#and sometimes when i think about things i could possibly want if i ever medically transitioned to some degree it's like.

[magalidragon]

🏒 the deal 🎶 | “Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don't know how you ever lived without them.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @youwerenevermine! 🥳🥰😘🤗🎂🎈🎊🎁 Okay fine whatever so I am a few hours your time early, but I was so excited to share and honestly, the world is going to end soon and I wanted to get ahead of the game. I went back and forth over what to do for you and couldn’t decide so went with this. The original hockey boyfriend Mr. Garrett Graham and sassy Hannah Wells! It is Jonerys meets THE DEAL! I hope you like it! So grateful to this fandom for introducing me to you! Love you bby! 😘

There was a very strong possibility Jon Snow had made a terrible mistake making this deal with Daenerys Targaryen. He figured it was easy enough; she was a smarty pants and could help him get his grade up in what was supposed to be an "easy A" philosophy class and keep him from getting benched. In doing so, he'd pretend to date her and the guy she had a crush on-- fucking Robb, his own damn cousin-- would see her as a bit more than weird silver-haired purple-eyed Dany and want to ask her out. Since Robb wanted anything he couldn't have-- particularly if Jon had it first.

Now he was watching Robb openly flirt with her and was squeezing his beer bottle so hard he figured he'd be benched not for his shitty philosophy grade but for having to get stitches in his stick hand. It was supposed to be an easy quid-pro-quo. A deal. Started off more annoying than anything else-- Dany could not have cared one single snowflake that he was Queen Alysanne University's star left winger and frequently let him know it. He honestly appreciated it, even if he had to really wear her down, chasing her all over Winterfell to get her to concede.

That had honestly been fun. Then there were their random long conversations after studying. Topics ranged from the best pizza toppings-- pepperoni and more pepperoni for him, while she saw nothing wrong with pineapple on her pizza-- to the best Marvel movie-- he didn't mind that movie about 'The Eternals' while she thought it sucked and liked 'Ant Man' more, all the way over to which House of Commons member should win the two highly competitive ridings near Winterfell or who really won the War of Five Kings?

He also had admitted to her some things he'd never shared with anyone. That he might be the aloof "Ice Man" of QAU hockey who could get any girl he wanted, he actually played that image outside of his truly private life. In reality he just couldn't think of girls, he was too busy trying to do his best to keep his grades up to get a very difficult degree in metallurgy and cultural anthropology while also making sure he didn't lose his rookie contract with the Winterfell Wolves professional hockey team.

Just like he knew all she wanted was to get the bonus money from the School of Drama and Music's winter showcase to help with her mother's medical bills, back in Pentos. That her dream was to sing on stage at the King's Landing Opera House.

All of that swam in his head, those conversations and late nights, sitting out in the quad on a blanket while she quizzed him on long dead Maesters, or that time she'd come to one of his games and he'd scored a hat trick, so she ahd to come to every singel one afterward.

He had done his job; he talked her up to Robb. He lingered in the living room of his and Robb's shared house when they would talk, just in case there needed to be extra prodding. Now they were on a bloody, fucking date.

"Jon, buddy, let go of the beer. The beer didn't do anything to you. Come on man, there you go." His friend and other roommate, Satin, carefully pried his fingers off the glass neck, moving the bottle to the oak bartop. "Alright, so when are you going to tell her?"

"Huh?" He was now glaring at the back of Robb's stupid auburn head, wondering if he could cut off those fucking curls while he was sleeping and blame their fourth roommate Theon. "Tell her what?"

"That you're in love with her, you dipshit."

Thank the gods he wasn't holding the beer bottle because he'd have definitely dropped it. He also was glad he didn't have any beer in his mouth, because that would have been sputtered everywhere as he gaped at Satin, who was now studying his fingernails nonchalantly. "Wha...what...I'm not....she's a friend! She wasn't just a friend, she was...Dany.

Dany, whose first words to him were: "I'm sorry do I know you?"

Dany, who always tied her long silver braids up on her head in a knot using pencils. Who hummed random song llyrics and chords and scribbled them on ltitle pieces of paper. Who had a voice that sounded like fucking angels from teh rafters. Who snorted and cackled when she laughed. Who called him "Wolf Man" instead of "Ice Man" because he had a wolf back home and one tattooed on his arm.

Dany....Dany who always smelled like lemons and lavender and who...

He blinked. It was like seeing everything under a different filter. Brighter. Across the bar, he watched Dany laugh at something Robb said, but it didn’t meet her eyes. She was playing with the silver guitar pick she used, something he had learned was a nervous habit. Her eyes— vibrant, happy lavender— did not fully meet his, but he knew she had glanced his way.

Gods. Was he in love with her? Was that what this feeling was? He couldn’t love her. He had to focus on hockey and studying and…it was just easier to keep that other side of him out there. If Jon Snow actually found a girl…a music major who didn’t know a deke from a slapshot and thought there were quarters not periods…he’d never hear the end of it.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want her with Robb. “And why is that?” Satin asked.

Fuck he said that out loud? “Because she’s mine,” he snapped. He paused. “No she is her own person of course I don’t own her obviously but…” He drained the beer bottle. This was one thing Robb was not going to steal from him. He stomped over to their table and didn’t even wait for his cousin to say anything before he glanced at Dany. “Get your coat, we still have to finish that Agatha show.”

She cocked her head up, confused. “Jon what…”

“Come on.”

“Jon,” Robb began, but he didn’t even have time to finish. Jon grabbed Dany’s hand, tugging her away and towards the back corridor. “What the seven hells Jon!”

If she wanted to fight him, she could. He’d let her anyway. Dany did not pull very hard and protested over Robb’s loud complaining. “Jon seriously what the fuck are you doing?!” She pushed at his chest when he tugged them into the stairwell that led up to the bar manager office, the dim lighting throwing her face in relief. She was fuming. She was a dragon, he expected it. “What was that!?”

“I want to see something.” He didn’t wait for a response. He had to do this. So he crashed his mouth down over hers.

The shock had her gasping, lips parting under his. Soft, plump, perfect lips, and he pressed gently, his hands dropping to her small waist to hold her upright against the wall. She had her hand on his shoulder and for a second he didn’t think she was going to kiss back and made to pull away, apology at the ready, knowing he had fucked this up completely.

Until her hands dove into his hair and she opened her mouth wider, moaning and pulling him to her. He groaned, desperate now, a man who had his first taste of water after wandering a desert, and cupped her jaw, angling her head so he could rise over her, sliding his tongue along hers. Gods. She tasted like strawberries. How!? One of life’s mysteries, he supposed.

The need for air separated them, their breathing ragged and foreheads touching, noses brushing. Her gaze lifted, meeting his. “I take it you don’t think I should see Robb?”

He shook his head, whispering, “Come home with me. I’ll make you a deal.”

“And what’s that?”

He kissed her again, nipping her bottom lip. Her breasts were pressed to his chest and his knee had wedged itself between hers. They were about ten seconds away from a public indecency charge. His voice dropped, gravelly. “You come home with me and I’ll make you come within ten minutes. Five, even.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “And what do you get out of this deal?” she asked.

He pretended to think, before flashing a grin. “The knowledge I made you come. Oh and, our next movie night you don’t wear underwear.”

She smirked now. “I am not one of your puck bunnies.”

“And you know I don’t do puck bunnies.”

After a second, she barely nodded. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got Wolf Man.”

“So it’s a deal then Targy?” She hated that nickname. The glare she shot him had him grinning.

She pulled at his hand, towards the back exit. “It’s a deal.”

[nowendil]

i should be getting out of bed but i keep thinking about the cursed fact that I'm trapped to be seen either as a man or a woman by the general public for the rest of my baka life

[marlshroom]

i will never ever stop thinking about the disability allegories in gravity falls. i cant ever stop thinking about disability allegories in other media and gravity falls is no different. im feeling chatty today, so lets see if i can articulate all my feelings on the matter.

the most interesting thing that stuck out to me with thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com was this snippet on fords medical paper:

we hear about this kind of attitude towards disabilities often, maybe you have heard about autism being referred to as the "next evolutionary change in humans." we can especially see this when a person has a disability, but is also very capable in other fields. there are so many cases in the medical or educational field of a child having specific needs, yet they are ignored due to them being "gifted".

in a vacuum, ford's extra finger may not be considered a disability, the sixth finger allows him more movement and dexterity, and ontop of that, he's a genius. its just an extra finger right? its not like it hurts him. but it does hurt him. he is a child living with a limb difference, he is constantly ridiculed by his peers. they call him a freak and physically harass him.

this is where we dip into the social model of disability here. i know sometimes that can cause a little bit of discourse, but i think its interesting to note here! please if you have a limb difference feel free to add your perspective or correct me where you see fit. if you don't know what the social model of disability is, its the perspective that disabled people would not be as limited in their abilities if it wasn't for the oppressive society that they lived in(think people in wheelchairs could do more things if infrastructure had disabled people in mind). ford wouldn't be experiencing abliesm in his life if limb differences were something people were educated about. then we get to bill cipher. in theory, his ability to see the 3rd dimension is almost a super power. but in the book of bill its literally stated that it is illegal for anyone to mention the possibility of "up". he is forced into abusive medical practices where he is being drugged to suppress his ability. no one in his dimension has the same perspective of him, he is completely alone, and even worse, the people who should be protecting him like his parents and doctors are abusing him(not that his parents are evil for this obviously. they don't have a choice and i assume they want what is best for him, what were they supposed to do? yet it still had this horrible impact on bill).

this social model can be applied to bill cipher. he has this ability that in a vacuum would be considered amazing, but he lives in a society(rip) that oppresses this. they have to, because bill trying to let his dimension see the stars killed every last person. which makes me think that whoever was in power here probably knew this would happen. its unsure if bill cipher knew the true extent of his damage would be, but i am of the belief that he didn't know how bad it would really be.

i just find all of this very interesting. i really love when a story tackles a topic such as disability. its so obvious this is what alex hirsch is going for and its such a unique take that i don't see often in media, as a disabled person myself. feel free to lmk your thoughts :)

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance⁴

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: LONGGGG, descriptions of torture, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, violence, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, grief, and some unhealthy coping mechanisms Words: 18.2K

Masterlist | Part 5

a/n: since it's that time of year, i decided to give u guys a lil present. merry christmas and enjoy!!!

You had never felt so cold.

Growing up in a working home, you sometimes went through winter just hoping that your sheets would be enough to keep you alive, unable to afford a heater. In your first Games, you nearly froze to death, your matches being the only thing that saved you. Then once you had won and made it to the Capitol, you went through those cold nights with Finnick, sometimes hoping that you really would freeze to death, even if you never told him that.

Yet none of those times could compare to how cold you felt now. 

Cold as you were brought out of the Capitol. Cold on the hovercraft. Cold when they sedated you. Cold as you were wrapped in blankets. Cold as Finnick went to touch you. And now, as the doctors examined you like you were an artifact, you were still just as cold.

But you were an artifact, weren’t you? You were the Princess.

So it didn’t really matter how cold you were at all.

You had been transported from the open medical area to your own room. It was almost like you blinked and, just like that, you were in a different room. Like magic.

Even though magic did not exist. Not in Panem. Not in this world.

Someone named Boggs had come to see you, explaining that you were in district 13, a district that you thought didn’t exist for your entire life. This is the revolution, he said. He was meant to bring you up to speed, ease your confusion, but you weren’t sure that was possible at the moment. 

Throughout his explanation, you didn’t say a word, just staring up at him. This may have been seen as rude, but you weren’t doing it on purpose. You really didn’t know what to say.

He eventually left, not getting anywhere with you. From what you could tell, he had a lot more to deal with than just one girl. For a supposedly dead district, there was a lot going on in 13, but that wasn’t where your mind was.

Your body was in 13, but your mind was in the Capitol.

“Please, don’t-”

You closed your eyes, trying to rid yourself of these memories, but that only made it worse, images appearing underneath your eyelids. Your eyes quickly snapped open, darting around the room, your chest rapidly falling and rising.

You were in a bed. There was a desk, some chairs, a glass of water on the night stand next to you. The floor was white, tiled, not grey concrete. There were lights. You were in 13, where the lights were on, not in the Capitol, surrounded by darkness.

You’re alive, Y/N, you told yourself. But that didn’t seem to make anything better.

When did it ever?

You ran your hands up and down your arms, feeling new scars that hadn’t been there before, scars that could maybe heal one day, but you knew there were still open wounds you had that couldn’t be treated, open wounds that may never scar at all. 

You didn’t think the wounds you had right now would ever close.

Your heart was racing, beating so loudly that you could hear it, so you imagined it wasn’t yours at all, that it was Finnick’s heart that you heard. Though you supposed that your heart did belong to him.

Even though you didn’t want to see him.

Nevertheless, imagining him sitting with you and pretending to listen to his heartbeat was what calmed you down. It always would. In a way, that was the only thing about you that remained sure, the only thing you had left from the life you lived.

Because that’s what it was: a life lived. Y/N Y/L/N lived her life. For a time, she was happy. She fell in love. And then she died. Now… now, you didn’t know who you were.

What you did know was that you weren’t the same Y/N that Finnick knew, the same Y/N who’d fall asleep in his arms. Now, you weren’t sure you could fall asleep at all, not for long, never for long.

Johanna and Peeta’s faces flashed through your mind. Their screams still echoed in your head. They were different now, too. Johanna wasn’t so fearless anymore, and the golden boy wasn’t so golden. His bright gold had been captured by darkness, and you weren’t sure if any of you would ever see it again.

At that thought, you finally got up, ignoring the ache in your bones. You couldn’t just sit there. You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t think anymore- you wouldn’t. You had to see them.

You left your room, a nurse coming up to you right away. “Ma’am, please, you need to rest-”

“I’m fine.” Your voice was raspy and scratched at your throat, so you cleared it. You didn’t know what you looked like, but you knew it couldn’t have been great with the way the nurse was looking at you. “Could you please take me to my friend Johanna?”

Hesitance was painted all over her face, as well as fear. You didn’t know why; you weren’t in any position to fight. “I’m sorry, I- I can’t-”

You cut her off. “I just want to see my friend.” Annoyance laced your voice, but if one listened closely, they’d also hear the desperation. You needed to see her, you needed to see someone familiar, someone that wasn’t there just because you were their responsibility, someone that wasn’t the boy you loved.

Her mouth opened and closed for several seconds before she responded, “I- she’s with a counsellor right now-”

You sharply inhaled, blinking and seeing Johanna, hearing her cry. When you opened your eyes again, you only saw the nurse staring at you anxiously, expectantly. You ran a hand through your hair. You needed to see someone. “Peeta then,” you said. “Take me to Peeta.”

Her fright seemed to increase. She looked at you like you weren’t in your right mind, which was right, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. There was something else in her expression, like there was something you didn’t know, something she didn’t want to tell you, but she nodded, anyway, agreeing.

This nurse was young, kind, and even a little naive. If you were in your right mind, you’d feel more empathy for her, be more compassionate or soft, but you weren’t. Your mind was in all of the wrong places all at once.

She reminded you of the nurse you had in the Capitol. She wasn’t there to ease your pain but to keep you alive, make sure you didn’t bleed to death so that you could go through the whole routine all over again the next day. She looked at you like that, too, like she was scared of you, even though you were the one that was powerless, even though you were the one on the brink of death.

Now you weren’t. You’re safe now, Boggs had told you. You didn’t say anything in that moment, but what you wanted to say was that he was wrong.

You’d never feel safe again.

When the nurse brought you to Peeta, Katniss was also there, but she didn’t notice you, staring through the glass of a white room. There was a blond boy in that room, strapped down to the bed.

But this boy wasn’t Peeta.

He wasn’t Peeta at all.

“Y/N?”

You turned away from the sight in front of you to the voice that called your name. The voice belonged to none other than Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the 50th Hunger Games and second Quarter Quell, but you knew him better as the man who drank his sorrows away until he couldn’t remember all that’d happened to him.

You nodded in greeting, but didn’t speak. He looked like he had more he wanted to say but held it in as he glanced back at the room, a young blonde girl entering it and carefully going to sit on the bed.

“She’s too close,” he remarked.

“It’s okay,” someone else responded. You turned and saw a greying man on the other side of Katniss, recognizing him immediately as opposed to when you first met him. Plutarch Heavensbee.

You glanced to Haymitch who was already looking at you. He glanced at the Gamemaker then nodded to you. Whatever he was trying to say didn’t fully translate, and you didn’t understand why this man who had caused so much pain was standing right next to Katniss like it was nothing, but for now, you still remained silent, choosing to let it be.

Throughout this interaction, Katniss had practically been none the wiser, eyes fixed on the inside of that room. When you redirected your attention to the scene, you realized why she was so focused. You still recognized the blonde girl from the reaping, even though it’d been over a year since they took place.

Primrose Everdeen.

Yet little Primrose never went into The Games. Her sister took her place. This was Katniss’ sister.

We live in district 13 now, she told him, her voice soft, soft enough to tell you that even though she was surrounded by war, her childhood was still there. It’s a real place. Stories are true. A pause. You were rescued.

Peeta didn’t look fazed by what she was saying, his attention on something else entirely. The look in his eyes was contained, but you saw it. Anger. My family hasn’t come to see me, he said, but he was talking to himself more than he was talking to Prim.

Family.

You saw your mother’s face in your mind, but you weren’t sure if that was still what she looked like. The last time you saw her was a year ago, her face stricken with grief, tears leaking from her eyes.

She hadn’t come to see you, either.

And you realized it was probably for the same reason Peeta’s family hadn’t come to see him. 

At that realization, anything else Peeta or Prim said fell upon deaf ears. You couldn’t hear a thing, your song playing in your head on a loop, dancing so fast that the world blurred and you couldn’t see a thing.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-

“Y/N.”

The call of your name cut through the music, making you turn your head to see Katniss staring at you. You glanced around; Haymitch and Plutarch were gone now, so was Prim. It was just Peeta on the other side of the glass, kicking and yelling, people in scrubs going to sedate him.

You actually looked at her now, noticing the purple marks around her neck that matched the bags underneath her eyes. She looked different now, different from the last time you saw her in person and different from when you saw her on TV.

The Girl on Fire looked like her spark had been extinguished. 

And, suddenly, she reminded you of yourself now more than ever.

You nodded to her and then turned to walk away, but her hand caught your wrist. Like a reflex, you yanked it away, spinning around to face her. She muttered a sorry under her breath, making you inhale.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice quiet. She couldn’t be blamed for how you could no longer handle touch, neither could Finnick. You felt guilt wash over you as you heard his voice cracking in your head, remembering how you didn’t say a word to him.

He’s fine, you told yourself. He has Annie. 

Your thoughts were diverted away from him and back to Katniss as she spoke. “Has anyone explained it all to you yet?” This was a question, even though her voice was monotone while she asked it.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, thinking back to Boggs. “Yeah- um, a little.”

She looked at you like you were a puzzle and she was rearranging the pieces in her head, using what little energy she had. “Did they tell you?”

You furrowed your brows. You were just as if not more tired than her, your mind all over the place, too all over the place to understand what she was asking you. “Tell me what?” You questioned.

She didn’t respond right away, still looking at you as if she was trying to figure you out. Her eyes told you this story; however, her expression was blank. You’d seen snippets of her videos, not in full, never in full, but even from a snippet, you were able to see that look.

The way a victor looked.

When you met Katniss, you thought to yourself that she hadn’t been under the spotlight long enough to have been burned.

But with the spotlight they had on her now, she’d gone up in flames.

After a beat, she ceased her mental debate and decided to speak her thoughts. “I think we should talk.”

And she may not have known it, but what she told you may have just changed the course of your life.

Katniss took you to her room, sat you down, and with her raspy voice, she explained your situation to you. I’m The Mockingjay, she said. And they wanted you, too, Y/N. They wanted the Princess of Panem and The Mockingjay to be the voices of this revolution.

You stared at her wordlessly as she went on, just listening. To her, you must have looked crazy, listening to everything she said without any reaction whatsoever, but you knew that Katniss had been dancing long enough now to read you, too. 

You were mind-blown. She was telling you that they wanted you to be a voice for the people, but wasn’t that so ironic? Your voice had been on mute for years. You were silent as you were used in the Capitol. You were silent as they made you go back and take everything from kids, kids just like you. Even when you thought you were about to die and had so many things to say to the boy that you loved, you didn’t say any of it.

How could you ever be a voice?

They chose the wrong person. Katniss was good. She was good at being The Mockingjay, good at saying the right things, and great at being a voice for Panem. But you? You weren’t cut out for this.

Why would she tell you this? This revolution had been well-planned and was proceeding fine without you. Why would she tell you this- why now?

You cut her off mid-sentence. “Katniss, what exactly are you trying to tell me?”

She paused as if she didn’t know the answer, either. Her red eyes glazed over and, for a few seconds, you both sat in silence. You thought she wouldn’t say anything until she looked back up at you. This time, her eyes were full of light, like she’d just realized she held the key to all she ever wanted, all you ever wanted.

And, in a way, she did.

“Hope,” she breathed. “I’m telling you that I have hope for a better world.”

A better world. 

Once, you had hopes, too. You hoped that your kids would make it through The Games. You hoped that you could be loved back by the person you loved. You hoped that you could one day mend your relationship with your mother. You hoped that you could be happy.

But each of these hopes were crushed until nothing remained but disappointment.

You didn’t have any hope left.

After Katniss’ declaration, you sat silently before eventually leaving without saying a word. 

She was so young. Sometimes, you forgot that. She wasn’t a child, but she was supposed to be. She was supposed to have a childhood, not the weight of a country resting on her shoulders.

But you’d carried the weight of the crown for years now.

You knew better.

You abandoned the idea of hope as soon as you dived off that pedestal in The Games, and then it abandoned you for good the second you woke up in the Capitol. 

There wasn’t any hope left, not for you.

You got back to your room, ignoring your nurse who opened her mouth to speak to you but ultimately didn’t say anything, letting the door close in her face. It wasn’t personal. There were too many different people on your mind to think about her, so many words you said and didn’t say floating around, things you did and what was done to you.

You didn’t want to be awake anymore, to think about these things. Sometimes, nightmares offered more relief than your real life ever could. 

But as you went to go lie down, you suddenly stopped, seeing something on your bed that hadn’t been there before. It was a sleek black box, one that wasn’t so common back where you were from but became an everyday custom after you won The Games. You picked up, clicking the side button and watching light shoot of it and project an image in front of you.

For a moment, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

Because that image that the box projected was of Finnick Odair.

It was a video shot here, in 13, similar to others you’d seen, but you’d never seen this. This was the first time you saw him on camera since before the Quell. And this was also the first time you’d looked into his eyes since you left that night.

Even if you weren’t really looking at him.

Finnick was always charming, the corners of his lips always quirked upward. He had mastered this façade- oh, Finnick knew how to dance, dance around all of the hard topics, dance around everything that was wrong with your lives to make you seem like the perfect happy couple, like victors.

But he didn’t look like that in the video.

He looked solemn. And maybe even a little scared.

No matter his appearance, you could’ve never expected the words that came out of his mouth, never from Finnick, never from one of you, from a victor. But he still said them.

Your mouth fell open. For the first time since you arrived in 13, you let tears fall down your cheeks, though you didn’t know if you could stop them, even if you tried. They burned on their way down, rubbing salt into the bruises you could see and the bruises you could never fix.

May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.

The box in your hands clattered to the ground, the video cutting out as you ran to the toilet, but Finnick’s voice still echoed in your ears. You threw up what very little you had eaten, head spinning.

Dancing, dancing, dancing.

This song didn’t sound right anymore. This dance didn’t feel right anymore. You were so tired of dancing- you just wanted to stop.

But Finnick hadn’t stopped at all.

Finnick was still dancing. Katniss was still dancing. Peeta, Johanna, every single person in Panem was now dancing with you. They knew now. They could hear the music, too. And who would save them?

You had wished for years and years that someone would pull you off the dance floor, that someone would make it stop. There were so many people that knew, so many people that just let you endure it- let you all endure it. How could you let any more people endure anything close to that?

You couldn’t stand on the sidelines and watch as everything burned to the ground. No, you wanted to help them set fire to the Capitol and burn Snow alive.

Hope. I’m telling you that I have hope for a better world.

You may not have had this hope. There was no better world out there for you.

But you’d be damned if you didn’t try to make one for every kid out there that cried and prayed their name didn’t get called at the reapings. 

You would not get to live in this better world.

But you would make it in memory of the younger you that could have.

You later found Katniss again, telling her that you’d do it. You left out the part about how you sobbed for hours at the recording you knew she left you because that wasn’t what was important right now. You were not important right now.

This was about something much bigger.

She took you to Coin, who cleared the room at the sight of you, a surprised expression on her face. “Ms. Y/L/N, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She stood up, shaking your hand, glancing at Katniss periodically before looking back to you. “I’m sorry I couldn’t visit you sooner-”

“It’s alright,” you cut her off, trying your best to pull your lips into a smile. You had barely been in the room with her for a few seconds, but there was something about this woman that threw you off.

Katniss explained her story to you, how she was a widow, how her entire family died in a day. You sympathized with that, but Alma Coin did not remind you of a widow in the slightest.

She reminded you of the people you saw in the Capitol.

Clearly, she sensed the tension, giving you a smile and letting go of your hand, beckoning you both to sit. You sat down in the chair across from her, surveying the room, looking at the blueprints and papers sprawled everywhere. Your attention was drawn back to the woman when she spoke.

“So, how may I help you? I know adjusting to life here must be hard for you. But I will be here every step of the if you so need it.” You opened your mouth to speak, but she kept going, “You are an incredibly strong young woman. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live through those Games, nor could I imagine what it must have been like within the walls of the Capitol.”

No, you couldn’t, you thought, but you didn’t say that. Instead, you gave her a stiff smile, hoping that all your practice faking it could make it look believable. It seemed that President Coin had some practice faking it, too.

However, you cut straight to the point. “Madam President, I want to help the rebels in any way that I can.”

Her mouth fell open slightly, as if that was the last thing she was expecting. She looked to Katniss again, like you were out of it. And maybe you were, but so was The Girl on Fire. So were all of you.

It wasn’t fair of her to treat you like glass because, the truth was, she was right. You went through The Games not once but twice, and then you were immediately thrown into the Capitol, facing horrors that you weren’t sure you could ever speak aloud, horrors that flashed before your eyes every time you blinked, even as you sat across from her.

But you were. You were sitting across from her. You were ready to do something.

You may have just been pulled from the Devil’s clutches, but you were ready to walk through Hell all over again if it meant you got to kill him.

Katniss didn’t waver. “So do I.”

Coin’s hesitance was easier than expected to spot. For someone who wanted to lead Panem, she surely wore her heart on her sleeve. Or maybe you had just gotten too good at this dance that you could spot anyone’s slightest misstep. 

Slowly, she cautioned, “You both are going through a lot right now-”

The brunette sharply cut her off, “That doesn’t matter.” Your eyes were trained on Coin, but if you stole a glance at Katniss, then you knew you would’ve seen the fire in her eyes. In a way, she hadn’t changed at all since the last time you saw her.

And you wished that was true.

“Send me to the Capitol- send us to the Capitol.” Underneath her demand was pleading. “I’ll do anything.”

Coin brought her hand to her mouth, an indent on her finger where her ring was supposed to be yet no ring in sight. “I can’t.” But she wanted to. “I can’t send you there. We can’t get into the Capitol until we control district 2.”

“Then send us to 2,” you spoke up, her eyes moving to yours. There was some emotion in her eyes, pity or fear, you couldn’t tell, but you didn’t want to know what you looked like to find out. “I can fire up your troops, call out to the loyalists. You’ve seen what The Mockingjay can do, and I don’t doubt that you know what I am capable of.” You paused. “Let us win this for you, Madam President.”

She was silent for a moment, continuing to stare at you as if she was waiting for you to break, to do something that showed her that you weren’t capable of this, but she wouldn’t get that opening. You wanted this more than anything, and you would stop at nothing to get it.

Finally, she blinked, and you knew you had her.

“It would be an honour.”

You didn’t tell Katniss, and you certainly didn’t tell Coin, but a part of you was relieved that you weren’t going back to the Capitol so soon. You just left, and yet it felt like it had both been a world ago and just yesterday.

You didn’t know if you could handle it so soon, going back there. You could barely even handle looking at Finnick.

It wasn’t his fault. It was never his fault. You could never blame him, never for this.

How could you blame him when picturing his face was what got you through it?

How could you blame him when the only reason you survived was to find out if he was still alive?

They told you he was dead. They played his screams on a loop until you couldn’t tell that they stopped. His screams now blended in with the music so well.

Oh, you loved him. You loved him so much more than you could ever express. And maybe that’s why you never told him, but now you knew it was for the best. Finnick was strong, and beautiful, and he had a long life ahead of him with the woman of his dreams. You weren’t gonna get in the way of that.

You knew that you’d never truly be happy without him.

But you also knew from experience that he’d never be happy with you.

These were the thoughts that filled your head on the hovercraft. Even as he was nowhere in sight, his face was still all you could see.

He was here, too. You knew he was. Katniss told you beforehand. She didn’t know the whole story between you two, but she still told you. She had no idea how grateful you were.

You were hiding from him. You accepted the fact that the two of you would never get a happy ending, but that didn’t mean that you were ready to see him, knowing that. If you looked into his ocean blue eyes, God knew that he’d only pull you in and drown you in them.

You couldn’t do that.

It wasn’t fair to him.

It wasn’t fair to Annie.

It wasn’t fair to you.

And it wasn’t fair to all the people that were depending on you.

Suddenly, your thoughts were cut off the sound of footsteps came your way. You looked up, letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you saw it was just Haymitch.

He nodded to you. “Princess.”

You held back a scoff as he sat down next to you on the floor. “Haymitch.”

You still remembered when you met him. He was one of the first people to actually speak to you after you won your Games. For some reason, the others were too “intimidated” by you, but Haymitch didn’t have much left to be scared of, not when he went into an arena with 47 people and was the only one who walked out.

What you couldn’t remember was the last time you had an actual conversation with him, or at least the last time you had a conversation and he was sober.

“How’d you find me?” you asked, but your eyes were still trained on the floor. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I hang around here sometimes, go through the boxes and see if there’s anything medicinal in ‘em,” he responded, making you chuckle.

If he was looking for something medicinal, then you weren’t such a great replacement.

“Well, sorry you couldn’t find what you were looking for.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shake his head. “No, I need to be brought back to reality, anyway. And you, uh, you do a good job at that.”

You snorted, sensing the compliment was backhanded, even if he didn’t see it that way. Or maybe he did, but Haymitch was never one to hold his thoughts in. “Why, because I’m so fucked up?”

“No.” A beat of silence passed. “Because you remind me of a human’s will to live better than those Games ever did.”

You finally looked up, seeing that he was already looking at you. The sincerity in his eyes was so strong that it burned into yours, making you look away before it burned just enough to spark tears. “I don’t think I’m the best example of that.”  

His reply came quick, like he didn’t even have to think about it, but he had no idea how much you would after he said it. “You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

Aren’t you?

You didn’t say anything after that, nor did you look at him, and he didn’t force you to. You spent the rest of the ride pondering over his words.

You thought of every painful thing you ever went through. The Hunger Games. Being sold. The Quarter Quell. The Capitol. Falling in love.

You went through all that, and you were still here. You were still standing.

Weren’t you?

Or were you just waiting for the right moment to fall?

Your thoughts were halted as you felt the hovercraft come to a stop, realizing just how long you’d been thinking. You both stood up, going to leave this room. Like most real conversation you’d had with victors, you thought you both would just pretend it never happened, but right before you were about to enter the main ops room, he stopped you, grabbing your wrist. This time, you stopped the flinch before it could happen, looking up at him.

Haymitch Abernathy was not a soft man. After being cut so many times, his edges were jagged and sharp, but looking at you in that moment, he looked more than just soft. He looked sorry.

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure to say what he wanted to say or not, something unusual for him. He seemed to have made up his mind, telling you, “Stay standing, Y/N. There are still people out there that can’t do that by themselves.” Then he paused, eyes glazing over.

“Show them that they can.”

Getting off the hovercraft, damage surrounded you. The once pristine nature of district 2 was gone, replaced by devastation, rubble everywhere. If this was district 2, then you couldn’t imagine that any of the other districts were any better, that your district was any better.

Your mind was drawn back to your mother before you shook it away. You couldn’t be thinking of that right now.

A man in black attire carrying an assault rifle greeted you. Not a Peacekeeper. But a chill still went down your spine.

You couldn’t really tell if it was because of the soldier or if it was because you felt Finnick staring at you.

He wasn’t far behind you, in the row behind you and Katniss with Boggs and Gale. You tried to ignore it, but that proved to be harder said than done.

Katniss carried her bow in her hand while a sword was strapped to your belt, lightly hitting your leg as you walked, but you got used to this feeling during your first Games. In a way, it was almost comforting, even though it never should’ve been, even though weapons should’ve never been comforting to a child so young.

But you weren’t a child anymore.

In your hand, you carried a crossbow, Beetee’s special arrows on your back. The sword was really only there for show. This wasn’t The Hunger Games; no, this was a very different and special game entirely.

This was war.

You wouldn’t be getting up close for combat very often, so a crossbow made more sense, but after The Games, weapons started to hold sentimental value, both for the victors and the viewers that watched them. For Katniss, it was her bow; for Finnick, it was his trident; and for you, it was your sword.

Suddenly, as you were making your way to the Justice Building, a bomb went off, shaking the ground and making you spin, your grip on your bow tightening. Your heart was beating rapidly, but Corporal Homes wasn’t fazed, even letting out a little laugh. “Don’t worry. It’s just how the loyalists say good morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, holding the bow tighter to try and stop your hands from trembling. You shut your eyes, trying to calm down, but all that did was bring you right back to the Capitol. Your eyes quickly reopened, but when they did, they met those ocean blues that you’d been trying to avoid.

Your body went rigid. It begged you to look away, but you couldn’t. You were pulled to him like a magnet, a magnet that scraped against you, a magnet that nearly stopped your heart with how strong it was, but no matter how much it hurt you, fighting against it was useless.

Concern swam through his eyes, along with another familiar emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. It had been so long since you last saw him, since you last really saw him. Maybe that was why you couldn’t decipher it.

But, really, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Are you okay?” God, and his voice. How was it possible that his voice could both fill and create a hole in your heart at the same time? It was both quiet and loud, both sure and uncertain, and caring in every sense of the word.

So warm but made you feel so cold at the same time.

You just looked at him for a few seconds, as if you were hypnotized, until you realized you needed to respond. You nodded, afraid that your voice would crack if you tried to speak.

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but a hand came to your shoulder, yanking you out of trance. You turned to see Katniss, glancing between you both for a second before her eyes rested on you. She nodded towards the building and the rest of the crew who had walked ahead of you. You nodded back, walking away from Finnick without another word.

How did we get here? you wondered. 

We’re gonna be fine. Look, whenever you get nervous up there, you just hold my hand, alright? You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.

He was right there. He was still right there.

But the difference between then and now was that you could no longer just hold his hand.

He was right there.

But you were still alone.

Once you had put some distance between yourselves and Finnick, Katniss whispered, “I’m sorry.” You turned your head, but her eyes were directed in front of her. “That looked personal.”

“No, it’s fine,” you assured her, and then you left it at that. Because, truth be told, you were grateful for Katniss interrupting you. You weren’t sure you would’ve ever walked away if she hadn’t. But you did. And now you had bigger problems to worry about than your love life, if you could even call it that.

You finally made it into the Justice Building, being greeted by both Commander Lyme and Paylor. While they lived in higher ranks, they were still soldiers. You appreciated how they cut right to the chase.

You and your squad from 13 stood around a table projecting a hologram of district 2’s mountains with at least a dozen other soldiers, more littered throughout the room with Coin on a TV in front of you. 

Lyme started, “President Coin, we’re indebted to you for the reinforcements, the Princess, and the Mockingjay.” She glanced at you. “But I’m not sure that anyone outside of 2 knows what we’ve been up against.” She pointed at the hologram. “This is The Nut. The Capitol’s headquarters for all offensive operations. It’s manned by both military and civilian personnel from district 2.” She then continued to explain what all more or less knew, that it lied so deep beneath bedrock that it was untouchable.

“Yesterday, we attempted to take the northeastern gate. The enemy countered from higher up and we were forced to pull back.” She momentarily looked down, her mask of a stone cold commander falling and showing the human behind it. “We took heavy losses.”

Another commander spoke up. “Could we create a decoy? Send troops towards one gate, launch a staggered attack on another.”

Paylor didn’t miss a beat. “Whose troops do you propose as a decoy, Commander?”

Although the question was not directed towards her, Coin still responded, “We have the Mockingjay and we have the Princess of Panem. Do not underestimate their influence. We could use them to erode support, sway some of the loyalists.”

“You’ve been underground a long time, Madam Coin,” Lyme said. “This isn’t like the rest of Panem. Support for the Capitol runs deep here.” And why wouldn’t it? When the oppressor had done just about everything but oppress you, then how could you see the oppression happening everywhere else?

Coin quickly retorted, “Then there is no sacrifice too great.” Her voice was like that of a widow: soft enough that you could tell what she’d been through but firm enough for the exact same reason. 

No sacrifice too great… but wasn’t there? 

“We need to control the arsenal inside that fortress. Even with every district in this alliance, we are outgunned.” All twelve other districts could band together, but without 2, none of you stood a chance.

No sacrifice too great.

“I won’t commit my people to a ground assault just to pillage weapons.”

“Commander Paylor, your people have suffered more than just about anyone else at the hands of the Capitol.”

“Which is why I won’t condone a mass suicide.”

“If we don’t take district 2, we won’t get into the Capitol.”

For the first time since your entrance, you spoke up. “What if we don’t have to take it?” You felt everyone’s eyes on you but yours remained focused on the hologram in front of you, unblinking as if you weren’t there at all. 

And maybe you weren’t.

Lyme responded, “What are you proposing, Ms. Y/L/N?”

What were you proposing? You couldn’t be sure. But you knew what you needed, and that was this war ending in Snow’s final breath.

No sacrifice too great.

“What if we don’t need The Nut to win?” You looked up. “What if we could take it away from them instead?”

Gale seemed to be the only one who caught onto what you were saying, or at least the only one willing to speak it aloud. “We could disable it, trap them inside or flush ‘em out.” He continued, gesturing the hologram. “If we can’t attack straight on, then couldn’t we use our hovercraft to strike around it? We’ll use the mountains; we’ll hit weak spots in the peaks.”

“We could design the bomb targets in sequence using seismic data.”

“Trigger avalanches,” you muttered just above a whisper, imagining it in your head. Something like this happened in The Games once, one of the years you were mentoring. It was catastrophic, akin to a bloodbath. It was a miracle there was even anyone left alive to fight for a victor’s title.

You wondered if Finnick thought of this, too, but you didn’t dare look over at him, looking back to hologram and trying to block the images of blood and terror from your mind.

But as you stood there and spoke about war, you didn’t know if that was possible.

Not when the war in your mind had still yet to be won.

“Block all exits, cut off their supplies. You make it impossible for them to launch their hovercraft.”

Paylor had a look of realization on her face. “Bury them alive.”

“We’d forfeit any chance to control the weapons-”

Beetee cut Coin off, “Yes, but we’d face a weakened Capitol.”

“There’s civilians in there,” Boggs interjected, stoic but any hearing person could hear the compassion in his voice. Civilians. Is that what they were?

You were a civilian too, once. Then you were a tribute, a pawn, a victor, the Princess. Did civilians still exist? What kind of civilians could support the Capitol? What kind of human beings could support the torture you were subjected to, the torture people in the districts were subjected to on a daily basis?

You wondered if your mother was given the courtesy of a civilian before the Capitol took her life.

You weren’t.

“They should be given a chance to surrender. Could use one of the supply tunnels for the evacuees.”

“It’s a luxury we weren’t given when they firebombed 12,” Gale said, as if he were reminding you, as if any of you needed a reminder.

“There’s gotta be a better way.” You were already so focused, but if you were losing attention in any way, Katniss brought it back, the disbelief in her voice audible to everyone in the room. She glanced in between Gale and you, but she didn’t get whatever response she expected of you.

Katniss may have had hope for the good of humanity, but you didn’t have that. The Capitol took that away from you without a second thought. She may have been driven by hope, but you were driven by anger.

There was no sacrifice too great.

“I suggest we try the avalanche, but leave the train tunnel alone,” Coin decided. “Civilians can escape into the square, where our armies will be waiting for their surrender.”

“We should have every available medic standing by.”

“And if they won’t surrender?” Lyme challenged.

Coin’s lips almost formed a smile. “Then we will need a compelling voice to persuade them.” And a voice was something she had.

The Mockingjay and the Princess, two sides of the same coin. Heads or tails, luck was on the President’s side either way.

You tuned out after that, letting everyone else talk logistics. Throughout the entire conversation, you didn’t hear Finnick say a word. He was perhaps the most talkative person you had ever met, and yet now, he had nothing to say.

He only looked at you the whole time, like an artifact.

And even as you walked away, you still felt the cold burn of his stare.

You watched from a broken window of the Justice Building as the hovercrafts started, rubble blowing in the wind. The sight was magnetic, pulling you in to look at it. It was almost beautiful.

This world could’ve been beautiful.

You wished that this dance could have been more beautiful before it made your feet bleed.

You watched as the hovercrafts danced in the sky before dropping bombs on the mountains, dancing to the sound of explosions and then to the sound of cheers around you.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-

“This isn’t right.” A voice brought you out of your trance. You turned to see Katniss, her eyes on the scene outside the window, as mesmerized as you were. But mesmerized wasn’t the right word. She was stricken by horror.

Oh, if she saw what happened to you that could make you ever justify this. If she saw what happened to Peeta to make him hysteric. If she saw what happened to Johanna to make her numb. If she saw, then would she still be so transfixed then?

If she saw, would she still be standing?

If she saw, would she understand why you still were?

You stared at her for a moment, contemplating if you would say any of this before deciding against it, turning back and monotonously replying, “It’s fire catching, Everdeen.”

She scoffed, “And we’re lighting the match.”

Sharply, you countered, “Don’t forget that the Capitol poured gasoline everywhere first.” You turned back to see her already looking at you. A sigh left your lips. “They did this, Katniss.”

“And so anyone that had anything to do with it deserves to burn for it?”

No.

Yes.

“Did we deserve to burn, Girl on Fire?” You caught her off guard, anger slipping through the cracks of your voice, resolution filling your eyes. “Did we deserve to burn in those reapings, in those parades, in those damn Games as they all made a spectacle of it? All those kids and their families, did they deserve to burn just because the Capitol saw fit?” She was silent, tears coming to her eyes that she refused to let fall, so different from that girl you were with in the arena yet the exact same. Your eyes burned, too. “The way I see it, we’re fighting fire with fire.” You scoffed. “At least we’re giving them a way out.”

You didn’t stick around to hear Katniss’ response, walking away to find whoever would tell you what do next. You could’ve stood by that window for the rest of the night, watching as the terror unfolded, but you had more important things to do than watch the fire.

You had to go light a match.

You examined yourself in the mirror blankly. You were donning a black costume, and a costume it was. Because what was a costume if not an impersonation of something you were not?

But someone thought that this was what you were. Someone thought that you could be a leader. Cinna did—or at least that’s what Effie Trinket told you. You didn’t know why she seemed to be in charge of “design” or why she showed such an interest in you, but you supposed it wasn’t so unusual for an artifact.

Your makeup artists did their jobs fabulously, painting your face until you were almost unrecognizable, until you looked like that girl from before The Games, that girl that the people of Panem knew and loved. With this makeup, you couldn’t see the circles under your eyes, the discolouration of your face. They made you look alive again.

On the outside, at least.

On the inside, you weren’t sure if there was any makeup that could repair the damage that’d been done.

Your hair had been braided into an updo, like a crown. They tried to give you back your necklace, the one Finnick gave to you before The Games, but you never wanted to see that necklace again, never wanted to see a rose ever again.

You would hate the smell of roses for the rest of your life.

“It’s time.” You looked away from your reflection to see Haymitch standing at the door. You nodded to him, glancing back at the mirror one last time before exiting the room. Katniss fell into step with you both as you made your way toward the train tunnel, but remained silent. You didn’t speak, either.

Soon, you were joined by the rest of your Star Squad, but you avoided any and all eye contact with Finnick. It’d be a shame to cry and ruin all that beautiful makeup on your face.

It’d be a shame to feel something right now when you felt so numb.

But you’d quickly be feeling a lot.

“Don’t worry, Katniss. There’ll be survivors,” Boggs tried to reassure. She glanced at him, but didn’t respond.

Haymitch was more concentrated on what you came here to do. “Let’s focus on what it is you gotta say.” He looked in between both of you. “Now, Plutarch wrote a speech that either of you can read-”

“No,” you both simultaneously said, briefly glancing at each other.

Haymitch sighed, throwing the cards to the side. “Okay, didn’t think so. Let’s, uh…” he stopped you both, standing in front of you. “But just remember you’re talking to everybody. Not just the rebels, but the Capitol, the survivors in 2. We want them to lay down their arms. So you- both of you might wanna experiment with a little sensitivity, warmth.”

They have the upper-hand, that’s what he was really saying. But you understood how this worked. You’ve danced this dance a million times already.

“Don’t worry, Haymitch. I know how to fake it.” He looked over at you as if he wanted to say something, but Boggs spoke before he could.

“Make it quick, you’re exposed.”

Katniss walked toward the tunnel first, turning once she was far enough to face the rest of you. They decided that she would go first. She had been at this for a while now, much longer than you.

You’re lucky, you know.

How so?

You just are.

Maybe the Katniss Everdeen that you met in the training centre was lucky, but this one, the one who shot an arrow at the force field in the Quarter Quell, the one who became a symbol before she could even blink… you weren’t so sure that this one was so lucky. Not anymore. Not in this world.

Luck didn’t exist in this new world.

“This is Katniss Everdeen, speaking to all of the loyalists from the heart of district 2-”

“Survivors! Inbound!”

The sound of the train’s horn became audible to you, its wheels screeching against the train tracks. Boggs went running for Katniss while a hand grabbed your shoulder. This time, you couldn’t hold back the flinch.

“We need to go, Y/N.” And then your body went rigid. 

That was your name.

That was your name coming from Finnick Odair.

You didn’t even notice when he moved so close to you.

You swallowed, nodding, but it was like your feet were cemented to ground. You couldn’t move. If you moved, if you turned around, then you’d be looking right into his eyes.

Oh, there was time when the only thing you wanted to do was stare into his eyes all day. And maybe the problem was that you still wanted to.

You closed your eyes, inhaling a shaky breath, and when you opened them, the survivors were jumping off the train, being forced down to the ground, guns pointed at them, loud noise everywhere. Suddenly, you couldn’t take your eyes off of what was happening, even as every bone in your body begged you to, even as your head spun.

Finnick’s hand was still on your shoulder, but neither of you moved. None of you did. 

Another man jumped off, looking disoriented, but what drew your attention to him wasn’t his appearance but the gun in his hand. The grip on your shoulder got tighter. 

“Drop it! Drop your weapon! You! Drop it,” Boggs shouted, aiming his machine gun at him as he moved in your direction. “Drop the gun! Drop it-”

Suddenly, a gun went off, and everyone was screaming. You ducked down, eyes frantically darting everywhere before they settled on Katniss, running towards him, yelling. Your eyes widened, a wave of déjà vu passing over you as you remembered this exact scenario in the Quell, Katniss running towards danger and you running after her.

And just like that, even though you were paralyzed by fear, you quickly shot up, running after her without a thought. “Katniss!”

“Y/N!”

“Stop! He needs help!” She screamed as you were about to reach her. The next moment happened too fast for you to grasp it, the man jabbing his gun at her chin and cocking it. You skidded to a stop where you were, your breath catching in your throat.

Boggs was shouting, but your ears rang. It was almost as if you could feel that barrel on your own skin, and maybe it was because you had.

Snow’s voice rang through your head, Tell me about the rebel plan, Y/N.

You’re gonna have to kill me first.

Oh, sweet girl. He had knelt down next to you. I will make you wish that you died in that arena.

The man’s voice shook you out of your daze. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you.”

“Drop the gun!”

Katniss was silent, staring right into his eyes, but you saw what was behind the brave façade she was putting on. She didn’t have a reason.

“She can’t.” His eyes went to you, widening as if he hadn’t realized you were there. You stepped forward, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. Inside, you were shaking, but on the outside, you were calm and collected. On the inside, you were just a tribute in this game, but on the outside, you were the victor that everyone had crowned you.

“We blew up your mine. But you burned her district to the ground- my district to the ground.” You stepped closer, your resolve hardening. “So I guess we both have every reason to want to kill each other, but, really, does that make sense?” You asked, not looking away from his eyes once.  “You know who I am. You know who she is, and I can bet that you know a few of the people standing behind me. So many people that the Capitol has rooted for, that you have rooted for- why would we be doing this? After the riches, and the glitz, and the glamour, why would we fight back against a system that has supposedly given us everything?”

Because they took everything from you first.

You took another step closer, putting your hands up when he jabbed the gun in Katniss’ neck. “Look around you.” He quickly glanced around before his eyes fell back on you. “Are these the people you want to kill? The same people that you cheered for?” Slowly, your hands fell. “Why are you fighting us? Why are you fighting the rebels? You’re neighbours. You’re family.”

He looked up at you for a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. In his eyes, you could see evil, chaos. But you also a sliver of humanity, and you prayed to God that you reached past the chaos to the humanity. You prayed to whoever would listen that he heard you. And, maybe, for the first time, the universe was on your side, because his gun slowly lowered to the ground.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Katniss was stuck in a trance until you pulled her up, but you weren’t so focused on her. Your eyes panned over the people, your people and the loyalists alike, but they were all just people, you realized.

They were all just people.

“There is no our side or your side,” you yelled, backing away from the man and facing everyone. “There is only freedom and captivity. These people are not your enemy.” You turned, facing the rest of the crowd. “We all have one enemy. And that’s Snow.” Tears gathered in your eyes. “He does not care who you are or how loyal you are, how important you are—to him, we are all just pieces in a game.”

You pointed to your people behind you. “Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Finnick Odair, Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta, Johanna, Beetee, Enobaria- we are all that is left from three generations of victors. The rest of them are dead.” The faces of those that you killed flashed through your mind. “Slaughtered in the Quarter Quell or killed in the aftermath, it’s all the same. They were murdered by the Capitol—and it didn’t matter how important, or loyal, or loved they were- their lives were ended like they didn’t mean a thing.”

“And they would do the same to any of you if it benefit them.” You shook your head, raising your voice. “Stop killing for him.” You paused, breathing heavily. Your fight was not with people in the districts. Your fight was with one person and one person only. It was time that everyone else saw that. “Tonight, turn your weapons to the Capitol. Turn your weapons to Snow.”

Before you could say another word, gunfire erupted and you were falling to the ground.

And then your vision went black.

“Please, I don’t know anything,” you sobbed, fighting against your restraints, but it was no use.

Snow tutted, coming out from the shadows in which he hid. “Oh, Y/N, I wish I could believe that.”

Your body shook. “Please, I’m telling the truth, I don’t know anything about a revolution.”

“And yet all of your comrades did?”

You rapidly shook your head back and forth, worsening the pounding in your mind. They kept telling you about an uprising, but you didn’t know what they were talking about. They said you knew, but you didn’t know. They said that Katniss knew, that Peeta knew, that Johanna knew, that Finnick knew, but they couldn’t have.

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know where they were.

You prayed that Finnick was safe, but if he wasn’t, then you prayed that he was dead. You’d rather him be dead than ever face what you were facing now.

“They didn’t. I didn’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Snow looked at you silently for a few moments, and you had no idea what he was thinking. Then brought his hand up. You flinched, but his hand only went to your hair, petting it. The look in his eyes was almost something like pity, you realized, but it wasn’t real. You didn’t know how long you’d been there, wherever you were, but in the time you there, you learned that President Snow was incapable of sympathy.

You even thought that he enjoyed this.

“Oh, my dear princess… I would’ve hoped that you would’ve learned to be honest with me by now,” he sighed, and then he took his hand away and looked away from you altogether, looking to the Peacekeeper that’d moved to the wall. “Again. And let’s be a little more… effective this time.” He moved to walk away, and you shook your head.

“No, no- please don’t- please, please- no- no!”

You shot up, panting, your hands digging into blankets. Your eyes darted around the room and you realized you were back in your bed in the medical centre. A hand was placed over yours and you immediately shuffled away, your eyes going to the person and meeting blue, concerned orbs.

Finnick held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Your chest still rapidly fell up and down, but for some reason his presence calmed you down and put you into a panic all at the same time.

Only Finnick could do that to you.

You closed your eyes, blinking the remnants of your nightmare away, even if that nightmare wasn’t a nightmare but rather just the life you so happened to live. You’re here, Y/N. You’re alive.

But why?

“How am I alive?” you croaked, looking down at the dull bed sheets instead of into his eyes. It was funny: you looked down to avoid the blue of his eyes, but the colour of these sheets was so similar. 

What’s your favourite colour?

It’s blue, not really dark or light either. Sort of green- it’s close to grey, too.

Now that colour just made you want to cry.

Finnick didn’t say anything for a moment, as if he was shocked that you were even speaking to him. And you were, too. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and if you went back to the last time you spoke, back in the arena, you would’ve never thought that this was how it would turn out. Even if you went back to just your first days in the Capitol, you still could’ve never imagined a reality where you didn’t speak to Finnick.

But you could’ve never imagined any of this happening in the first place.

If you went back to the night you met him, you could’ve never imagined how deeply you’d fall for this boy.

And you never could’ve imagined how much it’d hurt when you hit the ground.

Finnick’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “You were shot back in 2. But the bullets were stopped by your costume. Cinna made sure that it was bulletproof.”

Cinna.

The way people spoke about him, in the past tense, the way you hadn’t seen him anywhere. You’d figured that he was dead.

You wondered how many more people would die for this revolution before you could all be free.

“The doctor says you sustained minor injuries, bruised rib, bruised lung. But nothing worse than the injuries you came back from the Capitol with.” At that, you turned your head to face him, meeting his eyes immediately. His eyes were soft but almost hard. He was almost looking at you the same way he did after you volunteered for Annie. In his eyes, you saw care, confusion, sadness, some anger, and emotions you couldn’t name, but most of all, you could see the pure exhaustion weighing him down.

He stared at you for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, maybe longer than that—time didn’t seem to exist. “Why would you do that, Y/N?” He whispered. And in that moment, you knew you weren’t talking to the Prince of Panem, the victor of The 65th Hunger Games, or the soldier who wanted to build a better world.

You were just talking to Finnick.

And that scared you.

Your breath hitched.

Why would you do that?

Finn-

Why would you volunteer?

Because you had to.You volunteered for Annie because you had to, the same way you did what you just did because you had to. To you, there was no choice, only one path to follow.

“I did what I was meant to do, Finnick.” Even as you willed it not to, your body betrayed you, your voice cracking on his name, but this time, you kept eye contact. And even though you were talking to Finnick, the Finnick that held you at night and soothed you when you cried, your Finnick, he was not talking to Y/N, not the Y/N that he held and soothed.

That Y/N could not talk to Finnick, not this Finnick.

If she did, you didn’t know if you’d ever get her back again.

He was shaking his head before you even finished speaking. “No, you could’ve died.” I’m already dead.

“But I didn’t.” But I did.

“But you almost did!” You flinched as his hands went up in the air, and then he froze, freezing you with him. You flinched. You flinched like he was gonna hit you, and he saw that. You cursed yourself immediately, wishing you could take it back as the look that encompassed his eyes became hurt.

There were few times when Finnick ever looked at you like that, and you could remember each as if they just happened. You never wanted to see that look on his face again, to be the reason for that look.

Time stopped again. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t find the words. And before you could, time picked back up. Finnick’s hands fell down to the bed, and he looked away from you, lowering his voice. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/N.”

Tears welled in your eyes. He didn’t know what he was saying. “You could have the world at your fingertips, Finnick.”

“There is no world for me if you’re not in it.” He looked back at you. And you couldn’t tell if your imagination was playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn there were tears in his eyes, too. “You’re my world, Y/N.” And just like that, any hope you had of remaining invulnerable shattered and the dam you were trying to hold in your eyes broke, tears falling down your face.

You shook your head, silent sobs wracking your body. Did he have any idea the effect he had on you? Did he have any idea what he was doing to you? “Why are you saying these things?”

Something akin to a scoff left his lips. “Because it’s true-”

“No- no, they’re not-”

Finnick latched onto your hand, making you look right at him. This time, you saw tears trailing down his cheeks, and they seemed so real. “Y/N, I swear to you on everything I believe in that I’m telling you the truth.”

You wished it was the truth. You wished that this was real. You had been wishing that your pretending could become real for ages now.

But you’d danced this dance long enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.

Even if Finnick had convinced himself that it would.

“It’s impossible.”

“I l-”

“Ms Y/L/N?” You both turned the source of the new voice, finding your doctor at your door. She glanced between you both carefully as you ripped your hands away from Finnick’s, wiping at the tears that’d fallen and the ones that continued to fall. “May I speak with you, please?” She requested, glancing at him.

He quickly stood up, but this time, you weren’t looking. “Yeah, I’ll, uh- I’ll head out.” He paused for a second, like he was waiting for you to say something, but you weren’t sure that you could continue to speak to him right now, even if you wanted to. When you remained silent, you heard his shoes pitter-patter against the ground as he made his way out of the room.

When he was gone, you exhaled and Dr. Terren looked back at you. She hesitated, “Did I… interrupt something?”

“No,” you breathed out. “Nothing important.”

She nodded after a beat, getting right into her medical talk, but she didn’t look so convinced.

And you weren’t sure that you were, either.

You were hit bad, the doctor said, but it could’ve been worse. And she was right. It could’ve been worse.

You didn’t feel a thing. Lung, ribs—all you felt was heartache. Maybe it was good that you couldn’t feel the pain. But you couldn’t be sure.

She kept pushing the same idea: therapy. That’s where Johanna was. That’s where Peeta was. But that wasn’t gonna be where you were. Terren kept talking about trauma, about how this near-death experience called for you to talk to someone, but really, what good would that do?

Would that therapist understand? Did they go through what you went through? Did they understand what you were going through? You didn’t have time to stop and talk about your feelings, if you could even sort them out into words, nor did you want to reminisce over anything that happened while you were in the Capitol.

Even if reminiscing was all you could do. 

When Terren left, you ripped the IV out of your arm, leaving your hospital room to go to the other room they gave you. At least that one wasn’t filled with your favourite colour.

Your room in 13 was grey, like most things here. It was drab, but you wouldn’t complain. Anything was better than the Capitol. The door to your room slid open, and then you stopped. On your floor was the same black box Katniss left you, the same one you watched Finnick from.

Poison.

You swallowed, deciding to ignore the box altogether and go to your ensuite. You never wanted to see that video again. Watching it from that box was the first time you ever saw it, and it would be the last.

They must have gone through extra effort to hide it from you in the Capitol. They made you believe he was dead. You believed this was such conviction that, when you saw him again after the rescue, you thought you were dreaming.

You even thought you’d died.

You even wished you did.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, dead is what you looked like. That bullet may not have killed you, but you still looked like a corpse. You’re very lucky to be alive, Y/N, Dr. Terren told you. 

Luck.

If luck was what kept you alive, then it wasn’t good luck at all. Luck would’ve been that bullet puncturing like it was intended to.

Your hand went to your ribs, looking at the bandages wrapped around them in the mirror. Then your hand travelled to your hair. Long and silky, so sought after in Panem. But as you ran your hands through it, you didn’t feel its softness. All you felt was Snow’s hand, petting you as you begged him not to kill you.

And then that turned into you begging for the exact opposite.

You don’t know how long you were looking at your reflection before you were opening and closing the sink drawers, your hands moving with a mind of their own. Part of you didn’t know what you were doing, but another part of you must have as you suddenly stopped, having found what you were looking for.

Scissors.

You picked them up, staring at them as if they were treasures, watching the light glare off the blades. You didn’t know what you were doing.

All you knew was that this feeling was tearing you apart.

And that’s all you could focus on.

Suddenly, your hand holding the scissors was moving. You still didn’t know what you were doing, but before you could find out, your name sounded.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, seeing Katniss stand in the doorway, confusion on her face that slowly contorted to fear. She glanced down at your hands, making you do the same. Quickly, you moved the scissors away from your wrist, unknowing of how they even got there.

You looked back at Katniss, your mouth opening and closing. You didn’t know what to say. Finally, you stammered, “I- I-” she looked back up at you and you realized that she, too, didn’t know what to say. “My hair. It’s- I want to cut my hair.”

That’s not what you were doing.

Katniss seemed to know that, not looking convinced in the slightest. She was quiet for a few moments, eyes on the scissors before she was walking towards you. Gently, she pried them out of your hand, as if you were a child holding a gun.

Then her eyes met yours. The eyes that were once hard as stone now looked at you with softness. “I’ll help you,” she whispered. She nodded to herself, repeating, “I’ll help you.”

You were grateful for her going with your story, even if it was just because she didn’t know what to say to what she really saw. She moved behind you, exhaling and getting ready right away.

And she may not have known this, but in just her walking in, she had already helped you more than you could’ve ever helped yourself.

Muffled chatter came to your ears as you sat in one of the common areas. Most people ate in the cafeteria, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go in there. Finnick was in there, along with Katniss, and you couldn’t really talk to either of them right now.

With Finnick, you didn’t know where you stood. He said so much to you in your hospital room, after you were shot, but you didn’t know what to make of any of it. He was talking to you like you were more than just fake lovers—and truth be told, that’s what you were. You may have forgotten that for a while or pretended for too long, but it was fake. The dance changed every so often, but at its core, it was the same.

Finnick was acting like this was a dance you engaged in voluntarily, like this was a dance he enjoyed dancing. While you had no one you’d rather dance with, you knew it wasn’t the same for him. You saw the way he looked at Annie; you saw it for the entirety of your “relationship.” He looked at her with such tenderness and care, like she put the stars in the sky. The second you saw her, the second you saw the way he looked at her, you knew that you didn’t stand a chance.

But for some reason, in that hospital room, you almost felt like he looked at you that way.

And that didn’t make sense.

That didn’t make sense at all.

Another part of you didn’t want him to see you like this, not again. Katniss did, and you weren’t ready to see her so soon, either. It was a weak moment, you told yourself, but you were fine now. You were here for a reason—you were still here for a reason.

Show them that they can.

You didn’t have hope, but you were still the hope of so many people, the hope of Panem. You weren’t gonna let them down. You were not going to stand by and let Snow’s reign of terror continue. 

You made a pact with yourself. As Katniss was cutting your hair, you promised yourself that you would see this through. Afterward, it didn’t matter what happened, but you would fight until this country was free. 

Even if you died for it in the process.

“Looking good, Princess.”

Your head shot up from your tray and, for the first time since you arrived in 13, you felt a smile arise on your face. “Johanna.” Your tray was pushed to the side as you stood, wrapping your arms around her.

“Easy. I hear you’re injured.”

“I’m fine, Jo,” you reassured her, pulling away. She mirrored your smile, a sight you never thought you’d see again after what you heard in the Capitol.

“You always are, aren’t you?” She retorted. You only continued to smile, opting not to respond. She must’ve seen your discomfort—of course she did, she knew you so well—so she changed the subject. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ditto,” you responded, even if it was a little untrue. You loved Johanna. She was the first person you looked for when you got to 13, and seeing her right now made you so unbelievably happy, a happy you didn’t anticipate feeling for a long time, but it wasn’t good to see her like this.

She had always put on a brave face, was always so much stronger than you, but right now, she looked like she was barely holding on. Her eyes were hollow, bags underneath them that matched yours. Her face was pale. And the beautiful red streaks that had once filled her hair, the hair that she loved, was now gone. It was all gone.

The Capitol took it just to show her that they could.

And even though you cut yours out of your own will, they still took yours, too.

Eventually, she sat down with you, resting her head on your shoulder. Before, when things were bad before they got worse, you’d sit together in the Capitol, you, her and Finnick, and you’d pass time together, just like this.

Except Finnick wasn’t here.

However, you convinced yourself that it was for the best.

Annie. He had Annie. You volunteered for Annie, got yourself in this position for Annie, so that he could have a life with her, the life he always wanted. He may have denied it, or maybe he didn’t know that you knew, but some nights, he’d dream about her, talking in his sleep. He wanted to marry her, to have kids with her.

He could do that now. This is what you did this for, so that he could have his happy ending. Even if it meant taking away yours for good.

Like she was reading your thoughts, Johanna muttered, “How come you aren’t in the cafeteria with prince charming?”

You stiffened, but you still knew how to dance this dance, deflecting, “Why aren’t you?”

She lightly chuckled. “Good point.” She didn’t answer, even though you knew the reason why, just as she probably knew the answer to her question. You expected her to drop it, but you supposed you should’ve known better from Johanna Mason. She was silent for a few moments until she spoke again. “He loves you, you know.”

You sighed, “Jo-”

“That boy loves you with all he has, Y/N.” She lifted her head up from your shoulder, making you look at her. “Always has, still does.”

Oh, Finnick and you were incredible. You made the masses believe that the love you shared was real- he made them believe it. You didn’t have to do any work. It wasn’t acting for you, but you knew it was for him.

Not even Johanna knew that it wasn’t real. She might’ve suspected, but for all she knew, you two were really in love. You wished that was true. For years, you wished that was true.

But your wishes rarely ever came true.

“It’s not that simple,” you said.

She slightly tilted her head. “Isn’t it?” Her words echoed throughout your head. Isn’t it? It should’ve been. In a different world, maybe it was that simple. In a different world, maybe the two of you really were as in love as everyone thought you were. In a different world, maybe all those wishes and all that pretending could’ve been a reality.

But that was not this world.

So you didn’t say anything, instead resting your head on her shoulder this time,  conveying your thoughts to her without speaking them.

I wish it was.

You lied on your bed in silence, staring up at the plain ceiling and imagining patterns of your own. Back at home, the ceilings had colourful swirls on them, muted tones swooshing together. But that wasn’t really your home. The home you came from didn’t have pretty designs or fancy furniture. The home you came from had paint peeling off the walls. The home you came from didn’t have furniture at all.

But that wasn’t really your home, either.

At some point, you think, that place was something like a home. When your dad was still alive, you’d wake up every morning to the scent of food cooking in the kitchen, even if it was only a bit. But then he died, and there was no one to buy food at all.

That year, you barely ate a thing.

The next year, you picked up the slack. You could still remember it, being ten years old and finding your father’s hunting gear. Going into the forest, you were scared. You didn’t want to harm an animal.

But you did.

And then you did it every time after that.

When you came home, you saw the way your mother looked at you. Somewhere inside of her, something cracked. Somewhere inside of her, she saw something that you couldn’t. And, after that, she started looking at you a lot less.

Five years later, you were sent off to The Games. You could remember seeing your mother in the crowd, but when you got into the Justice Building, she wasn’t there. You waited. And she never showed. But you held your tears and told yourself you had to stay strong, for her, because she couldn’t.

You thought about her in the arena. You thought about her when you picked up that sword. You thought about her when you took your first life. You thought about her when Bay died. And you thought about her when Claudius announced that you, Y/N Y/L/N, had won the 67th Hunger Games.

Was she watching? you wondered. Is she happy?

When you got back to 4 and opened the door to your house, her jaw fell. Like she didn’t know. Like she was shocked. Like she never thought you’d win at all.

Like she didn’t want you to.

Mom, I- I won. Did you watch?

Silence. I watched. I tried, I just- I couldn’t watch you kill after that first- that-... The boy. A boy your age. A boy you stabbed into. A boy who you watched bleed out. A boy whose blood was on your hands–and with the way your mother stared at you, you almost felt like the stains were still there.

And they might as well have been.

She hugged you. But it didn’t feel like she was doing it because she missed you. It felt like she was doing it because that’s what a mother is supposed to do. They’re supposed to hug you–they’re supposed to love you.

But you weren’t you anymore.

You moved into the new house together. Then, soon after, you were moving into Finnick’s, leaving the house to her. You think she was relieved, relieved that she wouldn’t be sleeping in the same house as a killer.

And now, as you lied on this rough bed in 13, there was no house at all. No old house, no new one, no Finnick’s house, no district 4 at all. No mom, either.

What was the last thing I said to her? you wondered. Why can’t I remember the last thing I said to her?

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t even remember when you last spoke to her. Your own mother. She was the woman who gave birth to you, the woman who raised you. Yet you couldn’t remember the last time you were in the same room.

And now you’d never be in the same room again.

A burning grew in your throat, but you didn’t let the tears fall, blinking them away. You’d cried an ocean of tears already. Now wasn’t the time to cry anymore. Now was the time to be strong. 

You never wanted this. You didn’t choose this, to be princess of a country that only abused its citizens, a country that threw you to the wolves then claimed they loved you when you came out seemingly unscathed, a country that wouldn’t have loved you so much if they knew just how scathed you were.

You did not choose this. But, for some reason, it chose you. The people chose you. The people believed in you. They believed that you were some sort of hero, coming to save them all from this villain that had hurt them all so badly. They didn’t know that it wasn’t true, that you weren’t a hero. They didn’t know that you were scared of the villain, too.

But if the people in the districts could believe in you, the people being bombed and attacked, the people grieving the loss of their loved ones–if they could believe that, then you could, too.

If the people of Panem believed you could be a hero, then you promised yourself that that’s what you’d be.

“So I changed the chemical compound of the powder, adding more fluorine to excite the electrons, causing them to jump more rapidly from orbital to orbital and ignite faster as-”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Beetee paused, like he was surprised that you couldn’t understand. To him, it was so simple, but to most people, like yourself, it had no meaning. “Chemical reaction,” he reiterated. “I increased the strength of the chemical reaction so you can hit more.”

Your mouth formed an O shape. “Makes sense. That’s all you had to say, y’know.”

His mouth opened, likely to say something sweet and snarky as per usual when the two of you spoke, but he was halted by the door to the armory sliding open. You both turned to see The Mockingjay making her way into the room.

Your breath got caught in your throat for a moment before you regulated it, calming yourself down. You hadn’t seen Katniss since she walked in on you in the bathroom. The way her eyes met yours told you that she remembered that day well, too. But if you knew anything about Katniss Everdeen, it was that feelings were not her strong suit. If you knew her as well as you thought you did, then she’d pretend it never happened.

You hoped she’d pretend. If you knew Katniss as well as you thought you did, then she was just as good at pretending as you.

“You wanted to see me?” she queried, directing her vision to Beetee. A breath left you.

“Yeah, I wanted to show you both your new arrows. I adde-”

You cut him off, “He did something to the chemicals to make the arrows better.”

“Reaction. I increased the force of the chemical reaction.”

“Same difference.”

Beetee took a deep breath, closing his eyes and then reopening them. “Since you’re so… well-versed, you can explain it to her.” You snorted at his response while he wheeled away. Beetee always had the ability to make you laugh, even if it wasn’t his intention.

When you looked away from his retreating figure, you were met with Katniss staring right at you, realizing she was still in the room. Her brows furrowed, a light, light smile on her face that would otherwise be invisible to a stranger. “I’ve never seen Beetee get so… irritated.”

The tension in your shoulders dissipated as they shook with your laughter. Nobody had seen him get annoyed often, unless you were around. “Yeah, that happens when you're stuck in the Capitol with someone for years on end.” 

Beetee was always a pretty good friend. You met at a Capitol function, of course, and from then on, you made it a point to annoy him whenever you could. Besides amusing you, it also served as a reminder that he was a human, too, not just some Capitol pawn.

Snow didn’t sell Beetee, but he used him in so many other ways. You and Finnick were their pride, but insiders knew that Beetee was their prize. He was perhaps the smartest person you’d ever met, but you figured that, every once in a while, he deserved to let his guard down and just be normal for a few minutes.

And, deep down, you knew he wasn’t as annoyed as he seemed.

Even though you were laughing, the smile on the brunette’s face slowly dimmed as she looked down. Your smile disappeared. “What is it?”

She was quiet for a second until she spoke, “You and the other victors… you all seemed close.”

Seemed.

Pictures flashed through your mind, pictures of your time in the Capitol. Normally, when you thought about your time there, you pictured all the bad, all the conversations behind closed doors, all the grown men and women who used you when you were still a child. What you didn’t think about was all the kids who were there with you, all the kids who had to grow up just as you did.

Some of these people were people you killed, the same people you had conversations with, the same people who were going through exactly what you were going through.

You were close.

Until you weren’t.

You didn’t say anything for a while, letting yourself remember it all. “Yeah,” you finally responded. “Yeah, we were.” And you didn’t say anything more on the matter. You didn’t know what more there was to say. You cleared your throat, changing the topic. “Anyways, this is what Beetee wanted to show us.” You picked up the arrows, showing them to her.

She hummed, looking back up. You knew that she knew what you were doing, but fortunately, she went along with it. “Never knew you could shoot.”

“Oh, please, Everdeen, anyone who grew up in the districts can shoot.”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean they’re any good,” she retorted, shrugging. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know, is it?”

Another laugh left your lips, your third time laughing since arriving in 13. “You’re on, Girl on Fire.” You grabbed one of the non-incendiary arrows and a random bow lying on the table, loading the arrow in. 

You faced your body to the targets across the room, bringing the bow up to your ear, pulling the arrow back, and eying the red. The corners of your lips quirked upward and, as soon as you turned your head to face Katniss, you let it fly. The look on her face made your smirk widen, turning to see that you hit the target dead-centre.

“How the hell did you just do that?” She walked closer, shock etched onto her face. 

“Precision. And years of experience,” you replied, lowering the bow. “My father was a hunter.” 

When you looked back at her, she had a different expression, like she was remembering something. Her eyes glazed over. “So was mine.” Her eyes found yours again, and this time, there was something there that wasn’t there before.

Back when you met, she was just Katniss Everdeen, and you were just the Princess. But now, you were both a lot more than that.

It seemed that you and Katniss Everdeen were more alike than you thought.

Right before the 74th Hunger Games, when you and Finnick were watching the training scores on TV, you didn’t think the tributes from 12 stood a chance, even though the girl had the highest score. 

Watching the Games, you disregarded them completely, even as they got just as many sponsors as your tributes. You watched as Haymitch Abernathy actually tried, actually cared for these kids, but not even that deterred you. 

You ignored the possibility of them winning at all. You wanted it to be your tributes, so badly. They were good. You wanted them to survive, one of them to survive, to make it out of this, to live the rest of their lives. But you should’ve known better.

No matter your best efforts, those kids died, and there was nothing you could’ve done about it. 

After that, you assumed it’d go to the Careers. Glimmer and Marvel were crowd favourites, flashy and luxurious, but not as cutthroat as Cato and Clove. A part of you even rooted for them. Maybe tradition would be broken, you thought, maybe it’d go to that kid from 11. Thresh had the determination and resilience to win.

That’s why you were surprised when you turned on the TV to see Peeta and Katniss as the last ones standing.

One of us has to die; they have to have their victor.

No. They don’t.

You were even more surprised when they both walked out of that arena alive.

Peeta became Panem’s golden boy, and he knew exactly what strings to pull, as if he’d been doing this his whole life. Katniss, on the other hand, was not a performer, not the performer you knew Snow wanted her to be. You could tell she was angry, but being angry was not her job.

You knew this because it wasn’t yours, either.

People like you and her didn’t get to be angry. You were supposed to be grateful for the opportunity that the Capitol so generously bestowed upon you, not angry or sad or guilty. That wasn’t for you.

You saw so much of yourself in her. And for that reason, you thought you’d never meet her. Too rebellious, too jagged, too questioning–she was nothing that Snow wanted around the Princess. You were right; you didn’t meet her.

Until the time came for the 75th Hunger Games.

You were surprised when she was the one who came up to you. She was confident and put-together, but you knew better. This was your dance she was dancing. You could hear the lyrics so well.

She was scared.

And she was angry.

Her attitude made you like her. You could’ve been friends, you noted, but not in this lifetime, not when she was meant to be your opponent. You never thought that you and Katniss Everdeen would be friends.

Little did you know, she’d become one of the only friends you had.

“C’mon, Everdeen. You’re going easy on me,” you said, holding your arms out. Katniss stood opposite to you, lightly panting with her hands held up.

“I’m just- I’m just tired-”

“No, you’re not. You’re going easy,” you deadpanned. “Stop stalling and hit me.”

The brunette hesitated for a moment before going in for a punch that you easily caught. “You call that a punch? Where’s that Mockingjay fire?”

She scoffed, yanking her fist out of your grasp. “I’m not going to hit you, Y/N. You were just shot-”

“Well, the revolution doesn’t care if I’m shot or not.” You gestured to your body. “I’m perfectly fine. So hit me like you mean it.”

“No-”

“Hit me like I’m Snow.”

She scoffed again. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going to hit you. You’ve barely healed-”

You cut her off. “Fine. If you won’t, then I will.” Without another word, you threw a sharp punch for her face that she narrowly dodged. You didn’t miss a beat, throwing another one right after, and another one right after that like rapid fire.

She blocked your hits, but your pace didn’t alter. The two of you moved around the ring, but Katniss' hands remained in front of her face, not once swinging. You weren’t relenting; you weren’t gonna stop until she swung back.

You had almost backed her into the corner when, suddenly, the wind was knocked out of you and your back was hitting the ground. The world spun. You blinked and you were back in the arena, lying on the ground with Johanna hovering over you. You opened them and you were back in the training room, and now it was Katniss that hovered.

“Holy shit, Y/N, are you okay?” Her eyes were worried and her voice was panicked. Holy shit, she actually hit me. With that realization, a smile slowly formed on your face. “What? Why are you smiling-”

She was abruptly cut off as you swept her feet out from under her, sending her to the ground right next to you. She groaned while you laughed, almost hysterical.

If the old you could’ve seen you now. You never thought you’d be friends with Katniss Everdeen, much less that you’d be laughing with her after she kicked you.

“It’s not that funny,” she heaved, but you didn’t stop, uncontrollably giggling. 

“You- you actually did it-” you cackled, tears in your eyes. She looked over at you, still panting, until you made eye contact and she was laughing, too.

You stayed there on the floor together for a while, laughing your hearts out. For all you knew, you wouldn’t get many moments like this for a while, moments where you could just lie down and rest. For all you knew, this revolution would kill you.

So there you were, the Princess and The Mockingjay, pretending that you were just Y/N, and she was just Katniss.

And for now, that made you forget about everything else.

“Please. Please, I’m begging you- please don’t do it again.” Your shoulders shook with sobs, vision blurred.

“Ah, you know that that is not how the game works, my dear.”

“Please- please, I don’t want to play anymore.”

Snow tutted. “You know the rules. You give me something, and you get something in return. If you do not give me anything, then I will take something.”

“Please, I don’t- I don’t have anything more to give-”

He sighed. “Is that so?” He didn’t give you time to say anything else. “In that case, I won’t take from you.”

You blinked the tears in your eyes away to look up at him, a chill going down your spine at his expression. He didn’t look angry. No, he was smiling. “W-what?”

He hummed. “I’ll take from Peeta.” Your heart dropped. You pulled at your restraints as he turned to leave the room.

“No, please! Please, stop! Stop!” He ignored you, walking out the door and letting the door slide closed behind him.

And then the room went black.

You shot up out of bed panting, heart racing with your eyes darting around the room. The walls were grey, but there was a window. There wasn’t a window where you were in the tribute centre. Moonlight shone into the room. There was light. There weren’t Peacekeepers waiting by your bed, waking you up when you fell asleep. You were alone. You were safe. It’s okay. You’re in 13. You’re alive.

You’re alive.

Somehow, that didn’t make it any better.

You breathed in and out slowly, trying to regain control of your breathing like how Dr. Terren showed you. When you were rescued, you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t be consoled. This feeling that you felt right now was like that, but you don’t know if any panic attack could ever compare to that one. 

You were rescued. But it didn’t feel that way.

It didn’t feel that way at all.

Once you calmed down or reached some semblance of feeling calm, your mind went right back to Peeta. You hadn’t been to see him since you first arrived in 13–and even then, you didn’t speak. He wasn’t really in a condition to be spoken to. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. But there was more to it than that.

There was always more to it than what you were willing to acknowledge.

As if your body was moving on its own accord, you threw your bed sheets to the side, slipping on a sweater and sliding your feet into the slippers next to your bed. Walking out of the room, you didn’t spare the clock a glance, walking with a subtle determination that many wouldn’t understand.

You called it a victor’s drive. It was a certain determination that came with fighting for your life, even if it meant taking another’s. It was not wanting to kill, but doing it anyway. It was not wanting to live, but doing that, too.

There were many things a victor did not want to do. 

And there were just as many things that you’d do, anyway.

A part of you didn’t know where you were going while the other part was sure of herself. Regardless, you let your body take you to where your mind didn’t want to go, making your way through the dark hallways with no sound other than your feet heard.

Before you knew it, you stood in front of the glass wall that you hadn’t seen since you first got to 13. On the other side lied Peeta, looking no better than the last time you saw him. His screams echoed throughout your brain.

Please! Stop! No-

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to block out the noise that surrounded you even in such silence. His screams quieted after a few seconds, but no matter your resilience or techniques the doctor taught you, no matter what, you’d never be able to silence your song. 

There was a time when you almost believed that you could escape it, the music. When Finnick and you were pretending, it felt like you could really have it, a family, like one day it would be more than pretending. But now you knew that wasn’t possible.

This song would never skip.

And you’d be dancing until the day you died.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with blue ones staring back at you, as if he knew you were there. You took in a sharp breath, scared, but maintained your stare. His hair looked shorter and more unkept than you’d ever seen it. It wasn’t so gold anymore.

Peeta’s eyes were blue, but not blue like Finnick’s. They were bright like the sky and full of a childlike innocence that you no longer saw. His eyes weren’t so bright anymore.

He looked like a ghost.

And maybe that’s what you looked like, too.

Without thinking, you went for the door, pulling the handle only for it to remain still. You furrowed your brows, trying again with the same outcome. That’s when you saw the pin pad on the side and realized that it was locked.

Of course, it was. They weren’t gonna leave Peeta Mellark in a room by himself with the door unlocked. Not this Peeta.

This Peeta had to be strapped down to the bed because his one and only objective was to kill the woman he loved. This Peeta wasn’t the same Peeta you met at the parade.

This wasn’t him at all.

With that realization, you turned around, letting his eyes burn into your skull as you walked away. You weren’t sure of anything, but what you were sure of was that you couldn’t be alone right now. If you listened to the music by yourself right now, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Your feet pitter-pattered against the floor in quick motions. You didn’t know where you were going, just that you needed to find Johanna. If you couldn’t talk to Peeta, then you needed to talk to her. 

Suddenly, you turned a corner and went tumbling to the ground. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the fall, but it never came. Slowly, you opened them and the first thing you saw were another set of blue eyes, not bright or vibrant, but your favourite colour.

Finnick.

Your heart sped up. Suddenly, you could feel that the hands on your arms were his. Suddenly, you realized you were in Finnick Odair’s arms.

You think he only just realized that, too.

He cleared his throat, helping you up and letting you go. As soon as his hands were no longer on your skin, you felt cold. You felt just as cold as when the two of you were in the Capitol, standing outside together.

Except, now, you couldn’t hold each other like you did then.

Even if it was the one thing you wanted more than anything in the world.

Your breath got caught in your throat as you realized just how close he was. He was right there, in front of you.

You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.

Right here.

And not at all at the same time.

He looked at you quietly, not saying a word, but after so long, you’d learned to read Finnick well. He looked like he had so much to say but couldn’t find the words to put them in. He looked like how he looked that night, that night that you were in the Capitol and that poor boy and girl died, that night that you kissed for the first time.

But as you looked at him, really looked at him, he also looked nothing like the Finnick you knew. You’d avoided looking into his eyes ever since you got to 13, in fear of what you’d see, and now that you finally were, you could see that his eyes weren’t so lively anymore. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Could you ever?

“What are you-” he cleared his throat again, “What are you doing up?”

At his question, you diverted your eyes, suddenly finding the floors much more interesting to look at. “I, um, I couldn’t sleep,” you reasoned. You didn’t explain why.

“Yeah, neither could I,” he muttered back, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t explain, either.

There was a time when you’d seek him out if you couldn’t sleep, a time when you’d go to him if you had a nightmare. That wasn’t possible anymore.

If you danced with him, you didn’t know if he’d be enough to keep you from collapsing.

If you danced with him, you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to keep going.

After a beat of silence, you spoke, “I should, um… I should get going now.”

You moved to leave, but Finnick grabbing onto your wrist stopped you. You masked your flinch, not because someone was touching you anymore, but because of who that person was. Your skin ignited so hot that it burned.

“Wait, can-” he hesitated, “can we talk?”

Your breath hitched, back still turned to him. His voice was pleading, a tone you never would’ve imagined him taking when you first met. You closed your eyes at the memory, feeling tears gather.

You wanted to say yes—oh, you always wanted to say yes to Finnick. His happiness became the only thing you strived for. You stayed with him even when you knew he loved Annie, you fought for her, you volunteered for her, you pretended you were okay, you pretended you didn’t love him, you pretended all the time. 

But you couldn’t pretend anymore.

A nation was counting on you. People were counting on you. People needed you. 

You couldn’t fall apart right now. And if you talked to Finnick, you weren’t sure you’d be able to put yourself back together again.

“I-” your voice cracked, “I can’t-”

“Please. Please, Y/N, I just need to talk to you.” You shook your head, holding in the sobs that were begging to escape. 

Why was he doing this to you? Why, why, why, why, why, why-

“Please.”

Y/N, please. I’m just asking you to trust me. Please just trust me.

Trust you to do what?

I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please. Trust me.

I trust you.

You would die for this man. You died for this man. And if it came down to it, you’d die again if it meant that he’d get to live in a better world. But you couldn’t talk to him now.

If you talked to him, then it didn’t matter what the Capitol would throw at you, what bullets you’d take. Those eyes would drown you.

You couldn’t do this. Not now.

“No.” You removed your hand from his grasp and walked away as fast as you could, even as your feet felt anchored to the ground, each step hurting more and more. You didn’t turn back once. 

The tears that you held in fell as you walked away, running down your face like a waterfall. You walked faster and faster until your walk escalated into a run. The door to your room slid open before you ran in, locking it as it closed. You slid down the metal and let out a sob, more and more following it. 

Your hands went over your ears, trying to block out the music, but it only got louder and louder.

No, no, nothing is okay! 

We will never be free, Y/N.

Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Hunger Games.

Mom?

President Snow used to sell me. 

We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear.

May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.

You screamed in agony, nearly ripping your hair out, uncaring if anyone heard you. Your body shook with sobs and your heart ached. It hurt so bad. You never thought it could hurt this bad. 

You didn’t wanna dance anymore. You didn’t wanna feel like this anymore. You didn’t wanna feel anymore at all if this was all it’d feel like.

But it didn’t matter. How you felt didn’t matter. What you wanted didn’t matter. It stopped mattering the second you won those Games, the second you stabbed that boy. You stopped being a person and became the person Snow wanted you to be. You became the Princess.

And now it was your job to make sure there wouldn’t ever be another Princess, another you, another Finnick, another Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Haymitch, Annie, Bay—it was your job to make sure this never happened to anyone again, that there would never be another group of kids that were forced to kill each other and themselves in the process. It was your job to make sure nobody else ever felt how you felt right now.

As you reminded yourself of that, your sobs gradually subsided and your heart rate came down. You weren’t okay.

But you had to be. You still had things to do- dancing to do. 

You were gonna dance one last time, for this country, for all the kids that died, for the kids you were, for the kids you could’ve had, for yourself, and for the man that you loved. You were gonna dance until you couldn’t anymore. You were gonna dance until the music stopped. And amidst all the unknown, one thing was certain.

The day the music died, so would you.

It’s the things we love most, that destroy us.

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies @lantsovheiress @hobiebrowns-wife @notplutos @faeriepigeons @hnslchw @unholyhuntress @aclmagic @gloryekaterina @ayme301 @lem0ns77 @kisskittenn @onlyangel-444 @moonagedaydream505 @spderm4nnnn @satellitespeirs @glitzcute @iammirrorball @corpsebasil @forever-sleepy-sloth @omwtkydttfym @divinelovers @maggiecc @i-am-a-simp1 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @nelliereadsstuff @how2besalty @dreaminglandsworld @eilaharmonia @catvader101 @lexa138 @h0neylemon @dakotali @hermionelove @theseerbetweenus @whosscruffylooking @yourdailymemedelivery @emma-andrea1 @s1lngwns @meenyminymoes-blog @roxi-reid @rattertatter @sunnybunnyy2 @just-levyy @amaranth-writing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @joshhutchersonisdaddy @my-name-is-baby @hehehe13356 @quazsz @chloecharms23 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @thehairington86 @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @ment1tavoid @hereliesme @tayrae515 @mottergirl99 @blackdxggr @giverosespls @erindiggory @feyretopia @bibliosaurous @sleila @soursonnets

[loganwritesprobably]

Save Me

Law & Reader fic for anon for my 200 followers event

Content/Warnings: Law & GN!Reader, angst, Law doing doctor things, reader struggles with mental health, inspired by how to save a life by The Fray

"Hey, make some time to come to my office today." Law told you in passing when you were leaving breakfast, and he was just arriving. What? That was a little ominous, but you just nodded and continued on your way. You had things to do, maintenance around the tang, so you set about your tasks. Law's words rang in the back of your mind for the rest of the day, haunting you while you tried to focus.

Around lunch time, you knew you needed to go see him, because if you didn't you'd just be distracted, unable to work as his words were all you could think about. A dozen possibilities circulated in your mind, but you couldn't guess what it was he wanted to discuss.

You knocked gently on the door to his office, and when there was no response indicating whether you could or couldn't enter, you slowly opened the door and peeked your head through to see Law sitting at his desk and working on papers. "You wanted to see me?" You said, hesitating there in the doorway. "Oh yes, come in and just sit down." Law said, quickly shuffling his papers together and off to the side of his desk. You did as he asked, pausing before you sat in the chair opposite him rather than on the examination table. Now this was really odd. "What was it you needed, Captain?" You asked after a brief, awkward silence. "I just wanted to talk to you about some.. things you've said recently." You said a lot of things, so that wasn't particularly helpful, but it was something at least. You had a brief flash of concern when for just a moment you thought maybe you'd upset someone on the crew, which was of course the last thing you would ever want to do.

"Everyone is worried about you." Law said, and all the air rushed from your body. Oh. Now you understood. At least you knew what was happening now. "Oh. Okay.." You trailed off, unsure of what he wanted you to say to that. Clearly, Law wasn't too sure what he wanted to say either. He knew the conversation was important, and apparently was needed, but he just didn't know how to do it. Silence followed where the two of you sat, fidgeting, uncomfortable but with no words to share.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Captain." You said, hoping to prompt.. something. Anything really. "You know we all care about you, right? We'd miss you if you were gone." The words left Law in a rush, as if he needed to force them out, and you weren't surprised that it felt like that. You all knew he cared about you sure, but he wasn't often verbally affectionate. "I know Cap. Logically.. I know." "But that doesn't make a difference." Law finished, a knowing expression on his face. As if he'd experienced something like that before. "Yeah." You agreed, voice just a whisper. That was exactly it. Sometimes it didn't matter how much you knew that the crew cared for you, because the voice in your head would whisper that they didn't really, that they were only pretending. It was exhausting both to listen and to ignore it.

"You know if there was more I could do for you, I would. If you would talk to me I could.. prescribe you something? It might help." Law offered tentatively, but you just shook your head. You really didn't like the idea of being medicated. It wasn't something that you wanted, unless necessary. "And isolating yourself isn't a solution - don't think we don't see you doing it. It makes you worse, and I think you know that too." You looked down at your feet with a sigh, not giving him a response. Of course you knew, but it just wasn't that easy. But then, he knew that too. Law had been through the ringer, he understood if nobody else did.

"I want help, Cap." You whispered, and Law rounded his desk to pull you to his chest. Law was prone to small, casual acts of physical touch like patting someone's back or leaning against them - but a hug was special. You embraced him in return, clutching at him like he was a lifeline. "I've got you. I'm here."

Tags: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable

[icarusredwings]

Would you ever write a fic about little wade and how he encounters/copes with his chronic pain? How does Logan help?

Inspired by @bougiebutchbinch thank you anonymous asker for giving me an excuse to traumatize people :)

Bad kitty. 1/2

Tw/cw: Dead dove. Graphic descriptions of cancer pockets, drugging, attempted murder, forcible non consentual (non sexual, medical) touching, angst, hurt/ little comfort, cargiver drop, NOT SAFE for littles!!!

Summary: How is he supposed to apply topical medication to someone who doesn't want touched? Wade doesn't want help, but he NEEDS it. Logan knows he's a bad caregiver for this. He feels disgusting... maybe he is a bad kitty, but Wade needs his medication.

Coming home from walking Puppins, Logan had picked up some sandwiches for them. Kicking the door closed behind him, he shouted. "Wade! I got you that weird sub thing you like. They were out of banana peppers though so-"

He heard sniffling and a soft "Nooo" after watching Puppins go over to her bed inbetween the couch and the wall.

"Uhm... So.. there's that.." He kept talking as he took a few steps forward, confused as to what had made that noise. It sounded almost like a whimper. As if a scared ki- "Aww damn it.."

There he was, curled up tight between the couch and the wall, sitting on the dog's pillow with nothing but a blanket over his lap.

Sniffling, He currently was trying to push Puppins away from him as the pup licked his arm, wagging her bottom excitedly.

"Nnoooo! No p-Puppy- Ouch!" He whined, quickly pulling his hand to his chest, more tears flowing down his face.

Instinctivly, Logan dropped the bag on the table, gasping as he grabbed Puppins away from him. "Did she bite you!?" He asks, giving the dog a concerned look. She *was* a deadpool after all, so sometimes she did like to bite, but the way she looked just as confused as he did made him doubt that she had nipped him.

Shaking his head, He whimpered again, holding his arm as he tried to make himself as small as possible. It was very clear he was trying to be invisible.

"Okay... Hey. What's wrong?" He asks, putting her down as he tries to shoo her away from him.

Shaking his head, he held his eyes closed tight, more tears falling as if he was trying to keep in the noise, a tight lump in his throat, choking on it each time he tried to speak.

"Wade? What's wrong, bub?"

From what he could see, welts and blisters had formed in various spaces on his body, some holes, others popping upwards as tight, painful, and full looking pockets of various colors. The realization had snapped his heart.

Logan had told him he should take it easy for a while instead of willingly letting bad guys cut off his limbs, and he has to assume that this is the result of the extra cancerous cells building up.

If he wasn't already used to such smells and sights, he would probably think Wade was some sort of diseased zombie, his jaw even starting to form a crater of dead skin eating itself, or perhaps had fallen off? He wasn't sure. All he knew, It was bad.

"H-...hurt.."

The smallest voice chirped out, so high pitched and strained. So.. Pained.

"I know.. where?" Logan whispers, not wanting to scare him any, but part of him was freaked out enough at just how quick the welts were developing. These weren't here when he left, were they? No. He would have seen it. He was only gone 2 hours, max.

Then again, Wade was excellent at hiding. Perhaps he had just had enough and finally snapped, all the pain drowning out his senses to the point of needing to physically hide rather than mentally.

"Hurts." He whined again, flinching away from the dogs tongue as she tried to lick him again. She was just trying to help, though.

"No, Pup." Logan muttered, moving her once again. In all fairness, though, Wade *was* in *her* bed.

"Where does it hurt?" He asks again. Sometimes, it was like this. You had to repeat yourself multiple times until he finally understood and awnsered properly.

"Hurts!" Wade tells him again, whining as if frustrated, but the pitch in his throat said just how much it truly did hurt. And that- apparently, was a lot.

"Okay, okay- erm.. But.. where? Here?" He points to his arm as he moves away, clearly not wanting touched at the moment, but nodded.

"Hurts."

"M'kay.. here?" To his other arm.

"Hurts.."

"Alright.. there?" His leg.

Wade nods, gaining tears in his eyes the more worried Logan looks. "Hurts..."

"Uhm.. what about there?" He pointed to his head.

"Hurts....." he whispers.

"Aw man... that's a lot of hurt, bub.. uhm.. Here let me-" only being able to touch his forhead for a split second, He jolted away. "Owch!" He told him, as if telling him that it hurt.

"Fuck, kid, you're burning up."

Whining, he began to sob, his hand having accidently popped one of the bigger ones. It burned to be exposed to the air like this, burned to be touched, hurt to just exist. "..ouch..!"

The thick, hot tears that came from him had burst something because the side of his eye became bloody and slightly yellow filling the side. “Ah Shit- Wade shh… shhh, it's alright.”

Trying to rub his eyes, he cried more, whimpering loudly as he began to panic. "H-hurts!!"

"No no no! Don't-"

About to pull his hands away from him, he had touched another on his wrist, making him let out a high-pitched screech, pulling away.

"N-no!! O-ouch!! Hurts!" He scolded him, keeping himself away from Logan, not understanding why he was hurting him.

"I know.. Go ahead.. tell me." He says, Nodding softly as he stared, allowing himself to get cursed out by the hurt and scared child. Something he's worked so hard on with Wade. For him to raise his voice and tell off people who scare him even when small.

"It's ouch!! No hurt!! .... B-bad kitty!" It was obvious he was hesitant with that last word and for good reason, Logan's heart sinking as he frowned. He didn't think being called that would hurt so badly, but.. it did for some reason. One he didn't understand.

"No- Wade stop. Calm down you're going to hur-" pointing vaguely at his eye, Wade bit him, snapping at him the way Puppins did when you tried to apply cream to her underarm rashes.

"M-mean kitty! Bad!! No hurt!" He continued, getting out his frustrations only to break down again, crying as some stuff began to leak out of the corner of his eye as he pointed at Logan, giving him a proper telling off.

"Hey! Ouch! You aren't supposed to-"

"Hurts!!" He yelled at him. A final decree of anger. It was understandable why he was so hostile. He hadn't been able to process why his skin hurt so bad and all he knew is that it hurt more when someone touched him or in puppins sake, licked him.

"Okay, okay!! God! Sit there then! By yourself!" Logan growled, getting up as he walked off to the kitchen, letting out a big sigh. The bite hadn't been enough to draw blood, but he had a feeling that Wade would stab him or bite his finger off soon enough if he didn't leave him be.

Unwrapping the subs, he thought about what he could do to help him. What he usually did to help. As he went down the list, He crossed out all of the adult themed options and any that had anything to do with touching him. It only left pills and sleep.

If he could get him to go to understand, Logan could take care of his wounds and dress them. It wouldn't help long, but perhaps it would be enough for him to stop crying from the pain. He knew it hurt. He knew it would hurt more bathing him, putting ice on them, rubbing gel on them, and dressing his entire body to the point he would look like a mummy.

Or... he could... glancing down at knife in his hand, his eyes flickered back up to him. If his entire body was hurting this badly.. he could press the restart button.. logically, it was the fastest and easiest way to end his pain. He could make it quick to. Wade's done it before... took a quick visit to death.. cut off his own limbs so they could grow back fresh like damaged hair getting shaved.

He would just need a claw to the front lobe. That should do the tri-

He shook his head, Tossing the knife away as he buried his face into his hands. For fucks sake! He couldn't do that! Why would he even think of that!? Wade couldn't consent. He couldn't- he wouldn't be able to-

Groaning, he bit his tongue with his canines, trying to ground himself as he took a deep breath.

Okay, think. Think Howlett. You can do this. Think. He's not suseptible to poisons, but if he could get him asleep just for a few minutes.. maybe he could give him a big dose? Oh god, like this was any better. Who in their right mind thinks about drugging a kid in pain!? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just-

"H-hurts.."

Jumping a bit, he must not have picked up on the fact that Wade crawled out of his hiding spot, whimpering with such scared, pained eyes. "Kitty... ouch-es..."

Wade made another whining noise and then a scream.

Letting out another sigh, he gave him a sympathetic look. "I know, Bud.. Im trying to think.. i.. I don't want to hurt you. I really don't." Picking up the knife again, he focused on cutting up his sub so at least he could try to eat. Distract him for just a few moments.

Maybe he could think of something else. He could convince Wade to hold still. To let him hurt him just a little bit in order to help. Maybe there was a kids show that portrayed help as hurting sometimes in a medical sense? Then he could understand better. Right? Wade learned much easier by animated demonstrations, like that episode of the blue dog when its orange mommy dog went away and the daddy blue dog had to put them to bed, but the kid blue dog was sad. That helped him a lot when Vanessa had to lea-

Quickly looking up, He saw Puppins once again trying to lick his sores, sniffing and whining with her tail wagging. She was trying her best to show Wade that she was trying to help, to be friendly but was shoved away. Quite hard too, making her yelp.

Gasping, Logan came to pick up the dog. "Wade!! Careful! She's little remember!?"

Though the second he raised his voice, Wade broke down yet again, holding where she licked him as it was now seeping a mixture of blood and pus down his leg.

His look softened, turning to quickly make sure her leg was okay. "No more.. leave your papa alone. He's hurting.." He tells the puppy who whined, giving him the biggest 'im sorry' eyes you could imagine from such a tiny dog.

Putting her in the bedroom, he shut the door as he got the massive box of first aid from the closet. It's more of a toolbox, really, complete with a handle.

Coming over, Logan knelt down to look over him, opening the box as he got some wipes, cream and gauze wrap.

He hated being in this situation. But this was the trials of love. And if it meant helping him be pain-free, Logan wouldn't change a thing.

The moment he saw this though, Wade screeched again, kicking the stuff away as he crawled back to the blanket. 'Hiding' under neath of it, Logan frowned. Yeah no.. He definitely wasn't going to let him help..

There was only one thing to do.

Standing, He swallowed as he took a few slow steps towards him, throwing open his claws as he stared down at the shaking, shivering hello kitty blanket. The one that was half soaked with tears, the other about to be with blood.

"Wade? I know you don't know what's about to happen... You don't have to forgive me, but this...t-This is for your own good... You'll feel better... I promise."

Shoving down the twist of his stomach and the yelling in his head telling him to stop, the ones screaming from the roof tops that this was wrong. This wasn't who he was anymore. He's spent months scrubbing his hands clean of children's blood. And here he was, seconds from staining them again.. history repeats itself.. even he knew he couldn't change that. No matter how hard he tried. This is who he was. A killer.

"Im sorry.."

A bad kitty.

[theresstillgrowinghere]

I don’t often find I have much to say during chronic illness awareness months anymore. I’m tired. My words feel tired. I don’t feel like I have anything new to add. Sometimes I worry though that that in part comes from my having been in various digital chronic illness spaces for almost a decade. Of course it feels tired to me. There are things that rattle around my brain that feel so obvious and commonplace (and that have been said much more eloquently by others before me) but may still be worth expressing, just judging by the ways people in my life haven’t been able to understand

So for gastroparesis awareness month this year, there are a few things I want to note from my experiences (tw for food/eating, weight without numbers, medical trauma)

1) My relationship with food is so scarred and multifaceted. It is messy and thorny, conflicting and complicated

(I am scared of food. I miss food. I hate food. I want to eat so badly. I never want to think about eating again. Tell me in detail about how it tasted. I love food. Please don’t ask me to join you for a meal. I don’t want to miss the communal aspects of eating. I feel so disconnected and other and separate just because I don’t eat. Sometimes I do try to eat and it makes me sick. Don’t comment on it, please; it’s not helpful to scold or encourage - I feel shame either way)

2) There is no cure. There is only management. I think people understand this in theory more than actuality, because when I say this I mean please, please stop expecting any management option to be The Thing. Please don’t expect something to offer substantial improvement, even if it is a life-saving dramatic change. As I have tried to explain to people in my life, those types of interventions are often complicated and risky and, in our broken healthcare system, very difficult to access until the situation truly is dire and life-threatening. Which can mean that the body takes significant damage before getting there. Sometimes by the time you access the intervention, that damage is irreversible and the goal is just to stop further decline. It’s not making me better; it’s keeping me from getting worse. For some reason that’s difficult for people to understand

(But sometimes people do find what for them is The Thing or are The Things, and that’s an important piece of the whole picture. The problem is the persistence of unrealistic expectations among people around us)

3) My relationship with healthcare is vital but fraught and heavy. I rely on it tremendously just to stay alive. It is also my only in-person access to the world and to people, which is a weird kind of mindfuck. But I am also deeply afraid of it after so many years of trauma. I am terrified of hospitals and medical professionals. I’m sorry for the way that fear makes me irrational, makes me assume, makes me protect myself. I know so many medical professionals are so caring and kind, but it is very, very hard to go into a medical setting trusting that that will be the case

4) There are some things I wish truly were obvious. Like don’t comment on someone’s weight, ever. Don’t say you wish you could “have a little of that” to change your appearance. Don’t try to convince me to “just try to eat a little.” Trust that I know my body best. Don’t offer me unsolicited advice or recommendations. Don’t say “when you get to be my age…” because I will point out that, based on the amount of damage to my body already, it is very possible I will never reach your age. But more to the point, I am not too young to be this sick. It happens

Anyway, these are my 3am-notes-app, camped-out-on-the-bathroom-floor thoughts. It is also important to note that they exist in the context of my gastroparesis being born of and coexisting with my other chronic illnesses, and they all become so deeply entangled

Wishing everyone well. Hoping your August is kind and gentle

To everyone with gastroparesis (and other digestive disorders, really), I’m sorry your tummy hurts, and no, you actually don’t need to be very brave about it. As I heard someone say recently in a different context but definitely applies here as well, “We weren’t born to be fighters. I don’t want to be brave. I want to be okay.” I just want all of us to be okay

[callsign-muffin]

Heal Together: Chapter 1

(Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

I've been lurking on here for a while, reading Top Gun fics and I recently got inspired to write one of my own. Hopefully someone reads it and likes it!

Note about the format: Between every header is a change in the point of view :)

Summery: When Rooster was med-evaced back to San Diego from the mission field, the last thing he expected was to wake up with a tube down his throat and the most beautiful woman he's ever seen at his bedside.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.1k

“Hey Carly, I’m taking over for room 4 today. Are you ready to give report?” You ask the cute blonde night shift nurse, she looked about 12 years old. What in the hell was she doing in the ICU of a military hospital? Hell, you should be asking yourself the same question. You hated it here at this boys club where nurses were ignored as a female dominated profession, despite being the people who spend the most amount of time at the patient’s bedside in a 12 hour stretch. But you were only one week into this eight week travel assignment and the money was great, so you just had to grin and bear it and make as few enemies as possible.

“The census is low, is this gonna be your only patient?” She asked.

“Yeah.” You pulled out your report sheet and pen, “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

You could tell Carly was fresh off of orientation by how nervous she looked before beginning to speak.

“Hey,” You placed a comforting hand on her knee, “take your time, tell me what you know, and if I have any questions I’ll ask them when you’re done. You just finished a long shift, it’s okay to be a little out of it. We’ll get all the info we need together. No pressure, okay?”

“Okay,” Carly nodded and took a deep breath, “This is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, 35 year old male, full code, no known allergies…”

You quietly took down the pertinent information about Lt. Bradshaw as Carly spoke. He was a pilot, recovered after a crash, and was stitched back together pretty well on the aircraft carrier, he went septic and was transported back to the states to your hospital. Pretty standard stuff. He was currently on a ventilator for breathing support but all seemed to be going in a positive direction despite the shitty circumstances.

Carly finished her report with a sigh of relief, you had a feeling the staff nurses weren’t as respectful when receiving report from a new graduate. “Any questions?”

“Any family  at the bedside?” You asked.

“No, no family. Apparently a guy named Pete Mitchell calls daily for updates, they’re not related but he’s included on the patient’s medical information release forms, so we can talk to him. Chart says he’s single, no siblings, and both parents have passed away.” Carly yawned, she was beginning to fade after a long night. You didn’t want to hold her up anymore than necessary, she needed to get home and go to bed.

“Okay,” You clicked your pen, “Sounds good. Let’s go check lines and meds so you can get out of here.”

She paused for a second as you got up from your chair at the nurses station, “Y/N… thank you for being so nice… I’m only a week off of orientation and things are still so new…”

You smiled at the compliment, “We’ve all been there. Every nurse on this unit was new at one point and I think sometimes they forget that. Hell, I’m a traveler and this is only my second week and there’s so much that’s new to me too. You’re doing great.”

You spent the first part of your morning before rounds with the care team just cleaning up the patient, organizing the room, all that good stuff. Though it wasn’t necessarily considered “professional”, you played some music softly from your phone as you worked. You found that music or just talking to patients on vents helped with agitation. You couldn’t imagine anything more tortuous than listening to repetitive beeping and alarms all day long and nothing else. Though most managers didn’t like it, that didn’t stop you. What were they gonna do? Fire you? Hospitals hire travelers at such a high price point when they’re understaffed and desperate. They needed you more than you needed them.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“When the sun goes down, we’ll be groovin’

When the sun goes down, we’ll feel alright

When the sun sinks down over the water

Everything is hotter when the sun goes down…”

Who the fuck listens to Kenny Chesney anymore? Rooster thought to himself.

He knew he was sick, the docs on the ship told him that before they knocked him out to shove the tube down his throat. They told him he’d be med-evaced back to San Diego because the hospital where he was overseas didn’t have the capabilities to take care of someone as sick as him. He didn’t know how long he had been there, all the days run together when you’re too weak to open your eyes. He was used to having things done to him, he was past the point of getting agitated about it, because he knew they’d just sedate him more.

“Alright, Bradshaw.” A confident voice said, “All of your lines are untangled, your room is clean, and your initial assessment is done… How about we have a little spa day? You’re smellin’ a little… ripe.”

RUDE! 

“HA! You can hear me! You raised your eyebrows!” She giggled, damn it was a cute giggle. Rooster honestly hadn’t realized he was moving his face. But he believed her because that’s what his face usually does when he’s surprised. “You’ve been caught. No more playing dumb.”

Water started running, splashing, and the suction was turned on… that sound usually meant his mouth was gonna get cleaned and he was gonna feel something funny down his throat. He hated it.

“Carly told me you were getting agitated during mouth care last night. Since you can hear me, I’m going to tell you everything I’m doing, so don’t get sassy with me.” She said, “Deal?”

Anything for the first person not to treat me like a damn vegetable. This was the first time someone actually talked to him and told him what the fuck was happening since he got here. It was a welcome change.

The kind yet sassy voice interrupted his thoughts, “Okay, mouth care. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

She didn’t lie to him, she was quick and the stupid suction caused him minimal discomfort. Maybe it was because he could brace himself, or maybe it was because she was just really good at her job.

“I’m about to give you a full body bath, so how about we get to know each other a little bit.” She said as she adjusted his sheets and pillows to reposition him, placing a towel under his head, and rinsing his hair with warm water.

Rooster’s whole body relaxed.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I’m obviously your nurse today and will probably be for the next few days…” Nurse Y/N went on about where she’s from, her hobbies, how she’s not making many friends in this new hospital she’s been contracted out to.

Welcome to the military, it’s a boy’s club. He wished he could say that to her. He imagined medicine was similar to aviation, full of egos.

Before Rooster knew it, his whole body had been washed from head to toe. He hadn’t felt this clean in what felt like years.

“So Lieutenant… not to be crude but… I gotta clean your bits. But at least we’ve really gotten to know each other.” Nurse Y/N said, “Your girlfriend will thank me later.”

Ha! Rooster laughed to himself, What girlfriend?! My dick hasn’t been played with in months!

Like with the mouth care, her cleaning was quick and respectful. And damn, being clean felt so good. She went on to change his gown, sheets, and blankets. Rooster truly felt like a new man.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, you’ve never looked better.” She said with a satisfied sigh.

That’s a damn lie, but I’ll take the compliments wherever I can get them at this point.

“Hey Y/N,” Another female voice said, “They’re starting with you for rounds. Are you ready to present your patient or should I stall?”

“Nah, I’m ready. Tell them to come in whenever.” Nurse Y/N said, then her voice got low and she whispered to Bradley, “I’m gonna try to get them to lighten your sedation and move towards trials of turning the ventilator off. It’s not gonna be comfortable but the sooner we start working towards getting that tube out of your throat, the sooner you can get the hell out of here.”

Rooster wanted to make sure she knew he heard her and that he was on board, it took every ounce of strength in his body, but he nodded.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“No way.” The resident physician said simply after you gave your recommendation with your presentation of Lt. Bradshaw

You were dumbfounded. What the hell did he mean no?!, “This patient was more than ready to move towards extubation.” 

“And what makes you the expert?” the resident asked.

Oh lord, this fresh out of med school asshole was turning rounds into a dick measuring contest.

“The fact that I’ve been at his bedside for the past three and a half hours, I assessed him, bathed him, turned him, and he is showing signs of progress. The next step is spontaneous breathing trials and extubation. The longer he stays on the vent, the more likely he is to get pneumonia, as we all should know, Doctor.” You explained coolly but made sure to add his (probably newly earned) title. 

“I agree with…” The attending looked at you and scanned your badge, “... Y/N… What do you think from a Respiratory Therapy standpoint, Brent?” He looked over at Brent, the RT.

Brent smirked and narrowed his eyes at the resident, “I also think moving towards extubation is a good thing. If he has two successful trials, he could be off the vent by the end of the day.”

The attending physician nodded, “Then it’s a plan. And I think this is a really good lesson for the residents and medical students with us on rounds, the nurses know more about the patient than we do. We should always consider their recommendations because they have the most valuable view on the patient, simply because they spend time with them.”

You tried to dim the glow that was on your face.

 “Thanks, Dr…” You scanned the attending’s badge the same way he did yours.

“Carter, Brendan Carter.” He extended his hand and you shook it, “Glad to have you here.”

That was the most welcome anyone had made you feel in the last week here. Who would’ve thought a wrinkly old attending doctor with dancing eyes would be the person to stand up for you and make you feel secure in your clinical decision making.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

Rooster wasn’t sure how much time had gone by since Nurse Y/N told him she was turning down his sedatives but it felt like he could open his eyes almost instantly. It was so… bright. Once his eyes adjusted, he scanned his surroundings, the lights weren’t even on but the sun shining through the large window felt blinding. He looked to his left and saw the machine that the tube in his throat was attached to, the machine that had kept him alive for God knows how long. He looked to his right and saw multiple IV poles that attached him to lines and lines of medicine and fluid. Further to his right, he saw a woman standing at a computer, typing away furiously, her face was serious yet beautiful, was that Nurse Y/N?

“Good morning, Lt. Bradshaw.” She said quietly, “You’re still attached to your breathing tube, so you can’t talk. Now that you’re awake we’re one step closer to getting you off that thing. Sound good?”

Rooster nodded slowly, wishing he could thank her for everything. For talking to him, bathing him, treating him like a human-being.

“Do you feel strong enough to write?” She asked, “Can I get you a whiteboard?”

He nodded again.

“I’ll be right back.” She swiftly left the room. 

Rooster couldn’t help but love watching her walk away. Along with a beautiful face, he could tell she had a great body hiding underneath those scrubs. It had been so long since he’d seen a pretty girl.

She returned quickly with a whiteboard and a marker, handing it to him, “What’s on your mind Lieutenant?”

Call me Bradley. He scribbled, 

“Nice to meet you Bradley.” She smiled down at him, “How are ya feelin’?”

Better now that I’m clean and awake. He wrote.

“There’s something healing about a bath and being taken out of your drug induced sleep, huh?” She giggled.

Rooster nodded and started writing again, Thank you for everything.

“No biggie. I’m glad to see you doing so well. Is it okay if I do a full assessment on you, just since you’re awake now?” She asked.

He nodded, this girl could do anything she wanted to him. She was basically his angel.

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part XXII

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. I did not think of specific warnings here, but you'll let me know.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI

----------------------

“I’d say the worst part is doing paperwork after,” Shoko said, taking a can from the shelf and putting it in her basket.

After spending the afternoon together with Shoko, she had taken you into a convenience store saying she needed to buy some stuff. You did not mind doing grocery shopping with her, but when the conversation had shifted to her work and you commented how exhausting it must be for her to deal with all the aspects of being a doctor, you had not expected her to say the paperwork was the worst part.

“Is it?” you asked.

She gave you a silent nod but seemed to reconsider it. “Second worst.”

You could only imagine what the first worst thing on the job should be, but before you could say anything else…

“[name]!”

Shoko did not know who the voice belonged to, but by the way you looked past her and smiled, she believed you certainly did.

When the stranger came closer, she realized he had a familiar air but still could not seem to recall where exactly she had seen that face before.

“This is crazy, I was about to call you,” he was smiling at you, but the way Shoko was studying his face caught your attention. “Did you run out of shampoo again?”

Where have I seen that smile before? Ieiri wondered.

You returned his smile. “No, this time I’m here with...”

Shoko’s steady gaze on your friend’s face reminded you that they should probably be reintroduced. “Oh, right... Haruki, do you remember Ieiri?”

Now the two of them were studying each other’s face.

Haruki did, in fact, remember a version of Ieiri he had known in passing during his high school days, but the Ieiri in front of him looked more like the one in the pictures he had noticed in your apartment when he had been there. That was how he also got familiar with how Gojo looked now.

“There’s only three of you here,” he had pointed out, looking at the framed picture in your room that had captured a surprised Shoko trapped in yours and Satoru’s embrace. It had been the day she had passed the medical license examination.

“I guess it’s been the three of us for a while now,” was your only comment.

The moment of realization was briefly noticeable on Shoko’s face, but it was enough for you to see it and hope the telepathy you sometimes seemed to share would work this time too.

Yes, it’s him… Please be nice.

“The one and only Ieiri,” Haruki offered her a closed-eye smile. “[name] told me a lot about you. I heard you’re a doctor now.”

The faint smile that appeared for a second on her face reminded you of the Shoko who used to tease you when she saw you with Haruki back in the day, and the possibility of her saying something that would embarrass you finally hit you.

“Have they? Well, they told me a lot about you too.”

Oh no.

She went on. “Something about how you…”

“How you got that great job here!” you interrupted her before she could say something that would make Haruki uncomfortable. “That’s impressive, isn’t it, Shoko?”

The placid smile she gave you could have been well understood as an entertained smirk.

You might have told her a number of things that could be considered harmless; how Haruki had returned as if he had just rematerialized out of nowhere, how you had not expected to ever see him again, how shocking it had initially been that he was so eager to spend time with you and wanted catch up, and even more surprising, how it seemed you still understood each other pretty well.

As harmless as such commentary could be, it worried you that Shoko's matter-of-fact tone might make Ikeda uncomfortable if she repeated it.

Still, she nodded and did her best to sound sincere when she glanced back at him. “Yeah, that’s… great for sure.”

Haruki may have picked up on how Shoko’s words seemed a bit forced, but he showed no reaction. In fact, the way he effortlessly kept the conversation going and the soft looks he kept throwing your way reminded Ieiri of those afternoons in the coffee shop when he would engage you in a discussion about anything after you had given him a simple greeting.

He knows what he is, that’s for sure.

When Shoko stepped aside for a moment with the excuse of needing to pay for her things, Haruki said to you “You know? I was never able to tell whether she disliked me or not.”

If you gave it some thought, Shoko had never been too personal about her opinion of Ikeda either. You knew she had considered him “nice” when you were younger, and she had even been supportive of your feelings for him, or tried to, while she thought he was what you wanted.

“If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is,” had been her words.

But when he left, she had just hoped you would forget him so you would not hurt over him.

You looked in the direction Shoko had walked away. Now it was just you and Haruki in the aisle.

“Yeah, she can be hard to read sometimes,” you looked back to him. “You said you were going to call me. Why was that?”

His smile widened. “Are you free next weekend? There is something I want us to do, but it’s fine if you’re busy.”

“I’m not busy, but…”

For some reason, you thought of Satoru and how odd he still was about your friendship with Haruki, how he had asked if he was the reason you had wanted to get over your feelings for him.

Aside from a couple of meals, you had not been spending too much time with Haruki since Satoru told you he liked you and asked that you considered his feelings. Something Haruki had somehow requested too last time you had seen him when he passed that book over the table you were sharing.

“Don’t read the dedication yet,” he said softly placing his hand over yours before you could open the book.

If it means what I think he meant that time…

“Then let’s go out next Saturday.” He checked his watch. “Oh, shoot. I forgot I have to do something, but I’ll text you, okay?”

You swallowed any protests and nodded as you saw Ieiri walking back to you, plastic bag in hand, just in time for her to watch Ikeda shoot you another charming smile and run to the register himself.

Why could you not say no to him?

You liked his company, that much was true, but if he liked you the way you thought, would it not be better to make it clear that nothing would come out of it, especially now that you had your heart set on Satoru?

Because you were sure of your feelings, were you not?

“He hasn’t changed, has he?” Ieiri’s question pulled you out of your thoughts.

Indeed, he had not changed much, but had you?

***

“I thought you wouldn’t come.” Naoya looked you up and down before turning around and leading the way further into the Zen’in state. “Hurry up.”

You walked behind him. “The message I got was not clear, so I really did not have a choice but to come here.”

All the way to the pits of hell.

“Not clear you say.” Even if all you could see was his back, you could tell Naoya must have had that twisted smile of his on his face.

The message your family had received was that you were to attend the Zen’in state to discuss 'matters that would benefit both families if the outcome was positive'.

Only one minor detail: you were to attend alone.

With a family that saw no more than one or two sorcerers per generation, and that was still mainly stablished in the normal world, if one of the major clans in the jujutsu world demanded something, the least you could do was to acknowledge their request.

That was why you had come.

“Is it necessary that you escort me?” you asked him.

Naoya’s pace was firm as you crossed the gardens and marched to a construction where you assumed whoever had asked for you was waiting.

“It is. You’re an outsider after all.”

“You are the ones that invited me though,” you mumbled.

“It’s protocol. You know about that, don’t you?” He did not even try to look at you.

When you reached the building, Naoya’s steps on the wooden floor were not as loud as you had expected them to be.

Coming here was a bad idea.

He stopped in front a closed shoji door, and finally turned to look at you. “Well, it’s here, [name]. The opportunity of your life awaits behind this door.”

Hearing your name from his mouth had always disgusted you, but the condescending look he was giving you made you want to punch him.

“What’s the meaning of this, Zen’in?” you asked.

He replied to your question with nothing but a snigger and you saw his hand reach for the door.

“Behind me,” he commanded and slid the door open.

***

Satoru considered himself a patient, self-controlled man, except when it came to two certain matters.

You were one of those, of course.

He stood behind you while you were standing in his kitchen and, hands on his back, he bent down until his chin was on your shoulder. “How long do we have to wait?”

You did not move and kept your eyes on the oven. “Fifteen minutes.”

“That’s too long for a few cookies,” he complained. “Can we take them out in ten?”

The second thing he could hardly control himself over was, of course, anything sweet.

“Recipe says fifteen,” you deadpanned.

It had been done on a whim. Your fun day out with your best friend had turned into a baking class after Satoru said he had never used his oven because he had just never had the need for it, and it was oh-such-a-waste.

“If only someone would teach me how to bake,” the bastard had said battling his eyelashes as the expert manipulator you knew he could be.

“Fine. Just this one time.”

You had to admit the smile he had given you then had been priceless, and obliging his silly requests once in a while could not hurt, right?

“Well, fifteen minutes is plenty of time,” you heard him sigh softly over your shoulder.

Slowly, you turned your head to him. Months ago, the situation would have had you paralyzed, a hundred thoughts running through your head, fighting yourself on whether or not tell Satoru how you felt. But now, while your feelings were stronger, these quiet moments when you would closely look at each other did not make you uneasy anymore. It felt as if...

I love him.

You blinked when he broke the eye contact and straighten his posture and wrapped his arm around you.

Satoru had always been a bit too unaware of personal space around his friends but still kept the most intimate gestures private, and now, you found his arms more comfortable than ever.

“Are we going to wait here until they are ready?” you asked looking at the closed oven.

Satoru could feel you were leaning against him a little, and it made him smile. “Yeah, I think we can do that.”

***

Another thing Satoru considered himself to be was a reasonable man. However, not you nor Dr. Ieiri in all her wisdom, were finding much reason on what he was proposing right now.

The three of you were in Shoko’s office. You had gone there to ask her about one of your students who had gotten hurt during a mission. After she assured it had not been anything major and the girl would be fine, she let you chat her up while she reviewed a report on her computer.

It was then when you remembered the second reason why you had wanted to talk to her.

“Hey, Shoko, if you had the chance to get a free meal at a new luxury restaurant, would you be up for it?”

“That’s oddly specific for an if-situation,” she commented, keeping her eyes on the screen. “But sure. A free meal is a free meal.”

You nodded and proceeded to tell her how a friend of Ikeda’s had opened a new restaurant and invited him and his lucky invitees to a free dinner. “...And he said I should invite you.”

That made Shoko raise an eyebrow.

From what I saw at the store the other day, I would have thought he would prefer a table for two.

“I would feel like a third wheel,” she smiled knowingly.

“Why is that, Dr. Ieiri?” The question came from the open door behind you and from no other than Gojo in the flesh.

In a few strides, the man Shoko considered a living menace was fully in her office and in front of both of you. “Who would you be third wheeling?” Satoru repeated the questions with an ever-unfaltering smile.

Now then, Shoko had certainly noticed the change of atmosphere around Satoru and you, but she had been kind enough not to comment on it. Anyhow, even if she was still not entirely sure of what her observations meant, she still believed it unfair to be the one that was being questioned, so she looked at you intently.

[name], I'm so not about to tell him that your ex invited us to dinner.

Luckily for her, even if it was not through telepathy, the message got to you somehow, and you told Satoru the same you had just told Shoko: Ikeda’s friend, new restaurant, some sort of gratitude gesture, free dinner.

That was about it, but then, Satoru made the one question you had not expected him to ask.

“Can I come too?”

In theory, that should be fine. Haruki had told you it was a table for four, and he had only invited you but it would be great if you wanted to invite Ieiri so he could get to know one of your friends better.

While Ikeda had never shown any animosity towards Satoru from your perspective, the same was not completely true the other way around. Right, they were adults now, but was it a good idea to have them seat through a three-course meal at the same table?

“If that’s okay with him, that is,” Satoru said with a relaxed smile.

“Su-sure! I will just double check with him. It should be okay though,” you said, against your better judgement.

If Satoru had not been a sorcerer, he could have become a great actor. In some instances, when the situation demanded it, he had found himself able to conceal how he truly felt.

Did he really want to have dinner with Ikeda? Hell no, of course not. Nonetheless, he had not been able to bring himself to openly ask you if he had any reason to worry about Haruki. So why not just face the man himself and assess the situation on his own? That was precisely what he had thought when he overheard your chat with Ieiri.

And oh, would he regret it.

----------------------

Note: Sometimes it's me and a cup of instant noodles against the world.

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XXIII

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff @cheesemachine44 @tetsuski @rosellerinfrost @catowru @bi-narystars @wondermilka

[burnyourtrains]

SDV Bachelor/ette Headcanons!!

I was peer pressured by @jessibbb into posting these <3 (also I'm on mobile so if it looks bad no it doesn't.)

ALso divider credits to the lovely @thecutestgrotto and @saradika

Done in alphabetical order, because we're not playing favorites here

Bachelors:

Alex

I feel like he was into band when he was younger and in school, but he got bullied for it, so he switched to gridball instead. He loves gridball, but sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he stuck with the trumpet.

Jess thinks he's short, but I don't think he'd have as much arrogance/confidence that he does in game if he were short. I think he does the hands on top of the doorframe thing.

To me, he was one of those semi-annoying popular guys in high school who would interrupt the class of the younger grade and ask the teacher if she missed him.

Takes skincare seriously (ty Haley)

Helps Evelyn in the kitchen and around the house

Shockingly handy? He's good at fixing things (doesn't want to be a burden on his grandparents, and he knows George feels bad that he can't do maintenance around the house.)

He and Haley have matching friendship bracelets

Elliot

(To the Elliot stans, I'm so sorry, but I cannot stand his character. Initially I was gonna marry him but then he started talking and I just Couldn't. So here's how I thought he was going to be. (I try to keep it somewhat similar to how he is in game but I just,,,,,,,))

Very romantic

Comes on too strong at first, but once he realizes he apologizes and learns how to be one of your really close friends (unless you ever want to be more, obvs)

Loves the drama of a historical romance

Adores Jane Austen

I feel like the game suggests that he isn't very tidy, but in my mind he keeps himself and his space neat and clean. (He might have a depression pit when he's feeling morose or lacking creativity, but he gets it together after a shower or a walk)

He's not egotistical (I also feel the game implies some of this), but he's not entirely humble, either. Very self-assured, but that could possibly be to mask that he really worries about whether or not his writing career will take off.

Harvey

(Jess drew little hearts around my notes for this one lmao)

Actually very sickly as a child, which I think had a huge factor in driving him into medicine.

Likes when the farmer does his nails. It's nice to have someone want to dote on him. (He ends up taking the polish off when he has to work for sanitary purposes, but that just means you can do them again later <3)

Secretly had a piercing at one point, but he was relatively anxious about having it, even though it made him feel good about himself. Possibly anxious because it didn't fit his "image"; he doesn't have it anymore. (He was So crazy in college literally what was he thinking??????) (it was a bellybutton piercing btw)

His guilty pleasure food is ice cream don't tell

Podcast lover. (Mainly medical and aerospace)

Sam

Mans has a mullet. I will not be accepting arguments at this time

He doesn't have a favorite color, but he really loves bright ones

Definitely has ear and possibly facial piercings

Idk where I'm getting this from, it's kind of based solely on vibes, but I feel like he might be colorblind?

Loves having his makeup done

Wears minimal jewelry, but is always wearing at least one ring, whether that's on a chain or on his finger depends on the day.

Sebastian

He gets called emo but I get more punk vibes from him

When you meet him he's just starting on his second sleeve tattoo

He uses candy cigarettes when he's trying to quit smoking, partially because he thinks it's funny, and partially just because he likes the sugar

I think he feels very stuck in the persona the town has given him, so he kind of just gives up after living there for so long on trying to convince people otherwise

Ear and eyebrow piercings, at least. Very willing to accept constructive criticism here.

Probably has the chain belt thing

Rings rings rings

Shane

I feel like he's either very tall, or very short, and I cannot decide which one

Cleans up very nice after he gets sober

Raises Jas more than Marnie does (Concerning bc alcoholism, but I can't stand Marnie so. The lesser of two evils I guess?)

Regularly takes walks to ward off dark thoughts

Keg king back in his college days

Bachelorettes

These are more look-based, since Jess and I were trying to do a redesign situation. The men I was struck with sudden inspiration and clarity for how to flesh out their personalities more, but I'll have to update the character work for the women when the creativity strikes.

Abigail

I kind of get undercut vibes from her

I think she has gages, for sure

Facial piercings but idk what most of them are called. Specifically a lip piercing

She has a small stick and poke that she, Sam, and Seb designed together

The big overlined lips that were popular in 2020 (might still be popular now but I'm no longer chronically online God bless)

Tattoo choker that was popular in the early 2000s

Big shaggy wolfcut

Elevated HotTopic vibes

Emily

Mixed metal jewelry queen

Wears multiple necklaces

Hippie-esque style (they really did her dirty with her game design she looks like s clown but she's so sweet that it's Criminal)

Crystal girly (a given)

Definitely has some sort of altar set up. Idk much about witchcraft so very loosely assigning her as a crystal witch

Really likes incense

Alice Cullen haircut, y'all know the one

Haley

She has such pretty lashes, I just know it

Big yabos

Her nails are always immaculate. Despite thinking her sister is weird, I think Emily is the one who learned how to give her acrylics

Alex is definitely the person she's closest to

I don't really have that many ides for her I'm sorry :(

Leah

Very wispy, ethereal hair (1908s aogg vibes)

Former hairdresser. While she still lived in the city, she went into cosmetology since it had the opportunity to be a creative career, and her partner at the time didn't really support her in her art (I think the partner bit is canon). Ultimately, she came to resent her job, and she left the city for Stardew Valley. I think she still uses the skills and knowledge she acquired when doing her own hair, and occasionally the hair of some of the residents in the valley.

Howl's Moving Castle earrings

Honestly Howl's Moving Castle vibes overall for her style I think

Dresses masc. but in a way that still comes off as feminine, if that makes sense. Think billowy white shirt from the male lead of a period drama

Most likely covered in some sort of art medium, (acrylics, wood shavings, oil paints, etc.), in a charming way, not an unclean way.

Maru

Minimal makeup, if any at all

She has cute little stud earrings she got as a kid (they're stars)

Has an astronomy charm bracelet, but it's only worn on special occasions. I think she'd be wearing it when she shows you the telescope and tries to confess her feelings for the first time.

She's a silver girly

Little baby hairs. Give my girl Maru better hair

Lowkey loves Hello Kitty (idk where this one came from but I feel it)

Penny

Bumper bangs. In general I get very 50s vibes for style

Doesn't think she'll ever leave Stardew Valley, so she doesn't really have any huge aspirations for herself anymore.

She mostly invests herself in teaching Vincent and Jas to the best of her ability.

Would have loved to be a teacher if she were to leave, but she worries about her mother, so she's never left

I know there are some ideas on here that seem insubstantial compared to others, but this is the best I can do currently! I'd love feedback, since I'm relatively new to the fandom and the game, but I hope you enjoyed!!

[compassionatereminders]

Hi! I wanted to answer the anon who was asking about what ADHD meds do & don’t help with as someone who was late-diagnosed and started meds this year. However, the effect of ADHD meds and even experience of ADHD itself varies heavily from person to person, so do keep that in mind!

DO:

- Actually hearing and retaining what people are saying. I was never able to fully experience a college lecture without panic because of only hearing bits and bobs of the lecture, going in one ear and out the other. I can truly focus and actually respond to what people are saying in a single line of thought without desperately trying to stimulate myself as much as possible to maybe get 1/2 of the detail to stick in my brain.

- Time blindness!! At first starting meds it felt like the day went for 500 years. I felt so much slower and mentally calmer, and I was able to complete “simple” tasks in under 15-20 minutes that could normally take me up to 3 hours due to distractions.

- Memory! Off my meds I have an enormously hard time remembering anything I’m trying to accomplish. I bounce from task to task without ever finishing it. On meds I’m able to think “I need to do laundry” and I just. Do the fucking laundry. It’s magical and I’ve cried more than once thinking about how much I’ve spent my life thinking I’m stupid or lazy for not being able to “just do the thing” like everyone else.

- Shutting down/fearful procrastination— I would be stuck doing nothing for days and days because I would want to do a task so badly but overly think about it and essentially paralyze myself in the decision making/getting started process. When I’m on my meds I can just do the fucking thing! Even if I don’t really feel like it! When before I practically had to have the exact perfect circumstance and could never create them, I can just plop myself somewhere and do the fucking thing. Just like I’ve been told all my life— “Even if you don’t want to, do it anyways” except now I have the actual ability to do that like everyone else. Before it was like everyone else was telling me to turn on a light, but I had no switch.

DON’T:

- Help with hyperfixation. Sometimes I can fixate even worse when I’m on my meds, just because my mind is so single stream that I’m able to do things for even more excessive periods. I burn myself out accidentally a lot quicker if I don’t provide myself with manual distractions to take breaks from daily/academic tasks.

- Immediately fix you. It was hard to start meds because I had to unlearn a lot of habits I had developed to cope with my undiagnosed ADHD— such as constantly moving, stimulating myself, having candy, etc. Just because the day became longer didn’t mean my time management became awesome either. I’m still working on tools that help ADHD with my meds!

- Not really a don’t but more so an unexpected side effect was becoming very intensely angry or upset when the medicine wears off. I struggle with emotional dysfunction already but the anger was so severe and I didn’t know that ADHD meds wearing off can cause that.

- Work 100% all of the time. Some days things like stress, poor sleep, poor diet, etc, can alter the way the same dose of meds works for you. Especially if you are nicotine dependent or a regular caffeine consumer, the way your meds work can change on a day by day basis. Some days I feel like the meds aren’t working at all, but more often than not there’s still a difference between myself being unmedicated and medicated.

- Instantly make you better at studying/task completion. Apparently having ADHD for years made me so extremely avoidant of many things that I just don’t have the skill set to do them well yet. Like studying, for example. I still struggle with extreme perfectionism that impedes me outside of ADHD paralysis.

- I’m gonna say it twice but they DONT FIX YOU ON THEIR OWN. Yes, they make your life fucking way better than before especially if you’re an adult with undiagnosed ADHD, but you have to learn how to use tools and learn skills to support yourself for the medication to help you to the max capability! I will definitely say that being on meds helped overhaul my mindset when I’m off meds and improved my perception of myself, but again, the meds can only get me so far!

I hope this helped anon!!!

Thank you for taking the time to share this! I hope anon sees it 💕

[fallenwhumpee]

Leader has to fight with their possessed team and ends up heavily injuried by their loved one

You have good taste, anon. Please enjoy <3

"It's alright."

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Sci-fi elements, mind control, knife, self-sacrifice, open ending.

Leader didn't believe in fate. With millions of people making countless choices every day, how could anything be predetermined? Yet, sometimes, things felt destined.

In interviews, worst-case scenarios, or intense debriefings, Leader was always asked the same question: Would they fight their own team if it ever came to that?

Their answer was always the same: a determined yes.

It was Leader's biggest lie, and they didn't know how to cover it up.

The question was asked so often that Leader became convinced it would happen eventually. So, when it finally did, they couldn't tell if it was fate or if they had jinxed themselves.

When Leader first pulled the blueprints for the mission, they had to take a leap of faith. They had to believe their team's minds were strong enough to withstand any... outer forces. There was no way to know who would stand and who would fall, but their team was the most stubborn one. If they couldn't pull off the mission, no one could.

"I don't like this," Right Hand muttered.

"Stop being a doomster. We'll finally get Whumper. They'll be immobilized in that machine," Youngest chirped.

"That's what worries me. If Whumper is accepting such risks, the machine must be strong. What if..."

"I will deal with the 'what ifs'," Leader cut in. "But only if you want the mission. This can either put us at number one on the list or..."

"Or put KIA next to our names," Right Hand grumbled.

"You have so little faith in us," Teammate hummed.

"We should vote on this. As usual, I won't join. Now, who wants to go?" Leader ended the discussion.

Youngest, Teammate, and Tech outnumbered Right Hand and Medic.

Leader nodded, hiding their unease behind a mask of determination. The vote was decided, and there was no turning back now.

"Get ready," Leader commanded, glancing at their watch. "We leave in one hour."

The hour passed in a blur. Leader wasn't a pessimistic person, but they struggled to stay positive. The team gathered when they were checking the plan for the fifth time, their minds set.

They were going into the nest.

As they approached the target location, an abandoned industrial complex, the atmosphere grew tense. Right Hand glanced at Leader, worry etched on their face. Leader hated to see them like that. With a frown present, their friend looked older, more tired.

"Leader, are you sure about this?" they asked quietly.

Leader took a deep breath." Do you ask what I believe or what I think?"

Right Hand didn't answer.

A light headache began making itself known as they stood before the door. Their only advantage was their unexpected arrival, but when they stepped in, Whumper would be aware. The nest was almost like an extension of Whumper, which worried Leader to no end. But as long as they eliminated the enemy systematically, they would be fine.

So they began fighting. Leader gave order to use firearms first. If one of them got out of control, close combat would give them some time. A bullet wouldn't. Luckily, they avoided any loss when they took out the guards. Youngest began complaining about a headache, but it was only that, complaints.

When they took down the second wave, Tech wanted a break. Leader sent them back to the vehicle, not taking any risks. They could feel their own thoughts weighting down but still coherent and intact.

They didn't think of any other possibilities. Fear was the last thing they needed.

They cleared the base slowly, reaching to the heart of the complex. Leader was tired but standing, just like the others. And if they were so close to the machine and only getting a moderate headache, victory was theirs.

"I was expecting you," Whumper's almost mechanical voice sent a shiver down to Leader's spine. "You never fail to amuse me, Leader. Did you truly believe my power was limited to my people?"

Leader marched forward, banging through the last doors. There was Whumper, sitting in a giant machine, defenceless.

"This ends here. Now," Leader muttered to themselves. They cautiously stepped closer, the rest of the team rushing in after them.

"Enjoy your gift."

The machine grew louder.

Leader turned back immediately, about to shout their team leave, but pain, sharp and sudden, took over their thoughts. They whimpered, their vision so bright and empty, their face warm and knees aching. They didn't know how long it took, but they were in their knees once they opened their eyes, their nose bleeding.

The team was on the floor.

Leader quickly scrambled back to their feet, rushing over the closest one— Medic. But before Leader could shake them awake, Medic's eyes opened, empty.

"No," Leader forced out. The team slowly got back to their feet, movements stiff and unnatural. Leader didn't want to believe that was real.

But Medic's punch to their jaw was very, very real. Leader stumbled, their face throbbing. They wiped the blood on their nose, directly rushing for Whumper. They couldn't afford being sentimental.

Leader returned Medic's punch, knocking them out. They caught Right Hand's arm coming from their blind side— Leader didnt knoe if they felt proud that their friend was ysing a move they taught or horrified that they were the target. They twisted that arm slightly, but they failed to make the knife drop since they couldn't risk breaking Right Hand's arm.

Youngest caught Leader's waist, Teammate jumping on them. Leader struggled to stay upright but managed to dodge the knife that whipped the air. They walked backwards, slamming the two hanging on them to the wall. Their own body weight was enough to knock the duo, but Right Hand charged on them.

If Leader pulled aside, Right Hand would kill Teammate.

So Leader let it come. They didn't look down, they couldn't. But they pushed Right Hand back, ignoring the blooded knife falling.

Leader ran to Whumper, pulling the knife  from their belt and aimed Whumper's heart. They outran Right Hand somehow, and within a matter of seconds, the machine shut down, Whumper's tense body falling to the floor.

Leader staggered, pain flaring at their side. They gasped, their vision darkening  for a moment.

It was over.

Right Hand catched Leader before they hit the floor— or after, Leader couldn't follow. They could only take a sharp breath and close their eyes against the growing pain, consuming their thoughts.

"Leader— oh my, Leader I-I," Right Hand stuttered, or Leader heard only a part of it.

Leader forced their eyes to part, relaxing after seeing those eyes with tears. "It's alright," Leader muttered, their blooded hand reaching to Right Hand's face. "You didn't do it."

Whose blood was it? Whumper's? Their?

No, that wasn't important. As long as it wasn't from one of their teammates.

"Don't, uh. Just..." Right Hand searched for something. They tucked a fabric in Leader's hand, guiding Leader to press it somewhere between Leader's ribs and stomach. "Keep the pressure, okay. I— I will wake up the team and get you home."

"Don't... don't like bring o-ordered around," Leaded chuckled, but it hurt. They had to bite their lip to stop a scream.

"I know," Right Hand forced a smile and propped them against the machine. "I know."

Leader let out a grunt, not wanting to worry Right Hand more than they were, but also failing to keep the pain in. They tried to focus, but breathing was getting harder and harder.

Right Hand turned their back hesitantly, going to get the others back to their feet, starting with Medic.

Leader managed a faint smile, maintaining pressure despite their fading strength. After making sure that Right Hand wasn't panicking, they allowed their eyes to close for a moment. The team was safe, Whumper was gone. Nothing else mattered.

[the-guilty-writer]

Safe

Request from anon: you asked and i shall deliver, could you do Hotch x daughter!reader where she is having a hard time with her OCD

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Summary: Hotch notices a change in your behavior as you go through a rough period with your OCD. He makes sure you know he is there to help.

A/N: Thank you for the request! This is my first hotch!daughter and soft dad hotch was comforting to write. I hope I portrayed OCD in an accurate and sensitive manner. All feeback and constructive critisism is appreciated.

Also a huge thanks to my special consultant on this fic. You know who you are and thank you so much for all the support ❤

CW: reader has OCD (obsession around saftey and slight superstition), intrusive thoughts about harm, talks about OCD behaviors

---

There were always the little things that Hotch knew probably wouldn’t go away no matter how much therapy he put you through: sudden doubts that the front door was locked, unplugging everything in your bedroom before you left the house, how you HAD to tell him that you loved him before you went to bed, and how if he didn’t reciprocate the words you wouldn’t sleep that night.

Those things were manageable- there were smart locks that connected to an app on your phone so you could check the door was locked if the thought hit you in the middle of the day. The power strip in your room made it so it didn’t take much to unplug things. No matter where he was and what he was doing he always always texted you so you could sleep peacefully.

But sometimes the thoughts got more intrusive and intense. Sometimes they got scary.

You’d avoid the kitchen entirely because you were terrified you’d hurt someone if you got your hands on a knife, Hotch having to double up his gun safe and hide it so you could feel safe in the house, being unable to sit in the passenger seat of a car so there was no possible way you could grab the wheel. That was usually how he knew the thoughts were getting louder- when you wanted to sit in the back of the car with your brother rather than up front with him.

It was Sunday and Jack requested a trip to the park to play on the playground, so while he played on the monkeybars and slid down the slides you sat next to your dad on a bench nearby.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Hotch asked gently.

You looked down, nervously fiddling with your hands. “I know it’s not rational but no matter how hard I try I can’t stop the thoughts from coming. And- I can’t trust myself not to act on them. I don’t think I would, but I can’t risk-” You choked on your words, holding back tears.

Your dad scooted closer to you on the bench. “You aren’t your thoughts.” He tucked your hair behind your ear. “You’d never hurt anyone on purpose, even if the chemicals in your brain make you think that you would.”

Your dad put a gentle arm around you and you leaned into the comfort of his embrace, closing your eyes and knowing deep down that he was right, but still having doubts on the surface.

“I-” Your breath caught in your throat as tears began to roll down your face. “I think I need more help-”

“Of course.” Hotch pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We can talk to your therapist about making a plan, change your medication, new management tools, whatever you need.”

You nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your dad pulled you in closer, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your back. “It’s going to be alright. Jack’s alright. I’m alright. You’re going to be alright, too.”

You constatly experienced worry and doubt and fear, but in your father's arms, for the first time in a long time you believed that you would be alright.

The anxiety eased ever so slightly, your shoulders relaxing and your breathing becoming even. You could hear the sound of Jack's laughter and the steady rhythm of your dad's heart instead of the intrusive thoughts that normally raced through your head. You leaned into the minute of comfort while you had it and got a glimpse of how you would feel once you travled down the long and trecherous road of treatment ahead:

Safe.

You would feel safe.

[stardustdiiving]

I would love to hear more about your thoughts regarding Wanderer being trans whenever you find the time to write about it more!

(follow up to this post)

AWESOME. okay. So. This got super long and I keep nitpicking if it clearly says every single thought that goes through my head or not so I’m just going to post it

There’s many interpretations about this headcanon I enjoy, but one particular angle I would find interesting to explore that I’ll pitch here is basically centered on a characterization where Wanderer’s internal relationship with his own transness is very tied with his non-humanness, maybe even more so than his gender.

The appeal of this angle for me is essentially having a character’s queerness tie into genshin’s overarching themes about identity & personhood, especially in regards to the relationship between divinity & humanity—themes that obviously apply to Scaramouche (and also basically every other not human genshin character I can think of that people generally agree are engaging characters)

Scaramouche (which name I use for him is intentional & reflects what era of his life I’m talking about) to me is someone who basically enforces a sense of apathy over his own emotions, especially ones relating to his sense of identity—he seeks godhood in hopes of being able to purge himself clean of experiencing (human) emotions, and therefore the vulnerability & trauma he associates with having them.

Intuitively I can see him feeling a similar conscious apathy about his gender: I see him as viewing gender identity as a “too human” trait and therefore something he’s above, basically—which is really a deeper deflection of his own insecurities with his personhood/identity.

So to Scaramouche, internally, anything about his transition or transness is less about gender and actually far more about his desire to obtain godhood, and this is a mental narrative he really sticks to because it fits in comfortably with his hatred of humans and desire for a purpose/identity for his existence as a non human entity “without a heart”.

If this were a fic I were writing, Scaramouche would undergo a lot of physical/medical transitioning during his time as a Harbringer and he would essentially be narrating & viewing anything gender affirming thing he does as him becoming closer to godhood and further from being human. This would contrast how I’d portray Kabukimono earlier on in his arc—where I imagine Kabukimono took on a lot of social transitions based on observing humans and building a sense for what human things he liked to participate in or mimic.

Kabukimono, in a manner similar to Scaramouche, might sometimes categorize some of his transness as relating to being more of a puppet/nonhuman origin thing than a gender thing, (ie getting gender dysphoria from having long hair but rationalizing it has more to do with not wanting to look like Ei), Kabukimono was more in a position of building towards his transness being a positive thing that affirmed him his sense of personhood & sense of belonging with others. By the time Scaramouche reaches the point of resenting humans, and in turn resenting his own sense of humanity in his arc, he needs to establish all parts of his identity as the farthest thing from human as possible

The irony, however, that I’d highlight in the hypothetical fic of this, is that Scaramouche’s experiences with his transness are narrated as being things no one could ever understand because of how inhuman he is—while in practice you see a lot of his trans experiences are actually pretty common ones many trans people would understand.

So like, Dottore does his canon typical physical experiments/modifications on Scaramouche, and the entire time Scara is undergoing but also gloating the entire time how he’s able to endure this because he’s not as weak as humans are—and this continues when, at Scara’s request, Dottore gives him Evil Mad Scientist Top Surgery, and he’s having this snide internal monologue about how godlike he is because of all the inhuman ways he can physically modify and mold his body to be to his liking, and then suddenly he looks in a mirror and sees himself with a flat chest for the first time and just has… like, a moment of very genuine happiness with feeling more like himself for the first time, and processing all the ways he can exist more comfortably in his body without having to work around dysphoria constantly. He imagines himself existing among humans in these brief thoughts without even realizing it, and the idea is this is written in a way that makes him sound very human—and how he seems happier when he lets himself be.

Meanwhile Dottore in the background is just, very nonchalant about this and makes some bored comment about they ought to not delay more important procedures any further if he wants to ascend to godhood anytime soon. Scaramouche kind of snaps out of it & back into his usual sort of headspace/mindset and kind of sneers at him how this was a far more significant step in ascending to godhood than Dottore could ever understand.

And after he says this he mentally pauses, because he really hadn’t been thinking of it like that before—and then wonders if it was true, because it wasn’t an experiment that made him feel more powerful like the other ones had. What he feels now is something other than more powerful—but there’s not really any other explanation for this reaction. More godly, maybe. It makes him feel not more powerful, but closer to what he wants—which is a god.

So from there my idea is Scaramouche kind of…attributes the joy associated with his top surgery, and other similar major landmarks in his transition, with his pursuit of godhood. It spurs him on to want to be a god even more, because it's solidified in his mind as the one thing he really needs to be himself/truly happy

And then he does finally reach godhood—and is plugged into the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom’s body, he’s just finds himself feeling disappointed.

He has this minor mental crisis about it where he’s not unsatisfied—he’s more exhilarated than he has ever felt in his entire life, because he feels unspeakably powerful in the way he should be. It /is/ everything he wanted, and he savors the sheer triumph and power of the movement, but it’s just not the same. It’s not enough to make him regret what it took to get here but he’s really frustrated, because he doesn’t feel happy. Which is not an emotion Scaramouche really cares about, but even one thing he wants being somewhat out of his reach when he had hoped to suppress all the unpleasantness of having emotions is deeply unpleasant for him.

I think the next time Scaramouche really feels something close to what he’d been missing is post Inversion of Genesis, after he becomes the Wanderer.

In this narrative I think it would be an extra kick in the face that Dottore had helped him with part of his transition while Scaramouche watches Dottore kill Niwa, where Dottore basically affirms Scara’s dehumanization while Niwa insists on affirming his humanity with his dying breath. There’s the obvious violation violation of realizing someone basically sabotaged your support systems to isolate/alienate you from the world, then manipulated and groomed you into joining the fatui so they could experiment on you for their own satisfaction and intrigue, but he also finds himself grappling with recontextualizing alot of his interactions with Dottore, and coming to this conclusion that Dottore was only ever vaguely interested in Scaramouche’s potential for godhood, and doesn’t care about…this other part of why that was important to Scaramouche as a person. (Which is his transness, basically)

It’s not that he ever believed Dottore cared about him or wasn’t pursuing his own interests, but I think recontextualizing how dehumanizing Dottore’s treatment + view of him is, forces him to really pick apart his transness vs desire for godhood, and realize there’s sort of a distinction between the two he hadn’t been making.

Post IoG I think this line of thinking, along with learning Niwa hadn’t betrayed him making him hate humans much less, lets Wanderer start developing a much healthier relationship with his transness, and also just his entire identity in general. He can reconcile with his own humanity, which lets him reflect on himself more, and I think eventually he can come to an answer on why becoming god wasn’t what he needed to be happy with himself + his gender.

So essentially I’d write present day Wanderer as being more comfortable with his gender than Scaramouche would be. If I were to apply our contemporary English labels/language to his gender I think he’d more or less jsut view himself as a trans guy, but I guess by technicality has a sort of “non binary” gender bc he just doesn’t view himself in terms of human binaries due to being a puppet?? That’s just my own characterization tho. All in all I bend characterizations of characters’ queerness in line with what whatever sort of transformative work I feel like doing so this isn’t even the only way I’d write trans Wanderer. Just usually the one I go off the most when portraying him as a character

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME THE GOLDEN GIRLS / SEASON 01 EPISODES 03 + 04

you know i'm whacked out on medication.

i like being whacked out.

would you please be a friend and go out with him?

i'd really love to go, but as you can see i'm busy.

we're playing cards and she stinks at it.

tonight, the years of humiliation ends.

i'm so scared, my dentures are chattering.

are you up for a night on the town with two handsome, eligible bachelors?

i'm not that interested in dating anymore.

everyone seems so ordinary after [name].

i'm gonna regret this and i know i'm gonna have a miserable time, but i'll go.

why do you look so depressed?

i'm tired of going out and not enjoying myself.

nothing could be more fun than beating her at cards tonight.

you're too competitive.

next time, i'm gonna date both brothers before i give one away.

i haven't laughed so much or acted so silly since i was a teenager.

he is the most outrageous, unpredictable man i have ever met.

i think it's terrific that you had a good time tonight.

take a cold shower and go to bed.

it looks like you two are getting pretty serious.

if the situation is right, you'll know it.

if you take chance in life, sometimes good things happen, sometimes bad things happen, but if you don't take a chance, nothing happens.

if you like me, it's for who i am, not for who i remind you of.

we could finally consummate our long and burning passion.

i think you'd better take a sedative before you look.

you couldn't possibly look terrible to me.

you'd just make love and feel lousy?

for fun, i ate onion sandwiches.

whatever you want to do is fine with me.

you're the only one who gets any enjoyment out of it.

i don't want anybody asking embarrassing questions.

some women don't kiss and tell.

most of the boys i dated in college were just for the stories.

it's a nice feeling, that when one part of your life is over, another part can begin.

how can you hate your sister?

we cannot have a baby in this house.

when she was born, i ceased to exist.

he used to call me the bad seed.

i'm sure my heart stopped beating for a minute.

i just didn't think you'd recognize good taste.

i wonder what she wants, the conniving little witch.

we never held a real conversation our entire lives.

to the beginning of a new and wonderful relationship.

you just step on any kind of tender moment.

i can't believe that you're still crazy about that.

i looked just like a swamp frog.

i'm in a no-win situation here.

either way, no matter what i do, i'm gonna lose something.

i only hear from him at christmas when he sends me a cheddar cheese nativity scene.

it's a terrible choice i've given you.

i don't even know what i would do under the same circumstances.

whatever happens, i love you.

then he called me an idiot.

she's an awful, selfish, neurotic woman.

sometimes you have to almost lose somebody before you realize how much they really mean to you.

let's go out and celebrate life.

let's go out and do something crazy.

[cookiewrites]

bang chan with a trans masc boyfriend

please enjoy these sfw/nsfw thoughts about bang chan, featuring my gender crisis. these are based on my experiences/hopes, and may not match every trans-masc person's - and that's okay!

wc: 1k

cw: bang chan x trans masc/afab! reader, mentions of dysphoria (various forms) and transition, no transphobia, brief mention of misgendering (no one actually misgenders reader), name for reader (baby, boy, boyfriend, pretty boy)

sfw

i have no doubt in my mind that chan would accept you being trans - whether you came out before you met him or whilst dating him. but let's talk coming out; he wouldn't have a learning curve, there'd be no slip ups or small mistakes. it would be an instant shift, and he'd make sure it would be the same with the kids. even if you weren't ready to tell them straight up, he'd let them all know that you were trying more masculine things and they'd just follow his lead.

he'd let you borrow all his clothes, of course. not even in the possessive my boyfriend is wearing my clothes way although yes that as well but so you can try out different styles and have access to a full wardrobe of masculine clothes as you built up your own. tbh i think you'd end up sharing a wardrobe with him from then on, it's your joint wardrobe, easy as that. he'd instantly turn compliments from beautiful to handsome, or whatever would make you comfortable. suddenly you're his prince. sometimes you'd forget you were ever not out to him.

telling him for the first time was hard, you couldn't stop crying and you were so scared, hiccupping over words and telling him over and over that it was okay if it stopped him loving you and how sorry you were and- 'you know i love you, right? and i love that i have a boyfriend now, if that's the term you're most comfortable with. either way, baby, 'm going nowhere, and i'm so so proud of you for telling me.'. he'd hug you close, too, squeezing you tight as you calm down, reminding you over and over how much he loves you as you are.

you'd expect at least a discussion and questions, and maybe him to need some time and maybe take a break and maybe break up with you and maybe- 'god i was so worried you were going to leave me, baby boy, i'm so glad this is all that's been wrong'. he's so happy that you're not going anywhere he can't stop smiling. yes he has a boyfriend, and yes it's a change but you're still his! before you really have time to grasp what has happened he's covering you with small kisses and reminding you how much he loves you.

if someone were to misgender you he'd be quick to correct them, never making a big deal out of it, just interjecting with the right pronouns or terms. if it was one of the kids he'd pull them aside later and remind them to try harder - not that they'd need it, he taught them all better than that and they'd be so happy to have another guy the group, for some of them another hyung.

he already knew a bit about being trans, but he went out of his way to research everything he could, and the ways he could support. you'd often stumble across open tabs when borrowing his laptop or visiting him in the studio. the consideration to not expect you to do all the emotional labor of explaining things the internet could easily tell him. he'd look into chest binding and medical transition in case you ever wanted to, he looked up ways to help dysphoria so you wouldn't have to teach him. he wanted everything to be as easy for you as possible.

would 100% help you with your dysphoria by almost playing dumb to what's making you dysphoric. like he wouldn't even acknowledge your chest being anything but a chest, changbin has a bigger chest, so do you, it's the same. he's not tall, and he's as much of a man as you are. dysphoria where? dysphoria what? you're just as masculine as the rest of them.

'they're just jealous i have the prettiest boyfriend' he'd whisper to you when the kids would tease you both for being so loved up. every time he says that word is makes your heart skip - he says it with so much love.

nsfw

additional cw: mentions of chan bottoming, reader receiving oral sex, reader's parts referred to with the term dick, mentions of chan giving a blowjob, praise/dirty talk

i think chan could have a relationship without sex, he would never expect or push a partner and it is as fulfilling with or without for him. that being said, sex is something chan loves; the feeling of closeness, and trust, and love. the way he loves making a partner feel good, and loved, and cared for. he is such a soft dom, and just wants to make who he is with feel good.

so when he put together that your reluctance to have sex may come from your dysphoria he starts helping you over that; and make adaptions to intimacy to make you the most comfortable. don't want to take your shirt off or wear a binder? absolutely fine, let's make sure you're safe but you never have to be naked around me. don't want penetration? amazing, chan loves playing with you in whatever way makes you feel good. want to top him? oh please, he'll be good for you and really loves whatever toy you want to pick. want him to refer to your parts with masculine names? 'god your dick is perfect baby, fuck, it's so pretty'

he's so into you that he will do anything. there was one time he gave your strap a hell of a blowjob, just because you'd mentioned in passing how frustrating it was not getting to see him like that. even the way he does go down on you changes, with or without going on t, chan gives you head instead of eats you out - there's this masculinity in the way he treats your body.

the praise during sex is always incredible, and we are all in agreement that chan is talkative during sex. he doesn't always expect a reply but simply loves telling you how incredible you are. it's through this that you find just how good it is to be with someone to truly sees what you are;

'oh pretty boy, god you're so good for me'

'f-fuck you're so deep baby, so b-big, fuck'

'i don't think i'll ever get over this dick of yours baby boy, fuck, it's just perfect'