#(NO WE DO NOT KNOW WHO SHE WAS PORTRAYING THERE)

[julietcpulet]

LN 5 epilogue: The moment, the aftermath and the anime.

I’ve seen people being concerned for how things will be portrayed if the anime makes it to the LN 5 epilogue where Jinshi and Maomao have their undoubtedly most intense moment of the series. If the anime gets renewed for a season 3 it’ll have to cover this as the first two seasons have done 4 light novels so if we get even one more it’ll be expected to make through light novel 6, which is great material. Do I expect that some people are going to see Jinshi’s behavior as toxic, assault and the like? Yup, probably ramped up 1,000% from the frog scene even. Do I think the anime will tone it down from the light novel? Yes I do. They’ve added things here and there to other scenes and in ways I think it’s helped, with that moment and its nuances I don’t see them going all the way there. Also, there’s lots of fan debate on translation so I wouldn’t be surprised if the animators take a light tone just to keep from siding one way or another on how it was translated. That being said, here’s why I’m not that worried even if the whole scene is shown: because sometimes we need the messy moments for the growth to happen. (Spoilers under the cut)

First, some perspective. An analysis on the moment itself.

People can argue that this one moment in Jinmao history is a bit too messy but I don’t think so. For one, I don’t think Jinshi was truly trying to hurt Maomao. Yes we see him put his hand on her throat and pull her hand behind her back, however he quickly releases both, his one hand to twine in her hair and the other to pull her closer when he kisses her. The point of both was to get her attention. This scene starts out in a somewhat similar fashion to the frog scene but it is much more of a breaking point for the two of them than that. Just like with the frog scene, Jinshi has something vital he wants to communicate with Maomao. The whole reason for her being there is that she’s a marriage candidate, she is even wearing a hair stick Jinshi had made specifically for her, one with a moon and a poppy. (Moon Prince and the girl who likes poison, since poppies represent poison, anyone?) But when they begin talking on this subject Maomao, like before and always, evades and won’t admit she knows she’s his real choice for a wife and this is a proposal. Instead she even has the audacity to suggest he marry Lishu, who at this point even Maomao knows has feelings for Basen and wouldn’t be a good choice for Jinshi given her nature and his. To me it’s this continual evasiveness that gets Jinshi to grab her attention again by putting his hands on her in a more aggressive manner. For Maomao though, we’re finally given a glimpse at why her responses are likely instinctual over emotional and why she appears to almost “shut down” in the face of an advance. It’s because we see that her brain has been taught to view everything from the perspective of the pleasure district, she even later says she was “indoctrinated”. Horrifyingly, her sisters subjected her to sexual conduct when she was young to learn the ways of a courtesan to the point of tears and so when she’s in a situation where anything sexual happens she doesn’t see it as an opportunity to express herself but instead to retreat and only find a way to gain the upper hand.

Remember too that Maomao admits from the beginning that Jinshi “isn’t the type who would lay a hand on a young woman” and this doesn’t make her change her opinion. She even says out loud when he says “I wasn’t actually going to hit you”, “I know.” She can jump around his actions but knows whatever he’s doing isn’t about hurting her, it’s about getting a reaction out of her, which is why she denies him that satisfaction. We see once Maomao takes any kind of initiative Jinshi backs off, showing his only real goal was to have her show any reciprocation towards him at all. Especially when we see his perspective at the beginning of LN 6 where he’s looking back on the interaction and realizes Maomao’s detachment, we understand what he wants from her is not simply sexual engagement. He wants her to feel something and not be “like trying to shove a curtain…simply roll with it.” To me this expresses why it’s not “assault” in that Jinshi wasn’t trying to harm, harass or have sex with Maomao. He releases her when he thinks she’s kissing him back and his excitement over the interaction is over when he sees her face and realizes that she was completely devoid of feeling like usual and just playing along to whatever end she thought was expected of her.

Why is this pivitol for Jinmao? Understanding them. Growth.

Because it’s where we finally get to see why these two cannot seem to get on the same page about love or mutual feelings. Without it they’d just keep doing the same old push / pull song and dance forever. The quote before he reaches behind her head gives us a clue to all of it.

“That word, that simple four-letter word with its o and its e, was sometimes called vulgar, and sometimes turned out to be nothing more than a game- but some people said it was impossible to live without.”

Maomao is talking about love, what she sees in Jinshi’s eyes, what she’s trying to avoid and how we’re supposed to see them both playing it as a game because right now they can’t see it as anything else just yet. If you read on into LN 6 we see that Jinshi’s whole goal was basically to “triumph over” or to get a rise out of Maomao in some way, which he miserably admits he failed at. She remained unmoved and defeated him soundly. But that’s the whole point of this moment between these two is to show that they’re both still viewing love this way, as a “game” where one side has to win and have the upper hand to be successful. It’s why Jinshi tries to push Maomao to show him emotion and then Maomao is the one to have “victory” in the end by using what her sisters taught her but with absolutely no feeling behind it. Even during their interaction we get a glimpse that Maomao seems pleased Jinshi was jealous she had been dancing with Rikuson, “So he had been watching them!” (To me meaning she wanted him to notice.) So there may not be complete lack of feeling on her part, just a twisted sense that it has to be manipulated. Jinshi’s view of love comes from watching palace women and men play political games for affection and status. Maomao sees love as dangerous and deceptive, many times the only form of it leading to harm and abandonment in the pleasure district. So both of them have no real concept what it means to love someone other than to try and get one over on the other, it’s about power, control and hiding what you actually want. Without this understanding on our part, as the readers and audience, that Jinshi and Maomao have troubled histories and a distorted view of love, we would just see the way they handle one another as abusive. You need this scene and others like it to get a glimpse into how they actually operate, what they're hiding and what the aftermath does for them.

From the moment to the aftermath, where change happens.

It's in the aftermath we see real change for the two of them. Jinshi realizes he was conceited and a part of him believing that because others respond to him favorably he could get Maomao to do the same. Maomao doesn’t evade him in the same way as before either. Yes when they reunite in LN 6 Jinshi still offers her an antler and they engage in their typical back and forth complete with Maomao trying to reason herself out of being Jinshi’s choice but it’s lighthearted and both are far less intense. Maomao’s want to rationalize Jinshi’s choice as purely political without feeling helps her reason why he might want to pick her. It gives us a glimpse at her self esteem being so low that she has to say “He’s got strange tastes, though” to understand why Jinshi would pick her over other women she’d consider more desirable to him. It’s telling too that Maomao is quoted as thinking,

“Maybe he was hoping she would come right out and say she loved him, but quite frankly, Maomao wasn’t at a point where she could bring those words to her lips. The best she could manage was that she wasn’t without a certain affection for him."

It’s telling because 1. It says she isn’t at that point she can bring the words to her lips, not that she doesn’t feel love for him. 2. It still states clearly she has affection for him. This goes to show that Jinshi’s prodding can have an effect on Maomao. Being the kind of shut down person she is due to her background, she in effect can almost need someone like Jinshi who’s willing to push her outside her comfort zone to get her to admit to feelings she’s unwilling or even at times unable to fully voice. Even in the next moments where he tickles her and she lightly objects but lets him, it allows even more walls between the two to be bridged. It’s not aggressive like what happens in the LN 5 epilogue but more like what two true lovers might do in playfully getting to know one another. And it still proves the most effective way in getting Maomao to open up because their conversation here leads to the first real confession Maomao makes about her true fear and it’s made as clear as it can be that it’s not marrying Jinshi himself but that in doing so she doesn’t want to become Gyokuyou’s enemy. This revelation by Maomao sets off a lot of what happens in the next novels for them and it wouldn’t have happened had Jinshi not pushed Maomao to stop ignoring she was a marriage candidate and instinctively shutting him out. By letting Jinshi in, not hiding what she’s actually thinking, even this little bit, he takes that knowledge and tries to do all in his power to keep her from being afraid of a future where they’re together. But without the moment in the garden of the LN 5 epilogue there would be no Maomao opening up and no Jinshi realizing he needs to do what he can, not to prove his feelings to her but to prove it’s possible they can work and she won’t be in a tough position.

"For you, I will remove every obstacle that keeps us apart. One day. Just know that." - "I won't let what you fear come to pass. I swear it."

An important detail: star crossed lovers.

I think this quote that occurs just before the LN 5 epilogue moment is important to mention because it ties into a theme that becomes relevant with Maomao and Jinshi going forward, that of the star-crossed lovers.Maomao is looking up at the dark sky and it’s possibly one of the most romantic observations she makes. Some may say I’m reading too much into this but if you’ve read Hyuuga’s novels you’ll know the details are where are the goodies are.

“The sky seemed so vast. There was no moon, making the stars to shine all the brighter. Three of them shone brightest of all. Perhaps those stars were the two lovers, and the river that separated them.”

This is likely referencing the myth of Altair & Vega, those are their western names but it’s a Chinese ancient myth about a celestial princess who falls in love with a mortal and they end up being placed as stars in the sky, separated by the Milky Way only able to see one another on occasional days (that’s my brief description, worth looking up if you want to know more). So I don’t think it’s coincidence at all Maomao references the stars being two lovers (Jinshi & Maomao) and the river that separates them (likely the empire or even Gyokuyou because she keeps requesting Maomao at her side.) I don’t think it’s that far a stretch to make. And this comes before they have this intense, highly charged moment in the garden as almost lovers. Completely misunderstanding each other yes, hence the river between them they have yet to cross but I think that’s why nothing can be taken at such face value here because even a quote like this can add such depth. Hyuuga does this again with the star-crossed lovers motif in LN 6 where in the same antler scene she has Maomao notice Jinshi looking at the book that falls and it’s Romeo & Juliet. How this relates to the LN 5 scene is that the star-crossed lovers are mired in tragedy, misunderstandings, missed opportunity. But as we see in LN 6 with the moment Maomao & Jinshi speak about Romeo & Juliet is they both agree about wishing for a different ending (I talk about this in another post). So my thought here is without the LN 5 epilogue, without having them be the stars separated by the river, having them face these difficulties, we also wouldn’t get the ending they’re both working so hard towards.

Finally, the anime: striking a balance.

So why should we actually look forward to a moment like the one in LN 5 being shown in the anime? Because it's not just about that moment but about everything it represents and leads to for these characters. Without this singular moment that's fraught with so much unresolved tension, feelings and decisions, Jinshi and Maomao would've never been pushed to discuss what needed to be between one another. They've both had too messy of upbringings to do so in any natural way. Maomao almost needs Jinshi to needle her to get her out of her self-imposed shell and he likewise needs Maomao to shut him down sometimes to prove his conceited notions aren't always on course. But without a moment like this we wouldn't have gotten a truth from Maomao that leads to down the road her admittance that she's merely afraid her feelings are too lukewarm compared to Jinshi's.

"It was a heat like molten metal. She wasn’t sure what to do with it all for the temperature she could return was no more than that of lukewarm water."

In effect showing that it's her sense of inferiority keeping them apart more than it is a lack of actual desire on either side. With the anime, I expect them to strike a reasonable balance. There's too much internal monologue that I don't think they'll be able to capture it all. The frog scene for me showed they were able to walk that tight rope between intense behavior and romantic advancement like the scene is meant to convey so if it would be the same team handling the garden scene I'm not worried at all. I think the anime's that are willing to stick to the canon, regardless of plots that may seem a bit edgy or not fit within modern standards, tend to be the best ones. So far Apothecary Diaries anime has stuck closely to the light novels and I would be surprised if we got to this moment and they deviated too much, they've handled much darker topics than this. I worry more about people's reactions to it but even then I anticipate the arguments that will coming along, hence this long winded explanation haha.

In truth, were this reality, would I recommend a girl friend stay with a guy like Jinshi, no I wouldn’t but I also wouldn’t recommend and guy friend stay with someone like Maomao who never listens and eats poison. Sometimes people take the fun out of watching two characters who are close to reality but don’t live in it play out an interesting story. I fully expect people won’t get the nuance in that scene and even I could read too much into it myself but I’m just looking forward to more seasons if we get them. However the anime decides to portray it should be good if we get there and I hope my analysis has made sense, even if it’s a bit long as always 😂.

[coryndoll]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTEXT chapter five, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, caesars interviews, rafe and reader bonding, the last night before the games, i havent slept im so ready to start writing i havent even worked on the masterlist for this LMFAO sorry im spewing these out so much i just love thg

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

the day after the scores, you’re told it’s your rest day, but there’s no such thing as rest here.

enobaria calls it a “refining session.” brutus, on the other hand, tosses a lopsided grin and says, “boot camp.”

you literally don’t even laugh.

the two of them are already planted on the velvet couches in the living room when you step in, hair still damp, expression blank. rafe drifts in behind you and flops down beside you on the couch, one leg bent beneath him, his elbow thrown lazily over the back of the cushions. when brutus eyes him, he shrugs.

“what?” rafe says, stretching his arms with a quiet crack. “we’re all friends here.”

enobaria rolls her eyes. brutus just exhales like he doesn’t have the energy to argue.

what follows is not friendly. it’s sharp-edged and exhausting, a full-blown psychological breakdown of what you’re supposed to be tomorrow when you step on caesar flickerman’s stage. not who you are, but who they want you to become.

“you’re not just tributes,” enobaria says, pacing slow. “you’re symbols, metaphors, breathing metaphors. do you understand?”

you nod, though you’re not sure if you do.

brutus rubs a hand over his face. “we’re giving you roles to play,” he says, a little softer. “you have to sell yourselves to the capitol. they’re going to fall in love with the idea of you.”

they look at rafe first.

“you’re the knight,” enobaria says. “protector of panem. young soldier from district two. charming, powerful, noble. someone who doesn’t fight because he wants to kill, but because it’s his duty.”

“chivalrous,” brutus adds. “but intimidating when you need to be.”

“someone the audience trusts,” she finishes, “but knows better than to cross.”

rafe lifts an eyebrow. “so you want me to be terrifying and trustworthy?”

“exactly,” enobaria says, not missing a beat.

he leans back again, mouth twitching at the corner. “guess i can do that.”

you wish it were that easy. but they turn to you next. enobaria studies you for too long, like she’s trying to peel your skin back to see what’s underneath.

“you’re not fire,” she says. “don’t try to be.”

you raise your chin, something cold curls in your gut. okay.

“you’re elegance,” brutus says. “grace, a flower that blooms in the middle of a battlefield.”

enobaria steps closer. “you’re the divine feminine, not to be underestimated. you don’t fight for glory. you fight to survive. and when you do, you make it look like art.”

you don’t know whether to feel flattered or furious. how the fuck do you portray that in an interview?

instead, you just breathe in slowly, eyes fixed on the window across the room. you’re too tired to argue.

they give you sample questions, hypothetical answers. you sit there for over two hours, repeating lines until they sound rehearsed in your own head.

rafe plays along easily, his tone slipping into charm when he’s asked about his strengths, letting a grin tug at his lips. you catch glimpses of what he’ll be like on stage. it’s convincing. dangerously so.

you get a break after that, barely ten minutes. just long enough to want to be anywhere else.

you’re standing near the sliding doors to the balcony, arms crossed, head pounding. the sky’s just starting to turn a hazy kind of blue. the city below doesn’t look real. nothing here does.

behind you, you hear rafe’s voice. “you wanna go?”

you turn your head slightly. he’s holding open the door with one hand, eyebrows raised.

“spar,” he clarifies. “just you ‘n me.”

you don’t answer, just step past him. you roll your shoulders back as you turn to face him, bare feet shifting against the smooth tile.

“first hit wins?” you say.

he smirks. “you won’t land one.”

you launch at him without warning, and he catches your momentum easily, spinning to throw you off balance, but you recover fast, ducking under his arm and aiming a quick jab at his side. he dodges, just barely.

your bodies move in rhythm. it’s dance-like and clean. but he’s faster, more grounded. his strength is in his restraint. he never uses more force than necessary. you can tell he’s holding back again, testing you, watching how you move.

but you’re not weak. you’re sharp, light on your feet. your hits are quick and calculated.

there’s a moment where he catches your wrist and twists, and your breath catches, but instead of panicking, you roll with it, using your other hand to push him back, your legs sweeping under his.

he stumbles, just for a second. you both pause. then you laugh, he does too. you wipe sweat from your brow and shake your head. “you’re better at this than i thought.”

“i’m better at everything than you thought.”

you roll your eyes, but the tension in your chest has eased. the sparring is the most normal thing you’ve done in days.

he steps closer, not in a threatening way. he holds your gaze. “you’ll be good out there,” he says, voice low.

you don’t ask if he means the interview. or the arena. you just nod. “yeah,” you murmur. “you too.”

the morning of the interview, you wake before the sun.

there’s no need to, no call time that early, no knock on the door. but your body just knows, like it’s wired to the pressure now. your stomach turns the second your eyes open, heavy and hollow all at once. you lie there for a while in the dark, the sheets tangled around your legs.

you don't remember falling asleep. you barely remember yesterday. the rehearsals blurred together, your body and brain pushed past the point of tired, and now you're on the other side of it.

you keep hearing brutus’ voice in your head.

you don’t fight for glory. you fight to survive. and when you do, you make it look like art.

whatever the hell that means.

you rise slowly. everything you do feels deliberate now, like it matters. like they're watching. even now. even here.

you step into the shower and let the heat burn against your skin. it's too hot. you don’t care. the steam curls up around you, beads of water streaming down your back like they’re trying to rinse off the nerves, the fear, the truth of where you're going.

when you step out, you don’t bother looking in the mirror. you know what you’ll see. your prep team does, too.

they're waiting when you step into the room that’s been transformed into a personal studio. valis is standing to the side, arms folded in a sleek black outfit, surveying your approach like a general waiting for her soldier.

she doesn’t say anything at first. just looks you over and nods. you’re a canvas, and she’s about to make you perfect.

the prep team descends in silence, gloved hands on your shoulders, guiding you gently toward the chair. your damp hair is already being combed through, braided, twisted. there’s music playing somewhere, no real words being sung, but you barely hear it over the sound of your own thoughts.

you murmur to yourself under your breath, just words from yesterday’s rehearsal, like the phrases they drilled into you, the fake answers, the poised smiles, the things you’re supposed to say when they ask you about the games, or about your partner, or what makes you different from every other tribute.

you think about your parents, what they’ll see. you wonder if they’ll even recognize you when you step on that stage.

a warm hand lifts your chin, guiding your face as the stylists start to work. powder, shimmer, subtle contouring that sculpts your features but doesn’t hide them. they know the image valis is aiming for.

the dress appears partway through. someone wheels it in carefully, draped over a velvet mannequin, covered in clear silk. your eyes lock on it instantly.

it’s breathtaking.

it doesn’t scream district two. not really. but there’s a nod in the design. it’s less armor, more divine regalia.

you catch your reflection now.

valis steps up beside you and nods once. “you’ll have them in the palm of your hand.” but you don’t answer.

you’re standing in line.

the stage is just beyond the doors, a glowing, blinding light on the other side. the screen above will play each interview in real time, showing the faces of the tributes in front of you. it’s where you’ll laugh, charm, and lie.

the line forms by district, starting with one. you’re somewhere toward the front again, right behind topper. your heels are quiet on the smooth floor, your body still, your breath slow.

topper stands in front of you, hands loose at his sides, relaxed in a way only someone from district one can be. he plays with the button on his jacket, bouncing slightly on his heels. you can hear him humming. he’s not nervous. he’s performing.

diamonte is already on stage.

you don’t even realize you’ve been tuning her out until caesar starts clapping and thanking her. her voice was quiet, her answers clipped. gee, her mentor must be exhausted.

the moment she exits the stage, the prep team swarms her like flies. and once his name is called, topper steps forward, a grin blooming across his face like it’s second nature.

you let your attention drift as the cameras pan to him.

his laughter fills the hallway as he starts his interview, all teeth and charm and easy. caesar eats it up. so does the audience. you let your eyes flick to the screen above, only half-listening. it’s hard to focus. you’re running through every question brutus made you answer yesterday, every phrase enobaria made you repeat.

the words still live in your mouth like muscle memory.

you’re so deep in your head, you don’t realize your hand has drifted back until you feel something warm brush your fingertips.

you blink, focus sharpening. his fingers. rafes.

you glance down, startled, but don’t move. his hand is at his side too, casual like yours, but his fingers are grazing yours like they’re asking a question.

his movements are slow, hesitant, like he’s checking if you’ll pull away. but for some reason, you don’t. instead, your hand stays there.

rafes fingers finally press softly into yours, and you stare at the floor. his thumb brushes along the inside of your knuckle once, kind of grounding in a way.

it’s stupid. and still, you squeeze his hand back.

you don’t say anything. you don’t need to, you just feel the warmth and the way it anchors you for a second when the world feels like it might spin off its axis.

topper’s name is shouted overhead in that sing-song way caesar flickerman always does, a final cheer ringing out from the crowd. on the screen, topper flashes his signature smirk, presses a hand to his chest, nods once like he’s accepting a crown, and walks off into the wings where his team waits for him like he’s already won.

your hand tightens slightly around rafe’s. his thumb strokes yours once more.

then you hear your name.

his touch disappears, you’re the one pulling away. you take one breath, two, and you don’t look back. you lift your chin, and walk.

once you step out into the light, it floods you all at once. you feel the heat on your skin, the flutter in your chest. your shoes hit the stage like they belong here,

smile, you remind yourself. so you do. not too big. just enough.

your lips curve gently, like a subtle invitation. you walk like you’ve done this before. like you’ve walked on runways made of bone and silk. like you’ve never known fear.

you cross to the velvet armchair opposite caesar flickerman, who beams like he’s just seen a goddess step into his living room. his blue hair sparkles under the lights, suit more outrageous than ever. it’s something gold and high-collared tonight, glowing like it was made of static.

you sit, and the applause simmers down to a purr as caesar leans forward, hands clasped.

“welcome, welcome,” caesar says, beaming at you. “you look stunning, my dear. absolutely radiant. tell me—who is responsible for this masterpiece of a dress?”

you glance toward the audience, then down at the gown.

it’s a dark wine red, almost black under the lights. the fabric flows like water, high-necked with a slit up one leg, the cut hugging you like it was poured on. petals are made from delicate glassy mesh climb up the bodice, unfurling across your chest and one shoulder.

“valis and my prep team,” you say. your voice is clear, calm, just a little smoky. “they worked very hard on it, caesar.”

“they deserve a raise,” caesar says dramatically. the crowd laughs. “and is it true we have a theme going on with this look? i’m sensing something floral, something . . .”

you smile again. just slightly. “roses,” you say, letting the word linger. “a reminder that something beautiful can still be dangerous.”

a hush falls. then applause.

you see it in caesar’s eyes. you’ve got him. he adjusts in his seat. “now i have to say, there’s been a lot of talk about you. your training score was . . . well, let’s just say it had everyone leaning forward. and the quiet ones, oh, we know what they say about the quiet ones. i mean, it was the highest score received this year.”

you keep your expression unreadable. “what can i say?” you reply softly. “i prefer to let my actions speak for me.”

the crowd loves that. they cheer again. even caesar claps a little, but you feel yourself settle into the moment. you were born for this, weren’t you?

“so tell us,” caesar goes on. “what’s your strategy going into the arena? any strengths you want to share? anything we should be watching for?”

you pause for a breath.

“i’m not here to make friends,” you say simply “i’m here to survive.”

another pause.

“but i do think there’s a . . . poetry in surviving. it’s not just about killing. it’s about reading the arena, understanding people, knowing when to wait, and when to strike. and how to turn the odds.”

caesar whistles. “spoken like a true daughter of two! and is there anyone, back home maybe, who’ll be watching you closely?”

you let the question hang in the air. your eyes flick to the camera softly, and you nod. “i hope my parents are watching,” you say. “i hope . . . they know i haven’t forgotten who i am.”

that earns a quieter reaction. people are still respectful, just a little more curious. you don’t say anything else.

caesar stands with you, takes your hand, raises it to the crowd, “district two’s rose—y/n!”

the applause swells. you let them cheer, let them look at you and see exactly what you want them to see. you smile, but it never quite reaches your eyes.

you step offstage into a rush of motion. the applause is still buzzing in your ears. immediately, you're swallowed by hands. valis’ voice hits first, sharp with breathless praise.

“you were perfect,” she says, adjusting the fabric at your shoulder, like there’s something to fix even though there’s not. “the smile, the posture, the answers. perfect.”

your prep team swarms in next, touching your hair, smoothing your dress, giving you anxious, excited looks. they all talk at once. someone hands you water, someone else mutters something about a strand of hair being out of place. you don’t listen. not really.

enobaria appears behind valis, arms folded. “well done,” she says simply. “you said everything we wanted them to hear. you owned the room. didn’t overstay, didn’t overshare. you were exactly what we needed you to be.”

you nod, just once, like you’re absorbing it, but your eyes are already moving up, to the screen above the door.

caesar’s still standing on stage, soaking up the applause that followed your exit. “and now,” he announces, voice rising again, “please welcome to the stage . . . our male tribute from district two—rafe cameron!”

the camera follows him as he steps into the light. his suit is simple, dark, collar slightly open like he couldn’t be bothered to wear a tie. and a small, barely-there detail: a single rose pin at his lapel. it matches the petals from your dress.

he takes the chair opposite caesar, leans back like he’s done this a thousand times, like he’s not about to enter a deathmatch, but like he’s sitting at a bar about to tell you a story.

you don’t realize you’ve stepped forward until valis gently tugs your elbow, ushering you to sit. but you don’t sit. not yet. your eyes stay locked on the screen.

you watch as caesar leans in, grin wide. “rafe cameron. i think you’ve just broken quite a few hearts in this room.”

rafe’s laugh is low, warm. just the right amount of amused. “that’s not my intention,” he says. “but i’ll take the compliment.”

the audience swoons. you can already see the headlines. the capitol’s favorite solder, the face of two, panem’s protector.

“now, you’re quite the mystery, rafe,” caesar says, smiling. “the training scores don’t lie. and you’re not exactly the loudest tribute we’ve had, but there’s something about you . . . something commanding. tell us, where does that come from?”

rafe shrugs slightly. “i grew up around people who didn’t let words mean much,” he says. “they taught me that actions matter more. if i make it out of that arena, it won’t be because i talked my way through.”

gee, you two are looking like two peas in a pod now.

“so no fancy speeches?” caesar teases.

rafe smiles again, slower this time. “if i give a speech, it’s probably because i’m buying time to get behind you.”

the crowd loses it.

even caesar laughs, clapping his hands. “oh, i like you.”

valis murmurs something beside you, something about how his phrasing is perfect, how he’s sticking to the plan, how he’s a dream.

caesar asks about the arena next, like what he’ll do when it all starts.

“i’ll fight,” rafe says. “that’s what i’ve been trained to do.”

“and if you’re not the last one standing?” caesar asks, voice softer.

rafe pauses.

and for a second, you see it, something flickering in his expression. “then i’ll make sure the person who is . . . deserves to be.”

caesar lets the silence hang for just long enough before rising to his feet and calling out his name like a victory bell, “rafe cameron!”

the applause slams through the studio again as rafe rises, nodding once to the audience, then turning to disappear into the wings.

when rafe walks past the prep teams and camera cords, he doesn’t stop until he’s beside you.

you nudge his arm, “panem’s protector?”

he hums like you’re challenging him, “our rose of panem?”

you roll your eyes, but there’s a smile in it.

the ride back to the apartment is quiet. brutus has already mumbled something about calling it a night and disappears into his room the moment the elevator doors open. enobaria lingers in the living room, speaking in low, clipped tones into a thin communicator tucked into her wrist. a family call, maybe. her voice softens when she says the name lynna. it makes you smile, even though you don’t know who that is.

you don’t listen in anyway. it’s not your place.

instead, you let valis and your prep team start their work.

they're gentler this time, quieter, more careful, like they know tonight is different. it’s not just an end to the public show, but the last stretch of normalcy before it all crumbles into the arena tomorrow.

the dress is removed, handled like it’s priceless. and maybe it is. your skin is wiped clean, their fingers warm as they dab off every trace of shimmer, rouge, gloss. even the kohl lining your eyes. it’s all erased, like none of it ever mattered.

you're back in your loungewear again. it’s just you.

you hear the other prep team working on rafe in the room across from yours with muffled voices, maybe some quiet laughter. his team has always been a bit more relaxed than yours. you wonder if he’s smiling. if he’s pretending he’s not scared.

you don’t speak to each other yet. not with all these people still here. but when they finally start to pack up, hands gentle and final, you feel a strange kind of grief tug at your ribs, like losing something you didn’t even know you were holding.

valis kisses the top of your head before she leaves. you don’t stop her. she doesn’t say goodbye just yet. she’s probably saving it for tomorrow. but she squeezes your shoulder and goes.

rafe’s team probably does the same. you hear the soft footsteps and hushed murmurs, and then the front door hisses shut behind them, and it’s just the four of you now.

brutus is silent behind his door. snoring, probably.

enobaria’s still talking in the living room, but her voice is fading into something calmer. laughter, even.

you don’t mean to sit down on your bed. you just find yourself there. your fingers twist the edge of the blanket without thought. your gaze is trained somewhere between the floor and nothing at all.

you should rest, but your mind doesn’t want to. it’s loud now. strategies, maps, faces, weapons, alliances, weak points. it’s all there, all fighting for space in your head.

it feels like studying for an exam in school, except this time, a wrong answer doesn’t just mean a bad grade. it means a knife in your throat. a cannon fire. a name in the sky.

you hate that thought. you hate it. but it’s real. you have to be the one who survives. you can’t afford not to be. not after all this. not with how many people are counting on you. but then again . . . the games don’t care what you deserve. and luck doesn’t care either.

you’ve seen it in old games before. it doesn’t even matter if you’re strong, or fast, or smart. one misstep, one wrong branch or trap or breath, and it’s over. that’s what scares you, not the killing.

you shift and lay back, arms at your sides, eyes on the ceiling. you think about the arena, what it might be.

a sunken city, maybe. collapsing buildings, rusted steel and water pooling beneath cracked rooftops. a place where every step is a risk.

or maybe something dry and open. a desert with no real water source comes to mind. but no, they wouldn’t do that. it would end too quickly. there’d be no tension, no drawn-out battles, no long, bloody entertainment.

they need a spectacle this year. the tributes are too good. the scores too high. no one wants to see a short game.

you sigh, and roll to your side. the fabric of the blanket scratches slightly against your cheek. you’d watched the rest of the interviews once you were back in your room earlier. nothing stuck except for a girl from five. her name slips your mind, but not her face, her hands didn’t fidget when she spoke. and the guy from eleven. there was something in the way he hesitated before answering certain questions. something he didn’t want to give away.

you’ll remember that if you see them again. like, you’ll see him before the bloodbath surely, but once you’ve taken what you need tomorrow and start to survive in the arena? it’s weird to know you might never see them again.

you close your eyes for a second, but the quiet only sharpens. the light dims in your room after it’s suspected no movement from you, and you let it. maybe your room without light will make you calm down.

there’s a soft knock at your door, like three light taps.

you blink, lifting your head slightly, already assuming it’s enobaria. maybe she’s just checking in, saying goodnight before finally calling it. you half expect her voice on the other side, ‘rest up. don’t waste your nerves now.’

but instead, the door cracks open slowly, just enough to reveal a boyish, crooked smile, like he’s trying not to laugh. like he’s about to say something really stupid. your heart flickers in your chest when you realize it’s rafe.

he doesn’t say ‘wakey wakey,’ but the look on his face might as well scream it. he leans his head in a little more, eyes squinting like he’s checking if you’re already asleep. when your mouth twitches into a smirk, he smiles wider.

you sit up slowly, brushing a blanket wrinkle smooth with your hand. “you look like you’re about to break in and rob me,” you mutter, eyes squinting back at him, amused.

he gives a dramatic glance over his shoulder, like he’s being tailed, before slipping fully inside and nudging the door shut behind him with his heel.

“can i crash here for a bit?” he scratches the back of his head like it’s casual, like it’s normal for him to just be here, hovering in the half-dark with his hair still a little tousled from the prep team’s touch.

you raise an eyebrow, but he doesn’t explain. he just doesn’t have to. you figure he just wants to go over strategies, maybe revisit some of the things you two talked about earlier. one last brain meld before the big plunge. you nod and scoot back until you’re flush with your pillows, tugging the blanket over your lap and leaving plenty of space.

he takes the opportunity immediately like a damn cat. rafe shuffles across the floor in a quick motion and flops forward onto your bed, stomach first, the heels of his feet hanging off the edge. he sighs dramatically into your mattress like he’s just dropped the weight of the world behind him. which, to be fair, he kind of has.

for a little while, you just talk. nothing important. dumb things, mostly.

you make a joke about brutus’s snoring sounding like a broken hovercraft. rafe brings up how his prep stylist nearly burned off his eyebrows with some kind of capitol serum today. he mimics the voice of caesar from earlier, going all wide-eyed and grand, waving his arms in mock imitation, “the stunning, the spectacular, district two's shining girl, y/n!” and then immediately butchers your last name on purpose.

you laugh. you genuinely laugh. it feels strange in your throat. his grin is lazy, but then it gets quiet.

not awkward quiet. not heavy yet. just quiet enough that you can hear the tick of the wall clock and the hum of some ventilation system in the room. you realize you’ve been playing with your fingers for a while. twisting them in your lap, knuckles cracking faintly. your breath feels a little tighter.

he doesn’t say anything at first. but his head turns slightly toward you, like he knows it’s coming. and then you ask.

“do you think they’ll make it fast?”

he blinks, eyebrows pulling together slightly. “who?”

“any of us.” you keep your voice low. “or if they’ll . . . drag it out. for the audience.”

they always want a show when someone dies. the words feel like glass in your mouth, but you say them anyway. it’s too close to tomorrow not to. and the longer you hold them in, the more they burn.

rafe’s smile fades a little. he rolls onto his side to face you better, his elbow propped up beneath his cheek. “depends.”

“on what?”

he shrugs. “how interesting they think we are.”

you look at him, really look at him. you know that you two have to be one of the most interesting of the litter this year. no doubt about it. it’s not even being cocky, but you don’t even have to question whether you’re interesting enough.

his brows are furrowed, like he’s working through something of his own now. whatever mask he wears for everyone else, it’s off tonight. it’s just rafe. he exhales softly, like something’s sitting heavy in his chest.

“sometimes i think . . .” he starts, then stops. his fingers drum lightly against your blanket. “i think i’ve spent my whole life being trained to win a game i never actually wanted to play.”

your heart twists. none of his words are you. you can’t relate to that, at least not fully, but you shift slightly closer. “then why play?” you ask, just above a whisper.

he stares at the ceiling. “because people expect me to. and because if i don’t . . . someone else dies in my place, i guess?”

he turns his head toward you again, his eyes softer than before. you both sit in the quiet for a long moment.

at some point, you don’t know what time it is, don’t even bother to check the clock, but you know the night’s not long enough. not with tomorrow looming the way it is. the games. the arena. the countdown that won’t stop ticking.

rafe’s still lying on your bed, arms folded under his head, his legs half hanging off the edge. his shirt is rumpled, and there’s a faint line across his cheek from where he must’ve pressed his face against his arm a little too long. he’s quiet, but not asleep. you can tell. his eyes are still open.

you don’t talk at first. it’s the kind of silence that doesn’t feel awkward, just tense, like you’re both listening to the same thing.

nothing will be the same after tomorrow.

you shift, pulling your blanket higher over your lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge. rafe swallows, shifting slightly.

“i think . . .” he starts, voice low as he breaks the silence. he hesitates. you don’t think it’s the kind of hesitation that means he doesn’t know what he’s about to say, but maybe it’s the kind where he does, and it scares him.

finally, his voice breaks through the hush again, “i think my dad rigged the reaping for me.”

you blink, hard. your first reaction is confusion. your mouth parts slightly, like the words don’t compute. you stare at him, processing. “what?”

he finally shifts. he sits up slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, like he can’t say it lying down. “i think my dad rigged the reaping,” he says again, quieter now. like he’s still not sure if saying it out loud makes it more real or less.

you just stare. your brain takes a second to catch up. “okay, but how can . . . how can someone even do that?”

he huffs. “if they’ve got enough pull. i told you my dad’s a high-ranking peacekeeper. i wouldn’t put it past him.”

you just watch him.

he runs a hand through his hair. “i’m eighteen, it’s my last year. last shot. he’s been pushing for this forever since i was a kid, always said it was ‘in my blood’ or whatever as if he ever did it when he was my age. warriors, winners, glory, all that bullshit. i thought maybe i’d made it through. like maybe he gave up. but then my name got called and . . .” he shakes his head. “i knew.”

the silence between you thickens.

“so,” you say slowly, “you didn’t even want . . . to be here.”

“not like this.” he says it flatly, like he’s already accepted it. like it’s just a fact.

you nod, but your stomach turns. you think about how fast you raised your hand, how fast you moved toward the stage. how you didn’t even hesitate. you wanted it. you asked for it. and he didn’t. he was shoved in, boxed up and dropped into it like a piece on a game board.

you look away for a second, a sharp tightness in your chest. guilt? maybe. maybe something more complicated than that. you shouldn’t care. don’t get too attached. everyone should accept their fate, but for some reason, you just can’t let this shake.

“i didn’t know it could even be rigged,” you say after a moment.

“most people don’t. the blame would go immediately to the capitol for it, and they can’t afford that. already have too much to worry about.”

you glance back at him. he’s looking straight ahead now, somewhere past the door, unfocused. he looks tired. not in the way everyone looks tired, but in a way that’s deeper. oh. he’s been carrying this for too long.

“so then what was it like?” you ask. “growing up with him.”

he doesn’t answer right away. then he laughs dryly. “loud. exhausting.” he rubs at his jaw. “everything was a test. everything had a consequence. there was no playing. no room for mistakes. if i cried, i was weak. if i hesitated, i was a failure. he used to time me doing drills in the backyard. would get pissed if i didn’t beat my last record.”

you don’t say anything. you’re not sure what you could.

“i don’t think he ever really saw me,” rafe mutters. “just some idea of who he wanted me to be.”

you shift closer without thinking, just enough that your knee almost touches his. your blanket shifts with you. you don’t say anything dramatic, don’t try to fix it. you just sit there with him.

“i’m sorry,” you say hesitantly, quietly, something you’re not used to. but you’ve been thinking that maybe you should now.

he shrugs. “nothing to be sorry for. just how it is.”

you nod. it’s quiet again. but this time it feels different. there’s no performance here. no prep team, no sponsors, no cameras.

he leans back again, rests his head against the bed, eyes shut. you keep your gaze down.

he stays quiet for a while like he’s trying not to think too hard. and then, after a few more seconds pass, he speaks. “oh, but what about you?” he asks. “what were you like before all this?”

you glance over at him. “what do you mean?”

“before the games, or the training center, or before your name was even in the pool. what’d you care about? what’d you want?”

you don’t answer right away. the question sits in your chest like a stone.

he isn’t asking in that surface-level way people do, the way interviewers or capitol hosts might. he isn’t fishing for a soundbite. he’s just asking because he wants to know. maybe because it makes everything feel a little less isolating if he knows someone else used to be a real person too.

you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek. sigh. “i don’t know. i think i was bored.”

it’s a poor way of starting this, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything. he just watches you, listening.

you shrug a little. “my mom works in records for the district. basically just moves files around and makes sure everyone else is on time. it’s as dull as it sounds. she's been doing the same thing since before i was born. every day. same path to work, same lunches. she gets home, sits in the same chair, turns on the same channel, and that’s her night.”

you pick at the blanket in your lap. “my dad’s a peacekeeper too. nothing like yours, i think, but he plays the game. he keeps his head down, follows orders. they’re both good people. i know it. i think they’re just . . . resigned. like they don’t expect anything more. i was probably gonna end up doing what my mom does, to take over her job eventually. get slotted into the same chair, the same shifts. get used to silence.”

your voice drops. “and yeah, i didn’t want that.” you glance at rafe again, “i didn’t want to be invisible.”

you laugh once. “i thought volunteering would make me matter. thought it’d give me some kind of identity, some pride. like maybe people would look at me and see me for once, i guess.”

he doesn’t answer right away, and for a second you wonder if it sounds ridiculous out loud. like a kid trying to win gold stars in a system designed to kill them.

but rafe just nods, slowly. “makes sense.”

you exhale, finally letting your back rest against the wall too. you turn your head slightly. “what about you?” you ask, softer now. “if you didn’t get reaped. if your dad didn’t, whatever the hell he did to get you here, what would you be doing right now?”

his jaw clenches a little. you can tell he’s thinking, but you can also tell the answer’s not easy.

“i’d be home,” he says finally. you glance at him, but you don’t push. “probably walking sarah to school,” he adds. “she hates waking up early. always complains the whole way there.”

a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t last long. “wheezie would already be up, probably trying to get out of eating whatever our stepmom cooked for breakfast. she used to slip it into her jacket pocket and then flush it when no one was looking.”

you smile, just a little. it’s the first time you’ve heard him talk about them. “you have siblings?”

he huffs a breath, a little like a laugh but not really. “yeah. two sisters. sarah’s sixteen. we used to fight all the time, over nothing. she’s stubborn as hell but she’s smart. too smart, sometimes. wheezie’s thirteen. she’s got this habit of pretending she’s not listening, but she remembers everything. like . . . everything. it’s creepy.”

you smile, surprised. not because he has sisters, though that’s new, but because of the way he’s talking. you’ve never heard him like this. not in the training center. not in the interviews. not even on the rooftop.

“they sound like a handful,” you say.

“they are.” he pauses, then adds, quieter, “they’re good, though. better than me. wheezie would slack off during training more than me, but sarah’s good for it. all the camerons are.”

“you think they’re watching?” you ask.

he shakes his head. “i hope not. not if they’re smart.” he exhales slowly through his nose like he’s trying not to let something show. “they probably think i volunteered, talked my dad into saying my name,” he mutters. “i wonder if that’s worse.”

you don’t say anything. you don’t know what the right thing would even be.

he runs a hand down his face and lets it drop, then turns to glance at you. “any siblings?”

you shake your head. “just me.”

he nods like he figured. “that explain the volunteering?”

you almost laugh. “no. i mean . . . maybe a little.”

he waits. doesn’t push. but he’s looking at you now, and it feels like you owe him something, but you’ve already said it. “i just didn’t want to end up like my mom, you know,” you say like he already understands, and he does.

he looks at you for a beat longer, then nods like he gets it.

you both fall quiet again. you’re tired, and not just physically. it’s in your bones now, all of it. but sitting here, next to him, it’s a little easier to breathe.

and neither of you says it out loud, but you both know this might be the last night you ever get to talk like this. maybe that’s why it matters so much. maybe that’s why you don’t want to move.

but then there’s another knock. you and rafe both glance up at the same time, barely a beat after it lands, and the door creaks open. enobaria stands in the doorway, shoulder leaned into the frame. she lifts an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“are you two having a sleepover?” she drawls.

you deadpan right back, “why, you wanna join?” you toss her a look over your shoulder, one part playful, one part exhausted. it’s not a real invite, but it’s not not one either. you’ve never seen her act normal.

she huffs, something that’s almost a laugh, and crosses the room to pull the desk chair out. it gives a small squeak as she turns it around and drops into it backwards.

“cute,” she mutters. “but let’s talk strategy again.”

you groan immediately, flopping backwards like she’s just sentenced you to death early. rafe doesn’t miss a beat either, dropping his head until his forehead nearly hits the mattress, arms sprawled out beside him.

“what is this, homework?” you mutter into your pillow.

enobaria doesn’t smile this time. she’s watching both of you now, eyes sharp, tone steady. “listen,” she says. “you can complain all you want, but in the next week, one of you might die. or both of you. i’m not gonna sugarcoat it. i’m not good at that. but i know what works.”

you sit up again, slowly. rafe’s already half-propped on his elbows, listening now, even if his head’s still turned to the side.

“you two watch each other’s backs,” she says. “no matter what. no splitting up unless you have to, and even then, you circle back. don’t assume anyone’s dead unless you see it with your own eyes. and if it happens, if one of you goes, you make it mean something. don’t let it be for nothing.”

you can feel your throat tighten and your stomach turns. you glance at rafe. he doesn’t even look at you.

enobaria leans forward. “you don’t have to kill each other,” she says. “but one of you needs to come back. one of you has to. you understand me?”

you nod. it’s faint. rafe gives a slow blink. another nod.

“use everything you’ve learned,” she continues. “everything. don’t wait to be clever. if it’s brutal, be brutal. if it’s manipulative, fine. lean into it. alliances are fine for the first few days, but they always burn out. you two are a unit. don’t forget that.”

you shift in place, something in you itching. “you’ve seen this a lot, huh?” you ask.

enobaria gives a quiet nod. “more than i’d like.” she leans back again, resting her head briefly on the top of the chair.

“last year’s kid from four, ria, remember her? she got cocky in the final five. thought she had enough food stockpiled to wait the others out. didn’t account for an acid rain trigger that melted her stash. by the time she had to come out, she was half-starved and stumbled right into the final three’s ambush.”

you wince.

enobaria’s voice drops lower, thoughtful. “always account for change. for traps. for things that feel unfair. because they are. it’s a game, but it’s also a show. that means it’s rigged for drama. that means they want surprises. don’t fall into them.”

you nod again, slower this time. “okay.”

she exhales, like she’s getting tired of the weight of her own words. then she adds, almost offhandedly, “also . . . i don’t know. if it gets desperate, you could always start a fake romance or something. no one’s done a believable one in a while.”

you groan like she’s your older sister telling you something you don’t wanna hear, but rafe huffs out a soft laugh into the mattress.

she grins. “i’m just saying. the capitol eats that stuff up. doesn’t have to be real.”

“goodnight,” you say, waving her out.

“just keep it in your pocket,” she smirks, standing. you scowl at her through narrowed eyes. rafe’s still half-buried in the bed, clearly choosing not to comment. enobaria starts for the door. “get some rest. you’ll be up late enough tomorrow.”

you turn your head on your pillow as she leaves, watching her go. she stops in the doorway just once more.

“noon,” she reminds the two of you. “we’ll say our goodbyes then.” and then she’s gone.

the door clicks shut, leaving the room. you exhale hard into your pillow, bury your head deeper into it.

rafe hasn’t moved much. he’s still stretched out across your bed, holding himself up on his elbows, staring at the far wall like it might offer answers.

you stare at the pillow beside you. you don’t know why, but neither of you say anything. you just sit there, processing.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Mad Love Chapter 24 + Premium Attire Story

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NSFW warning

The next morning, Victor and I took the earliest train out of London.

Kate: Wow…

We arrived at a town a few hours outside of London, famous for the nearby lake as well as the large number of summer residences there. I was entranced by the lush scenery, and Victor chuckled beside me.

Victor: When I was a child, I’d be allowed to stay in my uncle’s villa during the summers.

In the distance, a bell rang to signal that it was noon. I sped up to catch up to Victor, who had began walking.

Victor: It was the one time of year that I was allowed out of my corner of the palace. Victor: I didn’t have anyone I could call a friend back then. Victor: The closest thing would be the son of my former nursemaid as we were similar in age, but we didn’t stand on equal footing. He was supposed to serve me.

(The son of his nursemaid… he and Victor’s uncle were…)

My thoughts grew muddled as I remembered Victor’s past. But he looked at me reassuringly.

Victor: It’s all in the distant past now. Don’t make that face.

The back of his fingers brushed against my cheek.

Victor: Back to what I was saying. I always looked forward to summertime. The palace was full of adults, and I had no chance to indulge in any childlike behaviors there. Victor: But here, no matter how much I played and ran about, there was no one to lecture me.

He suddenly stopped and pointed ahead.

Kate: Whoa…

The lake that spread out before us reflected the cloudless blue sky like a giant mirror.

Victor: I’d go fishing on that pier, roll around in the grass and watch the sunset. Victor: Oh, and I’d secretly go for a swim in the lake, too.

I snuck a glimpse at his profile as he reminisced about his childhood, imagining what he was like at that age.

(This was the only place where he was allowed to be a child.)

Away from the palace, he could forget about the ties that bound him to the royal family.

(I’m glad that I got to know about something so important to him.)

As warmth spread through my chest after learning another piece of information about Victor, his smile dropped.

Victor: Let’s go.

Seeing his determined expression, I closed my eyes for just a brief moment. Then I began walking with him. We made our way to the villa that had belonged to Victor’s uncle. After his uncle’s death, the villa had been granted to his wife. However, she had chosen to return to her home country, and sold off the villa. The villa had passed through the hands of many different owners since then, but all of them fell into misfortune. After being bought and sold again for a number of years, the property ended up as it was now. It had “no apparent owner”. The sound of our footsteps echoed in hallways that contained not even a single speck of dust. I looked up at Victor’s broad back as we walked, realizing that he had positioned himself as if to keep me hidden.

(He keeps doing things that make my heart throb, even in a situation like this…)

Perhaps he didn’t do it intentionally, but knowing how much he cared washed away some of my nervousness.

(But soon, he’s going to–)

Victor came to a stop in front of a door. He turned to me, and I nodded as I mustered my determination. I was ready for the curtain to fall on this series of events. Victor slammed the door open, revealing an atelier. Dozens of easels were scattered around the room, each of them displaying a portrait.

(Are those… Victor?)

The brushstrokes of each picture portrayed a man with long black hair and fine features. Some of them showed him from the front, some in profile. Some paintings mimicked candid photographs taken in town. All of them were of Victor.

???: Oh, you made it.

A man in a wheelchair was sitting in the corner of the atelier. His long, dull black hair was tied back in a single ponytail, and he had brown eyes. I could see a resemblance to Victor…

Victor: Ben Brown, also known as Liberator, leader of Nox Liberator. Victor: You plotted to overthrow the government and killed many innocent people in the process. Victor: Regardless of the fact that you are my uncle’s illegitimate son, I cannot forgive your crimes.

His declaration was made with the queen’s full authority.

[TL note: Victor uses 私 ‘watashi’ in his final sentence, indicating that he is speaking formally as the queen.]

(Ben Brown is his uncle’s son…) (So he is Victor’s family.)

-----

First class was empty except for the two of us. There was no one else on the train, in fact. With a serious expression, Victor spoke. Victor: We are going to condemn the leader of Nox Liberator. Victor: He is known as Liberator, and seems to be worshipped by the other members of the group. Kate: So the person Ignis was talking about is… Victor: Indeed. It can be none other than Liberator. Nox Liberator had existed from the time that Queen Victoria ascended to the throne. Until a few years ago, they had been growing in numbers by bringing in people who wanted to form a democratic republic. But the current Nox Liberator wanted to create a republic so that Liberator could rule. After they overthrew the government, they would place Liberator in charge of the new country. They acted towards this goal with a single-minded obsession, willing to sacrifice anything and everything to make their vision come true. It was as if Liberator had brainwashed everyone in the group. Victor: Liberator excels at manipulation, and never shows his face, instead pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Victor: But his true identity is… I gulped, and waited for Victor to continue. His expression remained stone-like. Victor: Ben Brown, the illegitimate son of my uncle. Victor: My cousin. Kate: Your cousin… I recalled the past that William had told me, at a loss for words. (So now Victor has to kill another family member, after unintentionally causing the deaths of all the others…) (And now he has to kill the son of his uncle, the first life he had intentionally taken.) He smiled painfully and continued. Victor: Though my aunt and uncle never had children of their own, they were happy with each other. Victor: But my uncle was weak of heart, and couldn’t stand the mounting pressure from everyone around them. He turned away from his wife. Victor: And he spent a night with a prostitute he met in the city. Victor: That was how Ben, a half-royal child, was born. Victor told the story of how Ben’s mother tried to get him to be acknowledged as part of the royal family. But to protect his wife’s standing, Victor’s uncle could not allow the child of a prostitute to become a member of the royal family. He did not cut all ties with them entirely, however, and regularly sent them large amounts of money. Ben’s mother quickly wasted all the money, and they were stuck in extreme poverty. After Victor’s uncle died and the money stopped coming, Ben’s mother turned to alcohol and frequently beat Ben. One day, the two of them were hit by a carriage, but only Ben survived. The accident caused Ben to lose the use of both of his legs. (So that’s why Ignis said he wanted to give Ben new legs…) I dropped my gaze as I remembered Ignis’s last moments. Victor: When Ben had hit the lowest point of his life, Queen Victoria rose to power. I looked up when Victor continued speaking. Although Ben was never formally acknowledged as royalty, Victor’s uncle kept in regular contact with Ben via letters. So he knew that there was no woman named Victoria in the royal family. Also, the last letter that Victor’s uncle sent to Ben had contained this line: Victor: “If I die, Victor will become king.” Kate: Why would he write something like that…? Victor: …As I said, my uncle was weak-hearted. The closer the throne loomed, the more it rattled him. Victor: Perhaps he wanted someone he could confess his fears to. “Victoria” and “Victor”. Following his suspicions, Ben did some investigation, and discovered that a man named Victor was serving as the queen’s aide. He had seemingly appeared out of thin air, but commanded the queen’s trust and was able to speak for her. The only one who had realized the queen’s true identity was Ben, due to the letters his father wrote.

-----

Upon hearing Victor’s declaration that he could not be forgiven, for some reason, Ben looked elated.

Ben: At first, I was jealous of you.

He ran his fingers across the cheek of the Victor in his portrait.

Ben: In contrast to my pitiful existence, you could enjoy life on the throne while hiding your true identity. Ben: I wasn’t free to go where I wanted or do what I wanted because of my legs, stuck struggling for the barest scraps to get by. Ben: You had power, status, and freedom. Of course I resented you. Ben: That’s why I founded Nox Liberator. To tear you down and abolish the monarchy. Ben: But one day, I saw you when you were in the city. Ben: You were laughing while performing magic tricks for children. As if you were just another person.

The hand stroking the painted Victor’s cheek stopped, moving to the portrait’s lips.

Ben: At the time, I remember thinking, “Why?”

Then he whispered quietly.

Ben: You are trapped by your position as queen, so you’ve given up on personal happiness. Ben: Perhaps you were just as pitiful as me. Ben: Somewhere along the line, I started thinking about abolishing the monarchy for your sake.

Ben’s behavior was strange, like he was entranced by the Victor in his paintings.

Ben: I know Nox Liberator wants to instill me as ruler after we overthrow the government. I don’t care about that. Ben: I just want to remove you from the throne, and make everyone support you. Ben: So you can be free, and be the ‘liberator’ of my life.

This was the true reason he directed Nox Liberator to take the actions they did, the true reason he injured and killed so many people. It was all to grant Victor freedom, and thus be liberated from his own life.

(That’s why he hurt and killed the people that Victor cares so much for?)

Something’s not right.

He’s insane…

Is it your ability…? (+4/+4)

Kate: Is it your ability…?

Victor: Could it be…?

Ben: To feel this way for someone you hate… I know people would call me insane.

Ben pressed his cheek to the portrait, nuzzling against it.

(The son of Victor’s nursemaid also began acting obsessed like this after falling under the influence of Victor’s ability.)

I looked to Victor, who seemed to share my thoughts. He frowned and pressed his lips together grimly, before turning back to Ben.

Ben: I looked into you. I researched everything about you. I know you formed a private group of people with special abilities. Ben: I know you call them Crown. That they condemn the evil that runs rampant in England.

Victor: …

Ben: But you know, no matter what kind of magic they possess, there is no one in this world more special than you. Ben: You’re the chosen one, Victor.

He finally looked back to the real Victor, his eyes alight with zealous devotion. The expression on his face was identical to the face people made as Victor ordered them to die via his ability.

Ben: What a joke it is for the existence that guides my path, for someone so special, to be shackled by the throne. Ben: This country, these systems, every single person that holds you back… I’ll destroy it, I’ll ruin them, I’ll kill them all. Ben: So throw everything away, Victor. Be free.

His hand reached out, ever so slowly, towards Victor.

Ben: Take my hand.

The fanatic look in his eyes sent shivers down my spine. Victor took a step to Ben, who was still smiling with his hand extended.

Victor: To sit on the throne is equivalent to dying for the sake of the country. Victor: That was the choice I made when I turned 18.

In contrast to Ben, whose smile grew wider…

Victor: I have never been able to let go of my identity as ‘Victor’.

…Victor’s gaze was as cold as ice.

Victor: But when I was lost in the depths of my solitude, I was saved by a young girl.

(Oh…)

Victor: I want to create a country where she can live happily. Not just a country, but a world, a future.

Though warmth swirled in my heart at the memory he spoke about, the atmosphere chilled suddenly when Victor came to a stop.

Victor: I wear this crown of thorns willingly. No matter what you say, my mind will not change. Victor: Your hands have taken, ruined, and hurt those that are precious to me. Victor: I will never take your hand.

Ben’s hand dropped. All was silent for some time, before he began to laugh in disbelief.

Ben: What are you saying? It isn’t supposed to be like this. Ben: They lied to you, all of them! That girl, the people, all of society, this entire country! Ben: None of them need your protection, all they do is lie!

He furiously pulled out a gun from his pocket, pulling the trigger and blasting a hole into the wall.

Kate: !

Ben: We’re the same!

(No!)

Realizing that Ben was aiming the gun at Victor, I threw myself in front of Victor.

Victor: Kate–

Kate: You’re wrong!

At my yell, Ben stopped moving.

Kate: Victor is someone who cares for the country and the people, someone who has the will to sit on the throne despite everything it has cost him. Kate: He is nothing like you!

Ben: You bitch!

He pointed the gun at me and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Victor: Kate, cover your ears.

Victor’s arm reached around me, and my vision was obscured by his coat hanging off his arm. Following his instructions, I put my hands over my ears. He placed his other hand over one of mine.

Victor: It is true that I gave up on everything about myself. Victor: But even so, I still have something that is mine. And that is– Victor: …No, never mind. There’s no reason to tell a dead man anything.

I could hear nothing. When I craned my neck up, I could only see a faint smile on Victor’s face.

(Ah…)

I pressed my face into his chest as I realized what was going to happen. Soon after, I felt something large fall to the ground, and Victor moved his hands away from me. I slowly removed my hands from my ears, and Victor laughed, strained.

Victor: Everything is over now.

I couldn’t stand the sadness in his bitter smile, and buried my face into his chest again. As our arms wrapped around each other, I basked in his warmth, and let my eyes fall closed. The curtains had fallen on the battle against Nox Liberator.

Premium Attire Story: The Robin Who Fell in Love With the Reaper

By the time we returned to London, night had fallen. We returned to his office, but Victor had to leave to finish some work that had come up while he was away. I took the time to put together my report of everything that happened today.

(Okay, this should be it…)

My report ended with Ben being condemned by Crown, keeping Victor’s identity a secret. I stretched and looked over the finished report, breathing a sigh of relief that everything was done.

Victor: Are you done?

Kate: Ah! H-how long have you been standing there?

I was startled to find Victor standing right next to me, peering at my face.

Victor: Hmm, probably from around the time you were wondering how to refer to Ben’s true identity.

Kate: That was a long time ago… What about your wo-

While I hadn’t been looking, piles of documents had vanished without a trace.

Victor: As you can see, I’m done.

(Of course he is, that’s Victor for you…)

Kate: Sorry to keep you waiting.

Victor: Don’t apologize! I could watch your serious, adorable face for hours!

Kate: That does not make me feel better…

Victor laughed as I tried to cover my heated cheeks.

Kate: It’s already late, so I should go back to my room.

I stood, but Victor grabbed my arm, his expression slightly different than usual.

Kate: Victor…?

Without a word, he led me to his bookshelf and pulled a lever. We stepped into his bedroom.

(Is he going to walk me back using one of the secret passages?)

While I was thinking, the bookshelf moved back into place, concealing the exit. And Victor did not guide me to a different secret passage… …but to his bed.

Kate: …Huh?

As I stood there, unsure what to do, Victor pushed me down onto the mattress, his long hair falling around me like a curtain. The look in his eyes was entirely different than his usual kindness. Hidden desires flickered like flames in his gaze.

Kate: Nn.

My eyes reflexively slid shut as he kissed me, drawing back briefly only to press his lips to mine again and again. When I gasped for breath, his tongue slid into my mouth, tracing my teeth before sliding against my own.

Kate: Vic–

His large hands, the hands that have held onto me so many times, slid across my chest. I writhed in pleasure beneath the gentle, yet sweetly passionate stimulation of his hands. Suddenly, he stopped, pulling his mouth away from mine. Panting, I opened my eyes again to find his pained gaze staring back at me.

Victor: If you don’t want this, push me away.

When I became aware of his thick, throbbing heat pressing against my thigh, my insides throbbed with need. But Victor pulled away, pressing his hand to my cheek.

Victor: I don’t want to hurt you.

I couldn’t help but fall in love with the conflicted smile on his face.

(He must know that I won’t refuse him.) (But he still gives me a chance to back out.)

Instead of answering, I grabbed his collar and crashed my lips against his. His eyes narrowed in response to my deep kiss. And finally he threw off his jacket, choosing to give in to his desires. He pulled the ribbon of my blouse free, and his breath hitched at the sight of my bared chest.

Kate: …Don’t stare.

Victor: How cruel of you to say that when there’s such a gorgeous woman before my eyes.

Kate: Ah-

He grabbed both my wrists, easily holding them both down.

Victor: You’re beautiful, Kate.

Kate: Mm…

He took one of my nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and gently closing his teeth around it. My head was going to explode from embarrassment. And he didn’t stop there.

Kate: A-ah!

His free hand slipped beneath my underwear, his long fingers sinking into me.

Victor: You’re soaked. Have you been waiting for me to do this?

Kate: D-don’t say that… ah…

His fingers began thrusting into me at a punishing pace, making my hips buck.

Kate: Ah!

His thumb teased and circled my clit, sending jolts through my entire body. I was shaking with pleasure, unable to think of anything else as I arched off the bed. But then he pulled his fingers out of me, making sure I could see as he licked them clean. And after that, he took off his belt.

Kate: O-oh…

When I saw how large his cock was, I was overcome by a momentary fear and tried to shuffle away.

Victor: Unfortunately, I’m not letting you escape.

He seized my waist, preventing me from moving, and his lips curled into a small grin.

Victor: If you must hate someone, then hate yourself, for falling in love with the reaper.

And then, he pulled me onto him.

-----

Kate: Mm…

When I woke up again, dawn had not yet broken.

(My legs…)

Even now, I couldn’t shake the feeling of something pressing into me, where my sore legs joined. But still, I was overjoyed to be with Victor, and pressed my forehead into his chest. Surrounded by his warmth and feeling his steady heartbeat, I smiled in contentment. I felt the arm he kept around me squeeze lightly, and looked up. His beautiful sleeping face met my eyes.

(He’s gorgeous… I could stare at him forever.)

After staring for a little while longer, a stream of moonlight suddenly illuminated his hair. I turned over in bed to look out the window. Peeking through a gap in the curtains was the faint light of a barely-there moon. I remembered that the moon had been new the night I first arrived.

(This is my final day.)

Knowing that my time with Crown was coming to an end, I had fallen into his arms.

(Even though I still want to stay with you, is this the end?)

He must have shared my feelings. The heat we shared was proof. But he had never actually said anything. He had just let his conflicted emotions loose. When I looked back over what had happened, I couldn’t tell whether it was something like a farewell.

(Even though we’re here now. Even though we joined our bodies and hearts. Even though we spent so much time together.)

There had always been a lingering fear in the back of my mind that he wouldn’t choose me. What we had, if it was anything at all, was a love affair between two people of totally different social standings, with a strict time limit. If there ever came a day when Victor had to choose to be with someone… His partner would be some royal from a foreign country, or one of the country’s noble ladies. Not me.

(I know that better than anyone.) (But I don’t want to leave you.)

I didn’t want to give up his warmth, or the happiness I felt being at his side. Even if it led to my destruction. As pain swept through me, I turned around again and pressed my cheek against his muscular chest.

Kate: I love you, Victor. Kate: I have always loved you, and only you.

Tears rolled down my face and soaked into his shirt. Unable to contain my sorrow any longer, I let out a sob as I clung to him. The arm wrapped around me tightened and pulled me close, until there was not a single gap between us. Was Victor awake? Was he still asleep? I didn’t know. But regardless, I couldn’t make myself let go of him. Even though my heart was drowning in sadness, I could not bring myself to wish that we had never met. That would never change, not even if he ended up taking my life with his own hands. That was how much I loved him. That was how much I loved the reaper.

[brainwashedsmogbreathingprincess]

Okay not gonna lie was avoiding the new issue in general but let's get into I guess

Forget anything I've ever said about this series, they got Matches Motherfucking Malone let's fucking go.

Rogue banter is nice, I don't think there's been a big rogue event in a minute and I know there just friends here but I enjoy them picking on each other. Main timeline everyone only gives the riddler shit. He deserves it though. Also I really do want to see more of them in this universe I think it's the most enjoyable thing here, The rogue's relationships with Bruce are so complex and I don't think they do enough with that in general, like there's a level of attachment they all have in main continuity which has made most of them stray away from actively wanting him dead for a while and it's cool how in this world we get to see how much all of them care for him especially in this issue

FFS I forgot about him so I'm just gonna ignore that.

Bruce "no I'M the only person allowed to sacrifice themselves" Wayne.

Man came to Gotham to try reconnect with his daughter, she shut his ass down and immediately turns to the first maniac he sees like "sooo I hear you're in need of a father figure"

Alfred Pennyworth:

Bruce accepted, he's just playing out the rebellious teen phase he never got to have with Thomas.

Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah. Few things I don't particularly care for with absolute batman but I'll tell you what I care even less about with modern batman and it's the complete abandonment of the freakier villains. And I don't mean that in the context of what they're about but more their abilities and how they're portrayed. There's less desire for the more sci-fi and mystical based villains who tend to do large scale damage to the city, and whose crimes look cooler in general. Even those who do fit outside of that have been watered down to being glorified (angry and crime) mob leaders. I think this change was first brought on by the dark knight trilogy and the idea to "ground" the hero when what it has actually done is remove the campness and general flare that both the character and universe had in previous adaptations In this essay I wil-

[austin-friars]

It just occurred to me that we've not had an in depth portrayal of Henry VIII and Jane Seymour since the Tudors. Or just, Jane Seymour in general. So I am really curious to see how Mirror and the Light/Wolf Hall is going to handle them.

We get to know about her family, we'll learn about Elizabeth Seymour as well, and how important she is.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

seeing the scarlet witch comics made me wonder what do you think of wandavision / mcu wanda

i have legitimately like. no conscious memory i watched a movie with her in it but i did because i watched age of ultron nearly a decade ago with my bro and multiverse of madness within the last like. five years With My Bro so now what ...

[dyketennant]

oh i can already tell i’m about to have some really unpopular opinions about the edge of sleep tv show

[monards]

sometimes the hater agenda gets to me. and i need to reason myself away from it

[heir-of-the-chair]

Maturing is going from obsessing over on August the first go around of w4e hyperfixation, to obsessing over Marlena when the hyperfixating comes back

[anpiels]

[skuntank]

Aware that my interpretation of Diantha keeps getting a little meaner over time and I want to do something abt that. It is 1000% to do with my own self-perception shit and I realize that but even if she struggles, and has weird emotional problems like I do, and has been built up to be a very complex character in my head, I do not want to see her as a mean person bc she isn't.

[shrimp1y]

As cute as satosugu's anime appearances are so far don't u guys think they kinda... is mischaracterizing them....

[fluffykitteninabox]

me at 15 reading about ocd on the internet: oh that sounds like a nightmare I don't think I could live like that, so glad I definitely don't have it

me getting diagnosed 7 years later:

[kasandor]

genevieve o’reilly outstanding lead actress in a drama series. to me.

[cosmogyros]

.