#a win is a win!! 'nothing changed its just a different ch-' A WIN IS A WIN

[devotedlystrangewizard]

his lengthy monologues and ancient tragedy-esque character arc have bewitched me

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

@thedragonagelesbian replied to your post “Majexatli’s health”:

ur honor i love them 💕💕💕 and also... if you'd like to, i'd be very interested in hearing more about them bearing althyran's child?? knowing how preoccupied they are with being part of a normal family & how they ruminate on althyran now having kids with someone else... my heart..................

​Oh it's SUCH a thing that's constantly on their mind and has shaped who they are. I was going to just write a short reply but this turned into a whole long thing rip.

(CW: Abuse, loss of pregnancy)

Like, from day one with Althyran, all they wanted was like, the idyllic fairytale life and happily ever after, they very much wanted and constantly imagined that future, of marrying Althyran and having children with him. In their mind, they had gone through so much suffering, and this was the happily ever after, where Althyran is the prince charming who saves them.

Of course, this dream was quickly complicated as it became more and more clear that Althyran was using them and taking advantage of their desire for that happily ever after. But they pushed away doubts because before Althyran and his help, they had nothing and no standing, and now they were on the rise and being respected more in the circle. This was their happy ending, they had nothing before, so they should be grateful.

Before the attack, freshly 19, Althyran did start hinting at the possibility of marriage between them sometime in the future, which was something they clung to. And when they learned they were with child, something that they hadn't been sure was entirely possible, it seemed like. Yes. Everything is finally okay, they had been through so much hardship and had come from nothing, but now they were going to have a child and get married, like Regular People do.

However, a tiny part of them was... hesitant? Because their relationship with Althyran was not always idyllic, and while the two had gotten together somewhat recently, Althyran was quite against being public about their relationship. And part of them has begun to wonder a bit about, what do they want, really? Is it different from what Althyran wants? Is the picturesque life they've imagine and longed for what they want, or do they want it because it's something straight out of a fairytale and it's the only context they have for what a Normal Life is?

So perhaps for that reason, they didn't tell Althyran they were pregnant, and planned to tell him later, especially if he didn't want their relationship to be public.

And then... the owlbear attack. They technically die. And so does their chances of not just having that child, but any child. And then Althyran quite publically shames them and denies that there's anything between them. And Majexatli, stripped of their status and all the love and respect they now realize was conditional, flees from the circle and Althyran.

Yet, even so, they cannot stop their preoccupation with What Could Have Been. What if they had done something different? What if they had escaped the attack relatively unscathed?

Majexatli realizes that it's quite possibly, and in fact likely, that Althyran never cared for them. Not only that, but he might have puposefuly lead them to what he knew could have been their death. They understand its possible he saw them as just something he could manipulate and get to do whatever he wanted, and discarded them once they were no longer useful enough.

BUT deep down, Majexatli wonders if they could have done something to win him over. The fact it's likely he knowingly hurt them just makes them wonder more and more if it was their fault and they could have done something differently and gotten the happily ever after he promised. If they could have done something to change his mind, make him realize he cares about them.

They grapple with that, and then years later, against their better judgement, they keep tabs on their old circle and Althyran. And they learn he's happily married and has children. And Majexatli can't stop themselves from thinking that could have been me.

And it just eats away at them.

Majexatli thinks too often about what if they had done something different, if they did get to give birth to his child. They think about what the child would be like, what their life would be like. A druid, with a husband and children, still loved by Silvanus, with flowers in their hair.

I think I said somewhere that Majexatli's fatal flaw is that they carry around the corpse of the person they used to be and the the life they could have had, and that really is the case. As they see it, they had a single chance at happily ever after, and they lost it. And now they've spent so much of their life mourning for a life they never had. Their benchmark for happiness will always be the life they never got to live.

Not only that, but they have to live knowing the person who hurt them, the person they could have had a life with, is out there happy and unbothered and living the life they will never have.

I also think I shared a snippet from a fic I was working on, and while I ended up scrapping the line, it just sums up how Majexatli feels succinctly.

“If I was a good person, I would be out somewhere with a husband and children instead of alone hundreds of miles away with a parasite in my brain, tearing flesh apart with my teeth to try and fill emptiness that festers in me,"

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.167 thoughts

[Feng's Backstory]

...Or Shen will win, as we all figured he would. Obviously I never really thought that Feng would win, I just thought it'd be fun if Tozuka could find a way for Feng to learn his lesson through victory rather than defeat

You won't hear a complaint from me about the real outcome, though, cus in terms of execution, I don't think we could possibly have gotten a more fitting conclusion for Shen and Feng's joint character arc, and for one simple reason: the contrast

Untruth's activation requirement is to feel fondness for the target, but Shen found that "fondness" could be achieved through appreciation of pretty small aspects or situational factors. For example, in the fight against Spoil, he was grateful that Spoil had pushed Andy far enough to become Victor, and thus was able to use Untruth against Spoil; he didn't like Spoil as a person, he just found something to like about Spoil at all. When fighting Feng in the previous loop, though, Shen couldn't even attempt to find something to like about him. He was too blinded by vengeance to try to remember any happy memories or be grateful that he'd given him a path in life; the death of Mei recontextualized every happy memory into just another part of the plot to raise up an enemy, which in turn negated Shen's Rule

But now, as if Untruth had been used on their very lives, the situation is reversed. Now, Feng openly raised Shen with the knowledge that he was the means to an end, that Shen's strength would serve Feng's goals and nothing more. Ironically, because Feng was more openly hostile toward Shen, Shen grew up to learn that Feng's hidden motive was to raise a student that's capable of standing on their own. If they'd met the same way they did before, Shen would have eventually gone from loving to hating Feng as usual, but in this world where Fuuko met Feng first and flipped his motives, Shen went from hating to loving Feng in the end

Being able to use Untruth on Feng isn't the only difference between this battle and their last, though. We were told in their last fight that Untruth would be difficult to use on Feng because of the complexity of Feng's decision-making in the heat of battle as a master martial artist, so even if Shen had been able to use it, finding a good opening to do so would have been extremely difficult. In this battle, though, Shen now knows Feng's habits from getting to know him better as a father, and was able to pinpoint the exact moment that using Untruth would have the greatest effect: when he would be solely focused on charging at Shen and returning to the ring, thus forcing him to stay still outside of it. Shen really did master Untruth immediately considering that he'd only managed to use it to stop Mui from fighting back and force Fuuko to deny his request a second ago. He even realized he could trick his opponent with an untruth just like he did to Victor 140 chapters ago

Feng's personal journey is also heavily affected by a reversal; in his case, the activation of Unfade completely changed the course of his tragedy. Originally, the tragedy of Unfade was simply its timing; Feng had already decided that pursuit of personal strength was more important than communal strength or the building of a legacy, and gained Unfade as he was lamenting that he was no longer in his prime. Unfade forced him to remain in his "accursed" state forevermore, knowing that no matter how hard he trained, his weakened body would only ever pale in comparison to his former glory. Unfade itself was merely a reminder of what he'd lost, not an ability that would make up for the deficit

This time, Feng gained Unfade at his peak (which is likely where Feng's name comes from by the way), which to both his current and previous self seemed like the ideal time for it to manifest, but in the end it only proved that his pursuit of personal greatness was flawed from the beginning. If we assume that Negator abilities are meant to teach their users some kind of lesson, Feng missed it last time, so this time it took a different approach to spell it out for him. Last time, his contemporaries died out while he stood alongside them, raising a student just like they did, but for the wrong reasons. While everyone else was planting trees for the future of their art, he was fattening chickens for himself

This time, Feng was running a very long race, watching everyone else pass him by as strangers came up behind him. He was the strongest as he always wanted, but everyone he knew was gone and replaced before he knew it. What he didn't realize, though, was that they weren't really gone: everything that they had learned had been refined and passed down to and refined by these "strangers," and if he'd taken the time to look at them, he would have seen the echoes of everyone he'd ever cared about, and maybe realized that his method was not cultivating the art at all, but stagnating it

A tree doesn't grow from a single plot of soil. Soil only holds so many nutrients, so in isolation, the tree will eventually choke itself out. A complete ecosystem is needed for even just one tree to thrive; the nutrients create leaves and fruit which attract animals, who bring with them nutrients from past meals or packed into their own bodies should they die around the tree. Everything they bring to the tree, they leave in its soil, which the tree uses to grow more branches and create more fruit to attract more animals, continuing the cycle

Feng thought he was the tree, and attempted to directly consume anyone who got close, but he was wrong. His art, Shin Hakkyoku, was the tree all along, a seed born of the previous Hakkyokuken tree, and whenever it grew a new branch, Feng made sure to cull it in the misguided assumption that this would allow the trunk to grow healthier

Perhaps that metaphor got away from me a bit, but this is all to illustrate that Feng's "man is an island" philosophy was never going to stand. Whether he's an old rotten tree or a runner standing alone on an endless track, Feng's story is about the isolation that comes from carelessness in the face of longevity

I talked about the imagery of aging in UU, but I didn't quite realize just how tragic Feng's current story really was. Feng's not just someone raging against the dying of the light, he's a bitter old man abandoned in a retirement home, watching as everyone else's grandchildren come to visit. He never even realized that he had a visitor that he was sending away this whole time because they weren't the one visitor he wanted

Now that Feng has realized that he had in fact raised a successor and not a sacrifice, it's not hard to guess that the loneliness should start to subside, and that he'll be able to start living with a focus on the future rather than a focus on himself

I said before that aging is a gift, and while that holds true, Feng's story reminds me of another adage. Building a legacy is planting a garden that you'll never get to see, but Feng is in the incredibly unique and fortunate position to potentially see his garden grow indefinitely, and that's a gift that I hope he's finally learned to cherish

[holly-fixation]

Ink Stained Cloud: Ch 3

Summary: Cloud Strife, after finally winning the war against Sephiroth, is torn back in time by the Calamity, damaging his brain and body permanently. Through tainted evolution, he becomes a squid like creature, constantly spewing the very disease he put his life on the line to prevent. He fights it with everything he has, but his instincts completely changed. He needs him. He needs Him.

Inspired by this prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien . A rewrite/remake of Ink Clouds. 

Chapter 3: Research

The massive tank glistened in the blue observation lights of the laboratory, its glass wall over a story tall and perfectly clear for observation. Chains connected the glass of the tank to the ceiling. The remaining three walls and the base were merely reinforced to be waterproof specifically for housing the Stigma creature. They were equipped with filters and various junctions in the pipes to refill and empty the container whenever he saw fit. 

Finally, the head scientist's new project could begin. 

The Stigma creature was much less hostile than they expected from every witness or barely functional video of its actions. It crawled willingly into Its tank. It didn't try to break free. For the first three weeks of Its capture, It barely acknowledged Its surroundings. It only ejected a thin stream of ink that was hardly enough to run any tests and whined for any kind of meal. It accepted the needles in Its arms that took samples from Its own body for any opportunity to fill its stomach. They kept the creature fed with the nearly expired MREs from the Wutai front, yet nothing ever satisfied it. The creature never stopped eating, and results showed Its body only absorbed 25% of the energy it should gain from each meal. The remainder simply disappeared, as far as they understood. But that was physically impossible. Energy cannot just ‘vanish’, yet this phenomenon was nothing compared to the need for a cure. There was no time for side projects with the world in its current state.

However, to the Head Scientist, this creature itself was more important than any cure to a virus spreading across the world. From the first clean test of its ink, he recognized the alien cells floating within. The literal alien cells from his greatest and ongoing project. Though these cells were nearly identical to the single successful hybrid, the virus attacked human immune systems, just different enough to cause overcompensation and death, he assumed. Still, the man struggled not to cackle with delight every few minutes as he observed it. He tracked every minute detail of the creature's behavior to bridge any connections in his knowledge of those cells. Every erratic movement had hidden meaning. What was it?

It never stopped. It never slept. Its ink production varied but never vanished. It reacted to some outside input. It had knowledge, a past, but it couldn't use it. 

This thing named Sky by the young Second Class that found it had more going through its head than any of them could possibly imagine. 

Thoughts vanished like water through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to claim them. Why bother trying at all? He struggled to keep his sight focused on any detail, to delay the next distraction from his mind. The blue lights above sometimes reminded him of the water that became his existence in this twisted place- or the mako reactor where he made his biggest mistake and nearly died from-

For the first time since his body took this cursed form, he closed his eyes and tried to rest, his body no longer screaming in ever-present hunger. 

His eyes were only closed for a few seconds before he saw them. 

The girl he failed. The girl he loved. The hero that died for him- but that hero was still alive here. He could do something for him- He saw the blade skewer the heart of the woman he failed. He saw the blade slash the chest of the woman he loved. He saw a clear vision of the final bullets entering his hero's chest-

He snapped his eyes open, and if he wasn't underwater he may have felt tears, ink growing disastrously around him. Sleep haunted him endlessly. He guessed this hell of reality was more manageable than the hell of fake memories. There was no mental escape for- door? His head tilted curiously when the light above the sliding door turned on and a few people in white coats came through. He did not approach, staying at the center of the tank but- you. 

Black greasy hair. Black glasses. A white coat worn from exhaustive use. The scientist's gaze met his own with twisted analysis and a grin on his face. 

You started this. You did this to me. 

He tried to growl his thoughts out loud, forcing the scientist to acknowledge the first uninterrupted thought he had in months. But his words stayed trapped in his mutated body as incredible black clouds began to fill the tank. 

The man in the white coat almost seemed amused by this, completely ignoring the conversation of those he entered with. 

Filtering pipes rattled in activation and Cloud's eyes immediately flicked to the noise. Pipes. Like the reactor- Where he stood with the sword that became his- where he killed the chosen one-

Like everything, his thoughts vanished in seconds, pulled away by the next thing and the next thing and the next thing. 

He didn't notice the scientist again that day, nor the comments made about him outside the tank. 

His sense of time was long killed by the Calamity. How long had it been? Had anything else changed? Had Nibelheim burned to the ground yet? He didn't know, his eyes pulling his attention away, but closing them trapped him in horrid, haunting memories. His curiosity spiked every time someone entered the room, details absorbing his attention for fleeting moments. White coats. Long pants. But also helmets. Shoulder pads. Turtle necks. They were always taken to another room. He'd watch for maybe a second before his thoughts drained. But he'd take one last look before they vanished behind the door. 

So many colors decorated these passersby. Hair dark as night. Orange like a sunset. Yellow like a dandelion. So many want through. So much time passed without his knowledge, only watching for patterns in the few moments his mind agreed with him. He had to keep looking. He didn’t know why, but he needed to watch for something. 

Black. Black. Silver. 

Silver? 

His eyes widened and he could almost hear his pupils dilate. Suddenly, automatically, mindlessly, he was floating with hands pressed against the glass, adjusting for different views and angles, eyes never leaving the waterfall of mercury. 

It was him. It had to be. The feeling in his chest and his head was unmistakable. Unifying. Uniting. Everything he was missing in this world collided into one single being. 

Him. 

Him. 

* * * 

From cadet to SOLDIER, anyone working through a Shinra defense force waited their turn to give samples to the lab. Well, they waited for their ‘mandatory volunteering’ and the rest of the day off. They all knew these samples were for finding a cure, so few ever complained about the task. They did complain about the head scientist and the general invasive comments he gave. Complaints escalated to rumors of his assistant taking over sample gathering while Doctor Hojo observed from a room nearby. Few believed the tale before going in themselves, however. 

For whatever reason, Angeal incessantly instructed Zack to give his samples before heading back to the Second Class apartments for the night. Zack, with his scattered attention span, forgot. He only realized his mistake when he literally put his key into his apartment door. The young Second suddenly yanked the metal out and bolted down the hall to the first elevator he could find, even giving up on waiting and running up the fire exit stairs. Angeal would absolutely waste another day on lecturing him if he missed this chance again. 

He panted a bit as he finally reached the 67th floor, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Weaving through twenty floors, especially when the last seven were heavily guarded with high importance and thus high security, did him no favors in making it on time and making it without looking like a wreck. He only picked up his head when he heard an elevator ding for arrival. He didn't see anyone waiting when he got here. Who was coming up this late?

The black leather uniform, silver shoulder pads and elegant mercury hair that entered his sight answered his question immediately. 

“Sephiroth?” The boy panted mostly to himself as the Silver Soldier walked onto the floor. 

“Zack, what are you doing on this floor?” Sephiroth greeted and questioned in his naturally direct voice. 

Zack glanced away from the war hero, almost hiding himself like a turtle in his shoulders. “To give samples.”

A small hum left his throat, and he raised a brow. “This late?” 

The boy scratched the back of his neck. “I kinda forgot. Please don’t tell Angeal.”

Ah. So Angeal sent him. Another unreadable hum came in response. “Hm. Well, come along then.”

Now Zack's brows crossed with confusion as he followed Sephiroth into the lab. “Wait, why are you here?”

“The same as you.” He answered simply. “We must pass the creature before reaching the extraction room. Do you think it will cause any trouble?”

He shrugged. “Eh. Sky’s not that bad. Besides the initial panic of being captured, he hasn’t done much.”

“How is Angeal?”

“The same as always. Dreams. Honor. Lectures. And I still can’t best him one on one.”

“...and his Geostigma?”

Zack caught the hesitation, the tiniest hint of vulnerability there. He shook his head. “Nothing yet. No fevers or pussing bruises. He’s doing alright.”

Sephiroth let out the softest sigh of relief before a woman in a lab coat caught their attention. She was standing in front of the door they needed to go through and smiled upon seeing them. 

She introduced herself as Hojo’s second in command, Doctor Ace, and explained the specifics of the procedure. Most were simple tasks; blood draws, saliva samples, things that could be done in a normal doctor’s office. The only unconventional method they applied were mako shots. Exclusive to SOLDIER, all samples were taken before and after mako injection for various connections the virus seemed to have with mako itself. Of course, most of the explanation made absolutely no sense to Zack, yet he went along with it. The science department’s ways never made sense to him, but if he could help out with this virus, he’d do so happily. That was all he needed to know. 

“Lastly, and this is just to have it out there, do not attack the stigma creature in any way when we go through these doors. It needs a large tank and research is a lot easier with all the ink we’d ever need immediately available.”

Sephiroth nodded in acceptance, but Zack gave a casual chuckle. 

“Of course. Nothing to worry about with us, Dr. Ace. We’d never hurt Sky.”

Her brows knotted in confusion. “‘Sky’?”

“Yeah! That’s what it told me its name is. Well, it showed me anyway.”

“How so?”

“Oh, on the helicopter to Midgar I asked what his name was and he kept looking out the window. So I think his name is Sky! I think it’s in my report too, with some more detail Angeal told me to add.”

Her hand lifted to her chin in silent thought as she glanced away. “We’ll have to take another look at that. You’re saying it spoke to you?”

“Not ‘spoke’, but Sky definitely responded when I asked questions at least. You’ve probably seen how spastic he is. Every few questions, Sky’s eyes stopped moving in specific spots. ‘What’s your name’ always made him look out the window.”

The scientist hummed softly before swallowing her thought and ending the conversation, keeping theories and assumptions to herself for now. “Well, shall we get started?”

“Yes. Let’s,” Sephiroth muttered, glaring softly at certain details of the lab. Finally, the small party entered through the sliding door, and like always the creature’s eyes fell on the new set of volunteers. Sephiroth's face immediately twisted in confusion at the oddly large tank and chains. Why not keep it in a mako tank? In a cage? Hojo would never waste so much space on a creature like this without reason. 

While the First focused on the unusual structure, Zack watched Sky curiously. The blonde creature's paranoia seemed to vanish since the last he saw it, its mako blue eyes practically burning their group. Yet as they continued walking with a small confirmation from the assistant that everything was perfectly safe, Zack saw exactly where its gaze stayed, and it started to climb. 

“Doctor, are you sure this is safe?” the First in training asked as it clung to the chains. 

Ace's eyes were wide as she stared at the creature, the slightest hint of something hidden in them. “It's never done that before.”

It tugged on the metal links, spreading its six tentacles like the wings it destroyed in the Northern Crater, yet none of the onlookers knew of anything close to that display. They only saw each limb fan out like peacock feathers and curl for a stronger grip, not a single drop of ink leaving its body.

Not. One. 

It was trying to break out. And neither SOLDIER had their weapons. 

“Doctor, you need to leave. Now,” Sephiroth commanded as it continued to adjust and pull, both he and the boy assuming battle stances. None of them knew what this creature would do if it broke free. 

She gave him a weird look, the Silver Soldier’s tone alone increasing her heart rate. He thought it was a threat. She swallowed the feeling down before reassuring them, “I appreciate the concern, but those chains are designed for Behemoths. That creature isn’t going anywhere. Just come along to the testing room.” She even walked over to the door they were meant to go through and input the passcode on the number pad. 

Almost perfectly, as the pad beeped and unlocked, the chains snapped with a loud shink.

The doctor instinctively ran through the door to protect herself as the creature rushed across the room, the combination of its tentacles and arms propelling it forward. Both soldiers dodged its initial lunge, splitting apart to contain it. They knew this creature was the only way to find a cure for the virus, and no one could afford to harm it. Just as before, its eyes stayed on Sephiroth. It didn’t even acknowledge Zack as it snapped to the silver soldier, completely ignoring his protests and calls of its name. 

Somehow, this creature knew exactly what to do. After three dodges, it wrapped a tentacle perfectly around the war hero’s ankle and pulled itself to him. Sephiroth tried to grab it, but each purple limb completely slipped out of his hands as he found him body smothered in its smooth…embrace? 

Don’t. Move. Those were the only two words that went through his head, forcing himself to stand as a perfect statue. 

It didn’t attack him. It didn’t constrict like a snake. It didn’t try to pull him apart. Each of his arms and legs were coiled with one tentacle each, the remaining two wrapping and curling around his chest and waist. Its human-like hands rested on the back of his shoulders as it held up its torso behind him. Every tentacle slithered endlessly while keeping the creature attached. Its head tilted, and Sephiroth could only glance at the creature on his back through his bangs. Everything about its touch was soft and careful. What the hell was it doing?

Zack watched cautiously, slowly approaching the two from the side, Sephiroth seeing him but the creature was too distracted to notice. 

“You…”

They froze. 

“Did… did it just talk…?!” Zack spoke lowly, trying not to startle the creature. Even the assistant returned slowly from the other room. 

“Did it just talk?!” Her excitement from the project got the better of her, her voice spiking in surprise. 

However, the creature didn’t notice. It simply waited until Sephiroth’s eyes met it again before repeating, “You…” Its voice mirrored its touch, small and calm.

Sephiroth tried in vain to move its limbs off of him, but they always returned to their exact place on his body, surrounding him like the kindest vines on the largest tree. The slightest bit of frustration showed for a split second, a split second that the boy caught. 

“Hey, Sky…” Zack approached carefully, holding his hands up in caution. 

It turned its head to him. “Cloud…”

Oh gods, it really could talk. A million questions ran through everyone’s mind. 

The glare in Sephiroth’s eyes nearly burned him, but he immediately corrected his mistake. Gods he needed to be careful. “Okay, Cloud, Sorry…” He held a hand out in offering, delicate and peaceful. “Why don’t you wrap around me instead? I can feed you again, if that helps.”  

Its head tilted in silent debate, a single tentacle unfurling just enough to reach the boy's wrist. After a moment of sliding along his skin, it grimaced, returning entirely to the Silver Soldier. “No…”

The man currently being used as a pedestal tensed at its denial, analyzing its every movement. It was far stronger than this. If it suddenly wanted any of them dead, it would put up a significant fight to take it down.  

Instead it just nuzzled its head in his back, moving even closer and wrapping its arms around him, its hands grazing his skin in the same endless pattern. “Sephiroth…”

All of their breaths hitched. 

It stayed quiet as they tried to communicate through eye contact and silent expressions, only enjoying the closeness to the hero. 

“Can you keep it talking?” The scientist whispered to the apprentice, who thankfully gave a frustrated shrug before attempting the suggestion. In the meantime, she slipped out of the chamber, hopefully retrieving or activating something to remove it soon. 

“Cloud…” Zack called softly, and he immediately gained its eyes, though it was pouting at him like it didn’t want to respond. “You can talk?”

It glanced away, a small frown on its face. 

“You said his name. Do you know mine?”

It opened its mouth to respond, a small light in its gaze, but its eyes fell again as it continued its silence.

“What else can you say?”

A shake of its head was the only answer it gave, even as Sephiroth attempted grasping one of the slippery tentacles. 

“Cloud,” his baritone voice nearly echoed through the room with his stern intensity. The creature immediately snapped to attention, even its ever present movement stopping completely to obey. He couldn’t focus on the why until it was back in that tank. But it did give him an idea, a command, a test. “Get off.”

Its eyes nearly teared with betrayal and it looked to Zack like a lost puppy. 

Again, the boy extended his arm. “Offer’s still on the table.”

This time it expertly maneuvered itself onto Zack’s body, its limbs wrapping over themselves in order to fit on the boy’s smaller form. Its human torso never touched the boy. It, just as before, stayed behind him as one would a piggy back ride, yet its eyes remained on Sephiroth. 

“Are you alright?” Sephiroth asked once free. 

Zack gave a thumbs up that the creature then curled the tip of a tentacle around. “I’m good. He won’t hurt me.” 

“You said it bites you when its hungry in your report.”

“That’s different though! But he clearly likes you, so why not ask him something? See if your luck is better than mine.”

His inhuman mako eyes returned to the creature, instantly testing the idea. “Why did you obey me?” 

It blinked a few times, its mind seemingly stalled. “Sephiroth…” It answered simply, as if that explained anything.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” He pushed.

Cloud tilted its head to one side, then the other, then back again. Then it cowered under the slightly sharper gaze, using the apprentice as a shield. “You… S-Sephiroth… You…”

Was that all it knew how to say? He kept his eyes on the creature and the creature returned with perfect eye contact, yet it still tried to hide behind Zack all the same, even tightening all of its limbs on his body. 

“Hey…” Zack called softly, his voice kind and caring. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry…”

It actually loosened its grip and gave the boy a small look of apology. It was far smarter than it seemed. 

With the door opening, Ace returned and tossed a green materia to the Silver Soldier. “Give it a shot.”

He glanced at the orb before casting a perfect sleep spell on the creature. Its body fell completely limp, its tentacles falling to the ground but its body suspended by its arms hooked over Zack’s shoulders. The boy carefully maneuvered it to the ground. 

The doctor, however, seemed confused. “That shouldn’t have worked.”

They both looked up in confusion. 

“Sleep spells never worked on it. Did you do anything different?”

“I casted the spell,” was Sephiroth’s only answer. Zack just gave a shrug in confirmation. Despite the questions they all had, none of them would be getting answers until the creature awoke. 

Realizing this sad truth, the scientist asked that they return the creature to the tank before entering for sample draws. They followed the command and launched the creature into the tank with a splash, the ruined chains rattling with the moving water. 

A bright green wound emitted from its heart and back, the wound the diamond shaped tip of a blade. Yet it only glowed, causing no pain to the creature, brightening with a crisp mako green until the Silver Soldier and apprenticed First left the lab for the evening. 

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Thanks for reading 

[nenekobasu]

………i mean if you think about it blue lock (nel arc) as a whole is a collection of key words and concepts?

isagi-hiori and that whole section of ubers in particular was an exercise in blue lock using key phrases in such strange and unexpected ways that made the whole experience + conclusion unsettling. these phrases whose meanings you thought you knew (‘game-changer’, ‘theory’, etc) were presented to mean something either completely different or in a way that makes you unsure of its meaning

—‘game-changer’, for instance, originally meant ‘someone who changes the field’, which puts both isagi and hiori out of contention— isagi twice relied on the field to change in his favor to act and hiori who wants to become the center of a changing world, they’re both too passive to qualify as real game-changers. but isagi calls hiori (and by proxy himself) a ‘game-changer’ in ch.230 and blue lock doesn’t explicitly deny this, so it’s up to the reader to notice the inconsistency

—’theory’ is a huge one: isagi calls the theory that leads to his final goal a ‘winning super-theory’, which should make any reader nervous. on a narrative level it makes sense, because isagi fulfilled the theory he had originally brought to noa. the problem is that isagi(/egojin) prizes the ability to recreate success, and it’s unclear how his theory can lead to other reliable wins. it’s a theory dependent on his teammates attracting attention away from isagi— dependent, basically, on isagi being overlooked as a threat (aiku: “don’t take your eyes off kaiser!” + niko-lore-barou swarming hiori), so even putting aside how the theory only works when isagi has a partner who can understand him perfectly (which is still a problem), it’s dependent on the element of surprise and successfully fooling opponents through viable distractions. are we supposed to accept that something like this is a reliable winning formula? besides, if it was meant to be a reliable theory, why does lorenzo call it a “gamble shot”? can this even be called a theory anymore? what does ‘theory’ mean, anyway?

the point is there’s enough inconsistency baked into the way blue lock presents key terms that the emotional satisfaction of big moments become dulled due to how blue lock uses these inconsistent terms in the narration that carries these moments. the only thing that saves it is that it’s (probably) intentional; otherwise it might just appear like blue lock has devolved into using the same key phrases for superficial consistency without care for its underlying meaning, which… may be kind of what it feels like now, but only because the payoff for its wide-scale deception isn’t here yet, and what it did with ubers 3rd act and finale is nothing more than dressed-up deception when you get right down to it

[90stvshowgoth]

—THE BET

summary: you thought that as a member of the phantom troupe you were supposed to be smarter than this, yet here you were betting against hisoka. everyone knew that hisoka was a master at poker, cards were his weapon after all, but you couldn’t resist wagering one more bet on a drinking game.

w/c: 4587

tags: dubcon, drunk sex, creampie, blood kink, hate sex, begging, brat taming

a/n: this originally started as a chrollo oneshot, you can kinda tell from how the opening paragraph is about him, but once i started writing the poker game i was like “okay no i gotta make this its own thing,” and because of that decision we now have loose ends getting ch.3 rn :) also no, i couldn’t help but kinda reference phantom of the opera cause it slaps and nobody can tell me otherwise. also, no, before anyone asks, this is a oneshot. it aint getting a sequel.

big thanks to the lovely miss @sealedrosewater for beta reading this clownfucking nightmare.

The heist had gone off without a hitch, Chrollo’s plan worked like a charm and before the night was out you had all flawlessly extracted each and every one of the gilded texts being held in the museum. You still remembered the childlike gleam in your boss’ eyes as he ran his fingers over the aged leather, its binding parchment laced with gold. The faintest ghost of a smile fled from his pallid lips as he admired his new conquest. It made your chest swell with pride, happy to help the man you respected so much. Besides, your cut was nothing to sneeze at.

Your rendezvous was inside a long-abandoned opera theatre where dust clung to the red velvet of the seats and the chandelier was seemingly hanging by a thread; your boss always had a flair for the dramatics. Once all members of the spider had finished reconvening at the empty theatre to gather their spoils it wasn’t long before someone, probably Uvogin, brought out the drinks. Nobunaga had already begun nursing a rum and coke, all while Feitan kept turning down Shal’s insistence to “Just try some, Fei,” Even Shizuku cracked open one of the ice-cold bottles, knocking back an impressive swig. As soon as you saw Machi pulling out a deck of cards you knew you had to stay for the after party.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of your leader. He’d gone to his room with the book you recovered tucked under his arm. A few other members who couldn’t be bothered took after your leader and went off to whichever side room they’d stashed a futon in the week prior; the Phantom Troupe’s equivalent of picking out a bedroom. A shame, really. You’d seen Feitan drunk once before and it was truly a sight to behold.

You sat crosslegged on the wooden floor, watching your comrades slowly get comfortable for a night of fun. Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat above you, looking up to see Pakunoda with a soft smile on her face and an opened beer in her outstretched hand.

“Paku, have I ever told you how much I love you?” You couldn’t help but shower the woman with praise. She had been the one who recommended you to Chrollo after all, and she served as your mentor for your first few months until you found your feet.

She scoffed at the compliment, “Far too much,”

Sticking your tongue out playfully at the mindreader, you took a deep sip of beer, enjoying the familiar taste. Paku sat down beside you and it wasn’t long before the two of you were drinking shoulder to shoulder.

“Machi! Deal us in,” You raised your drink to the transmuter and she flicked two cards towards you both.

Scooting away from Paku, you quickly scanned the cards you’d received before pressing them face down. A queen and an ace. Not great, but not awful either.

The others had formed a haphazard circle, each glancing at their cards with an unreadable poker face. Well, all except Hisoka, who seemed pleased as punch with whatever hand he’d been dealt. Silently, Nobunaga took out two coins and threw them into the center— the Troupe’s house rules counting it to be equivalent to 2 billion jenny.

“Call,” you answered, matching the swordsman’s bet with an unreadable expression on your face.

“Oh? Well then, I’ll raise you,” Hisoka purred, pushing five extra chips into the pot without breaking his gaze from yours.

‘What was he planning?’ That smug look of his just made you want to win that much more. The same seemed to be true of everyone else, each calling the clown’s bet in a row. After all, to a member of the Phantom Troupe, five billion jenny wasn’t that much of a loss.

When Machi turned up the first three cards your heart skipped a beat. Two queens and a seven. Winning a round of poker against some of the smartest criminals the world had ever known was an uphill battle, seeing as how you’d been a member for years without winning a single game.

‘Three of a kind already... what should I do?’ Your face was as stone-cold as before, even with the excitement bubbling in your gut. As nonchalantly as you could, you raised another two billion. At that, Uvo and Shizuku both folded, the enhancer grumbling with a disappointed frown.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t got enough coins~” Hisoka slapped down a twenty, and a chorus of annoyed groans broke out like a choir, the abandoned theatre’s acoustics amusingly echoed the loud noises of displeasure.

After that little stunt only three others remained: Pakunoda, who’s facade hadn’t cracked all game, Nobunaga, who was glaring daggers at Hisoka, and the aforementioned magician holding up his cards in front of him like a child playing for the first time.

All three of you matched his bet, but none were happy about it. As Machi flipped over the fourth card you found yourself holding your breath. Not because you particularly cared about the money at stake, but because you felt closer to a victory than you had in months. The caricature of a medieval jester being illuminated under the light made you dig your nails into the palm of your hand.

Joker. That meant you had four queens.

It never felt harder to fight a smile off your face than in that moment. Without betraying your excitement, you called, and to your surprise so did Hisoka. Was he bluffing? Or did he have something else in mind? Nobunaga took a deep breath, knocking back the rest of his drink before calling alongside Pakunoda.

All eyes were on the card beneath Machi’s fingertips, the seconds it took to turn the paper on its head filled the theatre with a suspense liable to bring its fragile walls to the ground.

An eight of hearts. Oh well, no big deal.

Nobunaga muttered a curse under his breath, revealing a simple jack and ten of the same suit. Pakunoda was unreadable when she showed the pair of kings she held in her hands. She must’ve thought that the three of a kind would’ve won her the game. The smile on your face felt sweeter after holding it in the whole round, and Nobunaga rolled his eyes when he saw your hand, pushing the pot towards you.

“Well, look at that~” Your victory was interrupted by Hisoka’s insufferable tone, the cards he held up making your jaw drop.

A nine and a jack of hearts. A straight flush.

“That’s bullshit!” You cried, enraged over the loss. It wasn’t even that you cared so much about losing, It only mattered because you lost to him. In an instant you had summoned your nen into the palms of your hands, ready to lunge at the clown when Pakunoda grasped your shoulders, holding you back. Sometimes you forgot how much brute strength was hidden under that pantsuit.

“Just flip a coin, don’t give him what he wants.” Your first reaction was to ignore her, squirming against her iron grip to try and get to Hisoka, who was dramatically scooping all your winnings into his arms.

Uvogin tossed yet another empty beer can over his head, “C’mon Paku, I say let ‘em fight,”

“I concur~” The magician chirped, dramatically stacking each and every coin he’d won while boring his yellow eyes right into yours. His tongue parted his lips, a manic excitement hiding behind the coy expression.

Although every muscle in your body screamed at you to rip into him, you knew you wouldn’t win. He knew your abilities and you couldn’t say for certain you knew all of his.

“Never-mind,” You spat the words out at him like they tasted sour, “You’d probably get off on it anyways.”

A few laughs from the peanut gallery followed your words and Hisoka shrugged, the intense bloodlust from a few seconds ago vanishing as if he’d changed his mind about fighting you on a whim. “You may be right, darling,” your face scrunched up at the nickname you knew he only used to get on your nerves, which it did. “but what if we played a different game?”

Despite how badly you just wanted to ignore him and laugh the night away with all but one of your comrades, you couldn’t turn down the idea of a rematch. Your pride wasn’t nothing to you. “What kind of game?” You asked hesitantly.

He hummed, standing up from the towers of coin he’d made, sauntering over to the cooler of drinks Franklin had provided. After digging around the cold box he pulled out a bottle of fruity tequila and two empty shot glasses.

Your eyes narrowed at the “innocent” smile on his face, looking over to Pakunoda for reassurance.

“You’ll kill him if he spikes my drink, right?” You asked your mentor, who nodded resolutely.

Paku was staring at Hisoka like she was already thinking of ten different ways how to kill him. After sizing him up she flashed you a reassuring nod, “Without question.”

Resolute in your decision, you marched forward, snatching one of the shot glasses from his hand. The stage lights shone above him, making his eyes gleam like the plastic gloss of a doll.

“Shall we begin, then?”

You raised an eyebrow, “What are the rules first?”

He waved his hand in the air, brushing it off, “Nothing too complex, I assure you. The first one who taps out will lose. The loser will do something for the winner. That’s all.”

You still weren’t convinced it could be that simple. “What’s the catch?”

That smirk from before returned to his painted face and he suddenly leaned forward, feeling far too close for comfort. Still, you didn’t step away, your face expressionless as he whispered into your ear. If you did you felt like he’d somehow win whatever stand-still the two of you had on.

“If I lose, I’ll leave the Phantom Troupe,” You reeled away, stunned at his declaration.

Being accepted into the Troupe was the best moment of your life, it always would be. When you looked into the mirror at the tattoo that curled under your ribcage you felt such a warm swell of pride. You couldn’t imagine throwing it all away over some drinking game.

“And...” You blinked rapidly, trying to collect yourself, “If I lose?”

The laugh that echoed from his chest was far from reassuring.

The evening slowly ran into the early morning, each of the other Troupe members wandering off eventually in varying stages of drunkenness. Even Pakunoda headed off to bed after confirming that Hisoka hadn’t spiked your drinks with anything other than a strawberry vodka base. It was unnerving at first, to be completely alone with Omokage’s replacement. Luckily his tastes ran strong, and your vision was spinning before your knew it.

“Match.” Another shot went down your throats, the taste disgustingly sweet, and you watched as his Adam’s apple tensed from the burn.

You’d long since stopped counting how many drinks you’d had, losing track once you got to the double digits. You were both using nen to reinforce yourselves, obviously, but it wasn’t infallible.

‘How is he so good at this?’ You wondered, because as the bottle ran low you started to question just what had made you so confident as to enter a bet with Hisoka in the first place.

“My dear, why not rest for a minute? At least try to enjoy each others company?” His legs were crossed, resting his hand on his palm as he not-so-subtly checked you out. It wasn’t uncommon, and certainly not unexpected from someone like him, but what you hated wasn’t just the nerve of him, but how it made you feel. His scrutiny sent chills down your spine, the unnerving edge to his tone only making you shift your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.

“You’re the worst, Hisoka,” you knocked back two consecutive shots, unable to hide the wince it caused on your face. Good, you wanted it to sting. Anything to take your mind off the magician in front of you.

He pouted as he poured another row of drinks, “Aw, now why’s that?”

You answered his question with another, pointing towards the half-empty bottle of liquor, “Whats in this, really?”

The magician rolled his eyes, “I did pick an unopened bottle for a reason, dear, I do so want you to trust me.”

Without much fanfare he threw back four shots, over your stunned reaction.

“Just give up already, Darling~ I promise to make it worth your while,” You were reaching your limit for sure, but you were far to stubborn to give up without a fight.

“Fuck you,” you took the first of your next four shots slowly, not managing his fast pace.

He grinned a cheshire smile, “Oh, say that again, will you?”

If he were to call you out on the blush slowly spreading across your nose you’d just blame the alcohol, but the truth was that his words just egged you on even more to the point where you were almost—barely even considering...

“What do you mean, make it worth my while?”

He leaned forward like a cat, agile and silent, whispering his words against your temple, “I’ll tell you how I won that hand,” He got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“You’ll tell me how you cheated?”

Hisoka nodded, a clawed hand coming to stroke a stray piece of hair behind your ear, the action far too intimate for someone like him.

There was no way you’d win against him in this match, that much was clear from the very sober way Hisoka held himself against you, inhumanly still, so what did you have to lose?

‘Your dignity,’ A part of you answered back, but it wasn’t all that convincing. You’d left your dignity behind four shots ago.

“If I lose...”

“If you lose,” He mouthed the words into your cheek, his eyes closed in thought, “You do know what I’ve decided my prize shall be, right?” Of course you knew what he wanted. You weren’t stupid, and the way he nuzzled himself into your neck was far from subtle.

Were you actually so desperate to learn how you lost that you’d sleep with him?

No, you weren’t. But the ache between your legs was getting harder to ignore, and the idea that you could write off what you were about to do behind the excuse of gathering intel sounded like a win-win.

You dug your hands into his hair, not trying to be anything but rough, basking in the moan that spilled from his lips, breath hot against your neck before you yanked him back to meet your gaze.

“Fine. You win, Hisoka,” He smirked, and although he was on his knees he still towered over you, “so how did you cheat?”

Before you could blink his hand had wrapped around your throat, the magician slamming your head into the wood of the stage. You’d had plenty of time to block the damage with your hatsu but the action left your brain rattling inside your skull.

“I’ll tell you later,” He promised, the disorienting blur was slow to fade from the alcohol, and distantly you could feel his other hand stroke your face, his nails like filed daggers trailing over your cheekbones.

“What to do with my prize, then, hm?” He mused, tilting your head from left to right as if examining a block of wood he was about to carve. You coughed on impulse when he let go of your neck, guiding it up instead and taking both your small hands into his palm with an iron grip.

With a flick of his wrist he drew a card, the eight of hearts, seemingly out of nowhere, his nen sharpening it into a thin blade, “Don’t move,”

“Wait... Hisoka, don’t—!” You were far too late to stop him, the frigid air of the ghostly theatre rushing to meet the bare skin of your chest.

Your shirt fell to ribbons along with your bra and you thrashed desperately in his grasp, angry over the loss of your favorite top. He paid your escape attempt no mind, enraptured with the way your tits rose and fell with the timing of your breath and the way you tried to wriggle yourself free.

Still holding your hands to the floor above you, his head bent to wrap a skilled tongue around your tits, a soft sigh involuntarily falling away from you.

“I fuckin’ ha-ate you, Hisoka—ah,” His teeth bit down on your peak at the comment, peering up at you from under his fiery hair.

“Oh? Then why is it you’re moaning like a little whore?” He shifted his weight above you and you saw an opportunity.

You kicked with all your strength between his legs, pulling your knee back and shoving him off with a dig of your shoe into his stomach, “I’m not, don’t call me that shit!”

He actually loosened his grip on you clearly not intending for you to get free from his grasp, a choked sound of what you thought was pain devolving to something much more heated as he stared into you.

“You... are well worth the wait, my dear,” His bloodlust seeped out from every pore, grounding you to the spot. You could usually hold your own against someone like him but it wasn’t hard to see the disadvantage you were at.

Within a fraction of a second he was on you, twisting your waist in his clawed grasp until your ass was hiked into the air, a sharpened playing card slicing through the denim until he could rip it from your legs, yelp echoing like music in the long-silent theatre.

“I knew you’d have some fight left in you,” He crawled forward and you started to realize why he wore exclusively baggy pants, his length hot against you through the fabric as his hips caged you in. As he began to remove that street-performer getup he always wore he’d occasionally curl his hand around your waist to mercifully tug on your ignored clit, your groans muffled and cursed, “I love it. That resilience? It just turns me on.”

You could feel your confidence fade as he tugged those sweatpants down, the weight of him grinding into your ass made all your bravado vanish.

“It will make it so much more satisfying...” He pointed his finger upwards, and suddenly your hands became magnetized to each other, no amount of struggle even budging the rubbery nen substance. “...when I break you.”

Without warning he slid himself inside you, hands holding your hips still as he forced your back into an arch. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, the flailing of your bound arms useless as he shallowly began pumping his cock deeper inside you.

Your muffled curses whispered into the floor made him laugh, pulling his hand back and cruelly slapping the vulnerable flesh of your ass without a warning.

“Wh.. Why?”

“Because, darling, I want to hear you beg for me.” He pouted, teasing your clenched walls with only the tip of his slick head.

Despite the desire coursing through your veins you still had your pride in tact, “Never gonna happen, asshole.”

Gripping your hips, he dug himself into your dripping cunt as far as he could, both of you unrestrained with a moan at the feeling of his cock brushing near your cervix, your hips traitorously snapping back to meet his eager thrusts, movement near impossible as Hisoka forced you into the ground.

You cried out softly with each quick pull and stretch, only able to say his name one syllable at a time,

“Hi-so—kah...” It was hard to turn your head to the side from his brutal pace but somehow you manage, craning yourself in order to see him; His head was thrown back with a sheer bliss softening his glistening skin, his eyes closed and lips parted. The sight made your keening grow louder, the simple image of him losing himself in your twitching pussy sending a wave of slick dripping around his length.

He must’ve felt your gaze on him because soon enough his was staring at you, his pupils blown wide with desire in a way that made them look like a sun eclipsed, black outlined with a ring of fiery gold.

All at once his hips froze, digging his cock so far as to leave an indent in your pelvis. For a confused second you thought he’d finished, but his gaze was cruel and focused, his lips in a smirk, and you felt no more full than you had a moment ago. He was doing this on purpose.

“Wait, no-nono, wh..y?” You hiccuped, taking his break as a moment to wipe unshed tears from your glossy eyes.

He sighed, “I don’t like repeating myself, darling,” He accentuated the infuriating nickname with a slap to your thigh, face unchanged as he trailed his sharpened fingertips along the reddening skin.

“His..oh.. fuck, Hisoka—“ The banished tears returned, falling silently down your pink face as you whispered, “please,”

“Hmm? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you, my dear, mind saying that again?

Your voice hiccuped as you spoke, “Please, alright? Please,” You thought it’d be enough, that he might finally go back to toying with your clit while he fucked you into the old floorboards, but you’d underestimated the magician’s self-control.

Innocently, he tilted his head, “Please what, dear? Please hit you again?” Hisoka didn’t blink as he slowly brought up his palm, giving you plenty of time to try and wiggle free from your punishment just to show off how futile escape really was, lashing his hand down on the same patch of skin as before, grinning at the shriek he yanked from your lungs.

“No! No, fu-uck.. just—“ You whimpered, brain seemingly disconnected from your mouth as you struggled to form the words, “just fuck me, Hisoka, please.”

“Look at you, huh? You were a slut after all,” He purred, letting the weight of your words hang lifeless in the air along with your stubborn pride. Before you could argue again his hand had returned to your clit, pace unforgiving as he pulled your nerves ever closer to snapping only to halt the second he grew bored, “Say it,”

Mindlessly, you nodded your head, “I’m yours, I’m your slut, Hisoka,” you intentionally clenched yourself around him, mumbling lucid pleas for more as his hard cock twitched, pre cum dripping from your heat onto the floor as your conscience trying to deny what your body so willingly accepted, “want you to fuck me, Hisoka, fu-ck,” you whined, the still presence inside your sensitive walls drove you insane.

With each word a truly unhinged aura began to surround him, and by extension, you, the intoxicating menace dripping over you like a drug as you faced forward once again, wiggling your ass as best you could in his grip.

That was his breaking point, ripping you away from his cock only to drive himself back in, digging the full blade of his nails into your hips, blood pooling around the crescent cuts.

“Fuck, ah.. Darling, ‘doing so good, so good’fr me-ah,” He slurred his words together, more drunk on you than the vodka as he leaned back, forcing you to meet him as his thrusts became so quick that it was getting hard to breathe, your ribcage creaking with discomfort as you were nailed into the stage.

“M..o-re, more...” You begged, and he was happy to oblige. the smearing crimson of blood running hot down your thighs, the pain only making you more pliant in his sculptor’s hands as he folded your body however he liked, ignoring your pained weep from the stretch as he slung one of your bleeding legs over his shoulder.

It was almost weird to hear him say your actual name, so often he used a pet name to mock or flirt with you, sometimes both, “So good for me like this, taking me so goo-uh,” He choked on his words as your cunt tightened around him, your hands clinging for balance in his hair, and Hisoka clearly didn’t mind if the slew of moans from his lips was any indication.

The angle his hips cut into had the edges of your vision turning into a vignette, “I’m close, so close, gonna cum inside you, yeah? Right here,” The hand that had been toying with your clit changed angles, his fingertips spinning spirals onto your aching bud while the flat of his hand pushed against your stomach, your shout swallowed by his pretty lips, tongue toying with yours.

“Ye-es cum inn-side me,” You were too far gone to care, anything he said sounded good as long as he said it in that sultry purr, arms numb as they lay suspended above your head.

“Take it, take it, Darling,” With what little strength you had left you curved your calf beside his neck, pulling him in until his cock brushed your cervix, the pain indistinguishable from the pleasure, “Uhn, cumm-fuck, i’m cumming—“

His cum was thick, the curve of his cock jutting inside you as he filled you up, mercifully swallowing your hallowed scream as he kissed you deeply, almost all feeling in your raised leg lost until he lowered it to his waist, involuntarily snapping his hips up although they had nowhere left to go until your moan turned into a broken sob of lingering bliss.

“Shh, dear, I’ve got you,” With a whirl of his wrist your arms were free of his bungee gum, shakily pulling them to your sides again as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, whispering a slurred mess of sweet words, stopping to suck a particularly deep hickey into the vein of your flesh.

“Hisoka, quit it!” Your fight had returned along with feeling to your fingertips as you wrenched him back by the hair, his cock jumping.a bit inside you at the grip, “I’ll have to wear sweaters for weeks now, you jerk.”

The capillaries had already begun to burst as he laughed, reaching up behind your head to pull his discarded top forward, digging out what looked like a piece of smooth cleaning cloth from its pocket and lying it over your neck with a simple point of his finger, gyo revealing the pink gum of his aura that controlled it before he smoothed the fabric over your skin, the texture so light you could barely feel it.

“A deal’s a deal, love, I’ll tell you how I cheated,” He smiled as satisfied and smug as he could ever be, a tingling sensation overtaking the patch of covered skin.

As he pulled your hand away you ran your fingers over the cloth, not finding a seam among the normal tone of your chest. Eyes wide as you looked at him for answers he was already happy to provide, “It’s called texture surprise. I can apply it to any flat surface and change its appearance. It’s quite handy,”

“It works on skin, paper, even playing cards,” You felt like an idiot. During the match you kept analyzing him for a sleight of hand trick all while he was using a second nen technique to win. It was so simple but genius, and you felt a little bit better knowing you weren’t outwitted by something obvious.

“You’re the worst, Hisoka,”

He chuckled, kissing along the new unblemished canvas of your neck, “I know~”

[evita-shelby]

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Chapter 31

tw:mentions of children’s deaths and dubious use of lubricant

“You cut your hair?” It’s a stupid question because Polly clearly did, but she doesn’t care. Eva lies down on the bed, she’s tired all the time, she can barely keep anything that isn’t biscuits inside her stomach and there hasn’t been a single fucking prophetic nightmare yet. She's two months pregnant almost, and still nothing, but one vision of the Changrettas.

“Better my hair than my wrists, Evie.” Polly takes a drag from her cigarette.

“I met him today. Made a sketch of his face, but I couldn’t finish it.” Eva tosses the book to her and Polly instinctively turns to the correct page. “There’s a cross on his neck, can’t miss it.”

“Sometimes I think I know you well, but then you show us all something we never even suspected before.” she chuckles and looks at the half-finished drawing. “I knew him, you know, he was a nice boy when he was younger, but then his father showed him the family business and that was the end of that.”

Everyone was a nice child before someone molded them into something completely different. No one is born bad; everyone starts out good and becomes bad.

“He was at a wedding here in 1920, he mentioned something about his mother trying to set us up, but by the time he came here I was already married. Audrey invited me to a wedding in July, some niece of her husband’s, if I can just get the name for the fucking photographer for a clearer picture.” Eva could get everything she asked for with just her name, but Polly was the Madonna of Birmingham and twice the man her nephews were. “Florence has a spy in his hotel, but I don’t think an Italian maid slash whore can ask, who did your pictures without looking suspicious.”

“You got the Crown involved; Thomas won’t like that.” Polly takes the sketch with her, lucky for Eva she had a copy sent to Tommy with Lizzie.

“Florence is what I call an independent contractor, and this time the Americans are paying good money on anything about the Spinetta Family. When our interest aligns, we make a deal. If Thomas can leave Luca’s murder at the hands of Aberama Gold, I can trade my cute little townhouse near the British Embassy in Mexico for the Americans to pick off the Italians as they retreat. Everyone wins.” she explains, wincing when she feels something akin to a cramp.  

“The baby giving you trouble.” Polly puts out her cigarette, in the pristine ashtray Tommy uses when he thinks she isn’t aware, and sits at the edge of the bed.

“Should’ve taken that tonic so it wouldn’t catch.” There should be a pill a woman can take to prevent conception, so she can enjoy fucking without as much consequences. Eva should buy shares of a pharmacy so they can invent it.

Vincenzo put a curse on us. I saw him say a child for a child. I know he means Luca.” She wants to cry; she wants to find a way to evade the curse and kill the bastard. Because the child that will die is Diane, the child who Tommy now loves most.

“Typical of Thomas to sacrifice someone to save our family.” She is resentful of them throwing Michael to the wolves to save her, Eva understands her anger for it, she still wished Polly would let it go.

“He doesn’t know, I haven’t told him yet. Its already bad enough Bonnie Gold has been cursed for something Aberama did, the last thing I want is to speed up the process for the poor kid.” It’s a fine mess they were in. Luca Changretta needed to die, but not at the cost of a child, whoever’s it could be. “I did a reading; I has to see if there’s a way, a way we can get rid of Changretta without damning anyone.

“What were his words?” Polly asks this time laying down beside her. She believes her, always has and always will.  

“A child for a child. I saw the vision while Tommy was playing with Diane. The visions about her changed now I can’t see her future past her sixth birthday.” Eva lets out a shaky breath knowing what the sudden change means. “Every reading I’ve done today shows someone losing a child. I don't see Billy, nor Linda making it out of 1929. I don’t even see the child I’m having, Pol, you know by now the universe has even shown me their names and sex.”

Linda and Billy are the only things keeping Arthur in the land of the living, neither want to think what will happen if he loses both his wife and only child. Tommy would follow suit too if that future comes to pass. A miscarriage they can handle and they could try again for more children, but a child of six or seven dying? How can you cope with a loss like that?

“Thats one of the things I wanted to propose before I was arrested, you know. To let someone else do the killing.” that is the clearest yes she has ever heard from Polly this past year. “Might be that the curse only works on those who kill him out of revenge.”

Eva sees Bonnie Gold crucified in a field, and she shakes her head. “It has to be someone without children, Polly, and I might know who that person is.

--

“Alf told me about the fantastic Mr. Shelby. Never thought gangsters turned businessmen who are also part time assassins for Churchill were your type, darling.” Florence's information is quite substantial, and mercifully included the name of the photographer in Birmingham who was hired for the wedding. Polly will get them once this was done. Florence couldn’t without making people suspicious of her presence.

“She could be of great help, not many people suspect women as beautiful as her.” Florence says while Lizzie gets the deed from the safe. She was maybe a few years younger than Polly who was closer in age to Arthur than her late elder brother.  

Polly arched her brow, wondering if Florence was like Eva. “I’m sure between you and her husband, you’d make her a great one. Better than the fucking barmaid the Crown sent her years ago.”

Florence Stein ---born Frida Solomons, to everyone's surprise--- hadn’t aged a bit and looked leagues greater than her unhinged younger brother who she had helped train as well to spy on the Germans. She was on the lookout for good spies with no affiliation to any government.  

“I intend to, Grace Burgess was an embarrassment to all of us who used to occasionally work for the Crown.” the Jewish woman drank her whiskey and muttered. “Used her own fucking real name, no wonder she’s dead.”

But as curious Eva is to find out who killed Grace, they need to get this out of the way first.

“I need something in exchange for my house. After all its just as valuable as the reward for Changretta’s head.” she needed something worth the house she had fought tooth and nail for after all her assets were frozen by Carranza. The house was not going to come cheap, and Eva was afraid the files were not even worth the lease of it.

“You’ll get what the FBI is offering for his head in installments starting right now and everything you need for that distillery you wanted to buy for your husband, sweetie.” she smirks, drawing up a check and something from her cherry red briefcase. “But I need my cut, this is a business after all.”

The distillery would be here in Birmingham, atop the Garrison, they had yet to get all the licenses and such to make it a real thing. With Florence, they had secured it all including a better supplier than the one Eva has been trying to secure.

“We could’ve done that without you, Miss. Stein, now I hear you intend to pocket Al Capone’s reward without getting your hands dirty.” No one could fuck with Polly, especially when it came to business.

“Sixty-forty?” the Jewish woman asked and Eva shakes her head while Polly stared her down. If Frida could offer to do the killing, they’d kill so many birds with one six-bedroom townhouse, but she refuses to. Frida was sterile, an accident that happened when her parents made her kill her unborn baby. No child, no curse, but the idea had come to them too late as Florence was officially retired.

“If things were different, I wouldn’t mind, but my husband’s the one who’s doing the killing, Fr---.” Eva looks over the paperwork to confirm it’s legit. No need to mention they’d hired someone else to do it...yet.

“Fine, Evita, and because I am not looking to fuck over the woman who knows my real name, I will pay you the rest of Changretta’s bounty once your husband makes good on that promise.” Florence tears the check from her checkbook and extends her elegant hand.

“A shame you no longer do assassinations, we could’ve split it eighty-twenty.” They shake hands and the woman leaves the office under the name of Gitta Rosenberg, a painter who wants a change of scenery.

--

He brings work home with him, doesn’t like staying too long out of the house after Changretta showed up. Luckily, he has an office here and after making Ada’s old room into a nursery of sorts, they get a sense of normalcy back.

The children had gone to bed already and she needed his signature to cash the money, as well as convince him to hire Florence. Lizzie hadn’t been able to even get to the photographer’s place, but Polly had and now they had a photograph of the man.

“Florence must be getting more than the lion’s share if she was willing to pay twice as much for a house.” he says pushing up his glasses up. Its adorable really, he’s adapted well to using them, and he hadn’t lost any of his good looks now that he was just three and a half years shy of forty. Eva feels a little bad that she’s been sort of bullying him about that this past year.

“It has a ballroom, servant’s quarters and a marble statue imported from France in the foyer, trust me Luca Changretta is worthless compared to my house.” she says defending the house that she remodeled herself once she had all her money and businesses back. “Besides its 50 thousand American dollars from the Yankees, and another 50 thousand from Al Capone just for Luca alone, but there's a problem. A very serious one, Tommy.”

“What’s sort of problem and why do you think your friend will be a better choice?” he sits back on his old chair, like before when they were yet to make his company big.

“Vincenzo ---whom you never even told me that his name was not Vincente, by the way---hired a witch to put a curse on whoever kills, or in this case, killed his sons. Whoever kills Luca will lose a child and my readings with Polly showed me that the curse would affect impersonal killings too.”

“I can’t fire Aberama Gold. Deals like that can’t be broken.” he puts his papers down, knowing she’s been hovering because she has an idea. “Why Solomons’ sister?”

“Florence is infertile, hates children so she won’t adopt therefore no one would die.” she comes and sits cross-legged on the edge of his desk. Never took much to get him to pay attention to her, never failed her. “Trust me, she’s good, she once killed a man with just peanut oil in her vag---”

He interrupts, not wanting to hear how the Jewish spy killed a man allergic to peanuts by putting peanut-based oil as a lubricant. “I gave my word, Eva. If I go back on it who knows what he’d do.”

“Florence is a professional spy and retired hitwoman. she’s already put one of her informants, a maid going by Graziela, inside his suite and also technically his bed, it wouldn’t take much effort to kill him tonight.” she keeps pushing, even when she knows it’s a losing battle. Devlin had reminded her she was the only one who could make Thomas change his mind.

“There have been no visions about the baby we’re having, Tom. Not only that the vision changed for Bonnie Gold, they will crucify him in some field for his father to find and I have stopped seeing Linda and Billy past his fourth birthday.” she doesn’t tell him she hasn’t seen Diane live to see seven. It kills her to know her baby girl is going to have a short life, but it would kill him now to know he might cause his own daughter’s death if he kills Luca. “None of you can kill him, Tommy.”

“My hands are tied, Evie, Aberama will have to go through with it even if it costs him his son.”

He can’t hire Florence, but who’s to say Eva can’t hire her and Graziela.

--

Notes:

yay florence, my favorite obscure side character who may pop up again,idk. yes i made her alfie's sister on account that some things Alfie says in season 6 so far are incorrect and would make more sense if he was fighting with the axis powers. i don't know if one can die from being allergic to lubricant, but in this fic Alfie's older sister killed a dude with tainted lube.

i named the maid that shows up exactly once in that scene of Luca and his henchmen in his room in episode 3 (i think)

also check out the series of one shots i am writing that didn't make it into the fic, it's called you read me poetry while i wash the dishes.

anyway thanks for reading!!

[theartofdreaming1]

Katniss, bravely stepping inbetween Gale and Thread (and his whip) - she’s so courageous and protective, she deserves the world 😭

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 7-9 are below the cut. (Is it just me, or are my notes getting longer and longer with each and every post? I swear, this book is so meaty, we’ll soon reach the point where I have to type out the entire chapter, with my thoughts in the margins)

heart

“Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else in unthinkable.” 

I think these words are a result of Katniss being so afraid of losing Gale that she’s kinda overcompensating; their relationship has been strained these past few months and they’d just had a row, separating from each other on bad terms - and the next time she sees him, he’s been whipped so bad that he’s lost consciousness and could be potentially dying from his wounds. Of course she’s so terrified of losing him, that she’s holding on as tightly as she can to him. It’s important to keep in mind how important their relationship is to her and we see that in her preceding thoughts: What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely commited, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we’d found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting each other, watching each other’s backs, forcing each other to be brave. - Gale was the first person who was her equal, a kindred spirit, her partner. After Katniss had lost both of her parents when her father died and her mother succumbed to her depression - the people who were supposed to care for her and guide her through growing up - she was stuck with the role of sole provider and protector of her family at age eleven. She must have been so lonely all this time until she met this boy who understood what she was going through and they learned from each other and shouldered their burdens together, to take off some of the overwhelming pressure. Of course that relationship, of course Gale is important to her. But also now their relationship has become more fragile, after the Games they are in danger of growing apart - it’s got to be so terrifying to feel like the one proper, mutual relationship you’ve had seems to be slipping through your fingers. With everything that’s going on, her entire life as it is teetering on the razor’s edge (heck, the president himself has been threatening her and her family!), it’s no wonder that Katniss is craving that familiarity and safety that her relationship with Gale used to provide her with. And seeing Gale in this state just has her holding on to him more tightly than ever.

mind

Hmm, no big moment is coming to my mind right now; I think I’m always most impressed by the tiny moments that show how tenacious, resilient and fiercely kind humans can be - like Darius stepping forward to stop Gale’s cruel punishment, Leevy volunteering to tell Hazelle about Gale and promising to stay with the Hawthorne children, Madge bringing the morphling, Katniss pressing Darius’s hand in the Training Center, Twill taking Bonnie with her to flee to D13 and so on.

soul

I believe that Katniss was honestly surprised to learn that Gale had feelings for her; she had categorically shut down the idea of entering a romantic relationship for herself, so I don’t think she’d seriously consider anyone being romantically interested in her in return (that’s not how that works, of course, but I think that’s how she perceived the whole shtick). Their kiss threw her completely for a loop and if anything, she mostly saw it as something that contributed to the deterioration of their previous, easy and comfortable relationship.

Chapter 7

A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist. [...] They hadn’t anticipated its will to live. - In a way, the Capitol continues to make this mistake with the people living in the districts, too - underestimating their will to live (opposed to just surviving)

I look in his [Gale’s] eyes. His temper can’t quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. - Okay, we don’t know how much Katniss might be (incorrectly) presuming here, but the idea that Gale might feel betrayal because his best friend is being forced into an engagement pisses me off. It’s fine if he’s feeling jealous because she’s being paired off with Peeta when he wishes he could have a shot with her, but how in the world does this even rate as a betrayal?! A) It’s done against her will and B) Just because they’re friends doesn’t mean Katniss owes him anything when we’re talking about romantic feelings... Ugh 😒 Also, it’s quite noteworthy how insecure Katniss feels about their relationship - she’s constantly worried Gale will drop her and their friendship (waiting for Gale after the camera teams left after winning the Games: I’d begun to think that he’d given up on me in the weeks that had passed.- Ch. 2) and it doesn’t help that she’s been through that extreme, traumatic experience without him and they haven’t had much opportunity to spend a lot of time with each other (with the Victory Tour and Gale having to work so much) and when they do hang out, they don’t seem to really talk much, which doesn’t exactly help...

He [Gale] tosses the gloves on my lap. “Here. I don’t want your fiancé’s old gloves.” “He’s not my fiancé. That’s just part of the act. And these aren’t his gloves. They were Cinna’s,” I say. “Give them back, then, he says. - Gale can be so petty sometimes 🙄

While I talk, [...] [Gale] occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Captiol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. [...] Hands I trust. - Oh boy, this moment really shows how these two are at cross purposes right now - Gale’s prepping the food as you would for a toasting (romantic connotation), while Katniss is oberserving his hands, thinking how their hands used to match (not anymore!) and basically wishing herself back into the time before the Games, when things were ‘simpler’/more clearly defined (and also platonic!); there is nothing romantic from her P.O.V. - it’s all about the friendship and trust

[Gale] steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy. “Hey!” I protest, but I’m laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn’t release his hold on me. “Okay, let’s run away.” [...] “You’re sure?” I say. [...] “I’m sure. I’m completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” - Yeah, and I’m sure you’re not going to change your opinion in the next five minutes, Gale... In his defense, Gale didn’t know all the details, so in that regard it’s totally valid that he might decide to change his mind after having more input... It’s just that Katniss specifically asks him whether he’s sure and his reply is so full of conviction (100% sure!), only for him to do a complete 180 just a couple of minutes later; Gale’s very hot and cold, which makes for such a harsh contrast when compared to Peeta’s more measured reaction later in the chapter

He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. [...] I don’t try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.” That’s why. - Oh man, Katniss just can’t catch a break 😞 Really not wise of Gale to drop the L-bomb here (after, what? a kiss they never talked about and little else... their communication is truly abysmal and it’s really damaging to their relationship, hurting the both of them)

“Gale, I can’t think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, is how afraid I am. And there doesn’t seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don’t know.” I can see him swallowing his disappointment. “So, we’ll go. We’ll find out.” - I mean, honestly, I totally understand where Katniss is coming from - she doesn’t need a romantic interest, she needs a partner, which is why she’s been so eager to talk to her hunting partner, someone she’s used to rely on for survival and now he’s also confounding their relationship by introducing that romance-angle (as if it wasn’t bad enough that her relationship with Peeta got kind of messed up when that same angle was forced upon them prematurely)... Also, telling how Katniss thinks she’d have to be different to maybe even consider a romantic relationship with Gale - Katniss as she is right now just can’t see herself wanting to be with Gale romantically; it would require a change... I’ve got to give Gale credit for still going along with it, and trying to push past his disappointment, though

“My [Gale’s] mother is going to take some convincing.” [...] “Mine, too. I’ll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won’t survive the alternative.” “She’ll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won’t say no to you,” says Gale. - That’s interesting, I wonder what exactly Gale means by that? That Mrs. Everdeen won’t say no to Katniss because she feels guilty that Katniss had to go through the Games or because watching her daughter compete in the Games really made her realize how messed up Panem is? Or that she’s more inclined to trust Katniss’s judgement after everything that has happened?

“Haymitch will be the real challenge.” “Haymitch?” Gale abandons the chestnuts. “You’re asking him to come with us?” “I have to, Gale. I can’t leave him and Peeta because they’d-” His scowl cuts me off. “What?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how large our party was,” he snaps at me. - Gale doesn’t seem to have realized how close and important Peeta and Haymitch have become to Katniss... maybe because they never properly talked about this aspect of Katniss’s life (I swear, their shoddy communication must account for at least half of the damage their relationship has taken in these past few months alone)

“What if he [Peeta] decides to stay?” he [Gale] asks. I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. “Then he stays.” “You’d leave him behind?” Gale asks. “To save Prim and my mother, yes,” I answer. “I mean, no! I’ll get him to come.” “And me, would you leave me?” Gale’s expression is rock hard now. - Boy, oh boy! I think Gale knows (like Peeta) that Katniss could never leave behind the people she cares about; then, he’s kind of gauging whether Peeta has already received the Katniss Everdeen Stamp of ‘Caring’ - and, as it turns out, he has! And then Gale ends up making it into a bit of  competition by asking her whether she would leave him behind (or, alternately, her turning him down has him confused about the depth of their relationship, I dunno); not fun

“There’s an uprising in Eight?” he [Gale] says in a hushed voice. I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. - Katniss is going to be about as successful as she’d been at defusing the districts, too - But here we have another example of Katniss trying to rein in Gale’s temper because she’s afraid he’s going to get himself in trouble (like when she decided not to tell him about Snow’s visit to her house because she was worried what he’d do with that information)... It’s really not great that she feels the need to censor herself so he won’t do something dangerous... Katniss knows first-hand how badly impulsive actions and decisions can be received in the Capitol - and she never even meant for a rebellion to happen!

“And it’s my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would’ve happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe. too.” “Safe to do what?” he says in a gentler tone. “Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven’t hurt people - you’ve given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. - Katniss is taking all the responsibility upon herself again... Gale is right to point out that she was merely a catalyst, not the cause for the rebellion - the cause are the awful living conditions of the people in the districts

“Stop it! You don’t know what you’re saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they’re not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!” I say. “That’s why we have to join the fight!” he answers harshly. “No! we have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!” [...] “You leave, then, I’d never go in a million years.” [...] “What about your family?” “What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can’t run away?” - This discourse is so painful because they are both right - Katniss has seen more of the districts and how things are handled beyond the (relatively tame) confines of D12 and it’s fair that she wants to know that the people she cares about are safe from harm; Gale, of course, has a point commenting that not everyone has that opportunity and the only way to have a long-lasting, wide-spread improvement of their conditions is through rebelling against their oppressor - but that will inevitably come along with sacrifices and collateral damage and it’s easy to say that it will be worth it in the long run, but when those who are hurt/dead could end up being your loved ones, it’s definitely easier said than done

He throws Cinna’s gloves at my feet. “I changed my mind. I don’t want anything they made in the Capitol.” And he’s gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it’s mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. - Gale getting rid of Cinna’s gloves just because they are from the Capitol is a prime example of this “us vs. them” mindset that he will be (worringly) fast to adopt - of course, perceiving the opposite side as “other” will make it easier to fight against them; however, it’s all too easy to lose sight of your opponent’s humanity when you think like that (think of how Gale has a hard time understanding Katniss’s distress upon seeing her prep team being treated so terribly/inhumanely in D13); Katniss feeling upset that Gale might perceive her as a product of the Capitol instead of its victim is understandable (and isn’t that exactly what the inhabitants of D13 are going to think of Peeta in MJ?) - and yet, she is still worried Gale could get himself into trouble with his impulsivity; she’s a good bean

”Going to town?” I ask. “Yes. I’m supposed to eat dinner with my family,” he [Peeta] says. - I’m tripping over the word ‘supposed’ here - it doesn’t sound like Peeta’s looking forward to hanging out with his fam, although it can’t be that often, since they’ve been away on Victory Tour and he is living alone (maybe the end of the chapter will give us another hint why that is 😒😒)... I can’t help but wonder whether these family dinners are mainly for public perception (in that case... it really is no wonder Peeta is so good at playing the cameras - poor guy had to fool the outside world his entire life) or because they are the only chance for Peeta to hang out with any of the members of his family he might actually want to spend some time with

“Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?” Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn’t need to check my face to see if I’m serious. “Depends on why you’re asking.” President Snow wasn’t convinced by me. There’s an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out,” I say. “By ‘we’ do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?” he asks. - Peeta doesn’t just blindly agree to Katniss’s proposal; he needs to know what’s going on first (he has been burnt before - no more secrets!) - and it’s a testament to how well he knows her that as soon as he’s asking whether she meant just the two of them, he corrects himself because knows that Katniss would never leave the ones she cares about behind

“What about Gale?” he says. “I don’t know. He might have other plans,” I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me rueful smile. “I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I’ll go.” I feel a slight twinge of hope. “You will?” “Yeah. But I don’t think for a minute you will,” he says. [...] “Then you don’t know me. Be ready. It could be any time.” - Telling how Peeta immediately agrees to the plan once he gathers that Gale won’t come - he knows that Katniss cares about Gale and could never leave him behind, ergo she’d never actually leave under these circumstances - he knows her so well. Also, Katniss’s reaction is like that of a petulant child, it’s kind of funny 😄

“Katniss, hold up.” [...] “I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won’t be making things worse for everyone.” - Ultimately, Peeta would follow Katniss to the ends of the earth - doesn’t mean that he can’t throw in a sensible suggestion in there as well 😉 (Also, in the next chapter we will see how Katniss, Gale, and Peeta might be a little too inexperienced/naive to be able to form accurate expectations of what is to come - Haymitch and his generation have a little more experience in that regard)

He raises his head. “What’s that?” [...] I haven’t noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. “Come on,” Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don’t know why. I can’t place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. - Why does my sweet boy know what a whipping sounds like, Suzanne, huh?! Care to explain that? 😭

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. - Peeta was offering his hand to help Katniss up the crate because they are a team (and he’s a gentleman)! It’s only when he recognizes who is receiving those lashes and realizes that Katniss will lose her shit once she knows, which could make the current situation even worse, that he urges her to leave, and he is not the only one to think that: - Voices hiss. “Get out of here, girl.” “Only make it worse.” What do you want to do? Get him killed?”

Chapter 8

It’s too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won’t have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I’ve flung out my arms to protext as much of his broken body as possible, so there’s nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. - Katniss is so selfless; she knows that it’s either Gale getting hit again or a lash to her own face and she chooses the latter

“Hold it!” a voice barks. Haymitch appears and trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. It’s Darius. [...] He’s knocked out but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to come to Gale’s aid before I got here? - Haymitch sure appeared quickly - I can easily imagine Peeta taking off immediately to get him (or send someone to bring him to the square) once he knew Katniss couldn’t be stopped; but if Haymitch had been at his house in Victor’s Village, there is no way he’d have made that quickly to the square... maybe he was already at the Hob and had gotten wind of the whole situation? Also, poor Darius! Wearing a uniform/being in some sort of position of power is no guarantee you won’t get punished as soon as you show the tiniest glimpse of compassion - in a place like Panem, nobody is safe from the caprice of the people in charge

I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. [...] it wouldn’t be easy to identify me as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face swelling up. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he’d be difficult to forget. - Getting Haymitch truly was the smartest move to make (which is why I’m pretty sure it was a move on Peeta’s part - he’d know how to use reminders of ‘appearances’ to ensure a punishment wouldn’t go ‘too far’, y’know 😢). But also - Thread must have lived under a flipping rock, to not being able to recognizes Katniss (her face must have been plastered all over the place during the Victory Tour, which just had concluded recently) - or he was just too in the heat of the moment, with someone opposing him, bleugh 😒

“He [Gale] was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man. “He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.” - I love how Peeta’s just laying it down as it is; his phrasing just sounds so factual, rather than provocative (although it is, of course); he really has a way with words - Maybe we’re it. The only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it’s sure to be temporary. There will be repercussions. - Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss working together as a team again! Also, a good example of the effect people with public influence can have 

One [Peacekeeper], a woman named Purnia who eats regularly at Greasy Sae’s, steps forward stiffly. “I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad.” “Is that the standard protocol here?” asks the Head Peacekeeper. “Yes, sir,” Purnia says, and several others nod in agreement. I’m sure none of them actually know because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everybody to bid on the drumsticks. - It’s kinda nice to see the local Peacekeepers supporting Purnia’s claim to get this display to stop - this is the only way out of this situation where Thread’s authority is not openly challenged (and we know Thread doesn’t take well to having his authority challenged - see Darius)

There’s no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board that serves as her countertop. “Just don’t tell where you got it,” she says, packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square has emptied, fear getting the better of compassion. But after what happened, I can’t blame anyone. - It’s sad how that air of intimidation makes people want to mask their acts of compassion (and also says a lot about the precariousness of the existing living situations if that old lady is still selling that board - I’d never even consider exchanging money for that, but that’s probably my privileged situation showing here; Katniss brings up the theme of fear vs compassion - very fitting, since it seems to be her driving force (although, generally, her compassion wins out over her fear) and despite her assertion that fear appears to be getting the better of compassion we see a good amount of people reaching out to help, such as the following example:

Leevy, a girl who lives a few houses down from mine in the Seam, takes my arm. My mother kept her little brother alive last year when he caught the measles. “Need help getting back?” Her gray eyes are scared but determined. - The subtle suggestion here that Leevy might be further motivated to help out because Katniss’s mom helped her little brother is also an excellent example of how kindness breeds kindness

“Get some snow on that,” Haymitch orders over his shoulder. I scoop up a handful of snow and press it against my cheek, numbing a bit of the pain. - This moment reminded me of Peeta immediately reaching for some ice from that fruit tureen after Haymitch hit him on their way to the Games in THG (Ch. 4) - their different immediate reactions to getting hit in the face could simply be due to the fact that Katniss is a little too preoccupied worrying about Gale to think about her injury, of course, but I feel like you could also interpret them as examples for how much experience Katniss and Peeta have with being hit in the face, respectively...

Gale must have gone to Cray’s house, as he’s done a hundred times, knowing Cray pays well for a wild turkey. Instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper, a man they heard someone call Romulus Thread. No one knows what happened to Cray. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning [...] but now he’s nowhere to be found. - As I’ve already mentioned regarding Darius, inhabiting some position of power does not guarantee you any safety in Panem (there is always someone more powerful who will treat their inferiors like garbage, if they feel like it)

By the time I showed up, he [Gale]’d been lashed at least forty times. He passed out around thirty. - Jesus 😨 poor Gale!

“What about Darius?” Peeta asks.“ After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn’t do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread’s arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him,” says Bristel. - It’s so messed up how it is not enough to have someone who’d stand up and do something about a horrible situation - they have to do it the right way, or else they’re toast; there really shouldn’t have to be a smart way of doing the right thing

Snow begins, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. - (President) Snow is coming down hard on them, making it hard to see what’s up ahead

Ever so gently, she [Mrs. Everdeen] begins to clean the mutilated flesh on Gale’s back. I feel sick to the stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from my glove into a puddle on the floor. Peeta puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek. - Although she’s quite squeamish, Katniss stays as Gale gets treated (the force that holds the loved ones of the hurt/dying, just like when Peeta was being treated after their Games); meanwhile, Peeta is taking care of Katniss - there is so much care + love to be found in this moment

My mother has to save the strongest [painkillers] for the worst pain, but what is the worst pain? To me, it’s always the pain that is present. If I were in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because I have so little ability to watch suffering. - Honestly, same; I can’t stomach seeing other people suffer without feeling overwhelmed and feeling like crying... I don’t know how professionals do it

“Just give him the medicine!” I scream at her. [...] “Take her out,” says my mother. Haymitch and Peeta literally carry me from the room while I shout obscenities at her. They pin me down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until I stop fighting. - Oof. Poor Katniss! But yeah, it was the best call to remove her from the situation, Mrs. E. had to focus on what she was doing... Also, Haymitch and Peeta are the ones to get Katniss out of there and stay with her - these three take care of each other!

After a while, my mother comes in and treats my face. Then she holds my hand, stroking my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale. “So it’s starting again?” she says. “Like before?” - Katniss’s mom has become a much more active and soothing presence in this book, I like it... Also, what does “again” mean? Does this imply there has been an attempted uprising in D12 that needed to be squashed before?

Cray would have been disliked, anyway, because of the uniform he wore, but it was his habit of luring starving young women into his bed for money that made him an object of loathing in the district. In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. - Horrifying and absolutely disgusting 🤢 Those poor women! How desperate they must have been! 

... when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. [...] “They [the peacekeepers] can’t have him,” I say. “Might be you they’re after,” Haymitch reminds me. “Or you,” I say. “Not my house,” Haymitch points out. “But I’ll get the door.” “No, I’ll get it,” says my mother quietly. - Again, Mrs. Everdeen is taking the initiative! She was so watered down in the movies

[Madge] holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. “Use these for your friend,” she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. [...] “What is that stuff?” asks Peeta. “It’s from the Capitol. It’s called morphling,” my mother answers. “I didn’t even know Madge knew Gale,” says Peeta. “We used to sell her strawberries,” I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. “She must have quite a taste for them,” says Haymitch. That’s what nettles me. It’s the implication that there’s something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don’t like it. “She’s my friend” is all I say. - I mean, Katniss could be mad because A) Gale had literally just told her he loved her a few hours ago and if there was something (reciprocated) going on between Gale and Madge, that would have been pretty shitty for both girls involved and also B) she is friends with both of them and it would be hurtful to learn that two of your closest friends had been seeing each other without telling you anything about it... also, she’s super upset over Gale getting so seriously hurt just after they’d had an argument, her feelings are all over the place

... I’m selfish. I’m a coward. I’m the kind of girl, who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn’t follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. - Yes, Katniss, you knew that your life back in D12 would have been unlivable if he died - but not because you feared that people would shun you; it was because you “couldn’t lose the boy with the bread” and because “if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really”... This is an excellent example of how distorted your memories can get when you are in a bad headspace at present

The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. - Katniss, you don’t have to be planning to overthrow a corrupt and cruel government to be someone of worth! You’re someone of worth just by being yourself! - The trouble is, I don’t know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. - Frankly, very rarely are our motivations clearly defined by a single factor - or my professor would not have been able to teach an entire semester-long course on motivation psychology😉)

Chapter 9

Gale’s dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he’s been watching us awhile. “Go on up to bed, Katniss. I’ll look after him now,” he says. - Peeta! Must have been hard for him to see Katniss like this (and the underlying strength of Katniss and Gale’s relationship, when his relationship with Katniss is still not all that solidified), and yet he’s being such a good bean about it 😭

I give a strangled cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread who gave me this wound. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I’m not supposed to wish that anymore. I have chosen Gale and the rebellion, and a future with Peeta is the Capitol’s design, not mine. - Katniss, gurl... Maybe your instinctive desire to receive comfort from Peeta is trying to tell you something??!? Also, Katniss is forcing this strange dichotomous association of Gale = rebellion and Peeta = Capitol, when in just a bit, she’s clearly connecting Peeta to the rebellion as well (aside from the fact that Peeta was basically the first person to suggest to her that maybe a rebellion was necessary... just saying)

Fighting the Capitol assures their swift retaliation. I must accept that at any moment I can be arrested. [...] There might be torture. Mutliation. A bullet through the skull in the town square [...] I imagine these things and I’m terrified, but let’s face it: They’ve been lurking in the back of my brain, anyway. [...] I’m already a target. - Oh geez! Despite admitting that she’s terrified of what the Capitol is capable fo doing to her, Katniss is still pretty composed naming the possible horrors in store for her, which is just a heartbreaking reminder of how many terrible things she has already had to endure.🙁

Now comes the harder part. I have to face the fact that my family and friends might share this fate. Prim. I need only to think of Prim and all my resolve disintegrates. It’s my job to protect her. [...] I can’t let the Capitol hurt Prim. - 😭😭😭 Katniss has reached a point where she can put her own need for survival/physical intactness aside, but the thought of something awful happening to Prim stops her short (it’s so strange to think that, in a twisted way, it wasn’t the Capitol who’d ended up inflicting the final harm upon Prim...)

And then it hit’s me. They already have. They have killed her father in those wretched mines. They have sat by as she almost starved to death. [...] She has been hurt far worse than I had at the age of twelve. And even that pales in comparison with Rue’s life. [...] Prim... Rue... aren’t they the very reason I have to try to fight? Because what has been done to them is so wrong, so beyond justification, so evil that there is no choice? Because no one has the right to treat them as they have been treated? Yes. This is the thing to remember when fear threatens to swallow me up. What I am about to do, whatever any of us are forced to endure, it is for them. - All these things are very true and it’s also very fitting that the main motivation for Katniss would be to ensure a better future for the children of Panem (and to avenge the evils done to the people close to her heart... while Katniss of course can see the abstract bigger picture/reason for the rebellion, she always operates best when it comes to specific people/circumstances she has a deep, personal connection with)... But also: all these things apply to you, too, Katniss! Despite your tendency to feel responsible for everything and everyone, you’re still a child that had to grow up way too fast and had to endure way too much!

We need someone to direct us and reassure us this is possible. And I don’t think I’m that person. I may have been a catalyst for rebellion, but a leader should be someone with conviction, and I’m barely a convert myself. Someone with unflinching courage, and I’m still working hard at finding mine. Someone with clear and persuasive words, and I’m so easily tongue-tied. Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. - Katniss’s idea of a great leader for the rebellion is Peeta - interesting, isn’t it (she could have considered Gale, but no)? She makes a good point, though: it helps when a leader has plenty of charisma, and our boy has that in spades; he’s got a good set of morals, is not above joining in on the action/risking his own neck when the need arises and is very genuine and purposeful with his words and actions, which is inspiring... I think Katniss is severely underselling how courageous she is, though

He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I’m sure the idea has never crossed his mind. - Why would you assume that, Katniss? Peeta’s literally the one to suggest to you that trying to placate the district might not be the right thing to do... Peeta’s not someone who’d stir up trouble just for the sake of stirring up trouble, sure; he’s much more deliberate about doing things the ‘right’ way, but he’s not generally opposed to challenging authorities (he’s literally the one to openly gift some of your winnings to another district!)

She knows what she’s doing, my mother. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, the awful things I yelled at her as Peeta and Haymitch dragged me from the kitchen. “I’m sorry. About screaming at you yesterday.” - It’s so sweet how Katniss feels sorry for yelling at her mom and apologizes to her; their relationship really has improved so much in this book - “I’ve heard worse,” she says. “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. [...] Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But i’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. - Katniss is struggling to figure out in what way she loves Gale... She definitely doesn’t want him to remember their kiss because she knows it wouldn’t be fair to give him the hope that she might be able to return his romantic feelings when she is still in the dark about her own

... and I can’t really think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. - Lol, goes on to immediately mention the guy she’s been kissing these past few weeks (see, with Peeta you could actually have both: kissing and rebellion, Katniss - he’s the perfect man, isn’t he? 😉😋)

“He went home when he heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. - Yeah, I don’t think Peeta left because of his house; I’m pretty sure he needed some time to himself after seeing Katniss and Gale this morning - he is the type of person who needs to be alone to work through his feelings when he’s feeling upset - “Did he get back all right?” [...] “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. I go into the study, a room I’ve pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta’s number. After a few rings he answers. “Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home,” I say. “Katniss. I live three houses away from you,” he says. “I know, but with the weather and all,” I say. “Well, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.” There’s a long pause. “How’s Gale?” - Aww, Katniss is worried about Peeta and gives him a call, although she hates being in the study 😊 Also, her calling him must have been at least of some reassurance to Peeta that she genuinely cares about him, in some way (though, he’s still clearly busy processing her relationship with Gale, since he’s asking about him as if he hadn’t seen that dude just a couple of minutes prior)

“Have you seen Haymitch today?” “I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread,” he says. “I wanted to talk to - to both of you.” I don’t dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. -  Despite everything, Peeta still made sure to look after Haymitch! And I know, there is also the issue of their houses themselves potentially being bugged, but I couldn’t help imagining how they could easily avoid the whole phone-tapping thing simply by using a tin can telephone (they do live pretty close to each other, after all) 😂

“You don’t even have a phone,” I say. “Effie had that fixed,” he [Haymitch] says. “Do you know she asked me if I’d like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better.” “Haymitch.” I can hear the pleading creeping into my voice. “Katniss.” He mimics my tone. “It won’t work.” - Okay, but Haymitch mimicking Katniss’s tone reminds me so much of when Peeta mimicked her tone towards the end of their Games, when she was trying to persuade him to climb into a tree as a lookout while he was insistent she’d show him some plants to gather; these three, I swear! 😂 On a sad note, Haymitch is talking from experience here when he’s advising Katniss not to challenge the Capitol 🥺😢

Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their livings there. - Katniss considers the people from the Hob her friends - honestly, even if the Hawthornes, Everdeens, Peeta and Haymitch all had agreed to leave D12, I don’t think Katniss would have been able to go through with it - she cares too much about the people in D12 to have been able to leave them to their fate

“Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare.” He [Haymitch] trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. “What’s he want that for?” Then I realize the answer. “We can’t let him drink it. He’ll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I’ve got some white liquor put away at home.” “Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business,” says Peeta. - Another instance of Katniss and Peeta being on the same wavelength, having taken precautions to help out Haymitch so he doesn’t have to go cold turkey again

We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. “I couldn’t leave her,” she says. “I knew Gale’d be in the best possible hands.” - The second mention of someone having contracted the measles in D12 - Why the heck does the Capitol withhold measles vaccination from the people in the districts?! They’re inflicting unnecessary damage onto the very people they want to exploit... But I guess cruelty isn’t always about playing it smart and logical...

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.” “I’ll go with you,” he says. “No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him. “And avoiding a stroll by the Hob... that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. - They are a team, they stick together (and they are constantly holding hands, always physically linked to each other)😩💕 Also, Peeta pointing out the irrationality of Katniss’s train of thought to calm her down and stay with her reminds me of how he’s going to use logical reasoning to calm her down after the jabberjays in the Quarter Quell arena

We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta’s father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers’ faces. - How weird is it that Peeta and his dad just talk about the weather?! Is this supposed to illustrate how in the Mellark family they just ignored the ugliness going on in their lives *cough cough* the abuse *cough cough* and just pretended that everything was fine, on a very superficial level? Also, it makes perfect sense that the Peacekeepers have been exchanged; the more time we spend with people, the more likely we are to like them - that won’t do if you want to have a ruthless authoritarian police force in the districts

As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don’t receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. [...] The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. - This is just so awful and despicable 😞 Life in the districts was already horrible but now the government does not even honor the extortionary rules they themselves have set up! I can’t help but wonder if the lack of food could be traced back to rebellions in the food supplying districts and, to keep this from the inhabitants of the Capitol, the reduced amount of good food was (obviously) kept for the Capitolites, so that the bad food had to be sent to the districts, anyway... It just seems like such a breach of ‘honor’/etiquette on the Capitol’s part, I dunno... Or maybe Snow was just desperate to use any means necessary to stamp out any potential rebellions in the districts that he still had some control over...

Gale goes home with no more talk of rebellion between us. But I can’t help thinking that everything he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. [...] Rory has signed up for tesserae, something Gale can’t even speak about - Poor, Gale! Poor Hawthornes :(

My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It’s a small white circle of flat bread. More of a cracker, really. Gray and soggy around the edges. But an image is clearly stamped in the center of it. It’s my mockingjay. - It is so very telling that the true symbol of the rebellion combines something symbolic of Katniss (which also contains a nod to Rue) and something symbolic of Peeta (the bread/cracker!) The people in the districts have rightfully recognized the both of them as symbol of the rebellion; they have a truer vision of the matter than the more artifically/forcefully constructed symbol of rebellion that D13 /Coin will push - we will also see that when the people in D13 will view Peeta as a traitor, while the rebels Katniss will visit in D8 instead ask her about Peeta and assure her that they know he was speaking under duress

[lisinfleur]

Misunderstood

The request:

Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW Ivar II, posted for HTGI Event Words | 1415 ⁑ Warnings: Ivar’s self ableism again.

When you were dragged back to that hall, you were sure that, more than your father's image, you destroyed your husband's pride.

Putting a maid in his bed on his bridal night and running away the way you did was definitely not the smartest of your plans. But what could you do?

Entering that corridor like a dog brought back to its owner seemed better than ending up like a tattered doll, shared by her husband with all his brothers and the gods know who else.

So, although escorted by the men of Kattegat, you entered that room with your head held high, ready to face the consequences of your attempt to get rid of that cruel destiny.

"So, this is the woman who was supposed to be behind the veil of that over-covering dress in my marriage ceremony..."

That wasn't the voice you were expecting to hear.

Your husband would surely be the elder one! Your father said you would sit beside a king!

Who would be the king among the sons of Ragnar if not the elder one alive, Ubbe Ragnarsson, the sharer?

"I would have been pleased. Perhaps, if you'd chosen to be gentler, I would have spared you from the night by my side once it seems to be a nightmare in your eyes."

No!

The younger one walked forward, speaking imposingly. His sharp blue eyes freezing yours as he approached.

"But you chose to flee..." he said, standing in front of you.

Making regret fill your veins instead of blood, spreading like a cold sensation when you were able to read the deception inside his blues.

"I thought..." You gasped with the words.

Your eyes oscillated from him to Ubbe's figure, resting bothered beside the throne, leaned against a pillar as if the whole scene wasn't his business.

Ivar has not lost that detail. His eyes followed her gaze, trying to understand why, suddenly, the determined woman who entered her salon was shaking on her legs, exuding nervousness through her pores.

You watched as he followed your eyes towards Ubbe, curiously looking at you before he frowned, surprised.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

His voice sounded a little shrill, making you lose your composure even more than the discovery of your big mistake had done a few seconds earlier.

"I didn't know! I ... My dad told me ... I ..." You gasped again.

And this time, even Ubbe moved away from the pillar. Thoughts of him doing the obvious math of how absurd and surprising that moment was.

He'd calmed his younger brother when the discovery of your plan, but part of him had been hurt by Ivar's acid words about your decision.

What woman would do it differently under the obligation to marry a cripple like him?

However, it seemed that his younger brother was wrong for what could be the first time since he could remember.

"Did you think you would marry me?" he said.

Making it even more outrageous for you with that sarcastic smile on his lips.

Once again, you straightened your posture, looking at him on top of your arrogance as a woman proud enough to face her actions.

"I would rather die dry and shame my family than put myself under a womanizer like you, Prince Ubbe!" you answered.

Making his lips curve a little more, opening his smile when Ivar took a step back, and your father squeaked like a dying squirrel struck by your words.

"Mighty Odin! What did I do to deserve this curse?" he cried. "Forgive my daughter, Prince Ubbe, she ..." he began with his usual conversation about how you were as crazy as your mother was.

Of course... Because facing men or spitting out the truth, however crude, was crazy! It had to be!

You rolled your eyes.

"I am not a sharer, nor a doll to be shared!" you cut your father, maintaining your position concerning Ubbe, irritated his smile was bigger and bigger as you spoke. "I'm not going to submit to stupid games to your satisfaction, and I don't see what's so funny about what I'm saying, Prince!" you raised your tone when Ubbe couldn't help giggling.

"Well, brother," he said, not looking at you but at Ivar, whose eyes were fixated on you, surprised by your statements. "It looks like she didn't leave because of you, after all," the elder one giggled again.

And there it was again: your posture was completely destabilized by the realization of your grotesque error.

Your fiancé was neither Ubbe nor Hvitserk - another one you knew: he would follow his brother wherever the eldest went!

But you had tried to deceive Ivar, The Boneless. Just the most brilliant mind of its time! Just the only one among the children of Ragnar that you had sworn to accept without reservation.

"That's it?" Ivar asked, still shocked by the realization of what was really going on before his naked eyes. "Did you think your fiancé was Ubbe and were you trying to refuse my brother?"

You bowed your head, defeated.

"Gods!" your father exclaimed again. "What a shame!"

"If you only knew ..." Ivar started.

His eyes on yours like sharp blades, certainly ready to see clearly any lie in your next words.

"If you had known that I was the man you were going to marry, what would you have done?"

You lifted your head, looking him straight in the eye.

Your answer came so direct and clear that it was impossible to doubt your conviction.

"I would have been late for our ceremony, as I certainly wouldn't have been able to finish in time all the sacrifices I believe the gods would deserve for their benevolence regarding my destiny, my lord."

It was easy to see that your answer shocked him.

"Did you... Want to marry me? Were you refusing Ubbe on my behalf?"

"What's so surprising about that?" you asked, confused by his reaction. "Forgive me, my lord, but what has Prince Ubbe done with his life besides becoming famous for sharing his wives like toys? There is nothing about him to do in the halls of history, except the things he did under your brilliancy, my lord. You, on the other hand..." you said.

Feeling your cheeks slightly warm as you spoke.

"Your achievements are counted as legends wherever our steps can reach. How you've won York not once, but twice from the hands of the same Christian king that your plans bent to his knees. How could I not be flattered to be the chosen one of the man who defeated the untouchable Björn Ironside?"

"With my indispensable help," Ubbe finally spoke, feeling slightly diminished in his ego by your words.

A manifestation that you almost completely ignored.

As if Ivar the Boneless was not going to find a way to win that war whether Ubbe had turned against his older brother to help him or not! The news said that he was already winning even when all the brothers were against him!

You could bet that Aslaug's two eldest sons had only changed sides in the face of the obvious defeat!

"I think the first ceremony was worthless, and I believe that we can ignore this shameful moment in the history of our alliance if my father-in-law agrees to fund a new ceremony, so my fianceé and I can celebrate our wedding with real vows and in the right way this time. No more mistakes," Ivar said.

Almost blaming your father for the mistake you made.

On second thought... If he hadn't kept that secret about who he was engaged to...

"Oh, without a doubt!" said your father. "But allow me to introduce you to my second daughter. She is more like me than Y/N, who took after her mother."

You crossed your arms, ready to defend yourself against that absurdity.

But it was your future husband who touched your chin, smiling with satisfaction.

"I like this one. And I don't accept alliances if I'm not sure that my wedding will be with Y/N. By the way, no more veils." he completed, stroking your chin. "I want to be sure that I am marrying the woman I want this time."

You smiled. His eyes were full of satisfaction this time.

Your manner had somehow captivated him, and your smile followed the increase of his on his lips.

What was a terrible marriage had just become a dream for you.

And you definitely wouldn't miss your wedding a second time.

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[ignisaeri]

It was dark when Oikawa blinked open his eyes, feeling as if a hundred tons of weight had suddenly dropped upon his chest. His head throbbed, sending pounding rhythms of pain reverberating through his skull.

Iwaizumi, he thought.

Instinctively, he twisted his head to the right, ignoring the sharp pain that tore up his neck, trying to see past the twisted metal and broken glass that now separated him from Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan?” He croaked out loud.

Oikawa dragged his left arm upwards and pushed it underneath him, trying to shove himself upwards in order to catch a better look. He stopped when the weight on his chest only increased, the sudden change aggravating something in his sternum and sending a ragged cough tearing through his body.

Oikawa’s arm gave out as his head dropped down, the coughs subsiding slowly. Blood pooled in his mouth, and he turned his head to the side, spitting it out. It spattered in dense drops against a large piece of the shattered windshield.

“Iwaizumi,” he called out again, remembering the look of terror that had eclipsed the other man’s face seconds before the trunk had slammed into their car.

Nothing answered him.

The car had completely flipped. Oikawa struggled, left arm pushing uselessly against the large piece of metal that was pinning him flat on the ground. His back scraped against cracked pieces of glass, and he could feel some of the larger shards digging into his flesh as he tried to move the metal off his chest. To his left, the car door seemed to be torn off, and Oikawa shivered as the cool night air brushed against his bruised skin. His right arm was completely unresponsive, lying limply next to him. Pain shot through his legs as he moved them weakly, kicking against the contorted interior of the car, and his sternum was a ball of pure agony.

“Iwa-chan!” He hissed, becoming increasingly desperate. “Answer me!”

“Oikawa.”

The voice came from outside the car, through the opening where the car door had been. A pair of shoes appeared in Oikawa’s view, followed by a set of legs.

Iwaizumi bent down so he could stare into the car, face impassive. “Shittykawa, don’t move.”

Oikawa let his arm drop, instead craning his neck so he could see Iwaizumi’s face better. “You’re okay,” he breathed, acutely aware of how the other man’s skin was pale and unblemished, as if he hadn’t just been driving a car that was hit by a truck. “You got out?”

Iwaizumi paused. “Yea. Yes, Oikawa, I did.”

His head was fuzzy, making Iwaizumi’s words sound distorted and warped. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear the distracting feeling. His eyelids slid shut, too tired to stay open.

“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi’s tone had changed, sounding desperate and terrified. “Open your damn eyes.”

Oikawa grimaced, forcing them open anyway. The simple task seemed far too tedious.

“That’s it,” Iwaizumi breathed. “Keep them open, okay?”

“Why,” Oikawa grumbled, his breath coming short. “Not like there’s anything to see anyway.”

Iwaizumi’s smile was strained as he knelt closer, a hand coming to hover over Oikawa’s. “What? You don’t want to see me? You’re always boasting about how beautiful your fiancé is.”

He seemed to take a deep breath before letting his hand fall, fingers curling around Oikawa’s.

“You are pretty,” Oikawa rasped. “I’m just tired.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi said. His head dipped up and out of sight before coming back into Oikawa’s view, eyebrows furrowed in obvious fear and frustration. “Where are they?” He murmured softly.

“What?” Oikawa asked, unsure if his exhausted brain had just hallucinated his fiancé saying a full sentence.

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Nothing. Seriously, Oikawa, you can’t go to sleep. Not yet.”

“You say that every morning,” Oikawa mumbled.

“Because you never get up. You sleep until you’re nearly late for work, with your stupid alien pajamas and stupid stuffed toys.” Iwaizumi stopped, huffing out a quiet chuckle.

“I love you so much,” he said, lacing his fingers in between Oikawa’s. Oikawa frowned. Iwaizumi’s touch was feather-light, like soft wind ruffling the leaves in an abandoned cemetery. Were Oikawa’s nerves that messed up?

“Wha’ about- the driver? Truck?” Oikawa asked, gradually becoming aware that his words were making less and less sense. “Is he-?”

“I think he’s dead,” Iwaizumi supplied. “He hit us pretty hard.”

“H’ was on his phone. I, I saw.”

“Trust you to notice something like that in the middle of a crash.”

“I’m ob’er’van,” Oikawa slurred. The pounding in his head had gotten worse, and there was an uncomfortable lump trying to slide its way up his throat. He swallowed, pushing it back down. “One o’ my best' trai’s.”

Iwaizumi hummed distractedly, eyes tracing worried circles over Oikawa’s face. “It sure is,” he said.

Oikawa glowered. “Is ‘verything, okay? You… nev’r agree with me.”

That seemed to give Iwaizumi a pause. “It’s fine, Shittykawa. Trust me.”

“I tr’st you,” Oikawa said, watching the dark spots dance farther across his vision. The pain in his chest and legs had mostly faded away into a dull ache. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“Iwa-chan, ‘m I dy’ing?”

“No,” Iwaizumi said firmly. “Absolutely not. You have to live, Oikawa. Think of your parents, and Makki and Mattsun. Takeru. Kageyama and Hinata would be destroyed too."

“And you?”

“I’d be devastated,” Iwaizumi said, staring down at him.

A lazy smile spread across Oikawa’s face. “Good th’ng I’m not dy’ing th’n.”

He coughed, the lump in his throat finally winning the battle and sliding into his mouth, turning into a pool of blood that dripped from the corners of his mouth. Each cough wracked his body, sending new jars of pain through his chest and legs.

Oikawa’s eyes floated shut again, and he let them, too tired to care. His hearing started to blur out, static drowning out the panicky tones of Iwaizumi’s voice.

He jolted back into existence at the feel of an absolutely freezing hand smacking against his cheek.

“Stay awake,” Iwaizumi growled.

Oikawa groaned. “Wh’y ar’e you so cold?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Iwaizumi retorted hotly. “You can’t sleep yet.”

“M’kay. Not yet. You’re so’ nice t’day, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to say something, but before he could make a sound, his head snapped upwards. New sounds filled the air - not Oikawa’s ragged breathing or Iwaizumi’s rapid shuffling, but loud, wailing sirens accompanied by harried shouts and flashing lights. Oikawa grimaced. Too loud and too bright.

“They’re here,” Iwaizumi breathed. “You’ll be okay, Shittykawa.” He was grinning, and not the sly ones he saved for when he hassled Oikawa, but a real, genuine one that Oikawa had only seen a dozen times throughout his life.

“Love y’ou,” Oikawa said around a mouthful of blood.

“I love you too,” Iwaizumi replied. He dipped down, pressing a soft kiss to Oikawa’s forehead. “Live a good life for me, alright?”

“F’or you?” Oikawa asked feebly. One of his hands reached upwards, trying to catch the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt as the man pulled himself to his feet. “W’here y’ou goi’ng?”

“It’ll be okay,” Iwaizumi said. He smiled that genuine smile again. “I love you, Oikawa.”

And then the strange men and women were here, surrounding Oikawa. They yelled at each other, bringing long tubes and strange metal contraptions that wrapped around the gnarled car. But Oikawa only had eyes for Iwaizumi’s retreating form. Then he blinked, and Iwaizumi was gone.

The exhaustion became too much to bear, and the dark spots that had been slowly sliding into his view flared up, enfolding his whole world into black.

~~~~

“I think he’s waking up,” a familiar voice whispered, strangely subdued.

“I’ll get the doctor,” a second person said. There was the sound of rustling fabric and scraping chairs, and then more silence.

Oikawa groaned, eyelids sliding open. His blurry vision showed a drab ceiling, a dark mass sitting in the center of his line of sight.

He blinked, and the shape sharpened into the face of a man.

“Oikawa?” Hanamaki asked, leaning cautiously over his head. His eyes were red, the areas underneath puffy and maroon colored, as if his friend hadn’t slept properly for days. The corner of his mouth wobbled slightly.

Oikawa struggled upwards, startling when Hanamaki set a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “Stay still,” he said, looking insanely worried. “Don’t rip anything out.”

It was then that Oikawa noticed the clear tubes that disappeared into his arms, attached to beeping machines that surrounded the white sheeted-hospital bed. Hospital. He was in the hospital.

Oikawa coughed once. “What happened?”

His voice was raspy, the simple act of talking making his throat hurt.

“It’ll be okay,” Hanamaki said, his tone reminding Oikawa of a very different scene, of Iwaizumi repeating the same words before disappearing into the swarm of paramedics.

Iwaizumi.

Oikawa tore the top of the sheets away from his body with the arm that wasn’t in a cast, forcing Hanamaki to grasp his shoulders in order to press him back to the bed.

“Don’t move,” Hanamaki said again, teeth clenched.

“Iwaizuimi,” Oikawa said, struggling against his friend’s grip. “We- we were in the car - the truck - where’s Iwaizumi?”

Hanamaki wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Matsukawa’s coming back soon, with the doctor, and your parents are in the cafeteria.”

“Makki,” Oikawa hissed, ignoring the dull ache in his muscles as he tried to sit up. “Tell me.”

The door to the hospital room burst open again. A tall, thin woman walked through briskly, dressed in a long white coat, spectacles perched upon the tip of her nose and sleek shiny hair pulled back into a ponytail. Dark circles were ingrained underneath her eyes, clear signs of a shift that had gone on for too long. Matsukawa trailed after, clearly unsure of what he should be doing, gaze darting lightly over the room.

“Oikawa Tooru,” the doctor said, glancing at the clipboard she held in her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Oikawa replied. “But Iwa-ch-”

“You were brought in for injuries sustained in a car accident,” she interrupted. “Five broken ribs, internal bleeding to your abdomen, a fractured arm and leg, as well as a concussion. Now, Oikawa-san, I hear you’re a volleyball player. You may be able to play again, after extensive physical therapy. The fracture in your legs will heal without incident, but I am concerned that your broken arm will interfere with your ability to play.”

The thought of not being able to play volleyball was like a physical blow to his stomach. This panic, however, was quickly swamped over with a rush of trepidation as the doctor spoke again.

“The man in the car with you passed away.”

Oikawa blinked.

“What?”

Matsukawa lowered himself into one of the chairs next to Oikawa’s bed. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“Iwaizumi’s dead, Oikawa.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the doctor offered softly. “If it’s any consolation, he died on impact. He felt no pain.”

Oikawa stared blankly at her. “He can’t be dead,” he insisted, voice gaining traction. “I saw him after-he was fine-”

“You were most likely experiencing the effects of blood loss,” the doctor said, gently.

“No!” Oikawa shook his head, adamant. “You don’t understand! I saw him after- he wasn’t hurt at all-he kept telling me to hold on and stay awake-I-”

He choked on the sudden onslaught of tears that rose up his throat, bracing his hands against the bed. “I saw him. Dead people can’t look like that-they can’t talk-they can’t smile-,” he whispered, remembering the grin on Iwaizumi’s face.

The doctor looked at Hanamaki and Matsukawa helplessly. “I’m truly sorry, Oikawa-san. Denial is common for-”

“There’s nothing to deny!” Oikawa snapped, suddenly furious. “There’s nothing to deny, because Iwa-chan can’t be dead-”

Hanamaki slid a comforting hand over the back of Oikawa’s palm, and Oikawa sobbed. “He was there,” he murmured, voice wavering.

“I know,” Matsukawa said, forcing a strained smile onto his face, even as clear tears left tracks down his cheeks. “It’ll be alright, Oikawa. ‘Maki and I are here for you.”

Oikawa met Matsukawa's eyes. They were dewy, the anguish of losing a friend clear to see.

“He told me to live for him.”

~~~~

Oikawa breathed in, long and deep, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of spring flowers. He stood in the center of the green grass, surrounded on all sides by tall stone pedestals.

He let his fingers loosen, a single white lily drooping from his grasp to land on the top of one of the pedestals. Oikawa knelt slowly, folding his knees under him.

Iwaizumi Hajime, the words engraved in the stone said. 20xx ~ 20xx.

Oikawa cleared his throat. “Hey, Iwa-chan. It’s your birthday today, you know?”

The grave did not respond. Oikawa was silent, listening to the leaves rustling in the wind, accompanied by the chirps of lonesome birds sitting in the newly blossoming trees.

“I talked with your mother this morning. She’s doing well, as is your father.”

Oikawa chuckled, absentmindedly pulling at the cuff of his shirt.

“Hanamaki and Matsukawa finally got married. They’ve been pining after each other since 6th year.”

Oikawa sighed. “I never told anyone this, but I know you were there that night. I don’t know how, if you somehow managed to stay as a- a ghost or something until the paramedics came or if you just refused to die like the stubborn person you were, but I know I didn’t hallucinate you.”

“You were there,” he repeated. “Somehow, you saved me. I never got to thank you for that.”

“I miss you,” he told the headstone. “But don’t worry. I’m still playing volleyball. Japan won the Olympics this year. Chibi-chan and Tobio-kun annoy me everyday. ‘Maki and ‘Matsu invite me over every Sunday for a movie night. I’m doing well.”

He pressed two fingers to his lips, then lowered them until they rested gently against Iwaizumi’s carved name.

“Fear not, Iwa-chan,” he said, smiling as obnoxiously as he could.

“I’ll live for you.”

~~~~

“‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

[youbloodymadgenius]

Scars and Trophies (Ivar x OC his and reader's daughter - Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my contribution to @ofmanderley's 300 Celebration 🎉 Congrats again, darling 🌸

I won't lie, it's a sad one, including a major character death. Yet, it's a somehow logical and - I think - sweet death. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's fluff, but it's not angst either. Give it a chance 🙏🏽

Prompt in bold

Fa∂ir = Father / Mó∂ir = Mother / Min blóm = My flower

@geekandbooknerd, thank you for being a lovely and very supportive beta 💖

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: Ivar was injured in battle. His daughter comes to his bedside.

Warnings: major character death; glimpse of an afterlife that does not seem very Viking.

Words: 1474

His eyes flutter open as she grabs a wooden stool and sits next to his bed. Wrapping her hand around his calloused one, she leans forward, gently kissing his clammy forehead.

"Min blóm..." He murmurs. She can tell he tries to smile, and it breaks her heart.

"Fa∂ir, are you in pain?" Her hand squeezing his, she feels how hot his skin is. Abnormally hot.

"Not much..." He manages to say, his shallow breathing betraying his discomfort. As a single tear runs down her cheek, he tries to release his hand. He wants to reach out, to wipe her tears. He's too weak, though. "Don't cry, min blóm. I don't." He stifles a wince but manages this time to give her a real smile.

"It won't be long before your mother and I are reunited."

He's right, she knows it. She's been warned, her father is dying. There's nothing more the healers can do. Her hand lingers on his bandaged chest as she silently curses the Saxon soldier who stabbed him.

"I know," she brushes his hair back, holding back her tears, "you've been waiting for this for so long." Nodding wearily, her father closes his eyes while releasing a weak sigh.

She closes her eyes too. A thought weighs heavily on her mind and she knows she's running out of time. If she doesn't ask him now, she may never get the chance again. It's been eating her up inside for so long... She wants to know; she needs to.

She takes a deep breath and then cups his cheek softly. "Fa∂ir, I meant to ask you... Did you resent me? Has there ever been a time in your life when you were angry at me for taking Mó∂ir's life? She died while giving birth to me, and she was the woman you were in love with. Wouldn't you have preferred her to survive instead of me? Don't get me wrong, Fa∂ir, I'm not blaming you, you've always been good to me. I just wonder, sometimes. Ultimately, I'm the one who killed her."

Her father remains silent for so long that she thinks he may have fallen asleep. But then he shakes his head and starts to speak. She has to listen very carefully, his whispered words hard to hear. "You didn't kill her. Your mother died because it was fate; because it was the will of the gods, min blóm. Do you remember what she always said about scars?"

She nods even if he can't see it. She does remember. "Scars are trophies."

Overwhelmed by mixed feelings, he looks at you with pursed lips as you lovingly stroke his calves while humming a song he doesn't know. "I love your legs, you know that?" You eventually say, a sweet smile crossing your face.

He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't utter a word for a very long time. Frowning, he finally grabs your wrist. "You don't have to say that, my love, you really don't. I know how they look. They are hideous; full of scars."

You give him a disapproving look, shaking your head. "Well, I beg to differ. They're not hideous. They're something to be proud of. Scars are trophies, Ivar."

Eyeing you, Ivar forces a laugh, his lips curling with a bitter smile. "When they are earned on the battlefield, there's no disputing that. But those..." He gestures towards his scarred legs, spitting his next words, "... those are nothing to be proud of. If anything, my legs are proof that I am a failure."

"Ivar!" You nearly shout, upset. "You're not allowed to run yourself down like this!! Of course, your scars are trophies, it's not my fault you're just too stupid to realize it!"

He can't help but laugh at that. You're the only one on Midgard who dares to talk to him like that and he won't tell it aloud but he loves that. The next moment though, a scowl is back on his face.

Breathing out a sigh, you wrap your fingers around his hand. "Ivar, my stubborn husband, listen carefully. Life was – still is – your battlefield. When you were growing up, the people of Kattegat, and even your own brothers sometimes, were your opponents. Every broken bone, when you were just a boy, was one more fight for you to win and you won them all. As for the excruciating pain you're going through every single day, it is your endless war, Ivar, a war you fight with bravery. The cards you've been dealt weren't good ones, yet you survived. And the gods know you did more than just survive. You made a name for yourself. You led men into battle. You conquered. Don't you dare tell me I'm wrong. And therefore, of course, my beloved, your scars are trophies."

"Your mother was referring to my legs, obviously." Mustering the last of his strength and gritting his teeth, Ivar opens his eyes and slowly raises his hand, his thumb grazing her cheek. "Her death shattered my heart and caused my deepest scar, which is still bleeding at this very moment. But this scar, min blóm, is also my greatest trophy." Eyes full of tears, he lets out a groan of pain, placing instinctively his hand on his wounded torso.

Long seconds tick by, and after releasing a shuddering breath, he speaks again. "My greatest trophy because I survived. And I did more than just survive. I was lucky enough to see you grow up. On my watch, you became a beautiful, fierce, and caring woman. You made me proud, and happy. You have filled my heart with joy, min blóm."

His bloodshot, tired, faded gaze find hers as he slightly shakes his head. "No, min blóm, I didn't. I never resented you. I love you with all my heart and if I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing despite the tremendous sorrow I felt – and sometimes still feel – losing her. Your mother was undoubtedly the love of my life, you know that. But you, min blóm, were – still are – its light. And that's why," his grimace of pain rips her heart out, "if the gods give me strength, I'll stay with you a little longer..."

The tears. She feels them coming, salty little waves, tender little raindrops. Her bottom lip trembling, she just shakes her head. "No, Fa∂ir. I want you to stop fighting. Go to Mó∂ir. I had you to myself all these years. It's her turn now."

His features bathed in tears, her father hiccups, his eyes suddenly wide open, his hand squeezing hers with a strength he has not shown for days. "No, min blóm," even his voice is stronger but she knows it won't last, "I can't. I won't leave you. You need–"

"No." She interrupts, plastering on a smile, "I'll be fine, Fa∂ir. Trust me, I'm going to be all right." Her hand strokes his hair, lingers on his flushed face. "Close your eyes, Fa∂ir, close your eyes. You can go, I'll be fine. Stop fighting and close your eyes, Fa∂ir."

Tears running freely down her cheeks, she watches her father very closely, and sees the exact moment when he complies. Taking a surprisingly deep breath, he nods and flutters his eyes shut.

She doesn't stop talking, though, her fingers now once again entwined with his. "I'll be fine, Fa∂ir. Go to Mó∂ir, feel free, she's waiting for you... Go, Fa∂ir, go, I'll be fine... Soon, you will no longer be in pain and you will be with her, the love of your life, and I'll be fine, Fa∂ir... Go, Fa∂ir, go to Mó∂ir, go to her... go... go..."

Lulled by her soothing voice, his breathing slows down. "You can go, Fa∂ir, I'll be fine... Go to Mó∂ir, she's waiting for you... Go, Fa∂ir, go... You're free now... Go... Go..."

His pain is dulled, the voice of his blóm barely a whisper... "Go, Fa∂ir, go... I'll be fine..."

He feels like he's floating. There's nothing but her voice, distant and far away... "Go... Go to Mó∂ir... Go, Fa∂ir..."

And he lets go. He doesn't fight anymore. She's right, she'll be fine. He can go. He wants to; he needs to. "Y/N", he croaks, but he knows that no word escapes from his lips.

He feels free. He's free. There's no regret, no remorse. There's no more pain, neither in his stabbed chest nor in his crooked legs.

Surprisingly, there are no Valkyries either, no battle cries, no shouts, no music... Really, there's nothing... Nothing until...

...

...

"Come, Ivar, come to me, come, my beloved... Come..."

Love and gratefulness immediately flooding his mind, he doesn't have time to be surprised as he loosens his grip on his daughter's hand and exhales one last time.

"Y/N, my love, I missed you so much..."

🛡⚔️🛡

@ofmanderley @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow

[castleoflions]

Lost In Translation: Kakegurui Ch. 83 pt. 2: Identical Girls

Comparing and Analyzing the Text

Well, we’re back here again, with more discrepancies between the original, Japanese text and the official English translation. As this “chapter” (really, it’s just the last little bit of an extra long Ch. 83) is fairly short, this shouldn’t be as long as my previous write up about Ch. 82, which you can find here.

So without further ado, let’s dig into the differences under the cut.

The first oddity is on the second page. It’s mostly minor, but it’s a strange thing to flub and might help people wrap their heads around how votes are shifting or can shift in the school, so I’m including it here.

The English translation says: “The entire Hyakkaou student body is about three thousand people! So now, if Yumeko-sempai beats someone with as many votes as she has, or more, that seals the victory for her! Oh...right! She’s almost there! I mean, really, must I explain that to you?”

What Istuki actually says in Japanese is: 百花王学園は全校生徒約3000人。つまり夢子先輩と同じか少なくとも半分持ってる人に勝てば確定で優勝という事です！そうか。。。そうだね！あと一歩だ。というかこのくらいのこと説明させないでくださいよ。

“Hyakkaou Academy has about 3,000 students! In other words, if Yumeko-senpai beats someone who has the same or at least half as many votes as her, she’ll definitely win! Indeed...that’s right! Just one more step. I mean, please, I shouldn’t have to explain this to you.”

It’s small, but it’s worth pointing out because of how the votes are distributed right now. Yumeko is standing head and shoulders above the nearest opponent, which is Kirari. Even if Kirari takes out Mary and Ririka both, she can’t catch Yumeko...but Yumeko wants to gamble with Kirari regardless. Being in this position, Kirari will almost certainly need to gamble with Yumeko in order to have a chance at winning, a situation that hasn’t occurred yet in the series. On the very next page, Yumeko confirms that:

Surprising absolutely no one, the biggest misfires occur during Kirari and Ririka’s conversation, as well as Mary’s interruption. Much like the strangeness in Ch. 82, the differences are subtle, but they make a very big difference in terms of characterization and meaning.

As I’ve said before, Kirari’s characterization has taken a severe hit in the English translation; she often gets flattened and reduced to a villain archetype when she, just like every other character in Kakegurui – and I do mean everyone, is very morally grey: no character is purely good or purely bad, no one is solely a hero nor a villain.

What the English translation says: Kirari: "We need to seize the Momobami name." Ririka: That was easy to say, of course...but making it happen proved quite a challenge. Kirari: Hee hee! I was immature too. The fact of it is, leading the family’s not enough. The grown-ups are too obsessed over the past. They’re living zombies, focused on protecting themselves and their families. We have to take them out of the picture, or else nothing will actually change. So I held this election...and by beating all the family members they carefully selected...I wanted to shut all those grown-ups’ mouths. And in just a little bit...I’ll achieve that mission.”

What Kirari and Ririka actually say in Japanese is:

Kirari: 百喰を掠いましょう。 Ririka: 口にするのは簡単。けれど実現するのは意外と難しかったわね。 Kirari: フフ私も幼かった。実際には当主になるだけでは足りない。過去に固執する大人たち。自らと自らの一族の保身のみを目的に生きる屍。彼らを排除しなければ実際には何も動かない。だからこの選挙を開き彼らが選りすぐった一族の者に勝つことで彼らを黙らせたかった。その目的はあと少しで達せられる。

Kirari: Let’s pillage the Hundred Devouring Families. Ririka: It’s easy to say, but its surprisingly difficult to achieve. Kirari: [Giggle] I was also childish/naive. In reality, it wasn’t enough just to become the head of the family. [The clan] are adults who cling to the past. They’re corpses who live only for the purpose of protecting themselves and their households/clans/families. If they aren’t eliminated/rejected, nothing will change. So I wanted to hold this election and silence them by defeating the members they hand-picked. Achieving that goal is just around the corner.

Again, the differences are subtle, but they’re there.

There are many people that think Kirari only does stuff for her own amusement and nothing else. There are many people that think she’s just purely a villain. I blame a lot of this on how the English manga translation has (mis)characterized her, so it’s not entirely these people’s faults: they only know what they’ve been able to read. But the canon story in the source material disagrees, point-blank. 

Kirari doesn’t care about seizing the Momobami name, she wants to drain the clan with Ririka and be done with the whole thing. She finally explicitly says out loud what I and others have been suspecting for a long time (I mentioned this possibility last summer here): she doesn’t like the clan, she planned all of this, and her goal is the clan’s destruction. She admits that she was naive and childish to think that ascending to the head of the Devourers was enough to bring their plan to fruition. She laments how the elders of the family are stuck in the past, and how nothing will change until they can get those rotting corpses cleared away. They’re so close to being able to achieve their goal of destroying the clan!

But Kirari has an important question for her big sister, and the English translation flubs this pretty aggressively.

What the English translation says: Ririka. You...are me. That’s the way you were raised from the start. So can you give my votes back to me?

What Kirari actually says in Japanese: リリカ、貴女は私ずっと。育てられてきたわね。私の票を私に返して？

“Ririka, you’ve been me for so long/all this time. That’s how you were raised. Will you return my votes to me?”

Subtle differences, but very, very important.

Kirari doesn’t say “Ririka, you are me.” She instead says, “You’ve been me for such a long time.” And that makes sense, given the context of what we know about their past (from the first half of Ch. 83), and how Kirari has reacted to Ririka working with Mary, as well as how she reacted to them no longer blending together enough (both from Ch. 76). Kirari isn’t upset that she and Ririka don’t blend together like they use to, in fact she seems kind of pleased about it, telling Ririka that she’ll notice it too in due time. She asks how she’s getting along with Mary, and Ririka claims that Kirari made her promise that she would work together with Mary until the end of the election.

I’m repeating all of this because they’re clues to Kirari’s intentions, and these clues all paint a specific image: Kirari doesn’t want Ririka to be her, she wants Ririka to be...Ririka, whoever that may be. Ririka doesn’t know who she is right now because she’s still figuring it out. She’s still timid, still wary, but she is slowly becoming her own person: she challenged Kirari to a gamble, after all, and Kirari was pleasantly surprised by that. (The English translation of Ch. 76 is rife with problems, and it’s next on my list to make a post about, but the panels below are accurate and points to what I’m talking about.)

All of this to say, Kirari’s reaction is not one of someone who is in any way upset that her twin is becoming her own person. In fact, Kirari seems actively happy about it.

Okay, so why is she asking Ririka to return votes to her? Disclaimer that this is just speculation at the moment, but based on the clues we’ve been given, I have a hunch that this is a test of sorts. Ririka has been, as Kirari says, living as Kirari since day one. Only recently has Ririka herself expressed that Mary has helped her "become [her]self.” Ririka is gaining her footing, but will she refuse Kirari if she asks her to return her votes to her? Kirari seems intent to find out, so she asks her to return votes to her for the sake of the plan that’s been years in the making, that they’ve both been working towards, and that they’re on the verge of successfully completing. So she asks (the asking is important) if Ririka will return the votes.

The English translation makes it sound like Kirari is demanding the votes, but trying to say it in a nice way: “So can you give my votes back to me?” The original Japanese is an honest question: “Will you return my votes to me?” I know I sound like I’m harping on this, but the words matter – the wrong one will distort what’s being said. Just to make it clear what I’m pointing out here:

CAN you = Are you able to do what’s being asked, regardless of whether you want to or not? The implication is that autonomy and consent is minimal or non-existent in this situation. WILL you = What will you do? What will you decide? The implication is that autonomy and consent are being respected here, and are actively being asked to be exercised.

I’ll say it again: the differences are subtle, but very important.

Let’s move on to what I’m sure a lot of people are waiting for: Mary’s interruption. This part is actually accurate, though there are some subtleties and clarifications I want to point out.

First, when Mary says “No.”

The specific word here being used is 断る. This means “to refuse, to reject, to dismiss, to turn down, to decline.”

Another thing I want to put out is that Ririka does not speak at all during this exchange – only Mary is speaking.

And Mary is doing so very forcefully! She interrupts this conversation, physically pulls Ririka away from Kirari, says, on behalf of Ririka, that Ririka refuses to return the votes, and then calls Kirari stupid before deciding for Ririka, without her voicing her opinion one way or the other, that Mary and Ririka both will take Kirari on and defeat her.

Something to notice: Kirari seems amused by this development. She’s not upset, but she seems pretty intrigued at least.

And she’s right to be intrigued, because she just got done asking her sister what she wants to do in relation to their long-term plan, and Mary has swooped in, told Kirari to shove it, and that she and Ririka are going to take her down...but she didn’t consult Ririka on this first.

This is a post I still need to make, but I’ll allude to the point of it here: Kirari is actually a character who is really big on consent and asking what people want to do. (RayDaug wrote a bit about this in his response to an ask here)

“She took Midari’s eye!!!” you might say. No, she offered to buy it to settle Midari’s gambling debt. Midari stabbed it out of her own volition.

“She made Sayaka jump from the Tower of Doors!!!” No, she asked Sayaka if she wanted to gamble Yumeko after Yumeko made her pitch. When she introduced the jump at the ToD, Kirari asked Sayaka if she was okay with the terms and even said “you can say no.” Sayaka was so eager to murder Yumeko that she enthusiastically accepted.

To quote RayDaug from the previously linked response: “Kirari gives people tools and watches what they do with them.”

This right here, with Ririka, is no different. She’s given Ririka some time to figure part of herself out via Mary Saotome, and now she’s asking if she’ll return her votes to her. You’ll notice, however, that Mary is not asking what Ririka wants to do. She’s deciding for her.

I bring this up not to dunk on Mary’s character, (though some like to say I’m a “Mary bullshitter” as well as a “Kirari apologist,” the latter being one of the funniest things I’ve ever read, so thanks for the chuckle) but to show my work when I bring up what I suspect might happen next: I think this push and pull is going to be a sticking point for Mary and Ririka, and I think it’s actually going to cause problems for them in their upcoming battle against Kirari.

I say this because gambles in Kakegurui are vehicles for character development, especially realizations and growth. Ririka still doesn’t know what she wants or, at the very least, how to vocalize it for herself without getting steamrolled by what others want her to do. Mary isn’t respecting Ririka’s autonomy here, which is kind of funny considering she didn’t want to work with Ririka since she couldn’t decide things on her own. This points to unresolved tension in their characters, and, historically-speaking, when unresolved issues enter a gamble, the outcome of the gamble tends to push it to a breaking point, for better or worse.

At this exact moment, I see a couple outcomes based on what we know so far. This is subject to change after I spent more time noodling on it and/or when new information comes to light:

This might be a set up for a Mary + Ririka vs. Kirari + Sayaka battle, which could be very entertaining

This gamble ends in a tie with no votes shifting, or only minimal vote shifting, but with some character growth (Think how the Yumeko vs Mary battle from the Grand Summary went)

Kirari knocks out Mary and Ririka because their unresolved issues get in the way and she’s able to capitalize on that instability

Mary and Ririka win, but it’s a Pyrrhic victory somehow

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! I hope this helps paint a clearer picture of what is going on in the source material and inspires a better understanding of the plot and characters.

See you in the next post. :)

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket Manga Review ch (76 & 77)

So, I decided to read the manga mainly in search for a more natural balanced female presentation than the idealistic, shallower, savior depiction of tohru in the anime.

I’m intentionally skipping all the chapters of her as a (mother figure) in yuki’s life & won’t read them or even visit them for comparison with the anime. I love yuki’s growth story & the unique depiction of his platonic relationship with tohru, but if his mother-tohru phase was a drink, then the anime has force fed it to me till it came from my nose! So, for yuki, I’ll be reading his growth past-his mother confession.

I’ve consulted my lovely manga readers friends & thy recommended starting from ch 90 since the content in that chapter was completely cut! but some recommended checking kyoto chapters first since they contain a nice glimpse of the author’s style & artistic vision. Kyoto ep in the anime isn’t focused on “mom-tohru” so, i like the idea! I’ll jump to ch 90 right after ch 77.

- Subtle growth of a woman ( Clash of visions & presentation between the manga’s “ Loosing the wallet with mom’s photo vs the anime’s fractured photo frame):

I really love the underlined connotation of tohru loosing her “mom” unknowingly! In the anime, this scene played without any reference to kyoko & tohru’s attachment to her. We saw tohru the teenage girl confused as she experience romantic love for the first time. Nothing more than that. But the manga says “ Main female MC is way deeper than a (mom-figure) or a (girl in love), In this panel, tohru chases after kyo & unknowingly looses her famous wallet containing her mom’s picture. Here’s what this subtly indicates:

 Normally, tohru would notice right away that her wallet is missing, here she never even notice until kyo suggest they hang out together. Subtly indicating that tohru is moving further & further from her phase of “ an afraid, grieving, abandoned child clinging to her mom”.

Normally, tohru would panic, say “ mom is missing” & everyone around her goes into search mode to make tohru at ease (hiro’s ep). Here once she notices, she says “ my wallet is missing” & kyo relaxed & laughingly gives her her wallet back. While he goes to bring the wallet, tohru instead of thinking “ oh nearly lost mom!” is musing over the fact that “it’s strange that kyo can make me happy or sad with one word only”. Subtly indicating that tohru is replacing her mom with kyo as part of growing up from the child she was to the woman she will be.

Tohru calling kyo “mysterious”, subtly explains that tohru is in the uncertain phase of understanding her feelings as a woman & hence, pave the path for upcoming trauma exploration & psychological depth.

The entire scene in the manga is depicted to convey different layers: romance, upcoming growth, & unexplored traumatic issues of abandonment, grief, & human weakness. “ Accepting human Weakness & change” IS the manga’s vision.

In the anime, the fractured picture worked simply becuz no issues of any traumatic experiences with tohru were ever hinted. Nothing abt tohru being a young woman moving away from a traumatic childhood was ever implied beside the weakly sharply cut & forgotten few scenes of her mysteriously going “ im okay” while remembering her dad’s shrine. Was there ever anything abt replacing her mom with kyo? Nope!. Was there anything abt tohru reluctance of loving kyo? Nope! to fix that, let’s shock the audience with empty photo frame! It’ll make the viewers confused & if we play the climax right & give tohru a tearjerker speech confronting akito, all is good. It worked in the anime as it served the purpose it was created for: shock value & drama. ppl bought it. But in the long run, it cemented tohru as the “savior angel” never the “ weak human”. But not many will have issues with that. Having yuki with his impressive story of growth & kyo with his shocking story of pain is enough to distract from the rest. The director must think: What does the audience want?

a woman who’d save the prince with her motherly care?“ Done!”.

a woman who’d love the monster? “ Done !”. 

a woman who has her own deep story? no one will miss that~ skip!

-Yuki’s next stage of growth: Friends:

I like how smoother the scene played here. Yes, yuki thinks back to his gratitude to tohru, but it plays subtly & more emphasis is on his friendship with kakeru. No added scene of him waving back to tohru after kakeru which brought the focus back to mom-tohru again. No. Here is way less shoved in your throat. Yuki says how he felt in the moment, moved on to the next stage, thought abt his life & choives, moved on to school. Clear lines that makes yuki more dynamic & way less “ living in his head” character.

Side Notes:

The manga’s art is pretty but expressive! I was afraid it’ll have that weird eyes bigger than the moon & too much sparkles & bubbles like the usual old shojo manga art!

Yuki is way more expressive than the anime & less pretty & sparkly! I welcome this with flowers & songs! lol.

Tohru has “low” pigtails instead of the child-like high pigtails! YES! it is crazy that this trivial change adds so much to tohru’s presentation to the viewers’ eyes. In real life no big deal but in an artistic medium such choices send subliminal messages to viewers minds, that’s why artists spend a lot of time choosing their characters default appearance. It means a lot for the character’s overall path & sends messages. High child-like pigtails: make her look like innocent & naive child since viewers usually associate such hair do with children & toddlers. Low pigtails: are cute girly style that we associate with teenagers & young adult women, it’s practical & cute.

Kyo’s looks as youthful & handsome as the anime but less angry, annoyed & more versatile in his expression! It always bothered me that the anime just go with kyo’s default frowned face, hands in pocket looks unless he should express a key emotion. Also, kyo without an undershirt in his uniform! interesting change from the anime.

I missed kyo’s two buddies! T_T. Why they weren’t in the anime’s finale.. could’ve at least put them in the underwhelming graduation ceremony ~

I really appreciate that yuki’s fanclub are one page, less annoying.

That awkward moment when a manga panel drawn by one person can depict a crowded city more than an anime with a huge team. Like the anime didn’t even need to zoom out for a huge wide shot that showcase its weakness in depicting a crowded city. If you can’t draw that, just zoom in to lessen the effect of emptiness. kyoto isn't a deserted area especially not during a school trip!

The teachers checking on the sneaking vs sleeping students scene is a welcoming sight! XDDD

Hana met kakeru before? saw him & tohru together? weird!!

Kakeru is more focused on tohru here.

I really love the photos taken for everybody. It indicates real good time! Hana eating, yuki around girls, arisa annoyed, kyo teased with playing card: did the play “rich man poor man” again? XD

I’m starting to love yuki more in the manga than the anime!

Kyo having short inner thought abt not being able to tell tohru a girl confessed to him & deciding to say “ none of ur business” is doing wonders to the scene!!! it makes him less mean to tohru & more balanced character. I mean I guessed so in the anime, but what could've prevented making the VA say this short line of inner thought?! Yuki’s VA says essays & essays in nearly every ep abt nearly every character?!.

I liked the way kyo held tohru’s hands when he turned to her, the way he held her hand in the anime is a bit weird. lol. Also, in this scene, tender gentle kyo is so well-done both in the anime & manga. The manga wins for the zoom in & focus on emotions, tho.

Next is chapter 90!

[storiesofsvu]

Ok, last night I went back and rewatched 'The Long Arm of the Witness' because you suggested it at the end of SSS ch 15. At this point I had read through ch 17 of SSS. Keeping in mind what I knew from SSS, I watched the episode and holy crap it fits with canon perfectly! Not only does it fit, but I feel like canon doesn't even make sense without SSS.

Like in SSS when Carisi mentions that Rita was acting different during the Gallagher trial and didn't seem bothered at all when the prosection brought new evidence last minute. She really did look relieved. And when the judge changed the verdict, Rita wasn't even mad. She just sat there calmly and once again had a look of relief. Normally she would've been so mad if that kind of thing happened. I also noticed the comment she made to Olivia in the elevator at the end of the episode, and then you brought that up in ch 18. Like Rita said in SSS, it definitely felt like she was saying that to Olivia, almost hoping she would figure out what Rita was trying to tell her without actually having to say it.

It all makes so much sense. SSS is canon and no one can tell me otherwise. It explains everything.

Babbbbeeeeyyyy!!

THANK YOU!! Seriously. My viewings of that episode went like 1. RITA RITA IS BACK. I was so distracted I didnt notice the subtle acting/directing choices. I IMMEDIATELY watched it again and 2. “This... isnt the same rita we remember...”

And then I got to thinking about ms marvel herself. She’s TOO GOOD of a fucking actress to just drop 90% of traits that Rita had just cause it had been a few years/Barba wasnt there to bounce quips off of.

Plus her comments about Gallagher in the first scene?? And then she reps him???

Sorry for the delay cause I had to go dig up gifs LOL

Thats the moment the judge allows the recording Holmes took in the bathroom. She doesn’t glare, she doesn’t scoff, she doesn’t even cock a brow. Her lips don’t purse. And there’s even the *slightest* curve up of them as if she’s not only relieved but HAPPY knowing he’s going down.

Then we get Chip allocuting saying he now realizes his “advances weren’t wanted” or whatever. There’s hesitancy? Almost in her eyes, a near glare before she focusses on nothing. The tiniest little nod.

THIS ONE???

The FACT THAT SHE CANNOT EVEN LOOK OLIVIA IN THE EYE WHEN SHE SAYS THE “lie back & take it”????!!!!!!! Her gaze is downcasted, it’s submissive. And when she leaves the elevator its not her normal power walk, she’s defeated, exhausted, trying to keep up a front.

And NOW. Let’s go back.

S17.

The downland case. She doesn’t just send Abby & her parents into svu. She goes in herself & drags the detectives back to their house. She’s there every moment, sneaking her way into finding out the dna matched. She’s waiting outside for Barba, assuring him of Abby doing the right thing, how she “was answering his texts” how Abby was “introverted, shy, doesn’t know how to act about it cause theyre teenagers still seeing each other at school”. She’s there for the entire trial, and m’am is acting her ASS off in the background of shots that aren’t even in focus 😂 (which also makes me wonder if the rita we know is so sharp & abrasive because she was shy back as a teenager & she didnt really know how to say no kinda thing)

Next time we see her is s18ep 1 terrorized. She takes on a client who (imo, shouldnt have even been being charged) was forced/coerced into a crime because she was being abused & raped. THIS is Rita’s expression while the girl’s telling her story. I dont think that’s “lets look extra symphathetic for brownie points for liv” i think this is a “i understand...really...”

We do see her again in Spellbound, which I’ll have to go watch again & properly analyze lol. But it’s a solid win for her & a tricky case cause the girl did vocally say yes to sex ON TAPE. (Though she was hypnotized)

I TRULY think they were setting Rita up to have the arc that Nikki Staines ended up taking in s19 because ms marvel went off & got signed on to HOC/Homeland and wasn’t available.

BUT I do think they’re revisiting it now because those tiny little subtle things ms marvel does in the s22 ep just aren’t the Rita we’re used to. (Not to mention she almost gets thrown in contempt & that has NEVER happened. She would get her “withdrawn”’s out before Barba could even object!) and ms marvel (and i quote from an article) “has more acting ability/power in her jawline than most actors do their entire career”

Anyways!

Thank you for coming to my ted talk & I do believe that SSS should be canon 😂😂

I knew I wanted a story to cover the s22 ep stuff, and it was when I rewatched A Misunderstanding that I froze & was all “wait... Rita went to dowland.... is... her name on that wall?” Abs BOOM plot.

[nlights37]

Time to Pretend - Ch. 2 Teaser

Good news, @noordinarylines and I should have the next chapter in this little fiasco we call a fic up in a day or two. Until the notice hits your inbox, here's a little taste of what's coming next:

“Tell me the cost of Northern fealty, Jon. The true cost. What must I do to prove myself?”

Jon’s head tipped to the side, surprise washing over his features, and then a heavy hesitancy that seemed to still his tongue. His lips parted several times, as though he couldn’t quite settle on what he wished to say, but finally he did. “My father,” he began, and her heart skipped, then settled as she realized who it was that Jon Snow meant, “always said we find our true friends on the battlefield. I suppose I had hoped that, if I could convince you that my cause is just, somehow persuade you to fight for us, for the North…,” he sighed heavily, his voice trailing off. “On the beach, you asked Tyrion what sort of Queen you would be if you weren’t willing to fight for your people.”

Daenerys let out a belated, resigned sigh of her own, and left him standing there in the center of the room, rounding Aegon’s table, her eyes wandering over the map absently. He might be quiet, she mused, but he was clever, clever enough to use her own arguments to convince her. “Yes,” she said dryly, “I recall what I said.”

It took little effort to recall other things, a menagerie of images only barely restrained, of standing here in this room with him, his larger frame bracketing her, his every word designed to tease her into sinful submission.

Turn around, Dany.

She could feel his breath hot on her neck, his cock hungry for her and pressed against her, his eyes on fire for her, only for her, always for her. If she wished hard enough, it was real, for a beautiful moment in time.

She opened her eyes and the illusion was gone, replaced by a different Jon Snow, the true Jon, sad-eyed and stoic, too far away to touch, even if she wished. She felt tired, weariness encroaching once more, so that even conversing with him felt like a battle she could not possibly win. “And you believe that their minds and hearts will be changed, if I ride into battle for them? If my men, my armies, are willing to sacrifice their lives for a people who may never swear fealty to me? Though I have done nothing to earn their distaste? Or distrust?” She studied him intently, not shying away when his stormy, troubled eyes met hers. “It seems a heavy price to ask of me, does it not, that I must first risk myself and my armies to be deemed worthy?”

His jaw worked, his lips pressed in a thin line, something sure forming in his heavy stare. “It is. I know it is. I know.” She believed him, could hear the tormented edge to his voice. He knew what he was asking, knew it was far more than he had a right to, in his position. She could take the North, if she wished. But she was weary, tonight, weary of fighting and weary of hiding from the memories that plagued her. She wondered, as she watched him pace, if he was tired, as well. “The past can remain in the past, where it belongs. What matters, what truly matters, is what we do in the here and now.”

“It matters to your people, it seems.” Her rasping whisper seemed to strike him, and he stubbornly clenched his jaw and shook his head, even as she continued. “The past, that is.”

“Not to me. And one way or another they will see reason.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I must simply hope I will live to see the day.” His self-deprecating smile stirred something in her breast, shook her free of this fresh melancholy that had besieged her enough that she found herself able to manage a small twitching of her lips in return.

“As do I,” she murmured in reply, and the seconds ticked by, one by one, as they simply gazed upon each other, a strange sort of spell weaving its way between them, or so she fancied. And perhaps it was not all in her imagination, as she saw his eyes drop to her lips and linger just a moment too long before he seemed to shake himself.

“I should bid you goodnight, I think. ‘Tis probably enough troubling discussion for one night.” He nodded to her, and turned on his heel, making for the door, only drawing up short at the sound of her voice.

Her heart had picked up a frantic beat against her breastbone as she realized he was departing, and she scrambled for something, anything to say, to waylay him for just a bit longer. “Do you play cyvasse, Jon Snow?”

Words whispered in her mind again, his low Northern burr far more playful in her memory than she’d ever heard it in truth, as he turned back to face her, his brows raised in surprise and no small measure of interest, she saw.

Why, we played cyvasse well into the evening, of course. What are you implying?

The memory fled when the man before her smiled warmly. “Aye, Daenerys, when I have the opportunity.”

A hot burst of excitement flared within her, then, and she fought desperately to maintain her composure. “Well, then,” she replied, in a carefully measured tone, “perhaps tomorrow evening you might join me for a match?”

“I think I’d like that very much. I mean no offense,” he said quickly, his eyes twinkling with amusement and a dash of caution, “But there is not much to do on these shores once the sun has set.”

Daenerys had to disagree, internally. There were a great many she could think of, in which he was actively involved, but it would be wildly inappropriate to give voice to such things now. “Let us meet here, then. Tomorrow evening?”

She thought she was the same eagerness in his gaze as what dwelt within her, but she would not, could not allow her imagination to run rampant in regards to the King in the North. She had a great many tasks set before her, after all. Best to be practical, where he was concerned. But she smiled when he echoed her reply, his teeth flashing as he grinned. “Tomorrow, then.”

The door shut quietly behind him, and she was alone, again, with the ghosts of the past, and the dreams that seemed impossible to rid herself of completely.

[hidden-otaku-stuff]

Different but the Same (pt 5)

tw: Mention of blood, implied dubcon

Word count: ~2.6k

Rating: R18+/M

Omegaverse AU, Rating: 18+/M

Pairings: Iwaizumi x fem!reader, Ushijima x fem!reader

Summary: An unexpected encounter at the Inter-High tournament tossed you into a whirlwind. Being tugged between two males, two different packs, who will reign supreme in this battle for your heart?

Masterlist | prev | next

ch 5: the college team

It had been weeks since she had started as the Omega Manager of Shiratorizawa Academy’s boys volleyball team. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened so far. There had been an incident the first week or so that involved regulating her pheromones which caused Coach Washijo to yell at her and almost kick her out, but thankfully Saito and Ushijima were able to step in and help defend her. It helped her case when she’d broken up a banter-turned-fight between Goshiki and Shirabu that same day. Since then, though, Goshiki followed her like a lost puppy to the amusement of his senpais. “(Name)-san, can you please give me tips on how to receive better?” Her eyebrows raised at the passionate youngster as she waved him off. 

“I’ll help you later, Goshiki-kun. I have to take care of something right now.” She had been half-way out the door in order to meet the college team that was coming to play them. 

“You know you don’t have to always help him.” Maple washed over her as the ash-blonde alpha towered besides her.

She chuckled, “I’m the manager, I have to help take care of this pack!” He walked out with her as she made her way to the gate. She glanced at her wrist, looking at the rose-gold watch that she wore. “They’re running a bit late.” 

“Not everyone shows up 15 minutes early,” he laughed. They reached the gate and stood in silence. She surveyed the alpha, taking note of his taped up fingers. “You’ve been doing really well.” Their eyes met as her eyebrows raised. “As our manager!” Semi added quickly. “Practices have been a lot calmer since you’ve joined, and you’ve been really helpful with all the tips and side practice that you’ve been giving. I know Goshiki and the other underclassmen appreciate the extra attention.” A flush warmed her cheeks as she adjusted her jacket.

“Don’t get all cheesy with me now, Semi. I know you just like my company,” she winked playfully, ignoring the glow. He laughed and agreed just as a bus pulled up. “This must be them!” A tall dark-haired man got off of the bus, walking over to greet the duo as his team unloaded. “Good afternoon, my name is (L.Name) (Name), the manager for the Shiratorizawa Academy male volleyball team. Thank you for traveling here to play with us!” 

“Well hello to you, doll,” the captain’s drawl cut across the professional precedent she set. “I didn’t realize there were such beautiful girls here, makes me regret going somewhere else for school,” he chuckled darkly. 

“Hello, I’m Semi Eita. We appreciate you coming. If you’ll come with us, we’ll escort you to the gym.” Semi interrupted, taking a step so that he blocked her from the new alpha’s vision. The other alpha scoffed slightly, calling for his team over his shoulder. Semi bent to whisper into her ear, “stay by my side, I don’t like the looks of this guy.” 

With a soft nod, a forced smile made its way to her face. “If you’ll follow us,” she said, turning around to walk towards the gym. She thanked her lucky stars that she was wearing her loose sweatpants and t-shirt for this game. She would’ve hated to see what the college alpha would’ve done if she was in anything more form-flattering. 

“Kirishima-san, welcome,” Ushijima stood at the gym’s entrance, nodding at the other captain. “Thank you for bringing your team out here.” 

Kirishima waved him off, “Ushijima,” the drawl returned, “it’s always a pleasure to come play with our kouhais. I know my boys were just aching to show you guys up again.” Ushijima only smiled, nodding in appreciation. The young Omega stepped away, feeling uncomfortable at the tension. Semi jerked his head in the direction of the coaches, and she headed to stand besides Saito. 

“Is everything alright?” Saito looked down at the Omega, noticing a slight tremble in her steps and the barely noticeable bitter tang in her scent. She’s done a lot to learn how to better manage her pheromones, the coach thought.  

“I can’t wait to see Ushijima wipe the floor with that team,” she grumbled, eyes narrowed on the opponent. “Speaking of which, I prepared some onigris for our boys.” Her scent immediately brightened at the thought as she turned to grin at the coach. Dark eyes surveyed her in the distance, glowing at the scent change. 

“You’re too kind, (Name)-kun. You can set up a table so that they can have it during their break,” he smiled, pointing to a space on the opposite side of the room. Nodding eagerly, she made her way over, taking careful measures to avoid the courts as the teams began their warm-ups. 

“Watch out!” A whistling filled the air as a ball flew towards her. Her eyes widened as it approached. In a flash, she dropped to her knees as she put her arms up, successfully receiving it and sending it back the direction it had come from. A sigh of relief as she stood back up, brushing off her sweats. 

“I didn’t know you could receive like that.” Her back tingled as she turned to face Ushijima who had stopped in front of her. It was apparent that he had tried to stop the ball from reaching her. Besides him, Semi’s jaw was dropped. 

“Wow, (Name)-san! Did you play volleyball before?” Goshiki appeared besides her, bouncing in excitement as his fists trembled at his sides. 

“Nothing as exciting as that, Goshiki-kun.” Another giggle. “I’m just around volleyball a lot.” Her catchphrase. (E/C) eyes met olive ones as he nodded at her. “Now go finish your warm-ups! I’m looking forward to seeing you win,” she winked at the ace before turning on her heel to continue towards the table. 

“That was pretty impressive,” Semi muttered under his breath as the trio went to rejoin the team. Silently, Ushijima agreed. He already knew the Omega had some prior experience with volleyball considering the advice she’d been giving out, but to think she had relatively good reflexes like that...he would have to ask her about it more later. 

The practice game proceeded, with Shiratorizawa taking the first set, losing the second, and eventually winning with the last set. It was a close game throughout. Males scattered around the room as alumni chatted with guys they knew. After receiving the ball, she hadn’t had a chance to set-up the table. She wiped her forehead; she had been running around the room as she took notes. For players who weren’t involved in the game, there was individual practice littering the other courts. The college students were working with the first years and certain second years while the starting line-up played the college students. Washijo had her running between the individuals to make notes of what they were working on, while Saito had her come back to the main court here and there to have her examine techniques. It was almost like Washijo was trying to get her to quit by the way he was working her. She was completely, utterly exhausted. “Omega-chan~!” A hand clasped over her shoulder, and she grimaced before looking up at a beaming red-headed male. A sigh of relief left her, at least it wasn’t the college captain. Throughout the game, she had noticed his eyes on her as he sent her not-so-subtle winks. “You look exhausted! Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Do you mind running to the club room? There are trays of onigiris in the fridge there that I made for the team.” He cheered in delight, clapping his hands together. He saluted her before spinning on his heel, darting out of the gym. “And don’t eat any before you get back here!” She shouted after his retreating back. Another deep breath of relief. She had just been wondering how she was going to carry all of the onigiri into the gym. Looking around the gym, a rush of satisfaction filled her. Though she hadn’t been manager long, it was still nice to see how the boys in her temporary pack had improved in the short amount of time she’d been observing them. She closed her small notebook, tucking both it and her pen into the belt-bag slung over her chest. 

“Where’s your manager at?” Her ears pricked, noticing Taichi and Hayato standing with some of the college students. Kirishima heard the question, approaching the group while laughing loudly. The college students exchanged looks. 

“Yui is a bit...preoccupied.” The older libero replied just as Kirishima threw his arm around him.

“You don’t have to hide anything from them. Especially now that they have their own Omega manager.” His eyes glinted as his eyes focused on the Omega. “One of our players is going through a rut.” Her movements froze as she paid even closer attention. 

“That’s so cute that your manager is mated to one of the players!”

Kirishima laughed, his eyes darkened hungrily. “Oh no, they aren’t mated. It’s the duty of the Omega to take care of all the Alphas in her pack, including during their ruts.” She froze, those words washing over her and echoing. 

“You mean (Name)-san will be there for our ruts?” Goshiki had joined the group now, catching the last bit of the conversation. His eyes looking at the Omega, the sparkle of interest and a hint of lust burning through them. 

A hand clasped her shoulder sending sparks flying through her spine as she shivered at the contact, “That may be the case in your pack, but we respect Omegas in this pack. It’s up to (L. Name) whether or not she wants to.” Ushijima’s deep voice soothed her, eyes darkening as he challenged the other Alpha. He took a step forward, his chest almost pressing against her back.

Kirishima just put his hands up, shrugging. “That’s such a...modern perspective Ushijima. That definitely wasn’t that case when my packmates went here.” He was about to continue when a sharp growl cut him off. (E/C) eyes blinked up at the Apex Alpha, feeling his grip tighten on her as his lips began to curl. “No harm, I wasn’t trying to imply anything.”

“Ushijima-kun.” Coach Washijo joined the group now. 

Ushijima stiffened against her. She could feel his muscles tighten and a flicker of desire and perhaps even something more coursed through her before they both relaxed. “Of course, Coach.” 

At this point, Tendou rejoined the group. “(Name)-chan! These onigris are phenomenal~! We need you at our camp, your food would be amazing.” Tendou had the tray over his head in on hand, the other holding two onigiri as he bit into one.

“How many did you eat, Tendou?” She exclaimed, pulling away from Ushijima as she tried to get the tray. The red-haired middle blocker laughed, holding it higher mockingly. With a playful growl, the Omega jumped, kicking him in the stomach causing him to bend over slightly just as she grabbed the tray. “I told you not to eat any,” she scolded, smacking him again as he groaned in pain.

“I couldn’t help it, we had a long practice and it smelled delicious,” he gave her puppy eyes as she sighed. Turning on her heel, she made her way over to the table, and soon enough, both teams were swarming around her. 

“I’d mate that Omega in an instant.” Ushijima’s eyes snapped up, meeting Kirishima’s golden ones as the older Alpha smirked at him. “She takes such good care of the pack, and I’d just love to feel that body against mine. If Shiratorizawa doesn’t use her, then we’d love to have another manager.” Kirishima continued, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as his eyes glowed. He had just begun to describe what type of things he would do to the Omega when he noticed how black Ushijima’s eyes had gotten.

Ushijima’s loud snarl interrupted the otherwise happy atmosphere when he lunged at Kirishima. “Ushijima-san!” An onigiri fell onto the floor, slipping out of her loose fingers as she ran towards the conflict. The strawberry scent interrupted his concentration, his eyes snapping to her just as Kirishima upper-cut him. Ushijima grunted before he turned back to Kirishima and went on the offensive. “Stop!” She grabbed onto his arm, frantically trying to tug him away. Arms wrapped around her waist, swinging her away from the conflict. Agitated chirps blended in with the snarls and growls of the Alphas. Anxiously, she tugged at the arms struggling as the potent sour strawberry scent filled the gym.

“(Name)! Calm down and let the Alphas take care of it. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Semi’s gruff voice was in her ear, arms tightening as he pulled her away. She blinked away tears from her eyes, her scent souring even more as she witnessed with horror as Ushijima delivered a powerful blow to Kirishima’s face. Kirishima crumpled onto the floor, nose bleeding. Just as he was about to jump back up onto his feet, his pack-mates grabbed his arms and pulled him away. Tendou, Soekawa, and Reon were grabbing onto Ushijima, but the massive Alpha remained primed to fight as he glared at the wounded Alpha. 

“You should show some respect to Omegas, especially ones you supposedly want to claim,” Ushijima growled. With that, he pulled away and stepped outside. Semi’s grip relaxed, and the Omega darted out.

“Ushijima-san!” He froze, looking down at the young Omega. Her eyes softened as she looked at his hands. “You’re bleeding.” Her hands cupped his, soft fingers lightly tracing the bloody knuckles. Pulling out a small first aid kit from her bag, she escorted him to a nearby bench. He followed silently, taking deep calming breaths and letting her scent wash over him. As he took a seat, he closed his eyes, letting her gently wipe the blood away with a disinfectant wipe. “Mind telling me what that was about?” A hum left his lips as olive eyes met (e/c). 

A soft sigh escaped him. “He was being...disrespectful towards you.” Her eyebrow pulled up, letting her silence egg him to speak further as she began wrapping his hand up. A loud sigh left him. “He wanted to claim you as his mate and do...vulgar things to you.” He inhaled deeply, letting her scent soothe him. Just the mere thought of Kirishima’s comments had his blood boiling. His head dropped to lightly land against her shoulder, nose brushing dangerously close to her scent gland. Ushijima was relieved that the bitterness had faded back to her soothing sweet scent. 

A soft laugh left her. “Well, thank you for protecting my virtue.” He stiffened slightly before straightening up, unsure of the subtext of her comment. At his face, she began to laugh earnestly. “I’m serious!” She brushed away the tears of mirth from her face. “I know things happened between us, but that was out of our control. At the end of the day, you’re my Alpha.” His heart skipped a beat at those words; Ushijima straightened up completely, olive eyes scanning her face intently. She flushed red as she brushed her hair away from her face. “I mean, you’re the Alpha of this pack,” she corrected, “and I know you’ll do whatever it takes to keep me safe.” Maple scent engulfed them as they were joined by Semi. Relieved by the interruption, the Omega turned to face him. “Is he alright?”

“Yes, Kirishima’s fine,” Semi rolled his eyes. “Their team left though, practically fell over themselves at the door.” She giggled, that would’ve been a sight to see. “C’mon, coach wants you to take down the nets and mop. We gotta clean up the blood too.” Standing up, she gave Ushijima a nod before she stepped back into the room with Semi trailing behind her. 

Ushijima stood, making his way to stand in the doorway as he surveyed the Omega and the rest of his pack. His heart stuttered as she laughed while ruffling Goshiki’s hair. This is where she belonged.

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