#making this the 69th note

[red-does-stuff]

Shoutout to @jaypostssometimes for the 61 reblogs

Also this is my art on my dead killjoy account!!

//So come one come all to this tragic affair//

[beauty-and-passion]

Eurovision 2025: the problem you cannot ignore

So, another Eurovision comes to an end.

And it was the 69th, so you suppose it was probably filled with sexual jokes only. But nope, aside from a couple more sexual songs, it was quite tame overall.

Am I happy about that? Eeeh. Eurovision’s experience includes stupid, silly jokes, so the 69th edition should’ve given a free pass to all of that. But I suppose the main atmosphere wasn’t too much about joking.

At least, Switzerland did its best to try and keep the competition as neutral as possible - both in terms of jokes and politics. 

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Rules for a good hosting

After last year’s hosting catastrophe, this year's was particularly good. I faced the first semi-final with fear in my eyes and heart, but it was way better than expected.

Please, allow me to explain why - oh and, Sweden: take notes, you might need them.

The Swiss are able to make fun of themselves, while telling us something about themselves. “Made in Switzerland” is a funny joke song, but it also taught me something new about Switzerland. Like that they invented LSD, which… makes both no sense and too much sense. But at least they’ve been able to tell me something about them that wasn’t just “Bo-hoo, we’re good for Eurovision only, stop blaming us for wanting to win, we’re good for nothing else”.

The Swiss made good interval acts and didn’t spend the entire time talking about Eurovision. Sure, they made sure to repeat that they were the birthplace of the competition, but didn’t talk just about that. They talked about the people behind the scenes, the fans, all stuff related to the competition. It wasn’t just a constant “greatest hits of the past compilation”.

They knew that last year, they lost to the people’s winner (Baby Lasagna), yet they invited him and gave him the chance to shine. They didn’t reduce his presence to 20 seconds into a joke song that insulted his country by saying: “Ah ah, we’re so much better than them at hosting, see how stupid their show would’ve been.”.

For the same reason, they invited Käärijä because they just knew that’s what people wanted and justice had to be made.

They didn’t try any stupid AI shit, by bringing up people who clearly didn’t want to participate: ABBA are not available? No problem, let’s make the whole stadium sing Waterloo. It wasn’t so hard.

Last but not least, they used only two hosts. Not three, not five, not twenty. Two competent hosts were more than enough.

And yes, I know Michelle Hunziker was in the finale - which was extremely weird for me, because I am used to seeing her on Italian TV. But she was mostly there to have an Italian speaker for the Italian side of Switzerland, so I suppose it’s fine.

In the end, the overall show and hosting were good. Nothing too life changing, nothing too shitty. Even the cringy moments are not so terrible: it’s mostly Hazel being awkward or having fun. Even the tongue thingy, that made me cringe in the first semi-final, when it came back in the final, it made me burst into a laugh. It was just too stupid to handle.

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The list of robbed kings is endless

My Australian Milkshake Man. My beautiful, funky, shirtless guy didn’t make it into the final.

The ignominy. The treachery. 200% sure it was rigged, because he was too good for this world, his song was perfect Eurovision material and his voice was great.

But if we have to mourn all robbed kings and queens the list would be endless and Käärijä and Baby Lasagna would still be on top. So let’s do the only sensible thing possible, which is follow them, listen to their songs, support them and shower them with love.

They deserve it.

___________

Sweden and Estonia: A joke can take you far

This year proved that you don’t always have to bring a serious song to get a high vote. Sometimes, something funny, carefree and different is enough.

And I think it’s beautiful that a silly song about sauna and the espresso macchiato came respectively 4th and 3rd. They were fun and people enjoyed them. So, they rightfully voted for them.

I hope this teaches something important to all countries, especially Sweden: there’s no need to always bring Generic Pop Song #36 performed by Generic Good-Looking Person #47. You can bring this too: a song in a Swedish dialect about something typical of your country. Something you enjoy.

Heck, I’ve learned more about Sweden thanks to this song, than by following last year’s show! At least this song tells me you like saunas: all I learned last year was that you have nothing but Eurovision.

But Espresso Macchiato teaches us something important too, which is: Italy is always good. It doesn’t matter if it’s Italy’s own entry, a song about Italy performed by San Marino or a song about Italian food. When in doubt, resort to Italy.

Which is comforting, at least. Our economy and politics are shit, but at least we still have a good reputation about the important things in life, aka arts and food.

___________

An overall good winner

At the end of the day, JJ was a good winner. The song was good, his vocals were incredible and the mix of three genres (opera, pop and electro) was new and original.

Sure, the theme is stale and old (a song about love, groundbreaking), but the means he used were interesting. A mix of genres is always appreciated and opera singers are great in general. Also, this song wasn’t a boring ballad and this is always the most important thing.

___________

The elephant in the room, behind the scenes and center stage

I’m tired.

Trust me, I would do anything else, aside from talking about Israel. But it’s not me that is bringing politics into a “nOn-PoLitIcAl ShOw”.

Israel is literally buying its place in the contest. It did it for a while and we ignored it. Now it’s more insufferable than ever.

Last year, it was all about bullying the other artists and buying votes with ads spread all over the Internet. Now it’s bending the rules and buying votes with ads spread all over the Internet.

And if this enraged me at first, now it makes me sad.

Israel is acting like a rich kid, who desperately wants to be part of a group. It has money, so it thinks it can buy anything. And, in a way, it can: it can buy a spot in this group and stay close to the other kids and show to the world that, hey, look, it is part of the group! It is just like the other kids!

But the other kids don’t like having Israel around. So, Israel buys their silence. It uses money to get posters all over, which show it close to the other kids, as a member of their group. See? Israel is part of the group! And no one protests, because clearly others are fine with its presence! It is just like the other kids!

But the group has rules to follow. So, Israel bends them and closes the protester’s mouths. This way, no one can say Israel has done something wrong or that it doesn’t belong to the group. It is just like the other kids!

But the kids don’t want it and want to say it. So, Israel bends rules again, uses bots, tampers with votes. It tries everything it can, to show how much the other kids love it. See? They love Israel! Israel is part of their group! It’s just like, it is exactly like them. And everyone loves it and treats it well and applaud when it appears because Israel is so normal and so loved and so appreciated.

For me, that’s just pathetic. The kind of pathetic only someone alone, unloved and in the wrong can make you feel. The sadness of a spoiled kid, too weak and coward to take responsibility for its own actions. A kid who prefers to hide, to lie, to bend truth and rules. All because it’s too difficult to admit it’s in the wrong.

I don’t believe the public’s votes were the ones given. I am 95% sure they were all rigged. And maybe the same didn’t happen to the jury votes, because they’re less likely to be tampered with by a government that has its tendrils all over the EBU. A government that is so blind and ignorant, to give 12 points to the Greek song. A song about genocide. Yes, they’re this oblivious.

When we reached the final, I was holding my breath too. And I am so, so relieved Austria won. But as many others pointed out, when you end a competition not by feeling happy or satisfied, but relieved… well, then there’s something wrong.

And something wrong is here indeed. It’s the participation of a spoiled, oblivious nation, that uses money and bends rules, because it really REALLY wants to pretend to have a good reputation, when it has not.

The truth is different and you know that, Israel. You know your reputation is not as good as you pretend it to be. You know your 2nd place isn’t the result of an incredible appreciation from all over the world.

You brought that placement, just like you brought your place in Eurovision. Because, deep down, you know Europe doesn’t want you here. You know that it would never invite you on its own accord. You know that, if you remove the anti-booing technology and stop the protests, you won’t hear loud cheers but just complaints and protests.

And not even all the money in the world can buy you the love and appreciation you so desperately crave.

So please, please try again and spend even more money. Bend the rules, use propaganda, lie and bully the other innocent participants, use bots and rig the voting system. Do your worst, to shout down all the voices that don’t want you there at all. You might actually win, if you rig the competition well enough.

And once you’ll have won, please, tell me how does it feel. How does it feel, to hold a cold trophy and pretend not to see the disgust on the world’s face? How does it feel, to buy an empty, soulless victory? How does it feel, to know you are not loved at all?

Please support your favourite artists.

And when in doubt, donate to aid agencies.

[ivymirrorball768]

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 10: If you're willing to choose

series summary: sejanus plinth’s great grandchild (you) gets reaped for the 69th hunger games.

warnings/notes: canon-typical violence

pairing: finnick odair x reader

wc: 4.8k ao3 link

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Hey, little songbird, you got something fine You shine like a diamond down in the mine And the choice is yours if you're willing to choose Seeing as you've got nothing to lose And I could use a canary

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The afternoon of fishing had gone by fairly quickly. You’d started a small fire (very carefully) and cooked up the three fish you’d managed to catch. It was the most anyone had eaten in days. Despite that, it was accompanied by a homesick emptiness as the scent drew you back to District 4.

As evening began, the three of you found yourselves in a similar position to the previous, staring up at the sky awaiting the faces of the fallen.

If Moss’ estimation had been correct, there would be two tonight, both in close succession. They were the designated ‘canon-counter’ as Halle so interestingly named the role. Each of you had adapted a place in your mini alliance: Moss was the calculating, rational one in charge of anything logistical; you were better at finding resources and things to pass the time; Halle was a good watch, looking out for danger and she most definitely calmed any tensions. Her little smile held this all together.

There was an unspoken understanding between you and Moss about her place in all this. As though you both would go to the ends of the earth for her a thousand times over.

Sky alight, the anthem began to play its obnoxious tune. A worry always passed over of it being another ally dead. One you hadn’t seen yet like Evan, Petunia, Amara or Sorrel. After losing 4 members on the first day much of the hope had died out too.

You’d truly gotten to know most of them during the training days, save for District 12 who was late to joining the alliance. There were some you knew better than others, Evan being the main one. Regardless, each of you were interlinked in your own different ways. Moss to Petunia, Petunia to you, you to Evan and so on. The thread tying you all into a perfect little bow.

The first face lighting the sky was someone you hadn’t expected based on their capabilities in training. A career.

District 2: Zinc Masoner

They were tough in training, toned muscles prevailing through those ghastly outfits especially as their stylist seemed to have taken to cutting off the sleeves, no doubt in an attempt to catch the eyes of the gamemakers. People would do anything to stand out even a little, it had evidently paid off with his training score of 10. Not to mention, they were eighteen like most of the other carers which increased the odds.

Well.

Not anymore.

Sometimes it was hard to feel sorry for the carers, so you couldn’t offer much pity. From the little you knew, Zinc seemed enthralled by violence. You wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of their sick agendas. Career academies taught kids to not just kill, but perform and make it as much of a show for the Capitol as possible.

It was almost a good thing they were gone.

The next face was of a younger tribute, closer to Tulip’s age.

District 3: Citrine Selenite

There were no memories tugging at you. Their face somewhat… meaningless? Which was a downright unsympathetic thought. Someone must’ve cared for them.

Halle curled into you, “At least it wasn’t an ally?” words uncertain but hopeful. Her skin crawled at the sight of any dead, regardless of who or how. She needed a light to look to.

Nodding, you gently smiled down at her.

“Yeah, could’ve been much worse. Now hopefully we won’t have to come across all that muscle.” You huffed a laugh before your gaze caught the daisy still in her hair. It was wilting now. That wouldn’t do.

Giving a mischievous look, you stood, extending your hand to her just as you had a few nights former. She took it eagerly, now accustomed to that glint in your eye.

“Don’t stray too far...” Moss’ voice faded out as you guided her through each willow and past the pond. The search wasn’t far until a small patch of daisies were in sight, a singular patch of moonlight beaming upon them.

“C’mere.” Plucking the wilted daisy from her braids, you searched for a new one that wasn’t so muddied. She replicated your action, ever generous.

It was small moments like this that drew away from the reality of it all.

Halle fed perfectly into your mental facade.

Unknowingly an enabler to your escapism.

But it was so entirely worth it with that smile of hers.

In all the bliss and idealism it felt easy to stay clouded, but the transience of this state creeped into your thoughts. It wouldn’t last. At some point you’d run into trouble.

You took her hands in yours once again, pulling her attention away from the patch of flowers as you tried to prevent your apprehension from visibly showing.

“Halle.. If anything happens, we find anyone who isn’t an ally, I need you to run, okay?” She opened her mouth to protest. Even with her age, she wasn’t one to run away. You cut in.

“No- I know what you’re thinking- and it’s not worth it. Moss and I can handle it.” Eyes locked intently on her. “Besides, even if we got separated you wouldn’t be alone for long. We always find each other like how we found Moss yesterday. Okay?”

It was just precautionary and the worry had felt so abrupt.

Halle’s lips were pursed together and her eyebrows furrowed into a frown, but upon seeing your firm look, she caved with an uncertain nod.

You continued on with the instructions, desperate to get the flood of worries aired and solved. “And you don’t approach any tributes except for Sorrel, Petunia, Amara and Evan, anyone else you run and hide. If someone were to spot you, yell.”

Your eyes remained earnestly locked onto her, covering all the bases for potential trouble. The worst thing in the arena is to be unprepared.

“Do you have that feeling too? That it’s been too quiet?” Halle asked cautiously. It was a sense that had been lurking for a while. That you were all well off, more so than typical for a hunger games.

It didn’t even seem that the other tributes were getting much drama, considering only two canons in the last two days. Though the bloodbath had wiped out twelve kids. Honestly, you’d expected more seeing as you all began underwater, but it wouldn’t be “fun” for the Capitol if everyone died in the first 5 minutes, the gamemakers must’ve had some twist you hadn’t seen.

In fact, that was another worry. Between the mounds of grassland snaked various streams going unknowingly deep. They all seemed connected too. If people were surviving with gear underneath there, like water breathing equipment, there was no telling what could swim out of any crevice.

You didn’t want Halle to feed off your anxiety, so you downplayed the worries as usual. “Yeah… I know what you mean. We should be prepared for anything, but… don’t worry about it too much, we’ll manage whatever dangers.” You offered a small, but reassuring smile.

The words were, of course, spoken too soon.

At least you hadn’t gone for an “everything’s fine!” because everything was about to get a whole lot worse.

“Do you hear that?” She whispered.

“Hear what?”

The low hum cut through the silence of the night.

Halle’s eyes were wide as she recalled the hive right by the pond. She spoke your name, dragged out shakily.

“Buzzing.”

Yeah. You heard it at that point. It was hard to miss as the sound got closer and closer.

Neither of you had disturbed anything, so it could only be the gamemakers doing, which also meant that outrunning it wasn’t an option. If they were targeting the two of you, they wouldn’t stop until they got their show.

Mags had mentioned how the gamemakers could do that - genetically modify things to target specific tributes. It was one of the reasons to be careful with shows of… rebellion. If these bees were coming for you, they’d follow you to hell and back before they retreated. You’d have to find another way to fight this.

There had to be a way.

It couldn’t be a be a guaranteed fatality or the citizens would deem it ‘unfair’, as though they weren’t already setting up 35 kids for slaughter this year.

That was somehow justified in their fucked up sense of morality.

You’d seen previous years where tributes would be in compromising situations and the cameras would pan to the one thing that could save them. But of course, you weren’t blessed to witness that at home with the comfort of your family, distantly watching through a screen. You were here, the tribute that the world was screaming at to figure out the solution.

It was all a test.

Look at it like that.

You were good at passing tests because you always took an interest in the little details. It paid off in more creative exams. Now was the time to put that to use.

Any information about past games.

Any facts about bees.

Any nearby plants.

They all swirled around your mind as Halle tugged on your sleeve in panic. You weren’t moving away and the buzzing was nearing, increasing in urgency and volume.

There was no confirmation that these were actually ‘bees’, you’d heard of tracker-jacker wasps in previous games.

It could be that.

Or something entirely new.

Moss had said something about them before.. what was it?

They’d got the girl from 6. Wait, no, the honey had. The honey was poison.

So they produced honey. Wasps couldn’t do that.

Not tracker-jackers. Thank fuck.

You thought some more, taking in everything you’d seen around you today. Spending a whole day at the pond meant noticing things. What stood out?

There was a bush of berries. You couldn’t identify them so you stayed away. An array of exotic looking wildflowers. Yet again, a little too scary too approach. And a couple of frogs here and there but nothing else remotely helpful or notable. Oh, except one of the plants you grew back home. Mint leaves.

There was something in that memory as you recalled when you’d first seen it when you were 7. It was during a camping trip where you’d spotted it in the wild, digging some up to take home. The thing that drew you in was its lovely scent.

That was it.

The scent was said to calm them.

The bees began circling you, no longer in a tightly packed queue, but scattered and ready to pounce at every angle. Once they reached you, they wouldn’t falter - these were cultivated to kill. You grasped Halle’s hand, hurrying her in the direction of the plant, as your free hand tried to waft away the insects.

It was difficult to see through the swarm.

They began landing on different areas of exposed skin, some of the stingers reaching beyond the layers of clothing. You had to assume that these bees wouldn’t die after stinging, like the ones at home did. They’d be stronger, fearless and out for the attack.

That became apparent quickly enough as Halle gasped out a pained cry.

You were no better off.

There were at least 10 on your hand alone, almost 30 on your arms, more on your face, and an uncomfortable piercing at your thighs. They didn’t all attack at once, it was more in waves, intermittent and unpredictable. You tried your best to flap them away, yelping in pain.

The stings were unlike anything you’d felt before.

Yet alongside the pain was a familiar dizzying feeling, the same one the hydrilla had caused. It seemed to be a running theme this year, distortion and delirium.

It made it far more difficult to push through towards your saving plant, especially as Halle became a chain of dead weight.

She wasn’t doing so good with the feeling, writhing at the sensation, letting out stifled cries.

As you edged closer to the peppermint, the torment became progressively harder to ignore, wincing with each breath.

You agonisingly reached forward to pluck some of the plant, swollen hands fumbling.

As you did so, the bees on your left un-dug their points and hovered gently above you.

A sigh of relief.

You were right.

The gamemakers had placed the peppermint here for a reason beyond its pretty leaves. It was practical and saving. The bees were modified to stop their attack once they’d identified the scent.

The broadcast had probably been hinting at this the whole time. Letting the Capitol citizens build up their excitement at your imminent plight. One moment picking daisies. The next, fearful for the potential dangers in the future. And then proving you were worried about the wrong damn thing.

The arena was a threat beyond just the tributes. This was a reminder of that. A punishment for the days of peace. A way to flaunt that they still held all of the power.

You grasped a stem of the peppermint from the roots, the more you could get the better. This needed to be spread all around covering every part of skin as the bees only seemed deterred if they were close enough to the scent.

So you started with Halle, ignoring the weight forming in your forehead as the dizziness took its toll. She was covered from head to toe, black and yellow humming aggressively. They noticeably targeted her exposed skin, whereas yours were spread more upon the clothing. Perhaps they were attracted to the color? Whatever it was, you didn’t have time to mull it over.

You began with her front, as it was the easiest to reach. At this point she was face-up, eyes squeezed shut to block out the swirling sky. It was more difficult to get the bees off than expected. The peppermint certainly helped, but it was slow-working and the damage had already been done. As they hovered away, you could see the swollen injuries littered across her skin. She was in a much worse state.

You’d let that happen. You pushed that thought down, now was the time to be practical, not to dwell.

“C’mon, I need to get to your back, sweet.”

She groaned in response, barely shuffling over. You could just about see a hoard buzzing beneath her. Sighing gently, you rolled her onto her side pushing past the persistent sting.

After another half hour, you were in the clear - the Capitol had enough action for the night - and all that was left was the gentle cricking of grasshoppers and a terrible feeling settling your stomach at the sight of Halle.

There was a haunting guilt eating at you for ever straying from the safety of the willow. Moss had been right to stay there for the night, not follow you for some childish flower-picking. Now Halle was sickly and delirious all because of your carelessness. You’d failed.

The feeling was heavy. Enough to make you almost content in the suffering stings you’d been left with, reminding yourself that this was barely half of what Halle was experiencing - they’d let you off easier.

She barely stopped writhing around in your hold the whole way back. Each time she paused for even a second, you’d check her pulse.

Every. single. time.

Just in case.

She hadn’t spoken a word to you since the attack, a fair few had got to her face, so it was visibly difficult for her to talk. The state was agonising to even see.

As you made it back to the willow, you were met with the horrified expression adorning Moss’ face. At some point during the whole recovery process, a canon had fired. Not belonging to either of you, but it scared Moss enough. Especially with Halle now limp in your arms.

“Bees.” Was all you muttered to them, despite their clear dissatisfaction with the answer.

Exhaustion was overtaking you, words evading you just the same. Even with that, you rested Halle against your lap and declared you’d take the first watch, thankful for the jolts of pain keeping you conscious.

Your hand found her pulse point and laid there for a while.

This was going to be a long night.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It was. Long and restless. Halle had passed out at some point, you could barely call the state sleep, and the pain from the night remained unceasing.

“The stingers are still in.” Moss pointed out.

It was something you hadn’t even thought about.

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes. It’s where the venom goes in.” They looked at you like it was so damn obvious. Maybe there were more bees in District 9 than back home in 4.

“Tweezers?”

“That could release more into your bloodstream. A dull object or just fingernails are best.” They knew a lot about bees then. Moss moved closer to help you remove the stingers from Halle, but not without giving you a look. A firm, serious, point-proving look.

“Learnt your lesson about wondering off then? First the flesh eating plant, now the bees.” They mused.

You sighed. Moss was right, of course. Nothing good seemed to happen when you strayed from the path and this time you’d dragged Halle into it.

“I’ll stick close from now on.”

“…Good.” They let out a breath, hesitating to continue. “I don’t think I can deal with all of this again. Y’know you scared us half to death yesterday.”

“I know I scared her. But it’s not like we could have gone on much longer without supplies- I needed to get them-”

“Not badly enough to page with your life! What you should’ve done was called us over first. You’re not in this alone. I get that you want to keep her safe, I really do - so do I - but sacrificing yourself won’t help her.”

Sacrifice was a bit dramatic, you thought. Reckless might’ve been more accurate. Either way, they had a point. A point Finnick would be echoing just about now. You kept fixating on what he’d told you about looking out for yourself and not carrying the weight of others. It seemed an impossible task, even if it’d maintain some semblance of sanity here.

His advice had stemmed from his games, he hadn’t had an ‘alliance’ exactly, but he’d spared his district partner. Hiding in the bushes when he spotted her tracks, but he didn’t strike then, he just… let her go.

Maybe that hurt him more in the long run because she didn’t make it very far past then - ripped open by some monkey mutt, her guts spilled across the grass. Finnick saw it. The gruesome, inhumane fate she was assigned to. If he’d have killed her beforehand, it would’ve been merciful.

Letting her go was a mistake that the gamemakers were eager to condemn Finnick for. The girl’s torture was simply a cultivated reminder of what the Hunger Games were truly for - brutal animalism.

Perhaps that’s why he was so certain to deter you from your eager little alliances.

Honestly, you’d never forget the look on his face when you first told him you wanted an alliance with District 12 of all places. 4 normally pushed towards the careers, so it was rather left field. He’d scrunched up his face in this half-judgemental, downright shocked frown.

Alternatively, Mags had been more open to the idea of it all. She’d been mentoring a long time, so she was aware that it could be best to have a few loyal allies rather than shaky foundations with a pack of trained killers.

Besides, she’d noticed quickly that there was no changing your mind, just guiding you on your already formed warpath.

And so even with Moss’ direction, you wouldn’t change, clinging to your mother’s poem and the “virtuous soul” you fought so dearly to maintain.

“I’m sorry.”

Was all you had to say . It wasn’t as genuine as it should’ve been, mainly because you didn’t regret the half of it. You three were so much better off with food and weapons even if you had got injured in the process. It could’ve been fatal, but it wasn’t. And so you’d do it all over again if it meant their odds of survival increased.

Halle had scored a 3 in training, which was deadly bad. Her grave had been dug the second it was called.

Moss did a whole lot better with a 7. Higher than you. And they’d certainly earned it by clear their rationality and calculated thinking.

Combined, the group could only get sponsors because you were stronger together. Individually, you’d be entirely without, unless Finnick could really pull some strings. Even then, there was still Petunia and Tulip for your mentors to worry about, so who was to say they’d have the time.

Once you and Moss had finished plucking each of the stingers from Halle’s, still passed out, body, they turned to you.

This wasn’t going to be fun.

To add to the struggle, your injuries weren’t so visible as Halle’s had been, finding the stingers from through the majority black outfit was hell enough. There was no way to get them all out like this.

“I think you’re going to have to take that off? Hopefully they’ve stuck into the fabric rather than your skin.”

They didn’t sound too certain about any of it. The best you could hope was that the cameras would avert their broadcast. It wasn’t likely.

“You might be right. It’s just a little-” You tugged at the top gently, struggling. “-difficult to get it off like this.”

The stingers had practically pinned it down to your body. Moss moved to help you remove your top.

It was a rather uncomfortable sensation to feel the prickles peeling out of your skin. Not all of them detached and a few poking out of your undergarments. Those were not coming off today, thank you.

It took a while to remove them all from your upper half and that wasn’t even the whole lot done. Next was your lower half. You’d felt them buzzing at your legs yesterday, finding the crevices as you’d crouched to reach for the peppermint.

Sighing in resignation, you tugged down the trousers too, but not before replacing your top back on. The sight of your injured form was sickening enough in itself, without the knowledge of it likely being televised to all of Panem.

Hopefully another tribute was doing something more entertaining than this, dragging the Capitol’s attention away.

That was proven even less likely when a familiar beeping ascended from the sky. The mentors had seen enough to know you needed help here.

Moss reached for the silver parachute. This time containing 2 pills and another note.

One each, don’t waste it.

— H & M

The note was from Haymitch and Mags, it was good to see the two working together for the sakes of you two.

District 4 still had all three of their tributes left, so Finnick and Mags were more likely to be jumping around a little, whereas with Haymitch, Halle was his only tribute left. It gave more room to keep an eye on her and you were her gateway to survival. Helping you helped her and it seemed he knew that.

“Can you try wake her? We need to take these and the sooner she’s out of the pain, the better.”

“I agree. How bad is it?”

You gave them a look. The state of you and Halle should tell the answer without any words needed; there were lumps and pricks ranging in shade and severity all over your bodies.

“Yeah- stupid question, I more meant for how mobile we can be today. If you’re both in agony, we’re probably stuck here for a while.”

“We should see how well the meds clear it up before we even think about moving. Besides we’re by the pond, so we have food.” You shuffled slightly, finishing removing the final spikes from your legs before sliding the trousers back on as painlessly as possible.

Moss passed over one of the filled water containers and a singular tablet, before moving over to try and wake Halle. The water you were given was cleaned yesterday using iodine droplets so it was safer than pond murk. The pill was on the larger side, seemingly difficult to swallow though you gulped it down without much complaint.

The effects were faster than you’d expected, but they weren’t necessarily comforting. The humming warmth of your uneven skin was replaced by a sweaty chill as the burning sensation seized for the first time in 11 hours.

Halle awoke with a start, on edge after the gamemakers cruel attack. You couldn’t blame her, you were certainly paranoid all through the night as each flap of the willow in the wind was no longer assumed innocent. They hadn’t gotten their blood with you yet. Hopefully they’d settle with agony.

Her eyes met yours the second she’d come to terms with her surroundings, trying to move towards you. It didn’t work of course, any attempt at movement replaced by an audible cry, so you moved towards her instead. Her swollen hand was reaching for you.

You couldn’t fathom why she’d continue this.

Why she’d keep looking to you for safety when you could offer none. That’d been proven.

There were certain things you weren’t good enough to protect her from. It was times like this you wished you’d prepared when you were younger, trained for the games even if it was a bit illegal. Because then maybe you’d stand a chance and, in turn, she would too.

Guilt radiated off of your skin.

“How are you feeling kiddo?” You pushed through the lingering sensation.

She hummed in response, no certain answer as she wasn’t willing to lie. The question was as pathetic as Moss’ earlier “how bad is it?”, but other words evaded you. Two echoed the halls of your mind. The same ones you’d half-heartedly mumbled to Moss the night before, now genuine and fearful as ever.

“I’m sorry.”

This caught Halle off guard as her eyes widened a fraction at the apology. She hadn’t blamed you yet.

She should’ve blamed you.

You were careless with her life after all that spiel about her safety. It was pathetic and hypocritical.

Halle didn't see it that way, in fact, she seemed hurt that you did. “It wasn’t your fault.” She whispered, voice unsteady. Moss glanced at you, seeing if you’d believe it. You didn’t. You wouldn’t.

As Halle went to continue, Moss stopped her, insisting on her taking the medication first. The parachute had arrived while she was asleep, so you quickly explained. Her eyes traced your skin, finding that the bumps on your skin had settled, no longer looking so inflamed and violent.

Seeing the results, she took a swig of water, swallowing down the pill just as you’d done.

Even so, this didn’t distract her from the matter at hand. Not even as her skin began to burn in that same cold sweat. She pushed through.

“You offered me something special. A moments peace. Even if that doesn’t last… I’ll take it for however long I can.” Halle fidgeted at the uncomfortable sensation and her underlying acknowledgement that this alliance wouldn’t last forever. Or worse, that she wouldn’t. “Us three stick together? No matter what?” The words came out as steadily as she could manage. Her small face crumpled up in need for confirmation.

To your amazement, Moss reassured her first, their response instinctual and automatic. “No matter what.” Their gaze flickered to you, ready to provide Halle with one of your homey aphorisms.

“One of us is going to get the hell out of here, pick as many flowers as we want, maybe even plant some of our own and the others can fly up with the little birdies. Like Cress and Laurel and Cole and Heath.” The fallen allies. “But we stay together, I promise.”

Your breath caught in your throat at their words, reflecting just what you’d told your younger brother. The goodbye where you said it was just an adventure, you were off to see some birdies. A way to hide the truth. It was a lie you told to children.

And that’s what Halle was.

A child.

You knew why Moss was saying it like that, like something you’d say, because, however much it scared you, Halle found comfort in you.

And so Moss was painting death as another one of your fairytales.

One where you’d all fly away to a better place.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Chapter 11: Seeing as you've got nothing to lose

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Fics that feature chronic pain

This week we have 7 fics that include chronic pain, across a wide range of genres. Check them out beneath the cut, and comment or kudos if you like them!

The Fluffy Painkille by thesweetpianowritingdownmylife (6387, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes,

Frumpkin secretly visits Essek, Essek discovers Frumpkin's purring helps with his chronic pain.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Lacuna by Sangreal (94811, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Torture

Essek is captured and tortured by the Dynasty for his crimes, losing his memory and magic. It is a long road to recovery.

Reccer says: I love this fic and honestly it's one of my favorite depictions of Essek with a permanent disability. The story is super engaging too.

Something To Believe In by AwesomeFroggy (108948, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Where Caleb is a librarian, Essek is exiled to Nicodranas, and Jester (as ever) is ready for shenanigans

Reccer says: The thing about self indulgent fics (and this one states that it is one) is that they tend to be written with so much love and comfort that it makes the entire fic better. This is definitely one of them

the handbook of touch by Anonymous (2481, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek has chronic pain. Caleb helps him by massaging his hands

Reccer says: It's hurt/comfort and intimacy and hands - it's great!

Coping Skills by eldritchmochi (251061, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Modern with magic AU, Caleb and Essek are both involved in the local kink scene and meet there, they also know each other from work, smut ensues.

Reccer says: I liked it!

a winter's crest detour by jaskofalltrades (22873, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Essek’s less than anticipated Winter's Crest plans to spend the holidays with his unwanted fiancé get off to a rough start when his flight is rerouted to the middle of nowhere. He winds up trapped with fellow strandee Caleb, who manages to turn Essek’s entire world upside down and might just change Essek’s life for the better.

Reccer says: This is one of my comfort fics. It's like sipping a cup of hot cocoa while it's snowing outside.

Girl, Interrupting by Defiler_Wyrm (1902, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Jester casts sending at the worst possible time and blows a secret wide open!

Reccer says: It's short, sweet, hot & funny all in one neat little package. The chronic pain part isn't made a huge deal of but it's given space to be important.

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring dancing! Whether that be ballroom, pole or anything in between

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

This week's list was also the 69th unique theme! (nice)

[puckpocketed]

29/06/2023 - the Montreal Canadiens select Jacob Fowler 69th overall | y // 1/09/2023 - Inside the Canadiens Draft Meetings, 2023

Jacob Fowler — an introduction, a collection of media

I’ll give you three shooters, and you can tell me if they’re righty, lefty, passer, or shooter. Perfect. Okay. Harvey, Chicago? He’s a passer. He’s a lefty. Lefty. (pause) Perron? Perron’s a shooter and he’s a righty. He’s got a really good shot. Fine? Fine’s a righty. Didn’t see too much of him this year. I’d say he’s a — he’s probably more of a passer, yeah. So you know your stuff. I do. You could probably go up and down the whole USHL and I could name… righty, lefty… Okay, now, how did you… When did you start studying it like that? I don’t think it was ever a ‘study’ as much as just — not even a photo memory — just; you play against those guys and if you want to stop those guys, you’re going to figure out real quick if he’s a righty or a lefty if you want to stop the puck. I mean you can’t… You can’t play your short side wrong if it’s a righty on his one side or a lefty on the other side, so… I think if you don’t know what hands they are, or if they’re a shooter or a passer, you’re not going to be very successful.

[Fowler at the scouting combine, speaking to a Canadiens psychologist] But I’m more interested in the guy who’s really inside, right? Yeah. Tell me about him. Tell me what makes him friggin’ tick. I’ve been, y’know, doubted and… Yeah! Here we go! I’ve had to prove people wrong my entire career. Of course you have, yeah! I sat in my living room in a shirt and tie with my whole family and watched, y’know, five or six hours of the entire OHL [Ontario Hockey League] Draft, the entire USHL [United States Hockey League] Draft and — to never see your name pop up on that screen is… It’s a pretty crappy feeling. To know that you played in the National Championship, you played in the national tournament twice; you’ve won just about every youth championship you could win in North America… To never be talked to, or to never see your name pop up is — it’s terrible. I don’t read too much into the different awards, but… To win the award of Goalie of the Year in this league that I was undrafted [in] — nobody wanted me. There were 16 teams and not a single one of them wanted me. I had to go out and prove that, every single night, that you messed with the wrong guy and Youngstown was just fortunate enough that I ended up in their corner. That feeling sticks with me every day, and… The last thing I want is any organisation to look back and wish they would’ve taken a chance on me because all I’ve done is prove people wrong.

Where do I even begin with Jacob Fowler? Scouts and pundits and fans have taken note — the Canadiens have had a distinct vision with their past few drafts under the Kent Hughes regime: culture and character. Jacob Fowler is yet another piece. In what I figure is typical Montreal media fashion, he's being hailed as the next goalie-of-the-future, as Carey Price come again. Big hair, big expectations, and a big fucking chip on his shoulder — that's Jacob Fowler. Also Jacob Fowler: a goalie who has always performed, always been at the bleeding edge of every leader board, a goalie who makes every net his.

The stats are the least notable thing about Fowler. Plenty of young goalies have put up good stats. It's not about his sv%, for me. It's about all the rest of it. It's the candidness with which he tells his story. It's the intensity of his complexes — borne from years of being overlooked.

Jacob Fowler rattles off skaters and their tendencies and thinks of it as a given that you should know these things by rote if you want to make saves. Jacob Fowler knows how good he is, he remembers every single instance where he'd been ignored when it came time to pick, and he's seemingly simmered this anger for just as long as he's understood it. That's what makes me care.

There's love of the game, and there's this. He's a fascinating case study: undeniably elite, yet somehow passed over again and again; confident and on the verge of cocky; calm, but only in the way the surface of a rip current hides it's pull. He's picking a fight with everyone who doubted him each time he gets in net. He's looking at the yawning chasm of where Carey Price used to be and he's going to jump. Against the searing lights of playing in Montreal? He says, "I don't think I could write the script any better. I want to be a Montreal Canadien, and I want to win a Stanley Cup for them. As a competitor, I don't want it to be easy. I think — I want the bright lights, I want the big stage, and y'know I said earlier pressure is a privilege."

It might all be bluster. It might be a media-trained, canned response. I was convinced.

x | y // x | y

[Exchange between the Canadiens' scouting team] Martin Lapointe: So, Billy, you're saying you would put Fowler ahead of [redacted]? Bobby Ryan: Yes, 100%. Fowler shows up every time and wins. It's, it's like almost — it's crazy. No one's saying Fowler was 'good' growing up. He was the best growing up. He's (redacted goalie) not better than Fowler. Like if we're playing a game right now and I said, "Alright, I'm gonna — you pick your team, we all got..." Vincent Riendeau: We're talking about the NHL today? They're not facing the NHL today. These guys will face them at 24, 25. BR: I know, but what I'm saying... He's ready — he already mastered... He's mastered his position. The other guys haven't. They have the tools. They haven't figured out in their head how to fuckin' win games. This kid does it. He's been doing it since he was like 10 years old. And he wants to do it. [...] We're all working towards the same goal. We're trying to win a Stanley Cup and... I'd want the kid who wins the most. Never been not the top goalie, ever. Ever. Look at the numbers. He's never not been the top goalie in the entire league. Not like — not the starter. He's never not been the highest save percentage in every league he's ever been in. VR: I can't deny it... I can't — but... BR: I just think we're going to regret not taking this kid.

I'm cheering for Jacob Fowler not because I think it's a sure-fire bet — he might never make it, and more promising prospects have fizzled out before — I'm cheering for him because I'm unbelievably excited to see him try.

[lookingfts]

Aww, that was so sweet!

(I must ask--was doing a 69 scene for chapter 69 too obvious? 😆)

Lmao! I didn’t even realize it was the 69th chapter until I was writing the chapter notes. And I just wrote The Pleasured Pen as my 69th Bridgerton fic so didn’t want to repeat the gimmick. Funny that those things happened so close together though!

That drabble was fucking precious how dare you make me grin this stupidly at my stupid lil phone

Lol! This made me grin stupidly at MY phone.

[the-phoenix-heart]

Hunger Games Victor OCs

Sunrise on the Reaping also known as The Destroyer of Victor Headcanons is coming out next March which means I have a limited amount of time to get all my victor headcanons out before then. So for now here are all of my victor ocs, more information on them will be coming out at some point. If y'all are interested in hearing about any of them send me an ask, I am always looking for an excuse to bring them up.

1st Hunger Games: (2) Julius Paxton - 18

2nd Hunger Games: (11) Cob Granger - 18

3rd Hunger Games: (2) Clayton Foster - 18

4th Hunger Games: (2) Helen Payne - 17

5th Hunger Games: (1) Aurelius Morningstar - 18

6th Hunger Games: (7) Joseph Burl - 17

7th Hunger Games: (3) Deci Golding - 17

8th Hunger Games: (10) Farrier Santos - 18

9th Hunger Games: (1) Ophelia Kelley - 17

10th Hunger Games: (12) Lucy Gray Baird - 16

11th Hunger Games: (4) Mags Flanagan - 16

12th Hunger Games: (5) Newton Turbine - 16

13th Hunger Games: (7) Timber Holtzman - 17

14th Hunger Games: (11) Magnolia Tian - 16

15th Hunger Games: (8) Woof Fabrizio - 18

16th Hunger Games: (4) Brennan Murtaugh - 18

17th Hunger Games: (3) Hypatia Lovelace - 18

18th Hunger Games: (1) Sheen Allman - 18

19th Hunger Games: (6) Hafsa Mecca - 16

20th Hunger Games: (2) Bellona Flint - 17

21st Hunger Games: (4) Kaiona Minamoto - 18

22nd Hunger Games: (1) Euphoria Brightman - 18

23rd Hunger Games: (9) Meriweather Wheatley - 18

24th Hunger Games: (11) Ivy Touchet - 17

25th Hunger Games: (2) Valentino Altamura - 18

26th Hunger Games: (10) Raphael Armenta-Moreno - 18

27th Hunger Games: (4) Pearl Cascadia Wake - 16

28th Hunger Games: (7) Florence Bitterroot - 18

29th Hunger Games: (2) Mesa Ambrosius Barros - 18

30th Hunger Games: (11) Seeder Hayes - 18

31st Hunger Games: (1) Venus Ardent - 16

32nd Hunger Games: (8) Paisley Nainsook - 17

33rd Hunger Games: (5) Asterope Martinez - 16

34th Hunger Games: (4) Carrick Manannán - 19

35th Hunger Games: (10) Filipa Oeste - 15

36th Hunger Games: (4) Plover Monroe - 16

37th Hunger Games: (6) Devante Ford - 18

38th Hunger Games: (5) Porter Millicent Tripp - 17

39th Hunger Games: (11) Reese Arrowroot - 17

40th Hunger Games: (2) Artemisia Lyme - 18

41st Hunger Games: (3) Beetee Latier - 18

42nd Hunger Games: (10) Taurus Seleno - 17

43rd Hunger Games: (8) Ariadne Bolt - 17

44th Hunger Games: (1) Acrylic Smith - 18

45th Hunger Games: (11) Chaff Bushel - 15

46th Hunger Games: (3) Wiress Bissette - 18

47th Hunger Games: (2) Brutus Grossolano - 18

48th Hunger Games: (4) Dylan Burbank - 17

49th Hunger Games: (6) Poppy Rustweed - 15

50th Hunger Games: (12) Haymitch Abernathy - 16

51st Hunger Games: (2) Minerva Slate - 18

52nd Hunger Games: (3) Pyro Hoshino - 18

53rd Hunger Games: (9) Sif Fahlgren - 15

54th Hunger Games: (2) Hector Stark - 18

55th Hunger Games: (1) Agate Lux - 18

56th Hunger Games: (9) Grainier Bale - 18

57th Hunger Games: (4) Mariana Acosta-Foley - 17

58th Hunger Games: (1) Passion Diamante - 16

59th Hunger Games: (8) Cecelia Wooley - 18

60th Hunger Games: (7) Blight Whittle - 18

61st Hunger Games: (6) Christopher Mercury - 15

62nd Hunger Games: (2) Enobaria Arsenault  - 18

63rd Hunger Games: (1) Gloss Harding - 17

64th Hunger Games: (1) Cashmere Harding - 18

65th Hunger Games: (4) Finnick Odair - 14

66th Hunger Games: (10) Capri Butcher - 16

67th Hunger Games: (1) Augustus Braun -17

68th Hunger Games: (2) Paris Doré - 15

69th Hunger Games: (5) Celcie Ray - 15

70th Hunger Games: (4) Annie Cresta - 18

71st Hunger Games: (7) Johanna Mason - 17

72nd Hunger Games: (1) Dulce Caballero-Viñedo - 15

73rd Hunger Games: (2) Aeneus Bryce - 16

Notes:

The Victor of the 39th Game, Reese Arrowroot, was assigned male at birth and when they were reaped they were reaped as such. After winning their games they came out as genderfluid, but in terms of Hunger Games situations they fill the function of a male victor still.

Carrick Manannán turned 19 during his games making him the oldest victor to win.

In total there are 37 male victors (or filling the function of male) and 36 female victors. By the time of the Third Quarter Quell there are 30 female victors and 28 male victors left alive.

The first ten victors (with Lucy Gray presumed dead), Florence Bitterroot, Devante Ford, Kaiona Minamoto, Magnolia Tian, Valentino Altamura, and Paris Doré are dead by the time of the Third Quarter Quell.

Poppy Rustweed is the Female Morphling and Christopher Mercury is the Male Morphling.

Kaiona Minamoto is descended from Native Hawaiians who fled to the west coast before the fall of America, as well as being Japanese on her father's side. Hafsa Mecca is Arabic and part of small group in District 6 that still practice Islam. Paisley Nainsook is of Indian descent. Pyro Hoshino is of Japanese descent. Magnolia Tian is of Delta Chinese descent. Obviously there are more poc victors but I thought these names would stick out immediately and I wanted to give explanations.

[sprinklecipher]

Ace Attorney Characters' Prominence In Game Canon vs In Fanfic

I got curious about how the amount of "screen time" Ace Attorney characters have in the games relates to how much fan fiction is written about them, so I crunched some a bunch of numbers related to characters' total in-game dialogue and how often they're tagged on Ao3*

*I acknowledge that neither of these are perfect measures of how much focus the series or fanbase puts on these characters, but they’re the numbers I can get :)

AA Characters With Much More Prominence in Fanfic (vs Canon)**

Here's a table of dialogue/tag totals for the 20 characters with the highest ratio of Ao3 tags to overall game dialogue:

**excluding characters with literally no dialogue

(LOTS more data below the cut)

A lot of the characters in the previous table have very little dialogue, so if you limit to characters with at least 500 words of dialogue, you get this:

(“Karma” is Manfred and “von Karma” is Franziska, btw)

AA Characters with Much Less Prominence in Fanfic (vs. Canon)

On the opposite side, here's the data for the 20 characters with the lowest tags: dialogue ratio:

Characters with Most Dialogue in-game vs Most-tagged Characters

Here’s some more tables, with the first showing the 20 characters with the most in-game dialogue and the second showing the 20 most-tagged characters:

Of note, Kristoph just barely sneaks into the top 10 most tagged AA characters (despite only having the 48th most dialogue), Manfred von Karma is the 16th most tagged character (vs 69th-most dialogue), and, most dramatically, Clay is the 20th most tagged character despite having less than 50 words of dialogue and a dialogue rank of just 165th!

On the flip side, the Judge doesn’t make the top 20 most tagged characters despite having the 4th most dialogue, and Justine Courtney / Verity Gavèlle is only the 109th-most tagged character despite being in the top 20 for dialogue (although the timing of the data collection played a big role for her in this data, since I pulled the numbers fairly shortly after the AAI Collection was released, and, glancing at Ao3 now, her total tagged fics has since increased nearly 7x since then)

Graphs!

For good measure, here’s a couple graphs that show the major characters’ Ao3-tag vs game dialogue data (including vs excluding the main protags, respectively):

The trendline basically gives an idea of the “expected” number of tags for a character based on how much dialogue they have: characters who are under the line have fewer Ao3 tags than expected based on how much dialogue they have, and characters who are above the line have more tags than expected. The further the character’s point is from the line, the farther away the number of tags is from what’s expected (like the poor Judge is VERY underrepresented lol)

Also, for any stats nerds reading this (hi!), there’s statistically a very strong correlation between characters’ in-game dialogue totals and how often they’re tagged on Ao3, R2 = .85, p < .0001. The main protags (sorry, Athena!) are driving a lot of that, however, so if you exclude Phoenix, Edgeworth, and Apollo, it drops down to just R2 = .39 (which is still a fairly strong relationship, all things considered).  

Data notes

For the dialogue totals, I included total dialogue across the mainline AA games (AA1-AA6) and the Investigations duology, but didn’t include PLvPW, since that has its own fandom tag in Ao3. The dataset is one I put together pulling from the AA wiki transcripts

The Ao3 tag data is as of 1/18/2025 (it took me a little while to write this up lol) and is for canonical character tags only

For the curious, here’s the whole data table in Google sheets

Note that there’s tons of identity shenanigans that goes on in AA that made it so that I had to use my judgment a bunch when deciding how to calculate the dialogue and tag totals, so if there’s an alter-ego-type character (or similar) that doesn’t show up in the data set, most likely I grouped their counts with the “base” character they’re associated with.

[acidxshark]

LATER TODAY

We got some more classic Final Fantasy villains on the docket as we continue making our way through the Omega raids in our, uh… [checks notes] 69th FFXIV stream!?

Nice.

Hope to see you there!

[itsawhumpsideblog]

The New York Volunteers Masterpost

Summary: Micheál and Patrick emigrate from Ireland to New York City shortly before the American Civil War. They enlist in the Union Army and fight with the 69th New York, part of the famous Irish Brigade. There, they make friends with tentmates Jack, Ted, and Rory, forming a found family that will stick together through everything.

These novels were a NaNoWriMo project over the course of several years and written quite a while ago. They were read by one or two of my friends, but I liked the idea of sharing them and they are pretty whumpy.

Author's notes

The characters are each based on a Civil War-era song and when relevant, chapters will come with links to the music that goes with them.

Content Warnings for the series overall are: violence, guns, major injury, character death (it's set during a war, so expect the kinds of things that the setting will necessarily entail), physical abuse of a child (but there's Comfort as well as Hurt). Other content warnings will be included by chapter.

Click here to head Back to the Library!

Book 1:

Prologue

To America Sailed O'er

For America's Bright Starry Banner

In The Ranks Of Death You Will Find Him

And Guide Their Way Home

Mister, Here's Your Mule

Soon With Angels I'll Be Marching

In The Prison Cell I Sit

I'd Rather My Son As He Used To Be

Be It Ever So Humble

Shall We Never More Behold Thee?

Historical note: Despite the time and place, there's no racism or sexism in this story and thus no warnings for either. Although both would be historically present, this was a for-fun project I did and frankly, writing racist and sexist characters isn't very fun. There is eventually a single Confederate character who is portrayed sympathetically as an individual, but his cause is not portrayed sympathetically. Since this is the internet and you don't know me, I want it on record that I do not condone anything that the Confederacy stood for.

[sloppypears-ash-sg]

Note to self: make something for hhgregg's 69th anniversary

[spicybylerpolls]

For a REAL spicy poll.

In a Modern AU Mike goes on Hot Ones like Finn. How does his backstage blow job with Will go?

A. Will is enthusiastic about being blown with the spicy mouth

B. Will is intrigued about being blown with the spicy mouth

C. Will is nuetral about being blown with the spicy mouth but allows it anyway

D. Will is reluctant about being blown with the spicy mouth but allows it anyway

E. Will fears being blown with the spicy mouth but allows it anyway because Mike looks so cute in his suffering and crazy together, suffer together

F. Will says "nah suffer alone bitch"

G. They break up because Mike went too far for the 69th time and Will can't take it

Please note that the purpose of this blog is not to be creepy or to make anyone uncomfortable. That's why I created the #spicy byler tag (I will tag all polls with this). If you don't want to see this blog or anything related to it on your feed, please block that tag. Not everyone is comfortable with this sorta stuff, and that's okay.

[ivymirrorball768]

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 9: And the choice is yours

series summary: sejanus plinth’s great grandchild (you) gets reaped for the 69th hunger games.

warnings/notes: canon-typical violence, mention of alcoholism and childhood trauma, implications of suicide.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

wc: 4.5k ao3 link

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Hey, little songbird, you got something fine You shine like a diamond down in the mine And the choice is yours if you're willing to choose Seeing as you've got nothing to lose And I could use a canary

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Loss.

You knew that feeling too well.

It crept far beyond your nightmares, stalking in the waking world too.

See, your Ma always spoke of the family curse, wanting to warn you to stray from potential dangers.

Bad things happened to the Plinths.

She couldn’t even track it back very far. Not when parts of your family were erased from history. There were no whispers of their names, no heirlooms, no memories, no graves.

What lived on was tales and tragedies. Echoes of truth formulated in perplexed metaphors and morphed into something far less torturous. Making beauty from the lows.

The Plinths painted their sorrows as stories.

There were faces you couldn’t preserve and faces you’d never met.

Your Uncle Riggs, for one. You didn’t even know the man had once existed as speaking directly of the dead was a rare occurrence; it was often swerved around in a perplexing riddle rather than an upfront truth.

Little you hadn’t considered the bigger questions, hadn’t ever asked why your cousin only held a ma. Until one day, he was spoken of.

Eyebrows crinkled as you tugged at your father questioning “who?”.

Pa was blunt enough.

Not as elusive as your Ma.

He told you nothing of the man, other than the way he’d died. Tied to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean.

His body found long after his disappearance.

Riggs was certainly not the last. Not even in his direct family. His daughter, Danica, was ill from a young age. Some suspected poison, but that was a far fetched myth because how could she possibly have been poisoned?

Even her ma wasn’t much better off. Aunt Melody was doomed to a similar fate as her late husband. Bound to medication for life. A hefty price to pay in the poorest part of District 4.

That’s wasn’t even the half of it.

And yet you all continued on with your little stories. Imagining it wasn’t ever so bad as it was. Simplifying the details of truth and expanding on any semblance of hope you could get.

You were hardly an exception to the stories, cultivating the most elaborate lie for yourself, one where this was all some big nightmare that you’d surely wake from. One where the arena never came and you weren’t another name on the list of your family tragedies.

You’d sat at breakfast once thinking past that fallacy you’d formed. Staring across at the green-eyed boy, who was evidence that you could maybe somehow survive.

Another ridiculous hope.

“Finnick, did you care about the people you hurt in the arena?”

The question was asked so sensitively and cautiously, knowing it wasn’t a favourable one. You didn’t wish to bombard him with questions of patriotism and honour, but more emotional factors, you needed to be aware of.

His face had flickered through a few different expressions as he processed the words. Horror and regret masked. It glitched through misery, brows pursed together then it morphed into a plastic grin, before it settled on something more genuine and sorrowful.

“They… were kids too. Of course I cared.”

“How’d you do it then? Because I don’t think- I can do it-” The same familiar doubt creeping in. It always did.

Sure, you’d spent most of the time stuck in your own head, avoiding the reality. Smile on your face. Pretending just as you had when you said goodbye to your brother, that maybe you were just off on a little adventure. Off to see the world. Fly away like a bird. But no, the truth would lurk behind you like a shadow and the brighter your sun shone, the more the shadow prevailed behind. They could only exist with the other.

So you’d imagine you couldn’t see it and keep smiling through, but it was getting closer to the day of the arena and you had to know just what you were about to face.

See, one thing was certain, you weren’t going into those games alone. You’d made promises that you didn’t intend to break. And if you kept them, you’d likely die.

Now was time to see if you were capable of breaking them.

“You do it because you have to.”

Finnick’s words were firm as he tried to justify it, not just to you, but to himself. All the questions nobody dared ask before, you had the confidence to.

“Do we?”

There it goes again. Doubting the Capitol’s power. That same defiance your parents had feared. That same capacity for rebellion that flowed deep in your blood.

Finnick saw it in you too. It wasn’t hidden well enough. Not with your comment on the train about the injustice of the masses of food. It was evident from the moment he saw you even. Back in class, lyre in hand, plucking a song that was certainly banned, evident by the sheer panic in your Ma’s eyes.

It was dangerous.

“If you want to live, you need to play by their rules.”

It was a warning. One he’d also been taught. But Finnick was easier to sculpt for the Capitol. Already a perfect canvas, unscathed.

“I’m not certain that’s worth it. Is it really living to be a puppet?”

The question was too real, and that meant you’d have to face fact over your cultivated illusion. You didn’t want that so you forced out a laugh, searched for a memory and joked.

“Pinocchio sure didn’t think so.”

Pinocchio, a story your Ma read the class. He was born a puppet to be controlled, manipulated, a servant to a superior’s whim. Yet he craved to be real and living. To live, he had to be free.

Finnick’s eyebrows furrowed at your clear redirection, but he didn’t dwell on it. If you wanted to spend your last days of freedom living in some mirage, who was he to rob you of it.

But now it couldn’t possibly be avoided.

The emptiness in your head couldn’t cultivate a lie. All it could do was swirl and morph in shades of darkness. No stars in the sky of your mind. The numbness masked all sensation.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

A quiet beeping.

The sound felt familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it. A reminiscent memory lingering.

Eyes opened to see that orange hue of the sky above you, replacing the darkness behind your eyes.

Then pain. Searing through your skin. All the sensations coming back to you, finally feeling again. It originated in your leg, but the ache crept into every muscle.

Agony almost making death seem welcoming.

Your thoughts began to clear, the fog fading from your mind. What were you doing here? Where were you? Let’s start with the simple things. Above you were willow trees. There’s none of these in 4. So not home. You were… laying in grass? It was in your hair, uncomfy. And backpacks. Beside you. Beeping noise. Where was that beep from? You knew the beep. Through a screen usually. It was closer now.

The puzzle formed itself, each piece drifting towards the other, slower than it usually would for you.

The arena.

That’s where you were.

Okay.

You were jolted back to step one when the pain plummeted you out of your thoughts. Sitting up, trying to observe the origin, but it was fairly ineffective, succeeding only in shuffling slightly along, after a crashing attempt.

As you tried to move, you realised the dead weight attached to you as though it was foreign. It didn’t feel like yours anymore. Your leg.

Of course, that’s where the pain was.

It wouldn’t move.

Why wasn’t it moving?

Where were you again?

Arena.

You mentally kicked yourself for forgetting. This was bad. Delirious and bad. There was a lingering feeling you were forgetting something else too. Someone else. Something. Someone. Something?

Fuck.

The beeping. Again. Was that it? You weren’t certain, but there was no harm in entertaining the fact. Looking around for the source, which was increasingly difficult from the position on the floor.

Your eyes locked back on your leg.

A sight so bloody you gagged on your empty stomach. Deep crimson harsh against the green plant.

You couldn’t recall how it got there, what it was. All you could see was the jagged teeth eating at your skin.

You swore some of the bone was showing and there was some kind of side effect, but you couldn’t quite place it. You needed it out.

Using your arm, you hiked up your leg, bringing the worst of it closer in reach as scarlet smeared your hands. It was all sharp, not just the part buried in you, making it difficult to touch directly.

Prying it off would be a hefty task and you just didn’t have the energy for it. The time you had spent passed out had been anything but refreshing, leaving you just as exhausted, if not more.

You were tempted to succumb to any semblance of rest, let it overtake you.

Let the plant eat at you and death find you gently rather than tearing it feebly from you.

But a voice in the distance didn’t allow for that. Someone was calling out, a small voice, a girl. Then another speaking to her, firmer, less timid but equally panicked. The sound made you more awake.

Halle was calling out for you, Moss close behind.

It was almost relieving.

But then echoed a pained sound from her lips as she saw your state, poor girl. It was the first horror she’d had to witness during the games. You’d swept her away from the chaos of the bloodbath, shielded her from the dangers. But now here you were lying weak. How could you protect her if you couldn’t even care for yourself?

It was all a tad overdramatic considering you weren’t actually dying. No, you’d escaped that with your quick thinking. There was a fair amount of blood loss, but it didn’t seem to be getting increasingly worse. It was just that the agony shooting through your body sure felt enough to kill you.

Eh.

You’d be fine.

…As long as you stopped flopping around here like a fish out of water.

An open target.

Certainly the easiest kill.

You were lucky they found you when they did, and that it wasn’t a less owing tribute. One who’d take the opportunity to pry the life from your eyes.

Halle rushed over to you, quickly asking what happened. The words were rushed. She wasn’t thinking clearly enough. A simple observation could’ve told her the answer to your state.

Here you were, lying in a bed of grass just meters away from a pool of water, a plant dangling from your ankle, fairly blood ridden, with newly redeemed supplies evidently from the treasure chest still gleaming in the water.

Moss was far more observant. In fact, they not only noticed the backpacks, but also observed the little parachute before you did, picking it up for you. The source of the beeping. Of course. A sponsorship.

You were thankful then that they were a loyal ally. Especially with your current state. Others would have finished the job by tossing you back into the water and running off with the supplies.

It would be so damn easy. You kept dwelling on that. It felt pathetic.

They opened up the parachute carefully, inside were some tweezers and an ointment. A note attatched.

Clearly you’d won some people over in the last two days, that was something. Gifts were easier to send earlier on in the games, costing less, if people were generous now, it would only deplete later. You were grateful for the time being.

Moss read the note for you, in too much of a state to do it for yourself.

It held a familiar saying.

You catch more flies with honey.

— F

Which was likely meaning to keep up an act. Stay sweet and the sponsors would come rolling in, right?

Somebody had mentioned the honey earlier. Was it related to that?

Oh well, you were too tired to think any more of it for now.

Before you could start treating the injury, you’d have to search for some type of bandage. If none of the backpacks contained one then someone’s jacket would have to do. They began sifting through the backpacks.

Among the three held:

- Two empty water containers. - 7x dried fruit packets. - Some crackers and granola bars. - 2x raw potatoes. - A single torch. - Iodine droplets each. - A roll of wire. - Rope. - A blowgun with a set of ten darts. - A small first aid kit containing gauze, bandages, and some unlabelled pills but nothing to prevent infection, so thank goodness for the sponsorship. - And the daggers, of course.

The food provided would be enough to last two, maybe three days when spread among the three of you. Earlier thoughts about ‘another mouth to feed’ came circling back. You’d have done fine if you’d come into this alone. Had enough resources for longer.

But then again, you couldn’t exactly move on your own. They were certainly needed for now.

Another thing caught your eye; the unlabelled pills. They were… concerning to say the least. In the past things like that had been used in various ways. Mags told you about a poison arena where they had charcoal tablets to puke it all back up. You sure hoped it wasn’t anything like that. The anxious-sick feeling was already bad enough.

You handed the blowgun to Halle - it was best for her to be armed too - then noted Moss looking at the knives intently, you recalled that they’d met Petunia at the throwing station.

“S-switch? Daggers for spear?” The words weren’t very stable, but they got the point across.

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to get this one off my hands after…” They trailed off lost in memory.

It was the boy from 5’s spear.

You swapped weapons willingly. A spear was your preferred choice anyway, it was what the gamemakers witnessed.

Looking back down at your injury, Halle offered to remove the plant from your leg, but neither you or Moss wanted that. You could tell the fear and nausea she was pushing down and she was three years younger than the both of you.

Instead it ended up being a collaborative effort between you and Moss. One would pluck while the other would put pressure and then spread the ointment into the now open wound. They were nice about it, a little firm, but the concern was there, especially through the gory process. It felt good to have someone else sharing the load. You weren’t carrying it all alone.

After the injury had been patched up the air fell silent save for the distant chirping and rush of water.

Just about then would’ve been a good time to have Petunia around. She knew them better than you did and generally held a more sociable energy. Always willing to make friends.

You kind of missed her.

Fine, maybe that was a little understatement.

Petunia was like a walking angel sometimes. Kind and pretty and sort of out of this world. She was the type of person you’d probably have never spoken to outside of this. Far too poised and perfect. But kind. That was why you couldn’t ever hate her. Not even in the way she fawned over Finnick, a little obnoxiously. If anyone was going to, it was good to be her. Petunia was truly beautiful.

And perhaps you lingered on that a little too much too. But it was only natural in a game of competition. She was favourable, so she had the odds. It could even get her home, and you wouldn’t be opposed from anyone from home winning.

Despite how it may appear, friends didn’t always come quite so easily for you. Fairly ridden by your own anxieties. The counter to that was your impulsivity, it kept you going in conversations, running off of little thought, until it was too late to change what was done. That part made you too open, too vulnerable. Or at least that’s what your Pa said.

Due to that, you didn’t quite have many words to offer Moss, other than a hesitang “thank you” through the pain.

“Did you find any food out there?” Wincing as you sat up.

“We saw some rabbits and there was a pond, Halle thought she was some fish.” Moss paused, examining your frame then meeting your eyes. “Can you walk though?”

Oh. You pursed your lips together, inhaling through your nose. Could you walk? You nodded, half-heartedly. There was a doubt there, they could tell, looking at you incredulously. To prove the point, you shuffled up a little, readying your feet to stand. When you pushed upwards it landed you back on the grass rather unpleasantly.

That answered that.

The sun had began to set about an hour ago, the orange hue morphing into a dark blue before settling into darkness.

The only face in the sky that night was of Dove Farwillow, the young girl from District 6 that Moss had witnessed die. You saw the way they tensed when her face appeared, even as they tried to remain composed.

“Tomorrow we head North towards the pond, it’s only about 20 minutes away.” Moss made the choice for you. Setting out to find a comfortable place to rest, but agreeing to take first watch for the night.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

By morning the ointment had began to work its magic, it needed a few more applications before it began to heal over, but it was astonishingly better than the former day. It almost could’ve been done days ago. You whisper-thanked Finnick, when you looked over the injury.

Observing the scenery beneath the willow, you glanced at Halle. She’d taken the spot next to you again, her small form curled up and the daisy from the meadow night still in her hair. She looked so peaceful. You were becoming attatched to her, it was obvious. You had older sisters, and a younger brother, but… no younger sister. Until now. It seemed that’d changed recently.

People were relying on you for safety and survival, a sense of responsibility you’d experienced rarely and only in the most dire of situations.

A memory came upon you.

A not so happy one.

When you were younger there were many an occasion where Pa’s drunkenness would cause… issues. Despite his belief, it didn’t only affect him - it hurt everyone around, like an infectious disease, the spores sneezing on everyone in sight. There were times where he’d get disoriented and angry and careless.

And during those times you had to step up. Keep your little brother shielded from the reality of it all. Create a story. One where none of that was happening. Turn the radio up to full, play a game. Once he was distracted enough you’d creep through the hallway to observe the chaos, check if you had to intervene. He’d stay in a little bubble, tucked away in the safety of your room.

Your priority was always him, trusting Ma would handle herself.

Those nights consisted mostly of slams and crashes and yells, you’d do anything you could to cover the noise. Watching from a distance as the scene would unfurl.

One time, Pa had fallen over onto the cobblestone outside and smashed his face in. It was a bloody sight, broken nose, scarred forehead. Nothing you wished for a child to see. Keeping your brother blissfully unaware was your main fight.

That’s why at the interview when Caesar asked if your family was watching you said you sure hoped not.

Right now you hoped he was at home, safe and unknowing. It’s unlikely, but you could pray.

A canon snapped you out of it.

Looking around to check your allies, and feeling content when you found them all alive. Moss was engaged in their newest masterpiece of a trap, and Halle was still sleeping.

Before heading North you’d decided to set up some makeshift traps with the recourses you’d found yesterday. There was enough rope to get creative, wire was useful for some more sturdy aspects and there were plenty of branches on the willow to be snapped.

Some of the traps were more elaborate than others. The most notable one being placed over the body of water you’d almost drowned in prior. It was deep but didn’t have much width to it, making it easy to fall into. Moss had used their dagger to cut down curtains of another willow tree and layer them out over the water. The tree you all sat under was unharmed, making it look perfectly natural and untouched. That trap was designed for tributes.

Other snares you set up for the rabbits. Even if the traps were unattended, other tributes would struggle to take any caught without falling into a similar fate.

The plan was to set more traps on a path Northward and set up by the pond for the day. If there were fish, that’d solve the problem of food. If there weren’t, you’d head back the same way and hope your traps had caught something.

Once Halle had awoken, you truly began the day the trek not being very far or arduous. On the walk, you contemplated the size of the arena this year. It was likely big considering its choice of landscape. You’d already come across a meadow, the main lake, varied streams and other pools of water. There were even some valley’s in the distance. From what you’d gathered so far the arena was about 50/50 water, more prevalent in some places than others. Despite that, they’d kept it very varied. Thankfully a lot more to work with than that desert one year.

After a while, the destination lay glistening in-front of you, a beautiful pond of water. At a first glance there wasn’t any hydrilla or coral in the water of this one. Which should’ve been a relief. Especially when you spotted the fish.

Halle pointed at them rather enthusiastically, gleefully expressing how she was indeed right about seeing them yesterday.

You smiled at her joy. It was rare in a place like this.

But as you went to approach the pond, you found your feet planted firmly in the greenery.

Something was seizing you in place. It was a trepidation you hadn’t been subjected to since you were young, when your Pa first taught you how to swim and the water looked like nothing more than a raging beast waiting to swallow you whole.

That fear had been surpassed at the age of 6, yet it seemed to have crawled up out of hell and implanted itself back into your soul.

Water seemed petrifying. As though death was staring you in the eyes. The ripples no longer soothing, but instead a promise of something sinister lurking beneath the surface and luring you in.

You wouldn’t be stepping a foot in that pond. Not today. With that intermittent sting in your leg that seemed to never stop. A reminder of the choking feeling as liquid flooded your lungs as you gurgled final breaths.

The spear would be out of the question then.

Moss seemed to notice something was different, but didn’t press it only giving an observational glance, before continuing on with their snares.

Standing here wasn’t an option either. Fish were within view and what use would a district 4 tribute be without being able to snatch them up. So you swung the backpack off your shoulder, ruffling through it before settling on the items of choice. Next, you snapped off a sturdy branch from the nearest tree, ready to compile your resources.

What you needed was a fishing rod.

The rope would have to do rather than string. Of course it wasn’t ideal, but there wasn’t much to be done at this stage. Without yesterday’s injury someone may have sponsored gear but at this rate you were getting too needy and they wouldn’t help until anything “dire” happened. That’s what Finnick had explained. Sponsors were often… sparing. Needing gratefulness or desperation to inspire them to send tributes help.

Borrowing one of Moss’ daggers you carved a small whole through the end of the snapped off branch. It was thick enough not to crumble. The first step was to thread the rope through and tie it off. Many loops and knots were needed to ensure stability. The rope would certainly be sturdier than string but the risk of it all detaching was high. Caution needed to be instilled early on.

Once the two had formed together to create - realistically - a stick with a tail, you cut the wire in three places.

Interweaving the pieces would be sturdier than relying on one.

You began platting them together in a hefty line, the work being much harder without the proper tools and leaving the occasional prod at your fingertips. As long as you didn’t accidentally shove the wire through your hand, it’d be fine - a little poke was nothing you couldn’t handle.

Next, the wire was bent into a candy-cane shape finally forming something reminiscent of a hook.

There was a small curve on the opposite end too, allowing the wire to be threaded through the end of the rope, and latching on to the fibre.

You tugged it a little to check it was upholding itself.

After another half hour of refinement, it was somewhat reminiscent of a fishing rod, despite its bulky nature. It’s do.

The most notable downside was the lack of reel, which would mean that lots more strength and caution would be needed when removing the fish from the water. That unfortunately also meant a net was needed. Taking some more rope, you began on that.

The whole task was time consuming to say the least. Halle had gotten bored of the wildflowers and began helping Moss a while back. There were snares surrounding the area. If any tributes came across us, a damn good trail had been left. You’d have to be careful.

The rest of the day was spent fishing. You applied the ointment to your leg for the final time, yet it seemed to have healed up quickly enough.

Nobody questioned why you didn’t use the spear. Thank goodness. That was a conversation you weren’t ready to have. The thought alone ate at you as the water had always been a comfort until now.

It shouldn’t have been.

Not after the boy from 10 drowning beside you.

Argon.

Every now and then you recalled the name.

Closing your eyes in anguished thought and somehow regretting that you’d taken time to learn most back during training.

You knew far too many names for fallen foe.

Chapter 10: If you're willing to choose

[allaboutcalgary]

Welcome to Calgary,

Getting around the city is relatively easy, thanks to its comprehensive public transportation system operated by Calgary Transit. Here's an overview of the different modes of transportation available and their respective costs (as of my last knowledge update in September 2021, so please check the official website for the most current prices and schedules: https://www.calgarytransit.com/).

Light Rail Transit (LRT): Calgary's LRT system, known as the CTrain, consists of two lines: the Red Line (Tuscany-Somerset/Bridlewood) and the Blue Line (69th Street-Saddletowne). Trains run frequently, usually every 5-10 minutes during peak hours and 15 minutes during off-peak hours.

Buses: Calgary Transit operates numerous bus routes that cover the entire city. Buses typically run less frequently than the CTrain, so make sure to check the schedule for specific routes.

On-Demand Transit: In some areas with lower ridership, Calgary Transit provides on-demand service. You can book a trip through the My Fare app or by calling the Calgary Transit call center.

Fares (as of September 2021):

Adult (18-64 years old):

Single fare: $3.50

Day pass: $11.00

Monthly pass: $109.00

Youth (6-17 years old):

Single fare: $2.40

Day pass: $8.00

Monthly pass: $79.00

Seniors (65+ years old):

Single fare: $2.40

Day pass: $8.00

Annual pass: $145.00

Please note that children under 6 years old ride for free when accompanied by a fare-paying adult. You can buy tickets at ticket vending machines located at CTrain stations, select convenience stores, or by using the My Fare app.

In addition to public transportation, you can also make use of taxis, rideshare services like Uber, and bike-sharing programs like Lime Bike. The cost of these services will vary based on the distance and time of your trip. Calgary also has a network of bike lanes and pathways, making it a bike-friendly city if you prefer to get around on two wheels.

Remember to check the official Calgary Transit website for the most up-to-date information on fares, schedules, and routes. Enjoy exploring Calgary!

[ashflamethewaffleangel]

Congratulations! You are the 69th note on the “reblog to make Valvert kiss” !!! 💋

CACKLING— thank you very much its an honor to have done so

[nimuetheseawitch]

for WIP wednesday i want to ask for 69

and i want to ask about noir!Rodney but also gender swap

Nice.

Now, because I just realized that some of my fics have notes at the beginning that I didn't exclude from the word count, and at least one of them is 3 stories in a trenchcoat that haven't been edited together, I have chosen to start not at the beginning of the doc, but at the beginning of the actual real sentences.

The 69th word in noir!Rodney is "him," but the sentence is possibly the most noir sentence in the entire piece:

Rodney poured himself another glass of whiskey and let the hypnotic sound of the rain take him back in time.

The sentence with the 69th word from the start of the first version of the gender swap fic is pretty appropriate:

If anyone knew that she'd stopped listening to the Major's orientation lecture because she was too busy staring at her ass, she'd be a laughingstock.

This is from yet another start of the fic (I need to arrange some plot and make some decisions, obviously.)

Major Meredith McKay was a Canadian Air Force pilot and scientist, which felt like the farthest thing from a US Marine, and now she was supposed to command a whole horde of them.

The overall vibe I'm getting from these two is definitely "hot mess." And that's what the WIP is right now. But it'll get there. I have so many ideas...