#i went back through and fixed my capitalization for you

[livwritesstuff]

Early on in fatherhood, when his oldest daughter Moe was still a tiny little baby, Eddie had a moment of realization.

What he realized was that he and Steve are the first line of defense between their daughter and the entire goddamn world, and he’s entirely prepared to go to hell and back to make sure Moe never has to find just how awful that world can be.

Flash forward nine or ten years, and Eddie is learning that he had no reason to be worried because his daughter is one of the meanest people he’s ever met in his life.

(Once, when Steve had to out of town for a conference, Eddie brought the kids to a bookstore – for, y’know, fun – and Moe immediately pointed out the wall of cookbooks and said, “Dad, I bet you could find Cooking for Dummies over there,” which, ouch – and accurate, but seriously).

Maybe it’s penance or atoning for their sins or karma coming back around to get them or something, because Eddie knows he hadn’t been an angel or anything as a kid, and while Steve now is about as close to perfect as a human being can get (in Eddie’s opinion), he also hadn’t exactly been the nicest person in the world when he was younger, but, like, jokes over please, because he gets it.

(One time, Eddie dropped the girls off at school in the morning, and as they were pulling into the drop-off lane, Moe requested he play Highway to Hell, which he was pleased as punch about until Moe added, "I need the principal to know how I feel about this place").

Wayne was a goddamn saint among the masses if Eddie was anything like this, and it’s not like Eddie wouldn’t still go to hell and back for Moe, because he totally would. It’s more like he gets the sense that she really does not need him to do so. She’s got it completely covered.

(Once, a truly very nice mom at the playground offered to walk a group of kids over to the baseball diamond and supervise an impromptu kickball game and said to Moe, “Why don’t you ask your mom if it’s okay that you come with us!”

And Eddie could only hold his breath while Moe fixed her with a Capital-L Look and said, “I don’t have a mom. I have two dads. I can ask my dad.”

Later, Eddie asked her through gritted teeth, “Okay, do we maybe think we could be less blunt in the future?”

Moe just rolled her eyes and said, “That’s her fault. She shouldn’t have assumed”).

It’s actually sort of a tough situation because, for one……it’s funny (one time, while Eddie was helping her with math homework, he went to track down a calculator and Moe said, “Nevermind. I can do it in my head faster than that.” – Steve had needed to fully leave the room to hide from Moe how much he was laughing), and he also can totally see how this kind of behavior will serve her well in…well, life, generally speaking.

(Like when Hazel once admitted that a couple kids were picking on her at school and before Steve or Eddie could say anything, Moe, with arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, said, “Names.” in a tone that had him feeling completely confident that she had the whole situation handled).

He just could do without being roasted to one inch of his life before he even had his morning coffee.

[stxrvel]

the one where i said fuck you and you cried (3)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! a lot of curse words, a lot of self-deprecation and low self esteem. no proofread. this is nawt silly writing, we're diving right into the aNgSt. jumpscare? iykyk a/n. hi guys! this was a rollercoaster for me to write, but i hope it doesn't come as harsh as i think it is. pls let me know what you think in the comments!! see you next week!!

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You had gone through a scenario like that in your head several times. A variety of moments, conversations and looks that always ended in the same unpleasant, inevitable and demoralizing way: you were forgotten by the people you loved most in the world. Only when you reached 18 would you realize how heartbreaking the dull thud of the silence of indifference was, how sharp and icy the loneliness was, how it penetrated and paralyzed your bones; but at that time, at 16, you could still convince yourself that all those things were only in your head and would always be there.

“Now that you're the last to go, you guys are much more likely to forget about me.”

“Of course not! In fact, as soon as I start earning money I'll save up to take you with us.”

Jungkook shook his head, his narrowed eyes judging you as if having insecurities was a sin. You believed his words at that moment, because being the last one still with you, 'cause you were going to graduate from school in the same year, it was the only thing you could do. Hold on to the idea that you really weren't going to be forgotten, because the mere conception of a future without your best friends was inconceivable.

“Jimin-hyung said he was going to try to call more often,” your friend went on, his eyes fixed on the bass on his lap and his important task of leaving it neat before returning it to its holy post in the school's music room. “I haven't talked to them in about three days.”

Jimin and Taehyung had left just a couple of months ago, but thanks to the opportunities opened to them with their incredible willingness, discipline and some string twitching on Namjoon's part, they had managed to get into a great academy to train and fulfill their dreams.

That also brought with it, as irreversible side effects, that your communication with them was drastically reduced. You had to constantly remind yourself and Jungkook that it was out of their control. With their future at stake, there was something for which they had to exert extreme effort and for which to sacrifice some other things.

“It's normal that they don't have as much time as they used to, Kookie.” You lowered your head, noticing the way his hands delicately handled the instrument on his legs. Since Jimin and Taehyung had left there was no time of day when you could tear yourself away from Jungkook, which is why you accompanied him to his extracurricular music lessons when you really should have been studying for the college entrance exam. “Life after school gets really hectic.”

“I've heard that college life is quieter.” Jungkook twisted his lips, wiping between the strings and his fingerprints left on the bass every time he moved it back and forth to clean it. It was an almost irresistible cycle.

“The only one at college right now is Seokjin and even about him we haven't heard much.” You leaned back against the piano, noticing Jungkook's movements pause for a moment as he surely reminisced about the few times he had been able to talk to Jin that month.

It had been two years since Seokjin had graduated and traveled all the way to the capital to study medicine. Needless to say, it was more than clear that communication with Jin would be almost nil from then on, but Jungkook always used to pout about it.

“It's just that Jin-hyung also chose a rather demanding career.” Jungkook twisted his lips, as if suppressing Jin in his head, waving the microfiber towel over the edges of the bass.

“And the others are trying too hard to carve their way through. It can be as complicated as going out to look for a job right after graduating.”

Jungkook nodded, admiring his cleaning job with a frown. He looked so focused that it caught you by surprise when he spoke again.

“You already know if you're going to college, noona? We're graduating this year.”

You blinked once, twice, three times. His nonchalant self went back to waving the towel over nonexistent smudges as you breathed in and decided not to go that route. “Will you?”

Jungkook raised his head, pausing his movements for a moment to try to analyze your gaze. With a sigh, he let out your poorly disguised way of shifting the focus of the conversation to get up and hang the instrument, glowing, on the wall of the music room.

“I don't know yet… Namjoon-hyung says he can help me.”

“Isn't it your dream, why do you doubt it?”

“I'm not sure, noona. What if I don't measure up? What if I fail?”

When your friend turned away, the mirror to his soul showed his vulnerability dancing on the edge of his eyelids. His distrust constricted your heart, a hand closing around your throat at the inner conflicts you knew Jungkook used to have and in the face of which you often couldn't do anything about because he didn't usually share such things.

“Then you try again.”

“Noona…” Jungkook wanted to grumble, it was obvious from the way his eyes moved to the ceiling, his head cocking as if he was about to give you a big life lesson on why you can't survive on motivational phrases.

But Jungkook was a softie about such things, even if he tried to hide it.

“Jungkook, you are literally a golden promise. No process is ever easy, especially in the industry you want to get into, but don't think for a second that you're going to outgrow it. You're one of the most capable people I've ever met.”

Your friend stopped his steps, when after hanging up the bass he was returning to your post in front of you, raising his head as if caught committing a prank. But the vulnerability in his eyes remained, and by the way they shone in the dim light of the room, still blinking to try to contain the emotion, you knew your words had tugged at just that thorn in his heart you were trying to pull out.

“Thank you, noona.”

“I'm just telling the truth.” You lifted a shoulder, shaking your head nonchalantly like it was no big deal, and Jungkook just let out an amused chuckle.

“You do know we'd never forget about you, right? How could we?”

-

“How could we?”

Yuna shook her head, frowning at her phone, oblivious to the way you cringed at her choice of words.

“She's bringing celebrities into the store and she want us to leave? Don't we work so well that we always take the top employee of the month spot even though it should only be held by one person? Don't we deserve that gift?”

You watched her, marveling at how after just a few seconds so many emotions could build up into an overwhelming knot in your chest. The old notes of an old piano played in the back of your head, bringing to the surface memories of when life was easier; when you thought you had it all and nothing would ever be better than that; when you thought you were enough.

“So what do you plan to do about it?” you blinked, focusing on the notation of bills in your notebook with an invisible hand squeezing your heart.

There was no use thinking about such things after so long.

Yuna pursed her lips, her expression serious and forceful. “I think we should have a sit-in.”

“We should? That sounds like more than one person.”

“Do you disagree with me?”

“I'm happy with going home early, especially on a Friday, you know?”

“y/n,” Yuna came up to your face over the cash register display case, her forearms resting on the glass and her eyes so bright with determination you were sure her head could light the whole store on fire the way she was scheming and scheming, running around like her life depended on it, “we could be close to meeting the seven gods of Olympus, and you think the best thing to do is go home?”

“Just in case you forgot, I have a business to run now.” You reminded her, moving to poke her with your middle finger all over her forehead and push her away from the cash register now that a new customer had come in.

“What business should a business matter when you could meet the reason for existence itself?”

Yuna dropped onto the display case, her body sliding like jelly until only her head was left on the glass. You and the new customer watched her, her arms limp at her sides and her gaze lost. A lone tear running down the bridge of her nose.

“God, you're so dramatic.”

“Does that mean yes?” Her head snapped up like a spring, a big smile scaring the soul out of the customer who ducked behind your friend to run for their order.

“No and stop acting like that, you're going to scare away customers.”

Yuna whined, her exaggerated tantrum leading you to wiggle your feet all the way to the cellar.

“I'm offering you the holy grail, and this is how you pay me?”

The sound of her feet shuffling behind you kept your head sane. Even though his insinuations were baseless, your heart was pounding so hard you felt your ribs throbbing through your muscles and skin.

Your boss had written to Yuna that you two could leave the store early today because she had a private meeting to attend. She asked them to leave everything to Patrick, including clearing the store of customers and not to worry about paying for the shift, because there would be no discount at the end of the month. Yuna was faithfully and blindly convinced that your boss really wanted you to stay, because she spent almost ten minutes with her eyes glued to the screen almost without blinking, watching the 'typing…' appear and disappear under your boss's contact name. 'I'm sure she's debating how much confidence she has in us…', she said as her red eyes missed no detail of that important chat and that primordial moment, ending in an offended 'none!' when her last message came through.

In the same way, Yuna convinced herself that the meeting that would take place in the same place where your feet were planted was going to be attended by the seven entertainment kings of the country. The unmentionables, for all practical purposes. Where had she come to that conclusion? There was no foundation. Had your boss given any hints? None. Yuna had her head in the clouds believing she could meet her idols if she insisted a little longer.

“Would you really prefer to stand your friend up to meet seven men you don't even know for sure will show up here?”

“Well…if you put it that way it sounds like I'm doing something wrong.”

“Mmm, you just figured that out?”

Yuna dropped her shoulders as you took off your apron. Her tactics weren't going to work and it was time to give up. She half-heartedly opened her locker and stood looking at you with puppy dog eyes. You felt as guilty as if you had stepped on her tail by accident.

“Look, if I'm being honest, I doubt gigantically that Sol will tell you that you can stay if you ask her.”

“Not even for everything we've been through together?”

“She's still our boss, Yuna.”

Your friend mimicked your actions with a slower speed, her emotion draining away little by little. When her head cocked to the side, halfway through taking off her apron, you only sighed.

“The worst that can happen is I get fired, right?”

You weren't surprised that she was nevertheless willing to cross that line.

“That doesn't sound like much to you?”

“I can always write her a 'ha, ha, just joking' afterwards and get out of harm's way.”

You didn't contain the irresistible urge to roll your eyes and Yuna took that as her own signal or green light. Next thing you knew she was pulling out her phone and typing animatedly on the screen.

“I really don't think you should do that.”

“I have to try! Can I call myself a good fan if I don't do even the impossible?”

“You don't even know if they'll come.”

“I have a hunch.”

With her hand over her heart, Yuna sent the message and you feared for her life. While Sol was not at all close to the idea and conceptualization of a crazy and ruthlessly demanding boss, she did draw the line at several specific situations that they had both learned to respect. One of those was, of course, private meetings at her place. You and Yuna had set up the place countless times for Sol to sit quietly and chat with her most famous acquaintances, because her office was too formal to deal with them there, but her own home was extremely informal for the same purpose. The cafeteria served as a middle ground, the perfect place to be comfortable when talking business.

“Patrick is coming.” Yuna spoke again and by the way her eyes didn't leave the screen you could tell Sol hadn't responded yet.

“I wish you the best of luck, Yuna.”

“Thank you! Coming from you it's a blessing, indeed.”

“And why's that?”

You finally stood up, closing your locker with your strap bag over your right shoulder. You were ready to leave while your friend was still biting her index fingernail waiting for an almost impossible and inconceivable message from her boss.

“What else can I expect from the writer who blew up overnight and is soon going to be one of the New York Times bestsellers and famous worldwide?”

“Ah,” you turned your head, unable to contain inwardly the way a warmth settled in your chest; you still had a hard time accepting how things had turned out, but as long as you couldn't control the influx of orders that had to take a back seat, “smooth.”

Yuna smiled and when her eyes met yours you swore she was about to tell you one more time how proud she was of you, but her phone vibrated in her hands and the last thing you saw her eyes widen exaggeratedly before her scream shook the foundations of the store and almost the entire city.

“SHE SAID YES!!!!”

-

Arriving home unleashed immeasurable chaos.

As soon as you opened the front door, a river of books fell like dominoes, with your father's groans and your mother's screams in the background, the sound of your work echoing in your head like lightning as stomping echoed through the house.

“Seojun, I told you to be careful walking…!”The angry expression on your mother's face disappeared the moment she recognized your face, her features softening as she knew it was her daughter. “Honey. What are you doing here so early?”

“Is that y/n?” your dad's exclamation rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes!” your mom yelled back.

The welcome was nice, but things only got more and more tedious from then on. On the one hand, you had your father telling you about accounts, numbers and multiplications of how much you had to take out of your pocket to pay for the prints, how much you would make if you sold all the books you had printed and how much you would get back, and on the other hand you had your mother telling you about the countless publishers who had written to your dm's seeking to sponsor the sale of your books, taking advantage of the boom that had been generated by the phenomenon that was Kim Taehyung.

Seojun, who had decided to move back home for the weekend to help with whatever was needed, was telling you that they had had to hire five different deliverymen -three of them trucks- to be able to deliver as many orders a day as possible, while vehemently hitting your father's forearm to remind him to include that in the accounts.

Your father was in charge of everything related to money, your mother of the direct communication with customers and Seojun of the orders; everything was done by them, with Yuna's help when she was not working, with the excuse that after so many years you just had to sit down and enjoy the fruit of your sowing without any worries.

But at that moment, when they had just let go and thrown all their worries at your feet, they stared at you expectantly.

"We need a loan."

Your mother jumped in her chair. "That's what I said!"

"That's not necessary." Your father shook his head, as he surely would have done when your mother suggested the idea judging by the expression that had planted itself on her face. "Take a loan from my wallet, but don't do business with those bankers. They'll gouge your eyes out with interest."

"Or take a publisher's offer. They'll take care of all this." Seojun pointed out, his long black hair brushing his eyebrows even though he shook it nonchalantly so he could get a good look at the three of them.

"Publishers can be freeloaders too." Your mother counter-argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, yeah? How many publishers have you signed on with to assert that?"

"Wow, careful with that tone, Mr. Lawyer." Your father pointed at your brother, while your mother only raised an eyebrow at him in response. Seojun sank into the chair, barely dragging an apology through his teeth.

"It's not a bad idea either, Dad."

His brown eyes returned to meet your gaze and you noticed the hesitation in them.

"Well, ultimately, it's your decision, honey."

Your mother squeezed your shoulder.

"I say we should listen to the lawyer."

"Hey!" Seojun frowned, straightening up on the chair. "Don't put such a big responsibility on me!"

Your father snorted. "But then weren't you comfortable a while ago giving orders and saying that I don't know what thing you had already seen it in class and that's why you knew what we had to do?"

"Dad…" Seojun elongated.

"Are you ready for such a position or not, Seojun? Tell me to start looking for another lawyer."

Your mother barely contained her laughter, only because of the offended sideways glance her own son sent her way. Laughter blossomed in your chest, too, like a big breath of fresh air in a field of flowers. You didn't know you needed that moment so badly until the tension disappeared from your shoulders as you laughed with your parents and your brother grumbled with his arms crossed.

-

A new batch of orders just went out - thank you so much for your purchases!

You looked at the story your mom had uploaded to Instagram in the solitude of your bedroom. The rest of the day was spent strategizing and planning marketing ideas that would likely lead you to ruin. In a defeated silence, you admitted that Yuna was really needed.

You had texted your friend a while ago, as the sunset was beginning to paint the sky with colors, but she still hadn't even checked her phone. Her last connection was a few minutes after you left at noon. You decided not to insist, even though you were a little curious about who had finally shown up at the store.

The best thing about that busy rest of the afternoon was that you'd been able to keep yourself busy enough to completely ignore the way you'd been whipped up by a few memories that morning in Yuna's company. A simple question had caused all that. And of course, with a heart as weak as a chick's and willpower almost non-existent, you let yourself be pulled right in that moment of loneliness into the well of memories.

“Jungkookie?”

Your voice pierced the silence and a shiver ran through your body as the darkness greeted you back. A few minutes passed after you plunged into the completely darkened room, walking tentatively and slowly inside, you heard a movement just outside the door you had just entered.

“Noona…”

You couldn't see him, but you didn't need to. The sobs that filled the room were enough to be able to guide you through that darkness, as indistinguishable as coal, and wrap your arms around his hunched figure on the floor beside the door.

The house was alone and as dark as that room the last night Jungkook would be there. Passing through the empty corridors of his house was a torment, but you could only imagine how your friend would feel in his place, unable to stop time as it slipped through his fingers.

Several times he had already told you that he didn't want to leave. You didn't think he meant it.

“They're waiting for you downstairs.”

“I know. I don't want to go, noona.” Jungkook moved his arms to wrap around your waist in a desperate grip, his erratic breathing against your neck breaking your heart. “I want to stay. It doesn't matter if I never become an idol. That's not important.”

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to leave you…”

His halting voice was barely understandable, trying to be muffled by the jacket you were wearing that night when you went to see him off and didn't find him in the car with his parents. The heater seemed not to be a worthy opponent for that cold night.

“Jungkook, you're not going to leave me. We'll keep in touch. Why do you worry so much?”

“I don't want to be like them,” his pained voice pierced your chest; the movement of his body from the way the sobs were attacking him was almost uncontainable. “I don't want this distance.”

“Change is always hard, Jungkookie, but I promise you we'll be in touch always. I'll do my best to make it so.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'll even come visit you as soon as I can.”

“No. I said I was going to pay for your trip.”

“See? You're not going to leave me.”

“Still I'm scared, noona. What if I'm not enough for them? What if I can't raise enough for you to come live with us?”

“You are enough, Jungkook. From the tips of your fingers to the tips of your hair, there's nothing about you that won't allow you to achieve your dreams, understand? You are destined to be a star. I know it's hard to leave behind everything you know in life, but believe me it will all be worth it. You will come out on top and you will succeed.”

“Noona…” Jungkook cried again, burying his face in your neck once more, clinging to you like the anchor that carried him to the surface of the ocean; the ocean shaped by his own tears. “I… don't… want… to… go…”

The hiccups that attacked him from his intense crying made it difficult for him to speak and you hadn't felt such pain even when the other boys left. There were tears shared, promises whispered and hugs that lasted longer than they should have, but no one had clung to your body as if they feared you were going to disappear at any moment and wanted to seize every second before the impending end.

“It's okay, Jungkookie,” you ran your hands up and down his back trying to calm his crying, trying to control your own as treacherous tears rolled down your cheeks with the darkness as your witness. “We'll meet again. You can wait for me. Then we can melt into another embrace and say how much we miss each other.”

Your phone vibrated on the bed, the notification startling you with its aggressiveness. Another vibration followed that one and then another. Turning on the screen, you found that half an hour had passed since you'd last seen the clock, and in passing you came across Yuna's name on the caller ID. You sighed, remembering the effusiveness with which she said goodbye in the afternoon and mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

"Hey," you greeted, mildly surprised that her exclamations hadn't reached your ear first to interrupt your greeting.

"y/n, how were sales today?" her calm voice filled your hearing and a slight wrinkle implanted itself between your brows.

"Mmm, it was all good. We have several domiciliary and the prints are coming out with the deadlines arranged. With Seojun we considered that maybe taking on a publisher wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not sure yet."

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling, shallowly biting your nails, waiting for the moment when Yuna would burst out, but it didn't come.

"Oh, yeah. We'll have to consider that. I'll go early tomorrow morning to seize the day." Yuna answered quietly, with the faint sound of things stirring in the background of the call. Surely she had just arrived at her apartment.

"Yuna?"

"Mhm?"

"How was the afternoon?"

"Oh, it was normal, really," she replied, her voice flat, as if the thought had barely crossed her mind since the moment she'd left the coffee shop. "I didn't see anyone memorable."

"Ah, so your knights in shining armor didn't attend?"

"Sadly, no." Yuna sighed, her unchanging attitude finding a little more sense in your head. She sounded more tired than anything.

You talked a bit more with Yuna before she excused herself to go about her evening routine and finally get some rest, specifically stressing to you how boring the whole afternoon had been and how every second she only thought about going home. You also told her a bit more about the ideas you and your father had half-heartedly spun as marketing strategies, but very earnestly your friend asked you not to do anything until she was there.

When her name disappeared from your caller ID, an Instagram notification popped up at the top of your home screen. The vibration felt like the pounding of a sledgehammer against wood, your sentence handed down with no chance of appeal, the blood in your veins freezing and an endless emptiness in the pit of your stomach.

jeonjungkook97 just followed you!

It was followed by the notification of a message from Yuna.

Unnie | 19:01 holy shit. jungkook just followed you on ig, right?

No fucking way. Another fucking account to block.

-

It wasn't like you couldn't deal with them. You had been doing it for about ten years. But now they just seemed to want to throw themselves in front of your face one by one and you weren't strong enough to handle that. Maybe your resolve needed to be more forceful; maybe you should be sure you hated them instead of feeling like your body was shaking and you could melt like jelly in the sun every time you felt they were one step closer to you. For a while, that was all you wanted; to find them; to be found. But now…?

The weekend was spent in a hodgepodge of managing your book sales and the seesaw of emotions you had in the face of the estranged but impactful actions of your old friends. You tried not to think about it too much; you really tried, but it was very difficult. It was easier to let the memories wash over you instead of diligently packing up the books on which you had squandered your blood and tears.

Your books, yes, that was the most important thing.

From the posts and hashtags, even though it had only been a couple of days, you could see that some people -those who had actually read the books- were already posting their opinions and reviews and you knew you had had plenty of time to prepare for that moment, but you really weren't ready to face it. You didn't know what it was; whether it was the pollen, the aligned planets, PMS, mercury retrograde… but all of those things were weighing you down too much recently and you weren't ready to hear the opinions.

And you couldn't help but keep asking yourself why? Having spent so much time, between so many experiences and so many personal changes, why now they decided that they would come back into your life? How dare they after ruining your life by completely abandoning you? Many times you wondered what was missing in you; what was never enough for them… sometimes you believed that this was how it was meant to be; just the seven of them, before you came along. It was always them seven first, then you.

Between lows and highs, between sadness and joy, you still had to keep working.

"Get rid of that face if you're not going to tell me what's wrong with you." Yuna crossed the cafeteria in front of you, picking up some glasses and plates on the table as lunchtime approached.

"I don't have any face."

"You've been in a somber mood since Saturday. You look dead."

You clicked your tongue, taking advantage of the fact that the store was nearly empty to do the math. "Don't be over the top."

"I'm just being honest and genuinely concerned about my friend, can you blame me?" Yuna reached the sink and simply left the dishes there to approach the cash register. Your eyes refused to meet hers, unsheathing a strange annoyance in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm fine," you moved the money automatically, doing the math in the back of your head as second nature, "don't worry so much."

"Ok, if you don't want to tell me about it at least try to distract yourself a little, why don't you take an extra half hour for lunch?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Sol would never know."

"I'm not going to do that."

Yuna pouted, dropping her chin onto the back of her hand. You knew she was about to fly you out of that chair the moment all the bills were safeguarded.

A whiplash of pain shot through your chest at the alternative of having to leave the cafeteria, alone, hovering with your thoughts once again, as you tried to shove the food down your throat. But Yuna happily dragged you out of the cafeteria, leaving you in the middle of the street with your little bag and lunch money, wishing you a happy break as she wandered off once more to deal with the sparse crowd of customers alone.

Maybe you should have told her you'd rather not eat than be alone, but…

That was the story of your life.

So you walked to that restaurant a couple of blocks away, where they sold the cheapest food in the area, and waited patiently while answering Yuna's messages to clear your mind.

Going through your social networks, you once again came across the cover of your books in the pre-viewing of a video and felt the bile in your throat. Let's see, you were happy. Or well, you were trying to convince yourself because you still had that bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach that wouldn't let you enjoy this blast like you should and it had a first and last name of its own. But, generally speaking, it was great that your books were selling, forgetting all the other circumstances that led to that happening.

So, standing in front of those videos, you were tormented by not being able to watch them. A self-published author should be prepared for that kind of thing. No, any author should be. Sharing your art with the world implicitly entailed confronting the world's expression in front of it. It was inevitable, of course, and it was also the energy that could start an engine or the fingers that put out the match. At that precise moment, you still didn't want to know what your destiny was.

You hated that. You hated feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why was life so heavy if you had just begun to live it?

Ah, too much pondering for one lunch.

And to think this all started with an Instagram story.

Having an existential crisis because you couldn't stand dealing with the stress and pressure of the extreme demand you were having and because of mixed feelings for a bunch of idiots resurfacing after so many years was one of the last things you thought you'd have to go through that year. Fuck, or ever in your entire life.

Taehyung might have done you a favor as well as a disservice.

But that's how you spent a while longer, as you walked back to the coffee shop, the noise of the city not being enough to quell the bustle of thoughts crashing against each other in your head.

Being in the eye of the hurricane, however, didn't mean you were safe. You barely had a breath of fresh air before the eyewall hit you hard once again.

"Noona…?"

You froze a few steps away from the cafeteria. You feared not only the way you immediately recognized the voice, but the way your body froze, fear, panic and uncertainty clouding your sense.

You were in the alley behind the coffee shop. You didn't usually go in that way, but you had taken a slightly longer way back, only because you were too busy thinking about whether or not your body was up to a longer walk.

You were so close to the door that you could almost hear Yuna's voice on the other side, barely muffled by the beeping that echoed in your ears as panic took over your body.

You didn't want to turn around. Your body was having every possible negative reaction, as if it was fighting an infection, the lunch you had just shoved down your throat seeking to make its way back into your mouth and the feeling of dizziness momentarily clouded you.

Was this how you planned to react if you ever saw them again? Was this how you acted out the scenarios you imagined in your head at night when your memories went back to the last time you saw them?

The only difference between those imaginings and what was happening at that moment was that before you could prepare yourself; you knew what was coming; you had control. Now? Your legs were about to give out, the weight of your body too much to bear.

And you wanted to mock the pathetic behavior you were engaging in. You should turn around, slap him and scream at him that you never wanted to see him again. But your heart was beating and feeling and… how could you deny it anything after so many years of being neglected?

But maybe you were imagining it. The little sleep you had this weekend and all the memories you dragged from the trunk since you saw that Instagram notification must have made you crazy enough that you heard voices, his voice, anywhere… you were still near a busy street, it could be anyone-

"y/n."

And, yet…

You didn't turn around knowing what it would entail to give his voice a face, even though you could madly and frankly recall every line of its length, and you spoke harshly through your teeth even though your labored breathing made your chest heave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Noona… you're really here."

You cringed as you heard his footsteps and clutched with inhuman speed at the lock on the door in front of you.

"I asked you a fucking question: what the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

The silence didn't give you an answer, but you could glimpse it. With your patience on edge and years of emotional repression it was impossible for you to deduce how you would react in such a case, but it didn't seem too far-fetched, even if Jungkook's surprised inspiration said he didn't expect you to be so harsh and rude.

As if you cared.

—Yes you did care, in fact, that's why your heart was beating wildly against your ribs, the choking sensation increasing, the nerves on edge and the tears all over the corners of your eyes, but you had to stand your ground. After so, so long… why, why, why, why?—

"I… I…" Jungkook seemed to be having trouble finding his voice, even though in his profession the words came melodiously and easily out of his mouth. If you turned to look at him, you might have noticed that his face went from happiness to anguish with the speed a bullet goes through a field, "I wanted to see you…"

He sounded so small. The five-foot-ten-plus man, who you're sure was almost a head and a half taller than you, might as well have been a badly wounded puppy behind you. You knew from the way he spoke that he was holding back tears, but you didn't let that sway you. He didn't deserve it.

"Who gave you the right to come here?"

You didn't let him answer, not knowing if he was even going to, tightening the lock on the door you were about to walk through at any moment, bile in your throat making you fear the fall as if you were at the top of a skyscraper.

"How the fuck did you even find me?"

"Well, I-"

"I don't fucking want to know!"

You cut him off, the dryness and venom in your voice making you tremble. You were so sad, so distraught and so angry at the same time.

"And I don't want to see you. So leave."

"Noona…"

"Fucking leave, Jeon, for fuck's sake!"

You moved, almost as if by inertia, opening the door and slamming it behind you, the noise so deafening that it echoed in your ears for several seconds until you heard Yuna's footsteps approaching you and felt her arms wrap around your body.

You didn't know what she was saying, you just leaned against the door and let yourself fall, your body shaking in cry after uncontrollable cry, truly wondering how everything had gone so far; wondering how, after so many years, you still allowed them to have that power over you; a power they didn't deserve and shouldn't have.

You felt shattered in that moment, every piece of you scattered in the hold, every moment of your life replaying on its glassy, sharp edges. Even with half of you staying afloat, Yuna held you until the tears stopped flowing and with renewed resolve you promised yourself that this was never going to happen again.

Jungkook had taken you by surprise, but from now on none of them would ever catch you off guard.

-

a/n: i dont really know what to think about this chap. sometimes i like it sometimes i dont. i guess thats just how it works. pls letme know what you think! thank u for all the support! <3

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592 @yoongznme @queenbloody @leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison

[ggsbooks123]

Memories — part two of memory garden

warning: gets pretty angsty here and character deaths 😓 mentions of suicide (jude bby is guilt ridden)

summary: you don’t know how much longer you can take it. The thoughts eating away at you telling you to kill someone in your heart you knew was pure good… but what happens when the voices turn on you?

a lil disclaimer yall i mixed cressidas name with cresta without thinking and realised half way through… i couldn’t be bothered to go back and fix it so i continued using it 😭 cresta is cressida!

— —

The next morning I woke up to Boggs shaking me and asked me to step outside, the sun was only just making its ascent.

I notice my restraint is off, Boggs must have taken them off before waking me up, I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure why he had done it, I was in no right mind.

My eyes lifted at the doorway, Peeta was right there… No. I shook my head, following Boggs out the door.

He stood gazing over the destruction of the city, I tightened my fist when the echo of a voice tried to break through. Not now. This was the outcome of war and nothing I did to them now would prevent this. But the voices never agreed.

“Wanted to check how you were feeling after your first night” He explained once I joined him at his side, it was nice that he cared.

I shrug, glancing back over my shoulder “I don’t think it’s a good idea that i’m here, I was getting help back at the district… I don’t know why i’m here” I definitely didnt think it was a good idea, Coin had sent me here knowing i was far from recovery.

“Coin always has a reason” Boggs muttered like he’d been reading my thoughts “I think she has no use for Katniss and Peeta anymore-“ He eyes filled in the blanks his words didn’t…

“She sent me to kill them” I whisper back realisation smacking into, I was a weapon, again. But it wasn’t the capital this time, it was the rebellion.

When will i be free?

The voice sounds almost sad and I realise that it’s not a voice, it’s my own thoughts. My own depressing and given up thoughts.

“She can try and turn you into some psycho killer but the people in that room care about you, even if you don’t see it. So do I, the three of you kids have seen more hell than anyone deserves” Boggs explains, finally turning from the city to face me. “You’re just kids”

I frown, glancing down at my hands. Kids. We weren’t even eighteen years old, it was something that defined so much about someone and id forgotten.

“Thank you” I whisper, movement from inside alerts me and I reach for my gun, what if Peeta took this distraction as an opportunity but then Katniss stepped out, my heart didn’t slow but my hands dropped.

“What’re you doing out here so early?” Katniss asked stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance, my hand clenched.

She’s with Peeta, they will kill us all. The desire to kill Katniss was easier to push down but when it came to Peeta is was a thirst for blood like no other.

I shake my head, not hearing what Boggs responded with.

“How are things?” Boggs doesn’t respond to this question so I glance up and see they both have their attentions on me.

How are things? I wanted to scoff, but I knew that I was an accident waiting to happen, they didn’t know what would set me off. Apparently just saying how are things is one example. I shake my head and I notice the flash of concern.

“I can only get better right?” I spit, I don’t mean for it come out like that but she flinches and Boggs places his hand on her shoulder.

I feel it, my hand moving on its own before my right slapped down on it, instantly both their eyes slammed to me and without further explanation i declare, “We need to put my restraint back on”

And with that Katniss went inside and woke the others and Boggs cuffed me again.

Finnick was the first to step out, alongside a girl with a vines blooming flowers across the left half of her shaved head “Jude, I wanted you to meet Cresta, she’d one of the directors for this whole thing”

I smiled lightly at her, hoping to be polite since she no doubt had to stay up for an hour and watch me last night. “Nice to meet you, are you from the Capitol?”

She nods, “Do I give off that capitol ignorance?” She asked as a joke but in her eyes I could tell she was pleading I said no which made me smile slightly wider. I liked her.

“No, no. I was just asking didn’t mean to hit right on the money” I shrugged, “Maybe after this I could read palms?” I raise an eyebrow at Finnick who seems to just be smiling at me. “What?”

“Nothing, just glad you’re finally started talking about an after this” And with that Cresta and him left me, sending my mind reeling.

After…

— —

The next few days were especially hard, we had to travel a few streets at a time due to these devices called pods, the game makers had created them, no death should be boring apparently.

One of the pods had contained thousands upon thousands of snakes, luckily they seemed to stop at a certain point. Just like in the games except we could activate them from a distance.

Some of the other pods though, made it harder to remember where I was and who my friends are. Boggs had set off the last pod, four explosions had destroyed the road before them and each explosive made unbidden thoughts enter my head.

Now we were slowly making our way through the Capital streets, it seemed bizarre to think that it was once luxury.

“How’re you feeling?” His voice breaks through everything, and my neck snaps to him as I take a step back, bumping into Finnick who seems to have noticed why and is already guiding me to walk again.

Peeta frowns, turning away for a moment before looking back at me “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you” Maybe he was trying to be nice, because we both knew it hadn’t been the reason.

“It’s- It’s okay. Really. Just a lot going on, and I think I’m feeling better. The questions that i’m asking help” I respond, trying to stay calm and push the voices away, though they’re not really there at the moment.

He seems to perk at my words before shooting over his shoulder “Ask one now, can’t hurt” I blow a breath, rattling through my brain for anything and then it clicked.

We’re back in the 75th Hunger Games, it’s a couple days in and we look utterly spent, I don’t even look like i’m making my next five steps.

I try to remember when this was, must’ve been right before the arena been destroyed, Peeta and I had run into the Careers and I’d paid with three strikes to my chest, Peeta not much better off.

The thought of the wounds made me reach for my chest, but they were gone. Magically healed by the Capital just to be tortured mentally.

I watch myself trip slightly but Peetas there in an instant, arm looping around my waist, holding me for dear life.

It looked so natural. Right. Together, his eyes never leaving me, concern dripping with every blink.

I hear him whisper like he’s next to me “We’re almost at the beach alright, just a little further” I can feel the desperation in his words, he needed me to make it.

I remember the exhaustion now, the utter fatigue I felt. The thought to close my eyes was over bearing but I couldn’t let Peeta down… win, I couldn’t let him win!

I snap out of the memory, luckily Finnick has my arms in his hands because i’ve stopped again and Peeta is looking at me with concern over his shoulder every few seconds. “Jude?” Finnick whispers and I take deep breath.

“In the last Hunger Games,” I began, trying to sort out the memory, he was saving me or was he the reason I ended up at the Capitol? “You saved me after the Careers attacked us, real or not real”

He frowned at the question, was it concern or hurt in his eyes, I didn’t know because when he blinked it was gone but then he stopped turning to face me. This time Finnick doesn’t push me forwards. He didn’t save you, and now he knows that he can’t get away with his lies anymore. Kill him!

Before I could act on the voices that abruptly awokened he speaks up, “I got you to that beach, then the arena went out and the Capital got you. So yeah, I saved you from the Careers but I couldn’t save you from the Capital and it’ll kill me everyday that you had to go through that and this and I couldn’t do anything”

His voice grew more anguished and devastated with each word and I found tears falling down my own face as he took deep breaths in front of me. The old me would’ve known how much this was eating at him, would’ve helped him but how could I?

I didn’t know me anymore. Or what I could do before I snapped.

I didn’t know what to say so I said “Haymitch told me that I- I told them if it came down to it, to save you” His eyes sharpened on me somehow, “I don’t blame you for what happened in the Capital, I never will. I’m sorry”

The air hung still as Boggs turned to them finally, breaking the moment “Keep up! We haven’t got all day” Peeta sighed, glancing at Boggs before solely landing on me again.

“Real. I saved you from the Careers” I smiled lightly, kill him, I shoved it down not paying any attention to it.

“Thank you” Finally, we began to follow the others down and around another corner. Soon we were arriving at our next pod, this one had a large arch with completely and utterly destroyed walls surrounding it left to right.

More destruction passed as they continued, how long before it’s too much, until the city isn’t even salvageable. Boggs told us to hide behind the walls while he set it off the next pod and then checked for anymore. We did as told, I took position between Finnick and Katniss and two other guys i didn’t know, Peeta and Cresta, Jackson and Pollux on the other side.

I felt anticipation, the voice had free roam when the pods went off. Too much going on at once, I couldn’t control it.

The pod detonation sent my mind spiraling, as I assumed, this one, four guns emerged from the wall and rained bullets into the archway destroying bits of the wall they were behind.

If you killed them their symbol would be gone, who would push that hope and if not for Katniss and Peeta, it would die with them. The voice stronger than it’d been in days.

No! I crouched further agaisnt the wall we’d taken cover behind, I’d been given my blank gun back for the promo but this was all too much, I felt the butt of the gun against my temple as I curled into my self.

I bring my head up and smack it against the gun, get out of my head. Get out. Get out! “My favourite colour is purple, I can’t wear red bows. Peeta saved me. My favourite-“ I repeat the words, whispered and keep bringing the butt of my gun to my temple.

A hand on my shouldern brings me back, at first my eyes catch the utterly devastated ones across from me. Peeta. He looks like he’d burn the world… For me. I break the eye contact quickly and the look in Finnicks eyes said it all. He didn’t have to go through what I had to understand, I didn’t know if I’d be able to do this without him, or Peeta… No matter how much I wanted to kill him sometimes.

Suddenly an explosion going off catches us off guard, did they set off another pod? “Boggs!” Katniss screams break the air, Finnicks hands move under my shoulders and lifts me to my feet, hauling me around the corner.

We both freeze at the sight, easily three of our squad members had been hit by the bomb. But it’s Boggs who lays in Katniss’s arms that makes my stomach drop and I’m almost sure I would have crumbled if not for Finnick. Bogg’s legs were gone, nothing but two stumps and onrushing blood.

Oh god, oh god. I slam my eyes shut and a ringing breaks out in my head. This is my fault, it’s all my fault, I never should have trusted them, Boggs should have never trusted them. The thoughts come harsher than they have in weeks and I can’t break away from them.

Kill them before they kill us all. This one isn’t my voice and I snap my eyes open sure I’d see his old and drawn face in front of me, but he’s not there. Relief fills me, but the twitch in my hand isn’t as my eyes dart to Peeta.

He must’ve been hit by the backlash of the bomb, Jackson was helping him to his feet as Cresta was helping one of the twins, who’d I forgotten were even there amongst all the chaos. His blue eyes darted around until they met mine and then they drifted to my hands.

I was holding my gun… I didn’t remember grabbing it, and it was full of blanks but it could still be a weapon. Kill him, I shake my head taking a step back at the same time I hear a click from afar, my head shoot’s up and I look to see l the other twin had rushed to help the other and had set off another pod.

I flinched ready for another bomb but instead the walls to the archway we just entered and the three others all begin to close, Katniss now standing from Boggs and holding the device he had seems to catch sight before anyone of us and the look of horror on her face is enough “Run!”

An arm grabs me and yanks me forward but my hands tighten on my gun, it was his fault. I can’t shake away these thoughts anymore, not after Boggs.

“Jude, keep it together!” Finnick spoke from beside me but nothing could bring me back, not after everything, everything that he’d done.

I felt my mind unscrewing, going barbaric at the thought of Peeta being so close and safe, he would make it out of this courtyard. And I tried to fight every single part of me that wanted to change that.

I couldn’t… Not after Boggs. You’re just kids, Peeta was a kid that had been the reason of hundreds and thousands of people… He had to die.

The air thrums around us as we rush up the stairs and I take this moment to look over my shoulder, a wave of black liquid lurches towards us and with utmost certainty I don’t want to find out what happens if it reaches me but then my mind flicks.

No consequences, kill him and die knowing you saved innocents. I wanted to shake these thoughts away, Peeta rushing up behind me tells me that he’d probably only run when he realised I was safe but a larger part of me knew he had some hidden agenda to kill me and cause more harm than good.

I had time.

It was the last confirmation I needed, shoving Finnick off me and throwing myself at Peeta, I let one of hands release the gun as I grab for his shoulder but his foot catches something and I only manage to grab his shirt as we go rolling down a few of the steps as he tries to fight off my grip, I hoped I had timed it right.

“Jude! Don’t” He cried out, finally managing to grab my wrist so I raise the gun in the other, “You have to die” I whisper, unsure why I needed to say it before I bring down the gun and finally, finally-

I’m shoved, NO. Snow’s voice screams in my head and I let out a cry, the yell breaks my skull open and I feel every ounce of rage pouring from the word.

His anger becomes my own and fuels me as I jump up from the ground and grapple the man from our squad who had ruined ruined ruined everything.

I knew it was wrong, some part of me as my ears rang and my mind exploded, but I couldn’t stop stop stop. The liquid rushed behind the man in my arms now, we’d spun, had I done that? Before my foot lifted and connected with his middle and I sent him into the abyss of oil.

Then it was all gone, the ringing, the voices and my mind was clear. I just killed a man. Someone must have grabbed me because i’m moving but I don’t feel it and I don’t care I’d killed someone, killed killed killed.

I feel the tears now as a door slams shut behind me and I hauled up my stairs, these are wooden not stone. The voices come back but they are no longer on my side. And it’s my own voice.

You killed an innocent. You need to die, you’re a danger. And I agree, I scream and scream that I want nothing more than to be dead and I must’ve actually been screaming because soon all I see is the same abyss I had forsaken another to.

— —

An explosion wakes me up and proceeds to remind me of everything that had happened before I succumbed to the darkness, I took in my surrounding the only light coming from the curtained window that Katniss and Gale were peering out of.

Whatever had just happened outside had affected Katniss more than Gale, and as I shift my position to get a better look but it’s useless, Gale lets the blinds close.

I let my eyes dance around the room, there’s more people in our group than I had realised, two men sat together checking the other for injuries, another man I seen but still didn’t know the name of stood with Cresta while Finnick and Peeta sat watching the window that Katniss and Gale were at. Jackson was no where in sight, I didn’t want to see her anyways, the guilt would twist even further. The twins… gone.

I swallow the sickness I feel, I had been so crazed I hadn’t taken the time to even get to know them.

All of the squad was far from me, I realised I was placed on stairs and the rail along it is what my hands are cuffed to.

Now you can’t hurt anyone. That hadn’t changed, no longer would I fight the urge to kill Peeta, somehow my wish of not killing him had been granted. Now I had to try not to kill myself, though that statement was half hearted.

Suddenly the familiar ring of the Capitals announcement played and my veins grew cold until one of the squad members spoke up “All the tvs in Panem are connected to the announcements, if the powers on then the shows running”

I rolled my eyes, the power that they could flush into abandoned apartments was incredible when some districts could barely keep the lights on for an hour or half.

The anthem continued, causing me to close my eyes but that only let the voices free reign in the darkness.

You could’ve been helping them stop this instead you let the Capital control you. I grit my teeth together not being able to take in what was happening on screen from the inner battle I was having with my own thoughts. You nearly killed Peeta and you were proud of it.

I nearly threw up.

My skin was on fire, pure and unadultered disgust and shame with myself, how could I have not realised that killing Peeta was the worst possible thing I could do, I would be nothing. Nothing, there was no way to put into words what would happen if he died.

And by my own hand, I closed my eyes. No. Never again would I let them win, hurt him. Never. I’d kill myself before I ever did something like that again… If I was even given the chance of redemption after what I did.

I open my eyes as I hear my name mentioned and see that the Capital is replaying everything that’s been haunting me since i woke up.

I watch the black oil like substance hurtle it’s way towards us, and I see it clearly now, Peetas eyes are on me waiting until I’m safe and clear before he runs after me and in that split second decision i’ve made one aswell.

Watching it on the screen was horrifying, my arm reaching for his throat but finding his shirt instead, us rolling together and still the look of murder on my face, so twisted it doesn’t even look like me before Mitch yanked me off and I thanked him by kicking him into the pod trap.

His scream echoed through the screen and I flinched, I’d been so full of rage and out of it I hadn’t heard it or seen as a metal cage lined with spikes shot from the oil, encasing the now dead Mitch.

I close my eyes unable to watch the rest. Monster, monster, monster. My voice spits over and over again, these I can’t shut out. It’s simply my thoughts the more I push it triples.

“Well, what’s next?” Jackson asked out of sight, I glanced around the room yet none of them seemed to look at me. I understood why they wouldn’t, some of them knew Mitch.

I killed their friend. Yet no one responded.

Was it not obvious? “I- I killed him” I whispered, all of their heads snapped like my voice was the last they expected “You should either leave me here or put a bullet in my head so no one else dies”

In the corner of my eye I see a hint of blonde flinch at my words, but I’d nearly killed him if it wasn’t for Mitch… Now he was dead, I didn’t get to live. “It’s the only reasonable solution, you can’t tell me i’m wrong”

“You’re wrong” Peeta cut in before anyone else could agree or disagree, I couldn’t tell by their faces and yet none of them cut into Peeta “You are restrained and we have a watch on you, Mitch knew what he was signing up for, we all did”

I looked away from him. This wasn’t right, my thoughts were against me now but what happened when they turned on him again? Because they would.

“You saved me once, you’ll be saving me this time aswell if you just-“

“No”

My eyes met his and I knew I’d never seen the fire in his gaze that he’d held this moment, Peeta was not budging on this. I frowned, I was a liability why couldn’t he see that?

My mind flashed to solutions, none came to mind. “There has to be a way where if I know i’m going to snap that I can stop myself” My words break at the end as I gaze around the room, there’s only silence “Please… please”

Gale steps forward and I see Peeta take a step but Katniss stops him, and I’m grateful as the brunette boy crouches down and pulls something from a hidden pocket.

A small pill, it was hard to think it’d do what i asked, delicately Gale pushed the pill into my own hidden pocket and patted it “It’s Nightlock, no pain and instant. Only if you have to”

I nodded, hesitantly but promising “Only if I have to”

And with that they set out, planning a course of action. The pods were too often now, they would have to stop constantly.

It was time to go underground

—

- … sooo part three?!?

—

DONT SCREAM AT ME IK IM AN ASSHOLE IM SO SO SO SORRY FOR MAKING YALL WAIT MY GOODREADS GOAL WAS SLACKING HAD TO CATCH UP HOPE YALL LIKE THIS XXXX

taglist girlies💓: @yazminetrahan @solarbxby @abbersreads @antonietta18

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Chapter 2

Finnick x Reader

Series Masterlist Link

I had some down time while my flight was delayed so here’s another chapter! Hopefully chapter 3 will come out in a few days but we shall see. Thanks for all the love on the first chapter!

Content warnings - flashback to prostitution assault and detailed descriptions of killing/death

You weren’t always known as a feral victor. Sure, some of your kills in the arena were a bit much, but it’s not uncommon to see that behavior in the games. It is a fight to the death after all. What is uncommon, however, is that literal fight continuing afterwards.

After the incident with the first doctor, which was kept quiet from the public at first, Snow believed you would still be of use from him. He thought the capital doctors could “fix you” and make you “civilized” again. He’s lucky he always had guards with him, or he would have ended up on your list.

Finnick, your mentor, thought that your post-arena violence might save you from his fate in the capital. He tried to convince Snow that it wasn’t a good idea to assign you clients, that you were unpredictable and things could go very wrong. Snow thought it would be fine.

“Sure she may put up a fight,” he told Finnick, “most of them do. But, I don’t think that should be an issue for her client. He could break her quite easily if he needed to.”

And break you he did, just not physically. It was you who did the physical breaking.

You didn’t mean to kill him, nor anyone else outside the arena, but his grotesque hands roaming your body triggered something deep inside you; a primal instinct you first felt in the arena. It was kill or be killed.

You tried to push through it. Snow had warned you what would happen to your family if you didn’t comply. But laying there being completely violated by this capital man broke the only pieces of you that had survived the arena. Your mind had convinced itself that you were out of options.

The man’s avox had phoned the police when she heard him scream, but they weren’t fast enough. He was so engrossed in his actions that he didn’t notice the way your eyes turned cold, or the way you stopped protesting.

Less than two minutes later, he was dead. You still can’t shake the feeling of his eyeballs under your nails, or the sound he made as you crushed his esophagus. The worst part was having to unattach yourself from him when the ordeal was over. You didn’t even protest when the police entered. They sedated you and carried you off, away from the scene of your crime.

Did you mean to kill him? No.

Do you regret it? Absolutely not.

The only thing you regret is coming out of that arena alive; but what’s done is done and there’s no going back.

Your prep team won’t go anywhere near you for the parade, which is quite the dilemma. How the hell were you supposed to get ready? You’re surprised a stylist designed something for you at all, or that they’re even letting you participate for that matter.

Apparently, your stylist didn’t design the outfit. He said that his mentor, Tigress, wanted to design something for you specifically but she is banned from the games so he volunteered to bring her design to you. He’s the first person in the capital who doesn’t seem terrified to be in your presence, but the peacekeepers still won’t let him near.

You’re forced to dress in front of the peacekeepers. They uncuff you at least but it’s still uncomfortable. You would strangle them all right now but unfortunately there would be consequences.

Snow paid you a visit last night. He told you exactly what would happen if you went “feral” before the games.

“We wouldn’t want Mr. Odair’s pedestal to malfunction while he was standing on it, would we?” he stated. “Or for Mrs. Flanagan to come down with a horrible illness. That would be quite unfortunate.”

You had to do everything possible to keep yourself under control, but even that could only help so much. The rage you felt inside was growing and it wasn’t calming down anytime soon.

“Why isn’t it ready yet?” the shrill voice of Linessa calls to the peacekeepers outside of your room.

“No prep team would touch her,” they tell her. “The tribute is getting herself dressed.”

“Move,” Finnick states as he pushes past the group to enter your room. You’re mostly clothed but are having issues with zipping up the back of your gown.

It’s a beautiful blue gown that hugs your skin before flaring out just below your hips. The stylist explained it as, “The image of a silent siren. A deeply misunderstood mythological creature of the ocean.”

Finnick slowly approaches, making sure you can see his hands.

“Can I help get you ready?” he asks. “We need to be out there soon.”

You nod and turn so he can zip up your dress. The feeling of his hands on your back causes you to tense up but you grit your teeth and remind yourself it’s just Finnick.

Practically grinding your teeth dull, you let Finnick do a simple makeup look on you to match your outfit. You wish you could give him an outfit instead of a net but neither you nor Mags have a say in the matter. You especially don’t.

Finnick is especially careful not to touch the scar that runs down the side of your face. You got it during your games and the capital doctors refused to polish it off after you killed one with a scalpel for taking your temperature. You wish you had the temperament to let him cover it up with the makeup but you know it would set you off.

When he’s done, the peacekeepers come and recuff your wrists but leave your feet free so you don’t trip in the dress.

“She doesn’t need those,” Finnick tells them.

“I’m sorry Mr. Odair but these are direct orders from Snow,” they state.

“Will you remove them before the parade?” he asks.

“No,” they state. Mags whispers something to Finnick and he nods in understanding before approaching you slowly.

“Hey,” he calmly states. “I need to go talk to some people before the parade. Stay with Mags and I’ll come get you before we start.” You nod and he leaves.

The peacekeepers force you and Mags out to where the chariots are, but make you stay along the edge of the stables where they can keep an eye on you. They wouldn’t want any of the “excitement” to start before the games begin.

You can see Finnick talking to Katniss, last year’s victor. You don’t really know any of the other victors besides Finnick and Mags. They know all about you, of course, but none of them care enough to get to know you. The only one who has ever spoken to you (over the phone of course) is Johanna Mason of District 7. She’s pretty close with Finnick and they talk all the time. You would be jealous if Finnick didn’t practically live at your place and spend all his time with you. Plus Johanna hates people.

“Hey feisty!” you hear Johanna call as she approaches you. Finnick has shown you pictures of her but outside of that and watching her games you had only ever heard her voice. The peacekeepers move to block her but one glare from her sends them away. “How’s life outside of your cell?”

You give her a thumbs down and she laughs in response, catching the attention of the other tributes.

“Well I give it double thumbs down,” she states.

“Johanna!” you hear a male yell. “Get your ass over here.”

“Ugh Blight’s calling,” Johanna groans. “See ya later feisty!”

You think you’re done socializing for today when you’re approached by a young blond boy. He doesn’t protest when the peacekeepers keep him five feet away.

“Hi y/n,” he states. “I’m Peeta. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

You give him a blank stare as you study him. Something about you feels like he’s harmless, but you can’t be too sure.

“Ah Melark,” Gloss booms as he approaches the boy. “Don’t take it personal. Feral doesn’t talk.”

It’s clear these two haven’t met before as Peeta looks a bit scared of the career. You’d met Gloss once before your games as he was your allies’ mentor, but you haven’t spoken in years. Him and Finnick aren’t close.

“Oh, uh I’m sorry,” Peeta stutters. He glances over his shoulder to see Finnick flirting with Katniss. “Uh nice to meet you I guess.”

Peeta looks harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Katniss, on the other hand, looks like trouble.

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[scientia-rex]

Long ask. I didn't see that you had answered anything similar.

How do I do activism? Yes, I could Google it, but I would rather learn from a stranger with claimed yet unverifiable experience on Tumblr than from a stranger with claimed yet unverifiable experience anywhere else, and I'm here and so are you and we can talk and have a [para]social interaction. I won't bore you with a condensed autobiography, but I have a lot of experience fixing mistakes, not unlike being a physician, but far less noble, what David Graber would call a "duct-taper". It's partly what led me to socialism. I fixed mistakes but could not fix the root causes and, when I investigated those causes, I ran into structure. I couldn't explain the human behavior I witnessed as human nature, because it wasn't my nature and, as far as I know, I'm human, so the only explanation I could come up with was that the structure of the company I worked for created the problems I was trying to solve, and I had no power to change that structure, and no desire to join the psychopaths failing up the corporate ladder. I expanded my thinking outward and saw the problem inherent in capitalism and all the associated -isms and -archies, all the while trying to figure out what I could do that could possibly change any of it. I dove into progressive politics, read theory, consumed all the lefty content I could find, and thought, and keep running into the same problems. But even if the root causes cannot be addressed, the effects still need to be, because the effects are people, hence activism.

How do I talk to congresspeople? I email them about issues, but am frankly afraid to call them. Shall I get voice mail, or does a person pick up? If the latter, I'm assuming it will be a secretary. I don't want to be mean to a person answering phones. I've been one of those people getting yelled at or threatened because of events I did not cause and could not possibly prevent or change and, maybe I'm oversensitive or have PTSD or just a hyperactive amygdala, but I cannot overstate the damage those negative experiences cause. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, the lives that can be saved or improved outweigh a few people's hurt feelings or possible psychological trauma, but I would prefer not to turn this into a trolley problem if at all possible. Maybe it's a stupid question. Maybe I'm overthinking it. I can be charming and I have no lack of empathy; I can politely disagree. Shall I have to argue with anyone? Or is it a thank-you-for-your-participation-I-will-tell-the-congressperson-have-a-nice-day situation?

How do I get a job doing good things for people? This is somewhat pressing as I quit my corporate job five years ago, to have what turned out to be a midlife crisis, and have been living off savings (that are running out) ever since. I want to help and don't want to be ashamed of what I do for a living. I've always been able to do anything I've ever tried to do, but I'm 45 with little formal education or qualifications, and am thinking it's maybe too late to go back to school. Most of the non-profits I see seem like little more than scams. And perhaps the most serious complication: I'm a loner, more out of habit than inclination. I'll spare you the background, but I have no connections and no idea how to make them, and I don't believe I have any particular skills so valuable that should confer an immediate advantage or demand for my labor, but then again I don't know what is in demand.

It's OK if you can't answer some of these things. I simply have no one to talk to about them who can give any actual advice and figured you might. Thanks.

How to do activism: The first thing you need to know is your axe to grind. It was easy for me. I've been out since I was 13, nobody ever believes a girl is bisexual, it's always "you want attention" or "you're secretly a lesbian." That was in 1997. I went through hell and I'm bitter about it. So when I realized I liked medicine, I realized I could turn my life into an extended revenge arc by moving home and telling everybody it's OK to be gay. Two birds, one stone. I work with a woman who didn't get her axe to grind until about three years ago. She realized she was fed up with people abandoning dogs. She's one of the most active volunteers at the local shelter now. She's saved a lot of dogs' lives. She didn't start out knowing anything about it, but she told the shelter she wanted to volunteer, and they've helped her grow through the rest of it. My husband works with the local food bank, because his mom's neighbor (who is a family friend and sweetheart) wrangled him in to serving on the board, so now in addition to board meetings once a month he goes in sometimes to do things like help his mom's friend unload trucks. Sometimes the cause picks you, sometimes you pick the cause, sometimes you are the cause. And no matter what the cause is, someone else is already working on it. Someone else already cares deeply and if you show up ready to be hands on and help out, with humility because you know that you don't know everything, they will help you learn how to be effective. I started out in medicine by volunteering at the emergency room near where I lived. I pushed a linen cart around and restocked gowns in rooms, and when I couldn't fit any more washcloths into drawers I cleaned doorknobs. One of the nurses once told me she really appreciated that I cleaned all the doorknobs, because it wasn't getting regularly done. I am in medicine now because of many, many people I asked for help and who helped me because they wanted to contribute to justice and equity in medicine, whether for queers or rural people or women. This is, and has always been, a combined effort. Alone we beg, together we bargain.

Calling elected representatives: Oh god I know, me too, calling strangers is the LITERAL WORST. I'm 40 and I'd rather pepper-spray myself than argue with a human on the phone. Wait until after hours and you'll get a voicemail. I like to leave voicemails that start with "My name is Dr. Rex, I'm a constituent of yours, and I VOTE, and I'm calling about ____." That's honestly about all it takes--when I was hanging out with the lobbyist she told me they keep lists with tick-marks for how many calls, emails, etc., they get on a topic. Calls count for more. The more effort you have to put in, the more engaged they know you are. So call, but if people scare you (and the people who pick up are almost always nice, if you do get a person, and they will 99/100 times say "thank you for your call, we will pass your concerns along to so-and-so"), call at night.

Going back to school is probably unnecessary. Spin your past experience aggressively and start applying to nonprofits. (You "took time off from the working world in order to sharpen your focus on what matters most to you," which will be whatever this particular group does.) It's OK if you pick a bad one to start with; most of them are shit-shows, and lots of them still accomplish good things. Nonprofits are a bloodbath when it comes to actually being an employee--they know that part of the compensation is the sense of living ethically and they will use your altruism against you--so keep your resume updated and be prepared to bail if grant funding doesn't come through, but most areas have food banks and pet shelters and human shelters and jails and medical clinics and hospitals (for every doctor who works at the local hospital there are at least 10 support staff by the numbers, and they are utterly critical and always under-staffed). Sometimes if you start by volunteering somewhere, once they realize you're dependable, you can get a job there. I am zero percent kidding about working for a hospital, clinic, or jail, by the way. Those are places I know well, and there are always civilian jobs available. You want to make a patient's day better? Be the front desk, front line staff who use the right pronouns and cheer them up.

I think it's completely reasonable to have procedural questions about how all of this works, and I am grateful to you for giving me a chance to talk about it a bit. Please feel free to ask any follow-up questions. And for reference, when I was just starting out in research at a time when the market for research-trained people frankly sucked, I applied well over 300 times and got well over 300 rejections (I was counting) before I ended up with a job that I loved (even though it was hellishly stressful and I made just barely more than minimum wage for working well over my alleged, salaried "hours") and felt like I was making a positive difference for the world with. And from there, I kept making changes as I realized what I wanted and needed. Just keep doing it. You don't have to feel good about every step, you don't have to know what you're doing, just keep putting one foot in front of the other as you try to figure out what will make you happy. Because nothing else is a good proxy for happiness, and happiness, for a whole lot of humans, means finding something meaningful to do in life. Helping others. Be okay with changing, be okay with sacrificing who you are right now for the sake of who you can become. You've survived four decades on this bizarre and cruel planet, and you have inherent, intrinsic worth as a human being. You deserve your own kindness.

[decayedgloria]

Madame Neuvillette: Part One

Decadent Collision

Suggestive themes ahead, no outright nsfw just yet.

3.6k words, not very proofread.

December 17th, XX74

"And are you sure you have everything you need, my love?" Tender, gloved hands smoothed over your winter coat as cargo loaders walked around you, hauling your belongings into one of the train carts. Workers and passengers hustled around you and your husband, the sounds of train horns and shouts from announcing conductors relegated to nothing but background noise amidst the both of you.

The man in front of you, tall and handsome, looked at you with such tender eyes- a loving gaze that filled you with such warmth that not even the winter storm around you could get through your skin. Though the fur coat helped as well, you supposed.

You smiled up at your husband, taking his hands into yours and brushing your fingers against his knuckles. "No need to worry, I'm all set. Besides, it'd be quite a waste for you to go back to the manor when you went out of your way to see me off."

"I just wanted to make sure, mon ange." Neuvillette took your hand and raised it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss over your leather-clad fingers, "I do not wish my wife any discomfort on this trip." His tone, while stoic in the way it always was, was much softer with you. Rarely did you hear him raise his tone at you, no matter what may be on his mind.

Monsieur Neuvillette was perhaps the greatest husband in all of Fontaine. Well-respected he was, as the country's Chief Justice, and he possessed wealth comparable to that of the Imperial Family. Popular among both the common folk and high society, it was no surprise that he was quite the catch in spite of his older age. But that meant nothing to you, since the man you fell in love with was not the one that the public saw, but rather it was the man that stood before you; fixing your coat and never managing to take his lovestruck gaze off your face.

Many whispered among themselves that the wife the Iudex had taken was much too young for him, and how much of a shame it was that such a young woman was tied down by a man nearly twelve years her senior. But those were just whispers, were they not? Whispers that meant nothing when your lips connected with his own soft ones, feeling yourself smile in content when his gentle hands found their way to your waist.

The ringing of a bell and the raucous shouting of the conductor caused you to pull away, looking over to the source of the noise, "Train en route to the Court of Fontaine set to leave in fifteen minutes! All passengers aboard!"

"My, it seems time does pass by faster when with you dear." Giving him one last peck on his cheek, you start to gather your thick skirts in your hand, preparing to walk towards the train door. "I'll be off then. Tell Sigewinne that I'll be back before she knows it, and that I love her very much." At the mention of your daughter, Neuvillette's expression broke out into a grin.

"Why of course. Though, she may ask for something in return for inconveniencing her." With a chuckle he followed your hurried steps, hands lingering after her presence as his eyes scanned your surroundings before giving you a final smile. Albeit, a somewhat sad one.

"I shall miss you terribly, mon ange. Send Ajax my regards." Cheekily, you blew him a kiss, relishing in the pink hue that spread across his sharp features. Entering the train, you sit yourself on one of the comfortable seats, settling yourself before waving at your husband through the frosted window.

Before long, the rest of the passengers began to fill the train compartment, taking their seats and settling amongst themselves as they begin to put away their belongings. In a matter of moments, the final whistle of the train permeated the air as the vehicle finally moved, the silhouette of your husband slowly getting smaller and smaller, though his smile certainly didn't.

The reason for your trip to the capital were simple enough. Your brother, the pleasure-loving baron Ajax had gotten himself into trouble with his wife; an affair between him and their children's governess was unveiled and, well, you really can't blame the baroness for nearly trying to kill him. However, in a panic the poor man had sent you a letter urgently telling you to come to their lavish home in the capital city to mitigate their lover's quarrel, and a part of you thinks it's likely because if it weren't for the children he'd be dead by now.

So here you were, on the earliest train to the Court of Fontaine, a place that you had vague memory of. Once you married Neuvillette, he found it fitting to settle and start a family away from the scandal and glamour of the capital, moving your household to the Marcotte region of Fontaine. In a way, you were glad; Sigewinne has never failed to mention how much she preferred your current life as opposed to the "paranoia-inducing" society of the capital. You thought yourself sharing the same opinion as well, loving the peaceful atmosphere of the rural city.

You were promptly snapped out of your thoughts when someone's voice reaches your ears. Snapping your head towards the direction of the voice, you were greeted by a tall woman dressed in winter clothing, barely a smile on her slim face, "Is it any trouble if I sit here?" Her gloved hand gestured to the empty seat in front of you.

"Oh, not at all! Feel free to take it; it gets quite lonely riding a train by lonesome." You tell her with your signature charming grin. The lady was no doubt of Fontainian high society, her expensive winter coat and luxurious silk garments practically screamed the fact. Her long black tresses were tucked neatly into her fashionable hat, and her purple eyes seemed distant as she gazed at the moving scenery in the window.

It was also the way she carried herself, you noticed- an air of dignity and elegance present in her manner. Hands folded neatly in her lap, a mutual silence was brought upon the both of you, idling as the time passed. The trip to the capital was set to be three hours long if no issues arose, and as the minutes ticked by you could feel yourself getting antsy from sitting in the same place for far too long.

Your fingers dug through the pockets of your coat before fishing out a silver locket, chained to the ornate belt you had donned. Opening it, you smiled softly at the images within; a portrait of your darling daughter Sigewinne on one side, taken on her fourteenth birthday just months before. On the other, a photo of the three of you from a few years ago, smiling serenely at the camera.

You're filled with warmth as you see your little family. While not as big as your brother's, it was no doubt all that you would need. They were both very precious to you, and you couldn't imagine living in a world without the both of them.

"So what brings you to the Court of Fontaine?" The woman in front of you asks, likely in an effort to stifle the silence. You glanced at her, a little surprised, but shared the same sentiment nonetheless.

"My brother is in need of my assistance. Something along the lines of making sure his wife doesn't kill him." You jest, earning a chuckle from her. "And you?"

"Visiting a cousin of mine. He has just arrived back home after being stationed in Chenyu Vale." With a small smile, her stare lingers at you for quite a while, observing you as a doctor would a cadaver. "My name is Clorinde, Marchioness de Champion." She extended her gloved hand for you to take, which you did in earnest.

"Pleasure to meet you, Marchioness."

"I don't think I have ever seen you around high society before. You're a pretty little thing, it's surprising." At the compliment you blushed, shyly grinning before thanking her. It didn't surprise you; in fact, you were expecting it almost. Living in Marcotte meant that you were never in the spotlight, at parties or balls, so it made sense for someone as prominent in high society as the marchioness to be a stranger to your existence.

"Ah, I don't really have the time to do so. My husband and I live quite far from any social circles in the capital." She cocked her brow at you as if to say 'Husband?' In response, you take the locket previously in your hands and showed her the portraits within. "Here is my husband and my daughter, Sigewinne. Though I'm sure you're already fairly acquainted with my husband. He's quite popular amongst high society, I heard."

"Hm, I see…" Her words carry an undertone of understanding, realizing just exactly who your husband was. She gave you a polite smile. "Apologies. I did not realize that you were Madame Neuvillette."

You shook your head, closing the locket and placing it back into your coat. "The apology is on me, marchioness. It was my mistake to forget to introduce myself to you." Both of you shared a hushed laughter, trying not to disturb other passengers as they rode. You both shared a conversation for a few minutes, mostly small talk to pass the time by as the train moved closer and closer to the capital city.

"I must say, I did not expect Monsieur Neuvillette's wife to be as young as you are." Marchioness Clorinde remarked, sipping on the tea provided by the train's staff. She was not one for idle gossip, you've come to realize, but she was gaining an interest in you and your life.

"I get that a lot. Some say that i've wasted my youth marrying a man his age but, in the end, youth isn't really something permanent is it?" You let out a small huff, remembering the words of those who opposed the idea of your husband courting you years ago. "I prefer having the stability of a loving husband, not an adulterating one. I don't quite care if he's twelve years my senior."

Marchioness Clorinde chuckled, "That sentiment I agree with. Though, you would be surprised how many ladies in Fontainian society would beg to differ. It's quite confounding." The laugh you both shared was enough to distract you from your lingering thoughts. On one hand, yes, you were content with the life you lived now. Peaceful and serene, not a problem in sight.

However, you'd be lying if you said there wasn't a part of you gnawing at the chance to love as other ladies did. Your youth was cut short when you promised yourself to Neuvillette at the ripe age of twenty-one, and Sigewinne was born not long after that. Though you loved them very much, there was always a buried envied for your former friends, who still lived the lavish and exciting lives of noble heiresses until their late twenties. On many occasions, you'd wondered how happy you would be if you said no, and married a bachelor your age years ago…

You shook your head. Such silly thoughts were unbecoming of you- you were married to the sweetest man in Fontaine, a diamond in the rough among other noble men, whose debauchery and aggravation resulted in the humiliation of their wives. No, you were fortunate that a man as gentle as Neuvillette had come into your life as your husband.

Before you knew it, the train had slowed it's pace into the Court of Fontaine, finally arriving at the station. Talking with the marchioness definitely helped pass the time, heavens knew how bored you would feel had she not initiated the conversation. As passengers flowed out of the compartment and into the station, you could hardly contain your elation as you look through the frosted windows for a familiar mop of orange hair.

"Marchioness, excuse me- I'll come right back for my belongings." You hastily nodded an apology to the raven-haired woman before excitedly swinging around the corner to exit the train. As you rounded the corner, you felt a another person passing you by, and for a moment you turned your head back towards the figure, meeting the piercing gray eyes of a tall man dressed in a garde's winter uniform. Your eyes linger on each other for just a second, before resuming your path.

You land on the floor of the station much less gracefully than you had intended, trying to avoid bumping into the crowd of passengers near the door as your eyes finally caught sight of your brother. "Ajax!" He whirled around, his lean figure pausing before his freckled face broke out in a contagious grin.

"Pcholka!" Your brother yelled right back, arms wide open for you to practically launch yourself at him. He held you tightly, lifting you off the ground as you both squealed in excitement. It had been so long since the both of you had gotten together, a number of years you were sure. And yet he was still the same, boyish baron you knew as a child.

Inside the train compartment, Marchioness Clorinde sat still, taking note of the way her cousin watched the two siblings through the window. "Charming, isn't she Wriothesley?" She gave him a wry grin, yet he said nothing as he gaze still continued to linger on the woman adorned with fur.

Though he remained silent, Clorinde could see his thoughts very clearly. His jaw tightened, and his eyes never left the window. She shook her head, amusing at the fact that he truly was acting like a soldier who hadn't seen a woman in months. Was the Madame Neuvillette really that striking?

Outside, Ajax broke your embrace to pick up your luggage, two hefty suitcases which he had easily held in both of his hands. In spite of you insisting that he let his coachmen do it, he shook his head vehemently and gave you a boyish smile.

"I still remember when you told me I wasn't strong enough. So, here is me proving that you're wrong." You rolled your eyes, unable to contain your own smile.

"Wait here- I'll be right back." Turning around, you made your way the train once more to collect the remainder of your belongings. In your haste to enter the train, you nearly bumped into one of the train workers- a man covered in black soot, only his tired green eyes seeming to bear down on your soul.

Something heavy began twisting itself in your stomach. Your eyes wanted to tear themselves away from the man's grisly appearance and yet, you couldn't. It confused you, why was it so hard for you to move away? A few seconds passed and all you could do was stare and stare at each other. You gasped, turning your head away from such an unfamiliar sight, before clearing your throat and muttering an apology as you both finally stepped away from each other.

Inside the train, you beamed at the marchioness, who was chatting with the handsome gentleman you had passed by earlier. Upon noticing your presence, the two turned their gazes towards you- though his was exceptionally… piercing. The feeling of discomfort you had before was now replaced with one you can't quite put your finger on, but it felt almost pleasant.

"My brother is here already, so I do apologize for cutting our time short marchioness. I enjoyed your company very much." Despite your pleasant demeanor, you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand slightly from the man's unwavering gaze. He was silent and indifferent the whole time, watching you both with indeterminate motives behind his eyes.

"I quite enjoyed our chat as well." The marchioness stood up and made her way to towards you, leaning in to kiss you on both cheeks as customary for high society women. "My cousin here has also come to pick me up personally. This is Wriothesley, though you may know him more as the Duke of Meropide."

The Duke of Meropide. You've heard tales of him in the battle front- a fierce soldier commandeering a battalion in Chenyu Vale. A man praised for his prowess both in the battlefield and in the beds of Fontaine's women. Though, you'd wager that the last bit was merely a rumor; one that you could believe as the man's lips twitched into an attractive smirk.

"Pleasure, Madame."

You held out your hand for him to take, expecting him to simply kiss your knuckles and be done with it. Instead, he lowered himself down to your gloved fingers, lips opening ever so slightly to kiss your knuckles, striking grey eyes still holding an intense gaze for you, and only you.

Time seemed slower then. Suddenly, you were all too aware of the growing franticness of your heartbeat, and how much warmer it was in underneath your coat. You stare back, too, in bated breath as the duke lets his touch linger for far too long that you should have let it. Had it not been for the glove that adorned your slender hand, you were sure that his lips would have ignited something across your body.

And perhaps, it did.

Before you could shake yourself out of your thoughts, the train car shook violently, almost throwing you off your feet as screams suddenly echoed outside. In a flash Wriothesley had let go of your hand and dashed out of the train to check the commotion. His touch still ghosts over your hand, and there was a disappointing little tug on your heart as you shrink back into yourself in shame. A married woman should not be thinking about a man she just met so wantonly.

After you meet back with Ajax, your eyes fall onto the crowd of officers surrounding the side of the train, barely catching a glimpse of a fallen figure before it was obscured by a black cloth by none other than Wriothesley. According to your brother, the same worker you has encountered earlier had jumped onto the train tracks as it was repaired, presumably slicing him in half.

You shuddered. An unfamiliar chill ran up your spine, reeling from the fact that the same man who you had bumped into was now dead just a few feet away. You tried to take your mind off of it, but it still irked you- it was as if the very notion of his death held your soul captive, in spite of being a stranger. In hopes of distracting yourself, you turned to the Marchioness and your brother, who were immersed in each other's conversation. Behind them, the duke followed closely behind his cousin.

"…it is rather unfortunate. He left behind a large family, god knows what may become of them." Clorinde remarked, purple eyes holding what seemed like pity. Ajax merely nodded along, also sharing her concerns.

"Shouldn't they be compensated for such? It would only be fitting." In an effort to make it seem like you were listening the whole time, you made a suggestion, hoping that they wouldn't notice the way your face had become much paler in the last few minutes.

Wriothesley suddenly paused, turning towards Clorinde, "Wait here, cousin." He said before making his way back down to the crowd, taking out his wallet and a few notes of mora. You couldn't hear the conversation between him and the conductor, but you assumed from the way he spoke to him with tenacity when he gave the notes to the conductor gave you a few ideas.

"You're the one to thank for that." Beside you, the marchioness gave you a small smile, which you returned shyly. Ajax sang his praises of the duke, calling him a good man for doing a deed that most certainly would have been forgotten.

Barely an hour after arriving at the Court of Fontaine and you were already met with such an eventful day. From meeting the two cousins to the grisly death of the worker moments before, you were beginning to miss the tranquility of Marcotte as the seconds ticked by. Your mind weighed heavily on what had transpired, yet all thoughts seemed to go back to one person.

The Duke himself.

He consumed your thoughts like a plague. Maybe it was the fact that he was both roguishly handsome and a gentleman, or maybe it was his eyes- the ones that seemed to pierce you with how sharp they were, almost like a canine's. He enraptured you, maybe bewitched you, you were certain. And yet, you had no opposition to it. But you should, for your husband would most certainly chastise you for thinking so.

The confusion of your thoughts must have bled onto your face, as you feel Ajax's hand squeeze your own after you had sat beside him in his carriage. An action that he had always done to provide you comfort, ever since you were children. You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning your head against his shoulder as the carriage began its journey to his household.

You prayed that it would be your first and last time to see that duke. For your sake and your husband's, because you didn't know what might become of you if his presence haunted you in more places than just your head.

[canichangemyblogname]

@trans-buckleyy (this is my main), I got into watching 911 ~September 2022 and looking back through some of my old message/posts about it I was talking about how the gifs I'd seen on tumblr made me think buddie were together. So yeah I definitely got 'baited'/misled by the fans (I didn't start watching for buddie specifically, they just came up on my dash the most) - I commented at the time that a lot of the posts on tumblr about 911 felt like they were only through the lens of buddie shippers so I can see how so many people were misled, fortunately for me the illusion shattered as soon as I actually started watching the show. Though there's been a massive shift in attitude, when I first joined the fandom most people were happy shipping buddie and not believing it would ever become canon, now it seems like everyone has convinced themselves it will. Imo they're kind of setting themselves up for disappointment.

I’m sure I’ve said this before on my blog: capitalism combined with the white supremacist suppression, homogenization, or sterilization of cultures & traditions leads people to make consumption and products part of their identity. Fiction and fandom fill a need to belong that often replace real support systems and community (this is why so many in fandom feel lonely). Rather than a hobby, fandom is part of some people’s identity. So, pushback against popular fan interpretations— or fanon— can feel like a personal attack.

It seems to me that the blogs that just do fandom things to do fandom things—like shipping, that are happy to delineate between canon and fanon, and that understand that fanon is fanon and will likely never go canon are also the same blogs that love things like “rare-pairs” and “multi-shipping.” They seem to approach it from a “it’s never that serious” mentality and really just seem to want to have fun with it. It’s a hobby, not part of how they define themselves. Hobbies and interests are welcome to change, whereas people see identity as fixed and deterministic (it’s not, but that’s a whole other discussion).

There’s been a massive shift in attitude because the landscape has changed. Many of the most hard-core fans have staked their group belonging and (fandom) worldview around buddie. It was *the* singular 9-1-1 fanon relationship (the rest are all canon). It brought them together with people, people who they now see celebrating more on-screen queer representation. They feel spurned. Videos are surfacing of some of the most hard-core sobbing over Buck being confirmed as bi, but not getting buddie. They're telling their audience/followers that if buddie never goes canon, their quality of life will decrease, and they’re repeating many of the same things you (and many other fans) mention: they were led to believe this was a done deal, a foregone conclusion. How does one admit they’re likely wrong about “endgame” when they’ve spent the better part of 6 years supporting this and believing in it? They’re having far more difficulty accepting this than you did. Unlike you, actually watching the show did not set their expectations for what canon will likely be.

I also think there has been a massive shift in the way fandoms approach shipping since the end of Supernatural. A good chunk of the SPN fandom simply stopped watching the show, but continued creating for it. The fandom still dominates on fan-driven sites despite the show now being off-air for 4 years. Many SPN fans had largely given up on canon, preferring fanon, and admitted as such. Until “Destiel” went “canon.” (It didn’t, not really and not technically.) People shifted to this idea that they— the fans— could pressure networks and producers to canonize their ship (they can’t) or make decisions the fandom, a very niche part of an audience, would prefer (they can't). After Buck was confirmed bi, some of the most popular takes were, “This is revolutionary! Just 4 years ago, Supernatural was queerbaiting us all to superhell, and now we have 9-1-1 making a character bi 7 seasons in."

Ultimately, this idea they can pressure shows into making fanon a reality reveals that they have no concept of how television shows are made and produced or how decisions are made at the production and network levels. They are not going to persuade a network plus every writer, every producer, and every showrunner involved to agree to do what they want. But we still see fans in fandom believe they can get all these people to make decisions for the sake of fandom. Just look at the Our Flag Means Death fandom and their billboard fiascos.

Because buddie is part of how this subset of 9-1-1 fans define their sense of belonging, if Buck is in a relationship with anyone other than Eddie, this threatens their community and their relationship with the media itself. Tommy is to these 9-1-1 fans what Eddie was to Buck in 02x01: competition. This is why this same group treated the actresses who played former love interests like shit, too, including death threats and attempts to doxx or "cancel" them. Everything that challenges their (fandom) worldview must be removed. They can't and won't get the network to budge, so maybe they can try to get the actors themselves to quit or the producers to budge. After all, they have "direct" access to these individuals (they don't).

This all seems fantastical just writing about it. The logic doesn't logic, but logic isn't going to logic when social media creates parasocial relationships. Social media makes it seem like we plebians are closer to the patrician class because of how we're exposed to personal aspects of their lives. Repeated exposure to a media persona causes a media user to develop illusions of intimacy, friendship, and identification, and the more prevalent social media is in the media user's life, the more parasocial the online relationship becomes. So if your belonging and part of your sense-of-self identify with being a buddie shipper, then so, too, does the media persona, leading to people like Oliver Stark or Tim Minear being "number one buddie defenders" (they don’t care, y'all, I promise).

Now, add to this the way that m/m shipping has been constructed as inherently subversive (despite the reductive and sometimes regressive tropes that slash-fic uses) and as a form of activism, and you now have people not just identifying with shipping and staking their well-being on a ship, but also believing it is a morally righteous cause to campaign for. To them, they're fighting for representation and the expansion of queer stories. So, when the network and show expand queer representation without them or their ship, they're confronted with the reality that what they're doing doesn't do a damn bit of help. They're forced to ask themselves if their feverish promotion of and support for this ship may not have been about representation. I've seen some of them conclude that 1.) being forced to look critically at shipping is just misogyny because the majority of people in these fandom spaces are women, 2.) they're a queer woman, so, of course, it was about representation, they support and care about queer men and are an m/m ally (yet reblog posts about shooting us if we flirt with men in ways they don't like with the excuse "I'm a woman, I'm allowed to hate men"), 3.) actually, the buddie ship is "superior" representation because it is culturally diverse because Eddie's Latino (yea tokenization!!).

This all plays a large part in why they aren't taking it well when called out for homophobia and the xenophobic hypersexualization of Latino men because, to them, shipping culturally diverse m/m relationships is inherently "progressive" and "subversive" (again, despite the reductive and regressive tropes they use in their writing). They don't need to look critically at what they're saying or how they're hurting marginalized men because they believe they are putting moral pressure on the networks to be more progressive or subversive. Meanwhile, they're drawing rhetoric and ideas from existing queerphobic worldviews and legal structures (like echoing the rhetoric similar to gay panic, a US legal strategy to excuse crimes such as murder and assault on the grounds that the victim being queer led the perp to violence - a.k.a shooting a man for the way he flirted with another man) to tear down canon queer representation, just as they previously used misogynistic tropes to tear down Ana or Taylor or Ali or Marisol.

TL;DR— Many factors have contributed to the wide meltdown and "fandom schism" we've witnessed, not just the fact that some people explicitly started watching for buddie and have skipped whole swaths of the show to fit a "buddie interpretation."

[callofdudes]

Dropping all my AU thoughts on you. (Lovingly) pt1??

Hunger Games AU: All of 141 bring previous victors from their games who find solace with each other in the capital. Would go through what they experienced in their individual games and how they won. But when the victors face off comes they all have to work together to end the games permanently.

Skyrim AU: Ghost works with the Dark Brotherhood. Johnny is 1000% a Companion. Gaz is a bard who is also attending the College of Winterhold to become a mage. Price is either a leader of the Companions, or he's a captain of the Imperial Guard. Don't exactly have a proper plot. And Gaz is obviously a redguard. Price is definitely a Nord. John is probably a mix of either Breton and Nord or something. It just makes sense. And Ghost is an Imperial. It just makes sense and I can't explain why!

Or, another Skyrim idea: Johnny as the dragonborn and Simon as a Daedric Prince of Akotosh who chooses to serve Johnny after doubting Alduin's reign.

Transformers AU: It could go either way, I envision it with Ghost as a Tranformer. He's the last of his squad who escaped captivity (I hope you catch on) and is sent to earth to protect Intel and find a place to stay. Runs into the annoying Scottish mechanic when his paint is dinged up. Or Simon as the angry mechanic who does not want to fix this alien thing that keeps yapping all day.

Rise of the Guardians AU: All the characters are there. If Y/n was present in this I'd make Ghost the angry easter Bunny who "hates his job". But if they weren't he's hands down Jack Frost. Sorry. Gaz can be Sandy (sandman) we all know who Price is, and Johnny can be the tooth fairy. If you know why, you know why.

Obviously a httyd AU: because everyone needs one. I'm already conjuring up things for Ghost's backstory it's insane.

Gaming AU: Price is a moderator for a large gaming community channel and streaming platform. He greenlights a lot of games that go through and plays them occasionally. RDR games and those likes. Johnny and Gaz definitely play the sims together. They'd play those games like Lethal Company and such. They try to play horror games but it doesn't always go well. Simon, (known to fans as Ghost) wears his mask or has one of those cool avatars. Plays horror games religiously and first person shooters which has attracted a glamorized following. Friends with Price and that's how he ended up getting together in the streaming group with Gaz and Johnny. They're annoying, but ok, they're cool.

Assassin's Creed AU: I've been working slowly on this for a while but Johnny as a sword/bow for hire whose work has slowed in the city he's at. So he packs up with friend Gaz who is going to a different city to study as a medic. Price is probably the king of said place. (I'm thinking of setting up in Greece or we're going to old Britain.) And Ghost is our famous assassin. And they meet and some stuff happens!

Not sure what to call this one (AU) As a young kid Johnny was diagnosed with ADHD and went to weekly day camp for kids like him. It wasn't particularly boring and Johnny had lots of fun. Until a new kid who is very socially awkward and reclusive starts coming. He's quiet and fidgety and doesn't make much eye contact. Johnny wants to be his friend. The story where Autistic Simon and ADHD Johnny become inseparable childhood friends.

Winged AU. I did a little thing on this a couple months ago. Some 30% of the popular are born with wings. Johnny is one of them. He's incredibly proud of his wings and it gives him some advantages and disadvantages in the military. Simon seems to hate Johnny for the sake of it. But every time Simon sees John's wings, he remembers the scars on his back and the pain of when his wings were torn off...

[humblequestvinyl]

fix you too

FIX YOU TOO, FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!READER

APART OF THE ‘ANOTHER ON THE WAY’ SERIES

SUMMARY: after the 73rd hunger games, y/n is not only left to pick up the pieces of herself, but her family as well after the death of her younger sister, and telling the boy she loved that she couldn’t fix him too.

◀ ⏸ ▶

lowercase is intentional! wc: 0.8k

inspired by fix you too, by megan moroney

warning: mentions of the games (slightly!) victor reader, swearing, death, slight mention of past trauma, alcohol, & angst!

a/n: not sure how well this is as i wrote it at three am but i am a sucker for finnick odair, and the line about “tell those green eyes no.” REMINDS ME OF HIM! so here we are :) 

“I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO FIX YOU TOO.” y/n l/n stood in front of the boy she loved, someone she had mentored with for years now, graveling with the fact she had to take care of herself now.

“i cannot keep doing this finnick.”her voice was soft, but the tears were evident in her e/c eyes. the losses she had just gone through, and trying to pick up the pieces of not only herself, but the rest of her family now.

it was right after the 73rd hunger games, and were on the train ride back from the capital when this conversation sparked. it was the loss of y/n’s younger sister, a tribute she tried to mentor the best she could that caused all of this to unravel.

“the next few months i am going to pick up the pieces of not only myself, but my younger sister and our mom.”y/n lip quivered as tears threatened to spill, “i am not in the place for a relationship finnick. not even close to one.”

“you don’t have to do this alone.”finnick spoke, but the victor was in complete denial, “i can help you with everything. this shouldn’t be all on you.”

“but it is!”a sob broke through the girls lips as she covered her mouth, careful not to wake anyone else on the night train, “it’s my family finnick, this is something i have to do.”

taking a deep breath, the h/c girl stood up, suppressing the tears that kept rising as she tried to keep the emotions under control. as she walked over towards the alcohol cart, she quickly picked out the whiskey, with a flash of haymitch abernathy mentioning how ‘alcohol fixed everything’

“you and i both know there’s a lot of things we haven’t processed about our games fin,”y/n started, with his green eyes meeting hers, “and with all this happening, i don’t want to have to fix you too.”

“you won’t-”y/n cut off the boy by shaking her head, “i’m the glue that tries to fix everything that’s broken.”

“maybe when i get my shit together, when everything’s calmed down and i’ve worked through seeing my sister die, we can talk about being something.”y/n’s voice was calm, but her words were laced with grief, something she was currently blinded by, “you also need work finnick to tell you the truth.”

“if you had asked me this when i was younger, i know that i couldn’t tell you no because of those green eyes.”y/n explained, and finnick observed the dark circles under the girls eyes, representing the lack of sleep she had since the games started.

“but i need to fix myself before i even attempt anything else.”the girl whispered, before taking another sip of her drink, and heading in towards the room she was assigned on the train.

the room was exactly how she felt. dark, depressing and flat out sad. the tv was off because all she would see is her sister dying, and she couldn’t bear to turn on the lights.

so there y/n would lay on the bed, staring into the wall, wondering where she went wrong. could there have been more sponsors y/n could’ve gotten for the girl? more tips or training she could’ve done to have her sister on that train with her?

every single scenario played throughout her head, and it wasn’t until she felt a pair of lips on the top of her head that broke her out of her thoughts.

her head didn’t turn, knowing exactly who it was, and there was no changing her mind.

finnick knew that. he knew that y/n was one of the most stubborn people he had ever met, and if she had her mind set on something, there was no point in trying to change it. it would be an endless cycle of arguing, and no progress would be made.

“whenever you need me, you know where to find me most nights.”finnick spoke softly, but he knew his message was getting to the girl by the way she curled into the blankets, “even if you call in the middle of the night sunshine, i’ll be there.”

“i’ll be there for you.”

[nishithedevil]

As promised, part 3!

Capital Prince and District Princess

Lucy Gray x capital gn reader

part 1 part 2 part 4 part 5

The next day, we mentors were escorted to a large circular building, informed that we would be required to convene with our assigned tributes and devise strategies for the impending games. As we stepped into the room one by one, the tributes were already present. The setting featured small metal tables with two chairs each, arranged around the railing on the second floor. In the center was a sizable hole offering a view of the lower floor. The tributes sat on chairs facing away from the railing, handcuffed to the metal tables, while an empty chair was positioned in front of them.

We were instructed to stand a few paces away from these vacant chairs, positioned in front of our designated tributes. Upon entering the spacious room, my attention immediately fixed on Lucy Gray – her vibrant, colorful dress made her unmistakable. All I wanted to do was rush to her and envelop her in an embrace, shielding her from the harsh and cruel realities of this chaotic world. She occupied the table positioned to the right of the entrance.

When I positioned myself as told, I saw Corio a few tables to my right, doing the same in front of Jessup. Professor Highbottom soon walked in alone, took a few steps towards us and began talking.

"In spite of yesterday's tragic events, our president has decided that the show must go on. Show everyone the capital is not afraid of such acts of terror. To which end, doctor Gall wishes you to preview the arena this afternoon with your tributes. Later this evening, there will be a special televised presentation of each tribute to our audience to, y'know, get to know them. You have an hour to come up with a strategy."

We were all turned towards him, watching and listening to him as we spoke. He stood there for a few more beats, then turned around and walked back to the entrance. Though he stopped in his tracks and pulled out a tiny vial with, presumably, his favorite alcoholic drink, and downed it in one go. As he pocketed it he spoke out loud again, "You may begin." when he noticed we were still standing.

We all did as we were told and went to sit down in the empty cold chair. I realized something I didn’t before - a very thin small notebook on the table with a pen on top of it. Most definitely put there for us to write down what we agree on and possibly use it for the news later on.

Lucy Gray was the first to speak up, "I'm so sorry about your classmate."

In response, I offered her a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you," I replied, and then, after studying her for a moment, I mustered the courage to ask, "...Are you okay?"

She grimaced at my question. "Wearing my mom's dress is the only thing keeping me together. It's like she's..." she sucks her breath in through gritted teeth before continuing, "wrapping her arms around me." then looked down at her handcuffed hands.

I couldn’t think of anything to say in this situation that would sound even mildly comforting, so I decided on speaking a bit of truth. "My mother, she used to smell like roses. She died in childbirth." At that I feel a few tears forming in my eyes. "We were going to have a third twin."

"Are... are both of your parents gone?" Lucy Gray asked, her gaze still directed downward. I could only nod in response, my fingers fidgeting with the pen in my hand. "So you're an orphan, like me," she concluded, her voice lowered. The atmosphere around us suddenly changed, and it felt…uncomfortable. Turns out Lucy Gray’s past was a tough conversation for her. I didn’t press further.

Instead I tilt my head to the side, in silent understanding if not a bit of disbelief. It’s interesting that despite having such different backgrounds we still had some things in common like that.

Not knowing how much time we had left, I knew that we at least had to discuss something about the games. "So, I came up with a few ideas,” I began, “every new one more absurd than the other. But for now before I can fully complete one, I need one favor from you. That's all."

Lucy Gray lifted her gaze, anticipating my request. "I just need you to sing. In these interviews.” Before letting her get a word in, I continued, “It's just, the night before the games is your last chance to win people over. I can't send you gifts in the arena without their money."

She looks to the side, seemingly in thought, and then back at my fidgeting hands, "Maybe a guitar can persuade me.” then she leaned forward a little bit and with a warning tone says, “Maybe.”. She leaned back on the chair and asked, "You really wanna take care of me in that arena, Y/N?"

I lift my head up from looking down at my hands that I unconsciously put in my lap and turned my gaze right at her. She leaned in on the table, I followed suit and said, "Start by believing that I can actually win."

I was struck speechless for a second, "N-no, Lucy Gray you misunderstood me I-'' But I was cut off by the professor calling out, "Snow, let's go." I lift my head up in confusion but then I see my brother walking towards the professor with one of our classmates, to which my confusion subsided and I turned back toward Lucy, gathering my words to clear this.

I grab her hands in mine, giving her a squeeze as she looked down at them with a puzzled expression before lifting her head up to look at me. "Of course I believe you can win Lucy Gray. If you want to so badly, I will do everything in my power to help you from outside. But my plans don't involve you winning the game. My plan just involves you surviving the first 3-ish days."

Now she looked at me even more puzzled, but this time with thoughtfulness and a surge of confidence. "What do you have in mind, my little rebel?" she smirks, leaning ever closer to me.

The only thing I could feel in that moment was my beating heart going faster and faster, and I began being hyper aware of my surroundings. Especially on how soft her hands were, despite how she has been treated these past few days. It felt as though I was holding a very delicate flower and one sudden move can make it collapse and crumble in my hands. They were soft as silk.

The professor suddenly turned towards us, "Alright, time's up, that was enough planning. Now let's see how well you can put that in practice." I didn’t even realize he was near because of how close Lucy Gray was. After his words, the peacekeepers escorted us out before returning their attention to the tributes and harshly beginning to uncuff them and push them out. I let go of Lucy Gray’s hands and with one last glance I mouthed, ‘I’ll see you’ before turning away from her.

--------------------------------------------------------

As they lined the tribute I was to the side with my classmates when I almost lost my balance and awareness before my eyes landed on Lucy Gray, which somehow grounded me and I walked up to her when I realized they were all lined up and waiting. All mentors positioned themselves next to their tributes, behind me Jessup stood alone. I almost started wondering where the hell Corio had gone to, but then I heard footsteps running, and when I turned I saw him adjusting himself standing next to Jessup. Thankfully he arrived before we started moving.

As we walked towards the very dark tunnel entry, all the tributes were looking around, trying not to freak out. I do gotta admit, it did look very eerie. Walking through the bars, a woman's voice echoed around us, speaking "Enjoy the show" in a very monotone way.

When we passed the security bars, without looking anywhere but in front of me, I took a hold of Lucy Gray's hand, not sure if I was seeking comfort for her, or trying to give her some. Lucy Gray looked down at our intertwined hands, but I could not see her reaction due to the darkness. Not long after walking in though, we saw two cameramen close by to our right, so we had to let go of our hands, hoping the camera did not catch our small act of affection.

Nevertheless, that didn’t stop Lucy Gray from moving closer to me, bumping our shoulders gently, seemingly looking for comfort now more than ever.

As we were moving around, a guy with curly hair walked up to the cameramen and grabbed them, asking them to turn their cameras to his tribute. Suddenly we hear a loud noise from behind and realize that the doors have been shut. But then around us big windows started to be revealed, shut behind big metal slides. Light began pouring inside the arena. My body turned towards Lucy Gray, though she probably didn’t notice me in that moment as she was looking at the surroundings..

Then we heard a booming male voice, "Welcome to the arena of the 10th annual Hunger Games. Tributes, mentors, you have 15 minutes to survey the space and discuss strategy."

Everyone around us was doing their own thing. Some mentors were telling their tributes a strategy, some were still looking around. Lucy Gray turned to me slowly, "Please, don't let me die in here tomorrow, Y/N.” her voice was becoming smaller and more worrisome as she spoke, “Please." This was nothing like the Lucy Gray from before. Seeing her in this state brought a chill down my spine at how uncomfortable I was for having her put in this situation, even if I had no choice in her being here. But I had to ground myself, no time for regret. Now it’s time to find a way to get her out of here alive.

Just as she said those words, on the far end of us an explosion occurred. The impact of the explosion blew us away and we all fell. Suddenly the arena was exploding from every side possible, and instinctively I tried to crawl towards Lucy Gray, to cover her with my body, thinking that that would do something to protect her from the flying debris everywhere around.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do that since the impact from every new explosion blew us away in a different direction, so me and Lucy Gray just stuck together on our hands and knees trying to find a way to escape. As we stood up an explosion from above came and all I could think about in that moment was Lucy Gray. So I pushed her away as everything fell from above.

I tried to run in her direction, but I got knocked down, a big pillar landing on my lower half, trapping me underneath it. I tried crawling out from under it, but it was to no avail. I managed to wheeze out, "Help me" to anyone who could hear me, thinking this was going to be my end. I could barely breathe from all the smoke and dust everywhere.

As I slowly lift my head towards the light, the entry tunnel, I heard voices yelling for everyone to get a move on and get out of there. All of a sudden, through the dust all around, I could slowly make out a figure coming towards me. As it got closer and closer I soon realized it was none other than Lucy Gray, running to my aid. She stopped for a second above me, looking at the situation, before she went to the side and with all her might tried to lift up the pillar.

At that moment Jessup came rushing from behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder and sliding down in front of her, "C'mon, the gate is open." He gets on his hands and knees and grabs her by the hand, "Cmon! They wouldn't have saved you!" He exclaimed frantically before giving up and standing up. Without one quick glance back at her, he starts sprinting towards the exit.

Two other tributes follow him but then they are suddenly shot at by peacekeepers behind us. Lucy Gray instinctively leans down on the ground so they don't see her.

As they run towards the two tributes, Lucy Gray starts lifting the pillar with all her might, managing to lift just enough for me to slide out from.

Just as I turn on my back and exhale, we smile at each other through the dust. Out of nowhere a peacekeeper comes and grabs Lucy Gray by the arm, lifting her up and taking her away. We extend our hands to grab a hold of each other, Lucy Gray struggling against the peacekeeper, but it’s to no avail, and she is taken away from me as I gradually slip into unconsciousness.

[unrepentantweirdo]

Robert Joseph MacCready Headcanons and Birth Chart- Part One!

Hello everyone! It's time for what has been months in the making. I promised to give you my MacCready headcanons and his astrological birth chart, and today I'm delivering. (Partly because y'all are going to hate me when I post the next chapter of Defenders At The Crossroads (DATC), because it's going to be sad angsty RJ hours.)

Part one is going to be the headcanons I have so far. So without further ado, let's get to it!

Full name: Robert Joseph MacCready Born: April 4, 2265, around 8:35 a.m., Capital Wasteland (Aries sun, Scorpio moon, Taurus ascending; will be explained in one of the next parts.) Hair color: Light brown Eye color: Blue, kind of like this- https://www.pinterest.com/pin/eyes--375839531382357679/ Height: 5' 8.5" (173 cm) Build: Lean and wiry. Muscular arms and legs from all the walking and carrying he has to do. After starting to travel with Cassie, he develops a bit more muscle and gains a little weight, since he's able to eat properly. * Like atombonniebaby, I HC that Mac is of Scottish descent, but I think he also has a bit of Irish thrown in there. * Has plenty of scars across his body from his adventures in the wastes. Couple of bullet wounds from a sentry bot, some cuts here and there. * He has decent posture, only slouches when he sits sometimes. * Is attached to his current clothing, but especially the duster and hat. Both were gifts from Lucy. That's why it hurt when the sleeve got torn off by ferals during his first attempt to clear Med-Tek. * As an adult, his temper only comes out when someone is disrespecting him, someone is abusing their power, or someone is harming kids or loved ones. * Prefers to bluff his way out of confrontation, because Duncan needs him. But he isn't afraid to get down and dirty and fight. * Is actually a bit allergic to dust. Cassie ends up giving him a bandana (that isn't Gunner) for when they explore old buildings. * While he hates being wet (because wet=cold), he likes warm showers and baths. He'd be a shower hog, I think. * He has a few missing teeth, the ones that are left are a little messed up (cavities, crooked). When they start bothering him a lot, Cassie drags him to Vault 81 to get them fixed. She stays with him and holds his hand, even when they knock him out. * His best friend was Lucy, both growing up and as an adult. Yes, I HC that Little Lamplight Lucy is his Lucy, and I will die on that hill. * Him and Lucy went on a trip to the Commonwealth shortly after they reunited. It was there that they got married, and where they found out Lucy was expecting Duncan. * He has PTSD. Usually manifests in night terrors of Lucy's death, sometimes panics when surprised by ferals. On really bad days, he's crying when he wakes up. * Carries a lot of guilt. Not telling Lucy the truth about being a mercenary, him not being able to save her, Duncan getting sick. So much guilt. * Slightly afraid of thunderstorms and being in open spaces. * Hates staying in one place for too long, loves to travel. * Is abrasive and hardened toward others, but for his loved ones he's soft and affectionate. * Smells like gun oil, leather, and a hint of cigarettes. Whiskey if he's drinking, and gunpowder after a firefight. * Super observant, whether it's looking through a scope or reading people up close. (He's not as good as Deacon with the latter, but that's mostly because of age and experience.) * He's touch-starved. Other than Duncan, he hasn't had close contact with anyone since Lucy died. * He loves homemade gifts. * Love languages: physical touch, quality time, acts of service; both giving and receiving. * When it comes to flirting, he's pretty smooth. But when Cassie flirts back, he turns into a blushing, stuttery mess. Over time, it just becomes blushing. * When he first starts having feelings towards Cassie, he panics and feels like he's betraying Lucy. Hancock and Daisy are the ones that help bring him around, as well as a near-death experience. * Worries about Cassie more the closer they get, as she is a close to mid-range fighter. It eases some when he teaches her how to snipe. * Mentally swears almost all the time; it's why he almost slips up so often. * He likes to draw, whether it's silly doodles in his letters to Duncan or drawing things he likes. * Loves to read to Duncan (and any kids he and Cassie might have, so far I have one planned for sure).

PART TWO (MORE HEADCANONS!)

PART THREE (THE BIRTH CHART THAT NAILED HIM!)

[dairy-farmer]

Sneaking back iiiin~☆ After a period of being away o/

D-Lister Otome Powers POG? I think SO! CONSIDER:

Tim, out on patrol, things have been... tense. He's gotten Bruce back from the timeline, but it hasn't FIXED anything. Things were said. He spiraled. Trust was betrayed. He doesn't... he doesn't feel like he HAS a home anymore.

Dick feels betrayed and worried TOO. He needed Tim's support. Instead he broke down, went rouge, and nearly DIED. Didn't explain ANYTHING. Now he's drifting away from the family.

Bruce is barely recovered. His family is in pieces around him and he's pretty sure it's his fault.

So... Patrol is... Professional. Tense. Like it has been for days.

Red Robin is checking out some minor disturbance. Discovers clues that it's some INCREDIBLY naive or foolish out-of-towner who thinks they can "make a name for themselves" in America's crime capital. Idiot is going to get himself killed.

But why target a minor gaming company?

No matter, RR can handle it. He's tired, patrols nearly over. Should be quick.

The days after weeks of hurt and hypertense emotions have left him exhausted. Making mistakes he would normally NEVER make. Like going after an unknown alone. No matter how small they SEEM.

You could always be wrong.

And that KILLS.

Batman trained him better then that. Bruce, catches his plan, too late. Is blocks away. Can hear, through Tim's comms, the most terrifying sort of confidence in that opponents voice. Not fool hardy overconfidence. Not arrogance. But "I have a nasty trick that I KNOW you can't counter". Tim. Tim, get out of there! TIM!

Red Robin does not respond.

And Tim? Wakes up with a splitting headache. Too... honestly? What looks A LOT frilly, hyper feminine version of one of Drake Manor's guest rooms. But with "personal touches" added to make it LOOK like someone supposedly lives here. Too generic though. And too artfully placed. It looks like a movie set.

Where the fuck is h-*DING!*

Then a blue screen like some of the holographic screens he's seen before, pops up. "Welcome to ☆~Knights In Gotham~☆! Complete the game or be trapped forever~♡!" It reads in cutesy font.

Well that ONE way to get him out of bed. But unfortunately, it takes less then 15 minutes to confirm that he is, indeed, not in his native reality. MIGHT be drugged or hypnotized. He'll have to test. But the whole new reproductive set, suggest otherwise.

So he pokes around. Speed runs his emotional "I'm trapped, might never see my family again. No. No! I WILL escape!" Character arc/mental breakdown in the shower. Finds some pants.

Figures out what sort of game this is. It's an Otome game. Dating. Based on? His FAMILY. Fffffuck his life.

Okay, should be TOO bad right? People never get their personalities right in fan stuff. Thanks to the Bats being Cryptids. So Tim can just pretend they're other people, right?

Wrong.

The game world he quickly realizes, is using HIS knowledge to fill in the blanks of the massively unfinished framework. This assholes Meta powers? Can only trap him IN here. He's not in control of it. NO ONE IS. Oh, that's so much worse.

Outside? Bruce has BatDad'd panic beat downed the Otome Meta. Where is his BABY BOY!? He can't answer you unconscious, Bruce. Thankfully, Dick is observant. There us a computer on. With Tim on it. He puts two and two together. They are able to keep the power on and transfer the computer to the cave.

Meanwhile? Tim is staring down a Bruce in FULL Brucie Mask. Debating with himself. Because on ONE hand? Childhood wet dreams: Get? But on the OTHER, baggage for daaaaays. And there us no guarantee this isn't a PG title. So like? Bruce would DEFINITELY be the hardest Route, wouldn't he?

He has no idea what he's doing.

He doesn't PLAY these type of games.

He figures, since demon child DOESNT have a reason to hate him here? Probably the safest bet. Especially since he won't feel as bad manipulating a version of him. It should be fine right?

Wrong. He doesn't play these sort of games. Is unaware of how they work and what's at stake. He bungles it. Doesn't play to the troupes, gets his first Bad End. He knew just a touch TOO much, too soon, too openly. Damian's character became convinced he was either a Rouge or an Assassin. But! He got all those "heart event" thingies! Tim mentally protests!

Which is why it doesn't just cut to black, a sudden attack from behind, "Game Over".

No, Tim wakes up behind bars. In a bunker. Nicer then a prison cell, but only just. Because Damian LOVES him. But can not allow him to continue his criminal ways. So he's going to rehabilitate him. By force if necessary. And he knows, because he is not a fool, that Tim does not truely love him. But?

He can fix that too.

They have time.

Outside? Actual Damian is horrified. His feelings towards Drake are... complexe. But this?! Absolutely not! He lunges forward. Dick is trying desperately to hit the Restart. It's not working. Damian hits it HARDER. It works immediately. (They later realize only the "Route" target can restart the game)

Tim wakes up in the starting room.

This time he fuckin LOOKS UP Otome Games on a computer.

Takes a bracing shot of whiskey, because this IS Drake Manor and he knows where his parents hid the good stuff, and tries again. Gets the Neutral End. Fuck! Okay, tries AGAIN. Gets shot, Game Over. Oh god damn it!

He keeps going.

Nothing seems to be WORKING. He's getting stressed. Lonely, desperate, hopelessness trying to set in. He just... just wants to feel WARM you know? Reassured. Held. Knows he's not thinking clearly, but...

So he goes after "Brucie". He KNOWS Bruce. Knows how he picks his one night stands. Knows how to dress up just enough, just OFF enough, to not be suspicious. It's a bad idea. He knows it as he gets dressed. As he arrives. Flirts. Charms and drinks, but not too much. Let's himself be tucked under Bruce's arm. Led away.

Kon always said he was great with his mouth. From the way "Brucie" tenses, like iron under the sild of his suit, holding himself back from grabbing and being rougher then his reputation would allow? He'd say Bruce agrees. Tim certainly puts his all into it. Let's himself lose himself to the rhythm of movement. The scent of Bruce's cologne. The slide over his tounge.

Stolen moments though, aren't enough to get to everything Bruce wants.

The party ends too soon. And Tim leaves with the other guests.

Only to find himself FIRMLY in Bruce's route. The man showing up everywhere. Stealing kisses. Hands disappearing under clothes. Bruce, as he tends too, obsessed. In love. Overwhelming. Tim finally, FINALLY get a Good End.

He also gets fucked, in his bed, within an inch of incoherence, by Batman.

Yet the Game does not release him. Because it did not say "complete A Route" the realse conditions were Complete the GAME. So now Tim has to "win" the others.

All while they watch.

Because THEY are the only ones who can start a new route. Bruce absolutely could have hit that restart once the Good End popped up. Yet... he let the scene play out. Sat, alone, having sent the others to bed... and watched his son get fucked by a version of himself. Watched his son gasp and whimper, cry out and sob, in pleasure.

They each get to watch. As Tim bonds with "them". Spends time with "them".

Eventually, Tim manages the secret Harem Ending. Stumbles free into the waiting arms of his family. They rejoince. But the question remains~! What will they do know? After so long, thinking darkly that they could "do better"? That TIM deserved better then the touch of imposters? That is the question we ask! As I run out of steam and need to sleep! Thoughts?

-🐼🐼🐼

tim's family watching as he works through all their "routes" 👀👀👀👀

[insaneintheemembranev2]

paring; karlach x gn!tav!reader

genre; angst, friends to lovers,

requested; (yes/no)

warnings; no happy ending, major character death, depressed reader, ending of bg3 changed, no capital letters, 2 time skips, not proof read.

summary; in which karlach meets her demise and reader is left alone once again.

authors note; no use of y/n and they/them pronouns for reader. thank you for reading! this is my first time writing angst and actually publishing it so i'm kind of nervous lmao. my requests are currently open, so please send me something to write! <3 you can find two published books of mine on ao3 or wattpad as they aren't yet posted here if you're interested, thank you!

word count; 686

you lay in karlach's bed, the sun shining and boiling above you. the heat was almost too much to bear, although that might be because you have a tiefling with an infernal engine that was hotter than the hells lying with you.

karlach had her arm draped over your waist adding to your discomfort. you tried wiggling away to cool down but she just dragged you right back into her grasp, she was insanely strong.

"stop moving." she groaned while sloppily giving your neck a kiss.

"i'm too hot!" you exclaimed in a whiny voice.

she let out a chuckle "yeah you are." she said in a flirtatious way.

"karlach!"

"fine, fine. go and leave me here all alone." she said with a sigh, letting go and rolling over.

"i'm sure you'll survive." i wriggled out of bed and started getting my armour on, we had a long day ahead. "are you not getting up?"

"5 more minutes."

"fine, but get up soon. we have to travel through the city again today."

she muttered something as i walked away from her tent.

the party made their way back to the camp, feeling defeated and heartbroken having lost one of our dearest companions. tears welled up in everyone's eyes as we walked, our bodies were covered in blood, sweat, various poisons, acid, and monster goop from our recent adventure. the fight had been brutal, leaving me with an aching back and heart, my voice hoarse from constantly casting spells. dirt and mud had crept under my fingernails, clinging to my skin, and I couldn't help but feel exhausted and drained.

when we had returned i didn't bother washing off any of the dirt from my body, i just removed my armour and went to sleep, hoping when i awakened it would all just be a bad dream.

months had gone by and my mental state only declined. the rest of the party had disbanded, moving on with there lives, but how could i? how could i move on after losing the love of my life? how could they go on knowing what she gave up for us?

all karlach ever wanted was to be free, have a normal life and experience the city without fear of zariel snatching her back into the hells. over the past 9 months ive experienced all kinds of emotions.

at first i didn't believe she was gone, i woke up the next morning thinking everything was fine and she wasn't actually dead. my friends looked at me with sympathy and pity. i hated it, couldn't stand the way they were treating me.

after a while, i realised she was gone, so i believed she was hiding in the hells waiting for me to go get her, to save her. zariel must of done something, must of switched karlach out for someone else.

then i felt angry, why would want to leave me alone, why would she sacrifice herself. we would've figured something out, someway she could live, scarified gale or something. we could of fixed her engine and lived together. we could of been together, properly but she chose not to. she chose to leave me.

i tried everything to bring her back, i researched for hours every day for an entire month, i tried every spell, every scroll and every potion i could get my hands on. i tried contacting zariel. i even tried making a deal with jergal to bring her back in exchange for my soul. nothing worked and no one accepted my deals.

i gave up hope after a few more months, she wasn't coming back.

i cant get out of bed, i don't want to. i don't want to eat, drink or move without her. i feel like my throat is closing up, like i can't even breathe without her. its like karlach was my life source.

if only i stayed in bed that morning, maybe it would have turned out differently. maybe she would of been next to me now. i would give anything to be able to feel the heat of her heart once more.

[zxoaii]

Lovers from the past

fem! reader x Peeta Mellark

Summary: From childhood friends to lovers, Peeta and Y/n are reunited after the games.

WC: 2.9k

Prologue: Peeta Mellark, the sole victor of the 74th Hunger Games became a star in the capital for his small town love story. The world watched as a once gentle man turned into a remorseless killer in an effort to return to his lover.

[ Y/n ]

The anxiety that has been suffocating me for the past 20 days comes to an all time high as I stand on the train platform surrounded by Peacekeepers and capital cameras.

The warm summer air hugs my skin, urging me to try to relax. I have been pampered and made out to look like a completely different person. Makeup is caked up onto my face. It’s unnatural feeling urges me to wipe it all off. Though that would only mean having it reapplied. And there are more important things at hand than makeup right now.

There’s a faint hum in the distance. The woman urges the cameras to start rolling. My posture straightens as I search between the trees for the sight of the train.

Within the blink of an eye it appears. Coming toward us so quickly I’m unsure if it will be able to stop in time. Bile sits in the base of my throat. Tears well up in my eyes. Despite my concern, the train comes to a steady halt in front of us.

It feels like an eternity for the doors to slide open. The air seems to come rushing back to me as I see him. Peeta stands hollow eyed by his games mentor and the capital woman.

I make the move for him, running onto the train and into his embrace. Peeta’s fingers dig into my waist and my hair. At first I’m at a loss for words. What do you say after enduring unthinkable horrors?

“I love you.” I let my tears fall as I squeeze my eyes shut. We had said the words a million times over to one another in our lives. But this time was different. Raw and passionate. “I love you too.” His voice shakes as he holds me.

“Alright you two let’s get this over with.” The gravely man places a hand on Peeta’s back. We reluctantly pull away from each other all too soon. This close I can see the marks left by his time in the arena. Cuts and bruises litter his once perfect skin.

“Y/n, how does it feel to see Peeta again?” A camera is shoved into my face. The lights burn my eyes. “It’s… A relief. I feel like I can breathe again.” Peeta’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me to his side. I accept this closeness, never wanting to be an arms length away from him again.

“How did you feel during his brawl with Cato?” My heart drops into the depths of my stomach. The memory of watching Peeta come so close to… The question feels insensitive.

“I was terrified. Completely… Terrified.” My hand finds his on my waist, feeling the warmth of his skin for reassurance. Reassurance of life.

They feign sympathy for me. Like they could ever know that kind of fear. “Peeta, what were you thinking as you went through the games?” They turn to him.

“Y/n. I just thought about her every second.” I can feel his eyes on me but when I turn to meet them he looks back at the camera. If you didn’t know him you might think he had come out unscathed. But here, looking at him now, I can see every falter. Every wince at the thought of what just happened. Every tiny detail that gives away his hurt and fear.

The safety of Peeta’s room feels infiltrated with foreign knowledge. Foreign feelings. He sits on his bed completely silent. Just staring at the wall in front of him.

I unbutton the pressed dress shirt he wears and push it off his arms. “Here.” I slide the soft worn cotton tee over Peeta’s head. Bruises and bloodied injuries invade the once so familiar landscape of his body.

It takes effort to hide the sadness in my eyes. Pitying wouldn’t do anything to fix this. No, I needed to watch the world burn to right this wrong.

“Are you hungry?” My question falls on deaf ears. “Peeta.” I take a seat next to him after a moment of no response. He turns to me, those hollow eyes sparked with an unfamiliar look. Before I can get another word out his lips crash onto mine.

I brace myself against the bed, eyes wide with shock. Peeta’s sweet taste intoxicates me. Slurring any rational thoughts I have. The unsaid feelings all come out now in this heated kiss.

“I thought I’d never feel your lips again.” He holds my face gently, contrasting with the roughness of his skin. The capital broadcasted our story every waking moment.

Childhood best friends devastatingly in love with each other. A couple torn apart by tragedy. And then a boy turned primal for the chance to see the girl he loves again.

Not a human fighting for survival. No, our lives have become a story the capital can’t get enough of. Our love consumed by every person watching. Capital citizens hungrily begging for more, more, more.

“I was so afraid.” The shake in my voice exposes me for how devastated I really am. My fingers desperately find his neck, holding him close. The faint beating of his pulse against my palm brings me over the edge.

Peeta won the games but I can’t help but feel completely devastated. Anger and sadness spill out of me pathetically.

His comforting touch lingers on my face. “I’m never leaving again. I’m not leaving you again.” The certainty in his voice is somewhat new for him. The once unsure and timid Peeta was slaughtered in the arena. Replaced with a hardened and certain version.

Still, his softness showed through for me. Carefully wiping my tears from under my eyes, pressing comforting kisses onto the crown of my head, whispering sweet nothings to me.

I shouldn’t be the one being comforted. Just as quickly as I started, I pull myself together. “I’m okay, thank you… I’m just so relieved.” My hands clasp over his.

“Y/n.” Peeta draws my eyes up to his. The warm sun turns his blonde hair a honey gold. He takes one of my hands in his, pressing my knuckle to his lips. “Marry me.” The whisper is so quiet I almost don’t believe he said it.

I wonder if it was just a figment of my imagination. “Nothing could keep me from you. From coming home to you. Marry me. Come live with me in the Victor’s Village. We can leave our parents behind. Just have each other.”

The idea of it seems insane. Though, nothing that has happened seems sane. There’s nothing left for us here but each other. “Yes.” My answer breaks the anticipation.

Peeta smiles, a genuine smile. His eyes momentarily sparked with a familiar look of happiness. “Good. Yeah, we can… We can find someone to wed us in the back markets. We can go tonight.”

People’s eyes follow our every movement. No on speaks. The heavy silence is only broken by the loudness of their thoughts. Visible on all of their faces.

He’s a monster and she’s his muse. We watched the way he killed. I wonder how many of them noticed the look in his eyes. Fear. There wasn’t a second in that arena he wasn’t consumed by it.

Fear weaponized can be just as lethal as anger. Peeta finally stops walking, looking around at the crowds. They don’t bother to stop looking but still, no one speaks up.

“We need someone to officiate a wedding. I can give half of my meals for a month to whoever helps us.” That piques interest among the crowd. Still, it seems people were too afraid to come near us.

“I’ll do it.” Peeta whips his head around. I follow his eyes, looking behind us. At the front of the crowd is the drunken man from the train. The only other victor from 12.

“Haymitch.” They exchange a small nod of agreement. We leave as silently as we came. Eyes burning holes into my back.

“If you’re trying to do something in secret, announcing it to the public isn’t the way to go. Even if they’re a secret society.” My eyes trail across his disheveled appearance. I should probably thank him. I doubt Peeta would have gotten any gifts if he hadn’t done his job.

Wet leaves carpet the gravel road. The sound of soft rain eases the tense silence. Filling the night with the melodic sound of wet droplets falling against the wooden roofs of 12.

We don’t bother to rush. Peeta looks up at the darkened sky, letting the rain fall against his face.

The walk towards the very back of the district is long; purposely isolated from the derelict of the main town. I stare at the two rows of grand houses. They stand in almost perfect condition. Unaffected by the rot that plagues most homes.

“Come on. This one is mine.” Haymitch leads us to the second house on the right side of the courtyard. Peeta slips his rain soaked hand into mine.

We follow behind him, I pull Peeta to hurry out of the rain. As we step inside I take note of the darkness of the house. The interior is not as well kept as the exterior. The stench of alcohol consumes the sweet smell of the rain outside.

“Alright. Let’s do this over drinks. Really all you need to do to be wed is go down to the Justice Building and file the paperwork to be married. That’s going to draw a lot of attention with the cameras so go before the sunrise. But I can say a few words and give you some bread for the toasting.”

It’s traditional to do the toasting after the wedding. Though, I suppose it’s also traditional to rent an old wedding dress… And share a meal with your family. None of which we will be doing I assume.

“Yeah, that sounds good. What do you think?” Peeta breaks me from my thoughts. I turn to look at him, a warm smile on my face. “I’m ready.”

The bruises that were earlier only small red marks on his face have now started to blossom into dark shades of purple and black. The earlier glint of happiness in his eyes has since died out.

“Go sit on the couch. I’ll pour you the drinks.” Haymitch turns on his heel towards the large open room behind him. We follow as he makes his way through the house.

To our left is a large worn couch. It’s nicer than anything I have ever seen here. I let go of Peeta’s hand and rush around to sit down. My hands press into the cushions, feeling the softness below. “It’s amazing!” I whisper, turning to Peeta.

He walks around the couch and takes his place next to me. “Wow…” He fakes awe for me. I realize that he must’ve already felt things like this before…

My smile fades away into a small frown. The weight of knowing what to say to him drags me further into the cushion. This is hasty? We should take a few days for you to come out of shock? Are you ok?

None of the words even make it past my throat. Nothing is right. I’ve dreamt about the day Peeta and I were married since we were kids. Dreamt about toasting bread with him. Dreamt about how it would feel to share a home.

Now it’s all coming true under such grim circumstances. Marrying to avoid the possibility of being away from each other for more than a few minutes. Marrying to hold onto the only thing we have.

Peeta had everything ripped away from him so violently. I can’t imagine how afraid he must be. I want to reach up and tell him I can relate, that the same fear consumed me. But it’s not the same. Both fear, yes. Separate in their manifestation and origin.

Before I can fall further into the spiral of depressing thoughts, Haymitch hands me a glass of whiskey. In the dark the liquid looks completely black.

“To love.” Haymitch raises his glass. Peeta raises his as well and I follow. They both down the contents. I instead let the glass rest in my lap.

“I’m not going to make this long… I’m just going to say, you two have something special. I’ve never seen anything like what you have. Unconditional love. It’s rare so hold onto it.” Haymitch looks down at his empty glass.

“Yeah… Now you two go on and say your part.” He stands and leaves the room. My eyes trail him as he walks into the kitchen then fall back to Peeta.

“Y/n, you have been there for me since before we could talk. I have only ever known one thing and that is that I love you. That I can’t imagine a life without you… Or a death without you either.”

The last words cut through me, urging me to cry. To crawl into his embrace and cry until it pains me to continue. The way I had the day he left me.

“I love you Y/n. I would do anything for you. Anything.” His voice becomes such a low whisper the rainfall almost covers it. I fight against the tears in my eyes, stopping them at my lashes.

“I’m the luckiest man alive to get to marry you.” Haymitch rejoins us in the room. This time he brings the entire bottle of whiskey. Peeta’s hand reaches up to hold my cheek. As I close my eyes to lean into his touch, the tears fall.

His thumb wipes them away with such familiar gentleness. I’m unsure how to put into words what I feel for him. How to describe all the feelings inside me.

“Peeta…” I finally start, completely unable to hide the shake in my voice. “I will never know fear like that again. The fear of losing you.” My sobs choke me up. Peeta quickly scoops me up in a tight embrace.

I tuck my head into his collarbone, trying to contain my tears. It’s not fair for me to cry. It’s not fair for me to be comforted right now.

“I need you, Peeta. Nothing has ever been so clear to me. I need you like I need air. To be able to marry you and hold onto you… I’m never going to let you go again. I swear.”

His hand carefully caresses my hair. Every part of us is so tightly intertwined. Our lives are exactly that. Ours. Not Peeta’s life or Y/n’s life. Our life. There isn’t a memory I can think of where he isn’t there.

“The bread.” We carefully part and look over at Haymitch. “If… You’re finished.” He drops his hand with the slice of bread. “No, we’re ready.” I answer, wiping my tears onto the back of my hand.

Peeta carefully takes it, looking over at me with a small grin. Haymitch’s feet cause the floorboards to creak as he makes his way to the large fireplace in front of us. He strikes a match and tosses it in, carefully blowing to ensure the wood catches.

We leave our spot on the couch and kneel in front of the fireplace. “I have a poker.” Haymitch offers. The flames are still small, flicking in all directions. “It’s fine.” Peeta slowly sticks the bread into the fireplace. I watch as he carefully avoids the flames. It only takes a short moment for the bread to toast.

He pulls it back and passes it to me. “Be careful.” His warning pulls at my heartstrings. No one has ever cared for me the way he does. I reach my hand in, only holding a small edge of the slice.

The warmth sears my skin. Threatening to cause damage if I come any closer. The short moment drags on for a lifetime as I wait for the bread to toast. I try to conceal my wincing as I retreat my hand.

“Congratulations. You two are now unofficially married. Don’t consummate it in my house. Any of the others should be furnished.” He waves his hand at us as he takes a swing from the bottle.

I take a bite from the bread, looking at Peeta with a childish grin. It happened. In my basic leathers over a white dress and celebrating with a man I don’t know. But it happened.

Peeta takes the bread and takes his bite. That faint smile reappears on his face. Happiness through devastation. We lean in and meet in a heated kiss.

The bread falls to the floor with a dull thunk. Our arms wrap around each other to keep the other close. “Ok.” Haymitch pulls himself out of his chair and leaves us alone in the room.

The fire lights up Peeta’s face in the darkness. Despite the newfound injuries and hollowness to him, he remains my Peeta. Gentle, caring, and so full of love.

I lean back in and press another short kiss on his lips. The peacefulness of secrecy will likely be lost by sunrise tomorrow. We will face the cameras as a newlywed couple for the capital. Fed to people we’ll never know like rabbits to a fox.

But tonight no one knows but us. No one will hear the sweet nothings we will speak and no one will ruin this moment.

Tomorrow we will face the wolves. Together.

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hello,

I need help. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I need someone to tell me to stop worrying? Oh let’s be honest I have no idea what I need, that’s why I’m writing in.

See, I have a perfectly ordinary job during the week. I work in an office. It’s nice. Spreadsheets, cake on birthdays, quarterlies. It’s a boring existence but my afternoons and evenings are my own and the pay’s good. Sapio-Liminal relations are improving, but by bit. Honestly I’m just impressed my coworker got the time off when they wound up expecting in two of their three dimensional shifts.

So that’s during the week and you’d be forgiven for thinking I’m just about the most sapio a sapio can be. My liminal properties tend to activate on Friday afternoons, when I- travel.

Teleport?

Move. I move. To the same general area of a whole new plane of existence. It’s a known family trait- I’ve got a grandfather who became king of a small nation in my secondary plane, and my sister’s the apothecary for the capital city. She sells the really good potions, by the way, so if you’re in the area of Spirits and Sundries or someone gives you a radiant quest to bring ingredients to Amaranthia in the Bronze Quarter, just be polite and she’ll fix you right up.

Ah, but this isn’t about my sister’s business, it’s about me and what I do. See, this shift is so regular that I went and got myself a weekend job, just to have something to do. So if you’re sent to the Caves of Madness just north of the Foresaken Forest, be ready for the Riddle Master!

I’m in the first room of the dungeon, just after you pass the initial key puzzle. I keep my uniform in a chest in there, and there’ s a nice break room off the back. I like the work a lot! I see lots of new people and I’m always gathering riddles- there are some chat standards but I like to mix it up sometimes. They aren’t supposed to be hard, or else what’s the point of trying to conquer a dungeon? So sometimes, I admit, I give hints. There’s always the rude adventurer who attacks me first but when you take a job like this you don’t die, it’s in the fine print. I don’t like cleaning the blood off my stuff, though. Takes ages.

Anyway now that we’ve walked halfway around the block, my point.

I look very plain. Humanoid, two arms, two legs, a beard. It’s never bothered me but I am very distinctly ordinary which tends to be recognizable and last weekend I was in the village during my break and I saw a coworker. Not from this side, not from the Caves of Madness, no. It was Tina, from accounting. She was picking up a quest by the stocks.

And I realized, she might wind up at the Caves of Madness. She might make it through the puzzle door and be faced with the Riddle Master only to realize this Riddle Master is Jeff. From the office.

I don’t have hangups about my two worlds meeting- it’s hard to, when your sister pops in for Christmas still dressed for the Winterscratch Festival, or your brother’s filing out taxes for a whole kingdom over lunch. I just really like my job in the Caves, and I like to think I do it well. Our rating as a starter dungeon’s quite high, and I’m proud of that. What if my transdimensional adventurer coworkers encounter me and just- aren’t impressed? That’s not the Riddle Master, that’s Jeff. He has a rubber band launcher on his desk. His mug says ‘party naked’ with a balding chicken on it and he won’t let HR throw it away.

I don’t want to disappoint adventurers, especially not ones who work with me in my primary plane. I also don’t want to cause harm to my dungeon’s reputation. But aside from the whole ‘moving planes’ thing I am utterly dull. What do I do if my performance isn’t enough to make up for not being fantastical like Mordrath the end room boss or Reyala the sidequest kobold queen?

Is it okay to just be Jeff the Riddle Master?

Thank you for writing in, reader. Your letter serves as an excellent example of quite a common genre of letter we get through the inbox here at the Nightfolk Network and I think it might be rather illustrative for other followers.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but what you've done here is make up a scenario in your head based on the worst possible interpretations of everyone involved, and then worried yourself sick about that scenario coming to pass.

This may sound a little blunt, but please understand, I don't mean that dismissively. I only hope to offer you a little perspective, and to help you come to a more accurate understanding of the situation as it actually stands.

You enjoy your work in the dungeon, and are clearly doing a good enough job to keep your managers happy. None of your previous visitors have expressed any disappointment at your relatively mundane appearance, and it hasn't been an obstacle in the job so far.

Perhaps your co-worker will end up in your dungeon. Perhaps she'll make it to your section, and perhaps she'll recognise you. So what? I don't see any reason why she should be any more likely to be disappointed by you than any of your other visitors.

And even if she is disappointed, that doesn't have to mean anything to you. She's a co-worker, not a treasured friend whose opinion could make or break your self-esteem. You owe it to her to be a conscientious, respectful colleague. That's all. What you get up to outside of work, and whether she enjoys your efforts, is irrelevant.

You haven't let down your dungeon so far, and I see no reason to believe you will in the future. Stop borrowing trouble from the future, and concentrate on having fun and being the same old Jeff the Riddle Master you've always been. He seems plenty interesting to me.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Bezzle excerpt (Part II)

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me next in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Today, I'm bringing you part two of this week's serialized excerpt from The Bezzle, my new Martin Hench high-tech crime revenge thriller:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

Though most of the scams that Hench – a two-fisted forensic accountant specializing in Silicon Valley skullduggery – goes after in The Bezzle have a strong tech component, this excerpt concerns a pre-digital scam: music royalty theft.

This is a subject that I got really deep into when researching and writing 2022's Chokepoint Capitalism – a manifesto for fixing creative labor markets:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

My co-author on that book is Rebecca Giblin, who also happens to be one of the world's leading experts in "copyright termination" – the legal right of creative workers to claw back any rights they signed over after 35 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/26/take-it-back/

This was enshrined in the 1976 Copyright Act, and has largely languished in obscurity since then, though recent years have seen creators of all kinds getting their rights back through termination – the authors of The Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High Books, Stephen King, and George Clinton, to name a few. The estates of the core team at Marvel Comics, including Stan Lee, just settled a case that might have let them take the rights to all those characters back from Disney:

https://www.thewrap.com/marvel-settles-spiderman-lawsuit-steve-ditko/

Copyright termination is a powerful tonic to the bargaining disparities between creative workers. A creative worker who signs a bad contract at the start of their career can – if they choose – tear that contract up 35 years later and demand a better one.

Turning this into a plot-point in The Bezzle is the kind of thing that I love about this series – the ability to take important, obscure, technical aspects of how the world works and turn them into high-stakes technothriller storylines that bring them to the audience they deserve.

If you signed something away 35 years ago and you want to get it back, try Rights Back, an automated termination of tranfer tool co-developed by Creative Commons and Authors Alliance (whose advisory board I volunteer on):

https://rightsback.org/

All right, onto today's installment. Here's part one, published on Saturday:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

It was on one of those drives where Stefon learned about copyright termination. It was 2011, and NPR was doing a story on the 1976 Copyright Act, passed the same year that was on the bottom of the document Chuy forged.

Under the ’76 act, artists acquired a “termination right”—­ that is, the power to cancel any copyright assignment after thirty-­five years, even if they signed a contract promising to sign away their rights forever and a day (or until the copyright ran out, which was nearly the same thing).

Listening to a smart, assured lady law professor from UC Berkeley explaining how this termination thing worked, Stefon got a wild idea. He pulled over and found a stub of a pencil and the back of a parking-­ticket envelope and wrote down the professor’s name when it was repeated at the end of the program. The next day he went to the Inglewood Public Library and got a reference librarian to teach him how to look up a UC Berkeley email address and he sent an email to the professor asking how he could terminate his copyright assignment.

He was pretty sure she wasn’t going to answer him, but she did, in less than a day. He got the email on his son’s smartphone and the boy helped him send a reply asking if he could call her. One thing led to another and two weeks later, he’d filed the paperwork with the U.S. Copyright Office, along with a check for one hundred dollars.

Time passed, and Stefon mostly forgot about his paperwork adventure with the Copyright Office, though every now and again he’d remember, think about that hundred dollars, and shake his head. Then, nearly a year later, there it was, in his mailbox: a letter saying that his copyright assignment had been canceled and his copyrights were his again. There was also a copy of a letter that had been sent to Chuy, explaining the same thing.

Stefon knew a lawyer—­well, almost a lawyer, an ex–­trumpet player who became a paralegal after one time subbing for Sly Stone’s usual guy, and then never getting another gig that good. He invited Jamal over for dinner and cooked his best pot roast and served it with good whiskey and then Jamal agreed to send a letter to Inglewood Jams, informing them that Chuy no longer controlled his copyrights and they had to deal with him direct from now on.

Stefon hand-­delivered the letter the next day, wearing his good suit for reasons he couldn’t explain. The receptionist took it without a blink. He waited.

“Thank you,” she said, pointedly, glancing at the door.

“I can wait,” he said.

“For what?” She reminded him of his boy’s girlfriend, a sophomore a year younger than him. Both women projected a fierce message that they were done with everyone’s shit, especially shit from men, especially old men. He chose his words carefully.

“I don’t know, honestly.” He smiled shyly. He was a good-­looking man, still. That smile had once beamed out of televisions all over America, from the Soul Train stage. “But ma’am, begging your pardon, that letter is about my music, which you all sell here. You sell a lot of it, and I want to talk that over with whoever is in charge of that business.”

She let down her guard by one minute increment. “You’ll want Mr. Gounder,” she said. “He’s not in today. Give me your phone number, I’ll have him call.”

He did, but Mr. Gounder didn’t call. He called back two days later, and the day after that, and the following Monday, and then he went back to the office. The receptionist who reminded him of his son’s girlfriend gave him a shocked look.

“Hello,” he said, and tried out that shy smile. “I wonder if I might see that Mr. Gounder.”

She grew visibly uncomfortable. “Mr. Gounder isn’t in today,” she lied. “I see,” he said. “Will he be in tomorrow?”

“No,” she said.

“The day after?”

“No.” Softer.

“Is that Mr. Gounder of yours ever coming in?”

She sighed. “Mr. Gounder doesn’t want to speak with you, I’m sorry.”

The smile hadn’t worked, so he switched to the look he used to give his bandmates when they wouldn’t cooperate. “Maybe someone can tell me why?”

A door behind her had been open a crack; now it swung wide and a young man came out. He looked Hispanic, with a sharp fade and flashy sneakers, but he didn’t talk like a club kid or a hood rat—­he sounded like a USC law student.

“Sir, if you have a claim you’d like Mr. Gounder to engage with, please have your attorney contact him directly.”

Stefon looked this kid up and down and up, tried and failed to catch the receptionist’s eye, and said, “Maybe I can talk this over with you. Are you someone in charge around here?”

“I’m Xavier Perez. I’m vice president for catalog development here. I don’t deal with legal claims, though. That’s strictly Mr. Gounder’s job. Please have your attorney put your query in writing and Mr. Gounder will be in touch as soon as is ­feasible.”

“I did have a lawyer write him a letter,” Stefon said. “I gave it to this young woman. Mr. Gounder hasn’t been in touch.”

Perez looked at the receptionist. “Did you receive a letter from this gentleman?”

She nodded, still not meeting Stefon’s eye. “I gave it to Mr. Gounder last week.”

Perez grinned, showing a gold tooth, and then, in his white, white voice, said, “There you have it. I’m sure Mr. Gounder will get back in touch with your counsel soon. Thank you for coming in today, Mr.—­”

“Stefon Magner.” Stefon waited a moment, then said, for the first time in many years, “I used to perform under Steve Soul, though.”

Perez nodded briskly. He’d known that. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Magner.” Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared back into his office.

ETA: Here's part three!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#copyright-termination