#that no one except the capitol big shots benefited

[nicksolemnlyswears]

THE MENTOR

summary: coriolanus takes it upon himself to show you the ropes of pleasure

pairing: young! coriolanus snow x capitol! reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, fingering, female masturbation, mention of male masturbation, breast play, talks of virginity loss, perv! coriolanus, slight cum play, corruption kink is very prominent LEAVE ME ALONE IM PREDICTABLE, MY MIND IS ROTTEN

a/n: i'm back again! didn't expect it to be so soon but alas i cannot control myself. this can be read as a stand alone or as a prequel for my other one shot ways to destress. i'm working on part 2 for ways to destress but have this while i finish it <3

requests open ✨

Coriolanus steals glances at you from his spot on the desk. You sat cross-legged on your bed, deep in thought, biting the eraser end of the pencil in your fingers. He's formulating ideas about you instead of focusing on the report he has to present to Dr. Gaul tomorrow.

It's the first time you've invited him into your family home since you became a couple four months ago, and you're all alone in the big mansion. He can't help but wonder if anything will come out of it.

Despite being in a serious relationship for four months, Coriolanus has only kissed you. Nothing more and nothing less. It was one of your conditions because he's your first boyfriend.

'Let's take things slow, Coriolanus,' you had said back then, looking at him with those puppy dog eyes you'd mastered.

You're a timid girl. It's why you've never truly had a boyfriend before. None of the other boys you've been on dates managed to coax you out of your shell enough for them to pursue the relationship, except for Coriolanus. He took his time with you, becoming your friend, gaining your trust, and finally asking you out.

It wasn't by chance that he took that route to court you. He's been watching you since you stepped into the classroom last year. The annoyance he felt about being a teaching assistant swept away as a brand new opportunity sat in front of the class like a good student.

He recognized you and the crest on the gold ring you always wear. Your family is wealthy, and they have a great reputation amongst the Capitol's elite. It would benefit him to associate himself with you and, by proxy, your family.

Coriolanus felt luck was on his side when you approached him with questions about the homework the Professor handed out. You served yourself in a silver dish platter for his hungry ambition.

One year later, he has you wrapped around his little finger.

He'd be lying if he said he doesn't have feelings for you. Just as he infiltrated your life, you infiltrated his heart. You're sweet and kind, book smart, and beautiful. He'd be a fool not to feel anything towards you.

When you groan about the essay you're supposed to write and the crease between your eyebrows deepens, Coriolanus steps in.

"It's time for a break, don't you think?" He gently asks, closing your notebook and putting it to the side.

"I guess," you sigh, looking up at him with a pout.

You've been distracting yourself from Coryo's penetrating gaze and general presence in your personal space. You had invited him with the pretense of a study date, seeing as your body asks for something else.

It's time you give Coryo more. He's been incredibly patient with you, just as you'd asked. Still, your heart pounds in your chest at the thought of him touching you like no one ever has, and the knot in your throat prevents you from saying it out loud.

Coriolanus sits on the bed with you, cupping your jaw in his hands, brushing his thumb across your cheek. You lean into his touch with a soft smile, leaning into your body's desire, and you kiss him. It's enough to spark the salacious thoughts in Coriolanus's head.

He deepens the kiss by swiping his tongue on your plump bottom lip, begging you to let him in. Just like he taught you, you open your mouth, letting his tongue lick the inside of your mouth, tasting the cherry drink you love so much.

The corners of Coriolanus's lips slightly curve upwards; he's so proud of himself and you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you, and he willingly leans into you, hugging your hips.

Finding the position mildly uncomfortable, he lifts you to straddle his lap. Immediately, you tense under his hold and pull back. It's instinctual as your thoughts suddenly surface and cause you to overthink.

"Are you alright?" Coriolanus asks you with feigned concern. He knows the reason why, but you're important to him. In his eyes, you're perfect for him, and he doesn't want to screw things up.

"I'm just nervous," you admit, diverting your gaze to his collar and fixing it.

You're tired of feeling behind in life when your friends talk about sex. You're tired of that ache inside you that you can't satiate. You're tired of pulling away each time Coryo makes any move on you when all you want is to feel his skin against yours.

It's only been a few months, but your feelings for Coriolanus Snow run deep. Many will call you a fool for falling into the claws of first love, but it's a mistake you must make on your own.

If anyone is to take your firsts, it'll be Coriolanus.

"Do you want me to stop touching you?" He asks, loosening his hold on you.

Coriolanus is ready to learn the extent of your inexperience. It's been a topic you've only briefly touched upon. Yes, you're a virgin. Has anyone touched you, though, or given you any sort of pleasure?

"No!" You exclaim too forwardly, embarrassing yourself. It spurs Coriolanus, though, as he softly grins. "I mean, no. This is okay. You can keep touching me," you say as you return his hand to its designated spot in the curve of your hips.

"Darling…" he calls, but your gaze remains on his chest as strands of hair cover your face, "Look at me."

When your eyes meet his steely blue ones, he continues, "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Why are you asking me this?" You ask with your eyes wide and nervous.

"I just want to see how much you know and how far you want to go. I'd feel terrible if I somehow make you uncomfortable or force you into anything you don't want," he responds honestly. Keeping you close to him is his priority, and if controlling his urges is necessary, then be it.

"Oh…" you sigh. You close your eyes tightly before opening them again and responding, "Yes, I do."

"Tell me how," he says. It's not really a question but a command.

Your face burns as you disclose information that is normally private, "I, um, touch my clit."

"I see," Coriolanus nods encouragingly, squeezing your hips, "Do you think about me?" He asks teasingly, giving you a hard time.

The more he asks, the more you relax onto his body, too stuck in your head to notice.

"Sometimes," you admit with a soft smile.

Coriolanus is satisfied with your answer for now. In the future, when he asks again, he needs the answer for it to be always. He'll be halfway there by the end of the 'study date.'

"Has anybody touched you before?" It's the one question he's been most curious about.

"No," you shake your head.

Coriolanus is over the moon. His thoughts get more and more deranged with your confession as his dark side begs him to take away your innocence and corrupt you to his liking.

"Would you like me to?" He asks, grasping her jaw with two fingers to force her wandering eyes to settle on his. He hasn't even touched you properly, and you're breathing heavily. He wonders what's going on in that pretty little head of yours.

You're praising whatever god exists, thanking them for Coryo's forwardness. You don't think you could've gotten the words out otherwise.

"Yes," you answer shyly as excitement builds inside you.

With a short kiss, Coryo places you by the top of the bed, propped up by your many pillows. Your comfort is his top priority today. He wants you to come back for more, after all.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he whispers in your ear as he kisses your cheek.

Coriolanus feels your shaky breaths as he kisses down the expanse of your neck. He takes it as a good sign when you stretch it out more for him.

"Coryo," you bite back a moan when he finds your sweet spot.

He gently bites into your delicate skin, leaving a soft red mark. Coriolanus can't visibly mark you yet, or he'll cast a wrong impression on your father. So, he settles for red flowers that will disappear by morning.

His fingers expertly unbuttoned the crisp white blouse of the university's uniform. He lifts his head briefly to look at the pale pink bra that deprives him of your breasts. It's pretty and innocent, like you.

"You're beautiful, darling," he says when he spots your nervous eyes waiting for his approval.

Dipping down once more, he mouths the mounds of your breasts, leaving wet kisses on your skin. Coriolanus wraps his mouth over the cups of your bra, teasing you, introducing you to his touch.

Sitting up, he helps you shrug off the white blouse. He kisses you to distract you from his hands that wrap around you, unclasping the bra. He's pleasantly surprised with the neediness you kiss him with. Poor thing must've been wanting this for a while.

Coriolanus pushes you back down with his weight, never breaking the kiss. He slides your bra off and throws it into a corner of the room. Pulling away, he looks at your bare chest, licking his lips lustfully.

You deprive him of the sight when you insecurely cross your arms to cover yourself. It peeves Coriolanus to no end. Surely, you must know what a sight you are.

"Don't cover yourself, darling. You're beautiful," he says, grabbing one of her hands and kissing her palm.

"T-thank you," you stutter out, letting your other arm fall to the side.

Coriolanus finds it precious how polite you are to him. How compliant you act with a couple of kind words from him. That's just how he likes it.

Coriolanus begins with a simple touch. He traces a path down your neck with the pad of his finger, trailing it across your skin and up the swell of your breasts. He circles the stiffening peak of your nipple, giving it a cheeky tug.

He's happy with the moan that falls from your lips despite him barely doing anything. Taking it up another notch, he leans his head down to latch onto your nipple, the fat of your breast filling his mouth.

Coriolanus releases a moan of his own as his tongue flicks over your nipple, and you arch your back into it. However, he's unhappy with the lack of contact from you.

Reaching for one of your hands, he places it on the back of his head, urging you to touch him. This is only fun if you want to touch him as much as he wants to touch you.

One hand digs into his hair, and the other wraps around his back. Coriolanus goes back and forth between one breast and the other, incorporating new things for you. Kissing, sucking, pinching, squeezing, biting. He's confident he's made the right choice with you when you respond beautifully to one of his bites.

"Yes, Coryo, more," you whine and beg when he tugs on your nipple with his teeth. For that, he leaves a pretty purple bruise on your chest. A reward for himself.

"That's it, darling. Don't hold your pretty moans from me any longer," Coriolanus purrs, finding your red-bitten lips.

Coriolanus involuntarily ruts into you when you slip your tongue into his mouth. His girl was turning bolder by the minute; all she needed was to be touched.

No one can shake the innocence off you as you moan and widen your eyes when you feel his hard cock press into you. Coriolanus is straining against his trousers and has been for a while now. This whole situation is a fantasy come to life and it makes him throb.

He must control himself. He cares about you greatly, and with that level of care comes control. Control over himself and you. Three years ago, he failed to control himself, and he failed to control Lucy Gray. He can't afford to make the same mistake. There is more at stake now.

Realistically, Coryo has barely touched you, and you're a needy mess. There is heat coursing through your body that is settling in between your legs. Your panties stick to you with your arousal, making you fidgety.

Reminds you of your clenched thighs whenever he's near. How you've abused your clit thinking about Coriolanus and his affectionate ways that are reserved solely for you.

"Coryo, please," you beg, cupping his face in your hands.

"Tell me what you want," Coriolanus pointedly says. He enjoys your innocence, but he wants to taint it so desperately. He needs to hear you talk dirty words in his ear.

"Touch me," you say, pressing your lips against his.

Coriolanus keeps his hands firmly on your waist, not giving into your pleas until you speak clearly, "Where do you want me to touch you, darling?"

"Please, touch my-my cunt," you stutter your words as your face burns again. You hide your face in his neck, brushing your lips delicately against it.

You're the complete opposite of him. Soft when he's rough. Innocent when he's wicked. Quiet when he's outspoken. What a perfect pair you make.

You gasp when he feels you through your wet panties. Coriolanus traces up and down your covered slit, teasing you. You're moaning into his neck, his foreign touch overwhelming you.

With a kiss to your temple, Coriolanus sits up between your spread thighs. He lifts your skirt, bunching it on your middle, preferring to leave it on your body. Your center is exposed to him, the wet patch on your matching panties clearly visible to his eyes.

You watch him as he bites his lips and rubs his hands up and down your thighs. He's preparing, reminding himself to keep his shit together. If it were up to him, he'd be fucking you silly.

"Let's take these off, yeah?" Coriolanus slips your ruined panties off your legs without waiting for your response. He kisses up your ankle to your knee as he settles between your thighs.

Your thigh is next as he nears your wet center. Your arousal glistens as it clings to your pussy lips. You look down at Coryo, propped up on your elbows.

"Darling, why don't you show me how you do it?" He asks, amused.

When you make no move, he grabs your hand and places it between your legs, encouraging you, "It's just you and I."

"Okay, Coryo," you whisper.

Biting your lips, you press your middle finger on your pink pearl. It's still safely hidden between your lips. Coriolanus observes how your cunt reacts to you circling your clit. Thick clear liquid drips from your opening, and he catches how you gather some of it to spread on your reddening clit.

The closer you get to your peak, the faster you go, your index finger joining your middle finger as you broaden your movements. Your head is thrown back with whines that join the 'shlick, shlick, shlick' of your wet cunt.

Coriolanus forces himself out of his trance of seeing you play with yourself from up close. He hadn't caught himself talking you through it, speaking lewd words to make you cum. Quick as a snake, he grabs your wrist to stop you.

"Coryo, no. Why'd you make me stop?" You whine, lifting your head back up.

"I'm not done with you just yet," he responds sternly, releasing your wrist. Today you'll only cum around his fingers.

"Oh?"

Coriolanus dips his finger between the lips of your cunt, gathering your arousal in his finger. He's finally touching you like you asked. He taps on your clit that's peeking out of its hood, making you lightly flinch at the suddenly burst of pleasure.

"Have you ever fingered yourself?" He shamelessly asks before he attempts to slip a finger into you.

"No, it feels uncomfortable," you respond, figuring out where this is going.

Coriolanus holds back a smile. It's like he'd won the lottery and gained this beautiful, pure creature, untouched by anyone. You're his to taint to his image so you always remember his touch.

"Will you let me give it a try?" He pretends to ask. If you say no, he'll still try to convince you.

"Mhm," you hum, "Be gentle."

"Always," Coriolanus quips, locking eyes with you.

Coriolanus coats his middle finger with your arousal before he pushes his finger in. He circles your clit to get you to relax due to your constant tense state.

"I need you to relax for me," he speaks up, kissing the inside of her thigh. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you finally soften, "There we go, princess."

Coriolanus distracts you by swiping his fingers up and down your slit, so you don't know when he plans to slip it in. Finally, his middle finger dips into your opening, parting your walls. "So fucking tight," he groans when he finds your walls want to push him right out.

You let out a shaky gasp when you feel his long finger breach your entrance. It's been years since you last tried. It doesn't hurt, to your surprise, but there is a particular feeling of your cunt accommodating his finger.

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologize, biting onto the back of your hand when he tentatively starts pushing his finger in and out.

"It's nothing to be sorry about. It's a good thing," he reassures you. His cock will feel so snug when he fucks you for the first time. He's hit a gold mine with you.

Your walls squeeze his finger like a vice, and he finds himself reminding you to try and relax. Carefully he pumps his finger in and out, light clicking noises coming from the wetness of his finger and your cunt.

Slowly your expression of discomfort morphs into one of pleasure, aided by his thumb on your clit. Curving his finger, Coriolanus searches for that spot inside of you. He knows he's got it when you moan out his name and fall back on the bed, grabbing an old teddy bear from your bed and biting into it. You're dripping on his hand.

It's so much he debates on adding another finger. He has to be careful, though. You're so tight, and he wishes to reserve the thin barrier of your innocence for his cock to push through. There's no doubt it'll tear with the size of his cock.

A token of that much value should be taken properly and not in a flurry of lust. Girls like you have been taught to take care of it until the right man comes along and Coriolanus is confident you feel that way toward him.

God, his cock is so fucking hard. He must be leaking pre. Desperately, Coriolanus rolls his hips on your mattress to relieve some of the tension. This is your doing, and you're not aware of how much you're torturing him.

Coriolanus tries to push his pointer finger into your cunt, but it proves difficult, especially when you flinch away and grab his wrist to stop him.

"Stop, it hurts, Coriolanus," you cry and try to wiggle away. One finger is enough for you. It's far more than you could ever do on your own.

But Coriolanus doesn't like being told what to do, and he hates it, especially when people he considers close call him by his full name.

"I'm sorry, darling. I'll be gentle, but you have to let me if you ever want to take my cock," Coriolanus reminds you sweetly.

"Promise me," you say with a blush caused by his crude words. He's right. After today, you'll surely want him to go all the way with you, and neither will have the patience to go as slowly as today.

"I promise. Here, bend your legs. It should be better." Coriolanus arranges you in such a way were your pretty cunt is fully exposed to him, spreading to reveal your pink and tight opening. He kneels between your legs, rubbing your clit. "Remember to relax."

Coriolanus starts all over again, circling your pretty clit and fucking one finger into you. Once you close your eyes, losing yourself in the pleasure, he grabs hold of your thigh to keep you in place and pushes the tip of his second finger.

He ignores your complaints and rubs your clit more furiously, subduing your pain and replacing it with toe-curling pleasure. He thrusts shallowly until your cunt gives way for him to slip the two fingers entirely.

"Good girl, see, that wasn't so bad," he says in a slightly mocking tone you don't catch.

"Thank you, Coryo," you moan as your hand reaches to the one on your thigh.

Fuck, you sure know how to feed into his ego. He's heard that phrase so many times when he helps you with your homework. How will he keep his cock in his pants when you say that to him in the university library?

He fucks you steadily with his fingers adding a little force to make your tits jiggle. You hold onto the teddy bear, moaning softly. It's so easy to tell when you're about to cum like this. Your walls squeeze him so tightly he believes you'll push him out.

"You're going to cum, darling?" Coriolanus asks you, pulling you out of your bubble.

"Yes," you sob. This orgasm feels so different from your other ones. Like it comes from deep within. Maybe it's the penetration of Coriolanus's fingers, or perhaps it's just him doing all the work that does it for you.

"Let me hear you," he spits out as he curls his fingers more, hitting the spongy spot inside of you over and over again till the sound of your juices squelching echoes in the room.

"Coryo, Coryo, Coryo," you gasp, repeating his name with a cry and holding tightly onto his free hand.

He keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his fingers and hand wet with your cum. You nudge him with your foot when it's too much, your words jumbled in your tongue.

You lay limp on the bed, body flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. Your hair sticks to your forehead, and your skirt is wrinkled and skewed on your midsection. You believe you look like an outright mess, but to Coriolanus, you couldn't look more perfect than in that moment.

As he removes his fingers from your fluttering hole, a string of cum stretches between his fingers and your cunt. Impulsively, he brings them up to his lips to taste you.

"Coryo, no, what?" You pipe up, embarrassed.

"Mmm," he hums in pleasure. He's on the verge is saying fuck it and fucking you tonight. You taste so divine he wants to get in between your pretty thighs to clean you all up, "Have you never tasted yourself?"

"No, I've never thought to," you murmur, scrunching your nose.

"You taste good," Coryo says, plunging his fingers into you again, making you whine from oversensitivity. "Try it."

Not giving you a choice, he presses his index and middle fingers to your lips. You part them slowly, dipping your head to take them into your mouth. The ring on Coriolanus's middle finger clicks against your teeth. You look at Coryo as you suck them, searching for his approval.

"Good, right?" He asks when he pulls his fingers back.

You shyly nod, surprised by your behavior. Your trust in Coryo is so immense that you don't question his actions. Anything he'd ask you would do.

Coriolanus smiles widely, cupping your face to kiss you. He's proud of you and of your progress today. He's happy to have someone to mold to his needs as well.

He's complacent at the moment, seeing you act shy, and he has no problem being delicate, either. Still, a part of him can't wait to have you in his grasp to properly bite and squeeze and spank to his desires. To have you teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure along with him.

"Coryo?" You call for him as he stands from the bed. You grab his hand, pulling him back down.

"Yes, darling? Is there something wrong?" Coriolanus questions, scanning your body for any discomfort.

"I want to…" You want to touch him. His hard-on is clearly visible on his red pants, and you would be a liar if you said you weren't curious as to how it looks.

"To what…" He wonders. You point down to his crotch, where you can make out the outline of his erection. "You want to suck my cock?"

"Yes, I want to make you feel good," you nod with your puppy dog eyes, and he has to will himself to say no. It's a difficult task when you're desperate to fall into his hands.

"My darling girl, don't worry about me. We'll get around to it another day. It's late," he softly chuckles, kissing your cheek. You've run out of time, soon your parents will be home. They probably don't want to find you being fucked by your boyfriend. "I promise you can help me next time, yeah?"

"Promise," you smile.

His eyes flicker to your lips to memorize them. He'll be sure to picture them tonight when he's fucking his fist. He thinks you'll be a good little cocksucker because of the way you eagerly sucked on his fingers earlier.

If not, he'll teach you.

Who knew he'd become a mentor of sorts once again.

*sips tea* thank you for reading! i really hope you liked it!

*starts choking on blood* damn it coriolanus, not again! before i go just know i'm working on ways to destress part 2! i will be back, this is not the end! *head thumps on the table*

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Guess who continues to make themself cry with their own ideas? This gal :)

This idea has been in the drafts for a long time and because @crazycriter was interested I’ve finally decided to finish this behemoth of a post and the sequel in my drafts I’m debating on posting as well. I hope this lives up to your expectations in ways my big fic likely will not when I (hopefully) post it somewhere next week 💜

A few months ago I made a biiigggg AU post starring Lamina and Treech, and in most of them they’re siblings because family angst and all that. But them being in a romantic relationship opens up whole new doors!! So lets talk about one of my 25th Hunger Games AU’s, and I’ll expand on another one like I said I would in that past post. This will not be random AU blurbs like the past post, this will be a pretty detailed plot synopsis because I may write this if there’s enough interest. Only after I’ve both posted the big one-shot and finished The Losing Battle We Won’t Stop Fighting, because I try to limit myself to actively working on 3 WIP’s and I’ve got one lined up to fill one of those two spots already. With that out of the way, let’s go! :)

Basic concept:

So I had two main ideas for an alternate first quarter quell. The one that’s relevant for today’s barrage of my madness is the AU where the tributes are picked from the families of the victors, to show that even the strongest cannot protect their loved ones from the Capitol’s might (and monstrousness). Well, how about we change that from being unable to protect their loved ones, to being unable to protect their lovers. The only exception is if said lover is also a previous victor, because the 75th games was the first time they broke the promise that victors wouldn’t have to go into the arena again. To truly hammer in the message, the victors won’t be mentoring this year. Instead, the gamemakers are going back to the original system where the top performing academy students mentor the tributes in the hopes of winning a monetary prize. Previous victors are not allowed to even see their lovers, let alone talk to them. As for what kind of tributes will fight in the games this year… Pretty much all the victors stay far away from love the first few years after their victory, because the deep sea of trauma that comes with watching 23 kids die in the span of days and knowing that you’re only alive because of their horrific fates isn’t very conducive to building a healthy relationship. Therefore, the people now eligible to be picked as tributes are all pretty far into adulthood, the wives and husbands of the victors of the first few games, mostly.

The part where LumberKids/LumberLove/Lameech/Treemina becomes relevant:

District seven has only had one female victor so far, which is Lamina, and she and Treech were in a relationship before she was reaped. If there are any gay victors, they don’t have a boyfriend anyone knows of. Her talking about him in her interview and her mentor sending people to district seven to interview Treech during the games are a big part as to why she won, since it gained her a whole bunch of sponsors. They’re both well-known and beloved in the capitol, and the fact that the people love their love story so much is the only reason Lamina wasn’t forced into the more… unsavory side effects that come with being a victor (side eyes Finnick Odair I think it’s pretty clear age isn’t a dealbreaker for them). Because of this, Treech is the only possible male tribute for the Quarter Quell, and due to the before mentioned usual mental health break from dating he’s also the only minor who becomes a tribute. The person closest to him in age is over 25, and due to him being from the poorer area (headcanon) of one of the poorer districts (canon), he’s also the least well-fed. He doesn’t live with Lamina, and despite her offering he refuses most of the benefits her victory gave her because he’d rather give it to his family. All the other tributes are living with their partners, and thus healthier than Treech is. Their brains and bodies are fully developed and they’ve got a lot more life experience than he does, so all the odds are against him here.

The reaping is a sombre affair, because for a brief moment the district rejoiced at not having to send in their kids for once. It’s still horrible, but even the girlfriends/wives that are now gonna have to fight to the death are okay with it because at least they had a good run on earth and, for one year, their daughters are safe. But then they remember that there’s only one boy who qualifies for the reaping, and the mood sours instantly. All the other districts get to send in adults, but they’re still gonna lose a child. It’s not fair. There are still two bowls, and after the oldest woman (roughly in her forties) volunteers, the escort tries her damnest to be cheery as she swirls her hand in the bowl for the guys. It’s almost like she’s trying to prolong the inevitable, because there’s only one piece of paper lying innocently at the bottom and there’s only one person standing on the right side of the podium. It’s impossible for her to not feel any sympathy when the only sound filling the square is Lamina’s muffled sobs. After she finally reads out the name, Treech steps forward, far past the initial horror. Reality hasn’t quite crashed down on him yet, but the claws have been sunk into his soul for long enough that he’s dissociated.

He looks like he does during the reaping in the movie, but while the escort gives out her little speech tears do shimmer in his eyes. More due to Lamina’s obvious distress and his inability to console her than the fact that he’s probably going to die. He feels… numb, on that front. It doesn’t quite feel real. When the escort takes the hands of the tributes to raise them in the air, Treech stares blankly for a second before wiping the tears from his face and raising his chin high because he knows how the games work. Again, Lamina won partially due to the sponsors he helped her get. If there’s anything he learned from watching her games it’s that if you want to win, you have to be interesting. If you’re not, people will only bet on your odds of winning, and those are decidedly not in Treech’s favor. Especially since his age is going to be a stigma that’ll make people hesitant to bet on him. No matter how skilled he is, the simple fact that he’s so young will hang over his head. He’ll have to twist the odds he does have control over to balance it out. The one advantage he has is that he’s the only tribute that the capitol already knows and cares about, and they really like him. He’s a capitol favorite, despite seemingly having very low chances of surviving even the first day in the arena, let alone actually winning.

For the opening ceremony, the district 7 stylists lean into the nature aspect of their industry rather than their produce. The female tribute, who I’ll call Ascaia, wears a long dress made of colorful leaves and flowers. She gets a flower crown as well. Treech, on the other hand, has a less flashy outfit. Green pants and a green, sleeveless top that look like they’re made of leaves. His arms are covered with what looks like vines, and his outfit has subtle golden elements to give it a little pop. On his head is a golden laurel wreath, a symbol of triumph and victory. Two nature spirits, one bold and wild, the other calm and peaceful. They catch attention immediately, and after the ceremony they’re introduced to their mentors.

Treech’s mentor ends up being Pliny “Pup” Harrington, who somehow met and befriended Lamina during one of her visits to the capitol, though Treech had never met him before. Pup pulled some strings to switch assigned tributes with another mentor so he could give his friend’s boyfriend the best help he could possibly get. Not that the other student minded switching, given how disastrous everyone perceives Treech’s chances to be. Pup tries not to get too attached, but they end up becoming close friends by the time the week is up. Aside from Pup passing messages between the two lovebirds, they discuss strategy both in the game and out of it. Pup’s dad has clout because of his position in the navy, and Pup is fully using that to his advantage. People jump at the chance of getting in his good graces, so quite a few sponsors warm up to the idea of supporting him, although most are still on the fence. They may be swayed by the training scores, and that’s where it gets a little difficult. Treech has to decide how to approach these scores, and he has to decide carefully. On one hand, he can play fully into the “underdog destined to die soon” act that he cannot escape no matter what he does by getting a score around 2 to 4, but that risks putting off the sponsors who don’t want to invest in tributes that have no chance of making it. Or he could lean into getting sponsors by getting a high score and risk putting a massive target on his back, which is a horrible idea because his whole strategy is to play the long game. Stay hidden, away from fights, and sneak around. Prepare to use the deteriorated state of the last remaining tributes to his advantage at the end of the games. It’s a lot harder to stay out of danger when people are actively hunting you down. Especially because a lot of the other tributes could body Treech no problem when it comes to raw physical strength. So, he and Pup decide to go with the middle option and aim for a mid score. Not low enough to turn off sponsors but not high enough to really stand out. I’m not sure at what point training was implemented, but for the sake of the story I’m gonna say there was a massive technological development in the 15 years between the 10th and 25th hunger games so training is pretty much just like in the 74th and 75th games.

During training, Treech spends most of his time at the survival stations. He’s already good at climbing and fire-starting because he’s from district seven, but the rest is mostly new. Most tributes gravitate towards the weapons stations, but Treech ignores them in the interest of remaining as far under the radar as possible. The second and third day the weapons stations are empty enough for Treech to use them in short bursts, mostly the knives (at Pup’s suggestion, since they’re very common and versatile). He deliberately flubs the ax station, balancing it so that he’s good enough to be believable (since he is from the lumber district) but bad enough to not be considered a threat. The private session comes, and Treech needs to choose one skill to show the gamemakers. It’s a tough choice between the edibles, axes, and climbing, but since he doesn’t wanna risk straining his muscles too much he goes with edibles. They saw him climb plenty during the open training sessions, as it was his way of not losing his muscle strength without showing all his cards to the other tributes. It lands him a solid 6, showing sponsors he’s not hopeless without being outstanding enough that other tributes will pay more attention to him.

Lastly, it’s time for the interview. The only real advantage Treech has is that, again, the capitol already knows him. They loved Lamina, in part because they loved her relationship with him. He was central to her story and instrumental to her victory, and the Capitol adores him for it. And Treech milks it for all it’s worth. Most of his interview is spent talking about his life back in district seven after Lamina’s return, and his short stories about their hijinks with their friends leaves everyone aw’ing. He makes sure to also build up his own personality, sharing things about him that aren’t necessarily connected to Lamina so he comes off more genuine instead of making this sound like a shallow attempt at profiting from his girlfriend’s victory. So he’ll mention carving wooden figurines for her and shows everyone a small wooden box he made in the capitol as a gift to his stylist, to both reinforce his love for his girlfriend and showcase his individuality. It works, because Lamina won the 23d games (at 15. Treech is 16-17 during the 25th games) so he’s got a lot of room to work with. Their story happened recently enough that it’s still fresh in everyone’s mind, but long enough ago that it’s mostly smoldering coals for Treech to reignite without it feeling like a rehash of this sick reality show’s previous ‘plotlines’.

Treech manages to successfully recapture the hearts of the capitol citizens, and he becomes a favorite to win. Now he’s done all he can with his time in the capitol, and he’s a few hours away from going into the arena. Pup informs him that all the victors have to watch from back home, set on the stage so the entire district can see their reactions to their lovers fighting for their lives. In response, Treech carves Lamina one last figurine. A heart laid on a bed of dahlias and roses, symbolizing eternal love. From the top of one of the arches of the heart, a small bouquet of hyacints and poppies cascaded slightly over the edge. Hyacinths represent sorrow and regret, but also forgiveness, whereas poppies symbolize remembrance. The message was clear: “Our love is eternal. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time together, please forgive me for leaving you so soon. I love you.”

Just before Treech is taken to the arena, he gives the figurine to Pup and asks him to give it to his girlfriend for him. Pup agrees to give it to Lamina, but only if Treech promises he’ll do whatever it takes to be the one leaving that arena alive. Not just for Lamina, or for Treech’s family and friends back home, but for Pup as well. Treech promises to do what he can, and they both know he can’t do much more than that. They hug one last time, and then Treech is escorted to the arena.

Will he keep his promise? Will he live? Will he die in the first 30 seconds? Will he go insane? I know, but if you want me to write this as an actual story I’ll keep some details to myself :D

[heather-chandlers-weirder-cousin]

I just finished The Hunger Games and I just wanna say that hearing Finnick’s story puts Glimmer in a whole new light.

Like, even if she didn’t realize it, there was no way for her to win in that scenario. 

[lothirielswanmarvel]

—XANDAR—

“Yo, Groot! Keep up! If you run into another wall because of that damn game, I'm recording it and showing it to Drax.”

“I am Groot.” The tree spat without looking up from the small screen.

We strode across the open pavilions of the Nova capitol. The city was magnificent; bright squares, water fountains, massive spirals of buildings. It had a futuristic tinge to it—like Star Trek, but I couldn't remember what that was.

“Have you ever tried replacing that thing with a book?” I asked.

Rocket gave me a weird look. “What's a book?”

My eyes widened and I looked away without a word. Rocket had a certain feel to him...a passive aggressiveness. But he cared. All of the snide comments, the special attention he took to Groot, it was because Rocket cared. I could work with that.

“Isn't there anything else you're interested in, sweetie?” I looked over at Groot.

He barely glanced up from his machine. “I am Groot.”

“Woah! Have some respect, young man! When we get back to the ship, I'm rinsing your mouth out with a bar of soap,” Rocket’s lip curled up in disgust. “No more spending time on Uncle Quill’s screens.”

“I am Groot!”

Rocket translated, “Oh, that's true. He likes cheesecake. But cheesecake ain’t gonna redeem you for what you said.”

I shrugged as we started to ascend the ramp. We had a marvelous view of the square, and the pools of water shimmering like a blanket of diamonds under the heat of two suns. Two shadows instead of one followed me up the slope instead of one.

I pressed a finger to my lip. “Cheesecake is good. There’s got to be other things that you like...have you ever thought of starting an environmental awareness club or something?”

“I am Groot.”

“Wait, you did? Drax ate the berries you invited? That's rude.” Rocket said.

We stopped at the front of a building.

I shielded my face from the sweltering orbs in the sky. “So what are we doing here?”

“Negotiations, kinda. We meet with the Ravagers every now and then, show off the cool junk we got, exchange information.” Rocket replied.

I walked in beside him, followed by the sounds of Groot’s video game. The inside was dark and full of neon lights. We ended up at a booth in the corner; Rocket insisted that Groot was too young for the bar.

I crossed my legs beneath the table and felt my shoulders straighten—I must’ve done it a lot, before. It felt natural, even though it seemed too professional. Groot’s game continued to make imitations of explosions.

“Mute that thing, would ya?” Rocket snapped. “Jeez, should’ve given you Quill’s headphones.”

I glanced over at the screen. Groot’s console shone bright against the windowless room. “What are you playing?”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket made a face. “Some stupid game called ‘Galaga.’ Quill and his stupid human crap…”

I leaned over. “If you use your branches to hold it up, maybe it’ll be easier to use the controls with your fingers.”

“Don't encourage him!” Rocket complained.

A waiter came over with crystals for teeth and neon-colored hair. Rocket ordered a few drinks and a slice of cheesecake for Groot. Groot took my advice and angled the screen so I could watch.

“You’re really good,” I said, impressed. “He is awesome at this, did you teach him, Rocket?”

“I am Groot.”

“You learned it from me…? You watch me when I'm flying the ship,” There was a crack of emotion in Rocket’s voice.

“I am Groot.” He offered me the controller.

My eyes widened. He barely looked up from the game since I’d arrived. Now his tawny eyes stared into mine, warm and tender against the exotic streaks of color across the room.

“Thank you, I don't think I’ll get anywhere near your high score though. What do I press again?” Groot pointed out the right buttons and the screen came to life. Little dots started flying around the screen.

—AVENGERS COMPOUND, 2018—

“Get that one—yes yes yes!” Thor’s arms tightened around me from behind as I pressed the buttons on the controller.

“You get so excited when we play this, it's adorable,” I smiled as Dragon Age: Inquisition came to a cutscene.

“I love spending time with you,” Thor replied, pressing a kiss on my neck, “and killing demons together—” another kiss, “and fighting dragons together.” his beard tickled my collarbone.

“ Honey ! We have company.” I hissed, resisting a smile as he nuzzled into my neck.

“It’s cool, Ms. Angie. You guys are like my OTP,” Ned was a friend of Peter Parker’s, who sat on the loveseat next to him with the other controller. “Besides Wanda and Vision—but I'm still upset that Clintasha never happened.”

Parker’s face scrunched up. Shuri was sitting down by the coffee table, eyes trained on the screen. She could probably solo everything, but for now, we were kept around as a few disposable lackeys. “Templar Ned of the Silver! Get your head in the game! Chaplain Korg of the Seven Kingdoms, diverge on that lava demon!”

Thor’s new friend from space made of rocks overpowered the other half of the couch, while the caterpillar-like creature Meep curled up in the armchair.

“Hey Thor, can we vote in Admiral Shuri of Dragonstone as our new Asgardian general? I think she’d be good for the job,” Korg replied. A loose pebble fell from his shoulder when he talked.

“Keep up the pace, ladies! You’re making the picture of Agent Carter in my room cry!”

“Hmm. We’ll consider it,” Thor’s lips brushed against my ear. “What do you think, Khaleesi?”

“I think Shuri would overthrow you and take the throne.” I admitted. As I muttered the words, Shuri let out a battle cry as the screen exploded with light.

Thor nodded. “Fair enough.”

Shuri shot up from the ground, waving her controller in the air. “Victory, peasants! Yes!”

I was suddenly buried in a tidal wave of muscle as Thor peppered me with kisses. I couldn't help laughing. “Thor, stop it—”

—*—

I looked up from Groot’s game. “This is so cool—you should show it to Rocket, I'm sure he’d love to know how to play.”

I returned the game back to Groot. Rocket shot me something close to a thankful look as Groot scooted closer to him and started pointing at the screen.

What's an OTP? And who the hell is Templar Ned of the Silver?

I thought about the faces that had flashed through my mind, grasping at the memory before it could be locked away with the rest. I mulled over them for some time until the table shook.

I looked up. A thin man dressed in red leather sneered with crooked teeth from the other side of the booth.

“Kraglin,” Rocket greeted him as he leaned back on the seat.

“ ‘Ey Fuzzy. Where’s Quill?” Kraglin glanced at me. “And who’s the fairy?”

“Quill is busy.” Rocket rolled his eyes as if it were an obvious question.

“Doin’ what?”

“Grocery shopping. He pulled the shortest stick,” Rocket snapped.

“And the fairy?” Kraglin’s hair was piled up on the top of his head, topped with some kind of red attachment. It was like he added the extra inches on purpose, to appear more intimidating.

“Fairy?” I asked.

“Yeah. You got the face of one—like those elvy dudes on Alfheim,” Kraglin’s eyes narrowed with skepticism.

“This is our new recruit. Found her floating around in the middle of nowhere.” Rocket answered.

Kraglin nodded. He glanced down at the table when he asked another question, “Did...did Nebula get that hat I sent ‘er?”

“I am Groot.”

“We know, you have a low opinion of hats.” Rocket sighed at Groot.

“It's not a hat. It's a beanie,” Kraglin said defiantly.

“What the hell’s a beanie?”

“Something soft you put on your head!” Kraglin’s hands crumpled into fists on the table. “Did she like it?”

“How the hell should I know! Nebula hates everything. Enough with the interrogation, already.” Rocket stood on the cushions so he was eye level with Kraglin. “What do ya got?”

Kraglin started to admire the tips of his gloves. “The Ravagers got some shiny things...some secrets too.”

“Shiny things?” Rocket leaned forward, greed glinting in his eyes.

“What secrets?” I asked politely.

“Forget the intel! Show us the goods!” Rocket complained.

From the look on Kraglin’s face, the “goods” weren't as good as he claimed. I tried to think—I didn't have much to work with. I still barely knew the Guardians, and even if I did have my old memories, there was nothing valuable about them.

Except for what Peter told me…  

“You’re speaking to someone who keeps a bomb in a box.” I said, straightening in my seat as I felt all eyes on me. “The Guardians already have a fine collection of shiny things.”

“Collections can always grow,” Rocket pointed out.

“Secrets can be more valuable, and lead to other shiny things.” I said. My voice stayed light and calm and neutral—it was activated on instinct. “From what I’ve gathered in the time I’ve spent with the Guardians, the Ravagers are one of our closest contacts.”

“Contacts?” Kraglin shot Rocket a shocked expression.

“It's a big galaxy. We have friends in high places. But we will not deny our close relations with the Ravagers,” I finally leaned forward, capturing Kraglin with my eyes. “If you tell us what we need to know, the Ravagers may benefit greatly. Our victories are our traders’ victories.”

I had managed to capture Groot’s attention away from his game again. Rocket and Groot gaped at me. Part of me was shocked: someone taught me how to bargain. Not even that: I could slay with words. Was I a politician?

Kraglin struggled for words across the table, “Yeah, but…”

He already gave me the leverage to seal the deal. “I’m sure our other companions, including Nebula, would be grateful for your contribution.”

Kraglin sat there for a minute, his foot tapping underneath the table. Then he caved. “Alright. We got some shiny things, but we found somebody… a shiny man.”

Rocket and I exchanged a look. “There’s some rumors about him. He’s been sniffin’ around the galaxy. Don't know what he's up to...but he may be guardin’ a heap of units somewhere. Or he’s lookin’ for one. Either way, we get the feelin’ that there’s some money in that lead.”

Rocket whistled. “We hit the jackpot! This is better than any casino I've ever been to.”

Kraglin unfolded a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and slid it over the table to me. When I reached for it, he caught my gaze.

“Be careful with that lead. There’s a reason us Ravagers haven't pursued it ourselves. And tell Nebula…” He swallowed and glanced at the counter. “Tell ‘er that ‘er nails look pretty.”

I nodded, finding myself smiling sweetly as I handed the slip to Rocket. He kissed the paper and stuffed it into his suit.

Kraglin stood from the booth and nodded to us. “Looks like you lucked out there, Fuzzy.”

“Damn right I did.”

Kraglin looked at me. “I wasn't talkin’ about the lead.”

[everything-is-by-design]

(They Long To Be) Close To You

Female reader. Some original content with the ‘special’ witchiness and whatnot (similar to the Lucifer story I wrote). This is another series that I want to continue. Love me some Cassie. Getting better at writing him. Harry Potter references included within. I really can’t tell if this is terrible or not. Smut in part 2. Anyway, enjoy! Xo

Word Count: 5.7k

Castiel x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, feels, hints at/some smut.

Reader is from an ancient coven of witches known as the Astras (original content there). You’re living with the Winchesters. Chatting with Sam and Dean about your abilities in the library. Castiel shows up and finds out something about you that will change everything.

  Your name: submit What is this?

  You’ve been hunting with the Winchesters for the last few months. You’d met them while you were having a face off with a demon. You were a witch and had a unique grimoire that contained a spell that could allow you to exorcise demons just by touching them. That was obviously a threat, so they came to kill you and take the book. The brothers were tracking the demon and came to your rescue at the last minute. However, you were pretty confident in your magical skills, and took the demon down from one touch. Black smoke had puffed from its meat suit’s body as it was sent back to hell. You remembered the boys staring at you in disbelief, guns still raised as if they were not sure of you still.

 You had told them that you were from a lineage of ancient witches who kept the balance of nature. You were very clear to elaborate on the fact that demons weren’t natural and that they had been killing off your family line. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

 “Look, you saw what I can do. If I was going to kill you, I would have. I don’t hurt humans. You know, unless they try and hurt me first,” You had said, hands still raised. They slowly lowered their guns. They took you out to a diner and got your whole life story. You’d been hunting down demons for a few months, going relatively unnoticed, but there was a big bad. The one who was responsible for the death of your brother. The boys decided to help you, knowing the loss of family all too well. After finally defeating the demon, and saving their lives in the process once or twice, the Winchesters offered to take you in. You had nowhere else to go, so you obliged.

 Now, you helped them with their hunts; doing research and taking down nests of vampires, packs of werewolves, wendigos, djinn, sirens, you name it. You became more skilled with your magic, bordering on nearly omnipotent. You were untouchable and an asset to the Winchesters. Nothing could penetrate your intense façade. Nothing except him. You’d never met an angel before, assuming God didn’t actually exist. The boys always talked about their best friend, Castiel, but you had yet to meet him. Until that night.

  You and the boys were sitting in the bunker’s library, taking a break from researching. Sam was reading a normal looking book and Dean was on his laptop with his headphones on. You pondered to yourself what he was doing, but with Dean it could range from looking at car videos to busty Asian beauties. You decided not to question it, but silently hoped that he wouldn’t get too excited while you and Sam were still in the room. You were reading The Hunger Games, nose buried in it completely.

 “Is that any good?” Sam asked, looking up from his coverless book. Dean was still pretty distracted by what he was watching.

 You nodded, “It’s pretty brutal but it’s really good. The movie didn’t do too badly, but they made Katniss really broody. I mean, in the book when she first comes to the Capitol, she’s relatively friendly when she’s trying to get sponsors. JLaw made her seem really angry. I mean, I know why she’s like that. I’d be angry too if I had to fight to the death on live television, but still.”

 Sam smiled, clearly amused by how passionate you were by your book. He tapped his finger on his book. “I’ll have to give it a go. I’m working on A Dance with Dragons right now.”

 “Is that what you’re reading right now?” You asked, wiggling your finger at his book.

 Sam’s cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, “Uh, no. I, uh, I’m reading about your lineage.”

 You tilted your head to the side, “Where the hell did you find that?”

 “I did some digging,” He said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “Is all of this true? I mean, can I ask you questions about it? Is that weird?”

 You hesitated, a little nervous that he may judge you after learning the truth. But this was Sammy, one of the nicest and most understanding people ever. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. You nodded, “Go for it.”

 Sam shifted in his chair, clearly excited. “Uh, okay, so you have basic superhuman abilities?”

 You nodded, “I can lift the Impala pretty easily. I lost my keys under there once and had to get them. Don’t tell Dean I did that.”

 Sam laughed, “Okay, what else?”

 “Do you have a knife on you?” I asked. He looked worried momentarily, but fished in his pocket and retrieved one. He handed it to you and you drew the blade down your arm. Blood flowed out for less than a second before the wound healed. “I can also heal you too if you were injured.”

 Sam looked a bit confused as to why you’d never done that for them before.

 You held up your hand to answer him, “I didn’t know you very well then, and hunters get a bad rap for killin’ witches.”

 Sam nodded, “Fair enough. What else?”

 “My sense of hearing is matched with that of a vampire’s and I’m pretty durable. My spidey-senses are on point too. I can also see things that aren’t really there.” Before he could ask, you honed in on your powers, and closed your eyes. You opened then and Sam leaned back a bit in shock. Your eyes were glowing a very light rouge. You pointed at him, “I can see the colours in your aura. Kinda murky actually. Like they used to be brighter but are sort of dull now.”

 You blinked and your vision returned to normal. A question had clearly popped into Sam’s head and he drummed his fingers anxiously on the cover of the book. He cleared his throat, “Can you see hellhounds, and reapers, and…angel wings?”

 You hesitated but nodded anyways, “Yeah. I mean, I’ve seen the first two. I’ve never met an angel, so I wouldn’t know about that one.”

 Sam moved the conversation along, noticing your discomfort. “Okay what about telepathy?”

 You frowned, “Some can, and some can’t. For me, it’s more psychometry than telepathy. I can read people; their past, present, and future by touching them. It doesn’t happen automatically though. I’d need to focus.”

 It was like Sam’s inner child was peeking through. He was so excited that he was talking to someone with ‘superpowers’ that wasn’t trying to kill anyone. He smiled gleefully and you couldn’t help but grin back. “Okay, I guess this one is rare but what about telekinesis?”

 His book started levitating in response and he marvelled at it. He quickly grabbed onto it, making sure Dean didn’t see. “I’ve also got limited manipulation over the natural elements. I mean, I can’t harness them all at once. I’d have to use one at a time. But it all feeds into the telekinesis thing, ya know?”

 Sam nodded, “Reality warping?”

 You scoffed, “Negatory. I’ve never heard of one of us being able to do that. I think the closest we can come to that are illusions.”

 “What do you mean?” Sam asked, leaning forwards in his chair a bit. You flicked your fingers and a whisp of pink light flew out to the empty space on the table behind Dean’s laptop. The light shuddered and in a puff of smoke appeared a tiny orange and black dragon. Sam’s eyes widened in surprise but then narrowed as he studied it. “Is…Is that a Hungarian Horntail?”

 You laughed, “You’re such a nerd.”

 He gestured to it defensively, “Well, you made it! You’re obviously a nerd too.”

 Sam’s raised voice caught Dean’s attention and he took his ear buds out. You waved your hand and the dragon dematerialized. Dean frowned at Sam, “Dude, what’s your problem?”

 You snickered as Sam pointed to where the dragon once sat. Dean moved his computer to see what the heck Sam was pointing at, but when he saw nothing, he gave Sam an ‘are you going crazy’ look. Sam looked at you for help, “Come on, Y/N. I look like I’m insane.”

 You sighed but kept the grin on your face. You flicked your fingers again, but this time to the open space that lead to the library. More light and smoke whirled around the room but instead of a dragon, a dementor appeared. Sam laughed while Dean shot up out of his seat. “Y/N, what the hell is that?”

 The dementor hovered harmlessly in the room. You stood up and approached it, hearing Dean suck in air. You passed your hand through the being and then waved at it. It vanished. Sam smiled, “Yeah, you’re obviously the nerd. It’s a creature from Harry Potter, Dean. Y/N was just showing me what she could do with her magic.”

 Dean held his hands up, “Okay, whatever. Just keep that shit out of the bunker. What else can you do?”

 You looked at Sam who gave him the rundown, thankful that Sam left out the part about you picking up Baby. Sam turned back to you, “So, is that all?”

 Both boys were sitting and staring at you unflinchingly. Dean was resting his head on his crossed arms on the table and Sam was leaning even farther forward in his seat. You gaped a bit, surprised that they were more curious than scared of you. “Photo and umbrakinesis, and truth manipulation.”

 Dean looked a bit confused so Sam elaborated, “She can manipulate light and darkness, basically.”

 “And what? Make people tell the truth? That’s kinda cool,” Dean smiled impishly.

 You raised a finger, “Truth manipulation only works on humans, not supernatural beings unfortunately. It’s done by touch.”

 Sam looked a little nervous, “Have you ever done that to us?”

 You frowned, “No, that’s a little invasive.”

 “Can you try it out on Sam?” Dean offered.

 Sam whacked him in the arm, “Dude, why me?”

 Dean shrugged and moved around the table, holding out his arm. “Ask me anything, Y/N.”

 You hesitated but held onto him. You tried to think of a good question. Something embarrassing but you needed to start off simply. “Let’s take it slow. Do you trust me?”

 “Yes,” He said instantly. “But you didn’t need to use your mojo on me for that to be my honest answer.”

 Warmth filled your heart. You moved onto your next question, “What do you consider me as?”

 “Family,” He responded quickly again. “Come on, Y/N. You already know these answers. Give me a good one.”

 You giggled at a thought that always bugged you. “Do you like dudes?”  You felt him resist against your will. He really didn’t want to admit that. Dean was a man’s man, but you had often found him flustered around abnormally pretty guys, and even found him checking them out from time to time. Dean made a face, “That’s not…”

 “The more you resist, the more it will hurt,” You insisted. Sam’s brows were raised in curiosity and his lips had parted a little. You saw Dean struggling, so you backed off. It wasn’t fair of you to make him say that out loud if it was hard for him to admit to himself. If the roles were reversed, you sure as hell wouldn’t want to be forced out of the closet. You asked another question, “How many dirty magazines do you have in your room?”

 “Fifteen,” He said and then instantly covered his mouth. You and Sam laughed in unison. Dean looked at you incredulously. “Okay, look, it’s not as bad as what some other guys have.”

 “Sure, Dean. It’s not like you get laid all the time or anything,” Sam scoffed.

 “Are there any in the Impala?” You asked.

 “No,” Dean said, frowning. “I have more respect for Baby than that.”

 Your smile faltered when you asked the next question. “Are you afraid of me?”

 “Used to be, when we first met. I’ve never seen anyone take down a demon like that. That…that was almost like angel power. I didn’t know what to make of it or if you needed to be put down. But you’ve saved our asses more than once and when we got to know you, that little bit of fear went away.” Dean said, face soft and kind.

 You released him and tried not to cry. “Okay, I think that’s enough for today.”

 You stood and walked past Dean, touching his shoulder once before leaving the boys behind in the library. On your way to your room, you felt the air shift. Immediately on your guard, assuming it was a ghost or demon, you lit your hand aflame. You turned, ready to fight but smacked into someone. That someone had you up against the wall in an instant with an arm at your throat.

  You tried to get your bearings. You looked into a pair of crystal blue eyes that were filled with offensive emotions. He was really handsome, with pink skin and raven black hair, but you were more or less focusing on trying to breathe rather than fawning over your attacker. You felt something sharp poking at your gut and assumed that he was armed as well. He held you back easily, which surprised you, seeing as you had super strength.

 “Who are you?” He spat at you, voice gruff.

 “Get off!” You said, pushing on his hold. His arm shifted from your touch. He repositioned himself, noticing that you were stronger than the average human.

 “Who are you and what are you doing here?” He demanded, pressing harder into your throat.

 “If you don’t get off of me, I will make you get off,” You hissed.

 Before you could do anything, the boys ran down the hall, guns raised. They lowered their weapons when they saw who was holding you. Sam spoke urgently, “Cas, let her go.”

 The man named ‘Cas’ looked at you and then back to the boys. “Are you aware of the kind of energy she is giving off?”

 The boys looked a bit shocked. Dean piped up, “Cas, let her go. Now.”

 “What is she?” Cas growled.

 You continued to push against him. You sputtered, “I’m a witch, okay?”

 Cas shook his head, “No, witches don’t radiate this kind of energy. What are you?”

 You groaned against his grip. You hadn’t been specific to the boys about what kind of witch you were and that demons weren’t the only ones who had tried to wipe you out in the past. “I’m descendant from the Astra coven.”

 Understanding passed through Cas’ eyes almost instantly and he released you. He stepped back and bowed his head slightly, “My apologies.”

 That’s when you saw them. His wings. They were huge and black…but, no, that wasn’t right. They were actually a deep, almost midnight, blue. When he flexed his feathers, it was almost like there was starlight in them. But his wings were very thin, lacking many feathers, the sight made you sad. You were shocked to say the least. You could see his wings, but unlike how Sam suggested, you weren’t using your magic to see them. You felt his angelic light flowing around him. Dean snapped you out of your daydream. "Can someone please fill me in?”

 Cas, who you assumed was Castiel, looked up to Dean. He sighed, “She’s a celestial being, almost as powerful as the seraphim.”

 The boys were surprised. Sam stowed his gun behind his back. He looked like he was trying to put pieces together. “Wait, Y/N, you’re an angel?”

 Cas made a face, “No, she’s not really a witch either. God created them to keep the balance of nature. And…”

 “And what, Cas?” Dean prompted.

 “And to guide humanity when the angels went AWOL,” You said.

 Cas looked almost ashamed, “Yes. They’ve been very attentive to humanity in our absence. They are called Guardians, not witches, but I guess that’s an easier concept for humans to grasp. They also aided heaven in the rebellion. Astra Guardians have unprecedented healing abilities and were able to heal an angel’s grace. They can even extract the darkness from someone’s soul and make them pure again.”

 The boys looked at you. You shifted, “Clearly, you didn’t get that far in the book, Sam.”

 Sam continued to stare at you, “How...uh...how come you didn’t tell us?”

 “I’ve lost my family not just because of demons, but because of them,” You said, pointing at Castiel. “They hunted us and almost wiped us out. I was afraid that I’d lose you both too.”

 Sam embraced you, “Hey, you won’t lose us. No chance in hell that will ever happen, Y/N.”

 “Cas, did you…?” Dean subtly implied, asking the angel if he was responsible for the deaths of your family.

 Castiel looked offended and he raised his voice a little, “No. Some of my siblings saw Astra’s as a potential aide to Lucifer and started hunting them. I helped protect them.”

 You poked your head up from Sam’s chest and looked at Castiel. You sniffled a little, “You did what?”

 “I’ve been cloaking them for the last hundred years. Well, trying to anyways. They aren’t very cooperative. One family broke off from the coven; the Y/L/Ns. I wasn’t able to save them in time. I assume that they were your family. I knew them well but they warded themselves against me and the rest of the garrison. I am sorry for your loss,” Castiel said, his fingers twisting around the blade in his hand.

 The angel looked genuinely sorry. You nodded, “Thank you.”

 Before anything else could be said, you all heard a buzzing. Dean took out his phone, “Hey Garth, what’s up? Really? Okay, we’re on it.”

 Sam looked at Dean expectantly, “I take it he’s got a case?”

 Dean nodded, “Yep, Garth says it looks like a Rugaru. It’s just south of Albuquerque, New Mexico.”

 Sam squeezed your shoulders, “Okay, that’s a twelve hour drive.”

 Dean stowed his phone away, “Better get going then.”

 Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and turned down the hall. You and Sam followed Dean but Castiel appeared in front of all three of you. Dean grumbled but Castiel spoke, “No.”

 “No? Cas, we gotta go after this thing,” Dean said, his voice slowly filling with irritation.

  “You both can go,” Castiel nodded at you. “She stays.”

 You became instantly annoyed, “What the hell? No, I’m going. I can help.”

 “Rugarus hunt based mainly on scent. Astra’s smell more…potent than humans. Her scent will draw it right to you,” Castiel said, his eyes trained on Dean as if the angel were pleading with the hunter.

 You piped up quickly, “Even better, I can lure the bastard out so they can kill it.”

 “You don’t understand. It won’t stop, it will never stop until it consumes you,” Castiel argued. He sighed, his wings slumping a little behind him. “Look, I understand that I have completely failed at protecting your family, but you are the last Y/L/N Astra Guardian and you need to be protected. I failed once. I won’t fail again.”

 “So, what? I can’t hunt anymore?” You asked, your previous exasperation had developed into full blown rage.

 “I will decide what hunts you can go on,” Castiel said, trying to be reasonable. 

  You considered it briefly before raising your hand and projected a beam of pink light from your palm. It smacked into Castiel’s chest and he flew back a few meters, landing on his back with a heavy grunt. The boys turned around to face you. Dean raised a hand, “Whoa now, Y/N. You can’t do that to Cas. He’s our friend and he means well.”

 You glared at him, “I don’t like being told what to do, Dean.”

 Sam patted your shoulder gently, “Cas is a good guy, Y/N. Sit this one out, it’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

 You pursed your lips but gave into his puppy dog eyes. You threw your hands up in the air in defeat. “Okay, fine.”

 The brothers smiled as you walked past, unapologetically stepping over the angel as you went.

  You sat on the couch and watched as the boys emerged from the hall fifteen minutes with their bags packed. Both of them came up to you and said goodbye. Dean ruffled your hair and gave you a shoulder squeeze while Sam kissed the top of your head. Half expecting Castiel to follow them, you were surprised when both boys gave the angel a pat on the back before heading up the stairs.

 You shifted on the couch, “What, you’re staying?”

 “Play nice, you two,” Dean called out to us before shutting the bunker door. Castiel stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs.

 You sat with your legs crossed and fingers drumming on your knees. Castiel kept your unwavering gaze but shifted underneath it. You sighed, deciding to give in first. “I’m sorry that I...uh…blasted you.”

 The angel walked forwards and sat on the couch across from you. He nodded solemnly, “I understand why you did it.”

 “Why are you so bent on protecting me? There are other Astra families out there,” You said, cocking your head to the side.

 Castiel twiddled his thumbs almost anxiously. He sighed heavily, “Astra, the first, was a Y/L/N Guardian. The reason why my brothers and sisters targeted your family line specifically was done on purpose. If your line dies, then every Astra Guardian dies along with you.”

 You suddenly felt uneasy. You felt bile threaten to erupt from your stomach and you grimaced. Your voice was raised when you spoke, “We keep the balance within nature! Why would we side with the devil?”

 Castiel looked sincere, “I cannot make up for their actions, but I can atone for them.”

 “How do you plan to do that? You can’t be by my side all the time,” You insisted.

 “When one member of your family dies, their abilities—”

 “Magic?” You cut him off.

 He made a face but didn’t repeat the word you offered, “Pass onto the next Guardian. You have four Guardian’s worth of power inside of you. You’re nearly indestructible.”

 You opened your mouth but he continued.

 “Nearly,” He stressed.

 You shook your head slowly in confusion, “So, what’s your plan?”

  He opened his mouth to speak but shifted uncomfortably, as if something was poking him. His feathers shuddered and he reached around his back as if to grab onto something. Castiel grumbled and murmured something in another language.

 “Did you just swear in Enochian?” You smirked.

 Castiel glanced up at you, “I’m not very good at swearing in English.”

 You smiled fully now at his lack of skills in general. You watched him struggle at trying to reach his back. “Do you need assistance?”

 Castiel’s voice grew very rough in frustration before he gave up and leaned over with his face in his hands. Curious, you stood and walked around him. Once you were behind him, you peered closely at his wings. There was a loose feather scraping along the skin on the top of his wing. It had been scratching him so much that there was now a red mark on the visible skin. Castiel felt your proximity but remained still, “What are you doing?”

 You gestured to his wings even though you knew he couldn’t see you. “I can see the feather that’s jabbing at you. I can just, uh, remove it if you want. I feel like ‘pluck’ is a bad word to use since you’re not a chicken.”

 He didn’t seem to be fazed by your knowledge and waved his hand. Unsure of what that meant, you didn’t move. The poking seemed to get worse because Cas shouted at you. “Yes, please, take it out!”

 You reached into his plumage and gently removed the attacking feather. The angel instantly relaxed.Yet you knew that he was still in pain and not because of some rogue feather. You’d always known that your coven had been able to heal angels and you wanted to test that theory. You held your hands over his wings, the spell coming to your lips as if you’d spoken the words many times before.

  Honestly, you didn’t know why you couldn’t say the words in English. They roughly translated into: Angel of heaven, I heal thee. However, it came out of your mouth in Latin, “Angelus caeli, ego te sanandum.”

 “What are you—?” Castiel trailed away as you spoke loudly over him. You repeated the chant until light erupted from your fingertips, palms, arms, shoulders, head, chest, legs, feet, and toes. The light shone brighter than the sun and expanded outwards to fill the entire bunker. You felt Castiel’s Grace pounding in your soul as you wrapped your healing light around every inch of his true form. Castiel didn’t make much sound aside from some heavy breathing and some inaudible words.

 Something clicked in your mind, notifying you that the spell had been completed. You released Castiel and stepped back, the light fading completely. He was standing now and facing you, his eyes glowing a bright blue and his wings were…full. There weren’t any missing feathers now; nothing was burnt or charred or falling off. He looked whole. You smiled, “Wow, that actually worked.”

 Castiel exhaled and the glow from his eyes faded, but his wings remained. Once again this confused you, as you weren’t using your magic to see them. Castiel looked a little stunned but managed to speak, “Why…did you do that?”

 You were suddenly nervous and knew your voice would crack if you spoke. You tried to keep yourself steady and hid your shaking hands behind your back. You attempted to give a casual shrug, “You said you wanted to protect me, right? Well, I kinda need you to be a fully functioning angel to be able to do that.”

 Astounded that you were able to keep your voice from faltering, you smiled to yourself. He smiled too, “I haven’t felt this good since before I fell. Thank you.”

 You walked around the couch and smiled, “No more loose feathers now, huh?”

 Shock spread across his features and he frowned at you. You reached up to touch his wings but hesitated, not sure if that was okay even though you had touched them moments prior. “Were you using your magic to see my wings before?”

 You smirked and pointed at him, “So, you admit that it’s magic?”

 Castiel grabbed onto your arm, “Y/N, answer me.”

 You gulped, “No, I wasn’t. I can just see them.”

 Castiel’s voice softened, “Oh.”

 He let your arm go but stayed close to you. You looked at him, studying him, trying to find out what he was hiding. “Castiel, what does that mean?”

 He tried to smile at you but failed completely, “It means…that it is very, very important that you stay safe.”

 You found yourself reaching for him but he backed away. He disappeared in front of you with a flutter of wings. You blinked in surprise and left the common room for the bathroom. 

  Half an hour and a shower later, you emerged from your room, clad in a black t-shirt nightie that stopped just above your knees and fluffy Hufflepuff slippers. You went into the kitchen and poured yourself a rather large glass of chocolate milk and went back into the common room. 

  You saw Castiel sitting on the couch with the television on. You approached him and looked at the TV. You bit your lip to keep from smiling at the fact that he was watching Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy. Peter Quill, Gamora, Rocket, and Groot were being sent to the Kiln after Denarian Saal had prompted to Corpsmen Dey that they were a bunch of a-holes. 

  Castiel’s wings were spread wide against the back of the couch and you briefly found yourself mesmerized by their majesty. You sat down next to him, leaning back against his wings and saw Castiel go rigid from the contact.

 “Never picked you for a Marvel man,” You said, taking a sip of your drink.

 “This movie is bizarre. There are talking racoons and sentient trees,” Castiel said, staring at the TV.

 “And a whole lot of sexy people,” You offered. Your breath hitched in your throat as you gazed at Peter Quill’s lack of shirt.

 Castiel turned to look at you. He almost looked offended, “You’re attracted to him?”

 You guffawed, “Hell yes! I mean look at that body. Plus, he’s super protective over the people he loves. He’s a complete sweetheart and yet a total badass.”

 The angel eyed you and then lifted up his shirt as if to compare his vessel’s body to Chris Pratt’s. You put a hand on his shoulder as if to comfort him. “Hey, you’re gorgeous.”

 Castiel looked up at you, dropping his shirt. He stared at you and you were surprised to see desire creep into his eyes. “I thought you didn’t like angels.”

 You removed your hand which seemed to disappoint him. Instead, you moved it to his leg. He glanced down at it and sucked in air sharply. You shrugged, “I can make an exception.”

 He nodded almost nervously, “Y/N, there’s a meaning behind why you can see my wings.”

 “Oh?” Finally, you were going to get an answer. “And what’s that?”

 Castiel kept staring at your hand, “It means…that…”

 “Spit it out, Cas,” You urged.

 “It means that we’re mates,” He said, taking that moment to look at you. When you stared at him unflinchingly, he waved a hand in front of your face. You kind of just sat there, desperately needing clarification but unable to form actual words. Castiel cleared his throat, “Soulmates.”

 You nodded, silently thanking him for the extra information.

 He kept talking, “It’s a match literally made in heaven. I figure it’s why your family tried to separate themselves from me. They knew that you could see my wings and they didn’t want us to…copulate…”

 Your hands flew to your face in embarrassment, “Jesus, Cas! Could you be more subtle?”

 “Well, I thought that term was more appropriate than ‘coitus’ or ‘intercourse’ or—”

 This time you covered his mouth with both of your hands, having put your milk down on the coffee table while he was babbling. He looked at you but you spoke instead, “No, no more talking about sex.”

 He rolled his eyes and then peeled your hands off of him. He seemed to want to defend himself. “I have some experience with sex, you know. I believe I am adequate.”

 You stood up and gestured widely, “Oh my God, Cas. Please, stop.”

 He frowned, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say my father’s name.”

 “I feel like this is equally awkward. So, how about you stop talking about sex and I won’t say ‘God’. Okay?” You offered. He nodded and then looked down. However, he averted his gaze and you realized that your hooch was at eye level.

 “I can’t be the only one who feels the…pull,” He said, trying to focus on the movie. You stayed quiet, so he continued. “I think that’s how I found you. You drew me in. Even now, I’m finding it terribly hard to resist…”

 “Resist what?” You queried, curiously.

 He shifted uncomfortably, keeping his gaze away from yours, “I want to claim you. I want to make you mine.”

 Your breathing was rapid and shaky now and you pressed your thighs together, knowing exactly the feeling that he was talking about. “Yours?”

 “I want to complete the mating process. I don’t want another angel to…”

 You reached out and threaded your fingers through his hair. He groaned at the interaction. You scratched his scalp gently, “Make me theirs?”

 “You’re making it worse, Y/N,” Castiel grunted. You retracted your hand but seeing him basically at your mercy was turning you on beyond belief. Angels were stoic and intense. Cold and calculating. This angel however…this angel was faltering in the presence of a woman. His facade was failing faster by the second from your proximity and you wondered how long it would take for him to completely unravel. You pulled him up to his feet and he watched as you moved behind him.

 “Stay,” You ordered, smiling when he complied. “I mean it, Castiel. Don’t move.”

 “I won’t,” He said, looking straight ahead. You placed your hand on the top of his back, between where his wings sprouted from his shoulder blades. He straightened up but remained silent. You gingerly pressed your fingers against the scapular feathers of his right wing and he sucked in air. You drew your fingers down, marvelling at how soft his feathers were. You moved down his wing, smoothing out the feathers and stopping every now and then to scratch at the skin of his wing.

  Once you reached the end, you worked your way backwards and started on the left wing. Completing your work on the back, you walked around to face him. Castiel’s face was flushed and he looked like he was in some sort of trance. You threaded your fingers through the feathers on the inside of his left wing. He hummed as you preened him, his wings slowly drooping.

  If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought that he was about to fall asleep. You got to the inside of his wing and then started on the right wing from the outside working in. When you finally made it inwards, he was looking at you.

 “Did that feel…okay?” You asked, placing a hand on his chest.

  Castiel responded by reaching up for your waist. He gripped onto your hips and pushed you backwards until your back hit the stone wall of the bunker. His wings were spread wide now, and his eyes were consumed with hunger. “I want…” He murmured. “I need you, Y/N.”

  Castiel...

[belovedblabber]

On Fury Road and the value of non-threatening male heroes

So I’ve been re-watching Fury Road and something struck me;

Tom Hardy’s Max is just really non-threatening. Now, that’s weird on a surface level because in story he’s presented as very dangerous. But here’s the thing about the kind of men we’re used to seeing in action movie; They are threatening in their masculinity.

The capitol A Action hero is a fixture in our cultural awareness. Almost without fail this hero is a man (if you have a woman in the role of action hero, it’s almost always proceeded by her gender. She can’t just be the action hero, she is very clearly cast as a FEMALE action hero.) So our male Action hero  is a badass. He’s dangerous, he’s brooding, he’s tough as nails. Sometimes he’s sarcastic and witty, sometimes he’s a moody stud. Point is, despite cultural changes that we see with our Action heroes as different pop culture trends change the flavoring, these men are all pretty much cut from the same mold. And here’s the thing about your typical Action hero; They have this underlying current of threatening masculinity. To put it bluntly, your typical Action hero is really all about cock. They’re intimidating to both their male peers and the women who are cast opposite them. They are toxic masculinity distilled onto our screens.

Now, in recent years we’ve been seeing more varity in our Action heroes. More emotion. Of course, there have always been exceptions (Luke Skywalker is one of the most note worthy male heroes to break this mold, and I think it’s worth noting that he’s often called whiny. Hell, when I was a little kid I loved him, but as a young teenager I thought he was lame. Now I realize that this might well have been because he wasn’t acting like your typical male hero. Maybe that scared me on some level) Anyway, let’s get back to Hardy’s Max. In story he  starts out as frightening, but he is never threatening in the way of your usual Action hero. He’s feral, dangerous, and unpredictable at the start of our story, but he doesn’t have any of that toxic masculinity.  So, we have a mad Max who is dangerous, and seems mad, as it were.  But there’s none of that hyper male Action hero posturing.

Hardy’s Max is a flawed man whose past has almost driven him past the point of no return. To the other characters in the movies he initially seems to be  feral (they don’t have the benefit of hearing his inner thoughts) Max is a frightening, but he’s not a masculine he-man. In fact, the characters in the movie who fall close to what we’re used to seeing in Action heroes are the warboys and their leader. The culture espoused by Immortan Joe is hyper masculine and toxic. The young men who idolize him seem like extreme versions of what we’re used to with our heroes. They’re brainwashed into a society built on toxic masculinity and objectification, and the heroes of the story are the ones fighting against this idea. Interestingly, Furiosa has a lot of traits of your traditional Action hero, but it’s coupled with compassion and self reflection, not because she’s a woman, but because  she’s  a person. Like Max, she is fighting to regain her humanity through helping a group of young women fight for their freedom from a world of toxic masculinity.

So, again back to Max himself. As the movie goes on he regains his sense of self. A big theme int he movie is the objectification and commodification of human life. We see this with Immortan Joe’s ‘wives” as well as with the brainwashed warboys and the use living humans as ‘bloodbags’ and ‘milkers’ Max starts the movie literally strapped to the hood of a car as a hood ornament/living blood bag.  Max is reluctant to help Furiosa and the ‘wives’ at first, but we see him change in a brief period of time. He  regains his humanity through helping others and coming to terms with his own demons. Hardy’s Max is dangerous, but he’s also vulnerable, undeniably so. We see his fear, we see what haunts him, and we see him struggle to survive, and then struggle to come to terms with his past in order to help others have a future. This sets him apart from Mel Gibson’s Max, and in my opinion makes him the better of the two. By the time Max starts really showing his human side, we see a man who is compassionate and half broken, a man who relearns himself by helping others.

Another notable aspect of Max is his relationship with Furiosa. Usually when your typical Action hero is paired with a STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMAN in a movie, there’s this ongoing dynamic of ‘but you’re a girlllllll’ There isn’t respect, because the heroes of the story are acting out the deeply felt internalized misogyny of our own society. They can’t interact as equals because in our cultural minds they are inherently unequal. They are defined by their rigid gender rules, and they act this out like they’re children on a playground crying about cooties. And of course, there’s usually the sexual element, with the heroes constantly griping at/disrespecting one another while it’s played off as repressed attraction all along.Fury Road never once does this. Max and Furiosa are two flawed and broken people trying to survive. There isn’t a split second where Max stops to wonder how a GIRL can be so tough. Once they’re established as allies, they immediately move into a working relationship built on mutual respect and trust. Two scenes come to mind. Firstly, the initial canyon chase when Max first shows himself as an ally. There’s one notable moment where Furiosa is standing up out of the roof and Max hands her a gun. That doesn’t seem important, but there’s something about that gesture that’s very c cinematically important. It shows us that they’re a team now, and it shows us that they trust each other. The second notable scene is the “Don’t breathe” moment in the night bog. Max has previously seen that Furiosa is a good shot. He knows that she is the one to trust with this task, so he hands her the gun and lets her use him as a rifle stand. It’s a moment with no dialogue that speaks volumes.

All of this goes to Max as a nonthreatening hero. He never objectifies, disrespects, or distrusts his counterpart. He’s never an alpha male. He’s part of a story that he doesn’t need to dominate with his manly male maleness. Hardy’s Max is a dangerous, vulnerable, and quietly compassionate man who gives respect and trust where it’s due. He has no need to parade and prove his masculinity. In fact, the people doing that are the villains, and isn’t that telling?

[buytabletsonline]

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The capitol city of the new Scottish civilization in Civlization VI: Rise and Fall.

Samuel Axon

The new timeline view that shows your civlization’s historical progress.

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The diplomacy interface is the same, but new leaders and expanded alliances bring fresh dynamics to the peaceful way.

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This is the new loyalty lens, which tells you which civilizations are influencing your city, and how much.

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The governor management window.

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You’re still greeted with a speech from Sean Bean when you start, even with new civilizations.

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There are a lot of new policies; here, we see some of the new dark policies that are only accessible in a dark age.

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The vibrant colors of a heroic age, and the capitol city of new Korean leader Seondeok.

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Every Civilization game since Civilization IV has followed the same trajectory: the initial release remixes and reinterprets some base systems from the previous game, but franchise veterans deem it anemic because it has fewer systems and features than its fully expanded predecessor. From there, new expansions gradually reintroduce the complexity that was lost in the move to a new game until many of those players conclude that it’s the best game in the series yet.

In many ways, though, 2016’s Civilization VI was a bigger departure than previous entries, and it has been divisive accordingly. The game completely overhauled how cities were expanded and how religious warfare was waged, among other things. If you’re a Civ traditionalist who felt Civilization VI strayed too far, you won’t like this latest expansion. It takes the changes even further. But if you’ve been itching for even more ambitious fresh ideas in a franchise that has historically been very conservative, you’ll find what you’re looking for here.

After binging a couple games of an early copy of Rise and Fall virtually non-stop for the past day and a half (as you do), I’m not quite sure this expansion adds enough meat to make Civilization VI feel as robust as its predecessors. So far, I’m left with the impression that we’re moving in the right direction, but we haven’t quite arrived yet.

The requisite new leaders and wonders

Just like previous expansions for previous Civ games, Rise and Fall adds a bunch of new leaders and wonders. In this case, we have nine new leaders, and every one of them brings something truly unique to the table. It’s always impressive when this series manages to create entirely new playstyles with just a few bullet points of new rules for an added leader.

I tried a few of them and found that Rise and Fall follows that tradition quite well. Here are all the new leaders, along with their attributes:

Among other things, India’s Chandragupta is able to aggressively expand via warfare once he learns a key classical era civic.

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Mongolia’s Genghis Khan is back, bringing cavalry bonuses and expanding the ability to leverage trading routes.

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The Mapuche’s Lautaro can drive down enemy cities’ loyalty by winning battles near them.

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The Cree’s Poundmaker greatly enhances the benefits of both alliances and trade.

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Scotland’s Robert the Bruce can build a golf course, which is all you probably need to know.

Korea’s Seondeok is a great pick if you’re going for a science victory.

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Military bonuses abound for the Zulu’s Shaka, who can form Corps and Armies earlier than other leaders.

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Georgia’s Tamar combines religious bonuses with more powerful Age transitions.

With the Netherlands’ Wilhelmina, you can create powerful cities with improved adjacency bonuses when you have a river nearby, then improve loyalty in neighboring cities via trade.

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Building wonders is one of Civilization‘s great pleasures—made all the better by VI‘s lovely wonder completion animations—and I count eight new wonders in Rise and Fall. Some have appeared in past games, but others (like Antarctica’s Amundsen-Scott Research Station) haven’t. A few of them play off new mechanics like governors and loyalty, but most of them are pretty classic, actually.

Here are the Civilopedia entries for each of them:

The Amundsen-Scott Research Station provides massive science bonuses, especially if your city is somewhere Antarctica-esque.

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Casa de Contratación gives you instant power-ups for your Governors, and makes them more effective when they are assigned to far-flung continents.

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Kilwa Kisiwani grants big incentives for fully wooing city-states.

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Kotoku-in increases faith in its host city, and it produces a handful of useful warrior monks.

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St. Basil’s Cathedral doubles religious tourism in the city in which you build it and provides bonuses when there are tundra tiles nearby.

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The Statue of Liberty gives you multiple free settlers, and ensure its host city and those very close by always stay loyal.

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The Taj Mahal helps you amp up your Era Score with big Historic Moments.

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The Temple of Artemis makes several types of improvements generate amenities.

Samuel Axon

Some of the wonders are quite powerful, and they all fill some niche not previously filled by Civilization VI‘s existing wonders. There are also four new units, two new districts and a handful of new resources. None of those are game-changing—except for the Government Plaza district, which we’ll examine more closely later.

There are also several small UI tweaks and some adjustments to the contents of the civics tree. Notifications are consolidated in clever ways to avoid overload, and so on. Every UI tweak was welcome.

Firaxis even endeavored to improve the AI in Rise and Fall. The improvements are noticeable, but there’s still some wonkiness. You still see AI leaders making bizarre military decisions, but they don’t hassle you with nonsensical diplomatic communications as often.

That’s it for the obvious stuff. Let’s get into the new systems.

Friendship is magic again

Civilization VI is a game about building a civilization “to stand the test of time,” and ostensibly, you have multiple ways to do that—some violent, some peaceful, and some a combination of the two. One of my biggest problems with the game as compared to some previous titles, though, was that the peaceful path never seemed very relevant.

The game’s AI always seemed rigged to stir up unnecessary drama to keep things exciting (as if Queen Victoria was an over-the-top reality TV star) and I usually found that war was the only way to effectively quell that drama—even if conquest was not my target victory condition. And forget about diplomacy; it was paper thin, and the AI always seemed to find a reason to turn on you 20 turns later anyway.

Fortunately, addressing that seems like Rise and Fall‘s primary mission, in two main ways.

Alliances

First, alliances have been overhauled. There are now multiple alliance types. A research alliance causes trade routes between allies to generate many more science points or makes allies automatically share technology boosts from time to time. There are also military, cultural, religious, and economic alliances.

Alliances gain levels and become more powerful over time. This gives the actors on the world stage, including the player, incentive to be less fickle and antagonistic. There’s still no world congress or equivalent, though.

Loyalty

The second addition that de-emphasizes warfare is also the expansion’s biggest new system: loyalty.

Your cities now each have a loyalty score which represents how invested citizens are in your own government and culture. Keeping them happy, assigning a governor, enacting certain policies, and other actions can help generate enough loyalty to keep your cities, well, loyal. But other civilizations can foster loyalty in your cities, too—and vice versa.

Cities on the border between two civilizations are always harboring a sort of cultural cold war. If China fails to foster enough loyalty in Shanghai, and neighboring Greece is pumping out the influence, Shanghai could very easily flip into Greece’s hands—kind of like culture flipping in prior Civ games. Further, if you build a city far from your home cities and another civilization is nearby, it’s almost certainly going to end up in enemy hands without a shot fired unless you get very clever about how you approach it.

Here’s a screenshot illustrating how this works. (Most of the screenshots and examples we’ll see are from the same game; this hopefully helps give a sense of how these features play into the arc of a single playthrough.)

Enlarge / Here, I’m trying to pick a place to build a new city. These numbers tell me all these tiles are nonstarters because the nearby civilization would cost a city in these spots 20 loyalty per turn. (That’s a lot.)

Samuel Axon

This makes the domination victory much harder than it was previously. It’s very difficult to prevent insurgency when you’re occupying cities in far off lands. At one point, a city state—Stockholm—was sitting between my civilization and that of my nemesis, Shaka. I decided to conquer Stockholm with my superior army, but it didn’t do me a lot of good. The city very quickly flipped to Shaka, because its loyalty rating was more heavily influenced by him than by me. I ended up reconquering it only to lose it again two more times. On a final conquest, I just razed the city because I couldn’t possibly keep it.

It turns out being an occupying force is difficult. This is relatively realistic, but players who like to bulldoze through the world with their armies will find that the game no longer plays out in the way to which they’re accustomed. That said, I get the sense that with more experience and very deliberate planning, it would still be possible to do what I was trying to do. It’s just a lot more fraught than it used to be.

This system makes thoughtless aggression less fruitful, and it finally gives you nonviolent ways to expand your empire and hinder your enemies in Civilization VI. It’s the best thing about Rise and Fall.

Emergency situations

When I conquered Stockholm without a reasonable casus belli, I triggered another of the game’s new features: an emergency situation. The game set up a short contest between me and the other civilizations with a stake in what happened. They were given a short period of time to “liberate” Stockholm. If they succeeded, they would receive substantial bonuses (check out the screenshot for details). If I fended them off, I would receive a bonus instead.

Enlarge / This window pops up when an emergency situation has been triggered, explaining the rules and the stakes.

Samuel Axon

Since emergency situations are designed to band weaker players together against a belligerent leader (usually me—no apologies), they’re meant as a sort of catch-up mechanic—kind of like a far less ridiculous variation on the blue shell from Mario Kart. The intent is that the leader has a steeper incline ahead of themselves since the other civs are teamed up.

That said, there’s no good way for the other civs to coordinate their efforts, so it doesn’t always play out that way. It feels like Rise and Fall‘s least-baked idea.

Listing image by Samuel Axon

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); http://ift.tt/2E7Ceef February 08, 2018 at 08:13PM

[silviajburke]

Trump’s 1,500-word Airball

This post Trump’s 1,500-word Airball appeared first on Daily Reckoning.

The Donald’s strong point isn’t his grasp of policy detail.

The nine page bare-bones outline released yesterday is nothing more than an aspirational air ball that lacks virtually every policy detail needed to assess its impact and to price out its cost.

It promises to shrink the code to three rates (12%, 25%, 35%), for example. But it doesn’t say boo about where the brackets begin and end compared to current law.

Needless to say, a taxpayer with $50,000 of taxable income who is on the 15% marginal bracket today might wish to know whether he is in the new 12% or the new 25% bracket proposed by the White House. After all, it could change his tax bill by several thousand dollars.

Similarly, to help pay for upwards of $6 trillion of tax cuts over the next decade, it proposes to eliminate “most” itemized deductions. These “payfors” would in theory increase revenues by about $3 trillion.

Then again, the plan explicitly excludes the two biggest deductions — the charitable deduction and mortgage deduction — which together account for $1.3 trillion of that total.

And it doesn’t name a single item among the hundreds of deductions that account for another $1 trillion of current law revenue loss. They’re just mystery meat to be stealthily extracted during committee meetings after Congressman have run the gauntlet of lobbyists prowling the halls outside.

Stated differently, after nine months of work these geniuses have come up with $6 trillion of easy to propose tax rate cuts and virtually no plan whatsoever to pay for them.

In fact, this latest nine pages of puffery contains just 1,500 words — including obligatory quotes from the Donald and page titles.

I hate to get picky, but the Donald’s team has been on the job for 250 days now. And all they came up with amounts to just three words each per day in office.

Worse still, even as this “framework” opens the door to unrelenting demagoguery from the Dems about helping the rich, it does virtually nothing for Flyover America.

And it surely leaves the rust belt workers who voted for Trump in western Pennsylvania, industrial Ohio, the Michigan auto belt and the manufacturing centers of Wisconsin and Iowa with absolutely nothing to show for their efforts.

That’s right. There are 122 million tax filers in the U.S. (or 83% of the total) with AGI (adjusted gross income) under $100,000. And they would get essentially zero net cuts under the vague scheme presented Wednesday. Most pay virtually no Federal income tax anyway.

But you would never have guessed that the new nine-page plan is one big nothingburger for the bottom 83% of taxpayers based on the Donald’s oratory at Indianapolis yesterday. He essentially preached a storm in favor of the “little guy.”

That is, the Donald’s narrative was the same old threadbare story which claims the average worker is being crushed by Federal income tax payments and gets unfairly tangled up in the complexity of the IRS code without the benefit of high-priced tax lawyers and loophole-savvy financial advisors.

Accordingly, the Donald promised to “unrig” the tax code for these little guys, thereby keeping faith with the millions of dispossessed citizens of Flyover America who voted for him last November.

Except, except… the whole Indianapolis narrative is essentially nonsense.

This isn’t 1981 and there is no raging inflation and bracket creep propelling the middle class into tax tyranny. In fact, owing to indexing and large increases in the standard deduction and personal exemption over the last 35 years, the income tax has essentially morphed into a Rich Man’s Tax.

Stated differently, the Donald’s new tax reform airball promises to make filing with the IRS more palatable to rank and file America. Yet 101 million taxpayers (69%) have no exposure to the complexity of the IRS code at all. They owe virtually nothing.

And I mean nothing. Among the 148 million income tax filers, the bottom 53 million owed zero taxes in the most recent year (2014), and the bottom half (74 million) paid an aggregate total of just $45 billion.

So let me be very clear. There was still $4 trillion left in the collective pockets of these 122 million taxpayers — even after the IRS had its way with them!

By contrast, the top 4% or 6.2 million filers paid $802 billion in Federal income taxes. That amounted to nearly 58% of total Federal income tax payments.

Now, I do not object to putting some of that $802 billion back into the pockets of the top 4% — given that many of them are small businessmen and the proverbial “job-creators” who make the economy grow.

But incentivizing the job creators in this manner should not be financed on the backs of future taxpayers via borrowing. It must be paid for with spending cuts as a first resort, and less onerous taxes — such as consumption taxes.

Even if a Keynesian demand side tax cut was a good idea, which it isn’t, the fact is there is not much more that could be put “back in their pockets” by means of income tax cuts.

So the truth is, you could have scratched this so-called “framework” on a yellow pad in one hour on January 20 if you had even a general grasp of Trump’s vague campaign promises.

But had you stopped there you should have been promptly fired because in the form presented Wednesday the plan is a minefield of unanswered questions. It will tie the Congressional tax-writing process in knots for months to come — if not indefinitely.

Beyond that, there is another factor that shows why the Donald is barking up the wrong tax tree. The Fed has generated such gigantic financial bubbles and caused all financial assets to become so massively overvalued that incentives for the rich are not really in short supply.

Stated differently, Janet Yellen and the other Keynesian liberals on the Fed have generated more “trickle-down” wealth and rewards than the Gipper could ever have imagined back in 1981.

The $45 trillion in household wealth gains since the 2009 bottom — which has overwhelmingly accrued to the top tier of households which own most of the financial assets — vastly overshadows any possible benefits from lower tax rates, even at the top of the income ladder.

If the bottom 83% don’t pay much tax in the first place, and if the top 4% who pay most of the taxes are not to be indulged for social policy/equity purposes, what’s the point of the whole income tax cut charade?

In fact, that’s why after nine months the Trump tax plan is still a 1,500 word air ball.

What it actually amounts to is amateurish stumbling around the K-Street corridor where every single “loop-hole” that can’t be named will be shot down.

In all, this plan is so embarrassingly weak that Mnuchin and Cohn should be fired on the spot.

Yesterday also demonstrates why the casino is such a dangerous fantasy land. It rose to yet another all-time high Wednesday apparently on the back of a tax cut plan that is virtually guaranteed to eat itself alive on Capitol Hill.

The chickens are coming home to roost. Indeed, if such domestic fowl could fly Washington’s skies would soon be dark with them.

Regards,

David Stockman for The Daily Reckoning

The post Trump’s 1,500-word Airball appeared first on Daily Reckoning.

[readbookywooks]

27 In the stunned reaction that follows, I'm aware of one sound. Snow's laughter. An awful gurgling cackle accompanied by an eruption of foamy blood when the coughing begins. I see him bend forward, spewing out his life, until the guards block him from my sight. As the gray uniforms begin to converge on me, I think of what my brief future as the assassin of Panem's new president holds. The interrogation, probable torture, certain public execution. Having, yet again, to say my final goodbyes to the handful of people who still maintain a hold on my heart. The prospect of facing my mother, who will now be entirely alone in the world, decides it. "Good night," I whisper to the bow in my hand and feel it go still. I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta's eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock. "Let me go!" I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp. "I can't," he says. As they pull me away from him, I feel the pocket ripped from my sleeve, see the deep violet pill fall to the ground, watch Cinna's last gift get crunched under a guard's boot. I transform into a wild animal, kicking, clawing, biting, doing whatever I can to free myself from this web of hands as the crowd pushes in. The guards lift me up above the fray, where I continue to thrash as I'm conveyed over the crush of people. I start screaming for Gale. I can't find him in the throng, but he will know what I want. A good clean shot to end it all. Only there's no arrow, no bullet. Is it possible he can't see me? No. Above us, on the giant screens placed around the City Circle, everyone can watch the whole thing being played out. He sees, he knows, but he doesn't follow through. Just as I didn't when he was captured. Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us. I'm on my own. In the mansion, they handcuff and blindfold me. I'm half dragged, half carried down long passages, up and down elevators, and deposited on a carpeted floor. The cuffs are removed and a door slams closed behind me. When I push the blindfold up, I find I'm in my old room at the Training Center. The one where I lived during those last precious days before my first Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell. The bed's stripped to the mattress, the closet gapes open, showing the emptiness inside, but I'd know this room anywhere. It's a struggle to get to my feet and peel off my Mockingjay suit. I'm badly bruised and might have a broken finger or two, but it's my skin that's paid most dearly for my struggle with the guards. The new pink stuff has shredded like tissue paper and blood seeps through the laboratory-grown cells. No medics show up, though, and as I'm too far gone to care, I crawl up onto the mattress, expecting to bleed to death. No such luck. By evening, the blood clots, leaving me stiff and sore and sticky but alive. I limp into the shower and program in the gentlest cycle I can remember, free of any soaps and hair products, and squat under the warm spray, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. My name is Katniss Everdeen. Why am I not dead? I should be dead. It would be best for everyone if I were dead.... When I step out on the mat, the hot air bakes my damaged skin dry. There's nothing clean to put on. Not even a towel to wrap around me. Back in the room, I find the Mockingjay suit has disappeared. In its place is a paper robe. A meal has been sent up from the mysterious kitchen with a container of my medications for dessert. I go ahead and eat the food, take the pills, rub the salve on my skin. I need to focus now on the manner of my suicide. I curl back up on the bloodstained mattress, not cold but feeling so naked with just the paper to cover my tender flesh. Jumping to my death's not an option - the window glass must be a foot thick. I can make an excellent noose, but there's nothing to hang myself from. It's possible I could hoard my pills and then knock myself off with a lethal dose, except that I'm sure I'm being watched round the clock. For all I know, I'm on live television at this very moment while commentators try to analyze what could possibly have motivated me to kill Coin. The surveillance makes almost any suicide attempt impossible. Taking my life is the Capitol's privilege. Again. What I can do is give up. I resolve to lie on the bed without eating, drinking, or taking my medications. I could do it, too. Just die. If it weren't for the morphling withdrawal. Not bit by bit like in the hospital in 13, but cold turkey. I must have been on a fairly large dose because when the craving for it hits, accompanied by tremors, and shooting pains, and unbearable cold, my resolve's crushed like an eggshell. I'm on my knees, raking the carpet with my fingernails to find those precious pills I flung away in a stronger moment. I revise my suicide plan to slow death by morphling. I will become a yellow-skinned bag of bones, with enormous eyes. I'm a couple of days into the plan, making good progress, when something unexpected happens. I begin to sing. At the window, in the shower, in my sleep. Hour after hour of ballads, love songs, mountain airs. All the songs my father taught me before he died, for certainly there has been very little music in my life since. What's amazing is how clearly I remember them. The tunes, the lyrics. My voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. A voice that would make the mockingjays fall silent and then tumble over themselves to join in. Days pass, weeks. I watch the snows fall on the ledge outside my window. And in all that time, mine is the only voice I hear. What are they doing, anyway? What's the holdup out there? How difficult can it be to arrange the execution of one murderous girl? I continue with my own annihilation. My body's thinner than it's ever been and my battle against hunger is so fierce that sometimes the animal part of me gives in to the temptation of buttered bread or roasted meat. But still, I'm winning. For a few days I feel quite unwell and think I may finally be traveling out of this life, when I realize my morphling tablets are shrinking. They are trying to slowly wean me off the stuff. But why? Surely a drugged Mockingjay will be easier to dispose of in front of a crowd. And then a terrible thought hits me: What if they're not going to kill me? What if they have more plans for me? A new way to remake, train, and use me? I won't do it. If I can't kill myself in this room, I will take the first opportunity outside of it to finish the job. They can fatten me up. They can give me a full body polish, dress me up, and make me beautiful again. They can design dream weapons that come to life in my hands, but they will never again brainwash me into the necessity of using them. I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despise being one myself. I think that Peeta was onto something about us destroying one another and letting some decent species take over. Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children's lives to settle its differences. You can spin it any way you like. Snow thought the Hunger Games were an efficient means of control. Coin thought the parachutes would expedite the war. But in the end, who does it benefit? No one. The truth is, it benefits no one to live in a world where these things happen. After two days of my lying on my mattress with no attempt to eat, drink, or even take a morphling tablet, the door to my room opens. Someone crosses around the bed into my field of vision. Haymitch. "Your trial's over," he says. "Come on. We're going home." Home? What's he talking about? My home's gone. And even if it were possible to go to this imaginary place, I am too weak to move. Strangers appear. Rehydrate and feed me. Bathe and clothe me. One lifts me like a rag doll and carries me up to the roof, onto a hovercraft, and fastens me into a seat. Haymitch and Plutarch sit across from me. In a few moments, we're airborne. I've never seen Plutarch in such a good mood. He's positively glowing. "You must have a million questions!" When I don't respond, he answers them anyway. After I shot Coin, there was pandemonium. When the ruckus died down, they discovered Snow's body, still tethered to the post. Opinions differ on whether he choked to death while laughing or was crushed by the crowd. No one really cares. An emergency election was thrown together and Paylor was voted in as president. Plutarch was appointed secretary of communications, which means he sets the programming for the airwaves. The first big televised event was my trial, in which he was also a star witness. In my defense, of course. Although most of the credit for my exoneration must be given to Dr. Aurelius, who apparently earned his naps by presenting me as a hopeless, shell-shocked lunatic. One condition for my release is that I'll continue under his care, although it will have to be by phone because he'd never live in a forsaken place like 12, and I'm confined there until further notice. The truth is, no one quite knows what to do with me now that the war's over, although if another one should spring up, Plutarch's sure they could find a role for me. Then Plutarch has a good laugh. It never seems to bother him when no one else appreciates his jokes. "Are you preparing for another war, Plutarch?" I ask. "Oh, not now. Now we're in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated," he says. "But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss." "What?" I ask. "The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that." And then he asks me if I'd like to perform on a new singing program he's launching in a few weeks. Something upbeat would be good. He'll send the crew to my house. We land briefly in District 3 to drop off Plutarch. He's meeting with Beetee to update the technology on the broadcast system. His parting words to me are "Don't be a stranger." When we're back among the clouds, I look at Haymitch. "So why are you going back to Twelve?" "They can't seem to find a place for me in the Capitol either," he says. At first, I don't question this. But doubts begin to creep in. Haymitch hasn't assassinated anyone. He could go anywhere. If he's coming back to 12, it's because he's been ordered to. "You have to look after me, don't you? As my mentor?" He shrugs. Then I realize what it means. "My mother's not coming back." "No," he says. He pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. I examine the delicate, perfectly formed writing. "She's helping to start up a hospital in District Four. She wants you to call as soon as we get in." My finger traces the graceful swoop of the letters. "You know why she can't come back." Yes, I know why. Because between my father and Prim and the ashes, the place is too painful to bear. But apparently not for me. "Do you want to know who else won't be there?" "No," I say. "I want to be surprised." Like a good mentor, Haymitch makes me eat a sandwich and then pretends he believes I'm asleep for the rest of the trip. He busies himself going through every compartment on the hovercraft, finding the liquor, and stowing it in his bag. It's night when we land on the green of the Victor's Village. Half of the houses have lights in the windows, including Haymitch's and mine. Not Peeta's. Someone has built a fire in my kitchen. I sit in the rocker before it, clutching my mother's letter. "Well, see you tomorrow," says Haymitch. As the clinking of his bag of liquor bottles fades away, I whisper, "I doubt it." I am unable to move from the chair. The rest of the house looms cold and empty and dark. I pull an old shawl over my body and watch the flames. I guess I sleep, because the next thing I know, it's morning and Greasy Sae's banging around at the stove. She makes me eggs and toast and sits there until I've eaten it all. We don't talk much. Her little granddaughter, the one who lives in her own world, takes a bright blue ball of yarn from my mother's knitting basket. Greasy Sae tells her to put it back, but I say she can have it. No one in this house can knit anymore. After breakfast, Greasy Sae does the dishes and leaves, but she comes back up at dinnertime to make me eat again. I don't know if she's just being neighborly or if she's on the government's payroll, but she shows up twice every day. She cooks, I consume. I try to figure out my next move. There's no obstacle now to taking my life. But I seem to be waiting for something. Sometimes the phone rings and rings and rings, but I don't pick it up. Haymitch never visits. Maybe he changed his mind and left, although I suspect he's just drunk. No one comes but Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. After months of solitary confinement, they seem like a crowd. "Spring's in the air today. You ought to get out," she says. "Go hunting." I haven't left the house. I haven't even left the kitchen except to go to the small bathroom a few steps off of it. I'm in the same clothes I left the Capitol in. What I do is sit by the fire. Stare at the unopened letters piling up on the mantel. "I don't have a bow." "Check down the hall," she says. After she leaves, I consider a trip down the hall. Rule it out. But after several hours, I go anyway, walking in silent sock feet, so as not to awaken the ghosts. In the study, where I had my tea with President Snow, I find a box with my father's hunting jacket, our plant book, my parents' wedding photo, the spile Haymitch sent in, and the locket Peeta gave me in the clock arena. The two bows and a sheath of arrows Gale rescued on the night of the firebombing lie on the desk. I put on the hunting jacket and leave the rest of the stuff untouched. I fall asleep on the sofa in the formal living room. A terrible nightmare follows, where I'm lying at the bottom of a deep grave, and every dead person I know by name comes by and throws a shovel full of ashes on me. It's quite a long dream, considering the list of people, and the deeper I'm buried, the harder it is to breathe. I try to call out, begging them to stop, but the ashes fill my mouth and nose and I can't make any sound. Still the shovel scrapes on and on and on.... I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I'm pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. "You're back," I say. "Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," Peeta says. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone." He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He's frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it's matted into clumps. I feel defensive. "What are you doing?" "I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her," he says. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house." I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I'm about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell's very faint but still laces the air. It's there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow's greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure. Back upstairs, I throw open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of Snow's stench. But it still lingers, on my clothes and in my pores. I strip, and flakes of skin the size of playing cards cling to the garments. Avoiding the mirror, I step into the shower and scrub the roses from my hair, my body, my mouth. Bright pink and tingling, I find something clean to wear. It takes half an hour to comb out my hair. Greasy Sae unlocks the front door. While she makes breakfast, I feed the clothes I had shed to the fire. At her suggestion, I pare off my nails with a knife. Over the eggs, I ask her, "Where did Gale go?" "District Two. Got some fancy job there. I see him now and again on the television," she says. I dig around inside myself, trying to register anger, hatred, longing. I find only relief. "I'm going hunting today," I say. "Well, I wouldn't mind some fresh game at that," she answers. I arm myself with a bow and arrows and head out, intending to exit 12 through the Meadow. Near the square are teams of masked and gloved people with horse-drawn carts. Sifting through what lay under the snow this winter. Gathering remains. A cart's parked in front of the mayor's house. I recognize Thom, Gale's old crewmate, pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with a rag. I remember seeing him in 13, but he must have come back. His greeting gives me the courage to ask, "Did they find anyone in there?" "Whole family. And the two people who worked for them," Thom tells me. Madge. Quiet and kind and brave. The girl who gave me the pin that gave me a name. I swallow hard. Wonder if she'll be joining the cast of my nightmares tonight. Shoveling the ashes into my mouth. "I thought maybe, since he was the mayor..." "I don't think being the mayor of Twelve put the odds in his favor," says Thom. I nod and keep moving, careful not to look in the back of the cart. All through the town and the Seam, it's the same. The reaping of the dead. As I near the ruins of my old house, the road becomes thick with carts. The Meadow's gone, or at least dramatically altered. A deep pit has been dug, and they're lining it with bones, a mass grave for my people. I skirt around the hole and enter the woods at my usual place. It doesn't matter, though. The fence isn't charged anymore and has been propped up with long branches to keep out the predators. But old habits die hard. I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips. It is the old Katniss's favorite kind of day. Early spring. The woods awakening after the long winter. But the spurt of energy that began with the primroses fades away. By the time I make it back to the fence, I'm so sick and dizzy, Thom has to give me a ride home in the dead people's cart. Help me to the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the thin shafts of afternoon light. My head snaps around at the hiss, but it takes awhile to believe he's real. How could he have gotten here? I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He's come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn't stand it there without her, so he came looking. "It was the waste of a trip. She's not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. "Get out!" He dodges the pillow I throw at him. "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!" I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. "She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead." A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won't go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he's there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night. In the morning, he sits stoically as I clean the cuts, but digging the thorn from his paw brings on a round of those kitten mews. We both end up crying again, only this time we comfort each other. On the strength of this, I open the letter Haymitch gave me from my mother, dial the phone number, and weep with her as well. Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup. Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family's plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person's picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim's cheek. My father's laugh. Peeta's father with the cookies. The color of Finnick's eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie's newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We're not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real."

[orbemnews]

Robinhood’s Existential Moment ‘The entire community is outraged’ Robinhood had to raise $1 billion from investors yesterday to help it cover cash demands during the week’s trading frenzy, while traders and lawmakers sharply criticized the online broker for halting some trading in Reddit-touted stocks. In short: The consequences of the mania in GameStop, AMC and other stocks are becoming more concrete — and, in Robinhood’s case, more serious. The surge in trading forced Robinhood to raise cash. As waves of investors poured into the markets, Wall Street’s central clearing hub, the Depository Trust and Clearing Corporation, demanded billions more in collateral from brokerages to shield it from the volatility. Robinhood, which had already drawn millions from its credit lines to meet margin requirements, turned to existing investors for additional capital so it wouldn’t have to impose further limits on customer trades. A more detailed explanation: Brokerages post money with the D.T.C.C. to cover customers’ transactions while they wait for the trades to settle. With such a big surge in trading, the clearing hub wanted more assurance: “It’s the D.T.C.C. saying ‘This stuff is just too risky,’ ” said the Bloomberg Intelligence analyst Larry Tabb. Other online brokerages also cited the D.T.C.C. as a factor in decisions to impose trading restrictions. Robinhood faces a loss of confidence from customers. After becoming the venue of choice for small investors, the app risks alienating a core customer base — and feelings of betrayal over the trading limits may be harder to address than annoyance over technical outages. (Small groups of protesters gathered in New York and outside Robinhood’s Bay Area headquarters yesterday.) “Brokers are now ‘protecting’ customers as a facade so that they can appease their institutional backers,” one individual trader told Bloomberg. “The entire community is outraged.” It’s also feeling the heat from Washington. An unlikely mix of lawmakers — including Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Senator Ted Cruz — accused Robinhood of imposing trading limits to help out hedge funds caught out by the retail trading frenzy. The heads of the Senate Banking Committee and the House Financial Services Committee called for hearings. It poses a big challenge for Robinhood’s policy team, including its chief legal officer, Dan Gallagher, a former S.E.C. commissioner. Does the populism angle hold up? Though many traders and commentators — including The Times’s Kevin Roose — see the GameStop mania in part as an internet-enabled pushback against Wall Street elites, financial bigwigs like the investment firm Silver Lake were among the big winners.“Are you entirely sure there aren’t wealthy people on both sides?” Senator Elizabeth Warren asked yesterday. Lost amid the noise: What about the companies at the center of all this? AMC, for one, is reportedly considering selling shares to take advantage of the huge run-up in its stock, further adding to its cash reserves while many of its theaters remain closed because of the pandemic. What happens next? We have some thoughts: Does Robinhood’s business model need a rethink? It couldn’t raise capital by increasing transaction fees, because it doesn’t have any. The company benefits from more trading — but more trading also means it needs more capital. Going public will help give the company more sources of financing, but this kind of frenzy may emerge again and again. Will lawmakers and regulators step in, perhaps with higher margin requirements for brokerages to prevent similar runs in the future? That might make trading costlier for users, which would be politically awkward. How will Wall Street reckon with the rise of social media as a market force? Hedge funds are already poring through Reddit and Twitter for the next GameStop, but short-sellers in particular may now be at risk of ruin by masses of small traders who have found a new strategy. HERE’S WHAT’S HAPPENING G.M. announces the end of petroleum-powered vehicles. The automaker said it would sell only zero-emission cars and trucks by 2035, an ambitious goal that could reshape both the automotive and oil and gas industries. Democrats prepare to pass stimulus measures without Republican support. Biden administration officials and Congressional leaders signaled that they would start the process for approving the measures through reconciliation, as new data showed that the economic recovery faltered late last year. WeWork weighs going public via a SPAC. The office-space company has held talks with blank-check funds to join the public markets, DealBook has learned, confirming a report in The Wall Street Journal. It is also considering raising more money from private-market investors, which may be more likely. Another Covid-19 vaccine shows promise, except against a new strain. Early trial data on a treatment by Novavax showed nearly 90 percent efficacy, but less than 50 percent against a coronavirus variant in South Africa. Facebook might sue Apple, escalating tensions between the tech giants. Facebook has considered formally accusing Apple of anticompetitive actions in its App Store. Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg and Apple’s Tim Cook continue to take shots at each other over their diametrically opposed privacy practices and business models. Two more thoughts on GameStop On the media: After the financial crisis in 2008, the financial news media was blamed for not blowing the whistle — or not blowing it loudly enough — before the collapse. It made many of us acutely aware of our responsibility to look out for the so-called little guy. The GameStop situation turns this on its head: The investors piling into the company’s shares say they don’t want — or need — protection. In fact, they argue that by urging caution, the media is actually protecting hedge funds and the Wall Street establishment. There is no question the “system” could be changed to level the playing field. Which “side” is the media supposed to be on? The answer, simply, is the truth. On short sellers: Traders identified GameStop as ripe for a “short squeeze” rally because of a peculiar development: more than 100 percent of its float was sold short. That is, more of its shares were out on loan to investors than were available to trade. (The average S&P 500 company has less than 4 percent of its float sold short.) Is it something nefarious? Not really: There’s a technical answer, but put simply, betting against GameStop became so popular that chains of traders were lending shares that they had already borrowed to others who also wanted to short the stock. So, when someone in the chain asks for their stock back, it can set off a messy cascade of buying and selling as the shares make their way back to their original owner. The stocks at the center of this week’s mania all had high “short interest,” amplifying the scramble to buy shares to return to lenders before they got even more expensive. “Look, before I begin my prepared remarks, I want to preemptively state that we will not be commenting nor answering questions on the recent activity in our stock price.” — Doug Parker, the C.E.O. of American Airlines, at the start of the company’s earnings call on a torrid day for its stock price. Facebook’s ‘Supreme Court’ makes its first rulings Facebook’s Oversight Board issued its first round of decisions yesterday, overturning four of five decisions in which the company removed posts that it said had violated policies on hate speech and violence. So far, 20,000 cases have been submitted for review by the board, which is made up 20 journalists, scholars and former officials and judges. What does it mean for Donald Trump’s ban? The board is still debating its highest-profile case: Facebook’s suspending the former president’s account after the Jan. 6 Capitol riots. This week’s decisions could bode well for Mr. Trump, but as our colleague Shira Ovide writes, that eventual ruling will have bigger stakes: “Should Facebook continue to give world leaders more leeway than the rest of us?” For more about the oversight board, the co-chairs wrote an Op-Ed for The Times. Davos goes virtual It’s the final day of the World Economic Forum, normally held this time of year in the exclusive Alpine resort of Davos, Switzerland. The gathering of the global elite went virtual because of the pandemic, so the C.E.O.s and heads of state who gather amid snow-capped mountains beamed in from their offices and living rooms instead. What caught our eye this week: Climate change is a perennial conversation topic at Davos, but this year businesses appear to be taking more concrete action to address it. More than 60 corporate chiefs committed to a set of environmental, social and governance measures that they will disclose for shareholders and other stakeholders. Specific, standardized measurements of things like environmental impact are in short supply, but influential investors like Larry Fink of BlackRock have been pushing for more disclosures, and threatening to divest from companies that aren’t forthcoming on E.S.G. metrics. John Kerry, the White House’s special envoy for climate change, also made a high-profile appeal to business leaders to prepare for “a zero emissions future”; Bill Gates talked carbon markets; and a new book by the forum’s founder, Klaus Schwab, and its head of communications, Peter Vanham, frames it in the context of “stakeholder capitalism.” Catch up on all the sessions at the forum’s live blog: Here’s the session with Mr. Kerry; here’s one on digital inclusion moderated by Andrew; and for something different, here’s a chat with the star architect David Adjaye. THE SPEED READ Deals Shares in the survey software company Qualtrics jumped 40 percent in its New York trading debut yesterday, after pricing its I.P.O. above expectations, while the boot brand Dr. Martens rose by 20 percent in early trading in London today, after its I.P.O. priced at the upper end of its range. (Reuters) The cryptocurrency exchange Coinbase said it planned to go public through a direct listing. (Bloomberg) The gaming company Roblox delayed its I.P.O. after the S.E.C. raised questions about how the company recognizes revenue. (Reuters) Politics and policy President Biden’s nominee for attorney general, Merrick Garland, reportedly favors a former aide, the Kirkland & Ellis litigator Susan Davies, to lead the Justice Department’s antitrust division. (The American Prospect) During his presidential campaign, Mr. Biden warned family members about their business dealings, telling one of his brothers, “For Christ’s sake, watch yourself.” (Politico) Tech Elon Musk news: SpaceX is said to be close to raising new funds at a valuation above $60 billion, and after he changed his Twitter bio to one word, “bitcoin,” the price of the cryptocurrency soared. (Business Insider, CoinDesk) SoftBank reportedly approved $600 million in loans to four top executives to let them buy shares in the company, potentially netting them a huge windfall. (FT) Best of the rest McKinsey is reportedly in talks to settle investigations by state attorneys general over advice it gave to opioid manufacturers. (WSJ) It isn’t just GameStop: the joke cryptocurrency Dogecoin is having a moment, thanks to Reddit. (CNBC) We’d like your feedback! Please email thoughts and suggestions to dealbook@nytimes.com. Source link Orbem News #Existential #Moment #Robinhoods