#he really is a fun muse to write for

[snickerdoodlles]

📓 :3

:D!

@mortimerlatrice got me thinking about a KimChay Chrestomanci AU, so more of that.

the Chrestomanci series, sidenote, is an absolutely delightful fantasy series by Diana Wynne Jones. it's composed of mostly independent stories set in a universe of 12 parallel universes (called Series), each with their own string of worlds (except Series 11). generally speaking, every person has eight identical copies borne into other series than their own, but very occasionally all nine lives will be borne into one person. this nine-life enchanter has all the power of nine magical people in them and is therefore the only person powerful enough to fill the role of Chrestomanci to regulate magical use and prevent any abuse of it across the 12 series.

which cool, very fun story premise actually, but not what I care about here. I'm setting kp in one of the series that doesn't deal much with magic because I don't care about magic meet mafia, I care about Chay having nine lives and all the ways that could make things worse.

(cw: non-permanent but slightly graphic character death under the cut. ft a dash of actual character death, but that only applies to Tawan.)

Chay doesn't have all his lives when canon starts. he lost his first one the same day he and Porsche lost their parents when he fell out of his crib trying to investigate the noise. he lost his second to food poisoning, before Porsche started working for extra food money and they had to make every scrap stretch. he lost another when a debt collector hit him too hard and snapped his neck. (Porsche wasn't home for that day. Chay told him he wasn't either.)

Chay loses his fourth life in the warehouse. it actually wasn't intentional on anyone's part -- Tawan's hired meat weren't careful enough bringing him in, and Chay's luck has his head hit a curb or scrap metal at just the right (or wrong, as it were) angle to kill him instead of concuss him, and head injuries take so long to come back from. Tawan drags out the charade because he wants Porsche desperate, not angry, and Porsche is in too deep of denial to accept the possibility of Chay actually being dead not to fall for it.

Kim arrives before Chay comes back to life. it's...bad. Porsche is screaming for him to get Chay out. Kim first checks Chay's breathing. failing to find that, he frantically (but carefully!) hauls Chay upright. that's when Chay's head flops limply to the side and reveals the dried blood down the back of his neck, which Kim had already felt grabbing but refused to process.

Kim sees red.

Tawan knifes Big. Porsche's shouts break through the fog threatening to overwhelm Kim. then Tawan gets one very distraught, very angry, very murderous Kim materializing in front of him and going right for his eyes. it doesn't matter that Tawan's the one with a weapon, he could've had an armory and that couldn't have helped him. Kim is very, very, very good at fighting, and he's on a mission to hurt. but he's also missing his control, and kicks Tawan in the kidney so hard Tawan stumbles back into a pile of scrap and, in true irony, jostles it hard enough the end of steel beam falls on his head. as discovered earlier, metal and concrete are not kind to heads, and bullet proof vests certainly can't protect from that.

it's too quick and too kind, and Kim stares at him disbelievingly, half a mind to drag Tawan out and beat out the little life he's surely still clinging to, when Chay groans. Kim first thinks he hallucinated it, but then he sees Chay move and he's so relieved he was wrong that he shoves everything else out of his mind and just gets Chay out. then everything and one trailing shouty Porsche slams back into him the minute Chay's out of his arms and with the paramedics that Kim bolts to go hide in a dark corner in his apartment and fail to process any of it.

Chay misses all of this btws. He was dead, then he was back with a headache, and he loves Porsche but he needs Porsche to please shut the fuck up and get him some tylenol.

then apartment confrontation, where Kim says I'm sorry and shoves off even quicker because all he can remember are those moments when he'd been so sure Chay was properly dead. club scene goes down even worse when Kim yells at Chay for making stupid reckless choices that could get him killed, and Chay demands to know why Kim even cares, and Kim goes pale with anger that Chay doesn't care that he (only nearly, surely) died, and it's all very terrible and ends in them storming away from each other.

then comes Yok's bar.

Chay dies. Kim had taunted them into a direct fight inside instead of picking them off outside, and it should have been fine, would have been fine, had Chay not had a bit more awareness and looked over to see Kim pinned between two guys and rushed to help only to get shot by one of the goons on the other end of the bar. he bleeds out while Kim kills off the rest.

Chay comes back to a bar full of bodies and Kim (clutching) cradling him. Kim isn't crying. he isn't really doing much of anything other than clinging and staring off into nothing with a thoroughly haunted expression.

Chay blinks and tentatively lays his fingers against Kim's cheek. "Kim?"

Kim's eyes snap to him, but still don't quite see him. he stays looking blank for a few seconds that feel like hours before saying matter-of-factly, "I've snapped."

"Kim!" Chay protests, distressed.

"It's okay," Kim says, still matter-of-fact but smiling tenderly, "better to be mad with you than without."

it takes a while to convince Kim he's not insane and that Chay's really back. Chay's not certain he fully manages it. but his death also shook loose a lot of confessions Kim normally couldn't say out loud. ("why--" Chay starts, voice cracking, "why did you say 'I'm sorry' that day?" / "You were supposed to be safe," Kim replies hoarsely, mad smile slipping for tears.) there's more clutching and clinging, this time by Chay too. both of them manage to forget they're in a bar of dead bodies until Porsche and Kinn come crashing through the door.

"Chay!" Porsche yells when he first sees him.

"Chay," Porsche pleads brokenly when he sees Chay's blood soaked shirt.

"Not mine!" Chay says quickly, and would've been given away by how fast Kim's head snaps around in any other circumstance. "See?" he says, raising his shirt to show unblemished skin, "No injury."

this does a lot to reassure Porsche, but Chay can tell Kim still thinks he's a little bit insane. Chay decides that's fine for now, because dying takes a lot out of you and apparently everyone around you too and it's unfair to expect Kim to just bounce back from him bleeding out on him, he'll work on it after a shower and dinner.

I'm not writing this AU because I only really have these two vague scenes in my head, but Chay having multiple lives making his existence in the mafia hurt more than canon's calls to me, it really does.

oh, also: in the AU source material, one of the nine-lifers has one of his lives removed and stored into a ring for safekeeping. he later gives this ring to his to-be-wife as her wedding ring. I'm not sure yet how to work that into this AU because Chay's contact with magic and other magicals would be slim to none in this, but please picture how this would absolutely wreck Kim, because there's nothing Kim wants more than to safeguard Chay but as far as he's concerned, he's already failed Chay in that regard twice. 😈

[[ ask me about fics im not writing ]]

[baalzebufo]

One Star, Brighter than the Rest

y'know what. im probably not gonna get around to writing more of this because im lazy but if it sits in my drafts forever nobody will see it so im posting this fic/drabble/thing. THIS IS for my demon gideon au.

Gideon, at the end of his rope, calls Bill to make a deal. But Bill has bigger plans. Much bigger plans.

---

‘I'm finally ready to make a deal.’

The walls of his solitary cell seemed to shift then, as the buzzing in his ears grew into a wild cacophony of laughter. Gideon stumbled backwards away from the chalk sigil on the wall, his vision blurring and swimming as the dream came into being. The crude drawing seemed to pulse, its single eye blinking. Then, a massive beam of light- Gideon shielded his eyes, and the moment his vision returned he was hovering there before him. Bill Cipher.

‘WELL, WELL, WELL! Look who came craaaawling back!’

---

The triangle squinted at him, throwing his hands up and watching the child flinch at his voice. Gideon felt his back pressed against the cold stone wall of his cell. He had no time to respond before Bill sprung forward.

‘Geez, you look haggard, shortstack! What's wrong, the warden giving you trouble again?’ His tone was mocking- his tone was always mocking. ‘One of your prison buddies finally got fed up and try to shank you? Oh, wait, my bad. That’s supposed to happen next week! Haha!’

Gideon swallowed hard. He couldn’t let Bill get to him. He had summoned HIM- he’s the one in control. He wasn't playing second fiddle to Bill, not now, not ever. He balled his hands up into fists and steeled his nerves, stepping forward with his nose in the air.

‘Listen to me, demon! I called you here because I- I want to make a deal!’ He glared up at Bill with an unearned confidence. ‘You messed up my plan last time, but I'm givin’ you one last shot to prove yourself to me! Y'all're gonna break me out of this joint!’

Bill's eye widened then, before he threw himself backwards into the air with laughter. Gideon seethed. His arms shook as he puffed himself up, standing on his toes. ‘Are you LISTENING to me? Do you want to make a deal or not!?’

He grit his teeth until Bill calmed down, wiping a tear from his eye.

‘Ohhh, kid! You're KILLING me here! You’re really killin’ me!’ He shook himself from side to side, tutting disappointedly. ‘I gotta say, your lack of imagination would be funny if it wasn't so sad, Gideon.’

‘My-’ All at once, rage flared up inside him. ‘WHAT?’ He roared, fully ready to throw one of his tiny fists into the ‘face’ of that smug isosceles jerk-

‘Don't you GET IT, KID?’ He hovered down to Gideons level, put one arm around his shoulders and tugged him in close. ‘You got a personal genie right here, and all you wish for is to get outta prison? Did you even READ my entry in that book you had? You’ve got NO idea what I��m capable of, and here you are, askin’ me for something you could do with one lousy prison riot.’

He patted Gideons shoulder softly. ‘Look, I get it! You’re probably just worn out from all that hard prison labor, aren’t ya? Your mushy little human brain isn’t working right! So I'll cut you some slack just this once. After all, we’re buddies, aren’t we? Haha, yeah we are.’

Gideon froze up, pushed himself out of Bills grasp. He squinted- then frowned. What was he getting at, here…?

‘What are you ramblin' about?’

Bill's laugh cut through him again. ‘You gotta think BIG, shortstack. Sure, I could help you outta this jail, or I could give you the power to do it yourself. I could make you just like ME!’ Bill threw wide his arms and little sparkles flew from his palms.

Gideon blinked, his jaw slightly agape. Bill took his stunned silence as an excuse to carry on his pitch.

‘I've been working on something special while you've been away, and I've got it all figured out! I could make you a bona-fide demon, kid! You could get my powers with all the perks. Think about it- getting into the nightmares of everyone who's ever crossed you, tormenting their every waking moment! Phenomenal cosmic power, right?'

'You're basically the perfect candidate, too. I mean, look at you-' He gestured vaguely at Gideon- for once in his life, speechless. 'You're almost crazy enough for it. I mean, hey, I saw that time you nearly gutted Pine Tree with those shears! In front of his sister, no less! That was DE-LUXE, kid. No hesitation. You've got the murderous ambition to really go far.'

'Honestly, you're probably the only person in this lousy town who could HANDLE this kind of power. So hey, just this one time, let me make YOU a deal you can't refuse! Haha!'

Bill blinked at him- ‘Wink!’ and held his hands out wide. If he had a face, Gideon could tell there would be the biggest toothy smile plastered on it. He swallowed.

Bill was dangerous. He knew this much. He knew you should never- ever- trust a demon at it's word. And yet...

‘You're insane.’ He muttered, shaking his head. ‘You can't do that, it- it just ain't possible.’

‘Gideon, REALITY IS AN ILLUSION. What's ‘possible’ is whatever I WANT to be possible!’ Bill drifted, floating upside down as he spoke. ‘I defy the laws of nature just by EXISTING, so who's to say I can't do anything I want? You're talking to a criminally insane triangle, kid! Start BELIEVING. Here, let me help you.’

Bill snapped his fingers, a teal flame shooting up from his hand and forming a portal of sorts- within it, figures started to form. Gideon saw…

He saw himself.

He saw himself laughing. He was wreathed in flame yet somehow still cast in shadow in the middle of a chalk pentagram, his five-pointed star burning bright. Gravity Falls around him lay in ruins. He stood in the burning husk of what was once the Mystery Shack. The Pines lay crumpled, crushed beneath burning timbers. The smell of ash and blood thick in the air.

And hovering before him, as if in a deep fairytale sleep, was Mabel.

Sweet, sweet Mabel.

He saw a vision of his victory. All the power he had ever wanted coursing through his veins. Everyone who had ever slighted him was dead by his hand. And his only love- she was all his, forever.

His vision reached out, took her hand so gently. He could almost feel her hand in his, her skin so… so soft. He hadn't felt it in so long. His hands shook, and he reached out.

And then, the vision erupted back into flames with the click of Bill's fingers.

Gideon stood, spellbound, holding a breath he didn't think he could let go. The teal flames still flickering in the back of his mind.

‘Yup, I knew you'd pick up what I was puttin’ down, kiddo.’ Bill flipped himself upright and straightened his little bow tie.

‘It’s about time you got everything you deserve, isn't it?’

All at once, Gideon seemed to snap out of his stupor. He blinked, shook his head. He took a step back again, swallowing down the lump in his throat. No- no… this had to be too good to be true. The devil was a tempter, he knew this much. But if there was a chance- the smallest chance- that this future could come to pass... He hardened his expression as best he could, trying to gain back his swiped upper hand.

‘But wait.. what would you get outta all of this? There's no way you'd be helpin’ me just outta the ‘goodness of your heart’… if you even have one of those.’

‘HAHA! You got me there!’ Bill swiped at him playfully. ‘But I'll have you know I have at least NINE hearts, and several other heart-adjacent organs! Wanna see?’ He wiggled his fingers before sticking one hand straight down into himself- a horrific CRACK sounded along with a spray of what looked like television static, a horrible thick black something trickling out to the floor down his arm- up to the elbow in his chest. It took all of Gideon's willpower not to scream.

‘Answer the question!’ He snapped. Bill huffed, let his hand flop out of his body- the relief when he didn't drag some sort of horrific organ out was palpable. He brushed himself down, the wound closing as easily as it had appeared.

‘Okay, sheesh! Keep your hair on.’ Bill rolled his eye, leaning forward. ‘Obviously, I wouldn’t do it for free. We can do a trade. I’ve got some stuff I need to finish up in the physical realm, see. So I’d just-’ He mimed jumping with his fingers. ‘- hop on into your body for a bit. Temporary possession.’

‘My body-!?’ Gideon clasped his hands over his heart, realizing his back was pushed against the wall again. Bill wanted to POSSESS him?

‘Yeah! Geez, you look like you’re going to pop an ulcer, kid. You wouldn’t be in it, obviously!’ He scoffed. ‘We take you out, put me in, you get all my powers an’ I get to use your chubby little hands to finish some personal business. I won’t even keep it that long. Think of it like a vacation! And when I’m done with it, you get my powers for keeps. There’s basically no downside!’

Bill floated down to the floor and folded his hands together. He shrugged. 'It's all up to you now, kid.'

Gideon got very quiet. He took in a deep breath, then hopped up to sit on the edge of the metal slab they called a ‘bed’ in here. He fiddled with the fringe of his blanket, chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought. Bill was surprisingly silent as he watched him struggle with this. Then, he hopped up next to him on the cot.

‘Listen to me, Gideon. You've always known you were different, right? I mean, hey. You were born a freak. I get it! I was born a freak in my world, too.' Gideon frowned, but Bill held one hand up to stop him from interrupting.

'I GET it. They only call us freaks 'cause they can't handle that we might be BETTER than them. It happened to me once- now it's happening to you too. They want you to roll over and conform, to bury your head in the sand and be ''normal''. Well, that ain't gonna happen!'

‘And it's because fate had something bigger in store for you. Why do you think you were born different? Why do you think you're so much smarter than everyone else here? Hell- why do you think YOU found that journal in the woods, and not one of the village idiots?'

'It wasn't dumb luck, Gideon. It was fate.' Bills voice grew... darker. More intense. It prickled at the fear response in Gideon's head, and yet... he found himself entranced, somewhat.

'I saw you had potential. I knew you were destined to do more than sell cars, grow old, and die. You could be so much more. So I kept my eye on you until I knew you were ready for it. Now's the time, Gideon. I see EVERYTHING.'

He looked up- Bill was hovering in front of him, now. His eye was glowing with a vision of the void. Within its depths, universes swirled. Galaxies shifted in their positions. And at its heart he could see one star, shining brighter than the rest.

‘And you can see, too. All you need to do is-

shake.

my.

hand.’

He extended his arm forwards, and it erupted in a familiar cold blue flame.

‘And I'll show you.’

…

Gideon swallowed hard. Nothing good would come of this. He was making a pact with a demon. One that had ended poorly, before- how badly would it end THIS time? What if Bill was lying? What if their plans were foiled before completion? What if, what if, what if, part of him repeated.

But the other part of him… the selfish, cold, cruel part of his heart burned brighter than ever. Ever since his amulet and his journal had been taken away and he had been thrown into this cell, he’d felt powerless. He had crawled his way up from being ostracised, weak, and alone to basking in fame and fortune. And then it had all been taken away.

No longer loved, and barely even feared. What did he have in here? A handful of schmucks who gave him their seconds in the mess hall? How long would it be then, until THEY tired of him, too? They’d cast him aside eventually. And then he would have nobody and nothing but a cold, dark cell and a life to regret.

He needed that power back. No- he needed more. He needed enough to wrestle the world back into his hands. To know that all he had to do was will it, and it would be crushed back into stardust.

His eyes were cold. He looked up.

‘It’s a deal.’

He took Bill's hand.

.

.

.

[presdestigatto]

the contrast between lance/seb’s and sebchal’s social media pr videos always gets me because charles is constantly looking at sebastian like he’s the second coming of christ, meanwhile lance has the biggest “peacefully minding my own business” aura i’ve ever seen

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

*When asked about Sonic*

Chaos Sonic: Hah. So we're still talking about that blue pitstain? Whatever. He can be fun to toy with, sure, but he's old news. Last year's model. A failure of a friend and a passable hero. Nine wants him alive for "some reason"—that involves his "intense attachment"—so I won't kill him or anything. I'll leave him alone in a room with Nine over my dead body—or my best friend's wishes, since I cannot bear to refuse him. If I could, though, I'd love the chance to "play" with him some, "rough him up" a little as payback for how he treated my best friend.

Alpha Grim Sonic (answering via writing it down, sign language, transmission, whatever because he's mute): You refer to the blue hedgehog. Once upon a time, my master, Nine, seemed to be troubled when thinking of him. There was a time when Sonic brought a fight to our doorstep, but no matter how Sonic may have hurt him in the past, he has chosen to preserve my master's life. Nine seems to trust him, and Sonic has not threatened his life. So, as I do not have the capacity to experience such things as "emotions", and they would not matter even if I did have the ability, I do not mind if my master associates with Sonic the Hedgehog. If Nine is happy, and the hedgehog does not intend harm upon him, then all is well.

ㅤ

*When asked about Shadow*

Chaos Sonic: Oh, he's that black hedgehog, right?! Seems cool! I'd love to race him sometime. Of course, I'll fight him too if he intends to lay a finger on my best buddy, but all is well if he plays nice.

Alpha Grim Sonic (answering not by speaking, because he is mute): Shadow the Hedgehog. You do refer to the black hedgehog, do you not? If he intends to bring harm upon my master again, I will not hesitate in removing him. He has not received forgiveness for trying to kill my master during the war. Nine surely allows him to live because he is gracious, but if he so commanded me to I would rip the hedgehog him limb from limb. It is my duty to do what my master commands, and I will be ready should the hedgehog try anything or should my master finally revoke his trust in him.

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Y'know...we've talked about California too," Doreen smiled as she glanced her beloved's way, resisting the urge to add on "just this evening, in fact" as she did. Nothing was set in stone, of course, but California had come up earlier, and she couldn't deny the appeal of it.

Like Philippe, the appeal of being another face in the crowd, of being not recognized at every turn, but instead being able to blend into the scenery with other people, the sorts of people her parents often told her not to concern herself with...it sounded so nice, especially right now, what with her family's growing pressures.

She'd done a good job of hiding it, it seemed, but in truth, Doreen was exhausted. Mentally, physically, spiritually, her parents' constant pressure continuing to weigh her down, keep her up at night. She was sleeping and eating little, and she knew it was wearing her down. She had to do something about it, lest she wind up in an early grave from the stress of it all.

And California seemed like just what the doctor ordered.

But that would come in due time. As much as she wanted to throw herself into that idea wholeheartedly, it would have to wait...for now. For now, she continued to wax poetic about her family's summer home, and all the things they could do together. It was nice to think about it-perhaps one last vacation at the old house...

...before she and Edward left for greener pastures.

She wondered if Philippe and Susannah would follow them. She hoped they would.

[suckinitup]

oh my god

[aletheialed]

very occasionally i'm like. i should try writing phoenix wright. lmao and then i don't but i want you all to know I LOVE HIM A LOT

[unexpectedbrickattack]

giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair at the way you draw and write (!!!) peppino. he is so......

-babygirl, thats why its so fun and easy 😊

[endbeginning]

and if i said.... pet.er peve.nsie.....

[spottedmischief]

Cheezi’s "greeting ceremony” is just him pouncing you over with absolute full force.

[twistedappletree]

me while writing this fic: awww 🥰🥺 AAAHHHH 😭😰 awwwww 🥰🥺 AAAAHHHHHH 😭😰😰😰😰

[clemencetaught]

I wasn't sure if y'wanted them sent in today or tomorrow, BUT TO NOT MESS UP-- (you mentioned answering ic in the tags so yeeting these directly at Patrick >:3 sorry if they're too many omg)

Patrick (any verse)

What does it feel like when others depend on you, in one way or another?

Are you more prone to assuming someone needs you (in a service kind of way, for aid, for support-) or more likely to think they don't?

If psychics were 120% reliable and you could connect to those long gone… would you?

In which contexts are you more 'do as I say not as I do' and in which will you listen to your own advice?

Do you ever catch yourself growing… a little bitter, maybe, at people describing their comparatively 'mundane' problems? Is it envy?

Do you believe children should be shaped for the likeliest future or the future should be shaped for the children to come?

When is self-sacrifice acceptable?

When is hurting those you love acceptable?

in which the 54th victor of the hunger games gives an impromptu interview ( nosy questions for the birthday enby w/ @mythvoiced )

The tea cup is set on the saucer. Discreetly, Patrick slides his other hand into his pocket, where the synthetic patch on his palm wraps around his pocket knife– a habit of sorts, since he won his games. His pocket watch sits on the table, next to the saucier and on his lap, Sun has wrapped herself into a ball, her paws disappearing into the mass of orange fur. On the balcony outside his apartment in the Capitol, this is the only place Patrick knows he will be granted a modicum of privacy in the viper’s nest. 

The shadow of the balcony covers the upper half of his body. Sun keeps dozing on his lap, in the sun. 

Most times, when the questions are directed at him, they’re expecting an affirmative. Doesn’t matter if it’s coming from a District person or a Capitolite– they go to him for answers, first and foremost. And in the case of the latter, these questions are not questions so much as veiled demands. 

Ones that he must always accommodate, regardless of the nature of the demand. 

But these questions, this voice, is…well they seem genuinely curious. And the questions they’ve lobbed his way, they don’t seem to be expecting one correct answer.

Sun shifts on his lap. His leg vibrates from her purring. Patrick sighs, leaning back on his chair. “That…quite a lot of thoughts you have going on there, hm?” The knife stays in his pocket as he gently scratches the top of Sun’s head. “I’ll answer your second question first: people will always look out for themselves first. If they don’t think you’re useful, that you can contribute something good to their lives, then you’re dead to them, if they don’t kill you first. Make yourself indispensable to them and they won’t hurt you.” At least that’s what he tells himself– it’s easier to simply assume anyone who approaches him that they want something he can give them. “The younger victors will need someone to guide them anyway.” 

And even the ones who vehemently deny needing someone, anyone. Patience is always key in those instances– from Taiyang whom it took almost six years and his tribute’s sanity to finally approach Patrick to María, who still slaps away any hands offered, friend or foe. Ironically, he had to approach her first.  

“…I suppose I don’t think too much about that. If someone was asking for your help, you would be more caught up in what they’re asking, more than how you were feeling no?” A Trojan horse, he’s lobbed in their direction although he’s quick to revise: “...It scares me sometimes.” He confides, fingers pausing in their administrations on Sun’s head. Actually it scares him, a lot. “They’re…they’re relying on me to guide them to the best outcome and I want the same thing for them. I promise you, I really, truly do.” Whether it’s Hyuk, Devora, a tribute he’s been assigned to mentor, or any of the victors. And sometimes even the furball in his lap and yet– “But I…I can’t always guarantee that. But they still trust me, especially the younger ones.” The tributes from District Three– his tributes, the ones who take his hand, look up at him with wide eyes, clinging to every word, every gesture he makes as it will guarantee their survival. “Sometimes I think it would be better if they exercised more caution with me.”   

A smile, bittersweet, if not actually just bitter, graces his lips. He shakes his head though, chuckling at the next question. “...Forgive me, that’s quite a question you have there. ‘Psychics’... I don’t believe that’s information that just anyone, district or Capitol, can get ahold of–  although I have heard of some old religions still practiced in the districts so I suppose the knowledge and belief in such mediums is possible to get ahold of.” He stares down at his tea, the steam still rising. Even if it is a hypothetical question on a medium known to be more shoddy than reputable, he can’t help but pause. If they could contact those ‘long gone’; would that mean, if he asked them to, would he be able to speak to her one last time–

He shakes his head, eye catching his pocket watch, metal beaten and faded, the clock face wearing a crack down the right side. Still, it shimmers in the sunlight. “Even if I could, I…I highly doubt she would want to talk to me of all people.” If they hadn’t met, if they hadn’t fallen in love, she probably would still be alive. Tellessa’s family too. 

After all, he was the first person outside of Tellessa who knew about her forbidden books. “Wherever they are, it’s probably better than here.” Or at least he hopes it is for her. A place where life doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is…easier. A place for souls to rest at long last. If such a place even exists in the first place. He picks up his saucer once more, still careful not to jostle Sun on his legs. She’s taken to loafing now– he knows her eyes are closed even if her head dips every few seconds. But make no mistake, that does not mean she is unaware. Trusting of the one asking the questions. If it was just him, she would be stretched out, a white underbelly waiting for his hand to scratch kindly at the ceiling.

Perhaps the saying is true after all: like owner, like pet. Although Patrick would argue she’s more like Hyuk if anything.

“It depends on the circumstances,” he says as neutrally as possible. A vague answer for a hypothetical question, because that is truly it. “I suppose if one’s life was on the line, it would be better if they followed my lead, no?” 

Not that that’s stopped, those with rebellious tendencies from committing treason anyways. ( And unfortunately, he can name more than one. ) It is ironic in that manner– for someone who knows the system, knows how to work within the rules all, has spent years perfecting his craft in survival arts, it would make more sense to invest on those with similar goals. And yet here he is, worrying about the ones who are decided not interested in survival and therefore would spurn his advice at any given moments. “Not that…that following my advice has ever helped them make it through.” 

(His tributes. All thirty nine of them. No two games are ever the same, the gamemakers would never allow that. If the circus known as the Hungers Games must be reborn over and over again if it wishes to continue.)

He takes a sip of his tea, washing down the momentary displeasure. Or at least he thinks it will be only a moment long. “I suppose what a Capitol citizen would consider a ‘mundane issue’, as you put it, would differ from those of someone from the districts. The former does seem more inclined towards complaining if only to build comradery amongst one another. I’m just glad that they have such means to…channel their frustrations.” 

( It’s in times like those, where he wishes his temper could curdle, the way Devora’s does in the face of the Capitol Elite. How he wishes he could simply let her use the knife to silence those idle complaints. )

Patrick takes another sip of his tea. It burns in his throat. It’s bitter too– he must have let the leaves seep for too long. But the asperity doesn’t just settle on his tongue. “Are we talking about an ideal world or the one we live in now? Depending on who you ask this question to, you’re guaranteed to get quite…different answers.” A smile, as frigid as the shaved ice the Capitol serves as a delicacy during the games, crosses his lips. “Our great nation was built to provide safety and prosperity for the children. To serve them. Although whether the truth is actually the other way around will again, depend on who you ask. As a mentor to my tributes, I suppose…we can’t deny the reality in front of us, no?”

Sun yawns. He puts his tea down and idly, he scratches the underside of her chin and he feels her purring against his finger. “Are you sure you should be asking me that question? I would think there are more…suitable candidates for this question.” People like Hyuk, he means. People like María– the kinds who would gladly make sacrifices, give pieces of themselves for a cause. “Self-sacrifice won’t get you where you need to be– there’s a reason martyrs are only known after their death– they’re even given a chance to be known. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. They’re only deluding themselves into believing they can make everything better. A…colleague of mine said it best: ‘a martyr works, a survivor works better’. If you want to truly help the ones around you, self-sacrifice will only get you so far.”

Or so Patrick claims. He can hear it though– the sound of Hyuk shouting at him to stop lying. The truth is, self-sacrifice, if it is for a tangible reason, is…well maybe it is not worthwhile, but it can be certainly respected, especially if this tangible reason is a human life. The Capitol will always wonder what spurred Patrick to hold his district partner’s hand even if it burned a hole through his skin, will always wonder why Taiyang insisted on protecting Link in the arena, will always wonder why, why, why would Devora so willingly serve as President Snow’s puppet even if it further severs her ties to the districts despite everything the games took from her.

They would never understand compassion in a dog-eat-dog world– self sacrifice.

“...However, I suppose, if there was truly a good reason to do so…well, I have yet to see it.”

( Like the promise of a better world. If there is even one that exists. )

His hand stops. Sun turns her head towards him, copper eyes watching him. “When do we not hurt the ones we love?” Perhaps the better question for him is: when is he not hurting the ones he loves? He saw it in her eyes and Hyuk’s too. And yet they forgave him, somehow, every time. If not for that, well…would there even be a reason to keep going? “That’s part of caring for someone, no? You are preparing for them to hurt you without retaliation.” He shakes his head, snorting. “I think the answer should be obvious, if it guarantees their well-being in the long run, I think that is a gamble to be considered. That being said–” 

Sun jumps off his lap and stretches, paws facing this curious passerby. Patrick crosses his legs, hands resting on his lap. A veneer, similar to the one he dons in the Capitol flashes through, even if he is not currently in his usual suit. “You wouldn’t want to be close with someone like me. I’ve been known to have…a reputation of sorts. One of burning and you could…no, you would most definitely get hurt, one way or another and we wouldn’t want that happening, no? Just a thought for you to consider.”

He watches Sun make her way to the sliding glass door in the shade. Her tails whips side to side as she looks up at the handle. Then she looks at him and meows. 

Patrick glances at his pocket watch. “It’s feeding time for Sun.” Well, sort of– it’s more like it’s half an hour before her feeding time, but he knows gets antsy the closer meal time gets around. But this person doesn’t have to know that. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking care of business now. If you need anything more, you know where to find me.”

Or better yet, he’ll know where to find them.

[tvrningout]

guess who just finished delwyn's bio B)))

[hunsa-jars]

Little My is super suspicious of Shaun and follows him around some nights because

1. He's weird and creepy (her words not mine) and 24/7 looks like he's up to no good

2. Why would anyone hang out with Sniff this much without any ulterior motive, she needs to know what he's planning

After a few weeks she asks Alicia if her grandma knows what kind of creature he is and how she should deal with him and Clarissa just gives her a book on Imps and familiar contracts (cut to a very wide eyed My and Alicia)

[sunnymused]

"Guess who has poooooockets!" This girl! It's a bummer they don't make skirts with pockets by default, but that just makes it an art project!

She shows them off to whoever will look, her hand disappearing into the fabric like a magic trick.

[spxcemuses]

" Let me guess. You're probably gonna say to me 'Jack! You think being straight-up evil is fun?!' And to that I say... "

" Yea! I do, and I'm tired of pretending it's not! "