with Katniss. And just like he told you in the Training Center, Haymitch had to give him a gold bracelet to symbolise to Katniss that he can be trusted. Which was funny when you found out at the Cornucopia.

Finnick was right, you didn’t make it there first—not that you thought you were anyway—but you did show up a minute later. Katniss was the one that saw you and welcomed you onto the island, despite Finnick trying to tell her not to. 

He’s been pretty pissed and cold since.

By the time Katniss stirs awake, it’s about midmorning. Your sword is clean, the shell cup empty of water, and you’re surprisingly feeling a little bit better. And it appears that Finnick has been busy this entire time.

He’d woven a grass mat and laid it on some branches to shield Katniss and Peeta’s faces from the sun. There’s two bowls full of fresh water, and a third that contains shellfish. 

He sits with them in front of him, cracking shellfish open with a stone. “They’re better fresh.” He tells Katniss, ripping flesh from the shell and popping it in his mouth. His eyes are puffy.

A tang of sadness hits you, you can’t imagine how difficult it’d been for him to cry silently with you sitting so close. His eyes lock with yours briefly before you turn away, getting to your feet. You brush the sand from your skin.

Katniss goes to reach for one of the shells but stops. She then holds her fingers close to her face, observing the blood beneath her nails.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection.” Finnick says.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” She says, getting up to wash the blood off in the water. She stomps back up to you two a moment later. “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.” She tells the sky.

A second later, a parachute swings out of the jungle, heading for her. She reaches up to catch a tube in her hands. “About time.” She says, going to sit next to Finnick in the sand. 

She unscrews the lid, squeezing the thick, dark ointment into her palm. Her face twists, whether it be from the color or the smell, and then begins to massage it into her leg. A sigh escapes her while she closes her eyes.

“It’s like you’re decomposing.” Finnick says after she hands him the tube. But looks must not matter to him for the moment, because he gives in and starts to treat his skin as well.

“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” Katniss teases.

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks back.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it.”

“Not if I keep looking at you.” 

Katniss offers the tube to you, but you hold up your hand, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, save it for yourselves.”

“You’ve got a couple spots.” She motions.

“I’m good, really. But thank you.”

You swing your sword, and then wander away from them, trying to put some more distance so you can sit alone for a while longer. They wake Peeta up a few minutes later, and then you can hear the cracking of shells against rocks. You don’t bother to join them for the meal, you’re still full from last night.

You draw shapes in the sand, smooth them over to start over, and then write names. It isn’t until you’re on the third one, do you realize it's the names of dead tributes that you’ve mentored recently. You stare at them, mystified as to why you’ve chosen them, of all the people you know.

A scream from across the arena interrupts the silence of the arena. Your head jerks up, eyes searching the trees beyond the Cornucopia to find the source. A wedge of the jungle begins to vibrate, a huge wave crests over the trees, coming down the hill. You get to your feet, sword clutched tightly in your hand as you watch the wave hit the center water, and distribute evenly over the Cornucopia.

The wave that comes toward you reaches your knees, going as far back as the treeline, before retreating back to the center lake. Katniss, Peeta and Finnick gather their belongings before they float away. 

A cannon fires. The hovercraft appears over where the water had come from, dipping down to collect the body. The claw comes back with the body, and that’s the last you see of the hovercraft.

You go to sit back down when Katniss’s head whips in your direction. “There.”

You turn your head, curious as to what she’s found. It’s three people stumbling on the beach, one of them being dragged onto the beach by the second, and the third is wandering in circles. They’re red, blood red.

“(Y/n), get back here.” Finnick hisses.

You don’t move from where you are, squinting at the figures.

“Who is that?��� Peeta asks. “Or what? Muttations?”

The second person dragging the first suddenly drops the body, throwing their arms down at their sides and stomping their foot in anger—a move that you recognize from someone else, but can’t place your finger on. It isn’t until the person marches over to the third one to shove them over, do you realize.

“Johanna!” You shout, delighted. “Finally!”

“(Y/n)!” She replies.

You run toward her, sword swinging at your side, excited that you’re not stuck with Finnick by yourself anymore. Johanna will be able to act as a buffer between the two of you, and she’ll be able to shut him down when he gets mouthy with you now. 

You throw your sword to the side, slamming into a hug with Johanna. The two of you rotate, her laugh is musical in your ear. You’re so happy that she’s alive, you don’t know what you’d do without her.

When you pull away, you motion at her. “What are you covered in?”

Finnick walks up beside you, “Hey, Johanna.”

“Finnick.” She says, and then she motions to the jungle. “We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

A small gasp comes from you as you cover your mouth. “Johanna, I am so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much, but he was from home.” She sighs. “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee with her foot, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

Wiress has gotten back to her feet, wandering, murmuring, “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock.” She rolls her eyes, but at the mention of Wiress’s nickname, she’s drawn to Johanna, placing her hands on her. Johanna shoves her down to the beach. “Just stay down, will you?”

Lay off her.” Katniss snaps.

Johanna’s eyes narrow at her. “Lay off her?” She hisses. In an instant, she raises her hand and goes to slap Katniss, but you’re able to grab her wrist before she’s successful, pulling Johanna away from her.  “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—”

Finnick steps in, tossing Johanna over his shoulder, forcing you to let go of her while he brings her to the water. You listen and watch as she screams some really insulting words at Katniss, and then Finnick drops her into the water to silence her. He does this until she goes quiet.

Katniss and Peeta take Beetee and Wiress to the water to clean the blood off of them, since they’re both incapable of doing it themselves. You wander to join Finnick and Johanna in the water, despite the unwelcoming glares you receive from Finnick.

—

“Get up.” Katniss suddenly orders, shaking Peeta, Finnick and Johanna awake. “Get up—we have to move.”

It’s about noon, judging by how the sun is positioned directly overhead in the sky. It’s been a relatively quiet morning these past couple hours, mostly because the entire group has spent it napping on the beach. For a while, you were sitting with both Johanna and Katniss, but Johanna eventually got tired and laid down on the beach.

You’re not entirely sure why Katniss suddenly feels the need to move. The only event that has happened recently is an announcement of sorts from the Gamemakers. A bell tolled twelve times like it had late last night, and the lightning started again. It must mean something to her, because she stood up to look around the arena.

“What is it?” Johanna slaps Katniss’s hand away.

“I think the arena works like a clock.” She says, Peeta rubs the sleep out of his eyes, while Finnick squints at the surrounding jungle. “(Y/n), you remember last night when the bell tolled?”

“Yeah.” You pull your knees to your chest, watching her.

“It was because it was midnight, and the start of the clock.”

“Twelve bongs.” Finnick murmurs.

“Yes.” She nods. “Wiress figured it out first, that’s why she’s tick-tocking. She’s trying to tell us the arena’s a clock.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Johanna says, shaking her head. 

“It does.” Katniss tells her. “Lightning at midnight, blood rain at two, poisonous fog at three, monkey mutts at four…” She trails off, assuming you get what she’s saying. 

Peeta’s nodding, looking down at the sand. “It’d explain why we had to deal with the fog and monkeys back-to-back.”

“So what’s going to happen now, then?” Johanna asks.

“Blood rain.” Finnick tells her.

The group of you sit in silence for a moment, digesting this. If she’s right, then that does mean you have to move, or at least get to a point in the arena where you can observe. After that, you could move from wedge to wedge to avoid what lurks in the jungle.

“What should we do, then?” Peeta asks.

“We need to move, get out of the way.” You say, looking at Katniss. “The Cornucopia?”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Johanna agrees.

Katniss nods. 

You break apart, going to collect your belongings out of the sand, securing them to your body to carry them with you. Finnick and Peeta work together to get Beetee back into his jumpsuit, now clean of blood. 

Katniss goes to wake Wiress, who’s been murmuring in her sleep this entire time. She jolts awake, grabbing onto Katniss’s arms tightly. “Tick, tock!”

“Yes, tick, tock, the arena’s a clock. It’s a clock, Wiress, you were right.” She tells her. “You were right.”

Wiress relaxes considerably, nodding a little. “Midnight.”

“It starts at midnight.” Katniss confirms.

Wiress nods at one of the wedges. “One-thirty.”

“Exactly. One-thirty. And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there.” Katniss says, pointing at a different area of the jungle. “So we have to move somewhere safe now.” Wiress smiles and stands. “Are you thirsty?”

As soon as the woven bowl is handed over to her, Wiress gulps it down. Finnick gives her some of the bread from a sponsorship you missed, she slowly chews on it. From what you can see, it’s the salty seaweed bread from District Four. Yuck.

You hand Katniss her weapons, watching her secure the spile and the tube of medicine to a square cloth of a parachute before using a vine to tie it to her belt. 

Beetee’s not entirely conscious, so Peeta goes to lift him out of the sand, causing him to stir and become deadweight. “Wire.”

“She’s right here.” Peeta says. “Wiress is fine. She’s coming, too.”

Beetee tries to push Peeta off of him. “Wire.”

“Oh, I know what he wants.” Johanna rolls her eyes, crossing the beach to pick up a cylinder. It’s still covered in a thick layer of blood, making it impossible for you to see what it is. “This worthless thing. It’s some kind of wire or something. THa’ts how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don’t know what kind of weapon it’s supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?”

You snort, she tilts her head.

“He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap.” Peeta tells her. “It’s the best weapon he could have.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Katniss chimes in. “Seems like you’d have figured that out.” She says slowly. “SInce you nicknamed him Volts and all.”

Johanna’s eyes narrow in her direction. “Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She asks. “I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what, again? Getting Mags killed off?”

The air becomes hard to breathe, you steal a glance at Finnick out of the corner of your eye and find his eyebrows drawn in, thinking. You can’t believe Johanna just threw that out in the open. 

Katniss’s hand grips the knife on her belt.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.” Johanna tilts her head.

“Maybe we all had better be careful where we step.” Finnick says, trying to calm the situation. He gives Katniss a look, taking the coil from Johanna to set it on Beetee’s chest. “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.”

This allows Peeta to pick up Beetee without an issue. “Where to?”

“To the Cornucopia, like (Y/n) said.” Finnick says. “I’d like to watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.”

One at a time, you approach the nearest sand strip, heading to the center island. You take up the very back with Johanna, who has her arms crossed, seething. Or maybe not, you can’t see her face at the moment. Every time Katniss tries to call her out for her behavior, you know they get closer to considering killing each other. 

The Cornucopia is barren of any Careers, allowing you to spread out and pick where you’d like to be in the mouth. The weapons that remain have been thoroughly picked-over, the only thing you could possibly grab now are knives. You don’t really have any specialty weapons. You had to teach yourself how to fight with a sword.

Peeta lays Beetee in the small bit of shae that does exist. As soon as Beetee’s comfortable, he calls over Wiress. She crouches beside him, and he hands over the coil of wire. “Clean it, will you?”

Wiress nods, and hurries over to the edge of the island. She dunks the coil in the water, quietly singing a song to herself about a mouse running up a clock.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna groans, throwing her head back. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

She suddenly stops, standing up straight, coil of water in her hand, dripping watery blood onto the black rock. She points to the jungle. “Two.”

You look to where she’s pointing, and find a wall of fog seeping out onto the beach. 

“Yes, look, Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.”

“Like clockwork.” Peeta says. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

All she does is smile, and then she goes right back to singing and cleaning. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says, coming back to life. “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” Katniss explains.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks morbidly.

“It stops signing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.”

This is clearly a topic of conversation that Katniss doesn’t want to participate in, so it drops. Johanna turns to head inside of the Cornucopia, flicking her short hair over her shoulder. Katniss and Finnick follow soon after, going to stock up their weapons.

Johanna comes out with a pair of axes, looking over the blades with a fairly impressed look. She then swings the axe forward, at the golden walls of the Cornucopia. Since it’s been softened by the sun, the blade sticks. Johanna grabs it with one hand and yanks it out.

You watch as Peeta draws a circle with his machete on a large leaf he took from the jungle. He seems to draw a map of the arena, with the jungle and beach having its own sections. And then he divides the circle into wedges. “Look at how the Cornucopia’s positioned.”

Katniss comes over to look, “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, going on to write the numbers one through twelve around his circle. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He writes lightning in small print in the wedge, working clockwise to add blood, fog, and monkeys to the next three sections.

“And ten to twelve is the wave.” Katniss says, he writes it in. 

Finnick and Johanna come to see what they’re doing now. Tridents, axes and knives hanging off their bodies. Johanna pulls one of her knives from her belt, twisting it in her hand, holding the handle out to you.

You take it from her, holding it in your hands while you watch Peeta.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks JOhanna and Beetee, but they haven’t experienced anything other than the blood. “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta murmurs, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He then sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

You look over the clock in silence.

Silence.

Your eyes dart up, and you find that Katniss is one step ahead of you, an arrow armed on her bow, pointed at a soaking wet Gloss. Wiress is sliding toward the ground, her throat slit open, it’ll be impossible to save her. The arrow slams into his temple, killing him instantly. Johanna is already on her feet, swinging her axe into Cashmere’s chest. 

The sound of sand crunching beneath boots causes your head to whip in the direction, finding Brutus and Enobaria running up the other side. A spear drawn back in Brutus’s hand, aimed in your direction. 

And furthermore, Finnick’s.

“Get out of the fucking way!” You scream, shoving Finnick down.

The both of you hit the sand, the spear whizzing right over your heads, where you had been standing seconds prior. It slams into the golden Cornucopia, the entire head buried in the structure. Brutus had thrown it with enough force to kill you both in an instant.

Two arrows are sent back by Katniss in retaliation, but neither of them must land, because she jerks forward to chase after them. Three cannons blast in quick succession, confirming three dead; Wiress, Gloss and Cashmere. 

Katniss disappears around the mouth, with Johanna and Peeta right behind her. You and Finnick are just picking yourselves out of the sand when the ground jerks beneath you. Your shoulder slams into the sand, and then you begin to quickly roll, as the rock island that the Cornucopia sits on begins to spin, fast.

You desperately reach out, trying to find a ridge to dig your fingers into, but you only come up with handfuls of sand. The jungle has turned into a blur of green and beige as you pick up speed, water turning to mist in the air.

You’re almost at the edge of the rock when a hand clamps around your ankle, stopping you from falling off. You’re left to face the water, dizziness beginning to overcome you, until you slam to a sudden stop.

The urge to vomit rises up your stomach quickly. You yank your ankle free from whoever it is that has a hold of you, quickly crawling to the edge to puke up water and bile into the water. You try to close your eyes to make yourself feel better, but all it does is speed up the rate that you’re spinning.

The throbbing in your head returns in full swing.

When you finally finish gagging over the rock, you pick yourself up from the sand, wiping it from your skin. The others have gathered together at the mouth of the Cornucopia, just as disheveled as you are. 

“Where’s Volts?” Johanna asks.

You sit down while they circle the Cornucopia to confirm he’s off of the island. Finnick apparently spots him about twenty feet out in the water, and dives in to retrieve him. Katniss, on the other hand, finds Wiress in the water, the coil still clutched tightly in her hands.

“Cover me.” She tells Johanna, racing down the strip closest to her body before diving in. She swims hard, battling the hovercraft on who will get to Wiress’s body first. She reaches her first, working to loosen Wiress’s fingers, and then comes back to the center island.

By the time she makes it, Wiress is gone, as well as the two other bodies that were floating in the water. Finnick lays Beetee down in the sand, letting him get a hold of himself again. Katniss places the wire in his lap, now clean of blood, sparkling in the sunlight.

Beetee unravels a small bit of the wire, running his fingers over it. It’s a pale golden color, and it’s incredibly thin. You know Johanna was joking about him using it to garrotte people but it would be completely impossible to. As soon as you’d tighten it, it would snap. 

For a while, you sit in silence together, catching your breath, wringing the water out of your clothes or shaking sand out of your clothes. When it appears as though you’re ready to move on, Johanna stands. “Let’s get off this stinking island.”

You’re forced to recollect your weapons, since they had been strewn across the island due to the spinning. Your sword and the knife Johanna handed you are relatively easy to find. While the others have to take a moment to dig.

Beetee tells Peeta that he thinks he can walk now, as long as he’s patient and willing to go slow. It’s better than carrying him again, so Peeta helps bring him to his feet. It’s then decided you all should go to the beach at twelve o’clock, because it should give you several hours before you have to face the jungle again.

Peeta, Johanna and Finnick head off in three different directions.

“Twelve o’clock, right?” Peeta asks. “The tail point at twelve.”

“Before they spun us.” Finnick reasons. “I was judging by the sun.”

“The sun only tells you it’s going on four, Finnick.”

“I think Katniss’s point is, knowing the time doesn’t mean you necessarily know where four is on the clock. You might have a general idea of the direction. Unless you consider that they may have shifted the outer ring of the jungle as well.” Beetee says.

You squint, face twisted. You would hope the Gamemakers didn’t shift the jungle too, that would give the entire secret of the clock away, wouldn’t it? But then again, you guess it doesn’t matter. 

“Yes, so any one of these paths could lead to twelve o’clock.” Katniss says, offering you a shrug when you look at her.

You circle around the Cornucopia as a group, picking out every detail of the jungle, only to discover that each wedge has been almost perfectly replicated. Katniss says something about how there was a tall tree in the lightning section that stood out, but now she can’t find it.

Johanna suggests following Enobaria and Brutus’s footsteps, but the sand has been blown away completely from the wind. Katniss lets out a heavy sigh, “I should have never mentioned the clock. Now they’ve taken that advantage away as well.”

“Only temporarily.” Beetee says. “At ten, we’ll see the wave again and be back on track.”

“Yes, they can’t redesign the whole arena.” Peeta says, trying to make her feel better.

“It doesn’t matter.” Johanna’s tone impatient. “You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless.” She pops a hip out, crossing her arms. “Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?”

A path is chosen at random. At the beach, they peer into the jungle, trying to judge what could be inside.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta shrugs. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick objects.

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta offers.

“(Y/n) can do that.” Johanna waves her hand. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She yanks one of the leaves off of a tree to hand it to him.

“Wait, I didn’t agree to this.” You make a face, shaking your head.

“Then Katniss can go with you to keep the peace.” Johanna motions, Katniss nods.

You smile at her, but send a glare in Johanna’s direction, irritated that she’s already working to pair you and Finnick together. You’re tired of his presence and being forced to talk to him. You liked it yesterday when he was stubborn and refused to talk to you the entire day unless he had to.

Either way, you have no choice now. Finnick leads the way into the jungle. About fifteen yards in, he stops in front of a tree that looks like it’ll give you a good stream of water. He then holds his hand out, “Knife.”

“You have your own.” You tell him.

“Johanna gave you the best one.” He says, fingers beckoning for the knife. “It’s thinner.”

“You’ll make it dull.”

“Don’t be a pain.”

“Use your own knife.”

“No, I’m not ruining my own knives.”

“So you’ll ruin mine instead? Don’t you have like ten of them?” You motion at his belt. “Choose one of them.”

“I don’t want any of those.”

“You do realize that the knife is the only weapon I have beside my sword, right? You’re carrying like three different tridents, why don’t you use one of those?”

Finnick’s face twists at you. “Don’t tell me you’re actually that dense.”

“No, but you are.” You tilt your head at him.

Katniss shakes her head. “I know why Johanna sent me in here now.”

You look over your shoulder. “You can go, Katniss. We won’t kill each other.”

She purses her lips, thinking. “I’ve got to pee, so I’ll do that and come back.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Finnick tells her.

Katniss wanders off with her bow, heading deeper into the jungle, completely out of your sight. You look back at Finnick, who still has his hand out, waiting for your knife. You grab it begrudgingly, placing it in his hand. 

He starts to drill into the tree with the tip of your knife, ruining it immediately. You’ll get him back for this later. You’re not sure how, because trying to use his trident would make you look stupid. Maybe you’ll steal a knife off of him when he’s sleeping, since he seems to place a lot of trust in the others to watch over him.

The silence between you and Finnick is fine for the first few minutes, but you really don’t like standing over him like this without saying anything. You clear your throat, turning your body away so you don’t have to look at him.

“I’m sorry about Mags.” You tell him. “I didn’t know her well, but she was always kind to me when I was with her. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine.” Finnick tells you. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head. “I should’ve taken Mags during the fog, I could’ve carried her.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” He mutters. “Either she died during the fog, or the monkeys, or even the Cornucopia. At least she didn’t suffer.”

You hum. “I guess that’s true.”

There’s a few beats of silence, and then he sighs. “You’ve saved my life twice now.”

You make a noise, not really interested in this topic. All he’s going to do is start keeping score. You’ll even bet he’s going to tell you he doesn’t want to be in your debt.

“Hardly.” You tell him.

“You saved me from the monkey in the jungle, and if you hadn’t moved me out of the way, I could’ve died because of the spear.”

“We could’ve died.” You correct him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is.” Finnick says, he stops drilling into the tree to look at you. “I was wrong when I said that you’d get in the way.”

You shrug, not really feeling the need to thank him. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you. “Really.”

“Forget about it.” 

[glasvera]

Cold Brew

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader

Description: (Part 3 of this series, sequel to Dream and Sugar!) Adam's been gone for quite some time, and your coworker is tired of you moping about. Clearly, the answer is going on a date with the guy your coworker introduced you to. What could go wrong?

Warnings/Disclaimers: Angst. Date guy is a serious dick, name calling, shoving, etc. Adam causes property damage. Angst turns into fluff at the end though, I promise!

A/N: This one took a while (over a month??? damn my bad) because I'm actually developing a... *gasp*... plot! Also because I rewrote the cafe bit at least half a dozen times. But yes, things were getting so teeth-rottingly sweet in here that I had to throw in some conflict and angst to balance it all out. We will return to your regularly scheduled fluff in the next installment.

Word Count: 3.9k

When Peter Quill was greeted by the familiar albeit irritatingly perfect golden visage of Adam Warlock, he assumed it was for a lecture on his recklessness in their last little voyage. Adam doesn’t seem to visit him for much else. Not that he was antisocial, of course. The golden man was simply straight and to the point in almost everything he did.

That’s why it’s such a surprise when Adam mentions you.

“Wait, wait… sorry. I just gotta take this in,” he laughs jovially while spinning about in the cockpit seat. “The being made to be humanity’s best--no, beyond humanity’s best--is asking me for love advice?”

“Do not make me regret this,” Adam groans and pinches the bridge of his nose betwixt his fingers. “I do not know if such a thing exists for me. I only know that I… when I am with her, I feel… lighter? And yet there is an indescribable heaviness all the same. It is simultaneously the most wonderful thing I have ever felt and the most uncomfortable sensation I have ever experienced.”

Star-Lord digs his heel into the ground, bringing his spinning chair to a halt and slapping his hands on his knees. He quirks a brow at the perfect man. “You’re totally in love with her.”

“I have only met her twice,” he admits bashfully. “Is it not wrong to feel so strongly after so short a time?”

Star-Lord sighs, swiveling to the side and propping his feet up on the console. His eyes trail absentmindedly up to the ceiling and his lips purse to one side.

“Adam,” he starts, drawing the man’s milky white eyes to attention. There’s an undeniable seriousness in Quill’s voice. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned working with you, it’s that when you feel, you feel deeply. It’s kind of scary sometimes.”

“Scary…?” he echoes with trepidation.

“Not scary scary. Just… a lot, I guess. But if you’re really into this girl, and she’s into you, I mean…” He shrugs with his hands up in the air. “Might as well see what happens, right?”

“See… what happens…” he echoes, chewing pensively on his lower lip and staring down at his own shoes.

“Buddy, I'm pretty sure you could have anyone in the palm of your hand if you wanted. So, worst case scenario, there's bound to be someone else out there.”

Quill's reassurances do little to assuage Adam’s tumultuous thoughts.

“I… I do not want someone else,” he admits quietly. “I desire only her.”

-----

It had been weeks since you'd seen him last. Of course, you had gone months without seeing that perfect golden face of his before, but now, things were different. At first it felt like little more than chance, but after the conversation you shared last time, there was undeniably something more between you. 

You felt even more ridiculous, being strung along by a guy who's visited you twice. If this was his idea of courting you, he was really going to have to step up his game… assuming he was courting you at all, of course. It was all so vague and new, and he was a superhero who traveled across galaxies to save people. You desperately wanted to believe what he said.

It just gets more and more difficult to cling to that hope with every day that passes by.

You were working the closing shift today, moping a bit while lazily wiping down the countertop. It was stupid to be acting like this and you knew it, but sometimes you just needed to be upset about it for a little while so it didn't bottle up inside you. Goodness knows you've done that before. 

…The ensuing waterworks were never pretty.

“Did he ghost you again?” Your nosy coworker pipes up, nodding at your morose state. “Seriously… I mean, look at you. You've been wiping the same spot for the last five minutes.”

“I--well, I wouldn’t say he's ghosting me, but--”

He's not having any of it. “Girl, I couldn't get you to shut up about him for days after he showed up last time. He tells you he's into you and then goes radio silent?” He tuts. “That's like, the literal definition of ghosting.”

“He's…” You want to argue it. He's different? Busy? Familiar with spacecraft technology but apparently incapable of communicating digitally? Your shoulders slump, and you feel your eyes start to water. No, stop that. This isn't the time or place for a pity party.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. Girl, we have got to get you a hobby. Or another man. Maybe both while we're at it.”

You give him a snort, trying desperately to mask the budding tears even as you wipe your nose on the back of your arm. “You know I work too much for that. And I'm perfectly content being single.”

He claps his hands together. Pulling out his phone, he starts scrolling through his camera roll.

“There’s this guy I was seeing for a little bit--”

“Oh boy, sloppy seconds,” you interrupt sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes before giving you a pointed glare. “Babes, do you want my help or not?” 

Truthfully, you're not sure if you do. It's not like anything would really change if Adam disappeared from your life for good. Though, when you roll your lips between your teeth and allow him to continue, he cocks his head with a bit of attitude and mistakes your silence for acquiescence. 

“That’s what I thought. Anyway, he's bi, smokin’ hot, smart, loves kittens and puppies, the whole package…”

You admire the pictures he shows you, but something wasn’t adding up. Your eyes narrow. “What’s the catch? Why did you two split?”

“Because,” he says, putting a firm hand down on the counter you'd been continuously polishing, “he was practically married to his work. Smart college man wants to go big in the world of science. It wasn’t going to work.” He lifts his hand and points at you. “But you? You're basically the same, working all the time. It’s perfect.”

“So we'd be perfect because we'd never have time for each other…?” you challenge, resting a hand on your hip.

“Oh, he has time. It just wasn't enough for me. I'm very high maintenance.”

You snort at his self-dig, but finally you relent. “Fine. Set us up. I'll at least give him a chance.”

-----

Unsurprisingly, it was a bit difficult finding a time that worked well for the both of you. Surprisingly, this guy, Nate, seemed into you right from the first selfie. Not that you looked bad, of course, but you weren’t expecting the eagerness with which he responded. You got a lot of scientist jokes from him about being “the perfect specimen”. At least… you're pretty sure those are jokes. 

It helps that he's hot.

In a sense, it worked out better for you, since it meant you had a few extra weeks to at least text each other before meeting. You had a few things in common that you were able to talk about, and he seemed responsive enough when you asked him questions about his work. 

Your coworker wasn’t kidding, though. This guy really was attached to his work.

So much so, in fact, that the only way you found time to meet up with him was by offering to bring takeout to his apartment-turned-lab extension. Not the greatest of impressions, but you could admire his dedication at least. Love your job and you never work a day of your life, right? Wish you could say the same about being a barista.

Standing in front of the door to his apartment with a paper bag of your favorite local Chinese food, you hesitate with your fist prepared to knock on the paint-chipped wood. Something about this feels off. Well, no. A lot of things feel off, if you’re being honest. Maybe you’re just scared of new things. Maybe a part of you still wants to cling to the hope that Adam Warlock will show up again. Maybe this guy is secretly a serial killer, and you’re about to walk into your own demise--

Click!

The door opens before you and you jolt upright. Nate is greeted by your bug-eyed stare and your fist still held up in the air in front of you.

“Hello…?” he greets you with a chuckle. The deep timbre of his voice is quite lovely, but you can’t help but compare it to Adam’s and find it wanting. Come on now, really? Now? “Y/N, right? I saw you on the camera, so--”

“Sorry!” You interrupt him suddenly, eyeing your hand before quickly withdrawing it to your side. “I get nervous with these things. Hardly ever do dates. Never been good at them.” It’s only half of a lie, but it’s the quickest thing you can think of to excuse your awkwardness.

He chortles, a low, rumbling sound in his chest, and gestures around to his own apartment. “I’m not either, clearly. Most people actually leave their house.” A kind smile spreads across his face before he nods for you to come in. “Well, shall we?”

It’s about what you expected from a workaholic scientist. A little messy, with some papers strewn about, but the streaks through the thin layers of dust around the place tell a story of a much messier abode up until recently. The kitchen was barely a kitchen anymore with much of the counter space occupied by various containers and implements.

“I tried to clean up around here before you came over, I swear,” he says in jest as he leads you in. “I get to working and completely lose track of time.” He rubs the back of his neck and gives you a shy yet charming smile.

“No, no, I totally get that,” you reply, setting the bag down on one of the few unoccupied spots of the coffee table. When a moment of awkward silence follows, you decide to bait the conversation with something you know he'll have no trouble talking about. “Working on anything in particular before I got here?”

Hook, line, and sinker, his eyes brighten in an instant. “Yes! I've been studying light waves more intensely as of late.” He plops down onto the couch with a grunt as the cushion bounces him with the sudden weight. “Specifically reflections. What if there was a way to make light tangible?” With his hands on either side of his head, he makes explosion motions with his fingers. Cute. “Of course we have lasers. We have light that can be felt. But if there was a way to take light and turn it into something solid, we could go beyond holograms and--”

He goes on passionately for quite some time. With a tight-lipped yet polite smile, you nod and do your best to keep up. His enthusiasm is something you can appreciate at least. The way he leans familiarly towards you though? Not so much. 

Seated next to him and idly nibbling on an egg roll, you were trying so hard not to zone out and focus on what he was saying that the sudden buzz and chime of your phone startles you firmly back into reality. It's not a long text at all. You're easily able to read it discreetly when the screen lights up. Wait… Why the hell was your coworker texting you now…?

<<Goldie inbound 😬 Sorry!!!>>

Goldie…? What on earth is he talking about?

Before you get the chance to grab your phone and respond properly, you're both surprised to hear a firm knocking against the door. Nate laughs nervously and cocks his head to the side. Clearly, he wasn't expecting an interruption. And judging by the way he presses his mouth into a flat line before chewing on the inside of his lip, he isn't happy about it either.

“Ha… wonder who that could be?” Nate speaks up while feigning a pleasant attitude. You reply with little more than a sympathetic smile and a shrug of your shoulders. 

The knocking grows more insistent with his delay. The vein on Nate’s temple bulges. Quite frankly, the longer you remained in this situation, the more you felt the adrenaline building in your veins. Seems like your gut was right after all, albeit in a bit of a roundabout way.

“I have heard you speak. I know that this abode is occupied.”

Your eyes widen. Goldie, of course. That muffled voice is still recognizable. You'd know it anywhere. A strange mixture of frustration and hope bubbles within your chest. Still, this is what you’ve spent all this time waiting for, is it not?

Nate peers through the peephole and grimaces at what he sees. “Congratulations! You have ears! Now fuck off,” he spits back through the door. The sudden hostility from him is unexpected, and you find yourself reflexively flinching away.

“I cannot fulfill such a request,” the even-toned voice through the door responds.

“Wait!” you pipe in, nearly dropping your food and rushing to the door. “Adam, is that you?” Nate, ever the sharp one, seems to pick up on the almost expectant lilt in your voice. His frown deepens.

“Ah, Y/N… so you remember me still,” the golden man replies coldly, though there is an unmistakable melancholy in his voice. It stings to your core, and you feel your stomach drop. Another part of you begins to prickle with indignance. “Would my entrance be acceptable?”

“No,” Nate bites back. “I don't know who you are, but I certainly didn't invite you over.”

Panic washes over you. You can’t let Adam slip away from you again.

“Just--” you step in, holding your hands up in front of you. “Let me talk to him. I owe him that much.”

Oh, that was clearly the wrong answer. There's a nearly imperceptible twitch of his eye as he forces a smile. “You don't owe him shit. I'm not opening the door.”

Something about that makes you bristle even more than Adam’s earlier response. You square your shoulders and try to push past him. 

“What do you know about what I do or don't owe him? I'm going out there.” Your voice is firm and you stand your ground, your irritated gaze boring into your date.

“Wow. I can’t believe this,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You came over here to see me, but the second another man shows up, you wanna talk to him instead? And here I thought you were different.”

“Y/N!?” Adam's voice sounds through the door again, but this time the concern is evident.

Oh, that is it. The tip of your forefinger stabs into his chest. Your lip curls. “Fuck. Off.”

“Ooh, scary. Fucking whore,” he replies with a snarl. He pushes you off of him and you stumble backwards into the wall with a thud.

“Y/N!” The golden man's voice bellows, and it's the only warning you both have before the door cracks in protest and flies open, the deadbolt little more than a memory as it clatters to the ground along with splinters of the frame. The door swings violently on its hinges before slamming into the wall just inches away from you and you yelp and scramble away.

And there he is, standing in all his golden glory. Except this is a side of him you've never seen before. Brows that scrunch at the bridge of his nose, perfect white teeth bared, hands balled up into fists. He lurches forward and grabs the collar of Nate's shirt before hoisting him up. 

“How dare you touch her,” he growls between his teeth. Nate tries to scratch and grip Adam's forearm, but he seems completely unfazed. White-gold eyes turn into white-hot embers that threaten to burn through Nate's very soul.

“You fucking psycho!” he ekes out, gritting his teeth as the toes of his shoes scrape and scramble to find purchase on the floor. “What the hell is your problem!?”

“It would seem you are my problem,” he replies flatly despite the fiery anger that still blazes furiously in his gaze.

Your panicked stare flickers back and forth between Adam and Nate. Even if you’re pretty sure you’ll never willingly talk to Nate again (and you’ll be having some choice words with your coworker about his taste in men), you don’t want Adam getting into serious trouble on your account. And, judging by the way Adam’s grip tightens, you know you need to step in before someone gets hurt. Your shaking fingers curl gently around Adam’s bicep.

“Adam… please.” 

Even that simple touch softens him instantly. His facial muscles relax and he regards you instead with an expression of perplexion. That you would even consider such sympathy for a man prepared to physically assault you is not something he can understand. Still, Nate’s shirt falls from his grasp and he falls to the ground, gasping and clutching at where the collar had been digging into his neck.

“I will see you to safety before I leave,” he mutters. The way he keeps his emotional distance from you leaves an aching feeling in your throat. His gaze drifts away from you. “We should go.”

“I’ll… I’ll call the police!” Nate wheezes out from where he kneels. “I know people! You’ll regret that!”

Adam turns as he moves to leave the apartment and stares daggers into him. “You remain unharmed because she wills it.” There is pity in his gaze, the sort of look one gives to a creature so far beneath it that it cannot comprehend how powerless it is in comparison. “If I come to regret this decision, I will not be the one who suffers for it.”

In a miraculous moment of clarity, Nate makes what is perhaps the smartest decision of his entire life and lets his head droop. He balls his fists against the splinter laden carpet and grits his teeth, but he stays his words.

A warm hand rests between your shoulder blades. Warmth like the sun. Warmth that soothes the chill that has lingered in his absence. He guides you out of the apartment and the two of you walk beneath the ochre twilight.

Silence hangs heavy between you.

Once, twice, three times, you glance towards his golden face. His expression remains stoic and unflinching. You can’t bring yourself to speak. These moments are too fragile, fleeting, and one misstep might make him disappear again. Hell, you feel as though you’ve already screwed things up by going on a date with someone else. A deep, resounding ache tugs at your heart in your own disappointment with yourself.

The two of you find yourselves in that same park, though it’s remarkably greener than the last time. Trees bud with the beginnings of blossoms. Verdant blades of grass peek through thawing soil. The somber glow of the setting sun paints it all with an empty warmth.

“This should be far enough,” he finally speaks. He finds it difficult to look at you.

You can’t bear it any longer.

“Adam…” you begin, reaching a tentative hand towards him. You hesitate. Here he is, the man of your dreams, the one you’ve waited so long to see, and yet you fear he might disappear if you were to touch him.

“I ask you to be more careful in the future. That I was able to intervene this day is nothing short of a miracle.” The corner of his mouth twitches with a frown.

Still he refuses to look at you.

“Adam,” you repeat, urgency in your voice as you throw caution to the wind. The palm of your hand finds his cheek. “Look at me. Please.”

You see him flinch, not in response to your touch, but instead your words. Bronze lips part and pout softly.

But those white gold eyes do find yours. That pearlescent gaze swirls with a deep sadness, a longing. A shuddered breath tickles your wrist.

“It hurts,” he breathes. “Why does it hurt?”

You don’t have to ask to know what he means. Nor do you have an answer you feel would satisfy him. Words never feel like enough. Instead, your brow furrows, and the pad of your thumb draws a path along his cheekbone.

“You are safe, and that brings me joy,” he whispers. Tears bead at the corners of his eyes. “Yet when I learned why you were there, I felt only anger. Betrayal.” Misty eyes blink away the tears. “But now… I do not know what I feel.”

Your hand falls from his face, and you swear for a moment he seemed to chase the warmth of it. But he’s right. Even if today’s date was a begrudging one, you had done so knowing the feelings you had shared with the man before you now.

“I’m sorry.” You nearly choke on your own words as you force them past the lump in your throat. “I didn’t--” Gritting your teeth, you look away. Excuses are worth nothing. Still, frustration burns within your chest. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

You’d think you hit him physically with the way he recoils from your words. Of course he was coming back.

“Did our conversation before mean nothing to you?” he asks, his milky eyes going cold. “Do I mean nothing to you?” His words are reckless indulgence, and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to stop them.

And you can’t stop the rage that burns within you.

“It meant everything to me!” you exclaim. Adam’s eyes widen at your outburst. “You… you left me! Without a word! For weeks!” Tears sting at your eyes. Your fingers curl into a fist as you beat it weakly against his chest. “You… you…”

Your words fade as you choke out a sob. Everything comes flooding back to you all at once, and the waterworks are unstoppable. Your stomach is in knots.

The anger washes away from him leaving only guilt behind. There was no protocol for this, no metaphorical manual for him to follow. Yet at the same time, how could he blame you for feeling abandoned?

“Y/N…”

“Just go,” you snap, pushing him away from you softly. More accurately, you push yourself off of him as he doesn’t budge. 

You didn’t mean it. Not really. But you were angry, scared from your ordeal, and quite frankly overwhelmed by it all. It was easier to let your emotions win right now.

Frankly, Adam was of a similar mind in that matter.

For what else save emotions can explain why he takes you by the shoulders and leans in close? What rational thought might bring him to press soft, metallic lips to your own?

You squeak softly in surprise when he kisses you. Your lips are salty, wet with your tears, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He has to make you understand. You feel as much with the raw emotion he seems to emanate. When he pulls away you’re dazed, leaving a muddled fog over the anger that had just been boiling within you.

Worry knits at his brow as he looks down at you. The last thing he wants to do is overstep, and here he is kissing you without even asking first. “If you still want me to go, I--”

You don’t allow him to finish his sentence, shaking your head at him as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss you again. A gasp of pleasant surprise whispers against your lips before his mouth slants over yours. It’s all so sudden, maybe even a bit crazy, but the warmth of him fills you with such brilliance that no other place than his side feels right.

Needless to say, you weren’t letting him go anywhere any time soon.

[felassan]

Some notes from today's new BioWare Blog post, which contained some new character insights and also gave some information on what is coming next and when:

Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow helped to cast and direct over a thousand conversations in the game

Lucanis is bloodthirsty, calculated, and a workaholic. He was raised with high expectations and fears disappointing those he loves. To him, being an assassin is his only job and identity to be excellent at. He's constantly attuning himself to the kind of shifting terrain of every mission. There's a lot of love between him and Illario

As Zach is a comedian, he would easily find the humor in anything Lucanis was saying

Neve is a Shadow Dragons rebel who cares deeply about helping people and never leaves work half-done. Epler: " [she is] the working class hero trying to make her hometown better"

Emmrich is sincere, friendly, scholarly, sophisticated, eager to teach and learn, a well-meaning but oblivious academic, with a "hot nerdiness". He assumes everyone has an academic's curiosity so can be pedantic on select topics

The Mourn Watch are revered in Nevarra but odd at best and evil at worst outside of it

Nick: "I love the fact that the writers took Emmerich and explored the whole idea of death and the whole idea of necromancing by bringing kindness into it. I really responded to that and got into that and I know it sounds crazy, but it’s to not have this idea that death is vulgar or something to be terrified about, but something to actually engage with on so many levels. I just love the fact that the writers had the courage to do that in a game like this."

"Often Nick is just playing off of someone making a sound, and he takes it and internalizes it and gives it meaning and care, which is amazing to watch."

The world has changed a lot since DA:I

Harding has been leading teams through the wilderness while covering friends in battle

Harding loves her mom. She loves to write letters home and is always talking about her mother. She likes plants and raising plants. She has grown and is a veteran now, a trusted voice at the table

Footage of the full DA:TV @ SDCC companions panel should be available in a couple of weeks

Next month there will be a new roadmap, more looks at the game, and the reveal of the release date

[emphasis mine]

And this paragraph:

"Dragon Age: The Veilguard sees players embark on a perilous quest to face powerful Elven gods and stop the apocalyptic destruction they’re unleashing. You’ll step into the role of Rook, battling on the front lines alongside a deep and compelling cast of companions who together comprise The Veilguard, a group of heroes who have come together to stop the veil from breaking and bringing about the end of the world. Rook must become the unexpected leader who can rally and unite the group. Throughout the game, you can explore the detailed storylines of each companion, navigating love, loss, and complex choices that influence your relationships."

[source]

[madridnoora]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden - God bless texas.

Fourth instalment of the forbidden au - lsu!joe x oc

Instalments - one, two, three and three.two ౨ৎ

Summary: A girls trip happens to cross paths with the boys football season and a tense game in Austin, leading to revelations about the past and a long night out in the city.

⋆｡˚ word count: 11.3k

18+ content. MDNI. Mentions of drinking, smoking and sex. ⋆｡˚

It’s 8:15pm and the team bus is restless. A six and a half hour journey from Baton Rouge to Austin. Tomorrow Joe and his team will face their biggest challenge of the season so far -- The Texas Longhorns.

Joe hadn’t stopped thinking about the image of Daisy. ‘Hook’ em’. He sneered at the memory. He couldn’t quite understand her. Every time he ever tried to speak about football, you know in the moments after they had sex when they lay beside each other, or in the car journey’s to each other's dorm or when there was a silence that needed filling by any conversation, she would shut it down.

‘Can we not do the football stuff.’ She would say. She wouldn’t snap at him but she wasn’t exactly polite in her tone either. Irritation and annoyance always lingering thick in the air around them. She was blunt and forceful. When Joe would push further and ask her the simple question of ‘Why?’ she would just shrug her shoulders and tell him - ‘I hate football’. He hadn’t brought up the image of her at the game. He didn’t want to give her the impression that he cared, because he didn’t. He didn’t care enough about Daisy to dig to the bottom of the loose excuses she gave. They weren’t friends or anything. Just a hookup. It was easier to be just a hookup if they didn’t get too involved in each other's personal lives.

He was hooking up with other people anyway and he was sure that she was too. He assumed she was anyway. He had overheard Bella talking about a kiss Daisy had with some nerd from her class on a student night out in the city when she came over the frat to visit Justin.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Daisy for a few days. Like anywhere. Usually he would spot her on campus or see her out of the corner of his eye. Sometimes he would see her grabbing lunch or studying in the library as he walks past but not for a short while. The last time he saw her she was begging underneath him, writhing around in the pleasure he was causing.

Joe turns around to the seat behind him.

‘Yo. you seen Bella recently?’

Justin looks at Joe with slight confusion. Joe was never one to care about the girls his teammates were hooking up with. What made the question even weirder was that Justin and Bella weren’t even hooking up and Joe knew that. They did once. Since then they had formed a friendship, one neither of them were expecting. Justin didn’t know whether to respond. Joe was asking for a reason but he didn’t know what it was.

‘She’s out of town with Cass and texas. They left a few days ago’ Joe nods his head slowly with a slight frowned lip.

‘You miss her?’ Joe jokes.

‘Man shut up’ Justin lightly slaps Joe’s head while he laughs.

Joe turns back to face forward in his seat. Out of town huh. Where? He pulled his phone from his pocket to see if Daisy had posted anything. Or if Cassie had. Or if Bella had. If there was any online evidence of where they had gone. Joe never really looked at social’s. He used them to hook up with girls through DM but other than that he would post every once in a while and then get off.

He should really use it more.

What he was looking for popped up on his feed first.

daisyymoore

Big dawg is back. - Austin, Texas

685 likes 

@.cassdaviess: i love when the trip actually happens. 

→ @.daisyymoore: same sis. 

@.isabellaabreut: southerrnnn nights 

→ @.daisyymoore: just as good even when you close your eyes. 

@.isabellaabreut: bigger n better in texas i’ll say 

@.carsonford: i’ve alerted the local news. 

→ @.daisyymoore: i knew i was being papped. 

@.mileslucasford: in texas huh? 

→ @.daisyymoore: I think it’s great you’ve learned how to read.

-> @.isabellaabreut: soooooo why is he unblocked ha ha ha.

Joe swipes through the photos. She's in Austin. He's about to be in Austin. There was no way she would be coming to the game. It was a simple coincidence and I mean, she was from there. It wasn't unusual for her to be there. Joe rationalised the photos in his head. He turned back to Justin.

'they're in Austin' Justin pulls his headphone out to listen to what Joe's saying.

'I know, it's Dais's mom birthday' Justin knew this information already. Bella had told him about it while they were hanging out one afternoon.

'they mention coming to the game'

'nah bro' Justin shook his head. Joe breathes a sigh of relief.

'why are you so interested?' Justin asks him.

Joe opens his mouth to respond but the voice of an eavesdropper beats him to it.

'he's been fucking Daisy' Ja Marr moves Joe's backpack and put it in the overhead compartment before taking a seat next to him. He wanted to be fully engaged in the gossip session that was about to take place.

'WHAT' Justin half shouts before lowering his voice so that the coaching staff don't decide to come over. Joe scratched the back of his head.

'How long?'

'almost a month now'

Justin shakes his head in disappointment and disbelief. Thoughts ran through his mind. Joe was a dick to girls and Justin had a soft spot for Daisy. He had already listened to her go through one heartbreak and he didn't want to have to see it happen to her again. Joe wasn't a good guy for her. If this went wrong it could jeopardise both his friendships and his football season.

'Joe' Justin starts with a disappointed tone.

'It's just sex. meaningless.' Joe defends. Justin looks at Ja'marr.

'multiple times a week for a month.' Ja'marr provides the needed details that Joe refrains from.

Justin drops his head into his hands. Joe never went back to a girl more than three times. EVER. The last time he did that was with his ex girlfriend at Ohio State.

'it's not what it sounds like. it's transactional. She doesn't want anything else and neither do I' Joe shrugs his shoulders.

'she stays over'

'JA'MARR' Joe whisper yells as his teammate keeps adding on the unnecessary details.

Justin looks between the pair of them. He can tell from the look in Ja'marr's eyes that he feels the same apprehension about the situation.

'daisy's a nice girl man. and the last guy was rough. don't do anything stupid' Justins words are a warning. The first warning he has ever given Joe. It makes Joe sink back into his seat.

He looks at the post again, and he sees his comment. An ex under her post. The one everyone talks about. The one who was 'rough'. The one that no one ever dared to name.

So why was he unblocked.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

Late afternoon sun scorches over the Texas Memorial Stadium as the crowd begin to take their seats ahead of tonights big game. Seats would be filled with a famous burnt orange, they knew that. A few purple shirts may stick out but other than that they would be in full enemy territory.

Joe and his team are running a warm up on one side of the field while the longhorns do the same on the other.

This was the biggest challenge they had faced so far this season, if they beat them, they could beat anyone. Anticipation pumped through his veins and adrenaline began to bubble. This was his big night. The night he could show to the world he was serious. He wanted the heismann trophy and a good performance was the first major stepping stone to getting it. He was focused. Locked in on only one thing; winning.

Ja'marr and some O line guys stretched alongside him. Small talk amongst them, some discussion of upcoming plays they may use in tonights game. The Longhorns defense had been mega so far and there needed to be some work done to make sure LSU would be able to break through it with ease.

'bro, where is Justin?' Ja'marr looks around as lunges to stretch his hamstring. Joe looked around as well. Justin had been with them not too long ago but now he was no where to be found. The stadium is filling up more. Kickoff not too far away.

'he was talking to some girls in the stands' Terrace, a teammate, said.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

A whistle pulled Justin from the direction he had been walking in. When he looked to find the source of the sweet sound he couldn't hide his shock.

Bella and Cassie. Both in LSU purple.

They're leaning over the bleacher railing and waving their hands for him to come over. He does as they ask with a light jog across the field. He would stretch in the locker room.

'you look so cute in your little uniform' Cassie said as she looked at his football kit. Justin didn't know whether he felt complimented or insulted. Uplifted or patronised. He just offered her a hushed 'thanks'.

'didn't think you guys came to games' Justin looked up at them. He then looked Bella up and down. It was the first time he had seen her wear the LSU purple. He liked it. His friend looked very good.

'oh, we don't' Bella told him as she looked around the stadium briefly.

Justin was confused by the response because unless he was hallucinating she was in fact here, at a game. Dressed for the occasion no less. The pair of them in matching purple crop tops with LSU written in diamante studs.

'we were in town' Bella was so unapologetically nonchalant.

'it's a special occasion' Cassie was mischievous, hinting at something Justin didn't know. Bella looked at her with that same glint in her eye, her lips pursing together to stop herself laughing.

Did they mean because of the game? LSU and Texas hardly ever faced each other, this would be the first time in almost 17 years. It didn't make any sense for that to be the reason the two girls were all giggly in the stands.

Justin doesn't bother to ask what happening because he has a feeling in his gut that he will be finding out soon enough. He notices the presence of a southern belle is missing and he's about to ask them if she decided to stay home but he's interrupted.

The noise of cleats crunching on the ground and the heavy breaths of two men let him know people are coming up behind him. He glances over his shoulder.

It's Joe and Ja'marr.

'lovin' the support girls' Ja'marr's charming as always. Joe's not thinking about them. He thinking about the one that's missing. She hated football that much these days huh. She let them come to the game while she stayed home. She really couldn't power through it for just one night. Joe didn't mind though. He didn't care if she came to his games or didn't. It's not like he would look for in the stands.

'thanks' Cassie tips her head to the boys.

Country music rings around the stadium from the speakers, the bleachers of the stadium now near enough full. The sun beginning to set, painting the sky a blazing amber pink and the floodlights turning on. A true texan football night. The air humid and dense with fans anticipation. The boys take it in and the girls watch them do it.

'we hope you guys win tonight' Bella lets them know. Joe nods.

'texas didn't come hey' Justin finally asks the question Joe had been wanting the answer too. Joe waited for the girls response but their reaction alone made him feel ever so slightly uneasy.

Cassie and Bella look at each other with furrowed brows before they look back to Justin. They look at Justin like he should know something but from the expression on his face he doesn't know what they are referring too.

'are you serious right now' Cassie is almost at a loss for words. Her mouth hanging slightly ajar after finishing her sentence. Justin holds his hands up in defence. He's looking between Joe, Ja'marr and the girls panicked. He didn't know what he had said that was wrong, but he knew from the look in the girls eyes that it had been something. He tries to rack his brain for something, anything that could give him a hint. He looks around as he tries to piece it together. His eyes looking around the football field and the rows and rows of burnt orange filled bleachers. His brown eyes tracing faces until they stumble across a face he recognises.

'the fuck?' He spits in confusion.

The information he was trying to remember was no longer on his mind. He didn't think he needed it anymore.

'what's texas doing?'

Upon hearing her nickname, Joe's head whips to look at where Justin is looking.

Daisy is bent over the railing. Her forearms rest upon the rusted metal and she holds a beer filled cup in one hand. She talking to someone down on the field. Joe looks at the guy. He's padded and wearing the famous burnt orange of the home team. His lips tighten when he reads the name on the back of the jersey.

'Milo' as in Lucas Milo. The Texas Longhorns wide reciever. The star boy of their team this season.

It takes a moment before the pieces click in Joe's head. Miles Lucas Ford was Lucas Milo. Her ex boyfriend. His lips tighten as he watches on.

'Oh my godddd' Cassie whines.

'She told you this so many times Justin. That's her ex. The whole reason she quit cheerleading and all the football world shit. They dated like all of high school'

'no. no. no. all she said was he played football. I though she meant like casually, not that he was some college star boy' Justin defends himself to the sassed words that left Cassie's mouth.

Joe listens to the conversation but doesn't pull his eyes away from Daisy and Lucas. They're still engaged in conversation and it's flirty. He can tell by the way she's bent over, the way she keeps flicking her hair back over her shoulder, the way she's biting her lip listening to him speak. Joe's eyes trail her body and the outfit on it. Tight dark denim low rise bootcut jeans with her thick tan longhorn belt. Scuffed brown leather cowboy boots. A tan cowboy hat a top her head. She had dressed for the occasion.

It's the shirt that he loathes. It's a tight white tank with a burnt orange longhorn symbol in the centre and the words 'i'm horny' above it.

She wasn't supporting LSU tonight.

Joe doesn't care about her getting with other boys. She could hook up or make out with any regular guy or frat boy she wanted as long as they weren't his teammates or brothers.

He does care about her getting with other football players. Especially rivals.

She's laughing at something Lucas said. Joe never made her laugh. She didn't hang around him long enough. It was just sex. Just casual. He's scowling at them, his eyes squinting in subtle dismay. Justin and Ja'marr notice it. Cassie and Bella notice it. They don't understand it though. Justin and Ja'marr do. They exchange a brief glance of concern to each other. Joe's reaction wasn't exactly suggesting that he and Daisy were just sex.

When Daisy flicks her hair again and pushes herself slightly further over the barrier to get closer he has to look away. He was annoyed. She was practically throwing herself at the guy.

'cheerleader, huh?' Joe asks a question about the piece of the conversation that stuck in his mind.

'Yup.' Cassie pops the 'p' before she continues. 'She was on the LSU team until star boy over there threw a fit, he made her quit before the new year.'

'he said and i quote "my girlfriend shouldn't be cheering on anyone but me and my team"' Bella explained with detest trickling off every single word.

Joe looks back. The once flirty conversation Daisy was sharing with Lucas was no longer that. She's stood up straight now, her cheeks red and her chest moving up and down quickly. Her lips are tight in irritation. Lucas' own face is red with it's own wrath of annoyance. He's raising his voice at her but they are too far away and the stadium noise is too loud for Joe to be able to hear what's going on. She raises her voice back. Lucas comes closer. They're pointing at each other, brash hands flaling all over as they both try to express their own resentment.

Joe and the rest of them do hear one thing.

'fuck you' a harsh but shaky shout down to Lucas from Daisy's mouth before she turns to walk over to Cassie and Bella.

Lucas doesn't leave her. Instead, he follows on the field beneath her. They're bickering over each other with unintelligible words as they get closer and closer to where Joe, Ja'marr and the girls were standing.

Joe's not really paying any attention to the burnt orange wearing boy that's chasing her, he's just watching her. He's watching the way her hips are swaying in the low rise jeans. The way the tank top he loathes clings to her. The way her hair is blowing in the subtle breeze of the Texas night. The way the gloss that coats her lips makes them look juicier than he had ever seen them before. The way the stadium floodlights are making her look so unbelievably incredible. Why did she ever fuck with a lame like Lucas?

Yeah. He was a good wide reciever. He might go round one of the draft next year but Joe was going first pick.

He tried to stop himself from imagining her on the sidelines. LSU cheerleader huh. He wished he was here last year to see that. He would have noticed her. He tried to shake the thoughts of her cheering for Lucas. He hated that he got to experience that.

'Hey' Daisy is quick in her greeting to the boys. She's frustrated, everyone can tell.

A sarcastic laugh from next to them on the field causes the boys to look.

'you're not fucking serious dukes.' He's looking up at Daisy. Then to Joe, Ja'marr and Justin. Then back to Daisy. She's refusing to look at him, instead she's looking around the stadium, at the sky, at anything that isn't him. For a brief moment, it's Joe. Her green eyes catch his blue ones. Her expression is unreadable. It's empty and hollow. Joe doesn't like the way it makes him feel. He doesn't like the way Lucas Milo has made her feel.

'really. fucking really. lsu players. that's low, dukes. real fucking low' Lucas' words spit out like a snakes venom, each word poisoning Daisy with a harsh sting. Joe watches as her demeanour shifts, her shoulder rise like she's trying to protect herself from the words. Her cheeks are heating red, no longer with anger but embarrassment.

It's hard for Joe to watch.

He's watching a different girl than the one he was just beginning to know.

She meets his eyes once more but only for a second. Then she hangs her head and looks down at her boots.

'I knew this would happen. you're such a wh-'

'on my mama, you don't want to finish that sentence'

Daisy's head snaps up and Joe's turns to face the harsh voice.

Justin. Joe only now realises just how fond Justin was of the girls. How protective he had come to be since meeting them before summer.

'Oh what are you going to do' Lucas puffs out his chest in an attempt to seem bigger than he was. It's almost laughable.

'I'm gonna whoop yo ass' Justin starts moving towards Lucas and Lucas starts moving towards him.

The girls watch the entertainment unfold before them. Daisy secretly hoped that Justin would at least land a punch, just one. It didn't even have to be a hard one, just strong enough to wipe the smug look off her ex boyfriend's stupid face.

The chance never came.

Joe intervened.

He placed two hands on the chest of a smaller Lucas and gave him a forceful shove.

'we'll handle this on the field, tough guy' his words are mocking.

Lucas stares at him. Joe stares back. Daisy's eyes flicker between the pair of them. A shallow breath held in her chest as time seemed to freeze.

Joe's poise never falters.

Lucas breaks first and shoots a look at Daisy but she's not looking at him. He follows her eyes back to Joe. and it's like he suspected.

Lucas makes a last ditch effort to hit Joe where he thought it might hurt. Try to get into his head before the game.

'i'm still the guy she's here for' and with that he headed off into the locker room.

Joe was outwardly unaffected. Inside however, it stung ever so slightly like a pinch to the heart. He wasn't used to being the second choice football player. He didn't like being the second choice football player. Lucas wasn't lying either. Daisy had come dressed in burnt orange in the hopes of catching her ex's eye. Joe was merely a thought in the back of her mind.

If her ex had been some regular guy he wouldn't have cared. She could have gone back to him in a heartbeat and Joe would have been unphased. But this. This made him feel something. He wasn't used to the feeling and he couldn't tell what it was, but it was something deep and harsh, almost cutting.

Joe wouldn't let himself lose to some texas star boy.

When the boys turn to head back to the away locker rooms and the girls go to find there seats, Daisy calls out his name.

Joe turns around.

She holds her hand up in a symbol. Horn's down.

Joe understands what she means.

A weight he didn't realise was so heavy lifted. Daisy didn’t come to the game to support the Longhorns, she came to watch them lose.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

The marching bands trumpets sounded out as the game kicked off. Thousands of fans in burnt orange cheering as their team started with the ball.

Daisy stood watching in the bleachers and a sick familiarity filled her stomach. This wasn't her first time in Texas Memorial Stadium but she hoped it would be her last. For years she had been coming to these games with Lucas, in freshman year she would sit in the same place she was stood now, always in a jersey which said 'Milo' across her back.

She took a sip of the beer she had been able to get with her fake ID. She was only nineteen. Her twentieth birthday only a month or so away.

Never in all the games she had attended had she felt this nervous. Part of her wanted to leave but the other part of her wanted to see the look in Lucas' face as he lost to LSU. Lucas never liked losing. Countless arguments were had between them after lost games, somehow blame often being found in her. She distracted him too much. She wasn't cheering hard enough. She was too negative. The list was endless. She cursed herself for the stupid idea of coming tonight. She cursed Bella and Cassie for agreeing that it was a good idea.

When she saw her ex boyfriend warming up on the field, it almost felt like seeing him for the first time again. Her stomach torn into butterflies and her heart beating uncontrollably fast. It was like the teenage love had never died. She didn't think it ever would. Daisy truly thought that she would forever hold onto to the love she once had for him. From fifteen to nineteen, he was the only person she truly ever cared for. Her heart beat for him in a way it had never beat for anyone else.

But then she remembered that morning in April.

The one simple text message that brought her world crashing down.

'Lukey

I can't be with you anymore, Daisy. I have other priorities. We're done.'

It came out of nowhere, no warning signs. Fours years gone in thirteen pathetic words. She didn't have to ask why, she knew why. Football. The whole relationship she came second to football. Late night and early morning practices keeping him away. She fucking hated it. She hated that her world was ruled by a sport she didn't even play. She quit it all because of him.

and when she remembers how he treated her, the love she romanticises turns to anger. They were a nightmare that presented itself as an all American teenage dream.

When he came rushing over to see her after noticing her in the bleachers, warmth spread over her skin. He was happy to see her, so happy. She had forgotten just how nice his smile was and how much she loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled. How the floodlights would catch his hazel eyes and make them look like they were sparkling. When they first got to talking, it felt like the old times. It felt like nothing had ever changed. He showered her in compliments and flirtations, she lapped every single one of them up. She asked him how football had been. That's when it went south.

'better for me since we broke up' it was like her slap to her face. A slap which said no matter what you weren't good enough for me. She didn't do enough, she didn't support him enough, she was too big of a distraction. The distance between them always causing conflict.

Then the same argument they had been having for the past three years took place. The argument about how football was ruining their relationship. At the end of it all she could let out was a harsh but shaky 'fuck you' before she tried to storm off to Cassie and Bella. That wasn't exactly that successful but she was thankful that Justin had her back.

Daisy's focus turns back to the game.

The Longhorns line themselves up for a snap. Daisy's stomach grumbled with nausea. Another sip of lukewarm beer went down her throat.

She held her breath as she watched the Longhorns quarterback throw the ball downfield. She knows whose arms the ball will land in before it happens. Lucas'. She watches as he sprints down field and no LSU defensemen can stop him. Too quick and nimble for their grasps. It's like he strolls into the end zone with cockiness oozing from his mannerisms. Touchdown Texas.

If her ex boyfriend didn't play for them she would have been happy. The Longhorns were her home team, but unfortunately he did and this touchdown felt like a kick to the chest. One which knocked the wind from him.

Lucas turns to where he knows she always sits. His arms stretch out beside him in nothing but arrogance. This was his house. He always hated that she ditched their dream of both going to the University of Texas for LSU and it would be over his dead body that they won on his home turf. Especially when she was watching.

The crowd around Daisy erupted. Every single person in her section other than her, Cassie and Bella cheered in passionate glee as the Longhorns opened up the scoring. The marching band, once again, sounding out in support and cheerleaders squealing on the sideline all while shaking their poms in the air.

'I can't believe you used to do that' Bella says to Daisy as she herself drinks from the bottle of beer she somehow snuck into the stadium. Her eyes watching the cheerleaders also.

'me neither' Daisy told her. That was a whole other life ago. The hair extensions and fake tan, the schmoozing with sorority girls, the stupid poses for pictures and the painful fake smiles. She couldn't believe that was ever her. Sometimes, the was thankful for what Lucas did, because if he hadn't she would still be one of them.

Now it was LSU's turn to drive the ball.

Joe ran onto the field. Number nine. Dressed in the famous white, yellow and purple. He's clapping his hands and shouting at his team. He looked commanding and dominant. Daisy gulped ever so slightly. She was all to familiar with another way he could be commanding and dominant. Heat crawled up her spine and she took a sip of her beer to suppress it.

'god I hope we win' Cassie sighed as LSU readied up another snap. Nothing spectacular had come from this drive, but they were only 18 yards from the end zone so a touchdown was possible.

When the ball snapped, Joe took a moment to look around the field and figure out which was his best option. Every step and movement so calculated. He sees something before anyone else does. He releases the ball from his hand like he's fired a cannon. He had spotted Justin making a run across the end zone, only open by a small margin and yet the ball finds him. Touchdown.

The LSU band began to play. Cassie and Bella scream in excitement while jumping up and down. The crowd around them not too happy about it. Daisy doesn't scream or shout but she does applaud the touchdown. She was happy for Justin and she was thankful for the now even scoreline.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

When halftime came the game sat at LSU 23 - Texas 20.

Thirty minutes left and everything to play for.

Daisy got some more refreshments in the form of beer. She was going to need it to get through the second half. Her nerves hadn't settled by much and the close scoreline wasn't helping.

The buzz of a message in her back pocket didn't either.

@.Milelucasford wants to send you a message.

you with burrow or jefferson? my bets on burrow. hell maybe it's both.

For a moment she felt panic. How had he pieced it together but then she remembered he hadn't and that this was just classic Lucas. Anytime she breathed near another man he would act like this, she was only shocked that he continued to do it ever after breaking her heart.

She flashed her phone to Cassie and Bella while rolling her eyes, showing off the message.

'what a loser' bella laughed.

'block him' cassie said sternly.

Daisy nodded in agreement. She never should have unblocked him. When she goes to do so another message pops up.

@.mileslucasford wants to send you a message.

whoever it is, your boys got it coming tonight.

Daisy felt uneasy at the message. She shook the feeling off and blocked him, placing her phone back in her pocket.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

The third quarter began with a Texas drive. Joe watched on from the bench as the game was left in the hands of his defensive line. This was the most tense he had felt. Everything felt on the line and he didn't know why, it felt like an end of season championship deciding game. LSU needed to be better. Joe needed to be better. He had to play bigger, play riskier. That would be the only way he could better the defence of Texas.

The only way he could turn the horn's down.

He had been thinking about her this game, about Daisy watching on from the bleachers. About the way she looked under the stadium lights. He also thought about the way she had looked when Lucas spoke to her, the way she seemed like a shell of the girl he knew. How she had cowered and hung her head.

Lucas had pissed him off. A hot shot star boy who had an ego way too big with a game record not good enough to back it up. Joe couldn't image a world in which Lucas and Daisy ever dated. They were like opposites but then again, Joe didn't know much about the girl she was before LSU. Maybe she was more like Lucas than he thought.

Screams from the crowd pull him from his thoughts. He looks to the field.

Lucas has caught a tough ball and is running to the end zone with all the space in the world.

Touchdown to the horns.

Lucas does some stupid run around the field before he points to someone in the crowd. He claps his hands together twice. It's a taunt and Joe know's it's to Daisy.

Joe hits his hand hard against the bench in frustration.

'fuck this' Joe spits to Justin as he grabs his helmet and runs on the field for LSU's drive.

Daisy watches him run back on. For a moment, she gets to see him without the helmet. His cheeks are blushed and a wet sheen sits across his forehead. The blond hair messy and unkept, a few stray hairs curling down. His jaw is sharp and clenched. Determination written across his face. He looked good, she could admit that. Very good. So good, that the sight of him alone was turning her on.

The throw from snap turns her on even more.

It's a ridiculous throw. One that shouldn't have achieved anything but somehow it does. A touchdown by Jefferson again.

This time Daisy can't help but cheer with Bella and Cassie. I mean it was a brilliant play, one of the best she had ever seen and it meant that her ex boyfriend was now once again losing.

Joe was animated in celebration. He pounds on his chest and his team surround him. He clashes helmets with Ja'marr and claps his hands. Then he turns and jeers at the crowd, waving his hand up and down to the boos that sound out. He points at the Texas Longhorns sideline and gives them two slow claps. Daisy couldn't help but find it attractive. He looked rough and manly, she liked it. she liked it a lot.

From that point on it was like the Longhorns never had a chance.

Joe was on fire. Every pass and every play was calculated perfection. Every minute that passed painful for the Longhorns and their fans. LSU were unstoppable.

The game ended LSU 45 - Texas 30.

Horn's down. Daisy gets the last laugh.

and she is laughing. She laughing and cheering with Bella and Cassie until they notice the crowds tone shift from subdued claps to shock.

Their eyes dart back to the field.

Joe shakes the hands of some of the Texas players. It was a fun game, one he definitely enjoyed winning. All was going fine until Lucas Milo decided he wasn't done playing.

He barged past Joe with a forceful shoulder. One which rocked Joe on his feet.

'the fuck?' Joe shouted at Lucas' irritated face. The LSU players noticed and began to crowd around, ready to protect their quarterback. The Longhorns did the same with their wide receiver.

'you got lucky tonight burrow' Lucas puffs up his chest again and get's in Joe's face. Joe shoved him back, this time more forceful than the last. Joe knew he was trying to provoke him and he wasn't going to bite. He held himself to a higher standard than that, than to embarrass himself on television and see the heismann trophy slip from his grasp for unsportsmanlike behaviour.

'god you think your such hot shit' Lucas shakes his head with aggressive annoyance. Just looking at Joe's face was annoying him, especially since he knew in his gut that his ex girlfriend was messing around with him.

'I know I am' Joe can't help but let the easy cocky jab slip from his mouth. Justin laughs from beside him. The laugh stops when Lucas makes a charge at them both.

Both teams stop the connection from happening, blocking Lucas from being able to make any sort of hit. It was a pretty pathetic attempt and the motives of it are sounded out to Joe and his team.

'keep your fucking hands off my girlfriend.' Lucas yells as he's pushed back and dragged towards the tunnel.

Joe shakes his head humorously. The next time he fucked Daisy, she would taste extra sweet.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

After the game Daisy and the girls decided to celebrate the LSU win by heading out to one of her favourite bars in Austin, one she had been sneaking into since she was sixteen.

It wasn't her idea to invite them. It was Bella's. She didn't think they would accept. Daisy was sure they would be heading straight back to Louisiana but she was wrong. Justin, Ja'marr and Joe would be leaving for LSU at seven am sharp tomorrow morning. That meant tonight was free and they wanted to celebrate the hard fought victory.

They all followed behind as Daisy led them to the small town bar at the end of the street. They weren't directly in the cities center, they were just on the outskirts but the town still bustled with civilians all stumbling, looking for a place to spend their Saturday night. The sky was dark as the hour was turning late. A crimson neon arrow pointed to the arched wooden door of the establishment.

'The Great Western Tavern' glowed in bright white bulbs.

A texas flag waving from a pole out front. Music poured from it's walls and drunken strangers fell from the doors.

Joe, being from Ohio, was wary. Ja'marr and Justin didn't seem to phased. Cassie, Bella and Daisy skipped in excitement as they approached the front of the western building.

'well I never. miss daisy dukes is that you?' The hoarse voice of an old man sat outside smoking called out just as the girls were about to enter.

Daisy head turned to greet the wrinkled and grey haired man. She tipped her cowgirl hat and gave him a wink before pushing open the doors of the venue.

So thats why Lucas called her dukes, Joe thought.

The boys followed in behind the girls. When they did they fought the urge to turn back around and leave.

It was a honky tonk.

A honky tonk filled with people line dancing, a live band playing rowdy country songs, ones which made the walls of the bar shake. Warm fairy lights and fire coloured neon signs light up the place. Wooden beams lay across the ceilings and cattle skulls hang from the walls alongside beer posters and texan memorabilia. Around the open dance floor were tables, stools and dark leather booths full of various types of people. Some looked like tourists, others looked like rednecks. Strangers all from different walks of life meeting together.

Joe hated country music. He hated this bar. He hated that Justin and Ja'marr had dragged him out with the prospect of fresh girls to hook up with. He could have been sleeping right now, but no, instead he was here. In some small town texan honky tonk listening to music he found painful and dancing he found cringeworthy.

'grab a table' Daisy turned round to face the rest of the group. 'first round is on me' with that she left to the busy bar which was located behind the dance floor in the dark corner at the back of the vast open room.

They sat and waited for her to come back with the drinks. They were in a red leather booth. The two girls sat on one side leaving a space for Daisy, while the boys sat on the other. Justin opposite Bella, Ja'marr opposite Cassie. Joe would be across from Daisy when she came back.

'you guys like the game' Ja'marr makes small talk with the girls. They were already slightly tipsy meaning they must have snook in some drinks to the stadium. There cheeks lightly flushed rose with playful delight.

'it was fun' bella beamed.

'so fun' Cassie confirmed.

'I can get you guys some more tickets for home games' Justin offers.

'we wouldn't want to leave out Daisy' Bella says with apologetic eyes. It was true. The girls would have been more inclined to get involved in one of the more major parts of LSU college life had they not have been best friends with Daisy. They used to go the games in freshman year, well Cassie did. It was before they had met Bella. Cassie would go every game to support Daisy and her cheer team but since she quit they hadn't stepped foot into LSU's stadium.

'she came tonight' Ja'marr said as he leaned back in the leather seats.

'she only came to show lucas she was doing fine without him' Cassie shrugged. Joe shuffled in his seat. Ja'marr gave him a side eye glance.

The table jumps when six beers are slammed down.

'hey y'all, sorry bout' the wait.' Daisy southern twang was now no longer just a twang. It was thicker and more prominent. Being around other texans must have brought it out, that or the liquor she was drinking. She slots herself into the booth as everyone claims a bottle.

'good game' Daisy says to them, but it's more directed at Joe than anyone else.

'thanks' He brushes off her compliment cooly.

'what happened afterwards, fight or somethin'?' Daisy quizzes. She knew it was between Joe and Lucas, they were playing it on the big screens but she couldn't tell what it was about.

'nothin'. he can't handle losing' Joe tells her something she already knows.

Daisy just nods her head in acknowledgement of his words.

A tension lays itself thick between them. Daisy knows he's not telling the full truth and she know's what ever happened was about her.

'anyone else want to get shitfaced?' Bella breaks the painful silence.

A mumble of enthusiastic yeahs float across the table and the night finally begins.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

Belly laughs ring out across the table as they exchange stories from their lives. They were all getting to know each other, like properly. Like friends. The boys discuss the awkward first training session when Joe transferred over from Ohio state and how they though he was a complete asshole. How he never smiled around them and took everything way to seriously. The girls told them about how Bella first met them. Cassie and Daisy had been drunkenly sobbing uncontrollably out the front of a frat house they had just been kicked out of for being 'a bad vibe'. Bella had gone outside to smoke a joint. She asked them what was wrong. They told her all about what had happened with there ex boyfriends and how they hated all men and that they were going to run away to an all girl commune. Bella didn't know what to do so she shared her joint with them. An hour later all three of them had stolen bikes out the back of the frat house yard and were riding around campus. When the campus security tracked them down they had to ditch the bikes and run on foot to lose them. Somehow the night ended up with them in a fountain then all crashing on Bella's dorm room floor. From then on they were inseparable.

They were on round four of drinks but during round three they each took two tequila shots, so they were pretty wasted. So wasted Joe had even found himself head bopping to the country noise that rattled between the walls of the tavern.

'oh my god' Daisy shot to her feet.

'come dance with me, anyone' She looks between everyone on the table with desperation. The dance floor begin to fill up even more as the band on stage announced a special upcoming song.

'no way' Justin said pretty instantly.

'second that' Bella said.

'my feet are hurting in these new boots' Cassie said apologetically.

Daisy looked at Joe. A drunken hope blossoming in her green eyes.

'not a chance' Joe slammed her hopes down on the floor and stood on them. Her face drops and Joe almost feels bad. Her eyes filling with a sadness.

'fuck it' Ja'marr said before he downed the remaining beer in his bottle. Joe's head whipped to his teammate. Ja'marr didn't look at him, instead he just stood up from his seat at the booth.

'you gon' have to teach me daisy' His words are flirty. Both charming and teasing.

'I can do that' Daisy responds with the same charm.

'Move outta the way qb' Ja'marr has this glint in his eye. A glint only Joe can read. Ja'marr was doing this on purpose, some kind of test to see if Joe would get agitated or jealous. A test to see if what he said about just being meaningless sex was true. Joe knew that and he would prove himself right. Ja'marr was free to embarrass himself on the honky tonk dance floor while he sat on the sidelines and watched. He was free to dance with Daisy and do whatever as long as it didn't cross the line. As long as the code wasn't broken. The code being that frat brothers and teammates don't hook up with the their friends girl if they have slept with them more than three times. More often than not if they had slept with the same girl more than three times it meant something. The only thing Daisy meant to Joe was good sex. Sex he didn't want to share with people he knew.

Joe let Ja'marr out of the booth.

Daisy hooked onto his arm as they walked to the dance floor. A small cheer came from the crowd as a popular song began to play.

Fake ID - by Big & Rich.

Joe rolled his eyes, letting out huff of annoyance.

He watched as Daisy tried to coach Ja'marr on the line dance. Her beat up cowgirl boots clattering against deep worn in wood floor. Ja'marr followed like a lost puppy with two left feet, but Daisy didn't seem to mind. Her soft hair cascading down her back as she threw her head in a sweet sounding laugh while she watched Ja'marr's painful attempt to keep up.

Joe was watching with an intense glare. Sips of cold beer trickle down his throat as he tried not to let it affect him. He was irritated by Ja'marr, by the way his teammate was purposefully trying to get under his skin and tease him. He was even more irritated by the fact Daisy was still wearing the burnt orange 'i'm horny' t-shirt. He wanted to rip it off her for two different reasons.

The chorus of the song chimed through the hot and heavy bar. Voices from all around sang along. The atmosphere turning more restless and rowdy. The place getting drunker and drunker with every passing chime on the clock.

Hey mister won't you sell me a fake ID

There's a band in the bar that i'm dying to see.

Daisy grips her thumbs on the belt loops of her tight jeans as she swings her hips around and stomps her cowgirl cladded feet. Her hair swirls in the air as her head swings to the rhythm. Unified stomps sound out the bar to every beat of the live bands music. Joe swallowed as his mouth dried. The dancing he found cringeworthy only moments ago was now one of the greatest things he had seen in the flesh. Her ass looked too good in them jeans. Her stomach looked too toned under the warm orange light. Her skin looks too soft and too biteable. Memories of what's underneath the clothes flood his mind.

I got my money and you got what I need

Hey mister won't you sell me a fake ID.

Her feet cross over each other and she twirls.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

She looks over her shoulder for Ja'marr. He's struggling but she appreciates that he's at least trying.

Joe takes another sip of his now warming beer.

His light eyes hadn't left her body. Cassie and Bella noticed it. They looked at Justin, when he couldn't meet their eye-line they knew something was up. Cassie and Bella knew about the hook up at the frat party a month ago, but what they didn't know was that it was now a regular occurrence between their best friend and the star quarterback.

They girls focus on Joe's body language.

Joe focusses on what's happening on the dance floor.

Daisy was no longer following the routine. She had given it up when there was no hope of Ja'marr being able to follow it. Instead the pair of them are dancing together. Daisy's hands are on Ja'marr's shoulders and his own lay loosely on her hips, touching the soft bare skin that lay between the end of her cropped top and start of her denim jeans. They spin around together. Her green eyes gleamed and it was like the sun radiated from her skin. She was happier than Joe had ever seen her.

Bella watches as Joe's grip on the glass beer bottle intensifies. His knuckles tainted white. His jaw clenching stiffly and his lips tightening. She stores it as a mental note. One she would bring up later.

Joe tries not to let it phase him, but he didn't like the show that was happening in front of him. A teammates hands on the hips that he grips. A whole bar of people watching as she swings her hips in a seductive way.

When the song was over he was relieved.

Ja'marr and Daisy engage in a brief discussion before she heads off into the crowd and he comes back to the table. Ja'marr was sweaty and breathless but Joe lacks any sympathy. Not after the stunt he just pulled.

'Daisy just went to catch some air out back' Ja'marr threw a thumb over his shoulder and pointed into the crowd.

'I'm gonna grab another beer' Joe stood up. Ja'marr's eyes squinted at him. He knew he wasn't going to get another beer.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

Fairy lights strung from fence post to fence post illuminating the small garden of the bar. The night sky was dark, but warm. Like a comforting blanket cloaked around the venue. Daisy loved it here. She would always come, sneaking out of her apartment any chance she could to join her high school friends. Lucas would sometimes come, but he wouldn't let her dance. He was over protective like that. He only let her cheer because it was for him.

She pulled out her pack of marlboros, taking one in her mouth. She lit it and inhaled. She only smoked in Austin.

'those are bad for you'

She doesn't have to look to know it's Joe. She takes another drag of the tobacco filled paper. The end glows orange and ash gets taken away into the sky by a subtle breeze.

'many things are bad for me' Daisy eye's trail up his body. He was one of the things that were bad for her. Douchebag, egotistical, narcissistic, frat boy quarterback who only cared about fucking women and playing ball.

'ok' Joe says with a stifled laugh. He didn't know why he had come out here looking for her, it was like his legs were on autopilot. He walked out here without making any conscious thought to do so.

'soooo' The silence is deafening between them. Joe can't stand it.

'cheerleader with a football ex huh.' It's the wrong thing to say but he couldn't help it. He wanted to know more.

Another deep drag of the burning cigarette. A long exhale. Daisy wets her lips and nods.

'friday night lights shit.' It's a joke but she doesn't laugh when she says it. She takes a brief breath in.

‘thanks for winning today.’ Her words are sincere, and more meaningful than Joe was used to hearing from her.

‘thought you were a longhorns fan’ Joe tries to lighted the atmosphere with a small joke. One that doesn't land the way he wanted it too.

‘i was’ Daisy's response was shallow and blunt. She didn't want to elaborate or go into details about her old life. She knew Joe was trying to get something out of her but she was too stubborn to let him in.

Joe just nodded before looking out to the night sky. That weird tension wraps itself around them again. It the tension that comes when they know it’s going to happen again. When they know that in a short while they will once again be entangled in each others arms and bed sheets. When they know they will be leaving behind sloppy breathless kisses and marks which signify they were there. Purple nips on her chest and scratch marks on his back. They just had to fill up the time until it got there.

‘you look good under the floodlights’ Joe's voice is hoarse and low.

‘you look good on the field’ a hunger creeps its way into Daisy's words.

‘if we’re going to do this ‘one time thing’ regularly we should establish some ground rules’ Daisy takes another drag of her cigarette. Joe nods in agreement. Ground rules would make sure this never turned complicated.

‘rule one. no strings. just sex’ Joe starts it off.

‘that means we can hook up with other people’ He explains further. Daisy scoffs but nods her head in agreement. Of course that’s his first rule she thought.

‘rule two. we keep this private. I don’t want people knowing i’m sleeping with you. it’s bad for my image’ Daisy says. Joe rolls his eyes.

'being seen with me is the best thing for your image' He snarks back. A part of his ego damaged by her half joking words. Daisy hardens her lips in an attempt to hide her smug smile. Joe had taken her bait.

'how so?' Daisy entertains his words before taking in another tobacco filled puff.

'I'm the best college player around right now and i'm fucking handsome' Joe's words are only a small percentage humorous. That makes Daisy laugh as she exhales her cloud of grey smoke. Joe doesn't understand why she's laughing, everything he said was true.

'i've done the star football players trophy wife thing since I was fifteen, I don't need you for it to be my image' Her words hit Joe like a punch to the gut, one which was unexpected. Now he's remembering the way Lucas still called Daisy his girlfriend on the field, and the way that they shared four years of their life together before she ever even knew Joe existed. Daisy had been known for the last four years as Lucas Milo's girlfriend. That makes Joe feel sick. Like he had lost a game he never knew he was playing. He had to catch up.

'What's rule three?' Daisy breaks the silence she created.

Joe looks at her, he really looks at her. His sky blue eyes darken to a harsh indigo, his brows ever so slightly furrow. He takes a step closer to her and she doesn't move, her poise not faltering. They're close now. Joe takes the cigarette from her hand and steals the last toke before throwing the bud on the ground beside them. Daisy's face contorts in annoyance. The last drag of a drunken cigarette was the best part and he had stolen it. A sexual pressure forms between them as their eyes scan each others. Both of them searching for the signal. Daisy looks him up and down. Joe does the same. The once cool night in Austin now felt like the death valley desert, heat stinging at their skin. Joe's eyes linger on her top. He carefully takes the bottom hem in between his thumb and his index finger gently feeling the ribbed white fabric.

Daisy's breath catches in her throat. The top was just a joke, a play on words. She used to wear them to games all the time when she came to watch Lucas during freshman year but she wasn't with Lucas anymore.

She watches Joe's face twist in brief disgust and listens as he kisses his teeth. He lets the fabric drop. It clings back to her skin with a light slap sound. Dark eyes meet her own once more.

'don't wear this shit again'

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

Daisy lay in the floral bedsheets of her childhood bedroom. Her night felt unfinished. She left the bar with the girls and Joe left with the boys to head back to the hotel. It was 4:10am and they would be on their coach back to Baton Rouge in three hours. Daisy knew Joe would be sleeping but she stay lay awake yearning for his touch.

Joe lay in the plain bedsheets of his hotel room. His night felt incomplete. He didn't want to have to leave the bar with just the boys but he had no choice in the matter, Daisy didn't want the girls to know about them. Rule number two. The team coach left for Baton Rouge in three hours but he couldn't sleep. Thoughts of her touch on his skin and kisses on his lips kept him awake. Joe knew she would be asleep but he had to at least try.

Daisy stared up at her ceiling like a silent prayer to god to give her some relief.

When her phone buzzed it was like he answered.

@.joeyb_9 sent you a message

Hilton Hotel, 1617 N Interstate Highway 35, Austin, Texas.

Room 87.

She hated the fact she got out of her bed with no hesitation. She hated the way she put on a nicer pair of sweats and a clean top. She hated the way she triple checked herself in the mirror before she snuck of her room. She tiptoed around the living room where Cassie and Bella slept on a blown up mattress, grabbing her keys from the kitchen island and slipping on her uggs.

What she hated most was the flashbacks to high school. Sneaking out to meet the football star downtown, she had lived this life before. She had to remind herself this was different. She wasn't a teenager and she wasn't in love anymore. The stakes weren't the same. This was just something casual, something transactional. She gave the apartment one last glance over before she carefully shut the door and twisted her key in the lock.

The clock struck 4:57am and Joe had lost hope in her coming. He could see she had read the message but the journey shouldn't have taken this long. A light sting to his chest as he felt rejection for the first time in a long while. He grabbed a cup of water from the bathroom and looked out the hotel window as the sky was just beginning to get lighter.

A faint knock makes him turn around.

He walks to the heavy door and pulls it open.

There she stood.

It was like seeing an oasis in the desert.

Joe plays it cool. He doesn't want her to know he had been pacing around waiting to see if she would turn up. He tried to hide the feeling of desperation that had clawed away at his stomach. He had found himself scrolling through images on her instagram, his eyes looking and lingering longingly on her body. It was pitiful. Joe snapped out of it and closed his phone once he realised his stalking went over the line of casual. That was too dangerous of a game to play. They needed to not get too involved.

'though you weren't coming' His words are unemotional and unconcerned. Blue eyes trail her body. She's wearing something casual. Black sweats with a grey jumper. Her hair is down but ever so slightly messy. She isn't wearing any makeup. Joe wasn't expecting her to be but he hadn't been able to imagine her without it. She looked the same, if not better. A more natural beauty, with radiant skin and light brown freckly washed across both cheeks. The skin around her light eyes was softly puffy, a testament to the lack of sleep and late hour.

'uber took a wrong turn' Daisy answered back with a mirroring coolness, like she wasn't already dripping in her panties at the sigjht of him. Joe was shirtless, his golden blond hair messy and some small purple lsu training shorts on his bottom half.

Joe responded with a brief nod before he moved out the way to let her in the room, quickly scanning the corridor before shutting the door and locking it.

Daisy placed her keys on the table with a clank.

The atmosphere was strange, they both knew what they were here for but there was now a hesitation. Neither of them knowing how to break the tension between them. A kiss felt too personal, like the greeting of a girlfriend. Getting straight to it felt to rushed, almost too rude. With every second that passed a thicker tension built. Daisy had to be the one to man up and make the first move.

'stop staring and just fuck me Joe' Brash and bold. Joe didn't need to hear any further instructions.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ -

Stomach down, ass up. Their favourite position. She's bend over the hotel bed and the warm smell of sex rung in the air. The before sunrise light creeping in through the beige linen curtains of the hotel room. The lighting was low but enough for Joe to see all the parts of her body he wanted too.

His thrusts into her from behind and she's gripping onto the cotton sheets in euphoric ecstasy. His hands grip on her hip bones as his guides her back to his length. The sound of sticky skin slapping ringing out across the room. Daisy muffles her moans into a pillow beneath her. She had to be quiet, if Joe's coaches found out he had brought a girl back he would be in some serious trouble but he was making it difficult.

Smack. a stinging blow to the sensitive skin of her ass as he picks up the pace. A muffled yelp into the pillow.

Joe throws his head back in pleasure as he too struggles to keep control over his heavy grunts. Closing his eyes and looking up to the ceiling.

'god bless texas'

words of sweet satisfaction as he continues to pump into her from behind. When his stroked begin to grow sloppy and slower Daisy takes over, she begins to push herself back onto him. Her arched back moving forwards and backwards as she moans in delight, letting Joe catch his breath. He keeps a guiding hand on her waist and lets the other grip her hair with tug.

'you take me so well' He praises her.

Joe regains control of the situation and flips Daisy so she's on her back and laying underneath him. He pins her hands above her head as he lay sultry kisses across her collarbone and down her stomach. She wriggled around in pleasure. Moans of his name slipped from her swollen lips.

Joe let's go of her hands and he delves further and further down her stomach, leaving kisses along the way. Daisy knows what's coming and she gets even wetter at the thought alone. Her hips buck and let Joe know how bad she wants it. How bad she wants to feel his tongue on her sensitive center.

Joe places kisses all around her clit but never touches it. Daisy grows more frustrated with every peck. He's teasing her, edging her closer and closer to the ecstasy she so deeply desires but not letting her have it.

'Joe' Daisy's words are merely a pathetic whimper. She feels him smile as he lays down another peck on the top of her thigh.

'beg for me' He whispers. Daisy had never begged a man for anything, she didn't want to start now so she remained quiet.

When she gave no response Joe hovered his mouth close over her clit, close enough so that she could feel his own plump lips a hair width away. Uncontrollably, her hips buck once more and her center connects with Joe's lips for a second. The second was enough.

'pu-please' Her hands tug at his hair as she almost cries out her pleas.

'please, Joe. please give it to me'

Joe looks at her desperation with a twinkle in his now almost black eyes and a smirk plastered across his face.

'did he ever make you beg like this' Daisy knows who Joe is referring too. She stays silent, because truthfully Lucas never had. He hardly made her cum. He never went down on her.

'i didn't think so' was all Joe said before he placed his mouth on her clit, nipping and sucking at it. She tasted like honey, a sweet nectar that tasted even better after what Lucas had done on the field.

Daisy's hands grip at his hair, pulling lightly as the feeling of pleasure swirled in her stomach. Joe's tongue began to swirl and he inserted two fingers inside her dripping hole, sliding them in and out at a painfully slow pace. Daisy's breaths were hot and heavy as she could no longer control her bodies reaction to his touch. Her legs began to shake furiously as her climax neared. When they would lock up tight around Joe's head, he would push them apart once more with rough force. A rough force she found herself enjoying.

'keep em fucking open' He would command.

Joe quickened the pace of his fingers inside her. The pressure of her climax building and building, every lick and every pump bringing her closer and closer the feeling she had craved since she first saw him on the football field.

'Joe' Her moans now loud, the premise of being quiet no longer a thought in her high mind.

'fuck, 'm cumming'

As Daisy came to her own climax, Joe pushed himself back inside her and began to thrust deeply chasing his own. Moans filled the air and their foreheads pressed together.

'fuck, oh my god' Joe said as he came close, only a few strokes away from finishing.

'Daisy' he whispered in euphoria and he pulled himself from her and let his load land on her bare chest.

He slams down on the bed next to her, both of their chests rising and falling harshly as they try to catch stolen breaths. After around a minute, Daisy gets up and grabs a hand cloth from the bathroom and cleans herself up.

She walks back into the room and begins to put her clothes back on.

'when you back in Baton Rouge?' Joe asks her, still lying in bed.

'flight leaves at seven thirty tonight.' He nods in acknowledgement.

'I'll probably see you monday then' Joe tries to subtly let her know that's when he wants to next hook up. It doesn't work.

'yeah. maybe.' Daisy finishes putting on her shoes and ties up her laces. Joe just rolls his eyes. Pleasantries no longer being exchanged and the conversation turning back to simple blunt small talk.

Daisy grabs her keys from the table and heads towards the door.

'bye' She calls out as she opens it.

'later' Joe mumbles out, now all of a sudden tired.

When the door shuts, he drifts off to sleep.

An hour later, his alarm sounds out and wakes him up. He packed his things and headed down to the bus.

A long journey back to Louisiana.

౨ৎ

[muletia]

If you don’t mind my yapping then here’s more Stepdad!optimus! AU, that I hope you enjoy.

So, since the kid is rather young, we can assume that maybe the dad wasn’t around, either passed away, or left. So kiddo probably needs positive male bonding time.

Going off of my own father, I can imagine Optimus being forced to sit down and binge all the kinds of movies the kiddo enjoys. So imagine he has to babysit while reader has to go out for something (pre-relationship.)

And as previously stated, kiddo likes to give random facts about stuff like animals and plant life and so on, so no doubt the movies are stuff like Monkey kingdom, or Bears. Or even TV shows like Wild Krats and Odd squad.

Que Optimus now knowing all lore, facts and tidbits about all the shows.

Kiddo forcing Optimus to learn about odd squad villains: And that lady turns everything into patterns!

Optimus: and why does she do that?

Kiddo: I don’t know, they also beat her by using Patterns that confuse her. She is very dumb.

Optimus: ah…

And as someone who enjoys like hiking and stuff, I can imagine Optimus being invited on one with Kiddo and Reader. Que Optimus getting a heart attack because the kid is now for some reason rolling down the hill, and he’s just looking at reader who just had a ‘Here we go again’ face. (This may or may not be based on a true event of my childhood-) Kiddo was fine.

But also, I can see Optimus offering to drive reader and kiddo around, and even attending anything outdoors whilst being in his alt mode. Baseball game? Sure kid, just let me find a good parking spot.

Drive in movie? Sure he’d love to come! He doesn’t mind it’s a Disney movie!

All in all, he’s happy to be around kiddo, and is happy that reader may or may not be falling for his charm. (The charm being he now has a 1000 stickers all over him because kiddo just got back from in-&-out and they gave them some of those sticker sheets.)

Anon here is referring to this post. Once again it took me bazillion years to answer, sorry

Me thinks Optimus, even if he absolutely loves your kid’s company and does want one (or a dozen) with you, would still be super awkward around younger children. He’d struggle to adjust his tone and vocabulary to match your kid’s level. That’s why he’s lucky to have ended up with a little yapper who talks enough for three people. Optimus enjoys listening to them, even if he doesn’t understand half of the pop culture references they keep throwing around.

Also, Opti would be absolutely shocked and terrified at how ridiculously indestructible human children are. He’d be super overprotective and constantly paranoid about your kid’s health. Oh, Primus, are they seriously trying to jump from that height?? Oh, they just dusted off their knees and ran off like nothing happened.

Also also, imagine Optimus with a reader who has two kids. The sheer whiplash he’d experience when they suddenly start fighting like siblings do. Wait, this is normal? But they were just about to murder each other a second ago??

And Optimus covered in stickers… I love it so much. He never takes them off. The stickers stay on during his confrontation with his nemesis

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 3.5 - Jake POV

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: This chapter is written in first-person (warning you now so don't come for me later if it bothers you pretty please) Judgment related to weight. Cursing. Fluff. Angst. Eventual smut (alluded to/or other). Self-esteem issues.

Note: These Jake POV chapters are not necessary to read to understand or follow with the rest of the story!

Words: 1115 (i told ya it'd be shorter)

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake:

“If she doesn’t end up going for you, send her my way,” Javy whispers so only I can hear. 

Turning sharply, I whack him upside the head. I tell myself it's mostly so Javy stops looking at you the way he is, but I know it’s also a way to release my frustration at realizing my brain is only the slightest bit faster than my instincts. My brain just barely held me back from instinctually snapping ‘mine’ the second you walked into the place and I saw the look on my friend’s face. But thankfully it did. Because you’re not mine. Not really. Not at all. 

You don’t notice the smack, and Nat and Bradley have seen the same interaction enough to know it’s not genuine. Although, this time I can’t fully say that it isn’t. Their eyes find you and you blush under all four pairs; mine included, of course, since I can’t seem to manage to keep them off of you anyway. I don’t try anymore. 

“H-Hi,” you say with a lick of nerves. 

The look on your face screams ‘too much; too many people; too many eyes’, and I would instantly feel like an ass if it weren’t for the fact that when you agreed to meet them, you seemed happy about it. After a month and a half, you were finally willing to learn more about my life, integrate yourself into my world, and I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass me by. But seeing you now, in the aftermath of putting my excitement above your anxiety, the guilt creeps up on me. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Nat says, carefully wiping away the deer-in-headlights expression off your face. Your shoulders settle and, albeit tentatively, you smile. The same smile I thought I would’ve grown immune to by now, but no. It still kicks my heart into overdrive in a way no other has. 

And that’s the problem. That’s the thing not allowing me to surrender in my efforts to open you up to me. I just want more; crave it; each day contemplate how I can coax new pieces of you to the surface. 

There was a brief period in those first three days when I prayed that what I saw in you was merely a challenge. A beautiful woman who doesn’t want me is rare, as ridiculously vain as it is to say. But it’s the truth. I know the game of cat and mouse well. The playful back and forth that inevitably ends up with the woman in my bed. And damn, did I want to play. But what I had allowed myself to assume was a need to conquer grew into genuine interest. It grew so quickly, in such an all-consuming manner, that I didn’t know what to do with myself. 

I still don’t. 

Instead, I act on impulse, and that usually leaves me doing what I must, asking what I must, to get to know you. At times, successfully. Others, not so much. Never before has the phrase ‘one step forward, two steps back’ applied so heavily to my life. 

You ease yourself into the kitchen and Javy takes it upon himself to give you his name and wrap you up in a hug; muscled arms irritatingly just barely bigger than mine squeezing you tight. It’s returned, though much less enthusiastically. 

When his arms have been around you far too long for my liking, my fingers fist in the back of his shirt and tug until he releases you. 

“I’m Bradley,” my final friend—potentially my new best friend if Javy keeps his shit up—offers with a wave.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you reply.

I feel my lips curve all on their own at the rising confidence in your voice. You entered, took a moment to adjust to the room and the people occupying it, and then found your footing. A familiar adapt-to-survive skill I am slowly learning you possess. 

My friends smile, then look at me. Which is fair, considering the silence filling the room is my fault. I told them not to ask you too many questions. Not to pry into your past. Not to be too curious about your plans while you’re in the area. I left them with nothing and nowhere to go.

“How was your morning,” I ask. 

“Good actually. I got a job.”

I stand a little straighter. “You did?” 

I know I'm coming off a little too eager at that information, but it’s the first indication you’ve given that says you intend to stick around for a while. So far, you’ve not made an effort to find friends, you haven’t bought yourself anything that can’t fit in a backpack, and, until now, hadn’t found a job. It was a developing pattern that kept me in a state of wondering if I’ll wake one morning to find you gone. But if you got yourself a job then that has to be a good sign of things to come. 

You nod. “It’s not much. Just cashier at the gift shop across from the beach, but at least I’ll be able to start paying you for last month's rent.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. You don’t have to pay me,” I say. Because it’s true. Having you around, knowing I come home to someone every day, is enough. And the reality of it is, I don’t need the money. 

With a raised brow, Nat smirks, and I wonder if it’s too obvious. If I’m too obvious. 

“I’m paying you, Jake,” you state with an edge of harshness that has ‘two steps back’ repeating in my brain. And before I can think to argue with you, you’ve muttered something about taking a shower and have disappeared into your room. 

When I look back to the small group at the side, my brows dip in irritation. Nat is still smirking. Bradley is shaking his head. And Javy’s lips are pinched tight to hold in a laugh threatening to burst. 

I sigh as I lean my weight against the countertop of the kitchen island. “What?” 

“‘Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have to pay me,’” Bradley mocks in a voice much higher pitched than mine. 

“You’re making fun of me for being nice?”

“No, No,” he corrects, glancing between Nat and Javy before once again meeting the glare in my eyes. “It’s just interesting. It was only two months ago that you were expecting Brit to pay rent and she had your dick inside of her a few times a week. She never even got a discount, but this chick lives here for nothing.”

A beat passes. 

Then Javy’s laugh finally breaks free. 

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @rosiahills22 @oliviah-25 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace

[mari-lair]

Super curious cause I kinda did this for my swap AU but if Akane wasn’t childhood friends with Aoi, but met her in school (since they’re the same age), then would they still have their whole point system / crush thing going on or 🤔

Cause in my AU, he’s clearly not her childhood friend cause she’s busy being an exorcist and thus never really meets him, or at least doesn’t spend much time with him like canon but still, he crushes on her in middle school and tries to impress her (which leads to him kinda stunting everything about himself because he wants to be exactly like the people she likes without realizing him being himself is fine to her) but the question is, if the crush happens later, then would the same love confessions slash point system slash their whole thing even work?

Those kind of questions are so hard to answer since being 'childhood friends' is a core part of their dynamic but I'll do my best.

I doubt the point system would still happen because of how personal and incredibly childish it feels. There was a lot of circunstances involved to get where they were now.

Take the new timeline for exemple: The engagement made it so the point system was transfered to Teru, it isn't a way to show how impressed/in love Aoi is, it's a way to show how well Teru did on his fake dates.

This happened because Akane no longer confesses to her (Aoi was shocked when he got on his knees at the dinner, his confession clearly wasn't a daily occurence) so there is no way to make a game out of it.

I bring the new timeline to say that HOW Aoi grew up now that Akane is absent from her childhood would deeply shape her.

Her growing up with Teru made her more connected with the supernatural world, and made her more bold and shamelessness compared to old Aoi. Just compare how new Aoi went out of her way to crash what she assumed was a nene and Akane date and the old one hid in her room for a week at the idea.

So depending if she was completely alone during her childhood or if she had another childhood friend in her clan that isn't Akane, it would already reeeeeeeeeeeeallly alter her reaction. No friends means she would be completely alone as a kid and have to learn to defent herself from all the people that harasses her, that wouldn't be a problem to exorcist aoi, who is used to fighting mosters, but it would means she has a bias agaist boys. If they aren't that close, to the point she wouldn't consider them friends, she would just say "I am not interested" instead of keeping it vague.

Even if she think 'akane is nice for a boy' or have any kind of possitive view on him she would not like if he first approached her with a crush.

As for Akane I don't think he would be even half as desperate. Just like he doesn't confess to his engaged childhood friend in the new timeline I can't see him insisting on confessing to a girl that had said point blank she has no interest. And if they ARE close enough for Aoi to not reject him point blank, she have to consider him a very precious friend, and I feel like Akane would focus much much much more on worrying about his friend's exorcist life and how dangerous it is than focus on confessing to her.

That's his main thing, half of the manga is him bending himself to keep her safe. Chapter 69 reveled he looked after her even BEFORE he got a crush, when all Akane saw her as was 'someone weird who is unbothered by bullying'

only after a while of this would he go "wow you actually cares a lot! I am in love"

And even them, keeping her safe is a constant in his mind. Clock keeper contract? Keep her safe from a truck acident. Stalking her? Keep her safe from harrasment (we have zero hints new timeline Akane stalks her so i really doubt akane would stalk an exorcist aoi that can protect herself, unless he stalks her in her job? oooh that would be fun actu- anyways i am getting sidetracked)

I just can't see Akane prioritize impressing her when she is constantly in danger (specially if she is alone). And if they are not that close I would have to ask WHAT made Akane fall in love in high school with Aoi, what was the event? Cause there got to be something she did to catch his attention. Akane does appreciate beauty but he needs more than a pretty face to fall, he acknowladge but don't really care about Teru's beauty, he looked down on Nene for obcessing over looks, and when Kou talk about his old crush on Nene he expect more than just her having a cute face. He also befriended Aoi first instead of getting a insta crush like all the other boys, so on so on.

So there have to be something that made him smitten. I doubt it would be her crying over a fight since they are not that close/ Aoi is tougher and cant handle bullies herself/ she is likely more closed off as an exorcist too. Depending what this event is (maybe she got hurt rescuing him from a supernatural? He was very touched when Aoi fought in chapter 121... Though that would only work if they are close enough for her to care so idk.)

Even if not quite like this, of one thing i'm sure: making Aoi an exorcist and making Akane not be her childhood friend would make their dynamic extremely different from canon, regadless if Aoi has a childhood friend that isn't Akane or not. The circustances that lead aoikane to their weird relationship with points and daily confessions were extremely specific, like, is not just them being childhood friends that got them to this:

Without the clock keepers contract there wouldn't be such a big distance between them, and without said distance Akane wouldn't assume he isn't doing enough and become increasingly more obnoxious in his displays of love in the first place.

[volvolts]

spouting some wittebro headcanons (and my idea of their parents) because drawing is a struggle rn

the wittebane family drama

philip and caleb's parents are julia and dirk wittebane. dirk was a carpenter. they tried having more children but failed a lot. this strained their relationship

julia got closer with a farmhand that dirk worked with a lot named matthew ainsworth. they had an affair and through an (unfortunate) miracle, she got philip

philip mostly looks like his mother but he has his fathers bright blue eyes and dirk figured it out right away. they didn't do anything about it since it would look bad on them if the town got evidence of adultery

julia hated philip because, to her, he's a manifestation of her sins. him having strange quirks didn't help and she considered him a curse. she barely took care of him and caleb stepped up as philip's caretaker from then on

dirk hated philip too. he told caleb that philip was his half brother, hoping it would drive a wedge between them which did not work. instead it drove a wedge between him and caleb

ainsworth did not care for philip. he got together with julia to humiliate dirk, whom he felt inadequate to. he's only happy about philip in a sense that he's a living memory that dirks wife cheated on him

philip was vaguely aware that they didn't like him but he never knew why. he believed that he was cursed that that's why they're this way.

caleb couldn't bring himself to ever tell philip the truth and he probably figured it out on his own but didn't want to think about it

out of the two, caleb is the one who holds all the resentment. he was old enough to understand that he caught in their drama and forced to pick up the pieces.

caleb stopped believing in witches because all it felt like to him was people trying to push the blame to everyone but themselves. he saw no witches. just horribly selfish adults

just the brothers headcanons

caleb was born in the winter in january. philip was born in the spring in may. they have a six (6) year age difference

caleb is bi. he never knew you weren't supposed to find both women and men attractive and assumed people just didn't talk about the other one lol

philip is gay. because of what caleb told him he's like "okay i like men. when do i start liking women? this is taking so long."

caleb is really smart but thinks he isn't because he compares himself to philip. he doesn't realize that being able to understand and keep up with philip when he's in learning mode is not easy

he has a resting bitch face. caleb actually only started smiling more when he lived in the boiling isles and was pretty stoic and closed off when he was a teenager

by contrast philip has a "resting lost face" where he just looks sad all the time. people always asks him whats wrong. he hates it

caleb has a short temper and gets loud when he's angry. he's never hit philip during any of their arguments but the furniture around them can't say the same. usually he tries to leave the house when he's mad because he really hates being angry in front of his brother

by contrast philip shuts down. he's short and passive aggressive. he wont talk anymore and gives you the silent treatment. if he reaches a point where he starts screaming its very bad

the brothers are both introverts but where philip will simply leave when his social battery is slow, caleb will stay there even if he looks absolutely drained until someone pulls him away

beyond whistling, caleb doesn't have a musical bone in his body. philip can shred on a piccolo if he were inclined to

the brothers used to play a game where they would listen to bird calls and other animal sounds and call out what animal it is. caleb is really good at it.

theyre both really good gardeners

caleb actually thinks wolves are kinda overrated. he prefers birds and has a fondness for songbirds specifically

caleb left for the demon realm when he was 21. philip was 15.

caleb and philip were the roughly same height before he left. philip hit a second growth spurt in caleb's absence

philip was 22 when he makes it to the boiling isles

[plainmiilktea]

I'm not able to draw currently so instead I am going to force you all to listen to my Half Life gay headcanons.

Gordon - Transgender FTM and gay. He could be bisexual too but honestly I've tried picturing him with a woman and it nearly killed me. I think he would have been raised in a more accepting family and also been more well off (based on the fact he could assemble a butane powered tennis ball cannon at home presumably) and would have started his transition early probably has top surgery and is definitely on hormones. I have a shit ton of headcanons for this silent man I need to make a bigger post for him tbh.

Alyx - Bisexual. You can just tell. I don't think homophobia was a big issue when she was growing up during a literal alien invasion so she probably just knows that's what she is and doesn't think anything more of it.

Barney - Gay. Again you can just tell. Based on his vaguely southern accent, (where the fuck is this guy from??) I think he was raised in a more conservative family and probably encountered some issues because of that. I do think he'd be a bit confused learning about Gordon being trans if he ever did because he did not know people could do that, but ultimately he is a good guy and would try to learn more and not let it interfere with their friendship.

Kleiner - That's a gay old man. You cannot convince me otherwise. He named his pet headcrab after an actress/inventor from the 1930's. He's gay.

Eli - I think he's probably actually bisexual but does not know and does not care because he was happily married to his wife who he loves. I can also see him just being straight but it's more fun to imagine otherwise.

Judith - She's either a straight woman or very bisexual I can't decide. I need to replay the game and pay more attention to her cuz tbh on my first playthrough I ignored everything she said simply because Alyx shit talked her all the time and I trust her implicitly. I have since reflected and realized she's very interesting too.

BONUS under cut

Gman is nonbinary but like not in a trans way I genuinely think he just does not have anything going on in any way shape or form. I can't imagine him without the suit on and I can only assume that is because it is part of his body

Gina and Colette are both lesbians obviously but I haven't played decay so I have no authority in saying this but like everyone already knows.

I am partial to the Adrian Shepherd Transfem butch headcanon but I've seen so many different interpretations of his character that I can't decide if I'm set on that one.

Those two guys at the beginning of hl2 who are saying something about the combine outside their apartment or whatever. they're gay and they live together. yeah.

Chell portal is a lesbian. She's not half life but it's the same universe so she counts in my heart.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

The Ballad of Maysilee Donner

Chapter 2/2 | 5,643 words | Contains Spoilers for SOTR

The President appeared to take great satisfaction in his next words: “Put simply, my dear Ms. Donner… Snow lands on top.” She knew that it would be suicide to mock his cringe-inducing aphorism. It took great amounts of restraint not to end it all that instant. 

Read on ao3 or under the cut:

Maysilee took her seat.

“Well?” President Snow asked, smiling. “Aren’t you going to thank me for saving your life?”

She said nothing. 

“Ah, that’s right. I do recall your opinions on begging. Namely, that you would rather die than do it.” 

So he’d spied on the District 12 tributes’s apartment. Not exactly a surprise, but disturbing all the same. Was this how he’d tried to get into Haymitch’s head? 

“The Gamemakers were eager to kill you with those mutts, you know, after you murdered one of their own,” Snow continued with a knowing smile. 

Maysilee thought back to that moment in the arena, her complete lack of hesitation as she’d sunk the poison dart into the Peacekeeper’s flesh. She did not regret it, not in the way she regretted killing other children from the districts. In fact, given the opportunity, she would gladly do it again. 

She glanced pointedly down at the two dead Peacekeepers beside the table. “Did they know the candy was poisoned?”

President Snow followed her gaze. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. Either way, they knew they had no choice but to accept my offer.” 

Maysilee looked up sharply. “Your offer was death.” 

Snow met her eyes and smiled, spreading those dry lips so far that Maysilee half-expected them to crack. “I think you and I both know there are far worse fates than death, Ms. Donner.” He looked her over appraisingly. “But still… you’re here.” 

She shifted in her chair. She had asked for this. “I wanted Haymitch to win,” she said, and it was at least part of the truth. 

“You could have simply accepted your death in the arena,” Snow countered. “I assume that the people of District 12 have worked very hard to keep your grandmother’s identity a secret for the past forty years. Yet you threw it all away to save your life.” 

Maysilee didn’t know what to make of the President’s expression. It was not one of contempt, nor was it pity—it almost looked something like respect. Which, considering his words, made absolutely no sense. 

“It was her idea,” she told Snow. “For my father and sister, too.” 

For a second she wondered if she was endangering her family, speaking of them at all, but reasoned that Snow must know everything already. The only thing keeping him away in the past had been her grandmother’s well-kept secret, a vital missing connection that had prevented the President from tracking her down. But ever since Maysilee’s last-ditch effort in the games, Snow had undoubtedly exhausted all of his resources in District 12 to learn everything he could. Her grandmother hadn’t spoken of the man’s personality often, but she had mentioned his obsessive tendencies. 

Maysilee obviously hadn’t said anything at the time, but a little part of her had wondered what that would be like—to have someone hopelessly obsessed with her, appreciating her as more than half of a matching set. It had been a comforting notion, once. 

She knew better now. And she needed to be careful—if not for her own sake, then for the sake of her loved ones.

“But my father was never chosen for the Games,” Maysilee said, “and my sister…” 

Has two more years left, she did not tell the President. They both already knew. 

“Yes, well, the odds are that she will make it past eighteen,” President Snow said, neutrally. “I’m surprised that your name was selected at all, given your family’s status in 12. No tesserae for you, am I correct?” 

Maysilee frowned. Something about his comment felt distinctly wrong. She was a snob, sure, but not like that. The entire tesserae system was despicable, and she was no more or less deserving of protection than the kids from the Seam. 

“You know, the tesserae were my invention,” Snow boasted. He spoke as if they were having a perfectly casual conversation, amused by the novelty of pretending someone could match his authority. It was all an act, of course—standard behavior of self-important people like Caesar Flickerman and that hag Drusilla. But unlike the tactless Haymitch, Maysilee had been playing these sorts of social games long before her time in the arena. She could match Snow’s smugness and then some. 

“Oh, really,” she replied, looking down at her nails. Someone had removed the chipped paint during her recovery-slash-imprisonment. 

“Indeed. I had the idea not long after my visit to District 12—one you’ve heard much about, I’m sure.” 

“Not at all,” said Maysilee. “Must not have been important.” 

Snow was far too experienced to lose his composure, but Maysilee knew she’d injured his ego. Not a large injury by any means, more like a paper cut, but still—it felt like a win. 

“And as for my grandmother,” Maysilee continued, picturing the hidden grave in the woods of 12,“you definitely can’t catch her now.”  

Snow exhaled sharply. Maysilee wondered what it had been like for him, to learn that she’d survived and died in one fell swoop. Just as her grandmother had predicted, he still cared after all these years. 

“Don’t feel too bad,” Maysilee told the President. “She did mention some things about you… like how you cheated her out of the games. She was convinced she could rely on you for that, at least.” 

Snow did not respond to her taunt. Instead, he gingerly examined the object that had prompted this conversation in the first place. 

“She aged poorly,” he said, staring down at the photograph in the locket. The free-spirited older woman seemed out of place among his meticulously arranged refreshments. “Nearly unrecognizable.” He then looked up at Maysilee. “In the Capitol, we have ways to ensure that we maintain our youthful appearances.” 

She tilted her head. “Really? Where?” 

Snow chuckled at that, but she could tell the insult had landed. 

“Ms. Donner,” he said, “I think there might be a misunderstanding between us.”

“Is there.” 

“I am not your enemy. Your grandmother understood this, which is why she instructed you to reveal your lineage as a safeguard. And you must have also understood this, or else you would not have used the safeguard in the first place.” 

Maysilee crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re an enemy to this entire country.”

“Perhaps to the districts I am,” Snow admitted, “but somebody needs to keep the masses in line. Without my safeguarding, there would only be chaos. And you fail to see, Ms. Donner, that I am incredibly generous towards those who fall in line.” 

Maysilee glanced again at the dead Peacekeepers. 

Snow waved away the unspoken accusation. “They were district.” 

Maysilee had heard ‘district’ used in such a fashion by a few residents of the Capitol before the games, but it felt distinctly more sinister coming from the dry lips of the President himself. 

“My grandmother was district,” she said, although her grandmother would have declared herself Covey.

Snow wore an expression of distaste at the notion. “Yes, she was. She proved as much on the day of our parting.” 

Maysilee knew only the basics of that day: her grandmother had planned to run away with a young President Snow and escape Panem altogether, but he’d proven himself untrustworthy and she’d fled. His subsequent violent reaction to this had further reinforced her grandmother’s decision to sever their connection. 

Maysilee had wondered, while hearing the story, what exactly her grandmother had ever seen in the man who she’d so quickly and remorselessly abandoned. It was hard to imagine the person sitting across from her being romantically compatible with anyone, never mind a free spirit like Lucy Gray Baird. 

Ultimately, though, Maysilee did not care about the nuances of a three-month relationship that ended forty years ago. Unlike her late grandmother, she saw no reason to muse about the inherent goodness of people, the fact that Snow could have been different, the tragedy of the person he’d become. 

Honestly, Maysilee just wanted Snow dead. 

The simplicity of her desires washed over her like a tidal wave. She wanted Snow dead. She was still alive, somehow, after begging for her life in a way that Snow was determined to frame as undignified. But she would not let him paint that picture of her. She refused to give the Capitol any part of herself worth keeping. Regardless of her grandmother’s wishes, she would not beg Coriolanus Snow for protection. She would die with her head held high, and maybe, just maybe— 

Maybe she could take the President out with her. 

“To be quite honest, Ms. Donner, I have found myself impressed by your activity since the reaping.” 

Maysilee’s head shot up, her desires temporarily forgotten. 

President Snow chuckled. “Don’t look too surprised, my dear. You know your strengths as well as I do. And despite coming from District 12, you settle for no less than the dignity that sophistication brings.”

She shifted uncomfortably at the compliment. Snow noticed.  

“And of course, your use of poison during the Games was inspired,” he added, glancing down at the bag of gumdrops on the table. 

“Were those your creation?” Maysilee asked, although she already knew the answer. 

Snow nodded. “I plan to use them in the near future, and thought a test of effectiveness was in order.” 

Maysilee wondered if she was the eventual target of his creation. As if reading her mind, Snow shook his head. 

“Not to worry, they’re bound for District 12.” 

Maysilee’s blood turned cold. 

“You see, your friend Haymitch has forced my hand,” the President said indifferently. “He is a fool and will suffer the consequences.” 

“How?” Maysilee asked, scowling. “He won the games on TV. Everyone saw it. You can’t just dispose of him and get away with it.” 

Not how you could dispose of me, she did not say. Dispose of me, or worse. 

“Astute as ever, Ms. Donner,” said Snow. “No, Haymitch will live the life of a victor whether he wishes it or not. I simply plan to make that life incredibly unpleasant to endure.” 

Maysilee couldn’t help but feel relieved at that. But then she realized what he meant, when he’d said the gumdrops were bound for 12. 

“They’re innocent,” Maysilee told the President. “His loved ones, they’ve done nothing wrong!” 

“Acts of sedition must be supressed by any means necessary,” Snow instructed, as if he was a teacher and she a student. “There is no greater harm than that which chaos poses.” 

“Really?” challenged Maysilee, “Because it sounds like you’ve made it your life’s goal to be a greater harm than anyone or anything else.” 

Snow seemed genuinely taken aback by the accusation. Not exactly enraged, or even hurt, but affected all the same. 

“A scathing observation,” he eventually said. “Your perceptiveness is a quality that will serve you well.” 

His statement played back in her head: A quality that will serve her well. 

“Your refusal to accept mistreatment is also commendable,” Snow continued. “It demonstrates a principle very close to my heart: that despite the squalor they might find themselves in, worthy people will always demand the dignity they deserve. And as such, they deserve the dignity they demand.” 

The President appeared to take great satisfaction in his next words: “Put simply, my dear Ms. Donner… Snow lands on top.”

She knew that it would be suicide to mock his cringe-inducing aphorism. It took great amounts of restraint not to end it all that instant. 

“You may not be a Snow by blood,” the President told Maysilee, “but you have the unmistakable makings of a fine Capitolite. I once felt the same way about your grandmother, before she revealed her true colors. But I see your true colors, Ms. Donner, because they are so very similar to my own. And I must admit that you are even better suited for this life than she ever could have been.”  

“I am nothing like you,” Maysilee lied. 

“Fundamentally, we are all the same,” Snow said, almost wistfully. “I learned this when I was not much older than you are now. Humans are evil by nature, and unchecked they will always resort to depravity. A functional society is maintained through the use of a social contract, which restricts the human tendency towards evil through any means necessary.” 

Maysilee gripped the white silk covering her thigh. “The Hunger Games are depraved. The Capitol is depraved.” 

“As are the districts, and their attempts at rebellion.”

“The districts haven’t tried to rebel in fifty years.” 

Maysilee knew she had conceded as soon as the words left her mouth. Satisfied, Snow made a gesture as if to ask, ‘you see?’ 

“Fundamentally, we are all the same,” he repeated. “The only difference between us and them—between the Capitol and the districts, between yourself and Haymitch Abernathy—is that the worthy refuse to consider themselves victims.” Snow motioned to Maysilee and then to himself. “We, Ms. Donner, are the victors.” 

She scowled. He sighed. “And besides,” Snow continued, “I have made plenty of my own sacrifices to ensure the stability of Panem. A loveless marriage, for one, although that is standard fare for the Capitol’s elite.”

Of course it is, thought Maysilee. And she could see the logic in it, as sad as it was. The single time she’d felt romantic love had nearly destroyed her. She was pretty much over it now—she’d had no other choice, really—but she still had to be careful whenever Burdock Everdeen came around Merchant’s Row to bother Asterid. 

“And there is also the matter of personnel management,” said Snow, seemingly displeased by Maysilee’s wandering mind. His smile was especially sinister as he told her, “You see, with the rumors surrounding my political ascendency, it has taken a certain finesse to convince people that I am only serving them that which I myself would consume.” The President paused for dramatic effect. “Unfortunately for them, I have developed quite a tolerance for poison.”

Maysilee narrowed her eyes. “I can tell.”

“Such is the price of prosperity,” Snow said, waving the insult away. “A price that you have already paid yourself, and that I am inclined to reward.”

Reward? Was he insane? 

“Normally I look down on beggars and cowards,” Snow explained, “but I see your desperate appeal for what it truly was: survival. You advocated for your dignity, Ms. Donner, just as I advocated for mine so many years ago. You have not bowed to those beneath you—you have looked upwards instead.”

So he was projecting. She could have guessed that sooner, but there was no denying it now. President Snow may have been the most powerful person in the country, but he was also an emotionally unintelligent prick steeped in delusion and poorly nursing a breakup that happened forty years ago. Maysilee’s mind raced with the implications of the weakness the President had so shamelessly exposed, only pausing when Snow abruptly changed the subject again. 

“Are you familiar with the Plinth family name, Ms. Donner?” 

“No.” 

It was, apparently, the right answer. “Excellent,” said Snow. “That is how it should be.”

Maysilee wondered what the hell the Plinth family had ever done to deserve such contempt from Snow. Probably something amazing, she guessed. 

The President sighed. “But—just between us—I will admit that my own family once experienced a period of poverty. In the Capitol, no less! But I always knew what I deserved. I made friends in the right places. And soon enough, I found myself inheriting a sizable fortune, restoring the Snow family name and attending the higher education necessary to pursue my goals.”

Maysilee tried to piece together why Snow had chosen to share this information. So he’d come from old money but lost it, was poor in the Capitol but still fancied himself a rich person, and had networked his way into someone else’s fortune, which he now claimed as his own. But had he come by the money fairly, or had he somehow threatened the Plinths into handing it over? Where were the Plinths now? Grim as it was, Maysilee already knew the answer. They were probably as dead as the Peacekeepers on the floor. 

And what exactly did she have to do with any of this? 

“Ms. Donner, I would like to offer you that same chance,” said President Snow, as if it was the most logical conclusion in the world. “I have a cousin who has grown to resist my company,”—Maysilee did not blame her—“and she has become lonely and unpopular in my absence. She would gladly take you in, allowing you to attend the finest of schooling and possess the finest of things.”

Snow seemed proud of his offer. He also seemed slightly wounded by the fact that his cousin, whoever she was, had apparently rejected him. Maysilee wondered if he had considered poisoning her too, or if the people related to him were strictly off-limits. Perhaps giving his cousin Maysilee was a way for Snow to earn her favor again, or at least restore her status in the eyes of the Capitol. It would be embarrassing for him, Maysilee guessed, to have an unmarried childless hag as a blood relative in the public eye. In that sense, at least, the Capitol and the districts were roughly the same. 

“How would you even explain that?” Maysilee heard herself ask. “A random teenager, suddenly living among the Capitol’s finest?”

Snow smiled. “You need only claim that you were a child of district rebels, mercifully collected and rehabilitated by the ever-generous Capitol.”

Maysilee recoiled at the idea. And then she thought of Lou Lou.

“I know what you do to children of district rebels,” she said, her words dripping with disdain. 

Snow sighed. “Yes, that was nasty business, wasn’t it? We have my late mentor and former Head Gamemaker, Dr. Volumnia Gaul, to thank for the practice. Like myself, she believed it was a shame to let human lives go to waste.”

The callous irony of the sentiment nearly took Maysilee’s breath away. 

“What happened to her?” she managed to ask, although of course she already knew. 

Snow scowled. “She choked on her milk and crackers.” And then it was all pleasant smiles again. 

Maysilee didn’t really know where to go from here. “Wouldn’t I be recognized?” she asked, glancing down at the spread of refreshments on the table. She’d assumed they were all poisoned as part of this little mind game, but considering the apparent earnestness of Snow’s offer… 

“Perhaps you strike a slight resemblance to that district girl from the games,” the President shrugged. “But you’re not district, are you, Ms. Donner?”

Yes, she was. Of course she was. Maysilee Donner was born in District 12 to a mother and father from District 12. She was granddaughter to a member of the Covey, but that was not a designation that held any weight to the greater social consciousness of Panem. To her knowledge, Maysilee had absolutely no Capitol blood, and had never personally met a Capitol resident until she’d been reaped for the Hunger Games. 

But she was also not stupid. She understood what President Snow was trying to suggest—that despite all of that, she belonged in the Capitol, not the districts. She was discerning and prideful, with a love for material goods and an aversion to the chaos of nature. She spoke eloquently, was impressively well-educated for a District 12 resident, and excelled in elaborate social games. She preferred poison to outright violence. In the Games, she had insisted upon refined eating practices despite the hunger consuming her. And ultimately, given the chance to get herself out of the arena, she’d cheated her way to survival. 

And she was a snob, wasn’t she? The meanest girl in town. A deserved title, because Maysilee had judged pretty much everyone in District 12. She’d judged them for their utilitarian means of survival, the implicit submission radiating from their appearances as they accepted the Capitol’s scraps and fashioned them into attire. She’d resented their reflexive disdain for the finer things enjoyed by the Capitol, things they in the districts could not have, and their disinterest in reclaiming those things as their own. She’d felt envious of nearly every District 12 resident—even those living in the Seam, who may have been poor but were still legally entitled to marry people they actually loved. Maysilee had judged them all for having the things she could not, and not wanting the things she herself had. And perhaps more than anything else, Maysilee had judged herself for judging everyone else so harshly, when she knew damn well that she would never escape that candy shop, would never reclaim a single thing from the Capitol, and would almost certainly end up marrying a man and having his babies just like every other woman in 12. 

That last part, at least, would not be changed by Snow’s offer. Surely if the Capitol cared enough to make the rule for the districts, they also followed it themselves. It was almost a relief to recognize this, that even if she accepted the offer she’d ultimately be unhappy—but still, Maysilee couldn’t bring herself to leave it alone. 

“I still wouldn’t be free,” she heard herself say. “In the Capitol, I mean.” 

Snow put his chin in his hand. “And why would that be?” 

She looked him dead in the eyes. “Because unlike you, I’m not willing to enter a sham marriage to maintain social status. And any marriage I could legally have in Panem would be a sham.” 

It did not take Snow long to determine her meaning. In response, he just laughed. “Ms. Donner,” Snow said, “I’ll have you know that we in the Capitol are entirely supportive of same-sex relationships. There is complete equality here, both in terms of cultural reputation and human rights. I am, quite frankly, insulted that you would assume anything otherwise.” 

Maysilee scowled. “Tell that to your Peacekeepers in the districts, then. People lose their jobs, even go to jail, if they’re discovered with a partner of the same sex.” 

Snow nodded. “Of course they do. People in the districts are no more complex than animals, and that is all the government requires them to be. They live, they work, they breed, they die. We in the Capitol are far more civilized than District breeding stock, and therefore we celebrate the many variations that human existence has to offer.” 

For the first time in this entire conversation, Maysilee genuinely considered her prospective place in Capitol society. She imagined herself accepting Snow’s offer—moving in with his wealthy cousin, freely pursuing her interests, being shown respect without needing to fight for it. She thought of Asterid, all of those foolish daydreams she’d tried so hard to forget. There were people like her in the Capitol who had never been told to deny who they were. That alone was an incredible temptation. 

Of course, Maysilee would not be accepting President Snow’s offer. Even if Snow genuinely believed that he was offering her a better life, Maysilee knew that the deal was entirely conditional on her novelty to him. Sitting across from her grandmother’s former flame, she understood exactly why the free-spirited young woman had left him in the dust. 

In terms of value, Snow clearly regarded Maysilee just as he’d regarded Lucy Gray Baird. The respect for her boldness and pride, the compulsive distancing from the districts, the offer of protection and care. All graciously offered, up until the moment she did something he hadn’t liked. Then she’d betrayed him. Then, she’d been district through and through. 

As undisputed leader of both the Capitol and Panem itself, Snow’s sensibilities were the law. The definitions of ‘district’ and ‘Capitol’ were informed by his beliefs, his legislature, the sycophants and slaves who fell for his relentless propaganda. Within this system, the double standards between the districts and Capitol made perfect sense—in fact, they were the entire point. According to Coriolanus Snow, all people were fundamentally the same; but in order for some to prosper, others had to suffer. Even love itself had been made a commodity in Panem, a Capitol entitlement that the districts had been subsequently denied. And somehow, this was meant to be right. To be just. To be peace. 

President Snow painted the posters. All of them. And it was not lost on Maysilee that he had dressed the granddaughter of Lucy Gray Baird in silk pure as snow. 

“My grandmother believed you could still be good until the day she died,” Maysilee told the old man. “She said, as long as a person’s heart is still beating, there’s still a chance for them to change.”

He looked intrigued. “And do you agree, Maysilee Donner?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t think you want to change.” 

“I am capable of cruelty, I admit,” said Snow in the understatement of the century. “But I am also capable of kindness. Your grandmother understood this, despite everything, and that is why you’re here.” More softly, he added, “She was cruel, too, you know. She took lives in that arena and could very well have taken mine in District 12.”

“I wish she had,” said Maysilee.

President Snow sighed once again, his faux-pleasant act finally waivering. “And so Lucy Gray Baird has left me yet another snake, wrapped in my own gift of silk. Poised to bite.” 

Maysilee didn’t deny it. “But you still want to help me?”

“It should not come as a surprise that I am invested in a snake’s preservation.”

He was speaking to her in a new way now. There were no airs to it. President Snow seemed very, very tired. 

“I have plainly stated my intentions,” he told Maysilee. “You can trust me to honor them.”

“Is that what you told my grandmother?”

“Yes,” Snow said immediately. He paused in a moment of deliberation, frowning. “I regret it often.” 

Maysilee blinked. What did that mean? President Snow did not seem like a person who regretted things—and if he did, it would be counterproductive to his entire philosophy to admit it out loud. To the descendent of his former love, no less. 

She waited for an explanation but received none. Snow seemed to have recovered, eyeing her expectantly. 

“As much as I am enjoying our conversation, Ms. Donner, there are other matters that require my attention. So… what do you think?” 

Maysilee took a very deep breath. 

“I think you should kill yourself.” 

Snow’s eyes widened, as if scandalized by the very notion. But before he could cut in with admonishment, Maysilee went in for more. 

“Although I guess that would be harder for you than most,” she said thoughtfully, “with the way you eat poison like it’s candy. As something of a candy expert myself, I would assume that it still goes down sweet… but you haven’t tasted sweetness in a long time, have you, President Snow?” With a smirk, she glanced down at her grandmother’s picture. “Not in forty years, I’d bet.” 

Snow scowled. Maysilee was just getting started. “Forty years,” she said, “and this is all you have to show for it?” She motioned to the entire bizarre situation: herself in strange clothing, the table setting between them, the dead Peacekeepers on the floor. “First with Haymitch, and now here with me.” She hadn’t gotten much out of Haymitch about his one-on-one meeting with the President, but the things she had heard were pretty damning. “You’re pathetic,” she informed Snow. “I’m not fan of Lenore Dove on a personal level, but I respect her more than I could ever respect someone like you. You’re so convinced you’re both the victim and the victor, depending on whichever status flatters you most. A basic, garden-variety hypocrite. A sad, spiteful fossil who will never love or be loved in a way that matters. Embarrassing.” 

Snow’s eyes narrowed. “That’s enough, Miss Don—” 

“You told me that people are naturally evil,” Maysilee continued. “That it’s necessary to abuse them just to keep them in line. That’s not meanness, that’s not even cruelty. It’s a dark pit of despair, and I think you decided a long time ago that there’s no escape.” She regarded him with every ounce of disdain she had. “Maybe you’re so broken that you like it better this way. Whatever the case, I don’t think there’s an antidote strong enough to neutralize the poison in your veins.” 

Maysilee looked down at her unpainted nails, her tone cool as strawberry ice cream but not nearly as sweet. “I hope that Panem does escape, though. Even if it takes decades, I hope the people of the districts—hell, the Capitol too—help each other out of this arena you’ve placed them in.” She looked up again, meeting Snow’s eyes. “I wish I could be there to help them, but I’ll still die happy knowing that your time will eventually come.” 

It was in this moment that Maysilee understood the appeal of the mockingjay. Previously she’d found them unpleasant, off-putting, as the offspring of natural mockingbirds and Capitol mutts. Something so connected to the Capitol had no place flittering around District 12, she’d thought. And she’d been very, very wrong. 

She hoped Merrilee would put that pin to good use. 

“It’s like my grandmother said,” Maysilee told President Snow. “Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.” She scoffed at his sour expression. “But you, President Snow, have everything to lose. There are far worse fates than death, and your life might just be the worst among them. And if I’m headed for heaven, or maybe even hell… I’m proud to go out singing.” 

Maysilee panned her gaze to the President’s gloves. “Also, you have blood on your hands.” 

He seethed. “I’m not the only one.” 

“Yeah, well, I was in the Hunger Games,” said Maysilee. “What’s your excuse?” 

She had hoped to take Snow out before she went, but did not want to give him the satisfaction of torturing her or turning her into another Lou Lou. And so Maysilee Donner reached for the bag of poison gumdrops and prepared to end this nightmare herself. 

Snow caught her wrist in his shaking hand. 

“I can’t let you do that,” he told Maysilee, his face much paler and sicklier than before. Were those tears in his eyes, or had the heavy clouds of rose aroma just finally penetrated his corneas? 

Maysilee stared him down, unsure of how to proceed. Why had he stopped her? Why did he care if she lived or died, after everything she’d just said? 

I regret it often, he’d told her before. Maysilee’s eyes widened. 

“You’re still trying to protect her,” she said, incredulously. 

Snow bowed his head. “Always.” 

The only thing Maysilee understood is that she’d just bought herself a little more time. She withdrew her arm, sat back in her seat, and assessed the spread of refreshments before her. 

Snow lifted his head and watched her think. Slowly, Maysilee reached for the carafe of coffee, her eyes fixed on the old man’s expression. The gumdrops were the only thing on this table that she knew, for a fact, were poisoned. And if Snow had stopped her when she’d tried to eat them, was it not correct to assume that anything he would let her consume was clean? 

Her theory seemed to be correct. He was watchful, but not agitated, as she poured herself a cup of black coffee. 

“Milk?” Snow asked tonelessly as she placed down the carafe. 

Maysilee shook her head. “I like it black.” 

She lifted the porcelain cup to her lips, willing her hands not to shake. But still, as she took a sip she spilled a little bit of the coffee on her white silk dress. 

Maysilee looked down on the spill, right over her left thigh. Her eyes then wandered to that damn Peacekeeper on the floor, whose bloody spit had created a small puddle beside his lifeless face. Her eyes scanned down his body until they landed on the automatic rifle at his hip. 

Maysilee swallowed her mouthful of coffee. 

“Suppose I accept your offer now,” she told Snow, as casually as she could possibly manage. He looked immediately suspicious, but she could catch relief in his expression too. She’d worn him down, clearly, having been spared where he would have likely killed anyone else. 

“You’ll see things how I do eventually,” Snow said. And if she were to live in the Capitol, Maysilee believed that she would. There wouldn’t really be any way to live with herself otherwise.

Maysilee nodded, bowing her head in deference. And then, as soon as Snow let his guard down, she flipped the entire table between them. 

It happened quickly. Snow pushed away as Maysilee lunged for the gun. Her fingers had barely grazed cool metal when the bullet pierced her chest. 

She fell to her knees, overcome by pain. Through tears she looked up to find President Snow standing above her, his small pearl-handle pistol still outstretched. 

“I’m sorry,” she heard him gasp. “I’m sorry.” 

Maysilee just shook her head, managing one last rueful grin. 

“Loser.” 

She chuckled at the absurdity of it all—herself collapsed and bleeding after a failed assasination attempt, Snow standing tall after killing her first. And still, she knew she was happier in this moment than he would be in his entire miserable life. 

There was nothing left to say. She’d tried to do her part. Maybe, in some small sense, she had. And now she would leave the world the way she’d wanted: wounded, but not bowed.

Maysilee Donner died laughing.

-----------------------------------------------------

Thinking you′re so fine

Thinking you can have mine

Thinking you're in control

Thinking you′ll change me, maybe rearrange me

Think again, if that's your goal

Can′t take my sass

Can't take my talking

You can kiss my ass

Then keep on walking

Nothing you can take was ever worth keeping

Oh, nothing you can take was ever worth keeping

[motheroffeline]

Just a Dream

Dark fic, Stack "Elias" Moore x reader (Dula)

Dula found herself running in the forest at speeds she didn't think she could muster in a million years. Wind whipping across her face, blood rushing in her ears, and denim jeans stained from swamp water. Laborious breaths escaped her slackened mouth as she navigated through the large expanse of the woods not knowing which direction to go.

Of course, his footsteps couldn't be heard because he liked to play with his food. Dula felt as though she had been running for days at a time when she might have only been running for minutes. The strong cologne she had applied on the back of her neck had waned from being exposed to the harsh whipping air of the night. Every now and again he would allow Dula to hear the huffs and puffs of his movements as though he was exerting considerable effort: this too was a part of the game.

Dula remembered meeting him while going on her hike and being wary of him. He introduced himself as " Stack Moore" which put her off at first, but she denounced it as a considerable mistake while naming him during birth. She had never met someone who talked so much that it could barely be seen as a conversation.

"Went round to my ol' boy's house and damn cigarette almost burned the carpet up!"

"Got food poisoning from Ms. Beck's diner...ain't eating there no more."

"Wonder when I'll ever be free."

That last statement of his aroused Dula's attention.

"What do you mean by that? I mean we're as free as we'll ever get just hiking around in the great outdoors. Birds chirping they damn heads off in the distance, mosquitoes tearing ya leg up, and just the beautiful moon." Dula was practically raised in the outdoors learning how to fish from her daddy and what plants were poisonous from her mama.

Stack let out an abrupt chuckle at her childlike enthusiasm. "Nobody in this damn world is really free. Way back to Jim Crow us black folks could never really get ahead. Now? Goverment got his hands wrapped around everybody neck no matter your background. So you tell me sweetheart how I'm free?"

Silence formed between the two of them before Dula opened her arms.

"The fact that we are living in this world and breathing this beautiful air is enough freedom isn't it? Can't say I'm in love with the chains on me but I learn to deal with them. Think about animals... always being targeted by something else and just having to hunt to eat. We as humans? Top of the food chain nothing else could ever beat this, really." A jolt of surprise traveled out of Dula's mouth at the realization that tears had sprung from her eyes. Ever since she was a teenager everything in the world made her get emotional. Admittedly, she was a little too sensitive but Dula would be damned if she let the world bully her out of it.

"We?"

"Yes, we as people?"

Stack licked his lips while staring at Dula and she saw the flash of his gold of his eyes; teeth sharper than what they were at first. Her feet started to carry her back before she could even process what she was saying.

"Listen, all of this damn kumbaya shit is real sweet but you don't know the half of it and it's killing me. Hell, you assuming that humans just safe and can frolic around whenever right?"

Dula's breath caught in her throat.

"S-Sir your eyes and teeth?"

Stack chuckled to himself before looking back up at her. "It's real too. Whatever you think them pretty lil ol' eyes of yours seeing is real. Sweetheart you smell sweeter than any damn flower and here you go on all about this "beautiful world" of yours almost about to break this heart of mine."

Dula took off running before she knew it and had been running ever since. Stack would make noises way off into the distance and sometimes it felt like he was right next her ear beckoning her to come running back towards him. Raspy chuckling appeared right from behind Dula and she looked around to meet those golden eyes of his.

"Where you goin? Stop."

Without warning, Dula's body froze up and she couldn't move a hair.

"Please let me go!" She pleaded but his eyes remained inhuman as they ravaged her body.

He walked closer to her and brushed her coily hair away from her sun-kissed face. His hand came up to palm her copious ass from behind as he kissed her neck, the rush of her blood making him as hard as steel. Soft lips kissed her throat as her body succumbed to the pleasure he was making her feel. Dula whimpered as the forbidden bliss began to blossom.

"Why you doing this to me? What are you?" Dula spoke in fearful, lustful gasps as his tongue licked up and down her neck like a popsicle.

He smiled against her neck.

"Whenever I get a chance to teach somebody a lesson that's what I do. See the biggest mistake you have ever made in your life is assuming that I was a good man! Hell didn't even know me and invited me on your lil hike. Think a lot of people gonna miss ya?" Stack kissed down to Dula's soaked jeans where she was soaked from running in puddles.

"Yes! I will be missed! Let me fucking go so I can kill you right here. I'll be damned if I die like this..."

He began to unbutton her blue jeans looking up at her through his thick lashes.

"You was doing some damn running wasn't you? Pants soaked and everything... and not just from no water either." Stack drooled as he looked at Dula's pussy practically eating up a thong that was way too small for her. Experimentally, he tugged the thong to where it was rubbing up and down her clit.

Dula cried out and looked at him in dismay.

He smirked as his long tongue lapped at her clothed pussy causing her to keen.

"I need to see the whole damn package ain't no sense in just teasing myself." Stack pulled Dula's panties down in one go. "Listen...I'm gonna let you move again and you're going to let yourself experience another type of freedom...free to give into wickedness. You ain't gotta understand what I am to want to fuck me Dula... Nahhh it's just bullshit people telling you."

Dula bucked against his face as he began to vigorously devour her pussy like it was a gourmet meal. His tongue would lick her swollen clit from side to side and then he would gently suck on it which he began to find out that she liked a lot. Stack's thumbs pulled her thick lips apart just to sink his serpentine tongue into her tight hole causing her to scream in pleasure.

"Oh godddd what are you doing to me? Stack? Unhhhhhhh why it feel so good?" Dula whimpered needily as his tongue dipped in and out of her like she was a ripe fruit in summer.

Stack spoke while eating her pussy causing delicious vibrations to travel from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. It was like a warm sensation was traveling everywhere dying to get out. Dula began to buck faster and faster into his mouth frowning in pleasure at the wet sounds of her pussy sounding like Stack was dipping his face in lake water.

"Gonna cummmmmm!" A high-pitched squeal came from Dula as she squirted all over Stack's enticing skin causing him to shine.

He licked the remainder of her arousal away from his lips and looked at her. "Dula...See? I made you feel so damn good you didn't even wanna run away. I can make this shit a reality every single fucking day if you let me sweetheart. Fuck the world... we can put all that nirvana shit behind us and live in the moment, Dula." She stared first at his fangs; then, at the large amount of drool escaping his mouth, and finally the unnatural nature of his eyes but none of it elicited fear in her body anymore.

"I want it Stack."

"Want what?" He said in a sing-song voice.

"Whatever you want to give me I'll take it..."

He smiled deviously before removing his own clothes and laying on the woodland floor staring up at the uncertain face of Dula.

"Come do what you want to my body baby. Let that mind of yours be free for once huh?"

Dula gulped before gently grabbing his dick and stroking it while staring into his eyes as he groaned. After some while of admiring the length and girth of him she gently lowered herself down on his dick wincing at how big he was.

"Ohhhh shit just like that sweetheart." His praise oddly enough spurred her on and she continued to sink down on his dick whimpering at how completely it filled her. At once her mind began to think of the days where she had not met Stack and it seemed meaningless. If she considered herself to have a happy life what in the fuck was she feeling now?

"So deep in me." Dula's eyes watered as she tried to become accustomed to Stack being inside of her. He began to rhythmically thrust up into her soaked pussy as Dula bit her plump lips.

"Scream for me baby so I'll know how good it feels." Stack encouraged Dula as her mouth gaped away from how deliciously his dick was rubbing against her G spot. It had a slight curve that wasn't that noticeable but inside of her was a whole different ballpark.

"Oh yessss keep fucking me...mhmmm oh that's my spot!" Dula couldn't believe that she was being so vocal with a stranger, but etiquette had went out the window a few hours ago.

"I find it didn't I baby? Pussy gripping the fuck out me got me about to...mmmmmm."

Dula's pussy formed a white ring around Stack's dick as she rode him.

"Scream my name baby." Stack said through clenched teeth as he fucked up into her.

"Stack!"

Before Dula could even react Stack had pulled her down into his chest and bit into her neck. A look of pure horror crossed her expression as she touched the syrupy blood pouring out of her neck. Gasping, Dula almost fell on her side before Stack caught her.

"You never know when somebody gon' change they mind sweetheart. Me? I got a little hungry with all that damn warm blood sitting all pretty inside you giving you all this energy to fuck me. Damn shame you believe so easy. No telling when you'll wake up."

***********************************************************************

In a cold sweat, Dula woke up screaming only to be met with the interior of her studio apartment. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she focused her eyes to look at the alarm clock on her dresser. She sighed feeling as though she had barely slept at all.

Dula sat up in her bed trying to grasp her thoughts. When she licked her tongue over her chapped lips, it got snagged on her teeth...sharper than a knife almost that it frightened her. Curiously she touched her canine with her index finger and was petrified at the feeling of fangs in her mouth...just like him.

[mosoderbergh]

I finally broke and created the Solas Bathroom Floor AU

Inspired by this idea from a while back.

Picture this: It’s the end of Veilguard. Solas steps through the fade or gets punched through the fade - whatever. But instead of the fade or the prison, surprise! Time travel AU! He ends up at a women’s club toilet in modern day. Super disoriented, face bloody, full armour. Sits in a corner staring into nothing. Until a group of heavily tipsy twenty-something women enter the bathroom.

Now Solas is a huge man in full medieval get-up, but he’s got the big wet eyes and the thousand yard stare. They assume he’s drunk and lost. He looks super sad. So one of them goes up to him.

“Hey, are you ok?”

She speaks very loudly because her ears are shot from clubbing. And he’s kind of dazed from battle and trauma, so he says some super dramatic shit like “I deserve all suffering that finds me. I only wish I did not have to bear the guilt.”

The girls exchange glances. Oh, this guy is going through it.

“You should have some water”, says one of them and pulls a full water bottle from her purse.

“What’s wrong?”, asks another one, squatting down beside him. She’s an elf, too. “Oh god, were you in a fight? What happened to your face?”

He won’t explain. They clean him up anyway. Solas lets it happen. He has no idea what’s going on. If anything, he assumes he’s been found by some strange spirits of curiousity in a very unusual corner of the fade.

“It’s not that bad! It’s just, like, two scratches.”

“What’s your name?”

“I am Solas”, he answers mechanically.

“That’s so beautiful”, whispers one of the women further back.

“Did you get broken up with? Because Ali was just like this after she got broken up with. Remember?”

“Oh, fuck off”, says another woman, presumably Ali. She kneels down as well, taking care not to let her skirt ride up. “Were you… together long?” (Ali is playing the pronoun game because this guy’s sexuality is kind of hard to figure out.)

And Solas, too exhausted to keep up any pretense, lets his head fall.

A gasp goes through the ranks of drunk women. A mystery solved.

And he doesn’t tell them everything. He doesn’t explain. But through half truths and mumbled regrets, Solas’ new friends learn some details about Mythal and the Evanuris, the Inquisition and the Veilguard. They probably figure out way more than Solas intended to say, even though they really just interpret it as heartbreak, one toxic ex and a really bad workplace situation. And then they do what drunk people around 3 am do best: They build him up.

“You know, you are so great just the way you are. I know that’s such a fucking cliche, but you are. And if that Mythal couldn’t see that, she was a fucking bitch.”

“She didn’t appreciate you.”

“This is why dating your boss is a bad idea. Right, Ali?”

“Don’t fucking remind me. Anyway, Silas-“

“It’s Solas, he said Solas!”

“Solas! You… need to love yourself. Ok? You are beautiful. Do you know how beautiful you are?”

“He’s the hottest bald man I’ve ever seen.”

“Shhh! You can’t say that!”

“Well, he is bald and he is hot.”

“Your head is so shiny.”

“Ignore them! You’re so beautiful. And we love you. And we are fucking brilliant judges of character. See Jess over there? She doesn’t take bullshit from anyone.”

“No I don’t. And I love you!”

“She loves you! Where are you from?”

He tries to tell them. He really does. But somehow, in the face of all this stumbling enthusiasm, his reply is drowned in a sob.

“Oh no!”

“Sweetie, no!”

“Don’t cry!”

Once he’s started, he can’t make himself stop. And all of a sudden, he finds himself in the slightly sweaty embrace of several well-meaning drunks. One on either side of him. One behind him. Someone pats hit head.

“It’s ok, sweety. You feel your feelings.”

Solas hasn’t been hugged in a long time. You bet he falls apart about it. At some point the elf girl, named Bellara, sneaks out to look for her friend.

“Hey Rook? We need you in there.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s been a while since I’ve been inside a women’s bathroom.”

“Oh, no one will mind. There’s already a guy in there.”

“What?”

“He’s crying.”

“I… ok. Damn. I guess I’m coming with you.”

“He actually seems kind of sweet. Just probably drunk. And lost. Looks like he stumbled in here straight from a nerd convention. Also… he might be queer? So I thought you might be of help.”

“For protocol: We don’t all know each other. Also: You’re one of us.”

“I know. But I’m not good at this stuff.”

Rook steps into the bathroom. There is already a group of women huddled on the floor, mothering the living shit out of a tall elf in full armour. Someone is talking soothingly into his ear. A woman with slightly smudged eyeliner and gorgeous matte lipstick is trying to offer him water. Rook feels superfluous. These girls seem to have the situation well in hand. But then the stranger’s eyes, already wet with tears, fall on Rook. Simultaneously, the last pretense of control seems to leave him. Rook watches his face crumble and instinctively steps closer, squeezing the stranger’s shoulder as he starts to cry in earnest.

“You’re ok”, says Rook, falling in with the chorus of supportive, if slightly confused murmurs from the women present.

It must be that Rook just stands closest to his direct line of sight, because out of all of them, it’s him the stranger holds on to, one long-fingered and surprisingly strong hand grabbing the front of Rook’s shirt. He is folding in on himself, his face contorted in pain, no sound leaving him except rare, forced gasps for air.

“Hey. Breathe.” Rook kneels down to be at his level. “You have to breathe. Here. Like me.” Rook takes the stranger’s hand and places it on his chest, breathing slow and deep. He smiles encouragingly when the elf takes a shuddering breath. “There. You’re doing amazing, honey. I’m Rook. What’s your name?”

“He said he’s called Solas”, Bellara whispers.

“Solas. You’re going to be ok. Can I-”

Rook opens his arms to offer a hug and Solas very nearly lunges at him, holding on for dear life as he is shaken by great, heaving sobs. The kind of ugly-crying where you can barely breathe. The kind of crying you do at 3 am in a club bathroom. Solas doesn’t know how neatly he fits into tradition. Over his shoulder, Rook mouths a silent “wow” to Bellara. He wraps Solas in an embrace, swaying gently. The group of empathetic strangers draws in closer, whispering encouragements and rubbing Solas’ back.

"Hear that? They all love you”, Rook says into Solas’ ear.

“We do”, someone says helpfully.

Solas doesn’t seem to hear. All he says, choked out between sobs, is “I am sorry. Rook. I am…”

Over and over, apologies flowing into each other so as to be barely intelligible. Rook would not have guessed that Solas payed enough attention to remember his name. Perhaps he is not as drunk as Bellara suggested. Perhaps he is just having a spectacularly rough night.

“It’s ok”, Rook says, trying to calm him down. “You’ve done nothing wrong, There’s nothing to apologise for.”

Somehow, this only seems to make him cry harder. So after another few attempts, Rook decides to just let Solas ride it out. He gets the occasional pep talk from the people gathered around him. That, at least, doesn’t seem to make things worse.

It takes a good few minutes until the storm has passed. Solas’ body slackens in Rook’s arms. Rook waits until Solas pulls back before he breaks the hug.

“Better?”, he asks.

The elf still looks disoriented. But when one of the women presses a water bottle into his hands, his voice barely shakes when he thanks her.

He does have beautiful eyes. When they fall on Rook, it seems Solas has to wrestle for composure once more. He closes his eyes, leaning in again. Rook lets him rest his head on his shoulder.

“Ar lath ma”, Solas mumbles.

“Aw”, says Bellara.

“We know”, Rook reponds, smiling. “We love you too. Everything’s going to be ok now.”

[dizgreen]

HEY

HERE’S A FUN THEORY ABOUT METAPHOR THAT IM BASING ON ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BUT MY OWN OBSERVATIONS

I have no proof of this at all, but this is just something I think is fun

Warning spoilers for Metaphor: ReFantazio

I love this game don’t get me wrong, but I think we’re looking at a vastly different game than was originally written in concept. I also believe that a lot of what was cut was due to wanting to avoid any kind of LGBT theming from making it to the final product, in a fairly last minute kind of way that would indicate like two guys in the higher ups that didn’t want it and stood in front of everyone else to remove it.

First off, I think Junah and Rella were not originally adopted sisters. I believe they were lovers.

Now what we know about these two characters is that they’re adopted sisters who both went to the Magic Academy and refer to it as “the place of their fondest memories” with absolutely no elaboration on that. However them being adopted sisters makes no sense. Junah was a slave as a child and Rella was born into an VERY prominent noble family who are established to exclusively value political power over everything else, particularly through the church.

There’s no reason Rella’s family would adopt some random Nidia slave and then allow her to live her life however she wanted, it doesn’t benefit them in any way. Even as a performative act it wouldn’t make that much sense, since the church does not explicitly condemn slavery as a practice. If anything, it would make the church look bad if you did anything to publicly denounce it.

However, we DO know that the Mage Academy was founded by the King during his Utopia days, and that means it’s ENTIRELY reasonable to assume that entrance into the academy was free of any racial or class bias. Meaning that it’s WAY more likely these two met DURING their Academy days.

In fact, I personally like to think that what happened was the King came across Junah while she was singing in the field she was abandoned in and freed her, then brought her to the Academy himself. After all, as everyone in the game keeps telling us over and over, Music was the first form of Magic.

The king was also heavily involved in Archetype research, and it’s likely that it was through him that she learned about them. Heck, she might’ve even met Grius while she was there and that’s how she joined the resistance, since he’s also HEAVILY implied to have studied Archetype magic at the Mage Academy.

So, we have a timeline of them knowing each other when Rella was 12 years old and she attempted the assassination of The Prince. An act which she committed for Junah’s sake. However, Will is explicitly stated to be the youngest party member of the team at 18 years old. So assuming The Prince was about 10 or 11 at the time of being cursed, it’s much more likely that she was closer to 14 at the time, considering their age difference now. Then we have at least a few more years before Forden presumably raids the place and shuts it all down. So, assuming she WAS aged down for the sake of them being siblings, that has them having pretty much spent all their teen years together at the academy, from like 12 to 18 at least. That’s…roughly around the time puberty hits and people start realizing that their feelings might be more complex than a close friendship…

Most people tend to believe that The Mage Academy was a dungeon that was flat out cut from the game, and I’m wont to believe that, as well. In fact, I think that The Mage Academy dungeon was going to reveal all of this, and have Junah delving back into her history there, living alongside Rella and learning about Musical Magic. As well as what likely happened that forced them to split up. I think it was cut, partially for time, and partially because that aspect was so baked into the story of the dungeon that there was just no way to cut it out without leaving an unsatisfying half of a story dungeon.

We don’t have any canon homophobia coming from the church, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility that they were forced to break up due to it being a massive scandal for someone in Rella’s family.

I mean even without homophobic church doctrine (which is entirely likely considering how unabashedly evil the church is portrayed) we still have the prevailing hatred of interracial couples, which could have easily been just as much of a scandal.

Either way, again, I’m not really basing this on anything but wild speculation and fun headcanon. Still, just to see, go ahead and play through the game again, but this time remove the word “sister” from their dialogue and view their interactions as two girls that dated back in summer camp and were forced to break up due to one of them having a strict Christian family.

It weirdly works.

I mean Rella states that Junah is someone more important to her than even her own life, and Junah flat out says “I loved you” after Rella sacrifices herself.

Like siblings can be close, but…that’s not quite “very close adopted siblings” dialogue, to me.

But hey, that’s just a theory.

A GAAAAAME THEORYYYYY

A gay theory?

A gayme theory.

A GAAAAAAAAYYYYME THEEEEORYYYYYYYYYYYYY

[detective-dick-gumshoes-pot-room]

Reasons Why Akanidai is Perfect 😌

Making my long overdo ship essay because my friend finally coerced me.

Reason 1: Character compatibility

Akane is an incredibly energetic character who lacks a lot of emotional regulation and impulse control. Nekomaru is one of the only characters who can match her energy, but he's also a manager by trade. So, he winds up being the perfect fit to work with Akane's energy. They also tend to match each other's humor.

Where they really shine is Nekomaru's ability to be the only male character whom Akane doesn't feel the need to "Sell Herself" too. Which is something she has the tendency to do thanks to trauma. Nekomaru is one of the least perverted characters I would argue, and thus doesn't really give Akane the impression he's trying to get something out of her. Because he's not, his only motivation is to help Akane out in the long run. For someone like Akane, who has never been taken care of, that's a huge deal.

Reason 2: Their Canon Relationship

Akane has a very traumatic history. Without getting too far into it, she's pretty much been abused by every man (and people in general tbh) in her life up until this point. She doesn't trust people all the way. She doesn't bother learning names half the time because she's so used to people dying around her.

[That reflects in her time spent with Hajime. She forgets his name constantly in the freetime events. And even when they're working together (chapter 2) she's on edge around the guy. Preparing herself for the worst. ]

But not with Nekomaru. The two will spar anytime Akane runs into him. She never (to my knowledge) makes the same comments towards Nekomaru that she would to thr other guys. She feels actually safe about him. And that's further supportive by the whole "It" stick between the two. While the whole scene is played up for laughs as an innuendo, it's a big deal that Akane feels comfortable enough to let Nekomaru give her massages. Especially since she has trauma around that kind of touch specifically.

Akane is also very admiring of Nekomaru. Usually, when she's referring to him in dialog, it's comments about how he's the strongest guy she's ever seen. About how he motivates her and gets her excited to spar just from walking by. Which is incredibly sweet.

Meanwhile, for Nekomaru, Akane gives him a purpose. She's an athlete on the island who needs help in more ways than one, so he immediately takes responsibility over her. Taking care of her physical well-being, helping her train and develop her talents properly (something she never really learned to do because her skills were self-taught for survival). To the point where he insists he has to be the one to reign Akane in because he knows he's the only one who's going to get her to calm down.

So naturally, the two get closer and closer. Until Nekomaru steps in and takes the rocket hit for Akane. Something he does with absolutely no hesitance.

And boy, does Akane really shine in both instances where Nekomaru "dies". During the first incident, she's in a lot of shock and denial. Akane knows how bad she messed up and feels pretty guilty over it. But despite how quick she usually is to accept death, she doesn't here. She continues to insist that Nekomaru can't be taken down by something like that. She literally can't imagine a scenario where he dies in such a way (heavy denial and admiration at play). But Nekomaru? Assuming he's about to die, the only thing he can think of is to tell Akane to live.

When Nekomaru comes back as a robot, there's this air of awkwardness between them. Akane, for maybe one of the first times, feels incredibly guilty about what happened (despite her denial). Seeing Nekomaru in a completely new body must have been quite the shock. Knowing how badly hurt he was. But she buckles down and commits to paying him back for everything he's done for her.

During Chapter 4, however, when Nekomaru dies for real, Akane cries for the first (real time) in the game. Straight up wails when she finds out. And immediately goes to revenge as her only way to deal with the pain. Pain that other characters recognize as Chiaki encourages us to give Akane a moment alone with Nekomaru to mourn properly. Not to mention Gundham going out of his way to tell her that Nekomaru accepted his challenge and fought until the end (incredibly important for her to hear).

No one is really sure how Akane will react to this news, but they all acknowledge how much it hurts her. Which is saying a lot since Akane is constantly putting up a front to prevent looking weak.

Just looking at what the game tells us about the characters, Akane and Nekomaru are extremely close. Their relationship is built on a trust that's rare for Akane to give out. Nekomaru learns her boundaries and figures out ways to keep her mind off the situation, but more than that, he's constantly dedicated to keeping Akane safe. He takes two rocket shots for her and ultimately helps free the entire group from the funhouse.

Two incredibly close characters whose development in the story is tied into each other.

Reason 3: Despair Arc

This is a shorter note, but @monokuma-apologist pointed it out to me, and it is very important I think.

In the dreaded episode two of Despair arc, when Akane and Nekomaru feel the effects of the spiked soup, instead of going nuts like the rest of their classmates,

Nekomaru is just concerned about Akane at first, and the second she tells him to not touch her- He doesn't. Man respects her boundaries, and they both just end up staring at each other quietly for the rest of the time. Very much attracted, but very respectful still. It's so nice 🙂

Conclusion

Akane and Nekomaru make the perfect pair together. Akane has been hurt. Nekomaru knows that and adapts immediately. Akane trusts and opens up with Nekomaru on a level she just doesn't with the other characters. He helps her find her footing in the world and helps pull her from her survival instincts. And Akane gives Nekomaru motivation and purpose in an awful situation. As long as Akane is around, Nekomaru works his hardest to keep everyone's spirits light and make sure people are kept safe. As long as he's doing that, Akane can feel safe too.

But just on a basic chemistry level, it's hard to beat out a pair who match each other's energy so well. They're both loud, into roughhousing, can be a little dense, but both try their best to contribute. There's no real judgment between them. Just real, genuine affection and friendship.

And let's be real, the writers totally ship it. 😚

[Footnote: Me and my friend have the personal headcanon that the reason Nekomaru let's lose and trains so hard with Akane is because of his heart condition. It's always held him back, so once he gets put into a killing game where everyday could be his last he decides "fuck it" and tears up the beach with Akane because why not have some fun?]