#* you listen to others’ pleas ( meme )

[zhongrin]

look at me with love tears in your eyes

◇ characters ◇ zhongli

◇ tags ◇ minors dni, yandere, unhealthy & toxic relationship, dependency, dacryphilia, zhongli with a sadistic streak, overstimulation, dragon!li

◇ a/n ◇ my brain hatched this soft-but-sadistic yan!zhongli so excuse me while i just.... *dumps this idea to you*

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli loves it when you obediently listen to him, looking up with silent affection and all your attention. your ears focused on his smooth voice, your eyes reflecting his visage, your lips curling in a contented smile; all of your senses being filled with him, and only him.

zhongli loves it when you seek him out specifically for help. it can be the most mundane of tasks, like asking him to get an item stored in a place you can't reach. it could be a simple request like asking him to get some groceries (he'll sneakily put your favorite snacks in there too), or a complicated one like picking a set of clothes that suits you better (he thinks you look good in everything; because how could you not?). and he knows the silent requests, the unspoken plea of help when you gruffly complain into his chest as you tell him how you had the worst day in your life (it's okay. he'll make your day better. and he'll make sure that those who made it a bad day in the first place buried a thousand feet under the ground).

but zhongli loves it most when you cry.

there's just something about your tears. about the overflow of emotions in your eyes and the way they glisten against your skin.

zhongli loves it when you cry out of sadness. so vulnerable and pitiful, choked sobs and broken breaths. all broken and cracked, with him being the only string that holds you up from completely falling and shattering against dark concrete. all it takes is one push and you would be at his mercy. all it takes is a few comforting words and you'd nuzzle against him lovingly. he can make or break you and he knows it. you're quite lucky he has no desire to do the latter.

zhongli loves it when you cry out of joy. sometimes they're accompanied by a peal of wheezing laughter, other times they're a symphony of giggles and soft choked sobs. it's adorable. it's endearing. knowing that he made you so happy to the point of crying... love bleeds from his heart and covers his whole being and so who can blame him for smothering you in it?

zhongli loves it when you cry out of overstimulation. trembling hands trying to dig and push him away as he insists that you take more of him. more more more moremoremoremore. all your senses, all of your body and soul, all your heart - they belong to him and he'll make sure he takes a good care of you. so fall into this little heaven he creates for you and never try to look for your way out.

because when you make a deal with a drago̵̼͂n, there's no escape - not even in death.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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[doki-doki-imagines]

Lin keui trio + johnny cage and kung lao with a rockstar reader who uses their guitar as a weapon

Bi-Han: -Keep the guitar as fas as possible from his ears. -Years of learning stealth and now he had a partner that fucks everything up. -He won't calmly tell you to quiet down, he'll shout it like the seagull meme. -After all you should know Bi-Han has the same amount of patience of a starving lion when a big piece of meat is in front of its eyes… -You took already so many steps forward in your relationship, being ready to deal with your popularity and all of that, pls don't tug the chain too much. -Going on separate missions isn't a tragedy.

Kuai Liang: -Another stealth ninja that doesn't appreciate your weapon really much. -He just holds both his hands on his lips and sighs "Stay quiet." -Liang is really happy of your success and you are able to keep him out paparazzi and all of that so he doesn't mind your job. -Not a fan of rock music but he finds you super talented. -But pls don't go on a mission with him, he already sucks at stealth he won't improve with you.

Tomas Vrbada: -"You are so cool!! Your guitar is awesome! But you look better with it, you know, at home-" -I know I'm repetitive, but a noisy weapon paired with ninjas don't work well, one of you will end up damaged by this pair-up. -Tomas asked for a soundproof room and Liang accepted his request. -Not before glaring at him, thinking that the request was for other reasons, and not because Tomas wants to listen to your music at the highest volume his eardrums can suffer. -It's good also for the other reasons, don't worry.

Johnny Cage: -What a couple, when you go outside you are followed by hordes of paparazzi. -Johnny loves fighting with you! Use your guitar, smash their eardrums. -You also make a soundtrack for his moves and final hits; Johnny is living his "mc" dream. -He absolutely doesn't mind you being a rockstar, he also is a celebrity after all. -Gonna throw you his brief during a concert because if you have a billion fan he is one of them, if you have 1 fan he is the one, if…

Kung Lao: -That's absolutely cool and he wants you to teach him how to play guitar. -You can hear the pleas of Raiden "Wu Shi Academy requires peace and quiet, pls at times just Lao is too much don't give him THAT much power, pls-" -You teach him after all, because Lao refined his persuading techniques, but he can play only when you are there! For the peace of Raiden's heart. -He's gonna ask if he can become a member of your band and travel together; learn how to change topic as fast as possible.

[aesthetic-gamersnail]

What happened in the first family counseling session of the brothers (it contains a spoiler from Trolls 3 since it is based on the movie, so be warned)

Edit: Originates from the meme I made to this topic. Enjoy :)

Therapist: So, at the beginning I always like to begin with the question: why are you here?

The brothers are sitting on a couch in a nicely dimmed room which has green paint on the walls. The therapist sits across them in his armchair, between him and them a coffee table with a vase of fresh flowers, a cup full of pencils, a neat stack of papers and - what immediately catches Clay's eyes - a burning scented candle. (The order in which the brothers sit on the couch from left to right: Branch, Clay, Spruce, Floyd, John)

All: ...

John: Honestly, I think there is no reason for why we are here.

Bruce: And I think, that you are probably one of the main reasons why we are here. And you probably need it the most.

John: I'm sorry, but I think the real reason we are here is because our little brother's lady forced him to do it.

Branch: WHAT? *he whipped his head around* She didn't force me to do it, she recommended it to me and I took her advice because you know what? I actually CARE about our family and I think we could do a lot better.

John: Do you want to say that I don't care about this family?

Floyd: Guys, guys, please, calm down.

Branch: Geez, John, I don't know, did not really get the vibes when you said we would go our separate ways after we saved Floyd.

John: Are you still bent down on this? Look, I'm sorry that I said that but things are different now, right? We are together now, so why are still hung up on the past?

Branch: Just because something is in the past doesn't mean it doesn't have any effect on me anymore. And besides, it has been, what, two weeks ago? I wouldn't call it the past yet.

John: Potato, tomato. See, this is your problem: you take things way out of proportions and let your emotions control you.

Bruce: Well, at least he shows his emotions and talks about them, in contrast to someone else.

John: Excuse me?

Bruce: You heard me.

Clay, interrupting their talk since he also was not listening to them, asks the therapist: Is the candle not a fire hazard? Is this even allowed in such an establishment?

Floyd: Guys, please, calm down. We haven't even properly started and we are already fighting with each other. Let's all breathe for just a moment and then resume to talk.

...Silence for a few moments ...

Therapist:....So I see, there is a lot of pent up aggression going on he-

John: NOPE, no! You know what? It has been fun and all but I honestly don't want to be here anymore. So, I'll be taking my leave.

Floyd: John, plea-

John: Floyd, I'm sorry, but I really can't do it. I already know how this whole thing is going to go, therefore, why should I even stick around?

Bruce: Wait, what do you mean by tha-

Branch: Oh, because you know everything, don't you?

John slowly getting irritated with this situation, suddenly stands up and says: Listen he- *THUMP* *CRASH*

But he is interrupted by the sound of the coffee table falling to the ground. He stood up too fast and took the coffee table in his momentum with him, which made it rock back and forth, till it finally hit the ground facing the brothers. But with the coffee table, also the vase and the scented candle came to the ground. The vase bursts into many splinters which fly into the air in various directions. One splinter shoots into John's foot.

At the sight of the first drop of blood coming from his foot, John says: Oh my god, hahaha, look at that..

And passes out.

Floyd: OH MY GOD, JOHN, ARE YOU OK?

Bruce: Ohhhhhh, I remember now. He was always afraid of blood, ever since he was a kid. Did not think, it still bothered him.

Floyd: Didn't he live in the wilderness for 20 years? How did he survive?

Branch: oh my god, OH MY GOD!

Branch rolled off screaming from the couch.

While Bruce and Floyd were busy with John, the scented candle rolled it's way to the couch and ignited it.

Clay: AHA, I KNEW IT. *Clay laughs* I knew it would be a fire hazard. You have some explaining to do, mister. *he pointed his finger at the therapist, smiling*

His smile drops.

Clay:...Oh shit.

Branch: HOW DO WE PUT OUT THE FIRE? WHAT IS EVEN HERE TO PUT OUT A FIRE? *running around frantic, looking for something that would help against the fire*

Floyd: Ok, so we have an unconscious body and a fire going on. Just, d-don't FREAK out, Bruce, and stay calm!

Bruce:...I am calm.

Floyd: I SAID STAY CALM!

Clay:...Is not the first step to dealing with building fires 'Inform people in the immediate area to evacuate'? Well, *turns to the therapist* I think you should be the one to leave and warn people, AND also call 911, as we have a *stares at the unconscious John, the anxious Floyd, the confused Bruce and the frantic Branch running around* situation going on.

The therapist, staring at this whole situation in horror:...I honestly don't get paid enough for this. *flees the scene*

[highlordofkrypton]

the bridges we mend, a tamlin x beron x elain fanfiction - chapter 3 update

Read below the cut or on AO3.

SUMMARY: With Beron close behind, Elain recruits the help of a few furry friends and one very large bear-wolf.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In honour of @elainweekofficial's #ElainDay2024, I've updated this fic sooner rather than later! What once started as a silly meme now has an important place in my heart. I love the dynamic this trio brings. There's a 10/10 chance Beron gets kicked in the Autumn jewels again.

The rain continues, a determined accomplice to mask the trail of the pest infiltrating their lands. Human have their lands; it is no fault of the faeries that their lives are finite, boring and full of misery.

As opposed to ours? Where power is transferred through gore and grief?

Beron bares his teeth, snapping at the sympathy in his thoughts. Those who cannot handle the burden of power deserve to be relieved of it. Tamlin will see past this pain; he simply needs to be taught how to divest himself of his pain. Push it onto others, if need be. Anything to ease the weight on his shoulders.

Were he back in his own Court, he would have already set his hounds on her or perhaps his Kindlings who yearn to set anything alight. He does not need to tell them how to burn; he has to stop them from taking the world in a blaze of delicious glory. The fire—it sings to them in a way that only he can understand.

The High Lord kneels in the mud, wicking the sludge. He scents it; he licks it off sharp-tipped fingers. He tastes innocence; he recognizes prey. His focus is renewed, and he begins trailing her to the manor.

She will pay for setting foot in the home of a High Lord.

***

"I think… I think they want you to eat," Elain says softly.

The beast is well enough to lift its head; it had done it when she entered the room, but now, it continues to ignore her. She isn't sure what to do, but the smaller creatures keep looking at her expectantly. Elain had given the large animal a cursory once-over, looking for wounds or injuries, but there are none to be found.

She pours some water into her hand, holding it out to the bear-wolf.

"Please," she asks softly. Elain dares to reach out her hand to the giant creature, and gently caress its head. Whether it intends to or not, it releases a deep sigh, wrenching its eyes shut and leaning into her gentle touch. "They're all worried about you. Just a bit."

The beast opens its emerald eyes to regard her carefully, then lifts its head to lap at what little water is left in her hand. Most of it had slipped though her fingers, but she pours more and it continues to drink while watching her.

Good. It's a start.

Elain breaks off a piece of bread.

"Last thing. Just one bite, and I'm sure everyone will feel better."

Heavens, her sisters would think her a big, stupid fool if they saw her now, trying to befriend a magical creature that could crush her with a single swipe of its paw. They don't know that her compassion transcends her fear; they don't know the way she listens to the world around her. The animals cannot speak, yet she hears their pleas.

Elain holds it out to him—palm open, the same way she would feed a horse its sugar cube. "I don't know what's wrong, but you're not alone, and your friends don't want you to waste away."

Maybe it doesn't like the bread?

"I have fruit, and fish. You have a whole board to choose from," she says softly.

There was a villain on her heels, but there isn't much that she can do about him except run. Perhaps her kindness is selfish, hoping that she could earn this creature's favour. Or perhaps she is not that cunning; she sees someone in need and she cannot stop herself from helping however she can.

Still, she looks at the options and grips the slimy fish. It slips out of her grip, flying to jab the beast in his side. The fox cackles, and the little loris gasps. Only the raccoon moves to help her, picking the fish up in its hand-paws to rub into the wolf-bear's nose.

"Don't," Elain laughs softly. "Don't do that."

The sound of her amusement makes the beast's ear twitch; it had closed its eyes, but it watches her again, curiously.

"Please?" She smiles. "I think he's going to keep doing that until you take the fish away."

It seems to consider the thought, but ultimately remains where it is.

The walls of the manor begin to rumble, and Elain sets the food down. She herds the small animals behind her, turning to face the door. There isn't a weapon in sight, and there is no way she can fool the faerie again with another well-placed kick.

The door bursts into flames, and the fire-faerie steps through. His eyes glow a terrifying golden-orange.

"Get away from him," he snarls.

"Did you do this to him?" Elain asks, grabbing a tray as a makeshift weapon. She hopes she can smack him hard enough to make him go away.

"Did I—Did I do this to him?!" The faerie's voice rises, booming with anger and moving closer towards. "You know nothing, vile little rat. I will have… have…" He stops in his tracks, his gaze going past her then up, up, up…

A shadow looms over Elain, and she instinctively covers her head with the tray. She looks up, one last moment of morbid curiosity. Each paw shakes the floor beneath her as its set down, and she nearly loses her footing.

The beast—he's protecting her?

"Leave her alone," it growls with words.

"You speak? You speak!" She chirps her realization. Oh, this is… bad timing, isn't it? Elain shrinks, still wearing her tray hat and letting the strange beings on this side of the Wall sort themselves out.

"You're taking her side."

"I'm tired, Beron. Enough fighting. There are no sides. Only death." The beast's voice is so… tired. An ache blooms in Elain's heart, wanting to know why he carries so much pain with him. Who died? Is that why he won't eat?

"So, you'll let her run amok in your court? She'll make a mess everything."

The beast glances at the door behind Beron.

"I was moving with urgency to protect you."

"From a human?"

"Perhaps you're too young to remember, but we fought a war against those damned things. Where there is one, there is a swarm and they bite."

The beast sighs, looking down at Elain. He nudges her aside with his nose and swallows up all the food in one bite. He has little interest in Beron's worries; once done, he retreats further back into the room. He curls upon himself, rests his head on his paws and closes his eyes. She asked him to do one last thing and he's done it.

What happens from here on out, so long as it does not end in blood, is not his problem.

"Leave," Beron growls.

"No." Elain stands her ground, and she holds up her tray, ready to swing at a moment's notice.

"You think that's going to stop me?"

The large raccoon chitters and launches a berry and Beron's head. Perhaps Elain was right in choosing kindness. She'll still hit him if he gets close. Again.

[nanuk-the-bat]

Because I’m a sap, #50 for Trench/Darling for the kiss meme?

This was supposed to be sweet but then I listened to a couple of Trench’s hotline calls and this happened instead…

The locker room is empty at this hour. Mirroring his own gaze, his eyes won’t fully focus with his thoughts so frantic and disquieting, one picked up to be just as swiftly dropped. His eyes settle somewhere near the memory of a younger field agent, working a case, trekking across the Bible Belt in pursuit of another false lead. The flashes of years gone by. Wasted. Steel frames cover the cracks of time, the ravines time has carved into an older man’s flesh. The hollowness of his eyes drift to the greying hairs of his chin.

The universe keeps expanding. He never could keep up with it alone; he was always going to fall apart. They all fall apart in the end.

Fatigue hangs heavy on his eyelids. His tinnitus spikes until the roar of the ringing between his ears dies to a crackle, to a more familiar static hum ever present in the background of his thoughts, like a starving fireplace. Eating at his sanity. The Director has no time for weakness, so he splashes the trickle of red from his nose, his lips, and focuses on the tasks ahead, the Board’s demands, their garbled voices unpolluted by outside interference.

His management team needs him. A Director is never truly off the clock, so he will carry on.

He heaves his body back into the darkness of his suit jacket. The bruises of duty, the cracks of weakness hidden beneath. As his fastening fingers reach the topmost button of his collar, the locker room door creaks open.

The softness of Darling’s voice pokes through. Trench doesn’t have it in him to apologize. They stopped apologizing long ago, but something in Darling’s tone tells him that his Head of Research isn’t looking for a fight today.

A glance of acknowledgment, permission, an unspoken plea, they haven’t touched in years but in the span of a weary heartbeat, Darling’s arms are bracing him once more. As if they were made to bear him up, to shelter him from the on-coming storm sweeping the Bureau, as if nothing had bled between them to force them apart.

He can’t bear to brush him off.

Darling asked him something, he doesn’t remember, but he must have.

“Yes?”

“Marshall is concerned.”

“Is she now?” Trench’s lips tug up despite himself. “Marshall sent you in after me?”

Darling’s finger nails are digging into his shoulders. Afraid to let go? What’s left?

“Men’s room. I volunteered.” Darling smiles at him, eager and eclipsing for first time in forever before his arms relax to his sides.

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly, they shouldn’t be doing this. Darling can’t be trusted.

“Zach, you can’t keep—“

“I said,” Trench lowers his voice. “I’m fine.”

And for once Darling holds his tongue. Behind his owlish glasses, his glossy brown eyes lack for defiance.

“We will keep to the schedule.” Trench suppresses a cough. He’s still itching for a smoke “Understood?”

“…Yes.”

Darling isn’t standing there for nothing. His mind is always scheming. In pursuit of knowledge or subterfuge.

“Did Marshall need something else?”

“I know we’ve had our differences.” Darling huffs lightly, his thumbs fidgeting as he struggles to find the right words, “but I think I speak for everyone when I say, whatever happens, with all that’s happened, I don’t want to lose you…”

What can he possibly say that hasn’t already been spit?

Darling’s touch against his cheek is an apology in itself. It doesn’t change a damn thing, nor do his lips, so tender in their reprieve cradling his own. But every ache in his body and soul is forgotten for a singular moment. Every other scattered thought silenced in one last taste of love.

He opens his eyes in the absence of touch to words of assurance. To departure. To duty once more.

[clatoera]

Always Remember We're Burned for Better Chapter 19: Always Remember We're Burned for Better

Here we are. The TITULAR chapter. Only two more chapters follow this, one being the epilogue. We are at the end of the war. We have made it. We are just about at the end of this fic. It is absolutely wild we have made it this far together. I finally picked a title for the sequel, so thats cool. This is the longest chapter by far. It is the most important. They have been burned, and now it is time to find that it is for the better.

I have a LOT of emotions in writing this. I never imagined how it would feel to nearly finish the biggest fic i've ever done. And I'm feeling a LOT. Idk. I'm kind of sad about it?

title from The Great War. Also the titular chapter of the fic. Wild.

AO3

Masterpost.

As always, thank you to my friends. For your endless support and listening to me ramble. I literally cannot thank @ohhowwehavefallen enough. @kentwells who has essentially helped me restructure some things in the sequel already that i'm honestly weirdly excited for. @mollywog who was my first ever commenter who continues to read a story about a ship that she isn't even a stan for. @crookedlyniceperson my dear meme maker. @clarascrabarmy my nightshift angel who talked me off a ledge last week. And so so so many more. I am just.. yeah. Feeling a lot about this fic. It's been a crazy crazy ride.

And as we approach the end I just need to say thank you all.

Note: I do not own any of the Mockingjay content in italics, that all belongs to Suzanne Collins.

I'm like. On the verge of tears as I post this.

The banging at the door is incessant and alarming, more frantic than was usual in such a militant district. Compared to the festivities of the night before, with the wedding of Finnick and Annie, such a frantic rapping at the door pulls them from their comfortable position in each other's arms. 

Cato doesn’t really move, shifting his face to bury it in Clove’s neck, pulling her body flush against his even more so than it already was. “Mmm, think they’ll go away if we ignore it?” He murmurs, voice muffled in the mess of hair between his lips and her skin. “Think we’re in trouble for missing breakfast?”

“Seems a bit more urgent than missed scrambled eggs.” Clove mumbles in response, pulling the thin cotton sheet higher up over their shoulders, no intention to greet the stale morning air beyond the warmth of their minimally comfortable bed. The two twin beds pushed together was a FAR cry from the comfort of their home, but they both knew they likely would not be returning to such luxuries for quite some time. She’s about to continue ignoring the banging, content to rest in his arms until something of worth drags them out, when the knocking both deepens in intensity and increases in speed. “For fucks sake,”

The banging does not relent, and Clove is reluctant unbury her face and push herself out from under the weight of Cato’s arm, which falls on the bed behind her hips with a dramatic thump. Her feet hit the floor as she rocks to a sitting position, and the cool underground air prickles the hair of her skin. She ignores the dull ache the cold introduces to her skeleton, the way her shoulders throb just deep to the planes of her skin.  For a moment, she thinks about how this is going to feel in the winter in the mountains of District Two, before she remembers she will likely never step foot back in her District. 

The violent outbreak in District Two eventually did turn towards the side of the rebellion, but not before sides were further divided, largely because of Cato and Clove themselves. Many of the loyalists did hear them, saw them for the children who were born, raised, and sacrificed to the games in their childhood, and took their pleas of reality. There was still a small camp, though, who dove further into their cause, citing Cato and Clove both as traitors to not only their home but their country.  While it had ultimately turned out against the Capitol, the beliefs would remain. IF there was a District Two to return to, would they even be welcome?

 The banging continues to hasten, and Clove actually sighs out loud as she searches for something, namely, Cato’s shirt, from the floor before slipping it over her head and shuffling closer to the door. 

The exact second that she turns the door handle, the heavy metal door comes flying open as if it were made of cardboard and not steel, and Clove is pushed back into the room by the flurry of blonde that comes rushing in.

“They’re gone. Everyone is gone. Katniss, and Finnick, and their whole film crew and everyone is gone and It’s just us and Annie and Johanna and–” comes so fast that the words are nearly imperceivable by their intended audience. 

“Good Morning to you, too, Glimmer.” Cato rolls to his back, now understanding that no, he would not be going back to sleep anytime soon. “Can you breathe between your words so we can understand what you’re saying?”

“You’re pleasant in the morning,” Another unexpected voice follows, as Marvel follows in the room behind Glimmer, rubbing his eyes as his socks shuffle along the cement flooring of the rooms. “I don’t remember you being all grumpy in the games.”

“You look ridiculous.” Cato snaps, before stretching his arms above his head, holding his head in his hands as they rest on the pillow behind him. As result the sheets slip lower, leaving practically his whole torso bared to the room. “Shirtless isn’t for everyone.”

“I was asleep!” He defends mildly, before stifling another yawn. “It’s like..five in the morning, give me a break.”

“Why are you waking us all up at five a.m. Glimmer?” Clove redirects, practically grabbing Glimmer by the shoulders, stabilizing the blubbering, pacing girl. She looks frantic, nearly mad even. “Glimmer! Words!”

“Everyone is gone.” Glimmer grabs Clove’s arms, digging her nails in with a panic. “They’re gone, went to the Capitol gone.”

Clove’s face must fall first, as the realization hits her far faster than it does the men. Her fingers tighten on Glimmer’s arms ,and she shakes her just a little. “This is…it? This is the end and they just…left us? They didn’t even want us to help–”

“Sure did!” Yet another voice enters the room, this time the snarky tone of Johanna sliding into the room behind the other four. “Thanks for waking the whole district Blondie- oh GOOD Morning.” She laughs the second she sees Cato in his sheet on the bed, clapping her hands together once. “We’re the leftovers, but damn, I’ll take it. Speaking of leftovers, Clove if you get sick of-”

“Johanna i’ll still fucking kill you.” Clove warns, a sharp edge in her voice that relays that no, she is not in fact even slightly joking.

“Okay hold on, why would they leave without us, we’re useful.” Marvel argues, crossing his arms across his chest, before he sits himself on the foot edge of the bed,  far from Cato on the other side. 

“How useful are you, really, Marvel?” Johanna taunts, before shutting the heavy metal door behind her, protecting the secrecy of their conversation. “I’m sure they gave Katniss a bow and Finnick a fucking trident, nothing like sending people into an active warzone with symbolic weapons. Did you all fail your readiness tests? I almost made it then they flooded the fucking streets… tried to send me back to the hospital and everything?”

“You can swim, what's that matter?” Cato pulls himself to a sitting position to join the rest of the group more properly. “You’d never have survived the quell otherwise.”

Johanna bristles but goes quiet, suddenly shifting her focus towards a rather interesting spot in the floor, when Marvel speaks for her.

“Back in the Capitol they uh..” He waves his hand around, gesturing something Cato nor Glimmer quite grasp. “With the water and the electricity, they shocked her.”

“Electrocuted.” She corrects, before raising her head to look around the room again. “Not that it matters now. I didn’t pass and clearly neither did any of you–”

“What test do you mean?” Clove cranes her head to look at Johanna, but does not move her hands from where she holds Glimmer’s arms down, noticing the way her wrists twitch to reach for the skin of her own arms. “They didn’t tell us about some test,”

“A field readiness test. To see if you were capable of handling whatever the Capitol threw out?” Johanna now sits on the makeshift king bed, a few feet away from Marvel but no closer to Cato to prevent the risk of Clove taking it as a move on him. “They must have considered all of you too big of a liability to even think about sending you out there.”

“Do they think we’re just..team Snow? After all they’ve done to us, after all we’ve said?” Glimmer shakes her head, disbelief at the lack of trust this cause has for them, after the repeated displays of loyalty they have all given time and time again. “They just think we’re not worth including?”

“I, for one, am fine with not dying in this war. We made it this far, besides, they would have sent us out there like idiots trying to fight a war with swords and knives. A suicide mission, really, if you think about it.” Cato announces, but the disdain on his face reveals to Clove that he’s a little bitter about missing his final chance at violence and bloodshed in the Capitol streets. 

“We’re all dead anyway if Snow wins.” Johanna reminds them all, leaning back in Clove’s bed, stretching her arms out around her. “May as well watch the end of the world from a bunker. Aren’t you all tired of being used as little show ponies by both sides?”

“She fucking hates us, I can’t believe she didn’t want to exterminate us. She looks at us like we’re rats plaguing her district.” Clove says, but the way her eyes flit around the room shows she’s hesitant to even elaborate. 

“Who? Katniss?” Glimmer cocks her head, narrowing her eyes like she wants to defend the symbolic girl herself. 

“No..Coin.” Clove whispers, looking between them all as if she cannot believe they do not immediately agree. “She looks at Katniss like it, too. She doesn’t like us. Any of us.”

“Maybe it looks better for us not to even be there, then to turn for the Capitol and die for them.” Cato suggests, leaning back to prop his head up in his hand while his elbow rests on the pillow once again. 

“She hates us. We might be dead no matter who wins.” Clove warns, and immediately, turns to face the rest of them. “We should get Annie, too. It’s not fair to leave her, especially if Finnick’s already gone.”

“I’ll go grab her.” Johanna volunteers, pushing herself back to stand. “What a wedding night, wonder how that feels to have your brand new husband choose war over you.”

“He might not have had a choice.” Glimmer suggests, knowing all too well how it felt to be a symbol of something against your will. 

Johanna heads towards the door, pausing to look Clove over, pausing to bring attention to her bare thighs and legs that peek out from under Cato’s shirt. “You know, you have nice legs under all that crazy, Clove.”

“Go get Annie, Jo.” Marvel sighs, once again stifling an exhausted yawn  “If we’re going to wait out a war in here, can you two at least put clothes on.”

“Awwww…don’t be jealous you aren’t getting any Marvel.” Cato taunts just as a pillow smacks him in the face. 

——

They are kept in the dark on the status of the battle of the Capitol. 

Perhaps the whole district, the whole world is, but it feels like the six of them are particularly cut off from the reality of the outside world. 

The day itself is very…odd. No other term to describe it than weird, really. There are no overhead announcements of the change of a shift, nor announcement of mealtimes beginning. Maybe they are happening and the group of them are simply unaware, but after hours of, well, nothingness…Cato makes the call that he’s starving and he will be finding something to eat. 

He's on his way back from the kitchen, leftover cake from Peeta’s creation the night before in his hands to serve as their snack, lunch, AND dinner, when he physically collides with Haymitch in the hallway.

The older victor tries to nod and go on his way, but Cato grabs him by the shoulder to stop him from running. 

“Why didn’t they tell us?”

“She didn’t tell me, either, sunshine. Katniss isn’t one to give other people a heads up.”

“That's not what I mean and you know it, Haymitch. After all we did for them, they don’t even want us there when it ends?”

Haymitch gives a hesitant glance around, all too aware that the walls listened for even the lightest whimpers. “Plutarch wanted as many victors there as possible. Coin didn’t want anyone who could be seen as a Capitol loyalist-“

“We’re loyalists? Me and Clove, who literally have no home anymore as a result of this war? Glimmer, who risked it all to expose what they did to her? Marvel? Who doesn't even know what to believe? We’re loyal to Snow?”  The thought is unbelievable to Cato, who has lost his home, his family, and everything but Clove to this war. Have they not given enough to show that they are anything but a threat to this new world. 

“It isn’t me saying it, kid.” He gives another hesitant glance around. “Remember what I'm telling you right now, okay? About how she sees you all.” 

—-

The four of them sit on the still unmade bed, the screen in the room turned on in case of any sudden update that has still yet to come. Johanna had ushered Annie out of the room not terribly long before, after the lack of update had sent her spiraling to something akin to a panic attack. Johanna insisted she just needed to be alone, and that she’d bring her back once she was more stable. 

Clove’s head is on Cato’s thigh as he feeds her bites of the cake, her feet up against Glimmer’s legs where she is curled up under the blankets, head resting on Clove’s pillow. Marvel sits at the foot of the bed, distracted from all but the turquoise buttercream on the cake before him. 

“Shame he’s from twelve, he could’ve made a killing in a bakery in One.” Marvel comments, swiping the left over icing off the plate with his finger, before shoving it in his mouth. “That kid can bake.”

“I’m not sure there's really going to be district divisions left after all this. You can go get some loverboy cupcakes anytime you want.” Clove teases, before accepting another fork full of cake. “If there's even a Peeta left after today.”

“Why would they send him? Isn’t he literally programmed to kill Katniss? Isn't that a liability?” Marvel questions, before full on just digging directly into the entire tier of cake Cato had brought back with him. 

Something clicks for Cato, the words of Haymitch Abernathy combined with months of watching and absorbing the way things go down here. Everything is always intentional. “Maybe that's the point.” 

“You think the point is to kill Katniss?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, but props herself up on her elbows to get a better look at them. “Isn’t her whole point like…to represent the cause?”

“..but maybe she’s more symbolic dead?” Glimmer suggests, following along with what Cato is implying, tucking her blanket over her shoulders before snuggling deeper into the blanket. “...do you think we’re all more symbolic dead?”

“Honestly, I don’t know-” Cato is cut off when the TV actually flashes on for the first time all day, proudly displaying the Capitol seal before one Caesar Flickerman appears in a news anchor-esk desk. 

“For fucks sake, how is Caesar still alive?” Clove groans, but pushes herself to sit beside Cato as the tv calls their attention. 

“He’s the capitol’s favorite cockroach.” Marvel jokes, before he too turns around at the foot of the bed to watch whatever news Caesar brings. 

“They’re alive.” Is the first thing Glimmer whispers, tuned out to the snide remarks on alliances and loyalty from Cesar, as she tunes in directly to seeing FInnick, Katniss, and even Peeta alive. 

As Peeta grabs Katniss to throw her down, and some unidentified member of the squad pulls him off, a silence falls across them all. An uncomfortable silence, one that settles in the air and makes any word feel simply futile.  

“Do you remember the night before the quell?” Marvel finally says, clearing his throat as he does so. There's something in his voice, something between realization and fear, and Glimmer is the first to recognize it. 

“On the rooftop, yeah, why?” She follows up, and nearly reaches forward to grab his shoulder but stops herself, still, even in this end of the world moment, afraid of what he would think. 

“Doesn’t this feel a lot like it?”

—

Two entire days pass without another update. Two turns to Three. Three turns to Four into Five. 

It is five days later when they get their next news on the active battle in the Capitol. Ironically, they are in exactly the same space. Clove leaning with her legs and feet in Cato’s lap, who is sitting up against the wall that serves as the head board on their bed. Her head is across the bed, in Glimmer’s hands where the girl threads intricate braids through the length of her hair giving her something productive to do with her hands. The biggest change is that she now also leans on Marvel, who once again sits cross legged at the foot of the bed. 

“What do you think will happen next?” Glimmer brings up, raking her fingers through the soft waves at the end of Clove’s ever growing hair. “Like..what's next for us?”

“I think the answer is supposed to be live happily ever after, if you ask Annie.” Clove snorts, but stretches her legs against Cato’s torso to get him to pick up her feet. “I honestly haven’t thought about it.”

“You haven’t thought about what happens after this ends?” Marvel questions, leaning back against the metal bar of the bottom of the bed. 

“Why should I? Who knows what's left out there for us? District Two is literally ashes. I’m an actual orphan now, Cato’s probably also a war orphan. We literally probably don’t even have a home left for us.” Clove looks over at Cato, who is just nodding his head in disagreement. “Are we going to have to be drifters?”

“You could always just come stay with us for a while, if we even have standing homes. Otherwise we can all go hide in the mountains of District Two, living out of tents… it’ll be like we’re in the Hunger Games forever.”  Marvel suggests, but his face twists up as soon as the words are out. “Scratch that. Not like the Hunger Games. I don’t want to think about those..honestly? Ever again. But seriously. We may all be living out of tents so–”

“I am not living out of a tent.” Glimmer scoffs, eyes rolling to the back of her head. “After all this, I deserve at least running water. And a maid. And a chef.”

“You don’t need a chef, Clove’s right there and homeless.” Marvel teases, but the concept does bring another pending issue to the front of his mind. “....do you think we’re going to have to get like…jobs?”

“Oh absolutely fucking not.” Cato chimes in, taking Clove’s foot into his hand and digging his thumb into the center of arch of her left foot and for a moment they are seventeen on the train to her games for the first time again. “We won the Hunger Games. Monthly stipends for the rest of our lives, remember? Have we not done enough?”

“They may not care about all that, if there's no games, does it even matter if we won them?” Clove questions, before she tugs her foot back out of his hand as he pressed his finger in, nearly kicking him in the process. “You asshole.”

“I am not getting a job. When I was little my mom used to say I could either marry a victor or be one. And I am one. Working retail in One was just never even on the table for me!” Glimmer sounds nearly scandalized at the suggestion, sitting a little straighter and leaning against her once-boyfriend. “Katniss should add that to her list of concessions. We keep our income.”

“It’s not like there’s going to even be that many victors left.” Cato points out, smirking as he goes for Clove’s other foot, holding her ankle firmly in his hand so she cannot pull away this time. “It’s the least they could do for us.”

They had destroyed their homes. Stripped them of their livelihood as victors. Slaughtered their families and their friends. A monthly stipend was the literal least that the new government could do. 

It’s not like any of them really had employable skills, anyway. 

The television crackles on against any of their will, and the Capitol insignia once again covers the entirety of the room in a bright, blinding light. The familiar anthem of the Capitol plays, and Clove is the first to scoff. 

“I wish Katniss didn’t have dibs, I’d love to get my hands on Snow for this-” Clove starts, but her blood runs cold as soon as she sees what is being displayed behind him. 

It is an image they are all too familiar with. As the anthem plays the holographic pictures of fallen tributes scroll on the screen. This time, though, the tributes are people they know all too well. 

Finnick Odair. Katniss Everdeen. Peeta Mellark. 

“No..no. no. no.” Glimmer shakes her head, disbelief quickly turning to agony as her own breathing speeds up and she falls quickly over the edge of her own emotional distress. 

Nothing, absolutely nothing, is as chilling as the screams of Annie Cresta-Odair that echo through the depths of District Thirteen. 

“They can’t be dead, there's no way they’re all just..gone.” Clove tries, but the evidence is in front of her. Of course there is a way. They are in an active battle ground with literal bows and knives and tridents. They were never intended to come out as victors. 

Glimmer is beside herself, resolved to hyperventilating, body shaking sobs as the broadcast transitions to Snow. 

“We should go to Annie..” Marvel suggests, but as Glimmer physically collapses against him he can’t find it in him to do anything but bring a hand up to her shoulders, as he had done all those years ago during Clove’s games. Johanna is probably with her, if the footsteps running through the hall and the two rapid door slams indicate. 

Snow appears on their screen, and gives some speech about Katniss being a misguided girl.

“...I think we need to have another conversation.” Cato warns, leaning forward to grab Clove and pull her into his lap. “What do we do if Snow wins this?”

“I’m not living in a world with him in control, I can’t I can’t I can’t.” Glimmer cries, further digging herself into her ex-boyfriend's shirt, letting (or rather pleading) him wrap a single arm around her to give her any semblance of comfort. “I can’t go through it again.”

“I’m in no fucking hurry to get back in his hands, I won’t. He took everything from me. He stole who I am. I’m not living in his world.” Clove agreed, noticing the way she herself was also breathing rather heavy as a result of the news. Not to say she was panicking but..she also wasn’t far off. Her heart pounded, raced really, in her chest. After everything..she couldn’t survive in a world with Snow. 

The screen is disrupted when Coin takes over, and gives an empassioned speech about Katniss as well. Her false emotion is obvious to them, who are all too accustomed to her fake niceties. 

“She caused this! She’s the one who sent her in there with Peeta and Finnick and it’s her fault.” Glimmer blames, an arm at her waist the only thing that keeps her from lunging at the television in her rage. Coin is justly the target of her ire, as the loss of Finnick is like feeling the loss of a limb. They were the ones who went through it all together, and she is likely the one of the only ones who remain who have experienced the sexual abuse at the hands of elite capitolites. 

“Lesser of two evils, Glimmer, lesser of two evils.” Marvel tries, but it is no use as Glimmer loses it yet again. 

“Cato’s right.” Clove says, leaning back in his arms. “We need a plan if Snow wins, we can’t get back in their control.”

“What do you suggest, Clove? We hold a Hunger Games down here of the surviving victors? Just take each other out?” Marvel questions, not even slightly considering it. It’s preposterous to him, that they’d just be able to annihilate each other as if they had not gone through an entire war together now. 

“I don’t know if we could do it.” Cato admits, shaking his head just a little as he pulls Clove properly onto his lap. “After all this..yeah we can take ourselves out but could we really kill Annie? Or even you , Glimmer, I'm not sure I'd be able to.”

“I couldn’t kill you.” Clove fully admits, tucking her head against Cato’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist for him by grasping his hands. “I spent my whole life trained to kill you.. And I couldn’t do it. Not now. I couldn’t kill you, Marvel, even though you irritated the hell out of me when I met you. We survived the fucking capitol together. Glimmer… you are the closest thing to a friend I have ever had. I guess that makes you my best friend, doesn’t it? You have taken care of me for months down here. I can’t kill you. And God, Cato, you’re the love of my life. After all this shit, there's no chance in the world I’d be able to kill you so easily anymore. I don’t know what comes next if Snow wins…but come on. We can’t throw it all in so easily. We’re probably the only Career Victors left. We can’t give it up so easily.”

—

The war ends three days later. Formally, at least. 

 The television refuses to shut off, with mandatory viewing of evacuations and all cameras focused on the president's mansion an endless background noise.

Clove is laying on top of Cato, face tucked into his neck as he runs his hands over the small of her back absently. There has been a tension in the air ever since the conversation of the end of the world under Snow, and they had spent the majority of what could be their last days on earth alone with each other. 

Go out with a bang, right?

Go out with a bang, quite literally, when the mandatory viewing of evacuations turns into a mass civilian bombing by the Capitol. Or more specifically a mass bombing of the capitol children. 

“It’s like their own Hunger Games. Just..mass murder of kids.” Clove remarks from her place on his chest, tucking her chin against his sternum so she can look up at him. “Feels funny to see the games that way.”

A second bomb wipes out the camera footage as the bomb wipes out thousands more. 

Neither think much of it. They had been broadcasting the mass deaths of peacekeepers and rebels alike for days. What is one more bombing, what are thousands more added to the death count. 

It is not until an hour or so later, long after the broadcast has cut out, that a banging resumes on their door as it had days prior. 

This person, though, does not wait for the door to be opened, and instead keys in a code from the outside that flings it open. 

On the other side of the door is Haymitch Abernathy, a beanie on his head and a smile on his face for the first time maybe ever. 

“It’s over!” He announced from the door frame, hand still grasping the handle. “It’s over.”

Clove raises her head first, and Cato’s face whips around to face the door. It is Cato’s turn to break into the ghost of a smile as he waits to confirm what Haymitch is saying. There’s no way the man had broken in that enthused if Snow had won, right.

“We won?” Cato calls out, grasping Clove’s hip under the blanket so intensely that it was sure to leave bruises behind. 

“We won.” Haymitch narrows his eyes at the two of them, gesturing to the sheets that covered them. “If you two will disconnect from one another and get dressed, they’re going to fly us all out for the big execution of Snow.”

“...we’re invited?” Clove snarks, raising a dark eyebrow, but unable to stop the smile that is threatening to creep across her face. “What’s the occasion?”

“The war is over, kid. Everyone’s going.” Haymitch winks at them, and for the first time maybe ever, Clove recognizes him as another victor like herself. And maybe, just maybe, he sees them for that too. 

The door shuts on them both as Haymitch hits Glimmer’s room next, as evidenced by the shriek they can hear through the wall at the announcement. 

The reaction of Glimmer, or Marvel, or Annie, Or Johanna doesn't matter, not right now. 

Not when Cato grabs Clove’s face in his hands, and pulls her up so that they are only inches apart, his thumbs brushing across the freckles that dance over her cheeks like constellations. 

It is better than winning any fight, better than the night before any Hunger Games. 

“It’s over.” Clove whispers, her own hands coming up to rest along his jaw, her thumb stroking over his cheek. “We won.”

“It’s over.” Cato agrees, the smile fully breaking out on his face now. They won. And if they have nothing else in the world..they have each other. 

He pulls her face down to crash their lips together, and if he can taste the saltiness of tears he is kind enough not to mention it. 

Seconds, Minutes, who knows how long passes before Clove forces herself to pull back just a little, just enough to catch her breath. Their noses still brush, foreheads still together, when she finally, finally lets out a sigh. 

“We survived a war, Cato.”

“We always survive, babe. We always do.”

—

 The flight to the Capitol is unlike any train ride or victory tour ever felt. It’s a moment of victory all its own, yes. 

And yet, there is the feeling of unfinished business in the air. A war that is over but not quite. 

It is also the longest a journey to the Capitol has ever taken, a far cry from the quick train rides from Two. 

“Everything is going to change.” Clove warns Cato, sitting in their own little corner of the hovercraft. 

“Maybe it’s for the better.” Cato suggests, lacing his fingers with hers as he crosses his ankles out in front of him. It was strangely reminiscent, sitting side by side like this, of being kids on their lunch break at training. Their entire lives have centered around anchoring the other, really.  He nods in the direction diagonal from them, where caddy-cornered to them sit Marvel and Glimmer, in a position not at all unlike their own. They watch as Glimmer rests her head on Marvel’s shoulder and how he smiles down at her like she’s the source of all the light in the room.  “Maybe it’s for the better.” 

—

The first person they see upon landing is Effie Trinket who is back in her head to toe over the top regalia. Well. Some things change and some things do not. 

“Welcome, Welcome!” She greets, a megawatt smile plastered across her pale painted skin. Even in her Captiol attire she is still not quite as outlandish as she had once been. There is a wig and heavy makeup, yes, but it is not at the level that an escort would have once been. 

She had likely been brought out earlier, with Coin and Plutarch and other military stars. Still. It was nice to see a familiar face, with all the loss they were about to face. 

“If you will all follow me, we have thrown together a little prep team of sorts! To get you all presentable for the execution. It’s a big day!” Effie leads them into the president's mansion, and Clove straightens as she is reminded of all the torment she faced in these very rooms. Cato notices– of course he does, they are truly two halves of the same soul– and instinctively wraps his hands around her just a little tighter.

“The other surviving victors are slowly coming in, there's not many left but!” Effie starts and it is the immediate scream of Annie Cresta that draws all their attention.

“Finnick!” 

“Annie!”

Clove and Cato turn around just in time to see the two of them collide, when Annie wraps all her limbs around his shoulders and hips, as he holds her as if she weighs nothing. 

“I thought he was dead.” Clove whispers, disbelief and even joy laced in her tone as she addresses the district twelve escort. “And Katniss and Peeta–”

“That's what they had us all thinking! But no! Katniss and Peeta, they’re alive as well. Katniss’s poor little sister, though, it’s truly tragic.” Effie puts a hand over her heart to show sympathy, but continues to lead them down the hall where various groups are being reunited. 

“Prim is dead?” Cato pauses, and quite literally stops walking in his tracks. “How was she even involved in the war to begin, she's a kid–”

“The bombing. At the end. She was there as a medic.” Effie explains, though the tone in her voice indicates that something is, once again, being left unsaid. Something didn’t fit. 

Cato and Clove share a look, one that speaks their agreement, that something is off and they need to discuss what exactly it is. 

They pass yet another door and a flurry of blonde and sparkle catches Clove off guard. Her eyes go wide, and she nearly says her name, before a manicured finger comes to shush her. 

“It’s a surprise.” Mouths Cashmere, where she stands side by side with her brother Gloss just beyond the door. Glimmer had clearly not seen them yet, but the shining smiles on their twin faces revealed to Clove they were all too excited to be reunited with their baby sister.

Clove felt the sinking feeling in her stomach, at the realization that there is no one waiting to be reunited with her. 

Cato must feel it too, as he realizes that he likely lost his sister just like Katniss. He did not have a little sister any more to excitedly await the reunion of. 

“Perfect! The District Two Room!” Effie announces, and leaves them at the door. “You two will be prepped soon. Enjoy the meantime!”

Effie cracks the door for them, and gives them each a knowing smile before she heads off in the general direction of what they can only assume is District Twelve preparations for Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch. 

Cato takes the lead on pushing the door open with his fingers, and god is he glad he did when he feels Clove practically sink like jello in his arms beside him. He feels her before he hears her little gasp, and Cato is looking at her, missing exactly what stands beyond the door frame that is bringing his girl down. Clove, though, couldn't miss it if she tried. 

“Well you two have looked better.” The cocky voice comes from just beyond the door frame, and Cato feels Clove’s hand slip from his just as he finally looks up to see who waits for them. 

Brutus and Enobaria. 

Their lifelong mentors. 

“Enobaria.” Clove whispers, before she is moving as fast as her legs can carry her to cross the couple of steps between them. Immediately, she throws her arms around the woman’s shoulders, clinging to her as she did seventeen years ago when she was the only person in the world to find her worth comforting. And like she had seventeen years prior, Enobaria pulls her close, her hair finding the back of her head as it had so so many times in her childhood. 

She is not just her mentor, no. This is the woman who raised her. This is who made her into a victor. It only took a war to see that.

“You’re alive.” Clove cries against her, as she buries her face against her shoulder. “You weren’t in Two, I thought you were dead.”

“Oh, we were there.” Enobaria promises, pulling Clove’s head back so that she can wipe at the tears under her eyes. 

“You should have seen her, the day that interview with Peeta aired. I heard you in the background, and in no more than thirty seconds she was in my living room demanding we get involved.” Brutus admits, holding out his arms and scooping up the tiny girl, for the first time in her entire life showing Clove any semblance of appreciation and affection. “You had half a district coming together in your defense, kid. All led by Enobaria.” 

He sets her back down, and no sooner do her feet hit the ground before Enobaria is back to hugging her. 

“I am so so so proud of you. Both of you.” Enobaria promises, running her hand over the crown of Clove’s hair, pushing all the curled fly aways back from her eyes. 

“I hate to say it and pad your already unmanageable ego, Cato, but I am too.” Brutus admits, running a hand over Cato’s head to ruffle his hair playfully. “I can’t believe you two joined a fucking war against the capitol.”

“We can’t either.” Cato admitted, brushing his fingers through his hair to settle the now fluffed blonde atop his head. “We didn’t really have a choice.”

“It was for the best, though.” Clove points out, practically hanging her arms around Enobaria’s shoulders as if she were still the little girl all those years ago. She can see the way Cato’s jaw is tightened, the way he is holding back a comment or remark of some sort. 

“Do you know anything about Cato’s family?” Clove asks for him, eyes flitting between Brutus and Enobaria for any trace of an answer. “His sister..”

“We don’t.” Brutus admits with a disgraced shake of his head. “We were so deep on the other side of the district.. We don’t know much about anyone. But we do know that we’ve never heard them in the counts of the dead.”

Cato just gives a single nod of his head, looking to the ground so as to not show disappointment. This was something. They had someone left alive. 

Clove lets go of Enobaria, immediately going to lace her hand with Cato’s, wrapping her other arm around his back before resting against him. It was always a comfort to him, just to touch her. 

“I’m sorry, Cato.” Enobaria frowns, reaching out to gently touch his upper arm in comfort. “Victor’s Village is still standing. That's about it. But it's still there, and I think it’ll be livable within a few months. At least I hope. I’m going to One until it’s finished.” She gestures to Brutus with a nod of her head. “Are you coming?” 

“I’ll go wherever I can get a Clove Kentwell breakfast. You know. The pancakes. With the chocolate chips.” 

They unpack the rest of the realities of District Two while the prep team comes and dresses Cato and Clove. 

Clove and Enobaria are dressed nearly identical, all black trench coats and slicked back hair. The difference relies in the bubbles down the length of Clove’s ever growing dark hair, versus the sleek straightened length of Enobaria’s. 

Cato leaves Clove’s side only for the sake of being whisked off to get dressed himself, and by God Clove just about undoes all the hard work of the stylists the minute she sees him in that all black ensemble. The black button down is unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“You know, for all I hate this whole capitol thing, they always did make you look good.” Clove grins, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his hips. 

“I did not miss seeing this.” Enobaria mumbles, tossing Cato’s black wool coat on top of Clove despite the appalled yelps from the stylists over Clove’s hair. “Can’t you two save this for literally any other time.” 

Cato smirks, wrapping his arms around Clove’s hips before turning her in his arms so they both faced their mentors. “Oh you are going to fucking hate the bitch in charge of this new country, Baria.”

—

Cato is not wrong. 

While they are all led into a conference style room, the looks of thinly veiled disdain are not hidden on Coin’s face.  

She has since cut her hair, but that is about the only new thing about a leader in what was once Snow’s conference space. Different sides of the same coin, and all that.

This is all that remains of a pool of what was fifty nine victors prior to the quell. Fourteen of them. 

Glimmer waves at them excitedly from where she is nestled between her siblings, and Finnick shoots them a million dollar smile from where he holds Annie’s hand atop the table. 

Katniss looks cold behind her eyes, but nobody can say they are surprised. Katniss Everdeen went to the games and led a war for the safety of her baby sister, just to come out on the other side without her. Primrose Everdeen would never see the safety of the new world her sister had created just for her. 

“We’re sorry for your loss, Katniss.” Annie offers in a soft voice, rubbing her hand atop Finnick’s hand. “Both of them.”

“Thank you.” Katniss said politely, but her gaze is trained on Alma Coin. 

“Both of them..?” Cato whispers to Finnick, who sits at his right.

“Prim and Gale. He got dragged off right before the second bomb. He was shot right before it ended.” 

Cato nor Clove offer condolences for that loss. 

“I have invited you all here for several reasons…but first i’d like to announce myself as the interim president of panem.” Coin starts, calling the meeting to a start without bothering to announce she is doing so. 

Cato is the first to shoot her a look of disbelief, followed by Clove and Haymitch.

“How long exactly is that?” Haymitch questions, echoing the confusion of every victor in the room. 

“The people will vote when the time is right. I’ve called you here for a much more important vote.” 

President Coin goes on about the execution of Snow to occur that afternoon, followed by an explanation of the trial of every peacekeeper, official, and capitol elite who was responsible for the war atrocities they had all faced. She targets Glimmer and Finnick with reminders of the abuse of the victors, and directs commentary on loss of life to Katniss. 

“An alternative plan. A majority for can approve it. Noone may abstain. In lieu of these barbaric executions we hold a symbolic Hunger Games”

“You want to hold a Hunger Games, with the Capitol Children?” Johanna Mason clarifies, a deranged giggle escaping her. 

“You’re Joking.”  comes Peeta. 

“Was this…Plurarch’s Idea?” Haymitch clarifies.

“It was mine.” 

The admission is enough for it all to fall into place for the surviving careers. This is what Haymitch had meant, when he has warned him to remember how she views them. Every capitol atrocity..how easily that could be assigned to them. 

“You may cast your vote.”

Peeta votes no, first. Citing the kind of mindset that started these uprisings as his reason. 

Johanna is next, and with a laugh she votes yes, claiming she wants to see Snow’s granddaughter in the arena. 

“Let them have a taste of it” is how Enobaria casts her yes. “After what they did to our people..Let me in the gamemakers room.”

“I agree. It’ll be the fastest game we ever have. These kids won’t be able to hold a sword.” Brutus gives as his yes. 

“No. I vote no.” Annie dissents. 

“Me too. Absolutely not. These kids are not responsible for the crimes of their parents. We have had enough bloodshed. I’ve been hurt as much as the next person by the Capitol. But we cannot keep punishing kids for the crimes of their ancestors. That's how we got to this point in the first place.” Finnick agrees with his wife, a firm and vocal no. “We need to end this. That's why we just had a war.”

“No. We need to stop seeing each other as enemies.” Beetee adds.

“We never got our chance to mentor.” Cato announces, wrapping an arm over Clove’s shoulders. “The things they did to Clove..If I could put their kids in the arena directly, I would. I’m not mentoring those ones though. I don’t want to see them win. Besides… I think we need one last game. Fuck yes.”

“What Cato said. I had my life ruined by Snow. They stole my identity. Fuck them.” Clove agrees, giving a firm nod of her head. “And what Enobaria said. Let them have a taste of how it feels to lose everything to the games. I don’t even want one of them to win. Absolutely Yes.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you all. Did we learn nothing? Did we stand up in those last games, did we fight this war for nothing?” Glimmer’s disbelief seeps into her voice as she looks frantically between her fellow victors, and hurt fills her eyes as she makes eye contact with her so-called friends. “What happened to no more children being sacrificed? I have been hurt as much as anyone by the Capitol..but I don’t want to kill their kids. How are we any different than snow if we condone and support the murder of children. That's what they are..that's what WE were! We were all kids when we won the games. We were children.. And shouldn’t we, as the adults who have survived it..want better for these kids. Shouldn’t we want better to protect our children? No. Absolutely not. I can’t believe you would support this.”

“I disagree.” Marvel admits, trying not to flinch when Glimmer recoils away from him in downright horror and disgust. “I have seen the things they did to you. They did them to me, too. I remember how hurt you have been. I remember what it’s like to be tortured in a basement, and I remember how it feels to hope you can hear your friend–” He looks to Clove, “Whimpering across the cinder block wall you share to have proof she is alive. Johanna is afraid of water. Clove lost her ability to defend herself. Annie lost her mind, and Peeta lost himself. And Glimmer, I lost you, because of what they have done to us.  So you know what? Yeah. Fuck them. I say yes.”

She is glad to be sitting between her siblings, who each take one of her hands in their own. 

“Noone else has the right to use our trauma and our abuse to justify further violence. I vote no.” Cashmere announces, making a point to shoot absolute daggers in the general direction of Marvel and the other careers. 

“You don’t get to weaponize our experiences. Only we can do that. And I stand with my sisters. I vote no.” Gloss agrees.

“It’s down to Katniss and Haymitch.” Coin announces, shifting her eyes between the two remaining revolutionaries. 

“I get to kill snow.” Katniss all but demands, and in that moment they know exactly which way her vote is going to go, and her yes will completely tip the scale in their favor. When Katniss votes “Yes. For Prim. “ it brings the vote to a solid 7 to 6. 

There is a wordless exchange between Katniss and Haymitch, and there is murder in her eyes. Whatever is said is well understood by both players. 

Haymitch holds the power to play peacekeeper or tip the scales and he does what he knows best. 

Haymitch sides with Katniss. Notably, he does not vote yes, more so that he is with the Mockingjay in whatever she brings to the table. 

“That Carries the vote. Excellent. We’ll announce the games tonight after the execution.” 

—

“What the fuck is wrong with you.” Glimmer grabs Clove by the shoulder as she passes her room, pulling her out of the hallway and into the privacy of a guest bedroom. “Was all of this for nothing, Clove?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you? You were raped and beaten and horrifically abused by the capitol and you don’t want a little bit of revenge?” Clove snarls, ripping her arm out of Glimmer’s grasp. “You want to lay down and be remembered for what they did to you, or do you want to be remembered for getting back at them? Think like a career, Glimmer.”

“You don’t get it, do you?! She isn’t going to stop with the Capitol kids! What happens when it’s not enough for her for it to be the kids of Capitol Elites. What about when it’s kids of ex loyalists in the districts? When It’s the kids of careers? Or even just the children of victors, Clove? What happens then?” Glimmer peaks into the hallway, to be especially sure they are alone. “Clove. You and I both know that neither of us are going to have kids. We know that. We are never having children. But you know who’s at risk under this whole plan? Cato’s little sister. Any kids of Annie and Finnick.”

“Glimmer, it’s just one last game–”

“That's what they always say, Clove. But it won’t. It won’t. And then it’ll be us again. She hates us. You said it yourself. She hates us and we are no safer under this plan than we were with Snow.”

How can Clove refute that when she knows, deep down, that it is alarmingly and painfully true. 

–

The knock on the door startles Katniss, who is catching the reflection of her Mockingjay costume for the last time. 

Clove doesn’t wait for permission to enter, and slips in through the unlocked door. She waits along the wall, hands tucked behind her back. “I’m sorry about your sister.” 

“Yeah, well, this is the least we can do for her, right?” Katniss slings her bow over her shoulder, before she turns to Clove. “This isn’t about Prim, is it?”

“We aren’t safe under her are we?” Clove whispers, fully aware that her words are probably treason and a one way ticket to her own execution. “This isn’t going to stop with one game.”

“No.” Katniss agrees, but does not vocalize which part. However, the look steely look when she locks eyes with Clove tells the other woman all she needs to know. “...do you still carry knives with you?”

“Of course I do, who do you think I am?”  Clove rolls her eyes, but stops another snarky remark from coming when she realizes there must be a reason for Katniss to ask such a thing. “..why?”

“I’d just say to have them ready. You know. In case I miss.” Katniss suggests before straightening her Mockingjay pin for the last time. 

“You don’t miss, Katniss.” Clove nearly laughs at the absurdity of it all. Katniss would never have made it this far if she were anything less than flawless with a bow. 

That being said, Clove would never have made it this far if she weren’t born to throw a knife.

“Neither do you.”

—

Katniss leads the march out to the execution, followed by a line of Victors who have been wronged in some way or the other by the Capitol. Clove is on the Far right, Cato immediately to her left with their hands interlocked. 

It is symbolic, as this whole thing is, that the remaining victors lead the march down the boulevard of the tributes, revolutionaries filling the stands on either side of their flanks.

“Bet you never thought we’d be doing this again.” Cato teases, giving her hand a light squeeze. When he turns to look at her face, hoping for any glimpse of a laugh, he catches the glint of something shining in her palm. 

No.. there's no way it’s that. 

“Bet you never thought we’d have survived a war before we turned twenty one.” Clove teases in response, rubbing her thumb over the back of his fingers. She is at the far end, and she cannot even see Glimmer, Marvel, Finnick, or Annie on the other side. Enobaria and Brutus walk in line with the two of them, and for the briefest moment, it reminds Clove of the end of a Victory Tour, when the victor is led to the President by her mentors and her team. Is this really all that different from that moment, anyway? 

It is somehow both the longest and shortest walk of Clove’s life, seeing as every other time she had been on this particular stretch had involved a horse and chariot ride. 

The end approaches as soon as it starts. Clove feels a tightening in her chest that stretches all the way across her back. It isn’t quite panic, and it isn’t fear. It is the kind of heart racing she felt in the beginning of every day of training, how she felt when the podiums rose in the hunger games. 

It’s adrenaline. 

Katniss is at the front of their pack, yes, but from where she stands on the far right end she has a clear shot at the president tied to a wooden pole.  It’s less than 20 feet, there's no possible way Katniss would just..miss?

Coin is beginning her ramble about a shot to end all wars, about the end of tyranny, but Clove is focused on Katniss. 

“Babe, what are you doing?” Cato whispers, noting the way she does not even look up to the president as she speaks, nudging her with his shoulder. 

She does not budge. 

“Mockingjay. May your aim be as true as your heart is pure.” 

Clove sees the decision the minute Katniss makes it, and suddenly she gets what she meant by miss. 

This was her gift to Clove.

Katniss’s chin and shoulders tilt up at the same moment the handle of the knife slips from around Clove’s forearm and into her palm. 

In the same moment that Katniss releases the arrow, there is a gasp of shock when it is not an arrow that pierces Snow’s heart but a knife that lodges itself right between his eyes. 

Coin falls to the ground with an arrow to her heart as Snow’s skull splits in two. 

He had taken this very thing from her, he had taken her aim and her strength, he had taken what made Clove Clove. 

Two leaders were dead, the fate of Panem now resting in the unknown hands of democracy for the first time ever. 

Peeta slaps something out of Katniss' hands, just as she is pulled away by guards. Clove lets out a laugh, throwing her head back as Cato  is the one to grab her and pulls her to the side. 

This is what all those countless hours of training with Cato had been for. To get Clove back. 

And that's the thing about Clove Kentwell. 

She never misses. 

—

Clove does not face the same consequences as Katniss in the aftermath. He was scheduled to die– as far as it is seen Clove simply carried out a mission Katniss abandoned. 

It is the victors who write a litany of letters in immediate support of Katniss Everdeen’s release. They write of tyranny and the horrors the country would have faced under Alma Coin, terrors that are not at all unlike the dictatorship they just escaped. 

All together, there are letters from Cato, Clove, Marvel, Glimmer, Johanna, Finnick, Annie, and Beetee that are brought together in their undying, complete, and total support for Katniss Everdeen and her decisions that day. Victors will always support their fellow Victors. 

“We’ll see you soon, in One?” Marvel checks the morning after the executions, leaning on the doorframe of the guest room Cato and Clove are currently packing their minimal belongings to leave. “Glimmer..hopefully she’ll move past all her issues with us all soon. You can stay with me.” 

They do agree to go to One, first. The train doesn’t even stop in Two, all things considered, and from the discussions with Enobaria it would be futile to even stop. Their home was in shambles. They need time to heal before addressing the crumbled castles of their childhood.

“Come on, we get our own train car!” Enobaria reminds them as they stand on that train platform, Her own minimal luggage in her hands. “We won’t have to listen to Cash and Gloss lecture us until we arrive in the district, isn’t that a real treat.”

Clove cannot seem to will herself to take the steps forward towards the doors of the train. The last time they  had taken them had been to this very spot, where neither of them had intended to come back. Even though they are not going home– and likely will not for many months– it was just the right side of unbelievable. 

“It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?” Clove looks to Cato, holding her hand out for him to take. “For the first time in our lives.. We can do anything. We can have anything. We can go anywhere in the world we want. Just..not home.”

“We’ll go home, one day.” He promises, before he bypasses her hand and instead wraps his arms around her shoulders. Cato rests his chin atop her head before kissing the crown of her hair. “We survived three Hunger Games between us. A little bit of post-war reconstruction has to be nothing, right?”

Clove snorts, leaning back in his arms as they take in the remnants of the Capitol together. “Yeah, but post war reconstruction involves us living with Glimmer and Marvel. We’ll be finding Glitter in our hair for the rest of our lives.”

“If the rest of our lives are a hundred years, I will be happy to smell like glitter and roses for all of them.” Cato promises, leaning down further to kiss her on the cheek more properly. “What do you think we do now?”

“....we live our lives?” Clove offers with the tiniest shrug, before she turns in his arms. “I love you. I don’t say it enough. But I love you, Cato. More than anything else in the world.”

“I know.” He promises his girl, leaning down so that their foreheads touched despite the massive height difference. “And I love you, too. But you already knew that.”

“You forgot something. You said we survived three Hunger Games, and reconstruction. But we survived an entire war, Cato. We survived the greatest war in Panem history.”  Clove points out, before she laces her arms around his neck and rests them there. 

“Will you two get on the train?” Brutus grumbles as he walks past, shaking his head in fake disdain. “You two never change, do you?”

“You may be adults who survived torture and a war, but I’ll still beat your ass if you have sex on this train.” Enobaria threatens from the doorway, waving her hand towards her. “Seriously, come on, I’m already tired of babysitting you two again.”

Clove laughs. Genuinely laughs as she leans back in his arms, taking a step back and nodding towards the train. 

They pause in the doorway, giving one last look over the Capitol as they remember it. They’d be back, probably, but never quite like this. Never in the shadows of war. Not as the remnants of the teen tributes they still feel like they are. 

“You know, how you said everything is going to change for the better?” Clove asks her husband, sliding her arm through his, resting her hand on the crook of his elbow as she rests her head on his shoulder. She lets out a content sigh, and smiles against his arm. 

“Yeah?” Cato cranes his head down to look at Clove, at the girl who has quite literally been at his side for the last fifteen years of his life. And now, she’d be there for the next fifteen. The next fifty, if they were lucky. It’s about time that the odds were in their favor. 

“I think you were right.” 

[stellawolfearts]

So for pittedpeaches three stories what would you say is your favorite scene from each of the three stories (and also would you be willing to draw them as a request or com? *Insert the "take my money" meme here*)

(ppssstt honey, if you'd like a comm their not technically 'officially' open but if u want one dm me on my main and we can talk ;) . ofc if its a request just Kofi's fine but yesyes i would be willing to draw a scene from one of those fics)

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

SPOILERS FOR THESE FICS UNDER THE CUT PLEAS EPLEASE LISTN TO ME WHEN I SAY IF YOU LIKE SPICYNOODLES YOU NEED TO READ THESE FICS AND EXPERIENCE THEM WITHOUT PRIOR KNOWLEDGE OHMYGOD

god pittecpeaches has such good fics i cant-AAAA I CANT CHOOSE ONE.

so i just checked thier profile and i havent read a garden across our collarbone yet-

but out of the two i have read (genus daturam and from three thirty to four) i'd say....

Every part of Red Son which MK touched seemed to burn. The conversations they had that evening played over and over in his head. Red Son wished he could have stayed there forever, eating meals, washing dishes, kissing between intimate talks about parents and inside jokes about metal peaches–

Wait a minute. 

Wait a fucking minute- 

MK had nearly closed the window shut when Red Son ripped it open. “I didn’t know about the peaches.” 

MK stumbled back from the window, clearly not expecting Red Son to come back and say that of all things. “Uhh, what-”

THIS WHOLE SCENE HERE ITS BOTH HILAROUS AND SUCH AN AMAZING CLIMAX TO EVERYTHING THATS HAPPENED IN THE FIC LISTEN-LISTEN- NO GET UR ASS OVER HERE UR GNNA LISTEN TO ME AND LISTEN GOOD OKAY OKAY I NEED TO RANT-YOUVE GOT ME RANTING NOW MOTHERFUCKER/POS

theyve been secretly pining over each other for ages and then redson finnaly realises he's in love with mk and he knows mk doesnt know hes redson (WHICH IS HILAROUS OHMYGOD) and and and he LEAVES

FUCKER TRIES TO LEAVE BC "he loves red, not redson" BOOOIIIIIII

B O I

AND HE GOES OVER EVERYTHING THEY DID TOGETHOR AND ITS ALL BUILDING UP THE EMOPTIONS ARE ALREADY HIGHTEEND IN THE CHARACTERS AND READERS BECAUSE ALL THIS LOVEY DOVETY EXITEMNTY WEVE BEEN WAITING FOR IS FINNALLY HAPPENING ONLY FOR RED TO CUT IT OFF AND NOW HE'S GOING THROUGH EVERY THING IN THE DAY EBECAUSE HE WANTS TO TREASURE THE MEMORY EVERYONE CHATRACTERS AN DREADERS ARE FEELING THINGS AND THEN

O

OH

OH SHIT

THE METAL MOTHERFUCKING PEACHES

THE INSIDE JOKE THAT ONLY MK COULD MOTHERFUCKIN KNOW

i am so normal about this fic * froths at the mouth *

“When I asked you to cut the peaches, you made a joke asking whether they were real or metal.” Red Son climbed back into the house. “But I wouldn’t know about that, would I? So why did you make the joke?” 

MK’s eyes were wide and for a moment, Red Son saw it–the glimmer of realization. As quickly as it came it left, hidden by MK squeezing his eyes shut and laughing. “OH! Well, a long while back there was this race around the city, and the winner got what I thought were the real Peaches of Immortality but was actually–”

“But you didn’t say you made that mistake.” Red Son jabbed a finger into MK’s chest. “You said we did. The only people in that race were you, the Dragon Horse girl, and the Demon Bull Family. So how did we make that mistake?!” 

MK stumbled on the floor, falling flat onto his ass. He stared up at Red Son, chuckling awkwardly. “Uh, well, I just-I guess I just-uhh-I don’t know, I’m tired, and it probably slipped out, there’s nothing to it, you don’t have to worry about it Red S-RED! Red, Red, it’s no big deal–” 

MK was panicking, stumbling on his words, unable to look Red Son in the eye. It only confirmed what Red Son had begun to realize. 

“You know who I am, don’t you?” He looked down at MK.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHEN I SAY I FREAKED OUT DURING THIS SCENE I WAS FUCKING SCREAMING

I WAS CHEERING I WAS CRYING ALL THE FUCKING EMOTIONS CRASHING INTO ME AT O N C E

(rereads ur ask....oh you said pick a scene from each of them mkay mkay-

THE HAIR-WASHING SCENE IN GENUS DATURA

First off this is funny af definitly the kinda shit i would write

“Alright. I know you just told me you hate water,” MK turned Red Son, clasping his hands together with a strained smile. “But, I’m going to need you to get into the tub.” 

Red Son’s eyes went wider than noodle bowls. He turned his head to look at the tub, now nearly filled with water. MK could see Red Son’s mouth hang ajar as he turned back to face him. 

No, not face him. Red Son was looking behind MK, but why would he do that? All that was behind MK was the door-

Red Son scrambled for the exit on all fours. 

It took several minutes of shouting and chasing the surprisingly slippery Red Son around the bathroom before MK finally grabbed him. MK latched his arms around Red Son’s waist and pulled him from the ground. Red Son screeched, trying to pry MK’s arms off him. His skin was so hot it hurt to hold him, but at this point MK didn’t care. With a mighty heave, MK tossed Red Son into the bath.

The water splashed out the tub, covering the tiles in a thin sheen. Red Son floundered for a bit, thrashing his arms and legs beneath the water’s surface before emerging with a loud gasp. His ponytail had lost all its gravity-defying heat, now clinging to the back of Red Son’s neck. Red Son shuddered, aggressively trying to wipe the water off his steaming arms. 

HE SCRAMBLED ON ALL FOURS LMAO I CANT I COULDNT BREATHE WHEN I FIRST READ IT

The moment MK’s fingers touched his scalp, Red Son flinched. MK moved his hands away, worried that he hurt Red Son, only for him to let out a whine. “Why’d you stop?!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not stopping!” MK laughed. “But, really, you gotta let me know if this is too much for you.” He ran his hands through Red Son’s roots. He could see Red Son’s face scrunch up in surprise, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable. In fact, as MK continued to work the shampoo into Red Son’s hair, he seemed to lean into the touch, his breaths becoming slow, heavy, and relaxed. 

As MK leaned Red Son’s head back to get a better angle, Red Son stared up at him with sleepy eyes, blinking slowly. There was a small, content smile on his face. MK didn’t think he’d ever seen that expression on Red Son’s face before. Red Son’s smiles usually ranged from a maniacal grin to a hidden curl of his lip, but this felt softer, like Red Son’s inhibitions were being uncoiled with each knot MK untangled from his hair. 

It occurred to MK, suddenly, how intimate this moment was. A blush ran up his cheeks at the realization, but Red Son didn't seem to care. He just grinned, dreamily at MK as he washed Red Son's hair. 

This…was nice. 

It was a bit overwhelming, sure. Red Son couldn’t remember the last time another person’s hands were running through his hair like this. Maybe when he was a toddler? Before he learned to wash himself? 

But, it was nice. 

MK’s fingers worked themselves into Red Son’s roots. Every now and then, his nails would scratch at his scalp and it’d send a shock down his nervous system. Red Son didn’t mind it though. He leaned into the touch, a lazy smile stretched on his face. 

Red Son looked up at MK as he worked. His vision had blurred considerably from the crimson jimsonweed smoke, but he could recognize the Noodle Boy anywhere. He still had that ridiculous hair style, and that traffic-cone colored coat, and a grin that haunted Red Son’s lonely evenings. He was unmistakable. 

What was MK doing here? He shouldn’t be here. He was supposed to be kart-racing with Mei right now. If MK was actually here, his parents would probably have found out by now, wouldn’t they? Or at the very least, one of the bull clones would have alerted the other staff. Not to mention, MK was supposed to our kart racing with Mei right now. There was no way he could possible be here.

But Red Son could feel MK’s hands working into his hair, couldn’t he? And MK had carried him up here, had cleaned his face, had thrown him into this atrocious tub full of water. MK was taking care of Red Son. When was the last time someone had taken care of Red Son? Since he was a child? Before he had to learn to care for himself? 

It was so nice. Red Son could live in the feeling of MK’s care forever. It was certainly a good distraction from his burning skin, his foggy brain, the doom which whispered to him in stanzas of half-remembered puffy poetry about death from the crimson jimsonweed, about the images which haunted you into Diyu. 

MK began to wash the shampoo out of Red Son’s hair, using one hand to pour water out of the basin and the other to block the soap from slipping down into his eyes. It was a small act, but one that showed a careful attention to detail that MK rarely showed to anything at all. It was the sort of sweet gesture that told Red Son he was cared for by MK, that he was loved. 

And wasn’t that what had been haunting him for weeks now? Love? 

Images that haunt you/Will carry your soul down/And pass you to ten kings

“Oh.” He whispered. “I see.” 

MK smiled down at him. “What’s up?” 

The candles that hung on the bathroom wall seem to fan MK's face with warmth and light. It almost looked like the light was bursting out from him, like MK's body could only barely contain all the lights in the heavens. But, maybe that was just Red Son's delirious, slowly-dying brain seeing what he always thought of MK. 

“I’m hallucinating.” Red Son murmured. 

all of this man

all of this

for one, i love intimate moments like this in fics. and the way this author writes this its just OHMYHEART-

and something about hands running through hair man *CLUTCHES HEART*

AND THEN

AND THEN THE

"im hallucinating"

*flatlines*

GOD ITS SO GOOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH

anways yeah ill get to reading the third on soon but these are my fave scenes :DDD

[forthedancingandthethriving]

I honestly do think I'm going to switch to using normal dialogue for the USBs and all the others because for some reason my phone keeps glitching Tumblr whenever I use colors,, like I get kicked out,, so for the time being it's normal dialogue time! Sorry about that!

Idea came from the wonderful @duckapus , and Emulator belongs to them! Please go give them a follow and check out their aus as well!! :D

○●○

Juliano smiles as he sits beside Domain, watching the others throughout the showgrounds. It was closed currently because of something Mario and Bob had done, but it didn't seem to be that big of a deal. Domain sat beside him, and to the USB's right was Forum, and next to Forum was Emulator.

To say he was a bit surprised when he found out their universe was alive and had a hologram was an understatement. But.. he had also somehow survived his universe's destruction, so he wasn't too surprised.

He leans back with a hum and glances at Domain. "You know, apparently you guys were considered successful SMGs back when you were Guardians, so-"

He's interrupted by Emulator bursting out into laughter, leaning forward, and her shoulders shaking a bit. He blinks a few times, caught of guard. "Uuh.. Emmy? Are you okay?"

"I'm- I'm fine!" she manages to say between laughs, glancing at him. "That just caught me off guard!"

"What?" he raises an eyebrow. "Them being successful SMGs?"

"Yes!" she laughs, shoulders shaking more. She has a grin on her face and.. Domain and Forum seem slightly embarrassed?

What?

"What is she laughing about?" Juliano questions, looking at Domain.

"Nothing!" his friend answers way to quickly, turning his head to glare at Emulator. "Nothing at all!"

"He needs to know!" Emulator grinned, calming to quick giggles.

Julianl gently pushed Domain back, leaning forward. "What do I need to know?"

"The universe activation was complete pandemonium," she giggles, grinning still. "Nothing went right. Absolutely nothing."

"Emmy, please-" Domain groans whilst Juliano raises an eyebrow.

"It couldn't have been that bad." the former Avatar tilts his head.

"Well, for starters, when Four's Guardian Pod landed, it didn't spread out the meme energy evenly and activate Mario!" Emulator grins. She ignores Domain's pleas for her to stop talking. "It just started zapping people!"

Juliano blinks. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah." Emulator snickers.

Forum buries his face into his hands with a groan, already knowing it was useless to try and stop his little sister. He only shook his head, listening to Domain try and cut her off or stop her.

"And then SMG4 had no idea of who he was or what he was meant to do, so he just fell into the roll accidentally!" Emulator continues, grin persisting. "And then he and Mario dumped his Guardian Pod down a chasm."

"No." Juliano's eyes widen, a chuckle escaping him.

Emulator leaned forward, nodding. "Yes."

"They dumped it down there and then celebrated after," the hologram continues, giggling again. "I mean, I don't blame them, but they still dumped it down!"

"Where were you two during this?!" Juliano laughed, looking at Domain and Forum.

"Emmy, shut up, please-" Domain pleaded, clasping his hands together. Forum let out an embarrassed groan, and the former Avatar swore he could see a bit of an embarrassed blush.

Emmy keeps grinning. "And then SMG3's Guardian Pod lands.. in this world, and not the Internet Graveyard."

"NO." Juliano gasped.

"And he didn't have any idea of what to do or any of the instincts he should have!" Emmy continues. "Then he came out and he and SMG4 immediately decided that they hated each other."

"They hated each other?" Juliano looks back towards the showgrounds, seeing Four and Three chasing after Lil Coding. The Code was in his cat form and.. had a phone in his mouth. Odd. "But they're so close!"

"Trust me, it was a whole thing." Emulator giggles. "And then, for years after, SMG3 spent time actually trying to KILL SMG4 and Mario."

"Where were you two during this?!" Juliano repeats as he looks at the USBs, laughing again. "Were you two not active or something?!"

Emulator's grin grows, and Juliano cackles, clutching his stomach. Forum lets out another embarrassed groan, and Domain too hides his face behind his hands. Emulator and Juliano laughed while the USBs stewed in embarrassment.

"Oh, that's great," Juliano chuckles, slowly calming down. He pats Domain on the back, shaking his head. "Man, who would've thought that the perfect SMGs would've had such a bad universe activation?"

"Shut uuuuuuuup.." Domain grumbles, lowering his hands to glare at his friend.

The former Avatar pauses to think before grinning at Emulator. "Wanna hear about all the times they did something stupid as SMGs?"

"YES!" Emulator laughs.

"NO!" the two Admins cry out, looking at Juliano with looks of betrayal.

Juliano opts to ignore his friends, all too happy to talk about their time as his Guardians. He only smiled at his friends as they groaned from the embarrassment and Emulator began to laugh from the stories.

[markcampbells]

Get to Know the Writer Meme: 1, 18, 27, 39, 55, 72! 😊

You know what I do? Reblog ask memes and posts encouraging ask box engagement and then I space on answering the asks I do get. It's called being a hypocrite and it's fantastic.

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

One shots, unquestionably, LOL. I did write multichapter when I was younger, and one of my first McKirk fics is loosely a five times fic, but I really prefer to write short stories with payoff immediately rather than stressing about if I've gotten momentum or plot development even and correct. I have a handful of multichapter ideas in mind, but I'm not sure they'll ever happen to my satisfaction.

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Usually during or immediately after! In very rare cases before, if I'm struck by a particular lyric and I'm building a fic around it. Oftentimes I'm working on a fic and something that feels like it fits the vibe will occur to me. (My McKirk fics are almost all lyric titles, but thus far my FFVII fics have been bits of dialogue from the stories themselves, so a bit different.)

27. What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

Most favorite, I love getting to figure out character dynamics--dialogue, the ways they interact with each other, physicality based on if they've known each other a while or if they're just getting to know each other (I have two characters in my original stuff who used to be married and they have a frankly terrifying level of nonverbal communication I really enjoy writing). Least favorite, as I mentioned before, I am bad at plotting and feel a lot of stress over proper pacing, which is why I tend to stick to shorter stuff.

39. Share a snippet from a WIP.

Because I have it open in a tab right now, a bit from the FF7 fic I'm working on:

She feels the tremor in his hand, one that, if they weren't talking like this, she would have just credited to the mako poisoning. Super strength doesn't seem to make much of anything when your body's fucked six ways from Sunday; she's been keeping close since they got out of the lifestream, trying to make sure he ends up back on an even keel. So she can't let it pass, turns her hand over beneath his so she's lightly grasping it, only gripping harder when he tries to pull away. "Let go?" he pleads faintly, and she shakes her head. "Like hell." "Tifa." A quiet sigh, another plea. "Look. I appreciate all your help with this--this bullshit." He gestures feebly with his free hand at his legs sprawled beside him. "But--you saw what happened back at the temple, at the altar. What--what I almost did to her. You can't–" "Yeah, Cloud, you know what I can do? Blame Sephiroth. He killed her, just like--just like my dad." Her chest is so tight it hurts to breathe. "So don't you dare--ever again, Cloud, are you listening?--act like you did it with your own hands."

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

With McKirk fics, I definitely enjoy writing from Bones' perspective the most, and I feel very gratified that my readers' response to my Bones voice has borne this out, especially because there are elements of his backstory (both in canon and as I write him) that are totally outside of my experience. I take a lot of pride in the place I've been able to get it to.

72. What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

I am an absolute mess in my original stuff, but with fanfiction I actually find it's easiest to go mostly in order! I usually have an inciting incident in mind that helps me set up the plot / character dynamic and go from there, like a character getting up from a nightmare, asking a question they need answered, being interrupted when they're lost in thought, etc. Sometimes if I'm really stuck I'll move further into the story and work on dialogue or interaction that I can more clearly visualize, but usually, I go in chronological order.

[childoferebus]

I was challenged tagged by @parrot-parent​ to come up with an answer for every one of these music questions.  Please learn more about my music tastes than anyone should.

1:A song you like with a color in the title: Favorite Color is Blue by Robert Delong ft. K.Flay, which I am not allowed to link to directly for some reason.  I’m going to get The Vermin Survive tattoo’d at some point when I can figure out a design for it.  (If you’re a tattoo artist, hmu 👀

2:A song you like with a number in the title

A Complete List of Fears Ages 5-28 (Aprox) by The Yellow Dress. I want to lick it.

3:A song that reminds you of summertime

The first thing that came to mind was When It’s Over by Sugar Ray, because I’m absolutely ancient by tumblr standards.

4:A song that reminds you of someone you would rather forget about

Love Me Dead by Ludo, but not for the reasons you’d think.

5:A song that needs to be played LOUD

Hellbent by Mystery Skulls, which is only correct when it’s loud enough to blow my speakers and my eardrums.

6:A song that makes you want to dance

Zoot Suit Riot by the Cherry Popping Daddies. Shouts to the time my prom date got pissed at me for dancing to this when they didn’t want to lol

7:A song to drive to

On the Road Again by Willy Nelson is the first song on my roadtrip playlist, as is good and right.

8:A song about drugs or alcohol

Semi-Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind is the most obvious song about crystal meth that has ever been played and I don’t care it is my favorite song of all time, it delights me

9:A song that makes you happy

Cheesecake Truck by King Missile.  So then I got this idea about driving a cheesecake truck

10:A song that makes you sad

Your Voice as I Remember It by AJJ.  I have an entire playlist dedicated to songs I can’t sing along with without crying but this was the first that came to mind.  Notable other mentions are What Sarah Said by Death Cab for Cutie and A Plea from a Cat Named Virtue by the Weakerthans

11:A song that you never get tired of

BlackBoxWarrior (OK Ultra) by Will Wood. I can and have listened to this song on repeat for hours at a time.

12:A song from your preteen years

Preteens.  Jesus. Are you sure you want me to delve back that far?  Anyway, when I was around that age I was really into Jewel, so probably Little Sister.  Which is also a song about drugs.

13:One of your favorite 80’s songs

Safety Dance by Men Without Hats is the correct answer.

14:A song that you would love played at your wedding

Brand New Colony by the Postal Service.  I eloped so I don’t get any wedding music, but I’ve made a wedding playlist for my OCs and I’m totally normal about the fact that this is the first song

15:A song that is a cover by another artist

You Oughta Know by the Killing Moon is one of my favorite covers of all time by virtue of them not changing the pronouns

16:One of your favorite classical songs

The hardest part of this meme isn’t thinking of songs for every ask it’s picking which out of the dozen possible answers for every question that I’m going to go with. I listened exclusively to classic piano for like 2 years in my teens.  Anyway, tough call but I gotta go with the Moonlight Sonata Third Movement by Beethoven.  From what I was told, it was written as he was losing both his sight and his hearing and it’s so aggressive and mournful because of it.  Beethoven was a prick but man the dude could play.

17:A song that would sing a duet with on karaoke

Snow Miser/Heat Miser. Get that shit stuck in your head and sing with me.

18:A song from the year that you were born

Listen I’m not going to date myself out loud so if you want to know that bad you can look and see.

19:A song that makes you think about life

This might be the hardest one to answer yet.  I don’t know man, every song makes me think about life. All of them do. What aspect of life? What topic? So here’s one, I guess: White Noise by Will Wood.

20:A song that has many meanings to you

Weak and Powerless by A Perfect Circle. I know it’s about drugs, but man if you take it literally...

21:A favorite song with a person’s name in the title

Jacqueline by Circa Waves. Please watch the video. Please.

22:A song that moves you forward

Point to Prove (I Was An Ugly Kid) by Bug Hunter. yeah.

23:A song that you think everybody should listen to

Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen) by Baz Luhrman.  Get to it.

24:A song by a band you wish were still together

Inexplicable by the Correspondents.  If I don’t think about it too hard I’ll be fine.

25:A song by an artist no longer living

Faint by Linkin Park. IF I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT TOO HARD I’LL BE FINE.

26:A song that makes you want to fall in love

Passenger Seat by Death Cab for Cutie. 

27:A song that breaks your heart

Well if you’re going to do this to me twice in a row, What Sarah Said by Death Cab for Cutie.  I put my mp3 player on shuffle after my adopted grandfather died suddenly and violently to try and calm myself and this is the first song that played and I’ve never been okay since.  Love is watching someone die.

28:A song by an artist with a voice that you love

Grace for Sale by Terrance Zdunich.  Tough call but considering I stole his voice for Taj Na...

29:A song that you remember from your childhood

I Will Buy You a New Life by Everclear, which one of my classmates was obsessed with, and played every lunch at school for months.  Jimmy you were 12 what was it about this song that spoke to you so much

30:A song that reminds you of yourself

Kokopelli Face Tattoo by AJJ.  I have a viper rune tattoo because of it.

[remyfire]

"things you said when you were scared" and margbeej?

"Things You Said..." Meme (idk who sent this in because it wasn't my usual subject, but their spirit possessed me and it's 2.2k words augh. PAIN. First time writing in Margaret's voice so it's almost more a character study at this point BUT I HAD A GREAT TIME THANK YOU—) (CW for incredibly brief, almost nonspecific mention of fear of being shot and of being taken captive by an enemy force and sexually assaulted)

The moment they've pulled the Jeep off the road, BJ grabs for Margaret first, his satchel second. With her heart thudding as fast as a rabbit's, she keeps her feet sure, her knees high, bounding along with him through the brush.

"Where are we—"

"Just trust me," BJ murmurs in a confident voice better suited to a general than a mild-mannered surgeon, and perhaps that's why she listens. If it was Pierce, if it was Klinger, if it was nearly anyone else in the world, she's certain that she'd hear their hesitation and bite their head off instinctively, but Captain Hunnicutt's different.

He always has been.

Perhaps it's his height that makes him better know where they're going. Perhaps it's instinct. But either way, when a small shack in the copse of trees swims into focus, Margaret huffs out a sharp sound of relief, one that she immediately muffles by slapping her hand over her mouth. God. God. She can't keep herself quiet for even a goddamn second? They're not alone on this road. They'll be lucky if their Jeep stays in its little hiding place there, skewed between the brush and the trees, bathed in shadows.

Margaret is swiftly coming to a point where she wishes she could consider rejecting Colonel Potter's requests for her to accompany surgeons during emergencies to frantic, blood-soaked aid stations, because it seems every time she does, there's nothing but hell, enemy forces, and incredibly dangerous situations waiting for her.

And she isn't simply referring to the threat of death. Not anymore.

Right as they near the shack, BJ pulls sharply ahead, his long legs pumping faster than she's ever seen them go, and she half-fears he might be leaving her behind. But he practically rips the door open, a fist raised, and sticks his head in as he skims the darkness. By the time she reaches his side, he wraps a massive hand around her wrist and yanks her in right behind him.

Calling it a shack was a bit extreme. The one she and Pierce huddled down in for one of the greater regrets-or-perhaps-not of her life was at least capable of being a desperate but serviceable living space. This feels less like it's made to be occupied, more like it perhaps was put together to hide caches of things. She thinks absurdly of the small building her grandfather built on his property just to hold his tools, but he was never quite as rugged and put-together as she used to think men were all supposed to be. It had collapsed within a month after a particularly difficult wind came through.

When BJ shuts the door, he catches it right before it can slam. For a moment, they're in dusty darkness, panting together.

There's a small gap in the wall, the only thing allowing a cut of brilliant daylight through, and BJ steadies himself with a hand on Margaret's shoulder as he comes up unfathomably tall on his tiptoes to peer through it.

"What do you see?" she hisses.

He holds up his other fingers, a silent plea for quiet, and she doesn't dream of betraying it. He's a prankster. He's a quipper. He's put her underwear up a flagpole. But there's a calmer history between them, unlike with Pierce—that agonizing, lonely year with McIntyre where Margaret cycled between desperate want and furious embarrassment—and though she's all but trembling in the dark, BJ is still.

In a way, it's almost enough to make her disgusted at herself. She's lived on Army bases all her life, dreamed of making it her career, accomplished top marks in her training. This is supposed to be a way of life for her. Yet he's the one who is so sturdy.

For the first time, she catches herself wondering what he's lived through to make him learn to be so still in these moments of incredible fear.

There's a scuffing in the distance, like a stone being kicked, and BJ tightens his grip on her and all but drags her to the far back of the shack. She trips over something unseen and he cups her elbow, helps her steady herself, guides her with both hands all the way to their goal.

Her back hits the wood and BJ's chest collides with hers, all but pinning her in place and knocking the wind straight out of her. She grabs a fistful of his shirt, just needing something to hold onto, and as her eyes finally begin to adjust to the darkness, she can make out the situation they're in. BJ has her whole body covered with his, both hands pressed to the wall on either side of her head, the equivalent of a human shield. His head is turned, gaze fixed on the door.

A stick cracks, closer than the rock.

God. God, no. She's here again, she's fucking here again, unsure if what's waiting for her in the span of the next ninety seconds is a bullet through her skull or a stranger dragging her off to use her as they see fit. The spike of terror almost blinds her, almost turns what tiny crumbs are left somewhere in her stomach.

"It's okay." BJ's words are nothing but a breath, barely a hint of sound coloring them. "Just hold on."

And all at once, she's so grateful that the person she's in this experience with is someone like him, that God hasn't seen fit to punish her by saddling her with another traumatizing one-on-one deathtrap with Pierce where they're constantly dueling to see who's going to take charge. It's the thing tornadoes are born from—the sharp chill of her fear, the almost soothing warmth of knowing he won't go down without a fight, that she'll have to practically be ripped out of his rigor mortis grip.

Not for the first time, she wonders how many of her other nurses can see how easily Captain Hunnicutt steps into the role of husband, provider, caretaker when the situation calls for it.

Not for the first time, she hates how sharply it overtakes her every time, that ache to be the only one who receives it, that knowledge that it never would've been an option.

Men like BJ Hunnicutt don't make it through high school, much less college or medical school, unclaimed. Someone is always smart enough to see such a sharply-rising stock value. But that doesn't mean she doesn't ache.

It doesn't mean she can't feel him watch her in turn.

Far from them, she can barely make out the elegant curve of an unfamiliar language, and she pulls harder at his shirt with a stifled whimper.

"Margaret, it's all right." One of his warm hands finds her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin as though seeking tears to wipe away.

Suddenly it's paramount that he knows. He has to. He needs to understand, or, or— "I don't want to—"

"I know."

"I-I don't want to die before I tell you—"

"We're not gonna die."

"But—"

He presses his palm against her mouth, body trapping hers against the wall, whisper so low it's barely audible. "Whatever it is, Margaret, tell me after the war. Do you hear me?"

Her chest goes tighter, bubbling irritation at the thought that he believes he controls her voice, but there's another crack. A long series of tall blades of grass brushing together. Just loud enough that he must've been listening for them in her frantic moments of blurting.

She bites the inside of her cheek punishingly, and as though he feels it, he rubs ever so faintly over her skin with his ring fingertip, and when she thinks of the band on it, she squeezes her eyes shut.

In the darkness of her mind, she can hear the movement of what must be enemy operatives, their steps and their language both, but she can smell BJ. She can feel the weight of his grip, of his body. It's as though those two senses are fighting a war of their own against the fear stoked by her ears, and against all odds, they even seem to be winning.

She might not be brave right now, but she can be strong and true, and thank God she doesn't have to do it alone.

They wait, silent. Seconds tick by like hours. The world has never been as infinite as it is in this moment.

But like everything must, life resumes.

The footsteps fade. Seconds pass. A minute. As time rediscovers its natural rhythm, so do their bodies refocus on their current positions, and the drugging relief that floods Margaret starts to taper off when BJ moves first. He lifts his palm from her mouth, but he doesn't hurry away. He drags his hand slowly down her chin, little by little, until just the edge of his thumb catches on her bottom lip. He's right there. Right there. Close enough to suck. To taste. To add to those two senses that were already consumed by him.

She becomes aware of the slow breath he takes, deep and full, how his stomach brushes the curve of her breasts. As it so often has since coming to Korea, the edge of her fear twists in knots around her pooling desire, creating a hypnotic new connection between the two that she's not sure she'll ever be able to understand. To break.

"Hunnicutt." No. That doesn't feel right. Not now. Margaret swallows the knot in her throat, forces herself to whisper what feels somehow like the most intimate thing she ever has. "BJ—"

"After the war." His thumb stays. God, it shouldn't. She needs to wrench his hand away, begin the slow process of forgetting the pattern of his thumbprint against some of her most sensitive skin.

She begins to shake her head, but the tickle of his fingerpad makes her freeze and press her palm harder against the wall behind her. She endures it even still as she speaks, leaving a dozen impossible kisses there as she shapes her words. "At this point...I'm not sure the war is ever going to end." Or if it does, that we'll both survive it. Or if we do, that we'll ever be really, truly out of it.

There's a pause spanning all of time and space where BJ curls the hand against the wall right by her head into a fist, where his tanned face goes ruddy and flushed, where his eyes pop like stars against a sky and smolder as fiercely as a sun. When he finally lifts his thumb from her lips, it's painted the same gleaming coral as the mouth it left behind. "It has to," he murmurs raggedly as he steps backward, leaves her body chilled through.

At first, she thinks he's leaving her behind. It takes her a few seconds longer to realize he's scooped up his satchel and is lingering at the door, putting his back to her so she can gather herself—so he can do the same.

Not for the first time, Margaret misses the young woman who didn't have to compose herself. Nineteen-year-old Margaret would've slinked up behind him, wrapped an arm around his waist, nuzzled between his shoulders, murmured something so playful and silky that he would've taken her right there on the floor. She would've gone straight back to her dorm room and crawled in bed with Lorraine and giggled out her gossip, playing through every moment from start to finish.

But she's not that girl anymore. She's a woman who's been the mistress time and time again. And though she'll never tell BJ that she heard every whispered piece of gossip about him and Lieutenant Donovan that her nurses spun, his devotion to his wife continues to be the most powerful aspect of him that she prays will never be shaken.

She needs to believe that men that truly, deeply, achingly devoted are real. Because if they're not, then what on earth is left for her?

Margaret takes a deep breath and presses a hand to her stomach, trying to soothe the riotous nerves inside. At least it's quiet. No more sounds. No godforsaken shelling. As she lets out the shivering air, BJ rubs the back of his neck, his shoulders shifting here and there.

"Does it look clear out there?" Margaret murmurs. "Are we safe?"

"As safe as we can be," he confirms just as quietly. "If we wait much longer, we might be risking an actual patrol, not a couple of stragglers."

"Then by all means." She hurries forward, reaches toward his hip to move him out of the way, then freezes before she can touch him. No. She's done all this work to calm herself back down to the same woman who could handle an entire unseen landscape of snipers, if she had to. If she's going to imagine the shape of him under his fatigues, then she'll save that for her quarters once the moon is peeking out. "Shall we?"

"Let me?" BJ asks. She nods. He steps out first, a hand behind him to keep her at bay, then nods. As he moves forward, she stays right by his side, sensing that quiet authority, that confidence he has that if he can't guarantee her safety, he'll at least die trying.

Yet another point in his favor. Yet another endless bullet to add to her long, long, long list of hopes for a lifetime lover, if she even still deserves one.

[belovedcorvidarchive2024]

[Don’t Hide] Ask my muse why they try to cover their scar (from smokey)

❣ | Memes :: This One | Scars ( always doing these )

----

(( I got v indecisive abt how I wanted to do this and it became a book v sorry. OTL Cut for length. ))

| Scars: Two Conversations |

The first time the other asks, he's not strong enough to answer.

He hadn't spoken to anyone since he'd gotten back, hadn't had the nerve to look his former guardian or anyone else in the eye. Mistakes were not new to him - he made plenty, frequently, but one that compromised an entire operation felt like something he couldn't really be forgiven for; the guilt made him sick, made some small part of him wonder if maybe what happened to him might be a little bit deserved. That was why he turned people away that wanted to visit him while in the infirmary, and now still did his best to avoid being spotted by anyone familiar now that he was up and walking. He kept his head down, ducking even Sengoku's visits when he could, but it was only a matter of time before he ran into someone else that knew him. And, by extension, probably just how badly he'd messed up. The voice was familiar - smoke-raspy and mid-complaint. Of course.

He'd not checked in with Smoker since his return either, a sudden break in an otherwise surprisingly well-established habit, but he didn't have the guts to let the other see just how big of a problem he had caused either, what damage a case of mistaken identity could do if the person you were mistaken for was Doflamingo. Even as he kept his head down, kept his back turned, he still recognised the other man's heavy footfalls, recognised his voice. He'd hoped, of course, that the other would not see him but that never worked out in his favour, with his stature. Smoker wasn't an easy read if you didn't know what to listen for, so the little things that hinted at concern that he could recognise made him flinch, made any sort of reply or excuse he could have made die in his throat. It was pathetic, cowardly to not even be able to look at his friend, but despite this thought he couldn't bring himself to even turn around - even as footsteps and questioning voice approached him.

" You don't want to explain what happened? Fine, but could ya at least look at me, maybe say you're all right ? What're you hiding from ? "

" I can't."

It came out more like a plea than he wanted, so soft through clenched teeth that it was almost inaudible as he finally let himself be turned around by the hand that reached out to touch his arm. The scars were still new, angry looking and only partially formed - still held together in places by dark sutures at either corner of his mouth, a grim facsimile of a grin made an inch or so broader on each side. He breathed in a stuttering hiss of a breath and bared his teeth just a little; it hurt, but it was enough to reveal the wires connecting his teeth helping to hold his fractured jaw together. Despite his best efforts to control his expression, keep it as neutral as possible, he could feel the burning, prickling sensation of tears collecting at the corners of his eyes and he'd be damned if he was going to let them be perceived as anything other than a reaction to pain. That was it, that was all. The bridge of his nose crinkled with it as he tried and failed to avoid looking deeply and irreparably wounded.

" It hurts."

---

The next time he asks it's many, many other hurts later, when they're both more tired, hollow in places.

They're in a recovering place, in the in-between of assignments - active assignments more-so on the other's part. They didn't send him out much these days, he blamed the leg and the laundry list of other damage, still not fully undone, left by his last failure of an assignment. It's a moment of quiet, rare and appreciated even if brief. Smoker always brought that steadying sort of companionable quiet with him, somehow: Rocinante still wasn't sure how, because he was fairly certain that the other had never been relaxed once in his life. The feeling of contentedness must be at least somewhat mutual, because they spent more spare time together than not these days and he genuinely doubted the other would bother otherwise. Steadying or not, he still sat with his back to the other man, working at covering up one of the marks on his face: more achievable, he thought, than anything he could do for some of the others on his hands and arms. But a lot of those don't bother him in quite the same way.

" Why hide it? "

It wasn't even the same mark as before. He could feel the other's eyes at his back, could pre-emptively tell that he wanted to say something even, but it didn't make the question any easier. This time it was the blue-black tattoo under his eye he'd been intently focused on painting over, covering it up like a lingering bruise and hiding it before a meeting with someone less familiar, but the question still made him cover his mouth with a hand as if struck; an old tell, a nervous one, difficult to break.

Why was a hard question. Not because he didn't have an answer for it - he did. It was just terribly sad and gross the way visceral memories tended to be, and if there was someone or something out there that could have made it so he would have begged for a way to explain it wholly without having to be in it. To open it all up and re-close cleanly, without the spectre of his brother there to hold it all over his head and make him feel small, even after all this time; to explain the wave of dread he feels when someone says he looks familiar, or that he a grown man still can't always get through a medical appointment without tears... but not actually tie any of those things to himself, for fear they might drown him, like a weight around his neck. It's not even that he doesn't want the other guy to know - he does actually, this guy in particular, and that might be just as scary at some level.

" I uh... "

he stops himself at the sound of his own voice because he hates the tremor he hears in it - hates it that this soft spot can be pulled up and out of his guts without his permission, and does his best to force it back to something more neutral.

" Sorry; I uh... I just don't want him to have that kind of control over me any more. "

[ciitrinitas]

bamchel for the meme. unleash the power

thank you for hearing my plea. 🙏 you are all the realest mvps.

(in response to this!)

bamchel - S OTP of OTPs. so OTP i made up a tier.

i tend to be pretty loose in appending the title of otp to many ships because when i like things, it tend to really like things and have strong feelings about them. and while i will be less fervent about something i enjoy in the moment, i also rarely move on from things in full. if i liked something, i just have to cycle back to it and my brain will go a bit mental over it again (see my annual "i am only listening to hymmnos for a week straight" occurrences).

but bamchel. i think with bamchel i've truly and properly understood the core of what something means to be an otp. it's been a slow burn of like two years from me originally watching the tog anime and getting blindsided with that last episode and how fucking insane rachel makes me. at first, it was just rachel brainrot, then it became more rachel brainrot, and then the rachel brainrot spread to me doing tog properly and i'm plain just so fucking invested in the blackhole of bullshit both bam and rachel have going on.

they are both so fucking weird and invested in each other even when they are trying not to be. she keeps going on about how she wants him to leave her alone while leaving a delicious trail of bread crumbs because she also wants and needs him to pursue her. he's accepting that she is not a good person while still thinking so often about her, and god, i will never be over bam's literal toxic ex meltdown where he tried to force her to stay with him. AND THEN SHE PUSHED HIM AGAIN. THEY'RE JUST...!!!

they actively elevate each other's characters, and i just...he would have been fine living in a fucking cave with her forever!! and she is so bitter and salty that she's some rando in his story and gets high off of the fact she is so important to him. they're both insane and pinnacle of a couple that needs to be together just so it contains their bullshit to only them. even my other ships for them kind of just end up as partial bamchel because i don't know how you separate rachel's influence on bam from bam or bam's influence on rachel from rachel.

10/10 ship. i want them to strangle each other romantically.

[fatedstrands]

For the whisper ask meme (shattered glass leggy);

Nai holds him gently, tenderly, his voice an oddly cold tint by his ear as he speaks to Legato. Not wanting him to know who it was yet but speaking regardless.

"I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. How perfect you are. You are the only human that truly matters in this world, the only being worth keeping alive when all else faces exstinction. I would end all of everything for you, if you asked me."

He pauses, contemplating his next words.

"Perhaps I am the worshipper of you now." \\@metamorphopsia\\ The devout had been curious as to why Sister Maria had asked him to blindfold himself before she left. He trusted her, had known her since they were both terrifyingly young, and so he'd done just that and simply waited. He'd heard the door, heard movement near and his head shifted, revealing his eyes veiled to the world. He had suspicions of who'd approached, and the welcoming chill confirmed his thoughts and eased any and all fears. The sweet messenger shuddered beneath the cold breath, eyes widening beneath the mask as he forced hands to curl into his pant legs, lets they reach for the other. He listened even as his breath caught in his chest, catching on vocals to the tune of a whine as cloth caught the saline solution form his eyes. The other thought so much of him. Was this a confession of emotion, or something entirely different? The final words break his control of his hands, fingers gingerly rising to hold the other's jacket. Brows curled up, confusion and uncertainty sinking into his flesh. Lips parted upon next breath, subsequently drinking in that ever sweet and soothing scent of the other's frame. "Nai." The simple plea of the other's name spoke volumes to his heart, spilling from the rim his adoration and love for the Divinity above, even if nerves held him by the throat, silencing the rest he'd desperately wished to say. I have always belonged to you and no one else. you are my purpose for living, my reasons to smile, my hope in a world that rather me dead.

[loyaltyworn]

@battletrio​ || meme continuation || thank you so much!

Bucky’s words are harsh. Said with a flash of bared teeth and a curl to the side of his nose that’s turned his expression damn near venomous in and of itself. Blue eyes glint with the sharpness of daggers aimed right at John. Ones meant to hurt. To dig in and ward him OFF. Send him anywhere other than beside him. Where he looks like he’s waiting for some sorta answer. Or bond to take hold. Or friendship to blossom inside a handful of rotten dirt out of a fucking graveyard that he doesn’t know Bucky can see lining up in little white markers in a trail behind him every time he looks at him. Lips thin out, his tongue slides along them before it jerks back in and back teeth grind together. 

He LISTENS. As a vein starts to spider itself across the corner of his forehead. Neck already flush with heat by the time Walker’s done whispering his pleas. The comment about getting on his knees to plead earns him a glare that might’ve killed a normal person from the sheer ferocity behind it. No one’s ever asked him that and he never wants to hear it again.  Searching out any sorta confirmation for what he can do to make things BETTER.

Then it comes rushing out of him all at once. Palms press to his knees and he stands. All five foot nine of himself jerks up and straightens rigid. Silence. One. Two. Three seconds. To the point where it seems like he might leave without a word. The dam breaks and he turns on him. Pointer made of flesh and bone sticks out gesturing towards the man’s chest. “You are EVERYTHING that makes me realize how gone he is. Do you know that? You are everything that snuffs out the last lie I kept to myself that told me somewhere, somehow this world might be able to take him back? To bring him home--as fucked  up and masochistic as that is? I kept thinking that maybe the universe would realize it’s mistake..HIS mistake and make itself right.”

There’s a few backwards steps and he puts space between them, shaking his head and puffing out a frustrated cough of a noise. “But you,” fingers uncurl in a wave towards John before falling to his side, “You just show me that it’s over. That everyone’s moved on. Everyone but..me.” And the word wobbles out of him in a tone he doesn’t like hearing echo back at himself. It’s weak and not angry anymore. It’s defeated and fragile and he hates the sound of it. “So? You wanted the truth. Now you have it. It’s nothing about you. Or your mistakes. Or the way you were so stupidly agreeable to being what they wanted without thinking over what it MEANT. It’s nothing personal. It never was.”

[dutybcrne]

@strdstd said : i already lost you once. i'm not going to lose you again. {Dain for Halfdan bc lISTEN-} 『 Meme || Accepting 』

         Being an odd amalgamation that was an ascended human who still retained certain Abyssal affliction was never going to by easy.

Halfdan knew this well, the odd way his Vision had not only refused to cooperate with him at first, but in the way it thrummed uncomfortably ( at best ) whenever he used it. He knew in the way extended usage tended to really hurt, especially the more his emotions tended to lapse and surge.

         Whenever that form tended to take over, in more dire circumstances.

         Like the most recent battle they'd faced, having pushed himself to that familiar, monstrous appearance he'd donned for 500 years because his Vision wasn't enough. Because he had to protect his fellow knights once more ( he was stronger now than before, he couldn't fail them, too! ). Because he needed to stay by Dainsleif's side, backing him up the best he could as always, to hell with how much his body felt like it were being torn apart. To hell with how much it hurt to maintain that body, whether the more the riftwolves would lash at him, or because of that accursed clash of those two energies-

         Teeth grit tight.

         That body had already begun to fall apart on him far too soon, the visage cracked and partially fallen away by the time he'd found himself having to take a knee. To try and catch his breath, act as though he could still run up and about to keep helping like all the others. But of course Dainsleif knew better. Even without the wheezed breaths rattling through his chest then, still were even now, even if most of his face had still been concealed by that shadow husk facade he'd donned, Dain could tell he was reaching his limit. Knew this, as well as he did, but even still...still...!

         "Starlight...!" Still, the ache bore into his heart at the concern. The desperation threaded in his beloved voice, spelled clear in his features as the plea had his lips. More than the disappointment in himself that he hadn't been able to swiftly recover, the burn of his failure- "Dain, I can't just...!"

         I can't just leave you to fight alone again. Please-

         "Just-" If he couldn't handle picking back up the pace after a mere ambush, after using his ace in the hole...how could he possibly think himself worthy of being the captain's right hand. This wasn't a time to be weak, to be inefficient- "Please, Dainsleif, I...y-you can't afford to shoulder more burden on my behalf...!"

         Dainsleif was impossibly overworked as it was. Endlessly nonstop, if Halfdan had to drop out now, with all the other captains and even the Acting Grandmaster themselves spread so thinly...!

         "I just...need a brief breather. Let me do this for you. Please, I don't...I can't let you down again...!"