#surely odds are in our favor to finally win

[cementcornfield]

good morning let's break the losing in cleveland streak today!!!!

[imsogonesposts]

The Odds are Never in Our Favor

|| ao3 || Finnick masterlist || requests are open!! || an: angst angst angst angst ||

summary: Finnick worries that you may be reaped for the Hunger Games during your final year in the reaping bowl. (wc: 1450)

Finnick was used to things not going his way. If things ever were to go his way, then he certainly wouldn't have been forced into the Hunger Games at the age of fourteen- and be one of the youngest to win the games. He also definitely wouldn't have been forced into some of the things that many victors were forced to do after winning their own games. 

Regardless, Finnick was thankful for many things. He had many great friends, his family was still alive and well, and he had an amazing girlfriend. A girlfriend who, thank the heavens, has yet to be reaped for the Hunger Games. 

Finnick wasn't sure what he would do if you were ever to get reaped for the games. He didn't think he could handle being your mentor, helping to train you only to lie awake at night, praying to any god he could think of that you'd make it out of the arena. It was already hard enough leading strangers to their deaths, he couldn't imagine having to do the same with you- the love of his life, the girl of his dreams. 

"Stop worrying so much," you reassured him with a smile, morning of the reaping, "it's my last year in the reaping pile, I doubt they'll pick me." 

Finnick wanted to believe you. He wanted to smile and admit that you were right, the chances of you getting picked were slim to none, and yet, he knew in the back of his head that many kids got reaped during their last year, the girl tribute from his year was eighteen, for example. He remembers her telling him how happy she was to finally have to stop worrying if she was next, only for her to end up getting called up her last year. No matter how much the Capitol wanted to say it, the odds were simply never in the favor of the citizens of Panem. 

"You're right," he replied with a false smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "There are other kids with their name in the bowl far more times than you," like Coil, Finnick's childhood best friend. On top of worrying for you, Finnick was also worried for his friend Coil, whose name was in the reaping bowl forty times. Like you, this was his last year in the reaping bowl, and like with you, Finnick was worried that the odds wouldn't be in his favor and that Coil would get reaped. Finnick wished he could rid these thoughts from his brain, but alas, worry got the best of him. 

Just a few more hours until the reaping is over and you can celebrate, he told himself, though he wasn't sure how well the mantra was working for him. He couldn't help but have a knot in his stomach, a small part of him knowing something would go wrong, he just wasn't sure what that something was yet. 

"Exactly," you told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm only in there seven times, that's basically nothing." 

Yes, but when Finnick got reaped, his name was only there three times, and he still managed to get picked. 

"Yeah," Finnick whispered, giving you a short but sweet kiss. "Nothing."

***

Through the corner of his eye, Finnick caught you waving at him through the throng of potential tributes. He always liked to think you would always be the first thing he'd spot in a room, no matter what. He gave you a small nod, wishing he could smile back, but he had an image to upkeep for the Capitol. One he hated, but if it kept the people he cared about safe, then he could make do. 

He watched as Coral Steelwater, the District 4 escort, made her way across the stage. As she reached the microphone, she made the same speech she made every year. Speaking of the "importance" of the Hunger Games and talking about the past victors. Truthfully, it was going in one ear and out the other for Finnick. He could only stare at her bright blue wig as he prayed and prayed and prayed that you'd be safe. That you and all his friends would be safe another year, and that none of you would have to worry about the Hunger Games ever again. That none of you would have ever experience what he went through at such a young age. 

"Ladies first," Coral announced, finally breaking Finnick out of his endless trance. He watched as she made her way across the stage, reaching a hand into the big glass bowl as she pulled a name out from the top. 

And suddenly, Finnick felt himself go white as the entire crowd went silent before a hushed whisper fell over the crowd. He began pinching his side as you made your way up to the stage, the color lost on your face. He kept pinching himself, hoping this was all a stupid nightmare and that when he woke up, he could go to your house to see you alive and well. 

But he wasn't waking up. And you were finally on the stage, looking out into the crowd. Finnick felt a knot in his stomach grow. He didn't think he could do this- train you, try his best to get you out of the arena. He couldn't watch you die, he knew that would be the thing to finally break him. Years of pain and torture from the Capitol to keep the people he loved safe, and now you were getting thrown into the lion's den. Nothing about this was fair. Finnick felt like he was going to be sick. 

"And now for our boy tribute!" Coral said in an all too excited tone. Nothing about the Hunger Games was ever exciting, certainly not to him. Not with you in that arena, fighting for your life. But, he knew the people in the Capitol were eating this up. Your and Finnick's relationship was never much of a secret, he knew the Capitol was probably going crazy over a past Victor's girlfriend going into the arena. Especially with the fact that he would have to mentor you. He wasn't sure he had the stomach for this. 

Coral made her way across the other side of the stage, towards the bowl with the boy tribute names, and yet, he could barely keep his eyes off you. He couldn't let you die, he knew that. He just wasn't sure how he could protect you when you were in the arena and he was in the Capitol. 

The name Coral called suddenly pulled Finnick out of his thoughts. He could feel himself get sick all over again as he looked out into the crowd, seeing a look of shock and horror on his friend's face. 

"Coil Oceanway, dear, please come on stage," Coral announced in the microphone as he slowly made his way towards the stage. Finnick wasn't sure how he hadn't managed to throw up all over the stage. Not only was he to mentor you, the girl he had been crushing on since he was a little kid, that he finally got to be with, but he was also to mentor his life-long childhood best friend. And not only that, but the both of you couldn't make it out of the games alive. If he ever wanted to see one of you again, he would have to give up the other. He would have to watch one of you die. 

Finnick tried his best to keep a look of composure as you and Coil shook hands, the tributes of District 4. But he wasn't sure if he was doing a very good job. He wouldn't be too surprised if somehow, President Snow had something to do with the reaping this year. It certainly would make for a great story, it'd help keep people invested in the Hunger Games. "The Capitol Darling forced to mentor his girlfriend and childhood best friend, and watch one of them die!" He felt nauseous. 

The Capitol truly was a sick, cruel place. Finnick watched as the peacekeepers took you and Coil away, to the Justice building so you could say your final goodbyes to your family- they had done the same thing with him when he played his games- and he could hardly find it within himself to move. He didn't know how he could face your family, nor Coil's. He didn't know how he was going to be forced to mentor the two of you. He didn't know how he would be able to stomach watching either of you die. 

One thing was certain though, the odds were never in his favor. 

[newkatzkafe2023]

💜:What If Y/N was like Yarnaby?

@lara-legomonkiekid

The rainbow split face himself, coming right up😈

(Lmk Wukong) You both met years ago during the journey to the west, and you were sooooo cute. Everyday was wonderful with you lots of cuddles, and with how playful you are love to play games with him. Wukong would also spend hours grooming your rainbow fur and brushing it to keep it soft like always, and he would often fall asleep in your arms as you were rather comfortable to nap on. Your heart of gold and kind nature were also a bonus as the years went by as you joined Wukong in holy matrimony, and spending time with Mk and his friends however where theirs joy, their's a bit of pain. Wukong and Mk had a tone of enemies and that's where your protective nature comes to play too, using your sharp claws to fight bad guys and then seeing your split face as you had threaten and traumatized Jin and Yin one time. When Wukong saw that he was literally vibrating, but not in fear.......oh no Yarnaby he could never fear you😏

(HIB Wukong) The children jumped at the chance, to pet, cuddle and play with you. Wukong on the other hand felt something very off about you, especially since you would spend time with him the most out of all people. You loved to spend time with the children treating them like your own cubs, playing games with them, and having snuggle sessions together. There were even times where Wukong had unconsciously brush or groom your fur, as to take bugs and other pest and parasites out of it. Their's also your just as powerful protective side even going as far as to protect pigsy from danger too. You slaughtered many enemies and threats to your little family, even opening your kind face to rip off heads and making it quick. Thank god Wukong covered the eyes of the two children's as he oogles at you in morbid and sadistic instincts, while avoiding more trauma loving how you rip flesh off the old factioned way😈

(MKR Wukong) He immediately felt that something was off about you, always smiling and being playful and following him and Fruity around. You grew attached to him and as much as you weird him out sometimes, but you can be helpful at times. Your very agile having no problem giving rides to Wukong, sandy, and most of the time fruity. You don't like carrying pigsy because, A he's very Fat and B he's FAT. You immediately win Wukong's favor when your vicious, violent and extremely protective side come to play. Ripping Enemie bandits and mauling the leader demons with your jagged tooth split face, making Wukong freeze in........... I'm gonna guess aroused. Well, suddenly, he doesn't think you're that much of a nuisance anymore and now wants you to meet him in the back of the inn tonight😉

(NR Wukong) Good lord you would creep him out, but you also intrigue his morbid curious mind. You had a adorable look to you wearing rainbow colors and staring at him with a smile, as he flirts with you. You immediately grew an affinity for the extremely fuzzy old man monkey, always touching him our squeezing him into your breast. You always follow him home from the clubs he would find you in, not to mention you love to play and get into all kinds of antics together. However those antics tend to bring trouble so you would join the brawls as well, ripping into all of thugs like tissue paper with your sharp tooth face opening to finish them off. Let's just say Wukong was scaroused the entire night of being together😳

(Netflix Wukong) You started off as his best friend having a heart of gold and being by his side no matter what. Wukong was very surprised by your unconditional kindness, and you are protective over him. You're very loyal to him and Lin, so you make sure to protect them both from serious dangers, you feel they can't defend themselves from. That's also where your claws and odd jaws come to play, and with your agility, you are a force to be reckoned with. Finally, Wukong watched you open your face to attack another demon. His reaction ranged from confused, scared, traumatized, full of questions, and lastly turned out as he blushed at his new adorable killer wifey🥰

(BMW Wukong) He cringes at the sight of you when you both met, you stick out like a sore thumb especially since your a huge rainbow fur and dresses. However you immediately thought he was pretty and shiny so you gravitated towards him against his will, wanting to play and cuddle and snuggle him. It's was very annoying until he watched you fight, that's right the second he witnessed your face being spilt open and having your sharp teeth rip into some idoits head. He purred in deep love and well....he's gonna need new pants due to the accident he just had🤤

(Destined one) You gave the Destined one the urge to sit and brush your fur, like seriously you have so much big hair it's so tempting to touch. You don't mind though as you completely trust the Destined one, and love to spend time and play little games with him too. However he gets to see your protective side as well because you join him in battle quite alot putting your sharp claws to good use. Then came the final blow watching you open your face showing sharp teeth in a threatening manner, and the Destined one chirped in surprised but still loved you for you at the end🥰

(Lotmk Wukong) Whoa would you look at that you both have something in common, you both look cute but that was kinda a facade. You are rightfully protective over your little husband Wukong jumping in to help him when things get messy. Your loyalty especially shines though when you see Wukong getting hurt or threatened in anyway, which leads to you going on the offense and that's when Wukong sees your unusual ability. He saw your face spilt in half showing sharp teeth before dealing the final blow. Dispite your strange personality and split face, you would have Wukong purr and coo under your protective as he's smothered in cuddles.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🌈

[aventurineswife]

I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA

AVENTURINE X READER THEY MARRIED THEY HAVE A CHILD (or children idk) AND LIKE YEAH ITS CHRISTMAS AS A FAMILY AND AVENTURINE GETS EMOTIONAL

A Family of Our Own

Summary: You and Aventurine, now married, are celebrating Christmas as a family. Your life together has evolved beyond the high-stakes gambles and manipulative games that once defined Aventurine’s world. As you enjoy the holiday with your child, Aventurine becomes unexpectedly emotional. He reflects on his past, his trauma, and the family he never thought he'd have. In the warmth of the holiday and the love of his family, he grapples with feelings of gratitude, guilt, and the realization that happiness may finally be within his reach.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Winter Special, Family Fluff, Christmas Celebration, Emotional Vulnerability, Hurt/Comfort, Character Development, Domestic Life, Love and Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma, Emotional moments, Brief references to violence in Aventurine’s past, Light angst (in Aventurine’s emotional struggles).

The flicker of golden lights from the Christmas tree cast a warm glow across the room, reflecting off the delicate glass ornaments. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background as your child giggled, unwrapping presents under the tree. Aventurine, dressed in a velvet green robe that matched the festive decor, sat on the couch, his usual confident smirk softened into a serene smile.

The air was filled with the scent of cinnamon and pine, a reminder that you had finally managed to convince Aventurine to let the holidays be about more than just the game of life he so often played. This year, it was different.

He leaned back, watching the scene unfold before him: your child holding up a glittering card-shaped ornament, exclaiming about how it was "just like Papa's lucky charm," and you, laughing softly as you adjusted the tree's golden star.

"Careful with that," he teased, his tone light but carrying a flicker of concern. "That ornament's as fragile as the odds in my favor when I first gambled on you."

You turned, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean the safest bet you ever made?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, far removed from the sharp laugh he often wielded to mask his emotions. "Safe? Hardly. I was convinced I'd lose you the moment you realized what a mess I am."

Your child, curious and full of energy, interrupted with a wide-eyed question. "Papa, what's a gamble?"

Aventurine's eyes sparkled with amusement. "It's a game of chance, little one. Like when you open a present—you never know if it'll be something you love or something silly."

"Like socks?" they asked innocently.

"Exactly," he replied, his grin widening. "Except I don’t gamble on socks. I gamble on life. And your parent," he added, glancing at you, "was the highest-stakes game I've ever played."

You rolled your eyes playfully, settling beside him on the couch as your child became engrossed in their new toy. "And yet, you always seem to win."

His smile faltered for just a moment, his gaze growing distant as he reached for your hand. The weight of his past—the lies, the betrayals, the scars—lingered in the unspoken spaces between his words. "Not always," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "But this… this is a victory I never thought I'd have."

You squeezed his hand, grounding him. "You're here, Aventurine. With us. That's all that matters."

He exhaled slowly, his usual mask slipping away completely. "Do you know how terrifying it is? To love something so much, to have something to lose?"

Your child’s laughter filled the room again, and his eyes flickered toward them, shimmering with unshed tears. "I never thought I’d have this—a family, a home. It scares me, because it feels… fragile. Like if I blink, it’ll all disappear."

You rested your head on his shoulder, your voice steady and sure. "It’s real, Kakavasha. You’ve built this. We’ve built this. Together."

His name—his true name—spoken in your voice always unraveled him. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You’re too good to me," he whispered.

"And yet, here we are," you replied, smiling. "Aventurine, the great gambler, finally learning that not every win comes with a price."

The night unfolded with warmth and laughter, the three of you sharing stories, unwrapping gifts, and basking in the glow of the season. When your child finally fell asleep under the twinkling lights, Aventurine carried them to their room, his steps careful, his expression softer than you’d ever seen.

Later, as you sat together by the fireplace, his arm draped around your shoulders, he spoke again, his voice thick with emotion.

"Thank you," he said simply, his eyes meeting yours.

"For what?" you asked, leaning into him.

"For showing me that some gambles aren’t about winning or losing," he replied, his smile small but genuine. "They’re about what you’re willing to risk. And for this—for you, for them—I’d risk everything a thousand times over."

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. "Merry Christmas, Aventurine."

He kissed your hand, his voice soft but steady. "Merry Christmas, my love."

For once, Aventurine didn’t feel the need to chase the thrill of the unknown. This was enough. This was everything.

[corawithfanfiction]

✯ Flawless - Sebastian Stan

do i wanna know

te iu bese, I love you in Romanian (previous episode)

MY MASTERLIST! - EVENTS!

This is an original story and may not be copied or translated into another language without permission!

Summary: Romania - wine and old memories. Cause there always crawling back to eacother.

Warning: infidelity, revenge sex, foreplay, hate speech, ex-boyfriend, relationship of interest, sex in public

While sitting in our shared hotel suite, wrapped in the fluffy white towel I took from the shower, I could feel my hands racing each other across my body.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him on the plane, his mouth over mine.

He had found his hands on my hips as I sat on his waist and pulled me closer. My fingers were holding the ends of his hair and he let out a moan, his tongue fighting with mine for dominance. Normally, I would let him win, but I grabbed the back of the couch and pressed myself against him even more, his hardness growing beneath my ass. He pushed his hands over his shirt and grabbed my breasts, parting his lips, a growl coming from his trembling mouth.

"You're the most disgusting person," I murmured as I moved my hips back and forth over Sebastian, feeling him moan against me.

"Still such a bitch," he hissed, moving his lips to press against my exposed flesh. Knowing it was my weak spot, he slid his tongue over my collarbone. I instantly shivered at the move, now we were chest to chest. I couldn’t help but pull his hair, the way his tongue worked in the hollow weakened my knees and made my core throb.

Sebastian flipped us over, so his body hovered above mine. Were we really about to have sex on this plane?

I wasn’t sure, but when Sebastian began tugging at the hem of my shirt, it felt like all odds were in our favor. The hatred consuming my body intensified, pushing me harder to start unbuckling his belt.

“Nora, Seba—AHHH!” Russell’s voice shrieked from a higher pitch. Both Sebastian and I lifted our heads, looking toward Russell, and I immediately pushed Seb off my body. This was a moment that wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Shit,” I whispered, rubbing my face awkwardly. Russell had never said a word to you about what he witnessed between me and Sebastian. The reason he wanted to speak to both of us at that moment was to announce that we’d be sharing a suite during our stay in Romania over the weekend.

As I sat there and looked around to see Sebastian’s suitcase tucked in a corner of the room, my anger flared even more.

The suite with the beach we had overlooked was the very same beach where we had ended up having sex like crazy young lovers while being together.

Now, I felt dizzy and confused. My mind was screaming how stupid it was to go that far with Sebastian.

The kiss shouldn't have even happened. But then my heart, in a terribly cruel note, screamed at me:

"You know this. You know you enjoyed it!"

If I said I didn’t like the kiss, I’d definitely be lying to myself. It was fiery, passionate, and yes—hot. But we were two ex-lovers full of hate. It didn’t work. It would never work.

I looked around and realized it had gotten dark. My photoshoot was scheduled for the next morning, and I knew I needed sleep, but I couldn’t find that peace. I couldn’t even gather the courage to get dressed.

After another sulky twenty-minute round, I took a deep breath, pushed myself from the edge of the bed, and climbed toward my suitcase. I opened the zipper and, sifting through, pulled out a pair of shorts and a comfy t-shirt. I put on lavender lace panties under the shorts, and finally found a kind of comfort in those clothes. Maybe this would be my peace for the night.

I returned to the suite’s living room. Russell and Alex were staying in the room directly across from me and Sebastian. As I turned the corner, I saw the door had been left wide open.

Seb walked in with a bottle in hand, reaching into the upper cabinet for two glasses. He saw me from the corner of his eye but said nothing.

“What’s that?” I wasn’t asking in a mocking tone that surprised Sebastian, but I still asked. His ears rang with the softness my voice still held for him. It made him smile faintly. “Your favorite.” He poured two glasses of red wine, and as I saw the bottle, my mouth slowly opened.

When Sebastian brought me here to visit his home in Romania, he had bought a large bottle of red wine. It was the sweetest, smoothest, most delicious wine I had ever tasted. Every time we celebrated his shows, every time our anniversary came, he would always get me the same bottle of wine.

“You remembered...” I fell silent, without even thinking. It had been five years since I last drank that unique wine. After we finally broke up, there were so many things I could no longer associate myself with. The memories tied to it broke my heart every time. As Sebastian slid the glass toward me with a soft chuckle, I sat down on the barstool.

“How could I forget?” He rotated his glass, watching the red liquid swirl inside. “I remember so many nights you got drunk because of this.” He grinned, triggering my memory.

Giggling, I remembered one night in particular. “Remember when I tried to do a concert? How could I forget?” He rotated his glass, watching the red liquid swirl inside. “I remember so many nights you got drunk because of this.” He grinned, triggering his memory.

Giggling, I especially remembered one night. “Do you remember the time I tried to strip for you and fell?” Sebastian laughed and clapped his hands. “If I hadn’t caught you, we’d have ended up in the hospital…” He smiled, taking a deep breath. “First time I saw you fall while trying to model.” He added, making us both chuckle quietly.

The two of us kept sipping our wine, tossing memories at each other. Three glasses in, we were both bent over in laughter, remembering the first time we danced together.

“You definitely stepped on my foot, Seb!” I mumbled, resting my head on his arm. He had moved to sit next to me at the bar, both of us grinning from ear to ear.

“Nora, do you remember our song?” He teased his brain. I stuck out my tongue and giggled. “Of course I do,” I whispered, my heart beating fast. “Do I Wanna Know – Arctic Monkeys.”

Sebastian laughed. “That night I literally took you for a spin… RDJ voted, and said we won the Couple’s Dance Award.”

Laughing, I threw my head back, shaking it. “And there wasn’t even a competition. We’re just idiots…” I sighed.

As silence settled between us, I watched Sebastian pull out his phone. “What are you doing?” I asked as I took another sip of cold wine.

Suddenly, that familiar intro echoed through the suite. My heart trembled with the sound. Sebastian pushed himself off his chair and extended his hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asked as he held out his hand.

I slowly placed my hand on his. As he pulled me up from the couch, I felt that familiar but long-forgotten sensation again. The song drifted through the room as Sebastian pulled me to his chest. We were both clearly tipsy on wine, but we couldn’t have cared less. His hand on the small of my back, my fingers on his shoulders—it all felt right.

As the first few lines played, Sebastian moved exactly the same as he did the first time we danced together. He twirled me on the suite floor and dipped me slightly, our eyes locked. As the chorus echoed, the lyrics stuck in our heads:

Have you got colour in your cheeks?

Do you ever get the fear that you can't shift the tide

That sticks around like summat in your teeth?

Hide some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week

How many secrets can you keep?

Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow

And I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep

Spilling drinks on my settee

As Alex Turner’s voice filled the space, Sebastian pulled me closer, spun me in another dramatic circle, then pulled my back against his chest. His hands curled around my waist, moving my hips against his.

The song kept playing, but when Sebastian spun me around and our chests pressed together, this time I made the first move.

Do i wanna know?

If this feeling flows both ways

Sad to see you go

Was sorta hoping that you'd stay

Rising on my tiptoes, I pressed my lips to his. Seb immediately molded his mouth to mine, and my arms moved to wrap around his neck. He touched the outside of my thigh, his hands sliding down to grip my ass. Lifting me up, he wrapped my legs around his waist.

He led us toward the shared suite and laid me down on the bed. Sebastian’s lips found mine with a hunger well known to my body— a kiss full of longing. When his lips touched mine, he felt that same sudden passion he once had, years ago, when his hands used to guide my body.

Baby we both know

I let out a moan, my fingers moving to run through his hair.

"Baby," Sebastian said softly.

He hadn’t called me that since he left.

"We shouldn’t," he whispered.

My eyes opened, and for a moment, I looked at him. "Why?" I asked, breathless.

Sebastian shut his eyes tightly. "Because I think we’re drunk... and making a mistake." Despite his murmurs, my heart ached at his words. Sebastian moved off of me and settled beside my body.

I couldn’t help myself— I pressed my nose against him, feeling my tears threaten to fall.

That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

Sebastian kept his arms above his head at first, but soon moved one to wrap around my body and pull me close to him.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe all of this was a mistake.

Crawlin' back to you

TAG LIST: @moochiester @zizuras @blackbluerose666 @rosecoloureddudez@sebastians-love@sebastian-warneke@kingkat12@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @slavicangelmuah @virgosapphire79 @star-girl-04 @veyzus @ddipotassium@pecxiebu@mil88691 @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning@katifefe @sn0wybowie-blog @lafemme-nk @namiusedbubble @useyourwandbro @strmborns @literally-lani @iamaslytherin0 @sexualparkour @the-universe-is-complicated @heavenly-bratt @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @putherup @vladsgir @nekoannie-chan @starfly-nicole @shannon-schneider @winterslove1917 @oceanlenny @lov3liz @hopelessromanticlandmermaid

[fjotla-vithir]

VierApril Day 13: Business

Rating: T

Read below the cut!

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaalright everyone! Place your bets now! Who will be the champion tonight that takes it all? Who will reign supreme over all the other contenders? You thought the Arcadion was a sight to behold? Well you haven’t seen shit! Tonight we have our two finalists who dragged and clawed themselves through the seven hells and back, only to be pitted against one another! The two most violent sons of bitches to walk these rings so far! Let’s hear some noise for Jesse the Jackal and the queen bitch in charge herself: Animalissa!”

The Don and his Consigliere watched as two people entered the dirt ring below them, the crowds in the coliseum seats surrounding the pit going absolutely apeshit for the contenders and screaming various insults or cheers in every direction. The fighters stood in their respective corners, stretching and hyping themselves up as they waited out the last final minutes. The odds were stacked rather evenly between the two; Jesse was a Hyur man who had taken on the guise of a rabid jackal, his claws and teeth the weapons that brought him to the top, whereas Melissa, or Animalissa, was a tiny Au’Ri girl who had the force of ten thousand dragons resting within her. It was her explosive spells and animalistic obsession to be the best that helped her get to where she was now. Fjölla himself had no idea how to side on this fight. It was one of the closest he’d ever seen in his underground fighting pits, a very illegal venture that earned him quite a bit of extra Gil. This was one of his smaller venues, making fights all the more entertaining with the limited amount of space the arena offered. He was excited though; the Jackal may have speed and bursts of damage in his favor, but there was no way he could outrun an explosion from even one of her fire spells. The flames would surely engulf the entire arena, and maybe a few onlookers in the closer rows.

Hence why the Don always sat in the topmost row.

It was a little section cordoned off just for him and up to three of his guests, of which he only had one presently: Edmond Dantes. The Elezen paid the fight no mind, only sitting by as a sort of personal bodyguard to his employer, though the entire coliseum was filled with undercover Capos and Soldiers ready to strike the moment the Boss’s life was put in danger.

Down below, the fight began and it was over as quickly as it had started. Just as Fjölla had suspected, the Jackal made an attempt to dash and dart around to try and confuse Animalissa, but all she did was unleash a massive ball of flames at the center of the ring and Jesse was burnt to a crisp - dead. The crowd erupted in various degrees of emotion, from elation at the victor to fury at the vanquished. The Jackal hadn’t even made it ten feet from his starting point before he was up in flames, and the smell of burning fur and flesh filled the air. Several pit employees came in to drag off the deceased, and the announcer emerged to hold Animalissa’s hand high in the air in victory. Some were already leaving their seats to meet bookkeepers at the bet counters, eager to cash in their winnings and collect on big fortunes. Others who had lost their Gil in droves left the underground coliseum with their heads hung in shame, many afraid to go home and admit to their spouses and families that they’d gambled away their entire lives. The Family had steep pit fees and background charges for all bets placed that were higher for losses, which always left Fjölla way ahead of the game no matter the outcome. All that mattered to him was that there was plenty of bloodshed and death to appease the audiences.

Walking out of the main foyer that was on the ground level, the Don and his Consigliere departed the venue and returned to the Family home in Shirogane, pockets lined with the funds of their night dabbling in illegal gambling and fighting.

Business as usual.

[sadwizardlover]

No Hope in Hell

Summary: The ambush on the tieflings in the Shadow-Cursed Lands and its aftermath, from Rolan's perspective Tags: Hurt, angst, absolutely no comfort or light whatsoever TW: This story contains descriptions of violence and torture

Link on AO3

"Hope hurts. That's what you need to learn, and fast, if you don't want it to cut you open from the inside out. Hope is bad. Hope means you keep on holding to things that won't ever be so again, and so you bleed an inch at a time until there's nothing left." --Seanan McGuire, Every Heart a Doorway

"Surrender in the name of the Absolute, or die." 

It's a voice that will haunt Rolan's nightmares for weeks to come, long after they've left the Shadow-Cursed Lands and he can no longer place a face to it. A voice devoid of any emotion or inflection, it sounds almost bored, as if condemning an entire caravan of people to their deaths is as commonplace as discussing the weather.

Everything changed so quickly. One minute, they were on the road to Baldur’s Gate: wary but not yet terrified of the shadows around them, trusting in their torches and spells to keep the worst of the darkness at bay. Muted conversations, Alfira singing to calm the children’s nerves. Cal and Lia beside him. 

The next–

Cultists emerging on the road ahead of them, flanking them from the woods, cultists coming up from behind. Appearing so suddenly and noiselessly they seem almost to be born of the shadows themselves. Armed with bows, greatswords, maces–all aimed at the trembling band of tieflings caught in their trap.

"Surrender in the name of the Absolute, or die." 

None of them know what to do. Their own weapons are raised in response; they aren’t outnumbered, from what Rolan can tell, but how many of them actually know how to fight? Back at the Druid’s Grove they’d needed an outsider’s help before they’d been able to push back the goblins; he doubts they’ll be so lucky here. There is no closed gate standing between them and their would-be murderers, no cave for the children to hide in. They’re completely vulnerable.

And yet–

At the Grove, Zevlor had rallied them before the battle: told them that though they were afraid, though they’d never been handed the easy choices, they had to resist. For their children, for their future. His words had given them courage and led them to victory against a much more powerful foe than the cultists they now face. Rolan doesn’t normally believe in the power of mere words over steel and magic; but what other hope do they have? Surely Zevlor will say something, will do something, to keep his people alive. 

The others must be thinking the same because all eyes are focused on their leader. Tilses, Zevlor’s faithful aide, turns to him and quietly whispers “sir, what should we do?”. Zevlor seems not to have heard her; his gaze is unfocused, staring off at something in the darkness that only he can see. “Sir? Sir!” 

Finally Zevlor turns to face them. He still doesn’t seem to be entirely there, he’s not looking directly at them but through them, like they’re ghosts from his past–but still, Rolan thinks, now is when things will turn in our favor. It’s not a thought he previously would’ve indulged in, especially in a situation where all the evidence in front of him is screaming at him to run, to hide, to do whatever it takes to keep himself and his siblings alive, damn all the others to the Nine Hells. But then a tadpole in the form of an intrepid adventurer wriggled its way into his skull and gave him the slightest hope that maybe, just maybe, they could win against impossible odds.

A slight hope that is snuffed out faster than a moth landing on an open flame.

“The Absolute…will protect us,” Zevlor says. "The Absolute is giving us a chance. Lay down your weapons. Please!" The shock that runs through the caravan is palpable. Looks of confusion and dawning horror pass through the party; from off to his right, Rolan hears Lia hiss "what in the hells is happening?!"

"Sir." Tilses is still trying to plead with Zevlor and make him see sense. "Sir, please. We can't just give in, they'll kill us all!"

No point in begging, Rolan thinks, the old man won't hear you.

Some of the other tieflings feel the same. One of them–Amek? Locke? Rolan has ceased to give a shit about remembering their names–angrily spits out "Some Hellrider you are, Zevlor! Fucking coward." Another shouts "rot in the Nine Hells, we're not going anywhere!" This voice Rolan recognizes as Okta, the motherly woman who made him and Lia and Cal gruel and let them stay in front of her tent. He hadn’t realized she had such guts.

It doesn’t matter of course. The cultist in charge actually chuckles, a noise that makes Rolan wish he could strike them dead then and there, then turns to one of the others. “Line ‘em up so we can bring them to Moonrise.”

Zevlor is still, for gods only know what reason, begging and pleading–not with the cultists, he’s not asking them to show mercy or let them go, no, the disgraced Hellrider is begging to his own people–telling them to lay down their weapons, the Absolute would save them, he would save them. Whether Zevlor’s actually turned traitor, is being compelled, or some combination of the two, Rolan doesn’t care. His entire focus has narrowed to a single pinprick. He will get Cal and Lia out of this alive.

A sharp elbow to his back forces him into line with the others: Lia and Cal to his right, Alfira and Lakrissa to his left. Towards the end of the line are Asharak and the children who don’t have parents to see to their safety. To Rolan’s surprise, the cultists don’t take their weapons away or even order them to be sheathed, so Lia is allowed to keep her bow. In this moment he thinks the cultists have forgotten to confiscate them out of sheer ineptitude or stupidity; later, when he has nothing better to do than drown himself in bottomless glasses of wine and reply this scene ceaselessly in his mind, he will realize it’s the opposite.

The cultists know exactly what will happen in a few minutes.  They’ve set the perfect trap–one baited with that faint, faint hope that maybe there’s still a chance for them to all to survive–and the tieflings have strolled right into it. They want them to fight back because that will make justifying their deaths even easier.

Once they’re lined up, they aren’t immediately ordered to start marching, and the waiting is torture. The cultists point and snicker at them, making crude comments on the state of their clothes, how bone-weary and haggard they look, how easy it would be to just let the evil lurking in the shadows consume them like the hellspawn they are. Their leader is the worst of all. They use the tieflings as a lecture, a morality play to prove the righteousness of their cause.

“See how those who reject the Absolute must cower in the darkness, weighed down by the burden of their unworthiness and sin. They believe themselves to be strong, to be deserving of the air they breathe and the ground underneath their feet. But see how their leaders–” here the cultist leader gestures to Zevlor, still babbling about the Absolute himself, “--see how their leaders shatter like glass when faced with the might of the Absolute! Only through embracing the Absolute can they be made pure. Those who reject the Absolute, those who resist, must be culled like vermin!”

One of the children begins to cry. Asharak tries to quiet them and keep them from drawing the cultists’ attention.

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright. Remember what that hero said, back at the Grove? You just have to be strong for a little bit longer, we’ll be okay.” His voice is barely a whisper and the cultist leader is at the opposite end of the line, but somehow they still hear him.

“You,” they say, in a voice dripping with bile, malice, authority. “Do you doubt the truth of the Absolute?”

“No, you didn’t think, did you, that anyone would call your lies into question. Heretics rarely do. I think,” they give a curt nod to one of the cultists near the end of the line, “a little lesson is in order for these children. Better they have some honesty in their lives, however short lived they may be.”

“W-what?” Asharak says, quaveringly. “N-no, I–I’m just trying to calm the children–”

“By telling them lies? It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” the leader echoes mockingly. “Do you really believe they will be spared from this? That any of you will be?”

“I—I don’t—I didn’t—”

“Don’t hurt them, please! They’re only children, they haven’t done anything wrong–!”

“Not them, boy. You will be their lesson. Now kneel.” Asharak remains standing, eyes bulging in horror and confusion. “Kneel.” The cultist behind him grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him to his knees. 

Rolan’s head is spinning. He doesn’t know what’s coming, only that it will be terrible, something he doesn’t want to see, something he doesn’t want Cal and Lia to see, because as soon as they do there will be no going back to who they were before.

“Eyes that deny the truth of the Absolute,” the cultist leader says, “shall be plucked from the unworthy.”

The cultist pinning down Asharak pulls out a dagger with a blade that somehow still gleams menacingly even in the dim light of the Shadowlands. Asharak begins to shake and struggles to free himself from their grip; they kneel down behind him and lock his head in a chokehold, then roughly jerk his chin so he’s facing them. Stupid, brave Asharak is still trying to get away, clawing at their arm, twisting and squirming. The last things he sees in this life are the face of his captor and then the fall of the dagger.

No one screams, no one even breathes. The horror of what they’ve all just witnessed defies anything they’ve seen before; even the fall of Elturel into the hells couldn’t match the sheer, unbridled evil of cutting a man’s eyes out for comforting a scared child.

The worst of it is that Asharak is still alive. He’s moaning and whimpering, blood streaming from where his eyes once were, but he’s still alive, somehow. Asharak, who looked after the children, told them stories and taught them to fight. Gods, the pain he must be in…

“Tongues,” says the cultist leader, snapping everyone’s attention back to them, “that sully the Absolute with lies and deceit shall be sliced from the unworthy.” They signal again to the cultist holding Asharak in place.

They all know what to expect now, know to look away before the dagger drops. But that doesn’t protect them from the noise: the noise of metal through flesh, the noise of Asharak keening in pain, the noise of the cultists chanting “Praise the Absolute!” en masse, as though a god who could condemn a man to such a torturous and slow death for committing no crime at all was worthy of such slavish praise. The Absolutists’ jubilant shouts are matched by the desperate prayers, sobs, and pleas of the tieflings. Zevlor is entreating the children to look away; someone is retching up what little food they’ve had to eat. 

While the cultists are distracted by lauding their murderous god, Rolan feels a trembling hand slip into his. Lia is shaking, he can’t tell if it’s with fear or with anger, but her eyes are clear and determined. He recognizes that look. It’s the Lia is about to do something incredibly stupid and I need to stop her look. But by the way she gazes at him–so focused despite her fear, ready to throw her own life on the line to protect everyone else–Rolan realizes in a heartbeat that he won’t be able to. Next to her, Cal has a similar expression; his is softer than Lia’s, less ferocious, but no less set on doing something dangerously heroic.

When did you two get so big, Rolan suddenly thinks. When you were little you wouldn’t dare do something this stupid in front of me. When you were little, I could protect you.

Lia squeezes his hand tightly. “Spells and swords, Rolan,” she murmurs. He knows what she’s asking of him. Knows she’s calling on him to fall back and shield the children, like they did in the Druid’s Grove. Knows she’s trying to reassure him that they’ll be fine, her and Cal, they can take care of themselves. He knows, and the fear that this may be the last time he’ll ever hold her hand is so overwhelming Rolan wishes it was him with his eyes and tongue cut out and not Asharak. It would be far less painful than this.

“Spells and swords, Lia,” Rolan whispers. And then he lets go.

Lia immediately turns away, pulling an arrow from her quiver and aiming it straight at the cultist leader’s throat. It flies true; if Rolan weren’t so damned afraid, he’d be proud of his sister’s marksmanship. The leader clutches at the arrow and yanks it out, gasping down their last gulps of air before the life dribbles out of them. At the same time, Cal lets out a roar and charges at the cultist closest to them with his pike.

All hell breaks loose.

The tieflings scatter in all directions. Some of them go running off into the shadows; others join Cal and Lia and begin fighting back against the cultists. A cacophony of screams, of weapons clashing, of people dying, cuts through the darkness.

“Run, Arabella!” 

“Danis?! Danis where are you?!”

“You vermin will never see daylight again!”

“No…this can’t be happening, no…no…NO!”

Rolan tries to tune out the chaos as best he can and makes a mad dash for Alfira, who’s collapsed on the ground next to Asharak’s now still corpse. Her eyes are wide with panic and her face is streaked with tears; the children are clinging onto her like she’s the only thing keeping them from being snatched away. It enrages Rolan to see her just sitting there weeping while his siblings are fighting, are dying–

No. He won’t think that, not right now anyway.

“Get up!” he shouts, shoving her roughly. “If you don’t want to die, grab the children and run, now!” This snaps Alfira out of whatever trance she’s in and she quickly stands up and starts to run, pulling the children with her. One of the cultists tries to go after them; Rolan hits him with a magic missile volley and he falls to the ground, dead. He sees Mol stab another cultist in the thigh and yells at her to come with them. 

Then they’re running, running, running, him and Alfira and the children, along with whichever refugees are smart enough and fast enough to follow them. Rolan doesn’t know what spells or cantrips he’s casting to beat back the cultists; his arms are flying almost as fast as his feet. He just knows that he has to survive this, not for his own sake but for Cal and Lia. Who will remember to come back for them if not him? He doesn’t let himself think about how he might be coming back to their dead bodies, or worse, to nothing left of them at all. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes them to get to Last Light from where they were ambushed. It could be minutes, it could be hours, he doesn’t care, before they burst forth from the darkness into the shimmering dome of light encircling the inn. Another Rolan, in another lifetime, would’ve been fascinated by the magic required to create such a massive protective barrier.

This Rolan, in this lifetime, is covered in someone else’s blood and just wants a fucking drink.

There are Harpers and Flaming Fist at the inn who bombard the others with questions about where they came from (“we were on the way to Baldur’s Gate from the Druid’s Grove”) and how they managed to survive the ambush (“Rolan saved us”). They want to talk to him, too, but after he demands to know when they’re going to be attacking Moonrise to free the prisoners and is met with pitying looks and half-hearted reassurances that they will save them, eventually, they just need to know what Ketheric Thorm is planning first—Rolan refuses to speak to them. Cowards, the lot of them. Cal and Lia are worth a thousand of their kind.

Lia and Cal are worth a thousand of you, Rolan.

He sets himself up in front of the bar. Doesn’t even find a bed to rest in, doesn’t try to sleep, because he knows as soon as his eyes close he’ll see everything as clearly as if he’s still trapped in the shadows: Asharak with his eyes and tongue cut out, the cultists laughing at their fear and misery, Cal and Lia looking at him with complete trust before doing something suicidally reckless. The liquor will keep the darkness at bay. With every new cup he pours, Rolan thinks, this time. This time when I get to the bottom they’ll walk through the door. They’ll probably be tired and scared but I don’t care, I’m going to yell at them, how could they be so stupid and leave me alone like this? Every cup carries an enticing whiff of hope that his siblings are playing some childish prank on him and hiding just out of sight, waiting to jump out and yell “surprise, we didn’t die in a ditch!”

Every cup ends in fresh disappointment. 

The others try to console him, initially. Cerys tells him that he and Lia and Cal were brave for what they did, braver than Zevlor who stood by and did nothing while his people died, but this praise means nothing to Rolan. He’d much rather be in Zevlor’s place right now, because then at least he’d be dead, or in some prison cell with the others. Instead he’s here, nursing a drink and a headache, just him and his thoughts and all his flaws. 

Alfira tries to comfort him too. She quietly approaches him at the bar–as he’s thinking yet again of what a fuckup he is, it should be him in prison and Cal and Lia should be here–and gently places her hand on his arm. “Rolan,” she says softly, “I wanted…I wanted to thank you. For saving us. For saving me. I would’ve died if it wasn’t for you, and for Cal and Lia, too.” Alfira swallows nervously. “I know…I know it’s not my place to say anything, and you’re going through a lot, but. I just want to say, I know they’d be proud of you–”

“You don’t know anything,” Rolan barks, wrenching himself away from her. “I didn’t want to save you, I didn’t choose to save you. I would let you all rot in the dark out there a thousand times over if it meant I could have Lia and Cal here with me. None of you mean anything to me and don’t you dare say they’d be proud of me for what I did, don’t you dare even speak their names.” He knows he’s being unimaginably cruel, that Alfira is only trying to help, that she’s grieving too. But in his alcohol-addled haze, his grief seems so much bigger, so much more important than hers, because it’s a grief built on a solid foundation of shame and self-loathing. Alfira can cry about losing Lakrissa but it’s not really the same, is it? It’s not like she could’ve bashed a cultist on the head with her lute. 

But Rolan. Rolan is supposed to be a magical prodigy, the future apprentice to the greatest wizard in all of Faerun, and yet he couldn’t do the one simple thing that was his responsibility and his alone. He couldn’t protect Cal and Lia. If he’s failed so miserably at this, how can he expect to succeed at anything else? Maybe the voice in his head that’s always nagged at him for not being enough is right. Maybe he truly is an irredeemable nobody.

Having to be around the children is the worst part of being stuck in the purgatory that is the Last Light Inn. They are keenly aware that every one of them would be dead if not for him; they are also keenly aware of how angry he is, but because they are children, have no way of understanding why he keeps yelling at them and demanding they refill his drinks even after all the other adults have told them to quit serving him. They want to thank him, want to repay him for getting them to safety, but because they are children all they can do is watch helplessly as Rolan drinks himself into a stupor. How can he tell them that every time he looks at them, he sees Cal and Lia at that age: small, happy, healthy, alive? They’re a living reminder of his failure. They’re not the children he wants to see. His thoughts fill him with such shame and he swallows the shame back with another glass of wine.

As the minutes melt into hours melt into days, Rolan’s ire switches focus and lashes out at everyone not present. At the Cult of the Absolute, for their sick belief in a sick god who sees torture and murder as a way to bring about purification. At Zevlor, for tricking them all into thinking they were strong enough to take on any obstacles in their way, and then abandoning them when they needed his leadership most. At–and here Rolan’s mind disgusts him so much that he has to down an entire bottle of beer before he can even get the thought out–Lia, at Cal, for being so stupid, for having to play the hero when they can hardly do anything without his help, for abandoning him. 

But. The person Rolan loathes the most (apart from himself) is that intrepid adventurer. That hero. That interfering menace, who popped into their lives for only a short time and yet in one fell stroke managed to completely upend everything, simply by giving them hope. If they hadn’t helped Zevlor fight the goblins, he wouldn’t have been deluded into thinking there were still good people in the world, wouldn’t have passed that delusion on to the rest of the tieflings and then betrayed them. If they hadn’t fed Asharak and the children some line about “being strong” and “trusting each other”, Asharak might’ve kept his stupid mouth shut in front of the cultists, instead of being left to bleed out in a dark wood, sightless and speechless. If they hadn’t convinced Cal, Lia, and himself to stay and fight, he and his family would be in Baldur’s Gate by now, safe in Lorroakan’s care and protection. 

Hadn’t they known how dangerous hope was to people who had long ago resigned themselves to a life of hopelessness?

Rolan hopes he never sees the adventurer again. He hopes they’re dead, cut down on the road somewhere; it’ll still be better than they deserve, for all the pain and damage they’ve caused.

Rolan hopes the adventurer is alive, that they’ll come striding through the door so he can punch them in the face, can scream at them about how they’ve ruined his life, they’ve ruined everything, why did they do this to him? What harm did he ever cause them to deserve such punishment as this?

Rolan hopes that the adventurer will come save him, will save everyone, even though he knows this is the most futile hope of all.

Rolan doesn’t know what he hopes for anymore. 

When he eventually does drift off to fitful slumber–his head cradled in his arms on top of the bar, a mug of ale still clenched tightly in his hand–his last thought is that he doesn’t need hope. He has himself, his sense of purpose, and that is enough to get him through whatever lies ahead. The Flaming Fist and the Harpers are too scared to attack Moonrise? Fine, he’ll do it on his own then. Rolan isn’t afraid of the shadows, of the curse that chokes the land outside their little bubble of safety. He’s seen things that are much, much worse than mere shadows in the span of a few days, and those things have his siblings. He will get them out of there, even if he kills himself in the process. Rolan makes a mental note to record a message for Cal and Lia on the scant chance that they manage to escape and make it to the inn while he’s still searching for them in the dark. If he does fall, he wants them to continue to Baldur’s Gate, and not mourn him the way he’s mourning for them right now.

With this plan of action set firmly in his mind, Rolan finally sets his tortured thoughts aside for a time and lets the oblivion of sleep take him.

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 23

MASTERLIST

taglist: @crimsonincursive

Hiii. I was on holiday but now I'm baaack! I couldn't, ok? I just couldn't. My precious babyboy.

23. Playing God

Turns out it’s not how you die simply because Finnick saves you once again. You lost count of how many times he saved your sorry ass, but you think you’ll owe him for the rest of your life. You’ll give a gigantic gift to Annie when the baby is born.

Your group is hiding in a small inlet now, and you can’t help but to ask a question everyone has.

«What the fuck were those?»  

«Mutts.» Boggs answers. You think he knew, maybe not exactly about these but he was aware of the chance. «Snow knows the tunnels are our best possibility.»

If this is your best shot you are already dead.

Mutt technology scares you so much. Modified animals created by the Capitol, controlled by them too. 

«So you are implying we have to deal with the lizards.» Perla assumes. You don’t agree on the “Lizard” term. You know lizards, they are small and nice and green. These things are white, too human shaped for your taste and they can talk. They say only “Katniss”, but they can talk.

Katniss who is too silent. Katniss who is too tense. You two are not close, but she’s your non boyfriend adoptive daughter, so you try to keep an eye on her, on Peeta too, and in a way on Finnick, even if he is your age and save you all the time. Your partner has a lot of adoptive children.

«Nobody said it was going to be easy.» Finnick remarks. Cressida always puts the camera on his face every time he talks. It didn’t matter how many times Finnick made pass-pros telling about his traumatic past and how Panem mistook him for a sex symbol, he is forever going to be the Games’ golden boy. Cressida is a practical woman, if he can bring more people to the revolution his face will be the poster face along with Katniss’s. Cressida is also a Capitol woman and some habits don’t die.

«We dealt with mutts and Capitols before, didn’t we?» Lora says, with a high pitch tone who is not at all like the others. You caress her arm in reassurance, because if she has to talk like this she is scared. «We are not doomed. We can try.»

«We can win.» Peeta adds, but it’s Katniss who finally speaks up.

«We have to.»

«Welcome to the 76th Hunger Games.» Finnick declares. «And may the odds be ever in your favor.»

The plan is simple: we see a lizard and we fight. You don’t fight, you are not able to and you never did that. There is no way to fight a shark, and you only fought humans. 

«Now, who never used a gun?» Boggs asks you.

You raise your hand until you realise there’s no need for you to do it. You spent too much time with children, you can just tell them. Lora, Perla and a fucking soldier follow your example and you realize that in District Thirteen you can be reaped as a soldier when you are fifteen. Not really different from The Hunger Games. On the other hand this is what war does… but are you not supposed to help the children instead of making them fight for you?

You really hate District Thirteen.

«You will stay behind. The Mockingjay is the priority.» 

Katniss watches him like he grew a second head. «No, I’m not. I can be dead at the end of all this. The priority is killing President Snow. We reach for the entrance and we go. This is our mission.»

You are not scared, you are absolutely terrified. You follow the soldiers waiting for the lizards to strike any minute now, not sure if they follow the scent of the noise. 

For a while the situation is the same for everyone.

You wait, and you wait in silence.

Until you hear a screech. 

You begin to run.

You run until your lungs are on fire and you spot a stair that if you are lucky enough will bring you out of this mess, and if you are not will bring you out of this misery. 

«STAAAIRS!» You scream, hoping the lizards don’t know your language, because Finnick, some soldiers and Peeta are behind you. 

You climb as fast as you can and you reach the top. Opening a door on the wall is not the simplest thing, and you are wasting precious time. Why are you on the top? Why is not Katniss on the top, or Boggs, or someone who knows what they are doing? You are wasting time. You are wasting time and now that means someone will be killed because of you, it’s all your fault, it’s…

Open. You open it. 

You crawl out the hole and you help the others with Perla, knowing the lizards are behind them with sharp teeth and claws. The others are on the ground now, shielding you from any possible danger.

The last ones are Caius and Finnick, going in together because the stairs are big enough. You hold the hand of the guard and your friend when you feel that something is wrong, too heavy than before. 

«Finnick?» You scream, trembling in terror. You can’t risk Finnick, you can’t risk Finnick, you can’t risk him…

«My leg!» He is clearly in pain, the lizards are biting him in the flesh, greedy for a meal. They are too strong.

He won’t make it, you realise. There’s no way you and Perla can lift him enough to save him, he is going to die there or you will die with him.

The boy who saved you, the man who will have a baby soon, dies. The handsome man who suffered the most. He doesn’t deserve it. All his life has been hell and now that he can have happiness he dies.

Meanwhile, the soldier who left you to die is about to be saved. By you. You get to save him but not Finnick. 

He doesn’t deserve it more. He will kill other people because he’s hurt, Caius is dangerous, he was willing to let Marjorie die because he was offended by you. 

No.

In a blur, you really don’t know what you are doing, like a foreign force that possesses you, you remove your hand from Caius’s and you push him off the stairs. He shouts, but the lizards surround him immediately and they tear his pieces apart, famished, leaving Finnick alone.

You pull him up, helped by Perla and you close the hole, as fast as you can.

Then you watch him. He watches you, and you can only imagine what he is thinking.

A murderer. A killer. A cold blood killer. The woman who played God. It wasn’t up to you who lived and who died. Is this for Finnick? Or just a convenient revenge? Would you have done the same with another soldier? 

But he didn’t deserve to live, he tried to kill you and Marjorie, and Finnick was dying and you didn’t want him to win.

«I can’t walk, I think my leg is broken.» He talks after what you think it’s an infinite amount of time. 

It’s Cressida who has the solution. «Come, I know a place.» 

The place that Cressida knows is a taylor’s house. The woman, named Tigris, was a famous stylist until Snow decided she wasn’t pretty enough to work for him and now she collaborates with the rebels. To be fair, she is hideous. She looks like a cat, her skin is yellow with black stripes and her nose is almost feline. She is too skinny, maybe because food is rationed in the Capitol since the war started. 

She is nice, though. She offers a meal and she let you stay in her basement until you’ll do part B of the plan, which means no lizards and no snakes. 

And blankets, you love blankets. 

You are sitting on the couch trying to bandage Finnick’s leg when he speaks up. He can’t walk, Gale carried him on his shoulder. 

«Thank you.» He talks to you, when Gale rushes to Katniss.

«No problem, I’m no Prim but I think it’s broken. You’ll stay here, you can’t fight with a broken leg.» It’s not your place to tell, or your orders to give, especially to him. Still, you are pretty good at giving orders.

«I didn’t mean… for this.» 

You close your eyes, trying not to break your calm. If you don’t think about it and you go on you will remain collected. Now it’s really not a good time for a panic attack. 

«You are my friend and I have to protect you.» You repeat like a mantra. «And I wasn’t going to leave Annie alone.»

«You know, apart from the age difference and the mentor - tribute thing, I get why you two are together. You are both protectors.»

You stay silent for so long because if you say something you are going to burst into tears, but one rolls down to your face, out of your control, and soon you begin to cry against his shoulder.

«I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry…» You murmur.

«Don’t, you did it to save me.» He hugs you, rubbing your back.

«I’m not like Haymitch, I’m not a good person, I’m a murderer.» You babble looking at him like you are desperate.

«And you think I’m not? I am. Haymitch is. Katniss is. We are all tributes, Daisy. We are all killers.» 

«That is not the same and you know it.» You look at him.

«Says who?» He deadpans. «It’s like in the Games.»

He caresses you and he strokes your hair until you fall asleep against him. It’s Katniss who awakes you, rather gently for her. «Ehi, there’s Haymitch on the computer, so… I thought maybe you want to say hi.»

You have to wait for your turn, because he is speaking first with her and then with Boggs for strategic stuff, but then they let you speak to him for five minutes. Good, you can calm yourself down a little.

«Partner.» You say hi, rubbing your eyes. It’s the middle of the night and you cried yourself to sleep.

«Sweetheart. How are you doing?» He looks at you, you can tell he is worried but you are not going to say anything. Maybe they are recording.

«Bad, I miss you. But I’m alive.» And Caius is not. You can’t cope with that, so your brain acts like you didn’t do what you’ve done.

If you linger to the knowledge everything becomes black. The first time you were protecting Effie and him and you were trying not to be murdered by President Snow; the second time you were in the Hunger Games, fighting for your life. This time you have no excuses. You decided who had to live and who had to die.

Haymitch can’t know that. He will think you are not perfect, he will know you are evil, he will leave you, he doesn’t even love you. 

No, that is wrong. That is even worse! You have to tell him as soon as you get back in the district. That is the right thing to do. 

But you will lose him.

But… even the thought of losing him is selfish. Caius can’t lose anyone, because Caius is dead. Because of you.

Then again, Caius was a bad person who almost killed you and an innocent woman in the process.

«Stay alive, Gorgeous. I miss you too.» He seems tired. You don’t know how the tremors are these days, but his hands shake and he has black shadows under his eyes. 

«These confessions.» You tease him. 

«What can I say? You made me soft.» With those words the butterflies in your stomach are dancing to a very loud song. You made him soft.

«Didn’t replace me with a cute District 13 girl yet?» No real conversation, no real deal. They are watching you.

«Didn’t have time. Not like you and Finnick.» He deadpans. Boggs is down with gossip? Or Katniss said it to him when he asked about you.

«Oh yes, I was sleeping against him just now.» You retort with a wide grin. «You know my taste in men is “Handsome victors”.»

«Is it now? And I thought that was “Old alcoholics”.» You almost feel bad for the people that will see the video, because his eyes are dark with lust and you purr in every word. It will be embarrassing for them. You look like teenagers in love.

«Old alcoholics who can make you see stars at night?» 

He chuckles, but you can tell he is filled with pride. «You’re mine, remember that.»

«No, you are mine. Can’t wait to prove it to you.» You are being ridiculous and you know it, and then again when you’ve seen him on the monitor your heart skipped a bit. You are so proud of your bracelet and proud that everyone knows you wear something of his, not because he owns you, just because… he really knows you. And you are so scared, that’s so you to cope with that.

«And how would you do that, Princess?»

«I might bite your neck.» You have a little kink for his neck. It’s so strong, so rough, and when you kiss it he moans so loud and he always makes sure you scream in pleasure after… 

«Just my neck, Sweetheart?» 

«Boggs says you have to quit now.» Katniss tells you, and by the blush on her face you get she listened to your little conversation. You say goodbye to your handsome, funny, kind partner and almost burst into laughter when the dark haired girl avoids your gaze. She is so pure. 

When you come closer to Perla and Lora, they exchange a look.

«I miss you.» Lora tells her, mocking my accent.

«I miss you more. You are mine.» Perla follows her example. You scoff, clearly annoyed.

«Remember that you are mine.» The younger woman is really keen on your imitation. 

«No, you are mine.»

«You have to remember.»

«Remember it, Daisy.» 

They look at you like you’ll clap at their performance. You throw a pillow at them. «…Fuck off, you two.»

«And who would help you remember?»  

You laugh, and you come back to sleep between them. 

«Do you think we will die here?» Perla whispers after a while, maybe half an hour. «I don’t think we are very much loved by Thirteen.» 

«No, we can’t die. We need to go on a proper vacation in her district after the war.» You murmur. «I’ve always wanted to visit District Four.»

You smile and turn to see Lora’s reaction, but she is asleep. She looks so peaceful when she is sleeping, so young. You didn’t protect her much today, you should keep an eye on her too. She’s strong, she’s cunning but she’s still a kid. Being nineteen is still being a kid. Just a year out of the normal games.

«I don’t think we’ll arrive to an “After the war”. We don’t get to have an after.» Perla keeps going. She is clearly in a clouded mood tonight.

«Don’t even. We have to try.» You squeeze her arm. You thought like that all through your games, and it has been exhausting. She needs to fight, so she can’t be tired.

«I’m in love.» She whispers so briefly you almost don’t hear it. «For the first time. And I don’t want to lose it.»

You watch her closely. If you joke about it now you lose her. Perla is used to being the strong one, the one who doesn’t care about feelings, and if you can’t imagine her being so open and approachable. She is not like you, who screams you are in love with Haymitch to anyone who’s willing to hear about it. She doesn’t wear her heart on her cheek. 

«You won’t. You deserve it.» You stroke her brown hair to pamper her. «Do you want to tell me… who is it?»

She doesn’t answer right away. She closes her eyes, like it’s a great secret. It’s probably a secret. 

«I have been part of the rebellion since the start, you know?» You didn’t know. You thought it had been the same as for you, but you let her continue. «I volunteered because of that.»

You actually remember that she volunteered, but you thought it was for a sibling or a friend, not for a cause. «Weren’t you scared?»

«I was frightened. Working for the rebellion with Finnick, I…» For a moment you are terrified she says she is in love with Finnick. Like for real. Every woman who likes men in Panem had a crush on Finnick Odair, the dashing prince from District Four, but a real thing would have been devastating. He is married. His wife is pregnant. «I met a stylist.»

Ok, now you are just puzzled. «A stylist?»

She gulps. A confession. «The stylist. Like… the rebel stylist. The stylist of the rebellion. Katniss’s stylist.»

You cover your mouth with your hand. «Are you in love with Cinna?»

«Don’t hold it against me, Daisy. I don’t know what got into me. I don’t do these things. It’s not the right time.» 

«Things like? Living your life? Love?» You raise an eyebrow. «It’s wonderful! What do you live for if you don’t live for love? That’s just perfect.» 

«The rebellion comes first.» She reminds you. «For the both of us.»

«Oh, aren’t you just perfect for each other.» You joke. Just a little. She can bear that. «Plus, he is reeeally hot.» 

Lora opens an eye, clearly annoyed by your chatting. «Uh?»

«Oh, nothing.» You dismiss it.

«I’ve heard everything and I have just one question.»

«Shoot.» The sky blue eyed girl offers.

«What is it with you and old people?»

You pretend to sleep for most of the night. You don’t want to bother anyone with nightmares, but you also know there’s no way Caius won’t be in them when you’ll close your eyes.

You saved Finnick, and you are proud of yourself for that, but killing Caius has been so easy you are actually scared of yourself.

Yourself, yourself, yourself…

«A group of soldiers will come to take Finnick back to the District.» Boggs explains, looking at the man’s leg. It is actually bad, but it could have been worse. «We’ll stay to continue the mission. All clear?»

«All clear.»

That is a true thing. That is cool. Finnick has to rest and he will be safer this way, unable to fight. Tomorrow you are going to kill President Snow and you can’t expect all of you to come back.

You are one of the weak ones. You are here because Coin is not happy with Haymitch, that’s what you think. She is using you to punish him. And maybe you have created problems too, with Caius and the bunker.

You deserve it, a voice specifies. You unalived someone today, after all. If someone deserves to die it’s not the Mockingjay, or the lover boy, or your fellow tributes.

In the blink of an eye two soldiers come into the bunker, but instead of going for Finnick, they come near you. 

You don’t know them. They are in the Thirteen uniform, so they must come from that district, but they are strangers. A blonde man and a dark haired one, face blank and very, very tall. They look scary enough, but you suppose it’s their job.

«Daisy Pinecone, you are under arrest for the murder of a District Thirteen citizen. You have the right to remain silent.» They say, and you can’t help but look at the others, but everybody is in the dark. 

They don’t know more than you do. 

«I beg your pardon?» You ask.

What is worse is that it’s true, but how can they know it? Did Finnick say something? It’s impossible, you trust him with your life, and he was sleeping with you when Boggs was talking with Haymitch.

«Everything you say can be used against you.» They keep going, but you search Katniss with your eyes. They grab your arms and try to lift you up.

«Daisy, go with them.» Boggs orders you. «We will clarify everything.»

You quickly become terrified. Where are they taking you? If nobody knows, will you come back? They don’t like you. Will you be tortured? People are getting tortured in Thirteen.

You have the bracelet, you suddenly remember. Haymitch knows where you are.

«Call Haymitch! Please, call Haymitch!» You scream to the Mockingjay while they take you away.

You don’t even get to see if she heard you.

[kaeyas-no1-fan]

Sweet, Sweet Nostalgia

[Oneshot repost from my AO3 Account: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45263962 ]

Characters: Kaeya & mentioned Diluc [NOT kaeluc.]

-

Kaeya stared at the ceiling, the room was dark with only the lamp on his bedside table to light it up. The shadows of his desk and of the wardrobe and of the crooked paintings on the walls cast odd imaged across the floor, he took a deep breath as he turned to face them. His gaze ran over the few pictures, one was of him and Diluc, probably around twelve and thirteen, Diluc was holding his hand up victoriously after he’d finally managed to win a round of chess. Just three years after he was adopted…no, he was sure Diluc wouldn’t be happy hearing him say that, sent to Dawn Winery…yes, that was a more fitting term.

The next picture was of them as teenagers, it was the day Diluc had been promoted to the rank of cavalry captain—Kaeya’s current position, he had been the youngest captain in the history of the knights of favo. Kaeya remembered the smile on his face clear as day, and he was sure he still would all the same even if it wasn’t plastered right there in front of him, frozen in time. A moment of happiness captured and snatched and kept for him to cherish just before everything went so, so wrong. Kaeya remembers how he had always done the dark parts of that job, he had made sure to get the information from men who needed bribing to talk—he had made sure to handle the death, the killing, the reading through things no one was ever meant to see. He’d done it just so Diluc wouldn’t have to, he had done it because even if he would never admit it, Diluc had been ever so naive back then. Always the one with a smile, that wild hair and those fiery red eyes full of determination that just told you he would never give up. Kaeya didn’t want him to lose the view of the world he held so high, that idea that everything would work out in his favor if he tried hard enough and everything had a solution—that view that made the war, the suffering, all of it seem so distant it just couldn’t effect you. (Kaeya had had that view on the world once, too, but as soon as he was old enough to understand it was explained to him, all of it. The war, the suffering, the curses the gods had bestowed upon his nation, his people. He was a person to be forever hated for something he could never control to begin with—he was a traitor.)

…As much as he didn’t like to admit it, though, Kaeya had been naive back then, too. He was aware of the darkness and the hatred and everything in between, he had already experienced the unimaginable, but no, he was naive in a different way. He had been innocent enough to believe that if he’d just kept everything hidden well enough, it would work itself out.

He had never meant to lie for so long, really, but Kaeya Alberich was nothing if not a liar. He was nothing if not a cheater, a fake, and a traitor. No matter which side he chose, he had always known that would remain the same. Even if he chose neither…would it really be much better? (No, it wouldn’t, he had already thought it through countless times before, a constant conflict bittering and plaguing his heart.)

The third picture—right, the third was of him and the rest of the knights. It was the day he had been promoted, but he had only hung it up because Lisa had insisted it was a time to remember. She was a very observative person, but even she seemed to miss the saddened look behind his eyes…or perhaps she’d felt enough sympathy to not point it out. Kaeya’s personality had changed drastically since…since he and Diluc’s falling out, since he gained his vision, but in reality, could he ever truly change? He was still just as conflicted, just as guilty, and just as much of a liar as before. The only difference now was that he was sadder, he was sadder and he was a faker and he lied all that much more now.

…It was funny, really, wasn’t that just how life seemed to work?

It would get worse, it would get worse for a moment that perhaps felt like forever and then it would get so much better. It would seem perfect, for awhile, even if it wasn’t. He had been happy and he had been warm and he had been safe, he had been given things he never got the chance to have before he’d met Crepus and Diluc. Even if deep in his heart he felt a fire raging against the shallow waters, a fight that never truly ended, everything had almost been exactly how it should.

…Except it was never really meant to be like that, was it? So did it ever really matter to begin with?

Because, just as fast as he’d been given everything and just as that fire had begun to settle into burnt-out embers, everything had been ripped away so, so quick. The only father figure he had left? Gone, his brother? Gone, although he couldn’t help but believe that was still his fault. Worst of all, his will, his passion, the things that made him believe life was worth living…gone, all in an instant, an ice cold, cursed object left in his hands to replace it. Sometimes, he believed his heart had been frosted over that same moment he received his vision. Because then, then was when he had finally realized he could never truly have peace. That was when he realized, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be accepted, not by his home country and not by the one he so desperately wished to stay in. Even the object itself reflected that, a vision from the nation of freedom with its wings clipped, a bird with no flight.

Because then, then had been when those shallow waters with ash as sand had frozen over completely, leaving his heart just as cold in its wake.

Kaeya blinked slowly, turning his head towards the ceiling, but the framed image still remained in his mind clear as day. He was standing next to Jean, her arm around his shoulder, it was one of the only times he’d seen her relaxed since she joined the knights…Lisa stood next to her, and Noelle next to her holding a platter of cookies. Kaeya had always been fond of cookies, but that day, he simply couldn’t find the appetite to take more than a single bite of one. He could still see how amongst all the smiles, his own was so obviously fake.

The truth was, he wasn’t happy. How could he be happy knowing he was taking the place of someone he could never dream of surpassing? How could he be happy knowing the only reason he got this job was because someone he had always admired had quit, he had quit for possibly the first time Kaeya had ever witnessed, and he knew full well that he had never deserved that position. Diluc hated him, it was obvious in the way he had so clearly moved on and only ever offered a hatred filled glance or an irritated argument whenever Kaeya spoke to him.

And Kaeya felt he deserved to be hated, so he kept speaking to him. He kept visiting the tavern despite knowing just how unhealthy his drinking habits were. The alcohol numbed the pain and the man making it gave him a constant reminder of why he was doing it and of why he deserved it. A constant reminder of why he would forever be hated, and Kaeya felt that was all he needed.

Just like that, another frosty layer had covered his heart, shining like snow yet cold enough to burn anyone who dared to try and touch it.

Kaeya reached over to shut off the lamp, chuckling to himself. If it wasn’t so late, he would take a trip to Angel’s Share, he could really use a drink. The way it burned his throat yet numbed his mind gave him just the right combination to push down his feelings for one more day, a chance to pull up his mask and make sure nobody had noticed it’d slipped in the first place. He was slipping, though, he knew that, and he saw it in the looks everyone gave him as he passed through town, up the stairs and through the doors of the cathedral after he had made one wrong move and had gotten hit for what could’ve been the fifth time that month.

He saw it in the way Jean didn’t argue with him when he made a mistake anymore, in the way she gave him less work than before despite the fact the knights still had just as much on their plates to finish. Kaeya felt awful, he really did, but he just couldn’t seem to pull himself out of his thoughts lately.

It was as if everything sent him spiraling down.

The breeze in his hair—it reminded him of when he’d first been brought to the city, he was just eight years old and Diluc had held his hand the entire time, telling him not to be scared because everyone was friendly. The nation of wind, he knew it was called, but he didn’t realize just how nice the breeze could feel, the smell it carried light and refreshing.

The flowers lining the streams—“Kaeya, watch out, you’ll fall in!” Diluc giggled as he pulled him back up. He had been reaching for a calla lily, wanting to see it closer, something so beautiful he just had to hold it. Diluc had picked it for him when he asked, and it had felt so fragile in his hands he felt it might turn to dust…that’s precisely what the flowers had done in his homeland, he recalled vaguely, and yet this one smelled sweet and looked bright…and it was alive, it was alive and it didn’t seem bothered by the fact it had been disturbed. Maybe it enjoyed being admired, he thought, stupid…but he was too young to care.

Even the tunes Venti played at the bar, some of them reminded of times long passed…“What’s that?” Kaeya had asked when he was nine, pointing at a flute held by a bard, dancing near the fountain without a care. “It’s a flute, have you never seen one before?” Diluc turned to him, yet Kaeya felt too mesmerized by the sound it made to return his gaze. He smiled, softly, the notes felt like they reached somewhere deep within his soul and settled there, telling him everything would be okay, even if he didn’t quite understand.

“Oh, sweet, sweet nostalgia…” he said to himself, softly, leaning over the edge of his upstairs balcony. It was morning, now, and as he breathed in the fresh air of day and closed his eyes to remember what the night had looked like, he felt so many emotions, so many memories pass through him at once. It was like a storm, yet it felt warm when it came and left him hollow when it passed. No, that wasn’t the feeling of a storm, it was the feeling of love, of life.

So quick, so fleeting that it could pass you by before you even noticed it came, yet ever so cherishable. It was the kind of memories that left you feeling bittersweet and wishing for something more, it was the changed you hated the result of despite knowing you could never go back to the past.

It was notstalgia, that feeling you got when you knew nothing would ever be the same, yet you wished that for an instant, you could experience those once in a lifetime things again. Kaeya exhaled slowly as he opened his eyes, watching the young children run down the street and still wishing that, perhaps, he could wake up one day and be that small again. He would wake up and he would see the wooden walls of the Dawn Winery staring back at him, wrapped in his light blue blanket next to Diluc—who he’d asked to stay when he just couldn’t fall asleep. He would get out of bed and they would go outside, they would catch crystalflies and they would share made up stories of nonsensical origin amidst the grapevines because they were young, they were naive, and they were happy.

…Oh, how he wished life could be like that again, how he wished the good times hadn’t passed by so quick.

[footballworldcuptickets]

Italy Preview Form and History at the Football World Cup 2026

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They triumphed over Moldova 2 to 0 and suffered a defeat to Norway 3 to 0. This result led the federation to dismiss Luciano Spalletti and appoint 2006 World Cup champion Gennaro Gattuso as his replacement. The Azzurri are yet to face them again, along with both Israel and Estonia twice. They hold a decent opportunity to qualify either directly or via the playoffs, as the top or second seed,respectively.

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It promises to be an exciting autumn international break for Italians as their young stars attempt the final push. For some historical reference and a reflection on the team’s past displays, what better method to forecast their success in next year tournament than by recalling their past accomplishments.  In general, Italy ranks among the most accomplished national squads.

In the annals of the FIFA World Cup. They are consistently among the frontrunners. Occasionally as clear favorites and other times as a squad with the capacity for a deep run. They have endured letdowns with some of their most talented teams and have prevailed against formidable rivals and as moderate underdogs.

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In 1938, in France, they secured back-to-back victories, and Pozzo remains the sole coach with two World Cup titles. In 1982, in Spain, Paolo Rossi’s resurgence inspired them as they overcame Brazil, Poland, and West Germany. In 2006, in Germany, Cannavaro’s leadership and the memorable penalty shootout against France capped a remarkable generation of players with the trophy.

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Roberto Baggio’s missed penalty in the 1994 final is still a painful memory from the shootout loss to Brazil. Zidane’s infamous headbutt and red card in the 2006 final against France came just before penalties. Friday’s debacle in Scandinavia prolonged Italy’s winless run to four matches (D2, L2), increasing the scrutiny on Spalletti.

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Anything short of a dominant win against Moldova would be catastrophic for the former Scudetto-winning coach, but the indicators seem favorable for the hosts. They have emerged victorious in all five meetings with the Tricolours since their initial clash in 1996. Scoring an average of three goals per game. This is largely due to a 6 to 0 thrashing in their latest encounter in October 2020.

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Overcoming Gli Azzurri in a 2022 one off playoff clash. In spite of all the hardships, the Italians have been entertaining to watch. Eight of their past nine games have featured 3 plus goals, indicating the potential for a thrilling contest. Nothing less will suffice for Spalletti after FIGC President Gabriele Gravina labeled Italy’s disastrous outing at the Ullevaal Stadium as ‘unacceptable’ via Eurosport.

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[redwriterincmoble]

Chapter 3 (The Four Royal Realms: a Solangelo Summer)

I surveyed the meeting room. The long, round table stretched out in the middle of the room. Sitting around the table were the leaders of every Southern kingdom. To my right was Ethan, to my left sat my friend Piper, the queen of Tatto. I stood with as much confidence and authority as I could muster. Everyone went quiet and stared at me. I cleared my throat and spoke.

“We’re under attack. The demons are getting closer and closer to the city, and our borders are crumbling. If we don’t act soon, we won’t be able to stop them when they tear down our walls.” I scan the other leaders' expressions. Dakota, the king of Vino, seemed more interested in the glass of wine on the table than the impending war. Hypnos was half asleep next to Dakota, and Hecate was carving glyphs into the table with her dagger.

“What do you suggest we do? Nico, our armies aren’t strong enough. We don’t have the numbers to secure the borders, let alone fight in a war.” Piper sighed next to me.

Ethan was going over reports and files before he looked up at me. “She’s right, Nico, we don’t have the numbers even if we all combined the armies. The odds are slim,” he shook his head grimly.

Dakota and Hypnos finally straightened in their chairs. Dakota looked at me and raised his hand. I fought back the urge to roll my eyes and nodded for him to speak.

“What if we get the other realms to help?” he suggested unhelpfully.

“The other realms couldn't care less about us. We’re on our own with this one.” Piper reminded.

I look back at my map of the realms. There is no way we can win this war alone. We need the other realms.

“What if… what if we don’t give them a choice?” I thought aloud.

Ethan looked up at me in confusion. Piper raised an eyebrow in confusion. Dakota looked purely puzzled. I walk to the huge map of the realms on the wall and scan all the kingdoms.

“We’ll start with the East, they are more likely to help with persuasion. Then we can work on a negotiation with the West for their help. The North…. I know the rulers, I’m sure once Queen Annabeth hears there will be a war, she’ll want in. King Ares likes a good war, but he’ll want collateral. That leaves King Zeus, but his son Jason will be king in a month when he turns twenty.” I ponder.

“This could work. We just need to ask the right way. I know the prince of Fenice, he’ll help us if it means he gets some help with their agriculture. We could see if Queen Persephone would help them in return for their help.” Ethan added as he jotted down some stuff on his notepad.

I sigh, knowing this stupid ball might just be the only way I get an army to protect my people. Looks like my dad gets what he wants. I turn to them all. I take a deep breath. This is it.

“We can start at my father's ball. We can ask and negotiate with the other rulers. This is the only way to keep our people safe. All in favor, raise your hand.” I say as the others raise their hands in agreement.

“So, what kingdom do we start with?” asked Dakota as he poured another glass of wine into his goblet.

I turn back to the map and look at the East realm. My eyes scan over the kingdoms in thought.

“We’ll need someone with a big army.” Ethan pondered.

“Someone willing to help without too big a price,” Piper added.

“Someone with enough resources to help,” Hecate said as she traced the glyph she had carved into the table with her finger.

“Someone who won’t try to take over.” Dakota grinned up from his goblet.

My eyes found a kingdom that fit those terms perfectly. I turn back to the other leaders and grinned.

“What about the Sun kingdom?”

~~~

After the meeting, I went to find Thanatos to fill him in on everything, when my sister walked in and tackled me in a hug. The air was robbed out of my lungs as she squeezed me. I struggled out of her grip.

“Hazel, let go.” I squirm in her arms. Her grip never eased. I sigh and give up trying.

“I missed you, Neeks! You never called or texted,” she squeezed me more, and I gasped for air.

“Air!” I rasp. She gasped and let me go. I took a deep breath and looked at my little sister.

“I’m sorry, I was busy,” I reply.

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at me. I sigh and run a hand through my tousled black hair.

“Hazel, I am really sorry. I would have called, I just-” she cut me off with another hug.

“I don’t care, honestly. I missed you. Frank and I did so much stuff in the East…”

She filled me in on her and her boyfriend Frank's trip across the realms for her sixteenth birthday. We got coffee and sat in her room as she told me more and unpacked her things. I, like a good brother, listened even though I still needed to go find Thanatos. Hazel’s room was the most comfortable out of all the others in the palace. She had a huge bed and loads of soft blankets and pillows. She had bean bags on her floor and a TV with some other art stuff on the walls. Hazel also had a huge art desk that was usually cluttered with all her things.

My room had black and dark gray walls, while her room had a royal purple color on two walls and violet on the other two. My bed was hard and small with silk sheets that our father insisted I had. No light came into my room. I had a desk and a bookshelf full of textbooks I’d rather burn than look at for the rest of my life.

I nodded as she started talking about some guy she met in the city of Fouco. She convinced me to stay in her room that night for some sibling bonding spa night thing. That’s how I ended up with weird cold goop on my face as she painted my nails black and silver. She had her hair pulled back in a curly bun like Persephone does when she’s in her garden. Hazel somehow manages to pull my hair back with a headband.

I listened as she told me about her plan to go to art school in Tatto once she was finished with her studies. We talked all night between coffee and some rom-com she liked. I missed my little sister.

~~~

I eventually told Thanatos about our plans, and he, of course, had his opinions, but I didn’t listen. After breakfast, I walked to the garden and helped Persephone with planting her newest addition. I asked her if she would be willing to help convince Fenice to help us in the war, and she said she would if it meant I helped her in the garden more. To be honest, I actually enjoyed helping her. It was peaceful out here. I agreed, and we went inside for lunch, joking about how my father is terrified of cats.

-Red Writer (check out our instagram account Red Writer Inc.

[mainstoryarchive]

Kingdom - 63: The Big Day

Translator: Creampuffs

Hokuto: The moment of fate is finally here.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Location: Empty Classroom

Hokuto: The moment of fate is finally here.

We're ready, right, guys?

We're using this empty classroom to avoid running into AKATSUKI in the dressing room at the auditorium, but…

It's somewhat far from the auditorium, so if we don't hurry, the time for us to perform will go to waste.

Makoto: W-W-W-Wait a minute! I know this is pretty late for me to say this, but my whole body is trembling!

Waaah, we're going to be singing and dancing in front of a large audience very soon, aren't we!?

Hokuto: That's right. Due to the numbers from the general public, the size of the audience is different from those in the S2 category and below. Be careful you don't get overwhelmed by the atmosphere. Remember your special training, Yuuki.

Makoto: Y-You're right! This isn't scary if compared to wireless bungee jumping. It's not scary…

Uwaaah! On second thought, this really is scary! What do I do if I make a mistake~!?

Mao: You'll be fine, since we'll back you up if you mess up.

That's why we teamed up, right? To support one another. Let's just take things easy, okay?

Still, having said that all the same, I'm starting to feel nervous, too ♪

Subaru: Ahaha, let's think happier thoughts! We'll be heroes if we win this ☆

My excitement levels are through the roof~ The Transfer Student finished our unit outfits in time, after all ☆

These are great, they're awesome! They're cool and sparkly and it doesn't get in the way of our movements, so it's eeeasy to dance in, lalala ♪

Hokuto: So you finished all four of them in the span of this one week…? I'm sure it must have been difficult. Thank you, Transfer Student.

You haven't gotten a lot of sleep, have you? Your eyes are all red.

Makoto: Hidaka-kun, too close, too close! What? Are you going to kiss her? Are you getting her blessing before we go into the decisive battle~?

Subaru: No fair, Hokke~! Closet pervert!

Hokuto: Oh, shush. Well, nevermind. Let's do our best. There's no turning back now – the first shot has been fired.

With our resolution to die in vain, we'll perform a suicide attack and take the general's head.

That's what we can do. Sakuma-senpai cooperated with us in order to make that happen and it appears his plan is succeeding. We can fight, and surely, we can win.

Let's believe that and push forward, Trickstar.

Subaru: Geez, Hokke~ Your face is getting stiff again. Smile smile~ Let's go have fun, okay? ☆

Mao: Yeah, people who enjoy life are the winners. The odds are in our favor; we'll be a laughingstock if we lose now. I might be made out as incompetent and even lose my place on the student council,

But that's why I've also prepared myself. At any rate, I'll set my sights on a new world if I no longer have a place to go.

Makoto: And I'll do my best to make sure I don't drag you guys down!

…I'll keep insisting that it's not a useless effort. I'm going to show Izumi-san that this is my life.

Hokuto: All right, then we'll start moving. There's some distance to the auditorium. We won't make it if we don't hurry.

If we end up being disqualified for reaching the stage late, then it'll be an embarrassment of a lifetime.

Makoto: Gotcha. You come with us too, Transfer Student-chan! Come watch over us in the wings. You'll be closest to us there~ ♪

Subaru: Oh, right. Since she's an authorized person, she can watch from the wings, huh. Guess I made a mistake~

Hokuto: What do you mean?

Subaru: Uh, well, it seems that Shinonon's working as the receptionist this time too as part of his "school part-time job", so I secretly asked him to reserve a ticket for a premium seat~

The closest seat from the stage, in the front row… I was thinking of getting her to watch our performance from there, but I guess the ticket is useless now. What should I do with it?

Hokuto: Hmm. S1 prioritizes the general public in terms of seating, so it's difficult for students to get their hands on a ticket… It ought to have been fairly expensive as well.

Where did you get the money for it? You're the stingiest person I know.

Subaru: I'm not stingy! Sure, I love money, but it's made to be spent. They won't sparkle anymore if I shut them away in a piggy bank, will they?

Hokuto: I can never understand your logic when it comes to money.

Subaru: Fufun ♪ We were able to manage a bunch of things with Sakuma-senpai renting the soundproof practice room for us, providing our outfits at his own expense and other stuff, so I've got extra war fund leftover~ ☆

I prepared a premium seat for the Transfer Student as gratitude for helping us all the way up to this point~

Hokuto: I see. If that's how it is then… It'll be a shame to waste the ticket. You should observe from the premium seat, Transfer Student.

You'll be able to see better from the front as opposed to the wings.

Subaru: I'm gonna sing for the Transfer Student sitting right in front of us~ That's a better way to get us fired up, too, right!?

Enjoy watching our sparkling, awesome performance to your heart's content~ ☆

Mao: Hey, sorry for rushing you, but… AKATSUKI's performance is going to finish soon. There's less than 15 minutes left.

Even if we're a little late, I'm sure 2wink will buy us time, though.

We should start heading to the auditorium now. If we miss our chance, the audience might start leaving one by one.

Hokuto: Yeah. Then let's go and overcome our numerous difficulties. Let's go and make our dream known to everyone.

Makoto: Hyaa~ My anxiety is at its highest and my entire body feels like jelly! But I'm shaking with excitement~! I'll do my best ♪

Subaru: Alrighty, it's the beginning of an enjoyable live~ ☆

Go see Shinonon at the reception for your ticket, Transfer Student. We'll be secretly entering the auditorium from the back entrance!

Hokke~! Ukki~! Sari~! Transfer Student! I'm happy as can be to see that today is finally here! ☆

Hokuto: Yeah, I feel the same way.

Thinking back, we've sure come a long way. Well, I'll hold off getting overemotional.

Let's create a revolution with our song–today, Yumenosaki Academy will be reborn.

Let's release a glimmer of hope into the air, Trickstar!

[ ☆ ]

← prev ❖ all ❖ next →

[coldlykawaiipotatoe]

Ok, I'm finally back, I was being held hostage at my 9 to 5 :(

Hi there, welcome to THG Statistics 101 (aka Bets crash course),

and may the odds be ever in your favor!

I guess mild spoilers, but I'm pretty sure Haymitch survives and also this will be a very long post

You want to understand how Wyatt calculates people’s odds and makes bets? Well it’s a combination of two things, first of all the mathematical part (statistics) and empirical knowledge (what we usually refer to as a “gut feeling” or “hunch”).

You may have the statistics knowledge to make educated guesses, and you will be right most of the time. But if besides that, you also have the empirical knowledge, you will start to feel hunches, because your brain will process data in an offband (unconsciously) way.

Now Wyatt doesn’t have a formal education, because in district twelve the education system is built to create miners, and they don’t really need the math for the job. That means Wyatt is/was (depending his status on your fic) a very smart guy, who also happens to have made lot’s of bet and be surrounded by the betting culture, both thing shaped his ability to make very good guesses at people’s odds very quickly and very accurately.

You now know how hunches or gut feelings work. Let’s get to the fun part, the mathematical way of getting those odds.

We are talking here of creating a score system, similar to the one we see on the books, where the gamemakers assign numbers to the tribute’s private displays, and the higher the score they land, the higher the chances for sponsors to support them (We will get back to this in a minute).

In this case, we will be “making an educated guess” of the possibilities of survival of the tributtes. So, let’s create our imaginary system.

First things first, choose the characteristics, traits or abilities, that are gonna be your system foundation. For this example, I’m going with Intelligence, Agility, Strength, Stamina, Popularity and (from another reply to your post) Background. But why?, why do this traits matter to my tributtes probabilities of survival and winning?

Well let´s go to the book, do you remember that scene in sort, where the tributes are being interviewed by Caesar Flickerman?

We’re gonna compare Panache´s and Wyatt´s interview. We know from Haymitch´s POV that Panacheis a big guy, but not very bright, and Caesar exploits that to make fun of him, and manages to get the entire public laughing at his expense, convincing everyone Panache´s an idiot. Even the other tributes and Haymitch are laughing, Panache becomes the butt of the joke, so you as a capitol citizen, being so smart, you wouldn’t bet on an idiot right?, because if you did, that would make Y-O-U an idiot too.

Flash forward to Wyatts interview, he impresses Caesar and everyone else with his incredible ability to estimate so quickly the odds at different situations. And Caesar speechof “if you win the games, you and I, are hitting the casinos”, it´s a vote of confidence that his intelligence it’s real may be useful enough in the arena to crown him winner (or finalist). So it’s a safe-bet for you, a smart Capitol Citizen, and you actually should bet on him, because you are so much smarter than this poor district tribute, right?.

Back to the system, you should have a general outline of why each trait it’s important to you, and this will help you assign later weights to each trait. Something like this:

Intelligence: capacity to understand and adapt quickly to the environment, and to make the right call under stressful situations.

Agility: ability to move through any weather or terrain quickly.

Physical Strength: ability yo move big obstacles, defend oneself from or cause harm to others.

Stamina: how long will the tribute’s body hold-on on harsh environments, while jogging, running, with lack of food and sleep.

Popularity: likeness from the public, tightly linked to sponsors support (like the number assigned by the gamemakers and Caesar’s approval or disapproval).

Background (as suggested by giftedwithdumbness, love the name, which I had thought about it first): has the tribute district had any previous winners (we know that the Victor’s district get food rations for a year from the Capitol, that would improve the life quality over the years, allowing the tributes to grow stronger and develop better stamina or agility, than those who don´t have that much food). Careers from district 1 and 2, would have a better background score; followed by district 3 and 4. For the rest of the districts tributes this trait would mostly be zero. While district 12, has had a winner in the past, it was too long ago to have any positive repercussion on this quarter quell tributes.

2. We now assign based on our assessment (aka opinion) how much this attributes will weight on our system. Since we have six attributes, I’m gonna rank them from one to six (one being my lowest ranked and six my highest ranked attribute). (I do not know how to make images smaller here, so enjoy this giant tables)

Consider that you could keep on adding attributes, the more you include, the more realistic it’s gonna get. But it’s also gonna get longer to process the data

3. Now it’s turn to define, what your traits scale is gonna look like. Mine will be zero to five, being zero my lowest score and five the highest score a tribute could get.

4. We already have a system, let’s try it! We’re gonna imagine an ideal tribute and she´s from district one, she get’s the highest score on every category. How would that look like? (I’ve rearranged the traits table by order of weights, because it looks more orderly, but you could left it as it was)

This is where I mentioned in my original reply, you have to multiply the Weight (you assigned to each trait) with the Score (the tribute got in their previous assessments), to get what we’re gonna call Skill Score of each tribute.

So your ideal tribute would get under our system, a score of 105 Skills points maximum.

5. That is the highest score any tribute could ever get on THIS system. What we now have to do is make all of the tributes to undergo this system. Let’s look at a few of their scores:

First we have Percy, from district 4, he scored

We also have Grover, lovely fella from district 11

Lastly, let’s look at Bianca’s, she’s from district 12, and she didn’t do well on the evaluations.

6. Let’s consider we have 12 tributes, we already made them go through our system, and we have their skills score as shown in this table.

What we now need is to addition the tributes skills score, to get a total of possibilities. Let’s me explain on different terms. Let’s say that we are playing a dart game with this tributtes and they are going to be hitting a dart card on the wall. But here’s the catch, we’re not gonna give equal amounts of darts to the tributes, because we already assessed them and we know some of them don’t have good chances of ever hitting the dart cart, so why waste darts on them?. We have bought 673 darts, and we split them according to the chances of the tributes hitting the dart card.

Clearly those who get more darts, are gonna have better chances of hitting the dart card on the center. So the 673 darts are the total amount (aka 100%), so if someone was given the 673 darts, the probability of that person hitting the center is 100%. But which is exactly the percentage a particular tribute has of hitting the center? considering they’re not receiving the same amount of darts? Let’s find out.

7. We’re translating the table data to percentages that represent their probability of surviving among the other eleven tributes.

8. How do we do it? you say, Im glad you asked:

We’re gonna divide the Skill score of each tribute between the Collective Skills Score (the addition of the point of every tribute, aka the 673 point, that’s our total skills score). And to turn it into a percentage, we’re gonna multiply it (for “many times”) a hundred. Let’s take Astrid for example

Astrid

(Skill Score/Collective Skills Score) x 100 = Survival Odds

(95 / 673) x 100 = Survival Odds

14.12% = Survival Odds

This are her odds to survive an arena with this amount and particular set of tributes. But she did very good on the evaluations. So what about a tribute who didn’t do so well? Like Hiccup, let’s check:

Hiccup

(Skill Score/Collective Skills Score) x 100 = Survival Odds

(15 / 673) x 100 = Survival Odds

2.23% = Survival Odds

That not great, he has a very slim chance of surviving, so small that it doesn’t really seem possible.

9. We would repeat this process for each of the tributes, and end up with:

10. And that’s it, you now have the odds of each of the twelve tributes surviving. Now obviously if you wanted to make it more realistic, you could bet on the probability of a tribute, let’s say Annabeth, surviving the first, the second and third day. But you will have to add other variables (traits) to the system, like sponsor support, allegiance (and inside this one, the odds of survival of her allies), and even luck, don’t discard it so easily. But yeah somewhere along my explanation, a system was born, feel free to use it, discard it or modify it, and if you have other questions, let me know.

But with this table, a Capitol citizen interested in being a sponsor would look at someone like Hiccup or Bianca, and consider them dead with those chances. But that same sponsor would look at Annabeth, Astrid and Percy's scores and decide that they are a better bet, and donate more money to them.

Wyatt fans that understand betting help me out here. In *very* simple terms, how does one calculate reaping and Games odds like Wyatt does in SOTR?

(It's for a fic. I can write. I cannot maths. Send help.)

[red-flight]

"Flirt with them?" Thera turned to look at the woman standing beside her, then threw a glance over her shoulder as if to make sure they were talking about the same bunch of pilots as she thought; specifically, the ones arguing over a 'friendly' hand of Sabacc just across the room. "Why would I want to do that?"

She waited a beat, just long enough for the stranger to um, er and start to struggle for words, before rushing on.

"Are you objectifying my friends - ?" Her voice rose, and she quietly reveled in the extra little crumb of chaos that stirred, "How dare - !"

Too late. The unfortunate female who had offered the unprompted advice was fleeing to the other end of the bar, leaving Thera to cheerfully pick up the drinks and head back to the table before anyone threw a punch.

She would probably feel guilty about it later.

With the way the sabacc pot had been growing, it wasn't any wonder that the pilots were arguing over technicalities (and possible cheating). A couple of beings around the table still looked up when they heard one voice rising up above the background din, but one party in Thera's argument was sent packing and so they smiled and laughed and elbowed each other before returning to their own disagreement.

Tycho had no part in the card game or interest in its outcome beyond mild amusement, so he was the first to look up and offer Thera a smile when she rejoined them. "I think you scared her." He said with a laugh and taking one of the ales she'd brought back, "What was that even about?"

Across the table, the argument had finally been settled in Hobbie's favor and he began raking in the credits and assorted odds and ends that wound up in the pot. Now that his continued reign at the table was secured he tuned back in as well, "What was what about?"

Wes popped up on her other side, having decided he'd lost enough for the night. "We missed you." Hobbie rolled his eyes and Wes continued, "I missed you, you gotta win all our credits back for us, what could possibly be more important than that?"

Tycho and Wedge pushed Wes back down into a chair, "If you stopped talking maybe Thera could get a word in. You'd also start winning if you watched the cards more than you talked tonight."

[wagerhome-blog]

A Bettor’s Guide to the College Football Playoff

With the College Football Playoff going to 12 teams next year, we’ll never see another unbeaten conference champion like Florida State get passed over for a one-loss Alabama. But if anyone thinks there won’t be controversy involving the 11th, 12th, and 13th best teams in the country, I have a bridge to sell you. There will always be controversy in a sport that uses polls. But we are getting closer to making sure the best team in college football is always given an opportunity to compete for the National Championship, and this year we have succeeded.

Odds to Win College Football Playoff and National Championship

- Michigan (+185) - Alabama (+200) - Texas (+260) - Washington (+750) This year the committee had no room for second place finishers. Georgia, after an entire season of sitting at No. 1, is out after losing to Alabama in the SEC Championship. The Tide rolled through the last half of the regular season and they enter the playoffs as the fourth seed by the committee, but as the second betting favorites in Las Vegas. Texas beat Alabama early in the year, and then they put a loss to Oklahoma in the rearview mirror by cruising to an easy Big 12 title. The Longhorns closed out the season with a 50-point win over Texas Tech to get into the Big 12 Championship Game, then they beat Oklahoma State by 28 to claim their fourth conference championship. Washington finished the season undefeated and beat Oregon twice on its way to winning its final Pac-12 title. Next year, along with Oregon, USC, and UCLA, the Huskies move to the Big Ten. Before the Huskies begin their quest to win the school’s first National Championship since 1991, quarterback Michel Penix Jr. hopes to win Washington’s first ever Heisman Trophy this weekend in New York. For Michigan, three straight wins over Ohio State and three straight Big Ten titles are no longer enough. To complete the resume of this era of Wolverine football they must finish the season as National Champions. They are the betting favorite, and they are the most experienced. They are the only team returning from last year’s group of four.

Semifinal Matchups

- No. 4 Alabama vs. No. 1 Michigan (-1.5) - No. 3 Texas (-4.5) vs. No. 2 Washington Beginning our New Year’s Day of top college football will be Alabama and Michigan in the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. The Wolverines are favored in that one by just 1.5 points.  Following the conclusion of the Rose Bowl, Texas and Washington will kick off in the Sugar Bowl in New Orleans. Texas is 4.5-point favorites.

Pay Per Head Software

These four teams will play just three of the 41 college football bowls that are on tap this month. Plus we have the end of the NFL regular season, NBA, college basketball, and the NHL. So many sports, so little time, unless as an independent bookmaker you also have a pay per head software partner like WagerHome.com. With WagerHome you get a fully customizable website, access to WagerHome’s huge menu of sports and betting options, plus EZ Live betting. See a demo at WagerHome.com. Read the full article

[impishsensei]

@cvrseduser asked: five times worried / five times noticed five times drabble prompts ┆ no longer accepting

i.

the  first  time  satoru  expects  something  might  be  bugging  suguru  is  this  somewhat  sluggish  way  he  carries  himself  in  class.  between  the  three  of  them,  suguru  was  always  the  best  academic  wise.  while  satoru  was  smart,  he  was  always  lazy  about  doing  his  work  as  he  deemed  it  below  him.  shoko  was  a  bit  of  a  lazy  worker  too.  suguru,  however,  was  yaga's  favored  student  because  he  seemed  to  put  in  an  actual  effort  into  their  studies  outside  of  jujutsu.  satoru  noticed  his  friend  didn't  interject  or  ask  questions  as  much  anymore...  thus  leading  to  himself  and  shoko  getting  picked  on  more  to  answer  stuff.   

❝ what,  have  you finally  met  your  match  in  our  studies,  suguru? ❞  satoru  asks,  spinning  a  pencil  between  his  fingers  as  he  tries  to  read  this  stupid  passage  in  his  textbook  for  the  billionth  time. 

❛ huh? ❜  suguru  sounds  so  confused  that  satoru  has  to  wonder  if  he's  even  checked-in  mentally.

❝ you  don't  raise  your  hand  as  much  as  last  semester.  did  you  finally  realize  how  uncool  it  is  to  be  the  teacher's  pet? ❞  satoru  asks  with  a  playful  grin,  bumping  his  shoulder  against  his  best  friend's.  he  worries  for  a  moment  he's  hit   a  sore  spot  because  suguru  doesn't  seem  to  laugh  at  that.  his  response  is  kind  of  weird,  actually,  as  he  mutters  a  quick  ❛ oh.  yeah,  i  guess, ❜  and  it  leaves  an  odd  taste  in  satoru's  mouth  as  an  awkward  silence  fills  the  air.

ii.

while  suguru  was  never  the  greatest  texter,  insisting  to  satoru  he  preferred  talking  on  the  phone  or  just  hanging  out  in-person,  as  satoru  scrolls  through  their  text  history  he  notices  that  a  lot  of  suguru's  responses  are  to  the  point.  even  when  satoru  attempts  to  prod  and  poke  at  him  with  memes  and  jokes,  he  gets  a  lot  of  single  word  responses  or  thumbs  up  emojis.  he  assures  himself  that  it  doesn't  really  matter  since  they  hang  out  all  the  time  in  person,  and  suguru's  just  dry  with  texting.  they  have   exams  coming  soon.  yeah,  maybe  that's  it.

iii.

between  classes,  assignments,  and  missions,  satoru  tries  to  rationalize  to  himself  that's  what's  keeping  suguru  busy.  surely  he's  not  growing  apart  from  his  best  friend,  right?  his  first  real  friend...  there's  just  no  way.  satoru  can't  accept  that.  at  the  same  time,  though,  the  way  suguru  seems  to  avoid  hanging  out  leaves  satoru  with  a  heavy  heart.  it's  been  months  since  the  three  of  them  went  out  on  the  town  together,  and  he  can't  recall  the  last  time  either  he  or  suguru  stayed  in  the  other's  dorm,  side  by  side  as  they  played  video  games  all  night. 

he  eventually  reaches  a  conclusion,  but  it's  unfortuantely  the  wrong  one.

❝ suguru,  do  you  have  a  secret  girlfriend  you  haven't  told  me  and  shoko  about? ❞  satoru  asks,  accusatory.  on  one  hand  he'd  be  happy  for  his  friend,  but  on  the other  he'd  be  upset.  he'd  never  pegged  suguru  as  the  type  to  forget  about  his  friends  when  he  enters  a  relationship.  honestly,  he'd  be  disappointed  that  suguru  wouldn't  even  tell  him  about  it.  for  a  plethora  of  reasons,  he  hopes  his  guess  is  wrong.  he'd  have  to  re-evaluate  everything  if  it  wasn't. 

❛ what?  no.  where'd  you get that from? ❜   

❝ you're  always  busy, ❞  satoru  pouts,  plain  and  simple.  ❝ you  never  have  time  for  me us  anymore. ❞ 

i  miss  you.

❛ there's  just... a  lot  on  my  plate.  we  can  go  to  the  movies  if  you want? ❜ 

they  go,  and  it's  a  small  win,  but  satoru  doesn't  feel  satisfied.  it's  like  they  only  just  placed  a  momentary  band-aid  on  a  deep  gash.

iv. 

in  an  increasingly  rare  moment  spent  between  the  three  of  them  (  brought  about  primarily  due  to  satoru's  insistent  pestering  ),  shoko  and  suguru  help  satoru  test  how  far  he's  come  in  developing  his  abilities  even  further.  despite  suguru's  baggy  uniform,  though,  satoru  thinks  it  looks  a  little  too  big  on  him.  shouldn't  he  be  filling  it  out  more  since  they're  growing  teens?

❝ suguru,  did  you  lose  weight?  are  you  okay? ❞  satoru  asks,  eyes  wide  with  concern  for  his  best  friend.  he's  determined  to  figure  things  out,  but  suguru  makes  it  so  damn  hard.  like  always,  though,  suguru  shuts  it  down.

❛ it's  just  the  summer  stress.  i'm  fine. ❜

satoru  and  shoko  exchange  looks,  but  neither  press it  further.  their  friend  will  come  to  them  when  he's  ready.

v. 

❝ suguru,  no  offense,  but  you  look  like  a  damn  vampire.  you  need  sleep.  i  can  tell  yaga-sensei  i'll  go  on  the  mission  to  the  village  for  you  instead  — ❞

❛ i  don't  need  you  to  handle  my  missions  for  me,  satoru.  i've  got  it. ❜

❝ but  you  look  exhausted!  it  could  be  dangerous!  if  not  that,  then  let  me  tell him  to  send  me  with  you! ❞  he  offers,  and  that  seems  to  set  suguru  off  even  more. 

❛ you're  so  arrogant.  just  because  you're  the  strongest  now  doesn't  mean  i  need  you  to  hold  my  hand.  i  told  you i'm fine  —  i'm  leaving. ❜ 

suguru's  words  sting  and  satoru  frowns,  hands  dropping  to  his  sides  in  defeat.  something's  wrong,  and  the  gap  between  them  already  seems  insurmountably  wide.  it's  as  if  satoru's  on  the  other  side  of  his  infinity  for  once,  and  no  matter  what  he  does  or  says,  he  can't  reach  his  best  friend.  is  this  the  trade  off?  he  doesn't  want  it. 

❝ just...  call  me  when  it's  done,  alright? ❞  satoru  calls  out  to  his  retreating  form,  and  suguru  waves  in  what  satoru  assumes  is  affirmation.

suguru  never  calls.