#like you’re sitting there telling these old stories looking all sympathetic and then you see max in the paddock three days later

[f0point5]

Idk if this is going to be an unpopular opinion but does anyone else find it weird how comfortable everyone and their mother is talking about Max’s childhood?

Everyone’s clutching their pearls but no one wants to have some respect and keep their mouths shut?

[zweetpea]

Mrs. "Wayne"

Part 2

Content warning: Swears, Arranged Marriage, murder (Not by Bruce because he doesn't kill), threats

This chapter is a bit shorter than the last but I think this is a sweet ended to this story. (For now... If I think of something to add to it I'll make a proper finale).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You awoke with a bag over your eyes, a rope around your wrists, and a killer headache.

Bruce ripped the bag off your head. “You’re lucky I have a no kill policy. But trust me when I say that if you’re going to wish I did.”

“Scary.” You mocked in a smooth and dull voice. “Does that work on all the drug addicted mental patients in spirit halloween costumes that you beat up?”

He grabbed your chin and pulled you forward a bit. “Don’t play with me, little girl.”

“Don’t call me little girl, old man. What do you want?” You asked boredly. 

He glared at you. “I should be the one asking that.” He spat.

You looked at him anammused and unenthusiastically said, “I’d like to be let out of the chair.” He tips the chair back slightly over the edge of this cliff in the cave. “Okay! Okay! I want the divorce to be quiet! I won’t take a small settlement! In fact I won’t ask for any money or assets! I-! Um… I want a pony? WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY!!” You started to panic. There were a lot of things you could do, but surviving a 10-20 foot drop into a moat, while being tied up was not one of them.

He tips the chair back onto solid ground and grabs both of her shoulders. “You want a pony in exchange for your silence about the bat cave and my family?”

“Oh that’s what this is about?” The fear on your face dissipated. “I don’t really care about this.”

Bruce took a step back in shock. “What?”

“Yeah. This place is honestly amazing and I’m actually very impressed at what you do.” Your voice was genuine as you looked up at him.

He seemed skeptical. “You are?”

You smiled slightly. “Well, yeah! You fight 2 meta-humans, a bunch of psycho clown gymnasts, two guys in super suits, and just a bunch of other freaks every other week! Are you some kind of immortal being or something?” You geeked out a bit.

He looked at you surprised. “You know a lot about me.”

“Well, in retrospect, no offense but it’s kind of sad… and pathetic.” She looked at him sympathetically

He scoffs. “How?”

“You spent 14 years training to avenge your parents murder and you didn’t think to see a therapist?” 

“Point taken.” He started to untie You. “So you promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Yeah. I’m not about to get dragged into this! Regardless of the truth behind our relationship, bad guys are going to come for me if I start blabbing about you guys. Not only that but the cops are going to hall me off to jail too if you get caught for vigilantism.”

“Oh… I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry…” He sits down on the cliffside with his head in his hands. “This whole thing has been a disaster.”

You sat down next to him. “Bruce?” You looked over curiously.

“Yeah?” He muttered.

You hesitated. “Why did you marry me?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Kid flash made a joke about my irresponsible love life and I guess I took it to heart.” He confessed somberly.

You patted his shoulder comfortingly. “All teenagers suck. It’s just growing pains.”

“I don’t like being bullied by an 8th grader.” He looked over in what you want to describe as a pout but that can’t be right. This is batman! Batman doesn’t pout! He broods!

“Imagine how Damian is going to be at that age.” You giggled. He growled and looked away. Oh my goodness. Batman was pouting. You burst out in laughter. “You are too special, Bruce.” You gave him a quick side hug and pulled yourself up. “Come on. Let’s go order take out and laugh at how stupid Villains are.”

He smiled at you slightly and pulled himself up as well. “Yeah… They are pretty stupid.”

“I mean it took me two months to find this place when they haven't come close in 2 decades!” She laughed and took his arm in hers. 

“Well Condiment king found this place a decade ago. But no one’s heard from him since so the villains stopped trying.” Bruce smirked.

You looked up at him worriedly. “I thought you didn’t kill.”

“I don’t, but my ex-special forces of a butler does.” He closes up the door to the batcave.

“...oh…”

He kissed your forehead and ushered you out of the library. “Nothing you need to worry about. Now let’s go order some takeout!”

You two ordered some Chinese food and lounged on the couch watching whatever was popular on Wayneflix. Bruce ordered shrimp fried rice and egg rolls while you just got a little of whatever caught your eye.

You pulled a throw blanket over you both and ate straight from the take out containers. It was weird being so close to him.

“I thought you didn’t like me touching you.” He reminded you of what you’d said less than a few hours ago. Seems like he noticed it too.

You shrugged. “I don’t like you feeling me up but I don’t mind cuddling. I suppose I should get used to it considering the fact that you’re probably going to keep me under lock and key for the rest of my life.” You shuffled closer to him.

He was silent for a moment before he spoke in a reassuring tone: “It’s not forever. Just a little while. I need to be sure you don’t plan on running off to the alps of Switzerland or something.”

You rolled your eyes. “No! Don’t be ridiculous! …Still can’t believe that the world hasn’t figured out you’re Batman yet. It’s so obvious in retrospect! Is that just my hindsight bias showing?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s the fact that a few tabloids are still floating around the idea that Batman is some kryptonian pet that Superman brought with him that gained a high level of intelligence.” Bruce practically shovelled his portion of food down his throat. 

“Pace yourself!” You scolded him. “And there’s no way anyone actually believes that.”

“Yeah well there’s also no concrete proof that links me to my alter ego.” Bruce pointed out in a playful tone.

“Yeah but… people don’t even float around the idea you're his sugar daddy-” You were interrupted by a certain tween.

“Father! Todd has informed me that he will be over shortly- Are you two cuddling?” Damian sounded repulsed by the idea.

You looked up at him. “Hey terror tot.” You greeted, flatly.

“Damian, I saved half my shrimp fried rice for you.” Bruce offered rather uncharacteristically warmly.

Damian turned away in a pout. “No thank you father. I hope you and your mistress have fun on your date.”

You interjected. “Firstly, super not the mistress. Secondly, it’s not like a date date so you can join us if you want. Thirdly, growing nestlings need to eat to build strength.”

Damian froze as Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes. “What did you just call me?”  Damian's voice was mostly steady but there was undeniably a hint of fear.

“Damian, she knows about the bat cave.” Bruce calmed the boy.

“YOU SHOWED HER THE BAT CAVE!!” Damian screamed in shock and fury.

“Damian, compose yourself!” Bruce stood up. The two stared each other down from opposite sides of the couch.

“So are we abandoning movie night?” Your question went unanswered as Damian started ripping into Bruce about how irresponsible it was for him to show it off to “Impress her” (his words); and how hypocritical he was.

Bruce finally grabbed Damian’s shoulders and got him to quiet down. “She found the batcave.”

“A likely story.” Damian crossed his arms and grimaced at you.

“History of taxes, fifth shelf from the bottom, middle-right to the left of the big bay window in the library, dewey decimal number 336.20.”

“It took you two months to find the bat cave?” Damian raised an eyebrow at you.

You looked back at him. “In all honesty I just wanted to read something you guys hadn’t. Some books might be boring but it’s better to actually read the books to you rather than flaunt them, like some wannabe Jay Gatsby.”

Damian stood there in shock. “You’ve read The Great Gatsby?”

You scoffed. “Everyone had to read The Great Gatsby. I had a terrible teacher that basically told us Daisy was the victim throughout the Novel. Which I would understand if she was drawing that conclusion from synchronizing her with Fitzgerald’s actual wife Zelda but she wasn’t.” You paused the movie for a second. “The Great Gatsby is a weird novel when you actually understand the story of the people behind it. Fitzgerald is Gatsby and Zelda is Daisy. However the entire book portrays their relationship as a fantasy. Gatsby grows to regret it. He lusts for her beauty and wealth while Daisy almost comes off as superficial. The rich stay rich and the poor men who try to make a name for themselves are naive fools. It really paints a bad light on how he viewed his own wife.”

The two men looked at you in utter shock. “What’s hilariously sad is the fact that Fitzgerald based a lot of what he wrote around Zelda’s diary entries. Daisy is horribly depressed in her marriage, and she hates her husband. You’d think that Fitzgerald would realize how much his wife despised him and how unhappy he made her but he seemed oblivious to that fact.” You grabbed the container of shrimp fried rice and handed it to Damian. “So if you’ll excuse us, I'd like to get back to bonding with my husband so we don’t end up like Zelda and her vile husband.” You pulled Bruce back onto the couch and gave him what you had left of your take out.

“You don’t have to-” Bruce tried to protest and give you back your food.

“I assume you’ll be out late. You’ll need energy if you’re going to be staying out till dawn.”

“I just want to take a nap…” He mumbled and held you close like a child holding a plushie.”

You fixed the blanket over you both again and got comfy in his arms. “Get some rest Bruce. You need it.”

[gainercontent]

We need to talk about your weight, Part 1

A conversational-style gainer story.

Alex: (laughs) Dude, is that really you? I almost didn’t recognize you!

Ben: (grins sheepishly) Yeah, it’s me. Been a minute, huh?

Alex: A minute? More like 2 years! Man, I’ve gotta say... you’ve changed. gestures at Ben What happened?

Ben: laughs nervously Well, you know, life and... a lot of pizza. Fell off bit.

Alex: raises eyebrows No way, you’re telling me you’ve been eating pizza? Last time I saw you, you were locked in, bro!

Ben: shrugs Yeah, about that... Work, stress, sitting around... I just crashed out.

Alex: laughs Man, I was gonna say you definitely fell off, let yourself go. pauses How bad is it?

Ben: looks down at his stomach Uh, pretty bad. I’ve gained like 40 pounds since we last hung out.

Alex: Whoa... I gotta admit, I didn’t see that coming. I thought I’d be the one who looked different. gestures at himself

Ben: eyes widen Wait, you? What are you talking about?

Alex: grins You remember how I was back in the day—gestures to his past self—the "couch potato" vibe? Well, things have... changed. I’ve been hitting the gym, eating better... lost about 60 pounds since last time.

Ben: blinks For real? laughs So you’re like the opposite of me now? What’s your secret?

Alex: Secret? Honestly, just locking in. I started small, cut out the junk, and actually made time for workouts. I wasn’t in a rush. Slow and steady.

Ben: Damn, I need to hear more about that.

Alex: nods sympathetically I get that. It’s tough. But you’ve been fit before, right? You know the feeling of being in shape. Just start small. Maybe don’t run a marathon next week, but a walk around the block could be a start.

Ben: smiles Yeah, you’re right. pauses Alright, I’ll give it a shot. And I’m not gonna lie, it’s kind of inspiring seeing you like this. I need some of that energy.

Alex: grinning Dude, come on. You're not that bad. flexes jokingly

Ben: laughs Compared to you...

Alex: mock offense I’ve dropped 60 pounds, bro! We are basically a walking before-and-after photo. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been killing it lately. I hit the gym like it’s my job. My scale’s practically scared of me now. I used to stand on it and it’d just say, “Are you sure?” laughs But now? Now it just says, “Congratulations.”

Ben: groaning Ugh, don’t remind me. I got on my scale last week, and it was like, “Error: too many pounds.” It just blinked at me like, “You’re beyond saving, buddy.”

Alex: laughs louder Bro, your scale’s basically judging you! That’s crazy. But hey, look, you’ll get there. I didn’t lose all this weight overnight. It took a lot of late nights at the gym and cutting out all the pizza and late-night grub.

Ben: smirking Oh, I remember the pizza. The “late-night pizza” era. You, me, a pizza, and a Netflix binge. Classic.

Alex: laughs Yeah. But now? I look at pizza and think, “That’s like a week of hard work on my waistline.” I used to just sit on the couch and eat chips like it was my job. grinning But listen, this is the perfect time to lock in, right? You’ve got a solid base to work from.

Ben: nodding Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Let’s do it. But you’ve gotta promise me something—if I hit the gym, you’ll join me for one more pizza... just for old times’ sake?

Alex: laughing Fine. But only if you promise me you won’t eat an entire pizza by yourself. Come to the gym sometime and let’s get you back to “Fit Ben.” I’ll even give you a few tips on how to avoid turning into “Ben and Jerry's" again.

[A few months later...]

Alex: grinning sheepishly as he points at Ben's middle Alright. I think we need to talk about this.

Alex: looking up from his Nintendo Switch Wha?

Alex: motioning to Ben You see this? pats his belly I swear, you've gotten even bigger since the last time we hung out.

Ben: laughs Bro, come on. It's not that bad.

Alex: pauses for a second Well, I’m not going to lie, I noticed you’ve put on a bit more weight. But hey, no shame I guess. shrugs Look, it’s not too late to turn it around again.

Ben: sighs deeply Yeah, I keep telling myself that. But the more I eat, the harder it is to stop. I mean, remember how I used to joke about having an emotional connection to pizza? Well, I think I’ve found true love in extra cheese and ranch dipping sauce. laughs awkwardly

Alex: laughing but with a hint of concern I get it. You’re not the first person to fall off, and you won’t be the last. But you’ve got to lock in, bro. You can’t keep punishing yourself with food.

Ben: shrugs Easy for you to say, Mr. Six-Pack. glances at Alex’s abs Every time I see you, I’m reminded of how much of a crash out I've had. Like, I’m stuck here, and you’re out there thriving.

Alex: sighs I don’t want to rub it in, but I’ve been locked in. I didn’t just wake up like this. But you know what? I remember how it felt when I was where you are now. So don’t think I’m looking down on you.

Ben: grimaces It’s hard not to feel like you're judging me, though. I used to be in your shoes. I was the guy with the abs, the guy who could run a 5K without breaking a sweat. Now, I can barely walk upstairs without being out of breath.

Alex: pauses, then smiles softly Dude, I won’t let you quit on yourself. Not when I know how good it feels to glow up. standing up and motioning toward the bathroom Alright, man. Day 1. Let’s see what the scale says. You first or me?

Ben: shrugging You go first...

Alex: grinning Alright, fine. walks to the scale and steps on it, eyes narrowing as the numbers flash

Ben: peeking over Alex’s shoulder What’s it say?

Alex: pauses for a second, then smirks 185. Exactly where I want to be.

Ben: whistles 185, huh? That’s crazy, man. You’ve really kept it together. So what’s the secret, huh? No pizza?

Alex: laughs Not quite. The secret is consistency. But I’m also not living the “no pizza” life. pauses I’ve found the balance, you know? I have my moments. I’m just more mindful of what I eat and when.

Ben: nodding That’s impressive, man. Alright, alright, now my turn. hesitates, then steps up to the scale, bracing himself

Alex: watching closely Don’t sweat it, bro. It’s just a number.

Ben: winces as the numbers flash Oh… looks at the scale in disbelief 243.

Alex: raises an eyebrow, trying to hide his surprise Whoa... alright. That’s... more than I expected.

Ben: chuckles bitterly Yeah, I guess I’m a little more than expected. I didn’t think I’d actually gain more weight after we talked about it, but here we are.

Alex: pauses, then pats Ben on the back It’s okay, man. Honestly, we all go through stuff. Just means it’s time for a reset. But 243... that’s a bit of a jump, huh?

Ben: rubbing his belly Yeah, well, when I think back to when I was running marathons and keeping my weight under control, I never imagined I'd be over 200...

Alex: chuckling Yeah, I hear you. For me, I never imaged I would feel my ribs. Like, when I lean over, I can actually touch my abs without feeling like I’m about to suffocate.

Ben: laughs Damn, that sounds like a luxury. I’m over here trying to find my waistline under all this, like, "Is it even still there?"

Alex: pauses thoughtfully It’s there, man. You’ve just got a lot more to uncover. I remember when I started, I could barely see my feet. laughs And now? Well, I can see the abs, but more importantly, I can breathe easier.

Ben: looking down at his stomach I can't believe I look like this when I was ripped 2 years ago....

Alex: I didn’t get to 185 in a month. It was a whole journey. glancing at Ben as he stands up from the scale, eyes lingering for a second Bro, Is that your shirt, or did you borrow it from someone else?

Ben: looks down at his shirt and grimaces Oh, uh… yeah, it’s definitely mine. Not sure why it feels like it's been painted on, though.

Alex: grinning Dude, I think it’s having an existential crisis. It’s like the fabric’s just trying to hold on for dear life.

Ben: mockingly Oh, look at Mr. Chad over here.

Alex: laughs harder Hey, it’s not my fault I’ve got the body of a Greek god now. You’re just stuck in the before photo, my dude.

Ben: groans Ugh, don’t remind me. Not going to lie, my pants are getting so tight, I’m worried I’m going to have a wardrobe malfunction.

Alex: grinning widely Oh yeah. I can already picture it—your pants just snap like a slingshot, and it’s like, “Boom! The transformation begins!”

Ben: laughs and pats his stomach Bro if I inhale too deeply, I’m going to rip the fabric like the Hulk.

Alex: teasing Well, at least you’ve got an excuse to buy a whole new wardrobe. And hey, you could always go for the “oversized” look. I’ve seen people rock that style. It's like, “Hey, I’m not overweight, I’m just on trend.” grinning You know, man, I’ve got a bunch of old clothes from when I was in your... uh, previous state. You want some? You might find them more comfortable than what you’ve been squeezing into.

Ben: raising an eyebrow Wait, you’re offering me your old fat clothes?

Alex: laughing Bro, seriously, it’s either that or you keep risking a wardrobe malfunction every time you sit down. Plus, the stuff I’ve got is super comfy. It might make the whole “getting back on track” thing a little less... restrictive.

Ben: shrugging Well, at least I’ll be comfortable while I work on getting back into my old stuff. I guess I can’t argue with free clothes. So, yeah, I’ll take some.

Alex: chuckling Alright, alright. But hey, I’m feeling a little hungry myself. What do you say we get some pizza... you know, to motivate you into working out again?

Ben: eyes lighting up Oh, now you’re speaking my language. Pizza’s a great idea.

Alex: grinning Perfect. One pizza, coming right up. But... holds up a finger Just one slice for me. I’m sticking to my meal plan. The rest? All yours.

Ben: looks at Alex, trying not to laugh Wait, you’re serious? raises eyebrow You’re going to order a whole pizza and only eat one slice?

Alex: nodding firmly Yup. Just one. One slice won’t kill me. But I know you’ll need more than that.

Ben: smirking Bro, you're a real one. You know, you could’ve just let me eat the whole pizza, but instead, you're being all generous, like, “Here, have the whole thing while I just have a taste.”

Alex: laughing Hey, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t fall off completely. You can’t have an entire pizza by yourself.

Ben: grinning Oh, trust me, I could probably take down two pizzas right now. stomach grumbles loudly

Alex: mock serious Alright, but remember—one slice for me. You don’t want me turning into before Alex again. That’s a slippery slope.

Ben: watching Alex bring the pizza in, the smell wafting toward him You’re really going to be the hero of the day, huh? grinning But I’ll let you have your “one slice.” I’ll take the rest.

Alex: laughing I’m a man of my word. sits down, takes a single bite of his slice, then looks at Ben Enjoy, my friend. The pizza’s all yours.

Ben: takes a big bite, sighing with contentment Oh yeah. This is it. This is what dreams are made of.

Alex: taking a slow bite of his own slice, watching Ben devour his You know, I might’ve overestimated how strong my willpower is. Just watching you eat that pizza is like torture.

Ben: looking up with a mouthful of pizza You know, if you really want to break your rules, I’ll let you have one more bite. grins mischievously I promise I won’t tell anyone.

Alex: laughing Oh, I’m sure. pauses dramatically I’m sticking to my one slice. But man, you’ve earned this. watches Ben keep eating

Ben: licking his lips Damn right, I have. Now, when do I get my second pizza? Because we both know this isn’t gonna be enough.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello the wonderful and amazing Vod'ika!! I hope you're having a good time with the 800 followers event, because you deserve it! Also, congrats!!!

I have a potentially messy one? Feel free to yeet it in the bin if it doesn't really work for the event.

Buuuuut a couple months ago, you wrote a story with Bacara, Neyo, the reader, and a little munchkin.

For the event, could you do that trio and the kiddo going on a hay ride? Nice and wholesome 🥰

Again feel free to yeet it if a poly isnt the vibe for the event 💜

Being Together

Summary: After a long day at the orchard, your small family decides to end the day with a hay ride.

Pairing: Commander Bacara x F!Reader x Commander Neyo

Word Count: 944

Prompt: Hay Ride

Warnings: None

A/N: Thank you for your request! I'm more than happy to write for this little family, so I'm glad you asked for them! This is a companion piece to THIS fic

Click HERE to be added to the taglist

“Can we go on the hay ride before we go home? Please, mom?” Little Niko asks as she tugs on your hand, “You and me, and Daddy and Papa?”

You smooth your hand over Niko’s head, “You still have energy? You’ve been climbing trees all day.”

“A hay ride doesn’t cost energy!” Niko declares with all of the authority that a 6-year-old can muster.

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Please, mom? Please?”

“Oh, alright. Since you’ve been so good today.”

“Yay!”

“What are we ‘yaying’ about?” Neyo asks as he walks over, his hands now empty of the many bags of apples that the four of you managed to pick today.

You’re going to have so many pies and tarts and jams—

“Papa! We’re going on the hay ride!” Niko releases your hand and runs over to Neyo to take his hand, “Where’s daddy?”

“I’m here,” Bacara says from the left, he’s holding a tray with four styrofoam cups, “I got some hot drinks for us.”

“You did!?”

“Calm down, Bug.” Bacara chides as Niko gets a little louder in her excitement, “There’s no need to yell, we’re right here.”

“Oops, sorry.” Niko runs over to him and takes the smallest cup from him. “Mom said that we can go on the hay ride.”

“I heard.” Bacara glances at you and flashes a sympathetic smile, “Mom’s a little exhausted it looks like.” He hands you a styrofoam cup, “Herbal tea for the lady, and then caf for us, vod.”

“You’re the best, Cara.”

“I see how it is, I get stuck as a pack mule and Bacara is the best.” Neyo’s voice is lightly teasing as he takes his cup from Bacara and then slides his free arm around your waist.

“Well,” You smile up at him, “Everyone knows Cara is the cute one.”

Neyo chuckles and lightly kisses your temple, “Sure, sure. You keep telling him that.” His hand moves to stroke your back, “You good?”

“Exhausted,” You admit honestly, “Running around after a 6-year-old isn’t easy.”

“Well, the good thing is that the hay ride is nice and relaxing,” Bacara says as he makes sure that Niko isn’t planning on running off by holding onto the hood of her jacket.

“Speaking of the hay ride, there it is.” You say, glancing to the side as the cart comes to a stop not far from where the four of you are standing.

“Hay ride! Hay ride!” Niko cheers as she tries to run towards the cart, only to get scooped up into Bacara’s arms, “Hey!”

“You know better, Niko.” He warns, “If you don’t start behaving we’re going home.”

“Sorry, daddy.”

“Trade you, vod. You’ve been on Niko duty for the last hour,” Neyo says easily as he releases you, takes Niko from Baraca, and then heads toward the cart.

You watch as Neyo and Niko get settled on one of the hay bales, with Niko kneeling on his knees so she’s able to look over his shoulder out the cart, and you lift your comm to snap a picture. 

General Gallia will never believe that Neyo is a good dad, so picture evidence is important.

“You’re turn, cyare.” Bacara offers you his hand to help you onto the cart, and then he steps up as well. He sits next to you on a bale and wraps an arm over your shoulder, tugging you in so that you’re tucked against his chest.

As the cart starts moving, you snuggle closer to Bacara’s side and close your eyes. With Cara pressed against you, Neyo’s feet tangled with yours, and your boys having a low conversation about something unimportant, you can almost pretend that you’re back home.

Well, save for the chill that is determined to cut through your jacket. That kind of ruins the daydream.

You open your eyes when you feel Bacara laugh. You glance up at him, and then follow his gaze to a long-suffering Neyo, who is balancing both his caf and Niko’s hot chocolate, as well as Niko herself, who has fallen asleep against his chest.

“Ah, she overdid it.” You lean forward to take Niko’s cup from Neyo and then settle back against Bacara.

“Well, she has been going at full speed since we got here this morning,” Neyo points out as he adjusts Niko so she’s settled a little more comfortably against him, “I’d be more surprised if she didn’t fall asleep.”

“Well, I can understand why,” You admit with a shrug.

“Oh? Care to share with the class?” Bacara asks as he plays with the ends of your hair.

“Mm, you both were gone for four months and when you came back she had to go to school. This is the first day where she’s been able to spend all day with you in months.” You smile at them, “She missed you both. Almost as much as I did.” Your men favor you with soft looks, looks that are reserved for you and you alone, and you grin at them. 

“We didn’t plan to be gone at the same time,” Bacara mutters.

“I know, and you’re back now. Four months just seems like an eternity when you’re six years old.” You shift to kiss Bacara’s cheek, and then you reach over to Neyo to squeeze his hand, “But enough of that, let’s enjoy the hay ride before we go home, yeah?”

Bacara squeezes your hip and Neyo squeezes your hand, both of them saying, without words, that they love you, and then you settle back against Bacara and join their quiet conversation.

This really is the best way to spend time with your family, even if it’s exhausting.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@Mira-Loves-Star-Wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

[reinvent-and-believe]

7 for Roy x Jamie. Also, I adore your writing! ❤

7. love at first sight

--

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Georgie says, looking at the pair of them from across the dinner table with a crooked little grin that means trouble, a grin Roy’s intimately acquainted with on a slightly different face. “Love at first sight, weren’t it?”

“Mummy.” Jamie is the palest Roy’s ever seen. “Do not.”

“Don’t be rude to your mum,” Roy scolds, his full attention fixed on that familiar grin. He rests his arms on the table and leans in. “What were you saying, Georgie?”

“Well look at you, coming to my defense,” she teases. “Can you believe it, my Jamie ending up with such a gentleman?”

“It’s lovely to see,” says Simon, setting a tray of fresh cookies down on the table and giving Roy a genuine little smile.

Roy doesn’t know much about Simon; Jamie’s not talked about their history, other than to hint that a teenage Jamie Tartt was as much of a fucking terror as one might imagine and Simon was a prime target. But Roy likes him. Likes how he looks at Georgie like she hung the fucking moon. Likes how easily his love extends to Jamie.

“Mummy.” Jamie’s blushing now, a deep, fast-spreading red. It strikes Roy, not for the first time, that Jamie’s fucking gorgeous when he blushes. 

“Love at first sight? Is that what you said?” Roy asks.

Jamie elbows him. “You ain’t helping.”

Fuck football, this is Roy’s favorite game now. “Who says I’m trying to?”

“Right then.” Georgie winks at Roy as Jamie rubs his forehead. “It must have been, what? 2006? When did you move to Chelsea, Roy?”

“2005."

“2005.” She nods. “Chelsea were here playing City, so of course we had it on telly. And all the announcers could talk about the whole game was the new hot player at Chelsea, making quite a name for himself after only a few games. So of course the camera cut to him over and over, I swear half the game was a closeup on Roy Kent.”

“Mummy, you have got to stop,” Jamie groans.

“This one,” she reaches across the table and pats Jamie’s hand, even as he scowls, “was all of eight years old. You might be a gentleman, Roy Kent, but you’re also a bit of a cradle robber, aren’t you?”

It’s Roy’s turn to freeze. “Right.”

“I’m 25 years old, Mum, I’m fucking grown,” Jamie huffs in an exasperated voice that sounds suddenly 15.

“Of course you are, love.” Her smile loses its bite, fond and soft. “I think you’re lovely together and I’m thrilled for you two, swear down. But I am gonna give this one shit about the fact that he and I would have been in school at the same time and you were eight when he got his big break.”

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says as Roy says, “Fair enough.”

“So Jamie was just a tiny thing, sat in front of the telly as close as he could get, eyes wide. After the first half, he stood up and looked at me with that little look he gets. You know the one. When he’s made his mind up about something and you’ll be wasting your breath if you try and stop him.”

“I know the one.” Roy puts a hand on Jamie’s knee and squeezes gently.

“He turned to me and said”—she pauses for dramatic effect before starting the recitation—“‘when I grow up, I’m gonna be a pretty footballer like Roy Kent.’”

Jamie buries his head in the curve of Roy’s neck. “This is not a cute story,” he insists.

“Keep telling yourself that, love,” Georgie coos sympathetically. “And so began the Roy Kent years. What does he ask for for his birthday? A Roy Kent poster. What do we have to get when we check out at the shop? That magazine with Roy Kent on the cover. What’s he want for Christmas? A Chelsea kit, for Christ’ sake.”

“Now, Georgie, you’ll embarrass him,” Simon chides mildly.

“Yeah, that ship has fucking sailed, man,” Jamie pouts. “When Roy leaves me because he thinks I’m a fucking stalker, it’s gonna be all your fault, Mummy, is that something you want to live with?”

Georgie shakes her head, laughing. “Roy, you’re not allowed to leave Jamie over my cute story. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, sitting back and looking at her son with a love so palpable it makes Roy ache, “it’s not like this is exactly a surprise. If anyone knows how to go after what they want, it’s my Jamie.”

It’s fucking weird, hearing about little Jamie’s crush, but it's not like he didn't know most of it, and it's not like they’ve ever really had the most normal of relationships; Roy accepted that pretty early on. He puts an arm around Jamie, smiling when he immediately curls into Roy. “Well, I think you set your sights too low,” he says with a gentle brush of the lips against Jamie’s temple. “You turned out to be a way prettier footballer than Roy Kent.”

“Uh, yeah, obviously,” Jamie scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches towards a grin as he pulls Roy into a kiss.

[cowgurrrl]

Je te laisserai des mots

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: just a tiny sweet thing to preface the wedding stuff coming soon :D

Summary: In which you and Joel realize forever doesn’t sound too bad [~800]

Warnings: brief mentions of hospital settings/sickness, June projects her hatred of mushrooms, fluff :-)

The first time Joel realizes he’s gonna marry you, it’s in the hospital. He’d considered it before, and you guys had discussed a future together. You’re not with someone for three years without thinking about what you want your life to look like. Still, Joel is very stubborn and needs things to slap him in the face before he can process them. Sarah’s roommate calling from the hospital with a severe case of the flu is that slap.

You answer the phone first even though it’s midnight and you’ve been working all day. Joel blinks awake when he hears you calming Sarah’s roommate down and sliding shoes on. “What hospital is she at?” He heard you ask, making him sit straight up in bed. He gave you a confused look, and you put a hand over his to comfort him until you could get off the phone. “Okay. Thank you, Taylor. We’ll be there soon. Alright. Bye.” You threw your phone down and turned on the bedside lamp, already jumping into action.

“What happened?” He asked, copying your movements.

“Remember how Sarah wasn’t feeling well?” You asked, and he nodded. “Taylor said she came home, and Sarah was pale and burning up, so she took her to the hospital. Apparently, she passed out on the way there, but she’s hooked up to an IV, and they’re taking care of her.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.” You agreed. Joel scrambled around for the insurance information, a blanket for Sarah because she’s constantly cold, and even grabbed an old stuffed animal from her bed. While he ran around, you tiptoed into Ellie’s room, told her what was happening, and reassured her you’d be back in the morning. She just nodded sleepily and rolled over after you kissed her forehead. You held Joel’s hand as he sped down the highway, internally panicking about his baby girl.

When you arrived at the hospital, Joel was a nervous wreck and could barely focus long enough to look at the nurse at the front station. You subtly guided him with a hand on his back and smiled at the young woman. “Hi. We’re looking for Sarah Miller. She was admitted about an hour ago.”

“What’s your relationship to her?” She asked, typing in some information you couldn’t see.

“We’re her parents.” You said, and she nodded before telling you where Sarah was. When you walked into her room, she immediately burst into tears. You made a sympathetic noise and wrapped her up in your arms without hesitation. Joel watched you rub her back and whisper little things to calm her down and knew at that exact moment he was gonna marry you. You comforted him, checked on Ellie, claimed Sarah as your own, and didn’t even pause at the door despite her being contagious like it was second nature.

Once Sarah was feeling better, he took the girls out for lunch while you were working and asked them what they would think if you guys got married. “Wait, are you serious?” Ellie asked, and he nodded, fighting a big smile.

“Would that be okay?”

“When would you propose? Have you looked at rings? What’s the plan?” Sarah asked, more than excited at the idea of you becoming a permanent part of their lives.

It was much quieter the first time you realized you were going to marry Joel. You were out to dinner with the girls and Joel and ordered your plate without reading the menu close enough. Your plate arrived with big sautéed mushrooms on top. Your smile faltered just a bit, but you wouldn’t send the dish back because you couldn’t read. You were a waitress for long enough to know better. But Joel knew how much you hated mushrooms and quickly switched food with you. He didn’t even look at you as he did; he just did it. You squeezed his hand under the table and went back to listening to Ellie’s story.

After that, more than ever, you started thinking about your future with him. You think about summers spent at the ranch; winters spent visiting New York, cooking dinner together, and even having more kids. You were never sure if you wanted to have kids, but Joel is such a great dad, and you’ve had so much fun parenting the girls with him. When Carolina had Victoria, you and Joel visited, and watching him interact with Elizabeth and Victoria made something deep within you ache. He was so gentle and sweet, and you couldn’t even lie to yourself about how hot he looked taking care of a newborn. Stupid caveman psychology.

So, for the first time, you realize you could marry Joel Miller. You could even have a baby with him. Maybe a few. You just didn’t know he was also thinking the same thing and would propose to you not even a month after that dinner.

But that's another story for another time.

[iamagod51]

CHERUB ROCK 🪽🦇

Chapter two: Inca mummy girl pt. 3

<<prev. Masterlist. Next.>>

⚠️ death, fighting, dismemberment. No spike in entire chapter sorry 😢 xo angel 💕

The next day at school you see Sven Cordelia's exchange student being bossed around by her. She gets distracted talking to the new band playing at the world critical dance. You take him aside to free him from her torment. You talk about your life here and he tells you things about life in Sweden. He’s over cordy already and your heart goes out to him. Nobody should be treated like that you walk around campus a little bit before Cordelia finds you and tells Sven to carry her bags.You give him a sympathetic look and tell her to go easy on him.

you meet back with everybody at the library and you find ampata introducing herself to Giles. He asked if she could translate the seal in a very chalant way. she takes a hold of the plate like she’s scared of it.

“Is anything wrong?” You asked

“no, no why are you asking me though?” She asks nervously.

“well, it’s an artifact from your region.” Giles says wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. “it’s from a tomb of an incan Mummy actually.” he sits down with his coffee.

“we’re trying to translate it as a project for our-our.” He stutters.

“archaeology club!” Willow, buts saving him from his torment.

Ampata tells you that it’s very old and that we should hide it. Giles incissed to her that he needs it translated and points to a hieroglyph of a man with a knife. She says that she thinks in represents a body guard and a lightbulb goes of in Giles brain.

Buffy tries to pass ampata off to Willow so she can help Giles translate, but Xander swoop in and offers to take her himself.

You told the gang that you’re gonna go help Sven again that you’re sure Cordelia is making him gather anything she wants. You find him gathered around Cordelia and her crew but he seems to be enjoying the conversation he’s having with one of her friends so you turn back and head to the library to help translate too.

“why would the bodyguard have such a Jones for a broken piece of rock?” Buffy asked Giles

“Well— umm- he would need to put it back together with the other pieces, if he has them.” He responds biting the tip of his finger. You pull up a chair and sit down.

“ if he has them?” You question. “I mean, we didn’t find them”

“and if he didn’t, then they’d still be at the museum.” He adds

“ so maybe we should go there and find them.” Buffy turns her head to look at him. “and odds are he’ll show up too, right?”

He nods and crouches down to get on our level. “and hopefully we’ll be ready.”

We all plan on meeting at the museum after it closes much to buff’s chagrin she wanted to head to the dance for the cultural exchange but she agreed to come with us. You take her home to find ampata getting ready for the dance. She asked buggy Buffy asks her why she acted the way she did with the seal. She tells you both the story of the Inca princess.

“500 years ago a girl. just Just 16 years in age , was crowned the princess.” She paused, finishing putting on her earrings. “She was the chosen one, chosen to sacrifice her life to insure the safety of others. ” The story hits home with Buffy. For it’s her very own. She offers to help ampataAmpata unpack her extra baggage that came today. She looks confused with the news of more luggage. Buffy almost says something about it but the door belldoorbell rings .

“That must be Xander and Willow, I’ll go get it.” We both for a second watch as buff bounds down the stairs before we decide to follow her. Xanders dressed in a poncho and holds a cigar in his mouth. He makes some awkward noises when he sees ampata and his jaw drops. Buffy says she can translate ‘ salivating boy talk’ and says that he called her beautiful. Ampata blushes They both head out to the dance. A couple minutes later Giles pushes through the door.

“ What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the museum to see if we could find the bodyguard.” Buffy asks

“No, he’s already been found in the school restroom… mummified.” Giles says with concern.

“ I don’t get it. Why would a mummy kill her own bodyguard?” You question

Giles scratches his head. “well I’ve cross-referenced and I’ve looked over the pictograms a new.” He pauses to think “He was a guard all right but it was his job to ensure the mummy didn’t awaken and escape.”

“ so ampata translated wrong?” You asked again.

“ Wait a sec she was a wiggy about the seal from minute one” Buffy says

“ I suppose she was.” Giles concurred.

“ her trunks!” Buffy exclaimed

Immediately Giles face flipped to complete confusion “ I-I beg your pardon?” Buffy runs back upstairs to her room. She tore apart ampatas bags emptying boys clothes everywhere. As Giles was inspecting the clothes Buffy broke in the big trunk that was locked.

“ what kind of girl travels with a mummified corpse?” Buffy asks sarcastically. “ and doesn’t even pack a lipstick.” We all rush to the bronze where the cultural dance is being held in Giles car that tops out around 30 mph.

“ should’ve known ampata was the mummy. She wanted us to hide the seal as soon as she saw it.” Buffy said

“ and then she wanted us to destroy it—ah wait” Giles held a breath. “ if destroying it freed her-“

“ then reassembling it should trap her.” Buffy finishes.

The loud music of the bronze can be heard from outside. We rush in and find willow in a big fur parka she tells us that Xander and ampata are backstage and Buffy pulls us in that direction. Xander is sitting down again a wall heavy breathing.

“ boy that was some kiss.”

“ where’s ampata?” Buffy urges.

“she said something about the seal.” He wheezed out

You gasp “Giles…come on!”

Giles is getting lifted up by his neck by the time we get to the museum. Buffy leaps on to the exhibit while ampata tosses Giles away from her and into the tomb she once rested.

“You are not a normal girl.” Ampata says to Buffy.

“Oh and you are?” Buffy snarks back. She kicks into action. The two of them going back and forth. Until ampata tosses her into the tomb with Giles and closes the lid. Willow runs into her and she wraps her mummified hands around her throat.

“let her go!” Xander yells “ if you kiss anybody, it should be me.”

“Xander, we can be together.”she says with desperation. “Just let me have this one”

“That’s never gonna happen.” he says

“I must do it!” she urges. “I must do it now or it is the end of me… and us”she goes into kiss Willow and take her life force.

Xander says no, and he pulls her away from her. “You want life you have to take mine!” he says. Ampata looks at him with absolute disbelief. Her mummified skin now at her neck. Her face is the only part of her that looks alive. “Can you do that?”

She contemplates it for a second before she wraps her hands around his neck. “Yes.”

Thumping from the closed tomb is heard and Buffy lifts the lid. Ampata has grown so weak she can barely hold herself up. Buffy jumps in to help Xander. She rips ampata off of him leaving her arms still wrapped around his neck. They throw her body on the ground.

Willow comforts Xander sitting on the ground while you pick up ampatas body and put it back in her tomb. Giles tries to gather everyone to get back in the car. Leaving you the only living person left in the museum.

“Goodnight ampat-.” You look at a plaque in the middle of the tomb.

It reads. “The Incan princess Ñusta sacrificed around 1400”

“Goodnight Ñusta” you close the tomb and head home with the gang.

[atopvisenyashill]

That’s a really good meta son the Sansa sister comment thank you 😭 I was the original anon there. You explain it so well and it makes so much sense like that because that really is how Sansa contextualizes her grief. The thought of Sansa grieving and wishing she’d been closer to Arya is very tender. Generally I wouldn’t have even called it an example of Sansa being “cruel” because like. It’s a thought. Not an action or something she said. Like people love to cite her wishing to slap SR and say it’s cruel but like she didn’t even say that. She thought it. She’s a kid being forced to play mother to a very demanding child. Of course she’s going to feel frustrated sometimes. I also do think many fans go with the least sympathetic interpretations of Sansa and Arya’s relationship. Like the staunch refusal to acknowledge that Arya remembering knowing a girl who loved lemon cakes was her thinking of Sansa. Arya fans insist she was thinking about herself but she doesn’t refer to herself as someone she knew. It seems painfully obvious to me I don’t get how people misinterpret that unless it’s on purpose. But anyway rock chewing anon I get your frustration I do but I got exactly the analysis I needed to understand the passage plus it was never meant to be like. “This is an example of Sansa being cruel” more just like. This seemed out of character because I do NOT think about her like that

yes i fully agree that just bc you think something uncharitable doesn’t mean you’re ~bad~ especially if you don’t say it out loud. we all think real shitty stuff from time to time, especially when we’re already upset, what matters is how you react to the situation. And like you said re: sweetrobin - she doesn’t slap him! she’s not even mean to him and in fact when he’s terrified as they’re going down the mountain, she makes him feel better by building up his confidence and letting him hold into her instead of telling him to man up or something similar. Sansa can be incredibly bitchy in her thoughts but she's always very aware of what she says out loud and how it will affect the people around her; she's a grump like any 13 year old lmao, but she's a conscientious one! I find it sweet of her that even when she's sitting there thinking "damn this kid is so fucking annoying" she's always aware that just saying that is cruel.

and YEAH i absolutely agree that a lot of fans will look at their interactions and just take the absolute most uncharitable read of whatever Sansa is doing re: Arya and completely exice Arya's love for Sansa from her thoughts. And it's just crazy to me because imo the only other person Arya longs to see more than Sansa is Jon and that's her absolute best friend. For both girls, I think their grief over each other is just so obviously present; they were so different, always missing what the other really means, never able to truly understand each other, and now it's just too late (or so they think) to ever make it up each other. I think Arya longs just as desperately as Sansa to meet again and attempt a more meaningful understanding of each other, I really think for both of them, that's one of their top hopes! Return home, see the sister they never understood but spent the most time with, and love her again no matter how weird she may be. When you cut that out of both of their stories, I think it really weakens their arcs and weakens the longing to go home. Their grief isn't just about the family members they had perfect relationships with; it's also about the fact that they could have one day had a better relationship and now it will never happen.

and yeah lmao that's why i wasn't trying to drag you too much with rock chewing anon, i do get the frustration people have with how much people just refuse to understand what Sansa is going through and how her thought process works, but she is admittedly kind of a hard character to dig into because of how internal she is as a character. but that's why we analyze and pick them apart to understand them better!

[skzhocomments]

The Boundless Sphere of Fate - Lee Taemin - Chapter 11 - The Curse

General masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad + AO3

Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

---

Chapter 11 - The Curse

word count: ~1k words

Truth is, Blair really is nervous. It’s the first time since the ritual that she’s been away from Taemin for more than a few hours, and she’s scared of how her body might react.

She’s now sitting in the bus, almost back to her hometown, wiping the blood spilling from her nose.

When she reaches the bus stop and jumps out, she knows she has to walk for about 20 minutes, but with how hard she’s dragging her feet around, the 20-minutes’ walk turns into 40.

The only good thing about this is that she sees a familiar face she’s really missed, who runs up to her immediately.

“Blair!” Mira exclaims happily. “You’re back?!”

“My mom died.” She says and chuckles slightly. “I’m really happy to see you, but I’m sad that you’re still here.”

“Well, can’t really cross over until this whole family dies. Only the eldest son to go, and I’m free.” Mira replies and looks back to her house – the place where she died.

Now that Blair thinks about it, Mira and Taemin are quite similar in this aspect. Both wished ill on the family of the people who murdered them. Mira’s also been around for many, many years, and apparently, the grudge fuelled by hatred she placed on that family was so huge, no one was able to escape its grasp. She wished for all the members to be unhappy for the rest of their days, until eventually the whole family wipes out, and they were never able to find happiness, so most ended up either committing suicide, or unintentionally overdosing and killing themselves.

“I guess so…” Blair replies after a while.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something feels… different. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like… you’re not fully here. You’ve changed.”

“I guess I have.” Blair smiles sympathetically, before feeling another rush of fatigue brushing over her. “Listen, it was great seeing you, but I have to go in.”

“Good to see you, kiddo. I’m glad you’re still out there somewhere, and I’ll be rooting for you, always.”

“I hope you’ll get to cross over soon.” Blair says, then makes her way towards the house.

Once she goes in, she’s shocked at how weird it feels to be back. She hasn’t been here since she was 18, but nothing’s changed: the wallpaper is still the same, the rugs are old, her mom is in the kitchen-

“Mom?!” Blair exclaims in shock. “What the fuck!”

“Blair! Oh, wow. No way! You came!” Her mother turns around as soon as she hears her voice.

“Of course I did, you died! Why are you still here?!”

“Thank God you’re here. Otherwise… I would’ve never been able to leave.”

“What the heck. Okay. Wow. I was not expecting our reunion to go like this. I actually expected no reunion! I thought you'd already crossed over!”

“I’ve had a lot of regrets when it came to us, so I just… couldn’t. Not unless I talked to you.”

Blair sighs. A part of her feels happy – the young girl who craved her mother’s love –, but another part of her – Blair, the adult – finds it hard not to resent her for putting her through hell and abandoning her as soon as she became of age.

However, she really wants to hear what could possibly keep her mother on Planet Earth still, so she sits down at the kitchen table and hears her out.

“First of all, I really want to apologise for… not believing you. It’s obviously true that you’ve been seeing ghosts now, and that you weren’t crazy…”

“Thanks for believing me.” Blair responds mockingly.

“Look… a part of me always knew you were telling the truth, but… I really didn’t want to accept it. I wanted you to be normal, not… ostracised by everyone else. I wanted you to break the curse.”

“The curse?”

“Listen, Blair… there’s something you don’t know. I hoped that by ignoring it, it’s gonna go away, but it obviously hasn’t…”

“Ok, Mom, stop beating around the bush and tell me.”

“Many, many years ago, your grandfather did something unforgivable. He… took someone else’s life. A young man’s…”

“What?!” Blair’s eyes grow wide. She certainly didn’t expect that. She doesn’t remember her grandfather well, as he died when she was still really young, but…

“He got away with it, but he paid the price so much more harshly… as you know, he had 4 other children. 4 other sons, to be exact.”

“Yes… but they died quite young, didn’t they?”

“Mhm. On his deathbed, my father… your grandfather confessed his crime, and told me something terrifying. The young man he killed… placed a curse on him. May all your offspring be cursed. May all the men that share your blood die painful deaths at a young age. May all the women that share your blood lead unhappy, unfulfilled lives, ostracised by everyone else.”

“That’s terrible…” Blair shakes her head, remembering Mira’s curse on the family next door. Maybe the man her grandfather killed is still out there, somewhere. Maybe she can meet him and help him cross over.

“I truly didn’t want to believe that bullshit, but seeing that all my brothers were dead, seeing that I can’t get along with anyone and I’m never feeling happy… and seeing you, ostracised by everybody because you could see ghosts… I couldn’t take it, Blair. I ended up taking it on you for no reason. I’m so sorry. I drove you, who were clueless and innocent, away…”

“Mom… What was the name of the man grandpa killed?”

“You will receive a newspaper from my solicitor. It has the man’s story… Perhaps it will help you, and you will break the curse. Blair, I think it’s time to go. I’m truly sorry, my baby. I love you.”

“Ok mom… yeah, you can… you can go now.” Blair smiles weakly as she watches her mother disappear.

---

Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

[byebyebyeuterus]

the beginning of the end.

I’ve always found comfort in writing. There’s something therapeutic about it. Being able to put your thoughts down on paper, releasing all that’s scrambling around in your head - it’s nice. It also helps to organize my thoughts and to process them too. So, that’s what I’m going to do - put my journalism degree to use (finally!!!) and write. There’s been a lot going on in my life lately and I need to get it all out of my head somehow. So here we are - a new blog. I don’t think I’ve had a blog since I was in middle school or something. Remember LiveJournal? Is that still a thing? 

Anyways, If you’re uncomfortable with the female anatomy and its functions then please move on, this story or this blog isn’t for you. 

But, I’m finally at the beginning of the end. The end of monthly pain that I’ve suffered from since I was about 13  years old. The end of torturous periods. The end of sleepless nights doubled over willing and praying that the cramps would stop. The end of sitting at my desk during work, sweating my ass off because my body is in so much pain and it’s taking all that it can out of me. The end of wondering if I can make it through a social event without feeling like I want to die. Hoping and praying that I’m doing enough on the outside to mask the pain - making sure that everyone else around me has no idea that I’m hurting because I don’t want to be a burden or ruin anyone’s plans, moods, etc.   The end of spending money on feminine products, spending money on heating pads, remedies, medications - all of which never really solved anything. 

How did we get here? How did I get to the beginning of the end? Well, about a year ago I started experiencing some strange pains in my stomach. Pain that kept me up at night. There was nothing that made it better, but nothing that made it worse either. Just a constant pain lingering on the lower right side of my abdomen. I thought it could have been appendicitis. Or, perhaps it’s just some gas? Or - maybe something is up with my gallbladder. Maybe my IUD was out of place. But no, none of that. Nothing ever showed up on X-rays, tests, ultrasounds, or blood work to indicate an issue.

So, I carried on. 

Until about a month ago. 

One morning in October, I woke up with the worst cramps I’ve ever had in my life. We’re talking 15/10 on a scale of 10. The pain had me pretty messed up. I know I logged into my computer to work that day - but I also remember only laying down on my beanbag chair in my office and squeezing a pillow so tightly, hoping the pain would go away. After laying with a heating pad and loading up on a large amount of ibuprofen, I was finally able to call my OBGYN’s office. All I wanted at that point was to talk to a nurse, to have it documented that I was in a lot of pain and to make sure it was on my record so that my gynecologist and I could talk about it during my annual wellness exam, that was only a few weeks away. The nurse couldn’t have been any more sympathetic to what I was going through. She could tell in my voice that I was uncomfortable. She took down my information, wrote down all that I was dealing with, and then spoke to my doctor. My doctor recommended an ultrasound - mostly to check and make sure that my IUD was in its right spot, but to also see if something else might be causing my discomfort. 

So, a week later, I had my ultrasound appointment. 

Now, this isn’t any normal ultrasound. This was a transvaginal ultrasound. Doesn’t sound fun, does it? 

It’s not. 

Let me break it down for you. It’s a stranger, with a wand, probing around your private parts for a good 45 minutes and taking pictures of your insides. She’s not really explaining what she’s looking at, but instead trying to have a discussion about what halloween costume she’s going to wear that weekend. It quite frankly was the worst 45 minutes of my life. I hated every moment of it. While the tech was trying to make it as easy and comfortable as possible for me - it wasn’t. It was painful. All I could do was stare at the ceiling and try my hardest not to react to any movements by her or cry. 

Once it was over, the waiting game began. 

I had an appointment scheduled with my gynecologist a week and a half after that ultrasound took place. It was a long 10 days. But that appointment literally changed EVERYTHING. 

My doctor and a surgeon reviewed my ultrasound. They were able to determine a few things. First,I had 2 different diseases that I was diagnosed with - endometriosis and adenomyosis. Second, I likely would never be able to have children. Third, what I thought was ‘normal’ (aka the horrible cramps and all the other exponentially worse experiences of being a woman on a monthly basis) - was and is not normal at all.  But, with all that bad news, I FINALLY had answers on why I have been suffering most of my life. 

For those of you who don’t know, endometriosis is a disease where the lining/tissue of your uterus grows outside of your uterus. The tissue can be found in the fallopian tubes, on the ovaries, on many different parts of your body. Every month, when that tissue sheds from the uterus (your period), the tissue everywhere else in the body has nowhere to go to escape, causing pain. The hormones released by your ovaries triggers the endometriosis, causing pain. Adenomyosis takes it a step further - that same tissue - (again, which should ONLY be in your uterus) actually grows within the muscles and walls of the uterus. So every time hormones are released, or your uterus contracts (cramps) - it squeezes that tissue in the muscles making the pain 1000000000x worse than ‘normal’ period cramps. (or so I’m told. I can’t tell you what a normal period cramp feels like.) 

So great. I finally have a diagnosis. It actually gave me some relief. I suddenly have an explanation for what I’ve been going through. I no longer feel crazy for complaining about how bad my cramps are. I no longer have to gaslight myself (I’m really good at this) into thinking that it’s all in my head, that it’s not ‘that’ bad, etc. I actually have a medical diagnosis to explain all that’s happening. I have tons of research to do! I can learn how to live with this and have a normal life! Right? 

Well… sort of. 

You see, while medications can help with endometriosis and you can even have a surgery to have it scraped away from your body and get some relief - the relief may not be permanent. The only way for it to totally go away is naturally, through menopause. Which in reality could be 10, 15, 20, maybe even 30 years away. But, there is no medicine to help fix adenomyosis. Again, I could wait for menopause for the adenomyosis to go away too. 

But, the only way to fix adenomyosis is through surgery. 

By removing my uterus. 

A hysterectomy.  

Hysterectomy. That’s a pretty big word. That’s a pretty big deal. There’s a lot of finality with a hysterectomy. No more periods - which in turn means no more pain. It also means never being able to have children. That’s okay too - I never had a desire to have children, and thankfully neither does my husband. But in a weird way, it also feels like a bit of an identity crisis. Like a loss of a part of my femininity. And that’s been a bit of a struggle. And I think I’ll eventually talk about these things in other posts in the future. 

But I was faced with this decision - do I medicate the endometriosis and deal with the adenomyosis until menopause, or do I get the hysterectomy and live my life free from monthly pain?  

For me, it was a simple choice. I chose hysterectomy. 

My hysterectomy will be scheduled soon. I met with my surgeon a couple of weeks ago.. He’s really great. I feel comfortable with him and I feel comfortable with my decision. This decision will ultimately improve my quality of life. It will make my life a hell of a lot easier and will allow me to enjoy life to the fullest.

I never would have imagined going through this surgery, especially at 35 years old. There have been many times when I’ve had cramps where I’ve thought “can’t I just get rid of it all?!” And now, finally, I can.

You might be wondering why I am sharing this. Well, to be completely honest, I hope that I will be able to help others who are going through the same thing or, receive this diagnosis. Especially younger women. I hope that I can help them stand up and advocate for themselves and their health. I’ve been dealt a bad hand when it comes to doctors as of late and if I didn’t advocate for myself and also take the time to research doctors to make sure I have nothing but the best from here on out - who knows where I would be. I also hope that this will help me to connect to other women who may have already gone through all of this. To find others who UNDERSTAND. It can feel very isolating when you’re sick or have a sickness and no one really understands. I also hope it will help me process all of this. This is a major surgery. I’m having multiple ORGANS removed from my body. That’s crazy. That’s something that I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around. 

So, I hope being able to write about this, the process, my feelings, my recovery - will just help to make it that much easier for me. I have a lot on my mind surrounding this procedure and a lot that I want to discuss.. There’s a lot of what ifs and there are a lot of fears. But there’s also hope. So while this is the beginning of the end of my relationship with my uterus, it will also bring a new beginning to my life. 

Excited to start the countdown til I can say, “See you later, ovulater!” 

[runningthegalaxies]

A Skit About Battling Your Own Mind Across Time

Here is a skit. A skit about battling your own mind across time. It doesn't matter how old we get, there is still something in your heart and brain tugging at each other. They just won't align. the heck is up with that? We always think we aren't good enough. We always think we come up short with anything we do, even if we know we are really good at that type of thing. I don't know why our brain is out to get us, nor why it feels natural to hate ourselves.

I wrote this skit because of those reasons. I want people to know they are not alone when we struggle trying to make our dreams come true. It totally sucks to look at others through social media and seeing that they are doing such a good job living their dreams where everything seems so perfect. It must be so nice to live your dream as your alternative 9 to 5 job. We get in trouble when we compare ourselves to other people and covet what they have, though. Compare and despair rhyme, so it must be true. What I want to accomplish for readers looking at this skit is this: I hope that with a skit like this, I could bring out the awareness that we are all good enough and we will find our way as we try to follow our dreams.

Check out RTG's other stuff here: https://runningthegalaxies.square.site/

Future Self Meets Past Self

An emotional story about comfort in the present... INT. HOUSE - DINING ROOM

(FUTURE SELF walks into the room and sees PAST SELF sitting at the dining table and quietly goes to sit down.)

FUTURE SELF

Hello.

PAST SELF

(shocked to see F.S.) Hello. Who are you?

FUTURE SELF

Don’t you know? I’m you from the future. 

PAST SELF

What are you doing here?

FUTURE SELF

You’re struggling right now, which is why I wanted to talk to you.

PAST SELF

What do you have to say? That it’s all going to be okay?

FUTURE SELF

Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.

PAST SELF

Why should I believe you?

FUTURE SELF

Because I’m you from the future.

PAST SELF

(choked up) That’s not good enough.

FUTURE SELF

I can see why you think that.

PAST SELF

Am I happy and a huge success in the future? Are you going to tell me how exactly I can change my actions now so I could reach that point in my life where everything is okay?

FUTURE SELF

(sympathetic) I can’t.

PAST SELF

(angrily) Then what is the point of you?

FUTURE SELF

(doesn’t know what to answer)

PAST SELF

You’re from my future. I would think you could tell me. 

FUTURE SELF

Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.

PAST SELF

(rolls eyes) You’re here for a reason. So, come on, what should I do? What would make things okay?

FUTURE SELF

I don’t know if it would be wise of me to tell you what to do. Actually, I’m kind of debating whether or not it’s better to just leave things as they are so that we can get here now.

PAST SELF

Oh, thanks.

FUTURE SELF

Sorry.

PAST SELF

You don’t know what to tell me to make things better, but you came here because you wanted to make things better.

FUTURE SELF

Yes.

PAST SELF

A freaking good job you’re doing.

FUTURE SELF

Hey, I’m trying my best. It’s all I ever did, but nothing I’ve ever done was ever good enough for anyone, not even you.

PAST SELF

Talk about being your own worst enemy.

FUTURE SELF

Yeah, that war never stops.

PAST SELF

I wish it did. I would have accomplished so much more in my life.

FUTURE SELF

I still feel that way. 

PAST SELF

Oh great. So, basically, you’re telling me I haven’t even done anything I wanted with my life yet.

FUTURE SELF

I didn’t say that.

PAST SELF

I’m so worthless.

FUTURE SELF

No, you’re not worthless. If I’ve come to have the opportunity to say anything to you right now, it would be to not give up. To love yourself. To not settle on your dreams. To stop listening to what others say your life should be.

PAST SELF

That’s easier said than done!

FUTURE SELF

I know.

PAST SELF

I don’t know how to do that.

FUTURE SELF

You’ll figure it out. You’re good enough as you are.

PAST SELF

I hope so…

FUTURE SELF

You are. Believe me, you are.

PAST SELF

Okay, but how do I do this? I don’t know the first thing. And it seems like everyone else has everything figured out.

FUTURE SELF

You gotta remember, they started somewhere. You’ll figure it out too. In a way that works for you. 

PAST SELF

Thank you. For being kind to me for once.

FUTURE SELF

Yeah, it feels good, doesn’t it?

PAST SELF

I’d like to feel that way more often.

FUTURE SELF

(smiles) Good.

PAST SELF

Good.

FUTURE SELF

Well, I gotta go.

PAST SELF

Wait, now?

FUTURE SELF

Yup.

PAST SELF

Will I ever see you again?

FUTURE SELF

You’re going to be okay.

PAST SELF

(smiles) Thanks to you.

(FUTURE SELF smiles back, gets up, and walks away.)

THE END

Check out RTG's other stuff here: https://runningthegalaxies.square.site/

[talenlee]

Pride of Frankenstein

As a child I did not get much to engage with popular culture of the 80s and 90s. It wasn’t until the late 90s that I was able to watch most mainstream television or listen to music from popular media without treating it like contraband. Things that were current were suspect, things that were my father’s childhood were probably okay, and things that were old, well, they were classic.

I read a lot of old pulp. I read Sherlock Holmes and I read Robert Louis Stevenson and I read Dumas, and one afternoon, visiting my grandma, sitting on her back step, away from the conversations she had with my parents, I read Frankenstein.

I don’t think, at that age, that I read it right.

First of all, I didn’t find the monster horrifying. Why should I? Was I supposed to? In the book, the monster’s face and features are not given much description by a neutral, meaningfully mentally well Frankenstein. What we get as a description was:

His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

Frankenstein, Chapter 5

When I first read this, as a kid, I remember putting the book down and sthinking about that descirption for a while. Like I came back to that paragraph and kept reading it, and checking it again. Now part of that is the natural moment of seeing my imagination defied. This wasn’t some blocky, heavy-set cereal mascot looking dude you’d see made into a suit on It’s a Knockout!, this description was of a human with a beautiful face, white eyes, black lips and long black hair. His body is then described, athletic and long-limbed, muscular, with skin that just barely covered his muscles, which to me, implied that his skin was really taut over powerful muscles.

He looked, in my mind, like a gothic superhero with lovely hair!

As Frankenstein recoiled from his creation, as his narrative explained the terribleness of what he’d done, the horror he saw in the flesh and shape of him, it seemed to me that he was, well, he was saying a bit much. Surely it wasn’t that bad. After all, he’d described him, and he sounded hot. He sounded hot like I wanted to be hot. It was all kinda this negotiation with the guy, in the story that okay, I understand you’re upset by him, because of what he represents of how you’ve done something, but I didn’t do it. I don’t have to feel that way. Heck, if I’d awoken on a table with pearly white teeth and lustrous black flowing hair, perhaps I’d actually be able to see a way to be cool with having a weird dad.

It was just a fundamentally more sympathetic position towards the monster, and the way that Frankenstein kept harping on the way he found the monster revolting, even before the monster did, y’know, any murdering, sounded unconvincing to me, because the whole story feels like someone who did something bad, reconstructing the story after the fact. The horror is not in the monster, but about remembering the monster. His is a testimony, a story meant to convince, and justify.

I heard a lot of testimonies. They were always by the people who had found their way to the Church to be the ones who got to purge their souls by sharing their testimonies. The people who weren’t there didn’t get to be heard, and that meant that anyone talking about you, as tragically as they did, weren’t necessarily telling the truth.

There’s a tradition in protestant media, the media fixated on the Bible as your template point, of fathers creating sons. In Genesis, Adam is the source of humanity, the first person who was used to create the second person, and that second person was a woman. To me, it’s the first great act of misogyny in the Bible, to take the most obvious, simple, primal description of a thing women are known for doing, and remove it from them, and instead centre that source of humanity on the man. There’s a lot of different ways a myth can come, and a lot of cultures have creator goddesses, but in the protestant tradition, built out of the Bible, Adam is the father of humanity, and it’s from him everything else gets created.

Frankenstein mimics this path – a father creates a son wrong, then punishes the son for it. The monster did not ask to be, does not know why it could be wrong, and only learns of violence because it is what it is told it must be. There is shame to him, to his existence, and what he craves, in order to assuage that shame, is love. Not love from his father, he kinda works out that that’s not happening, but he petitions his father-and-god, for someone to love. What he is given is almost there, he is shown what he can almost have, and then it is taken away, again, by the father who cannot abide the shame of letting him exist, a father who lashes out and destroys what he was working on, what was supposedly meant to help his son!

Created wrong, desperate for love, and rejected for it.

It is very easy to feel constructed as a queer person. Neurodivergence is rife in the queer community not because queer people are necessarily more likely to be neurodivergent, but because neurodivergent people are more likely to consider the systems they’re trying to work within and how they don’t necessarily work coherently. That means that in queer spaces, there’s a lot more analytical and reflective text on just being queer. Queer discourse has a lot of consideration of the building blocks of ‘normal,’ and the behaviour of parents who don’t necessarily understand or know how to reflect an experience.

My parents have no idea what to do with a bi kid. The good news, for me, in the long term health and safety of me, is that they did make sure I was so scared of how I was made that nobody found out until I was basically an adult, and even then, I wasn’t doing a good job of it. I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed because I didn’t know what what I needed even was.

Before I had studied anything at university, before my schoolbooks were even trying to get me to engage with work critically – because at church, those books did not want me doing that at all – Frankenstein had taught me about unreliable narrators. Before I knew I was queer, Frankenstein had taught me about being made wrong. Before I had escaped church, Frankenstein had taught me about men who make their children wrong, and demand they fix themselves.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Media

[cicimunson]

Sweet Child of Mine

Series Summary: You’re Eddie’s former best best friend. The two of you drifted apart freshman year of high school and now you’re more enemies than anything else. Despite the hostility between the two of you, you still come around to help out with his eleven-month-old sister, Emma, who he and Wayne keep most of the time due to his father being in jail and his mother being an addict.

Also, I know Sweet Child O’ Mine didn’t come out until 1988, but the song is just so perfect for the story.

Pairings/Characters: Eddie Munson x Female Reader, Wayne Munson, OC characters Emma Munson, Wendy Munson and Greg Thompson.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Eddie is high/drunk, baby is upset, Eddie’s mother is an addict, implications that Eddie was abused/neglected as a child, verbal abuse from Eddie’s father. (sort of in a flashback) I think that’s everything, please let me know if I missed something!

Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6

“Thank God you’re here, she’s been crying for an hour.”

You offer Wayne a sympathetic smile and take the screeching toddler from his arms. “Go get some sleep, I got her.”

He pats your shoulder before heading to his room.

You walk Emma around the living room, patting her bottom and singing softly. She continues to cry, rubbing her eyes with her little fists. She smacks at your chest, clearly trying to communicate some need that isn’t being met. You offer her some juice, check her diaper, and continue to walk her around whispering soothing words of comfort.

After a half hour of trying to calm her, you’re feeling a little bit like crying yourself.

“Shh, sweet girl, it’s okay." 

You check her temperature, no fever.

Sometimes kids cry just to cry. You remind yourself.

You sit on the couch and rock her back and forth. She’s overly-tired and fighting her sleep, closing her eyes for a few seconds and then jerking awake to sob some more.

Eddie stumbles through the front door, bloodshot eyes landing on you.

"What are you doing to her?”

You glare at him. “Nothing! She’s been crying for a while now is all. She doesn’t want to fall asleep.”

“Give me my sister.” He reaches for her but you lean back from him.

“You’re high and probably drunk, too. I have a contact high just smelling you. No way you’re holding her.”

“Judgy bitch.” He mutters.

“Go take a shower and get some sleep, I got her.”

He scowls at you. “You’re not my mother.”

“Someone here has to act like an adult.” You retort.

Eddie flops down on the couch beside you and cradles Emma’s head in his hand, tracing a finger over her cheek. He starts singing softly, smiling down at her.

Whoa, sweet child of mine.

Whoa, sweet love of mine.

Emma is asleep within minutes, her head dropping to your shoulder.

Eddie looks up at you with a smirk.

“Shut up.” You mumble, not letting him see how grateful you are.

You carry her down the hall and put her in the crib, smoothing her dark curls out of her face.

Eddie stands in the doorway watching you.

“Night-night, Em.” You whisper softly. You switch on her nightlight and tiptoe out of the room.

Eddie grabs your arm as you walk past. “You don’t have to keep coming over here. Wayne and I can handle things just fine.”

You snatch your arm away. “Your uncle is the one that called me, asshole. You weren’t here to help and he needed some sleep before work.”

“My plans ran long, is all. Not that I have to justify myself to you.”

“Never said you did.” You march past him and into the kitchen, starting water for the dirty dishes in the sink.

“You can go. I got it.”

“Your uncle pays me to cook and clean and help with Em, Eddie.”

“I told you, we don’t need your help.”

“Then tell your uncle to fire me. Until then, I work for him, not you.”

You can feel him staring holes in the back of your head. You turn to meet his gaze.

“Do you really hate me that much, Eddie? I’m literally here to help out. You think you’d want that, someone who cares about Emma and wants to take some of the weight of everything off your uncle. Are you really that selfish?”

He looks murderous.

You turn back to the sink and finish up the dishes. 

“Tell your uncle I’ll be over right after school to get Emma.”

“I can get her.”

“Will you be sober?” You deadpan.

“Fuck you, Y/N.”

“I’ll be here at three-thirty.” You leave before he can say anything else.

__________

You carry groceries into the trailer, calling out a greeting to let Wayne know you’re there.

To your surprise, Eddie comes down the hall, holding a finger over his lips.

“Shh, Em just laid down for a nap.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here. So the question is, what are you doing here? I told you I’d watch her today.”

“You were low on milk last night, and baby wipes. I got Emma some more apples too, she’s been really into them the past week.”

“You could have just made me a list or something, you don’t have to shop for us.”

“It’s not for you, it’s for Em.”

“I can buy her what she needs.”

“Gee, thanks Y/N. Oh, you’re welcome Eddie. Happy to help.” You roll your eyes.

“Anyways, what do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Just tell me how much the damn groceries cost.”

You ignore him and stick the milk in the fridge.

“Are you sure you got her, Eddie?”

He scowls. “She’s my responsibility.”

“Actually, she’s your mom’s responsibility. She coming to get her this weekend?”

“Who knows?”

“She doing any better?”

“None of your fucking business, Y/N.”

You drop the subject immediately. Eddie has always been very touchy about his mother, even before when you were friends. He rarely opened up about her. 

You knew that she was a recovering addict, that she’d only agreed to letting Wayne and Eddie keep Emma through the week because she was too high to take care of her. She got Em on the weekends sometimes, giving Eddie and Wayne a much-needed break, except they would worry and miss her the entire time she was gone.

You hear Emma start to fuss and hurry down the hall to her, Eddie on your heels.

“Hi, babygirl!” You pick her up and snuggle her, savoring her sweet baby smell. “Did you get a good nap?”

“She was only asleep for like twenty minutes. I don’t know why she isn’t sleeping good.” He looks worried.

“Babies do that sometimes. It’s probably just a phase.” You reassure him, propping Emma on your hip.

“She’s so tired, though.”

“You all are.” You murmur knowingly.

He nods, reaching out to tweak Emma’s cheek. She instantly reaches for him and he grins triumphantly at you, lifting her from your arms to blow raspberries on her neck.

“That’s right Em, I’m your favorite.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll go cut her up an apple.”

Eddie plops down on the living room floor with her, handing her a stuffed bear.

“Mr. Beary is very happy to see his best friend.” He says in a gruff voice.

“I hope that’s not what he sounds like cause that’s terrifying.”

He laughs, the first time you’ve heard him laugh in awhile.

You peel the apple and cut it into tiny pieces, smushing them a little with a spoon. 

“I got it.” Eddie takes the bowl from you and starts feeding her.

You sit on the couch and study Eddie’s features. No bloodshot eyes, no hint of weed lingering in the air.

Eddie was a great brother to Emma, you knew that. He adored her. You start to feel guilty for your little dig about him being too wasted to care for her last night.

Emma drools onto Eddie’s hand and he wipes it on his shirt, making silly faces at her.

“Sweet girl but sooo messy.” He teases, kissing her plump cheeks.

You smile softly. This was this Eddie that you knew, the soft-spoken, kind-hearted Eddie. Not the abrasive Eddie from school that was loud and obnoxious and had a permanent scowl etched on his face.

You supposed he had to be that way. He was constantly on-guard at school, with the bullies, with the teachers that didn’t like him. He never relaxed.

But before high school, he’d been more like this. Sweet. Adorable, even. Then you had gotten into sports and started dating a guy from the football team and Eddie suddenly didn’t want to be friends anymore. It was as if you’d become enemies overnight.

Eddie catches you staring and frowns. “You can go, you know. I told you I’ve got her.”

“Maybe I wanna spend some time with her, too, Eddie.”

“Get your own sister.” He quips.

“Why would I need my own sister when Em is just so cute?” You croon, reaching down to smooth her curls.

He smiles. “She is the best, isn’t she?”

There’s a knock from outside and Eddie tenses. You immediately know it’s his mom at the door.

You scoop Emma up. “I’ll get her changed and get her stuff together.”

You carry Em to her room and change her diaper, sitting her on the floor with her teddy bear while you collect stuff she’ll need for the weekend.

Extra clothes, she always comes back looking dirty. I wonder if Wendy has any milk.

You sigh when you hear Eddie and his mom start arguing. The few times you’ve been around for Emma’s trip to Wendy’s, you’ve heard her and Eddie battle it out.

Not that Eddie isn’t completely justified in his anger towards her. When his dad went to prison, Wendy had a chance to step-up and do better for Eddie. She failed him at every turn.

You stick your head in the living room. “Hi, Wendy. Here’s her bag.”

Eddie turns and glares at you. “She’s not going. Mommy dearest is as high as a kite.”

You study Wendy’s face. She’s crying softly, but she doesn’t look inhibited. You don’t smell anything on her, don’t see any track marks on her arms.

“Eddie, I’m clean. I swear. I just want to see my little girl.”

You touch Eddie’s sleeve. He grabs your arm and propels you down the hall into Emma’s room.

“My sister isn’t going anywhere with her.”

“Eddie, she looks fine. I didn’t see anything to indicate that she was high.”

“She tried to hug me. She’s high.”

You wince. Eddie had hated physical affection as long as you’d known him. You knew it was because his dad had been so rough on him. His little sister was the only exception. Eddie smothered her with kisses and hugs, never missing an opportunity to love on her. You knew it was because he was denied the same affection growing up.

Don’t cry. Don’t be a little pussy. Real men don’t need their mommies to hold them. Grow up.

“Get her out of here.” His voice wobbles, and he sits on the floor beside Emma, picking her up and hugging her close.

You go back into the living room.

“Wendy, I’m sorry, it’s not a good time. Maybe next weekend.”

She nods, looking remorseful. “I don’t know why I tried to hug him. I knew better.”

“I know.”

“But he’s doing good? And my Emma?”

You nod. “Everyone’s fine.”

“Thank you for taking care of my family.” She says softly, wiping tears off her face. “I’m gonna get better for them, I promise.”

“I believe you will, Wendy.”

She leaves and you go back down the hall.

Eddie is sitting in the beat-up rocker Wayne had thrifted, holding Emma to his chest. You see that she’s finally starting to sleep.

Eddie meets your eyes, and for a brief moment you can see relief and gratitude on his face. It quickly changes to an expression of annoyance, and he motions for you to leave.

You make Emma up a bottle for when she wakes up and stick it in the fridge before leaving. You straighten up the living room and pick up the few toys scattered in the living room and carry them down the hall.

Eddie is asleep in the rocker, holding Emma tightly. You ease her from his arms, worried that he might drop her. You lay her in her crib and then drape a blanket over Eddie, shutting off the overhead light as you leave.

[togrowoldinv]

Ruining the Friendship

Florence Pugh x Female Reader

Florence takes you to go to visit her family with her. Will you leave as more than friends?

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please!

Note: So, I was thinking about Flo and wanted to do some friends to lovers with her. There’s a lot of fluff and a tiny bit of angst, along with the first smut I’ve done for her. I’m nervous about that, but I think it turned out well. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Florence Pugh Masterlist, Main Masterlist

“My parents are going to love you, y/n,” Florence says as she puts the car in drive.

“I sure hope they do,” you say nervously.

“Oh, they will, darling. Trust me, you’ll be like the celebrity in the room around them,” Florence says. She reaches for your hand across the center console and squeezes it softly before letting go.

You are in London to film a movie and Florence has quickly become a close friend of yours. And sometimes you think you might like her a little more than as a friend, but you haven’t dared to say anything to her about that.

Still, you jumped on the idea of joining her for a trip to visit her home, Oxford. She’s told you plenty of stories of growing up there and you are excited to meet her family. And a little bit nervous.

It’s not a far drive and it flies by with Florence singing along to the radio and making you laugh with her impressions of the artists.

“You’re home!” You hear a woman’s voice ring out when you step out of the car.

Florence runs to her mother and hugs her tight.

“I missed you!” Florence says.

The others join her outside and Florence hugs each one with all of her heart.

“Everyone, this is y/n. Y/n, this is everyone!” Florence excitedly says.

“Hi, nice to meet y’all,” you say and Florence’s mom reaches out to hug you.

“Welcome to our home,” her dad says.

And her siblings offer you smiles. You can tell they are all very kind people, much like Florence.

You go inside with them and Florence shows you her teenage bedroom. It’s still decorated with posters and music. Her old guitar sits in the corner on a stand and you smile at the idea of her sitting on her bed recording her old YouTube videos. Florence notices the instrument has caught your eye.

“If you ask super nicely, I might play for you later,” Florence says with a grin.

Before you can respond, she grabs your hand and pulls you back to the living room area. She sits down on the couch next to her sister, Raffie, and you sit next to her.

“What are we watching?” Flo asks.

“Oh, Pops wants to watch some game,” Raffie says.

Florence laughs and tells you about the woes of her family trying to watch tv together. She animatedly talks and keeps a hand on you almost at all times. It makes your heart flutter. And it warms your heart to hear of the affection that she grew up with.

At the dinner table, you all talk about random topics until Raffie breaks into the conversation to steer it to you.

“I’m interested in learning about our guest.” She leans over Florence and smirks at you.

“Don’t bother them,” Florence says she knocks her sister’s shoulder with her own.

“I just have one question,” Raffie says.

“Raf no-“

“Yeah, what’s up?” You interrupt her.

“Do you like Mamma Mia?” Raffie says and everyone laughs.

“I practically have those movies memorized,” you say and she gives you a nod.

“I like this one, Flo,” she says.

“So, I have a question as well,” Florence’s mom says. “How long have you two been together?”

“I’m sorry?” Florence wonders if she’s heard the question correctly.

“Dating. How long have you two been dating?” She clarifies.

“Oh, um-“ Florence begins.

“We’re not together,” you explain. “We’re friends.”

You swear you see a momentary frown flash on Florence’s face before she nods in agreement.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I just thought the two of you seemed to get on so well and you look great together. I’m sorry,” her mom apologizes profusely. She gives you a sympathetic look as she sees you look a little upset at the situation.

“It’s okay,” Florence says. “So, Pops, how are things at the restaurant?”

She changes the subject but the awkward air hangs around the rest of the night. Even during after dinner drinks and card games, things feel like they’ve shifted.

You two go to her room for the night and you wonder if maybe you should ask to sleep somewhere else, but you don’t want to make things worse.

You lay down next to each other. Physically you aren’t that far apart, but you feel emotionally distant from her.

When she turns to look at you next to her, Florence breaks the silence first.

“About what my mum said, she was just assuming things. I’m sorry,” she says.

“Oh, that’s okay. I guess I just- never mind,” you stop yourself from saying the words that scare you.

“Hey, look at me,” Florence says, her hand caresses your face softly. Her touch feels different than ever before.

“Say what you were going to say, please.” Her voice is soft as she pleads to you.

“I’m scared,” you admit. The air in the room feels still and you begin to tear up. You’re filled with so many emotions right now.

“Please,” she practically whispers.

“I’m in love with you,” you say.

You feel your words hang in air, almost like they take physical form and you can see them floating around the room. The intimacy is tangible.

“I’m in love with you too,” Florence says.

“You are?”

“I am,” she confirms. “I am so in love with you. I have been pretty much since I met you, y/n.”

“I feel the same way, Florence. I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I care about you so much and I just didn’t want to jeopardize any of this,” you say.

“Can I kiss you?“ Florence asks. You search her eyes for any hesitation, but you see none.

“Please.”

With that, Florence closes the distance between your lips. It’s everything you could have imagined and more to feel her soft lips against yours.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” Florence says. She rests her forehead against yours as the hand not on your face comes to rest on your hip.

“Me too, Flo,” you say.

This time you lean in and kiss her lips. It intensifies quickly and your hands find their way under her shirt.

“Is this okay?” You ask her, breathless from kissing her.

“Yes,” Florence says.

You pull her shirt over her head and admire her beautiful body. It’s perfect in every way.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” you say in awe. Your hands roam over her breasts and the moans at the contact. She shifts to straddle you and takes off your shirt. She kisses your body from your lips down to your waistband as her hands slip your sleep shorts off. Your underwear follows quickly after.

“You’re absolutely perfect, baby,” Florence says. Her lips hover over where you want her most. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t imagined this moment before.

Your fingers tangle into her short blonde hair as she licks through your folds. Your head goes back in pleasure as your other hand grips the sheets.

“Florence, oh my god,” you say as her tongue touches you just right and you come undone underneath her.

She moves from between your legs and kisses your lips. You moan at the taste of yourself on her lips.

It’s your turn to slip off her pants and underwear. You’re about to turn her over onto the bed when she settles with your thigh between her legs. You both gasp at the feeling.

“Fuck y/n,” Florence says. She’s breathless as she starts to ride your thigh. You hold her hips as you kiss her neck. The sounds she makes as she moves her body faster against you and comes hard almost make you reach your high again.

“I love you so much,” you say as Florence catches her breath.

“I love you too, baby,” she replies. She leans into your chest and you hold her against you.

For rest of the night and when you wake up in the morning with Florence clinging to you, you are beyond thankful for going home with Florence.

And you will be for years to come when this place truly becomes another home to you because home is wherever Florence is.

Tag List: @gracebutnotgraceful @i-wished-for-you-too @idkwhygregg @be-missed @mythosphere-x @likefirenrain @hehehehannahthings @laaurrel @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @flosbelova @yelenabelovaisthebettersister @ggrangerdanger @kkeduwjdjje @mrswidowjohansson @alotofpockets @marvelwomen-simp @maia-lightwoood @mortallytremendoussandwich @xxromanoffxx @whitemanshoe19 @peanutbutterprincess @picnicmic @wandaslittlewhore @marie45019 @inluvwithfictionalwomen @kacka84 @sammi1642 @itsyourgirlmalise @jujuu23 @hb8301 @the-night-owl-blr @avatarsnips @romanoffswoman @natashasilverfox @harleysincairo @natasha-danvers @rach2602 @taisiyaswlwreads @lovelyy-moonlight

[lifeofkaze]

Boy and the Ghost

Spooky Season means Henry Season in this house, and since tonight the veil between the worlds is fragile, the ghosts have their fair bit to share. Happy Halloween! 🎃

The night had brought the fog with it. It lay dense over the coast of Rhode Island, enveloping everything in a thick layer of cold and damp and muffling even the ever-present sound of the nearby sea. 

Henry Lovecraft didn’t care as he wandered through the fog, the flickering of his candle disappearing in the darkness after a mere few feet. He wasn’t scared by the impenetrable darkness. There was nothing that could hurt him in the fog. 

The mist was so thick that the end of the forest path seemed to come out of nowhere. The black trees parted and gave way to an open space that ended at the cliffs, which fell steeply down to the rough sea. Henry didn’t have to worry about wandering too close to it because he knew exactly where the ground gave way. The cries and sobs of the ones that had fallen told him when to go no further. He heard them as if they were standing right next to him; he always heard. 

Henry went as far as he could and sat down in the damp grass, his long legs dangling over the edge. He stared into the fog, trying to block out all the whispers fighting for his attention.

“I didn’t expect you here,” he hears a faint voice behind him. It was of an airy quality, and Henry had to strain his ears as if it was far away. A shimmery figure appeared beside him, floating above the ground, as the pirate Horatio sat down next to him. He didn’t really sit, of course; Horatio was a ghost, and ghosts couldn’t sit. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Henry explained, stubbornly staring straight ahead. Somewhere out there was the lighthouse. Henry hoped the ships passing it would be able to see its light. He didn’t want any more people to end up like Horatio and his crew had some hundred or so years ago. The beach was crowded enough as it was.

“And why is that, young Master Henry?”

Henry kicked his foot against a root protruding from the cliff face. “I just couldn’t.”

“I can tell when something’s wrong with you, you little landlubber,” Horatio said, tapping his pox-scarred nose with his ghostly finger, where it passed right through him. “You can talk to old Horatio. He won’t tell a soul.” 

Henry sighed deeply. “Have you ever been called a liar?”

Horatio puffed out his chest. “You see before you the greatest liar to ever sail the Seven Seas. No one was cunning enough to ever see old Horatio through.”

The familiar feeling of the faintest of whispers passing him by, Henry smiled wryly. “That’s a lie.”

“Alas, I admit it,” Horatio shrugged, “but I hold you no grudge. You are special, Master Henry.”

Henry’s face darkened. “You’re the only one to think so.”

“What makes you say that?” Horatio looked sympathetic. “Has there been trouble with the people in the village again?”

Henry nodded, kicking at his root again. “They were telling stories about the Natives who used to live here. They were all gruesome and gory and completely wrong - all of them - and I told them so.”

The corners of Horatio’s mouth twitched. “Of course you did.”

“They didn’t like it. They called me a liar and a freak and some other awful things. Said my family are outcasts anyway, and if I don’t take care, the ghosts of the ‘savages’ will come and get me and my brother.” Henry snorted. “They would never. All the native ghosts I’ve met were really nice. They’d be so upset seeing what people have turned their myths and legends into.” 

“Some folks just don’t know better. They think their truth is the only one.”

“But why don’t they care to listen when someone who knows better tells them? Why are they so ignorant?”

Horatio shrugged. “If they enjoy themselves, why mar them their pastime?”

“Because what they’re doing isn’t storytelling, it’s making things up and taking them away from those they belong to. They have no right calling me a liar. What they do is child’s play, but when I tell them what is right, they just don’t want to see it.” 

Horatio cocked a brow. “I’ve been in the world a fair bit longer than you, young Master Henry - I have to admit that I have forgotten how long - but since the beginning of time, people have been telling stories. Even the stories you are telling were once  the stories of someone else. Stories belong to no one. They belong only to themselves.”

“But what they’re doing is wrong.”

“It is not your place to say what is wrong or right. If people draw enjoyment from what they do, all you can do is stick to your own compass and strife to sail in deeper waters.”

It took Henry a moment to decipher Horatio’s meaning. When he had, he shook his head. “Where is the point? If anyone can go and tell a story, why bother telling the world the truth?”

“Not everyone possesses your gift, Henry,” Horatio said earnestly. “It is rare, to read this world’s secrets as you do. You shouldn’t hold anyone but yourself to your own standards because if you do, there will be nothing but frustration waiting in the waves ahead.” 

Horatio looked out into the fog, a wistful smile forming on his face. “After the Molly’s Wrath sank, learning there were others sharing my fate helped me overcome the bitterness of death. Every time you told me about the people who didn’t make it ashore, I was more accepting of the fact that my body rests in ol’ Davy Jones’ locker.”

His eyes turned to Henry. They protruded a little, probably from having drowned. Henry had never asked Horatio how he had died, but he didn’t need to; he already knew. 

“You made a difference for me, Henry, and that is really all you can ask from this world. To make a difference.”

“To you, maybe,” Henry replied. “The only one who appreciates what I’m doing is a dead old pirate.”

Horatio smiled, letting the insult pass him. He knew Henry didn’t mean it. 

“Who knows, Master Henry?” he said with a smirk. “There might be more people touched by you than you might think. It’s easy looking only ahead, but you shouldn’t forget to turn around every few miles. See who’s following behind.” 

Before Henry could ask what Horatio meant, the ghost had faded away, only an echo of his last words remaining. A moment later, Henry was alerted by the sound of footsteps and a little voice calling for him. Carrying the swinging light of a storm lantern almost as big as his head before him, the small figure of his brother materialised from the dense fog.

“Henry? Henry!” Howard Lovecraft cried, running towards Henry as he spotted him. Henry quickly got up and walked to meet him; Howard didn’t see the world as he did. He wouldn’t know where the cliff ended in this fog.

“What are you doing out here, Howard?” Henry frowned, looking reproachfully at the little boy. “It’s too dangerous to go outside at night.” 

“I was looking for you,” Howard said. “I heard you leaving.”

“No reason to go after me.”

“No, but listen!” Howard said, his eyes twinkling in the light of the lantern. “You need to come back home with me. I need to show you something.” 

Howard gripped his arm in excitement, but Henry pulled it from him. “You will need to go back on your own. If you can’t find the way, I shall show you and stay outside for a while longer. I don’t feel like going home yet.” 

Howard made a disappointed face. “Then you don’t want to hear the story I made up?”

Henry’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “You made up a story?”

“Yes,” Howard nodded proudly, the eagerness for his brother’s approval written plainly on his face. “You gave me the idea.”

“I did?”

“Yes! You always tell the best stories, and I wanted to try it, too. I want to tell my stories, just as you do.” Howard suddenly looked bashful. “Even though they’re probably not as good as yours.”

Henry shook his head. “Don’t say that. You thought it up, and all on your own. That is impressive. What kind of story is it?”

“A scary one.”

“My favourite.”

“No, it’s really scary,” Howard insisted, lowering his voice. “Do you think you can take it, Henry?”

Henry had to stifle a grin as he took the lantern from his little brother and walked him to the path that would lead them back to their mother’s cottage. 

“I’m certain I will be scared out of my wits. Let’s hurry now. I believe a story awaits.” 

[ilguna]

Aubade - Chapter Three (f.o)

summary: you'll never truly be free from the Capitol.

warnings; swearing, death & suicide mention, weapon usage

wc; 20.2k 

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Cecelia is sitting with Woof at the medical aid station when you finally decide that it’s time to talk to her. She seems to be watching Woof, prepared to intervene if he does anything dangerous. You think you almost saw him cut himself on purpose earlier to test the blade of a knife.

You don’t remember how Woof old is exactly, you just know that Mags is barely older than him. His Hunger Games happened before the twentieth, as Mags was the eleventh. Before she had her stroke, she used to tell you and Finnick stories about what mentoring was like before technology had begun to really evolve.

Woof was one of the mentors she ended up seeing around often. They were about the same age, both new to the job. You can’t imagine they teamed up often, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t have been friendly. With the way she used to talk about him, you’re under the impression that they might have been on the verge of being more than friends, if it weren’t for the fact they lived in two different districts and couldn’t spend time alone together in the Capitol. 

He was able to retire well before you started mentoring, so that’s why you’ve never had a chance to talk to him. You hate to say it; his situation is exactly why you volunteered this year. Mags would be Woof. Immobile, reliant, a weight to drag around. If Cecelia is worried about him hurting himself, then that means he won’t be much help to Haymtich’s rebel cause.

You’ll have to remember to tell Haymitch when you see him in a few days. If Woof is down for the count, then that means that Cecelia might not be the best ally either. As much as it pains you to say it. With Woof being her mentor at some point, she’s got an obligation to make sure that he’s safe inside of the arena. It’s like babysitting a toddler, except this one is a grown adult.

It’s not a complete loss, you can still talk to her and find out her stance on the whole situation. You’re going to figure that she won’t be opposed to helping—if she’s even able to. 

“Hey,” you greet, catching her attention. 

She looks at you, a smile on her face, “Hi, welcome to whatever this is.”

She motions to Woof, and the medical expert, who also seems to be on edge about what Woof is holding. You give her a sympathetic smile, sitting next to her. You can see that she’s got synthetic skin in front of her, varying cuts littering it. A few of them she’s sutured already with her needle and thread, others she hasn’t gotten to just yet.

You run your finger along the stitches, admiring her work. There’s never been an instance where you’ve ever had to show off the skill that your brothers drilled into your head. All the times inside of the arena where you were injured, were healed by the Capitol’s medical cream. It worked wonders of course, and was much faster than relying on your body to heal it naturally.

It’s funny how you spent years preparing for the Hunger Games, and only ended up using the few skills that aren’t as popular with the Capitol. Or something that you had learned while you were here. Like when you were fishing—a skill that all Four tributes have—or the knife throwing, which you learned when you were with the careers. 

It goes to show just how useless it can be to have the boarding school at times. All it can take is a single stroke of luck for a tribute to be carried until the finale. It’s not only crazy, but it’s unfair when it happens. Tributes get lucky, and it makes people bitter because of it.

“It could be worse. Your husband could be harassing the competition.” You look out to see Finnick, he’s doing a remarkable job at avoiding the task at hand. The one that he made you agree to. 

Cecelia lets out a laugh, going back to her needle. You watch her silently for a few minutes, trying to find a way to bring up the peacekeeper topic without alerting the expert. You don’t want to tip off the Gamemakers and put a bigger target than what there already is on your back. 

With how many famous victor’s are standing in front of them, for all you know, you’re the exact crowd they were hoping to get from the reaping. You’ve said it plenty of times now, what each young victor represents and brings to the table. You and Finnick unfortunately fit into their stereotype, as much as you hate to say it.

In a way, you guess that means that no matter what you do, you’ll always have that target on your back. You and Finnick were smart enough to kickstart a boarding school in the first year you guys won, and over the years it’s only gotten bigger. Even with the restrictions in place, you’ve still managed to barely run underneath the radar.

It’s obvious they know, though. 

Besides, what’s the worst that’ll happen? The expert tells the Gamemakers that you’re talking about the rule changes back home, and then what? They’ll punish you? You’re already here, and they don’t send tributes home on good behavior. Inside of the arena, you’ll be allies with Katniss and Peeta. No matter what path you take, there’s always going to be eyes on you. 

You’re watching the expert when you begin speaking, “District Four recently went through some changes.”

It catches the expert’s attention, she looks up from what she’s doing, to you. Once she realizes that you were anticipating this reaction, she presses her lips together and tries to look occupied with Woof.

Cecelia seems to care as much as you do, “New Head Peacekeeper?”

“Yeah, new rules, a curfew and almost got my school shut down.” you shake your head, “The new head is a dick.”

She laughs, “So is ours. I think they targeted the districts that were the loudest during their Victory Tour; Eight, Four, Three.” 

“The others didn’t go unpunished.” You say, she half-shrugs, “I mean, with the exception of One and Two. They can do no wrong.”

The smile is creeping onto Cecelia’s face again, “For the most part, you’re right. The districts that were already under strict control didn’t have much change, though. They run a tight ship in Eleven, I’m sure you remember.”

District Eleven, you’ve visited three times now, all because of the Victory Tours. You can’t remember much from the first time you went there, besides their tall fences and the barbed wire that was lining the top of it. You tried to block out that memory as hard as possible, considering Horace’s family was practically enraged that a fifteen year-old girl got the jump on their eldest boy.

However, you’ve been back recently because of Nori’s tour. It’s not that their district is crawling with peacekeepers, because it’s not. One of the reasons why they manage to keep such a strong hand over the people is because they react to every broken rule. From what you remember being told by Anchor, a lot of crimes are punishable by death. They control through fear.

While in District Four, before the change, as long as the criminal somehow fit into the box enough, they were often let go with a warning. You’re not sure how you got so lucky with Panpoxa being your Head Peacekeeper for so long, but you’re grateful that you had her when you did. If it weren’t for her, the boarding school wouldn’t have happened at all.

“I remember.” you agree.

It’s silent for a moment, then she ties off her thread, “I thought that the Capitol would take it easy on the careers. You said you guys were hit hard?”

You nod, “Curfew is set at ten. The docks are lined with peacekeepers to check each and every person that comes back on the boats. Production was screwed over for several weeks because riots were breaking out. Once managers started threatening termination, workers started to reluctantly get back to work.

“We’re not getting our normal quota, though. With the curfew, several hours are taken out of the day. And if anyone is out past curfew for any reason, they have to have a written note by their manager or risk a massive fine. It’s fucking crazy.” you roll your eyes, “The boarding school has been inspected several times by peacekeepers to try and catch us out of line. The Head Peacekeeper hates me because of it.”

Cecelia nods, “Same with us, minus the whole school thing. What are they trying to catch you on, exactly?”

“The boarding school classifies as an after-school activity. We have to have a certain number of teachers on the property at all times it’s open. And since we teach kids reasonable sports like archery and woodworking with knives, we can’t have too many weapons on the property, or we’ll also get in trouble for that.”

“Archery? I didn’t take District Four to be into those kinds of things. I thought spears and tridents were your specialties.” she gives you a grin, you elbow her. Again with the stereotypes.

“Trust me, we’re no Katniss Everdeen. It’s not our most popular activity.”

“Well,” she starts, “for District Eight, we have these warehouses that we mass produce clothing in. Things like peacekeeper uniforms and popular outfits for the Capitol before the trend is over. Since the riots have all started with whispers in the warehouses, we’re—they’re—not allowed to group together anymore. Last I heard, most people had to be isolated and they broke down tables to make sure that talking was practically impossible.”

“Damn.”

Cecelia tilts her head, “Of course, it didn’t work. The rule applied outside of warehouses, but it’s hard to tell people shopping for goods in a grocery store from going near each other. And since neighbors share fences at home, it’s impossible to keep people from passing messages along, especially when you don’t know it’s happening in the first place. They don’t have the manpower to keep District Eight compliant.”

“It says a lot more about the Capitol than it does the districts.” you murmur, “The obvious favoritism has made us intolerant.”

Cecelia nods.

At least you got what you wanted to know, and more information. You didn’t realize that Eight and Three were also causing as much trouble as District Four. You knew for sure that Eleven got their few minutes of fame, which was fairly surprising. You said how strict they were, but to be fair, one of their tribute girls was a huge commotion during the last games last year.

After that initial outburst in Eleven, the Capitol was careful to edit out any other event that they deemed inappropriate. Which means that there was absolutely no way of knowing what was happening everywhere else, only what was going on in Four. Now that you’re here in the Capitol and can swap information with Cecelia, it’s useless. It can’t be used, even if you wanted to.

“Anyway, besides picking your brain on the peacekeepers, I came to invite you and the old man into our alliance,” you hold your hand out, and she places her hand palm-down into yours. You readjust so that the expert can’t see the numbers you’ll be writing on the back of her hand.

Four, Seven, Eleven and Twelve, “I know them for sure. Here’s who we’re still waiting on,” and you proceed to write Three and Six. Cecelia nods in understanding, “And here’s the name of the person organizing it.” Haymitch.

“Okay. Yeah, we’ll join the alliance.” she looks at you, “No questions about it. Tell them that we’re in.”

You smile, “I knew you’d be. I’m going to try and get some of our old friends in on it—” your eyes jerk in the direction of the careers, “--no promises.”

“I’m just glad you invited us in the first place.” she places the needle and thread back onto the skin, “What’s your next stop?”

“No clue, but I’ll try not to have too much fun.” you place a hand on her shoulder, and say your goodbyes to Woof. You don’t think he hears you, he doesn’t say anything in return.

During your chat with cecelia, people seem to have moved again. It’s only an hour away from lunchtime, which is when the experts and Gamemakers will get together to chat before resuming their original positions. You think you briefly saw Finnick talking to Katniss at the knot tying station, which drove her to the fire starting one. She’s currently sitting there with District Three.

Peeta is with the careers, getting to know them. Johanna is naked and oiling herself down, a pleasant sight that you could’ve gone your entire life without having to see again. And Finnick is standing at the archery station holding the bow wrong, like always.

He does it on purpose because he knows it bothers you. He knows how to hold it correctly, it’s just that he wants to catch your attention, and you’ll always appear to slap his hand. The expert seems to be trying to help Finnick, but he’s playing dumb.

“You’re holding it wrong,” you say once you’re in earshot. Finnick turns, wide-eyed.

“I am?”

“Stop torturing the expert, I think you’ve done enough of that today.” you say, sweeping the bow out of his hand. You then look at the archery expert, “We’ve got it from here, thank you.”

“I have orders to stick close,” he says.

“And I’m telling you that it’s okay.” you give him a pretty smile, and it doesn’t take a full second for him to back away, letting you win.

His face is a little red, “I’m coming back over at any sign of taboo.”

You wink, “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

The expert backs off after that, taking a few steps back to go back to what he was doing originally. It seems that he’s organizing the arrows that are designated to each bin. Not a time-consuming task, he’ll probably come back over in a few minutes. 

You turn to look at Finnick, who looks vaguely amused, “I’ve taught you well.”

You elbow him, rolling your eyes, “Cecelia and Woof are in on the alliance.”

“What about the careers?”

“Gloss was hopeful that we’d join the career pack. I told him that you’d never stomach the idea.” You reach for an arrow that matches the bow, “I wanted to ask him what he’d think about leaving the other two behind but I never got the chance.”

“So they’re out of the question?”

“I think so, yeah.” you bite the inside of your cheek, looking at him. You’ve known those guys for years now, you never thought you’d be on opposing sides. However, the longer the idea of a rebellion settles, the deeper the line between rebels and loyalists gets. One and Two are going to be counted on for being loyal to the Capitol, just like how they were before.

Finnick looks towards them, “Maybe we can talk to Cashmere and Gloss after lunch.”

“With how long they’ve known Enobaria, they’ll tell her. And there’s a good chance she gets jealous over the fact that she wasn’t invited into the initial plan.” you raise the bow, pulling the arrow back, “I hate the idea of killing them, but we’re being cornered into not having a choice. A lot of people are going to die, Finnick.”

You let go of the string, watching as the arrow hits the target. It’s in the second ring of the circle. It’s not perfect, you’ve never liked using a bow. It covers more distance than a knife could ever. Although, if you were going for distance, you’d use a spear. 

“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You spend the next hour shooting back and forth with Finnick, slowly making progress on your skill. Occasionally the expert will jump in and correct your stance, or the way you have the arrow positioned. You decide that if it comes down to a bow or your fists inside of the arena, you’ll take your chances with your fists.

Once lunch is announced, you’re more than ready to hand over the bow. Finnick slips his hand into yours and the two of you gravitate towards Johanna and Blight. They seem to have joined the group that Peeta managed to attract during his time with the careers. The only people that are missing from it are Katniss and the District Three tributes.

The second Peeta’s group steps foot into the cafe, they immediately begin to work together to drag tables together to create one long one. The last time you ate lunch here, tables were split into cliques. You ate lunch with Finnick, Verda, Blaire and Thyme on the first day. The next two would be spent with the careers.

You stop a few steps in, forcing Finnick to come to a halt. He looks over your face, trying to find out what’s wrong. The truth is that you’re not entirely sure yourself. Maybe it’s the sight of everyone getting along, chatting, laughing and acting as if you’re not going to be at each other’s throats in a couple days.

“What’s wrong?” Finnick asks.

The more time you spend here, the more you realize how underprepared you are for this. You knew that you’d be going into the arena with friends, you didn’t anticipate how many. You didn’t think it would be this bad. Cashmere, Gloss and Enobaria? Johanna and Blight? Finnick?

There’s no recovering from this. Even if Haymitch’s rebel plan works, there’s no guarantee that even half of these people will make it out alive. You say five people max. And there’s twenty-four of you standing in this cafeteria right now. What are the odds that you and Finnick are both included in this? What are the odds that you lose him, or he loses you?

Your hand tightens in Finnick’s, finally seeing the look on his face, the last thing you need is him worrying about you. You force a smile, not trying to hide the fact that you’ve just come to some scary realization, “I’m not that hungry.”

“We can share a plate.” He nods, you trail behind him.

There’s only a few people who don’t automatically grab a tray, opting to sit at the table instead. The first one is the man from Five, who vomited all over the sword fighting station. That’s likely the reason why the careers didn’t move over. Sometimes Cashmere can have a weak stomach when it comes to the smell of puke. It’s happened too many times at The Victory Speech.

Finnick has to let go of your hand to grab food, still he offers his elbow for you to hang onto while he wanders. Every now and then you’ll tell him to add a bit more when you know you’ll eat the dish. It’s mostly the warm comfort foods like the seaweed rolls and mashed potatoes and gravy.

He places two sets of silverware on the tray before the two of you find a fairly empty spot to sit down at. It’ll allow your friends to decide where they want to sit, and if they’re going to intermix. You’re not at all surprised when Johanna sits across from you and Finnick, while Blight goes out to adventure on the other side of the table with the tributes from Six.

Cashmere and Gloss aren’t bothered by Johanna’s comments when they sit near you. Enobaria makes an effort not to pick a fight with her, despite how easy it would be to send a few snarky insults back at her. Brutus doesn’t bother to sit nearby, but that doesn’t mean you miss the glances he sends your way. He’s not over how you talked to him on the elevator yesterday.

There’s not much to do besides wait for Finnick once you’re done eating. He doesn’t inhale his food like he used to when you two were teens, so there’s another fifteen minutes ahead of you. Not to mention the fact that he’s mostly caught up in conversation with Johanna. She’s set on the idea of strangling her stylist if they come up with any tree-related interview outfits.

You try to pay attention as best as you can, but the second Johanna starts mentioning Capitol people by name, you tune her out. You know a few people, connections you’ve made over the years of mentoring. It’s nothing compared to Finnick, who had to endure years of the Capitol, and likely had to get intimate with these people.

You try not to think about that fact too often. If every person you run across has also had a private moment with Finnick. If it was while he was still a teenager or just a few years ago. Cashmere’s told you that private time with victor’s is normally reserved for the most expensive and important, but she’s admitted that common people will pull together savings to get one night.

You run your finger over the tattoo on Finnick’s forearm, one that he asked you to design. It was a few days after your wedding when he suggested the idea. The two of you got stuck in the boarding school late, hours past your final lesson of the day. Anchor and Mags were long gone, leaving you two in the cafeteria with an assload of papers to decipher through.

In the middle of a long silence of, he ran his finger along his forearm and asked if you’d design his next tattoo.

“Right now?” You laughed, already reaching for a new piece of paper.

“Why not?”

That night you drew him lilies and carnations, which would later be colored. The lilies were white, as the carnations were pink. When it finally came around to get the tattoos done in the Capitol, you surprised Finnick by getting a matching tattoo on your ribs on the left side.

Originally, it was only supposed to be Finnick, but if he was going to get a tattoo to represent your love, you weren’t about to be left out of it. The colors have only slightly faded over time. They used to be much brighter, the problem is that you got gentle colors and done in a watercolor style. 

Still, if by some miracle you both make it out of this alive, you think that you’ll have Finnick design you a tattoo this time. He’s had plenty of years to become somewhat of an artist, and as much as he tries to hide his artwork from you, you’ve seen glimpses.

You spend the rest of lunch wondering what Finnick would draw you. If it would be as gentle as flowers or more rough, like the weapons that drew you two together; tridents and spears. Or maybe the cookies that he’d share with you on your walks home, the umbrella he’d hold over your head on rainy days, or the two slips of papers that bound your fate together forever.

It would be some sort of symbol, it’d have to hold significance. 

Finnick leads the way back into the gymnasium when lunch is over. You stick around him and Johanna for a half hour before deciding that you’d rather go by yourself again. You make your way toward the sparring station, fixing your clothes. You want the uneven ground.

The expert runs through the directions, and then you’re left to go up against them. It’s pretty simple, choosing where you want to start, making the first move. It takes a few minutes for you to get into a rhythm, and once you do, it’s pretty mindless fighting after that.

You don’t realize how much time’s passed until Peeta’s standing outside the circle, asking you a question. You stop, wiping the sweat from your forehead with a white towel, provided by the expert. You’re out of breath, looking at Peeta, trying to remember what he asked you.

The ringing in your ears isn’t helping much. Katniss has shifted from talking to Cecelia and Woof at the bug station to finishing up a hammock with Cashmere and Gloss. And Finnick’s messing around with Johanna and Blight, swinging different types of axes.

“Sorry?” You ask, turning towards Peeta. You can feel the sweat rolling down your back, and with the air conditioning blowing, goosebumps cross your arms. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I asked if you could show me the trick to taking him down every time.” Peeta steps onto the platform now.

You blow out the air in your cheeks, getting down from the uneven station to stand next to him, “It’s mostly body language. I watch his fists, the way his feet are turned. Let’s say he’s using his forearms to protect his ribs more than usual, I would target those because he’s probably hurt in those areas.”

You lean against the block to your left, “It’s easy, really.”

Peeta gives you a look, like he’s not surprised that you’d say that. You haven’t really had a chance to talk to him yet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he’s been avoiding you the entire time. Except, he’s been making rounds, the exact same thing that Katniss has been doing too. They need allies, Peeta’s not stupid enough to follow Katniss blindly.

“And with body language you can also tell when a person does or doesn’t like you.” You continue, turning to look out across the gymnasium to choose an example. You scan for a while, and then stop on Katniss. She’s practically unfamiliar to you, if you disregard the fact that you had to watch her fight in the arena last year. As for Peeta, he’s fought side by side with her already, he’s going to know more of her mannerisms.

“Let’s use Katniss as an example.” You share a brief look with Peeta, “She’s naturally distrusting, we know this already. Still, she seems to like Cashmere and Gloss well enough. Not as much as she likes Beetee and Wiress, you see the way her body is turned? Subconsciously telling them that she’s unsure about them.

“She also feels guilty, which is why she’s making her hammock so quickly. To her it’s an awkward situation because she killed Glimmer and Marvel, so she’s eager to finish and move on. Once she does, she’ll finally be able to feel like she can breathe again.” You look at Peeta, “And more, but I’ve got to keep some of my secrets.”

Peeta nods, impressed, “What about me then?”

“Well…” You tilt your head, looking him over, “You’re the youngest, grew up in a hard home, explains why you’re so friendly and open. You’ve had time to sit back and watch, kinda makes you a mediator. And you’re also able to recognize when a situation is going sideways. Quick to flee, hard to make stay, but not opposed to second chances.”

Judging by Peeta’s face, all your assumptions are correct. You leave out the fact that you know he’s a heavy lifter. You saw his family’s interview, and heard their backstory. A bakery means a lot of physical labor, especially if it’s family owned and run. Which is why he might have a strained relationship with either of his parents. When they’re running a business, you can't be buddy-buddy with your kids all the time.

You give Peeta a gentle smile, “I was the youngest for a while, until my sister was born.” 

Peeta nods, “It’s not easy.”

“No, it’s not.” You agree, moving away from the block, “It gave me thick skin, determination. If I hadn’t won my games, my sister would be living the life I had when I was a kid.” You motion to the station, “Anyway, you should give sparring a try. It takes a while to get into the mindset, but it’s great practice.”

“Thank you.”

You shrug, “Don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

He doesn’t have the chance to respond because you’re going down the steps to move onto something more familiar; making fish hooks. A skill that you haven’t exercised since you won. Back when your brothers had you on that boat in the summer, tying knots. They also had you making fish hooks, which came in handy in the arena.

The station is clear, and the expert perks up at your appearance, happy to have company. You make simple hooks for a while using the basics of what backpacks provide inside of the arena. It’s mostly wire, you mess with a wooden rod to imitate a stick to use as a reel. Once you’re bored of that, you switch to making fancy hooks out of the bare necessities. 

It’s only a few minutes later when you hear someone approaching. You weave the wire around the hook you’ve made, and then glance up long enough to see that it’s Katniss. She’s been with Enobaria at the recently-cleaned sword fighting station for the past thirty minutes. There was hardly any conversation between the two, which probably inspired Katniss to move on.

“Hey.” You smile, tossing your hook into the bucket. The expert had to grab one for you so that they’ll be able to dispose of it later. You halfway wonder if they’re going to put it into some museum if these games go sideways.

“Hi.” Katniss’ voice is gentle. She chooses the desk to your left, the expert jumps to begin teaching her how to make hooks. 

You wonder who hired these people and what makes them experts? Are they from District Four? Have they had years of sitting on a boat in the baking sun in the middle of the ocean? Did their brothers torture them for years on end? No? Then how did they get this label?

Katniss is making decent hooks, listening to the expert’s advice. The moment they begin to give fishing tips, you lose interest in what they have to say. You could care less about what they think will work to draw fish in. When you were in the arena, you used wire and a metal water bottle to fish. It might’ve been far from perfect and time consuming, but it worked. 

She doesn’t seem like she’s listening either, humming when it’s appropriate. Which just gives the expert an excuse to keep talking nonsense. It isn’t until Katniss doesn’t respond for a minute or so, do they finally think that she’s ready to be by herself. You’re not sure why they even bother sometimes.

“Fish hooks, huh?”

Finnick’s standing on the other side of the table, watching as you carve a hook out of wood, sending shavings and splinters flying to the ground. You’ve got the general shape of it down, all that’s left is defining those features and making dumb designs. You’ve exhausted this area already.

“Not really anything else to do.” You say, looking at him, “Wanna join me?”

“Sure, and while I’m at it, I’ll show you how to make a real hook.” 

There’s this smug look on his face as he moves around the table to start picking at your supplies. You scrap the wooden fish hook, opting to fuel Finnick’s delusional mindset. He wants to race, the best one wins, but it also has to be usable. The crazier the supplies the better.

Not even ten minutes later, Finnick’s given up. You’ve been done for a couple minutes, watching as he nearly pricks his fingers, messing up the way he turns the hook. It’s fallen apart a couple times already, and each time he has to fix it. 

“Remind me not to invite you to a deserted island.”

“Shut up.” Finnick says. Part of his problem is that he’s using heavyweight material and trying to make up for it by using the flimsiest rope possible. He lifted the hook up once and the string snapped.

“You’re taking forever.”

He’s frustrated, motioning to your hook, “Not like that can catch anything, anyway.”

“Just because it looks nice, doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. And you’re one to talk, even if that string were to hold the hook, all it’ll take is the fish tugging back and suddenly you’re out of a hook again.” You shake your head, glancing over to see what Katniss has made this time.

She’s made a hook out of a bent nail and some of her hair. When she holds it up to show you, you smile.

“That’s actually impressive.” You nod, “And it’s holding up a lot better than Finnick’s.”

“I’m not done yet.” Finnick says, but he stops long enough to look at what she’s created.

“You can’t fix the unfixable.” 

Finnick drops his hook onto the table, glaring at you, “Honestly, fuck you.”

You laugh, “Can I trade in my tribute partner? I’d like Katniss instead. You and Peeta can go hang out somewhere.”

Finnick makes a face, “I’m going to go throw tridents.”

“Of course you are.”

He walks away, you toss the hooks into the bucket. You half expect Katniss to go find somewhere else to be, but when she doesn’t move, you take the opportunity to invite her to a mini lesson of yours. At first, she’s not all that interested, and then she caves without you having to convince her.

For a while you give her tips, better tips than what the expert had been trying to pass off. You tell her that scraps left over from cooking animals are good enough to use as bait most of the time. You then move on to show her how to make basic hooks out of what’s likely to be in the cornucopia.

She catches a hang of it pretty quickly, a good trait to have. You take note of this.

Katniss gets ready to move on not too long after, though. She’s cleaned up her station and yours, trying to make it easier on the expert. Just as she’s about to leave, she stops.

“Who did you volunteer for?”

Your face twists, not because she doesn’t know Annie. That’s not something you’re surprised about, the Capitol buried her as quickly as humanly possible, not wanting to glorify the madness they created. It’s no secret that they didn’t like seeing the nasty part of what they do to you.

It’s because the question is so weird to ask out of nowhere. You shake your head slightly, “You mean Annie Cresta?”

“No, I mean, who did you volunteer for?” She emphasizes the question more.

It clicks. Did you volunteer for Finnick? For Annie? For the sake of someone else?

“For everyone,” you say, “because I’m the only one that has a chance of making it out of this alive.”

Katniss nods, accepting the answer. And without so much of a facial expression to give you an idea of what she’s thinking right now, she walks away. You watch her head toward the archery station, grabbing a bow and beginning to shoot arrows.

It takes you a minute to regain your thoughts, closing your mouth. Maybe she’s genuinely curious, the two of you have won in the same circumstances; the Capitol allowing two victor’s. Maybe she wants to know why you volunteered to go back in when there were others around you that were available. Well, hardly.

For her, there was literally no other choice. No other female victor that she could play ‘what are the odds’ with. 

You’re not even sure if you answered the way she wanted you to. She didn’t give you a second to see her face, or to ask her any questions. Either way, you’re confident enough to say that you’ve definitely left an impression on Katniss and Peeta today.

You join Finnick while he’s throwing tridents, quietly telling him what just happened. He’s just as confused as you are, but hopeful that it means she’s trying to see if you’re trustworthy enough to be in an alliance with. And as long as she likes you, then Finnick is pretty much a given. Haymitch will have a field day if it works out perfectly like that.

The conversation shifts from the alliance back to Katniss when Finnick pauses long enough to watch her shoot. She’d started with stationary targets, and then the expert started throwing fake birds in the air to make it more challenging. She’s quick, all her movements are automatic. She points the bow as if she’s pointing her finger. It's a natural instinct.

The room slowly falls silent as everyone watches Katniss shoot her bow, finally showing off just how much of a threat she poses to you all. Of course, in one way or another, you all fought to win your games. With Katniss it was different, though. She won through patience and relying on others for help. And by chance when she threatened to kill herself and Peeta.

If the Gamemakers had let them die, they probably wouldn’t have this whole rebellion on their hands. They would still hold the power, as always. And maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation.

Katniss finally realizes that the gym has fallen silent. She lowers her bow, taking a look behind her to see the rest of you watching. She’s even managed to catch the attention of Brutus, which is impressive itself.

You share a look with Finnick, “This might just work.”

—

The next two days follow the same path as the first, only Katniss and Peeta come join you more often than before. No matter how much you keep moving around the gymnasium, shining old skills, they’ll appear. You find that Katniss is good at identifying berries and leaves, and Peeta’s ability to camouflage is more amazing to watch in person.

Everyone had seen Katniss with her bow on that first day, which made her popularity soar through the roof. So wherever Katniss and Peeta roam, there’s always a stray that follows. While Peeta had been messing around with colors and paints to blend himself into the wall, the District Six tributes were drawn toward him and began to show him their own skills.

Katniss has only slightly let her guard down, before she obviously thought Finnick was insufferable. Now she doesn’t flinch when he joins her at certain stations. At one point, they even traded lessons to get to know each other’s weapons better. Katniss’ archery for Finnick’s tridents.

As for you, you mostly continue to go around in a circle, picking stations that stand out most to you. You always manage to end up back at the knife throwing station or sparring, though. As much as you should be worried about long-range combat, further than any knife could reach, you don’t push it.

A knife, a sword and your fists didn’t fail you last time. Why bother changing something that isn’t broken? It’s not like the other tributes don’t already know what to expect from you this year.

Which is exactly why you won’t be changing what you’ll be doing for the Gamemakers, either. 

You’re all gathered in the cafeteria, talking—joking—about what you’ll be doing for the Gamemakers to improve your scores. A comedy act, singing, some dancing, Johanna suggests stripping for them, which causes a whole new wave of ideas.

No matter what happens, you’re not all too worried about your score. The Gamemakers could give you a one and you’d accept it and move on. Sponsors were a necessity to win last time because you were fifteen. You’re twenty-five now, they should be nothing but an extra helping hand to you.

And you’ve got a special card up your sleeve, anyway.”

“District One, Gloss Ritchson. Report for individual assessment.”

Eyes land on Gloss as he stands from the table, giving a smile to his sister before he walks into the private room a few feet away. The door slides shut behind him, ensuring that any trick he does will be for the Gamemakers eyes only.

You look at Finnick, “And so it begins.”

One by one, names are called and tributes disappear behind the door. They don’t come back out, which means there has to be a separate exit that leads back to the elevators. Once the first two districts are gone, the table’s significantly quieter, confirming that the careers have been carrying the conversation.

You bounce back and forth between picking at your nails and playing with the ring on your finger. Finnick’s conversation with Johanna is meaningless, something about the interviews. Johanna says that she might have finally convinced the stylists that she’s going to kill them if they try anything green. Blight rolls his eyes.

You have no clue what’s going to be in store for you and Finnick. All you know is that Anchor and Mags have been working hard to ensure that you don’t end up with another chariot outfit. Neither of you want to go out with a bang, and with the risk that they took with the bondage outfits, you wouldn’t put it past Pleurisy.

You know that you don’t get a say in what you wear, because the stylists’ only job is to make sure that their tribute catches eyes. However, you tried to nudge Anchor in the direction of having an outfit that looks like your last interview outfit. The same color blue, the same style dress, you don’t care. You know you just want that little bit of nostalgia for the audience.

Because if you make it out of this alive, they will never see the same (Y/n) ever again.

“District Four, Finnick Odair. Report for individual assessment.”

Finnick finishes up what he’s saying to Johanna before he turns to you. His hands cup your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before he smiles, “The only luck I need.”

“I believe in you.” You tell him.

Finnick walks through the doorway, the door shuts him inside. His fifteen minutes start now.

Johanna doesn’t bother to try to start a conversation with you. It must be the silence you’ve been sitting in that gives it away. You turn around, sitting with your back facing the table to stare into the gymnasium that you’ve been training in these last couple of days.

After today is two more days. Tomorrow you’ll get time to prepare yourselves for the interview, the day after will be the interview, and then you’ll go inside of the arena. You’ll get to see what type of hellscape you’re stuck with this year. For Haymitch it was a nightmare dressed like a daydream. What are the chances you’re let off easy?

“District Four, (Y/n) Gallows. Report for individual assessment.”

You don’t say goodbye to anyone, heading for the door. You start by yanking off the athletic jacket they made you wear. You’re sweating, which is partly caused by the fact that you’re stressing yourself out. You’re also going to need more room to move your arms.

The door shuts behind you.

You move until you’re standing in the middle of the room. When your eyes finally land on the Gamemakers, Plutarch Heavensbee speaks, “You have fifteen minutes to present your chosen skill.”

You’re not going to use all fifteen minutes. You probably won’t even use ten. You wander across the room, to the small section set up for knife throwing. There’s all sorts of shapes and sizes displayed across the table. You pick up a knife that looks the sharpest before swinging your jacket onto the ground, still holding onto a sleeve.

You slice through the fabric, and then cut up the sleeve to make a blindfold. The jacket is black, and when you hold it over your eyes, you can’t see through it. You set the knife off to the side, divvying up the knives you’ll be using for this trick, and pulling one spear out of the spear throwing station.

You spend thirty seconds looking at the dummies, the targets, where they’re positioned, how much force you’ll have to use to get them across the distance. Where you’ll be throwing the spear as a finale.

Then, you turn around, facing the Gamemakers as you tie the blindfold over your eyes.

“Turn the lights off.” You say, and they listen. You can tell because the darkness on the other side of the blindfold is immediate.

You take a deep breath, and turn around. As you begin to throw the knives, you realize that there’s still light. You can see it through the tiny cracks in the fabric, but it’s not lighting up the whole room. There must be lights on the targets themselves, which is perfect for you. It lets them see the fact that you’re making every single knife. Your right hand, and then left, altering distances as best as possible.

Once the final knife leaves your hand, you find the spear sitting nearby. You raise it over your shoulder, picturing the farthest target in your mind. You’re aiming for the head, which means you’ll need a little more force than normal…

You throw the spear, hear the whistle of it flying through the air before the thud of it colliding with the dummy. You remove the blindfold in time to watch the dummy topple over, crashing to the ground. The relief that floods your body is more than ridiculous. The main lights switch back on, revealing that you have made every single target as intended. Not a single knife is out of place.

A smile creeps onto your face, you turn to face the Gamemakers again.

Plutarch nods, possibly impressed. You can’t tell from here, “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you.” 

You make no move to retrieve your ripped jacket off of the ground, leaving it for them to clean up. It’s nothing but scraps now, it’s not like they’ll be reusing it for the future either. No outfit is worn twice, no Hunger Games is the same as the last.

The second you step foot out of the room, the door shuts behind you. You run a hand through your hair as you head straight for the elevator, not wanting to dwell in the hallway. The peacekeepers out here don’t move a muscle at your appearance, but you can feel their eyes following you.

Tle elevator saves you, and takes you back up to the Four floor, where Finnick’s waiting for you on the couch. He gets to his feet, smiling.

“How’d it go?”

“As expected.” You press a kiss to his cheek, “Where’s our team?”

“Elysia just left to help Mags and Anchor wrap up. Everyone will be here for dinner.”

You nod, beginning to head up to your room. Finnick follows you in, kicking off his shoes by the door, and flopping onto your bed. He’s also somehow lost the jacket that he was supposed to be wearing. Maybe he dropped it off in his room already.

You leave your shoes next to Finnick’s, joining him on the bed. It feels nice to lay down, staring at the ceiling with nothing to do but wait. You have all the time in the world now. You could sleep from today to tomorrow and no one would tell you otherwise. 

Finnick hums, “This is around the time we stopped being friends.”

Your face scrunches as you move your head to look at Finnick. He’s got his eyes closed, eyebrows drawn together as he thinks to himself. He can’t mean when he turned sixteen, that happened the same day you guys came off the train. And he’d shut himself in his room, and you came around and pressured him even though Elysia told you not to.

“During our games, I mean. We went with two different alliances.” He opens his eyes, “I used to regret leaving you alone like that, but I’m glad I did. Who knows if the both of us would’ve won together if we hadn’t fought.”

You hold out your hand, and Finnick slides his fingers over your palm, and then squeezes.

“And now I get to suffer with you for eternity.” You smile.

Finnick lets out a laugh, “Right.”

The two of you stay like that for only a couple minutes longer, and then you get up to take a shower. Finnick waits in the room while you get some privacy, he knows how you feel about cold showers after workouts. You take your time, scrubbing your body with flowery scents until your skin hurts.

When you’re done, you get dressed in black jeans and a red shirt. Finnick’s officially fallen asleep on the bed, so all you do is crawl on top of the covers next to him and curl up. It isn’t long before he’s got you in his arms, and you’re falling asleep next to him.

Elysia’s the one to come retrieve you two for dinner. She doesn’t stay longer for a minute to make sure you’re awake. Finnick groans, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Come on,” you laugh, pulling at his arm, “We gotta see how screwed we are.”

“We can’t just assume we’re royally fucked?”

“What’s the fun in that?”

You stand, stretching your arms above your head, yawning. Finnick begrudgingly gets up, ignoring the idea of shoes as he drags his feet to the dining room. You slide on some sandals to look presentable. You know Finnick gave up on that a long time ago, hell he’s still wearing the training outfit from earlier.

Elysia, the mentors, and the stylists are sitting at the table when you get out there. You take your respective spots at the table, and the avoxes don’t hesitate to start bringing out food.

“Did your private sessions go okay?” Elysia asks first.

You look at Finnick, letting him know that he can go first. You can probably guess what he’s going to say, anyway. The usual trident-throwing, maybe a few new things he learned throughout this time. You can’t imagine he touched a bow at all, though.

“Just what I did last time,” Finnick says, half-shrugging, “Gamemakers hardly looked impressed, I suppose it’s expected that I’ll throw tridents and spears.”

Anchor’s nodding, “You’ll still score high, they don’t have a reason not to.”

Elysia then looks at you, “And you, (Y/n).”

“Knives.” You simply say, no one is surprised, “I blindfolded myself and threw knives.”

Laurel pauses in the middle of cutting her chicken breast, thinking about what you’ve said. You reach for the wine, sipping on your glass as they give you a suspicious look. As if there’s no way in hell you would be so bold as to try and pull something like that off. And successfully?

Finnick knows you’re not bluffing, though, “Did you hit all the targets?”

“Yup, and I threw a spear last. It knocked over the dummy because it was a headshot, but I didn’t get a reaction out of them, either.” You make a face, “I suppose Plutarch has to be careful about brash reactions, otherwise he might end up like the last Gamemaker.”

Pleurisy chokes on her water, using her hand to catch the spit. Elysia’s eyes grow wide, Anchor presses a fist to his mouth, a smile hinting at the corners of his lips. Finnick doesn’t hide his amusement, letting out a chuckle.

“You can’t—” Elysia’s gaping, unsure of what to say, “be serious…”

“I’m dead serious.” You say, Laurel’s face twists in disgust at the choice of words. You don’t care, it’s not like they can punish you further than this. You’re already going back inside of an arena, “Fuck the Gamemakers, every single last one of them.”

“At least we know there’s no use in worrying over your scores.” Anchor says, sealing that conversation, Elysia transitions into the next.

The topic doesn’t allow for much comment from you and Finnick, likely done on purpose. You and Finnick have a small conversation of your own, taking guesses on scores. You mention how Alyssum will get to see just how dangerous the two of you actually are. That she’s been growing up with a couple of murderers this entire time.

Finnick makes a face, “You act like she hasn’t been in the boarding school since she was seven.”

“There’s a difference. She wasn’t old enough, and now she is. She’s never seen the tapes of us.”

You hope it stays that way until she’s older.

Once they’re done eating, you all transfer over to the living area. You sit next to the arm rest, with Finnick on your left. You lean your head on his shoulder, listening to Caesar narrate what will be happening, how they score you guys. It’s over the course of the past three days, but your private session is taken into great consideration.

He starts with Gloss, slowly working his way up. The careers score high, ten’s and eleven’s. Three scores moderately low, unsurprising to you. Beetee and Wiress don’t really have their heads screwed on straight. Finnick scores an eleven, same as you. Johanna and Blight are kinda high, nothing to gawk at, though. Everyone else is normal.

You’re expecting a ten for Peeta and another eleven for Katniss, considering that there’s not much for improvement. The words die in your throat as you watch Peeta score a twelve, a feat that no one has accomplished in the seventy-five year history of the Hunger Games. And then Caesar moves on to tell you that Katniss has also scored a twelve.

You might puke.

There’s no chance that they actually did something that impressed the Gamemakers that much, right? They had to have pissed them off in some way, more than what they’ve done already. The Gamemakers didn’t have sponsors in mind when they chose the number. They’re banking on the idea that Katniss and Peeta are going to get targeted in the arena. They hold the highest number, therefore they’re the most dangerous.

“Well, they never fail to impress.” Elysia says, standing from the couch.

You get up wordlessly, shaking your head as you pick at your nails, “Come on, Finnick.”

Laurel and Pleurisy look over, confused, “Where are you going? You don’t want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” You ask, “The Gamemakers want them dead. It’s pretty obvious to me.”

Finnick follows you, not even questioning why you’re heading for the door and not for your room. The two of you walk down the empty hallway, past the elevator and to the stairwell, slipping inside undetected. You travel up a few flights before sitting on the stairs, waiting for Haymitch.

He doesn’t come immediately, probably panicking about it too. 

“We’re expected to protect two of the most wanted tributes inside of the arena.” you say, and can’t help the deranged laughter that follows. You’re fucked, that’s as plain as it comes. Best you can do now is cross your fingers and hope everything that Haymitch and Plutarch are planning actually works.

“It’s not just us, there’s half the other tributes, too.” Finnick says, “We’re just doing the bulk of the work. And you have to remember that this could be the end of the Hunger Games.”

“This is not going to be some walk in the park,” you shake your head, “This is going to be a battle—a whole fucking war—because god forbid Snow doesn’t go down swinging.”

A minute later you can hear footsteps, you don’t bother to move from where you sit. Finnick perks up when he sees Haymitch, you have your face buried in your hands, rubbing your forehead to relieve the headache that’s forming.

“Who did you talk to?” Haymitch asks.

“Careers are out.” You say, “Cecelia and Woof are in.”

Finnick nods, “Three, Six, Seven, and Eleven.”

“You’re sure that the careers are out?” 

“Do you want Brutus to be around Katniss and Peeta with the score they just got? You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kill them the night of the interviews.” You press your lips together, “What’s the official plan?”

“We have to wait on Plutarch’s signal, it’s going to be late notice.” Haymitch starts, you stifle the agitated laughter, “We’ll send you bread in the arena, what district it’s from will be the day, the number of rolls will be the hour, military time. Katniss and Peeta have decided on no alliance, but that’s not really up to them, anyway. I have these for you guys to use as your token.”

You turn long enough to see Haymitch hand over some shiny gold jewelry. Finnick claims the bracelet, and then holds out the earrings for you to look at. Your face twists.

“Katniss will know when she sees the gold.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Finnick asks.

“She will.” Haymitch emphasizes, “We’ll try to take as many of you to District Thirteen as possible, but we’ll only have a small window to rescue you. Katniss needs to be at the tree at midnight.”

“What tree?” You ask, choosing to humor the Thirteen fantasy, “None of this makes sense.”

“Plutarch hasn’t given me a lot of information because he can’t. You just need to trust me.”

You make eye contact with Finnick, shaking your head slightly. At this point, it would be easier to kill Katniss and Peeta and pray that things work out. You’re practically doing that anyway, listening to Haymitch’s half-baked plan. This plan is suicide, you’ll be lucky if Katniss doesn’t straight kill you two on sight in the cornucopia.

“Anything else?” Finnick asks.

“I can take your rings.” Haymitch says, “They’ll be safe with me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Can’t do that, the Capitol will notice during the interviews.”

“Then after, because you won’t be able to take two tokens.” Haymitch says, “We can meet in the elevator when the interviews are done.”

Finnick thinks for a moment, staring at the ground. He doesn’t look up when he starts speaking, “Okay, to get this straight, Katniss and Peeta decided on no alliances, but the gold we’re going to wear will be a giveaway that she’s in one anyway?”

“Yes, she’ll know I organized this without them. She won’t be happy about it at first, she’ll come around just enough to trust you. Peeta shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

Finnick nods, “And we’re to protect them both, for however long that may be. You’ll send us bread to let us know the day and time. The district the bread is from is the day, the number is the time, and they have to be at some tree?” He raises his eyes now, “You’ll take everyone we manage to save, but Katniss has to be there no matter what.”

“Yes. You two, Johanna and Beetee all have different jobs. Beetee will blow the arena, Johanna will get the tracker out of Katniss’ arm, you’ll keep them alive.”

You twist your rings, “I have one question, Haymitch.”

“Yes?”

You get up from the stairs, turning to finally look at him. You slide your hands into your pockets, “What’s guaranteeing our family’s safety?”

—

Haymitch didn’t answer your question, that’s all you can think about all night. He danced around the question, and even though you asked him again more specifically, he didn’t give you a straight answer. Just some bullshit about how they have a plan for Katniss and Peeta’s families.

Finnick didn’t bother to help you out, either. He let the question go when Haymitch claimed that he had to get back before it looked suspicious. You told Finnick to go back without you because you needed a minute to collect your emotions before you had a meltdown, which you were verging on one.

The whole plan is being held together by tape and glue. You and Finnick—no, half the tributes going inside the arena—are expected to risk your lives at any cost to make sure that Katniss and Peeta make it out alive. Or Katniss, at the very least, since Peeta’s kinda like an accessory to her. 

You’re not supposed to loathe either of them, despite the fact that circumstances are just getting harder with each passing day. As if you’re not in this whole entire ordeal because of some berries and the fact that Seneca Crane didn’t have the balls to let two tributes die instead of letting them live.

And you’re going to protect Katniss and Peeta against the very friends that saved your fucking life. Cashmere, Gloss and Enobaria have been there for you far more often than Haymitch ever has. Out of all the mentor’s that come to the Capitol, he’s always the first to go home because he has no sense of responsibility over the whole mentorship thing. He let his tributes die for two dozen years, and the only reason why he finally came around is because they forced him to!

It’s all a half-baked plan too. Plutarch can’t give any sort of information about how this whole bullshit rescue plan is going to work? Yet he can tell you to be at some fucking tree to get out of the arena. Katniss needs to be there, the rest of you are still a fucking tool to make sure she survives.

Not to mention, if you’re all there to be rescued at the right time, then you’re going to be brought to District Thirteen. A district that hasn’t been around since the rebellion. They’re not even really mentioned anymore, that’s how forgettable it is. It’s a complete fucking joke!

You’re supposed to risk your life, give up your mother’s wedding ring and have a little bit of faith that Katniss listens to Haymitch’s nudge about the alliance. If she doesn’t, then that just means you’ll be dying inside of the arena wearing a pair of gold earrings. 

The sun has barely risen, and you’re already sliding out of bed, rubbing your face. You didn’t get any sleep at all last night. You kept tossing and turning, trying to figure out how this’ll all work out somehow. It’s a puzzle that you can’t solve beforehand, you have to wait until you’re in the moment.

You pull your hair into a ponytail, leaving the bedroom to go sit out on the balcony for a while. You pull your knees to your chest, staring out at the city below. It won’t be awake for another couple of hours, the Capitol’s full of a bunch of night owls. Which is why events start at noon or later.

The only thing Haymitch did tell you is that Katniss had chosen three people as her allies after that first initial day. She had the pick of the litter, even an alliance offer from Brutus, and she turned him down. Katniss wanted Wiress, Beetee, and you.

You figured as much, you had a feeling that was the case the following day when she kept coming around to be near you. It doesn’t surprise you that she doesn’t want an alliance, though. Her and Peeta are probably thinking that with the scores they have now, their best luck will be to be alone. Which is also why you’re not sure if the gold idea will work.

What if she thinks that you and Finnick figured out that’s their theme this year? What if she decides that she won’t be listening to Haymitch because he’s setting them up for failure? It’s not set in stone, that’s what’s bothering you the most. When you had gone in ten years ago, you had the careers. You were one of the careers, and you knew that they were going to keep you safe.

And now what? You’re going to be protecting Twelve tributes.

It’s not right. None of this makes sense anymore.

The door opens, making you look over your shoulder to see Anchor. He looks like he hasn’t been up for very long, he’s still rubbing beneath his eyes to wake up. He pulls the door shut and sits next to you wordlessly, staring off into the city.

None of this has gone to plan, and it started with the reaping. You should’ve known that everything would get screwed up when Finnick volunteered. For a second you thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, that the Capitol might be lenient because Finnick’s such a favorite still. You two were the first to fall in love inside of the arena, after all.

The chariot outfits, the alliances, the training scores. You’re lucky if tomorrow doesn’t have some cruel twist that makes things more difficult than they already are.

You’re not sure if this whole process would’ve been easier with Anchor. How your stylists would’ve reacted to having him instead of Finnick. There wouldn’t have been an argument with them over the chariot outfits, and no bother to correct them to make sure it doesn’t happen again. 

Anchor would probably be apprehensive about the whole rebel plan, which you’d appreciate at this point. You know he would’ve said something about your family before you’d have gotten the chance. In most ways, Anchor’s your best friend. You trust him with your life.

You look over at Anchor, “Can you do me a favor?”

“Hmm?” he hums.

“Make sure my family’s taken care of if we both die.” You press your lips together, “I think Finnick has enough sense to stay alive if I die, I just want to make sure that they’ll be okay if we’re both gone.”

Anchor doesn’t respond right away, “You don’t have to ask that, you know.”

“I know, it’s easier to hear out loud than assume it.”

He nods, “I’ll take care of your family if you die, (Y/n).”

“Thank you.”

The two of you don’t talk after that, only stare into the city. You think about back home, what your siblings must be thinking right now, or doing. The last time they saw you was a couple days ago, and tomorrow they’ll see you dressed up once again. In some nice dress playing pretend for the Capitol one last time.

Reed and Mox have lost sleep, there’s no question about it. You’re hoping that Caspian and Naida are supporting them now more than ever. And you’re also hoping that the other victor’s are being looked over with care. You forget how much you do for them until you have nothing to do at all.

Anchor suddenly stretches, getting up, “I’m sure you know, but you and Finnick aren’t being coached today.”

“Thanks.”

He leaves you out on the balcony by yourself. You stay for a few minutes longer, the sun has finally hit a reasonable point in the sky. You go inside too, wander down the hallway until you’re back in your room. Finnick rolled over, facing away from the window. As much as he claims to like your room better because of the view, you know he secretly hates the windows in the morning.

You crawl back in, wrapping your arm around him while you press your forehead against his back, closing your eyes. You don’t want to leave, you don’t want to go anywhere ever again. If it means you die here in this bed, then so be it.

You fall back asleep for a few hours, waking in the afternoon to Finnick pressing kisses all over your face. You hum, face twisting as you turn away to get him to stop. He lets out a gentle laugh, moving on to kiss your jaw and neck, persistent about getting you up.

“Good afternoon, my love.” Finnick murmurs.

“You’re so cheesy.” You can’t help the smile on your face.

“I take it that we’ve got today to ourselves?”

“Yeah, Anchor told me this morning.” You open your eyes, cupping Finnick’s face in your hands. He leans down to kiss you again, taking his time before he pulls away.

He goes over to the machine in the corner, ordering breakfast items. You snort, and sit up, “You should order the Traitor.”

Finnick glares over his shoulder, “You’re kidding.”

“I’m only half-kidding. I want the Ritchson Sibling drink.”

“You don’t even like how sugary it is,” Finnick says, but tries anyway. The machine spits out all of the food first, and Finnick makes it your job to lay out on the bed. And right when he’s getting triumphant about the alcohol not coming out, it appears.

Your arms shoot in the air, “Yes!”

Finnick breathes out a laugh, shaking his head at you. He hands over the glass, and then comes to sit next to you. Once he’s comfortable, you place your head on his shoulder for a moment.

“I love you.” 

“I love you.” He repeats back.

The two of you eat in silence, sharing the alcohol because there’s no way you’ll finish the glass by yourself. The city has finally come to life, now that it’s late afternoon. If you weren’t ball and chained to this stupid fucking place, you would take your usual group to The Victory Speech to enjoy a private room. Hell, you’d be irresponsible and drink the entire day away so that you’re hungover tomorrow.

Which sounds ridiculous, because you can drink now. You’re already doing it, but there’s a difference. It’s the sense of freedom you had while roaming around in the Capitol. Tattoos, restaurants, bars, festivals, clothes! The absolute nonsense that you’d all get into just because you could. What would the Capitol have to say about it? 

You end up picking at the last of your food, setting the plate down, “In the arena, we’re going for the cornucopia, right?”

“Yeah, probably. I’m sure Katniss will beeline for a bow, might as well follow her in. And even if she doesn’t, we’re not going to survive very long without weapons, we won’t be able to defend them.” Finnick says.

“I’ll go after whoever I’m closest to. Katniss, Peeta, whatever. I think that we should talk to Johanna about Wiress and Beetee. The more people we save, the better.” 

“Me, you and Johanna babysitting Katniss, Peeta, Wiress and Beetee?”

“You’re forgetting about Blight.” You look at him.

Finnick shrugs, “It’s still a tough group either way. I know that Wiress and Beetee won’t fight it very much, but Katniss and Peeta are going to be a handful all by themselves. And we both know that Johanna doesn’t necessarily get along with Katniss.”

“Johanna’s whole attitude is going to suck, but that doesn’t mean she won’t pull it together long enough to make it work.” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Wait until she hears the plan.”

This comment from him makes you press your lips together, turning to look out the window. You lace your fingers, hands in your lap. So he admits that the plan is dangerous, then. That Johanna will see it the same way that you are right now, and you two don’t see eye to eye often.

“What?” Finnick asks, “Why’d you turn away like that?”

“You’re having a hard time believing Haymitch’s plan, yourself.” 

“I never said I wasn’t.” He says, continuing to eat.

You close your eyes, “You implied that you were okay with everything that Haymitch said. For fuck’s sake, when he completely ignored my question about my siblings, you didn’t care.”

“He said that he was planning on Katniss and Peeta’s families already.”

Now you look at him, “Yes, Finnick, Katniss and Peeta’s families. Where the hell do we mix in?”

Finnick shakes his head, not knowing what to say. You rub your forehead, getting off of the bed to place the dishes back in the machine, including the alcohol. You wander back over when you’re done, sprawling across the bed.

“They’ll be okay.” Finnick says, “We’re doing all this work for Haymitch, you think he won’t cover our bases too?”

“Just two years ago he was drunk off his mind. I don’t know why we suddenly deemed him as trustworthy.”

Finnick shrugs, “Did we really have a choice?”

No, not really.

“Either way, if you find Katniss first, keep the teasing at a minimum. She’s not going to humor you in the arena.” 

Finnick looks down at you, “What, you don’t want her to shoot an arrow at my head?”

You roll your eyes, he laughs. Finnick sends his plates back, and then comes to lay down next to you. When you don’t immediately scoot over to be in his arms, basking in the sun beams, he pulls you over. 

Instead of complaining, you place your head on Finnick’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Neither of you talk as you trace the tattoo of his family’s name on his shoulder. They’ve been gone for a long time now, and if it weren’t for Snow, then Orion—Finnick’s brother—would still be alive.

As much as Finnick misses them, he doesn’t talk about them much anymore. It’s only when it’s a holiday or one of their birthdays, do you two go out and visit graves. It’s always a picnic, and you’ll spend hours there. Sometimes in silence, sometimes Finnick talks to the headstones. When he wants private moments by himself, you’ll wander to find your own parents.

The last time you were here in the Capitol under these circumstances, you kept saying that your brother’s couldn’t handle another death. Not another one after the two you had back to back. Now, you think that’s changed. Of course, your siblings would be absolutely heartbroken if you were to die, but they would move on in time.

However, as for Finnick, you don’t think he’d be able to live without you. You told Anchor that you think Finnick would have enough sense to stay alive if you get killed in the arena. It’s only partially true, because he would have your siblings, Mags and Anchor there to support and force him to realize that he can keep going. 

The years you two spent apart were bad enough as is, but he still had the comfort of knowing that you were nearby. That’s why he kept coming to the Capitol with you, even if he didn’t have the energy to mentor. If you die, then it’s permanent. There will be no more (Y/n), only memories and siblings that carry your traits.

And if Finnick dies, you’ll be left with less. 

Which is exactly why you keep thinking the same scenario over and over. You die, and Finnick lives, because that was going to be the plan the entire time. On the off-chance that Anchor and you were both to die, Finnick would have people left over. Mags and your family would be good enough. 

Finnick dying is out of the question, you won’t even entertain the idea.

You can’t lose him.

—

The prep team knocks at your door bright and early, waking you up first. Finnick doesn’t notice, he’s got his face buried in the pillow, sleeping on his stomach, one arm out to hold you close. You shake his shoulder slightly as the door opens, revealing Cleo and Esmeray waiting anxiously.

“Finnick,” you murmur, not entirely awake. You don’t know what time you fell asleep last night, the two of you got caught up in talking about the arena, taking guesses on what the twist will be.

He hums.

“Honey, the prep teams are literally at the door staring at us. We have to get ready.” You sit up, running a hand through his bronze hair. Finnick doesn’t move for a long second.

“I fucking hate the Capitol,” he finally groans. He stretches, yawning loudly and getting up. He retrieves his wedding band off of the nightstand, and then leans over the bed to kiss you, “I’ll see you later, love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Finnick drags his feet to the door, Esmeray’s relieved, placing a hand on his back to usher him to his own room. Cleo wiggles her eyebrows at you for a moment, then she turns around, yelling for Leo and Beth. Once the other two join her, the torture begins.

They bring you into the bathroom, starting with a shower. Leo’s distracted with laying out his makeup palettes, bringing a chair into the bathroom, and more. The girls work together to pick soaps to wash your hair with, and then choose the vanilla smelling body wash.

After that, they give you nude underwear to wear in the meantime while they work with everything else. Beth starts with blow drying your hair, eliminating the possibility of talking to any of them for the next half hour. Cleo sits on the floor, legs crossed while she does your nails. She doesn’t say anything, but you can tell she’s glad that you listened to her.

They’re all very quiet and focused as they work. Even when Beth’s done with drying your hair, none of them bother to start a conversation. They’re probably worried about getting upset and not being able to come back from it. Over the years of mentoring, you’ve grown close with your prep team, you know the details about their lives, how much they miss you.

Honestly, you miss them a lot too. Back home you’ll run across little trinkets that remind you of them, and sometimes you buy them presents to give them the following year. A little souvenir from District Four. There’s not a lot of victor’s that still have a relationship like this with their former team.

Beth straightens your hair, then braids at your temples. She uses enough hair to make a crown, letting the rest be until she can get to that part. She picks at the braid when she’s done to make it less uniform, and pulls hair out in front to frame your face. Now that she’s set herself up, she takes her time curling your hair, readjusting over and over until she’s sure that it’s absolutely perfect.

Leo decides on blue eyeshadow and gold eyeliner. No one has told you whether or not Laurel took your suggestion into consideration, but by judging on the shade of blue, it’s going to be close to the last interview dress. Leo works in waves, taking frequent breaks and stepping back to get a better look at your entire face. 

It finally hits the point where you have to close your eyes for him to get a majority of the work done. Cleo’s still doing your nails, and at this point, she huffs out, “I can’t deal with how uneven the nails still are.”

“Well, if you’re going to go for acrylic, make sure that they look natural.” Beth pauses what she’s doing, “She never grows her nails out long enough to hinder her work. They need to be short and rounded.”

It’s weird hearing your habits said out loud. It’s true, you keep your nails short so that you don’t accidentally cut anyone, and if you were to break a nail, it would make your job harder. You round your nails because it looks better with the outfits you wear at home.

“Okay, I’ll start the nails if you file them.”

“Sounds good, I’m just about done, too.” Beth resumes your hair.

Cleo starts over on your nails, removing the paint that she had applied less than ten minutes ago. She files the tops, and then gets to work on fixing what she doesn’t like. You can’t exactly tell, you’re going off of movements and what Cleo’s muttering about. Leo’s not done on your eyes yet.

Beth finally finishes your hair, which is around the same time Cleo needs her to take over. Beth’s hands are gentle, but she’s rough with the nail file, determined to get a rounded look. Leo says you can open your eyes again, allowing you to see that they’ve given you fake nails.

“You can’t tell anyone you have these.” Beth says, not looking up, “You’re not supposed to have anything that would give you an advantage inside of the arena.” 

Beth finishes filing, and before Cleo can take over again, she says that they can take a break. She wants to talk to you alone before Laurel comes to put you in the dress. They leave without another question, happy to go and get a glass of water.

As she begins to apply white nail polish, she says; “The other two are going to cry if I mention it again. I wanted a moment so I can tell you that I’m retiring. You are my last tribute.”

Your face twists, Beth looks up in time to catch this, she gives you a soft smile, “It won’t be the same without you, (Y/n). We love you. I love you. Be careful in there, please.”

“I will. And I love you too, just for the record.” You smile.

She applies a little bit of silver glitter at the moon of your nail to wrap it up. All that’s left to do is dry them periodically over the course of the next couple minutes. Cleo and Leo come back to double-check their work, making sure that not a hair is out of place.

Cleo’s sniffing, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, “We have to make sure you’re extra pretty for your brothers and sweet Alyssum.”

“And Finnick.” Leo adds quietly.

When they find nothing, they go ahead and apply the spray-on body glitter to make sure you sparkle on camera. Beth adds in her signature cinnamon and vanilla perfume now to avoid ruining the dress. She sprays extra in your hair so that each time you move, another wave of the scent will fill the air.

Laurel arrives on time to do the finishing touches, Cleo, Leo and Beth leave the room to you two. She makes you wear dangling gold and diamond earrings, resembling water droplets. Next is the star and moon choker, that’s connected to the same themed necklace below it. 

The white heels aren’t as tall as you were expecting them to be. Laurel helps you put on the dress, which is absolutely beautiful, you almost can’t believe that Laurel went out of her way to make a dress like this.

The dress is a light blue, with shades that compliment each other. It’s a loose-fitting floor-length dress with a mesh train attached to the arms of the dress. The top of the dress is a deep v-neck and it goes down to the middle of the dress. Lining the edges is beige leather, which also follows the v-shape of the neck.

The fabric from the plunge creates a sort of waterfall look at the front of the dress. There’s a new layer for each part of the leather belt, the first being taller than the next.

You can’t help it when you turn your body to look at the dress over and over. Since this one is a bit of a challenge to walk around in, Laurel gives you permission to hold up the front of the dress to avoid stepping on it. 

She finishes it off with a couple of rings to add on to your wedding, as well as bracelets that are freshly polished and sparkle in the light. She makes you pose in different ways, and with the extra spare time, helps you decide how you’re going to stand on stage.

“I’m sorry about the tribute parade.” You say, running your hands over the front of the dress.

Laurel shakes her head, “I’m not mad, (Y/n). I knew we were overstepping boundaries, I was more surprised that it took you so long to say something.”

You make a face, “Asshole.”

Laurel laughs, “Did Beth tell you?”

“Yeah, she did. Are you retiring too?”

“Possibly, I have a job lined up if they let me. Normally, President Snow has to relieve a stylist of their position, they can’t decide to quit. It takes a lot of preparation to replace stylists.” Laurel rolls her eyes, “In any case, I’ll find something to do.”

Since you’re ready for the stage, Laurel lets you out of your room. Elysia gives you water to hydrate, knowing that you’ll be on stage for hours without being able to leave. Anchor approves of the dress, and makes a joke about how Reed and Mox are going to be happier this time around.

“Tell me about it.”

Pleurisy and her team are the first to come out of the room, Finnick following behind them. 

“Holy shit,” is the first thing Finnick says before rushing down the stairs, “You’re gorgeous.”

You cup his face, leading him to your lips because he can’t touch you without potentially ruining something.

Finnick’s wearing a long sleeved, white button down shirt, which is tucked into his black slacks. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone on purpose, the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, the cuffs still buttoned to make sure that they don’t move. As for his hair, it’s been curled and hair sprayed so it stays.

“And you’re handsome as always.” You tell him, “We’re going to knock out the Capitol tonight.”

It’s time to get moving, so you all pile into the elevator together and take it down to the floor. You say your goodbyes to everyone, knowing that you’ll only get to see a part of them tonight after the interviews. Cleo bursts into tears again before your prep team disappears.

You and Finnick wander down the hallway to where everyone else has gathered so far. Finnick’s holding your hand, keeping you together. The two of you stop to talk to Cashmere, Gloss and Enobaria first, Brutus nowhere in sight. The siblings are wearing equally bright and glittery outfits that attract attention each time they move. As for Enobaria, she’s wearing a short and tight gold dress.

“Your dress is beautiful.” Cashmere says, looking it over, “It’s a nod at the other dress, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, kinda.” You pull the sides of the dress out to give her a better look at the layers.

“It almost makes me wish I had a new dress.” Cashmere winks, “But we went for glittery specifically.”

“It’s going to catch all the lights, that’s for sure.” You agree, Cashmere smiles, “I love the way they did your hair.”

“Thank you.”

“(Y/n)! Finnick!” Johanna shouts, motioning for you two.

Finnick lets out a laugh, “Sorry.”

“It’s no worries,” Gloss says, “Good luck on stage.”

“You too.” 

Johanna seems to have lost the battle when it comes to wearing green. It’s an emerald green dress with a leg slit in the front. It’s off the shoulder, letting everyone see her collarbones. Her hair is practically a mohawk, except the top is curled to give it more of a feminine look, the sides are slicked down with gel. Her makeup is dramatically black, with long, fake eyelashes. 

Despite the fact that her stylists seem to have ignored her demands, she seems happy. There’s a little smirk at the corner of her lips, “I see your stylists came to their senses.”

“I see yours still hates you.”

She laughs, “Well, there’s not a single tree to be seen on me, so as far as I’m concerned, they weren’t suicidal after all.”

Finnick rolls his eyes. Blight’s standing nearby, wearing a black suit, hands tucked into the pockets. The four of you seem to gather closer to talk, whether you mean to or not.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Finnick and I will get them out of the cornucopia.” You intertwine your fingers in front of you, “He said that she would’ve wanted Wiress and Beetee as allies, so I think…”

“You think that we should get them out.” Johanna says, nodding her head, clearly thinking about it, “That’s not too bad of an idea. What about after?”

Finnick sighs, “There’s no telling until we’re in the arena. Hopefully we all get stuck together immediately, but the bloodbath gets chaotic. There’s no promises.”

Johanna and Blight know, which is why they don’t argue. They’re going to get Wiress and Beetee out of the bloodbath alive, maybe Johanna can snag a weapon before it gets too bad. And you’ll all just have to run across each other at some point afterward.

A few minutes later, the final tributes are arriving. There’s only one district that’s lagging, and it happens to be Twelve. You fix anything out of place on Finnick’s outfit, including a curl that didn’t want to stay. You tuck it back in, telling him to be careful when he moves his head.

The elevator doors alert everyone that they’ve finally come, conversations hush for a second, and then cease. Katniss is wearing a wedding gown, it’s huge, and it’s going to steal the show when the Capitol gets a good look at it. Behind her, Peeta’s wearing a tuxedo to match the theme.

It’s silent, until Finnick says, “I can’t believe Cinna put you in that thing.”

“He didn’t have any choice. President Snow made him,” Katniss is defensive.

Cashmere flips her hair over her shoulder, revealing that her dress is being held up by straps, “Well, you look ridiculous!”

She grabs onto Gloss’ elbow, guiding him to stand at the front of the line. Enobaria follows behind them, and Brutus appears out of nowhere to take his place. Slowly, everyone begins to take their place in line. You’re supposed to be behind Beetee, but you sneak away from Finnick long enough to visit Katniss.

“You’re going to sweep away the audience. At least you’re last, so we’ll have a chance before then.” You place a hand on her arm, “You won’t have to say a word.”

You leave, going to stand in front of Finnick. He lets you hold his arm while you fix the strap on your heels, not liking the way it digs into your ankle. When Cashmere starts walking up the stage, you give it up.

While you walk to the bubble chairs at the back of the stage, you steal glances at the audience, trying to figure out how they’re feeling already. You didn’t really have a chance to plan out what you’ll be saying on stage, but there’s no chance in hell you’re not going to make your three minutes as painful as possible.

You tuck the dress beneath you carefully, turning in the direction of Finnick. He holds his hand out for you, and you take it, squeezing tightly. If there’s one thing you’ve grown used to, it’s being in front of crowds like this. You hated every second of it, knowing that people could be judging your every move. It’s different now that you have a name in the Capitol.

There’s not a single space in the crowd that isn’t filled. There’s cameras at every given angle to catch even the smallest details. If you couldn’t make it to the stage, it doesn’t matter because everything is being broadcasted to the people who couldn’t make it. And for everyone back home in the districts.

You can picture your family all huddled together in the living room, getting their first look at you in several days. Naida’s family is over too, maybe a few of the other victor’s. There’s a good chance that a few of them are crying because you’re here again.

You find the nearest camera that has a perfect view on you, and smile.

Caesar Flickerman finally comes on stage, his signature color this year seems to be lavender, because he’s covered in the color. He starts with his usual jokes to warm up the audience, get them prepared for the interviews. And then he calls for Cashmere first.

In classic Cashmere fashion, she begins to sob within the first minute of her interview, getting the crowd emotional. Caesar tries to comfort her in any way he can, but she’s unrelenting, and it’s being done on purpose. She’s just so upset for the Capitol because they must be suffering right now. When Gloss begins, he talks about the kindness that the Capitol has shown them both ever since they won.

Enobaria takes the interview like she would if this were any regular hunger games, by answering the questions and occasionally smiling into the camera. You don’t miss the passive aggressive behavior, she was chosen for the games, unlike Brutus who volunteered. Speaking of which, you watch the way he moves around Caesar, like he’s trying to intimidate him.

Wiress and Beetee both point out technicalities, wondering why the Capitol is letting this happen to you. If they have actually cared all of these years and loved you as much as they say they have, then they can use their voices to change this. It doesn’t do a lot, but the crowd sways slightly.

You smooth out your dress.

“District Four, (Y/n) Gallows!” Caesar shouts, extending his hand backwards.

You stand from your chair, pulling up the dress slightly as you walk forward. His face lights up at the sight of the entire dress, motioning to the layers and the jewelry. As if he’s genuinely speechless. You know he plays it up for the crowd.

“Wow!” He says, looking into the crowd, “This dress looks familiar!”

He laughs, the crowd shouts in agreement.

“Laurel and I thought we could all use some nostalgia.” Your eyes wander the crowd, “After all, I remembered how much you all loved Finnick and I the last time we were here. I can’t imagine how you’re going to feel once we’re gone.”

“Aren’t you planning on winning?” Caesar asks, confused.

“Of course I am,” You place your hand on his, “It’s just that with so many victor’s going inside of the arena, all but one of us are bound to die. I can hope that I’m going to win, but there’s no guarantee this time. You’re going to lose a lot of favorites.

“And my siblings might lose their sister.” You look into the camera, drawing out the tears you’ve been working on. It’s not hard, considering you’ve been thinking about this for the past twenty-four hours.

“We’ve lost so much to get here.” You sniff, fake and real tears brink your eyes, “I only won last time for my brothers and sister. I knew they couldn’t handle losing me, not after our parents. And I’m not sure if they can this time either, but if I win, then that means I lose Finnick.

“I wish I had a choice.”

Caesar shakes his head, still confused. The audience is crying with you, sharing the reality that you’re living. This is what you want, they have to know the families that they’re tearing apart, again.

“I volunteered to save Mags and Annie, Caesar.” You cover your mouth, sniffing, “I don’t want this, and many of you don’t either.” You look at the crowd, “It’s not right, we’ve all sacrificed something to get here. I have a family back home, I have Finnick. It’s not fair. I love him.”

This breaks the crowd, you can’t see very much with the lights in your eyes, but you can see a few people break into sobs. There’s yelling, agreement, you think. Caesar has to pause any questions he wants to ask until they’ve calmed down. Time is running out, though.

You dab the tears at the corner of your eyes with your fingers to avoid ruining the makeup. Cashmere, Gloss and Beetee have set you up perfectly. You’re going to be the first to get tears out of them, and there will be more to follow. 

The crowd has calmed down enough to let Caesar ask you one more question.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say to the people back home?”

He points the mic in your direction, you have just enough time to gather your thoughts, “I didn’t get to say goodbye, to hug and kiss you one last time. If I don’t make it back, just know that I love you.”

The timer chimes, indicating that your time is up. You let the crowd get one last look at the dress before blowing a gentle kiss into the camera, hiding your face on the way back to the chairs. Finnick’s nodding his head, the more momentum you all build, the more the crowd will be convinced.

You tuck the dress and sit, crossing your ankles. Caesar calls Finnick to the front, and he takes his time to kiss you before joining Caesar. Finnick builds off of what you started, the people he loves, how generous your family has been, his family. The crowd holds onto his every word, something you expected.

And just before Finnick’s time is up, he says that he has a poem for you. He turns his body halfway so that he can see you. You rest your hands in your lap, watching him. 

“My love, you have my heart, for all eternity,” his words are careful, haunting, “If I die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips.”

There’s a slight uproar, you bite the inside of your cheek. It might look staged to everyone else, but you know he means it. There’s never been a day you two have been apart since you married. Neither of you would allow it, if one was sick, then the other would be too. His good days are your good days, and your bad days are his bad days.

Finnick comes back over to sit down, he takes your hand once again, squeezing tightly.

Most of the victors that follow you guys seem to play along with the scheme. Six is off-rhythm when it comes to pushing for change. Johanna and Blight make up for it, demanding that the Capitol has to act if they love you as much as they say they do. Cecelia tries her best by being a motherly figure, almost coddling the Capitol like children.

Seeder says that President Snow is believed to be all-powerful in District Eleven, so surely Snow could veto the Quell if he really wanted to. Chaff backs her up by saying that he could do anything he wants with the Quell, but he obviously doesn’t care about what the Capitol people want as much as he claims to say he does. Only his words aren’t this blunt, he alludes to the idea.

By the time Katniss gets to be by Caesar, a whole two minutes go by before she even has a chance to speak. The screaming and sobbing only gets louder at the sight of her in the wedding dress. You’re sure that Snow didn’t intend for any of this to happen, for you all to team up to destroy the Capitol during your final appearance before the games.

“So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you’d like to say?” Caesar finally asks.

Katniss gently nods, voice wavering as she talks, “Only that I’m so sorry you won’t get to be at my wedding… but I’m glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn’t it just… the most beautiful thing?”

She starts spinning, causing a ring of fire to spark at the bottom of her dress, eating away at it from the bottom to top. Smoke fills the air, but it must be harmless because Katniss doesn’t bother to stop spinning. The crowd is in awe, watching as the flames consume her, revealing a whole new dress.

Once Katniss stops, Caesar apprehensively reaches out to touch the headpiece, “Feathers, you’re like a bird.”

“A mockingjay, I think.” She holds her arms out to reveal the wings better, “It’s the bird on the pin I wear as a token.”

Caesar seems to pale, “Well, hats off to your stylist. I don’t think anyone can argue that that’s not the most spectacular thing we’ve ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!” He motions for Cinna to rise.

He does, bowing for the crowd. The crowd’s silence is quickly whisked away by the cheering and clapping that follows. Katniss’ time is over, though. She and Caesar say goodbye to one another before she walks away, which means that there’s only one person left.

Peeta.

They casually talk for a solid minute, like they did in last year’s interview. When it’s clear that Peeta’s over smalltalk, Caesar moves on, “So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you’ve been through, you found out about the Quell?”

“I was in shock. I mean, one minute I’m seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next…” Peeta trails off.

“You realized there was never going to be a wedding?”

Peeta then gets the crowd riled before revealing that he and Katniss already had an unofficial wedding together. They did one of District Twelve’s traditions before they considered themselves married. All of this without either of their families or mentors knowing, of course.

They did it before the Quell, which means they’ve had some time together before the reaping.

“But I have to confess,” Caesar continues, “I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.”

There’s a long moment of applause, Peeta waits patiently for them to finish, “I’m not glad. I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.”

Caesar’s face twists, his facade falling away, “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?”

“Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” Peeta’s tone is bitter, and you can tell that he’s going to finish this show off with a bang, “if it weren’t for the baby.”

There’s one whole beat of silence that follows the statement. Only one, because the following second, absolute chaos erupts. Finnick squeezes your hand tightly, making you look at him, mouth slightly open. You cannot fucking believe that a seventeen year old just wiped out everyone in the span of two minutes.

The crowd is screaming, there’s accusations flying. Even the loyalists of the Capitol are in disbelief. Most people out there have risen to their feet, some are shaking their fists. You’ve never seen so many Capitol people angry at the same time in your life, ever. They’re shouting profanities at every official’s name that they can remember.

Katniss’ face is the only one on the screen right now, proving to you that this was not planned by her. Peeta did this exact same thing last year, except it was far less important that time. Katniss pregnant? There’s never been a pregnant tribute in the history of the Hunger Games.

Caesar tries to calm the crowd, but there’s no use. No one can hear Peeta’s buzzer, still he nods his head and comes back to sit next to Katniss. Caesar’s speaking, obviously wrapping up the show. No one cares. Suddenly the music of the anthem is playing loud enough for you to feel the vibrations in your chest, it’s still not enough to silence the crowd.

Victor’s rise to their feet, since this is the signal that the show is almost over. And then, one by one, you’re all reaching out to hold hands. Finnick and the female from Five join hands, and you grab Beetee’s tightly. You hold your chin high, hoping that President Snow can see how triumphant you all are. 

The anthem is hitting its final notes by the time you’re all standing together as one united front. It’s a long couple of seconds before the cameras begin to shut off, trying to censor what you’re trying to say. They’re too late, though. Everyone back home has seen what they needed to.

This is it.

Tomorrow, you’re all going to be at each other’s throats. And you might have to kill a few people that you’re on stage with right now. But tonight, the districts are one. Tonight, you did your best to end this.

Tonight, you’re a team.

The lights to the stage shut off, plunging you into darkness. You and Beetee let go as Finnick pulls you into his arms, one arm wrapped around your back to guide you out of here. You need to find Haymitch, he has to take the rings before it’s too late.

Johanna finds you and Finnick, you grab a hold of her hand tightly as you all shuffle toward the elevators. The peacekeepers are sending everyone up in small groups, mentors and tributes alike. You see Katniss and Peeta, so the three of you press forward in hopes to join them.

A peacekeeper cuts you off, shutting them in the elevator and sending them up alone. You three are next to get sent inside, one of them pushing you hard enough to stumble. You turn around, fist raised, but the doors slide shut before you have the chance to retaliate.

“We’re fucked.” Johanna says.

“No.” You jab the button to your floor, “This is how it starts.”

The doors open, allowing you to get out. Johanna thinks that you’re going separate ways, but you pull her out behind you.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“Haymitch.” You say, pulling open the stairwell door, “We need to talk to him.”

You all sit together in the stairwell, anxiously waiting for Haymitch to turn up. It’s five minutes, and then ten. Johanna’s convinced that he won’t show up because of what just happened, but then there’s footsteps.

Haymitch is coming down the stairs quickly, holding out his hand. You pull off your ring first, Finnick following immediately after. Haymitch slides them into the breast pocket of his shirt.

“It wasn’t planned.” Haymitch says.

“We figured as much.” Johanna’s pulling off her heels.

“Good luck in the arena.” He turns to leave, you grab his hand.

“Promise me that you’ll do everything you can to save my family, Haymitch.” You say, he turns to look at you, “Right now.”

Haymitch nods, “I promise that we’ll try to work out a way to save your family.”

You let go, “Thank you.”

Haymitch then rushes back upstairs, you hug Johanna tightly, Finnick’s right after you. She then goes up the stairs, going to her own floor. You two leave to go back to the apartment before it can look any more suspicious than it already does.

Although, it’s not like it matters. No one from your team has made it back to the apartment in the twenty minutes you’ve been gone. There are a few avoxes lingering around, waiting as usual. You begin to take off the heels, leaving them by the front door. 

“They won’t cancel the games.” Finnick says, “There’s no way Snow will cancel the games.”

“He won’t.” You agree, reaching to play with the ring, only to remember that you’ve handed it away. The space feels bare and awkward, “All Peeta did was ensure that Snow will look like a monster for doing this to her.”

“He’s smart.”

The two of you wait on the couch, Finnick holding your hand tightly. The avox turns the television on, but there’s not a single trace of the interviews. You can’t say you’re surprised, after the stunt you all just pulled, you’ll be lucky if they don’t switch arenas last minute to something worse.

It’s an hour later when the door finally, finally opens. You and Finnick rise to your feet to greet your team, expecting the usual post-interview dinner, but find only two; Anchor and Mags.

Anchor’s shaking his head, letting you know officially that it didn’t work, “The games are going on, the interviews won’t be recapped, and they sent everyone home.”

“Everyone?” You ask, “What about Elysia? She won’t even stay here?”

“No, she’s gone. The peacekeepers had to tell us because we kept waiting.” Anchor rubs the back of his neck, “Are you two okay?”

“We’re fine.” Finnick says, nodding, “Will we see Elysia in the morning?”

“No, just your stylists.”

Mags is coming closer, holding her arms out for a hug. You squeeze her tightly, thanking her for her help all these years. Finnick doesn’t want to let her go when it’s his turn.

“If you see Elysia, let her know we appreciate her.” You say, hugging Anchor next, “She’s the best escort we could’ve asked for.”

“She knows already, (Y/n).” Anchor murmurs, “She loves you two beyond words.”

Anchor and Finnick hug, “If there are any sponsors, then save them for when we’re desperate. I can’t imagine we’ll be getting a lot of advantages in the arena now.”

“Just do us all a favor and stay alive.” Anchor says, “I hope we’ll see you two soon.”

“You will.” You nod, “Thank you, really.”

You and Finnick head to your room. He’s the first to undress and head into the bathroom, starting the shower. You take your time hanging the dress in the closet, leaving the jewelry in a bowl together, and you’re about to undo the braid in your hair, but decide against it. 

You join Finnick in the shower, keeping your hair dry as you wash away the makeup and glitter. Finnick wraps his arms around you, holding you under the warm shower water for a long couple of minutes. You close your eyes.

Tomorrow morning you’ll be back inside of an arena. You’ll get to relive a nightmare that hasn’t stopped plaguing you after all this time. And you’ll get to fight to keep Finnick alive, to keep yourself alive.

“I love you.” Finnick kisses your cheekbone, “I love you.”

“I love you more.” 

You leave the shower first, letting Finnick get some time alone. You change into soft pajamas, briefly visiting the window to see the streets below. You expect them to be pretty empty, considering the fact that everyone had been sent home. However, they’re packed, even an hour later.

You skip over the shoes, walking out of your room and down the hall to the balcony. The moment you open the door, you’re able to hear the chaos below. You lean over the railing to see exactly what’s happening, but it’s hard. The Capitol normally has a celebration after the interviews because of the games. This sounds like the complete opposite, though.

You head back inside, Finnick’s already in bed waiting for you, “What’s wrong?”

“They’re rioting, it sounds like.” You lay down next to him.

He pulls you close, bodies flush against one another. He always falls asleep first like this, so you wait for a while before turning over to face the window. The city lights don’t force a lot of light through the windows, it’s just enough to cast funny shadows into the room.

You’re not tired, you knew that you’d be up for a while. You mostly went to bed for Finnick, since he has a habit of staying up until you join him. As long as he falls asleep first, then you’re free to do what you want. And right now, you really hope that you’re going to pass out soon.

As time ticks on, it grows increasingly obvious that you won’t. 

Your mind keeps active by recalling the interviews. From Cashmere all the way up to Chaff, all your stories seemed useless. You thought that the Capitol would have more of an emotional reaction with the rest of you, especially with Finnick. They hardly had that instinct, though. And maybe it’s because it’s the Capitol, and all they’ve ever known is the Hunger Games.

Still, when Katniss walked on stage, neither her or Caesar were able to speak for two whole minutes. And when she did, it wasn’t even anything that memorable. It wasn’t until Peeta came and dropped the baby comment, did it feel like any sort of damage had been done. 

Which you can’t believe that any of the Capitol is actually believing. It’s coming out of the seventeen year old boy’s mouth, you think that if Katniss were actually pregnant, then she’d be the one saying it. Her whole reaction should’ve been some sort of giveaway—shock instead of anger? If it were you, you’d be wholly pissed that Finnick did that.

You’re sure that President Snow knows that it’s a ploy to postpone the Hunger Games. All you had done on stage was try and force the Capitol to see that they have power to end it. End the Hunger Games, and everything can go back to normal. Or at the very least, don’t send in a bunch of angry victor’s.

You’ve done your time in an arena, you nearly died several times. 

All those years you spent plagued by the arena, food, knives, and even the slightest creak in the new house. You locked your bedroom door for so long, couldn’t stand the sight of blood. If you were hurt, your first instinct would be to stitch it up yourself then see the doctors.

The years you spent healing from it all, getting used to the idea of mentoring tributes going inside of the arena. Losing those tributes after you thought that they would survive. Finnick’s parents getting killed, Finnick getting taken away from you, those fucking years that you spent miserable without him.

And now you have to do it all again? This time it’s supposedly your fault because you volunteered and weren’t chosen, as if you had a fucking choice. It was either send in Mags, a woman like your grandmother, Annie, who’s still unstable after the arena, or Nori, the newest addition to the victor’s. As if it would’ve been right to send any one of them inside.

Which then left the question to boys. Luther, who’s too old to go back inside, Scotch, who’s been selfish since the day he was born, Anchor, your best friend, or Finnick, your own husband. They act like volunteering was your own doing. They act like the idea of sacrificing yourself to a fucking massacre was easy.

The Capitol will never know the safety they live in! They never went through six years of pure terror while they were teenagers. From the very day you turn twelve to the day you turn nineteen, finally out of the Capitol’s claws. They never had to worry about putting their names in extra times, or having their siblings taken away from them.

The terror that took over your body last year when Alyssum was finally eligible for the Hunger Games was unimaginable. And you realized that that must’ve been what it was like for Reed and Mox, only a thousand times worse because you didn’t skate by for all six years. You were chosen on the third.

They will never have to worry like this. They will never have to know the grief of going back inside a second time. You’re twenty-five. If either of you die in the games, then that’s it. You won’t be able to have kids, you won’t be able to live out the rest of your lives together. The only thing you’ll be visiting is another gravestone!

You can’t do that. You can’t.

You slide out of bed, leaving the bedroom again. You’re going to blow. All you’ve ever wanted was a happily ever after. All you wanted was to know the comfort of peace again, and now you’ll have to fight several more years of nightmares and walking on eggshells?

You stand outside on the balcony, hands on the railing but head lowered between your shoulders. You take several deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. The tears are overwhelming, clogging your throat, suffocating you. All they ever do is suffocate you.

So, you scream.

—

Finnick has to shake you several times to wake you. You didn’t go to bed until late last night, the moon was retreating back onto the horizon to welcome the sun into the sky. You’re not entirely sure why you bothered with going to bed, must’ve been the exhaustion you caused from the sobbing. All you know is that the pounding headache is gone.

“I’m awake.” You murmur, not wanting to open your eyes. You only have a few hours before you’re required to be inside of the arena.

“I love you.” Finnick kisses you, and only then do you decide to open your eyes. His hair is messy, proving that he didn’t have the greatest rest either, “Be careful, please.”

“I love you too, Finnick.” You touch his face, “Good luck.”

“Good luck.” He repeats, getting out of your bed and heading for the door.

Pleurisy moves from the doorway, starting towards Finnick’s bedroom. You finally sit up, watching Laurel come inside. She’s quiet, going straight for the closet. She comes out with a yellow shirt and black leggings, laying it on the end of your bed. And instead of telling you to get dressed, she sits down.

She’s not smiling, she looks as tired as you feel. She places a hand on your calf, looking at you, “I believe in you. You and Finnick will be okay.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” You say, “I feel sick, Laurel.”

She nods, “I know.”

It’s a few minutes later when you finally decide to get up and get dressed. Again with the nude underwear, the clothes she laid out, and then a pair of black tennis shoes. She helps fix the braid that Beth did yesterday, making it look more presentable for the arena.

The two of you head up to the roof together, where the hovercraft is already waiting. You sigh, only getting two rungs up before the current freezes you in place. They pull you inside, stick the needle and inject the tracker into your left arm. Laurel is pulled up after you, and then you’re set for the arena.

You eat, consistently drinking water. Laurel talks about meaningless stuff to keep you occupied. You want to ask her about last night, how the peacekeepers had treated her, whether or not they questioned her, and so much more. You know that it’ll get her in trouble, so you keep to the basics. When the windows finally black out, you switch to solely water. 

The hovercraft finally lands, Laurel is lowered into the catacombs first, you follow suit a minute later. The two of you walk through the cement tunnels, you play with your nails, not wanting to pick at them so reveal the fact that they’re fake. The more they crack, the possibility of your prep team getting in trouble increases.

You reach the Launch Room, Laurel shuts the door. You have to take a second to calm yourself down, feeling slightly claustrophobic. You shower, still trying to keep your hair as dry as possible. You eat in small amounts afterward, not wanting to make yourself sick. 

Laurel pulls this year’s outfit out of the box, going over the items one by one. There’s a weird look on her face, like she’s unsure why you’re going to be wearing any of it. She places each article on top of each other to create a small stack, also allowing you to see.

A thin, blue jumpsuit, seemingly fitted, that zippers up the front. A plastic purple belt that’s painful to look at, and a pair of nylon shoes with rubber soles.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back in the chair, “This is going to be useless, protection-wise.”

“It must be hot.” Laurel says, “Otherwise I don’t know why they’d bother.”

“Like permanently hot? You don’t think there’ll be rain or anything?”

She makes a face again, “If they were planning for rain at some point, the outfits would look like last year’s.”

You slowly pull the outfit on, realizing how exposed you feel since the jumpsuit is so thin. When you look in the mirror, you’re covered. Still, you hope you don’t come across any cold weather, because it’s only been ten minutes and you can feel the air conditioning just fine.

“You changed your token.” Laurel says, pulling out the earrings.

You stare at them for a long moment, not wanting to put them on. You want your ring, the ring that you’ve forced to symbolize love and hope. That you will survive against all odds.

“It’s an alliance thing.” You say, putting them on, “You’ll see what I mean.”

Laurel nods, the two of you sit together on the couch. You close your eyes and rest your head on the back. You picture your family again, hoping that they’re somewhere safe. You hope that Reed and Mox have explained to Alyssum that you’re going to be scary for the next couple of days, but she shouldn’t be afraid. You’re still (Y/n), you’ll still be her older sister.

About fifteen minutes later, the voice comes over the speaker, telling you that it’s time to prepare for launch. You don’t move right away, touching the spot where your ring should be.

You stand, walking over to the metal plate. Laurel takes her time fixing your hair, any clothes that might be out of place. She ruins it by hugging you tightly, “Do you remember what I told you last time we were here?”

You shake your head.

“I told you that you’d already beaten the odds,” she pulls away, “And then I said, ‘What’s a little more’?” She grabs your shoulders, “It’s just one more time, (Y/n). You will never have to do this again. All you have to do is survive.”

“Thank you, Laurel.” 

“Be brave, not for me, but for you.” 

You step into the glass tube, watching as the glass slowly comes down around you, “I’ll see you later.”

The tube seals, the plate doesn’t move for a long second, then it slowly starts to push you up. You wave goodbye to Laurel, take in a deep breath, raising your head. 

The darkness eats the last shimmer of light.

--

AUBADE IS PART 3 OF A TRIOLOGY //MASTERLIST//