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darylslovelywife · 1 month ago

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ཻུ⸙͎ s1 01- people come and they go

ཻུ⸙͎ daryl dixon x fem reader series

ཻུ⸙͎ summary: after learning that Rick and the others left Merle back in Atlanta, you, Daryl and the others go back into the infected city only to get ambushed

“Auntie [Name]! You looked over at Carl, who ran up to you; Sophia was busy braiding your hair since Carol was busy doing some chores.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Smiling at him he sat down in front of you.

“My mom told me to stay near you because she went out to the forest again.” He said as you raised a brow but nodded anyway.

“Of course, how about we play patty cake until Sophia is done braiding my hair?” Carl nods eagerly at this, smiling as you smile back at him.

“I want to play too!” Sophia says.

You laugh at this. “You'll get your turn, alright?” The little girl nods as she quickly finishes doing the braid, although it's a little messy, you keep the braid for the rest of the day.

When Lori came back, calling for Carl, who waved at you before running to his mom, you told Sophia to get some books so the two of you could read until her mother came back.

After a good hour or two, Sophia fell asleep, her head resting on your lap. That's how Daryl found you, he scoffs at the scene but doesn't say anything once he sees the tiny smile on your lips as you pat Sophia's head.

He went to go find Carol; she thanked you for watching her as she walked Sophia back to their tent, the little girl still half asleep as you sighed tiredly.

“Come on, gonna skin some squirrels I got.” He says as you stand up slowly, feeling your legs ache slightly.

Following Daryl, you two sit away from the rest of the people and begin to skin the small prey he hunted that day. Putting aside some meat, you gave the rest to the other women to cook for dinner later.

“When do you think Merle is going to come back?” You ask quietly, you two shared a tent often when you didn't want to sleep alone.

“Don't know. He better come back in one piece.” He says, laying down beside you, leaving some space in between as you lay there, staring at the roof of the tent that he made sure was warm enough for the night.

“Well, he and the others better be back soon, Glenn promised to take me next run.” You say to him, but he shakes his head.

“You crazy woman, ain't gonna let you go where those geeks are.” He says back after hearing that come from your mouth.

“Come on, Glenn knows what he's doing. Plus, I can take care of myself.” You say, frustrated, but he lets out a scoff.

“Don't ya remember how I found you?” He says reminding you as you bury your face in your blanket.

“I already told you I was coming back from a family dinner! A family dinner!” Your voice is muffled but playful as he cracks a tiny smile.

After 30 minutes of you letting out your frustrations of being the babysitter of the group, you fell to sleep pretty quickly after he promised to take you hunting tomorrow.

Sitting there in silence, he keeps watch for a bit, glancing down to look at you, your hair braided into a long braid. He's been telling you to cut it short, but you keep refusing to do so even after he explains the dangers to you, you say back that, one, you can take care of yourself, and two, he won't let anything hurt you.

“.....crazy woman…” he mutters to himself, laying down and facing the wall of the tent before going to sleep.

In the morning, he woke up to the sight of you buried in his chest, sleeping peacefully as his arms were wrapped around you protectively. Quickly sitting up, he rubs his face before putting the blanket over you and he steps out of the tent. The sun wasn't up yet, spotting Shane on top of the RV.

“[Name]’s gonna hunt with me today, find another babysitter.” He says, not bothering to hear what he had to say. Getting his things ready, and he wakes you up; he has that tiny smile as he watches you watch the sunset once away from everyone else.

The group of men surround the dead deer who had been eaten by a dead person before the sounds of sticks being stepped on made them freeze, Shane and Rick point their guns at the bushes. While the rest nervously hold a weapon in case of any more dead people.

Rick didn't expect to see a man holding a crossbow step out and a woman following closely behind who was quickly shielded by him, almost alerted by the guns pointed at them.

“Son of a bitch.” The man with the crossbow says upon seeing the deer on the floor, “That's our deer.” He says angrily, his hand gripping onto the woman's before letting go once in the clear area.

Rick only watched as she sighed quietly as Daryl kicked the dead person for eating the deer. She helps him take the arrows out of the deer, asking if he should just cut around the area where it was chewed from.

Which was quickly rejected by Shane. “Damn shame. Got a dozen squirrels, that'll have to do.” He says before the head beside his foot moves, making the two women watching, gag as they quickly walk away. Rick sees the woman kneel down and stab the head with an arrow.

Crossbowman nods slightly, approving of her actions before he walks past the others while she follows. “It's gotta be the brain, don't y'all know nothing?” He scoffs as Rick watches the two walk back to camp.

“Merle. Merle! Get your ugly ass out here!”

“He's probably asleep.” The woman says.

“Gonna wake his ass, gotta stew ‘em up.” The woman laughs a bit at this, but Shane steps up as they both turn around.

“Dary, [Y/n], stop for a minute. We gotta talk.” Shane says as the pair stops in their tracks.

[Y/n] raises a brow at this, sharing a glance with Daryl. “About what, Shane?” [Y/n] asks.

“About Merle.” He says as Daryl tenses up. “There was a problem in Atlanta.” The two froze, and [Y/n] stepped forward a bit. “What happened?” She asks.

“He dead?” Daryl says.

Shane and Rick share a look as the woman stares at them. “Well, is he or not?” She says, knowing if they don't answer quickly, Daryl would go apeshit.

“We're not sure,” Shane says as Rick speaks up, walking to them.

“Look, there's no easy way to say this so I'll just say it.” [Name] places a hand on Daryl's arm as he huffs in Rick's face.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rick Grimes.” The [h/c] haired woman glances at LorI before Daryl gets into Rick's face. “Okay, Rick Grimes. You got something you wanna tell me?”

“We handcuffed him to the roof and left him there,” Rick says as Daryl stares back at him for a moment, his eyes tearing up as [Name] quickly goes to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he wipes his eyes.

“You left Merle in the city? On the roof when it's 100 degrees out?” She says in disbelief. “He was a danger to us all.” Rick tried to reason but was cut off.

“Still, he has family here. Daryl, his brother.” She says before Daryl throws the squirrels he had tied to a string and throws them at Rick before he lunges at the man, but Shane intervenes; Daryl falls to the ground as he takes out his knife, but Shane quickly holds him down into a chokehold.

Rick squats down and talks to Daryl. “Look, I just want a calm discussion.”

“Woah! [Name] put the gun down!” Glenn says as the woman points a gun to the back of Rick's head, making Lori call out to her. Shane quickly points his gun at her, only for her to point a second one at him as well.

She signals to Shane to let go of Daryl with a tip of her head and the two stare at each other before Shane lets go of Daryl. Putting the guns away, she kneels down to Daryl as Rick speaks up again.

“Your brother doesn't play well with others. It had to be done or else everyone who was there would've died.” Daryl swats away [Name] hand as she checks for any injuries before looking at T-Dog who speaks up.

“I dropped the key, it's my fault. Dropped it in a drain.”

Daryl stands up, clearly angry and frustrated. “And to make you feel better, I chained the door, the geeks can't get in,” T-Dog adds.

Grabbing the [h/c] haired woman by the wrist, he walks away from them. “Hell with yall! I'm going back, just tell me where he is.” He says, his voice breaking.

After Rick says he'll go back to bring Merle back, the two go back to his tent, [Name] starts to pack a few things as Daryl cleans his arrows.

“You're staying.” He says. “Don't want ya out there with those geeks.”

The woman ignores his words, stands up, and starts to walk out to where everyone is at. “Yer hear me? You're staying.”

Glenn watches as the two argue, T-Dog beside him. “...don't think I've ever since she pulled out a gun.” T-Dog sighs. “Or…anything like that.”

“She's tough, saved my ass out in the forest.” He explains to Glenn, watching as Daryl huffs, clearly frustrated as [Name] climbs into the back of the van.

“Well, we know who won that argument,” Glenn says, the two smiling slightly. “I didn't expect her out of all the people to go help save Merle,” Glenn says quietly.

“That's her brother-in-law,” T-Dog says.

“Seriously? They're married?” Glenn says surprised. “I've been flirting with a married woman.”

“Auntie [Name] isn't married,” Carl says, suddenly showing up. “She doesn't have a ring.” He says, like it's common knowledge before walking over to the van. The two see Carl speaking to the woman before hearing Shane and Rick's voice.

Shane and Rick argue because Shane thinks it's not a good idea to go save Merle, but Rick insists before asking Glenn to come along. He hesitates but agrees when [Name] says he's good at doing this type of stuff.

“I still think you should stay,” Daryl says again to [Name] who lets out a hum, watching Carl go back to his mom.

“It's your brother, Daryl, even if he's a….interesting person, after all, you're helping me look for mine as well.” She says to him, smiling as Daryl huffs, looking away from her as his face heats up slightly.

“Of course, I'll help you.”

She smiles at this before looking back at her gun, “Guess guns are going to be a no-go.” She mumbles before Daryl hands her his knife.

“Take it.” He mumbles to her.

Before he turns around, yelling at Rick and everyone else to hurry up.

As soon as anyone who was going got into the van, they started to drive back to Atlanta to find Merle.

Sitting beside Daryl, your gaze was down on the knife he had given you. “He'd better be okay,” Daryl says, staring at T-Dog. “It's my only word on the matter.”

T-Dog sighs, “I told you the geeks can't get him; the only thing that's gonna get through that door is us.” He says confidently.

The van came to a stop, Glenn saying that they would walk from here; with Daryl's help, you jumped off the van, and all five of you guys started to jog in the direction of the city.

Carefully walking through the department store, following Rick's lead, you were standing behind T-Dog. Something shiny caught your eye, and you looked down to see a necklace with a purple cat as a piece of jewelry on it. Staring at it, you didn't notice Daryl looking back to see where you were; he followed your gaze.

“Grab it, and let's go.” He says to you quietly.

Getting to the rooftop of the building where Rick and the others left Merle, he was gone, and it clearly affected Daryl as she stood there in disbelief, tearing up once he saw the handcuffs empty.

A bloody saw was lying beside a hand, a bloody handcuff still connected to the thick pipe.

Sighing quietly as you look away from the scene, rubbing your forehead.

Daryl raises his crossbow at T-Dog, while Rick points his gun at Daryl. You could only watch from afar, knowing Daryl wouldn't pull the trigger. Getting a rag from Glenn’s backpack, you walk over to the hand as Daryl kneels down to grab it once he calmed down slightly. Carefully wrapping up Merle's hand and putting it in Glenn’s bag who just closes his eyes, trying not to think of it so hard.

Following the blood trail, all five of you going down the stairs and into an empty and messy office, finding some dead geeks along the way, Merle was well enough to kill the random geeks wandering around. Walking in the kitchen, the stove was on, blood splattered on it as Glenn gags from the smell of human meat burning.

Walking ahead of them, you look through the broken window. “He left the building.” You say as Daryl comes over to you, sighing. “Why wouldn't he?” He scoffs at you, clearly frustrated with this whole thing.

Watching as the men start to argue, you manage to sneak away, deciding to go ahead and scout the route to the bag of the guns.

When Glenn was making his plan of route to get the bag of guns, he realized that you weren't there. Once the plan was set, Daryl quickly went outside, kneeling down behind a trash can, he grabbed your shoulder, “the hell you doing out here.” He shouts quietly at you.

“scouting the place.” You answer back at him.

“Next time, stay with the group.” He scolds you and once Glenn started to run to the bag of guns, he had you next to him, pressed against the wall and his shoulder behind the trash and, the sounds of quiet footsteps is heard before Daryl gets up, holding his crossbow to the young man. Daryl had asked him if he saw his brother, the boy, obviously scared for his life, started to scream for help.

Trying to calm him down so the dead wouldn't come swarming you three in the alleyway, Daryl gives up going the peaceful way as he hits him across the face with his crossbow, covering the boy's mouth. For a moment, you thought that everything was going well until two men ran into the alleyway, looking at you and Daryl kneeling next to the boy crying for help. Clearly not expecting them, the two men run over, kicking Daryl to the ground while the other hits the side of your head with a baseball bat, making you stumble over next to Daryl on the floor.

Glenn, running back, freezes upon seeing the scene, taking a step back before trying to run off but they spot him. “That's it! That's the bag, vato!? Take it!” They lunge at Glenn, fighting for the bag before a car pulls up, dragging Glenn to it before Daryl shoots an arrow at one of the men.

“Daryl! Daryl! [Name]!” Glenn screams.

Taking this opportunity, you stumble to your feet and run to Glenn, trying to get him back only to get dragged into the car with him.

Daryl quickly gets up when he realizes that you got caught as well, “[Name]! Glenn!” He shouts desperately, running over to the gate but it's too late as the car speeds off, taking you and Glenn.

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 years ago

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Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You were doing up the buttons on your flannel when you heard Daryl grumbling behind you.

“I hate rubbers.”

You chuckled, putting your hands on the nape of your neck and pushing outward to coax your hair out of the shirt. The man had done as you asked all those weeks ago, returning to the next meetup with condoms in hand. You had left it up to him to dispose of them afterward, earning an amusing curl of his lip.

“So,” you began, plopping down on the ground, “guess what.”

Daryl zipped up his own pack and shrugged it over his shoulders, raising a brow at you with his usual expression of indifference. “We gonna start cuddlin’ after too?”

“Shut up. It’s not just every day conversation, asshole. I’m late.”

“Ya got a curfew now?” He scoffed, snatching his crossbow up off the ground to slide the strap over his right shoulder.

“No, idiot. I mean, my period is late.”

“How ya even keep up with that now?” He was still standing, fingers of his left hand tapping nervously against his hip while he chewed on the skin of his right thumb. Uncomfortable again.

“I always kept a little date book in my bag before things went to shit. Just started marking off days when we came up here. Hoping this would all end and life could go back to—well, being life.” You picked up a twig and started breaking small sections off, not really wanting to look at him. “I’m 6 days late, which is pretty odd for me.”

“I don’t need the details. D’ya need a test or somethin’?”

“I will if it doesn’t come soon, yeah.” You tossed the stick down and got to your feet, dusting off your hands on your thighs. “Probably should do it next week if it’s still not happening.”

The man was a ball of anxiety, fidgeting and shifting his weight from foot to foot. You watched him warily, waiting for him to bolt and that would be that. If you were pregnant, you’d be in it alone.

“I’ll make a run an’ see if I can find one.” He finally said after a few minutes of unnerving silence, shouldering his string of squirrels. You blinked at him, eyes as big as saucers. “What? Said we’d deal with it an’ I meant it.”

“I’ll go with you then.”

“Nah, I got it. Just bring it next week.” He sniffed, looking down at his boots as he kicked at the ground. “Ain’t no reason for ya to go out in that mess.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re being protective.”

He scoffed, scrunching his nose in a way you could almost say was adorable. “Just don’t need ya trippin’ me up.”

Pursing your lips, you crossed your arms over your chest, deciding whether or not to argue with him. It was something that involved the both of you. You’d feel horrible if something happened to him while he was trying to take care of it alone. And you’d never know. He’d just never show up again, leaving you to wonder if he had simply bailed or—

“I’m going too.”

“No, ya ain’t.” He snapped while you picked up your rifle and the three rabbits you’d bagged. You started walking, leaving him trailing behind you with his stomping feet and flared nostrils. “Ya ain’t goin’!”

“You gonna stop me?” You asked, not missing a step. You heard him pause before his boots moved faster to catch back up with you. “I’m a big girl, Dixon. I can handle myself.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

You only encountered two geeks at the base of the mountain. Daryl took out one with a bolt between the eyes while you handled the other with your hunting knife. His scowl was thoroughly in place by the time you were cleaning the dark blood from the blade with the bottom of your shirt. He didn’t say a word but he didn’t have to. You knew it was because you had to get close to the corpse to kill it. You couldn’t risk firing your gun when so many others could close by.

The two of you were crouched in the bushes, the pharmacy across the street in the little town in clear view. Three geeks shuffled aimlessly in different directions, making it difficult to find a way straight through.

“Maybe one of us could distract them?” You suggested. “I could go out over there, make some noise and draw them off while you go inside.” You looked over to find him staring at you like you’d sprouted a second head. “What?”

“You’re the one that knows whatcha need in there. I’ll handle the geeks.”

You really couldn’t argue with that. There were so many different tests for pregnancy, ovulation, and other things, Daryl would probably bring out the entire shelf and still not have what you needed. With a nod, you watched him make his way down the ditch, staying low. His eyes met yours briefly and, with a jerky nod, he left the cover of the foliage and whistled, waving his arms.

You waited for an opening, nearly leaping out before two more corpses stumbled from the alley next to the pharmacy. “Fuck.” Daryl was going to be sorely outnumbered. Something in your gut twisted, the strong urge to stay and help the redneck, ensure he was safe, before you entered the pharmacy. He’d have your head if you dared. With another curse, you left your hiding place and dashed across the street, your steps that of a hunter—swift and silent.

The pharmacy was blessedly clear, a few geeks sprawled out between aisles, clean holes in their skulls. Daryl had been there before. “So, this is where you got the condoms. You reckless son of a bitch.” You smirked, the knowledge that fucking you was enough fun to have him scurrying down the mountain for the means to continue.

You grabbed two of each kind of test, deeming labels and specifications unnecessary when Daryl was outside fighting the undead to keep them off your back. The boxes were quickly shoved into your bag, and you were creeping back toward the door. Just as your hand touched the glass, a geek stumbled by. You quickly ducked and moved to the side, peeking around the magazine stand to ensure it had passed before you pushed the door open.

There were at least 7 of them on the far end of the street, walking toward nothing you could see. Where was Daryl? You barely lifted a foot to step off the curb when an arm snaked around your waist and a hand clamped down over your mouth.

“S’me. S’just me.” Daryl whispered against your ear. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you forced his hand away from your face and spun around to give him a shove.

“You scared the shit out of me!” You whisper-yelled.

“Got whatcha need?” He was already ushering you toward the trees across the street. You gave a sharp nod and ducked into the bushes, finally releasing a breath when you could look back and no longer see any trace of the town.

“Well, that was fun.”

Daryl snorted beside you, adjusting the strap of his crossbow on his shoulder. Once your heart rate slowed, you were able to settle back into your appreciation for the forest. So far, the turn had been unable to strip that away from you. The wildlife continued to flourish, seeing no difference between the dead and the living. Plants would grow. Flowers would bloom. Seasons would change.

In some ways, life would go on.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You turned to find Daryl facing away from you. With a quick look around, you realized how long the two of you had really been walking. It was time to part ways. “Oh. Right. Heading back now?”

“Nah. Gonna see if I can bag a deer. So, ‘nother day or two.” He was gnawing at his thumb again.

“Right. Well. Three days, midday?” He nodded his agreement, those blue eyes of his flitting to your pack and back to you. You smiled through a strange feeling, pushing it down as he started to walk away. “See you then.”

“See ya.”

“Hey, daddy.” You smiled, finding your father sitting by the small fire when you parted the last bit of foliage to enter the camp.

“Peanut, you’re back late. I was gettin’ worried!” He shifted in his wheelchair to sit straighter, smile wide and arms open. You leaned in for his offered hug, holding up the rabbits when you separated.

“Got some meat for tomorrow.” You smiled for only a moment before looking around for the rest of your family. “Did they seriously leave you out here alone?”

“I’m fine, darlin’. Told ‘em to go on to bed and that I’d rather wait up for you.”

You gave him a pointed look, laying the rabbits aside to prep later. “Well, I’m here now. You should get some sleep.”

“It’s early yet. Tell me how it was out there.”

You sat down in one of the fold-out chairs, toeing at the rocks surrounding the small fire. “It’s quiet. It’s always quiet.”

“You see any of ‘em?” He asked, a hint of concern in his tone. You shook your head. “I worry about you going out all alone.”

“I can handle myself, daddy.”

“I know you can, peanut. I just—wish you didn’t have to. It’s a parent’s job to worry about their kids, you know.” He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re gonna give yourself gray hair with all the worrying. Oh shit, I think I see some from all the way over here!” You laughed with him for a while longer before the fire burned out and the camp was dark.

You bolted upright in your sleeping bag, still groggy and not really remembering why it was you were awake in the first place. Rubbing your eyes, you sat there for a moment before deeming it time to get the day started. The sun was barely up but your uncles were already stirring if the sounds outside the tent were anything to go by. Your aunt had taken watch several hours earlier so she’d probably be sleeping now.

Scratching at your scalp with a yawn, you glanced over at your open pack, the top corner of a box peeking out from beneath your jacket. You sighed, knowing you would need to take the test. You still hadn’t bled and you’d be meeting Daryl the next day. You groaned and grabbed your clothes, slipping on everything haphazardly while your uncles banged and clanged on everything they possibly could outside. Shrugging on your jacket, you unzipped the tent.

“Jesus, some of us are still half asleep! Uncle James, could you put on some coffee for daddy before—”

Just as you began to crawl from your tent, a geek came barging in, teeth clicking and rotting fingers grabbing. You screamed and scrambled backwards, kicking at the corpse while your hand searched blindly for your knife. Another clumsily shoved its way inside, pinning one of your legs and leaving you just far enough from your weapon that your fingertips brushed the handle.

Somewhere outside, your father was screaming.

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thepermanentrainpress · 11 months ago

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youtube

The Permanent Rain Press Interview with Rochelle Harrington. (Watch in HD)

Rochelle Harrington chats about her role as Nat Grey in Geek Girl, including her friendship with Harriet, origins of her goals in the fashion industry, rejection and loss of trust, Holly Smale's books, and the kindness from fans, creating original music, time as a dancer, and her Sri Lankan heritage.

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j3suschr111st · 8 days ago

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dolly: chapter iii.

"clickings"

distant mind and gray noise, an isolated doll maker haunted by past choices comes to ablution when he encounters his own prototype. the story of two souls unaware of their beauty.

pairing: perv!san x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut (mdni)

tw: nsfw, gore, violence, not for the fainthearted.

word count: 4k

series masterlist. previous chapter. next chapter.

୨୧

flashback.

red and blue flashes around his face, teenaged and scrawny. san was lucky to never experience acne, but the dryness of his skin stood out even in the low lighting, dull and lifeless. voices of excitement expressing competitiveness, he stood in the second floor, observing his classmates split into their respective groups. the troublemakers at the bowling section, making the most noise out of everyone, he's pretty sure he caught brian accidentally dropping a small bag with white powder inside, quickly turning it back to his pocket before the teachers could grow suspicious. the geeks clicking like their lives depended on the buzzing machines, coming up with strategies and studying the angles of the almost too violent war game. the jocks find home at the super shot, showing off their skills at basketball to no one but themselves. the pretty girls were at the pool table, so that they could properly lean down enough at the uninterested older men. the basket cases? at home, safe from interaction. this small trip the school organized to bid farewell to the senior students wasn't necessarily mandatory, so of course the alienated ones weren't even expected to show up, but san did.

he's not exactly sure why he came in the first place, he didn't have anyone to say goodbye, no one that'll miss him, or that he'll miss. taking in their faces, observing their every action, wondering what it would feel like to be included, to have plans and live carelessly as they do, like they're not even lifting a finger and experiences fall on their laps. he told his parents that he'd be moving away to start college, they both happily agreed and booked him a flight to a better future, openly proud of his upcoming achievements. yet his life was at pause, he secretly knew he wouldn't be going anywhere, so he took this small trip as an excuse to avoid the constant questioning at home.

his gaze set on the clear glowy skin his female classmates wore, careful makeup and silk shining hair, oh to be beautiful. eternal memories engraved in good looking pictures, kind treatment and endless compliments. jason wraps his arms around stacey, a girl san has never really found that attractive, but somehow she gave him his first heartbreak. it's been a year since she asked him out as a joke, did the whole flirting while trying to hold in a laugh, cringy texts that meant nothing and a date she actually showed up to, late and accompanied by her friends to take pictures of the poor innocent boy crying in the empty restaurant. he's over it now, accepting the fact that he may never find love, and after all, she wishes she could eat anything and stay as skinny as san does.

he walks slowly, noticeably examining everyone as he's sure someday they will ache like he aches. drawn by the greasy smell, pizza slice on his hand he has yet to bite into. working out daily since the day prior, building muscle, his bony appearance soon to be gone.

"hey choi, where did you get that huh?" mingi came behind him along with other friends, he was a classmate he found to be on a closer level than the rest. one day they'd been sat together and got along pretty well, although mingi hasn't reached out to him as much since then, san will never forget the way he laughed at everything he said, even if it wasn't something he would consider funny, he still considered him to be somewhat of a friend.

"uh, they're selling them over that giant sign that says pizza" he pointed at the mini bar in the corner, thrilled that maybe some conversation was starting.

"tsk, are you calling me dumb?"

"what? of course not," his eyebrows frowning at the sudden accusation.

"why do you smell like that?" he didn't notice one of them getting closer, exaggeratedly pinching his nose. "do you shower at all choi?"

"i do- " another one smacks the food out of his hand, landing right on his crotch. "hey!"

the group starts laughing at the imagery of immediate shame, grabbing the pizza and smearing it even more. "get out of here, freak".

with a heart beating out of his chest, san runs away trying to hold in the tears. heavy dismay and ringings, his illusions crumbling right at his feet. is it his fault for coming in the first place? just like everything is?

he's unaware of his surroundings, still suffocated by the noise and youthful ambience. youthfulness a dangerous curse he never took for granted, loathed and rotten. he tries to rinse the remainings off as quickly as possible, but the unfortunate placement made it easy to be confused by the pool table right in front of him.

"ew, you pervert," the girls recoil in disgust.

"are you touching yourself to us?" the short haired girl simulated a puke.

"security!" another one of them calls out.

san, in a desperate attempt to redeem himself, tries to get closer to demonstrate he was being mistaken, once again to no avail. along with a yellow sticky liquid, guilty of shame. the girls' screams call the attention of not only the teacher and security, but also unrelated customers now staring down at him.

"he's peeing himself!" they cover their faces, san can hear the laughs of the group of boys from before, laughs filled with pride and vice.

that night he was kicked out and banned from the local arcade. to the streets, to darkness, to the white silence inviting cessation. he couldn't feel anything, where usually he'd manifest a loathe, the moment the doors closed on him, wetness between his thighs seemed to have vanished. his eyes dark as the sky, he couldn't feel his legs, couldn't feel his arms or his heart. every step a sink into the ground, dragging his feet in black, fading.

empty aspirin bottles and a carmine painted tub, his body lined and scraped, blades deep and metallic smell. the choi residency was soon surrounded by paramedics. his mom, who believed him everytime he said he was fine, that he had friends and was just too focused on school to hang out, that his eyes, red and dry, could never lie to her, now held by his dad's arms, horrified cries and guilt bursting out of her, she looked at her son's body, the light of her life, begging to god the miracle to remain. for the last time she sees him, to not be as this. blamed, damaged, low.

end of flashback.

ally dropped you off at your apartment no longer than 10 minutes after the shocking news. an unspoken car ride, sky growing gray and a twist in your stomach. you hugged your friend tightly, caressing her hair as comfort for having to keep driving in such state. mr. perez wasn't your favorite professor by any means, but you can't help but wear a blame for cursing him so many times, under your breath, but still there.

as you entered your home, you immediately noticed the breeze coming through the window, fastening your steps to close it before your remote brain plays tricks on you. you sit on your bed, complete silence. unsure of your feelings, 'cause truly how should you feel right now? what are you supposed to do? feel sad? or is that too selfish? relieved? is it bad that you even thought about feeling relieved? the person you hated the most is now dead. graduation's coming up anyway, you weren't supposed to see him at all anytime soon. he was fairly young for a college professor, in his late 30s, but god was he such a dick. sometimes you even felt that he was specifically targeting you, making you feel small and foolish. "stop," you told yourself, cutting the air with your voice. the man is dead, gone in an unimaginable horrific way, there's no space to feel remorseful right now.

after a deep sigh, you stand up and strip of your clothes, nothing a cold shower couldn't help. bare and delicate, you light up your candles so that when you come out of the bathroom a scent of comfort welcomes you. completely and utterly unaware of the lustful eyes following your every movement from underneath your bed.

san felt confused, after studying you for so many days, winning the games in his mind of guessing how'd you react on certain situations, he now couldn't read you. your face dropped and sad, thoughtful and a small smirk at the same time. did you get hurt? someone did something to you? why weren't you in your pilates class? he usually enjoyed your riddling personality, but he hated to see your face so dull.

all worries suddenly vanished the moment you got up and took off your shirt, followed by your bra, your pants and underwear. completely relaxed, not posing, not trying to mask any difference. the sight of your body, completely naked. for the first time not only seeing you but a woman this intimate in his entire life. sure, he tried to watch porn a couple times before but nothing could compare. he always knew you were perfect and although he didn't need a confirmation, this was it. your shoulders, your stomach, your pussy and your tits had his mouth watering. perfect curves, perfect dips, calling to him for a touch.

he's breathless, both from pleasure and panic, hiding through the hanging thrown blanket, begging that you won't try to reach below. you finally stepped into the bathroom and after a few moments that he heard the faucet running, he slowly stepped out, highly aware of the creaking wooden floor. he laments the short time he spent in your space, wishing time would stop or that somehow, you'd be fine with his presence, wouldn't that truly be a dream come true? he opens the window once again, but he's not quick to leave, sighing in defeat of his desire.

he'll forgive himself, not think about it. no one has to know his perverted tendencies, the morbid truth kept between him and your door. he's convinced that his actions are completely justified, that he's in love so he's in every right. his aching cock released from his pants, looking through the keyhole, your dripping body being blurred by a glass but it was enough to enlighten his yearning, to fasten his pace.

though you seek for comfort on the running water, there was still a revolting unease pulling at you. after hearing a loud thunder, you turned the shower off, dried yourself and went back into your living room to find all the candles blown off by the wind coming through the window. with a frown, you walked over to close it again, mentally checking twice to make sure you lock it securely.

once san got back to his lonely house, he opened his emails filled with complaints about the mismanagement of his business and impatient requesters. he clarified his commissions were closed in his account but people didn't really seem to understand, so with nothing left to do, he put his hands to work.

anytime he worked in his dolls, it was like a desire he reprimanded. sometimes memories from high school, where he denied to himself, but deeply, deeply wished he could be popular, maybe even admired, he had a natural talent to tell stories through his makings. now, as he stands in front of his studio table, tools neatly in place, he's empty.

it's uncomfortable to him, itching his skin, a vague memory residing away. he imagined that after meeting you, he'd be filled with new stories to create, an abundance of clarity and fulfillment. but his mind is empty, checked out. he adjusted the lights, deep cleaned the surface for the third time, tired unused eyes looking for external inspiration online.

nothing.

the quiet clock clicking away. inside his head, visible veins. there's something he needs to do, and he needs to do it now.

"it is weird that the school still wants to party like nothing happened a few days ago," you politely thanked the cashier and grabbed your ice cream following your tall friend.

"a little, i guess... i guess it's not really a party and it's not like the whole school is going," karina walked by your side, cold beverage in her hand. "i don't know, maybe we can just check it out and leave early."

"yeah, mourning someone you despised is weird" you said raising your eyebrows, staring into nothing.

"you're not the only one who hated him, my parents went to his funeral, maybe ten people maximum, not a single tear shed."

"i said i despised him, not hated."

"it's the same." she chuckled.

"no, i don't know, it's complicated," you shrugged giving up on the conversation already.

you've carried this thoughts before with nowhere to bed out, it doesn't get any easier. you've dreamed of leaving your controlling family since you can remember, all those nights where fights kept accumulating since you turned 13, the spits, the hits, the alcohol, the attempts. anyone would be relieved to find an escape and you're really thankful for the getaways life has brought you, for being able to bury that part of your life deep below and start anew, but sometimes you can't help but wonder how they're doing, if they're mad at you, if they had changed, if reaching out would be the right thing.

but after all, should your hated professor's death even be affecting you this much? was he that important in your life? sure, he's one the reasons you'll be getting your college diploma, but that's it. is it selfish to feel sad? or to completely pass it? you can't help but spiral in your feelings, questions on questions left unneeded.

your palpitations suddenly increased when your absent gaze stumbled upon a pair of eyes, already set on you. you held the eye contact for about 5 seconds, a new air filling you inside and an unexplainable blush crept into your cheeks. he was a tall man, maybe a little older than you, strong jawline, dark clothes, big shoulders. your first thought being that he looked like a prince, like the ones you used to fantasize about as a child. when you looked over again, his gaze was still on you. you sent him a shy smile and he returned it, breath now caught at the glimpse of his dimples.

it almost felt familiar and you don't know why, but you started to get nervous. like he claimed a flawless promise and you were an innocent child. karina kept talking about makeup or something, but your mind was racing somewhere else. you decided that it was just overthinking, trapped between ptsd and the smirk of a handsome man.

"...and the lady at the store told me i looked better in crimson red, but i genuinely think the wine red lipstick suits me bet... oh-" her monologue was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. "i'm sorry babes, i gotta get this" she apologized with a smile as she got up and you replied with a silent nod.

with nowhere to look, scared that the mysterious man was still intimidating you with his eyes, you awkwardly fixed your hair, stared at your nails, took another spoonful of ice cream, slowly shifting your view at his table, finding a single rose, painted black almost cursed looking. you smiled at the small detail looking down, a "what could've been" swallowed in your mind.

on a daring note, you looked at him again. both holding a giggle, courageous stares, while softly playing a distanced game of footsie. you left a laugh out, shyness coming back to you, hiding your face in your knuckles.

"um, hey?" his voice, almost too careful. you didn't notice the moment he got up and walked to you, now a clear view of his face, such unique beauty, caught with ease, makes your heart beat faster, and you've convinced yourself it's just that.

"hi."

"this uh... i got you..." he chuckled nervously, recomposing himself. "i got my mother this rose, but she had to leave town and... i wanted to give it to you." his voice almost fading, youthful and soft. your smile wider at the object in his hand.

"you painted a rose for your mom black?" he could sense a tease in your words.

"yeah, well... she likes it like that."

"thanks," you took the rose from his hand, falling into place. he playfully released a sigh of relief at the acceptance, making you giggle.

"i- you.. i think you're... your eyes are really pretty." he tightly closed his eyes, thinking his odd demeanor creeped you out, that you will throw your dessert at him and run away, but you didn't, instead you slightly tilted your head and smiled again.

"thank you so much."

you took a moment to observe him, such attractive face must've lived a thousand love stories. unexplainable emotion, you feel like you should've known him already, so you hope that he asks for your number, or that karina could stay longer on the phone so that you could refresh your intuition, to hear his voice again. when the sound of jingles from the door opening distracted both of you, san gave you a small bow, grabbed his stuff and quickly left in a blur, leaving you with a tainted sentiment and an unspoken curiosity.

"i'm back, i'm sorry, last minute graduation plans, who was that?" your friend said as she eyed the man leaving, that's when you realized you hadn't asked for his name.

"i don't know."

"aw, he gave you a rose," she teased with an eyebrow raise, "why is it painted black though?"

you were almost pouting, admittedly wishing he wouldn't be gone, siding with logic at the thought of never seeing him again. he was dressed like a shadow, airy and swift. yet his allure, a heavy one. a sort of deja vu of a doubtful place. the sharp memories asking you to come back home, to take their hand and forget time. will he stay a memory of yours? "i don't know."

you read the neon lights lining the words 'rabbit hole', accompanied by the figure of a busty woman wearing bunny ears, attracting clients, curiosity and melancholy. you look around, wondering if the drunks, who swayed to the modern music, have ever met grief, if they ever stopped to think how fast life can change, if dancing was their way of coping. you spot your friends having a photoshoot session, clicking their cameras at each other and you smile. the sky is the darkest blue and the stars shine brightly above the night bar and at that sight, a calm settling, you decided to not let the deathly thoughts affect your mood tonight. you're not planning on staying long anyway, already thinking of the comfy sheets awaiting for you.

"am i being delusional? be honest." you slightly pouted at your friends, who instead, were giving you offended looks at the recalled memory from earlier that day, crossing their arms. "don't look at me like that."

"i'm just disappointed you're already cheating on your man." yeosang said, shaking his head. you knew he was referring to jacob, but you pretended you didn't know what he meant.

"you only met him once and you don't even know his name, nothing, i'm not trying to be pessimistic, just realistic." ally gave you an apologetic smile.

"it's a small town, maybe i'll meet him again." you shrugged.

"it's a small town but we see new faces every day." you rolled your eyes, thinking of the black rose sitting in your pillow right now. yeosang looked at the other side of the dance floor. "there's a face you could be seeing every day."

you looked at him, the 6'4 tall sports guy everyone seemed to link you with, shit-faced drunk. not the most pleasant view, your rejection for alcoholics began early in your life, for obvious reasons. but you don't get to decide what people do with their lives and, most importantly, jacob had way too many good qualities that the immoderate drinking was just a little aspect you could ignore.

he must've felt your piercing gaze as he turns around, spots you and gives you a wink. the conversation between your friends had already shifted to something completely unrelated, so when you notice he's trying to get close, you give yourself time to mentally prepare for the interaction and not embarrass yourself, not in front of jacob.

"hey baby, you look beautiful." the pet name seemed to be lethal, as you felt a sudden shot through your heart.

"hi jacob, thank you, you look good too." you smiled at him as he extended his hand at you.

"come on, dance with me?" you looked at yeosang, who gave you a quick raise of eyebrows and took his hand.

you've only had strawberry soda so far, a state of mind completely contrasting the rest of the young adults in the place, most of them wearing bunny ears they earned from purchasing three shots at happy hour, and although you're aware of that, you keep forgetting they might not feel as present as you do. you can smell his breath from a distance, as he drags you in between the intoxicated crowd. you feel his breath when he starts to pull you close, heating up the dance moves as his rests his hands on your hips. you taste his breath, when his lips land on yours on a small kiss, catching you off guard. he didn't feel you reciprocating and you knew that, so once again you closed the gap, giving him the confirmation of wanting him as well.

"you're so fucking pretty." he says between kisses. the beverage tang is strong, distracting if not, but you've been genuinely wanting this for so long, so why complain? "come with me."

he grabs your hand again and takes you away to a secluded area not so far from the nightclub, dark and private, not a single person in sight. he must've noticed your flushed state, shy that your friends might be watching you. he pins you against the wall and starts making out, his tongue invading your mouth, his hands unexpectedly behind your thighs.

"jacob... wait."

"you drive me crazy." he gives you a squeeze and your heart starts beating faster, not in a delightful way. his kisses move to your neck and his hands on your ass wich you try to pry off, pathetically as his grip is way stronger. "been teasing me for so fucking long princess."

"jacob stop, please... stop." you suddenly yelp in his ear, closing your eyes in fear, 'cause he doesn't stop.

you close your eyes in fear, denying yourself that this was the sweet and respectful man you've been crushing on for months, that it's just the liquor poisoning him and he'll regret his as soon as he realizes. as he's about to run his tongue along your neck, you think he might've grasp the situation, that the alcohol suddenly vanished from his system and he's back to his normal self as you don't feel his penetrating grasp anymore.

but you were dead wrong.

you hear a punch, two, then three. it was a blur, all you could see was jacob's face, quickly bleeding out. you screamed, he tried to fight it off, but the cut from the sharp knife made his features drag off, as if he was melting, falling into the ground. the punches didn't stop either, his face being completely deformed from the strength of his opposite, like he was made of clay, right in front of you. you cry as he lays on the ground, dying, unrecognizable, red. it all happened so fast but felt so long, the attacker stomping on his wounded, unresponsive head without remorse.

"jacob!" you want to get closer, pick him up, clean the blood to reveal the clean, flawless face he once had. but the sight pulls you away, the blood puddle only spreads and his heartbeat ceases.

you can barely see through your pouring eyes, barely feel him stepping closer to you and you might've thought that this was it, that when you looked up and san picked you up, bottle and rag in hand, this was going to be your last memory.

୨୧

next chapter.

#ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez x reader #choi san fic #choi san smut #choi san angst #choi san x reader

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kazsaidbruh · 7 days ago

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Almost finished with book 4 (The Silver Mask) of the Magisterium Series and I didn’t even know this series had a fandom, it makes me geek tf out 🤠🤠

Anyways, almost couldn’t finish this book cuz I’m a Calron truther and the Calmara coupling came out of left field like noooooooo!!! Pls don’t make them get together I can’t do this 😭😭. I’m still not over Aaron dying and Call using his soul to bring him and the authors are making him worry about girls????? Like get a grip! Call has bigger fish to fry than being Tamara’s boyfriend 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

#magisterium #calron #calmara #the silver mask #callum hunt #aaron stewart #tamara rajavi

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caesarflickermans · 1 year ago

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A TENTH ANNIVERSARY INTERVIEW WITH SUZANNE COLLINS

On the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the publication of The Hunger Games, author Suzanne Collins and publisher David Levithan discussed the evolution of the story, the editorial process, and the first ten years of the life of the trilogy, encompassing both books and films. The following is their written conversation.

NOTE: The following interview contains a discussion of all three books in The Hunger Games Trilogy, so if you have yet to read Catching Fire and Mockingjay, you may want to read them before reading the full interview.

transcript below

DAVID LEVITHAN: Let’s start at the origin moment for The Hunger Games. You were flipping channels one night . . .

SUZANNE COLLINS: Yes, I was flipping through the channels one night between reality television programs and actual footage of the Iraq War, when the idea came to me. At the time, I was completing the fifth book in The Underland Chronicles and my brain was shifting to whatever the next project would be. I had been grappling with another story that just couldn’t get any air under its wings. I knew I wanted to continue to explore writing about just war theory for young audiences. In The Underland Chronicles, I’d examined the idea of an unjust war developing into a just war because of greed, xenophobia, and long-standing hatreds. For the next series, I wanted a completely new world and a different angle into the just war debate.

DL: Can you tell me what you mean by the “just war theory” and how that applies to the setup of the trilogy?

SC: Just war theory has evolved over thousands of years in an attempt to define what circumstances give you the moral right to wage war and what is acceptable behavior within that war and its aftermath. The why and the how. It helps differentiate between what’s considered a necessary and an unnecessary war. In The Hunger Games Trilogy, the districts rebel against their own government because of its corruption. The citizens of the districts have no basic human rights, are treated as slave labor, and are subjected to the Hunger Games annually. I believe the majority of today’s audience would define that as grounds for revolution. They have just cause but the nature of the conflict raises a lot of questions. Do the districts have the authority to wage war? What is their chance of success? How does the reemergence of District 13 alter the situation? When we enter the story, Panem is a powder keg and Katniss the spark.

DL: As with most novelists I know, once you have that origin moment — usually a connection of two elements (in this case, war and entertainment) — the number of connections quickly increases, as different elements of the story take their place. I know another connection you made early on was with mythology, particularly the myth of Theseus. How did that piece come to fit?

SC: I was such a huge Greek mythology geek as a kid, it’s impossible for it not to come into play in my storytelling. As a young prince of Athens, he participated in a lottery that required seven girls and seven boys to be taken to Crete and thrown into a labyrinth to be destroyed by the Minotaur. In one version of the myth, this excessively cruel punishment resulted from the Athenians opposing Crete in a war. Sometimes the labyrinth’s a maze; sometimes it’s an arena. In my teens I read Mary Renault’s The King Must Die, in which the tributes end up in the Bull Court. They’re trained to perform with a wild bull for an audience composed of the elite of Crete who bet on the entertainment. Theseus and his team dance and handspring over the bull in what’s called bull-leaping. You can see depictions of this in ancient sculpture and vase paintings. The show ended when they’d either exhausted the bull or one of the team had been killed. After I read that book, I could never go back to thinking of the labyrinth as simply a maze, except perhaps ethically. It will always be an arena to me.

DL: But in this case, you dispensed with the Minotaur, no? Instead, the arena harkens more to gladiator vs. gladiator than to gladiator vs. bull. What influenced this construction?

SC: A fascination with the gladiator movies of my childhood, particularly Spartacus. Whenever it ran, I’d be glued to the set. My dad would get outPlutarch’s Lives and read me passages from “Life of Crassus,” since Spartacus, being a slave, didn’t rate his own book. It’s about a person who’s forced to become a gladiator, breaks out of the gladiator school/arena to lead a rebellion, and becomes the face of a war. That’s the dramatic arc of both the real-life Third Servile War and the fictional Hunger Games Trilogy.

DL: Can you talk about how war stories influenced you as a young reader, and then later as a writer? How did this knowledge of war stories affect your approach to writing The Hunger Games?

SC: Now you can find many wonderful books written for young audiences that deal with war. That wasn’t the case when I was growing up. It was one of the reasons Greek mythology appealed to me: the characters battled, there was the Trojan War. My family had been heavily impacted by war the year my father, who was career Air Force, went to Vietnam, but except for my myths, I rarely encountered it in books. I liked Johnny Tremain but it ends as the Revolutionary War kicks off. The one really memorable book I had about war was Boris by Jaap ter Haar, which deals with the Siege of Leningrad in World War II.

My war stories came from my dad, a historian and a doctor of political science. The four years before he left for Vietnam, the Army borrowed him from the Air Force to teach at West Point. His final assignment would be at Air Command and Staff College. As his kids, we were never too young to learn, whether he was teaching us history or taking us on vacation to a battlefield or posing a philosophical dilemma. He approached history as a story, and fortunately he was a very engaging storyteller. As a result, in my own writing, war felt like a completely natural topic for children.

DL: Another key piece of The Hunger Games is the voice and perspective that Katniss brings to it. I know some novelists start with a character and then find a story through that character, but with The Hunger Games (and correct me if I’m wrong) I believe you had the idea for the story first, and then Katniss stepped into it. Where did she come from? I’d love for you to talk about the origin of her name, and also the origin of her very distinctive voice.

SC: Katniss appeared almost immediately after I had the idea, standing by the bed with that bow and arrow. I’d spent a lot of time during The Underland Chronicles weighing the attributes of different weapons. I used archers very sparingly because they required light and the Underland has little natural illumination. But a bow and arrow can be handmade, shot from a distance, and weaponized when the story transitions into warfare. She was a born archer.

Her name came later, while I was researching survival training and specifically edible plants. In one of my books, I found the arrowhead plant, and the more I read about it, the more it seemed to reflect her. Its Latin name has the same roots as Sagittarius, the archer. The edible tuber roots she could gather, the arrowhead-shaped leaves were her defense, and the little white blossoms kept it in the tradition of flower names, like Rue and Primrose. I looked at the list of alternative names for it. Swamp Potato. Duck Potato. Katniss easily won the day.

As to her voice, I hadn’t intended to write in first person. I thought the book would be in the third person like The Underland Chronicles. Then I sat down to work and the first page poured out in first person, like she was saying, “Step aside, this is my story to tell.” So I let her.

DL: I am now trying to summon an alternate universe where the Mockingjay is named Swamp Potato Everdeen. Seems like a PR challenge. But let’s stay for a second on the voice — because it’s not a straightforward, generic American voice. There’s a regionalism to it, isn’t there? Was that present from the start?

SC: It was. There’s a slight District 12 regionalism to it, and some of the other tributes use phrases unique to their regions as well. The way they speak, particularly the way in which they refuse to speak like citizens of the Capitol, is important to them. No one in District 12 wants to sound like Effie Trinket unless they’re mocking her. So they hold on to their regionalisms as a quiet form of rebellion. The closest thing they have to freedom of speech is their manner of speaking.

DL: I’m curious about Katniss’s family structure. Was it always as we see it, or did you ever consider giving her parents greater roles? How much do you think the Everdeen family’s story sets the stage for Katniss’s story within the trilogy?

SC: Her parents have their own histories in District 12 but I only included what’s pertinent to Katniss’s tale. Her father’s hunting skills, musicality, and death in the mines. Her mother’s healing talent and vulnerabilities. Her deep love for Prim. Those are the elements that seemed essential to me.

DL: This completely fascinates me because I, as an author, rarely know more (consciously) about the characters than what’s in the story. But this sounds like you know much more about the Everdeen parents than found their way to the page. What are some of the more interesting things about them that a reader wouldn’t necessarily know?

SC: Your way sounds a lot more efficient. I have a world of information about the characters that didn’t make it into the book. With some stories, revealing that could be illuminating, but in the case of The Hunger Games, I think it would only be a distraction unless it was part of a new tale within the world of Panem.

DL: I have to ask — did you know from the start how Prim’s story was going to end? (I can’t imagine writing the reaping scene while knowing — but at the same time I can’t imagine writing it without knowing.)

SC: You almost have to know it and not know it at the same time to write it convincingly, because the dramatic question, Can Katniss save Prim?, is introduced in the first chapter of the first book, and not answered until almost the end of the trilogy. At first there’s the relief that, yes, she can volunteer for Prim. Then Rue, who reminds her of Prim, joins her in the arena and she can’t save her. That tragedy refreshes the question. For most of the second book, Prim’s largely out of harm’s way, although there’s always the threat that the Capitol might hurt her to hurt Katniss. The jabberjays are a reminder of that. Once she’s in District 13 and the war has shifted to the Capitol, Katniss begins to hope Prim’s not only safe but has a bright future as a doctor. But it’s an illusion. The danger that made Prim vulnerable in the beginning, the threat of the arena, still exists. In the first book, it’s a venue for the Games; in the second, the platform for the revolution; in the third, it’s the battleground of Panem, coming to a head in the Capitol. The arena transforms but it’s never eradicated; in fact it’s expanded to include everyone in the country. Can Katniss save Prim? No. Because no one is safe while the arena exists.

DL: If Katniss was the first character to make herself known within story, when did Peeta and Gale come into the equation? Did you know from the beginning how their stories would play out vis-à-vis Katniss’s?

SC: Peeta and Gale appeared quickly, less as two points on a love triangle, more as two perspectives in the just war debate. Gale, because of his experiences and temperament, tends toward violent remedies. Peeta’s natural inclination is toward diplomacy. Katniss isn’t just deciding on a partner; she’s figuring out her worldview.

DL: And did you always know which worldview would win? It’s interesting to see it presented in such a clear-cut way, because when I think of Katniss, I certainly think of force over diplomacy.

SC: And yet Katniss isn’t someone eager to engage in violence and she takes no pleasure in it. Her circumstances repeatedly push her into making choices that include the use of force. But if you look carefully at what happens in the arena, her compassionate choices determine her survival. Taking on Rue as an ally results in Thresh sparing her life. Seeking out Peeta and caring for him when she discovers how badly wounded he is ultimately leads to her winning the Games. She uses force only in self-defense or defense of a third party, and I’m including Cato’s mercy killing in that. As the trilogy progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult to avoid the use of force because the overall violence is escalating with the war. The how and the why become harder to answer.

Yes, I knew which worldview would win, but in the interest of examining just war theory you need to make the arguments as strongly as possible on both sides. While Katniss ultimately chooses Peeta, remember that in order to end the Hunger Games her last act is to assassinate an unarmed woman. Conversely, in The Underland Chronicles, Gregor’s last act is to break his sword to interrupt the cycle of violence. The point of both stories is to take the reader through the journey, have them confront the issues with the protagonist, and then hopefully inspire them to think about it and discuss it. What would they do in Katniss’s or Gregor’s situation? How would they define a just or unjust war and what behavior is acceptable within warfare? What are the human costs of life, limb, and sanity? How does developing technology impact the debate? The hope is that better discussions might lead to more nonviolent forms of conflict resolution, so we evolve out of choosing war as an option.

DL: Where does Haymitch fit into this examination of war? What worldview does he bring?

SC: Haymitch was badly damaged in his own war, the second Quarter Quell, in which he witnessed and participated in terrible things in order to survive and then saw his loved ones killed for his strategy. He self-medicates with white liquor to combat severe PTSD. His chances of recovery are compromised because he’s forced to mentor the tributes every year. He’s a version of what Katniss might become, if the Hunger Games continues. Peeta comments on how similar they are, and it’s true. They both really struggle with their worldview. He manages to defuse the escalating violence at Gale’s whipping with words, but he participates in a plot to bring down the government that will entail a civil war.

The ray of light that penetrates that very dark cloud in his brain is the moment that Katniss volunteers for Prim. He sees, as do many people in Panem, the power of her sacrifice. And when that carries into her Games, with Rue and Peeta, he slowly begins to believe that with Katniss it might be possible to end the Hunger Games.

DL: I’m also curious about how you balanced the personal and political in drawing the relationship between Katniss and Gale. They have such a history together — and I think you powerfully show the conflict that arises when you love someone, but don’t love what they believe in. (I think that resonates particularly now, when so many families and relationships and friendships have been disrupted by politics.)

SC: Yes, I think it’s painful, especially because they feel so in tune in so many ways. Katniss’s and Gale’s differences of opinion are based in just war theory. Do we revolt? How do we conduct ourselves in the war? And the ethical and personal lines climax at the same moment — the double tap bombing that takes Prim’s life. But it’s rarely simple; there are a lot of gray areas. It’s complicated by Peeta often holding a conflicting view while being the rival for her heart, so the emotional pull and the ethical pull become so intertwined it’s impossible to separate them. What do you do when someone you love, someone you know to be a good person, has a view which completely opposes your own? You keep trying to understand what led to the difference and see if it can be bridged. Maybe, maybe not. I think many conflicts grow out of fear, and in an attempt to counter that fear, people reach for solutions that may be comforting in the short term, but only increase their vulnerability in the long run and cause a lot of destruction along the way.

DL: In drawing Gale’s and Peeta’s roles in the story, how conscious were you of the gender inversion from traditional narrative tropes? As you note above, both are important far beyond any romantic subplot, but I do think there’s something fascinating about the way they both reinscribe roles that would traditionally be that of the “girlfriend.” Gale in particular gets to be “the girl back home” from so many Westerns and adventure movies — but of course is so much more than that. And Peeta, while a very strong character in his own right, often has to take a backseat to Katniss and her strategy, both in and out of the arena. Did you think about them in terms of gender and tropes, or did that just come naturally as the characters did what they were going to do on the page?

SC: It came naturally because, while Gale and Peeta are very important characters, it’s Katniss’s story.

DL: For Peeta . . . why baking?

SC: Bread crops up a lot in The Hunger Games. It’s the main food source in the districts, as it was for many people historically. When Peeta throws a starving Katniss bread in the flashback, he’s keeping her alive long enough to work out a strategy for survival. It seemed in keeping with his character to be a baker, a life giver.

But there’s a dark side to bread, too. When Plutarch Heavensbee references it, he’s talking about Panem et Circenses, Bread and Circuses, where food and entertainment lull people into relinquishing their political power. Bread can contribute to life or death in the Hunger Games.

DL: Speaking of Plutarch — in a meta way, the two of you share a job (although when you do it, only fictional people die). When you were designing the arena for the first book, what influences came into play? Did you design the arena and then have the participants react to it, or did you design the arena with specific reactions and plot points in mind?

SC: Katniss has a lot going against her in the first arena — she’s inexperienced, smaller than a lot of her competitors, and hasn’t the training of the Careers — so the arena needed to be in her favor. The landscape closely resembles the woods around District 12, with similar flora and fauna. She can feed herself and recognize the nightlock as poisonous. Thematically, the Girl on Fire needed to encounter fire at some point, so I built that in. I didn’t want it too physically flashy, because the audience needs to focus on the human dynamic, the plight of the star-crossed lovers, the alliance with Rue, the twist that two tributes can survive from the same district. Also, the Gamemakers would want to leave room for a noticeable elevation in spectacle when the Games move to the Quarter Quell arena in Catching Fire with the more intricate clock design.

DL: So where does Plutarch fall into the just war spectrum? There are many layers to his involvement in what’s going on.

SC: Plutarch is the namesake of the biographer Plutarch, and he’s one of the few characters who has a sense of the arc of history. He’s never lived in a world without the Hunger Games; it was well established by the time he was born and then he rose through the ranks to become Head Gamemaker. At some point, he’s gone from accepting that the Games are necessary to deciding they’re unnecessary, and he sets about ending them. Plutarch has a personal agenda as well. He’s seen so many of his peers killed off, like Seneca Crane, that he wonders how long it will be before the mad king decides he’s a threat not an asset. It’s no way to live. And as a gamemaker among gamemakers, he likes the challenge of the revolution. But even after they succeed he questions how long the resulting peace will last. He has a fairly low opinion of human beings, but ultimately doesn’t rule out that they might be able to change.

DL: When it comes to larger world building, how much did you know about Panem before you started writing? If I had asked you, while you were writing the opening pages, “Suzanne, what’s the primary industry of District Five?” would you have known the answer, or did those details emerge to you when they emerged within the writing of the story?

SC: Before I started writing I knew there were thirteen districts — that’s a nod to the thirteen colonies — and that they’d each be known for a specific industry. I knew 12 would be coal and most of the others were set, but I had a few blanks that naturally filled in as the story evolved. When I was little we had that board game, Game of the States, where each state was identified by its exports. And even today we associate different locations in the country with a product, with seafood or wine or tech. Of course, it’s a very simplified take on Panem. No district exists entirely by its designated trade. But for purposes of the Hunger Games, it’s another way to divide and define the districts.

DL: How do you think being from District 12 defines Katniss, Peeta, and Gale? Could they have been from any other district, or is their residency in 12 formative for the parts of their personalities that drive the story?

SC: Very formative. District 12 is the joke district, small and poor, rarely producing a victor in the Hunger Games. As a result, the Capitol largely ignores it. The enforcement of the laws is lax, the relationship with the Peacekeepers less hostile. This allows the kids to grow up far less constrained than in other districts. Katniss and Gale become talented archers by slipping off in the woods to hunt. That possibility of training with a weapon is unthinkable in, say, District 11, with its oppressive military presence. Finnick’s trident and Johanna’s ax skills develop as part of their districts’ industries, but they would never be allowed access to those weapons outside of work. Also, Katniss, Peeta, and Gale view the Capitol in a different manner by virtue of knowing their Peacekeepers better. Darius, in the Hob, is considered a friend, and he proves himself to be so more than once. This makes the Capitol more approachable on a level, more possible to befriend, and more possible to defeat. More human.

DL: Let’s talk about the Capitol for a moment — particularly its most powerful resident. I know that every name you give a character is deliberate, so why President Snow?

SC: Snow because of its coldness and purity. That’s purity of thought, although most people would consider it pure evil. His methods are monstrous, but in his mind, he’s all that’s holding Panem together. His first name, Coriolanus, is a nod to the titular character in Shakespeare’s play who was based on material from Plutarch’s Lives. He was known for his anti-populist sentiments, and Snow is definitely not a man of the people.

DL: The bond between Katniss and Snow is one of the most interesting in the entire series. Because even when they are in opposition, there seems to be an understanding between them that few if any of the other characters in the trilogy share. What role do you feel Snow plays for Katniss — and how does this fit into your examination of war?

SC: On the surface, she’s the face of the rebels, he’s the face of the Capitol. Underneath, things are a lot more complicated. Snow’s quite old under all that plastic surgery. Without saying too much, he’s been waiting for Katniss for a long time. She’s the worthy opponent who will test the strength of his citadel, of his life’s work. He’s the embodiment of evil to her, with the power of life and death. They’re obsessed with each other to the point of being blinded to the larger picture. “I was watching you, Mockingjay. And you were watching me. I’m afraid we have both been played for fools.” By Coin, that is. And then their unholy alliance at the end brings her down.

DL: One of the things that both Snow and Katniss realize is the power of media and imagery on the population. Snow may appear heartless to some, but he is very attuned to the “hearts and minds” of his citizens . . . and he is also attuned to the danger of losing them to Katniss. What role do you see propaganda playing in the war they’re waging?

SC: Propaganda decides the outcome of the war. This is why Plutarch implements the airtime assault; he understands that whoever controls the airwaves controls the power. Like Snow, he’s been waiting for Katniss, because he needs a Spartacus to lead his campaign. There have been possible candidates, like Finnick, but no one else has captured the imagination of the country like she has.

DL: In terms of the revolution, appearance matters — and two of the characters who seem to understand this the most are Cinna and Caesar Flickerman, one in a principled way, one . . . not as principled. How did you draw these two characters into your themes?

SC: That’s exactly right. Cinna uses his artistic gifts to woo the crowd with spectacle and beauty. Even after his death, his Mockingjay costume designs are used in the revolution. Caesar, whose job is to maintain the myth of the glorious games, transitions into warfare with the prisoner of war interviews with Peeta. They are both helping to keep up appearances.

DL: As a writer, you studiously avoided the trope of harkening back to the “old” geography — i.e., there isn’t a character who says, “This was once a land known as . . . Delaware.” (And thank goodness for that.) Why did you decide to avoid pinning down Panem to our contemporary geography?

SC: The geography has changed because of natural and man-made disasters, so it’s not as simple as overlaying a current map on Panem. But more importantly, it’s not relevant to the story. Telling the reader the continent gives them the layout in general, but borders are very changeful. Look at how the map of North America has evolved in the past 300 years. It makes little difference to Katniss what we called Panem in the past.

DL: Let’s talk about the D word. When you sat down to write The Hunger Games, did you think of it as a dystopian novel?

SC: I thought of it as a war story. I love dystopia, but it will always be secondary to that. Setting the trilogy in a futuristic North America makes it familiar enough to relate to but just different enough to gain some perspective. When people ask me how far in the future it’s set, I say, “It depends on how optimistic you are.”

DL: What do you think it was about the world into which the book was published that made it viewed so prominently as a dystopia?

SC: In the same way most people would define The Underland Chronicles as a fantasy series, they would define The Hunger Games as a dystopian trilogy, and they’d be right. The elements of the genres are there in both cases. But they’re first and foremost war stories to me. The thing is, whether you came for the war, dystopia, action adventure, propaganda, coming of age, or romance, I’m happy you’re reading it. Everyone brings their own experiences to the book that will color how they interpret it. I imagine the number of people who immediately identify it as a just war theory story are in the minority, but most stories are more than one thing.

DL: What was the relationship between current events and the world you were drawing? I know that with many speculative writers, they see something in the news and find it filtering into their fictional world. Were you reacting to the world around you, or was your reaction more grounded in a more timeless and/or historical consideration of war?

SC: I would say the latter. Some authors — okay, you for instance — can digest events quickly and channel them into their writing, as you did so effectively with September 11 in Love Is the Higher Law. But I don’t process and integrate things rapidly, so history works better for me.

DL: There’s nothing I like more than talking to writers about writing — so I’d love to ask about your process (even though I’ve always found the word process to be far too orderly to describe how a writer’s mind works).

As I recall, when we at Scholastic first saw the proposal for The Hunger Games Trilogy, the summary of the first book was substantial, the summary for the second book was significantly shorter, and the summary of the third book was . . . remarkably brief. So, first question: Did you stick to that early outline?

SC: I had to go back and take a look. Yes, I stuck to it very closely, but as you point out, the third book summary is remarkably brief. I basically tell you there’s a war that the Capitol eventually loses. Just coming off The Underland Chronicles, which also ends with a war, I think I’d seen how much develops along the way and wanted that freedom for this series as well.

DL: Would you outline books two and three as you were writing book one? Or would you just take notes for later? Was this the same or different from what you did with The Underland Chronicles?

SC: Structure’s one of my favorite parts of writing. I always work a story out with Post-its, sometimes using different colors for different character arcs. I create a chapter grid, as well, and keep files for later books, so that whenever I have an idea that might be useful, I can make a note of it. I wrote scripts for many years before I tried books, so a lot of my writing habits developed through that experience.

DL: Would you deliberately plant things in book one to bloom in books two or three? Are there any seeds you planted in the first book that you ended up not growing?

SC: Oh, yes, I definitely planted things. For instance, Johanna Mason is mentioned in the third chapter of the first book although she won’t appear until Catching Fire. Plutarch is that unnamed gamemaker who falls into the punch bowl when she shoots the arrow. Peeta whispers “Always” in Catching Fire when Katniss is under the influence of sleep syrup but she doesn’t hear the word until after she’s been shot in Mockingjay. Sometimes you just don’t have time to let all the seeds grow, or you cut them out because they don’t really add to the story. Like those wild dogs that roam around District 12. One could potentially have been tamed, but Buttercup stole their thunder.

DL: Since much of your early experience as a writer was as a playwright, I’m curious: What did you learn as a playwright that helped you as a novelist?

SC: I studied theater for many years — first acting, then playwriting — and I have a particular love for classical theater. I formed my ideas about structure as a playwright, how crucial it is and how, when it’s done well, it’s really inseparable from character. It’s like a living thing to me. I also wrote for children’s television for seventeen years. I learned a lot writing for preschool. If a three-year-old doesn’t like something, they just get up and walk away from the set. I saw my own kids do that. How do you hold their attention? It’s hard and the internet has made it harder. So for the eight novels, I developed a three-act structure, with each act being composed of nine chapters, using elements from both play and screenplay structures — double layering it, so to speak.

DL: Where do you write? Are you a longhand writer or a laptop writer? Do you listen to music as you write, or go for the monastic, writerly silence?

SC: I write best at home in a recliner. I used to write longhand, but now it’s all laptop. Definitely not music; it demands to be listened to. I like quiet, but not silence.

DL: You talked earlier about researching survival training and edible plants for these books. What other research did you have to do? Are you a reading researcher, a hands-on researcher, or a mix of both? (I’m imagining an elaborate archery complex in your backyard, but I am guessing that’s not necessarily accurate.)

SC: You know, I’m just not very handy. I read a lot about how to build a bow from scratch, but I doubt I could ever make one. Being good with your hands is a gift. So I do a lot of book research. Sometimes I visit museums or historic sites for inspiration. I was trained in stage combat, particularly sword fighting in drama school; I have a nice collection of swords designed for that, but that was more helpful for The Underland Chronicles. The only time I got to do archery was in gym class in high school.

DL: While I wish I could say the editorial team (Kate Egan, Jennifer Rees, and myself ) were the first-ever readers of The Hunger Games, I know this isn’t true. When you’re writing a book, who reads it first?

SC: My husband, Cap, and my literary agent, Rosemary Stimola, have consistently been the books’ first readers. They both have excellent critique skills and give insightful notes. I like to keep the editorial team as much in the dark as possible, so that when they read the first draft it’s with completely fresh eyes.

DL: Looking back now at the editorial conversations we had about The Hunger Games — which were primarily with Kate, as Jen and I rode shotgun — can you recall any significant shifts or discussions?

SC: What I mostly recall is how relieved I was to know that I had such amazing people to work with on the book before it entered the world. I had eight novels come out in eight years with Scholastic, so that was fast for me and I needed feedback I could trust. You’re all so smart, intuitive, and communicative, and with the three of you, no stone went unturned. With The Hunger Games Trilogy, I really depended on your brains and hearts to catch what worked and what didn’t.

DL: And then there was the question of the title . . .

SC: Okay, this I remember clearly. The original title of the first book was The Tribute of District Twelve. You wanted to change it to The Hunger Games, which was my name for the series. I said, “Okay, but I’m not thinking of another name for the series!” To this day, more people ask me about “the Gregor series” than “The Underland Chronicles,” and I didn’t want a repeat of that because it’s confusing. But you were right, The Hunger Games was a much better name for the book. Catching Fire was originally called The Ripple Effect and I wanted to change that one, because it was too watery for a Girl on Fire, so we came up with Catching Fire. The third book I’d come up with a title so bad I can’t even remember it except it had the word ashes in it. We both hated it. One day, you said, “What if we just call it Mockingjay?” And that seemed perfect. The three parts of the book had been subtitled “The Mockingjay,” “The Assault,” and “The Assassin.” We changed the title to Mockingjay and the first part to “The Ashes” and got that lovely alliteration in the subtitles. Thank goodness you were there; you have far better taste in titles. I believe in the acknowledgments, I call you the Title Master.

DL: With The Hunger Games, the choice of Games is natural — but the choice of Hunger is much more odd and interesting. So I’ll ask: Why Hunger Games?

SC: Because food is a lethal weapon. Withholding food, that is. Just like it is in Boris when the Nazis starve out the people of Leningrad. It’s a weapon that targets everyone in a war, not just the soldiers in combat, but the civilians too. In the prologue of Henry V, the Chorus talks about Harry as Mars, the god of war. “And at his heels, Leash’d in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire crouch for employment.” Famine, sword, and fire are his dogs of war, and famine leads the pack. With a rising global population and environmental issues, I think food could be a significant weapon in the future.

DL: The cover was another huge effort. We easily had over a hundred different covers comped up before we landed on the iconic one. There were some covers that pictured Katniss — something I can’t imagine doing now. And there were others that tried to picture scenes. Of course, the answer was in front of us the entire time — the Mockingjay symbol, which the art director Elizabeth Parisi deployed to such amazing effect. What do you think of the impact the cover and the symbol have had? What were your thoughts when you saw this cover?

SC: Oh, it’s a brilliant cover, which I should point out I had nothing to do with. I only saw a handful of the many you developed. The one that made it to print is absolutely fantastic; I loved it at first sight. It’s classy, powerful, and utterly unique to the story. It doesn’t limit the age of the audience and I think that really contributed to adults feeling comfortable reading it. And then, of course, you followed it up with the wonderful evolution of the mockingjay throughout the series. There’s something universal about the imagery, the captive bird gaining freedom, which I think is why so many of the foreign publishers chose to use it instead of designing their own. And it translated beautifully to the screen where it still holds as the central symbolic image for the franchise.

DL: Obviously, the four movies had an enormous impact on how widely the story spread across the globe. The whole movie process started with the producers coming on board. What made you know they were the right people to shepherd this story into another form?

SC: When I decided to sell the entertainment rights to the book, I had phone interviews with over a dozen producers. Nina Jacobson’s understanding of and passion for the piece along with her commitment to protecting it won me over. She’s so articulate, I knew she’d be an excellent person to usher it into the world. The team at Lionsgate’s enthusiasm and insight made a deep impression as well. I needed partners with the courage not to shy away from the difficult elements of the piece, ones who wouldn’t try to steer the story to an easier, more traditional ending. Prim can’t live. The victory can’t be joyous. The wounds have to leave lasting scars. It’s not an easy ending but it’s an intentional one.

DL: You cowrote the screenplay for the first Hunger Games movie. I know it’s an enormously tricky thing for an author to adapt their own work. How did you approach it? What was the hardest thing about translating a novel into a screenplay? What was the most rewarding?

SC: I wrote the initial treatments and first draft and then Billy Ray came on for several drafts and then our director, Gary Ross, developed it into his shooting script and we ultimately did a couple of passes together. I did the boil down of the book, which is a lot of cutting things while trying to retain the dramatic structure. I think the hardest thing for me, because I’m not a terribly visual person, was finding the way to translate many words into few images. Billy and Gary, both far more experienced screenwriters and gifted directors as well, really excelled at that. Throughout the franchise I had terrific screenwriters, and Francis Lawrence, who directed the last three films, is an incredible visual storyteller.

The most rewarding moment on the Hunger Games movie would have been the first time I saw it put together, still in rough form, and thinking it worked.

DL: One of the strange things for me about having a novel adapted is knowing that the actors involved will become, in many people’s minds, the faces and bodies of the characters who have heretofore lived as bodiless voices in my head. Which I suppose leads to a three-part question: Do you picture your characters as you’re writing them? If so, how close did Jennifer Lawrence come to the Katniss in your head? And now when you think about Katniss, do you see Jennifer or do you still see what you imagined before?

SC: I definitely do picture the characters when I’m writing them. The actress who looks exactly like my book Katniss doesn’t exist. Jennifer looked close enough and felt very right, which is more important. She gives an amazing performance. When I think of the books, I still think of my initial image of Katniss. When I think of the movies, I think of Jen. Those images aren’t at war any more than the books are with the films. Because they’re faithful adaptations, the story becomes the primary thing. Some people will never read a book, but they might see the same story in a movie. When it works well, the two entities support and enrich each other.

DL: All of the actors did such a fantastic job with your characters (truly). Are there any in particular that have stayed with you?

SC: A writer friend of mine once said, “Your cast — they’re like a basket of diamonds.” That’s how I think of them. I feel fortunate to have had such a talented team — directors, producers, screenwriters, performers, designers, editors, marketing, publicity, everybody — to make the journey with. And I’m so grateful for the readers and viewers who invested in The Hunger Games. Stories are made to be shared.

DL: We’re talking on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of The Hunger Games. Looking back at the past ten years, what have some of the highlights been?

SC: The response from the readers, especially the young audience for which it was written. Seeing beautiful and faithful adaptations reach the screen. Occasionally hearing it make its way into public discourse on politics or social issues.

DL: The Hunger Games Trilogy has been an international bestseller. Why do you think this series struck such an important chord throughout the world?

SC: Possibly because the themes are universal. War is a magnet for difficult issues. In The Hunger Games, you have vast inequality of wealth, destruction of the planet, political struggles, war as a media event, human rights abuses, propaganda, and a whole lot of other elements that affect human beings wherever they live. I think the story might tap into the anxiety a lot of people feel about the future right now.

DL: As we celebrate the past ten years and look forward to many decades to come for this trilogy, I’d love for us to end where we should — with the millions of readers who’ve embraced these books. What words would you like to leave them with?

SC: Thank you for joining Katniss on her journey. And may the odds be ever in your favor.

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