#i really picked a winner when i was like sixteen

[scenegraph]

it's a new chapter. oh no! oh noooooooooo

[whore-4-drewstarkey]

The Night We Met Pt. 2 - Dad!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Summary: when rafe finds out that his and Y/N son is slowly going down the same path he did, he decides to open up to their son about his past.

Warning: lots of angst (sorry), heavy drug use, drug overdose talk, alcohol consumption, physical violence, dark themes basically. (so sorry). lmk if i forgot any!! PLEASE DONT READ IF ANY OF THESE WARNINGS TRIGGER YOU!!!

A/N: i did a poll to see which fic you all wanted and this was the winner. i can’t remember how this idea popped in my head but it did. i really hope you all enjoy this one!! FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS WELCOMED! PLEASE BE KIND<33 ps remember to share and like!

W/C: 3.6k+ (holy fuck)

it had been seventeen years since Y/N and rafe had gotten married. the two of them had a son together, archie, who had just turned sixteen years-old. archie had definitely taken after his father looks. he was tall, with dirty blonde hair, and striking blue eyes that would catch anyone’s attention. he had also taken after his fathers athletic abilities, as he was the star quarterback for the kook academy on kildare island. but, unfortunately the worst way he took after his father, was the intense drug use that was slowly starting to make him an addict; just like his father, rafe cameron, was a mere twenty-one years-ago.

as archie had left for school one friday morning on figure eight, Y/N had entered his room to grab his dirty clothes to wash. as she’d grabbed some of his clothes, a small plastic bag had fallen from one of his khaki pants pockets, and onto the wooden floor of his bedroom next to Y/N feet. bending down, Y/N picked the small packet up to investigate it a little more, until realization hit, as tears began to brim her eyes. it was a packet of cocaine. the only thing she felt like she needed to do in that moment was call her husband who’d been in his office downtown at the cameron development. so she did. she immediately pulled out her phone and pressed rafes contact name, waiting for him to pick up as it rang through her ear.

“baby, what’s up? everything okay? you never call while i’m at work” rafe asked Y/N warily as he sat his falcon pen back down on his oak desk, ignoring the documents that needed his signature.

“i-i think y-you n-need t-t-to come home now” Y/N managed to stutter out, laundry basket long forgotten as she’d made her way to rafes home office, where there was the most privacy.

“what? why? baby, tell me what’s wrong” he insisted.

Y/N swallowed sharply before she began to stutter, and beat around the bush, not wanting to trigger him, “i-i found something i-in archie’s bed-bedroom, but i-i want to wa-warn you, i do-don’t want you tr-triggered hunny”

and in that instant, as soon as she said the world ‘trigger’, he knew she’d found not only drugs, but his old drug of choice; cocaine, in their sons bedroom. he let out a shaky breath of air, as he brought his left hand up to run through his shaggy curtain bangs he’d been growing out from his old buzzcut. “i’ll be home in ten, please don’t worry about me and my trigger, i’ll be fine hunny” he reassured his wife of seventeen-years. and with that he hung up immediately, leaving his office and telling his assistant it was family matters.

as soon as rafe put his porsche in park in the driveway, he ran into his and Y/N house which was located on figure eight, calling out Y/N name, “Y/N WHERE ARE YOU BABY? Y/N???!”

“keep it down rafael, i’m in your office you dumbass” she hushed her husband as she walked out of the french doors that lead to the said room. she grabbed his wrist and yanked him into his office, before she started to cry all over again.

rafe quickly wrapped Y/N into his arms, sending her hushed murmurs of comfort and love, easing her to calm down. she was so heartbroken her little boy was going down the same awful path his father once did. it was hard enough for her to have found rafe almost dead after his overdose twenty-one years ago. she had to go to a couple of years of therapy to recover from that incident. she couldn’t even bare the thought about losing her only child to the same demons that almost took rafe out years before. she clutched onto rafe’s forearm as he held her tight into his arms, trying to steady her shaky frame. he swiftly moved the two of them to his office chair located behind his desk, sitting down and bringing her into his lap where he continued to cradle her fragile head. he pecked her head repeatedly before speaking softly, “hey. hey, Y/N look at me hunny” as he held her cheeks to make her look at him. and in that moment his heart shattered. seeing the love of his life hurt tremendously broke him to his core. swiping some of her tears away with the pads of his thumbs he began to speak again, “we will figure this out love. we will get him the help he needs. i’ll do right by him since my father never could for me. he will be okay. i promise. even if i have to tell him about my addiction. got it sweetheart?” and with that, Y/N bit her bottom lip, and nodded her head to rafe’s reassurance.

“good, now, where is it? i promise i will be fine, you don’t have to worry about me. okay?” rafe asked Y/N as he lightly brushed her curtain bangs back behind her ear with the back of his hand, bringing his lips to hers for a delicate but loving kiss. she placed one of her shaky hands to his scruff covered cheeks, stroking his cheekbone softly, “promise you’ll be fine?”

“promise” he cooed as he grabbed her hand that had been stroking his cheekbone and placed a chaste kiss to the palm of it. she then used her other hand to grab the bag of white powder from her sweatshirt pocket, dropping it in rafe’s large, veiny hand.

“how are we going to approach him about it? you are the expert on this kinda stuff aren’t you?” Y/N attempted to tease rafe to lighten the mood. she’d always had a dark sense of humor, just like rafe.

smirking rafe responded,” hahaha very funny. i mean i am i guess? i know how not to approach him if that helps.”

“how so?”

“as long as we don’t do what ward would do, i think we will be fine baby” rafe sighed out at the mention of his fathers name. a cold-hearted man is what he was. was no father to rafe…. ever. hell, he didn’t even acknowledge him as his father these days, only called the man by his name.

“i guess you’re right” Y/N sighed as she stood back up, preparing herself for what was to come in the next few hours.

“we got this baby, we got this. yeah?” rafe once again tried to reassure the woman of his dreams as she nodded her head in response.

——————-

rafe and Y/N had taken a seat on the living room couch as they waited for their beloved son archie to arrive home from school. he’d football practice, but had received a text from rafe demanding him to come home and skip the practice, adding in that he had already talked to archie’s coach, excusing his absence. archie, being just like his father was, obligated to make his father happy, came home in a hurry.

when the front door opened frantically, followed by hurried steps and commotion, Y/N scooted closer to rafe for comfort. she didn’t know what was going to happen or how it would go down. rafe placed his large, veiny hand on her thigh, giving it a light squeeze for reassurance that everything would be okay in the end.

“we’re in here archie!” rafe had hollered from the living room couch as he and Y/N both waited anxiously for archie to arrive.

“h-hey, what’s up? what was so important that i had to miss practice?” archie questioned as rafe motioned for him to take a seat on the couch opposite of the one Y/N and him were seated on.

“umm archie, your mom went to your room this morning to do your laundry and found something a little concerning. i wanna state that we aren’t blaming you and we aren’t criticizing you whatsoever bud, we love you and want the best for you” rafe spoke warily to his and Y/N young son who sat opposite of them, with worried eyes. archie knew immediately what Y/N found when his father said laundry. he had forgotten to put his drug of choice in his secret spot in his dresser.

rafe continued before archie could even speak a word, “ archie, bud, i get it. i know the high is great and all. i know what you’re going through a-“ rafe had been cut off mid sentence by a triggered archie who had begun to yell at his father.

“really? how in the hell would you, of all people understand how good it makes me feel when i get a little bit of a kick?”

and with that outburst and those words coming from his precious archie, came rafe’s sadness and anxiousness. he had to tell him about his addiction and more specifically; he had to tell him about his overdose that dreadful night Y/N had found him in his bedroom. frustratedly, he pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly as he tried to find the words to tell archie about his horrible past. he tried to sniffle back some tears, but gave up as he had remembered the only reason why he used to hold back his emotions; his father. so, he let a few tears fall down his stubbled cheeks as Y/N had an arm around his shoulders rubbing his back while the other rubbed his inner thigh to comfort him, all while whispering sweet nothings only rafe and her could hear.

“you got this” she whispered as he raised his head again to make eye contact with archie.

“archie…” he started as he composed himself for what he was about to say. “when i was your age, i used to go out and party a lot. when i first started doing cocaine i was only fifteen years-old. nobody knew in my family. hell, it’s not like anyone would have even cared if they had known anyways” rafe shook his head as he took a deep breath to continue.

“and by the time i was seventeen, all i did was party, drink, snort cocaine and get into a lot of physical altercations. i was heavily addicted to the drug. and some of those altercations i had were so bad that some people were even hospitalized. i was not a good person and i sure as hell was a danger to myself and those who were around me.” he swallowed the lump in the back of his throat as he was about to tell archie about a time when he had hurt topper so bad he had to go to the hospital for many reasons. he still couldn’t recall what had happened that night. and yet for some odd reason, topper was still his best friend to this day minus Y/N, she would be his bestest friend til death do them part.

“once, i got so high that when your uncle topper tried to get me to ease up on the lines and shots and get me to go home, i literally blacked out and beat the living shit out of him. he was hospitalized for two days. i broke two of his ribs, his nose, many lacerations from a beer bottle and a concussion. cocaine, let alone any drug for that matter, is not the answer to anyone’s problems. i would know” he pleaded with archie as rafe’s face scrunched up in hurt as he remembered the aftermath of that fight like it was yesterday.

“b-but, buddy, what’s worse is the night i overdosed on cocaine when i was seventeen years-old, twenty-one years ago. if it weren’t for your mom coming over to find your aunt sarah to do some project for school, i wouldn’t be here right now. it was your fucking mother who found me being delirious and aggressive. i almost hit her because i was so out of my mind. but then before i could do anything, i passed out and went out cold, all while my heart almost stopped beating” rafe croaked out as Y/N continued to rub rafe’s back as this had always been a tough subject to talk about after she had told him she was the one who’d found him that night. he continued again once he cleared his throat, “that night i had done a few extra lines and what i didn’t know at the time was that they were laced with small amounts of fentanyl and that’s why my heart rate was so low. i had to have THREE doses of NAR-CAN archie. and then i went into a 2-day coma” rafe started to cry again, not from the remembrance of that night but to the idea that that could be his boy one day.

“i-i didn’t know that dad” archie stuttered out as he looked down to his lap.

rafe continued, “my dad was so adamant about keeping the fentanyl part private that he paid people off so it wouldn’t ruin his deals. and he scrutinized me for doing drugs. he never asked me why. and sure as hell never really cared about me. i promised myself i would do right by you since my father never could do right by me. so that’s why we’re talking and not judging you for your choices.”

“why did you do it?” archie asked his father the question very few people had ever asked him throughout these 23 years since he’d first been introduced to that drug.

rafe, who’d been taken aback responded with a shake of the head confused, “wait what?”

“why did you start using?”

“um, my mom had died when i was ten and from that point on i wasn’t okay mentally. i didn’t have the love a child needs from their mother, instead i had a greedy, self centered, physically and emotionally abusive, selfish man for a father. he only ever seemed to care more about both of your aunts, money and my step mom, than he did me. he would hardly even look my way. he never truly loved me. so when i got to the kook academy and went to my first party, i was offered a line and took it. it made me feel what i thought was happy but looking back at it i just felt numb. but it was just a way for me to forget about my own shit and past and my emotions. using cocaine allowed me to forget everything that had happened. but with it came hurting others i loved and cared about. which is more important to me than myself. i’d do anything to go back and not get addicted. i hated hurting the ones i loved most. and it took years to build my relationships back up all because of my addiction. addiction is a demon. i’m lucky i got clean. you’re lucky you have us, supportive parents who will be there for you every step of the way” rafe spoke with passion as he looked deep into his boys blue eyes that had resembled his own.

“dad, i’m scared. how do i even get clean? how’d you get clean?”

“baby, archie, i don’t wanna find you like i found your father. that night was the scariest night of my life. i had ptsd from that night and had to go to therapy for a few years due to it. i don’t know if i can do that again, especially if it’s you hunny” Y/N cooed as she leaned forward to caress her boy’s face, pushing back his curtain bangs that resembled his fathers when he was his age.

“arch, it’s okay to be scared. hell, i was so scared when i woke up in the hospital and the doctor told my dad and i that i had overdosed on cocaine and fentanyl. when i heard that i wanted to get clean, but i was so scared. and my father had always told me anytime i showed emotion of any kind, to man up. to not show emotion. that’s what lead me to the drugs in the first place. embrace your emotions bud. even if it means you’re scared. it’s healthier that way.” rafe attempted to explain how he felt about expressing one’s emotions.

prepared to answer the second half of archie’s question rafe took an even breath in and out before he spoke, “i got clean probably the worst and most painful way you can do it. i went cold turkey. which takes a lot of determination. after seeing your aunts so scared, i wanted oh-so badly to get clean. but i was hard on the drug. i had gone to another party one night my senior year of high school, and had just quit two days before, when i met your mom. well i thought that was the first time i’d met her because in reality i had no recollection of the night of my overdose. had no idea your mom was the one who’d saved my life. anywho, i basically felt drawn to her and just being around her and talking to her kept me grounded and in line with what i needed to do. and that was get clean. i couldn’t go to a rehab because then my fathers business partners would’ve heard and his deals would’ve fallen through. so i did it on my own. but archie buddy, if your addiction is as bad as mine was by the time i was sixteen, then i want you to know your mom and i want to put you in rehab. it’s the healthiest and best way to get clean”

“i-i never knew that dad. i-i’m sorry. and mom used to go to parties?” archie frowned, as he tried to lighten the mood just slightly, earning a small chuckle from both of his parents.

“and that’s why i’m telling you bud. and yeah your mom was one hell of a beer pong partner” rafe smirked as he side-eyed his wife Y/N. “but arch, bud, i need to know, how often do you use? i promise i won’t judge you. okay? i’ve been through this same boat years ago. i’m here for you. we’re here for you” rafe cocked an eyebrow up as he questioned his only son.

“every other day sometimes every day. it just depends. i only started doing it after my injury last football season. yah know, when i broke my wrist? i was just so upset and frustrated that i couldn’t play for the rest of the season and then before i knew it, i was addicted i guess” archie huffed out in anger, just like his father used to do all those years ago. just thinking about how easily he got addicted to the drug pissed him off beyond means. the boy just wanted to get clean.

“fuck” rafe sighed as he bent his head down in his large hands. how had he not even noticed the change in archie? why hadn’t he even thought about how that injury could’ve affected him mentally? was it because he’d been working so much? was he just a horrible father like his own dad was? tears began to brim his eyes once again.

“dad, don’t feel bad about this please. it’s not your fault. i already know that you’re thinking you’ve being working too much and that’s why you haven’t noticed. that’s not true. i’ve just been hiding it really well” archie, spoke to his father as tears brimmed his own eyes now.

“i’m trying not to archie. it’s just hard. are you open to going to rehab or not?” rafe questioned as he lifted his head, swallowed his pride, and pushed back his tears to stay strong for archie and Y/N during these hard times. “i just want to express to you buddy, how lucky you are. this is a great opportunity. you’re lucky to have parents who truly care and love you because i never had that after my mom passed. and we both want the best for you” he continued on.

“of course i’ll go” archie quivered out as he looked at both of his parents. he felt so guilty to have put them through such a mess. especially his mother, Y/N, as she’d been through almost losing rafe all those years ago. he couldn’t even imagine the damage that must’ve done to her mentally when she found him. and to think that that could be him next that she found broke his heart to a thousand pieces.

“i-im sorry” the sixteen year-old boy croaked out to his two loving parents as he lunged forward to hug them both.

“we love you too baby, and we’re gonna get you the help you need” Y/N cooed to her little boy as she pecked his head.

“we’ll get you the help i never got, bud, okay? you’re gonna get through this, okay? got it?” rafe asked his son as he held archie’s face in his hands, making eye contact.

“yeah. im a cameron, of course i got this” he chuckled. “us cameron’s are stubborn and can make it through anything. right?” he questioned his father as he looked up at him.

“damn right. i love you archie, and i’m proud of you for taking such a big step. you’re gonna get clean and you’re gonna stay clean” he patted his son’s cheek as the three soaked in the last of their presence’s before archie left for rehab.

rafe sighed with a smile. he knew archie would get better…. after all he is a cameron for christ sake. ‘it’s hard to get rid of them’ he thought to himself as archie left that night for rehab. he smiled to himself because he knew in the end it would all work out. it always did for a cameron.

@slut4drudy @runningfrom2am @maybankslover

[naamahdarling]

How do you cope with “don’t trust your brain”? I can’t trust it at any time of day, due to the dysthymia.

For me, realizing that it is time-related for me really helped. I learned to identify those feelings in specific because of when they routinely occurred, and am now able to lower their internal priority.

With dysthymia that isn't going to be helpful, though.

But still, some of this probably will be at least a bit useful because the helpful part for me was less the time - that was just the factor that made it easiest to catch. It was mostly that identifying them was the first step. Like that part isn't always easy, the thoughts are REALLY COMPELLING, we assign them high priority because of their strength, so it's hard to say "Wait. These intense feelings I am having are not accurate They are a distortion of the facts. They are based on valid fears. However, the way they are currently all ganging up on me, or feel unusually intense, is not in proportion."

And that's sort of where I am now. Here's some stuff I do.

I respond by gently reminding myself that I have a condition that predisposes me, I tell myself it's okay to have the feelings, and then I say "I am going to do what is best for me in this moment while these thoughts upset me." And that can me hard as hell and I can't always do it. But I am trying and learning.

When I get the three o'clocksies as I call them (my schedule is often twisted around enough that they happen at 3, my equivalent of 8 or 9) I take a short bit to remind myself it's a distorted perception (or sometimes utterly false, like when I get the "everyone hates me"s), I challenge it gently, then try not to give it a chance to respond. I try not to argue with it because that doesn't help. And I just find something else to do or think about.

Maybe I move to something I know I like even if I don't want to, and give it a bit to see if I can switch gears. Maybe I say "well I'm ruined for a while, might as well do something hateful like get some water or gather some trash, or brush my teeth, because if I have to suffer I can at least suffer to make my future self a bit happier." That didn't come easy either. Occupying my hands AND my mind is important. I often can't turn the bad feelings volume down if I don't occupy my mind. Movies don't work, but podcasts/audiobooks and hand crafts or engaging phone games do. I have like sixteen I can choose from. (Your library may have audiobooks to borrow digitally btw. It's very cool.)

I ask for help, I ask for asks here a lot, I have some friends to talk with about fun things, my boyfriend is great. Doing imaginative stuff like discussing silly questions (the gryphon question I just got was like a perfect example, thanks!), what-ifs for our OCs or fanfic, or silly stuff like we watch a ghost hunting show and stop it to ask what we/our imaginary people would do, or a spooky movie or podcast or reality show and we raise a hand at the point where we would nope out. We're watching a cake show and we pause it to say what we would do or what winner we would pick. Having another person is so helpful, but you CAN do this with yourself. Write the answers out longhand or journal them on your phone (Journey app!). I will now often do this WHILE I AM CRYING, guys. It helps. Even if I think it won't. I did it during a goddamn tornado warning where for once it WAS very fucking close. Boyfriend was safe across town, I am unbelievably scared of storms and was in about the scariest one I've been in since a kid, and I was snot-crying on the phone and once we said our I love yous we just talked about stupid OC shit. And by god it got me through.

Reading aloud to my cats has helped before.

Like. Whatever it is that's crawling up your spine. It's so much about saying "look, I feel this way, and it is INTENSE, but I don't have to just sit with it; I can do other stuff WHILE I feel this way, I can engage with things ALSO, I can have other thoughts too." You don't have to end the thoughts by force. You can just let them run and move on as much as possible, think about other things as best you can. And with practice it DOES get easier. It does.

Another thing I have recently discovered is that I need TIME to have emotional reactions. Someone I love said something unintentionally SUPER HURTFUL a while ago, and y'all I was SO ANGRY. SO FURIOUS. And I realized before I could address the situation and tell them they crossed a line, I needed to make room to have this huge emotional response before acting, and they DIDN'T need to be part of that. Even though the intense feelings demanded I act, I didn't. With practice, amazingly, I have learned to give MYSELF the space we all talk about giving others to feel first, solve after. It took practice but I'm there. Once I cooled off, I realized not just why I reacted the way I did (specific past trauma) but why they said what they did (their own past trauma, inappropriately dumping it on me) and was able to talk it over with them in an empathetic way and it all smoothed out, with better boundaries now.

The having the emotional reaction thing may not work in some cases such as repetitive thoughts of, say, trauma, but when there is a precipitating event that just happened or I get blindsided by a trigger, it is really helpful to realize it's a reaction, probably a really understandable one, and I won't feel like this forever.

Also psych meds and specifically mood stabilizers are really great for me. I'm on two, and at first I had some internalized ableist shame around taking them because I didn't like how it implied I was like my toxic mom with her uncontrolled rapid cycling (not why she was toxic, but it made me feel like I was failing at being Not Like Her), but WOW having them has helped. The right meds. It can be hard to get that in place, but I did want to say, it really did help me.

I have also with my therapist built a safe place in my mind. This doesn't have to be boring! I have a floating island with cloud oceans, lovely ruins, amazing wildlife, and a badass wizard lair. And in it is a box for the horrible thoughts I can't deal with right now like the PTSD stuff, so it's contained when I'm not working with it, and a koi pond where I drop these glowing rocks I imagine the scary feelings going into, and then the water cleans them and turns them into pretty stones. Like, this was just stupidly useful and I never thought to do it in a way that wasn't boring before. So I can go there, now, with practice, for a quick visit to drop some bad stuff off. I also visit as I fall asleep and explore, to help make it easier to go there quickly. Doesn't work for everyone, has been good for me. Come to Magic Floating Islands! We have perytons and flying coelacanths!

Anyway, I don't know if that's helpful. Other folks might have ideas. But that is kind of where I'm at. It isn't perfect, doesn't always work, but I'm getting better because it's partially just a skill. You know? You're already a bit ahead of where you were initially, since you know it's a distorted pattern. There was a time before you realized that and it probably sucked even more, and there will be a time after this when you have one or two things to try that will suck a little less. It won't be a hundred percent, but you do move forward a bit at a time.

Hope that helps a little. 💕

[ishipallthings]

Cap-IM Rec Week 2023 (Wed)

Wonderous Wednesday, July 19 for @cap-ironman Rec Week!

Today I'm reccing some of my favorite AUs :D

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

this is how you fall in love by complicationstoo @ifmywishescametrue

Steve wants to have sex at least once before he graduates from college. He’s twenty one, never really dated anyone, and doesn’t see the point in waiting any longer. He plans for just a simple one night stand with no strings attached, but his plan doesn't account for falling in love with Tony Stark.

make my wish come true by JehBeeEh @jehbeeeh

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark haven't seen each other since they left for college. When they're reunited in the same small town where they grew up, old feelings resurface that neither expected. Can they work together without letting their feelings get in the way. Or will they be left heartbroken when they both have to leave after the holidays? A story about going home, going for what you want, and delicious cookies.

santa, won't you bring me the one i really need by quidhitch @maangoes

Although Tony typically makes it a point to avoid anything that could be reasonably classified as Pepper-approved self-betterment, he will be making an exception this year in the form of a list of New Year’s Resolutions. —Well, not so much a list, exactly, it’s more like one very loud, very obvious, very critical proposition. He’s gonna write it down, put it on his calendar, say it to Jesus, and do whatever the fuck normal people do to make these things happen. In fact, even though they’re only halfway through December, it’s already emblazoned in his mind in big, flashing neon letters: STOP SLEEPING WITH EX-HUSBAND. This is possibly an inappropriate thought to have while said ex-husband is pushing him up against his apartment door and trying to get his hand down Tony’s pants, but Tony has admittedly never excelled at being appropriate.

Dedicated to You by mariana_oconnor @mariana-oconnor

Steve Rogers is happy with his life. He runs a small bookshop, has good friends, and he fervently believes that the printed page is not obsolete. He's not expecting Tony Stark, billionaire inventor of the best e-reader on the market and perennial prey of the gossip magazines, to walk through the door. His friends think he's crazy not to at least get the man's number, considering he's had a crush on Tony for years, but as luck would have it Steve might just get another chance. A Notting Hill AU.

stellar collision by Pandemic @eachxnn

He turns sixteen in front of his bathroom mirror with a chill across his skin, goosebumps on his arms, and a burn across his sternum. A wet laugh bubbles up from his mouth, too close to tears, as he watches avidly as ink pours across his skin. He thumbs the mark, presses into it, and gasps when he feels his stomach twist and a feeling he can’t shake that his soulmark is somewhere out there doing the same.

Place Your Bets by RurouniHime @thegertie

Steve Rogers may or may not have just picked up a prostitute. This may or may not be Tony Stark’s fault.

the road to hell by colourexplosion

in which no one has super powers and Steve is Tony's PA after Pepper gets promoted.

it's a small world after all by earliebirb @earliebirb

“Great speech.” Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—” And nearly drops his champagne flute. His world comes to a stop. They had only spent a night together, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere. It’s Steve. Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him—The Soulmate That Got Away. 

you'll remember me by Areiton @areiton

Tony closes his eyes and wonders, a brief sharp sting of pain, if Steve's watching tonight. If he still likes to drink his whiskey and coke and pick out winners before they are announced, if his eyes still light up when he watches a movie. Tony licks his lips and pushes the thought down away, where it can't hurt him, where it won't show on his face. Because he won't show it, not here, not where the entire world is watching. It's his. Just his.

Selvage by elwenyere @elwenyere

When a mysterious knight is wounded in battle while protecting King Anthony Stark, it's hard to tell who's more frustrated: the king, who has so far failed to discover any clues to the missing man's identity, or the king's personal attendant, Steven Rogers, who can't believe King Anthony took the field in the first place.

Ain't It A Shame, Too Bad? by Carsonian @carsonian

On his twenty-fourth birthday, Tony was saved from drowning by a man he has yet to find. In other news, Tony's fallen hard for the mute, scrawny blond that washed up on his kingdom's shoreline two-and-a-half days ago. These two things can't possibly be related, can they? (Spoiler(s): They're related.)

The Stark Who Loved Me by gonetoarcadia (fic), Girl_Back_There (art)

It’s 1814 and Captain Steven Rogers joined the army to provide for his adoptive sister Miss Jamie Rebecca “Becky” Barnes following the death of their parents. Although she’d prefer to run away to join the army too, instead she decides to do what will guarantee to bring him home and provide for both of them: marry. The Viscount Anthony Stark is a known Rake and prefers it that way, but he can feel the clock counting down until he needs to produce an heir to inherit everything. With the Stark estate in jeopardy, he’s running out of both time and options. If he has to, then who better than the diamond of the season, Miss Barnes? The only hitch: her overbearing, troublesome brother. Her extremely handsome, overbearing, troublesome brother. Nothing is simple in the game of courtship, especially when the most dangerous thing of all becomes involved: falling in love.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs, and stay tuned for more! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists :)

[curiosity-killed]

Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by @veliseraptor right when I turned work notifications off for 2 hours which feels auspicious

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

148 😅

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,201,484! For a couple years there, I was kind of cranking but now I basically haven't written fic for two years so uh. chilling at 1.2 million

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is always mildly upsetting to me because my favorites are rarely the winners lol

a bow for the bad decisions (3536)

willow branches and flowers (2785)

upon this altar (2745)

heart + bone (2090)

whipstitch (2024)

...well at least I like 2 of these lol

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I used to respond to every comment and then got overwhelmed and fell completely behind and THEN decided to clean house and answer all of the remaining ones...and the next day posted heart + bone and now have uh... 688 AO3 emails sitting in my inbox :') I periodically try to go in and answer at least a handful but honestly it's gotten very sporadic

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Off hesperus! I don't think I write a lot of true angst or tragedies tbh. But that one was meant to be 100% genuine, no happy endings angst. And admittedly it's not AS bad as it could have been but. it is probably as bad as I am likely to write (unfortunately (?), I left my "kill all your fave characters, make everyone suffer, burn it down!!!" writing vibes back in middle school mostly).

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I have so much fluff how am I supposed to pick. ...most of my tgcf fics? heart + bone and sunlight, sunlight, sunlight are pretty absurdly fluffy by the end.

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not really. Back in the olden days (high school/college), I did more—see: whisper something holy, the OG loki fic... I think there were some others?—but it's pretty rare now.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

ehhh not really hate, just some folks who got lost and wound up mad in the comments that *checks notes* local complexity lover let characters be complex. I just turned off anonymous comments for a while and it was fine

9. Do you write smut?

Sometimes! I tend to write (& draw) smut when I'm stuck in a rut (pun sadly not intended), stressed, and struggling to make things which is. something to know about myself. but also means that it often serves as sort of an on ramp to making art that I care about more and so it's often left unfinished.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so? I have no idea how I'd know but honestly, I think my writing is enough directed toward my interests/wants that it's not a prime candidate for stealing lol

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!! it's so cool!! and if she leads was translated into mandarin which!! is bonkers to me that's so much work

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I don't think I've ever actually done it. Isaac (@/lemeute) and I have co-developed a few ideas before but I think they went the way of the raccoon poll and sort of died in discord (though the yanqing AU did contribute to me drawing art!)

13. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Ah I really struggle with this. Really high up there, and probably chief in staying power, is Altair/Malik(/& Maria) and then in terms of ones that have sort of rewritten my brain chemistry it's like Stucky, Cartinelli, Cap2 Crew, Ranwan, Hualian, Destiel...uh I'm definitely missing some there but that's a sampler!

14. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

;A; oh god. I mean. a short list:

wulian au

yunmeng jiang everyone dies

bodyswap (mdzs)

light dancer (atla)

I have many more wips but they're in more varying stages of either "I don't actually care that much if I finish these" (all unfinished MCU fics) or "I will actually finish this" (sixteen stitches).

15. What are your writing strengths?

uhhhhhhhhhh i hate this question bc my brain is immediately like "here is a laundry list of everything ur bad at and ALSO ur wrong. abt the things ur good at." bc well. mental wellness. ANYWAY i think I'm like ?? pretty good at creating intensity in writing??? I've talked about it before as viscerality and it is that but also like emotional intensity. and I do think I can craft a pretty turn of phrase here and there

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

well. plot, for one thing. having one? executing one? keeping it consistent without giant holes for everything to fall apart through? nahh. Similarly, continuity overall is! not a strength. Do you know how many notes there are in TCP asking myself to just sketch out a blueprint of the palace where 90% of the first book takes place. can u imagine

there are. more. but i will pause there

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think it's something that needs to be done with intent and like. care. like, okay. actually I feel extremely subjective about this. Like on the one hand, I think there are times when I think using another language provides important connotative information that is lost when translating to English* (e.g., Wei Wuxian calling Lan Wangji er-gege or Jiang Yanli shijie which don't have very direct counterparts in English, but also if I were to write about my teacher calling me "chica" rather than "girl"). On the other hand, I think it's very important to be cautious (particularly as a white anglophone) about...like. Seasoning Ur Dialogue with Spicy Bits of Other Languages (I am struck by flashbacks of fanon Lance from VLD. bls.). ON THE THIRD HAND, depending on the POV of the work, writing dialogue in a different language can serve different functions in the text (e.g., if the reader knows what it means but the character doesn't, we can have some nice dramatic irony! when it's done well; if the character knows what it means but the reader doesn't, it can build suspense; if both know what it means, it can give insights into different character dynamics/backgrounds/etc.), but again, it should be done with care and intent.

uh i don't know that this actually answered the question or anything. i have feelings???? and minimally coherent thoughts?

*I am being so brave rn in trying not to go down a rabbithole about translation and meaning ;A;

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Marvel :')

19. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

hh hold on i need to go holler at lise and huaqing possibilities

anYWAY yanqing, xianle quartet (variably romantic), erha*, huaqing*, the king's affection**

*technically i've written once for these but like. not fr fr

**I still haven't finished this bc I am inexplicably stressed abt my blorbos suffering but STILL

20. What's your favorite fic you've written?

oh gosh I feel like a broken record bc my fave fics have pretty much been the same for a long time but yeah, of swords and wings is still pretty much my fave largely because, even as it has aged (and I have become more critical of the actual writing), it was so finely tailored to my specific preferences, headcanons, and wants that it still remains quite loved

tagging anyone who wants to do this! (sorry, laziness wins)

[saintsofwarding]

EMBRYO

Chapter 5: Burger Fool

"No," the diner guy said.

"No?" Rose echoed.

"You heard me. No."

"No job, you mean? No...what? Why?"

"Yeah, no job." He ticked off on his meaty fingers. "...Yeah, no job, and 'cause we aren't hiring kids, Miss..." He glanced down at her application. "Uh...Winners?"

"Winters," Rose said. "Why the hell not?"

"You're sixteen. I ain't doing that whole teenage-drama song and dance again. Not after last time. Come back in two years or whatever." He looked her over doubtfully. "If you want to work here that bad, I guess."

Rose glanced around the diner, which was, non-encouragingly, called Vinnie's Meat Hut. A few exhausted-looking patrons slouched at booths and window tables, sadly munching plates of anemic fries and burgers that looked as if they might cause cardiac arrest on contact.

"Come on," she said under her breath. "I'm...young and hip. I could really...bring a fresh perspective into...you know, the day to day..."

"Fresh perspective," the manager said.

"Yeah. I could wash dishes, too, if you don't want me waitressing. Or I could...um...take out the trash."

"Take out the trash," the manager said.

"Please," Rose said.

"No."

"Please?"

"Kid, you need money that bad, go ask your mommy."

Rose blinked, then put on a sad face with big eyes. "I don't have a mommy," she whispered. "Or a daddy. They died when I was three."

"Cancer?"

"Brain."

"Both of 'em?"

"It was contagious."

"Get the fuck outta here."

Rose let out a huff, turned, and stomped out. She couldn't resist throwing up a middle finger before she went through the door.

The manager returned the gesture half-heartedly.

Rose stood on the diner's stoop, staring out at the rainy morning. Today was Friday, thank God. She needed the weekend badly. She hadn't gotten any homework done that week on account of the stuff with Sam and, of course, the monster.

The monster.

Heisenberg had said nothing about the previous night- not that Rose had given him a chance. She'd left before he even emerged from his room, stuffing handfuls of granola bars into her pockets so she didn't even have to stick around for breakfast. She'd barely slept- her second night in a row without much sleep- and now her eyes were itchy, her brain half-congealed concrete. Still, her ankle felt almost healed. One good thing about her power: she healed really, really fast. She'd never got worse than a broken bone, but even that had been better in a week. That had been tough to explain to the elementary school; Rose suspected Heisenberg had employed threats and intimidation to keep those concerned from looking into it too deeply.

Morning traffic rushed past, horns squabbling, pedestrians pushing by, on their way to work or school. The night before, this street had been ominous, dark and abandoned, but now in the gray daylight looked back to normal. Halloween decorations hung in shop windows, and a news-stand owner across the way was sat by his stand on a folding chair, portable radio by his side, listening to the reports.

Rose edged closer. She ambled across the street, ducked under the news-stand's awning, picked out a magazine, pretended to read. ...Light showers all across Regent City and the coast...looks like our October's only going to get colder, folks, better bundle up those kids for trick-or-treating...three-car pileup on I-60, no one badly hurt...Mt. Calyx hospital reports that...

Rose allowed herself a moment of relief. Maybe...maybe it had been chalked up as a fluke...maybe...

...More information on last night's subway attack...

Her spine went stiff.

...No casualties. A survivor and eyewitness to the perpetrator is currently in stable condition. While wild dogs are rare in Regent City, we do warn all our listeners that...

"Wild dogs?" Rose said, out loud.

The stand owner looked up sharply. "Hey," he said. "You gonna buy that?"

Rose glanced down at the magazine. Engines Quarterly. Heisenberg didn't have this edition yet. It had just come out.

"Yeah," she said. "Actually, I am."

Heading to school on the city bus, Rose hunched down in the seat, glanced around, then got out her phone. It was a super-shitty old one- Heisenberg had tried to juice it up too, but there was only so much he could do- and it took a long time for anything to load. Once it did, she scanned the breaking news articles one after another, trying to see if Mara or anyone else had mentioned her. Most of the articles agreed that it had been wild dogs. One posited that someone had gone psycho after snorting horse Viagra- apparently maulings were a common side effect of that activity- though judging from the comments section it wasn't a widely shared theory.

By the time Rose reached her stop the relief was enough to get her sluggish self off the bus and into school. Still, she tugged her knit hat down, like that would hide her face, and hunched into her coat, trying to get from class to class with as much speed as possible.

The conversation in her classes was a buzz on the edge of her awareness. Parties, Halloween events, weekend plans. Someone mentioned the subway incident, but it was more about how metal it was that there had been an animal attack in the middle of Regent City. No details. Rose's mind kept drifting to her ill-fated interview at Vinnie's Meat Hut. Ugh, she shouldn't have been such a brat. She needed money. She needed...

Just talk to Heisenberg.

Just talk.

She cut off her thoughts with a shake of her head. No. She had to do this herself. Besides, he was keeping things from her. Big things. If he was gonna know about what she was up to, he had to earn it.

When the bell rang for lunch, she didn't head with her friends to the lunchroom. Instead, she made a beeline for the library. The hush enfolded her, a few other students hunched over reading tables or sitting in the computer lab. Rose claimed a computer, logged in, and navigated to the search engine. Glancing to and fro, she hunched a little further forward before taking the metal disc from her pocket.

It gleamed in the light from the computer screen. She set it on the edge of the keyboard, then typed in

EMBRYO

Nothing, of course. Just the usual definition, wiki, et cetera. Embryo test and project embryo turned up even fewer results- just articles about artificial wombs, lab rats, in vitro shit. Rose stuck out her tongue as she scrolled through the image results, then, with a spike of frustration, shut down the search engine and left the computer lab for the library front desk.

The librarian looked up as she approached. It was the same one as the day before, a mid-thirties woman with a braid over her shoulder.

"'Scuse me," Rose said. She slapped the disc down on the desk. "Can I look up barcodes here?"

She looked up from her computer. "...What? Is this for a project?"

"Yeah. Research project. Big thing. Really important." Rose lifted her eyebrows. "So can I? Scan barcodes?"

"Um..." The librarian's eyes flicked to the disc. She smiled a little. "You're...Rosemary, right?"

"Rose."

"Rose, I think this...what is this? A dog tag?"

"Sort of."

"Well," she said, indulgently, "I think you'd need the database for whatever...whatever data is on this if you wanted the code to lead to anything. Right?" Her smile turned apologetic. "Sorry I can't be of more help."

"Sure. Yeah. No, it's okay," Rose began. Dumbass. Of course. "I, just, I-"

"Rose."

She went stiff. She stared down at the desk for a couple seconds, then turned.

Sam stood behind her, hands in her jean jacket pockets, staring down like Rose had just been staring. Dark circles cut under her eyes, her brows drawn together. She kind of looked like she'd been crying. Rose looked around, but none of Sam's friends were anywhere to be seen.

"What do you want?" Rose said.

"I...look..." Sam squeaked her boot along the ground. "I understand if...if you want to tell me to shove off, but..."

"A little bit, yeah."

Her eyes flicked up. She had been crying, Rose realized with a pang. Her eyes were red and puffy, the skin under them pearlescent.

"Can we talk?" Sam said. "Somewhere else?"

Rose opened her mouth. "Yeah," she said. Her voice was soft. "Yeah, of course."

They ended up in the alleyway. The same one as before. The dumpster was back upright, the dog monster's black blood entirely washed away by the rain. The air smelled crisp, clean. Rose sat on the steps, while Sam paced back and forth in front of her.

"So?" Rose said. "Talk."

"I..." Sam stopped. She let out her breath. Then she reached in her bag and brought out her phone. "I know Mara."

The air seemed to siphon from Rose's lungs. Her vision shocked white.

"What?" she said.

"Yeah. I mean...sort of. My friend, Necro, he's in band with me...they went to middle school together. She goes to East Regent High now, but...he knows her. And he was texting her in the hospital. And she said..." Sam scrolled through her phone. "She said...a girl saved her. A blonde girl. With black stuff that came out of her. Someone told her not to talk about it, but she couldn't keep quiet about who saved her. She said...this girl...drove the monster away."

"The monster," Rose whispered.

Sam nodded.

"It was you," she said. "Wasn't it?"

Rose looked at her hands. She drew in a slow breath. As she did, black veins twined through her skin, undulating slightly, like living things. She clenched her fists and they retracted. Sam didn't move. She stood there, watching her with dark, unreadable eyes.

Rose nodded.

"Monster attacked me last night," she said. "I took care of it."

Sam let out a laugh. The sound of it bordered on the hysterical. "Took care of it? You freaking hit it with a subway train, dude!"

She couldn't help but smirk. Heisenberg would be proud. "A little bit."

"That totally beats your goth hobo dad's stop sign maneuver, hands down."

"He's not my real dad," Rose confessed.

"...Huh?"

"He kind of saved me from, among other things, a draconic vampire lady's psychic nightmare dreamscape palace when I was a baby. He's been taking care of me ever since."

Sam took this all in with a blink, but all she said was "And he's...like you?"

"Pretty much."

"Good thing he's not your real dad," Sam said. "I'd hate to meet your mom."

Rose snorted. She doubled over with laughter; it kept coming, snorts and hiccups, uncontrollable; her eyes began to water. Sam started to laugh, too, one hand pressed to her mouth. She leaned against the far wall, her smooth brown throat open to the cool air. Warmth radiated in the pit of Rose's stomach, and despite her exhaustion, her aches and pains, the distance still between her and Sam, she couldn't help but be glad to be here, now, with her.

Their laughter died, and the silence came in once more.

"The way I talked to you..." Sam began.

"You were scared. I get it."

"Not just that." She looked down. "My aunt lived in Raccoon City."

"Oh."

"Yeah. She and my mom...they were super close. After...after what happened...after they just...never found her..." Sam shook her head, her gaze faraway. "My mom was apparently never the same. She's..."

She cut off.

"This stuff," she went on, "these...things. They've destroyed so many people's lives. They've taken so much away from so many. I was...I was scared, yeah. But...I didn't want to be scared of you...just of...of that."

The corner of Rose's mouth quirked in a tiny smile. "That?"

"You know." She wriggled her fingers. "That!"

"Are those my tentacles?" Rose said, letting her voice go sepulchral on the last word.

"Well, I can't summon them, so yeah."

Rose nodded.

"I get it," she said. "But, Sam...this power. These things I can do..." Her throat tightened. "They are me. Don't you understand? I can't put them down. I can't ever be apart from them. I...sometimes, I wish..."

She cut off, then began again. "They are me," she said again. "And. And you get all of me, or you don't get me at all."

Her face was hot, but her voice hadn't shook. Sam still stared at her. Her eyes were bright in the trace of weak sunlight from above. A momentary break in the clouds.

"Can you accept that?" Rose said.

Sam paused. Then-

She nodded.

"I think so," she said.

"Good," Rose said. "I need your help. You said Mara told you guys that someone told her not to talk?"

"Yeah."

"You have any money for flowers?" Rose said. "Because we've got a hospital to visit."

***

"Fuck school," Sam said, starting up her car.

"You're, like, a straight A student," Rose said.

"That's why I can say fuck school." She backed out of the school lot and they were off. "I've earned school-fucking privileges."

The drive to Mt. Calyx grew darker by the minute, the afternoon's brief respite from the rain over. Raindrops spattered Sam's windshield as they drew closer. Rose's hands were clammy; she tried not to fidget, but she picked at a hole in her jeans anyway. Sam glanced over, but said nothing. From the line between her eyebrows, she was a little leery, too.

Mt. Calyx rose above the surrounding buildings. It was built atop one of Regent City's hills, sloping up from the docks district to overlook the city below. The hospital was an imposing steel-and-glass structure with extensive, tree-lined grounds, its name done in bright teal lights across its front facade. After parking, Rose and Sam dawdled by the car, shivering in the chill wind, staring up at the building.

"Kind of creepy, don't you think?" Sam said. "Hospitals, I mean?"

"I've never really been inside a hospital before."

"You serious?"

Rose nodded. "Me and Heisenberg, we...kind of heal on our own. With him, there's some extra organs to deal with-"

"Extra- what, now?" She shook her head. "Long story, right?"

"They all are." In the long years of her child-and-tween-hood, Rose and Heisenberg had bounced from cheap apartment to cheap apartment, motel to abandoned warehouse, never staying for more than a couple years, tops. They'd watched a ton of television- together, sometimes, Heisenberg making constant observations and jokes at the expense of the characters, but mostly Rose alone, huddled under a blanket, staring at the screen, waiting for Heisenberg to come back. It was all kind of a mystery. With his powers, he could have done anything, made fuckloads of cash, become famous, but he never had. Back then, Rose hadn't questioned it- it was the two of them against the world, and no one else mattered- but now she wondered if it hadn't all been for her benefit, if he'd stayed under the radar to keep her under the radar in turn.

Once she would have chalked that up to pure love.

Now?

She couldn't think about that right now, couldn't think about him. Point was, they'd watched a lot of hospital dramas. A lot. Rose knew the procedure, even if she'd never experienced it.

"Come on," she said. "Let's not keep Mara waiting."

They made their way through the sliding doors and into the hospital proper. The lobby smelled subtly luxurious, paneled in wood, the lights kept tastefully low, but under the muffled murmur of conversations and the music played softly on hidden speakers, Rose detected a tang of something like disinfectant, chalky and stinging.

Her nerves prickled. She shoved her hands in her pockets in case her mold started to show. Sam went and spoke to the front desk person, who handed out clip-on visitor's badges and a hospital map.

"She's in the recovery wing," Sam said, returning to Rose. "Room D-6- oh! Look! A shop. Perfect."

She went to the gift shop and bought a bouquet of pink flowers. As she did, Rose's phone began to vibrate. An unknown number. That would probably be Heisenberg. She chewed her lip. Shit, had the school called Heisenberg or something? Usually he couldn't care less whether or not she skipped out on class. After last night had he decided to play responsible-parent after all?

She shoved it back into her pocket and hurried to Sam's side. This time of day, the hospital was quiet, a few nurses chatting in a break area, a doctor working at a computer in a glassed-in office. Rose kept glancing around, then reminding herself not to look suspicious.

"Don't look suspicious," Sam whispered.

"I know!"

"We're not doing anything wrong, we're just visiting a friend."

"I know," Rose said again. She stared down a hallway, pale green walls giving the light an underwater quality. "I just...weirds me out, is all. This place. I..."

She trailed away.

A memory. Suddenly. Like it had walked through a door in her mind. That smell. Chemicals and disinfectant, medical supplies and- mold. A woman's voice, singing her to sleep. Hush, now, child, the wolves are coming, hush, I pray you, hush, or they will make your worries their meal...

The language was unfamiliar, lulling and strange. But Rose recognized every word. She heard it, even now. Faraway, faraway. That song.

Her eyes- golden?

A place deep underground.

Pulse. The hallway was no longer a hospital, modern and clean, but the rocky, lightless cave passageway. The glitter of crystal, the rumble of something underfoot. Something deep, and old. Something sleeping.

Something waiting.

Another pulse. The memory left her. She was back in her body, but she was cold, still staring, white shocking into her vision with each heartbeat. She felt the slick squirm of her mold through her skin, tightening around her heart. Was this a panic attack? Heisenberg wasn't here. He wasn't here. Oh, shit, was she gonna freak out? She needed him bad. She needed-

A warm hand clasped hers. She jumped with a gasp. Sam stared up at her, concern bright in her eyes.

"Rose?" she said.

Her breathing sounded jagged, strangled.

"I..." she began. She and Sam shuffled to the side as a couple nurses walked past, barely giving them a second look. "I'm...I saw...I thought..."

She looked down the hallway, but it was no longer natural rock traced into form by a lantern held aloft, picking out the glitter of crystals growing from the walls, just a regular-ass hospital hallway. The panic slowly ebbed; warmth came back into her limbs.

Sam's grip on her helped.

She realized just how hard Sam was holding her hands, and heat rushed into her face so fast she was surprised her head didn't straight-up explode. She jerked her hands from Sam's. Sam's eyes widened a little, then dipped to her boot toes.

She stepped back.

"I..." Rose started- to apologize, maybe- holding your hands makes me feel way too much right now and I just can't- I'm sorry, Sam, I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you again-

She didn't go on.

"It's okay," Sam said. She gave Rose a wry smile. "Hey, if you'd passed out or something at least we're already at the hospital."

"Funny," Rose told her. Still, she managed to return Sam's smile.

As they left, she glanced down the hall once more.

Empty.

An echo of singing traced her mind.

Hush now, child. The wolves are coming.

***

They found Mara's room on the next floor up.

The nurse on duty let them in. "She's been through a lot," she told them. "Take it easy, okay?"

"Don't worry." Sam gave her her most winning smile. "We're not gonna bite."

Rose dug her elbow into Sam's ribs as the nurse left.

"What?" Sam said, with a wheeze.

Inside, the lights were turned low, the room's single window washed by rain. The television was on, casting pale light over the hunched shape of a girl in the bed. Her long auburn hair hung loose around her shoulders; her eyes were bruised. She lay with one leg bandaged, tubes leading from the crook of her arm to the saline bag on a stand nearby, her gaze unfocused and lowered. When the door clicked shut, she gave a little gasp and whirled.

"Hi, Mara," Sam said, giving her a wave.

"Sam?"

"Yep. And look who I brought with me." Sam stood aside. Mara's eyes widened.

"Oh, my god," she breathed. "It's you."

"Again. Yeah. I didn't get to introduce myself before," Rose said. She ventured forward and sat by Mara's bedside. Behind her, Sam put the flowers into an empty mug on a counter. "I'm Rose. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks to you. I thought that thing was gonna eat me." She scrambled awkwardly forward and before Rose could react caught her up in a hug. Rose stiffened, then put her arms, slowly, around Mara. It's okay, she told herself. This is okay.

"Thank you," Mara whispered. She pulled back, her eyes bright. "What was it, anyway?" She gave her a quick glance-over. "...You're not another one, are you?"

"No! Not...uh. Not like that, anyway. That's kind of what I'm here to find out. To make sure you were all right, and to get more information."

"Sure. Anything."

"Is there anyone else here?"

"My mom's just stepped out to go grab some stuff from home-"

"No," Rose said. She looked back toward the windows that looked out to the corridor. Sam quickly whisked the blinds shut. "Not your mom. You said someone didn't want you talking about what really happened. All the papers say it was a wild dog attack, but that's bullshit. Tons of people saw the monster. No matter how scared you are you're not gonna confuse a six-foot strawberry jello monster for a pack of wild anything."

Mara stared at her as she talked, fiddling with her hospital gown. The rain cast eerie shadows over her face.

"They warned me to shut my mouth," she said. "They told me...they told me it would be...bad for the public if I didn't...that it wouldn't do anyone any good to talk about things I didn't understand..."

"Listen." Rose took the Embryo disc from her pocket and held it up. "I found this in the monster's remains. The monster was the fifth test. Don't you get it? Someone is sending these things out. Someone is making them. And if I don't stop it, more people are gonna get hurt."

Mara's eyes shone in the light from the television screen, the sound turned down to a low murmur nearly drowned out by the rain.

"She showed up right after the doctors finished with my leg," she whispered.

"She?" Rose asked. "Who's she?"

"I..." Mara began. "I thought she was part of the hospital staff...a therapist or something. She was wearing, like, nice clothes under a white coat but she wasn't one of the other doctors. She had this...thing? Like a phone but smaller, and it flashed, and it felt like everything I saw in the subway was getting sucked out of my head. And then she told me not to say anything about it."

"Do you remember anything else? What she looked like? Any kind of...symbols she was wearing? Anything?"

Mara shook her head. "When she flashed that thing her face went fuzzy. I could see it but not, you know? Like my eyes wouldn't focus but it was my brain."

Rose glanced at Sam. The other girl's face was paler than normal, her arms crossed over her stomach.

"Okay," Rose said. "I-"

Her phone began to buzz again. "Sorry," she muttered, and looked at the screen. Another unknown number. Jesus, would he keep calling her until she picked up?

"Hang on," she said. "It's my...just hang on..."

She went over to the window. "What?" she said into the phone.

"Kid? That you?"

"Yes. I'm...kind of busy right now."

"What's going on? You're not doing anything stupid, are you?"

"Would you be able to tell the difference?"

"Cool it, pipsqueak. This fucking-" Something clattered, and he yelled indistinctly at it for a few seconds before returning. "-Fuckin' school of yours said you were gone-"

"Yes, and now I'm busy, so if you don't mind-"

"Don't you hang up on me! You need to get your ass home, you hear me? Get it home, now, or tell me where you are and I'll come and get you, I swear to-"

His voice hissed into static. Rose looked at the phone.

"Heisenberg?" she said.

"-don't- dangerous- need-" More static. With a crackle, the signal dropped, the call lost.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked, still too-pale.

"I...I'm not sure-" Rose began.

Voices echoed down the corridor. Sam peered through the blinds, then looked back up. "Shit," she said.

"What?"

"We need to move," she said. "I think someone's coming."

[art150mediaproject]

When They See Us (Television Post)

"When They See Us" by Ava DuVemay follows the story of the five kids from the central park jogger case. The central park jogger case was a landmark criminal prosecution case that concerned the assault and rape of Trisha Meili, a jogger in central park Manhattan. The case gained national attention because the alleged attackers where five black kids ages fourteen to sixteen years old. This series depicts the police brutality and illegal actions that where taken by the NYPD to get these kids locked up for a crime they didn't commit, and how they lost their childhood as a result.

The main subject of this series is generalization and systemic racism, especially when it comes to dealing with law enforcement. The five kids where picked up by police, who where under orders to pick up any black kid in Harlem who might have been in the park the night of the rape. The police at this point had minimal evidence suggesting that the suspect was black. This relates to what we have been discussing recently in class about how race can be used as a way to generalize a population like we see in this series. once the kids are brought to the police station they are interrogated and berated by the detectives and in the end they are forced into making a confession video that implicates each other in the rape. The cops entirely ignored the rights of these kids in order to get the confession they wanted. This ultimately led to the wrongful conviction of the five boys and major prison time.

The scenario depicted in this film is just one of the many real world examples of systemic racism in law enforcement. unfortunately this is still a big issue in society but films and series like this really help spread awareness of some of the bigger issues in society. This is a great example of using digital media as a way of spreading awareness and support which has seen a major uptick in the past ten years. I think we need to keep making media like this if we want to see any real change.

YouTube Trailer DuVemay, Ava, director. When They See Us. YouTube, YouTube, 22 Apr. 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KyIrJeK2DKY. Accessed 10 Dec. 2023.

Interrogation Image Asante Blackk as Kevin Richardson, one of the Central Park Five, in When They See Us. 5 June 2019. “When They See Us” Is Triggering. That’s Why You Should Watch It, Slate Magazine, https://www.yesmagazine.org/opinion/2019/06/05/netflix-when-they-see-us-ava-duvernay-central-park-five. Accessed 10 Dec. 2023.

Court Room Picture Blackk appeared in Netflix’s When They See Us alongside 2019 Emmy winner Jharrel Jerome

[duramaters]

Aches and Adoration // Part 1

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: It’s been a few years since you became a member of Dauntless and you want to brush up on your fighting skills. Getting Eric to help you was probably not your best idea.

Warnings: Explicit language, violence and injury, fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

You sat on a ledge overlooking the Pit, absolutely entranced by the testosterone fuelled dance below. It was a Friday and that meant Fight Night at Dauntless. A great hulking man with a ginger mohawk and braided beard had picked his opponent clean off the floor and flung him into the corner of the ring and you were pretty sure the poor man was already out cold before he hit the ground. Even from where you sat, high above the action, you could hear the rattling of his chest as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. It was brutal and bloodthirsty and you loved it. You had never really bothered to attend Fight Night before, much preferring the quiet of your room and a good book, but you had been dragged along by Will and Christina to watch their friend, the very unfortunate casualty now being hauled through the crowd.

“This is amazing!” You bounced slightly on the cold concrete and Christina let out a chuckle at your shameless enthusiasm. You continued to watch the redheaded hulk make a mockery of his victims until the final bell rang and people began to disperse. Looking over at Will and Christina with a glint in your eye you naively asked if they thought you would ever be able to do that.

“Not a chance in hell.” Will shook his head with a slight smile.

“You’d be crushed like a bug within the first five seconds.” Rolling her eyes Christina nudged your shoulder with her own to show that she was only teasing before standing up and pulling you with her.

“Wanna go get some drinks?” Will walked between you, slinging his arms around your shoulders. You shook your head at him, body still buzzing with adrenaline from the fights.

“Nah I’m gonna go back to my room and try to wind down or else I’ll never sleep.” Sending your friends a light-hearted smile you broke away from them and jogged up the stairs and along the concrete corridors to your room, mind replaying all of the different fighting techniques you had observed over the past few hours. As soon as you unlocked your door you headed straight to your bookshelf and gathered all of your old training manuals from initiation. You had only realised from watching the evening’s entertainment that you had almost forgotten everything you had been taught back when you were sixteen and new to Dauntless. No time like the present to brush up on your old skills, you thought. Hopefully muscle memory and a good trainer would allow you to regain at least some of your old prowess in the ring.

~~~

The next morning found you cross legged on the floor beside your bed scribbling down pros and cons for all the potential Dauntless members you could ask to help train you. Hours had passed, spent with you considering your options. You had deliberated asking yesterday’s winner but you knew his reliance on brute strength and size wouldn’t work with you. You needed someone cunning and ruthless who wouldn’t go easy on you. That last point was crucial but it sadly meant that you had to cross Tori off of your list, she was way too nice to beat you to a pulp just to motivate you to do better. The only option left was one you weren’t too thrilled about, but you had never really interacted with the man before so you refused to pre-judge him based on reputation alone. Eric Coulter definitely met your criteria – he was intelligent, aggressive and uncompromising, exactly what you needed. Unfortunately, Eric Coulter also happened to hate you on sight.

“Absolutely fucking not” he snapped at you when you had sidled up to him during his lunch and directed your bright smile at him.

“I haven’t even said anything!” you pouted. He was nowhere near as intimidating as you thought he’d be, tearing up chunks of bread and smearing them with butter. Inching closer to him on the wide bench you clamped your hands together in front of your chest ready to actually beg the man in front of you.

“Fuck off.” Oh, maybe you should have headed his reputation after all.

“Can I at least say what I came over to say before I fuck off?” You questioned him, raising an eyebrow as he continued to ignore you and focus on his food. You took his silence as a go-ahead. “I want to get back into fighting and I figured you were my best bet at actually getting good.” Hopefully flattery worked with him. He released a breath through his nose and you watched his jaw tick and his fists clench in what you assumed was an attempt to not punch you smack in the nose. You slowly slipped back into your previous position on the bench, putting precious space between you and the apparently seething leader.

“I’m not going to say it again.” Eric’s voice came out in a harsh whisper but there was no way in hell you’d be leaning in to him to hear him better. With a sigh you swung your legs over the bench and left him to his lunch, trying to hide the disappointment from showing through the drooping of your shoulders as you walked away.

~~~

It turned out that the ginger giant from Fight Night was a Dauntless born named Thelonious and he was more than willing to teach you to fight. A bit too willing, you realised in hindsight, but you didn’t have many other options since Eric had refused to even entertain the idea of training you. You had set out the mats and refilled your water bottle in preparation for your training session and had decided to perform some simple stretches while you waited for your new mentor to arrive. He entered the training room flanked by two smaller, but equally as intimidating men and one of them looked you up and down lecherously, forcing to you repress a shiver and subtly glance around to take stock of the rooms other inhabitants. You noticed a flash of green hair and recognised the woman who had done your first tattoo. Good, it meant you had a potential ally in case things turned nasty with Thelonious and his pals. Squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident than you felt, you stepped forward and greeted the man who had agreed to train you.

“Let’s get started, pipsqueak.” He said, grinning wickedly a you through his thick beard. He clearly only wore the braids during fights, probably so his opponent couldn’t use it against him. You made sure to take a mental note of this. “Be warned. I won’t go easy on you kid.” You nodded in understanding, now absolutely terrified at the prospect of sparring with a man you had seen obliterate at least ten people a few nights ago.

Before you had even had chance to brace yourself against the mat a thundering fist met your abdomen and you doubled over in agony, pretty sure that the man had ruptured your spleen with the hit. Another punch landed against your ribs and you were convinced you felt them shatter beneath his knuckles. The air left your lungs and all you could manage to utter was a soft “ooft” as you were thrown back across the mat. Laughter behind you had you tenderly turning your head to see the two other men mocking you while Thelonious was above you, smirking at your pitiful attempts to get off the floor.

“Stay down and leave the fighting to the men, yeah pipsqueak?” He high-fived his repulsive friends and without so much as a backwards glance at you they left the training room outwardly pleased with the damage Thelonious had delivered to your crumpled body.

“Come on.” A hand appeared in front of your face and you peered up to see a streak of green hair. “I think we should get you to the infirmary, that dick definitely did a number on your ribs.” She said, hoisting you to your feet and gently draping your arm over her shoulder. The walk was slow and hard going, but you made it with the help of your saviour.

“Come see me for a new tattoo when you’re all healed.” She winked and saluted you before diseappering down the corridor. A kind looking male nurse rushed over to assess your injuries, his incessant questioning about what had happened distracted you from the pain until his fingers prodded your ribs over your clothing. Your eyes screwed shut and your teeth clenched in reflex to the sharp pain.

“Fucking ow, dude.” You grimaced. He had the good sense to look sheepish and quickly removed his hands from your side.

“Sorry I’m new, let me grab someone else!” He rushed off and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty at how you’d taken your pain out on him. As you settled back into the bed, shifting to ease the pressure on your lower back, you heard voices approaching down the corridor. A rather harangued looking doctor entered the room followed by a man who was too focused on the tablet in his hands to notice you.

“You’re using way too many resources, we need to be practical and only administer medication to people who really need it. The supplies are too low for-” Eric stopped mid sentence when he finally looked up from his tablet and saw you hunched up on the bed. The doctor had delicately lifted your shirt and your new knuckle shaped bruises were on clear display. Eric’s eyes had zeroed in on the discolouration and he had fallen deathly silent.

“I knew you were a fucking idiot.” He muttered under his breath and his admonishing tone had tears welling up in your eyes. The doctor didn’t seem to have heard his cruel comment.

“And what is your professional opinion here Mr. Coulter? Does she need treatment?” Eric merely huffed in response and left the room.

“Is he always such an ass?” You looked up at the doctor with a watery, yet conspirational grin.

“Always. Without fail.” She snickered and set about fixing your injuries.

~~~

You were perched delicately between Will and Christina at the dinner table when two large hands appeared on the table either side of your food tray. You could feel the softness of a t-shirt pressing against the exposed skin at top of your spine and when you leant backwards slightly in your surprise, the hardness of taut abdominal muscles pressing into your shoulder blades caused your breath to hitch.

“Did you learn your lesson or are you still desperate to fight?” You stiffened as you realised it was Eric’s hot breath tickling your temple. He backed up when he felt you shifting to face him, grunting at the bursts of pain radiating from your injuries. Will and Christina watched on with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation as you made eye contact with the man now towering over you.

“The only thing I learned was that I really ought to be able to defend myself against disgusting egotistical maniacs so that the next time that pig comes near me I can annihilate him.” You looked up at Eric, your saccharine smile contrasting your murderous tone. Eric’s responding smirk made your heart stutter and you had no clue if it was out of fear or something else entirely.

 “Perfect.”

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV- Part 1

I've seen a lot of the memes going around, but I'm not funny enough to write that, so here's my addition to the trend :p

This is part one, because I had a lot of fun with this and want to do it more.

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

- - -

Sometimes, it was odd for the residents of the Dream SMP to be reminded of the fact that the constant state of chaos that their server was in was not, in fact, reflective of every server.

"Why did we move here?" One woman in Snowchester whispers to another as the sirens go off for yet another nuke test and they duck down into their bunker.

The other shrugs. She doesn't have an answer. No one does.

Things started out all right, the people supposed. There weren't any wars, at least. Some of those who lived on the server before the Revolution could remember back far enough to tell you about the first true conflict, between Dream, the creator of their home, and TommyInnit, a sixteen-year-old who could yell shockingly loud, even for a teenager. Dream fought against Tommy and Tubbo (yet another teenager), and it seemed to all be in good fun.

Some will tell you now, though, that the signs of tension were already there, and when Wilbur Soot joined, those tensions only escalated.

One moment, things on the server were normal, the next, there was a Revolution.

"Did anyone else hear Dream shouting about 'white flags' this morning?" One person would ask their friends, and receive nods in return. "Anyone know what it's about?"

"A Revolution," one would respond. "Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are starting a new country."

"Oh," the first would hum. "How long until they get completely crushed?"

"Eh, I give 'em a week."

It was only a week, but it did not end the way anyone thought it would. Instead, L'Manburg gained its independence after TommyInnit gave up his discs once he lost a duel with Dream.

"Is the L'Manburg cabinet missing someone?"

"No, I don't think so. Anyway, did you hear that Dream just declared that Eret is to be crowned king?"

"...Can he do that?"

"He's Dream. He can do whatever he wants."

After the Revolution, when the server finally had more than one ruling faction, more than one place to live, things seemed to pick up a bit. President Soot, with Vice President Innit (VP Tommy, the people called him), ruled over L'Manburg, and called it a place of freedom. When word spread to other servers, people came to see for themselves.

And often, they stayed.

It was peaceful, for a while.

"President Soot announced he's holding an election," one man said to his wife one day.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Said it was for democracy." The man snorted. "He and Innit are the only party running, though. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me."

"Darling, I know you're still salty about losing the war, but there's no reason to talk bad about a child," his wife said.

The man wrinkled his nose. "Still."

It was peaceful during the campaign.

For a while.

Then, though, Quackity announced that he was running for president, with GeorgeNotFound, best friend of Dream himself, as his running mate.

"This feels like a sitcom," one girl says as she watches the debate reruns with her friends.

"At least it's entertaining," her friend replies, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

And, for the people of the Dream SMP, from both L'Manburg and the Greater SMP, it was entertaining.

Until the election results came in, Schlatt was declared the winner, and President Soot and VP Tommy were banished.

"Dude, dude!" One teen says to their friends, running up to meet them on the Prime Path.

"What is it?"

"I just saw Technoblade join the server!"

The arrival of the Blood God shifted something in the people of the Dream SMP. When he joined Pogtopia, the rebellion being led by the two ex-leaders of the country, the people felt something settle within themselves.

All of a sudden, choosing sides wasn't as simple as where you live.

It was what you care about.

As the son of the ex-president burned down the old flag, the people of the Dream SMP, of (L')Manburg and of the Greater SMP, realized suddenly that they had to make a choice.

Without even wanting to, without doing anything to deserve it, they would have to fight.

Some people went to Pogtopia, some stayed in Manburg, some in the Greater SMP. Those in the latter two stayed where they were because they wanted to stay out of it.

It didn't change anything, in the end.

In Manburg, they watched their president (Emperor) fall further and further into alcohol, yelling at his cabinet and talking of expanding into territory that they had no right to.

In the Greater SMP, murmurs of King Eret's attempts to assist the Pogtopia rebels filled the alleyways.

In Pogtopia, people sat and watched the decline of the man that they had all once believed in. As Wilbur Soot slowly devolved until he was no longer recognizable as the man who had once led people to freedom, the residents of Pogtopia ate potatoes farmed by a man famous for his bloodlust and pretended that they were sleeping somewhere warm.

The day of the Manburg Festival, though, things felt better. Other than ex-president Soot and ex-VP Tommy (Wilbur and Tommy, the two insisted. No one listened), everyone, even the rebels in Pogtopia, were invited to attend. The people wandered through the stalls playing games, watching as Soot's son attempted (in vain) to drown Technoblade, buying food, and chatting with people from other factions, friends and family that they hadn't spoken to in weeks.

When the time came for the speeches, before the true festivities were set to begin, everyone was feeling good about the day. People congratulated Secretary Tubbo for a successful event, and offered him small words of encouragement for his speech coming up. The teenager would grin at all who spoke to him, and looked (rightfully) proud of how well he organized and decorated the festival.

Secretary Tubbo gave his speech, and people clapped, and then fell silent as President (Emperor) Schlatt laughed, asked for his Vice-President's assistance, and encased the teenager in a cage of concrete.

And then he called Technoblade to the stage.

And then, in front of the people of the Dream SMP, a teenager was executed in a spray of color that shot toward the sky.

Fireworks rained down on the people in the stands, then, and, regardless of where they were from, the people of the Dream SMP ran.

The Pogtopia ranks grew that day, and a nineteen-year-old who claimed to be a doctor without showing any credentials forced four other people to help her heal VP Tommy after he fought Technoblade in a pit, egged on by a man who once might have called himself his brother.

"How is this kid not dead yet?" One of the helpers asked, looking at the unconscious teenager's face.

"Pure spite?"

The first hummed. "Sounds about right."

One day, a bit after the festival, the people of Pogtopia woke to find Vice President Quackity walking through the ravine as if he owned the place.

One resident was noted to rub his eyes, blink three times, and then say, "It's too early for this shit," before heading back to bed.

A surprising number of people followed his lead.

Finally, the day of November 16th came, when Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit vowed to take their country back.

"I heard President Soot is planning to blow up L'Manburg," one Pogtopian woman mentioned to her friend as they suited up and prepared to fight, as they had signed up to be part of the forces.

"That's stupid," her friend replied.

"Bet you ten diamonds he blows something up."

"Fine."

As the country of L'Manburg blew sky-high, one woman was seen following another, screaming that she wanted her diamonds.

When Pogtopia won the war, the forces from both sides sat outside of the remains of the van as President Soot, VP Tommy, Secretary Tubbo, Dream, Technoblade, and many more, all piled inside to confront Emperor Schlatt.

They emerged fifteen minutes later, and Dream announced to the crowd that Schlatt was dead.

There was no time for the news to sink in, as they played hot potato with the presidency, going from VP Tommy to Wilbur Soot to Secretary Tubbo.

"President Soot is leaving, do you see that?"

"Probably going to the river to celebrate the win, if you know what I mean."

"Literally shut up. Never speak again. I hate you."

As the newly-inaugurated President Tubbo finished his speech, the people felt a wave of relief wash over them. Maybe the server could finally be peaceful once more.

Then, there was the tell-tale hiss of explosives under their feet, and the people ran as the ground beneath them fell away.

Stories of what happened next are conflicting, to say the least.

Words of President Soot dying in the explosion, of him turning the blade on himself, of another man killing him.

"He had wings," people who saw the man said. "Blonde hair, a green hat and robes. He stabbed Soot with the guy's own sword."

Technoblade apparently gave an incredible speech, and anyone who was there to witness it lamented that they hadn't recorded it.

Then, two Withers flew through the sky, and blood ran down the newly-exposed stones, and people who had never experienced death on the server before finally knew what it was like to die.

Afterward, though, when the anarchist had fled and the ex-President lay dead, President Tubbo, with VP Tommy by his side, stood and addressed the people, and made promises of a brighter future, and the hope and determination in his eyes was enough for the people to hope that maybe he was right.

("Whoa, cool wings, dude," a resident of L'Manburg said to their newest neighbor, a man in green with wings, burned across all the feathers, sprouting from his back. "Wait, what happened to them?"

"Oh, I was protecting my son from the explosion," the new resident replied.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Is your son all right at least?"

"No, he died just a few minutes afterward. His last life, too." The man sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, he probably deserved it."

A beat. "What did he do?"

"Well, you may have heard of him. Wilbur Soot? He was the president here before Schlatt, I believe."

"...Holy shit, you're the bird man that killed President Soot!"

"Yeah, mate, that's me."

"...He was your son?"

"...Yeah."

"...What the fuck is wrong with your family?")

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (8/12)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Okay, so that cliffhanger, huh? I thought our mystery guests were obvious, but then again, I'm writing the story. But We'll answer all those questions here!

AO3: Beginning | Current Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

-/-

Killian’s side of the bed is cold when Emma’s alarm goes off. She expects him to still be there either sleeping or on his phone – he seems to do most of his work in the mornings when he doesn’t want to get out of bed – but he’s not there.

She hates herself a little bit for even noticing the cool feel of the sheets beneath her fingertips.

Emma groans and stretches her legs out, wondering how much time she has to go back to sleep before she absolutely has to go into work. She squints at her phone. She’s got two hours before she has to be at work. She could definitely sleep for another hour and a half and then look like shit at work. That might be nice, actually.

But then she smells something cooking downstairs, and almost on cue, her stomach growls.

Slowly, she gets out of bed, and the floor is cold against her bare feet. She should really go take a shower before she goes downstairs, and despite the good smell, she goes into the bathroom and quickly showers, leaving her hair dry. It’s curly and a bit frizzy from leaving it wet after her shower at the Nolans’ last night, but that’s a problem for another time…tomorrow. She’ll make it look better tomorrow. Emma grabs a pair of shorts and a button-down, putting them both on, and she pulls out a pair of sandals from her closet for later. She’s not as presentable as she should be, but maybe she can stay in her office and away from customers.

Besides, this is better than what it could have been had she not at least rinsed off the remaining sunscreen and sweat from her skin.

Emma smooths down her shirt and fluffs her hair. There’s the slightest bit of red on her chest from Killian’s beard, so she buttons up one more button before heading downstairs. From the smell of it, Killian is either cooking pancakes or waffles, and she’ll take either.

As far as her seasonal friends with benefits go, Killian is definitely the winner.

For the breakfast, the sex, and maybe the conversation. She thought about that for too long yesterday, and it’s too damn early for her to be thinking about any of this today. All she wants is food and coffee, so that’s all she’s thinking about. It’s all she can.

“Damn, Jones,” Emma shouts from the top of the stairs, “something smells delicious.”

She’s at the bottom of the stairs when she hears other voices. For one brief second, she thinks Killian is on the phone, but she’d know those voices anywhere. One haunts her nightmares, the other is the voice of her dreams, and neither was supposed to be here for three weeks.

Three fucking weeks.

Shit.

Holy shit.

What the hell has Neal done that he has to show up like this without even giving her any kind of heads up?

And how does she fix this? Killian was never supposed to know about Henry. He was the one question she’d never answer. He would have been her veto had it ever come up. When he got home from spending the summer with his dad in New York City, Emma was going to start phasing Killian out. They’d only ever spend time at his place, she’d never spend the night unless Henry was sleeping over at his friends. Usually, she doesn’t have this problem because the guy leaves way before this. He doesn’t have the chance to ever know about Henry, and Emma likes it that way.

The last guy that met Henry was Walsh, and that was only on accident. Or at least that’s what Walsh said, but Emma’s always thought Walsh showed up at the Blue Dog at that time on purpose because he knew Henry would be there with Emma. The guy never understood why Emma didn’t let him meet her son, but when you’ve never been able to trust a man besides David and possibly Graham with him, you have reservations.

His dad’s a full-blown asshole who has upended her life more than once, and she’s already so done with whatever bullshit excuse he’s got for bringing Henry home early.

Emma jumps in place, trying to breathe without really inhaling, and then she turns the corner into the kitchen.

The sight is as bad as she expected. The first person she sees is Killian, and if it were any other morning, this would be a good view to wake up to. His joggers hang low on his hips, he’s standing by the stove shirtless, and his hair is sticking in several directions from where her hands tugged on it last night. Then she sees Neal, who is standing in the corner with his arms crossed, frown on his face. He looks older since she saw him at the beginning of June. His beard is filled with more gray, his hair unruly in a purposeful way. He looks pissed, and Emma already knows this is about to be hell.

And then she sees Henry, and the tenseness fades from her shoulders when she sees his smile and the giant backpack he’s wearing. He’s got to empty that damn thing out.

God, she’s missed him so much.

“Mom!” he squeals, running toward her.

Emma opens her arms and embraces him, holding onto the back of his head and breathing him in. As much as Emma sometimes likes the freedom her summer affords her, she does miss her son. A lot. Him being gone is the entire reason she picks up shifts at The Oaks. She needs the distraction, not so much the money, until the summer is over and Henry comes back home for school.

“Hey, kid,” Emma laughs as she keeps hugging him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Can I have the waffles?”

“What?”

He pulls back and grins. “The waffles Killian made. Can I have them?”

“Killian,” Emma slowly repeats. She looks over Henry’s head toward Killian who is furiously scratching behind his ear, and she realizes just how much he has a deer in the headlights look going on. As confused as she is right now, she knows he’s just had a few bombs dropped on him. “Uh, yeah, why don’t you and my friend Killian eat. I’m going to talk to your dad in the backyard for a minute. Neal.”

“What? I don’t get a hi?” Neal asks.

“Backyard. Now.”

He smiles, and once upon a time, she would have found that charming. Right now, she wants to slap it right off his face. Whatever he has to say, she knows it won’t be good. Emma closes the back door behind them and moves far enough across the deck to keep Henry from hearing.

“What the hell, Neal?”

The smile falls, and Emma crosses her arms over her chest. She has to put up a barrier with him. “Why are you so angry? Are you not excited to see Henry? He has been gone all summer, you know.”

“Of course I’m excited to see my kid. But I wasn’t supposed to see him three weeks from now. And with a head’s up. We have a schedule, Neal. Like, a court-mandated schedule that you made us get, and you’re not sticking to it.”

“That I made us get?” he scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean? If I recall, you’re the one who kept my son from me for seven years and then didn’t want to give me custody.”

How is he such an ass? Seriously. How does he still not get it?

Emma steps closer and straightens her back. She doesn’t need to make herself taller, not for him, but she does anyway. “I got pregnant with Henry when I was sixteen. You were twenty-four. Do the math on how that’s wrong in about eighty-two different ways. And if I recall, and trust me I have a pretty good memory of this day, when I told you I had something important to tell you, you disappeared off the face of the planet. That doesn’t really seem like a guy who deserves to know about his kid.”

“Oh, come on, Ems. You can’t still be mad about that, can you?”

Is it still considered assault if Emma punches someone who deserves to be punched? There must be a law making that okay.

“Why are you here early, Neal?”

She doesn’t want to get into this with him. He’s never going to understand how much he fucked up Emma’s life. There’s no need for her to try to get him to understand now when all she wants is to know why he just showed up early.

“Who’s that guy in there?” he asks, evading her question.

“A friend.”

His mouth crinkles when he laughs, and she hates it. “A shirtless friend who fixes you breakfast? I hope you don’t make a habit of this when Henry’s home.”

“You don’t get a say on my dating life. Or my parenting skills. Now answer my question.”

He blows out air, and rolls his eyes, like she’s the one inconveniencing him. “Look, Tamara wants to go on vacation before summer ends, and she didn’t want to bring Henry with us. So I thought I’d bring him back to you and it wouldn’t be an issue. I’m sure you can keep him entertained until he goes back to school.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Neal, are you serious? You are breaking the rules of our custody agreement because you want to go on vacation with your girlfriend? How is it possible that you’re so selfish? I mean, God, seriously.”

Emma groans and buries her face in her hands before screaming. Or at least screaming as loud as she can without Henry knowing.

“Henry is a good fucking kid,” Emma continues, slowly breathing to calm herself down, “and he loves you. He doesn’t see all the shit I do because I’ve hidden that from him, but you can’t just do this, Neal. You can’t decide you’re done playing dad and give him back to me when you nearly made me go broke fighting to keep custody of the kid I’d raised since he was born. That’s not how being a parent works.”

“That’s rich coming from the woman who has used her time away from her kid to fuck British tourists and is upset her kid is back early because her vacation has to end.”

Emma looks up into the eyes of the man she once loved, the man who gave her son his eyes, and she says, “Go say goodbye to Henry and get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you next June, if you still decide to show up then.”

It’s a dismissal, and Neal never takes those. Not sitting down at least. She’s sure there will be arguments and petty jabs for the next few months. He’ll make her life hell while playing as the good guy. He has this act where he says things like “he’s a good person now, can’t she just move on from the past?”

There’s a difference between forgiveness and moving on that not a lot of people get. They say you have to forgive to move on, but that’s not true. You can move on without forgiveness because some people don’t deserve it. At all. Sometimes all you can do is stop letting them live in your head rent free, and you have to forgive yourself for ever falling for the lies.

Emma’s chosen that route. She’s forgiven herself, has moved on with her life even with Neal constantly trying to pull her back down, and she’s not about to stand here and let him criticize her personal life when he has no business in it.

Through the window, Emma watches Neal hug Henry goodbye. It takes less than a minute before he’s gone and Henry is back to eating his breakfast. Emma would laugh, she wants to at how ridiculous this all is, but she’s not finding anything about today funny. Because while Neal will go back to New York and will be happy, she’s stuck here cleaning up the mess he just made because she has to do everything in her power to make sure her kid never knows the version of his dad she knows.

A phone call would have been nice. At least then she could have gotten Killian out of the house. She still would have been pissed, but at the very least, she would have been able to make things a little better than they are now.

“Shit,” Emma breathes out, looking toward the sky. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Emma inhales and exhales several times before forcing a smile and walking inside where Henry is eating the breakfast that was meant for her and talking to Killian about soccer of all things.

Well, not of all things. Most of the time, Emma forgets that Killian plays professionally. Hell, they talked about it yesterday, and it still isn’t at the forefront of her mind. That part of his life has nothing to do with hers…except for right now when Killian is talking to her son about it.

He still doesn’t have on a damn shirt.

“Mom, did you know Killian used to play soccer? Like, as a job. That’s so cool! Do you think he could coach my team?”

“I did know that, kid.” Emma kisses his forehead, and he squirms away. It’ll take him a week or two to get used to her kind of affection versus Neal’s, so she’s not too offended. “How do you know that?”

“I recognize him.”

“Since when do you watch a lot of British soccer? Or football as Killian calls it.” She mimics Killian’s accent, but she also knows she did a terrible job with it.

Henry shrugs and stuffs a large bite of waffle in his mouth. “Dad doesn’t have anything to watch on TV but sports channels. All I did during the day was watch old soccer matches.”

“Wait. Where was your dad?”

Henry shrugs again. “I don’t know. At work I guess.”

Neal works from home most days of the week. What an ass. Emma bets he didn’t even get someone to watch Henry. He just used old sports reruns to keep him entertained.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says, finally looking to Killian, “can you stay in here and eat breakfast while I talk to Killian in the other room?”

“Sure.”

Emma flashes a tight smile and then nods her head toward the stairs. Killian gets the message and walks upstairs without being asked, immediately heading toward the bedroom. He stands by the window, arms crossed over his chest, and Emma watches his jaw tick, the smile he had on for Henry a moment ago, gone.

Softly, Emma closes the door behind her.

“I have my personal question of the day, Swan. You have a son?”

Okay, great, so this is how it’s going to be. Emma opens her dresser drawer and pulls out a shirt for Killian. He catches it after she tosses it and tugs it on. It doesn’t help as much as she’d like it to.

“Okay, look,” Emma begins, “you were never supposed to meet Henry. He wasn’t…his dad was supposed to have him for three more weeks.”

“The contract on my rental house has more time on it than that.”

Emma runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “I don’t know. I would have figured it out. Only go to your place, spend less time together. I mean, it’s only natural, right? Because you’re going to leave, and it would make sense for things to die down between us.”

Killian laughs, but Emma gets the sense he doesn’t find any of this funny. “Yeah, it makes perfect sense. This was only about sex, right?”

“Killian.”

“No, no.” He holds his hand up. “It’s fine, Swan. I get it. It’s my fault for thinking we might be mates on top of that.”

“I mean, we are – kind of, maybe. I don’t know.” Emma sighs and sits on the end of her bed. She doesn’t know what to do. Even more, she doesn’t know what to say. She definitely doesn’t know how to feel. “It was never supposed to be like this. I’m usually better at not blurring the lines. I don’t know what happened with us that made me drop my guard.”

“I knew you found me charming.”

Emma laughs and falls back on the mattress. “I have a kid, Killian, and he’s back. I can’t be like I was. We can’t just fuck whenever we want or stay out late or eat pizza at three in the morning. I’ve got to make sure Henry has a place to stay and Mary Margaret is across the country visiting her parents so that’s out for awhile. And I’m still working two jobs because I thought I had time to do that. I don’t, God, I don’t know what to do about anything in my life. Plus, you know, I want to spend time with Henry, and I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“I could watch him, love. He’s a bit older than what I’m used to with my nieces, but I’m sure I can find ways to entertain him.”

Emma sits up. Her heart is beating way too fast, and suddenly, the true reality of this situation hits her.

The man she’s been sleeping with has met her son.

And he’s offering to babysit.

What the actual hell?

She needs time to think. And scream. She definitely has to scream into her pillow for at least an hour because she literally cannot think of another thing to do. This is all too much, and she needs Killian to leave. He makes this all too complicated. She needs to go downstairs and eat breakfast with Henry. That she can do. That’s not complicated. That’s something she’s done every day for ten years, even if it’s usually Pop Tarts or a bowl of cereal, not homemade waffles and eggs.

“Can you, uh,” Emma starts, biting her lip, “can you go home? I need to spend time with Henry. He won’t show it, but I know he knows why his dad brought him home early. I’ve got some crap to deal with, but I’ll text you later.”

His eyes narrow, and Emma knows that look by now. He knows she’s lying, but she doesn’t expect him to call her out on her lie.

And he doesn’t because as quickly as his eyes narrow, they widen and a slight smile creeps onto his lips. “I’ll see you later, Swan. I’ll get my clothes out of the machine downstairs and go.”

“Thanks.”

Killian doesn’t move, and Emma has a hard time looking at him until she does. His eyes are so damn blue. It’s ridiculous.

But then he moves. Leaves, actually, just like she asked him to, and she hears every single step as he leaves the house and gets into his car. Emma breathes out a sigh of relief, maybe a little confusion, and then she grabs her phone of her bedside table.

Not a single warning text or call from Neal, just like she thought. Ass.

ES: SOS. My house. 10 minutes.

RL: Are you dead?

ES: Yes, I’m texting you from beyond.

RL: I am hungover. Give me 30.

Emma tosses her phone on her bed and heads downstairs. The life she was living is over. Henry’s home, and she is his mom. That’s what she has to do, and right now, that means putting her anger at Neal and confusion with Killian behind her to go eat breakfast with her kid.

She can only partially ignore that Killian was making this breakfast for her.

For them.

-/-

“King Harold,” Ruby says when she walks through the door in her pajamas and immediately sees Henry, “welcome back to your seaside palace. Come give me a hug.”

“Only if you never call me Harold again.”

“I can’t agree to that, Harold.”

Henry rolls his eyes, but he hugs Ruby anyway. “My name is Henry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby kisses the top of his head. “You smell like waffles.”

“Killian made waffles for breakfast.”

“Killian did?” she asks, looking over Henry’s head toward Emma. Emma shrugs and cocks her head.

“Kid, why don’t you go unpack? When you’re finished, we’ll go to the beach before I have work.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Emma hums and nods at the stairs. “I told them I’d be late today. Get your bags and go.”

Henry quickly grabs his suitcases. They’re nearly bigger than him, but he manages to drag them up the stairs. Emma waits until she hears his bedroom door close, and then she moves to the kitchen and collapses on a barstool. Ruby fixes herself a plate of leftover food and starts eating. “I have eight thousand questions.”

Without lifting her head from the counter, Emma tries to answer at least half those questions. “Killian slept over and was making breakfast when Neal and Henry walked in, so they both met him, which went over as well as you’d expect. Neal didn’t tell me he was bringing Henry back early, but apparently his girlfriend got tired of having him around and wanted to go on vacation. Neal thought ambushing me was the best way to go about the situation, and then he got pissed about me having a guy over.”

Emma peaks up to see Ruby blinking. Slowly. Did she not process anything or is she just so hungover that it’s taking her a long time to figure out what to say?

“Was Neal charming or something when you guys were together?’

Emma laughs. “I was sixteen, and he paid attention to me. He might as well have been Prince Charming.”

“He’s the worst.” Ruby scrunches up her nose. “And you’re not a Prince Charming type of girl. I get more of a rebel vibe from you.”

“Yeah, because mom and restaurant manager means rebel.”

Rub leans over and pokes Emma’s nose. “I don’t think you know how badass you are, Emma Swan. Give me a minute to get some coffee and make more food because I definitely need to dissect everything that’s going on with you. Baby daddy and new boyfriend not included.”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, right. Just sex friend because you totally invite sex friends to parties at Marg’s place. That seems normal.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “I invited you here to help with a crisis. Not create a new one.”

“I’m just saying,” Ruby sighs, “Mr. Jones is a hell of a lot better than most of the guys you shack up with. Your unfortunate sperm donor included. I’d think about that if I were you. I mean, we both know you’re about to ghost him, but at least think about it, Emma.”

Yeah, maybe she will.

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

[thekidsarentalright]

Fob Tracklist Survey Results

Hi! So, about a week or so ago I posted a survey asking you guys to pick your favorite song from each track number across all of fobs albums, and these are the results of that survey, as well as the ‘perfect fob album’ tracklist based off of your guys’ answers! <3

Track 1- 

I don’t believe this is any surprise or shock that disloyal order beat out any other opening track... and I, personally, believe it’s the correct answer fkjsfk but wow 89 people saying that vs only 26 saying thriller which was 2nd... that’s a large rift!

Track 2- 

I was honestly a little surprise by this one, but the take over, the breaks over won track 2! just barely beating out of all the gin joints! (i personally expected tlotro to win tbh)

Track 3-

This one was interesting to me because the entire time the survey was open it was very very split, and even at the end the winner, dance dance, won by an 8 vote margin! Very interesting!

Track 4- 

ab/ap rights!!!! I honestly thought this one was the biggest toss up because wow all these songs are heavy hitters and some of my personal favs, but the kids aren’t alright won out!

Track 5- 

Much like disloyal order, I was not very surprise by the outcome of track 5. Hum Hallelujah is, rightfully, a fan favorite and deserved to have won this one! (just one yesterday deserved better imo fhsdkfj)

Track 6- 

So, track 6 is the only one that was tied literally the entire time. I left it open for extra time hoping the tie would break... and it didn’t. So, I had a non-fob fan listen to both and they picked the (shipped) gold standard, so that will be the official track 6 on the ultimate fob album but jet pack blues will be a third bonus track bc i feel like it deserves it <3 

Track 7- 

Yet another unsurprising one... coffee’s for closers is an incredible song and another big fan favorite! What surprised me is that 5 people picked champion... and that novocaine didn’t do better ;(

Track 8- 

Yet another folie song that won out... this ultimate tracklist is literally just folie’s copy & pasted huh... anyways it won by a pretty large margin, beating out sunshine riptide!

Track 9- 

and another folie song won.... by a very wide margin... 27 is incredible though so i’m not even mad but wow i expected this margin to be thinner! justice for favorite record!

Track 10- 

finally a song that isn’t from folie omg... bishops knife trick won track 10, which i am very happy about of course... it’s the right answer so thank u all for picking it <3

Track 11- 

I was a little unsure about where this one would go, and though i know people love sixteen candles i honestly thought bang the doldrums would win! but it didn’t, sixteen candles did... but only by a few votes (and it only started winning over bang the doldrums towards the very end!)

Track 12- 

Right up until the very very end get busy living was winning by like... 20 votes or something but suddenly, with the last chunk of votes 20 dollar nose bleed won out! which i really did not expect!

Track 13- 

These are all very beloved songs so i truly had no expectations or want for the outcome... but west coast smoker won by 10 votes! it’s a damn good song so like i’m not mad at it at all

Track 14- 

i swore i thought pavlove won this one but omg i guess not... i’ve got all this ringing just barely won by the thin margin of 2 votes... it’s such an underrated song so honestly good for it!!!

Track 15-

This one might actually be less shocking than track 1 lmao ginasfs is such a loved, incredible song so like... i knew it was no contest it would win over the music or the misery kjffkjd

Bonus Track 1- 

The first bonus track on this perfect/ultimate fob album is... lake effect kid! by yet another pretty thin margin on only 6 votes over it’s hard to say i do, when i don’t! I am very very surprise it’s not a side effect wasn’t more of a contender though.. ouch :(

Bonus Track 2-

I thought from now on we were enemies was the obvious choice here too, so it’s no surprise to me it won! I am very happy to see dear future self was second place, though, that song deserves better! 

Overall, Your Guys’ Favorite Track Number-

This one was the most divided question, i think. i had no clue what the outcome of it would be, and it was the most interesting result to look at and think about! By 2 votes, you guys decided the best track is 4 (i agree), followed by track 6, track 7, track 1, and track 11. All are good! And each track number got at least one vote, which i think was very interesting!

So, according to you all, the ultimate fob album tracklist is as follows: 1. Disloyal Order Of Water Buffaloes (folie) 2. “The Take Over, The Breaks Over” (ioh) 3. Dance, Dance (futct) 4. The Kids Aren’t Alright (abap) 5. Hum Hallelujah (ioh) 6. The (Shipped) Gold Standard (folie)  7. (Coffee’s For Closers) (folie) 8. What a Catch, Donnie (folie) 9. 27 (folie) 10. Bishops Knife Trick (mania) 11. A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me (futct) 12. 20 Dollar Nose Bleed (folie)  13. West Coast Smoker (folie) 14. I’ve Got All This Ringing (ioh) 15. Ginasfs (ioh) Bonus Tracks: 16. Lake Effect Kid (lake effect kid ep) 17. “From Now On We Are Enemies” (believers never die vol. 1) 18. Jet Pack Blues (abap)

[artificialqueens]

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter One (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: For the 75th Hunger Games, tributes will be chosen from each district's living victors.

Denali and Rosé, two women with a shared past, are the only living victors for District 12. They’ll grow a lot closer than they planned in their effort to survive.

A/N: Bringing my love of fantasy AUs to Rosnali! It's been a while since I've done a multi-chap, but I'm excited for this one! You can probably read this without knowing the books/movies, but it's helpful if you look up the basics if you're confused. There will be blood, violence, and injury throughout, but nothing more graphic than the books/movies.

Thank you so, so much to Writ for supporting this idea and helping me with it, and FaceTiming me to scream with your reaction. I love you <3

I really hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you like!

Read on AO3.

The blood is everywhere.

It stains the grass, trickles down Rosé’s pants, burns in her nose. It’s sticky on the side of her face. It pours from the fresh gash across her shoulder. It’s caked under her nails. It soaks the bodies on the ground.

The bodies.

One is still clinging to life, wheezing through the hole in his chest.

Rosé made that hole.

Rosé waits, not releasing her blood-soaked grip on her blood-soaked sword, until he gives one last wheeze and the cannon goes off, announcing her as winner of the 59th Hunger Games--

“Rosie, wake up. You’re having a nightmare again.”

Rosé shoots upright in bed, soaked with new sweat and old blood.

“It’s just us here. You’re safe.”

It’s her sisters in front of her, just her sisters. No bodies. No blood. No sword in her clenched fist. She sucks in a deep breath as her sisters watch in worry.

Rosé’s the only one who officially lives in the Victor’s Village house, but more often than not, Jan or Lagoona or both will come over for dinner and occasionally stay the night with her. She knows it’s mostly because they love her and want to, but it’s partly so they can make sure she eats and sleeps. She was the one who taught them to braid hair and jump rope, who used to check for monsters under their beds, and now they have to watch her eat and put her to bed and tug her out of nightmares. But Rosé doesn’t even care, because she loves her sisters more than anything and it feels so normal to have them around. She’s able to laugh and smile and forget, and she just pretends not to see the concerned looks her sisters exchange on her behalf.

They both stayed tonight, because they know what tomorrow is.

Rosé nods as she comes back to herself, holding back the apology on her lips because she knows they’ll just brush it off.

“Are you okay to go back to sleep?” Jan asks.

Rosé shrugs. If she looks at her hands too long, blood stains appear, but that’s not something she wants to worry them about. She hates still having the dreams, clear as if they happened an hour ago, not sixteen years ago. Plus it’s almost four, and she needs to be up in a few hours anyway--

“Let’s make cookies,” Lagoona says, coming to the same conclusion.

It’s what they did as kids, helping their parents with the bakery after school and on weekends. They’d line up at the counter, and Rosé would cream the butter and sugar, Lagoona would add the rest of the ingredients, and Jan would scoop the dough on the baking trays. Their mom always says there’s nothing a cookie can’t solve, and maybe that’s true of failed tests and middle school heartaches.

It’s a little harder when you had to kill people to stay alive.

Rosé tries, goes through the motions with her sisters, grateful that she has them. Wishing she could be better for them. She tries to hold herself together with sugar and butter, erase the blood on her hands by replacing it with melted chocolate. She’s calmer by the end at least, the tightness in her jaw loosened.

She notices that the lights are on in the house across the path. There’s only one other occupant in the Victor’s Village, and she’s not sleeping either.

---

Denali has long been awake when Reaping Day comes. She’s always up early to go for her morning run. She doesn’t need to run for her life anymore, but she runs from the memories just the same. It’s a normal thing to do, like when she used to wake up early every morning and hunt, and she likes convincing herself she’s normal.

Normal people don’t sleep with a knife in their hand and a bow at their feet.

Running. Always running.

She wishes she didn’t have to come back from her run today. The reaping starts in a few hours, and she’ll be paraded across the stage, one of two victors for the district. And then she’ll get assigned some poor kids she’s supposed to mentor, and no matter what tips she gives, what favors she tries to get from rich sponsors, it won’t be enough. Those kids will never come home. Not like Denali did.

Her right knee is screaming when she stumbles in the door. She’s gone too far on it today. It had been mangled in the final fight in her Games--dislocated, muscles torn, bones shattered. The doctors fixed it up enough for her to walk painlessly, but her punishing runs are sometimes too much for it.

She makes breakfast but can’t bring herself to eat it. She never ate on Reaping Days as a kid, worrying that if the impossible happened and her name got called, she would puke in front of the whole crowd, which in her teenage mind was as bad as getting called. And then she was seventeen and the impossible did happen, and instead of being free from this once she passed eighteen, the Capitol’s rules of her serving as mentor meant she’d never really be free of the Games. Not even winning them had been enough to escape.

Donut yips at the door, and Denali realizes someone’s knocking. She pets her dog--she always wanted one as a kid, and it’s another attempt at normalcy--and opens the door to see Kandy and Kahmora on the other side.

“We’re here to cheer you up before today’s shit show,” Kandy says bluntly.

Denali manages a smile. She doesn’t see her friends very often--they’re busy with work, and her house and whole life are so dull she doesn’t blame them for not wanting to spend time here--but they always make it a point to visit on Reaping Day, and Denali is so used to the loneliness that it’s both nice and strange to have friends over. They’re the sole reason Denali has extra coffee mugs, which collect dust in the cupboard 364 days of the year.

“What do you think Manila will wear this year?” Kahmora asks, her way of avoiding the unavoidable.

Denali wouldn’t mind if she brought up the Games outright. She’s become something of an expert in them, rewatching old footage over and over, looking to lessen the Games’ power on her, or give her something that would help a tribute. If you know every second of every Games, if you’re prepared for anything, then you can’t get hurt.

“It can’t be worse than that pink coat from last year,” Kandy says.

“At least you’re not dressing her,” Denali says. It’s the first joke she’s made in months, and her laugh sounds hollow. Fake.

But they both laugh, continuing to talk about what Manila will wear to pick tribute names, and Denali can pretend she’s normal, even if normal people don’t have their back to the wall and eye on the door, ready to run if needed.

It’s fine.

She’s fine.

The reaping will be over soon, and in a few weeks, the Games should be over. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll be lucky enough to succeed and bring a kid home this year.

---

The doorbell rings minutes after Jan and Lagoona leave, and Rosé knows the time is officially here.

Denali gets her every year and they walk to the reaping together. It’s nice, not having to do it alone. Almost like having a friend, though Rosé doesn’t actually know what to call their relationship.

Denali was best friends with Jan, and Rosé remembers her climbing trees and making jokes, practically another sister to Jan. Hell, Denali was practically another little sister to Rosé. She could remember helping Jan and Denali with their math homework and teaching them to weave friendship bracelets. Rosé didn’t see her much after she got back from her Victory Tour--but then again, she didn’t see anyone much after that, didn’t really leave her room. And then five years passed and suddenly she had to mentor a seventeen-year-old Denali who was so much stronger and fiercer than the kid Rosé remembered, determined to be the best and win the Games. Rosé knew Denali could win, and did what she could to make it happen, giving tips and begging sponsors, and Denali came home. Their district hasn’t had a winner since.

“At least the weather’s nice,” Denali says as they head into town.

“Yeah.”

The weather. Rosé had helped Denali learn fractions so she didn’t tear her notebook out of frustration, had helped her perfect her grip on a knife, had included notes of encouragement with Denali’s parachutes in the Games, and they’re talking about the weather. It’s like this every year, every time they have to mentor, the bare minimum of small talk and work talk. It’s like their past is so fragile they’re afraid to bring it up, that even the slightest mention of what they share will shatter the glass, and the images of them inside it.

The Games are the biggest thing that unite them, an experience and horror they share. But the topic is an ocean between them, one they hesitate to stick their toe in with each other, one they have their own ways of dealing with. Denali thrashes through the ocean; Rosé sees her go for a run every morning, and then walk her dog later, and then do yoga after that, careful activities that let her stay above the tide, fighting the forces that want to pull her under. Rosé just lets herself drift in the waves while trying to avoid that she’s in the water at all, and hopes she has enough air not to drown when the water swells.

“Your--your hair looks nice,” Rosé says. Whatever pointless things they talk about, she’s always nice to Denali, still has it in her to do that much. And her hair really does look nice, twisting down her back in a long braid.

“Thanks.” Denali’s cheeks flush pink. “Yours does too.”

“Jan did it for me.” She touches her waves self-consciously. It’s been a while since her hair’s been this nice, and she kind of likes it. She’d do it more often, but what’s the point when she sits at home all day?

“She was always good at hair stuff. She used to do all these braids for me at school when we were bored.” Denali stops suddenly, biting her lip like she knows she’s upset the balance, bringing up anything besides the safety of the weather.

“Yeah, well, I taught her how to do them in the first place,” Rosé says lightly, not wanting Denali to worry she’s done something wrong. She hasn’t, really; she hasn’t directly brought up the Games, at least. And it’s not like Rosé has ownership of mentioning Jan, not when she and Denali were so close and still see each other from time to time.

Denali smiles, and they talk about weather for the rest of the walk.

---

The stage is set, the dry grass ready to be trod on by the anxious steps of teenagers. Manila is poised at the microphone, warming up her throat. Her feathery yellow dress is blinding, as is the smile she flashes when Denali and Rosé reach the stage.

“That dress should come with a warning,” Rosé mutters, and Denali snorts. Rosé’s been a little more talkative this morning, even if everything comes out through clenched teeth, and Denali welcomes it.

“Our two lovely victors!” Manila says cheerfully, shaking both their hands.

“The only victors,” Denali says dryly, but Manila still laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“Yes, well, lovely victors just the same. Take a seat. The crowd will arrive soon.” She ushers them into the plain black chairs they sit in year after year, watching terrified kids trickle in.

The twelve-year-olds come first, and they look so young. Denali thinks they look younger every year. They struggle to stay in a straight line, tripping over uneven grass and bumping into each other, the fear radiating off them.

She risks a peek at Rosé. Her fists are clenched so tight her knuckles are white, and she keeps her eyes on the stage floor, like she can’t bear to look at the kids.

Denali remembers being in their shoes, standing on the same grass. Sometimes she remembers her first reaping clearer than the one when she got picked. Everything was a blur after her name got called, and watching the footage of that day is like watching a movie of someone else, because she doesn’t remember walking up to the stage. Doesn’t remember any of it.

But her first reaping exists in perfect clarity.

Denali holds her breath as Manila reads the slip of paper clutched in her neon orange nails. She’s only feet away from the stage, and it feels like Manila can see through her, like she knows she’s reading Denali’s name and knows exactly where to find her.

But Manila doesn’t read Denali’s name.

She reads her best friend’s name instead.

The whole row of kids gasps, like they can’t believe the reaping came so close to them--came to their very row--but is leaving them untouched. Kids are already giving Jan a wide berth, like they don’t want her bad luck to pass to them. In the back of her mind, Denali wonders if she should worry about that too. But she won’t leave her friend.

Jan is frozen in place at Denali’s side, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Denali doesn’t even think she’s breathing. The purple bow in her hair is crooked, which she would never allow, and Denali knows things are bad.

Denali wants to tell her it’s okay, wants to help her, but how can she? Everyone knows a twelve-year-old tribute is as good as dead, and Denali doesn’t know if she can pretend otherwise.

“Jan…“ Denali tries.

Jan cuts her off with a sudden breath, nodding to herself and preparing to move. But before Jan can take a step, someone sprints to the stage in a blur of red hair.

“I volunteer,” the redhead says breathlessly. “I volunteer as tribute.”

The crowd erupts into whispers, but all Denali hears is Jan scream as she recognizes the volunteer.

Rosé McCorkell. Jan’s older sister.

Jan lurches toward her sister, trembling so hard that Rosé grabs her waist to keep her upright.

“No, no, Rosie, please!” Jan is sobbing, her face a mess of tears, fighting to break her sister’s grip.

“Jan, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Rosé says softly, though Denali can see her legs quiver for a second. “I’ll come home, I promise. I love you.” Rosé rubs Jan’s back, soothing her as she cries, and though it almost feels too personal for Denali to witness this, she can’t look away from the firm set of Rosé’s jaw, the determination on her face.

Rosé fixes the bow in Jan’s hair, kisses the top of her head, and walks up to the stage.

Manila’s voice, unchanged even after all these years, pulls her into the present.

“Now since this is the Quarter Quell,” Manila begins, “things will be a little different this year.”

Something tugs in Denali’s stomach, her heart picking up speed, all her senses on high alert. The Quarter Quell is always something different; maybe double the tributes, or half of them. But the uncertainty is bad enough, straying from the careful routine Denali expected. Something’s not right; her body senses danger. But her body is always sensing danger. Maybe she’s just being paranoid.

“To honor the Games’ history and glory, this year’s tributes will be chosen from each district’s living victors.”

Rosé’s sharp intake of breath tells Denali she’s figured it out. When Denali realizes, she doesn’t breathe. She doesn’t move. She’s seventeen again, hearing her name at the reaping, the words repeating over and over as she walked numbly to the stage.

Two tributes for each district.

Two tributes from each district’s living victors.

Their district only has two living victors.

For all the rewatching Denali’s done, all the times tracing every twist and turn of the Games, she never prepared for this. Already, her legs are burning with the urge to run like she did in the arena, running from the enemy with a constant look over her shoulder. She can’t run from this. She couldn’t as a teenager and she can’t now, when the Capitol could kill her for it.

Though she might not survive anyway.

It’s too much for her mind to process. The world becomes a formless blob and all she can hear is her heart pounding in her ears. Pounding not only in fear, but anger, anger for her and all the victors. Anger at a system that praised them for winning and said they’d have peace afterward, but never really let them be free from the Games. They did their time. They survived the Games, emerging covered in blood and sweat and tears, scars on their bodies and in their minds. Reliving the Games through mentorship each year is bad enough. How could anyone make them do this again?

Manila is handed the huge glass bowl she always uses, but instead of a mountain of slips, only two pieces of paper lie at the bottom. There’s no escape.

“Our first tribute--”

“What’s the damn point?” Rosé asks, rising from her chair, and honestly, Denali doesn’t know how she’s standing. Rosé’s face is pure white, and she quickly hides her shaking hands behind her back. She has the same look in her eyes as when she volunteered for Jan: the look of an animal who sees the hunter and knows the arrow is coming, but stands their ground anyway, brave and defiant to the end. “It can only be us.”

Manila takes a flustered breath, cheeks flushed even through her thick makeup. “Well, tradition and all--”

Denali rises too, locking her wobbly knees. “Fuck that. Rosé’s right. No sense drawing this out.” Her mom always made her drink cough syrup in one bitter swallow as a kid, and Denali would rather get the misery over with.

Rosé gives a nod of approval, and Denali blushes. Part of her still sees Rosé as Jan’s older sister, as her mentor, someone Denali desperately wanted approval from. But approval or not, she agrees with what Rosé’s doing--taking some power from the Capitol, defying the rules and going into this with their anger known, instead of sitting by and letting a piece of paper and fanfare dictate it for them. If they have to do this again, they’re doing it their way.

Manila clears her throat and takes the microphone again, instantly silencing the crowd. “Well, then. I present your District 12 tributes for the 75th Hunger Games--Rosé McCorkell and Denali Foxx. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The words wash over her as they did eleven years ago.

Denali’s going back into the arena, and Rosé--her old mentor, her old friend--is coming with her.

[merakiaes]

The Tracker’s Sister - Reg Slivko

Pairing: Reg Slivko x reader

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: The title is horrible but I really couldn’t think of a better one so I hope you’ll be willing to ignore it hahah😭 Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes, I hope you like it. Let me know what you think xx

Wordcount: 4377

Summary: Captain James Conrad’s younger sister comes along on the ship for the mission on Skull Island, and catches the eye of a certain brown-eyed soldier. 

Somewhere in Saigon, district Quảng Nam, you were sitting in a club and casually reading a book, completely uncaring about the fact that you were the only woman there who wasn’t a stripper or an escort, and also about the fact that your brother’s harmless game of pool had turned into a full-blown fight and that he was now beating on his opponent and his friends with a broken pool stick.

You were used to this kind of behavior at this point. You weren’t very bothered by his aggressive habits, knowing he could hold his own more than well enough – much to the dismay of anyone who happened to land themselves on the receiving end of his temper.

You simply sat there at your table, wetting the tip of your fingers in order to flip the page of your book while James flipped one of the guys to the floor and hit another in the face, declaring himself the winner in well under a minute.

And that’s when they approached him, two men you had never seen in your life before, finally causing your attention to leave the book.

“An uncharted island?” Your brother’s eyebrows shot up in an unimpressed manner as the man who had introduced himself as Bill Randa explained the mission for him, and so did yours, before you moved your eyes back to your book.

“Let me list all the ways you're gonna die.” He continued, raising his hands and beginning to count off his fingers. “Rain, heat, mud, disease-carrying flies and mosquitos. Sure, you could load up on the atabrine for the malaria... But what about the other bacteria?”

“And don’t forget the things that will try to eat you alive.” You spoke up flatly, without looking up from your book.

The two scientists turned to look at you, and the youngest of the two, Brooks, gave you a look. “Who are you, again?” He asked, and you simply spared him a glance and a raised eyebrow.

However, you immediately went back to the book in your hands, letting your brother do the talking.

At the question sent your way, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into his seat, setting his stern gaze on the young scientist. “She’s my sister.” He replied. “So I would watch that tone if I were you.”

A look of realization crossed over his face, and Randa cleared his throat, motioning for the money laid out on the table. “We'll double that.” He said.

“You have no idea how dangerous this is.” James wasted no time in replying. “I want five times that. Plus, a bonus if we make it back.”

“If?”

“Pay him.” Randa said, waving his hand. “I mean, I think Mr. Conrad should be fairly compensated.”

Brooks nodded, and Randa gave your brother an expectant look.

“So that’s it then?” He asked. “You’ll come along?”

“I’ll agree to it.” James nodded. “But my sister is coming.”

The two scientists instantly exchanged a doubtful look. “I don’t think-“

“If she doesn’t come, I don’t either.” James quickly interrupted him, giving him a stern look.

This time, it was returned, their demeanors turning sour. “If you bring her along, she’s your responsibility.” Randa said. “We’re not going to let inexperience jeopardize this mission, let’s make that clear.”

At this, you finally had enough of just sitting by and listening in, closing the book in your hands and looking up at him with a heavy sigh. “With all due respect, sir, the only thing I’m good at is reading. I have no interest in going to an unexplored island.” You told him in a flat tone, your face equally as neutral.

“Do you take me for a fool?” James joined in. “You really thing I would bring my nineteen-year-old sister along on a life-threatening mission? She’s staying on the ship.”

“Obviously.” You added, watching as Randa’s face pulled into a tense and awkward smile.

“Of course.” He nodded. “You’ve got yourself a deal then. We look forward to seeing the two of you again soon.”

With that said, the two of them stood up and left, and come the next evening, James and yourselves were boarding the ship with your bags slung over your shoulders, ready for a new adventure.

Or, well, James was. You weren’t really the adventurous type, but rather more of a sit in silence and read kind of girl, something you’d inherited from your late mother.

When James joined the army and went out into the world to follow in your father’s footsteps and honor his name, you stayed behind in your hometown with your mom, and you remained there until she passed away when you were sixteen and James became your only living relative and therefore also your legal guardian.

You’d been on the move with him ever since. You wished he would settle down somewhere and stop accepting missions that put his life in danger, but that was more so for his sake than for yours because you didn’t really mind moving around, and at the end of the day, it was your only source of income.

So you made the best of the situation every time, this time being no different. 

You happily greeted anyone you came across on the ship, and you also took it upon yourself to introduce your brother seeing as he was too distrusting to do so himself.

Other than a dozen scientists, you got to meet with Preston Packard and Jack Chapman, who both greeted you with respect even though you would be doing nothing to contribute to the mission, something that instantly brought your mood up.

After that, James and the rest of the scientists and soldiers who would be coming along to the island were called to a briefing, leaving you to get settled in yours and James’ shared room on your own.

In the briefing room, everyone of significance were gathered and divided into their respective groups, soldiers on one side and the scientists on the other, the latter sitting quietly and awkwardly, but the former chatting away like it was just any other day.

And right now, you were the topic, and Reg Slivko being the victim of his fellow soldiers’ torment.

“I heard he brought his sister.” Cole said, pushing on Reg’s shoulder lightly and flashing him a playful grin. “She’s supposed to be your age.”

“Oh, I met her just a few minutes ago.” Jack joined in, smiling. “A fine looking young lass, good manners, and funny too.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively at the youngest soldier, and Reg was all in on it to a start, laughing along with them.

“You hear that, eh?” Mills said, smirking mischievously. “Maybe this is the time where you finally meet your match, get lucky and lose your V-card.”

At that, everyone but the boy on the receiving end of the jokes broke into loud laughs, his face pulling into an angry, offended glare. “How many times to I have to tell you? I’m not a virgin!” He exclaimed, which only made them laugh louder.

“Keep telling yourself that, man.” Mills slapped his back, not at all fazed by the glare he got in return.

None of them got the time to say anything else as Jack was called to the front and the subject was changed, all of them turning serious – as serious as Reg Slivko could get, that is.

About half an hour later, the briefing was all over and done with, and you were still in yours and James’ room, the latter not yet having returned.

You had made it a habit a long time ago to not fall asleep until he was there to sleep too, so you occupied yourself with the cassette player you had brought with you.

It was an old and worn-out player, however. It tended to stop working every once in a while, one of those times being right now, of course when James wasn’t there to help you fix it, leaving you to annoyedly fiddle with it yourselves.

You had no idea what you were doing, though, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you did, strings of curses leaving your lips.

Reg Slivko was in a mood as good as ever, whistling a happy tune as he walked through one of the many corridors of the ship, heading in no particular direction.

It was then that his ears picked up on the light, gentle voice from one of the open doors ahead, and more specifically the colorful language said voice was spilling out.

The contrast caused his eyebrow to raise in surprise and mild interest, his whistling coming to a stop and his pace slowing down.

He instantly realized who the voice had to belong to and when he reached the open doorway and peeked his head inside, he got it confirmed when his eyes found your form sitting cross-legged in one of the two beds, cursing and roughly handling a cassette player.

His face instantly pulled into a wide grin, at first because he realized you were extremely attractive, and then because he, for some reason, found your frustration and the accompanying pout on your lips extremely cute.

He stayed right there for a moment, amused at the fact that you hadn’t noticed him yet, but when he noticed you becoming too aggravated, he raised his hand to the doorframe and gently knocked on it, watching as your head whipped around to face him.

Your eyes were wide with surprise and your heart beating hard and quick in your chest, but when you regained your composure, your face instantly pulled into a smile to match his own.

“Oh, hi.” You greeted him, and he wasted no time in pushing himself off the doorframe to step inside your room.

“Do you need help?” He chuckled, motioning for the cassette player in your hands with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Your smiled turned shy, your eyes flickering down to the device. “Would you mind?” You asked carefully, looking back up with a sheepish chuckle. “I'm afraid I’m not nearly as handy as my brother. I’ve been trying to get it to work for an hour but can’t seem to figure out what the problem is.”

He chuckled right back, coming over to you. “I don’t mind at all.” He said, motioning for the bed. “May I?”

You wasted no time in scooting over to make room for him, and in turn, he wasted no time in sitting down.

You wordlessly handed him the cassette player and he immediately started working on it, pressing and twisting all of the buttons first, and when getting no response from the device, he turned it around and peeled off the plastic piece at the back.

From then on forward, you had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but not even a minute later, the cassette player released a rustling noise, and not long after that, music filled the room.

A proud grin overcame his features, and your lips pulled into a wide smile too.

“Wow, that was quick.” You said, taking the player back from him when he held it out for you, looking up to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

He casually shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t mention it.” He said, holding your gaze for a moment before nodding to the player in your hands. "You've got good taste in music." He complimented, and you chuckled.

“James isn’t too fond of it.” You replied, eyes squinting playfully. “Would you believe me of I told you he likes classical?”

“It’s always the ones you least expect who do.” He snickered, before sticking out his hand. “I’m Reg. Reg Slivko.”

You turned off the music and put the cassette player to the side, and took his outstretched hand in yours, giving his a soft shake. ”I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you Reg Slivko.”

“Pleasure’s all mine. It’s not every day a guy meets a girl as pretty as you.” He answered smoothly, his demeanor taking a more flirtatious turn.

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Does that usually work on girls?” You asked, tilting your head and squinting your eyes.

“I wouldn’t know.” He only shrugged, his smile softening. “I signed up for the army the second I graduated and I wasn’t very popular in school.”

You hummed, the playfulness melting off and being replaced with sincerity. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” You said softly. “I was something of an outcast myself.”

“Really? I find that very hard to believe.” He said, his flirty smile returning. “Pretty, funny, polite. You don’t strike me as an outcast.”

Your entire body turned warm at the compliments that never stopped coming, and you hoped to God that he couldn’t see the blush rising to your cheeks. “Tell that to Theresa Jackson.” You chuckled, back, and before either of you could say anything else, James walked in.

“What’s going on here?” He asked, slowly walking into the room and causing the two of you to turn to look at him.

“Oh, James.” You instantly smiled at the sight of your brother, holding a hand out to the boy next to you. “This is Reg.”

“Slivko, sir.” Reg quickly added, clearing his throat and the humorous, flirtatious demeanor melting right off.

James hummed, obviously not impressed, and raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what business do you have in my sister’s bed, Reg Slivko?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes at that, the smile falling from your lips.

“He was just helping me fix my cassette player.” You said, giving your brother a pointed look.

In return, he raised his eyebrows at you, silently asking you “are you sure that’s all there’s to it?”, but before either of you could say anything else, Reg got up to his feet, standing up from your bed with a shrug.

“I was just about to leave.” He said, and James didn’t miss a beat, giving him a nod and a narrow-eyes look.

“I’m sure you were.” He agreed, lips pulled into a tense and sarcastic smile.

Reg nodded, and after sparing you one last glance, he walked right past your brother without another word, taking a right in the corridor outside and disappearing from your view.

The second he was gone, James closed the door to the room and flicked off the light in the roof, instead moving over to his bed where he turned on the table lamp standing beside it.

Falling back on the bed, you clasped your hands over your stomach and heaved a heavy, over-dramatic sigh. “You’re the worst.” You told your older brother in a grumble, and all he did was chuckle in response, the two of you going to bed shortly after.

When you woke up the next morning, the first thing you wanted to do was to find Reg and talk to him again, but your brother had other plans, dragging you along for the entire first half of the day.

By the time he finally let you go off on your own, you couldn’t find Reg anywhere, and when you did some time later, he was out on deck joking around with all of his soldier-friends, drinking beer, listening to music and playing around shirtless in the afternoon sun.

You weren’t a very big people-person, hence the foul mood you had been in when in the club with James two night prior, so you weren’t very keen on approaching him when he was surrounded by people.

Unfortunately for you, that was pretty much all of the time for the rest of the journey, so eventually you just gave up and stuck to your brother’s side.

You reached your destination in what felt like no time, and soon, the morning on which your brother and the others would be flying to the island was upon you.

You were going to be staying on the ship with most of the scientists and didn’t really have to get up early, but you were still up and at it at the crack of dawn to help your brother prepare and to see him off, the two of you currently standing out by the choppers where everyone were pulling their own weight to get everything packed up.

“Go talk to her already.” Mills told his fellow soldier where they stood on the other side of the deck, sparing him a glance while he packed the record player into its briefcase. “You’ve been standing here staring at her for ten minutes now and it’s starting to get weird.”

Reg’s head instantly whipped around, his eyes leaving your form to meet his friend’s gaze. “What? I’m not staring.” He denied his accusations, glaring.

But Mills obviously saw right through him. “Uh-huh.” He said, giving him a deadpan look and raising his hand to his chin. “Is that drool I see?”

“What? No.” Reg hurried to bring his hand up to his chin to wipe it, finding that there was, in fact, no drool there.

His reaction brought a laugh from Mills, who shook his head at him in amusement. “Idiot.” He said simply. “We leave in less than an hour and you’re going to regret it if you don’t go talk to her, so go say goodbye. Go.”

He shoved at his shoulder and Reg held his hands up, backing away. “Fine, fine! I’m going!” He said while glaring, turning around with another word and approaching you where you were leaning against the side of one of the choppers, your brother luckily occupied with talking to a scientist.

You noticed him approaching instantly, your back straightening, your arms uncrossing from over your face and your lips pulling into a smile.

“Hi.” He was the first one to speak once he reached you, and you wasted no time in replying.

“Hey. You ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He smiled back widely, and then his confidence took a sudden turn, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his head awkwardly. “Hey, listen, I was wondering if, maybe, when we get back to the mainland, we could go out for a movie, or dinner, or something.”

You raised an eyebrow, the smile playing on your lips widening. “Like a date?” You asked, and he shrugged.

“Yeah. I mean, if it’s- if you want to. And if it’s okay with your brother.” He trailed off towards the end, his eyes flickering to something over your shoulder

It was only then, when you turned your head around to see what he was looking at, that you noticed James had now abandoned the conversation he had previously been having to listen in to yours instead, his pointed stare never wavering from the boy in front of you.

“You know what? I don’t-“ He started, but you immediately cut him off by throwing your hand out to slap his chest.

His eyes flickered down to meet yours at that and you glared. “Don’t you have someone else to bother? Go away, please.” You told him, and with a long look at Reg, he did as told, picking up his bag and leaving you alone.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned back to Reg with a smile, your head nodding. “Dinner and a movie both sound nice.” You agreed. “But for now, your main focus should be coming back in one piece.”

His entire face was lit up in a huge grin, and a chuckle left his lips at your words. “I can promise you that I will.” He said, and you snickered back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ll hold you to that.” You said, the two of you then walking over to where the others were getting ready to board their assigned choppers.

You said goodbye to both Reg and your brother, the latter of the two goodbyes being a bit more sentimental, James hugging you close and kissing the top of your head, making you promise to be good, as if you were ever anything but.

Once they had left, you were on your own with literally no one to talk to, and you found yourself at wit’s end trying to find something to occupy yourself with.

You’d brought books with you but only three, and you were a quick reader, all of them being finished within two days. And just your luck, your cassette player chose the most horrible timing to stop working again, and no one on board knew how to fix it.

But just when you thought you were going to die from boredom, they returned, and you wasted no time in running outside and sprinting straight into your brother’s arms, only then realizing how worried you had been.

When you came back apart, you looked up at him with a worried gaze, taking note of how roughed up and exhausted he looked.

“Are you okay?” You asked, and watched as his lips pulled into a tight smile.

“I’m alright, don’t you worry.” He assured you and you smiled back, nodding your head.

Your smile faltered as soon as it appeared, however, when you spotted another familiar face behind him, and James instantly noticed, stepping to the side to give you free passage.

“Go.” He said, and you gave him a doubtful look.

“Are you sure?” You asked, and he simply nodded.

“I have some business to take care of. We can talk more later.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, your feet moving you in the direction of Reg just a second later. 

Mills was the first one who noticed you approaching and slapped his friend’s shoulder, causing him to look up.

He barely even got the time to process your face, before you had reached him and pulled him into a careful embrace.

“Oh.” He mumbled into your neck, eyes widening in surprise. But he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you back, melting into it. “Wow. I could get used to this… You smell really good, has anyone ever told you that?”

You chuckled at his words and much to his dismay, the warmth of your embrace was gone too quickly, the two of you stepping away from each other again.

You immediately began looking him over for injuries, and you instantly spotted the torn up fabric of his pant-leg, or more specifically the wound peeking out from underneath.

Your eyes flickered back up to his, and you raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the promise of coming back in one piece?” You asked, and he shrugged, giving you a small smile.

“My leg is still attached to my body, isn’t it?” He pointed out, bringing a chuckle from your lips.

“Yes, I guess it is.” You agreed. “Can you walk?”

His face turned serious at the question. “I’ve just spent the last twenty-four hours running from a lizard with teeth the size of my head. Pretty sure that proves that there’s nothing wrong with my leg. Just a scratch on the surface.”

At the sound of his words, your interest was immediately piqued, but you knew it was neither the time nor place to ask about it.

“Well, we should still get it cleaned up.” You told him, reaching out and taking his hand in yours. “Come on.”

He did nothing to protest, limping slightly in his step as he followed you into the ship where you brought him to your room.

You instructed him to sit down on your bed and left him alone for a few minutes, heading off to the medbay where the other survivors were being checked over, to retrieve a medkit.

Once you had everything you needed, you returned to your room and wasted no time in getting to work, starting off with cutting off the lower part of his pant-leg and then moving on to clean the wound.

“You don’t have to do that, you know. I’m very well capable of patching myself up.” Reg told you as he watched your hands work, leaning back on his palms to be able to keep his leg straight out in front of him.

You glanced up at him at that, raising an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?” You asked, your lips pulling into a smile when he immediately shook his head.

“No. Definitely not.” He said, and you chuckled.

“That’s what I thought.” You said, turning your attention back to his leg with a shrug. “And besides, you owe me a date. Can’t have you dying on me from an infected wound.”

In the corner of your eye, you noticed him nodding his head. “A very valid point.” He agreed, and you smiled, finishing up bandaging his ankle.

“Exactly, now turn around. I need to clean the cut on your shoulder, too.” You instructed him, making a “turn around” motion with your finger.

He wasted no time in obliging, bringing his leg down from the bed and turning around. “Yes, ma’am.” He said, grabbing ahold of the upper hem of his shirt and tugging it up to expose his back to you.

In turn, you wasted no time in soaking a fresh cloth with alcohol, preparing to clean the cut stretched out over his shoulder blade.

“So, where are you from?” You asked, trying to make some light conversation.

“Detroit, born and raised.” He replied without missing a beat and you hummed, reality coming crashing down on you and dampening your mood significantly.

“I’m from London, if you hadn’t already gathered that from the accent.” You told him lowly. “I guess that date is going to be harder than we thought, huh?”

But much to your surprise, he only shook his head. “That won’t be a problem. I’d-“ He cut himself short for a moment, a hiss leaving his lips when you pressed the cold, alcohol-soaked rag to the cut.

But he regained his composure rather quickly, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “I’d follow you anywhere.” He finished, giving you a crooked, goofy smile.

You automatically smiled back, the two of you holding eye-contact for another moment before he turned back around to allow you to finish patching him up, both of you knowing you would continue the conversation later.

(If you want to be tagged when I post Reg Slivko stories, let me know in a comment, ask or private message)

[heyyyharry]

a ‘my girl’ interview

I did one for the Flatmate series so I thought the MG babies deserved one too :D This is like a boyfriend/girlfriend tag where they answer questions about each other :)

.

Harry: Hi! I'm Harry and this is my wife, Bambi–

Bambi: That's not my name.

Harry: We're here to answer questions about our relationship to show her dad that our marriage isn't a bad idea.

Bambi: Hi, Dad.

(Harry whips his head around, his face pallid, and Bambi bursts out laughing)

Harry: You need to stop doing that!

Bambi: Anyway! (yanks the piece of paper from his hands) Let's begin!

---

Question 1: Who is my celebrity crush?

Harry: Bambi's got so many. She's cheating on all of them with me.

Bambi: Biggest celebrity crush then.

Harry: Easy. Yours is Leonardo DiCaprio. (to the camera) She cried watching Django Unchained because Leo cut his hand on set but kept on acting.

Bambi: Not true!

Harry: You did cry! You wouldn't even let me touch you!

Bambi: (rolls her eyes) I mean, yes, I cried, but Leo's not my biggest celebrity crush.

Harry: You literally said that if you could vote for the Oscars' winners, you would've picked Leo over me. (to the camera) Yes, I was in the same category as Leonardo DiCaprio.

Bambi: (to the camera) I never said that, because Leo would've still won without my vote.

Harry: (gasps) TRAITOR!

Bambi: But no, babe, (clasps his shoulder) my biggest celebrity crush is...you.

Harry: (places both hands on his heart) Aww, really?

Bambi: Yes

Harry: (tv host's voice) AND THE OSCAR GOES TO– (points at Bambi, she smacks his hand away, he laughs) Anyway, who's my biggest celebrity crush?

Bambi: Ruby Ellis.

(Harry stares at her. She stares back, trying to keep a straight face.)

Harry: (tilts his head) Bambi, come on.

Bambi: Okay, sorry, (smiles) Rihanna.

---

Question 2: Where is the most public place we have had sex?

(Both sigh, look at each other, then laugh)

Harry: Everywhere?

(Bambi slaps him on the arm)

Harry: (to the camera) Every sex question is her picks by the way.

Bambi: Answer the question, please.

Harry: Why don't you answer it first?

Bambi: Niall's listening party.

Harry: Wait, we had sex at Niall's listening party?

Bambi: Yeah, we did, we went to the bathroom–

Harry: (speaks at the same time she's speaking) Did you have sex with someone who looked like me?

Bambi: (continues speaking as she covers his mouth with one hand while he laughs) –while everyone was listening to the last song, and you fucked me on the sink, and the lock on the door was broken so you had to keep one hand on the doorknob.

Harry: (removes her hand, eyes wide) Yeahhhhhh, how did I forget that? I didn't even know I could multitask until that night. That was pretty insane.

Bambi: (to the camera) Niall, if you're watching this, we're sorry and we loved the album.

Harry: (to the camera) Our favourite album of all time! (back to Bambi) For me, it was that time on set after we'd finished filming a sex scene, and you were going on and on about me spanking my co-star, and the only way to shut you up was dragging you to the back room.

Bambi: (glares at him) The spanking wasn't on the script.

Harry: I was in character. And you know spanking you is like a habit for me.

Bambi: Yes, you were in character, and that girl wasn't me, so what kind of excuse was that?

Harry: (laughs nervously at the camera) NEXT QUESTION!

---

Question 3: What is my favourite sex position?

Harry: Oh, we've actually discussed this; we've got the same one. Cowgirl.

Bambi: But we don't call it that because it doesn't sound sexy. So...it's the one where I ride his dick.

Harry: Wow, you are blunt.

Bambi: (ignores the remark) I remember you saying you loved me on top because you wanted to watch my boobs bounce. (peeks into her own shirt) Even though they're nonexistent.

Harry: Don't shame your boobs! They're my favourite things in the world. I will fight you! (squints his eyes at her) But wait, I find it weird that you love being on top but at the same time also love being dominated.

Bambi: (shrugs) To be honest, I prefer doggy style, but I hate not seeing your face when you cum.

Harry: Oh my God, same!

---

Question 4: What part of your body is my favourite?

Bambi: My eyes.

Harry: (fakes a gasp) How did you know?!

Bambi: I can read minds. (smiles) What's my favourite part of your body?

Harry: (smile mischievously)

Bambi: My favourite part that's not your dick.

(Harry frowns and huffs angrily)

Bambi: Hurry! (checks paper) We've got three questions left!

Harry: My...(pokes at his own cheeks) dimples?

Bambi: (purses her lips) To be honest, I don't really know. It's different every time I look at you.

Harry: Baby! (heart eyes, pouting) You make my answer sound shallow.

Bambi: (shrugs) I can just say I love your arse.

Harry: No, it's fine. I prefer the cheesy answer.

---

Question 5: What is my best childhood memory?

Bambi: Yours is the first time you skipped Mrs Knox's class with your friends and spent the whole afternoon swimming in the lake behind our school.

Harry: Wait, did I tell you that?

Bambi: You did. You said it was "the best day" of your life. (pretends to look upset as she stares at the piece of paper on her lap)

Harry: Aww, baby (kisses her temple), my best childhood memory is always the night we met. And I assume it's yours as well?

Bambi: (looks up, smiling widely) Nope. Mine's the time you got beat up to bring Thumper back to me.

Harry: I'm glad my suffering and childhood trauma brings you joy.

Bambi: (pinches his cheek) It really does, yeah.

---

Question 6: How old was I when I had my first kiss?

Harry: Ha! You lost your first kiss to me because you kissed me without my consent!

Bambi: Did it even count as a first kiss?

Harry: It so did.

Bambi: A kiss requires two people. You didn't kiss me back so...(to the camera) I was sixteen and it was with Blake Roman.

(Harry glares at her. She grins, throws an arm around his neck and kisses his cheek)

Bambi: Yours was when you were fourteen, right? With a girl with braces?

Harry: (sighs) Josy Sinclair. We were in the closet during a game of seven minutes in heaven. I think she bit my tongue by accident. She also let me touch her boobs over the bra.

Bambi: So you've always been a boob guy.

Harry: I guess so.

Bambi: When Blake and I kissed for the first time–

Harry: (covers his ear) Lalalalalalalala

Bambi: Very mature, Harry.

Harry: (still covering his ear) I can't hear you!

---

Question 7: Why do you think you were attracted to me?

Harry: Because you've got a fetish for older men.

Bambi: I have not! Blake and I were the same age!

Harry: You hated him at first, though.

Bambi: Doesn't mean I didn't want to fuck him when I first met him, though.

(Harry clutches his chest as if he'd just been shot and pretends to fall off the chair. Bambi bursts out laughing and pulls him back up)

Bambi: Honestly, I don't know why you were attracted to me. And I don't even think you know. I don't even know why I was attracted to you.

Harry: Yeah, I think it just...happened, you know? Like I said in my vows, you kinda just...grew on me.

Bambi: Awww (grabs his face and kisses him softly). Same.

[amethystpath-writes]

“The Deadly Call”

When I was in 7th or 8th grade, I wrote a terribly horrific story in my writing competition. I did comp again my freshman year of high school and am now considered one of the greatest writers in my state- which is pretty cool! This is a rewritten version of what I wrote at my first competition! 

TWs in the tags. Please, please, please heed them before reading!!

******

When I was a small child, about four years old, my mother passed away from an illness that couldn’t be treated, and my father became an alcoholic. Cliché, right? Well, late me make it even more so. My father was always angry; yelling at me for anything that came to mind. I often stayed in my room and listened to music- my favorite way of coping. When I wasn’t in my room, I was usually running down streets asking everyone I saw for pocket change so I could buy food for myself. Da didn’t work, and he didn’t need to since his brother, my uncle, was too kind for his own good.

At fifteen, I moved in with my best friend- if you could call us best friends. We didn’t talk much, but her family was caring and took me in when they heard what my living situation was like. If they knew what I did now, I’m not even sure they would kick me out, but they’d be displeased.

I’m sixteen now, and I gamble most nights. Most of those I gamble with are adult men with tattoos covering every inch. There are a couple of scrawny fellows who got kicked out of their homes for drug addictions and whatnot. Some are pretty women you’d never expect to see in such places. I’m probably the biggest oddball, being a kid and all.

Gambling is a bit dangerous, as you probably already know. The tattooed guys aren’t as scary as most people think. They’re actually pretty sincere for the most part, but every now and then you have one of them who gets pissed off they lost. I barely made it out this one time- one of the guys threw a beer bottle at my head: not nearly as scary as my father though. I made it out alive.

Tonight, I only recognize two people. A woman with black hair a purple streak. She has a pretty piercing in her nose- one of those studded jewels. Guess that’s not really a ring though. The other is one of those scrawny thirty-year olds who got kicked out by their parents. I’ve seen him a few times, usually in the crowded bars where no one pays attention to what’s going on around them. Everyone else is new, though, including the host. He looks a little familiar, but it’s probably just the beard. Lots of men have brown bushy beards.

The basement here is stingier than the others. Most of them have windows at the very top, just above ground level, or there’s otherwise a hole dug outside of the house to allow for a window for ventilation. I’m pretty sure the bearded man made the basement himself though, didn’t think about how much he was killing himself with all the smoke trapped in here. You can hardly see the warm, dim lights through all the smoke.

**

I have managed to win by some miracle. There’s a chorus of grunts and ‘aw man’s’, but no one objects. Rules were put in place that wouldn’t have even allowed for cheating, so I’ve won fair and square. There have been other times in my gambling career that others have questioned my honest win. There was one time we had a coin flip between myself and the guy who challenged me. I picked tails; he picked heads. I won the coin toss and won the money. It was a big pot, several hundreds of dollars, and when I got back to the house, I didn’t even have a place to put it discreetly.

“Kid, I got another pit going on tomorrow night for winners of the last month.” It’s the bearded man. I glance back at him as I’m headed towards the door, but shrug. Hosts don’t usually hold multiple pits within the same month. It gathers too much attention. If I had realized he already held one, I wouldn’t have come today.

“Nah, it’s alright. I should be heading back home. It’s getting cold out and it’s a long walk.” I go for the door again, but Beardy speaks up again.

“You sure? There’s a lot in the pot. You’re looking at several thousand in a night. If it’s the roster you’re worried about, I got it downstairs. You can come with me to look.”

Several thousand? That amount of money…I could pay my friend’s family back for all that they’ve done for me. Maybe I could even put my dad into rehabilitation, ween him away from the alcohol. It’s not too late for that, right?

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll have a look.”

**

Well the basement hasn’t changed since I left it before. It’s just as smoky- that’s what happens when you don’t have windows in a basement you smoke in. I’ll probably develop lung cancer from being in here, but…but if there’s a chance I can help my father and repay my friend, I have to take it, right? Several thousand dollars is more than any jobless sixteen-year-old can ever hope for.

“Right down here, kid.” The bearded man is several steps below me and disappears to the left of the stairs. The roster is probably in that little storage closet he has on the other side of the room.

I finish walking down the stairs, my foot landing on the stone flo-

My bottom lands on the stairs behind me, my head bouncing off a stair above me. Only thinking of the pain that has erupted in my skull, I sit up with a hand held to my head. There has to be a bruise there already, but before I can check for one, something wraps around both of my ankles and I’m dragged forward, head thunking a second and third time before finally landing on the floor. My eyes flutter open and closed too slowly and I can’t tell what I’m looking at. My vision is blurry. I don’t even know what happened? Where am I again?

The blinks are becoming longer.

I think I’m about to pass out.

My head hurts.

What is that above me?

I don’t think I can keep my eyes opened anymore.

**

As I open my eyes, I don’t recognize where I’m at. The panic takes a moment to set in as my vision clears. It’s then that I take a large breath, probably the largest as I’ve ever taken.

My feet act on their own- or at least try to, but they’re caught on something. I can’t think. I can’t think. Why can’t I move my feet?

Some amount of sense is finally knocked into me and I look down at a pair of wrapped ankles. I’m in the bearded man’s basement. I’m still in his basement and my legs are tied. And my hands are tied. And there’s something in my mouth and the corners of my lips hurt and my hair is stuck to my face and and and-

“Iris, it is, right?”

My heart is beating too fast. Too fast. I squeeze my eyes shut. If I just close them then it means none of this is real, right? If I close my eyes, then this all becomes a daydream. If I close my eyes-

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” the bearded man says in my head. It’s in my head, right? I���m not in his basement. I’m not- “I have a coin. Now, last time you and I were in the same room with a coin, you walked away with all the money I was supposed to get to save my daughter’s life.”

What? No. No, no, no,no,nononononono. It can’t be him. This can’t be the same guy. But it is. But it is the guy, the one who challenged my win so long ago.

“I already took what you earned last night, but you have a better prize I want. So, it’s going to go like this…”

I jump, eyes flying open as I push myself back, a cold touch on my neck. He’s knelt now, an arm stretched out. So, it’s his hand. It’s his hand on my neck. I don’t like it. I don’t want it there. Please get off. Please get off me. Please get off. Please. Please. Please.

“I’m sticking with my guess from last time; heads. And I’m sticking with that guess”- he laughs and I can feel my hands shaking behind my back- “because what I want from you isn’t money anymore. My daughter is already dead. You killed her when you took that money from me in our first pit together. I want your head for hers. I can’t give you a brain tumour, but I can certainly do you something worse.”

The hand retreats from my neck, but I wish- oh God- I wish it would have stayed. I wish he would have never moved his hand. I wish I wasn’t here. I wish I was with my father. I wish I could hold a picture of my mom.

“I sharpened this while you were passed out. Didn’t mean to do that, by the way.” I can’t stand this. I can’t look. That knife- machete- whatever it is- I can’t…I need to get out. I need to- but I can’t move. I can’t move. I can’t move! “I was just trying to catch you by surprise so I didn’t have to deal with you struggling, but this actually worked out kinda better.”

“Mph!” I can’t talk. I can’t beg him. Can’t beg for my life. Can’t tell him I have a lonely father and a friend and family that care about me. Can’t tell him- can’t tell him anything.

“Right, well, I think it’s time for the toss. Heads, I get yours. Tails, I’ll flip again.” How can he smile at me like this?

How can he- can he- can he…I can’t think. I need out. I need out. Please let me go. Please let me go. I’m sorry. I’m sorry your daughter died. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please let me go.

“Would you look at that.”

He holds the coin up to my eyes and I can’t help the whimper in my throat, can’t help the stronger cries, and the impossibly more shaking hands of mine. I can’t breathe. I can’t. This isn’t happening. This is not happening to me.

“Heads on the first try. Chin up sweetheart, unless you want me to take a couple hacks at your pretty neck.”

I scream.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter Fourteen (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 5k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If the career districts had their hands on books like these, you would have been forced to read them. Mercilessly. Like, a whole couple of units just studying these useless things. They’re mostly published for the Capitol citizens--which is why they’re not supplied in districts--but imagine having everything you could possibly need to know, in a couple of books.

These handbooks are genius. Even if they’re meant for entertainment and not practical use, they’re fucking fantastic.

Every nine years, one of these books comes out. Inside, they have every tribute that had gone in for those nine years--which comes out to be two hundred and sixteen tributes in total. They have the names, ages, weights, heights, eye and hair colors. Who their mentor, stylist, prep team and district representative was, and so much more.

For example, for the year you won, they start with the tributes and their information. 

District One, Deimos Chambers. Black hair, brown eyes. He was seventeen, six-foot-one, with a weight of one hundred and seventy five. His mentor was Gloss, and as for the rest, it seems a little unimportant to you. However, his go-to weapon during training was always a sword, and he seemed to be very skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

Which all career tributes are skilled in, but whatever. You’re all taught to be proficient in something, and it’s mainly hand-to-hand. You’ll hardly see a career tribute try and do shit from far away. You know you wouldn’t bother all that much. From far away, you risk the chances of missing, up close, you can kill them in one goddamn shot.

Deimos’ score was a whopping ten, which is basically what all the comprehensive people had gotten. In his interview he wore all black, and when the lights had been shut off momentarily, the glow in the dark constellations came to life. And it wasn’t that bullshit green color either. It was white, and looked like there were actual lightbulbs behind it all, but the stylist was just creative.

It lists the people he chose to be allies with: Alhena, Zeke, and yourself. How many he killed during the bloodbath, which was one. But in total from start to finish it was three to four, counting assist kills. It says how he died, how many days he survived for, and what he placed.

Next is Alhena Hurley. Brown hair, blue eyes. She was sixteen, five-foot-seven, weighing in at one hundred and thirty five. Her mentor was Cashmere, respectively. Her chosen weapon inside of the training center was a mace, and her special note was that she was strong.

“Not emotionally.” you mutter, snickering to yourself as you continue reading.

Alhena got a score of nine, her interview dress was silver, with black specks on it--which is more or less the opposite of what Deimos had. She killed two people in the bloodbath, and that would stay her number for the rest of the games. She died because she got killed on the third day by someone who was hiding in the trees.

On the District One page, it holds both Deimos and Alhena. Pictures of what they wore during the reaping, train station, parade, interview and inside of the arena. Along with their special picture that would indicate that they were dead. The next page holds their family and friend interviews--if they had any--with the questions that Caesar asked and the answers given by their loved ones.

Then, there’s District Two, starting off strong with Zeke. Blonde hair, brown eyes. Seventeen, six foot on the dot, weighing roughly one hundred and sixty pounds. You guys had the same mentor, so it was Enobaria. He was boring and chose a sword, and his special skill was that he was always moving. More or less, he was quick.

Training score of ten, his suit was a bronze color, while the dress shirt was actually black. It was sorta metallic in the light. Zeke managed to kill one person in the bloodbath, and came out to two to three at the end. And he obviously placed second, because you were the one that killed him so that you could win.

And then there’s yourself. (Y/n) Rosecelli, sixteen. You had fairly short hair when you went inside of the arena--just so that it wouldn’t be grabbed and used against you. You were pretty tall, around the recommended weight group--although, that didn’t really matter in the end--and your mentor was Enobaria. Your chosen weapon inside of the training center was the sai’s and your special talent was being a know-it-all.

You scored a ten, got the same metallic bronze color of a dress with the matching black. Inside of the arena you had killed eight people, placing number one. At the very top of the page it says ‘WINNER!’, like it’s some fucked up game and not a fight for your survival.

It had the pictures and interviews as the others did, but with yours it’s extra special. You get the second interview by Caesar and what outfit you had worn for it. A small section for all the highlights inside of the arena, and then the victory tour, with the celebration at the mansion. All the headlines that you had gotten for being inside of the Capitol ‘willingly’. 

And there’s also close-up pictures of all the tattoos you had gotten while you were there too.

It makes you sick knowing that they had produced these for entertainment, when it really could have been for the betterment of future tributes. Apart from all the useless shit they had for profiling the tributes, they literally had their battle plans.

Like for Finnick, it says that he used a fishing net while he and the opponent were in water. He’d get them tangled, and then when he was sure they couldn’t hurt him, he’d just kill them with his super expensive trident. And all the tributes didn’t know to be afraid of him until it was too late.

Just like with Johanna too. She played stupid for her entire time inside of the Capitol, and a little bit into the games to draw people in. She purposely scored low on her private training session--which is no doubt a big setback sponsor-wise. But then she became a killing machine, and almost a legend of sorts.

It made tributes wary of those who pretended to be stupid like that. Gave away their entire motive, because Johanna had done it first, and she won because of it. Anyone who did pose a threat early on would get killed.

It’s the exact reason why you went after the District Four tributes when you did. Your games were directly after Finnick’s, and the thought of one of those fish-eating fuckers getting their hands on you like that was terrifying. So, the only way to eliminate the chance of that happening, is to get rid of the only people who really know their way around water, and nets, and fishing.

Finnick likely hated that, the fact that you went after them specifically when you had the chance. However, you know deep-down that he appreciated that you wouldn’t let them suffer. You just wanted them dead immediately to get rid of the chance of them still being alive. You wouldn’t move from the bodies until the cannons had gone off.

Honestly, your allies should have killed you when they had the chance. If you were smart enough to stand over tributes to make sure that they were dead before moving on, that should have been a red flag. Even when they had wanted to leave tributes to bleed out and die, you’d be the one to finish them off.

Not to mention, you marking your arm after every broadcast of The Fallen was a whole new level of insane. And it’s not like they didn’t notice it or anything, they just chose not to point it out. They knew what it was for and all, but they didn’t say anything.

Someone clears their throat, making you look up from the handbook. You’re not really surprised to see Finnick standing there, in the same white scrubs that you’re wearing.

“Good afternoon.” you flip the page, landing right onto the District Four tributes from your games, “Or evening, I can’t tell in this coffin anymore.”

“The nurses tell me you haven’t left your room in a couple of days.” he doesn’t move from the doorway.

You give him a glance, “Why would I? Peeing in my own bathroom is just the same as the one down the hall. Both have cold toilet seats and smell like cleaning products.”

Finnick cracks a smile, coming into the room now, “What’re you reading?”

“Hunger games handbooks.” you hold it up for him to see briefly, “This is the year I won, and these are the tributes you mentored.”

Finnick comes over, and you turn the book so he can read it a little.

Brook Giles, fifteen, five-foot-eight, around one hundred and fifty six pounds. He has bleached brown hair and blue eyes. His training score was a nine, he wore a classic light blue and white suit during his interviews. His go-to weapon was a sword inside of the training center and he died on the first day because you killed him.

“One of my first takeouts,” you watch his face, wondering if he’ll get mad if you talk about it so carelessly, “It was almost fun.”

Finnick meets your eyes, “You were scared, just like the rest of them.”

“I killed him because he reminded me of you.” you then turn to the girl, “And so did she.”

Mira Osborne, sixteen, blonde hair and green eyes. Five-foot-five, one hundred and forty pounds. She wore a white dress that barely went to her knees, some blue accents here and there. She scored an eight, her go-to weapon was a spear. One kill, and only a few days later she’d die because you’d find her hiding in a cove.

“I was fifteen when I watched you win, and I knew that the following year I’d likely be picked to volunteer. I realized that I didn’t know how to swim at all, and the thought of ending up in a net, scared and drowning was more terrifying than anything I had come across up until that point of my life.” you smile, looking at Finnick now, “So, I dug a hole in my backyard, filled it with water and taught myself how to swim.”

Finnick stares, as if he doesn’t know if you’re kidding or not.

You aren’t.

“Of course, as extra precaution I chose to go after them first. Anyone who got in the way was an added bonus to my kill streak. I hunted Mira like she was a fucking deer and I was starving.” Finnick’s silence is what you expected for telling him information like this, and you’re not even done yet, “And had you not been my soulmate, you, Mags, Katniss, Peeta and Johanna would have ended up just like her.

“And I wouldn’t have stopped until you were all dead.”

Finnick straightens up, stiff. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but snaps his mouth shut.

Smug, you smirk, “What? Did you suddenly realize that I’m exactly who I told you I was?”

Finnick turns to leave, and you wait patiently as he goes towards the door frame. But then he grabs the chair by it, and takes a seat. Although, just by looking at his body language, he doesn’t want to be here. And he doesn’t want to let you win this either.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you flip the book open again, “You’re making a grave mistake.”

“Stop telling me that.”

You glance up, “Is it because you know that I’m right and you don’t want to admit it? You know you’re leaving a nice, capable girl that would love to settle down, have kids and grow old with you. For someone who’s an insufferable bitch that hates the life she’s been given, and everything that she’s ever cared for gets killed or leaves her.”

“Is that why you won’t let me at least be friends with you?”

You take in a deep breath, “No, I don’t want you near me at all because you’re you. You’re Finnick Odair, darling of the Capitol. You’re Finnick Odair, the youngest victor in history who was also given the most expensive gift ever sent inside of the arena.” you laugh, “Oh! And you’re Finnick Odair, the man who also exposed Snow for who he is. Which lets you be in the spotlight more times that you’re worthy of.”

“So you think you’re not worthy?”

It’s like a blinding rage for a split second as you hurl the twenty-five pound book straight at Finnick, “I can’t fucking stand you!”

Finnick catches the book just barely before it hits him in the face, “(Y/n)--”

“No.” you cut him off, “No, you don’t get to pretend like you’re the voice of reason here, because you’re not. I’m a fucking nightmare, and even I know when enough is enough.” You get up and off of the bed, grabbing a hold of the necklace Tanith gifted you. As you begin to leave your safe place, you point at him, “I know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“You hopped from what you think is one broken girl to another. But news flash, Finnick, I’ve lost much more people,” you get down to his eye level, “I lost my entire family when I got home to District Two after I won my games. And it wasn’t just my immediate family, it was distant aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. Everyone who was even a shred related to me, is now dead. I’m the only one left of my fucking bloodline.”

You stand up now, “Losing Tanith is nothing compared to what I had lost then. I wish I had grown a pair and stepped off the fucking hovercraft to bury her, because doing that wouldn’t have been nearly as much as a hassle compared to dealing with you.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, and you don’t wait to see if he does either. You go straight out, ignoring the nurses that stare at you, because it really is the first time you’ve left the room in days. Everything is delivered to you, if there’s something you want, they’ll go and get it.

You have a vague idea of where you want to go, just getting there is going to be the problem. Typically, even if you do leave the room, someone will follow you out to keep an eye on you. You remember very vividly, a certain nurse standing at an arm's distance from you, during Coin’s last speech. When she announced the liberation of the prisoned victors.

A joke. This whole place is one fucking circus.

Just as you expected, the floor is pretty vacant. Here and there, someone will wander in and out, but that’s really it. You give a look behind you, confirming that there isn’t a nurse following you just yet. Then, you take off towards the elevator.

You barely remember how that one doctor used it, but it shouldn’t be that hard. You press the button, bringing the lift to you. When it stops and makes the annoying sound, you pull the guard rail up, and then step inside. Pulling it down again, you can see one of the nurses round the corner.

You give her a bright smile, punching the top floor, “Tata.”

The elevator starts moving up, and you give her a wave. Then, she’s blocked out by the cement flooring.

For the rest of the ride up, you cross your arms and wait, staring straight ahead. Your game plan is to head to the woods and don’t stop walking until you’re lost. Hopefully, no one will think to follow you out there.

The elevator stops at the top floor, allowing you to be met face to face with a band of people. They’re pulling up the guard rail before you even have a chance to reach for it.

Katniss is on a stretcher, her sister is hovering over her. Haymitch, Beetee, Gale and Boggs are nearby. Not to mention all the other people behind them.

“Geez.” you move out of the way, allowing Katniss to be wheeled in. Beetee and Gale fit themselves on, but Boggs and Haymitch don’t follow.

There’s not nearly enough room for them all to fit on the elevator, anyway. And apparently it gives Boggs to grab a hold of you before you can escape.

“Where are you going?”

You give him a kind smile, “I was given the okay to clear my head for a little.”

“Why are you still in scrubs, then?”

You make a face, shrugging, “Don’t ask me, they’re the ones that told me I was free to go whenever.”

Boggs doesn’t look convinced, and honestly, neither does Haymitch.

“Fine, I made a breakaway because I can’t fucking stand it in there.” you pull your arm from Bogg’s grasp, “For a district that’s all about equality, I don’t see why it should matter if I come up here to disappear for a little while. Or the fact that I’m being followed around when I do leave my room because you guys think I’m some sort of Capitol bootlicker.”

Haymitch laughs, “Same old (Y/n).”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” you then look at Boggs, “Don’t send anyone to follow me. I’ll come back when I feel like I’m ready to breathe stale air and eat shit for dinner.”

“Had you expressed your distaste for District Thirteen earlier, we might have taken you right back to District Two.” Boggs says.

You raise your eyebrows, “Earlier? When did you go?”

“A couple hours ago.” Haymitch says, “We just got back.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “Great, my only way out of this shithole and I wasn’t even aware of it. It’s funny how you brought the guy in the wheelchair and not the girl who literally grew up there her entire life.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Bogg says, “Enjoy your walk.”

The elevator is back, and they step on. You turn around and leave, heading straight towards the opening. You can already hear the chirps of the birds and you’re nowhere near the door.

You pick up the pace, jogging right past the people that work out here. One of them waves, and you raise your hand in acknowledgement. The smile doesn’t even come across your face until the sun is in your eyes.

You take a sharp left, taking the trail for the most part. When you’re out of the sight of those inside of the building, you slow your pace, taking your time with getting lost. 

You’re not even kidding when you say that it’s literal fresh air. This smells and tastes nothing like what goes underground. It’s stale, and out here it’s sweet. It must have rained a couple days ago or something because the plants have that smell to them--petrichor.

After a while, you detour from the trail, heading into the trees some more. You weren’t kidding when you said that you’d like to get lost. Being out here, wandering for hours on end is going to be more entertaining than reading those depressing handbooks. On top of that, you won’t have to see Finnick’s face for a while.

He really does get on your nerves. Him pretending that he knows every single detail about you, and claiming the opposite of what you tell him is pissing you off. You’re a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You’d rather be told the heartbreaking truth than have someone lie through their teeth. So, you assume other people like it that way too. It cuts out a lot of unnecessary drama.

Unless it’s another person’s lie, then you’ll play along. If they want to fabricate things for their own gain, then have at it. Who are you to say no to them?

With Finnick, you’ve told him several times, over and over that you can’t stand him. And he acts as if that’s all going to magically change if he forces you to get used to his company or whatever. And you even dumbed it down for him, explained what the deal was. You don’t want him, you don’t need him. You want or need the help.

He doesn’t need to stick around after that wish has been fulfilled. All he’s doing is hurting his own feelings. 

At this point, it might just be the challenge of getting you to like him. Show some kind of friendship just so he can drop it. You wonder if you fake it, he’ll finally leave you alone. You might just have to try that out until he realizes that you’ve had an entire personality flip.

Finnick would probably see that it’s a facade but might go along with it just to see how long you can keep it up for.

It’ll be your own personal game. How long can you be nice on the outside and calm on the inside until Finnick does something completely absurd that it makes you flip your shit? The time starts now.

You take a deep breath, going down the hill carefully, because you can clearly see the river. Off to the left some more are shoeprints and the trail that you had supposedly detached yourself from. It doesn’t really matter anymore, as long as you can sit here and be by yourself, you’re fine.

You get as close to the water as possible, taking off the shoes and rolling up the scrubs. You let your legs sit in the water as you lean back on your hands, staring at the scenery. It truly is a beautiful place here, but you’d never want to stay. Even if District Two is in shambles, you want to go back.

It’s your home. It holds so much grief and terror, and yet you just want to be back in the comforts of your own town. You want to see all your old neighbors before your victory. And see Victor’s Village overflowing with people always, no matter how annoying they were.

They’re all dead now. The only surviving victors from District Two is Lyme, and yourself. Everyone else is dead. Enobaria, Neysa, Tanith, Sorcha, Brutus, Edmond, Zavian and everyone else. Lyme had filled you in, that Snow had them all killed, and anyone else who proved valuable went with him.

Lyme and Paylor are lucky to be alive.

You’d literally give anything to talk to one of them again. To relive Tanith showing up uninvited in your house the morning of the reaping. You would have been so much more gentle than usual if you had known that it would have been the last real conversation without gloom hanging over your heads.

At least you’re lucky to say that your final goodbyes to her and Zavian wasn’t terrible at all. You were able to hug them both and tell them just how much they meant to you. Even if it wasn’t really heartfelt for Zavian, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world he could have heard.

And now they’re gone, and you’re still alive.

“Lucky me.” you murmur, finding a rock and tossing it into the water.

It’s funny how you only feel bad after all those people are dead. You would never in your right mind would have ever thought of being kind to those people until now. You’ve got some genuine guilt on your hands. 

Edmond and Neysa really had tried to act in your best interest. They knew your limits, but you like to think that you can push it. Like Edmond making sure you’d be sober and not make a fool of yourself in front of all those people at the train station. He wasn’t doing it to restrict you. And even though he didn’t show it the best way, you could have at least tried to understand.

Neysa just wanted you to get good allies. She wanted to give you a fighting chance, and had you just followed what she wanted, you wouldn’t have been so waist-deep in shit with distrust from Finnick’s alliance. She knew something you didn’t when it came to the fact that you shouldn’t go off alone inside of the arena.

And yet you like to be independent. 

There’s a crunching of leaves beneath boots, making you dip your head for a moment. You sigh through your nose, raise your head and then look over your shoulder. It’s exactly who you thought it would be, but he’s not wearing those white scrubs anymore. He’s also got some clothes draped over his arm.

You squint at him, “Are you wearing a suit?”

“Not the reaction I was expecting.” Finnick’s got his signature smile on his face, showing off his dimples.

You turn away before you can say something mean. 

“I figured you’d rather run away in something much more fashionable.” Finnick stops behind you.

“How’d you know?”

You stare at the water for another moment, before pushing yourself up, brushing off the dirt from your butt, knowing full well that it’s still going to be there. In Finnick’s hands sit some familiar ripped black jeans, but a navy blue shirt.

“I see they have a pattern.” you hold up the shirt to see, “And it has a breast pocket too.”

“The pink shirt was thrown away since you destroyed the hem.”

“I was anxious.” you reason, placing the shirt back.

You take off the white scrub shirt, making Finnick turn his head away. A smile appears on your face, because he acts like he literally hasn’t seen you naked before--cough cough, after you got bit by spiders. Butt ass naked, it wasn’t just Finnick who saw you completely nude. You flashed the whole fucking country.

They probably couldn’t keep that in, and had to change the camera perspective after that. 

You pull on the shirt, and then you pull off the bottoms, being sure to wipe your muddy feet on them to clean off your feet.

“So what made you follow me out here this time?” you ask, taking the jeans and pulling them on.

“Your stunning personality, as always.” Finnick looks over now, “And the fact that Haymitch and Boggs wanted me to follow you out here. I tried to tell them it wasn’t the brightest idea, but they had me do it anyway, gave you a thirty minute head start first, though.”

“Smart of them. I’m assuming you saw Katniss, then?” 

“Seems like she’s been taking hit after hit lately.”

“Imagine getting strangled by your fiance.” you laugh, and Finnick joins in.

“Imagine getting punched by your soulmate.” Finnick gives you a look.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you have to admit that you deserved it.”

“Whatever makes you feel better about yourself.”

You press your lips together, stomping your foot into the boots since you’re too lazy to untie them. You repeat the process with your left foot, which takes a lot longer. Finnick just laughs at you the entire time, since you refuse to go down and fix it yourself.

“Let’s get serious for a moment.” you look at Finnick, and he looks a little afraid, “It’s nothing bad, you might even think I’m lying for a second.”

“That’s not--why would you say that?” he laughs.

You take your dirty scrubs from his hands, “Because I think ahead.” you tap the side of your head, “Anyway, I honestly want to apologize for what I said earlier.”

Finnick’s eyebrows skyrocket, and you can’t help but to laugh, “You’re being serious?”

“I am.” you start towards the trail, “And I would also like to apologize for everything that I’ve said before that. And all my actions too, like if I punched you or threw something at you.”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Finnick asks, “I mean, I accept but you gotta tell me why.”

You look at him, “I was thinking before you came out here--obviously--that people aren’t really out to get me. I don’t have to be independent and fight by myself anymore, not when there’s people with the same… struggles. You get it, right?”

Finnick’s impressed, “I do.”

“You know, a genius once told me that I’m not as dislikable as I like to think.” 

It takes Finnick a moment before it clicks in his head. He’s the one that said it to you.

“A genius, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” 

He nods, “Well, if we’re apologizing for things--”

“We’re cool, you don’t have to.”

Finnick ignores you, “--I’m sorry for approaching you so strongly.”

“You thought that it was the only way to get through to me, I get it. If someone has their walls up, sometimes the only way to get them down is if you meet their energy.”

“Do I even know you?” Finnick laughs.

“Oh, the glory of having an epiphany.” you smile, giving him a look, “So what are we dressed up for?”

“Your newfound freedom.”

“The fuck?” you laugh.

“Haymitch and Boggs convinced Coin to get you a little more freedom, which means that they weaseled me in too. We get a dorm, get to eat with the others and we can come up here whenever we want.”

“I have a feeling this is a little bit of bullshit.”

Finnick chuckles, “How did you know?”

“You can’t deceive me, I see through most of the shit you and your buddies do. I pay attention. I knew you, Johanna and the others were in an alliance before it was formed. And I also knew that you were planning a rebellion, and all you asked is if I was a loyalist.” you get back to walking, “You could even say that I’m a little insightful.”

“I’ll give you that one.” Finnick agrees, “Also, before we go back inside, you should know something else.”

“What did you do this time?” you look at Finnick.

He’s stopped walking, and so you do too, “I’ve ended things with Annie completely.”