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staryuee · 1 day ago

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hi ! ru still taking reqs? if so i hv one for u:

diluc, ei, ganyu, itto, venti and xiao's reactions when u tell them ur from another world?

kinda like traveler lowkey - since traveler did introduce u to [char]. so what happens when they clear out the fog of your origins? (lets also make u extremely overpowered 👍)

my apologies for the abundance of characters i want u to write for :( - i may or may not think out of all the people who's works i've read ur the best? aoqooqoao don't mind that but tysm if u take my req! ily :D

S/O THAT’S FROM ANOTHER WORLD

꒰warnings꒱ honkai star rail references, not proofread oopsie

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, venti, zhongli, ganyu, xiao, ei, itto

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . i’m currently on a hsr grind so i just decided to steal both that universe and technically the elements of honkai impact to feed into my delusions ♡

traversing the planets that sprinkle the gorgeous celestial galaxy above has led you to a sticky situation. for the past several months you’ve been wandering around the land known as ‘teyvat’ with the kind traveler aiding you as someone who understands your predicament all too well.

it wouldn’t have been so weird for you as a trailblazer - after all, a nameless’s job is to explore the cosmos and the planets that dot the universe - but what made it undoubtedly difficult was the fact you were: A. alone. B. in a whole different branch of the imaginary tree. C. completely attached to a person from this precarious world.

see, over the course of your adventure you’ve met so many different types of people; some the equivalent of scraping nails on a chalkboard and some…or should i say someone, who’s been at your loving side ever since their heart skipped a beat for you.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

ʚ diluc doesn’t like to assume things unless it’s built on a foundation of logic and evidence. so this was an absolute surprise to him.

ʚ your sweet and silly habits, the little mumbles you kept to yourself, your reliance on him to converse with others…he thought those were just endearing quirks of yours! not because you were from a whole other world!!

ʚ listen, he’s not mad, per se. you’re the love of his life (as absolutely corny as that sounds), but he doesn’t appreciate having something like this be brought up so randomly and not with precaution. the traveler was one thing, this was another. he loved you. he needs to sit down for a moment…

ʚ in the grand scheme of things, this revelation made a lot of sense. there were moments you mentioned little tidbits about your personal life where it had him scratching his head. you were freely allowed to have secrets and friends outside of mondstadt…but it came to a point where he was absolutely sure you were making things up.

ʚ what do you mean you reminded him of a man called argenti? he didn’t particularly enjoy getting compared to another man of all things…but you seemed pretty happy with yourself so he’ll let it slide. you’re missing someone named…kiana? well, he’s not exactly sure who that is, but he’d be happy to escort you to meet them?

ʚ it was sweet, really—how much he tried to appease your little waves of nostalgia and nights of sorrow with nonchalant compliance while he had no knowledge of your situation. but, now that he has…everything has become so much more convoluted.

ʚ he’s already a man of very few words, preferring actions to prove his love than mere bluffs—but how was he meant to show you anything when all you ever want is something out of his reach?

ʚ diluc has never been in a position where he couldn’t give someone he loved something they desired. you manage to surprise him even now.

ʚ aside from the guilt he feels about not being able to give you more than a hug and a kiss with a muttered “it’ll be okay, sweetheart”, he’s utterly proud and in awe of you.

ʚ you were truly something else in battle. fierce, swift, barely visible through smoke and gashes of elements bombarding together like an alchemy lesson gone wrong—he couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

ʚ if diluc was one for relaxing in fairytale bliss, he wouldn’t hesitate to lean back as you slaughtered with delicate ease with a dreamy grin on his face.

VENTI — 温迪

ʚ venti knows every song from the past, present and the future. the future being the most helpful for situations like this.

ʚ but he certainly didn’t expect for you to just say it out right! i mean, he had suspicions (you called him wendy upon your first meeting, he immediately knew there was something curious about you…), but you’ve never really mentioned it before.

ʚ his initial reaction was a mix of unbridled curiosity and utter joy. he has SO many questions which he will let you use as payment instead of mora for every ballad and sonnet he sings for you. but also… you trusted him with this information? fr? (>﹏<)

ʚ he is SO down for you to chat shit about people who pissed you off in your world. will he understand any of the factions or wars involved? nope! but he’s always willing to listen to his windblume when they’re caressing and squshjng at his cheeks as a form of venting relief.

ʚ not only are you a super intriguing storyteller, one that does a heck of a good job to give him the proper material for future ballads, you’re so powerful and talented it makes him shiver! (*≧ω≦)

ʚ he already loved watching your skilful fingers wrap around a weapon…but watching your entire demeanour shift and posture straighten after you’ve left a residue of dust from a hoard of enemies? ooh you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

ʚ there is a certain bittersweetness to your predicament however… being the god of the freedom of all things means a lot of things, but one thing in particular that makes his heart ache: eventually, he’ll have to let you go.

ʚ and not in a dramatic romeo and juliet way, or an anti-commitment way—in the way that this isn’t your home. and venti would never deprive you of the chance to see your own peers and family.

ʚ what’s a little distance to a god who’s already been alone for most his life anyway?

ZHONGLI — 钟离

ʚ “i know.” were the only words that left his lips as soon as you reveal your identity. he never delves deeper into how he knew; or perhaps he didn’t and is just lying to save face…either way, he remains silent with a complaisant smile as he once again picks up his teacup.

ʚ it’s awfully unsettling how this proclamation is met with such nonchalance, but to be fair, he’s a god, and a dragon at that—he’s seen and been the fault of countless of empires falling and rising, including the one you’re standing in today with qingxin’s in your hair, he’s not fazed, but he is certainly intrigued.

ʚ won’t hesitate to bombard you with questions, slowly of course, he doesn’t wish to overwhelm you.

ʚ it’s not every day he gets to speak with someone who’s from a world completely unlike his own who’s actually willing to share their tales and past. of course the traveler was there to chat about their own experiences, but it always felt like they were leaving portions of their story covered.

ʚ it’s not every day he gets to speak with someone who’s from a world completely unlike his own who’s actually willing to share their tales and past. of course, the traveler was there to chat about their own experiences, but it always felt like they were leaving portions of their story covered.

ʚ he’s suddenly a lot more in tune with your habits and quirks, he enjoys the whole process of guessing what things you’ve adapted to and learn from teyvat and the things you’ve clearly been conditioned into by your past.

ʚ silly things like calling accidentally calling the archons “herrscher”, face suddenly going limp with sorrow at the mention of murata, he also does think it’s a little funny you mimic his osmanthus wine line with one of your own…something to do with life being ephemeral and being filled with worldly strife.

ʚ aside from your unique quirks, another obvious thing that caught his eye was your power. he’s seen many a mortal in his life—some of which had left puffed scarring in his psyche from their sheer strength and will.

ʚ but you? you were something else. he couldn’t even tell if it was just because he loved you so much that anything you did amazed him, or because it was simply endearing to see his partner so nonchalantly powerful.

ʚ he may or may not pull the grandpa card occasionally to watch you in action. Can he technically match you in power? possibly. but you should forgive the old dragon, he merely enjoys watching you get sweaty as he sips tea, is that so wrong?

GANYU — 甘雨

ʚ ganyu is barely awake when she comes home to you, so when you suddenly revealed such news, it abruptly awoke her. yes, she nearly lost a horn in the process—please don’t mention the bump on her forehead.

ʚ despite ganyu being extremely intelligent and quietly observant like an white barn owl with hooded eyes, this was the last thing she expected: was teyvat some sort of resort for outlanders strewn off their course? or did the gods specifically send you down here so you can play with her heart?

ʚ the revelation doesn’t change much apart from your late night pillow talks. suddenly, even the sleepy goat preferred counting the moles and freckles on your skin than imaginary sheep. please do enlighten her about your world!! she will soak up any information and perhaps help you relive some memories with some diy—she’s sure she can remake the food from the xianzhou luofu with some mismatched ingredients!

ʚ one thing that intrigued her immediately about your travels was the place called penacony; you seriously visited a world where dreams were a reality? where you can simply let go of the troubles of life and engage in mindless fun? that was far too out of her realm of imagination, but she was certainly replaying the image you placed in her mind during her late hours at work.

ʚ however…the rest of the story about the dreamy land solidified in her mind that maybe those few hours with ink are worth more than indulging in delusions…

ʚ your martial art skills and general technique with your desired weapon had also piqued her interest, but she had never really put too much emphasis on it or thought to express her curiosity. after all, it’s not like she gets out of liyue much—perhaps this was merely a style from one of the other nations?

ʚ of course, with the present context, she was now even more intrigued! you have to teach her some of those cool choreography moves! you practically use the entire battlefield like a dance floor, sliding around to avoid enemy attacks with such poise and grace you’d think you were merely doing ballet. she’s never been so motivated for something so seemingly trivial to you.

ʚ there’s certainly a hint of worry with your whereabouts. after all, doesn’t this mean you’ll eventually have to make it back home? if so, would you be potentially willing to return to her if your heartbeats ever sync again?

XIAO — 魈

ʚ that explains a lot of the mumbles you told him not to worry about where in which you compared him to people he’s never heard of in teyvat - i mean he barely remembers the blurry faces of people he’s encountered but even so.

ʚ i mean who in the world was blade?? like the weapon? if so, that’s a rather cruel comparison for a man used as a killing slave for most his life.

ʚ he did think it was weird that despite your long stay in teyvat, you hadn’t managed to properly integrate yourself into their cultures - though he wasn’t really one to judge you for that, he was born to protect liyue and he still hasn’t got a clue how to socialise, so really? he understood you all too well.

ʚ soon as you admitted to him your story, it’s like all the lanterns in his head suddenly flutter with light. ah, so you’re not just an outcast weirdo—you’re quite literally from a different planet.

ʚ xiao isn’t one to be super intrigued about other people, his life and duty is specifically intended for the protection of liyue and its people. he has no time to wonder about what’s beyond that.

ʚ but…since it’s you, he’ll try. during those alone nights at the inn, him wrapped up in your arms like an injured kitten as you brush away the dark streaks of hair clinging to his bloodied forehead—he’ll ask.

ʚ did you have any friends? any family? did they love you? what sort of things did you experience? …do you miss them?

ʚ he rarely wants the answer to the last one, he shuts it out almost entirely. he can’t bear the thought of you potentially yearning for somewhere, or even someone, that wasn’t him. it was petty and selfish—but for the first time in his sacrificial life, he allowed it.

ʚ as for your power…he’s not one to be impressed by something he was literally designed for, but it was another thing to watch you work so diligently. it was…admirable.

ʚ there’s been times where you’ve surprised him, and unintentionally hurt his ego. he’s supposed to be YOUR protector, he wants to be. because if he isn’t, what else can he be? you can’t just swoop in and snatch him by the waist while he’s in the middle of training because you think he’s in trouble!

RAIDEN EI — 影

ʚ she truly believes she misheard you at first.

ʚ you’re from where? huh? speak up, please before the stoic shogun breaks down.

ʚ you can’t be from somewhere unreachable…you were hers. and now you’re telling her you belong to a whole other world?

ʚ it’s a poignant moment. on one hand, she’s deeply honoured that you trusted her to admit something so important to you, but truly…the idea you were just barely hers made her irrationally upset.

ʚ once she gets over the sulking, ei finds a little peace with you as you retell some stories of your own life. it’s a little healing almost, knowing you handled yourself so fiercely without her need of protection.

ʚ another raiden shogun? well you better pray you hadn’t dated because otherwise…she’s not sure she can keep that purple electricity of hers in check enough to not leave a branch-like streak across your face (she wouldn’t dare no matter how tempting the idea of branding you as hers the thought may be).

ʚ yae sakura and miko though? now that was certainly interesting. at least she finally had a conversation starter with the kitsune that strayed from the typical teasing.

ʚ you must know that she will absolutely be using this information against you, in the most lighthearted manner of course.

ʚ no it’s actually very normal in the inazuman custom for a shogun to eat a handful of sweets before dinner, you simply haven’t heard of it! yup she also must be the little spoon at night no matter how much smaller or bigger you are from her—it’s a status thing, so come on, get to it.

A. ITTO — 荒泷一��

ʚ OH SHIT??

ʚ unexpected, bewildered and absolutely enamoured.

ʚ not only did he manage to bag an absolute gorgeous partner, one that could kick ass like it was second nature, but also one that was from some super cool other world?! oh babe you shouldn’t have said anything, he will absolutely chew your ear off with this.

ʚ nonstop talking and questioning— did you have things like this in your world?? when reference to the most common items. dig you also have rain? did you wake up before dawn or was it always night in your realm? do you have family? what were they like? friends? gasp LOVERS?

ʚ ooh he suddenly couldn’t take it. he knows you’re the most beautiful, handsomest, prettiest person alive—but just the thought of someone else—someone who he couldn’t fight!!—thinking the same thing before he ever did made his stomach feel all funny.

ʚ were there monsters and freaks in your world too? and did you love them as much as you hopefully loved him?

ʚ he knows it’s a little unfair to expect you to only have had eyes for him, but for the sake of his ego…it’s much better to keep past romantic endeavours to yourself. he’s currently more than content that the great arataki itto is your first TEYVAT! boyfriend. no other dude from some shammy planet could change that significant status.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

#aaahhh i’m so swamped with exams. i need reprieve…#pls don’t take psychology. or art. or english lit…╭(╯3╰)╮#genshin x reader #gi x reader #genshin x gnreader #genshin x you #diluc x reader #venti x reader #zhongli x reader #ganyu x reader #xiao x reader #ei x reader #raiden shogun x reader #raiden x reader #itto x reader #genshin x gn!reader

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zepskies · 3 days ago

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I saw your reply to a comment and I don't understand why you get so defensive when someone criticizes your writing. Isn't that allowed? That's the problem with Tumblr these days. There are only small groups and anyone who doesn't belong isn't tolerated. I enjoyed reading your stories, but I also found several things that made no sense. It's a shame that criticism is simply ignored.

Ah, what a lovely message to wake up to! 😂

Hello, “anon.” I think I know who you are, but for the sake of this I’ll refer to you as anon.

I believe you’re referencing a comment someone made on If I Stay - Part 2, where they basically said, "This makes no sense and I couldn't bother to finish reading it anyway." What you're saying is it made no sense to you. And as you can see, I don't ignore criticism, I respectfully responded.

You're asking me to tolerate rudeness, anon. I've been writing for about nineteen years, since I was 10 years old. I've gone through a lot of growth as a writer since then, and I still am. I'm not a perfect writer, nor am I expecting everyone to love everything I write.

However, there is a world of difference between "constructive criticism" and "rude criticism."

Constructive criticism takes many forms, but it can look like this:

"There were things I liked about this story [name an example], but I'm sorry, this aspect I just didn't understand/didn't vibe with [insert example]."

^That kind of thing I can respect. It's about the delivery. I've had meaningful discourse with people who didn't vibe with things about my work. We talked it out like adults. However, the comment, "This makes no sense and I couldn't bother to finish reading it anyway" is not constructive. It's a rude, disrespectful complaint.

I spend several days, even weeks or months outlining, researching, drafting, and editing my stories before I post them here and on Ao3 (for free), as many writers do. Because we care about our work and a lot of us take writing seriously.

It takes someone just a few minutes to read something, and just a few seconds to write a negative comment like that.

The only way I know you've "enjoyed my stories" is if you comment and/or reblog a story. That particular person has only ever posted negative comments on my work; therefore, I can only assume they don't like my stories.

"Don't like, don't read" is a thing in fandom for a reason. Words have power, and at their worst, they can make or break a writer's will to write and share more stories (again, for free). It's a very personal thing to write and be creative, and it can be doubly scary for new writers to share them publicly.

So you can ignore this and continue leaving comments like that for writers if you want to, but I doubt it will earn you many friends in the fandom. At least, not from the writers you claim to like.

#addressing complaints and criticism #spn #supernatural #spn fandom #well good morning #zepskies answers

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coochiequeens · 2 days ago

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Good News for women! If it passes the state senate.

Published: Mar. 20, 2025, 11:05 a.m.

By Mike Cason | [email protected]

Alabama consumers would no longer pay the state sales tax on diapers, baby formula, menstrual hygiene products and other items under a bill approved today by the House of Representatives.

The bill, by Rep. Neil Rafferty, D-Birmingham, would save taxpayers an estimated $13 million a year by removing the 4% state sales tax.

The exemption does not apply to county and municipal sales taxes unless approved by county commissions or city councils.

The legislation follows several other tax cut bills approved by the House on Tuesday.

Rafferty’s bill applies the tax exemption to baby formula, baby bottles, baby wipes, breast milk pumping equipment, breast pump, diapers, maternity clothing, and menstrual hygiene products.

The House adopted an amendment by Rep. Ginny Shavers, R-Leesburg, to apply the exemption to adult diapers.

The bill passed by a vote of 102-0. It moves to the Senate.

On Tuesday, the House passed a bill to reduce the state sales tax on food from 3% to 2%, which is estimated to save taxpayers about $123 million a year.

Another bill approved Tuesday would increase a state income tax exemption on income withdrawn from individual retirement accounts and 401(k) accounts from $6,000 to $12,000. Taxpayers 65 and older would be eligible for the exemption.

That bill is estimated to save taxpayers about $45 million a year.

A third bill passed on Tuesday would make several changes to the state income tax that would save taxpayers an estimated $25 million a year.

All the bills passed without a dissenting vote. They all move to the Senate.

Lawmakers still face a decision on whether to extend an exemption to the state income tax on overtime pay, which has been in effect since January 2024.

That exemption is scheduled to expire at the end of June. House Democrats held a news conference on Wednesday calling for the exemption to be made permanent.

The overtime exemption saved taxpayers $230 million during the first nine months of 2024, according to the Alabama Department of Revenue.

Lawmakers are trying to balance the benefits of tax cuts for citizens and the impact on the Education Trust Fund, which relies mainly on income taxes and sales taxes to support public schools.

#usa #Alabama #Tampon tax #Rep. Neil Rafferty D-Birmingham

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mutated-green-things · 2 days ago

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Stop Me if You've Heard This One Before

Words: 5,189

Pairing: April O'Neil & Leonardo, Leonardo/Usagi

Rating: T

Summary: Leonardo isn’t supposed to be here. He shouldn’t be skulking outside April’s window, working up the courage to knock. He should be healing, should be working on letting go of his self-directed rage, but he can feel the thorny question at the forefront of his mind ripping at stitches, unraveling the progress he’s made thus far. He has to expel the sharp edges somehow or soon he’ll be right back to where he started. And April will get it. April will understand. At least, he hopes so.

There’s more than one part of Leonardo that rebels against raising his hand and knocking on April O’Neil’s window. There will be questions, oh so many questions, and he knows he can only handle so many of those right now.

It’s late too. It would be impolite. He says this to himself like it’s an actual argument, but the sun has really only just set and April is a New Yorker, she too never really sleeps.

And she’s the only one who would understand. He hopes.

So he reigns in the rebelling parts of himself and raps his bulky hand against the glass. There’s a bit of shuffling and then sure enough, she answers. She’s clearly in an outfit that is more comfort than style, but she doesn’t look tired. Less so when she sees Leo’s face. Her eyes widen as they’re filled with sparks of surprise, and for a moment she just stares.

“Leonardo?” She blinks, then squints, like she’s sure she must have the wrong turtle. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a different dimension right now?”

Leo supposes that’s a fair question, but it isn’t one he’s entirely sure how to answer. He waves a hand back and forth and makes a sort of ’ehhhh’ sound. Then when her face starts to turn stern and disapproving, he jumps into his explanation.

“I’m feeling better! I think. I mean, I am. It’s just…” How does he explain this? Does he tell her all of it? He can barely even look at her right now, preferring instead to stare at his scaly, twiddling fingers.

Apparently, something about that is enough. When Leonardo looks up again, she doesn’t look confused or disappointed, instead her face has fallen into a melancholic kind of concern. She opens the window the slightest bit wider and steps back before gesturing Leo inside.

He double checks to make sure no one sees him, that he’s not been tailed. After several months away from New York, he’s glad to see so many of his instincts are still holding up. That, at least, is one small island of reassurance in the racing current of his mind. He doesn’t see or sense any watching eyes or mysterious shadows, so he steps into April’s apartment and out of the early spring chill.

“You can sit wherever. I was just making—“ A kettle whistles from around the corner. She gestures toward the sound, then slips into her too small kitchen to silence it.

Leo doesn’t sit. He’s too amped for that right now and is busy taking in all the little things he missed while in Usagi Miyamoto’s world. Central electric heating. He hadn’t worried about that in a long time, hadn’t thought about it. Not since they’d turned… eight? He remembered worrying about all the wiring work Don was doing around that age, so that was probably right. Maybe nine. Definitely not ten. Only a decade couldn’t be long enough ago, right?

Second Earth had quickly reacquainted him with sturdy iron stoves and the frigid nights without them.

The blazing electric lights in April’s apartment have almost become a wonder too, after being away for so long. Not their ease of use. He had prepared to miss that. In period pieces candles had always seemed… so much brighter, but actually trying to work or write or anything by candlelight was a hellish exercise in absolute frustration. How Usagi managed it without the eye strain headaches he would never understand.

“Is lavender still your favorite?” April calls from the kitchen and warmth radiates from Leo’s chest all the way up to his smile.

“You remembered,” he calls back.

She comes back around the corner with a teapot and two cups in hand almost too quickly. Too quickly for her to have been waiting for an answer on flavor anyway. She has a wry smile on her face. “Of course I remembered, you doof. You’re all so distinct about these sorts of things it’s kind of hard to forget.” As she sets down the pot, she gestures to the couch, insisting that he sit down now.

He finally does, saying very matter-of-factly in his best imitations of Mikey’s ‘I’m choosing to be obnoxious right now’ voice, “I’ll have you know that I have been turned into a jasmine turtle as of late. The flavor profile isn’t as light as I usually prefer but the deeper notes are—“

She throws a pillow at him. He laughs, and gods is it good to talk to her again. Actually talk to her, casually, without everything feeling like a deadly threat or without the world actually about to end. Whether or not she can help him, he’s glad he went to her first. His family— no, his brothers and father— would have been all somberly proud about a recovery he isn’t even sure he’s completed yet.

She still sees it though, still smiles at him with an ease he doesn’t remember from the months before he went to go frolicking across second earth. He even smiles at that thought. That’s how he thought of it before leaving, but his time on Second Earth has been anything but easy.

“You really are doing better, huh? I haven’t seen you this relaxed in…” she takes a deep breath, “I mean. It’s been a while. We all hoped Usagi might be able to help but—“

Leo winces inadvertently at hearing Usagi’s name outside his own mind.

April flinches too, face quickly flickering into a deep frown. “Uh-oh. I don’t like that look. Did something happen? Are you two fighting?”

He laughs at that too, but this is a laugh from before any of the darkness had started lifting. Cold and bitter and absolutely devoid of the warm joy he was feeling earlier. Because really, if only it were that simple. If they were both at fault, then they could just talk things over, could just make amends, but the situation Leo’s in is all his own doing. Or… he tries to reframe it. The fault of someone else who hurt him maybe? Usagi told him the self-blame came from scars unhealed. Maybe that’s the issue. He wants to think so, but when the wrongness is inside him, his body, his feelings, his hurt, he can’t really think of who else could be blamed.

“Leo, c’mon. What’s up? I know you came here for a reason.” She reaches toward him with one hand across the antique coffee table. His eyes dart past her manicured nails to the teapot and cups. The earthenware is immediately recognizable. It’s a gift from Donnie and him, from about three Christmases ago.

“Is it still steeping?” He’s starting to smell the gentle aroma of lavender now. He’s surprised by how much he missed it. Usagi loves jasmine tea and Leo enjoys it enough that he doesn’t argue. He feels a little like he can’t, what with everything Usagi has done for him. With everything he keeps doing.

“You know it is,” April says through a scowl. “What’s wrong, Leonardo? You’re—“

He picks up one of the onyx black yunomi. “Is the set still holding together well?” She’s using his full name and he just— he can’t handle that right now. Not yet. So instead, he traces the veins of gold kintsugi that wind and skitter against the black with a finger.

April sighs and mercifully relents. “Yeah. I only use the cups when I have company, but the teapot is… I mean I don’t have a lot of them. I didn’t drink a lot of tea before I met you four, but it’s still my favorite. I use it all the time and there’s never been any cracks or issues with the bonding.”

“I’m glad,” he replies, and even without the tea the warmth is back in his chest as he continues to trace the golden cracks.

Donnie had been the one to find the set in the landfill. Three cups and the pot, though they’re pretty sure there were originally four. There had been minuscule bits of sharp earthenware scattered all around where Donnie had found it, like a pile of dangerous black sand. None of those tiny pieces matched any of the existing cups or the pot, and there hadn’t been enough to make a full other cup, so they couldn’t know for sure, but really, what else could it be?

The mystery didn’t matter much anyway. Something so quality so intact was always a great find, and Donnie didn’t hesitate to gather it all up into his duffel. He’d planned to repair it as he usually did. Glue and paint to hide any cracks, but Leo had taken one look and demanded it become a joint project

They practiced for weeks, following YouTube tutorials, public library books, on any dish they could get their hands on. They weren’t perfect. Leo can see the little bumps and blips in the gold even now, but they’re still beautiful, stunning really. Gold against black is always such a brilliant contrast.

“Leonardo?” His eyes lift and sees that April’s slight frown is accompanied by a furrowed brow now. “The tea still has a minute left, but if you don’t start talking, I’m going to start pouring.” Her tone is mostly worry, but there’s also the smallest bite of annoyed anger there too.

He sets the cup down, taking in the table as he does. Then he puts as much apology as he can into his smile. “Sugar?”

“Leo!”

“Okay that one isn’t a stall. I really—“

“Ugh! Yeah, I remember that too. Fine then. I’m grabbing it, but only ‘cause it’s still steeping.” She gets up, all forceful and irate, then stomps off to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder as she does, ”I swear to god Leo, if I come back and you’ve done the ninja disappearing thing I am going to be so mad.”

He considers it. He even stares out the window. He still isn’t sure if he’s ready to do this, but then he thinks about the look on Usagi’s face and how fiercely he tried to hide the dejected shadows there. He really does need… no, more important than that, he wants April’s help. He wants to understand exactly what went wrong. He wants to know how to make the clunky weirdness go away. He wants Usagi to smile at him like that again, like all his cracks and flaws and scars have been filled with brilliant, beautiful gold, like he did before Leo’s… everything ruined it all.

So he stays. April comes back with the sugar and a relieved kind of sigh. “Thank you.”

He smiles again, still all shrinking apologies.

She smiles back, and even if the grin is a tight one, it’s clear enough that she’s only this upset because she cares. “Now,” she says as she picks up the pot, “I am going to pour tea and you are going to talk.”

“Is that—“

“Leonardo.” She starts pouring. Her voice brooks no argument. Leo nods.

“Right um… where to start. Well. Usagi— he. I mean, I was sort of—” Leo realizes only now that he’s unsure if he ever actually officially came out to April. She knows. She has to. His brothers tease too much about celebrity and cartoon crushes for her not to. He’s pretty sure she’s even gotten in on it once or twice, but he still can’t quite recall if he ever said the words ‘I’m gay’ to her specifically.

There’s nothing for it now though, and he knows that of all of his family, she isn’t about to judge. Still, he waits for her to finish pouring the steaming hot tea. “We… we kissed.”

Her expression doesn’t even change.

“And?”

“And? And! We kissed! I mean, I— wasn’t even. Really expecting it? Usagi is a good, great friend, but we were gazing at the stars and— why aren’t you more freaked out by this! I kissed someone! My first kiss! With another guy!”

She raises a slim, perfect eyebrow. “Leo, I know you’re gay. You really think I’d have a problem with it?”

“Well! No but… I mean. Usagi and I are really good friends but— I mean that’s kind of all we are and… and I thought this would be a bigger deal!”

She blows on her cup of tea, then begins dropping little teaspoons of sugar into it, responding as she does. “Leo, you’ve had a very obvious crush on Usagi ever since you met him at the battle nexus. I’m pretty sure Raph and Casey had started taking bets on when you’d make your move.” She pauses, another little pile of sugar poised above her cup. “Or was it who would make the first move?”

“Bets…?” Leo murmurs.

“Anyway, you kissed! That’s— well isn’t that a good thing?”

“Wait, what was that about bets?”

“Ask Raph or Casey. Or maybe Donnie. I think he might have been facilitating formal odds or something.” She waves off the idea of a gambling ring based on his romantic status with a flick of her fingers. “Why isn’t this a good thing? You looked downright devastated.”

He opens his mouth to ask about the gambling again. Then shuts it. Later. He’ll be having words with all of them. Later.

“It was a good thing. Or I think it was a good thing. It just didn’t… didn’t feel right.”

She smiles like she understands, which means that she doesn’t. Not yet anyway. “Look, I hate to break it to you, but first kisses are never like the movies. My first kiss was messy. I’m sure Casey’s was too. Noses bump, teeth crack together, heck my sister ended up getting her braces tangled up and locked together with another set! She and the guy were both mortified. I don’t think I’ve seen her face that red since.”

Leo’s nose scrunches up. “Really?”

“Yep. They had to make an emergency orthodontist appointment. But hey! She laughs about it now. Whatever happened, I’m sure in a couple years it’ll probably just seem funny.” Her smile is still all sympathetic understanding, which is sweet, but if this were just about awkward mistakes, he wouldn't have come to her. He probably wouldn’t have gone to anyone. He knows what he wants to ask, but he also knows once the question leaves his lips there’s no stuffing it back in. There’s no pretending like he didn’t know what he meant.

He bites his lip and tiptoes toward the line anyway, hoping he can get the answers he wants without tripping over it, knowing that’s probably impossible. “It wasn’t that. Not really. I mean… it was kinda perfect at first, y’know? He was really gentle with me and…” he goes back to inspecting the teapot. He just can’t look April in the eye when he says, “I mean, he’s soft. He’s a rabbit so that only makes sense. And that was nice. But…”

“Did he push you too far?” April asks.

Leo can’t see her expression. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to. Especially when he shakes his head and responds. “No. I pushed. I shifted and it was all—“ how can he express it without the reality crashing down? If he says the words, if April figures it out, it all becomes real and the barriers, the obstacles, every single potential ‘you can’t’ becomes possible.

Something clogs in his throat. That’s why he came here. Because April would understand, would help him mourn all the impossibilities. He swallows. “He’s older than me. By almost three years. He has more experience, more training. He’s wise and clever and I really admire him. Most of the time it’s like he’s larger than life, y’know? This sword master samurai who for some reason thinks I’m worth being around.”

“Leo—“ he hears the consoling tone in her voice and holds up a hand.

“That isn’t— I’m not done.” He takes a breath. He can guess what she sees, what she’s thinking, and she isn’t entirely wrong. It’s why he doesn’t think his recovery is over. He still hates himself. The reasons have just shifted a bit to the left. “Usagi… he’s also shorter than me. If you count the ears it isn’t by much but even with all that training he’s compact and small. And I’m.” He stares at his bulky, three fingered hand. “I just don’t usually notice it. With the presence he has, with the extra experience and maturity. But I pushed, just a little, and he let me. I had a hand on his cheek and I leaned in and he just folded. Then all I could feel, all I could think about was how— all the ways I’m bigger and clunkier and—“ he clenches his fingers into a heavy wrecking ball. His throat is stuck again, even when he swallows. He knows he wants to cry, but it’s all just lodged and immovable. Another weighty part of him.

April is silent for several long beats, but when she finally does speak, it’s with the horrendous, crushing kind of understanding he’s been so desperate to avoid. “Oh. Oh, Leo…”

He rushes ahead before she can offer anything. Before she can say it either. “How did you know? You know, for sure? That you wanted…” He can’t say it. He can’t speak it into existence. He isn’t strong enough to crush such a fragile, delicate wish. One he’s been holding in his heart longer than he realized. April does it for him.

“That I wanted to be a girl?”

He winces. Then nods. The fear is so horrifically real, but when he opens his wet eyes, he sees that miraculously, the world hasn’t crumbled around him.

April is even smiling at him. She’s reaching out a hand. Now she knows, now she sees, and to Leo’s surprise she doesn’t look consoling or sad like he expected. Her smile is joy and excitement more than anything, genuine and bright. “I think you might already know the answer to that question.”

He swallows. He nods. He brushes away the tears in his eyes before they can finally fall, staining his wrist wraps with salt and despair. “Don’t tell anyone.” He whispers through the heavy thickness in his throat.

April looks confused for a moment, but she nods. “Your secret’s safe with me, but… do you really think your family will care?” Then she pauses, and seems to realize something else. “Will Usagi care? Is that what this is about? Cause if he won’t accept you as a woman, take it from me, he isn’t worth it.”

Leonardo blinks for several moments. He honestly had never even thought about it. Usagi comes from an entirely different culture, one that’s missing over five hundred years of cultural baggage and interaction with western traditions and beliefs. Clearly if he kissed Leo, he doesn’t entirely consider himself straight, but the modern cultural connotations of that word are probably lost on him anyway. Leo hasn’t exactly taken the time to explain the Stonewall Riots to his extra-dimensional, early-Edo-period crush.

“Uh— I don’t. I mean, It might surprise him, but I don’t think… I mean I’m not even sure how odd that would be to him, y’know? He lives in an entirely different dimension that I’ve only experienced for a little over six months. He’s— I’d like to think I know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t— he’d accept— he would be—“ how did he word this?

“He wouldn’t lose any respect for you?” April offers and Leo nods once, sharp and sure.

“Then are you just— I mean if you aren’t ready that’s fine. I shouldn’t judge. I just— I want to understand why you feel that way so maybe I can help.”

The puffing wheeze of air escapes Leo’s lungs before he can help it. It’s not a laugh, not a cough, it’s more pathetic and painful than either of those. “There’s— you can’t help. That’s the problem.”

“I—“ April’s mouth presses into a flat line. Now she looks really confused. “Look I don’t mean to toot my own horn or whatever, but I have kind of done all this before. If you have questions about— about any of it really! Hormones, blockers, make-up. You don’t have to change your name legally so that’s nice, but if you want ideas I already have some rattling around! I don’t know every little thing, but I’m here and I know a lot. I could even like— if you need me for moral support when you tell the fam, or heck even Usagi. I’ve gone to a different dimension before. I can do it again.”

It’s all so sweet and supportive that it makes a couple more tears fall. An inane detail floats up to the top. Something he’s thought about longer than he wants to admit. “I already had a name in mind actually…” Mikey had given him the idea inadvertently while babbling about some comic when they were… eleven? Twelve? Something like that.

His brother had bounced in his seat at the dinner table, telling them all about the superheroine who channeled the sun’s immense power to defeat her enemies. Going from how her supernatural abilities worked, to her armored outfit, to her secret identity and normal human job. He’d asked Mikey to repeat that last one, and then smiled at how something so similar to his own name could be so beautiful and elegant.

Back in the present, April beams at him with the same solar power Leona uses to fight villainy. “Really? That’s awesome! What were you thinking?”

Leonardo’s brain communicates to his body that a dire mistake has been made and he feels every single one of his muscles tense. From the outside it probably looks like a flinch, and he watches as the bright sun of April’s smile dims and then flickers out. She’s faster to recover this time though.

She takes a breath and holds out both hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I know this is a lot. I’m being a lot and changing your whole life around is already scary. I just— I dealt with the beginning scary bits when I was like thirteen and… well to be honest I thought the whole mutant turtle thing would take the bite out of the whole gender thing.” She waves her hands in a way that hints at sculpting something amorphous.

“But you’ve had your whole life to get used to the shell and scales and weird glowing mutagenic mystery substances whereas this— this is all new. And new is always gonna take some adjustment time. So, take as long as you need, okay? But when you wanna lay it all out, I’ll be here.” She reaches out again, only this time, she bends herself forward, not offering a hand but setting her small delicate fingers on Leo’s own clunky, twiddling digits.

This time, he really does flinch. Away from her.

As April responds with her own flinch back, Leo stands up, shoving himself out of the chair, almost spilling his tea.

“Leo I—“

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” He thought, he oh so foolishly believed she would get it, but her ideas are grandiose, bright hope like Michelangelo might be. Like, Usagi might have been if he’d shared?

His friend had spent the last six months trying to get him to see all the little spots of shining joy in the world. Usagi hadn’t babied him, hadn’t told Leo it would all work out or be okay in the end. He’d acknowledged that fear and failure were simple inevitabilities. But then he’d turned Leo’s eyes to all he’d been missing. The little beautiful sights, sounds, tastes and feelings of the world. He’d urged Leo onward with those, telling Leo that’s how he’d avoided giving into despair years ago, when his lord was killed.

There had always been something out of reach though. A chain around Leo’s heart that he hadn’t fully felt until the other crushing weights had started to lighten in Usagi’s company. He knew Michelangelo wouldn’t see the truth of it, suspected Usagi wouldn’t, but April was a scientist and knew so much more than the little bits Leo had hunted down through the private browsing tabs on Don’s computer at seventeen.

Raph and Master Splinter probably wouldn’t have understood at all, which was fine but not useful. And Donnie would know. For certain, irrevocably. Donnie could, would shatter every fragile hope and dream without even trying to. And that was so painful Leo tried his damnedest to not ever think about it.

He’d gambled on April O’Neil gentle tact not hurting as much as Don’s assured decree and made the wrong bet. Now he had to leave. Right now.

Only his chest is soaking in surprise and what he knows is wrongfully placed betrayal. He stumbles toward the window, but April is already there, hands held out again. Not a surrender this time but a barrier.

“Leo, wait! Please. What— I didn’t mean to rush you or… or try to force things. I’m just trying to help. I promise.”

He swallows. “Move.” She doesn’t get it. He has to leave.

“Leo. Please. Just talk to me.”

Something boils over. He wants the frustration, anger, despair, horror, pain to come out as tears. He wishes it could. Instead, it comes out as words, loud and unwieldy and too deep and too honest. “ Talk to you? What, so you can not listen to me again?”

“What?” April can only manage that one word, quiet and hollow.

“You can’t help April! There is nothing you can do that will magically fix this. I’m not—“ he growls. Doesn’t she see the obvious? It’s right in front of her after all.

“Leo, what are you talking about? There’s all sorts of treatments and exercises and—“

“April, I’m a mutant turtle! I’m an— an anomaly! A fluke! Our bodies don’t work the same as a normal human’s. We have no idea how prescribed estrogen and hormone blockers would affect me. If— if they even would.” He clenches his fists. “Where would I even get it? Am I just going to start stealing it from someone else? In the same dose? Every single month? Like that wouldn’t get suspicious!” Then he splays out his fingers much like she is. “Even if it did work, there isn’t some magical fix for these! For— for who I am. For all the ways I’m too—“

April takes his hands. Grabs them, squeezes them tight for multiple beats before responding, “Leonardo. Is the talking turtle who just came back from another dimension about to tell me her becoming the woman she wants to be is impossible?”

“I…” Leonardo hadn’t ever really thought of it like that, hadn’t really ever compared this to the other impossibilities of his life. His family had experienced some truly astounding things, but getting thrown through time and space, finding the lost city of Atlantis, overthrowing an alien empire. Those had all been dangers, near deaths. All turtle luck, true to form. There are very few things he or his brothers have stumbled into that feel truly miraculous or fortunate, and most of what comes to mind at the moment involves warm pink-red eyes and blue swirling pools of light. He doesn’t expect, can’t imagine, another stroke of luck like Usagi again. That just isn’t how his life works.

“Leo, you have three tremendously geeky science freaks on your side, one of whom is the world’s preeminent expert on mutated turtle biology.”

Leo holds up a finger, and repeats a favorite line of Donatello’s, “I’m an engineer, not a medical doctor.”

“Yeah and we both know that’s bullshit.” Leo blinks at her owlishly, not quite absorbing the fact she just cursed. April resorting to foul language to refute Donatello of all people almost felt like a crime. “He’s kept all four of you alive for twenty years, he’s stitched you all up more times than even he can count, and sometimes he’ll just, casually mention setting an extreme compound fracture or doing an in-the-field blood transfusion. Just because he prefers machines doesn’t mean he isn’t an expert in biology out of necessity. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a file stashed somewhere with regularly updated blood counts and cholesterol levels for the four of you. And Splinter. Especially Splinter actually.”

Leo can’t argue with that. April is right. They both know that Don has done something stupidly tough or miraculous in every field he‘s touched. They also know he’s overly paranoid and has nearly driven himself insane with sleep deprivation when hunting down answers. They call him a mad genius for a reason. Still. “That doesn’t mean he’s about to become my long term endocrinologist April. He has more important—“

“More important things than his big sister’s happiness?”

“We don’t even know—“

“Uh uh uh. Leo. Stop. Would it make you feel better about yourself? Would it make you happy?” She still has a hand on Leo’s cloth wrapped wrists. She squeezes them now.

“I— the hormones?” Maybe? Probably? That’s what the hope is.

“ All of it Leo. The hormones yeah but… dressing different maybe? The she/her pronouns. I noticed you didn’t correct me on those by the way.”

Leo felt heat rush to their face. They thought April was just being kind. Maybe she was.

“Being the older sister instead of the older brother. Being Splinter’s daughter. Being… I don’t know, Usagi’s girlfriend maybe? You don’t exactly have a normal life so…”

Leo loses track of what April is saying for a moment. They don’t use Donnie’s computer that often, but it’s a cobbled together thing they’ve seen blue screen many times. Leo’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening now. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend.

They blink and reset their motherboard, or hard drive, or whatever is the correct metaphor.

“…no matter what you’ll have a huge network of support right there with you.”

“I— I know. I know that. It’s… that is great, but again. Mutant turtle. There’s no guarantee that any kind of…” a deep breath, “I’ve thought a lot about this April and if I’m doing it, I’m not doing it halfway. I know– I know I’d want the hormones April, I just don’t know if—“

April moves her hands from their wrists to their shoulders. Leo looks up into eyes that are all green warmth and kindness. “Will it make you happy?”

Leo’s hand goes to their mask tails, fidgeting with them. They stop to really think about that question. Immediately girlfriend comes to mind again. They imagine Usagi saying it and have to move on before some other metaphorical machinery bursts into spectacular flames. It isn’t just that anyway. Sister. Daughter. She. Her. Leona. She finds the smile on her face more than she makes it happen.

A disbelieving, unsure chuckle leaves her mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it will.”

“Then that’s all that matters. Whatever it takes, we’ll make it happen. Okay?”

There’s something stuck in her throat again. This time it doesn’t feel as heavy. “Okay. Thanks, April.”

#leosagi #katanashipping #tmnt 2003 #tmnt #usagi miyamoto #tmnt 2k3 #leonardo #transgender Leonardo #transgender April O'Neil #transgender #my fanfiction #fanfic

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obaewankenobis · 13 hours ago

Text

close to you; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair x reader (afab, rare/no use of y/n, female pronouns are used)

word count: 14.5k (sorry)

warnings: the usual hunger games warnings (violence, child murder, prostitution, etc). also smut (fingering, p in v, oral (m receiving)) mdni -- pretty pls!

summary: you're both victors — him from four, you from eight — assigned to mentor tributes from district nine who lack a mentor. you hate him because he played the role so well, accepting the gifts and glory of the capitol with a wide smile and charming words. unbeknown to you, the feeling is not mutual.

a/n: crashing out because of sunrise on the reaping so i wrote this.

DAY TWO — THE OPENING CEREMONY

It had been too soon since you'd last seen him, six months ago at your victory celebration in the Capitol. The circumstances were vastly different now, but the routine remained the same.

Physically, you were feeling your very best: strong and healthy, plucked and scrubbed and painted to perfection. But your prettiness, and all the work your prep team had done to your face and body paled in comparison to the unattainable beauty of him.

He, of course, was Finnick Odair, the person next to you subtly coughing and dragging you from your own mind and into the real world. You chose to ignore the cough, knowing who it was from and that he was doing it on purpose.

“I know you can hear me,” the voice said in an almost sing-song voice. No response, you wouldn't give him that. “You’re standing right next to me.” Again, silence. “I know you’re just ignoring me now, I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” it slips out before you realize you’re supposed to be ignoring him, which only infuriates you further. Defeated, you turn to face the person with a voice so irritating you were about to commit a crime.

“Ha! Knew that would work,” Finnick smiled, showing off perfect rows of pearly white teeth. He was so perfect it was infuriating. You noticed, with an ounce of satisfaction, that his canines were razor sharp, sharper than most, and his front teeth stuck out from his lips ever so slightly when he smiled. It felt nice to know even the great Finnick Odair had flaws. Even if they only added to his charm, it made him imperfect, human.

“Whatever, Odair,” you rolled your eyes, trying to brush off the fact that he knew just how to get under your skin. It worked every time.

“Whatever, Odair,” he mimicked, raising his voice several octaves in a poor attempt to imitate you.

You were going to kill him, you were sure of it. Grab that stupid statue next to you of a soldier with a sword, and fashion it into a weapon of your own.

“Easy there, sweetheart. I can see you plotting already… so just remember, we’re supposed to be working together on this,” Finnick let out a chuckle as your eyes flashed in frustration, not because of what he said, but because he was right. You two were stuck with each other, whether you liked it or not.

“You two!” A high pitched, accented voice snapped, which you instantly recognized as Phaedra Day, the District 9 escort. “Please, come meet the tributes before the parade!”

Immediately you dislike her. Aside from her obvious disregard for her tributes’ wellbeing — that’s obvious from the way she shoves the two children forward — she’s the pinnacle of Capitol excess, and it shows everywhere. All the cosmetic surgery she’s had over the years gives her face an overly full effect, like a stuffed turkey.

She’s got this awful orange hair, not like the lovely ginger color you’ve seen, no, this is as bright as the flames of a house fire.

Her makeup, you think, is the worst of all. It’s hard to pull off orange eyeshadow, orange blush, and orange lipstick, and Phaedra is definitely not the exception. You suppose it’s meant to compliment her hair, but it just looks clownish.

Finnick greets her with a kiss on each cheek, and comes away with two orange splotches on both his own. You decide then you’ll hang back and let them do the talking.

“Well,” Phaedra nudged the two tributes forward. “They're your mentors, they're not going to bite. Introduce yourselves!”

“Hi.” The girl couldn't be older than twelve, with sandy brown hair, bright green eyes, and a smattering of freckles that made her look even younger.

“Eulalia!” Phaedra clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You can’t have expected them to remember you from the reaping, and that is not a proper introduction! What did we practice?”

The girl — Eulalia — straightens her back immediately, the curious, childhood look in her eye fading into something somber. “I’m Eulalia Overfell, I’m twelve years old, and I’m from District 9.”

“Nice to meet you,” you force a bright smile on your face, hoping this girl can't see the sadness in your eyes. You're rooting for her already, she’s your tribute, but you know realistically her chances are so very slim. You introduce yourself and look expectantly at Finnick, who seems like he's busy cozying up to Phaedra instead of paying attention to who actually matters: your tributes.

“Finnick Odair,” he rolls his eyes in a dismissive gesture, as if waving away the pointed glare you'd been shooting in his direction. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

You give him another look that you hope can only be described as shooting daggers.

Then he surprises you — sticks out his hand and greets Eulalia like a proper adult, giving her his undivided attention. “It’s nice to meet you, Eulalia.”

It’s so unlike the eye roll and bored tone he used with you; he’s done a complete switch in a matter of seconds.

“Miller,” Phaedra gives him a pointed nudge, reminding you there’s another tribute. “Go on.”

The boy wears a brooding expression, brown eyes dark with distrust and hate, refusing to open his mouth.

Phaedra sighs, like she’s been dealing with this all day and expecting no less. “This is Miller Keene, he's fourteen. He has yet to learn his manners, so don't mind him.”

She shoos him away like a fly buzzing around her head, and focuses all her attention on the two of you. Or maybe just Finnick, by the way she's batting her lashes and twirling a strand of her hair. “You know, I’m just so glad that I have you two for this year! Old Mazie was absolutely dreadful company! I mean, she could barely hold a conversation. Always muttering to herself in the corner…” Phaedra sniffed in displeasure, then turned back to Finnick. “I look forward to working with you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he flashes her a smile that's borderline seductive. You're about to object that this whole thing feels inappropriate when Phaedra is gone, rambling about finding the District 9 stylists and how they're never going to be on time at this rate.

You feel gross and uneasy in her presence for a number of reasons, however harmless she might appear. One, because of the way she was looking at Finnick, like she’d devour him in an instant. Two, because Finnick didn't even look bothered by the attention, no, he seemed to relish it. Three, because you knew of Mazie, of her story: she’d been driven mad during her games almost fifty years ago from a cumulation of starvation, dehydration, and witnessing multiple deaths right in front of her. Phaedra never had to worry about something every parent’s worst fear in the Districts. She had no idea how heartbreaking it must be, to lose your child once in the Reaping and then twice upon returning home.

Her comment also makes you wonder why Finnick was chosen for the task of mentoring tributes that were not his own. I mean, it made sense they’d give the tributes to you; you had no experience and the Capitol likely didn't care. But Finnick? The Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling? Wouldn't he be of better use mentoring his own tributes?

You zone out a bit, curious to be on this side of the parade — it was only last year you were preening in a chariot just like your tributes were now.

Unfortunately, your tributes didn't stand out in any particular way. You’d been chatting up a storm with as many people you could find, but none seemed interested in taking such a huge risk on two tributes who were not likely to make it past the bloodbath. Finnick had spent all his time with Mags, the aging District 4 mentor, and the Capitol citizens with her, instead of being by your side.

Right now you’re watching him as he talks with what you think is one of his many admirers, though you doubt he’s doing it in favor of Miller or Eulalia. No, her hand is squeezing his bicep and she’s laughing a little too hard for the conversation to be about sponsorship.

You feel a tug on your arm and tear your gaze away from Finnick and down, to find Eulalia slipping her hand into yours. You murmur a quick hello, unsure as to why she’s requesting your attention, when she whispers, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“What— oh, definitely not—” You splutter, your cheeks burning. “No, what would make you think that!”

She shrugs, “I dunno. You just keep staring at him. When my sister had a boyfriend, all she did was stare at him.”

“I—” How could you explain to a child that you were essentially slut shaming him in your head for not doing his actual job?

“Everyone stares at me, Eulalia. She just recognizes perfection when she sees it.” Finnick’s somehow snuck up behind the two of you and overheard everything, which is mortifying. He’s grinning at you, placing his hands on Eulalia’s shoulders while she giggles.

“Finnick’s a little self obsessed, don't mind him,” you say as you tug Eulalia back to your side, intent on leading her and Miller back to the tribute penthouse before he can bother you two any more.

When the two tributes are fast asleep, you whirl around to face Finnick, who has the sense to look a little bit worried at the anger etched into your features, though he still retains the easygoing air about him. His body leaned against the doorframe of his room — coincidentally across from yours — with his arms crossed in front of him. His eyes surveyed you with an air of caution, waiting for whatever storm that's been brewing in your brain.

“This is not something I’m doing alone! They were eating me alive out there, and you were gone!”

“Relax,” he sighs, dropping his arms so they now rest at his sides. “I’ve done this before, y’know. I know what I’m doing.”

“It didn't look like you were doing anything, honestly!”

Your heart is racing now, palms sweaty as the weight of responsibility comes crashing down on you all at once. His nonchalance bothers you even more. You wish he'd show a sliver of actual human emotion, not this cocky, flirty personality that leaves no room for anything else.

But it’s his, “grab a drink, honey, and calm down”, is what really sets you off.

“Look, if you want to do… whatever it is you do with all your Capitol friends—lovers—whatever, do it on your own time! Not when we’re supposed to be securing sponsors!” You whisper-shout, careful not to wake either Eulalia or Miller.

His mild expression melts into something unreadable. You think a hint of anger flashes across his face for a split second, but it’s gone before you can confirm if it’s real or just a figment of your imagination. You’re leaning towards the latter, because you’ve never seen Finnick angry before.

“You have no idea how lucky you are, do you?” He scoffs without bothering to give you a second glance as he retreats into his room.

“You better be here tomorrow at breakfast to help them before training!” You call after him, but he doesn't respond, just slams the door shut behind him.

It felt good to get a reaction from Finnick, but now, in the silence that followed, you couldn't help but feel a bit bad. Confused, but also guilty — your last comment had certainly struck a nerve. But what did he mean by lucky?

Lucky to be in charge of training two children who were bound for death? Lucky for your grandmother to die while you were in the arena, leaving nobody left in your life to care for you? Lucky for your friends to have all but abandoned you once you'd returned, off put by how much you'd changed?

If anything, he was the lucky one. He had Mags, who cared for and loved him like her own son. He was adored by everyone in the Capitol, and had a string of lovers that trailed behind him, ensuring he would never be lonely.

It was time to face it — maybe your anger towards him was misplaced and rooted in something else entirely. You were jealous of how he was surrounded by people admiring and loving him. It was something you yearned for so deep inside your chest it hurt.

DAY THREE — TRAINING

You were up before the first light, dedicated to making today better than the disaster known as yesterday. You were busying yourself before the rest of your ensemble awoke, pressing powders and creams into your skin, tickling your lips with a painted brush, and penciling in details that would make you seem up to date on Capitol trends without appearing too gaudy.

Soon you begin to hear the stirrings of everyone else in the apartment — Phaedra’s loud, obnoxious voice rang much louder than the quiet chatter of Miller and Eulalia as she directed them towards the dining room.

By the time you sat down for breakfast, almost everyone was there: both tributes, their prep teams and stylists, and Phaedra. The only one absent was Finnick, whose empty seat was directly across from you.

“I know you must be nervous,” you began, noticing how neither tribute had touched their food. “I want you guys to go to as many stations as you can, okay? Not just the weaponry — the survival stations really came in handy for me last year.”

Eulalia poked at her scrambled eggs with a fork, face pale and filled with concern, not disinterest. “Everyone’s a lot bigger than me.”

You weren't sure what to say to that, because it had never been an issue for you. You’d been eighteen upon your Reaping, and there were only two mouths to feed in your home: yours, and your grandmother’s. She’d owned a tailor shop, and while the two of you were never wealthy, you never battled real starvation. Compared to the tributes you had faced, you were fully grown and only slightly malnourished, like all district children were.

A scrape of the chair legs against the floor alerted you to the fact that Finnick had arrived and was taking his seat, saying, “Size can only go so far. You’re small, but you're quick. Use that to your advantage.”

Of course he would know something about that; he'd won his games at just 14, the youngest ever victor in the history of Panem.

“What about weapons?” You look towards Miller, surprised that he’s saying anything at all.

“Well… there will be stations that can teach you, find one that comes easier than the rest and—”

“You’d probably be pretty good with a scythe or pitchfork,” Finnick interrupts you like you weren’t even there. “I’m assuming, at least, since you're from District 9. Grain and all.”

Miller nods, sinking back in his chair as if to muse over what Finnick has said.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, shooting a pointed look at Finnick. “You shouldn't count on unusual weapons being in the arena, and tributes are rarely gifted their weapons of choice, even if they’re exceptionally talented.” That last part was a dig at Finnick, and you study him from the corner of your eye, hoping he’s just as annoyed as he makes you. You know it's petty and childish, but you're still upset about last night.

Of course, he doesn't give you the satisfaction. “The gamemakers want a good show more than anything. If you see something in the training center that you think you’d be good at, practice and use it later for your private session with them.”

“Don’t show off your skills in front of everyone,” you interjected. “You don't need to become a target.”

He finally turned to you, his voice laced with displeasure. “Well, they're already targets, sweetheart. They're going to be in an arena full of kids trying to kill them.” He turned back to Miller and Eulalia, who were both staring with wide eyes that shifted back and forth between the two of you. “Listen, the more practice the better. Focus on the weapons, it’ll give you the best chance.”

“Well, I was just telling them to go to all the stations, actually. Most tributes die from natural causes.” You’re trying not to grit your teeth for the children’s sake, but he’s making it exceptionally difficult by going against everything you’re saying.

“Okay, that’s fine and all, but I don’t think—”

“Well, I think they should be heading down now to the training center! Don't want to miss a moment of such valuable time!” Phaedra interrupts Finnick before it can turn into a full scale argument between the two of you, shooing Miller and Eulalia out the door before either of you can protest.

“What's your problem?” You ask Finnick once the room is empty.

“My problem?” His voice is brimming with disbelief. “You’re the one who's had a problem with me since the beginning!”

“I’m so sorry,” you almost let out a laugh at how ridiculous he was being. How could he not realize it? That he was a traitor to the Districts, and you weren't obligated to like him. “Is this the first time someone's ever disliked you? I mean, I know you're probably used to being pampered by all your Capitol buddies…”

“There you go again,” the muscles in his jaw suddenly have his mouth sealed shut with tension. “You make all these assumptions about me, and you haven't even bothered to ask if any of them are true. Do you know what I—” He cut himself off, glancing around the room like he's looking for someone. Or like he's being watched. “Nevermind.”

His fork clatters against his plate as he pushes his chair back abruptly, before heading off to his room.

Well, he was right about that. You did have your assumptions, but they were all based on everything you'd seen the past couple of years on live television.

Dinner is perhaps more awkward than breakfast, mainly because Finnick and Phaedra don't bother showing up, so it's just you, your tributes, and their stylists.

Making conversation is painstakingly difficult, mainly because neither of them seem to have much to offer to the questions you ask them past a nod or a short “yes” or “no”. Not that you blame them — no, that would be entirely unfair.

You’d spent the day alone in the Capitol, chatting up various people who'd sponsored you or were known to be particularly generous in past games. But it seemed like no one was willing to take a risk on a small twelve year old who looked no older than ten, and a brooding boy who wouldn't offer so much as a grunt to anyone.

“You'll have tomorrow and the following day in the training center,” you started. “But the last day is when they start to do the private sessions, so tomorrow’s your best bet to lock down any skills you've been working on.”

Eulalia nods. “The trainer at that foraging station said I was really nifty with plants,” she offers, but in a way that you suspect is meant to try to cheer you up more than anything.

“That's great, Eulalia!” You beam at her, because you remember the worst part of the Games — keeling over as sharp stabs of hunger plagued your body, while your throat turned as dry as sandpaper.

She asks to be excused the same time Miller stomps off to his room, leaving you alone in the living area of the penthouse.

I need a drink, you sighed softly to yourself, finding a near empty bottle of wine from dinner and pouring some into the same glass you’d used.

You turn the television on, flicking through the channels of awful reality shows, Panem news updates, and of course, recaps of previous Hunger Games in preparation for the 70th.

You’ve seen this one before— it's the one where the arena was a snowy forest, the freezing temperatures killing off nearly all the tributes in the first few days. You’re so engrossed in the recap you almost don't hear the door opening.

You do hear Phaedra’s loud laughs echoing down the hall from the entryway, and turn back to see her stumbling through the door. Finnick is right beside her, offering you a tight smile as he guides Phaedra, who has to be drunk, with one hand, and holds her heels in the other.

Not my problem, not my problem, not my problem, you repeat the mantra in your head, hoping your attention will go back to the TV in front of you.

You weren't drunk (you decided you’d want to be shot the day two glasses of wine inebriated you), but you were a little tipsy. Just a little. Enough for your filter, but not your inhibitions, to be gone.

The now empty wine bottle sat pitifully on the coffee table next to your equally empty glass, as if begging to be refilled. Since it’d been almost empty when you'd scavenged it, you weren't too far gone. Not far gone enough.

You happen upon the kitchen in search of another bottle as Finnick re enters it, not sure whether or not to make polite conversation or ignore him.

He makes the decision for both of you, “How’d they do today?”

“Alright,” you shrugged, biting back a jab about him not helping you during dinner. An awkward pause follows before you realize you're meant to give him something back, so you add, “Eulalia’s got a knack for foraging.”

“That's good,” Finnick’s clearly in his own world and paying little attention to you, searching the fridge for something to eat instead of asking for an Avox to do it.

He’s so lost in thought, saying absolutely nothing to annoy you, that you realize, for the first time, how young he is. You’d always associated him with being much older, since he had so many years of experience on you.

But his features were just so quintessentially… boyish. There were no lines on his face like there were so many other tributes, save for the small indents where his dimples popped out when he smiled. He was tall and lanky — not awkward with his long limbs, but like he still had time to grow into broader shoulders. His face, although perfectly chiseled and sculpted to perfection, had a fullness to his cheeks that could only be thinned out with age. The only thing that felt fully grown about him was the deep frown etched into his face at the moment, like he was worrying about something a nineteen year old wasn't meant to.

“I thought we already talked about your staring problem,” his voice is low and smooth, bringing you out of the trance you'd been in.

“I was just… observing,” you say, embarrassed at being caught in the act. You were just curious to know more about him, and whenever you spoke you seemed to stray further and further from that objective.

“Uh huh…” He squints his eyes at you, like he's studying you as well, to figure out what's going on in your head.

“Try to show up on time tomorrow.” It felt foreign to have a conversation with Finnick without it resorting to an argument, so of course you had to ruin the moment. “They’ve only got a day left before the private sessions, and I think… I think they could use your experience. And I think Miller likes you, for whatever that's worth.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “An insult and a compliment in the same sentence, all wrapped up in a bow just for me,” his teeth were beginning to poke from his lips, transforming his face into a full on smile. “You’re spoiling me.”

There was another beat of silence before you say goodnight and rush back to your room, hoping tomorrow will be better — it seems like that's become a daily wish before you fall asleep. One day it'll get better.

DAY FIVE — PRIVATE SESSIONS

Everyone was fast asleep in their rooms, the house silent save for the low murmur of the television as you watched an interview recap from previous years, a notepad in hand. You were trying to decide if it was a good or bad thing that neither of your tributes had nothing to make them stand out. With mediocre training scores, your job was turning more into an impossible task than ever.

The elevator door dings open, and you know it can only be Finnick, since he'd yet again left right after dinner.

“Why are you still up?” you ask as he passes by, though this time he doesn't bother slowing down and heading straight for his room.

“Just… preparing for tomorrow, I guess.” You notice his lips are inflamed and smudged with a lavender shade of sparkly lipstick, glitter trailing down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are just as puffy as his lips, red rimmed and glassy, but all that pales when you see the long, rather deep scratch on his chin. It’s still bleeding slightly and trickling down the same path carved by the glittery lipstick, disappearing beneath his shirt and leaving a slight stain against the white.

Your instinct want you to jump up from the couch and ask what's wrong, any disdain you have towards Finnick melting away for just a brief moment. You're not even sure why, but maybe it's because this is the first night in several days he's left after dinner and not returned until late.

“Are you okay?” It slips out before you can suppress the humanity in you entirely. It had to be the blood that was making you ask.

He doesn't respond, save for a short nod, and slams the door behind him. You're left feeling disgruntled at what you saw. Who’d hurt him?

You went back to your interviews, but your mind remained distracted by what you’d seen. You’re trying desperately to return to the state of engrossment you’d been at before you were interrupted, but it was no use. With a sigh you shut the television off, rubbing your eyes that were growing heavy with sleep. You’d just passed the door of your room when you heard a loud clatter of something against something ceramic, followed by a quiet fuck.

“Finnick?” You called softly, uncertain.

“It's fine, I’m fine,” came the hurried response, though it was accompanied by a hiss of pain.

You decided, against your better judgement, that you were going to investigate what all the commotion was about. As quietly as you could, you opened the door to his room and tiptoed towards the adjoined bathroom, where the soft glow of a light under the door crack gave away his location.

“Finnick? Are you okay? I— I’m coming in.” You wait for any sign of protest, but upon hearing none, take a deep breath and open the door.

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, leaning towards the mirror in front of the sink. “I’m fine.” The countertop was scattered with clutter, colognes and lotions and other knick knacks. There seemed to be an array of things that’d fallen into the sink as well, which explained the clatter you’d heard earlier.

“Holy fuck that looks horrible!” You blurt out, then instantly wish you hadn't said anything. The small scar was now oozing more blood than before, dripping down his face and neck. He hadn't bothered to wash off any of the glitter either, so now he just looked… well, horrible. As horrible as someone with Finnick’s face could look, which still rivaled you on your best day.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, not even turning to look at you, still obsessing over the wound on his chin. “You can go now.”

“You’re doing it all wrong,” you blurted out as he wiped at his chin with a cotton pad, which only further irritated it. “Here,” you made your way towards him, grabbing a gauze from the first aid kit he'd opened and carefully turning his head to face you, pressing the gauze gently into to the wound.

He didn't say thank you, but he wasn't protesting, either. Just watched you from the mirror out of the corner of his eye.

“How’d you get this? It looks…” nasty, “...bad.”

The smile that appears on his face is rueful. “Capitol trends have gotten a little wacky lately,” he begins, and then hesitates. “Some people have cat claws instead of fingernails nowadays.”

Oh. So it was one of his lovers? It certainly didn't look like he was okay with it, but what could he have done to warrant such a reaction?

You threw the gauze in the trash, craning your neck to get a closer look at the wound, before reapplying more. “That… that sucks.”

You want to ask him how exactly he acquired this, but something tells you he won't be forthcoming in his answer.

“Yeah,” he huffs, “It does.”

“You’re probably going to need stitches,” you squinted at the cut. It was precariously deep; you wondered why he wasn't more vocal about the pain he must be in. “You can probably go to one of the hospitals in the Capitol—”

“No,” he says abruptly. “Absolutely not, I don't… I don't need that right now.” He pauses, “Can you do it?”

“Oh, I don't think I’m—”

“I’ve seen you stitch before. Saved your own life with it,” he says softly, and you're suddenly embarrassed and flattered at the same time. He remembered your games? Where you’d stitched 17 and a half stitches into your own stomach, passing out before the 18th had been completed, just as the trumpets began blaring.

“But this is your face, this is like…” you splutter, hands beginning to tremble, “... a national treasure! I don't want to fuck it up, they’ll have my head for sure.”

“You just keep showering me in compliments.” A real, genuine laugh passed from his lips, and you're surprised at how different it sounds from the one he gives when Phaedra makes an awful joke, or when a Capitol woman lays her hands on him. This one is sweet, melodic almost.

“Just… are you sure?” You tug at your lower lip, drawing blood by how hard you bite.

He nods, so you lead him to sit on the toilet, and stand in front of him to get a closer view. The circumstances are much better than they were in your arena, but it's still far from ideal. You, a wannabe seamstress with minimal experience, should not be working on a face famous for his exceptional looks. This could all go so wrong, and you didn't even like him as a person, which made it worse, because if you didn't like him, then why were you so nervous to fuck it up?

You get to work soon after, trying desperately to calm the shaking of your hands.

You wet a washcloth under the sink and bring it to the wound, patting it carefully. Gently, you move the washcloth down to his neck, wiping away the glitter that stained his bronze skin. He didn't object, just sucked in a sharp breath as you tugged the collar down, revealing an angry but fading purple bruise and wiping the cloth over that, too.

The silence is so, so loud. Yo turn to grab an antiseptic, the quiet hisses of pain making you pause before he urges you to continue swiping it across his chin. One hand gently cleans while the other rests on his cheek, allowing you to move and angle his face to best suit your needs for the task.

Aside from that, there's nothing, not even an insult or two thrown either way.

Like when he'd been in the kitchen he's zoned out, allowing you to take a closer look at him.

His eyes, glazed over and off into some far off place, were a perfect representation of the ocean; mostly green with a light blue mixing together to form a beautiful seafoam that people always claimed to get lost in. He had that youthful look about him, the frown he wore had melted away into an almost relaxed expression, which was odd considering the situation he was in.

You continued to work in silence, taking an extra long time to clean the wound to avoid the stitching for as long as possible.

He let out a hiss of pain as the needle pierced his bronze skin for the first time, to which you immediately jumped back and said, "I'm sorry! I can stop, just tell me when you need a break. Please."

He shakes his head ever so slightly, in silent approval for you to continue. "It's fine. Just do it."

Your fingers steadied after the first stitch, like a natural instinct summoned all your grandmother's teachings and flooded them through you.

It was over quickly, but you forced him to remain still, busying yourself with preparing a dressing so you didn't have to acknowledge the way his eyes followed your every move.

"Just hold still," you said quietly, pressing the cream to his chin and leaning in ever so slightly to make sure every inch of your stitches were slathered in ointment.

When you step back to take a look at your handiwork, you feel like somehow you're overstaying your welcome.

You didn't like how the bathroom had grown hot and stuffy, didn't like how his eyes had gone from glazing over to staring intently at you and never leaving.

You didn't like how his hands, which had been resting motionless on his lap, had started to fidget with the loose fabric of his pants, occasionally brushing against your legs, which were pressed up between his — as you worked on his chin, of course.

And you especially didn't like how whenever his fingers accidentally brushed against the skin of your legs, you felt like jumping out of your skin.

"Change it tomorrow," you instructed, clearing your throat. He nodded, watching you leave.

DAY SEVEN — THE INTERVIEWS

Today had been no better than the last one, or the one before that. The only thing was different was that you and Finnick had gone an (almost) two full days without getting into any squabbles, which was a big improvement. Even Phaedra commented something about civility at dinner.

He’d also made an effort to help Miller and Eulalia prep for the interviews; he was so loveable in the Capitol it only made sense for him to take the reins on this one.

You’d tried to help when you could, adding in tidbits of information that you thought could be useful. Phaedra even chimed in once in a while, whenever she would wander back to the penthouse in between her very full day of… whatever she did. Certainly nothing useful.

Now, night was just beginning to fall, and only you and Eulalia were sitting on the couch watching the interviews. Miller hadn't even bothered to stay past mealtime, and Phaedra and Finnick were off doing who knows what.

Both tributes had remained entirely unremarkable, and while that was not to their advantage, it wasn't to their disadvantage either. They were brushed off as tributes certain to die in the bloodbath, nothing more, and as much as that angered you, you understood why people thought that way.

“You should go to bed, Eulalia. You have an early morning tomorrow,” you said once the interviews had concluded. You felt that alluding to the fact that she was headed towards her death was a better thing to do than outright say it.

Eulalia nodded her head, though she didn't make any moves to leave. “I’m scared to go to bed,” she admitted after a long moment. “I… I think I’ll have nightmares.”

“I know,” you purse your lips, remembering how you felt the night before your own games. “But you need sleep, you'll regret it tomorrow if you don't even try.”

With a resigned nod she stands up, making her way slowly into her room.

Then, it's silent on the District 9 floor, empty in the living spaces save for yourself.

You’re halfway through a much needed massage of your temples when you hear the door creak open and assume it’s an Avox, until you open your eyes and see Eulalia running out of her room with a terrorized expression frozen on her face.

“Eulalia!” You jump up from the couch and run to her, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I had a nightmare,” she whispered, eyes as wide as saucers.

“About tomorrow?” You asked, a hand on her shoulder and trying to coax an answer out of her.

She nodded, her bottom lip wobbling for a moment before she immediately burst into tears. “I miss my mom,” she let out with a sniffle, her little body shaking from the sobs that began wracking her body.

You could almost hear your heart smashing on the ground in a million little pieces. You were there in an instant, on your knees to be at eye level with her as you held out your arms. She didn’t hesitate, burying her face in your shoulder and continuing to sob, which only broke your heart further.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” you said in what you hoped was a soothing voice, trying hard not to let a tremor seep in. “It’ll be okay.” Now you’re just lying to her, an evil voice in the back of your head snaps.

She clung to you like a lifeline, her small hands wrinkling the silk of your dress but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

“It was so scary,” she hiccuped, “I didn't even make it past the bloodbath.”

You pried her hands from your clothes so your own could find her face, thumbs gently gliding over her tear stained cheeks. “You are so brave, remember that, okay? And remember what Finnick and I have been teaching you, and you’ll be okay.”

Her sobs turn into small hiccups as she listens to your words, trying to make the rational part of her brain take over. But she's so young, and she's feeling so much, it's only a moment before the tears explode once more, and she's inconsolable.

You wish there was something you could do, but all that comes to mind is helping her back to bed, a proper routine despite it being in the middle of the night.

The door open and Finnick walks in, stopping short at the sight of you two curled on the floor of the living room. His eyes widen when you mouth the word nightmare, Eulalia’s face still buried in your shoulder.

“Hey, look!” You said as brightly and spinning Eulalia around to look at Finnick. “Why don't we both put you to bed?”

Eulalia nods, still sniffling, and says, very meekly, “Okay. Finnick’s strong.” She says it like he'll protect her from her own mind. Then she straightens up. “Can we please stay out here? I hate my room, it's so dark and scary and—”

“Of course,” Finnick spoke up. “You know, the night before my games, Mags made a pillow fort for us in the living room.” He begins to drag pillows from your room, his room, and Eulalia’s room while you tend to her.

You take time to brush her hair before your fingers twist the long locks into two loose braids. Her sobs have quieted down again, her eyes closing on themselves as sleep began to lull her.

The two of you crawl under the couch, which Finnick has done up with pillows and blankets to make a true fort that eases Eulalia’s fears just a bit. Not enough to coax a smile, but enough to quiet her sobs and hiccups.

“Please don't leave,” Eulalia begs, looking slightly embarrassed, but it's clear she's too tired and worn down to fight the embarrassment completely.

“Of course.” You tuck the blanket under her chin, trying not to let the rising bile in your stomach spill from your lips. She was just a baby, with little tear stained cheeks and deep circles under her eyes. Too young to be weighed down with the possibility of imminent death the next morning.

You lay down next to her, still in your finery from the interview day, but you don't even let that bother you anymore.

You’re so focused on Eulalia you don't even notice Finnick’s been by both your sides the entire time, settling down a little ways away from the both of you, with Eulalia in the middle.

She’s fast asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, even snoring softly as she cocoons herself into your side.

When you wake, the sun is streaming through the cracks in the blinds. Eulalia’s gone, the only trace of her being the dried tear stains on your dress and the mess of blankets and pillows around you.

Your heart is heavy as you go through the motions of getting ready, allowing your prep team to do what they pleased. You’d be in the Capitol all day starting in an hour, watching the games.

DAY EIGHT — THE HUNGER GAMES

The night dragged on without an end to what had been a torturous day, which had passed at a snail’s pace that had only added to its misery.

Despite everything, all your blood, sweat, and tears, Miller didn't make it out of the Cornucopia. Not like you'd thought there would be a different outcome; he'd made it clear he didn't want to give anyone a show, he just wanted to die. He'd been slaughtered by a Career not even thirty seconds into the Games. Eulalia had surprised you, her face not projected onto the sky next to Miller’s, grabbing a pack by her feet and racing for the mountains.

That didn't mean you weren't miserable and drowning your sorrows in a bottle.

“I need another glass,” you decided out loud to no one but yourself, mustering up the balance to rise from the couch and head over to the kitchen and make the drink happen.

“Easy there, sweetheart. I don't think being hungover is a good look for sponsors. Especially since you seem to know best,” a small chuckle sounded behind you, scaring the ever loving shit out of you and causing you to drop your wine glass on the floor.

“Shit— What the fuck, Finnick?” You almost shouted, before realizing you had two sleeping children down the hall. “I thought you'd be out all night again!” You lowered your voice to a hiss as you crouched down to pick up the larger shards, not knowing if there was an Avox around at this time of night.

Finnick had been leaning casually against the doorframe until he heard the glass shatter, and was by you in an instant. “My plans ended early,” he offered little more than that.

You let out a sudden cry of pain as a shard sliced your palm open. The blood, dark and red and warm, immediately sent you into a panic.

Your heart quickened, a strangled cry barely managing its way past your lips as you were thrust back into the arena like you always were. Other people’s blood you could handle just fine, but the sight of your own caused your vision to become slightly blurry, from dizziness or tears you weren't quite sure.

Then, a palm on your shoulder. Grounding you, bringing you back to the present. You’d cut your hand on a broken wine glass, you hadn't just murdered a child. You were in the penthouse as a victor, not as a tribute. Blinking back tears you looked up at Finnick, whose hand was still on your shoulder, and stood up abruptly. You hated the look of pity in his eyes, it made you sick. You didn't need pity from someone who was contributing to the very system that made you like this.

You were about to open your mouth, lash out at him to distract from the pain of your hand, when an Avox melted from the shadow and hurried to clean up the mess you’d made.

“We should fix that up,” Finnick suggested gently, cautiously — like you were a wounded animal — his hand trailing down to the small of your back and gently guiding you to a bathroom. Normally you’d be brushing him away, because in what world would you accept help from him.

But you didn't have the strength to argue. Not when it was the night before. Not when Miller was dead and and Eulalia would soon follow. You simply nodded and let him lead you to the bathroom in his room, your head on autopilot as you stood leaning against the cool marble of the countertop.

You remembered being here a couple nights ago; things had remained the same except now your positions were reversed.

“Didn't think I was that sneaky,” Finnick joked as he looked around for first aid supplies, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“Don't give yourself so much credit, Odair,” you rolled your eyes, the quip making you feel slightly more normal. This was what you did. Show him you hated him through petty jabs and dirty looks. The past few days had been too pleasant for either of it to last.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, holding your wrist and gently examining the cut to make sure there were no glass splinters. “Then what was so interesting you didn't hear me open the door?”

“My brain. Duh,” you huffed, hoping he couldn't smell the alcohol on your breath.

“Your brain, or the wine?” Finnick’s eyes, that beautiful green flecked with blue that you pretended not to notice, were lit up with laughter.

“Maybe a little bit of— ow!” You yelped, trying to pull your hand away from whatever was making it sting so bad.

“Oh relax, don't be a baby,” Finnick kept a tight grip on your wrist so he could work, gently cleaning the wound with an antiseptic. “I know you've handled much worse.”

“I was so much nicer to you… This shit still hurts,” you grumbled under your breath, trying not to think about the last part of his comment. Yeah. You’d faced much, much worse. But perhaps the softness of the Capitol had grown on you, and you were becoming less and less accustomed to hardship. “Oh my god!” You exclaimed in horror. “I’m turning into you!”

This gave him pause. He had discarded the alcohol wipe and was reaching for a cream when he stopped. “I’m assuming that's not a compliment, coming from you… so tell me, what does that mean?”

You laughed, then hiccuped. “I’m getting soft! I’m letting all this nice stuff in the Capitol blind me from every horrible thing I’ve ever experienced at their hands.”

You’d meant it as more of a lighthearted jab than anything, but he’d gone completely still as he looked at you. His eyes seemed to darken, erasing any traces of blue or warmth, leaving an unreadable expression behind. Your eyes trailed down to his jaw, which was now clenched.

“Is that really what you think of me?” He asked softly. So softly, you thought you’d imagined it. It was then you noticed how close his face had gotten, forcing your neck to crane up and meet his gaze as he towered over you, your back pressed against the sink counter.

“I mean… yeah, sort of,” You shrugged. “People adore you here. I mean, look at all the gifts! All your friends and girlfr—”

“I hate the gifts. And they’re not my friends. Or my girlfriends,” he cut you off sharply. “You don't know… just… nevermind.”

His grip on your wrist tightened as he applied the cream, his movements slow and his eyes glued to your hand as to avoid eye contact.

“I— I don't know,” you admitted, watching his nimble fingers work expertly to wrap your hand. He exhaled sharply but didn't respond, pretending to be absorbed in his work.

“All done.” He dropped your hand and took a step back. Already you felt his body heat disappear from you, but it wasn't a warm welcome. You just felt cold. And mean.

“Wait, Finnick,” you grasped onto his wrist with your good hand, stopping him in his tracks and forcing him to look back at you. “Explain it to me.”

You wanted to know what he meant, and perhaps you felt a little bit guilty for the genuine hurt you'd seen in his eyes. One of the many assumptions you'd made about Finnick Odair was that he was immune to feeling anything but cool and charming.

He looks around for an escape, nostrils flaring and his palms closing and then flexing. Those famous sea-green eyes get that faraway look you've seen only a couple times.

Selfishly, you take time to notice the features you hadn't absorbed before. You observed veins of his forearms that ran up and disappeared behind his sleeves, where the muscle of his biceps were barely concealed through the thin material of his shirt. You even took notice of how his bronze hair seemed to match his skin, the pearly white of his teeth making his sun drenched tan even more striking.

“I won't judge you,” you say quietly, stupidly, because that's pretty much all you’ve done.

He seems to see the irony in your statement too because he laughs, coldly. “I’d tell you if I believed you even a little bit— but all you’ve done is judge me for things out of my control.”

“You're right,” you inhaled sharply, though it pained you to admit you were wrong to his face.

There's a long pause before he speaks again.

“President Snow sells me— my body. To the Capitol citizens. Those gifts… they’re pity gifts from people who buy me. I don't love any of them.”

Out of all the things you thought could come out of his mouth, that arrangement of words was something you could never even imagine.

“Oh.” Think of something better to say, you fucking idiot! You began cursing yourself for such a bland response, but nothing could compete with the overwhelming guilt that was rising in your chest.

Every awful, horrible, vile thought you'd ever had about Finnick Odair was based on the assumption he liked the Capitol’s attention, relished in it. But they were— they…

He took your lack of response as a dismissal. “Yeah, told you. Your hand’s fine now, so I think you can go now.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry!” You hurried to correct your response. “I didn't mean— I just didn't know he did that.”

It suddenly occurred to you that he might be listening in on your very conversation. Finnick sees your realization and shakes his head. “We’re fine in this room.”

“Oh.” Now you can't stop thinking about every awful, horrible thing you'd ever thought about Finnick, every malicious word you’d spat at him was now resurfacing as a bitter bile in the back of your throat. “Oh my god, Finnick, I had no idea, I’m so sorry—”

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I don't need your pity. There's nothing I can do to change it, he’ll… he’ll hurt Mags if I try to say no. I just wanted you to know so you’d stop looking at me like that.”

Suddenly his words make sense. Lucky. Because in a way, you had no one left you cared about, no one Snow could hold over your head. You were lucky, so lucky in that sense, you didn't even know it was a possibility.

“I know you don't want pity, but I really am sorry. Not just for your situation but— for every awful thing I’ve ever said to you. I would've never said any of those things if I knew.” How do you begin to bring up why you felt the way you did? That you were so incredibly jealous he could lead a life full of luxury and companionship?

“Thanks,” he shrugged. “You didn't know. How could you? Everyone you loved was already dead by the time Snow got his hands on you. You’re lucky for that. Once Mags goes…” Then I’ll be free, is what you're certain he wants to say.

There's a lapse in the conversation and you just stare at him, talking him whole in a completely different light. You don't even care that he's staring right back at you, when normally you'd be embarrassed with his undivided attention.

“Well thank you. For fixing up my hand.” You raised your bandaged hand up and saw a slight smile cross his face.

“Just returning the favor,” he responded simply. “Can you let go of my hand now, or are you planning on hanging around all night? Not that I mind—” You dropped his hand like it was a burning coal, much to his amusement.

“Can we… start over? Please?” You asked, feeling like a little kid on the school playground again. “As friends?”

“And here I thought we were friends all along…” He sighed dramatically.

“Forget it! I take it back!” You rolled your eyes and shuffled your feet in an attempt to bypass his large frame blocking the doorway, when his hand slid down to your waist.

“I was being serious! We’ve always been friends, since the day we met. You just didn't know it yet. You had to go through a mean streak.” His eyes bear into yours and suddenly the fingers splayed across your waist feel like burning embers against your skin. His eyes, that always remind you of the ocean, feel like they're setting you aflame with the intensity of his gaze.

“Alright, now you're just being dramatic,” you huffed after a moment, sidestepping him and heading towards the kitchen. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk, trying to focus on the ground in front of you and not the way your heart was beating so rapidly, like it was determined to leap out of your chest and run back towards the bathroom. Towards him. Your mind traced back to that drink you’d been in search of when Finnick scared you.

Every trace of your mess was gone, from the broken glass to the drips of blood that had threatened to stain the carpet. You rummaged around the cupboards for another bottle of wine, sighing in frustration when your search came up empty.

“It’s on the top shelf,” Finnick appeared out nowhere again, causing you to jump.

“You have got to stop doing that!” You whipped around. “Didn't you learn from literally ten minutes ago?”

He put his hands up in self defense, though a ghost of a grin outlined his features. “I’ll try to remember. For next time.”

“Can you grab it for me?” You asked, surprising even yourself as you looked back at him standing in the hallway.

With a nod, Finnick crossed the space between the two of you into the kitchen. Instead of asking you to move, you felt a feather light touch at your hip as his hand ghosted over your dress. You could now feel the heat of his body radiating on to your back, could feel the light, warm breaths he took as he stood for a moment before reaching above you. With a gentle firmness, he scooted you over so he could strain to reach the last of the wine bottles.

You sucked in a breath as you felt his chest against your back, sturdy and warm, and resisted the urge to lean into him. You were so tired of being strong for your tributes. You wanted someone to protect you, tell you everything would be okay.

But you didn't have that. Not anymore. Ever since your grandmother had died you’d been all alone — alone on your Reaping Day, alone on your victory, alone now.

“Red or white?” You felt Finnick’s lips almost brush against your ear, snapping you out of your morose thoughts and sending a shiver down your spine.

“Uh— I— you choose.”

The heat was gone just as quick as it had arrived, and the rest happened in a blur. Before you know it you were one, two more glasses into the newly opened bottle, your cheeks flushed from laughing and your body hot from the alcohol.

Ugh, how did you even hate him? He was so funny. And pretty. Especially his eyes. Had you mentioned how pretty his eyes were?

“I think I’ve heard it from everyone but you, to be honest,” Finnick chuckled.

“Oh— did I really say that out loud?” You hiccuped, now entirely sure you would fully overheat.

“Yeah,” he grabbed the glass from your hand and placed it on the coffee table in front of you. “Not to ruin your fun, but you should probably stop now. It’s… a big day tomorrow. You need to be ready. For Eulalia.”

“Right.” Suddenly the lighthearted atmosphere turned somber, like all the joy in the world had been sucked from the room. Your head was still heavy and dizzy, but you no longer felt as if your lips were so loose.

The two of you take your drinks to the couch, where you see a glimpse of Finnick’s real personality. He's still charming and confident, but not in a cocky way. He's surprisingly sweet, and somehow remembers everything about you. No seriously, everything. Things you hadn’t even mentioned directly to him or anyone around you, but from your interview and the interviews from your former friends once you’d reached the final eight.

In turn, you tried to learn more about Finnick, the real Finnick, and not the persona he put on. You learned his mother and father had died when he was young, just like you, and that he'd trained in the Career Academy in 4 as a poor substitute for finding a family. He found it in Mags, who’d been the closest thing he had to a mother, friend, mentor, and grandmother all in one.

“Does it get easier?” You asked after a particularly morbid joke about the Hunger Games.

Finnick shakes his head. “Not really. You just get more used to it,” he hesitates before continuing. “It's like grief. You just think about it less often, but it's always there. And when you remember…” his voice catches in his throat. “It hurts just as badly as when it first happened.”

“Well that fucking sucks,” you sigh, downing the last bit of your wine, earning a laugh from Finnick.

You chat a bit more about things that don't even matter, but there's something that continues bothering you as you talk.

“I really had no idea,” you blurt out, repeating yourself for what seemed like the millionth time that night. You’d apologize a billion more before you felt even an ounce less guilty.

“I know,” he says simply, and that's what you like about talking with him. He doesn't brush it off, say everything you said is okay, but he doesn't blame you either. He just accepts it as is.

“How'd you get so… okay about all of this?” You asked him.

He ponders for a moment, like he’s never really thought about it himself. “I’m just desensitized, I think. I care about Mags, and as long as she's safe… I can deal with the rest of it.”

“And if something happens?” You can't help but ask.

He shudders slightly. “I don't think you’d recognize the person you become.”

“Evil? Insane?” You half joked.

But he's not smiling anymore, and the glazed over look in his eye has returned. “No. More like damaged beyond repair.”

Oh. Well isn't that a morbid thought. Another question suddenly pops into your mind. “Why are you telling me all of this? I said all those things… I hated you up until like… four days ago.”

The smiles returned, though this one is unlike any one you’ve ever seen before. It's genuine and sweet but it's so, so sad. “I’m lonely, I guess.”

That hits you right in the gut because you’re lonely, too. So lonely.

So the two of you decide, at least for the night, to seek company in one another's loneliness.

DAY NINE — THE HUNGER GAMES, CONT.

Your mentoring had been cut short early into the second day. Eulalia, who'd done everything right, had been killed by a pack of bat mutts, who'd descended upon her while she sought shelter in a shallow cove in the mountains. With their huge wings and even bigger talons they'd dragged her off deeper into the cave system, though not before you’d witnessed them ripping out chunks of her flesh.

It was so bloody and gruesome you’d run off in the middle of a conversation and thrown up your breakfast.

That's why you were in the bathroom stall, leaning against the cool ceramic of the toilet and not caring how disgusting it was. You felt sick, so sick to your very core, wishing that Eulalia’s nightmare had been her reality instead of whatever had just unfolded before your screen.

All you want to do is go back home — not back to the tribute apartments, not your house in the Victor’s Village, but home. The little, shoebox apartment above your grandmother’s tailor shop in 8. It was tiny but it was cozy, perfect for the two of you and always smelling like the home you were now longing for.

But that's not an option. The most you could get away with was showering and retiring for a few hours, returning after lunch. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your shirt and force yourself to stand, wobbling a bit on your heels.

When you walk out the door you’re greeted by Phaedra, who’s got a sour expression on her face.

“Oh— there you are. Can you believe this! Day two and I’m already done for the rest of the Games! Why didn't you train them better! Oh, I bet Finnick probably distracted you— not that I can blame you, but you could've been a little less selfish!” You realize now that she's drunk, but that doesn't stop the anger boiling in your stomach at her comments.

She's probably one of the Capitol citizens buying him for her own pleasure. Your lip curls in disgust but you have the decorum and common sense not to make a scene.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” is all you end up saying. This just causes Phaedra to scoff and push past you.

Today is the worse day of your life. So much worse than your Reaping Day, than your victory tour, than anything. Because this time, it's your fault.

When you walk back to the apartment, it reminds you more of a graveyard than anything.

Finnick seems to think the same; you're not sure when he came back but he's sitting on the couch with his face in his hands.

There's nothing you want to say to him. Nothing you can say, really, but he says something that forces you to listen anyways. “It's better this way.”

“How,” you gasp in disbelief he could say something so horrid.

“The alternative would've been worse for her.” And suddenly it dawns on you what he's thinking, he says it at the same time the thought comes to your mind. “She would've turned out like me.”

“She was only twelve, they wouldn't have—”

“I was fourteen,” he cuts you off, though not harshly. If anything he seems pained. “They said they waited until I was sixteen, but they lied. For their own consciences.”

Yeah, now the conversation’s over. You make your way to your bathroom, trying as hard as you can to compose yourself, make yourself feel just the slightest bit human.

It doesn't work; you spend the rest of the day feeling like a zombie, laying on the plush mattress of your bed and not moving. The goosefeather pillows are so comfortable it has the opposite effect you desire, only reminding you more that you’re in the Capitol.

You only know it's become nighttime when Finnick comes in because the sun of midday and sunset have both passed, fading into a deep twilight that remains. All you want to do is sleep, wash away this horrid day with a good night’s rest, but you can't. You remain paralyzed on your bed, studying the intricate carvings of your ceiling, counting how many little birds there were in a row.

“Glad to see you're alive,” Finnick’s voice is grounding and familiar, but also a reminder of what has happened the past two days. Of who you’ve lost and how you lost them.

“Barely,” you groan without lifting your head to look at him, a numbness overtaking your body as you're brought back to reality.

“I told you it'll get easier,” he said, “the first ones are always the hardest.”

The bed dips and you can feel Finnick’s body heat radiating off of him, but you don't move, don’t. even turn your head to look at him.

“I know,” you sigh, defeated. “It just kills me that I can't do anything about this.”

There's a long moment before he responds, “I know. I hate feeling powerless, too.”

It's nice to lay with him, have him articulate every emotion you're feeling without even having to tell him anything at all. It's comforting.

You’re not sure how much time passes before you hear Finnick rustling around, and ignore it until he's tugging on your wrist. “I have an idea.”

You hope he's going to whisk you away somewhere so incredibly far from here, but your journey stops at the pillow fort you’d created two days ago. It feels like a memory frozen in time, too painful to look at but too painful to move.

You’re not even sure why you’re doing this, subjecting yourself to feeling your grief so strongly. When the two of you are comfortably settled into the fort, it's as if you're thrust back in time. It feels weird, but not unwelcome. You’re lying flat on your back like you were earlier, beginning to count each thread in the plush blanket.

“I don't even know why I feel like this! I barely knew them — I spoke like, four words to Miller!”

“Because you're human,” he responds almost immediately, rolling over and propping his head up with his hand. “It would be weird if you didn't feel so bad.”

You suppose he's right. Not mourning them at all would make you no better than the Capitol citizens betting on and cheering for tributes.

You’re burning alive. You pound on the door to the oven, begging and screaming to be let out, until your vocal cords are fried. You try to move, but it's such a tight fit you can't help but squirm uncomfortably, feeling restrained.

Let me out, let me out, let me out! You scream into oblivion, but no one hears you. It's just you, the oven, and a pile of burning embers that crackle and pop as they get hotter.

Stop moving, the oven groans, starting to shake you.

Then let me out, you struggle harder against the straightjacket that binds you.

Go back to bed, the oven grumbles again.

Wait — the oven?

You wake with a gasp with sweat dotting your forehead, desperate to inhale gulps of cool air.

What a weird dream, you think sleepily, the stuffiness around you making you feel as if you’re melting.

You remember, then, that you’re sleeping in a pillow fort, which has to be trapping all your body heat within the confines of the blankets and pillows. All you want to do is fling the blanket off you and strip yourself of the pajamas that stick to your skin like wet paper. And move away from this stupid heated pillow. Who even has heated pillows?

With a groan, you move to throw the blanket off you and sit up, only to find your arms trapped against your body. Now you’re a little more awake, blinking the sleep from your eyes as they adjust to the darkness.

“Has anyone ever told you about your sleep habits?” A very familiar, very human voice rumbles against your ear. “Because they suck. You move around so much.”

Oh.

You were not confined to a straight jacket. No, those were arms you had examined carefully when he wasn't looking, studied the smoothness of the tan skin, the muscles rippling underneath when he flexed to tighten his grip around your waist.

His arms circling your waist, tugging you closer.

His voice, causing vibrations in the chest that was currently pressed against your back, repeating the voice of the oven in your dreams.

“Wh— what are you doing,” you whispered, relieved your voice was working but hating how unsure you sounded.

“Dunno… kinda just woke up like this,” he yawned, not moving. “Think this means I’m irresistible even in my sleep.”

It's nice, but weird. His voice is heavy with sleep, making it sound deeper and rougher than it normally is. That, combined with the way his arms, corded with muscle, don't leave your waist, and the firmness of his chest… it makes your heart beat at an astronomical pace, your breath quickens, your knees weak.

“You’re trembling.” He's propped up on his elbow again, his fingers drawing small circles up and down your arms in a motion that's meant to be soothing, but it just makes you want to squirm.

Every fiber of your being is vibrating, all the emotions of the past week finally catching up with you in this very moment.

You’re not sure when the energy shifted, but it's gone from something warm and compassionate to something far more serious.

He loosens his grip enough for you to roll over onto your back, the breath catching in your throat at the intensity in his gaze. Yet again you’re reminded of the ocean, letting those sea green eyes with flecks of blue swallow you whole.

When you speak, your voice is shaking like the rest of your body, your words muffled with unspilled tears. “I’m so tired of being lonely, Finnick.”

“Then don't be.” Without hesitation, his lips dip down to meet yours, and it feels like you've jumped head first into a frozen lake, then dipped into molten lava the way you're both shivering and on fire at the exact same time.

They're warm and soft and they feel like the home you've been craving, and it’s crazy you could ever think otherwise. His hand reached up to cup your face and glide a thumb over your cheekbone, the rest of his fingers tangling their way into the hairs at the nape of your neck.

As he pulls you impossibly closer, the kiss deepens and you can finally taste him. It’s so new it just makes you hungrier, like you’ve been starving your whole life until now.

It makes you feel alive again.

You whine as he separates from you, then quickly change your tune as his mouth reattaches further down. The sensation of his cool teeth scraping against the delicate skin of your neck, followed by the warmth of his tongue elicits a moan which he quickly swallows with another kiss.

You want him more than anything you’ve wanted in your entire life, you're sure of it.

Still connected, your hands trail down the exquisite planes of his chest to the ridges of his abs, marveling at the hard muscle and how they flex instinctively with each touch.

He's just as touchy, mesmerized by the softness of your skin as his hand slips under your shirt and inches its way up to the underside of your breath, stopping immediately when you let out a soft gasp.

He whispers your name, coaxing the two of you apart just long enough for him to look at you. Really look at you — not just as an enemy, or a fellow mentor, or even a friend. He stares at you like you're the only other person on the planet, the only one that ever mattered.

The intensity of these emotions startle you and you instinctively draw back, because how can you feel so strongly for someone you’ve known for so little time?

“Are you okay?” He asks immediately, his hands leaving your body and leaving you not only cold, but wanting more.

You nod earnestly, “I just got overwhelmed for a second— I’m good. You don't have to coddle me.”

He shakes his head. “I'm not coddling— I’m just making sure this is something you want to do.”

You remember then, the conversation you’d had with him about Eulalia’s death.

And I was fourteen when it started, but they lied about that too.

Suddenly you feel ill— no, selfish. Your hand immediately retracts from its place by his torso. “I’m so sorry, I should've asked— I didn't even think—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, a sweet and gentle thing that eddies all worries from your mind. You doubt he's ever kissed anyone with such tenderness before, especially since he's said his only encounters have been with Capitol citizens. “It's okay,” is all he says.

This time it's you who surges forward and closes the gap, desperate to make up for the lost seconds you'd spent talking.

If you were going slowly and sweetly before, pulled back by hesitation, it's all gone now. Finnick’s fingers unfurl from the back of your neck and trail down to your hips, pulling them flush to his own. You felt his desire for you then and there, evident through the thin material of his pajama pants, and suppressed a shudder.

He continues grasping at your hips until he finally rolls flat on his back with you on top of him, head bumping against the blanket roof of the pillow fort.

One slow rock of your body against his and you know it's all over. “Please—” you beg, your earlier conversation still on your mind though you were desperate not to let it ruin the mood. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

His fingers gripped your hips even tighter, staring at you like you were ethereal. “I don't think I’d ever ask you to do that,” he admits, which only makes you blush harder, on top of the heat you were originally feeling. You kiss him again, desperate for the feel of his lips on your own.

Your hips rolled more forcefully this time, earning a moan from Finnick’s lips that barely escaped past your own. He broke the kiss for a moment, only to tug impatiently at the thin shirt that did little to cover your hardened nipples, which had grown sensitive to the slightest touch. Once the shirt was off and he was in full view of your newly bared skin, he reattached your lips immediately, then broke the kiss yet again to stare. He shifted you easily so that he was more in a sitting position with you on his lap, his back pressed against the bottom of the sofa behind you.

You felt slightly embarrassed at this and the way his sea green eyes roamed your skin, devouring every inch that he came into contact with.

It seemed like he was completely in tune with your mind, always knowing what you were thinking without you saying anything. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered, swallowing hard before bringing his hands up to your chest. They were large, warm and a welcome contact against your breasts, which were aching for something. You arched your back towards him, desperate for more, more, more, and let out a sigh of pleasure as he kneaded them between his hands before bringing his mouth to your chest.

He trailed open mouthed kisses around the swells of your breasts, teasing you as his tongue before taking one nipple into his mouth.

You don't think you can wait honestly. You're certain you’re a wet mess beneath the silk of your pajama shorts, so desperate to feel him you want to skip everything else.

Finnick seems to be keen on taking his time though. When his hands leave your breasts and trail down to the waistband of your shorts, you stop him, shaking your head ever so slightly.

“No,” you remove his hands and urge him to lie flat on his back, wetting your lips in anticipation. “I want to say sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” he looks at you through half lidded eyes. When you plant a kiss on his collarbone and suck a hickey onto the hard planes of his chest, his eyes immediately widen as he lets out a groan. You can feel his heartbeat increase rapidly as your kisses descend downward, taking your time to kiss every freckle, every scar, everything imperfect that makes him so much more real.

One hand tangles itself in your hair when you reach his waistband and palm him over his pants, while the other fists the blanket next to him as he tries to regulate his breathing.

He can't help it though, as his hips buck involuntarily at your touch. You know it's just his body’s reaction but it makes you feel desired; something you haven't felt in a long, long time.

Your fingers hook into the waistband of his pajama pants and boxers, a little nervous at the sight that awaits you. It's long and thick and already glistening with precum, twitching as you wrap a hand around his cock and truly feel him for the first time.

“You don't—” his eyes flutter shut, like doing anything but moaning requires great effort “—have to apologize for anything.”

“Finnick,” you laugh a little. “I want to.”

He seems to like this answer, his head falling back on the pillow behind him as you flatten your tongue and run it along the underside of his cock.

He’s so obviously into you there’s no time for any insecurities to cross your mind. It's given you a new state of confidence as you take the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around and lapping up the bead of precum that had gathered. Finnick’s hip twitch, like he's fighting the urge to thrust up into your mouth.

You don't want him to hold back, not even in the slightest. You want to see him completely unraveled at your touch, which is why you squeeze his hip and look up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck,” he gets out through gritted teeth, the hand in your hair tightening its hold as you begin to move, bobbing your head in a steady rhythm, determined to take him deeper with each one.

“You're so— I—” he can't even muster a full sentence as you moan around him, sending vibrations down. It's addictive, having so much power over him while also wanting so desperately to please him.

His hand that's in your hair pulls you back from his cock.

You begin a protest, “I wasn't done—”

“I need to feel you,” he chokes out, fingers still locked in your hair as he brings your head towards him. Your lips crash together in a perfectly synchronized move as he sits up, flipping you over so that your back is now the one pressed against the blanketed floor.

Despite his eyes being so wild with desire, Finnick is so, so gentle as he connects your lips together once again, this kiss being so much more searing than any of the ones you've had before.

He wants you, so bad he thinks he might die if he doesn't get you. But when he looks down at you, eyes wide and wanting, he knows there's no need to rush, because he has you. All of you.

His hands fumble with your shorts before he pulls them down your hips, tossing them to the side before returning his full attention to you. His hands tease you as they pry your legs apart, trailing slowly up your legs and rubbing small circles along your inner thigh.

“Stop— teasing—” you squirm, desperate for something, anything he could give you.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” he grins, his hands sneaking up further and further until they've just barely brushed your clit, but it's enough to have you whining again.

“Finni—” he cuts his name off with a kiss, this one just as sweet as the rest of them. At the same time, he connects fully to your clit, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles that have your hips bucking for more.

He takes this as an invitation to sink one long finger into you, enjoying how your back arched as you chased his touch. After more slow, easygoing pumping he added another finger.

“That's it,” he coos, his eyes never leaving yours.

You realize at this point neither of you have been very chatty — but that's probably because you prefer to have your lips connected, not spilling out ramblings.

“Please, Finnick— I can't wait any longer, I—” You let out a moan as he adds a third finger, and you can feel the familiar tingling sensation begin to take over.

“You can do it,” he coaxes, “Just a second."

You try, you really do— but when he curls his fingers inside you and presses his thumb to your clit the coil unravels and you're gripping his shoulders, crying out his name as your fingers rake through the soft bronze waves of his hair and tug on them ever so slightly.

You inhale and exhale quickly, trying to regain your composure. He's looking at you with a self satisfied smile, but you're not satiated. You want him, all of him, and you tell him so.

This time he obliges.

He leans in and kisses you once more, tongue sliding past your lips, and you can feel his cock pressed against you. He's hesitating again, half wanting to make sure you're okay, half trying to reassure himself it's not a dream. It's real, he's about to be inside you, and you're practically begging for it.

In an act of finality you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until in one thrust, he's done it.

It stings, and you gasp, only because it's been a while and his size takes some getting used to. His fingers grip your thighs as gently as he can muster, his lips never leaving yours.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Finnick groans, burying his face in your neck and peppering kisses along your collarbone.

His pace is slow and steady at first. As it becomes more comfortable, his pace becomes more relentless, his hips snapping against yours as he fucked you with deep, powerful strokes that leave you breathless, sending scratches down his back and marring his otherwise perfect skin.

His thrusts increase in both force and in pace as you feel every inch of him filling you.

You're overwhelmed with pleasure, unable to say anything and resorting to just squeezing his shoulders and digging your nails into them.

His lips find yours for the millionth time, and it's then you can feel that all too familiar pressure building.

“That's it, sweetheart,” he panted between kisses. “You’re so perfect — squeezing my cock so good.”

You can't muster a response as the overwhelming pleasure of your second orgasm overtakes you, not even noticing Finnick continuing his pace to chase his own release.

You feel him as he collapses on top of you, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before he rolls off you. You're empty and cold for a moment before his arms wrap around you. Their weight is a welcome presence. It makes you feel protected. Safe.

He falls asleep before you do, and in the pale morning light, not only is Finnick’s face relaxed, it's truly weightless. His arms don't move from your torso, even in sleep. His eyebrows occasionally twitch in response to whatever dream he's having, but overall he looks so peaceful. So much younger, too, without the frown or seductive smile he normally wore.

It's then that you decide you’re no longer as lonely as you thought, because you need to study him for the rest of your life.

You’ve never been inside the President’s Mansion. It’s even more intimidating than the grounds that surround it. The walls are tall and imposing, making the rooms feel empty and chilled and making you feel tiny and insignificant.

They’re decorated with wood paneling, hand carved with so many details it makes you dizzy trying to look at them all. Plush rugs just as ornate as the walls cover the dark wood of the floors, making your steps — and anyone else’s — near silent.

“Your home is beautiful,” you breathe out to the man in front of you. He doesn’t look that intimidating, but you are on the verge of screaming in terror if he doesn’t say something soon.

“Thank you, my dear. It’s a shame you haven’t gotten the chance to visit before now.” President Snow motions for you to take a seat in front of his desk instead of continuing to stand there awkwardly.

You fumble your way into the chair, and you hope he can’t hear your heart threatening to leap out of your chest and explode all over his beautiful carved oak desk.

“Have I done something wrong? Like— am I in trouble?” You force out the question that’s been eating you alive.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth pushing into his puffy cheeks. “How did you find mentoring with Finnick Odair to be?”

The way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes terrifies you, but not more than the fact that he hasn’t answered your question. The way his eyes, beady and cold, are staring at you expectantly suggests he knows everything that happened in the tribute apartment. Everything.

“Oh— it… it was fine.” Your nails are now digging into your palms, probably strong enough to draw blood.

“I’ve heard you and Finnick Odair have come to a newfound… friendship.”

Your blood runs cold, confirming every anxious thought you’ve had since stepping foot into this place. “We…”

He raises a hand to stop you, like he’s not interested in any excuses. “I’m sure he told you how he helps the Capitol,” he began, and you feel sick. Help was a poor excuse of a word to describe what Snow did to Finnick. “And I’m sure you know why you haven’t been asked to help as well.”

Because everyone who loves me is six feet under, you think. All except— no. He wouldn't.

“Well I’m telling you, that changes now. If you have any reservations about this, I encourage you to think of your new friend.”

There’s no way he would harm Finnick to keep you in line, he’s so much more valuable than you are. Surely he’s bluffing, and you want to say that, when he continues.

“If you’re willing to risk his life to see if I’m bluffing, there’s nothing stopping you. I would just encourage you to think hard.”

Panic is rising in your chest, threatening to force sobs out your throat as you nod. “Can I go now?”

He nods, and you try not to sprint out of his office.

Finnick, on the other hand, doesn’t need a meeting with President Snow to be reminded his newfound fondness for you has its consequences.

Once Mags had passed, he was supposed to be free. Now, he’s only extended his sentence to life.

#finnick odair x reader #the hunger games #thg series #sunrise on the reaping #finnick odair x you #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair #finnick odair smut #thg fanfiction #thg #thg finnick

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dept-of-monster-affairs · 2 days ago

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The Hum

Tentacles x f!reader

Word Count: 3138

Contains: tentacle sex, ovipositor/egg laying, hypnosis/mind control, outdoor sex, religious language/imagery

While you are deep in the woods, you come across a strange phallic rock formation. Deciding to camp there, you are inducted into a new religion by the tentacle god itself and given the mission to spread its holy message.

Quarantine in Effect

Effective immediately, the Department of Monster Affairs has quarantined a ten-mile radius around the town of Holtston due to a tentacle demon infestation. All travel planned through the area should be rerouted until further notice. Anyone attempting to breach the quarantine zone will be charged to the fullest extent of the law.

Living beings in the area are being examined for eggs, seeds, and other signs of propagation with the tentacle demon. Those infected with corruption will remain under examination. Those clean of corruption will be released outside of the quarantine zone.

If you know anyone who has traveled to the Holtston area within the past month and is acting strangely, please contact the Department of Monster Affairs immediately, as they may be infected with tentacle demon spawn or otherwise corrupted.

The quarantine will be in effect until 30 days after all signs of the tentacle demon are eradicated.

Please visit the Department of Monster Affairs website or call our hotline for more information on quarantine zones, corruption, and tentacle beasts.

Two months prior…

Your muscles ached pleasantly as you hiked along the path following your GPS.

“Alright, there are the two bears,” you said to yourself as you came across an old sign of Smokey the Bear warning about fire safety and a more modern wood carving of a black bear with a request to report any sightings of them in the area. Park rangers were trying to track their numbers as the demons had found them fun sport during the Great Incursion, severely reducing their numbers in the region. And that was why you were here.

A hiker out geocaching had claimed to see a black bear near the cache he was after. Of course, it was one of those unmarked caches that was more of a treasure hunt with clues than a “fun day in the woods with your GPS,” so you didn’t have exact coordinates. The hiker had told the preserve the approximate location but the black bear had been seen at some distance past the geocache using binoculars. So, it was up to you to go out and search the area.

You only hoped it was a bear and not anything else.

Ever since the Great Incursion, humans learned that many of the monsters their myths had been based upon were real. Many old myths and legends were inaccurate and distorted by time, but there were some that still rang true - who knew what was living in these tall mountains now? Maybe Bigfoot really was real. And you knew the old Native myths about creatures far more dangerous than a tall, hairy fellow.

Traveling for another mile, enjoying the spring air and blossoming forest around you. Eventually, you went off the trail as per the instructions. You used biodegradable flags to mark your path and easily find your way back. A couple of miles into the woods with a few more twists and turns, and you arrived at the spot of the geocache. Looking around, you spotted the water-tight steel box sitting within a crevice of exposed rock face. Perfect.

You took out your binoculars, checked your notes, and compared them to the landscape. “Okay, he was facing west and noticed the movement on the right-hand side. The black shape was walking between the trees toward the boulders that looked like a dick and balls…oh, yeah, nope, that’s an accurate description.”

Sitting on the side of the mountain were two large, fairly round boulders and a tall pillar of stone with a surprisingly round top. Usually, this sort of landform would be found in ancient river beds where the running water carved stone, but these rocks must have gotten lucky in a landslide. The spot wasn’t that far away, maybe an hour to an hour and a half, depending on how easy a path down you found. The issue was finding signs of the bear after that. It was already after two, so even if you found evidence immediately, it was safer to spend the night than risk the sun setting before you returned to your Jeep.

Luckily, you had planned for that. Your pack contained a hammock, sleeping bag, and enough food for a couple of days—just in case the search took longer than a single day.

Knowing you were losing daylight, you set off down the mountainside to reach rock-cock…or was rock-and-balls a better name? As you hiked, you mused about what to call the rock feature that could become a hidden secret of the park.

An hour and ten minutes later, you arrived at the relatively flat area where the unusual rock feature sat. Those rocks were an excellent marker to center your search around. You approached the cock-rocks and realized that they were far less natural than you believed. The rocks had seemed rather smooth from up on the ridge, but you had thought that was the distance. Now that you were closer, you realized they seemed purposively carved.

Approaching a bit closer, you saw tool marks on the rock, or what were probably tool marks you weren’t an expert. The stone wasn’t polished, but…something was strange about it. As you stood before it, the hairs on the back of your neck rose. It felt like you were being watched.

You took out the magical device in your bag to check for a Rift to the other world nearby. The color of the enchanted compass was a milky blue, the color of this dimension. No Rifts nearby. This was probably a prank or some weird art someone made then. Neat and still useful as a hidden landmark for the park.

“The Mysterious Cock Rock, that has a ring to it.” With a chuckle, you began your search for any sign of a black bear.

Your search circled Cock Rock using the unusual feature as a starting and ending point. You looked for natural animal paths through the foliage and broken branches at hip height; there were several but only a few deer and coyote tracks. A small stream at the base of the mountain yielded nothing besides more tracks. You did not realize that all the tracks were pointing away from the phallic stone you started from.

You came across a patch of blackberries. The bottom ones had all been eaten, but the ones at the top, which black bears could reach by pulling the branches, were still there. That did it for you. There was no black bear around here. A black bear coming out of hibernation wouldn’t miss the chance to munch on one of their primary food sources.

“Gods damn it,” you swore. But this was a prime area for a black bear to find food and shelter. You would set up some trail cams in the area, and even if there wasn’t a black bear around, it would be good to know what animals were in the area. You’d also put one near Cock Rock. If it was a prankster or artist, there was a chance they weren’t done with the project yet. With a trail cam, you could catch them in the act.

By the time you finished your search and set up the trail cams, it was dinner time. You decided to set up your hammock in the clearing with Cock Rock. If nothing else came of this excursion, you would be able to tell your friends you slept with the biggest cock you’d ever seen.

The camp was pretty simple to set up. You made a small fire for warmth and to heat up some water for tea. Munching on a few blackberries you had picked and your rations, you smiled; even if there was no black bear, it was a good trip. You loved the National Parks. The sun disappeared behind you, leaving you to stare into the vast starry sky. The moon was full tonight, providing plenty of light for you to see.

The wind picked up. Through the mountains, a low hum began to resonate. It wasn’t common, but sometimes, they made music when the wind hit the cliffs just right. The hum continued a sonorous tone that wavered in frequency just enough to have a rhythm. It reminded you of that special hertz music you used for meditation.

It was just so relaxing…

You felt the tension in your shoulders release. You could feel yourself sinking into that mindless, meditative state.

Yet, a thought crossed your mind. Maybe this rock formation wasn’t recent. It was art, yes—ancient art.

You rocked back and forth on your feet before the pillar of stone. You didn’t remember moving at all.

The breeze caressed your skin. Your breath was shallow. Breathing in and out with the shift of the hum. Your hands moved without your intent yet without your resistance. You unbuckled your belt and slowly unbuttoned your khaki uniform top. Undressing. Baring yourself to the phallic monument.

You knew something was wrong, but you could not stop.

The hum grew louder. Drowning all worries. You sank to your knees, sitting on your heels, your legs in a V, torso still rocking back and forth with the droning hum.

The hum grew louder again. It resonated in your body. Your nipples tingled, half hardening. Your body was flushed with heat. The fluid of arousal from your swollen nethers dripped onto the ground.

The hum was tangible in the air. You could taste it as you moaned in the same pitch. It was moving forward towards your body, displayed in offering to the stone. The hum was not caused by the wind. From in between the two round boulders, from a hidden cave that you had not seen, the darkness moved.

The darkness slithered forward in slick tendrils. The hum ceased as it reached out towards you, yet the tone still rang in your mind. It had filled your brain like static, white noise that erased everything else. There was merely you, a supplicant, a waiting vessel. And the beautiful darkness of possibility before you.

Out of the crevice, the divine creature arose. It was beautiful.

Your hand rose as you longed to touch the magnificence before you, reaching for a perfection that you could never achieve. Yet, you were not worthy to make that choice. It had to accept you. One of the thick tendrils rose and slid into your hand. Like Adam being touched by Yahweh in the Sistine Chapel, you were filled with life, created anew to serve your god's will.

“Master,” you moaned with awe.

The tendril spiraled down your arm, pulling it off to the side. Another wrapped around your other arm and pulled it out as well. Your chest was forced out, presenting your breasts and hardened nipples to your god. Even in its hold, your body still swayed to the hum in your head.

Its many unblinking eyes stared down at you like a multitude of pearlescent moons cast within the sparkling ink of night that was its body. It was examining you. Determining if you were truly worthy to serve.

“Please, use me as you will.” To be rejected by it now would break you.

Like a stray radio signal through the static, a thought, no, an impression of intent crossed your mind. Accepted.

That alone caused your body to shudder with pleasure. More of your dripping arousal fell upon the ground, soaking into the earth.

A third tendril stretched out, thicker than the others but with a rounder head shining wet in the moonlight. It dipped between your open legs, pressing against your slickened folds. You gasped with pleasure, but the rhythm of your swaying body continued. It rubbed against you in time with your swaying before easily slipping into your aching hole.

“Master,” you sighed with pleasure. The tentacle held still, but your body rocked upon it. Slow and steady. Constant pleasure.

Your god’s blessed slime soaked into your inner walls, molding them to its will. Inside, you were stretching. Opening up. Changing to what you need to be to serve it.

The tentacle sunk into you deeper and deeper. Your hips rolled in rhythm. Its blunt head pressed against that perfect spot inside of you. Again and again, as you fucked yourself upon your master. Then, your walls twitched around it as pleasure overcame you.

The rhythm broke. While that hum still filled your mind, it was enough to start raising your awareness. Wait. This creature. This was wrong. This was…

Another blip in the hum, so much louder than your thoughts, drowning them out. Submission. Pleasure.

Pleasure. You wanted pleasure. This was pleasure. This divine creature, this god, would bring you untold pleasure. All you had to do was submit. Fall back into the warm cloud of static and let it rewrite you. The little bit of your instinctual mortal fight for independence that had clawed its way to the surface let go, sinking back into the all-encompassing hum.

“Forgive me, Master,” you pleaded with a sigh. A tendril dripping with slime rose; it hovered before your face. Leaning forward, you placed a reverent kiss on the end of its head. Absolution was granted as the tendril anointed your face with a spurt of holy slime.

With your full submission, your Master used your body as it willed. Other tentacles moved forward now. Some were like the tendrils holding your arms, and they wrapped around your legs, lifting you into the air. Some tentacles had broad textured pads at the ends, others suction cups, and others split open, revealing tongue-like appendages or even smaller and more dexterous tentacles. The tentacles descended upon you.

A mouth-like tentacle pressed against your lips in a profane kiss. It split open at the end, revealing a long tongue that swirled around your mouth, slowly inching down your throat. You moaned around the tongue as two of the padded tentacles engulfed your breasts, the cilia-like tentacles stimulating every inch of skin they covered, making them tingle.

Another thick tentacle pressed against your ass, filling you up but staying still. You could feel it gushing slime, coating your insides, your walls eagerly soaking up the blessing. A small suction cup placed itself over your clit, starting a rhythmic sucking in time with the hum. The tentacle in your pussy held still, letting your inner walls clench around it - gradually falling into rhythm with the hum.

The tongue in your throat was starting to cut off your air. Your vision started to fade to black as your body jerked, trying to breathe. Thick slime formed on the tongue, pouring down your throat and filling your lungs. If it were not for the hum, you would have panicked while you drowned. Yet, like a child in the womb, you were sustained, breathing in your god.

From deep within your pussy you felt a pressure. The tentacle that had been sitting inside of you finally moved. It pressed upwards, shrinking and squeezing to pass through your cervix opened up to it by the corruptive slime.

Your eyes rolled back in your head from the pleasure of your god entering you so completely. An orgasm washed over your body. Through the ecstasy, there was another blip of contact. This time, it was more than an emotion. A vision was granted to you.

An ancient past where the people of this region had properly worshiped your god for the fertility and unity that all experienced under its thrall. Then, the Division. Magic ripped away from this world. Your god torn from its people. It waited in hibernation under its phallic altar until the Great Incursion. It could sense the people miles away but was too weak to call out until you. You had come to it. You had laid next to its altar in offering. You resonated with its call and accepted it into your mind and body.

The vision transformed into a prophecy.

You would take it to others, spread its teachings of unity and pleasure, and bring others into the chorus of the hum—you as a saint, you as a brood mother. It would put itself into you so you could bring it into town. Then you would give birth to it anew just as you had been reborn in it. Piece by piece, your god would be bestowed upon those worthy of the pleasure.

You could not speak around its tentacle. Yet, if there was any final resistance to your god’s will, you released it. Yes. You would accept this task. You would bring unity and pleasure to your fellows. Build a new cult to your god just as it deserves.

Its eyes pearlescent eyes shifted. Not eyes, you realized, but eggs. They traveled down the tentacles that rested inside of your body. You felt the first egg stretch your pussy lips. It pushed inside of you and pressed against your cervix. Your body waited on the edge as the pressure increased, waiting…waiting…then it slipped into your womb.

The sensation of your god placing itself inside of you sent you into another orgasm. The eggs were coming rapidly now. Eggs of all shapes and sizes. Small eggs, covered in protective gel, like frogspawn, poured down your throat, filling your stomach. The tentacle in your ass lined your insides with eggs, sticking to your innards like octopus eggs to a rock. And most precious of all, the large eggs gently laid in your womb that held the majority of its divine essence.

It was unending. Your mortal body eventually was overwhelmed. Eggs still being pumped into you, you passed out.

You awoke to the chirping birds of dawn. Your nose was cold. Slowly opening your eyes, you saw the canopy of trees above you. You had slept so well. Sleeping in your hammock was better than the ground, but it was never as comfortable as bed. Usually, you had a couple of knots you’d have to stretch out. Yet, as you sat up and gingerly put your feet on the ground, you felt no soreness. Though you did feel oddly bloated, and your uniform felt tight around your breasts and stomach.

Looking around the campsite, you furrowed your brow. You didn’t remember going to bed. Yet, everything was packed away, and the fire was properly doused. Strange. Maybe you had been so tired that you did everything on autopilot before crawling into the hammock. Well, no matter, it was time to report back to the station that there was no evidence of black bears.

As you packed up camp, you hummed. Not happy little do-dos but a long, sonorous frequency that moved up and down in a relaxing rhythm. Something about the tone wasn’t quite right. Humming it alone felt wrong. Your friend should be at the ranger station today. Maybe you could share the hum with her.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated. Trying to think of a name for the tentacle religion and the god itself - thinking Ch'thon/Chthon kinda basic but it works...

There will be more to this, but I thought this was a good ending point for part 1 of an ongoing series.

Find more stories in my Masterlist

#department of monster affairs #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster lover #monster x human #teratophillia #tentacles #tentacle monster #tentacle fucker #tentacles x reader #eldritch x reader #hypnosis #hypnok1nk

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darkstarofchaos · 2 days ago

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One of the things I find cool about TFP is that it actually has a really solid timeline for the first several episodes.

The Darkness Rising five-parter takes place over the span of about four days, with Masters and Students set immediately after (I'd say not more than a day or two later). A noteworthy thing about Masters and Students is that the kids are doing a science fair - I couldn't find anything more specific than "January-March" for when school science fairs occur, but the major fairs in Nevada are in March. Since this is a required part of the kids' grade, it's more likely a small school thing, and my assumption is it would occur a little earlier than the big fairs.

Scrapheap can't happen very long after the pilot - maybe a week or two - because Ratchet hasn't gotten used to the kids being out of school on Saturday (and possibly didn't know that's a thing, given his early aversion to humans in general). The ground bridge was on the fritz for an unknown amount of time after that, but I can't imagine Ratchet wasn't constantly working on it, given how important it is to the Autobots, so again, probably not more than a week or two. So that's eight episodes that occurred over a span of maybe three or four weeks, and a notable human event with an estimated time range of January to March.

Con Job doesn't give us anything to ground ourselves with time-wise, but Deux ex Machina gives us this while Miko is talking to the security guard:

In conclusion, assuming the kids had their school-mandated science fair during the standard time frame but a few weeks earlier than the bigger fairs, I would say it's been maybe two months since the Bots and humans met, if that.

Anyway, all of this being said, Optimus and Bulkhead are their own people with their own knowledge, so it's completely reasonable to assume Bulk was just starting off with more awareness of local human culture. Arcee absolutely was - the very next day after Optimus' confusion about curfew, she told Jack (who was annoyed about getting up early on a Saturday) that he could watch cartoons with Bumblebee at the base. Regardless of whether Bee actually watches Saturday morning cartoons, it's a human thing Arcee knew about (and if Bee doesn't watch them, my bet is that she got it from Cliffjumper, who was 100% absorbing all the fun human culture he could).

Even if Bulk was generally disinterested in humans, though, he's very invested in Miko's future, and it doesn't take much cultural awareness to realize "school is important to humans + Miko doesn't put much effort into her schoolwork = this might negatively impact her future". After that, you just need to be curious enough to do some research, whether by going online or by asking the other human kids about it.

Transformers Prime Learning Curve

I find it interesting that between episode 1 and episode 10 the Autobots go from Optimus Prime not knowing that smol humans need to be back under their parents care after school to Bulkhead understanding enough about human social life and development to lecture Miko about needing to get into a good college. That is basically going from zero to fully informed member of the culture. Granted Prime always played fast and loose with the give time line so we don’t know how much time has passed here.

Still one must wonder where this information came from. Miko sure wasn’t going to inform Bulkhead that she needed to study to get into college to get good grades to establish her place in the culture. Who snitched? Did Optimus dig this up in a general quest to be more informed about the humans under his care? Did Bulkhead listen in to what her host parents said to her.

Another thing is that it is crazy subtle world building for Cybertronians. Bulkhead was low caste in a system that was harsh on the lower castes. He has figured out that humans in the culture he sees can to some degree at least choose their own caste. And he is afraid for Miko of what will happen if she doesn’t choose correctly. Bulkhead is still mentally scared by what he endured and doesn’t want to see anything like that happen to Miko.

#transformers #TFP #Bulkhead #miko nakadai #Of course the timeline does get screwed up pretty fast when you consider Miko is an exchange student who never goes home #But the early episodes are remarkably timeline-friendly (probably in part because they all reference recent events from previous eps)

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moontyger · 2 days ago

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According to CNN and other outlets, the effort to ease labor laws in Florida specifically comes as Gov. Ron DeSantis advocates for “dirt cheap” labor to replace the work once done by the very immigrants Republicans were so eager to boot from the country.

“Why do we say we need to import foreigners, even import them illegally, when you know, teenagers used to work at these resorts, college students should be able to do this stuff,” DeSantis said last week.

The Sunshine State has been gradually loosening its child labor laws for years. CNN reports that the legislature passed a law in 2024 allowing homeschooled 16- and 17-year-olds to work “any hour of the day.”

But Florida isn’t alone in this push. In recent years, GOP lawmakers in other red states like Arkansas, Indiana, and Iowa have passed laws making it easier for teenagers to work longer hours and take on more jobs—seemingly to fill poorly paid and undesirable positions that employers once relied on undocumented workers to fill.

“The consequences are potentially disastrous,” Reid Maki, the director of the Child Labor Coalition, which advocates against exploitative labor policies, told PBS News. “You can’t balance a perceived labor shortage on the backs of teen workers.”

But the desire to put kids to work only seems to be ramping up. One report found that since 2021, 28 states introduced bills to weaken child labor laws, and 12 states actually enacted such laws. By comparison, 14 states introduced new child labor-related bills in 2024 alone.

What’s worse, some unscrupulous businesses aren’t even waiting for states to pass laws that allow children to work. In May 2023, several McDonald’s franchises in Kentucky were accused of hiring a combined 300 children, some of them reportedly younger than 10.

Republicans may argue they’re filing and passing these bills for practical reasons, such as addressing labor shortages in a competitive market. But the more likely explanation for the surge of new child labor bills is that Republicans want to reduce regulations on businesses—using child labor as a tool to directly attack longstanding federal safety rules.

It’s already legal for teenagers to take on certain jobs or paid internships, and children from middle- or upper-class families have been able to take advantage of these opportunities for years. But the Republican lawmakers pushing for looser labor laws aren’t focused on making it easier for teens to babysit or work the drive-thru at a fast food chain. Instead, they’re aiming to allow 16-year-olds to cover night shifts.

And, conveniently for them, they have allies in the White House who seem perfectly okay with this.

A report from the Center for American Progress revealed that Project 2025, the conservative blueprint for Donald Trump’s second presidential administration, advocated for rolling back child labor laws because … kids like danger?

“Some young adults show an interest in inherently dangerous jobs,” Project 2025 claims. “With parental consent and proper training, certain young adults should be allowed to learn and work in more dangerous occupations.”

Members of Trump’s Cabinet have also turned a blind eye to child labor. Earlier this month, newly appointed Labor Secretary Lori Chavez-DeRemer bragged about cutting $33 million from her department’s budget, including a program that helped regulate and prevent child labor abroad.

What’s also working in the Republicans’ favor is the fact that enforcement of child labor laws has been lax. Beyond the Kentucky incident, a November report by Arkansas Advocates for Children and Families revealed a staggering 266% increase in state-level child labor law violations between the fiscal years 2020 and 2023.

With enforcement already weak, it’s no surprise that some businesses and legislators are taking advantage of the situation to push the boundaries further—without much pushback.

The bill being considered by the Florida Legislature would remove employment time restrictions for 14- and 15-year-olds if they are homeschooled or attend virtual school. Under current law, these children are currently prohibited from working earlier than 6:30 AM or later than 11 PM.

If passed, this could have disastrous consequences. A report from the Florida Policy Institute warned that these types of bills could “reverse decades of child labor protections in Florida” and noted that child labor violations in Florida had already risen from 95 in 2019 to 281 in 2022.

#US politics #FL politics #child labor #labor laws #current events

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destieltaggedfic · 1 day ago

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Fake Relationship - Part 12

Suck It, Judy Garland - GlitterDwarf, midrashic Ao3

Set S12. Still on wanted posters in town, Dean can’t be on point for an investigation which leaves Sam and Cas pretending to be a couple to get into a gated community. Something that Dean is severely uncomfortable with and yes he knows why, even if he won’t say it.

Word Count: 20k Non-Graphic Sex

Soft and Slow - Maxine (WinchesterPooja) Ao3

Set S14 AU. After Michael’s destruction everyone is a bit out of sorts, not least Cas, because when Jack had been dying he and Dean nearly kissed and since then Dean has been denying it. When a case at the local dance class comes up, Dean and Cas have to go undercover as students to investigate.

Word Count: 60k Non-Graphic Sex

Faking It! - GhoulsnHalos (Morgawse) Ao3

AU. Two actors who need publicity boosts are paired up to pretend to be in a relationship. Things are a bit complicated when Dean and Cas quickly realise they are attracted to the other.

Word Count: 53k Graphic Sexual Acts

i'm home with you – babydraygen Ao3

Set 15x20 didn’t happen AU. Despite not really feeling compelled to hunt any more, Dean ends up on a case with Cas and when the connection between the murders seems to be a realtor, they pretend to look at the possible cursed locations like a couple who are looking to buy a home. It all making Dean think about what he’d like with Cas.

Word Count: 30k No Sex

Masquerade – noxsoulmate Ao3

AU. In order to keep people from hitting on him while he’s trying to do business Castiel hired Dean to be his loving boyfriend for the past 3 months. In return, at said networking parties, Cas introduced Dean to other rich people so that he can raise money for his charity. They are both terrible actors, so how come no one has ever believed they are anything but smitten?

Word Count: 17k Graphic Sexual Acts

#destiel #fic recs #fake relationship

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scrawnytreedemon · 1 year ago

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I don't think I ever posted this here.

#shitpost #elden ring #fromsoft #scrawny draws #scrawny commits crimes #godrick the grafted #malenia blade of miquella #starscourge radahn #in the stripped club straight up jorking it #my peanits #suggestive #this was plaguing me for weeks before i finally scrawled this down #and it has been several months since then #no idea why !#take it i'm right you know this #this is what got godrick ganked

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flutterclouds · 2 days ago

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This was such a great chapter, Tesh! I really loved Nia and Toby’s conversation at the start of the chapter. It’s been a long time coming ever since Ghatha, and I think the payoff is fantastic. Nia is understandably anxious about how often Tobias puts himself in danger for the sake of his quest for revenge, while Tobias himself is stubborn in wanting to tackle every lead on Team Zenith. While he said he’d be more careful, I have a feeling this isn’t the end of his reckless behavior. And going off of Nia’s nonverbal assertion that this particular discussion isn’t over, I can only wonder what will prompt the next part of the conversation.

Moving on, I also liked Nia and Toby’s discussion regarding Giratina. It’s obvious Giratina wants Nia alive, but I have to wonder for what purposes. I certainly don’t entirely trust Will’s description of Giratina, but I have a feeling something more is going on.

I also loved Nia’s conversation with Samir about coming to the Lexym Guild. I think Samir would work well as an addition to Team Scarlet, but I get the feeling they’re not ready to join another team at the moment. I have a feeling Team Scarlet and Samir’s paths will cross again, though.

Moving on to Rosalind and Vesper, I have to wonder what exactly Rosalind gets out of assisting Team Scarlet in exchange for them performing missions for her. She certainly isn’t doing it to be charitable, so I have to wonder what exactly it is she wants. If previous scenes with her are anything to go by, I have the feeling she gets some sort of amusement by having teams go on dangerous missions in exchange for information. That may not be the whole reason she does what she does, but I think it’s at least a small part of why she operates her shady information deals. On the subject of Vesper, I thought it was a very interesting twist that he had passed the year before. Toby had spent so many years consumed by grief and anger over the loss of his family, while Vesper himself found a mate and had children. I couldn’t help but notice the parallels between Vesper and Toby’s families, both being families of four that had lost at least one family member. In Tobias’ case, he lost every member of his immediate family, while Vesper’s immediate family lost him. I think this is a very interesting development for Toby because in this case, he can’t take revenge, no matter how hard he wishes for it. Vesper is no longer a mere shadow from his past he is chasing, but a Pokemon who lived and had a family. That is something tangible, something grounded in the present Toby has to wrestle with.

I think this chapter works so well because it shows the complexities of the characters’ relationships. Nia’s comment about missing someone no matter how long you’ve known them really got to me. Having dealt with some personal losses of my own in the last six months, that line hit especially hard. It’s a strange feeling, having a work slowly feel more relevant after a few years of making my way through the chapters. I’m doing okay, although I wasn’t expecting to have some of my grief mirrored in one of my favorite fics today. I think you write grief and all the emotions surrounding it very well, especially all the reminders of a person that’s passed on that can darken one’s mood. I’ve followed Nia and Tobias’ adventures for several years now, so in a way it’s comforting to see characters I’ve come to love deal with similar feelings. This was quite a heavy chapter, but one I’m glad to have read nonetheless. I’m looking forward to what Team Scarlet uncovers at Edme’s.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 46]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Tobias and Nia say their goodbyes to Fort Asra. Following Rosalind's info, they discover some unexpected answers in the desert.

Tobias wakes somewhere soft. Once he blinks his eyes open against late afternoon light, he realizes he’s back at Granite and Takeo’s place, in the room he and Nia have been boarding in. Dust motes float through sunlight against a wooden ceiling.

The quiet creak of the door and soft footsteps—familiar footsteps—make Tobias raise his head.

Nia startles at the movement, then hurries over with a smile. “Hey! How’re you feeling?”

Tobias tries sitting up, then groans when that makes his body ache and his head twinge with pain. His thigh is wrapped up tight in gauze, and it itches against his scales.

Nia motions for him to lie down. “Take it easy. You got pretty roughed up.”

No kidding. Tobias rubs at his eyes. “What happened?”

“Well…what do you remember?”

Tobias grudgingly allows himself to sink back into the pile of cushions. “I remember…Calder, jumping in to fight Eddy. And Grant and Takeo. They found us?”

Nia nods, smile twisting with wry humor, “Apparently Takeo didn’t trust us to stay out of trouble. He tagged us with his silk and tracked us across the desert once he realized we snuck out. Granite grabbed Calder along the way.”

Tobias isn’t sure if he should feel angry about that or not. The townsmon did save them from a second fight with the dewott that Tobias isn’t sure they would’ve won.

“What about Eddy and the Steelix?”

“Safely in custody!” Nia chirps, looking proud. “Calder and Lara kept them subdued until some psychics from the guild could come out to grab them.”

Tobias nods as he stares up at the ceiling, something in his memory nudging at him. Something important. He vaguely remembers Nia and Samir leading him out of the cave and up the ladder. The three of them hobbling past the downed steelix (and Tobias has questions about how that happened). Then Eddy attacking them back on the surface.

But before all that, he remembers a terrifying wave of earth bearing down on him, slamming into him and burying him alive. Blackness. Then, a slow return to awareness, soft fur holding him close. Nia’s voice, shaky but relieved. A tight, borderline-painful hug.

Tobias pauses. “Did you…dig me out from that rock slide? How did you find me in all that?”

Nia winces. She looks guilty. “I, um…we couldn’t find you at first, and I was scared you were suffocating. So I found your aura.”

Tobias’ head snaps up as something in his chest stutters. “You looked at my aura?”

He must sound sharper than he means to, because Nia frowns with her ears pinned back in the way she does when she feels defensive. “I thought you might be dying!”

The sudden fear that had bubbled up in Tobias’ chest melts abruptly into shame.

“Right,” he mutters. It still sounds loud in the quiet. “I…I know you did what you had to do.” He grimaces as he peers up at her, almost not wanting to ask. “So…what’d you see?”

Nia blinks. “Oh. Um. Not much, really. I was trying not to dig too deep and I was a bit, uh…distracted. Your soul is red?”

“Red? What does that mean?”

Nia quirks a smile and shrugs. “I’d have to actually focus and look again to tell you. All I know is that you’re a deep red. Almost maroon! I could tell it was you right away. It just…felt like you.”

For some reason, Tobias feels his face heat up at that. He looks away, claws kneading into the cushion in his lap. He supposes he’s glad Nia didn’t find any terrible truths from a fleeting glimpse of his soul, even if he still feels strangely exposed that she looked at all.

There’s a moment of silence where Nia busies herself with fluffing the cushions around Tobias. He can tell she has something to say. She keeps taking a deep breath and opening her mouth, hesitating before closing it again.

“Look,” Nia finally says. “I know you just woke up, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve and we need to talk about this. About…how you get, when info about Team Zenith is involved.”

Oh. Tobias’ stomach sinks as he sits up again, ignoring the exhaustion in his body. “What about it?”

Nia gives him a tired look. “You know what I mean, Tobias.”

“I’m not going to stop looking for them.”

“I’m not asking you to!” Nia groans. She takes a deep breath, rubbing at her face.

"Then what are you asking?”

“I’m not saying we need to stop looking for them,” Nia starts. “I know that you won’t stop, no matter what. But we need to start being more careful about how we tackle these missions.”

Tobias knows that by “we,” she means he has to start being more careful. He’s the one who basically forced her and Samir down into the mines because he was desperate to finish the mission as soon as possible.

He vaguely remembers her hugging him and crying into his scarf, and feels a stab of guilt. Still, he can’t seem to apologize. The words lodge in his throat like a rock. Because he knows he would do it again.

Tobias stares down at his hands and mutters, “You didn’t have to come with me.”

Nia makes an offended noise. “I wasn’t going to let you march off alone to get killed!”

“It would be my fault if I died, not yours.”

Nia throws her hands up. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it would be, it would matter that you died!”

“Would it?” Tobias scoffs.

Nia stops mid-rant, looking stunned. Then, her expression slowly melts into something almost…hurt.

“Yes,” Nia whispers. “It would.”

To Tobias’ surprise, he believes her. Nia gets attached to Pokemon stupidly quick. It makes sense that she’s managed to get attached to him, despite his prickly attitude. They do spend pretty much every day together. Still, Nia could just join Andyn’s team or something if got himself killed. She’d be fine, after a bit.

There’s a heavy moment of silence. Tobias can feel Nia’s eyes on him, so he stubbornly looks out the window, where he sees the side of another building and a glimpse of bright afternoon sunlight.

Finally, Nia sighs. “We just…we can’t keep going like this, Tobias. The seviper in Ghatha, the steelix down in the mines. Rosalind is giving us dangerous missions.”

“I know that,” Tobias says. “What are you recommending we do about it?”

Nia’s mouth flattens into a frown. “I…don’t know. But Samir and I both thought it was too dangerous, and we turned out to be right. We almost died down there because of that.”

Tobias winces, feeling guilt drop heavy onto his shoulders. He wasn’t the only one he put in danger by charging into the mines. Nia and Samir easily could’ve been killed by that steelix. That possibility does scare him. It’s just…so hard for him to think of that, when he feels that desperate itch to follow a lead.

“Can you just…listen, when we try to get you to slow down?” Nia asks. “Be a little more careful?”

Tobias mulls that over. Her request is reasonable enough. She's not asking him to avoid dangerous situations entirely, after all, just to approach them with a bit more caution.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “I’ll try to listen if you tell me to slow down.”

Nia doesn’t seem relieved by that. Instead, she tilts her head with a little furrow to her brow. Like she’s trying to get through to him, even though he’s already agreed.

“What?” He asks. “I said I'd be more careful.”

“No, I know. I’m glad. It’s just…it feels like you’re agreeing to get me off your back, not because you think it’s the best course of action.”

“What's the difference? Look, I’ll slow down a bit when you get freaked out, okay? And I’ll make sure I don’t drag you or anyone else down with me.”

Nia’s frown grows deeper. “What about you?”

“What about me?"

Nia opens her mouth to reply, then closes it again. “You…want to get revenge, right? On Team Zenith. For taking your family away.”

“Yeah. And?”

Nia bites her lip, but holds his gaze. She looks nervous, but determined. He hates that expression on her because it usually means she’s about to do something stupid.

Finally, she says, “You can’t take revenge for your family if you’re dead. If…If you rush us into a situation and get killed for it, that revenge will never happen, right?”

Tobias blinks back at her, surprised by the riolu’s unusual bluntness. He…hadn’t really thought of it like that before, as obvious as the line of thought is. He’d always sort of figured he’d throw himself at any information and hope for the best. If he died, he died. But…it would all be for nothing then. And if that's the case, it would be worth approaching leads more cautiously not just because Nia asked him to, but because his end goal has a better chance of coming to fruition, right?

Nia continues before he can respond. “Plus, think about what it’d do to Maggie if you were killed. Or the shinx kids. And if I didn’t somehow go down with you I’d be—“

Nia cuts herself off, blinking bright ruby eyes. Her lip quivers. “W-Well. I already thought that yesterday and you saw me then. I’d be devastated if something happened to you.”

Devastated. Somehow, that seems like such an…intense word to apply to him. Tobias doesn’t know if he’s quite worth feeling “devastated” over.

“You’d get over it,” Tobias scoffs.

That makes Nia upset. He sees the blue of her aura flash through her eyes. “You’re not over your family.”

Tobias flinches back as if she’d slapped him. “Of course I’m not! But that’s different!“

“How?”

“Because they were my family!” Tobias hisses.

“Maggie’s your family too! What would she do if she lost you?”

That trips Tobias up. Maggie is his family, and he is hers. But—

“It’s not the same!”

“Why?!”

“Because I should’ve been strong enough to protect my family! And I need to be strong enough now to make Team Zenith pay for what they did. If I go and get myself killed by being an idiot, there’s no one to blame but me. Certainly not Maggie or the kids.“

“None of us would see it that way,” Nia says, voice soft. "You don’t seem to value your own life much, but other people do.”

Something sharp tangles and knots in Tobias’ chest. “Well they shouldn't! I didn't ask them to!"

“I don’t think you get to decide how much other people care about you.”

And Tobias has nothing to say to that. She’s right.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Tobias huffs, looking away. “I’m sorry, all right? For putting you and Samir in danger. I won’t do it again.”

At least that’s one truth that’s easy to tell. He’ll just face it himself next time, if it comes to that. He has to stop dragging Nia down with him.

A heavy silence falls over the room. Tobias wonders if Takeo or Granite heard them arguing. He doesn’t hear either ‘mon moving around the small building, and Granite is very easy to notice with his heavy steps.

Finally, Nia sighs. It’s a defeated sound, but Tobias has a feeling she isn’t done, even if they don’t revisit this today.

Tobias accepts the uneasy truce, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the cushions. Both because he’s growing tired again and because he needs something to do in the awkward silence. Nia reaches over and picks up the book she’d come through the door holding.

For a while, the riolu reads while he rests his eyes and avoids conversation. He tries to track how far she gets by the flutter of pages turning, but loses track after twenty. He idly wonders what she’s reading about. He doesn’t think she brought a book along when they left the guild. Did she borrow one from Granite and Takeo’s shop?

Tobias’ mind wanders then to the itchy bandage circling the cut on his thigh. And then to the fight down in the mines. Eddy wasn’t too difficult to take down, once it was three-on-one. But the steelix…the giant’s face flashes through his mind, jaws strong enough to kill with a single bite.

Tobias cracks open an eye, cataloguing his partner’s lack of injury. The last thing he remembers before waking up from that rock slide, Samir had been knocked out and Nia had been left alone with the steelix. While he's grateful for it, Tobias can't figure out how she escaped so unscathed.

“So you took down the steelix, right?” Tobias asks, unable to completely stop the disbelief in his voice. “How..?”

Nia looks up from her book, taking a moment to enter the present and register his words. “Oh! You remember those blast seeds we got from that last client?”

Tobias frowns. “Oh. Yeah. I'd almost forgotten about them.”

Nia huffs a little laugh. “I did forget about them. The only reason I remembered at all was because of Giratina.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Tobias stares at Nia, trying to process what she just said.

“Giratina?”

Nia blinks back at him. Then, she bops a paw to her forehead. “Oh! Right! I knew I was forgetting something important! He kind of, uh…showed up down in the mines? In the reflections?”

Tobias sits up, alarm swooping through his gut. “What?!”

“But he helped us!” Nia hurries to say.

“Wh—Nia, he’s—“

“I know, I know! I didn’t trust him at first either.” Nia holds out her paws in a calming gesture. Tobias glares back at her but holds his tongue. This better be good.

“But..?”

“But he helped me hide myself when the steelix passed by. I probably would’ve been crushed otherwise. And he lead me to Samir, and then both of us to you.”

Okay, there’s…a lot to unpack there. Giratina supposedly helped them? For some reason? And Nia likely would have died down in the mines if not for the legendary, which is. Great. Tobias’ subconscious will love that nightmare fuel.

Nia must see the skepticism on his face, because she breathes a laugh. “I know. It sounds crazy. But Samir can vouch for me. I guess Giratina could be pulling some kind of long con, but I don’t think any of us would’ve made it out of there without him.”

Tobias wrestles quietly with that information. He’s heard whispers here and there about Giratina all his life, and literally not a single one was flattering. Add that to the fact that Giratina has been stalking his partner and tried to forcibly yank her into the distortion world, and he’s having a hard time believing that the banished legendary might actually have decent motivations.

On the other hand, Will told them not to trust Giratina, and Tobias hates that guy. So.

“So…what? We just trust him now?” Tobias asks.

To his relief, Nia shakes her head. “I’d still like to talk to Edme first before deciding on anything. Giratina helped us, but that doesn’t necessarily mean his end goals are good.”

Tobias sits back against the cushions. “Agreed. But knowing you, I figured you'd already decided to befriend him.”

Nia sticks her tongue out at him but doesn't respond. Tobias takes that as a win.

"So you wanna catch me up on everything that happened in the mines?"

The riolu almost seems surprised by the request, before she shifts position to get more comfortable and begins to talk. Her words start out hesitant, and she peeks at him like she isn’t sure he wants to hear all the gritty details, but she picks up speed and strength as she goes on. She tells him about Giratina appearing and helping her hide, the legendary leading her and Samir to Tobias, and how she defeated the steelix with the help of the blast seeds. Tobias locks his jaw every time she trails off, clearly trying to figure out how to soften the fact that she—or he or Samir—brushed close to death yet again. He feels terrible for leaving that all on her.

But he also can’t help feeling impressed, too.

“Quick thinking,” he comments, when she reaches the end of her retelling. “And...I am sorry for leaving you to fight him alone. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

Nia gives him a tired smile. “I’m upset that you dragged us down there in the first place, not that you got knocked out. You couldn’t help that.”

Their discussion is interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Tobias looks up in time to see a familiar skiddo face peer through the cracked opening.

“Samir!” Nia says, sounding happy but unsurprised. “C’mon in. Tobias is up!”

The skiddo shoulders their way into the room, giving Tobias a once-over as if to gauge how injured he is. Tobias raises a brow in return. When Samir is satisfied that the charmander isn’t going to keel over, they sit down and fix him with a heavy glare.

Tobias frowns back, not appreciating the immediate ire. “What?”

Samir adopts an incredulous expression. They look to Nia, then back to Tobias, then back again.

Nia barks a laugh. “Are you asking if I scolded him yet for dragging us down there?”

Samir nods.

Tobias rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, she already chewed me out about it.”

Samir closes their eyes and lifts their nose into the air as if to say, Good. Tobias gives in to the childish urge to blow a puff of smoke in the grass type’s face. Samir rears back with a wrinkled nose, kicking a small cushion at Tobias in retaliation.

“Okay, settle down!” Nia laughs, yanking the pillow from Tobias’ grip. “Now that Tobias is feeling better, I wanted to talk to you too, Samir.”

Tobias and Samir pause their feud to eye the riolu, wary. Nia’s innocent tone would normally mean something bad for Tobias, but her gaze is currently focused on Samir.

“Don’t look at me like that! I just wanted to say you fought really well down in the mines.”

Ah. Tobias sees immediately where she’s going with this. He smirks.

Samir clearly follows as well. They give Nia an unamused look.

Nia throws her hands up. “No, seriously! You were the perfect teammate!”

Samir's gaze moves to the door as if they’re legitimately thinking about getting up and leaving. Nia shoots Tobias a pleading look.

Tobias huffs. “She’s right, you know. She’s not just being nice.”

At that, Samir pauses. They fix Tobias with a solemn, searching look. Oh. They’re…actually taking Tobias seriously. He wasn’t expecting that.

Tobias clears his throat and straightens up. “You held your own down there.”

“And when we were fighting Eddy you worked perfectly with us!” Nia adds. “Totally in sync.”

Samir blinks at the two of them, wide-eyed. There’s some kind of emotion building behind their stoic expression. Tobias thinks he sees the skiddo’s mouth tremble.

Tobias snorts, trying to defuse the tension. “Your old partner’s an idiot if they thought you being mute meant you couldn’t work as a team. And your guildmaster’s an even bigger idiot if they wrote you off too.”

Nia nods emphatically.

At that, Samir ducks their head. Their shoulders shake.

“Yeah, you’d be an awesome addition to any team!” Nia adds. But this time, she looks to Tobias while Samir is distracted by wiping at their face. Her eyes are wide and hopeful as she looks between Samir and Tobias.

Oh. Tobias leans back, something like panic shooting through him. Is she really asking if she can invite the skiddo to join their team? That’s a huge decision! Not something she can just spring on him! Nia winces at his expression and makes a soothing gesture.

Tobias doesn’t say anything, warily letting her take the lead.

When Samir finally pulls themself together a bit, Nia gently says, “You know, if you ever feel like moving to the Lexym Guild, I’m sure August would love to have you. He’d get you paired up with a team in no time!”

Nia glances at Tobias, and he relaxes, giving her a tired nod. That’s…fine. No promises of a place on their team, but an offer of help and a better place for the skiddo to live. They can talk later about Nia apparently wanting to expand their team. The thought puts a pit in Tobias’ stomach, some part of him whispering that she just wants to replace her grumpy mess of a partner who keeps dragging her into death traps.

But then Nia lights up at his approving nod, tail wagging behind her, and somehow that helps ward away the bad thoughts.

“You don’t have to decide right now of course,” Nia says. “But…just keep it in mind, okay?”

Samir sniffs one last time and nods, avoiding both of their eyes. Tobias relates to the skiddo’s embarrassment when it comes to emotions, and hurriedly fishes for another topic of conversation to get the ball rolling.

Nia answers his questions about the aftermath of the mines. She tells him that he’s only been out for a day, and that Granite and Takeo didn't seem too mad about them disobeying orders and sneaking out. Apparently they just seemed relieved to see the three of them safe.

Tobias sees what she means when Granite and Takeo bring the three of them a small supper in the evening, commenting that it’s good to see Tobias up and awake. Takeo grumbles about reckless kids and their hero complexes, but there’s no real heat to the words. Nia and Samir both give Tobias pointed looks that he returns with a glare. He doesn’t have a “hero complex”—if anyone does, it’s Nia. He just has a mission to accomplish.

The rest of the night passes peacefully, with Samir leaving shortly after the meal.

By the next morning, Tobias is feeling more or less back to normal. Nia watches fretfully as he removes the bandages from his leg and checks the long, scabbed-over gash on his thigh. It’s probably going to scar, but it seems like it's healed enough to travel.

“We could rest for another day,” Nia suggests.

“We’ve got places to be,” Tobias objects, stretching his leg. “Did you get that information from Granite yet for solving the town’s earthquake problem?”

Nia shakes her head. “No. I figured since it’s from Rosalind you’d want to read it first. I can go ask Granite for it?"

At Tobias’ assent, the riolu leaves the room. Tobias takes a deep breath and rises to his feet to stretch out his sore, stiff limbs.

Rosalind promised them info on Team Zenith, on the outlaws, if they finished this mission for her. Tobias hopes it’s something substantial and doesn’t just lead them on a wild yungoos chase. They fought too hard for this not to be worth it.

After a minute or so, Tobias feels Granite’s heavy footsteps moving closer, down the hall. Nia comes pattering into the room just ahead of the donphan, moving to Tobias’ side and glancing not-so-subtly at his leg.

“Heard you were itchin’ to get movin’,” Granite greets them. The donphan has a satchel across his broad back—maybe preparing to go out for the day?

“I-I think so,” Nia says, bowing to Granite. “Thank you for everything! We really appreciate you letting us board here for the past few days.”

Granite waves her off with his trunk. “Straighten up, pup. If anything, we should be doin’ more to thank y’all. You stopped the quakes and even gave us some fresh mining work! Asra's in your debt. If you ever need help or somewhere to stay, you two know where to find us.”

Nia looks sentimental at that declaration. Tobias would bet money that she’s debating whether or not to give the older ‘mon a hug.

Before she can figure it out, Tobias clears his throat. “I’m glad we could help. Rosalind promised us some information in exchange for this mission?”

Granite’s easygoing expression fades. “Right. Listen, I know I said it before and you kids can handle yourselves, but be careful with Rosa, all right? That hatterene’s sketchier than a smeargle.”

Tobias gives an impatient nod.

“Here,” Granite sighs, digging a rolled-up piece of parchment paper out of his satchel with his trunk. “Came in from Rosa the other day, so I guess she was confident you’d get the job done. Sure hope it was worth nearly gettin’ yourselves killed.”

Tobias snatches the paper, quickly ripping it open. Nia quietly thanks Granite before crowding closer to Tobias to read over his shoulder.

Team Scarlet,

I trust that your determination will lead you to the answers our client seeks. In return, I’ve found a delightful piece of information about Team Zenith.

I have word that one of the outlaws, Asra the crobat, settled down just a few short miles from your current location.

Tobias’ breath catches. The crobat is near…here? But what does she mean by “settled down?” Is he hiding out or something? What about his other teammates? Why would he separate from them?

Tobias’ hold crinkles the paper under his hands. He reads on.

Word is that he may have taken on a new alias, going by the name Vesper.

I will warn you that this information is from two years ago, so there is a chance that the crobat has moved on to a different location. However, I thought you would still appreciate the opportunity to explore while you’re in the area.

Tobias reads on, taking in the directions to the supposed location, a few miles outside of town and just off the main road. Apparently the crobat uses a stack of stones as a marker for the turn. He and Nia must’ve passed the spot on their way into Asra without even noticing it.

Nia finishes reading before Tobias does, wordlessly pulling back. When Tobias catches up, he looks up to meet her eyes. She has an unreadable, serious expression on her face.

“Are we ready for this?” Nia murmurs.

“We have to be,” Tobias rasps in return. He glances down at the directions one more time before rolling the parchment back up. “If he is there, you can stay back. I don’t want to drag you into a fight if you don’t feel ready for it, and it’s my business anyways.”

Nia makes a quiet sound of protest, reaching out to touch his hand until he looks at her again. “I’m not leaving. We’re a team, remember? But just…try not to go running in before we can scope it out, all right? Remember what I said before. Let’s go in with a plan.”

Tobias isn’t sure how he can possibly manage that when he knows he’s about to come face-to-face with one of the outlaws who ruined his life. He’s already shaking, adrenaline buzzing beneath his skin. But Nia has a point. He can’t go running in and get himself killed before taking down the other two. Or worse, drag Nia down with him.

Stiffly, Tobias nods. Nia looks relieved, and gives his hand a squeeze before saying that she’ll get their satchel ready so they can head out. Tobias is grateful that she’s so willing to leave right away. He doesn’t think he could’ve handled having to hang around here knowing that the crobat is so close.

“Oi, little Char.”

Tobias looks back to Granite. The donphan gestures for Tobias to follow him, then shoulders aside the door and walks out into the hall, towards the front of the building where the shop is. Tobias glances at Nia before hesitantly trailing the ground-type’s thudding footsteps.

When Tobias enters the shop, he finds Granite shuffling out from between the shelves. The donphan is gently holding the little stringed guitar that Tobias had seen the first day they got to Asra.

Tobias can’t help the way his eyes linger on it, heart aching for a distant memory of music. To his surprise, Granite takes a step forward and holds the guitar out to him.

“It’s yours,” Granite says, more of a demand than a request. “A little something extra to say thanks, for all the trouble you went to to help us out. We appreciate it.”

Tobias stares at the guitar, stunned. Slowly, his hands drift out to take it. The wood is smooth and cool in his hands.

“Take good care of it now, y’hear?”

Tobias blinks, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat. Eventually, he manages to say, “Nia and Samir did most of the work.”

“I already gave the riolu a book she’s been eyeing. Just take it and don’t get yourself killed before you actually learn to play.”

Tobias, too choked up to speak, just nods his thanks, cradling the instrument close. Granite huffs in response and trundles back to the counter before Tobias can embarrass himself further.

For a moment, it’s all Tobias thinks about. He runs a thumb over one of the strings—it needs tightened and probably tuned, but the instrument is in fairly good shape. The wood is solid but flexible, a beautiful copper color and smooth to the touch, expertly carved.

He can try playing—can try making music like his family used to do, humming and singing in their cave. He can show those half-remembered melodies off to Nia, and Maggie! Maggie has a nice singing voice like his mom did and—

Like she did. Before everything. Before Team Zenith.

The rising euphoria in his chest plummets back to Earth.

Tobias doesn’t have time for this right now. He finally has a solid lead on one of the outlaws. He needs to focus on that, on what he’ll do when he meets with the crobat face-to-face.

Nia appears from the hall, worried expression lightening when she sees him holding the guitar.

Tobias ignores her probing look, taking the satchel from her to carry it himself. He carefully tucks the guitar away inside, making sure it’s cushioned by softer items. He feels hesitant to put it away, but he can always try it out later, once this is dealt with. This is more important.

“So we’re heading out right away?” Nia asks.

“Yeah.”

Nia nods, glancing at Granite. “Let me say goodbye to a few people. I’ll keep it quick.”

Tobias sighs, but gestures impatiently for her to get on with it.

He trails behind her as she says her thanks and goodbyes to Granite and Takeo. Granite gives them both hearty slaps on the back and tells them not to die. Takeo sends them off with a quiet blessing from his ancestors. Nia, of course, almost cries, giving them both a watery smile and a wave as they step off the porch.

“We only knew them for a few days,” Tobias points out, both exasperated and amused.

“So?” Nia sniffs. “It doesn’t matter how long you know someone. I’ll still miss them.”

Nia makes a point to stop by Deidra’s ruined saloon next, where the construction has been halted in Eddy’s absence. Luckily, Deidra (and Cody, staying close to her side like a comforting mountain) don’t seem angry with Nia and Tobias for arresting one of their own. They both thank the two of them for stopping the dewott before anyone else could get hurt. Deidra even refills Nia’s canteen and hands Tobias a few hydration berries for the journey ahead, giving them a wink.

Nia leads them to the edge of town next, where Calder and Samir are standing outside of Lara’s house.

“Word is you two are heading out,” Calder says, tipping his head in a capless greeting. “You sure you’re feeling well enough to get back on the road?”

Samir looks at them with an unreadable expression.

“We’ve rested enough,” Tobias says, hiking the satchel higher on his shoulder. “We have somewhere we need to be.”

At his side, Nia offers a helpless shrug and an apologetic smile of agreement.

“Hm.” Calder looks at them for a moment with lidded eyes. Then, he nods. “Well, you two take care of yourself. I’ll be sure to pass along word to the guild about your help.”

“Oh,” Nia says, exchanging a surprised look with Tobias. They’d thought they weren’t going to get any recognition for this one, since it wasn’t an official mission. “Thank you!”

“Least I can do,” Calder scoffs, for a moment looking a bit self-deprecating. Then he shakes his head. “You two take care of yourselves, all right? No more jumping into dangerous situations without backup.”

Nia gives Tobias a pointed jab with her elbow. Tobias hisses under his breath and elbows her back.

Calder almost looks amused. Then, he tips his head to them again. “Let me know if y’all ever need any help. Asra’s authority has your back.”

And with that, the inteleon strides off, leaving them alone with Samir. This silence feels a bit heavier, a bit more loaded with indecision and emotion.

Eventually, Nia says, “I meant what I said yesterday, you know. The Lexym Guild would be happy to have you as a Seeker.”

Samir’s stiff posture and hard expression soften, just a bit, under Nia’s reminder. They sigh, then write in the dirt.

THANKS

WILL THINK ABOUT IT

NEED TO HELP TOWN RECOVER

Nia looks disappointed, but smiles all the same. “That’s sweet of you to hang around and get everyone back on their feet.”

“Just don’t let your old partner or your guild push you around,” Tobias gruffs.

Samir gives them a small, subdued smile and a nod. Nia sniffles. Tobias isn’t at all surprised to look over and see her blinking back tears, mouth wobbly.

“Arceus,” he huffs, rolling his eyes.

“What? It was great having Samir with us!” Nia defends, voice wavering. She turns back to the skiddo. “Really. We’ll miss you. Take care, okay? Hopefully we see you sooner rather than later.”

Samir seems caught off-guard by the riolu’s emotions. They fluster, shuffling their hooves for a moment before nodding and writing, YOU TOO.

Nia does start crying at that, just a little bit. Samir, panicked, steps closer as if to try and help, and Nia takes the opportunity to give them a parting hug.

Tobias stuffs down a sharp jab of annoyance and rolls his eyes. “Nia.”

Nia frees Samir, who looks embarrassed by the affection as they take a step back, straightening their posture. Tobias spots a zebstrika-pulled cart ahead, being loaded up with goods and likely about to head out.

He nudges Nia. “We need to get going if we want to try hitching a ride.”

“Oh! Right. Thanks again, Samir. Stay safe.”

Tobias hurries over to the pair of zebstrika hooked up to the cart, asking if he and Nia could hitch a ride a few miles outside of town. The electric types request a few poké in return, which Tobias grudgingly hands over.

Soon enough, the two of them are bouncing along atop a small cart of goods. They slowly trundle up the narrow path circling the canyon wall, watching Fort Asra shrink below them, a deep blue sky overhead and a canyon of warm, bright tans below.

It’s past noon by time they catch sight of the landmark listed on the map: a large stack of stones at the side of the road, taller than Tobias and Nia combined. Tobias calls for the cart to stop so they can disembark, waving off the zebstrika with a word of thanks.

As the cart wheels away, leaving a faint cloud of dust in its wake, Nia leans in to peer at the directions over Tobias’ shoulder. “You’re sure this is the right place?”

“Rosalind’s info says this is the landmark.” He squints at the dirt ahead, trying to summon up some of Samir’s tracking abilities. “Am I losing it, or is there a trail here?”

Nia tilts her head, as if that’ll help her see better. “…Maybe?” She takes a deep breath, nose twitching.

Tobias suddenly recalls Fen’s words from long ago, when Nia first showed up. “Hey, why don’t you ever use your nose to try tracking?”

Nia looks over her shoulder, as if he’s talking to someone else. She looks back to him, bewildered. “Me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, you! You see any other riolu out here?”

Nia frowns and looks down at her nose, cross-eyed. “I…I guess I’ve never tried? I usually try to ignore my nose when we go places, since smells are so strong in this body. It all just jumbles together and gets really overwhelming.”

Tobias supposes that makes sense. He keeps Rosalind’s instructions out but starts a tentative path forward across the rocky desert landscape, trying to follow the faint remains of a path he thinks he sees. “So humans don’t use their noses to track?”

Nia laughs, which gives him his answer. “Nope! We can use scent dogs to track things, but our sense of smell isn’t good enough for that. Do you really think I could learn to do that?”

“Yeah? You’re a riolu. You just gotta…learn to separate the smells or something.”

“Ah, of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Tobias gives her a dry look, before turning back to the map. He only looks at it in short glimpses, sparing the rest of his attention for their surroundings. He doesn’t want to be caught off-guard by anyone, even if everything is so bright and open out here that it’d be hard to sneak up on them.

“Maybe we can find a tracker when we get back to the guild,” Tobias says after a few minutes, hearing Nia taking deep breaths as if trying to absorb the desert scents.

“That would be cool,” Nia murmurs, distracted as she takes another lungful of air. “It’s actually easier out here, since there aren’t a lot of different things to smell.”

Tobias hums and they continue on, scrabbling over rocky terrain and scraggly plants, occasionally ducking under low rock formations. Tobias enjoys the sun against his skin, more than comfortable encased in heat, but Nia has to dig out her water flask within minutes and needs to take periodic breathers in patches of cooler shade. Tobias tries to be patient and not rush her, knowing riolu aren’t built for this climate like he is.

Eventually, Tobias spots another stack of stones shimmering in the desert heat, and he steers them in that direction even as he increases his wary glances around the environment. He does feel better about seeking out the crobat in the height of the day, when he would naturally be asleep, but he doesn’t want them to be caught off-guard. The crobat’s hideout is only supposed to be a mile or so off the main road, after all.

It's late afternoon when Tobias finally spots something out of place in the distance: a small Pokemon-made structure, high off the ground and built into the side of a rocky spire. He points it out to Nia, putting Rosalind’s directions away, and the two of them tread closer on quiet feet.

When they’ve gotten close enough, they crouch behind some nearby rocks and peer up at the strange structure. Tobias isn’t sure exactly what he was expecting, but it wasn’t…this.

The building almost looks quaint. Like a little house. It’s a small wooden structure built into the side of a spire of rock, 15 yards or so off the ground. A rickety, narrow staircase zigzags up the rock face to lead to the front door. Most baffling, there are flowers growing in a basket on the windowsill, and colorful, almost scribble-like markings on the side of the rocky spire that Tobias can’t decipher from here.

“It kind of looks like a house,” Nia murmurs, sounding as confused as he feels.

“Don’t let your guard down."

This has to be a trap or something. He pulls out the letter from Rosalind again, scanning it to be sure they got the directions right. Not like they’ve seen any other buildings since leaving Asra—they’re truly in the desolate emptiness of the desert now. Only someone hiding away from the world or wanting to go completely off the grid would choose to live out here.

Could Asra—or Vesper, or whatever he’s going by—really be here? Tobias has to admit this place doesn’t look like somewhere a murderous outlaw would be hiding, but maybe that’s the point.

“Maybe we should stake it out for a bit,” Nia suggests, eyeing Tobias worriedly as if expecting him to run up to the door with his claws out and flames burning.

Tobias grunts his agreement, sitting down and peering around the edge of the rock to keep his eyes locked on the building’s front door.

This just…doesn’t feel right. Tobias always imagined when he came face-to-face with any of the outlaws from Team Zenith, it’d be an immediate fight to the finish, out in the wilds. Not…this. Not waiting for the crobat to show up and…what? Water his flowers?

Some part of Tobias wants to laugh. Another part of him feels sick to his stomach. He can’t pinpoint exactly why, but his heart is slowly speeding up. Rosalind did say that the information was from a few years back. Could the crobat have moved on?

He continues to stare down the door. Waiting. Distantly, he hears Nia ask him something once or twice, but he can’t seem to pull his focus back to her. It feels like he has to keep all of his attention on that door, no matter what. Like it’s a matter of life and death.

Slowly, the minutes tick by in tense silence. The sun sinks lower, edging towards sunset.

Tobias is only broken out of the spell when he hears a noise of some kind from inside the structure. A high shriek. He stands, tensed and ready to run for the door. What was that? Does someone need help? Is the crobat hurting someone in there right now?

Before he can move from their hiding spot, Nia grabs his arm. He jumps, startled by the sudden touch.

“Wait,” She whispers. “I hear—”

The door slams open, and high-pitched laughter spills out. Two small shapes burst outside and unfurl their wings, giggling and circling each other in the air with quick, frenetic wingbeats. Too small to be the crobat, and neither one is the right color. Plus their voices are too young.

“Kids?” Nia murmurs, sounding just as confused as Tobias feels.

“Be back at midnight for supper!” A voice calls from inside the house. A moment later, the distinct angular ears and pink heart nose of a swoobat leans out the door.

The two kids flap their wings to hover in place, finally still enough to see. They’re little more than tiny blue puffballs with matching heart noses and toothy grins. Something about them feels slightly strange, though, and it puts Tobias on edge.

“Okay, Mom!”

“And don’t play too close to any unstable rocks. You know the rules.”

The kids—woobats—groan but agree before zipping away.

The swoobat sighs and mutters something to herself before propping open the door and heading back inside.

Tobias stares at where the psychic-type disappeared, his stomach sinking. There’s…a family living here, which means the crobat has to have moved on. Surely he’s not sticking around the area, not with witnesses living so close by. They seem comfortable here, too. Familiar. Like they've lived here for a while.

“He’s not here,” Tobias says, toneless. They missed another lead. He rubs at his face, trying to decode and push away whatever wave of emotion is lapping at his heels. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel good. “Great.”

Nia glances back at the house. “Maybe this family has an idea of where he could’ve gone?”

“You think the wanted murderer made nice with the neighbors before going on the run?”

Nia twists her mouth in a way that means she isn’t exactly hopeful about the possibility herself. Still, she stands and says, “I’m going to go ask. No harm in checking, right?”

She says it as if she’s going to go alone, but Tobias immediately straightens up to follow her. He’s not going to sit down here and have her do the investigating for him.

Nia relents, leading the way to the base of the old wooden stairs built into the side of the rockface. The wood creaks and dips under their weight, but doesn’t give. As they climb, the bright markings on the side of the spire become much clearer with proximity. Tobias can see now that they’re wobbly, messy children’s drawings. Like the ones he and Vivi used to make on the inside of their cave growing up. He swallows hard and moves his eyes back to the steps.

As they reach the top landing, the faint sound of humming that Tobias had barely registered cuts off. A moment later, the swoobat pokes her head out of the doorway, ears perking and eyes growing wide at the sight of Nia and Tobias.

“Oh! Hello there. Are you two lost?”

Tobias opens his mouth to answer, then thinks better of it when he already feels off-kilter.

Nia steps in. “Hello! No, we were actually looking for someone, but it doesn’t look like he’s here. We were wondering if you maybe knew him before you moved in?”

The swoobat relaxes at the question, stepping out onto the makeshift porch. She’s holding a small dish towel between her wings. “I’ve lived here since this house was built, actually.”

Tobias looks up at the swoobat’s face, startled. “What?”

“Oh!” Nia seems equally unprepared for that statement. “W-Well, um. Do you happen to know of anybody living nearby named Asra? O-Or Vesper.”

“A crobat,” Tobias adds, voice tight.

The swoobat drops the dish towel, fluffy collar puffing with surprise. Then, her ears lower as her expression weighs down with something deeply sad. “Vesper? Yes, he…he was my mate.”

Tobias’ breath catches. He stares at the swoobat as his mind fumbles and blanks. Thoughts drain away from him like water.

Mate?

“Was?” Nia echoes gently, after a moment of stunned silence.

The swoobat takes a shuddering, bracing breath, picking up the dish towel with her flexible pink tail. “Yes. Vess passed a little over a year ago, after an accident. I’m…I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I didn’t know many of his friends to notify them.”

Through a numbing static, Tobias hears Nia stutter, “O-Oh! No, we weren’t—I mean…”

“He’s dead?” Tobias rasps.

The swoobat squeezes her eyes shut tight, as if pained by the very reminder. “Yes. Would you like to see his resting place? I’m sure he’d appreciate you stopping by.”

Nia glances at Tobias like he's a live bomb, clearly worried that he’s about to fall apart. Strangely, Tobias feels blank instead. Hollow. His mouth responds for him. “Yes.”

The swoobat gives him a sympathetic look. She asks him and Nia to meet her back at the bottom of the stairs before gliding off the edge of the wooden platform and spiraling down.

Nia turns to him immediately. “Tobias—"

“Let’s go,” He says. “I want to see it.”

Nia looks like she wants to argue. But then she nods, moving towards the stairs and waiting for him to match her steps. As if he might fall off if she moves even a step ahead of him.

Tobias doesn’t register much in the next few minutes. He vaguely feels himself moving down the steps. Realizes at some point that he and Nia are following the swoobat a short distance away across dirt and desert sand to a small cave. The psychic-type’s soft, compassionate voice grates on his ears. Nia is a warm weight glued to his side. He matches her steps, unable to do much else.

And then he’s there, standing in a tiny cave surrounded by cool air. Bright sunset light spills in from behind, painting everything warm against heavy shadows. The swoobat has left, probably for their privacy. Nia has taken a step away to give him space, but he can feel the weight of her gaze.

In front of Tobias sits a small monument, carefully carved and lovingly cared for. Desert flowers and dried berries sit at its foot, carefully arranged.

Vesper

Beloved Mate and Father

Now One with Lunala’s Stars

Among the offerings, Tobias sees a simple painting, likely made by the two children they’d glimpsed earlier. There’s a large purple blob surely meant to represent the crobat, smiling with wide white fangs. Two smaller, bluer blobs sit happily under his wings.

And somehow that is what brings Tobias’ emotions roaring back.

He thinks of the two woobat he saw earlier, about how they felt slightly off to him. He realizes now what it was. They were just a bit speedier than Tobias would expect of such young Pokemon. As fast as the blur of violet wings from his memory. Their fluffy fur just a shade closer to violet than blue.

The crobat who helped destroy his family, who ruined his life, had kids. Had a mate, and a home. He had happiness, after ripping all of that away from Tobias. And he didn’t even have the decency to live long enough to look Tobias in the eye when he came to ask why.

Rage pours through Tobias, hotter than any flame he’s ever wielded.

One instant he’s at Nia’s side. The next, he’s lunging forward with a feral cry. The children’s painting is torn to shreds beneath his claws. The flowers and berries are set ablaze in a flash of fire, bright and hot. He lunges for the stone next, aiming to crack it against the wall until it snaps and crumbles.

Strong arms hook around his middle, yanking him back.

Tobias’ responding snarl almost drowns out Nia’s call of his name, but she only tightens her grip. He writhes and tries to get traction on the dirt, but she drags him back, towards the opening of the cave. Once they’re a few feet away, she swings him around and lets go, standing as a barrier between him and his target. She’s panting, wide-eyed.

“Move!” Tobias snaps.

“T-Tobias, I know you’re upset but—”

“Move!” Tobias snarls, embers spitting from his mouth.

“Tobias, you need to take a second and—”

“Don’t tell me what I need!” He hisses. He tries to push through Nia’s stance, only for her to catch him and lock her hands with his, leaving them eye to eye and straining for ground.

“Tobias, she’s going to come back and see—"

“So what?! She needs to know! She should know that her mate killed a family in cold blood!”

“That won’t help anything!” Nia says through gritted teeth. “What will that accomplish?! Make her feel guilty for loving someone so horrible? Make her kids feel like there’s something tainted in their blood? It won’t help anyone! He’s dead!”

“Maybe they deserve to live with it!” Tobias shouts. He feels panicked as his rage falters into something heavier. Traitorous tears prick hot at the back of his eyes. “Someone should have to!”

Nia falters, eyes going wide. Tobias could break through easily now, if he tried. Instead, he tightens his grip on her hands, trying to stoke his rage back to its full power.

“What right do you have to stop me?! You don’t get it!”

“Tobias,” Nia murmurs, looking uncertain. “I…”

Tobias stares at her, panting, as tears bubble up in his eyes. He’s shaking as the rage mixes with grief in his chest, boiling under his skin both ice cold and magma hot.

“You don’t get it,” he repeats, voice breaking.

Nia stares at him, brow furrowed. Slowly, her hold loosens. She slips free of him, stepping back and out of Tobias’ way. She looks at the memorial, then him, then away.

“You’re right. I-I…I don’t understand. But if this will help, then…I won’t stop you.”

Tobias…doesn’t know what to do with that. His fury has already started to die down after the riolu’s interruption. The magma has hardened to something heavy and horrible, weighing him down. He doesn’t want to sit with that. He wants the fire back.

Tobias staggers forward, back to the memorial. His feet brush through fine ash, still smoldering. He stares at the gravesite through his tears, the delicate carvings of a crobat and lunala blurring. He raises a hand, claws at the ready, but can’t seem to bring it down. That just makes him feel worse.

Tobias swallows thickly, a sob shuddering from his chest. He came here with the intent of taking the crobat down, taking him into custody or even killing him if it came to it. He'd thought for eight years about the questions he would get answers to, the vindication he would feel tearing down one of the monsters who destroyed his life.

Instead, he’s at the grave of a Pokemon who had a mate and kids, who had a family that loved him. It feels…twisted. Wrong. Like he’s in a bad dream.

Tobias’ legs give out beneath him, and he leans forward to rest his head on the stone, cries ripping from his throat. The ugly thing in his chest doesn’t seem to die down, only raging on and on and on.

He can feel it, when Nia hesitantly joins him. She kneels at his side.

He looks up at her, gut churning with nausea. “Why did he get to be happy? He didn’t—he didn’t deserve to…”

Nia’s expression crumbles, and for a moment Tobias thinks she might start crying too. “I don't know,” she says, soft. She hesitantly slides a paw up to rub circles into his back. “I’m sorry, Tobias.”

Tobias doesn’t realize he’s leaning into her until she's already wrapping him up in a hug. He hugs her back tight enough to hurt, but the pressure and the warmth and the soft texture of her fur helps, somehow. It feels grounding. Gives him something to latch onto aside from the turbulent waves of his emotions.

He doesn’t know how long he cries, soaking Nia’s fur and shuddering through waves of nausea. She murmurs quiet, meaningless comforts to him. Rocks with him and uses her thumbs to trace soothing circles against his back.

By time Tobias is somewhat calm again, he feels like the wrung-out dish rag the swoobat had been holding earlier. Flimsy and worn, with a few holes and gritty stains left behind.

The light coming in from the cave’s opening is now gray and weak, dusk on the cusp of night.

Tobias sniffs, staring sightlessly at the ruined bits of the memorial beneath them, now nothing more than scattered ash blending in with the dirt floor.

“I want them to hurt, too,” Tobias says, voice tight. “I know I shouldn’t.”

Nia squeezes him tighter.

“I know they didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t know, but…”

Before Tobias can fully form that thought, he sniffs and leans away from Nia, wiping at his eyes. It feels cold without her so close.

They both look at the gravestone in front of them, so carefully carved and lovingly cared for. But it’s alone, out here in the wilderness. He can’t touch anyone else, buried six feet under and miles from civilization.

It still feels too good for him. Some part of Tobias still wants to kick the headstone over and scorch it black. He wants to dig up the crobat’s bones and scatter them in the desert sand. But that part of him feels ugly and too much like the monster buried in front of him, so he tries to let it make itself known before passing through his mind.

A quiet sound at the mouth of the cave catches Nia’s attention, and Tobias follows her gaze.

The swoobat has returned, framed by dusk light. Her round eyes are focused on the absence of gifts at the foot of the grave, at the ashes left in their wake. Tobias expects her to be upset, to yell and chase them out. Instead, her gaze moves to Tobias, brow furrowing into something like realization.

There’s a heavy moment of silence.

Finally, the swoobat breaks it, stepping forward. “Vess always held a lot of…regret. For something that happened in his past. He wouldn’t tell me about it, but he mentioned that it’s why he parted ways from his team all those years ago and settled down near Asra. It’s where he was born.”

Before Tobias can respond to that, the swoobat’s gaze flicks away, nervous.

“He was very upset once. When we bumped into a charmander at the market to the south. Wouldn’t talk for a week. D-Did…did something..?”

Tobias feels the weight of expectation settle onto him, but he’s so tired that it barely registers what he’s hearing. How is he supposed to react to this revelation? How is he supposed to feel knowing that the crobat apparently felt some measure of guilt for what he was a part of? That he was upset about it?

Ha. Lot of good guilt does. Doesn’t bring back his family.

The embers of rage spark back to life. Not blazing, but hot enough to put Tobias’ limbs into motion. Tobias staggers to his feet, then towards the swoobat. The psychic-type stands strong and stares back at him, expression resolute even as her body trembles.

She’s scared. Terrified that Tobias is going to tell her something she never wanted to hear. That he’s going to ruin the memory of her beloved mate and the father to her kids. Tobias wants to. He wants to watch her face fall with shock and horror. Wants to spread the terrible grief caused by the crobat’s actions like a toxin.

But Tobias thinks of Nia’s words. Thinks of those kids. Thinks of how much guilt he carries for not being strong enough to protect his sister. Thinks how terrible he would feel for someone he loved and admired to be responsible for such loss.

“Your mate,” Tobias finally spits. “Wasn’t a good Pokemon. At least he wasn’t a terrible father.”

The words feel like acid in his throat. He doesn’t know if leaving her in the dark is a mercy or a punishment. He shoves past the swoobat, stomping away into the desert. Away from their happy little home and the gravestone of a murderer.

He walks, and walk, and walks. Lets the rhythm of the motion replace his thoughts. Eyes ahead, unseeing of the desert around him.

Tobias doesn’t come back to himself until he stumbles over a stone in the ground. He catches himself on his hands and knees, scuffing them. The pain seems to jog something in his brain, because he suddenly settles back into the shell of his body.

The dirt is cooling quickly beneath him with the falling night. Nia is at his side, watching silently. Overhead, stars glitter like layers of crystal. Tobias thinks he can hear the distant laughter of the woobat children.

“Tobias?” Nia asks, soft voice loud in the night air.

“Should I have told her?”

Nia falters. Then, almost too quiet to hear, she murmurs, “I don’t know.”

Tobias takes a deep breath, letting it out in a puff of steam that wisps and curls. He stands. “Let’s go.”

“A-Are you sure?”

Tobias nods, rubbing at his sore, tired eyes. “Let’s just…go find Edme. We still need to learn more about Giratina."

Nia stares at him with worried eyes. She must be able to tell that he’s just looking for something else to focus on. That he just wants to leave, and not think about any of this for a while. That he wants to get some distance between himself and the sweet little family his personal monster left behind.

Tobias expects her to bring it up, to say that they need to talk about it. Instead, Nia slowly nods, reaching out to slip their satchel off Tobias’ shoulder and over her own. She hesitates, then reaches out a paw to take his hand, gently tugging him into motion. Tobias doesn’t fight her, grateful as she leads his unmoored body back towards the road.

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