#got all caught up on death in paradise which i continue to watch with 50% affection 50% annoyance

[bookgeekgrrl]

My media this week (7-13 Apr 2024)

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

🥰 If This Is As Far As We Go (BeauRadley) - 124K, stucky no-powers AU - after a year of being phenomenal hookup buddies, bucky ends their arrangement & throws steve into a tailspin - slow burn, angsty, oblivious steve slowly realizing his true feelings, good supporting cast

😊 Bunt! Striking Out on Financial Aid (Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert) - cute graphic novel about art students forming a softball team to exploit a financial aid loophole

😍 Death in the Spires (KJ Charles, author; Tom Lawrence, narrator) - historical murder mystery set in 1905 Oxford - another KJC absolute banger: incredible sense of place, fantastic characters, perfectly done 'whodunnit' tension and a HIGHLY SATISFACTORY resolution. Loved every word

💖💖 +76K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

The Man, the Myth, the Legend (sparklyslug) - Check Please!: gen, 2.9K - Holster's beatboxing skills brings all the a capella groups to the Haus - a short, fun, funny, outsider POV fic

Say it louder for the people in the back (redhook) - MCU: shrinkyclinks, 14K - reread, forever fave - sometimes you just get a yearning to reread the best glory hole fic ever written

In Focus (sparklyslug) - Check Please!: zimbits, 6K - Jack's photography eye knows what's up before his conscious brain does

Entering Orbit (museaway) - Star Trek AOS: spirk, 30K - good post-AOS canon-divergent fic where Jim goes home to Iowa to escape the press & Spock joins him

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Hot Ones - Conan O'Brien

QI - series S, ep 13

Game Changer - s6, e5 {Bingoception}

Um, Actually - s9, e4

D20: Fantasy High: Junior Year - "Dawn of Justice" (s21, e14)

D20: Adventuring Party - "We're Running on 200%" (s16, e14)

Death In Paradise - s11, e4-8; s12 e0-8, s13 e0-8

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

Working - How to Be Both a Critic and a Creator

Worlds Beyond Number - WWW #10: Of the Reaching Green

Worlds Beyond Number: Fireside - Fireside Chat for WWW ep10 "Of the Reaching Green"

Short Wave - How Climate Change And Physics Affect Baseball

Consider This from NPR - Bad Omens Or The Cycle of Nature? How The Ancient World Viewed Eclipses

⭐ Armchair Expert - Anna Kendrick [Rerelease from 1/9/23]

Today, Explained - Is college still worth it?

The Sporkful - Jewish Food Is More Than Matzoh Balls

WikiHole - BEYONCÉ (with Zoë Chao, Nat Faxon and Poppy Liu)

⭐ All Songs Considered - Songs to make you laugh, with 'Weird Al' Yankovic

In Defense of Fandom - Season 2 Episode 2: Putting my theory to the test

Dinner’s on Me - Orville Peck

⭐ Switched on Pop - Chasing old sounds: Djo's "End of Beginning" with Joe Keery

⭐ 99% Invisible #577 - The Society of Ambiance Makers and Elegant Persons

⭐ Vibe Check - A Special Conversation with Ada Limón

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Brown Mountain Lights

Short Wave - The Order Your Siblings Were Born in May Play a Role in Identity and Sexuality

⭐ Code Switch - How Frederick Douglass launched generations of Black and Irish solidarity

⭐ Decoder Ring - Can the “Bookazine” Save Magazines?

⭐ Imaginary Worlds - African Sci-Fi Looks to a Future Climate

Worlds Beyond Number - WWW #11: Promises Promises

Worlds Beyond Number: Fireside - Fireside Chat for WWW ep11 "Promises Promises"

What Next: TBD - Does Google Suck Now?

Short Wave - What To Know About The New EPA Rule Limiting 'Forever Chemicals' In Tap Water

Code Switch - Reflecting on the legacy of O.J. Simpson

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Atlas Obscura Live: Two Places And A Lie

Dear Prudence - I Lost a Lot of Weight and Now I Enjoy Being a Mean Girl. Help!

It's Been a Minute - The car culture wars; plus, the problem with child stars

Endless Thread - RIP Lil Miquela

Shedunnit - You Probably Imagined It!

Armchair Expert - John Cena

Worlds Beyond Number: Fireside - [One Shot] A County Affair: Prologue

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

Presenting Bonnie Raitt

Lowrider Oldies

Huge House Anthems

Djo

Classic Soul BBQ

A LA SALA [Khruangbin] {2024}

Presenting Khruangbin

Happy Beats

'80s One-Hit Wonders

Feel-Good Classic Rock

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Haven (24/50)

Summary: They say Resembool is a haven, and they’re right. Lush pastures, quaint country town, farmers’ markets on Saturdays: a bucolic paradise.

But it’s more than that. Resembool is a haven for the runaways, the deserters, the people who don’t want to be found…

The Resembool community knows there’s something odd about Hohenheim, but they’re not going to let that stop them helping him out. This is Resembool after all, a place where no one has to hide and neighbours help neighbours, be they building a fence, chasing a sheep, or trying to save the country from an evil they inadvertently helped release centuries ago…

Or: A series of slices of life in an AU in which Hohenheim never leaves, and several broken state alchemists find hope and home in Resembool.

Rated: T

==

Haven

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18][19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [AO3]

Summary: A traumatised young alchemist on the verge of a nervous breakdown leaves Ishval in the middle of the night. Through a mixture of providence and sheer stubbornness, Roy Mustang finds his way to Resembool entirely by accident. 

Characters: Roy, Hohenheim, Trisha

Content Warning: Suicidal thoughts and PTSD.

I kind of… broke Roy a bit here. Don’t worry. He’ll get better.

==

Roy Mustang was eighteen years and two days old when he was deployed to Ishval as a very newly-licensed state alchemist. 

He was not ready for what happened after that. 

He knows that if he’d been able to follow the path that he’d originally set out - enrol in the military academy and graduate there, complete his apprenticeship under Berthold Hawkeye within the normal length of time instead of getting swept up in the whirlwind of fast-tracked licensing - then things would be different. He would still have had to do all the terrible things he’s had to do, but he likes to think that he would have been slightly more mentally prepared for them. Even just a couple of years as a buffer would have been enough. He would have been fully prepared for everything that he would have been expected to do, and he would still have felt horrible, but he wouldn’t have broken down. He doesn’t think so, at least.

As it is, Roy is now a couple of months shy of twenty-one and it feels like he’s clinging on to his sanity by a thread. The smell of burning flesh won’t leave his nose and he’s lost count of the number of times he’s woken up screaming with Hughes’ concerned face hovering above him. 

Things had been just about manageable until Lieutenant Colonel Sherman vanished. Roy wishes he knew what happened to her. She’d always kept an eye out for him and the other wet-behind-the-ears alchemists barely out of short trousers. Then she’d had one argument with General Abrams too many and then she was gone. He doesn’t know whether she deserted or whether she was shot for insubordination behind a tent somewhere. 

All Roy knows is that if he doesn’t get out of Ishval right now, he’s going to steal someone’s sidearm and blow his own brains out, because he can’t go on like this any longer. He curls up in his bedroll, looking over at Hughes and thinking about Hawkeye just a couple of tents away. He can’t leave them here in the middle of this hell, but at the same time, he can’t stay here either, and surely it must be better to vanish like Sherman did rather than leave them to deal with the aftermath of his very final departure from the world. 

The bombardments are heavy tonight, and Roy wonders privately if it’s artillery or just Kimblee on a spree. 

Still. Whoever it is, they’re providing good cover, as Roy very quietly gets out of bed and pulls his boots on, filching Hughes’ sand overcoat because Hughes is taller and his coat comes down to Roy’s ankles. 

He leaves everything else behind. Uniform, spark cloth, pocket watch, anything that could identify him or slow him down. Roy sneaks out of camp wearing boots, boxer shorts, an undershirt and someone else’s sand coat, and as he continues to creep away, he thinks that he really has tipped over the edge into insanity. Someone’s going to find him gibbering in a ditch in the morning. Maybe he’d get discharged and sent home then. 

Maybe not. 

He has a choice between heading east into the desert or heading west back towards Amestris, and he’s got enough sense left to know that wandering into the desert isn’t a good idea despite how incredibly inviting the notion is. 

He keeps ploughing forward through the contested zone, keeping to the shadows, keeping out of sight, but in reality not caring too much if he’s caught and shot. He’s not sure what sense of innate self-preservation keeps him going whilst his thoughts are spiralling,  but he keeps going nonetheless, not knowing or caring where he’s going, as long as he keeps moving, and keeps out of sight.

X

Roy doesn’t know how long he walks for. It feels like years. 

Once he’s crossed into Amestris proper, it starts raining. Roy can’t bring himself to care. In books there’s the idea of the rain being a purifier, washing away people’s sins and leaving them clean and fresh. Roy can’t see it that way. The rain is just turning the dust and sand of Ishval into mud, making him feel even more stained and broken, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel properly clean again, not after everything that’s happened. 

He pushes on, not even sure where he’s going or what direction he’s going in anymore. Maybe wandering out into the desert to die alone would have been a better option. At least it would have been warm and dry rather than cold and wet. 

Maybe dying face down in a muddy ditch is what he deserves, but despite the dark thoughts running through his head, he keeps moving nonetheless, trudging on through the night into the dismal day and back into darkness again, keeping to fields and hedgerows, away from the main roads. 

It’s only when he sees a little house on the top of a hill in the distance that Roy receives a new lease of life, remembering that he hasn’t eaten for a couple of days, and he’s suddenly ravenous, knowing somewhere deep down that if he wanted to die he should have just given up and done it by now. 

He can't really ask for shelter when he’s a deserter and a traitor and probably wanted by the military already, but he’s not thinking that far ahead right now, and as he approaches the house, he can make out an expansive vegetable patch outside it and the smell of ripening tomatoes. They won’t notice a few missing, surely...

Roy crouches down behind the tomato plants as a light comes on in the house upstairs. He can see shadows moving around and curtains twitching, and he stays as still as he can, hoping they can’t see him. With any luck, the pale sand coat is now dirty enough not to be noticeable in the moonlight. 

There’s no luck. More lights are going on and the door is opening, and someone is coming out into the rain.

On instinct, Roy snaps, but he left his gloves miles away and it’s pouring with rain anyway. The figure comes closer, holding out an umbrella over him, and Roy makes out a man with long hair wearing a raincoat and rubber boots over pyjamas. He holds out a hand to help Roy up off the ground.

“You’ve come from Ishval, haven’t you?”

Roy looks down at the drenched sand coat and military issue boots. He can’t really deny it. 

“Well, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Come into the dry.”

Roy finds himself in a warm kitchen with a woman in a dressing gown making tea. 

“There’s no need to hide under the tomatoes,” she says, pouring hot water into the pot. “We don’t bite. How long have you been out there? I’ll go and run you a bath, you’ll catch your death. Just leave your wet things in a heap by the door, we’ll deal with them in the morning and Edward, I told you to stay upstairs.”

The woman bustles out of the kitchen, and Roy gets a glimpse of a tousled golden head around the door before she chivvies him away and up the stairs. 

Roy just stands dripping in the doorway for a few moments, not entirely sure he’s not actually lying in a ditch somewhere and this is all a fever dream.

The man brings over a couple of blankets and goes to pour the tea. Elsewhere, Roy can hear hot water pipes clanking and hissing, and he finally realises that he’s very cold and very wet. He strips down completely, reminded that he was so out of it that he managed to walk here from Ishval in little more than his underwear, and wraps up in the blankets, taking tentative steps towards the kitchen table. 

“You seem very calm about all this,” he ventures. “Has this happened before?”

The man shrugs. “You’re the first person we’ve ever found in our vegetable patch, but you’re by no means the first person that the village has taken in on the run from Ishval. Both Ishvalans and military runaways; we get them all and we take care of them all. We always have. War is a horrible thing and we do what we can to mitigate it.”

He looks like he must be in his late thirties, but there’s something in his unusual golden eyes behind his glasses that gives Roy the impression that he’s seen centuries’ worth of violence in his time. 

He gives a tired smile. “My name is Van Hohenheim. Welcome to Resembool.”

X

Whilst Roy has always firmly claimed not to believe in God, and that Ishval only strengthened that lack of belief, when he looks back on his first night in Resembool, he thinks that something outside of normal human power must have happened to have provided this safe haven just at the moment when he was on the knife edge of despair. 

Hohenheim and Trisha let him into their home with no judgement and no expectations, giving him tea and food and a hot bath and spare pyjamas. They give him a makeshift bed in Hohenheim’s study, and when he wakes up screaming from nightmares of Hughes and Hawkeye paying the price for his desertion (Hughes was shot point blank in a phone booth, of all places, and Riza had her throat cut with a sword that looked suspiciously like Bradley’s), Hohenheim just gives him a knowing look from where he’s working on something at his desk. They talk about nothing of importance until the sun comes up and the rest of the family start to stir.

He meets Trisha and Hohenheim’s two boys in the morning, and they’re obviously intrigued by the stranger who turned up under their tomatoes in the middle of the night. Alphonse is more reserved, but Edward has no fear whatsoever.

“Are you an alchemist?” he asks. “We get a lot of them coming here from the east.”

Roy looks down at his hands, remembering everything his alchemy has done and his stomach churns with the memory of that awful stench that still won’t leave him behind.

“I was.” 

Whether he’ll ever be able to use it again without needing to throw up afterwards is another matter entirely.

“That’s enough, Edward.” Trisha’s tone is firm as she flits around the kitchen, getting ready to leave on some kind of errand. Edward opens his mouth to protest, but a look from his mother silences him. 

The other alchemists who’ve arrived in the town probably didn’t arrive in quite as dramatic a fashion and in quite such a hopeless state. He can understand Edward’s curiosity - he could tell from the moment he set foot in Hohenheim’s study that he’s a master of the craft to rival Berthold Hawkeye and Basque Grand - but at the same time, he’s grateful not to have to talk about it, and Edward dutifully doesn’t ask anything more.

A couple of hours later, Trisha returns with a familiar face that Roy has never really entertained the hope of seeing again. 

At least he now knows the identity of at least one of the other alchemists who made their way to Resembool.

Alex Armstrong smiles at him, a smile that’s both sad and sympathetic at the same time. 

“It’s good to see you, Mustang.”

[ayeateez]

The Hunger Games AU - Part 3 - Finale: The Final Fight

GENRE: Angst

PAIRING: None

WARNINGS: Major character death, sexual harassment, mentions of murder, weapons, and just harmful things in general

WORD COUNT: 3182

It had been days since Seonghwa died. It was miserable. I was too familiar with this feeling, I wanted it to stop, I wanted it to end.

Knowing the same man who killed Seonghwa was coming to my district today made me sick. I wanted to throw up, I wanted to kill him. He deserves it.

I’ve learned how to live with the blood on my hands. It doesn’t mean I still don’t get nightmares, or that I don’t feel bad, it means I can deal with it. Hongjoong had been so cocky on his tour, meanwhile I couldn’t even speak properly.

•

I was on the far right of the stage, where the only victors of 12 stood. I watched as Seonghwa’s family struggled onto the podium in front of the screen that had Seonghwa’s face on it. They were as broken as me. I couldn’t imagine how his brother or his parents felt. I looked away before I could catch myself crying, now wasn’t the best place or time.

Minutes passed as people got all settled in. I saw the face I never wanted to see. I wanted him to die. He deserves it. As we sit down finally, I zoned out, not wanting to hear his cocky ass speech about how good he is for killing Seonghwa. Then something caught me off guard. Something caught all of us off guard.

“I did it for y/n. I want her to be mine. If she accepts, of course” He smiles and looks towards 12’s victors, towards me. His smile was full off all the cruel things he has said about the other tributes, and the nasty words he said to Seonghwa came from the same mouth. He waved me over, on live tv as victory tours were aired, and I had no other option but to walk towards him.

“What do you say, Y/n? Will you be mine now?” He asked, oh so innocently. The smile was wiped off his face the moment I had slapped him, hands closing in on his neck. Peacekeepers immediately came to separate us as Hongjoong collapsed, half conscious as he tried to regain his breath and steady his breathing.

The peacekeepers dragged me off the stage, away from Hongjoong, and I let them. Anything to be away from him. I kept a straight face the entire time I watched him try to get back up.

•

“Please, I’d do anything BUT go out with him. I don’t fucking care about publicity, he killed my boyfriend then asks me to go out with him. Who in their right mind does that?” I yelled at my younger sister as she tried to help me come to an understanding. It was a bitchy move, but still.

“Y/n, what if they put you in that arena again? Hm? What would you do?” She asked.

“Why the hell would they put me in that arena? They aren’t allowed to! That isn’t legal!”

“It is when President Snow says it is” She shrugged.

“But why? They have no reason?”

“You slapped him and tried to fight him. They’re probably going to take that as a sign that you want to fight. Fight to the death. A special type of games”

•

I stared blankly at the holographic tv in my room, as it suddenly turned on due to it being ‘urgent’.

“Due to recent events while Kim Hongjoong was touring in District 12, we’ve decided to hold a - special games. There will only be 2 tributes, who shall not have a choice whether they participate or not and volunteers are not welcomed. The tributes are:

Kim Hongjoong, District 2

Y/n L/n, District 12

the games will take place October 31st at exactly 12:00 and shall only continue until November 2nd at 12:00. Dear tributes, may the odds be ever in your favor”

I dropped the remote as my breath shortened. No... no they couldn’t have. But the games just ended - this has to be a joke.

I’m going to fight to the death with him, Kim Hongjoong.

•

It’s didn’t take long for peacekeepers to

come break into my house to collect me and bring me to the capital. I really had no choice but to cooperate with them. I was back, back on the train for what seemed like the hundredth time. The first time I took this train to the capital, I was with Jongho. The second, I was with Seonghwa. Now, I’m here. By myself. Trying to mentally prepare to fight Hongjoong.

•

The 26 hours went by quickly as no one spoke to me. It was like they understood what was happening. He murdered my boyfriend, now I’m going to murder him.

The clapping and cheering and all the bright and fancy colorful things went by in a blur as I tuned out all the loud noises.

They took me to the place where I would be stayed for the next 3 days. They’ve given us less training as we’re both victors, I’m assuming. Last time we had 2 weeks. There’s no way I’ll even be close to in shape or prepared within 3 days.

I knew I should’ve head down to the training area, but I just wasn’t in the mood. I was about to go into a whole ass fight with the same person who killed Seonghwa. I wonder how they feel in heaven, San, Jongho, and Seonghwa? Are they okay? Is it alright up there? Whatever it is - they’re definitely doing better up there than down here.

“Y/n, I know you aren’t in the mood, but you have to train if you want to stay alive”

“I don’t want to be alive. I want to see Jongho, Seonghwa, and San up there” I sighed, noting even sparing a glance. Who ever it was, they gave up easily and left.

I eventually got up on my own, getting dressed and heading down to the small, enclosed, dark, training room. Deciding to test a new skill, I picked up a sword. It wasn’t too heavy, it felt just right. I swung my arm a few times, not that bad.

Walking up to a dummy, I worked on a stance, that would probably be useless, and well, kind of cut up the dummy. I don’t know how mad they would be to see their dummy all cut up, cotton spilling from all angles so I stuck to knives and throwing them.

•

It was the same. It was the exact same every time. I did the same thing for the past 2 days, while eating and drinking as much as I can. There were no parades, there were no festivals, nothing. Just announcing the games, that’s it. Of course though, my stylist still made sure I played and killed while looking good, so he came up with ways to make me seem less dead, more appealing to the camera, claiming that the prettier I look, the more sponsors I get, and I don’t doubt that. I mean, it’s the capital.

20 minutes.

Realization started to set in. I’m going back. I’m going back into the games, except this time? I’m targeted and targeting. There’s a 50/50 chance I’ll die and that he’ll die. What happens if I die? What happens if he dies? What will happen? I mean, either one of us will win but... what will happen?

“You’ll be fine in there, calm down. You’ve won one of these games before, haven’t you?” My stylist sighed, making an attempt to calm me down. I looked at him.

“What if I don’t make it out alive? I’m rusty, he just won the recent games-“

“Yeah, he’s still scarred and injured-“

“How many victors do you think have nightmares about the games? How many do you think can’t figure out a way to live with innocent people’s blood on their hands? Think about it. It’s not a lot” I snapped. Our silence last for minutes until the countdown from 30 started.

The arena was set up where our cornucopia’s were set up on opposite sides of the arena, and every day the arena shrinks until we fight to the death. But it’s not easy to get to the cornucopia. I think I heard them saying we have to get past landmines and some weird type of hyena that happened into the 67th games.

After putting the final touches onto me, I stepped into the tube as it shut around me. The remaining 5 seconds were counted out then it started to move up again. My heart raced as panic surged through my veins. This is it. I’m really getting my revenge now.

I was hit by the wind of the arena, the fake sun shining oh so bright, fake birds chirping. If I didn’t know what was going to happen, I just might’ve called this paradise.

The countdown remained only 10 seconds left. I unintentionally tuned out the counting, listening to my heart and the wind race.

“3”

“2”

“1”

The cannon went off as I avoided all dirt piles. Hopping over everything, I made it to the center, grabbing everything I needed and could hold. Grabbing the first backpack, it was empty but for a blanket and some matches. I grabbed 3 sets of 24 knives, just a guess. Stuffing more weapons into a backpack, I chose to carry a sword by hand. 3 weapons I could use, I had a choose from 3.

Realizing what was going to happen, I jumped down from the top, grabbing another bag as I sprinted my way to the forest, away from the growling.

Heavy. Weight. That’s all I could feel in my hands and on my back. I grabbed too

many things. I was going to have to abandon something soon.

I stopped at a tall tree, quickly grabbing any branches I could to pull me up, only hoping that there were no tracker jackers in this thing. I have 2 days to kill him. I need to get to him first.

•

Night came quickly, as I stayed in a tree all day. Far in the distance, I could see smoke. He started a fire. He must know I wasn’t going to come after him this early. The capital wanted a show? I’ll give them a mother fucking show.

I groaned as I leaned back against the uncomfortable bark again. I wanted to get up and walk around. I wish I was in my bed, maybe eating something and reading. But no, here I am, stuck in the middle of the games.

A sleepless, restless night passed and I hopped down from the tree in hopes of being able to walk around freely. It’s already the 1st, I have until tomorrow to kill him.

I saw the edge. The edge of the barrier, and I ran. I ran like my life depended on it, which it really did. Only god and the gamemakers know what happens when you touch the edge of the barrier, and I don’t want to find out. I realized that they were driving me straight towards the smoke, where Hongjoong was. At least that’s where I thought he was.

He wasn’t there. It was a trap. As soon as I realized the trap, I looked around, and ran, climbing up another tree. Another day in another tree? Thought so. This was boring people had to be losing interest or something. Maybe if people don’t watch, they’ll stop the games? No, they don’t care if people watch or not. They’ll kill both of us and erase this game from existence if they have to.

I heard a twig snap and my hand instantly flew to my belt, grabbing a knife as I sat there, eyes looking around sharply. I spotted something with crazy colored hair sprinting, and I could even hear him cursing. Hongjoong. As much as I wanted to throw, I didn’t. After I heard my name, at least. I couldn’t hear any more words come from his mouth. Audible ones, at least.

I sat back in my tree and waited. My stomach growled loudly. I just had to wait. But if I had thrown the knife, there was a high chance it would’ve hit him and at least would’ve slowed him down enough for me to kill him, but curiosity took over.

After having enough of my tree time, I slowly and carefully climbed down the tree. I made my way through the forest, occasionally leaning down to feel the dirt. It was damp, meaning water was nearby, but so was the barrier.

Deciding to continue on, I found the smallest patch of water. It was as clean as water in the games could be. I instantly dropped to my knees as I splashed water all over my face, a relief to have all the dried sweat off my face and having something to drink. Now? I just need something to eat, but I could actually survive without food. Food isn’t my bigger concern now, it’s Hongjoong. Hell, he could even be behind me right now, about ready to stab me. Becoming paranoid, I turned around only to see trees and the forest.

I watched the branches and leaves sway with the light breeze. I had to move. Something felt off. I took one last drink before getting up and moving quickly, killing a rabbit on the way.

It was hard without allies. No one to help you, no one to help, it was weird. I’ve only known playing in the games with others on my side.

•

It was boring. I’ve said this plenty of times before, but it was so boring. Watching me, at least. I did nothing but wander around the arena, secretly hoping to be able to stab Hongjoong in the back or something like that. Who knows what Hongjoong is doing? I could only guess.

A large noise scared me as I almost fell from my - you guessed it, tree and I was temporarily blinded by the flashing light. I was at the edge of the barrier, and I could see the other end. We were that close. I looked up at the sky to see a timer counting down. 59:37. It’s already 11 on the 2nd.

I climbed down, leaving everything but my weapons. I decided it’s time to end this man.

I walked through the woods, making as much noise as I possibly could to try and draw him out. I looked up, I looked down, but I couldn’t find him. Did they take him out of the arena and just leave me in here to kill or embarrass me? I heard a twig snap behind me and I quickly turned around, throwing my knife that pinning Hongjoong’s sleeve to the tree.

“Hey gorgeous”

I hadn’t ever thrown so quickly. He dodged my knife, throwing one back at me but his aim was way off. How did he win this again?

“Come back here!” I yelled, chasing after him. I spared a glance at the clock. 28:39. I still had time. He turned and threw another knife at me, and it grazed my arm, cutting my sleeve and leaving a painful cut. I cursed under my breath as he tripped in front of me and fell. I wanted to kill him with my own hands.

I held him down as my hands tightened around his neck, but he quickly flipped over so he was on top as he held my wrists down. I used every strength in every muscle in my body to get out, but I couldn’t. It was useless. I was going to die.

“What have we got here, hm? You see, princess, if you had just agreed we wouldn’t have been here-“

“If you had died in the 73rd games we wouldn’t be here” I growled back at him, cutting his words and he raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“Feisty, are we now? Hmm, that Seonghwa guy was so lucky to have you. Look, you’re a gem” His smirk grew as he touched me places I never gave consent for.

“Fuck, let me kill you already!” I shouted, squirming under his grasp.

“I bet I could make a deal. If you date me, we won’t ever have to be in these arena’s again. Snow would probably agree, yeah?” Hongjoong looked away, as to show he was supposedly thinking. I wanted to slap that stupid smirk off his face.

“What time do we have left?” He asked, looking up at the sky.

“20:19, yeah? What could I do with you in 20 minutes. Angel, there’s so many things we could have done together. We would’ve been so so powerful, but here we are, fighting to the death - are you crazy?” His words bled into my brain.

“And look, you’re bleeding. How did that happen?” His finger traced the cut, spreading the blood across my skin.

“Stop it”

“But why? You look so nice under me like this... imagine-“

I suddenly jerked my knee up into his crotch, cursing at myself on why I hadn’t thought of that earlier. He fell into the dirt, groaning in pain as I took the chance to hit his elbow and making him release my wrists, giving me the chance to get up.

I smirked down at him, just kicking him repeatedly. No knives or sharp things, just my foot in his fucked up face. Satisfaction occurred when I spotted blood dribbling out of his mouth, nose, and other places. I pulled a knife from my waistband, flipping it a few times.

“Y-You don’t want to do this princess... you won’t be able to live with it...” Hongjoong’s words were slurred from the thick, red liquid filling his mouth.

“Are you sure about that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. He opened his mouth to speak, but only screams of pain came out as my knife flew into his chest. Shrugging, I threw another into his stomach for extra measure.

The sound of the cannon I knew all too well sounded in the arena as the clock stopped.

Hongjoong was right. I couldn’t live with the blood on my hands. I couldn’t live knowing I had killed numerous people. The bitter feeling overcame the victorious one. I became nauseous at the sight of Hongjoong’s dead body right in front of me.

Slowly slipping my last knife from my waistband, I chuckled crazily.

“This one’s for you... San”

The pain burned in your chest as I fell to the ground with a crazy look plastered on my face. I looked down at the blood dripping down my body. I felt my heart stop and my brain stopped registering. My vision went in and out of focus, spots dancing around my vision. The urge to shut my eyes became so strong, so I shut them. Then I stopped. I just stopped.