#obliviously tripped down a rabbit hole

[popcornsupernova]

You ever stumble into a fandom that’s being held up by like 3 people and some sticks

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Furry Little Problem

Fandom: Harry Potter [Marauders Era]

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Reader

Word Count: 1434

Rating: Teen

Summary: Remus has had a tough night and it's destined to get tougher.

Tags/ Warnings: Hogwarts, Secrets, Lycanthropy, Angst, Fluff, Arguing, Marauders, Marauders Era, Reader

Notes: told yall i was bored af

@idek-what-to-put Like x reader? Bc if so, then maybe you could do something where Remus’s partner finds out hes a werewolf

A werewolf. That was what your boyfriend was or at least that was the conclusion you had drawn. It had hit you like lightning, a thunder bolt coming from the blue as you sat in divination, staring at his empty seat as you listened to Professor Trelawney prattle on.  After coming down to breakfast to find his part of the bench empty you’d been missing him, his umpteenth unexplained trip to Madam Pomfrey mentioned to you by James who’d quickly turned back to his conversation when you’d enquired why. 

It wasn’t that you minded him being ill, you’d known him well before you got together so it wasn’t as if you were oblivious to his frequent disappearances but it was the unknown nature of them that irked you. It was the squirrelly dismissals or the tactful misdirections enacted by his friends that got to you. Because why wouldn’t he just trust you.  

Why did you have to find out about his condition by a chance mention of the moon and its cycles, causing realisation to come to you. Remus had been off all week and now he was missing and no doubt in the morning he’d be missing too, showing up at lessons midway through the day with some waffle about a dicky stomach or a bad headache. Every new scratch or scar he’d play off as being there for ages, when he let you see him bare which by itself was rare.  

Every month a new lie. 

A lie that was going to be generated any minute. You could hear them, the four of them climbing in through the portrait hole. Of course you weren’t surprised his friends knew about his condition, it had probably been harder to keep a secret in such close quarters, but that only irked you further. As did the way their gleeful faces appeared one by one into the common room

‘I thought for sure you were gonna get that baby rabbit,’ Sirius said giddily,’ it was lagging well behind the others.’

‘Don’t,’ Remus grumbled, ‘last time that happened I couldn’t eat meat for a week.’

‘Well it would be that or get in between you two and I don’t think-’ Peter had started to reply but he trailed off, walking directly into James who’d come to a halt in the middle of the room the second he’d spotted you.

The other three only took seconds to notice you after that. Remus looked ashen faced, the scowl on your face enough to make him want to vomit as if the thought of tearing a baby rabbit apart hadn’t already gotten him on edge.

‘Evening,’ Sirius said, recovering the quickest, ‘what are you doing up?’

‘I could ask you the same question,’ you replied, your eyes never leaving your boyfriend.

Oh just doing a prank,’ James said hastily, ‘you know us.’ 

‘Yeah?’ you challenged getting up from your seat and walking up to the messy haired boy who pushed his glasses back up his nose with nerves, ‘Remus well enough to do a prank is he? Because I thought he was in the hospital wing. Or was that last month's cover? Or what was it the month before? Detention right James?’

‘Sweetheart,’ Remus said thickly but you ignored him, looking amongst the other boys' faces as you said, ‘or are you all liars not just him?’

‘I er think we should probably let you handle this eh mate?’ James said, throwing you an awkward smile before he slunk around you followed by two sheepish friends who muttered their apologies before they disappeared up the staircase.

When you turned back to Remus he was watching you ashamedly, guilt in his big blue eyes before he dropped his gaze to his shoes only offering up a, ‘you know then.’

‘Where you’ve been?’ you asked, ‘or where you are every month?’

At that he looked up, gnawing on the inside of his cheek with guilt. You sighed, ‘yes Remus I know. And I know why.’

‘So that’s it then,’ he grumbled, moving to throw himself into one of the lumpy armchairs by the dimming fire.

‘What’s it?’ you asked irately.

‘We’re over I suppose,’ he said, not meeting your eye as he stared into the embers of the hearth.

‘Is that what you want?’ you asked, the aggression all but removed from your tone because the sentiment had knocked you off kilter. Sure you were annoyed but did he really think you were going to break up with him over this?

‘Well you’re not gonna want me now are you,’ he said.

‘Is that right?’ you asked, sitting down on the couch next to his chair which made him look at you. His face was hesitant, as if he knew he was in trouble but he wasn’t sure what for. But how could it not be his furry little problem that you were mad at. How could you possibly want to be with a monster like him? He’d been kidding himself thinking he could keep it from you for as long as he had, he’d just been too in love to deny himself you.

‘You,’ he started, sitting up as he tried to fathom it out, ‘you don’t want to dump me?’

‘Why would I want that?’ you asked.

‘Because I’m…well I’m…’

‘A werewolf?’ you asked pointedly, forcing his gaze to his lap as you sighed, ‘I know that and I don’t care. What I care about is the fact you felt you had to hide it from me. The fact that we have been together for months, that I’ve told you everything and you’ve never said a word! Don’t you trust me?’

‘Of course I do!’ Remus protested.

‘But not as much as Sirius? Or James? Or Peter? I didn’t escape my notice that you told them your secret,’ you challenged.

‘They guessed!’ he protested, ‘I didn’t want to tell them…I didn’t think they'd want anything to do with me but they have…they’ve stuck by me which is more than I could’ve ever asked for and more than I can ask of you-’

‘You’ve watched them accept you for who you are and yet you don’t think I would?’ you baulked.

‘Darling,’ Remus sighed.

‘Don’t darling me Remus!’ you snapped, ‘if you can't be bloody honest with me don’t bother with bloody pet names.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, moving to place his hand on your knee which forced you to look at him, his big blue eyes pleading and sorrowful, ‘I'm sorry I didn’t tell you I just…I didn’t want to lose you.’

‘You think I’m that shallow?’ you mumbled sadly.

‘I think life with a werewolf isn’t exactly what you signed up for,’ he replied as his thumb traced against the fabric of your jeans, ‘the boys think they get it. They’re there for me when I need them, the cover for me like the teachers do…they’ve even started coming with me. It's a long story,’ he said waving you off when he saw the panic in your face, ‘but they don’t get it. They’re there for me in a friend sort of way. They’re never gonna struggle to keep a job or be forced to go on a register. They’re never going to be exiled or looked down on for being my friend. But you…’

‘Isn't that my choice?’ you asked. Remus sighed but you ignored him, pushing him back towards the other side of the chair as you climbed on him wrapping yourself around him but moving so that you could see his face, ‘I'm not an idiot Remus. I know what it's like, what people are like, look at me!’ you protested as he turned his face away from you, ‘I know what it might mean but I love you.’

‘Sweetheart,’ he whispered.

‘I love the bones of you Remus Lupin,’ you said, ‘and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.’

‘I’d have you forever,’ he whispered as he placed a hand on your thigh, his thumb dancing under the hem of your shirt against soft skin.

‘Good because I’m planning on it,’ you said leaning in to kiss him. You could feel him smiling against your lips and it turned into a grin as you pulled back and rolled your eyes.

‘Don’t think you're out of the woods though,’ you warned, pressing a finger into his jumper swathed chest. Remus raised an eyebrow, ‘I might be alright with this…’

‘Furry little secret?’ he offered.

‘Furry little secret,’ you agreed, ‘but don’t think for a second I’ll forget you’ve been lying to me all this time. You and those little friends of yours.’

‘I’ll make sure to let them know,’ Remus smirked.

‘Good. Because it’s not the big bad wolf they should be afraid of,’ you warned.

‘Oh I don’t doubt that,’ he chuckled.

[pinkiemachine]

What are some timsteph headcanons you have? And what couples or ships u like outside of dc remind u of them?

That she’s really clingy and her love language is physical touch. Like, she’s always coming to him wanting a hug, or to hold his arm, or snuggle up next to him, just burry her face in his hoodie… but she can be a bit oblivious about the fact that she can be a biiiiit… intrusive at times. If Tim is busy with something, she might not recognise it and just come on in, trying to talk to him, and then Tim gets frustrated that she’s not reading the room, and has to remind her that sometimes he has things to do and can’t get distracted. She usually makes up for it by doing something nice for him later when he has more free time.

Tim can be a bit oblivious about her emotions sometimes, so every now and then he makes an oopsie in the form of accidentally neglecting her emotional needs—usually by working on a case too long and not realising she needs time with him—and then has to go make up for it. His love language is personal time, and he just enjoys being in the same room as Steph. They don’t even have to be doing anything, just cuddling on the couch is enough. Or sitting in the Batcave on their phones. Talking late into the night.

She definitely loves the fact that her bf is loaded with cash and Tim loves to spoil her. Not in overly fancy dinners to french restaurants or Louis Vuittons, but in trips to places she’s never been before, going on hikes through the Italian countryside, bungie jumping in New Zealand, or boating on the Nile.

They both geek out, but over different things and in slightly different ways, and they happily listen to the other ramble on about the thing they’re excited about currently. For Tim it’s usually some random information rabbit hole he’s stumbled down—like the history of Roman gladiator food, or medieval cutlery. For Steph it can be literally anything. A cute dog she found that she wants to adopt, why do superheroes wear the undies on the outside of their uniforms? Damascus steel forging, a new TikTok trend, a new tv show she’s just gotten into, interior home renovation and DIY stuff, knitting… waffles…

Tim struggles with depression. It’s not surprising. A study done once showed that intelligent people are often more likely to be depressed (perhaps there’s something to being “blissfully ignorant”) but in Tim’s case, there’s also the trauma of having to go through everything he’s gone through as a vigilante. Because of his depression, it can make it difficult to find the will to want to hang out with people, or go do things outside of work. That’s where Steph comes in. She’s hurt too, but remains stubbornly optimistic. She’s able to talk with Tim about things they can’t talk about with anyone else, and she helps him get out and do things, talk to people, see the sun every once in a while. She is his sunshine. Literally. She makes him happy. And for Steph, she can sometimes have a hard time living in reality. Because of her trauma, she tends to fall into escapism to cope. She can day dream for hours if left to her own devices, and often romanticises things or doesn’t take them seriously. That’s where Tim comes in. When she’s getting too carried away or not acknowledging a situation like she should, he brings her back down to ground level and helps her through it. Facing reality is easier with him, she’s found out. ❤️💜

[mydearlybeloathed]

i was inspired by this art by @atomikats and this art by @bumbleboa of three sword style nami and ive been down a rabbit hole ever since.

so here's my au where nami and zoro switch jobs

i need someone to draw navigator zoro with slutty little reading glasses or i think ill die probably

anywho allow me to explain the vision.

ahem.

navigator!zoro and swordswoman!nami are in fact best friends.

zoro doesn't exactly fight in this au, even though he fully well could. he just chooses to talk shit and let nami deal with the consequences cause she's the swordswoman after all.

while nami is infinitely annoyed by this, she never leaves him hanging, as most of zoro's taunts are about how skilled nami is

Zoro flanked Nami's side, arms crossed over his stiff chest and eyes narrowed. The Going Merry would be docked till early morning, so the pair decided to have some fun while they could. Dim lighting, a steady haze over the building, enough people to go unnoticed--the perfect place to grab a drink and shuffle into one of the corner booths. Nami wore a pleased smile as she beelined for the bar, muscling her way between two lanky guys to shoot the bartender a charming smile. "Can my friend and I get a bottle of Sake and two glasses?" she jittered, oblivious to the glares of the men on either side of her. Zoro hovered behind her, a careful eye on each. The bottle and glasses were soon slid her way, Nami's eyes shining as she took it all in one trip. The bartender cleared her throat and Nami's eyes darted back up, confused when the woman tapped the bar. The bartender rolled her eyes. "You gonna pay?" "Oh." Nami pursed her lips, broad shoulders falling, and she slowly peered over her shoulder to give Zoro her sweetest smile. The navigator rolled his eyes dramatically, already reaching into his own wallet to cover her bill. "Thanks!" Nami took the drinks with a chuckle, heading for a table with Zoro on her trail. It took five minutes before Zoro started running his mouth, albeit not without aggravation. "Yeah, I said it. You're an even bigger idiot than I thought if you think our swordswoman would ever look at you twice." Meanwhile, Nami exasperated and tossed back another shot, hand moving to her sword in preparation to back up Zoro's loud ass mockery.

swordswoman!nami is often haunted by the memory of her best friend.

kuina visits her dreams on occasion, and its always a shock when nami shoots awake in the dead of night.

kuina died with a dream--to become the world's greatest swordswoman, when nobody thought she could. at one point in time, nami didn't think it possible either. someday, the boys would all grow stronger than them despite everything.

but kuina thought differently. kuina thought things could be different, if only they put in the work to prove it.

her friend didn't survive to see her dream fulfilled, so it was nami's destiny to prove kuina right. a woman can be the greatest.

The funeral had taken place early in the morning. Some tears were shed among the adults and the kids all had this sense of awkward mourning. Nami couldn't take it. She bolted from the gravesite before she saw the end of the ceremony. And it grew worse in the evening. "Sensei, let me wield Kuina's sword!" "Enough, Nami. You should learn from her. I won't let you suffer the same fate." As if falling down the stairs had anything to do with being a girl. But in the dead of night, it all became much better, as she slunk into the dojo as quiet as a cat, crouched as she approached the sword hung on the wall. The Wado Ichimonji glimmered into the moonlight and felt cool under her shaky fingertips. Nami swore she heard Kuina's lifeful voice as she fled the dojo with not one, but three swords at her hip. The village mocked Nami too, claiming no one could learn to wield three swords at once. She left the island altogether, escaping on a tiny fishing ship, with the intention to prove everyone wrong.

navigator!zoro thinks he's the most competent one on board, but it's definitely swordswoman!nami

zoro is still luffy's first mate because they deserve each other and i cant picture it anyway other way

but yeah, zoro likes to think he has his head on right at all times, but if he doesn't have a compass or log pose in hand at all times he's getting lost

it's part of the reason he was so determined to become a great navigator, because he always got lost as a child and nojiko made fun of him for it. then, of course, it was because belle-mere believed he could be the greatest, that he could draw a map of the world.

not many people believed in him back then, so it meant everything.

swordswoman!nami is devasted by her loss to dracule mihawk

she can only think of kuina and the mockery they withstood in their village

she believes she has failed... until she hears luffy's voice

he still believes in her, something no one since kuina has ever done

the only reason she's able to stand to face the sun again is luffy, and the fact that mihawk left her with a message

Nami's palms pressed into her eyes with too much force, her temples beginning to spike with pain that only sightly took away from the fire running across her chest. She scorned herself for the tears that dared to streak down her face, such a show of weakness she felt disgusted by. "I'm sorry," she choked to both her captain and the ghost ever hanging in her vision. "I'm sorry... I failed!" Inconsolable... until his voice broke through her strangled cries. "Get up, woman," Mihawk drawled in a low timber. "You won't grow stronger on the floor." Nami cracked open and eye, the sun blinding. "What?" "I said--" She really opened her eyes now, finding Mihawk looming over her looking like a god. "--if you intend to defeat me, you'll have to do better than this, Demon Hunter Nami." Heaving, Nami blinked quickly, desperately clinging to consciousness as her life force seeped out slowly. "I don't understand..." The World's Greatest Swordsman rolled his eyes at her. "You said you have something to prove: that a woman can take my place. And I'm saying you have a spirit most men go their entire lives searching for. So come and find me again. I'll be watching for that day." Nami laid still as the man took his leave, a strong burning passion taking the place of her loathing. She gripped hold of the Wado Ichimonji and held it high in the air for all to see, choking on her own breath. "Luffy! I will never fail you again! I will become the greatest!"

navigator!zoro is stingy about his tangerines

he only begrudgingly lets sanji use them in his food, mostly because having orange flavored food reminds him of home (sanji knows this and uses it against him)

speaking of the rivalry is definitely still a thing, but zoro just cares less (on the outside, inside he's plotting sanji's demise)

"Cook," Zoro grunted, pushing his readers up the bridge of his nose as he looked up from his book. "Being a little loud, don't ya think?" Sanji gripped his whisk in a vice, a vein popping on his temple. "No, I don't." He pushed back his sleeves and huffed. "Why don't you find somewhere quieter if it's too loud." Zoro shrugged once and grabbed an orange slice. "Nami took my quiet spot." "As she should," Sanji quipped back instantly, mood instantly better. "She spends so much time picking up after you, she deserves some peace." Where Sanji expected a retort he got infinitely worse silence. The cook slowly turned to face the navigator, one brow raised. Zoro ever so slowly removed his glasses, folded them up, and set them aside, glaring up through his lashes. "I'm not the one who was so caught up in her cadence and beauty that I tripped her and got everyone cornered by that gang." Sanji choked on nothing and promptly whipped back aorund to finish dinner. "Whatever."

swordswoman!nami loves protecting her more cowardly friends, never annoyed by usopp and chopper's occasional clinginess

she always keeps an eye on all of her crewmmates, just in case she needs to protect them at a moment's notice

and when they reach alabasta, she becomes a bit more vigilent when in the presence of princess vivi. nami gains tunnel vision as she focuses solely on protecting vivi, and anyone who dares to hurt the princess will be sorry <3

The sands of Alabasta were a soft cool during the night, a pleasant contrast to the blaze of the day. Still, that didn't mean the cold wasn't uncomfortable. Ace kept the fire big and strong, but the outskirts of the small camp remained chilly. Nami sat hunched over herself, wrapping her arms around her knees and rubbing her hands together. Her eyes scanned over her friends, ever aware of any possible threats... when her gaze found the princess. Vivi sat away from the rest as they partook in jovial conversation, her eyes misty and gaze faraway. Nami contemplated what to do for too long, her stare soon being met by Vivi's darting gaze. Startled, and a bit embarrassed, Nami offered up a soft grin. Vivi only met it halfheartedly, her brows screwing together as Nami shuffled to sit beside her on the dunes. "Are you all right?" Nami asked softly. Vivi pondered her gentle voice, and how ti contrasted to how she'd originally thought the buff woman to be. Nami was soft despite her edges, and Vivi couldn't help but be endeared. "Yes. Just thinking." "About?" There's the edge, always pushing to fix any problem. Vivi couldn't be upset, not when Nami's spirit held such care. "Just... thank you. I've said it before, but I'm so grateful for your help." Vivi curled into herself. "I couldn't do this without you." Nami swept an eye over the boys, satisfied with how they occupied themselves near the fire, and moved closer. She settled a hand on Vivi's shoulder, palm warm against her skin. "It's nothing. Zoro may be here for money, but I'm here for you." Nami's face bloomed bright red. Her heart stopped and stuttered as Vivi dissolved into gentle giggles at the sight of her. "Thank you, Nami." Vivi reached to take Nami's hand in both of hers. "Especially you, for protecting me today." "D-Don't mention it."

as you can see ive thought about them a lot

[animeyanderelover]

Everyone, I’m having a Kamisama Kiss Mizuki brainrot so here you go!

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, clinginess, touchiness, jealousy, paranoia, abandonment issues, manipulation, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, threats, abduction

Yandere Mizuki Hc’s

🐍Considering that his land god has died on him and that Mizuki has led a very isolated and sheltered life so far, the shikigami is very obsessive. He takes interest quickly and doesn’t see the wrong with stalking you in his snake form and it doesn’t take long after his interest started to develop a crush and from there on an obsession. He spins down the rabbit hole fast but is ecstatic about it. It’s been so long for him after all since he’s had someone. Mizuki makes quick work to remember everything about you such as your favorite meals and your preferences in order to start preparing everything for you. After that Mizuki grows very clingy, bumps into you by accident in his human form and is especially touchy if he has you finally for himself. Stalking is only an option when he can’t be with you since he has terrible separation anxiety and wants to be with you 24/7. He panics quickly when you’re gone for a while and if he doesn’t see you for a hour he’s likely to suffer a mental breakdown where he just bursts out in tears and starts frantically searching for you.

🐍He’s incredibly possessive due to his anxiety to be left alone and also extremely jealous. He literally can’t stand anyone besides himself near you and despises everyone who has a place in your heart and whom you might love more than him. It’s things like that that lead to him sheltering you pretty much too, delusional enough to insist that you two have each other and that this is all you need. He‘ll take good care of you after all! He’s even memorized everything you love and enjoy and has started practicing your favorite hobbies too so that he can do them together with you! Despite his goofy facade he tends to put on, Mizuki is terribly manipulative. He’s emotionally gaslighting his darling a lot, not ashamed to pull the tear card on them and beg on all fours for them to not leave him. If he’s really desperate, he’s even unhinged enough to threaten to harm himself or others if you would ever leave him or not accept him.

🐍He’s petty and jealous of everything that breathes under and above the skies. Mizuki wants his darling to pay attention to only him, wants to be the only one they truly adore and love the most. It isn’t that much of a problem if you’re in the shrine since it’s only you two there. If this is still during the earlier stages of his crush, he either scares people away in his snake form or manifests white snakes to scare people away from you. If he’s decided to take his darling out, he clings to them due to his inexperience when it comes to the city. He’s clutching their hand tightly out of his possessive instincts though and is intensely glaring at someone with an unnerving glint in his eyes if they try to do as much as approaching you. He threatens the humans later on privately too with a twisted grin on his face, not afraid to show what he really is.

🐍Mizuki relies a lot on threats and manipulation, he’s quite cunning and uses his snakes as spies. He wouldn’t kill anyone though. It could draw unwanted attention from others and he doesn’t need that. If he knows that his lover doesn’t enjoy the thought of him killing humans, he’ll try to hold back too in order to make them happy. A lot of time, he spends with his darling in the shrine anyways. So there is little to no human contact during those times anyways. That said though, Mizuki is relatively easy to trigger and as obsessed as he is, he can certainly become deranged enough to commit the act of murder with a gleeful glimmer in his snake eyes. You don’t need to know about that though, staying oblivious so that you can be happy with him is after all the best option to ensure a happy future with you.

🐍The snake shikigami tidies up the abandoned shrine, designs it as good as he can to your liking and fawns over the image of you living happily with him in your new home. Mizuki doesn’t see this even as an abduction, too infatuated and fixed on his dream of a future together with you. This is merely a new beginning for you, the start of a better life for you. Due to the stalking him and his snake servants did, he knows the routes you take. He’ll quietly wait for you when you take a rather lonely route and take you with him then. He’s already ordered his servants to bring you your things from your home so you feel quickly comfortable in your new home.

🐍Mizuki wants to wed his darling to himself, is literally calling them his spouse and refers to himself as your husband already. Good chances are that he also marks you so that other shikigami, on the rare chance that you do meet one, know that you’re already taken and protected. Mizuki is sensible to your emotions, genuinely upset and hurt if he couldn’t do something you asked him for and quick to cry. If he makes you cry, he has a meltdown as his confidence is shattered and it needs a lot of affection and verbal affirmation from your side before he starts feeling better again.

[queen-beefcake-sqx]

Color Associations in Disco Elysium (part 1)

I already can tell I’m going to be posting…. a lot about this.

so I was exploring the usage of the color blue in Disco Elysium using the Fayde dialogue viewer and I stumbled down a whole rabbit hole because there’s so much this game does with color association.

See, there’s a lot of REALLY oblivious references to the color blue in DE. The game outright says blue is for mystery. It’s also explicitly the color of moralism. The game hands us those associations.

But it’s also so much more complicated than that. Blue is also a color of sadness and horror (Harry refering to himself as a sea monster who sees the world all in blue when he puts on a pair of shades, the blue lining being the defining feature to identify Billie Mejean’s husband, Insulinde’s reputation as “The Blue Immensity”). It’s also a color Kim is DOUSED in, between the pen and the notebook and the handkerchief, giving us a solid positive connection to latch onto and possibly helping emphasize his connection to the RCM. (More on Kim’s blue in a second.)

But then. BUT THEN. There’s the color combos, and there’s where things get really interesting. Blue’s combined with white to indicate the RCM (possibly pointing at its history coming from the ICM and the communards’ white star), with red to tie back to Evrart’s corruption (only the shipping crates and The Pig’s lights use this combo), and with green to reference Dora (the ocean is also referred to often in blue-green, which I think fits — both are symbols of both serenity and oblivion and horror for Harry).

But as I was looking through Fayde, there was one combo that suddenly stood out as unusual:

While inspecting the royalist soldiers, I was struck suddenly by this description. The game doubles down on the association between the royalists and blue-orange (and gold) — René’s medal, the one for combat veterans who worked to stomp out the revolution, is described as a blue star against an orange sun.

We have a single character who is glaringly associated with orange — Kim. He’s the only one regularly referred to with the color, including these references post-tribunal:

Kim isn’t a royalist or a fascist, though, but the combo still makes sense. All of his blue things are things he doesn’t wear overtly, things he keeps hidden until needed. They’re things he can give away when he needs to. They’re disposable, to an extent (although I’m sure he’d be in misery if his notebook got ruined). Blue is also just…. not present in his portrait at all, and I have a strong theory that the colors used for the portraits aren’t 100% just aesthetics. His blue things add an air of mystery, but they’re never paired with a reference to his orange.

But you know what Kim is paired with? Black. And white, his white halo, but orange and black are his signature combo — when you get his black jacket, those two colors are swapped on his portrait even though the white halo remains. They’re connected.

There is a grand total of TWO places in game that I can find where orange and black are mentioned together outside of Kim’s ensemble. The first is from the Superstar Cop thought:

The moment of accepting your “superstardom” puts you as black-on-orange — another thing that’s easy to connect back to Kim. He’s cool. He’s admirable. He’s a superstar himself to the point Precinct 41 is tripping over themselves when he suggests he might come work for them.

With the connection to Kim becoming loudly apparent, the second instance gut punched me:

If you alight the message in the plaza, it lights up orange-black. You know, the message about returning to somebody’s side, as you rapidly approach the end of your time in Martinaise and your time with Kim. You can yell at me for shipping goggles but unless you’re just a COMPLETE asshole to Kim we cannot deny any of the respect and fondness Harry has for Kim from minute fucking ONE. “He’d take a bullet for you.” Come on.

One other interesting thing about orange… If you’re drunk while trying to come up with a name, apparently you get this interesting conceptualization check:

Orange and gold, like the royalists? I tried hunting down other references and found…. well…. this:

If you imprison Klaasje, the Moralintern come for her and this haunting Shivers line happens. The most notable references to the water are almost always blue or blue-green, although I haven’t combed thoroughly. Still, this PARTICULAR moment being gold-orange …. like the Royalist soldiers, like Harry at his worst (Tequila Sunset) …. gold-orange isn’t a very positive combo in universe. Not at all, and I wonder if the Shivers line is referring back to Harry and what a horrible decision it is to imprison her….

——

EDIT: WAIT I FORGOT there’s one other place where blue-orange shows up. Not simultaneously, but intechangibly, yet again in a place attached to Kim:

This one probably doesn’t mean anything but….interesting choice, DE….

[notoriousbeb]

Lol, I didn't know about the term unhinged until I started to check out social media late last summer about HS & TS (but not in a shipping context)- just music. I didn't even know that they had been a couple until last year- totally oblivious. I did have 1D's (but didn't know their names) last cd & many of TS's. I vaguely knew she had dated JG, CH, TH & JA years ago (via mag pics or online). Internet & wikipedia have helped- I recognize some celebrities- but don't watch or hear their work.

Unhinged is such a great word. I’m glad you can add it into your repertoire.

Welcome to the land of Haylor Lore and enjoy your trip down the rabbit hole!

[hertwood]

hi hello i'm asking for 4433 brainrot (this is @bonolewis btw fhdkfjf) <3

oooooooh 4433 brainrot was my first f1 wip that got past the 1k mark, like really got off the ground. before i feel down the logirlie rabbit hole 4433 was very much my Brand™ along w/ dando, i love them so so much as a ship even now still.

ANYWAY my fic concept was au where lewis is a high end fashion designer and max is a commercial model and lewis happens to see a picture of max hanging in a window of a department store and is like i NEED that man (for my next fashion line, and only that, of course). max has never done high fashion modeling so he's a bit out of his depth and everyone KNOWS lewis hand picked him so that creates all sorts of gossip and conflict. George is Lewis' brutally honest personal assistant he was my favorite to write.

it was gonna be chaptered and i wrote 2 chapters and started on the 3rd and motivation just petered out. i do tend to struggle with more long length fics and i didnt originally think it'd be that long, so i just bit off more than i could chew and got fics ideas i was more inspired and invested in~

anyway here is a snippet of them meeting for the first time!

Instead he meets Max after, completely by accident. After the buzz has died down, and half the team has left already, Lewis is walking down the hallway, reading an email on his phone. Oblivious to his surroundings. Until the bathroom door slams open, and Lewis finds himself nearly walking into him. "Sorry! Sorry." Max says, before Lewis watches the realization slowly creep into Max's face. "Oh. You're the guy, yeah?" Lewis would laugh if he wasn't so dumbfounded. "Sorry, I mean," Max clears his throat, "You're the one in charge of this whole...operation. Right?" "I...... suppose that's me, yeah." Max reaches out his hand for the most half-assed handshake of all time. Lewis is so glad George isn't here to witness this train wreck, he'd never let either of them live it down. "Thanks for the opportunity, I guess."  This time Lewis can't hold back the giggle bubbling in his throat. "You guess?"  And Max is almost tripping over his words to backpedal, the slightest tinge of panic in his voice.  "I mean, I am. Thankful, I mean. I'm just not usually the one doing all this, um, networking? I'm not good at it." "But you're good at your job, yeah? Valtteri says you picked up a good runway walk quickly." "Really?" The panic in Max's face disappears as he breaks into a smile. "I was sure I'd lost the gig after that, I felt so awkward."  "He said you were a natural." This is a bit of an exaggeration, but Max doesn't need to know that, and Lewis likes watching him smile. Lewis's phone starts ringing, ending a conversation that probably shouldn't have gone on this long. "Good talk, boss? I'll see you...?" Max gives two awkward thumbs up, before walking away. "Yeah, nice to meet you." Lewis calls out after him. Max gives a non-committal wave without turning around.  Lewis lets the call go to voicemail without realizing.

[ultraviolet-ink]

For the ask game: Seishirou Jigoku, Genshin Asogi, and Yujin Mikotoba?

I think about the original exchange students a normal amount lol! I'm also putting this under a cut to save the scrolling because I am never concise XD Prompts here!

Seishirou Jigoku

Sexuality Headcanon: I bounce back and forth with him haha. I really like playing around with gay Jigoku who really tries to lean into hypermasculinity because of the setting/time period (the same goes with AroAce as well, he just really tries to lean into the roles he's "supposed" to play as a man) Can you tell I've taken a sociology course or two this semester? XD

Gender Headcanon: Cis Man, I didn't really think of much variation here, he's just what he is on the tin haha

A ship I have with said character: So I kinda went down a rabbit hole for MikoJigo haha! (Also, shameless self promo for @aaholidayrare which I am helping run! Less than a month WHOOP!) I also enjoy Jigotex/JigoHart, because I am here for messy bitches who are extremely toxic for each other and will be the other's source of destruction. I find it so interesting because I think that they both kind of hate the other, but dammit they're spicy! :D

A BROTP I have with said character: Yujin and Genshin! I really do love the tragedy of their friendships, and I am determined to write more of them!

A NOTP I have with said character: tbh Jigo////Aso, I can see why it's enjoyed, and I do love messy drama, but it's just not for me. Highkey gives me intrusive thoughts, but I can appreciate it from a distance lol

A random headcanon: brattiest bottom to ever bottom in the record of bottoming (shoutout to AA Anon WHOOP!)

General opinion over said Character: He's a really tragic character when you think about it! If he never listened to Stronghart, he could have been a modestly respected official in the judiciary without it all going wrong. His ambition and self-serving was his doom when he pulled that trigger, but really, he was doomed that night in general. I read an amazing fic where Jigoku shot someone ELSE that night, even if he decided to save Genshin, someone was always going to die and that crime will always return to haunt him. It's really the makings of a Greek Tragedy, and I'm determined to write more of him!! Genshin Asogi Sexuality Headcanon: I think its hilarious if he's the one oblivious het guy! he just has all these homoerotic moments but he's just oblivious omg XD

Gender Headcanon: Cis Man

A ship I have with said character: Honestly, him and his wife, I want to know more about Mama Asogi dammit!

A BROTP I have with said character: Him and Klint! As well as him with Jigoku and Seishirou!

A NOTP I have with said character: I guess Gen////Klint. It's not that I think it's bad or anything, I'm just kind of ambivalent on it. Didn't really call out to me

A random headcanon: he cannot whistle. If you also know anything about Victorian era stereotypes on homosexuals, you'll also chuckle at this (Also, read Strangers: Homosexual Love in the Ninteenth Century by Gram Robb)

General opinion over said Character: He's got the potential to be really interesting, especially with how he's seen by others (especially by Kazuma and Barok), but he really is just some guy. I like the simplicity in that, but I would love to know more about him! (The Great Ace Attorney Investigations when Capcom??)

Yujin Mikotoba

Sexuality Headcanon: Bisexual icon, he gets all the "that one time in Europe" boyfriends, and the trip was his awakening haha!

Gender Headcanon: He's a Cis Man

A ship I have with said character: I'm HomuMiko trash because TGAA decided to make me the person I was at the age of 12, I already mentioned MikoJigo, and I also helped beta a fic that opened my eyes to MikoBaro! Also, last, but not least, Yujin and Ayame because they seem really sweet, like that first love kind of vibe! Also, maybe having a panic moment where Yujin thinks "shit these Sholmes men are kinda 😳" with Mycroft

A BROTP I have with said character: Like I mentioned with Jigoku, him and Genshin as well! To avoid repeating myself, I also enjoy the dynamic that he and Susato have!

A NOTP I have with said character: I don't really have any NoTPs with him lol

A random headcanon: He's like a fine wine, gets better with age. Also, I don't care what the london model is lying about, mans deserves a dadbod

General opinion over said Character: I think about Mikotoba so much, he's really one of my favorite characters and I love his moral greyness. He lies by omission so much, but he is determined to find the truth as seen with his exploits with Sholmes! He is a good man, but he's also a flawed man!

[black--sun]

He grins, and then he notices Shiro said doomed romantic subplot, and the expression wavers. Then he’s kind of impressed Shiro knows what a doomed romantic subplot is, and Ichigo’s not sure if he wants to finish that grin or not. He doesn’t actually know which direction to let his emotions go. Shiro is an unnerving person. Not that Ichigo is unnerved so much as his pulse is tripping a quicker beat. It’s the instant realization that he’s walking beside someone that might’ve been world changing in a different life or a different time or if his circumstances hadn’t been such shit. Shiro's already got a grip on the entire city. He didn’t even have a good start in life. He has so much potential. It’s kind of horrible that it was never fostered— or maybe they’re all better off. Ichigo’s not quite sure why all it took was that small phrase to give him such an epiphany. Maybe because he knows Shiro doesn’t have any interest in books, but Ichigo’s betting he could change his clothes and walk into a room of Ichigo’s colleagues and fake belonging there well enough to be believable. Like a chameleon. That's a very specific talent. Then again, Ichigo is so in love with the asshole, he’s probably playing it up in his head. “You’re kind of scary sometimes.” In a way that makes Ichigo itch to get his hands on him and follow him down that rabbit hole, because he’s obviously also not quite typical. He mirrors Shiro’s scoff though and backtracks. “I’ve seen you embarrassed so many times. I’ve seen you embarrassed twice in the last hour.”

That offer tugs his guts up into his throat and then heats them as they settle back into place. He’s never stopped wanting Shiro for a second. Not even back when he was trying to convince himself it was hate. “If it were that easy, I’d let you.” He gives Shiro a flat look at those words just because Shiro can be willfully oblivious when he doesn’t want to face something head on. But Ichigo is nothing if not blunt enough to cut through bullshit. “Shiro, he thinks you turned on him the last time he needed you. Do you really think he’s going to come ask for help? Do you think he would’ve anyway?” Getting Grimmjow to admit he needs anything from anyone is like pulling teeth. Actually, he thinks Grimmjow would rather lose teeth. But Shiro and Grimmjow were close once, so who even knows. “I don’t know if it’s even that personal. Do you have any idea how much of a song and dance I had to do to get him and Urahara hooked up? He still doesn’t know I had anything to do with it. If he did, he probably would’ve come after me.” Grimmjow, damn him, can still kick him around pretty good when he has it in mind. “But I’ll be sure to let him know you want to help. He can be your problem for a while.” 

He really does care about Grimmjow, but fucking hell is the guy high maintenance. Just thinking about it has Ichigo in a bad mood. But the last Ichigo heard, he was working for someone else on the side though, so this is probably old information.

Shiro’s tone leaves him feeling like he took a cheap shot. He probably did, but he also means it. He’s not always a great friend, but he doesn’t do it halfway. He sure as hell doesn’t leave them to die alone. 

Ichigo doesn’t comment, he just nods while his brain chews on that. Shiro has a lot of people’s dirty underwear in his pocket. 

Ichigo pulls into a parking space, scanning the street as he exits his car. It locks behind him as he walks toward Shiro and tries all over again to ignore that skin Shiro has on display. He’s never been here. Never even noticed this place, though he’s familiar enough with most of the city. He glances in through the window and thinks it looks exactly like the kind of place these clothes came from.

At first it was kind of difficult to imagine Ichigo sitting at a desk, writing into the early hours of the morning, hours he's usually out roaming the streets or working a very different kind of job. But the more they talk about it, the more easily the image comes to him. He never really saw Ichigo bent over his studies when they were together, but he knows that's because he was too much of a distraction. Without himself in the picture, it's a lot easier to imagine.

He scoffs, "I never do anything embarrassing." Very very not true. Ichigo makes himself so punchable sometimes. Shiro struggles not to roll his eyes, and plays along instead. "Oh, don't downplay that. It'll be the most interesting part of the whole story. Who doesn't love a doomed romantic subplot attached to the misunderstood character? Most of the criminal population probably doesn't read anyway."

Ichigo's not wrong, but damn that's kind of harsh. "Yeah but I'd say no to all of them real fuckin' fast to say yes to you instead." He'd drop everything and everyone for Ichigo. Obsessed, like Ichigo's going to write in his book. And he's glad for the confirmation that he's the hottest guy Ichigo knows, but he didn't really want to hear about whatever complicated thing is going on between Grimmjow and Ichigo. Except it shifts gears into something. Shiro blinks, then heaves an exasperated sigh. "I understand he's mad at me, but I'm literally so loaded I don't know what to do with it. All he has to do is say something. Hell he could'a just sent me his rent bill or something." What an asshole. He doubts Grimmjow wants handouts from him, "Or I could find work for him. Doesn't even have to be illegal shit. I have a lot of connections."

That scowl makes Shiro's hackles raise, but the words take most of the fight out of him. He's so twisted up about Ichigo. He sighs. "I do. I do wanna be friends." The problem is that he doesn't know how to be just friends with Ichigo. He's going to settle for it, because it's all he's going to get, but it's going to hurt.

He shrugs. "Not all of it. I move the important stuff. Politicians, celebrities. People who think they're being discrete. Only reason I never moved my own product before was because I didn't trust myself around it often." He offers up a sort of self deprecating smile. "That's not an issue anymore. But it's a lot of product, a lot of money and a lot of networking to trust to someone else, so it works out."

He watches Ichigo check his own vehicle from the driver seat, and starts rolling down the drive when he sees Ichigo climb into the car and start it. He takes them into the city, to a hole in the wall alt fashion shop that has too many items crammed into a too small of a space. It's his favorite place for clothes though.

[inquisimer]

Dalish Week: Arlathvhen

Very excited to kick off Dalish Week and a big thank you to the mods who put this event together!! You’re awesome, lovely people and I’ve had a lot of fun musing about the prompts and exploring rabbit holes about the clans in my stories🥰🥰

For day one, I submit a snippet of reunion between Merrill and Neria, post-Trespasser, discussing some logistics and anxieties about the upcoming Arlathvhen.

@dalish-appreciation-week

~~~

A gentle breeze drifted through the Inquisitor’s bay window, warmed by Skyhold’s weather enchantments and carrying the faint smell of new blooms. It stirred Neria’s hair across her eyes and her frustration spiked. The leather straps she was trying to fasten gave her enough trouble when she could see them—now they inevitably slipped her grasp and fluttered loose. Again.

Across the room, Merrill’s oblivious chatter continued uninterrupted. Neatly organized stacks of parchment filled Neria’s desk and a quill occupied her friend’s hand, tracing out a campsite guide for the upcoming Arlathvhen. Neria caught only snippets of Merrill’s dialogue in her peripheral—something about making sure Clan Ghilain stayed at least two sites apart from Clan Oranavra and establishing civility between the Firsts from the start. She clenched her jaw and fumbled for the straps again, to no avail. It simply wasn’t a task meant to be done one-handed and her stump of a left arm stubbornly refused her efforts at control.

To her shame and embarrassment, a frustrated huff slipped out between her teeth.

Lithe hands replaced hers at once—she hadn’t even noticed Merrill cross to the bed, but her friend tucked the loose strands of Neria’s hair behind her pointed ears and set to braiding the straps. Her fingers wove a far more intricate plait than the basic knot Neria failed to achieve. Defeated, she wilted like a parched lotus.

“Time and patience make the elfroot a silk gown, falon,” Merrill chirped lightly. She let the newly fastened straps dangle at Neria’s side and tugged her braid playfully.

Neria frowned. “I’ve given it time, salgehsa. Time, and rest, and healing—but the world will not wait for my brain to figure out it’s missing an arm. Turmoil in the Wardens, fallout from the Breach everywhere, and Solas—“

She tripped over her friend’s name and bit her tongue, hard, to push back the hot lump of tears in her throat. “Solas could decide that this world’s time ends at any moment. How long is this” —she clumsily jerked her left shoulder forward— “going to take?”

“As long as it takes,” said Merrill firmly. She returned to the desk, flipping through a stack of half-sheets. “How long did it take you to learn how to use two arms?”

“What?”

“Well that’s your only point of comparison, unless you plan on hunting down another amputee and asking them. So however long it took you to learn how to use two arms, expect this to take that long. Longer, if you count that you have to unlearn the two-handed way and replace it with the one-handed way in your head.”

She paused and tilted her head, glancing back over her shoulder. “Does that make sense?”

“I think so?” Neria rubbed her remaining hand over her eyes and when she opened them once more an apologetic smile curled her lips. “Ir abelas, Merrill. You were saying something, before?”

“Oh yes, the campsites—the trouble is, Ghilain and Oranavra have both written that they’re bringing more aravels than anyone else and the hunters who scouted the site say we’d have to put them next to each other…”

Neria half-listened, nodding and humming in the right places even as her attention drifted. She needed a meeting with Leliana, perhaps once Josephine’s latest fleet run returned. Cassandra wanted to discuss the new Seekers’ progress. And she owed Cullen’s clinic a proper check-in—he assured her the mages there thrived, wholly empowered and respected, but she’d be restless until she saw for herself.

At some point, Merrill’s train of thought switched from logistics to something more interesting, but Neria’s half-focused mind didn’t catch it. Merrill eventually cottoned on to the neutrality of her responses and she cocked her head, brow furrowed as she trailed off. In the ensuing silence, Neria’s attention finally snapped back to her friend, an apology already on her lips.

“Aren’t you excited for the Arlathvhen, lethallan?” Merrill asked.

“Oh, I—.” Neria caught her lip between her teeth. Exasperation hovered on the tip of her tongue, but Merrill looked so genuinely puzzled, Neria couldn’t doubt her. It seemed obvious to her and she’d rather thought Merrill, of all her friends, wouldn’t need an explanation. “I’m thrilled for you, salgehsa. And the clans. It’s overdue and sorely needed. But…I won’t be going. You know that, right?”

“No, I don’t know that. And neither do you. Why on earth wouldn’t you be going?”

“Do you want the short list or the long one?”

“You have lists? Oh, Mythal.” Merrill pursed her lips. “Wait just one moment.”

She neatly straightened the paper she’d been shuffling and returned it to the desk. A snap of her fingers stoked the dying fire and she dragged a few soft furs from the basket at the foot of the bed to form a comfortable nest before the hearth. She sat cross-legged and looked pointedly at the space in front of her until Neria joined her.

“Now,” Merrill tilted her head, looking quite like an expectant puppy. “Tell me these reasons you have and we’ll see if they have any merit.”

“Right,” muttered Neria, sliding her fingers through the silky fur and picking at a matted patch. She tucked her bare feet under her legs and bit the inside of her cheek.

“Well start with the obvious—just a handful of years ago I wouldn’t even be invited to the Arlathvhen. I’m not fundamentally different than I was then and yet somehow a few scant years with Clan Lavellan and ink on my face qualifies me? It feels like obligatory pandering, at best.”

“And even when I was with the clan I never adopted their beliefs, or any form of Dalish religion at all. I don’t think I can even properly be called Dalish without that? And especially now, with everything that we learned at the Exalted Council, from Solas? How can I look all those people in the eye and tell them their last hope for their culture is built on a lie?”

“I’ve lived most of my life among humans—how will the more isolated clans see that? And—“ Neria tried to swallow, but her throat had dried in an instant. She coughed against closed lips. “And I’m married, but my husband and our relationship would be a blacklisted topic, because I know there are clans who frown on relations with shems. Even though Cullen loves all of me—because of, not despite the pointed ears and tattoos.”

“At best, I’m going as some half-hearted representative of an organization that doesn’t exist anymore,” she finished, sagging like a deflated balloon. “So I might as well just stay away.”

Merrill considered her for a moment, then nodded. For half a beat, a shocked Neria almost believed that this wouldn’t be any kind of debate. Then—

“Right, well. If those are your reasons for not going, then I suppose I won’t be going either.”

“What?” Neria nearly choked on the word. Her ears twitched forward in disbelief. “How do you figure that?”

Merrill held up a hand, lifting a finger with each reason she ticked off. “I haven’t lived with my clan full-time in over a decade—I’ve been in Kirkwall or off with Hawke or traveling through shem cities. And even the last time I was seeing my clan on a semi-regular basis, those aren’t good memories on either side and we definitely didn’t part on a speaking basis. Nearly getting them killed is probably worse than not having a clan—which you do, by the way, but I’ll get to that.”

“If we want to talk about relationships—I might not be married, but Carver is about as shem as they come, lethallin.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes sparkled with fondness. “And you know I’ll be talking about him, not in the least because I’m sure they’ve all read Varric’s books and are dying to know what’s true. You’re right, some clans are isolationist and strict—but the Arlathvhen isn’t dictated by them. It’s a notorious gossip mill and our relationships far outweigh their opinions in that regard, unfortunately.”

That brought a strained chuckle to Neria’s lips.

“And you—“ Merrill jabbed a finger toward Neria’s chest— “better hope I don’t send a letter off to Mahanon. You know how well he’d take this self-flagellation you have going on—and discounting your time with the clan? Oh, he’d have a field day with that. On second thought, maybe I should—“

“Don’t you dare. I’ll tell Harding not to let you use any of the ravens, if I have to.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” The mischief in Merrill’s eyes melted into something more serious. “But—if it would ease your worries—“

“No.” Neria shook her head firmly. “The clan…I don’t want to put them in an awkward position. They have their actual First back and I don’t want them to feel some sort of unfounded obligation to send an affirmation they don’t mean.”

“It’s hardly unfounded, lethallin,” Merrill pointed out. “Even before you found your clan—you did a Long Walk of your own, in a fashion. Escaping the Circle, surviving Kirkwall, it’s different than our history of course, but most Dalish don’t get closer than words and tales”

“And of course you spent two years and change as their First proper. That’s not a short time, falon, and they won’t discount it. Plus all the work you did to help in Wycome—you saved their lives—“

“—which wouldn’t have been in danger if not for me—“

“And you saved Ellana,” Merrill continued as if Neria hadn’t spoken. “Your Seeker found the Cure and you helped her develop and test it safely and you brought Ellana truly back to all of us.”

“Anyone would have done the same,” Neria said quietly. The remnants of guilt surrounding Ellana’s ordeal still coiled like a snake ready to strike in her gut. Even now—saved, Merrill said, but there were outbursts and the occasional lack of control and she would never be the same.

“Anyone didn’t. You did. But that makes it sound like you’re earning a place and that wasn’t my point. You’ve always had a place.”

Something like shame shadowed Merrill’s face and she frowned. “It’s different when you’re raised in a clan, because everyone believes the same things and you feed agreement off each other. We tell our children: ‘they forgot Andraste called Shartan brother.’ But most Dalish have forgotten that Shartan called her sister in return.”

“When I moved to the alienage, and with all our rebuilding efforts across Ferelden and the Marches, I realized something I never would have if I stayed with my clan—if the Dalish want to preserve the People’s culture, maybe we should start with remembering who the People are.”

“Even with the Dread Wolf’s recruitment, there are so many elves left in cities or with the College, many with human lovers. But it will be harder for them to walk up and say ‘let me in’ than it will be for you to walk in, invited, and set a new precedent.”

Merrill encased Neria’s hand in both of hers and squeezed sympathetically. “You are right, lethallin, but you are also wrong. There will be people who spurn you for your history and your choices—but if they never face their hypocrisy, they will never learn. It is not a reason to stay away altogether.”

Her reassurance didn’t ease the knot of anxiety in Neria’s chest, not really. But it hollowed out the worries creeping up her throat and gave her concern room to breathe. She ran her tongue over her teeth and one of her ears twitched flat against her head.

“But what about…y’know. I’m not even sure—should we even tell them? How could we possibly? But how could we not? Maker next time I see Solas I’m going to wring his stupid neck.”

“I’ll help,” Merrill agreed. “Your hands are too small to do it alone, anyhow.”

This time, Neria’s laugh was genuine. Some of the stress melted from her shoulders in the way only Merrill could make it and she rolled onto her side, laying her head in her friend’s lap.

Calloused fingertips pressed against the shaved hair around Neria’s ears and cool healing magic seeped into her temple, easing a headache she hadn’t even registered yet.

“Ma serannas,” she murmured. Her eyes drifted shut as Merrill continued to rub soft circles against her skin.

“It will be…difficult, of course. But the Arlathvhen is for sharing information and lore—to keep it alive. To compare what one clan has found with the others and find the cross-section of truth. That’s what they’ve always taught.”

She paused. “Well, that, and reconnecting and switching mages and celebrating. Oh, and so much delicious food, the hand pies and soups and—“

Neria coughed.

“—and that’s not relevant here.” Merrill grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I was going to say, we should hold them to that claim. If we’re going to share and preserve our history, we can’t sanitize it to our liking. We have to take the bad truth and reclaim it for a better future.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Neria reluctantly opened her eyes, feeling very much like a cat as she curled her toes in the fire-warmed fur and blinked blearily up at Merrill. “But I don’t even know how we would start that conversation.”

“‘Oh dhea, lethallen, your entire religion and history is built on a lie?’”

“If that’s your plan, definitely count me out.” Neria snorted. “I’d rather tell Josie and Cullen we’re at war with the Qun again.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Merrill declared, clapping her hands firmly about Neria’s shoulders. “But we’ll never even get to that discussion if they can’t park their aravels.”

She pushed Neria back to sitting and shoved her lightly toward the desk. “I’ll make tea—you look over those seating charts and either find a different arrangement or come up with a plan to make Ghilain and Oranavra play nice.”

“Yes, serrah.” Neria snapped a lazy salute and set to a familiar pattern of scouring for common ground—the starting point of all compromise.

Compromise.

Maybe Merrill was right, she mused, cautiously cupping metaphorical hands about the timid spark of hope in her chest. Maybe the insurmountable was more approachable than she’d thought.

[thechanelmuse]

TW: rape

‘I May Destroy You,’ Michaela Coel’s gimlet-eyed exploration of trauma and its myriad ripple effects follows Arabella (Coel) — a funny, messy, sharp-as-hell London writer — after a dizzying night in which she’s drugged and raped by a stranger. At first, she dismisses the hazy memory as just an upsetting image in her head. Soon enough, though, Arabella reluctantly comes to understand it as the truth, and tries to work through that horrifying reality without coming apart. [...]

Not every part of Arabella has a direct line to Coel, but the series’ catalyzing experience, unfortunately, does. In 2016, Coel took a break from a marathon writing session for the second season of “Chewing Gum” to grab a drink with a friend, and was drugged and assaulted by a stranger. She’s been sifting through the emotional wreckage ever since to find some kind of clarity, if not peace. Now, with “I May Destroy You,” she’s doing it for all the world to see. “As a fellow android exploring what it means to be human,” says Coel’s friend Janelle Monáe, “watching Michaela be vulnerable on-screen as she walks in her truth gives me and so many the bravery to walk in ours.” [...]

Coel began writing “I May Destroy You” in February 2017, in between acting in TV projects like the “USS Callister” episode of “Black Mirror” and Netflix’s limited series “Black Earth Rising.” She took solo mountain trips and wrote draft after draft of what would eventually become “I May Destroy You,” spilling her stories and tangled guts onto the page, rearranging them into shapes she could better recognize. In August 2018, she spoke about her trauma publicly while delivering the Edinburgh International Television Festival’s James MacTaggart Memorial Lecture, a prestigious assignment the festival has otherwise bestowed on a cadre of white British television mainstays (as well as no fewer than three Murdochs). 

The majority of Coel’s speech, delivered to a room of the U.K.’s most powerful entertainment brokers, traced the constant racism and classism she endured on the way to that Edinburgh stage — a theme subtextually underlined by the fact that Coel was, and remains, the only Black woman to have that platform. She spoke about turning her solo play “Chewing Gum Dreams” into a “Chewing Gum” TV series (which aired 2015-17 on the U.K.’s Channel 4), a transformative time that taught her the technicalities of making television and confirmed just how disinclined certain white gatekeepers are to trust a poorer Black woman’s vision. Toward the end of the 50-minute lecture, Coel revealed her assault and elucidated the industry’s inability — or unwillingness — to handle such a human emergency when pages are due. As for her recovery, she said, “It’s been therapeutic to write about it, and actively twist a narrative of pain into something with more hope, and even humor.”

When it finally came time to translate it all to the screen, “I May Destroy You” was so close to her bruised heart that Coel took on the challenge of playing several roles throughout the series’ development: creator, writer, actor, producer, director. Netflix offered her a total fee of a cool $1 million to make and star in the show, but the proposed contract wouldn’t grant Coel even a tiny percentage of the rights. She hadn’t fully realized how much claiming legal proprietorship over her work mattered to her until the prospect of not being able to emerged, at which point it became crucial. 

Then, after some Googling, she realized that her CAA agents would also be profiting from the deal via the endangered practice of packaging. Stung and surprised, Coel walked away from both her agents and the offer. “I’m not anti-Netflix,” she’s quick to say now, “but I am pro-‘the creator, writer, director, actor should probably have a right.’” She’s hyper-aware of how much this project required of her, and how comparatively little granting her “a right” might cost a powerful network like Netflix. “That’s not quite fair, is it?” Coel muses. Creating the show, after all, took almost everything she had.

With the BBC, a million-dollar paycheck might not have been in the cards, but more important to Coel, she didn’t have to fight half as hard to claim ownership. (As a matter of industry course, it’s far more common for British studios to afford creators rights to their work than it is for American equivalents.) They struck a deal, and Coel got to work.[...]

“When you’re restricted,” she explains, “sometimes that’s where you find great things: in the lack of possibility.” She attributes this rather Zen approach to Hugo Blick, the “Black Earth Rising” showrunner who showed her the value of keeping a cool, empathetic head on set. Blick’s ability to step away from a gnarly situation for even 30 calming seconds is one that Coel has worked to hone for herself, especially while steering a series with such fraught ties to her history. No matter how sideways things might go, she never wants to forget just how much she loves the collaborative act of building a television show, wild complications and all. 

Read more

From Forbes:

I May Destroy You’s Michaela Coel Rejected Netflix’s $1 Million Offer In Favor Of The BBC Because Of Ownership

The creative, who stars as Arabella and wrote all 12 episodes, started pitching the programme in the spring of 2017 with one of her first ports of call being Netflix who picked up her prior series Chewing Gum.

Though Netflix offered a generous upfront fee of $1 million (£800,000), the sum had strings attached, including full rights ownership away from the creator, something Coel pushed back against. Coel recalls a moment during the interview where she is speaking with a Netflix development executive on the phone, asking if she could retain even a very small 0.5% of the copyright to her show.

“There was just silence on the phone. And she said, ‘It’s not how we do things here. Nobody does that, it’s not a big deal,’” Coel recollected. “I said, ‘If it’s not a big deal, then I’d really like to have 5 % of my rights,’” Coel added, stating that she even went down to 2%, and then 1% and even as a final compromise to 0.5%.

Coel remembers that the executive said she would have to run it passed her superiors, before adding, “‘Michaela? I just want you to know I’m really proud of you. You’re doing the right thing.'”

“I remember thinking, I’ve been going down rabbit holes in my head, like people thinking I’m paranoid, I’m acting sketchy, I’m killing off all my agents,” Coel says. “And then she said those words to me, and I finally realized — I’m not crazy. This is crazy.”

Coel discovered her agents, Creative Artists Agency (CAA) were set to make an undisclosed amount from the series if she took the deal with Netflix. She reveals that the agency pushed her to take the deal prior to her finding out and their subsequent dismissal as her U.S. representation.

Taking the project to British broadcaster the BBC later in 2017, Coel found the corporation to be supportive with her maintaining creative control even with the explicit depictions of sex, sexual assault and drug use. Plus, as the broadcaster had to adhere to terms of trade, Coel had no problem with retaining the rights also. The broadcaster also brought HBO to the table as another co-producer to help subsidise a portion of the budget.

Read more

This isn’t about just “knowing your worth;” it’s about knowing the business (your business) and never settling just to secure “something.” A million dollar offer, no copyright ownership and no creative control is beyond disrespectful. Learn the business in whatever field you’re in and stay acclimated with jargon and new, current and old practices. Know your shit. 

It’s like when people say “Get a lawyer” to handle negotiations and look over your paperwork. You pay a lawyer to do a job, but it does not mean you should be oblivious to aspects of law and contract jargon among other things because “that’s what they’re there to do.” You can’t say someone (sometimes lawyers included) screwed you over after you’ve signed the dotted line. They’re protecting and looking out for themselves. Commit to do the same for yourself.

[plantsarefun06]

The Particular Abilities of Marinette, and Her Discovery of Them Chapter 12: [Bonus Chapter] Dreams

[Inspired By]

[First] [MasterPost] [AO3]

Lewis Carroll had always had strange dreams. They were always a bit… funny?

He’d have what he could guess would be considered ‘normal’ dreams. Ones where he would go about his day, or maybe he would be in some scary situation, or strange abnormal situations he found himself in. Once he dreamed he went the entire day only wearing an overcoat! Little absurd things.

But he had always had those… other dreams. The ones a bit more… wonky?

They had been recurring since his early childhood, really they’d be happening as long as Lewis could remember. While all his other dreams consisted of him as himself, these dreams were always in the body of another person. Or more, he was another person. He was never ‘Lewis’, though he didn’t know who he was.

He had been perplexed and fascinated by his dreams since he was a child, but they always seemed to disappear from his mind a few hours after his awakening. So he had made a habit of writing his dreams down on sheets of parchment and keeping them all together. No one knew where dreams came from, what caused them, only theories. Most people just thought it was your own mind coming up with the things you saw.

But Lewis had no clue how his mind could come up with something so nonsensical.

He quite enjoyed going back and reading what he had written, most of the time it would dredge up the forgotten memory of the strange dream. Though he found the dreams never became clearer. Always… whimsical if you may. Always quite odd, voices were always high, colors too vivid, shapes never uniform, the moon would even sometimes become a smile! There was even a rabbit with a pocket watch! In fact, there was always a rabbit with a pocket watch!

Where did his mind get the idea of a rabbit with a pocket watch? It was absolutely absurd!

His dreams were sometimes filled with incredibly old things, and sometimes incredibly new! Astonishingly strange as well! Lewis sometimes questioned if his dreams were him possibly seeing through time with some of the things he witnessed.

Everything, every absurd, every nonsensical thing he wrote down on a sheet of parchment and stuck into a box under his bed.

When asked to do so, he would tell stories of his recorded dreams to his friend, the Dean of Oxford’s, daughter on boating trips. He could never remember the names of the individuals he was in the dreams, so he simply used hers.

She enjoyed the tales so much she requested him to write them all down into a book.

So, he simply did. He pulled out the box from beneath his bed and got to writing them into a complete story.

It was truly a hodge-podge of all the different dreams put together. Made absolutely no sense and could drive a man mad reading if he truly attempted to understand.

He started with the dream of a girl who fell down a hole in the woods while following the rabbit with a pocket watch! Oh, and in the dream he was always wearing pale blue and white, she’d have to wear blue and white as well!

Oh and he had to add the cat! He had to add the cat. The one that was extremely chaotic. Loved to make riddles, and poke fun. But black wasn’t nearly as whimsical… purple and pink! He’d make the cat vibrant purple and pink striped.

He’d include the singing flowers! he'd have her walk into a garden and sing with the flowers, just like in his dream.

Oh! And there was once a person who turned as small as a mouse! He had only dreamed of it once but had written it down in detail. She could become minuscule as well! He could also make her as big as a house! Oh, yes he’d have to write that.

And the tea party! He’d write about the tea party! The one with the hat maker, who was more than a little odd. And the tea set that moved on its own accord!

Oh and he’d have to add the Queen. He’d have to add the Queen with a big dress, and who hated everyone. That dream in particular was very unclear, but he did recall bits and pieces!

He’d have to write it all just as bright, as strange, and as whimsical as his dreams truly were!

And then, in the end. She’d wake up, and discover it was just a dream.

Just as he always had.

He packed up the book, along with all the absurd illustrations he had made. He wanted to show this to her right away! A truly absurd book he had made at her request. But first, a title. What could he name it? Dreams? Didn’t make sense with the book. An Absurd Tale? No, the name should be as questionable and curious as the book.

Ah, he had the perfect idea for the name.

Alice in Wonderland.

[Next]

---

[Notes:]

I wanted to give a little look into what it’s like for an unawakened Huashen to exist. I wanted to show how they see their dreams. I wanted to show how they see their ‘dreams’ compared to an awakened one. Hoe Lewis sees his dreams in distorted shapes, sounds, and colors. More like an acid trip. How they see what they are and are completely oblivious to it, and how they go about completely normal lives! But there was no way I could really fit it in without being awkward, so here’s a lovely little bonus chapter!

BTW: I did research on this when I was writing this short blurb. Lewis Carroll has pedo vibes. I’m aware. I always wanted to write Lewis Carroll as a Huashen, that is simply unawaken, and I kind of got a chance here. But I did just want to say, this man is creepy. I was a bit hesitant before posting because I don’t like pedos, but I really like this idea, and really wanted to write it!

---

Tag List:

@frieddonutsweets @moon5608 @ihatecomingupwithusernameswtf @adrestar @galla02006 @bygge00 @alyssadeliv

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Seven (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, murder, HEAVY GORE. BRIEF MENTION OF SUICIDE

wc; 14.5k

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

–

There’s a familiar feeling of dread when you wake up this afternoon. A bottomless pit in your stomach that sticks with you no matter how hard you shake. You sit in bed for an extra twenty minutes, hoping that positive affirmations will be enough to get some of it to go away. Dread is an unbearably uncomfortable feeling, and it doesn’t go away either.

You have to get out of bed at some point, so you drag your feet around your room, getting shit ready for the shower. Ripped white skinny jeans, an open-back light blue shirt, white underwear. You drop it all onto the white bathroom counter, turn on the shower, and let it run for a couple of minutes as you lean over the sink bowl.

Maybe you’re just hungry. You’ve felt this same hopeless feeling before, and all you had to do was eat for it to go away. You’ll have breakfast, and by the time you get to the betting room, your heart and stomach will be full. It’s hard to convince yourself this lie, knowing that it’s deeper than that.

You take your time in the shower too, no longer feeling sorry for Finnick for taking so long. He’s got Gloss and Enobaria down there, and they’re not so bad when you get to know them well enough. Unlike their crazy tributes inside of the arena, they know when and how to dial it down without causing too much trouble. Every year, it’s like the tributes ramp it up for entertainment. You wish they knew just how fucking insane they looked, how unappealing it’ll get to the gamemakers.

The Capitol likes fun, big and new until it’s gross and they can’t stomach it anymore. It might take them a little longer to get to that point, since they’ve been watching this shit for years, so they’re more desensitized than the rest of you. But it’s going to happen, and the moment it does, the gamemakers are going to censor everything possible to get their exciting program back on track.

It’s sickening, but it’s always sickening.

You wrap it up in the shower, allow the Capitol hair machines to work their magic on your hair. And while you’re at it, you go ahead and decide to let the body blow dryers do the exact same thing. You close your eyes and imagine that you’re not in the Capitol. You’re at home, on the beach surrounded by your friends and family. It’s late spring, early summer. You’ll picnic on the beach after you’re done with the water, and then you’ll play games until sundown. Walking home in the dark is especially fun, Reed drunk is a sight that never fails to amuse.

And then the blow dryers stop, and you’re right back home. You get dressed, one article at a time. Underwear, bra, pants, shirt. To avoid an endless stare in the mirror again, you go out to the dining room. 

You turn on the tv, sit at the table, and watch as the avoxes serve a big breakfast. Good, you want to make sure that you’re full. The sooner the shitty feeling goes away, the sooner you can start focusing on more important topics. You take your time getting through it all. Pancakes, with assorted berries, syrups and candies to place on top. You get orange juice, coffee and hot chocolate served in a heartbeat. If you don’t want the berries, you can opt for oranges, apples, plums, mangos. If not fruits, then vegetables. 

You stick with the pancakes, mixing and matching your food to try and find the best combination. You’re procrastinating, you know it. The longer you take, the less time you’ll have to spend inside of the betting room. You eat and eat, but find that the feeling isn’t going away. This shouldn’t be how today is going, especially not after the shit you just went through yesterday. It might not have been your tributes directly, but it was bad enough.

At least lady fate has been nice enough to give you a warning, right? Right?

It’s one-thirty in the afternoon. Everyone inside of the arena is awake and working on their own projects by now. Nine girl is relaxing off to the left, she’s got a fire started, and she’s cooking some animal that you’ve never seen before, over it. She’s content, and you think that she'll be able to kite the games easily, if she doesn’t go and pull anything like Bauhinia did.

Had Bauhinia just minded her own business and stuck next to the dam, she’d be alive right now. It wouldn’t have made for an interesting day, but that’s okay. You still can’t believe that she thought it was a good idea to try and attack them in the first place. Sure, it was only one of them, but she really didn’t think that she’d get away with it. The careers aren’t just going to let it go.

Sometimes there’s genius tributes, who can make their way around the arena, fight other tributes and survive off of worms in the ground. And they have everyone fooled, right up until they make their first not-common sense decision. A part of you can understand how they made it so far, because they’ve obviously got the skills for it. They’re just lacking literally the most obviously important details.

Bauhinia had the chance of winning, and she blew it for herself.

District Seven is awake, but they haven’t moved from the huts. They don’t look like they’re planning on going anywhere, either. The dam is leaking water, which has them mildly concerned, as they should be. They’ve just decided to ignore it for the time being, take advantage of it while they can before they have to actually go to the stream.

Annie and Marsh haven’t gone out to their snares at all. You don’t think they’re planning on moving today, either. They’re holed up inside of their shack, splitting food and talking about how they’re going to ration it. Maybe they’re finally going to try and make the push to the village tonight? That’s good, they should make one last round with the snares and gather what they can. Just in case there isn’t any food over there, they’d have some rabbits, squirrels and whatever else to hold them over until their next trip. Same thing goes for stocking up water.

As for the careers, they’re getting a slow start to today’s hunting day. They eat, discuss, go quiet, and then repeat the process about a hundred times until they eventually agree on just heading towards the stream. They pack up their things agonizingly slow, keeping the wretched kama with them so that no other tribute can run across it and keep it. It’s smart, but also a waste of space, considering they broke the strap on the outside of the backpack that would’ve held it for them.

And the only tribute that’s left is Five boy, who is a lot farther along than you thought he would be. He’s practically at the stream, and the path he took was on top of the careers. How they didn’t see him is a complete mystery to you. Like every other tribute that moves through the woods, he’s not very quiet. 

Then again, the careers are dragging their feet, so yesterday must’ve tired them out. After walking for several hours, and then running, there’s no way that their legs aren’t sore. Plus, they’re carrying backpacks chocked full of goods they’ll need for a couple of days. At least this shows that they’re some form of human. You’re sure that they’re going to find some way to change that thought in the next day or so. With what you’re feeling today, it’ll probably be in the next few hours.

You finish breakfast, still watching as Five boy gets closer and closer to the stream. With where he’s at currently, Annie and Mash shouldn’t have a thing to worry about. Hell, the kid isn’t even geared up, no backpack, no weapons, he’s just letting the wind decide where he’s going. Even if he did manage to run across your tributes, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. He’s harmless.

The careers get ready to go, heading the exact same was as Five boy, of course. Again, if they stick with the path that they’re on, they shouldn’t be a problem with your tributes, either. However, if that were the case, you’re sure your heart wouldn’t squeeze each time you think of the idea of them getting close to Annie and Marsh.

You brush your teeth in your bathroom, no longer taking your time getting ready. You’ve wasted thirty minutes eating lunch alone, dragging your feet isn’t going to delay the inevitable. If today’s going to be a bad day, it’s going to happen with or without you.

Plus, Finnick’s probably wondering where you’ve been this entire time. You know that he didn’t leave to go to the betting room until early this morning. With the confirmation last night that the careers wouldn’t be doing anything else, he decided to sleep for a little while longer. You didn’t really see any harm in it either. The important part is that he got down there this morning.

The elevator down makes you anxious, you press a hand to your stomach, hoping that it’ll ease your nerves. But the more you walk towards the betting room, the more the dread spreads from your stomach to your chest. By the time you’re actually inside of the room, you’re sure that being dead would be better than feeling this for the rest of the day.

Finnick is standing up instead of sitting, arms crossed while he watches the tv screen. Gloss is standing next to him, talking about something. Every now and then they’ll glance at each other, but for the most part, they’re reasonably interested in what’s going to eventually happen. It’s a matter of time before the careers and Five boy run across each other, isn’t it?

As for Enobaria, she’s in a group of sponsors, chatting away. You’d say that you’re surprised or that she’s gearing up for something, but the truth is that it’s a ritual of hers. She’ll lose a tribute, and then she’ll go talk to Capitol people all day to make her feel better. It’s a way to take away from the self-hated. The Capitol people are a fucking escape, with their rich lives, accents and complete obliviousness to social cues. It’s hard not to get lost in them.

Mentors are usually pissed at the Capitol for encouraging the games, but it works a little differently with the careers. You’re supposed to love the Capitol for favoring your districts all because of what you guys produce. The truth is that keeping up appearances is hard, and constantly trying not to be mad at them is even worse. At some point you’re going to snap.

And Enobaria wouldn’t want to ruin the perfect reputation that she’s built up all this time. To be fair, neither would you. It’s hard to get the Capitol to like a district that isn’t very good at the games, and it’s even harder to do when you’ve insulted them constantly. This is why you insult your own district to ally yourselves with the Capitol to make them think that you’re over being a savage.

Anyway, you wouldn’t be surprised if Enobaria doesn’t speak to any of you all today. She should be right back to it tomorrow, though. Nothing is permanent when it comes to her. She could be mad at you today, bounce right back at it the next day. She’ll also probably find a way to blow off steam.

The Afternoon Line Odds say that everyone is still at their respective places. Annie and Marsh are still at a 6-1, Sanguine is at 1-1, and Geare is at 2-1. As for everyone inside of the arena… you wouldn’t say that they don’t have a chance at winning, you’d say that they don’t have a chance at getting sponsored. The higher your odds, the more people are going to keep their eyes on you.

Before Bauhinia died, she was at a 14-1, which isn’t horrible, but isn’t the best either. Nine girl is at a 10-1, you can’t remember what she was yesterday. You can imagine that getting that backpack from the cornucopia has worked wonders for her. The more supplies she has, the easier it’ll be to live out in the woods. You still think that someone should make a run for the village before it’s too late. None of the careers are going to see, and do they really think another, lesser tribute is going to chase them down there?

The village is barren, it’s practically the golden ticket. Plus, Nine girl doesn’t even know about the stream on the right side of the woods! All she probably knows is about the dam leaking water, but that’s not really an efficient way to drink, right? Who knows how many diseases lie inside of the lake water behind the dam. The water probably has concrete dust anyway.

Though, you can’t completely blame them. If you were in the same spot as they were, you’re not sure if going out of your comfort zone would be a number one priority. In your arena, you always went to the pond. And after the pond was slowly being sucked up, you were apprehensive to go to the waterfall because it was uncharted territory… not really claimed, either. On the other hand, though, you knew that other tributes were in that area. Made it a little harder to want to go around there in the first place.

You appear behind Finnick and Gloss, who don’t seem to take notice of your presence at all. With the angle they’re turned at, Finnick could look to Gloss and still not see you. As you listen in, it’s basically meaningless conversation, until Finnick starts asking questions.

“Is she normally this stressed out?”

“You don’t even know half of it. Compared to the last couple of years we’ve known her, this is absolutely nothing.” Gloss lets out a breathy laugh, “I mean, she used to eat, sleep and breathe this room. None of us really understood how she’d survive down here. Sleep deprivation, hours without eating.” Gloss looks at Finnick, “The tributes would die and she wouldn’t even get mad. It’s hard to forget she’s human.”

“Do you think she unintentionally flirts with the Capitol people?” Finnick asks.

Your mouth opens, face twisting in disbelief as you look to Finnick. You have the urge to slap him upside the head hard enough to rattle his fucking brain with a question like that. You don’t mind that he’s asking these questions, he was practically asking the same exact ones last night before you went to bed.

After the Anchor question on the balcony, more followed. He had three years to catch up on, and you guys didn’t even get to finish. You got too tired to go on, so he let you go on the promise that you’d resume the questionnaire another night. He asked practically everything that he could think of.

How you were doing after all these years, what you like to do, how you fill your free time when you’re not in the Capitol. What your brothers have been up to, how Alyssum’s been doing in school, what they do now that they don’t have to work every hour of the day to provide anymore. And then went the questions for Caspian’s family and if you’re still close with them, which is an obvious yes. More questions about Mags, Anchor and Luther.

You think this is a good sign, like it’s Finnick’s own personal way to weasel his way back into your life. You’re practically down for whatever gets him to stay this time around. You don’t want him to be participating in this year’s games but completely fall off the radar by the time next year rolls around.

Anyway, Finnick turning to Gloss to ask these same questions is only natural, you’re sure that if Cashmere and Enobaria were over here too, they’d be more personal. To some extent, you think that Finnick isn’t trying to dig too deep, like he’s unsure of whether or not Gloss is one of your best friends or not. However, if he was going with that path, he wouldn’t have just asked Gloss whether he thinks you’re flirting with the Capitol each time you open your mouth.

“Uh,” Gloss says, smart man. He shouldn’t be quick to answer, but if he’s finding a better way to word whatever he’s thinking, he might have earned himself a hard slap to the side of the head too. “I wouldn’t say that it’s unintentional. We all know that the more you compliment the sponsors, the more willing they are to sponsor. So, I’d say that when she does, it’s on purpose too. She’s good at getting her way.”

“So I’ve heard.” Finnick mutters.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you ask, causing the both of them to jump.

Gloss places a hand over his heart, “Holy fuck, (Y/n). Again?”

You hardly pay attention to Gloss, eyes focused on Finnick, who’s beginning to turn red because of guilt, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“That’s what everyone says when they’re caught.” you roll your eyes, looking at the screen, “What’s up, Gloss?”

“Watching Enobaria unintentionally flirt with the sponsors.” Gloss snorts.

“Ha!” you elbow him, a smile peeking onto your face.

“(Y/n), I just meant that I’ve experienced it first hand. The elevator? The train?” Finnick says, you barely glance at him, “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

You shrug, a cheeky smile on your face, “Hey, I’d be careful next time, though. Who knows what corner I’ll be lurking behind next?” you reach over, fingers finding Finnick’s sides.

Finnick squirms, giving you a glare, “Get your dirty fingers off of me.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll just turn to Gloss instead--”

“I’m not ticklish, living a life with Cashmere will do that to you.” Gloss says.

You pause for a second, “She’s your younger sister.”

“Sisters are cruel.” he says.

You snort, going for his sides anyway, “You’re a liar!”

“Grab her!” Gloss shouts, Finnick laughs.

You move out of the way before either of them can do some real damage. Gloss had been going for your wrists, Finnick for your back. You knew it was only going to be a matter of time before they tried to torture you. But unlike them--the total liars--you’re not actually ticklish. 

It’s always the older sibling that messes with the younger ones. Of course, you’ve had your fair share of impish moments and getting on your brothers’ nerves. But you’ve never had the opportunity to hold down Reed and give him hell until he cried and begged and promised to do shit that he didn’t want to. Plus, the idea of Cashmere going that far on Gloss is heinous. Does he really think you’re that stupid?

“Anyway, hear the tributes talk about anything important?”

“For a while the gamemakers let us hear Annie and Marsh. Catch any of that while you were taking your sweet ass time getting down here?” Finnick asks, giving you a raised eyebrow.

“Not my fault I feel like shit.”

Suddenly, Finnick’s no longer suspicious, “Sick?”

“Probably not, just a gut feeling.”

Gloss lets out a laugh, “Well, that’s not good. Last time you had a gut feeling was last year when… both of your tributes died on the same day?”

“Yeah.” you huff, “And if this year is a repeat, I’m going to fucking lose my mind.”

“I would too. You’ve got quite the streak going on.”

You punch Gloss’ arm.

“So on top of everything else, you’re also psychic?” Finnick asks.

You place your hands on top of your head, “Yeah, something like that. What was Annie and Marsh saying?”

“Village, talking about going there before it’s too late. They both want to go tonight, they’re still worried about finding a water source, though.”

“Figured.”

The further Sanguin and Geare walk, the more they seem to awaken. No longer dragging their feet, conversation has picked back up into its usual vicious state. Mostly about what happened yesterday, and they can’t believe that the chase went on as long as it did. You can’t blame them, at first glance, Bauhinia doesn’t look like a girl that ran track in high school. Then again, appearances can be deceiving.

Five boy has made it to the stream, deciding to take a break. He’s sat on the right side of the bank so no one can sneak up on him from the way he came. He sheds some clothing, dipping his shirt in the water, ringing it out a little to not let him be completely soaking wet, and then puts it back on. You didn’t really consider the fact that it could very well be hot inside of the arena. It looks like it’s the middle of springtime there, like it can’t be more than seventy degrees.

Whatever he does, he doesn’t shed his shoes. He’ll sit in the stream water, let his pants completely soak, but taking off his shoes is out of the question. In fact, he even goes as far as to lift his feet in the air to make sure that they don’t get wet at all. You guess it’s not a completely fruitless idea. Walking in wet shoes isn’t comfortable at all, especially when your skin begins to wrinkle. Plus, if he were to take off his shoes and someone else were to show up, he’d be stuck running through the woods barefoot. If there’s one thing that no one wants to do, it’s run through the woods barefoot.

Rocks, dirt, sticks, needles, poison ivy, beetles, spiders, snakes, whatever can be lying in the grass. Hell, you’ve seen grass that looks like it’s harmless, but it turns out it has razor edges along the blade. It wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that the grass had reached above their shoes, constantly cutting and reopening wounds on their calves. Didn’t make for a very fun time for the tributes.

You can appreciate the determination going on with Five boy. He kinda reminds you of Six before he went and died via forcefield. The both of them have their own set of determinations. While Five boy has, for whatever reason, made it his goal to make it across the woods in a little less than two days, Six boy had been moving to get away from the dam.

Although, you’re really not sure what Five is up to. If he was looking for water, he found it. But you can’t imagine that’s why he traveled across the entire arena. If he’s lasted this long, that means he’s had his own supply off to the far left for a while. Why leave what you know is working? You’re all for taking risks until it’s unnecessary.

Upstream from Five is your tributes, who are still inside of the shack. You can’t hear the conversation, as usual, so you try your best to read lips. You think you catch Marsh saying that they should hole themselves up inside of the shack until tonight comes. Annie asks what they would do if someone came along and wants where they’re saying, he says to fend it off or just make a fucking run for the village.

Annie says splitting up isn’t a smart idea, he agrees, “What choice do we have?” Those words are the clearest. Annie doesn’t really respond, she just brings her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. Then, she shrugs. You can’t blame her, it’s hard knowing what to do when you don’t really have options. And with them being inside of the Hunger Games, everything is a risk at this point.

If they don’t move on, they run the risk of someone coming across them, their shack, their snares and taking one of them out. If they do move on, they leave behind shelter, the way they’ve been getting food, a certain water source, and they go on the chance that they might get caught on the way to the village. It’s not really a winning situation unless all conditions are perfect. Which is hardly ever. Oh, and also if they stay, the dam will eventually be their number one problem.

Marsh says that he’s going to step out and get fresh air, he’ll just be outside of the doorstep. Annie says she’s fine with that, watches him leave and then closes her eyes for a while. They’re not really splitting up, so you can’t see a problem with him just leaving for a moment. If he wanders off, that’s a whole new ordeal, though.

Sanguin and Geare are fast despite their sore legs. The map that the gamemakers show you, tell you that they’re basically on top of the stream. A couple more minutes, and they’ll be able to see it through the trees. And with the path they took, it’s parallel to what Five boy took. This is a fight waiting to happen. Any fucking minute now.

“Back to back.” Gloss says.

“Can’t wait to see what Sanguin has instore for us today.” Finnick says.

Gloss looks over, “You heard what happened?”

“Saw.” you correct, “Showed him what happened when I got back yesterday. Let’s just say that Finnick can eat and watch shit like that all day long.”

“O-kay.” Finnick draws out the world, but he starts laughing along with you two.

And like you predicted, Sanguin and Geare spot the stream through the trees. They’re not really overjoyed, just relieved that they finally found it after all this time. They take their time getting there, dropping off their stuff in the bushes along the treeline. Geare crouches down to splash water on his face, Sanguin complains about her hair being greasy.

They fill back up on water, talking quietly amongst themselves because there’s no use to shout if they’re next to each other. The moment they comfortably fall into silence, Five boy’s voice is heard. It’s not clear, it sounds distant, but it’s unmistakable. You watch as Sanguin and Geare share a look, hands finding their weapons, then dropping the things they don’t need at the moment before they head off toward Five.

A part of you wonders that if Five boy takes off running, if they’ll follow or just let him go. You wouldn’t believe your eyes if they just decided to go after him. But you also couldn’t believe your eyes when you watched Sanguin single-handedly rip apart Bauhinia like she was a fucking animal and not a human.

The careers disappear into the trees for better coverage, taking their time with getting down to where Five boy is. They’re definitely going to chase after him. And if they don’t chase, Sanguin will probably just throw her sword out of nowhere or some shit. Surprise all of you at the same time. If the odds could go to 0-1 with her, you’re sure that they would.

Five boy is humming to himself, turning a rock over in his hand. You watch in silent horror as Sanguin and Geare manage to get closer and closer without being detected. Actually, you’re sure that with their skills, they could easily cross the stream and still not be figured out. If they can do this in broad daylight, what can they do when they have the night as their veil?

You don’t like the chill that goes down your spine.

No words pass between Sanguin and Geare, they must decide that they’ll be able to handle Five boy in whatever way they need. The way that they simultaneously come out of the trees, with their hand-picked weapons brandished and the strict expression on their faces. They look like a pair of villains in a children’s fairytale. However, normally those villains are easy to beat and seem to have a chink in their armour. Sanguin and Geare are not like that.

Five spots them almost immediately, eyes widening and darting up, mouth parting as he watches them. You can see the glint of the sun off Sanguin’s sword land in his eyes for a moment, before disappearing off into the trees. No words come from any of them, he just stares as they get closer.

Sanguin and Geare split, wanting to take Five from both sides, which seems to finally set him off. Five jumps to his feet, crouching over slightly, caught in the decision of fight or flight. Would be he able to hold them off? You don’t think so. Would he be able to outrun them? You don’t think so, either. They’re good fighters, Sanguin’s an even-better runner. There’s no way he’s making out of this alive.

Doesn’t mean he can’t try, though.

And like a fucking psychopath, Five boy screams at the top of his lungs. And while that momentarily catches both of the careers off guard, it also makes Annie jerk to life inside of the shack. She grabs her short blade, throwing the door of the shack open to find what’s the matter. Marsh is already on his feet outside, eyes on Annie.

“What was that?” Annie asks, you can hear her this time.

“It’s not far away.” Marsh says, “We shouldn’t stay.”

“We can’t leave now, can we? Where will we go?”

“Up?” Marsh asks.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

Another scream, Five boy has brought his fists up to his face like he’s getting ready to fight. He’s an idiot, he’s going to get himself killed. If Annie can take out One boy--Colt--without blinking her eyes, Sanguin and Geare can both easily do it with their eyes closed. You have slight hope for him, looking at the Line Odds to see what the gamemakers are making of him. He’s at 15-1, worse than Bauhinia.

“He’s fucked!” you exclaim.

Sanguin bites, swinging her sword right at him. He ducks out of the way, jumping at her legs. He takes her out, scrambling on top of her, getting the sword away from him. He raises his fist up high, and before Geare can catch it, slams his fist straight into her teeth. You can feel the ache in your own front teeth, especially since he gave her all knuckle. She’s got to be feeling something.

Geare grabs a hold of Five, yanking him off and backwards into the water, which is now a huge factor. It’s splashing everywhere, getting all of them wet, slowing their movements down. The stream seems to get heavier, moving faster to make balancing impossible. No thanks to the gamemakers, you’re sure. A little interference never hurt anyone, right?

Sanguin scoops up her sword in her wet hands, which are still stained red from Bauhinia’s blood yesterday. She rinsed them off with the water from her water bottle, but even after that, and scrubbing them in the stream not five minutes ago, they’re stained. And they’re about to be stained again, you think.

Geare holds Five boy in place, raising up the sword. Five stays still eyes on the silver blade that’s about to make its home in his chest. His life is probably flashing before his eyes, every mistake he’s ever made is suddenly at the front of his mind. What he said to his family last before they had to say their goodbyes. It’s all he can think about.

Marsh has now geared up for the fight, completely switching gears from his original intention of running, “What if it’s the careers?”

“What--are you hearing yourself? You’re right! What if it’s the careers--you just want to run right on in?”

“There’s two of them, Annie!” Marsh shoves Annie’s backpack into her hands, “And just in case you forgot, we’re careers too! This could be our opportunity!”

“Or it could be our death sentence!” Annie grabs a hold of his arm, “This is stupid.”

“Come or don’t, I’m going down there.”

He tightens the strap on his backpack, quickly making his way down the hill. Annie stands there for a moment, runs a hand through her messy hair, and then lets out a sigh. She heads down there after him, tightening the straps on her own backpack, and gripping and regripping the short blade in her hand. This is bad, very bad.

The fight is about to go from three to five. The original stakes are now unmatched, now that two more careers have been added to the equation. District Four versus Five boy versus what’s left of the career pack. Who’s going to fight who, you wonder. Will Sanguin and Geare stay focused on their original plan, or will they be completely distracted by your tributes.

The tension in your chest has met its breaking point. Loud, shaking, vibrating. This is it. Exactly what you feared is going to happen. Last year, a couple of tributes had managed to kill both of your tributes at the same time. This year, it’s going to be the careers, since Sanguin is dead set on killing Annie at least, and Geare will naturally go for Marsh to finish District Four off once and for all.

“(Y/n), breathe.” Finnick’s rubbing your back.

Sanguin brings the sword down, she misses Five boy by a hair. He turned sideways just in time, but Sanguin’s not fucking around. She’s desperate to get this over with, tired of outsider tributes slipping through her fingers like sand. She raises her sword much quicker now, and slams it through his arm, pinning him to the ground. He screams.

Marsh quickens his pace, Annie quietly ushers him to slow down. He doesn’t listen to her. They both make it down the hill just in time to see Geare pin Five’s other arm down with his foot. Sanguin holds out her hand, Geare hands over his own weapon. One moment, they’re all still, Five has no way of escaping, Marsh and Annie are an audience to some sick show.

Chaos is what happens next. Sanguin moves faster than Marsh had predicted. She easily kills Five, a cannon going off. But Marsh has revealed where he was, moving towards her, swinging his own sword before she can pull hers out of Five. He brings the blade up high, Sanguin flinches to cover her face with her forearm. The blade slices right through her skin, blood flying, a yelp of pain leaving her.

Annie moves forward too, apprehensive at first, like she doesn’t know where to start. Attack Sanguin or Geare? Does she even want to be placed in the middle of this? If she ran now, she could save herself. Fuck, she could run all the way to the village and none of them would be able to catch her. She’d be able to hide herself somewhere where they’d never be able to find her.

And then Sanguin catches sight of Annie, and suddenly the whole mood is shifted. With her target spotted, Marsh is an easy object to get out of the way. She shoves, rips her sword out of Five, blood gushing down her arm at an unhealthy pace, and storms her way over to Annie.

It’s too late for Annie to run now. Her chin lowers, she makes sure that Sanguin can see the shortblade, and the fight really starts. Sanguin swings, Annie dodges and moves closer. It’s the same dancing game that she played with Colt, except this time, Sanguin knows of Annie’s games. For every step Annie takes forward, Sanguin moves backward to keep her away.

At some point, though, she can’t run any further. It’ll make her look like a coward. Annie is persistent, she won’t let up until Sanguin conforms or runs. Subject yourself to the fight, or find a way to get out of there before Annie does some real damage. And since Sanguin isn’t a career for nothing, she steps up. 

Blade on blade, over and over and over again. Annie swings up, Sanguin blocks, slips and goes downward. Annie will narrowly get out of the way before bringing her blade down as hard as she can, breaking through any barriers that Sanguin thought she had built up. You’ll have to say it, they’re evenly matched.

The adrenaline that must be running through them is fucking nuts. Sanguin swings upward, Annie backs out of the way, bringing her short blade down. Sanguin just barely dodges, but you know that she’s in pain because of her arm. Annie tries to fake her out like she did to Colt, but Sanguin works faster than that. It’s okay, Annie recovers.

As for Marsh and Geare, it’s not as intense. They don’t have problems with each other, not like Sanguin and Annie. All Marsh really has to do is take out Geare before Sanguin somehow gets an upper hand on Annie. Once he’s gone, Sanguin will be too. Her pride is too big for her to just run away from a fight she’s been itching for since she first saw Annie during the bloodbath.

Marsh seems more successful. Geare might have scored a ten, but he’s lazy. Almost like he’s trying not to take it as seriously, as if he could also do this without trying. He can’t, the number that Geare scored was a reach. He too, looks like an eight or nine at most, he fights like it.

Annie keeps pushing, her strength never-ending. She’s got the same amount of stamina that Sanguin has, maybe more. The careers can run for hours on end, but you never saw use in something like that. If they get caught in a fight, they’re going to want to keep going, they don’t want to die. Annie can always go back and forth between running and walking, anyway. It’s not that easy when you’re using a sword, or in this case, a short blade.

Sanguin lets out a shout, moving faster than Annie can catch her. Instead of swinging her weapon, which is no doubt having its way with her arms now, she shoves Annie back hard enough for her to topple over. Annie hits the stream water, creating a wave that briefly reaches into the air, and then it comes all crashing down. 

All at once.

Sanguin rolls her wrist, spins toward Marsh and swings. A strangled scream leaves your throat when you cover your mouth. Geare moves out of the way, far back enough for the blade to not even come close to touching him. However, Marsh is unsuspecting, back turned towards Sanguin. He can’t see the blade coming, much less has a reason to think he’s in any sort of danger.

For a second, it’s not as bad as it seems. Sanguin’s blade forces Marsh to his knees with how it hits the back of his legs. But then Geare moves forward, sword over his shoulder, eyes locked on Marsh. The two of them work together seamlessly, it’s almost like they’ve been brainwashed with how their movements are mechanical. 

Geare brings his sword down, sword connecting with the side of Marsh’s neck. There’s no way he can defend himself, Annie just has to sit here and watch. Sit here and take it. The blade goes clean through without a struggle. His silver sword, glittering beautifully in the sunlight, has blood all along the blade.

Another cannon blasts.

Where Marshs’ head was before, has now been replaced by a fountain of deep red blood. The body falls forward, legs slanted uncomfortably. The gamemakers show Annie, and you can see she’s on the edge. There’s tears in her eyes, face slowly turning red. She’s no longer sitting, she’s already on her feet, knuckles white from how hard she’s gripping the hilt.

A stand still, you think. Where will they go from here?

Annie launches herself at Geare, completely pissed. He’s already covered in her former district partner’s blood, but with the way she collided with him, it rubs off on her. They struggle, Sanguin trying to grab a hold of her too. Logically speaking, there’s two against one. Annie shouldn’t get the upper hand here.

But Annie didn’t volunteer for the Hunger Games for nothing.

With one hand wrapped around his forehead, yanking it back, stretching his neck so that it’s accessible, the other hand has her blade sheathed. And with no hesitance, because the longer you wait, the bigger the chance of interference, she slits his throat, and shoves his body forward.

Like yesterday, with the bloody freckles across her face, Sanguin gets a face full of blood. She catches him, arms wrapped around him to make sure he gets down comfortably. Annie spins her blade between her fingers, and finishes off Geare, her short blade in the back of his head. 

Another cannon. Enobaria and Wade are going home.

Annie places her foot on Geare’s back, pushing him forward while she yanks her sword out. Sanguin can’t handle all the weight, so she falls back, trapping her beneath the dead body. Annie stares down at Sanguin for a moment, breathing heavily. She’s caught in a decision, should she take out the last career, once and for all?

It’ll take away the threat. Four people left inside of the games after Sanguin is gone. But it also goes against her moral dilemma of killing people when it’s not needed. She just needs to do it. Sanguin will keep following her if she doesn’t, Annie doesn’t want to be chased, does she?

She’s shaking, eyes filling with tears, “This is your fault. It’s all your fault.”

Sanguin opens her mouth, eyebrows drawn in. She doesn’t speak, only stares and waits. Annie lifts her sword, taking in a deep breath, and slams the blade right through Geare’s back, and into Sanguin. It doesn’t kill her, but it’ll keep her down.

Annie gathers the backpacks, transfers the goods without a single word, and then scoops up Marsh’s sword, finding a spot for it so she doesn’t have to carry. She takes one last look at Sanguin, and then spits on her. Saliva mixed with blood, it lands on Sanguin’s cheek. 

Only three tributes dead, maybe four if Sanguin’s wounds kill her anytime soon. Annie takes off through the trees, straight downhill and towards the village. It’s a shame that it took for Marsh to die for the plans to finally fall through. Either way, she won’t have to worry about Sanguin going after her. She can take her time getting to the village. 

“Okay,” You breathe, “Okay, it could be worse.”

“Why didn’t she just kill Sanguin?” Gloss asks.

“Because she doesn’t need to.” Finnick tells him, “Sanguin isn’t a threat to her, and won’t be for a while.”

It’s quiet, you let out a slight laugh, “We know how stupid it sounds. If Annie had the choice of running away from Geare and Sanguin instead of killing Geare, she would’ve just run.”

“Huh.” Gloss hums.

Enobaria no longer needs to talk to the sponsors. You watch as they all let her go, she slowly bids each and every one of them goodbye. When she finally has her back turned to them, she gives you three an eye roll. Enobaria stops a few feet away.

“Insufferable.” She huffs, “Had I known Geare would be dying today, I would've just stuck with you guys. They act like I need the condolences.”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t talk to them unless I have to.” Gloss gives her a smile, she glares.

“I’ve got to go tell Wade the news.” She hugs Gloss first, even after what he said, “I’ll see you next year. Good luck.” You're next, she gives an extra squeeze. Finnick gives her a one-armed hug.

“It was good seeing you.” You smile.

“Yeah, whatever—“

Gloss snorts, “I’m sorry for your loss!”

Enobaria flips him off, you all watch as she leaves the betting room. You look at the Line Odds next to see that Annie and Sanguin have moved. Sanguin has gone down to 2-1, probably because Five boy got the jump on her, and Annie was able to match her power. Annie has moved up to 3-1, whereas previously she was 6-1.

Good news, it’s all good news. Annie’s alive, she’s moved up on the odds board. Even if she didn’t kill Sanguin, she at least injured her enough to keep her away. You know for a fact that Sanguin’s going to go running to the cornucopia with her tail between her legs. She’s not going to bother to go after Annie.

For the most part, Annie’s fine. She’s got a scratch here and there from not being able to move out of the way in time, but other than that, she’ll be able to easily overpower Sanguin. Beforehand, Sanguin’s idea of revenge could be supported by her health, now it would be a stupid move. It would be stupid for her to do anything but go home.

“Shouldn’t you be loading up a sponsor?” You ask, looking at Gloss.

“I’m going to let her suffer some. Maybe that’ll make her more humble.”

“I’m pretty sure Annie letting her live was grounding enough.” Finnick mutters, you all laugh.

Annie runs through the trees, she’s almost out of the forest. She’s going faster since it’s all downhill, but the clearing beyond the woods is flat. And the hills will slow her down even more. The problem isn’t so much Sanguin anymore, but the other tributes seeing her. Nine girl, who has her own weapon. The Seven tributes, who are working in a pair.

But as far as you can tell, they're not near the tree line. They seem to be stuck where they are, probably confused about the three cannons. One and two are normal, signifies a small fight, maybe the careers ran into other tributes, or the careers lost one of their own altogether. But three is bigger, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

Sanguin is still laying underneath Geare, wincing each time she moves. A moan will leave her mouth when she tries to push him off, the sword blade digging around in her wound. She pants, pauses, and tries again, gritting her teeth. Geare is bigger than her, it’s going to take a moment to get him off of her. She’s probably under some sort of pressure, knowing that everyone is watching, that the gamemakers are waiting to collect the bodies.

She presses her hands against Geare’s shoulders, slowly pushing him off. It’s like peeling a bloody shirt off of a wound, you’ve got to do it slowly if you want little to no pain. All at once is going to hurt like a bitch. However, at the angle she’s going with, it’s probably making things a whole lot worse.

She barely slips out from underneath Geare before he comes crashing back to the ground, sword hitting the dirt next to her. She lets out a groan, fingers finding her stomach. She’s in the same situation that you were in five years ago. Except her wound is all surface, hardly goes that deep. Your entire knife got shoved in, five to six inches, maybe more? Sanguin is going to survive.

She gets to her feet, grabbing her sword. Annie left her nothing, so she’s got to get to the cornucopia before sundown if she wants to be safe. She stands around the area for a couple of seconds longer, looking over Five, Marsh and then Geare. Her face twists angrily, and she shouts.

Sanguin brings her sword up, and then slams it into Geare’s back, “Fuck!”

She leaves, turning the way that she’d come with Geare and Vanilee a day ago, and starts going downhill diagonally. She keeps with this path for a while, a couple of hours, at least. The stream was only three miles off to the right of the cornucopia, with where they had started on the first day, it made it seem a whole lot longer.

Either way, Sanguin makes it to the cornucopia at the same time Annie makes it over the one important hill that’ll hide her from Sanguin. With the village right in front of her, Annie starts running again. The second that she’s stepped foot onto the washed-out soil, she collapses to her knees.

You stand from where you’re sitting with Gloss and Finnick, “Is she hurt?”

“Why would she be?” Gloss asks, he presses his lips together, and then sits up, “I’ve got to send Sanguin some medication. I’ll be back.”

Gloss finds his usual people, always ready on-hand for him to come by so they can send his tributes a gift. They talk for a moment, and then he leads them over to where he’ll confirm and send the sponsor gift.

As for Annie, her hands have curled into fists, body shaking. You’re not sure what’s happening until you’re allowed to hear, just in time for her to gasp and sob, whimpering. She sniffs, slamming her fist into the dirt a couple of times, turning her knuckles red. Annie sits up, staring into the village with bloodshot eyes. She wipes under her eyes and nose, a frown on her face.

The relief that goes through you really is like a wave. She’s not hurt, just grieving for Marsh. It’s natural with tributes that are close to each other. Annie and Marsh have been side by side since the beginning, partners in crime. Losing him was inevitable, they’re so far into the games now. It’s been less than a week and there’s only five left. From here on out, they need to treat the games like they’re almost over.

You take a seat back on the couch, lacing your fingers and leaning forward on your knees. You’re all allowed to watch a split screen of Sanguin receiving her sponsor gift, and Annie pulling herself together enough to find a place to stay for the night. She drags her feet through the dirt, but it’s not deep enough path for a tracker like Sanguin to come around and follow it.

Annie walks for thirty minutes before picking a three-story house. When she walks inside, you can see that the floorboards are rotting, the yellow-flowered wallpaper is curling off the walls, and the staircase on the first floor is missing quite a few steps. Annie doesn’t care, she tightens her grip on her belongings and takes one step at a time. The second floor’s staircase is much sturdier, same for the floors. The walls are just as bad.

She picks a far back room, sets everything down, and rolls out what she’ll need for tonight. With how she’s not unpacking everything, and putting things back after she’s done, Annie doesn’t want to stay where she is. Or she’s keeping everything ready just in case someone does come after her. After today, you can’t blame her, but she’s all by herself inside of the village.

Sanguin sits herself in the grass, carefully pulls her healing cream out of the silver package, disregarding whatever note that Gloss has decided to give her. Speaking of which, he joins you guys back at the couch, sitting on the arm. Sanguin squirts the contents of the tube onto her fingers, and then lifts her shirt for everyone to see.

Not a pretty sight, where the short blade had cut her is a huge gash. Dried blood around it, with how she flexes her stomach when trying to look for herself, more blood surfaces, and runs down her skin. She glares, grits her teeth, and then digs her fingers inside, trying to spread it inside to make the healing process faster. Her face turns a deep shade of red, holding her breath. When she’s done the first time, she lets out a breath of air, recuperates, and then goes again.

It’s six in the evening before anyone in the arena begins to settle down for the night. Annie has made her bed, she eats and drinks water, trying not to cry anymore than she has already today. Sanguin doesn’t have any water, which means that tomorrow she’ll have a decision to make; stay inside of the cornucopia, where she knows it’s safe, or risk going out to get water. You have a feeling that her pride is too much to allow her to just stay inside and be thirsty.

As for Nine girl, where she’s stopped is actually fairly close to where the Seven tributes are. Maybe a mile or so apart, the Seven tributes are at their huts as usual, towards the top of the arena. Nine girl is somewhere in the middle, if she continues traveling up tomorrow, she’ll come across the team easily. For now, she makes a bed of grass and uses her backpack as a pillow.

“I think I’m going back to the apartment.” Finnick says, he yawns and pushes himself up from the couch, “You’ve got it handled?”

“Yeah, of course.” you give him a smile, “I’ll go and get you later. Eat before you go to bed.”

“I can take care of myself.” he says, and then waves to Gloss, “See you later.”

“Bye.” Gloss holds up his hand briefly, and then turns back to the screen.

You get comfortable on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. Not everyone is turning in for the night in the arena, but they might as well be. Something tells you that there’s not going to be another big event in the arena tonight. You can take it easy, probably even go out to dinner and come back and relax.

“When’s Cashmere supposed to be down here?” you ask, looking over at Gloss.

He hums, “A couple of hours, why?”

“We should all get dinner together before you switch out.”

“Sure.”

--

Without the weight in your stomach holding you down to the bed this afternoon, you slip out of bed with a yawn. You stretch your arms over your head, dragging your feet to the closet to pick out today’s outfit. Your fingers fumble, still half-asleep and squinting to be able to see properly. 

Dark blue jeans, a red tank top, black underwear. You throw it all over your arm as you reach to grab the tennis shoes, not really liking all the other options. You’re actually fairly sure that the last time you wore flats, you got blisters on the back of your feet. It’s hard to focus on your tributes when you’re complaining about the pain in your feet all day.

You throw your clothes onto the bed, as well as the shoes. On the way to the bathroom, you lock your bedroom door to make sure that you’re not going to get any unwanted guests. The shower water is warm almost instantly, but as soon as you’re dipping your fingers inside to double-check--a force of habit--you’re quickly turning the knob to make the water more cold.

Naturally, the Tribute Center has an automatic system that adjusts the heating and AC to make it comfortable for everyone inside. But this afternoon, things are particularly hot. It’s been that way since last night, when you had to shed practically everything to even get your body to a normal temperature. For good measure, you took a second shower, also cold.

It must be some sort of heatwave, thanks to the summer. And the window that you’re dealing with inside of your room probably isn’t helping all that much, either. By allowing the sun rays inside, you’re subsequently signing yourself up for the warmth that comes with it. Unfortunately, the windows don’t really come with blinds, so you just have to put up with it.

You do have to say that the heatwave inside of the Tribute Center is nothing compared to what you deal with at home. You have AC in your victor house, of course, but all the years prior when you’d just have to bear the sweat and flushed faces was like existing in hell. The only way to get away from the heat, if you weren’t swamped with housework via your brothers, was to go down to the beach and sit in the water for a while. But shedding clothes meant sunburns, and sunscreen goes up in price during the summer.

You’ve gotten used to it over the years, as you’ve grown older, you’ve also developed the philosophy of not letting stuff like that get to you anymore. Especially with not how Alyssum is getting older. If you pretend to act like everything is just fine with the heat, eventually she’ll have to stop complaining when she realizes that no one relates to her mundane problem.

However, shirts sticking to your back, using folders as fans and the irritating feeling of sweat rolling down your skin isn’t always ignorable. At least she doesn’t have to deal with you, Reed and Mox telling her that she should’ve felt what it was like to live in the shack for all these years. There’s been a silent agreement not to compare the previous living situation to the one you have now. It’s not her fault she’s living the way she is now. Plus, you think that you’d rather save those stories for when you’re old and wrinkly.

The cold water feels nice on your skin for a while, until it begins to make you cold. You step out, tie your hair out of your face and get dressed. Looking in the mirror today, there’s definitely a difference on your face. You’re not as sullen, yesterday it almost looked like someone told you that your dog died. Might as well have, Marsh is gone, and he’s not coming back.

Marsh placed seventh, with a final Line Odd of 6-1. He scored a nine on his training score, he had the Capitol in tears during his interview. He’s memorable, especially with the way that he went charging toward the careers. His intention might not have been to save Five boy, but it was still noble to face them head-on. You can only hope that none of this is in vain, that Annie will survive.

You get dressed, place your ring on your finger and hurry out to the dining room. It’s almost one already, and you haven’t even eaten yet. Dread isn’t the only thing that can ball and chain you to a bed, worry is pretty good at it too. Even better when you don’t fall asleep until late in the morning.

You shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this, Annie is fine. She’s in the village, far away from Sanguin, who’s still injured, as far as you know. All the tributes that she would have had to worry about before are now miles away from where she is now. Hell, Sanguin would have to walk hours up and down hills just to get to Annie. And then what? Annie would be able to defend herself.

The tv is already on when you get out there, which makes you think that the avoxes had done it so that you wouldn’t have to ask today, until you see that Elysia is sitting at the table. There’s a mug in her hand, it has coffee in it, you don’t even have to pretend like you don’t know. It might be the afternoon, but she takes in caffeine like it’s an alcohol addiction.

“Hey.” you say, making her look up.

She raises her eyebrows, a smile crossing her face, “Good afternoon. How are you holding up?”

“Could be a lot worse, Annie’s a survivor.” you sit at the table, watching as cold cut sandwiches, fizzy beverages and potato chips are placed on the table. It’s not much of a fancy feast, the Capitol does this sometimes when it’s a casual afternoon.

“I’d say.” Elysia looks over to the tv.

You look over too, it’s focused on Annie at the moment. It looks like she’s finally unpacked her things, but she hasn’t moved from the back corner. Sanguin, Geare and Vanilee’s bed rolls are placed inside of each other. It’s a good way to keep warmth and make it a little comfortable. 

Food, knives, water are spread around her. She won’t be needing water refills anytime soon, she’s inherited all the dead tributes’ water jugs. You think that if she drinks enough to keep her body going, she’ll have enough to last her a week, maybe two if she really tests her limits. 

She’s sitting in the corner of the room, legs to her chest, arms wrapped around them to keep them from slipping. Her hair is messy, eyes bloodshot, bags beneath her eyes. She didn’t sleep at all last night, there’s no question about it. But at least all the scratches and cuts that were inflicted have healed. She applied the medication last night before she laid down to sleep.

You sat down in the betting room for a while with just Gloss. As soon as Cashmere came around, you kept to your idea and went out to dinner with them. It wasn’t anywhere fancy, you didn’t even bother to get a private room to eat at. It was a soup and bread place, you stayed as long as you could before Gloss fell asleep on the table.

It was nice catching up with Cashmere, she said that she’d seen Enobaria and Wade just before they left for the train. Wade was reasonably upset, but Enobaria didn’t even look phased. In fact, Cashmere leaned across the table and whispered; “Enobaria says that she hopes Annie wins.” You’re glad you have these guys as your friends, even if they have to go home, there’s no malicious intent.

They’re your best friends, through and through.

After dinner, Gloss went back to his apartment, and you were left with Cashmere for a little while. You caught her up on a lot that’s happened inside of the arena, your opinions, how you guys hung around Cecelia for a while. Cashmere agreed that Sanguin’s experience with Annie was probably enough to bring her back to reality. They’re teenagers, tributes in the Hunger Games, they can’t control anything, much less try and play god. 

As soon as the first conversation was over, Cashmere started a second one about Finnick. Which made you groan with a, “It’s not that important, Cash.” But she wouldn’t let it go until you answered her questions. She hasn’t been able to ask you all the juicy details in private like she’s really wanted to.

There’s not much to tell. You let her know that Finnick was asking about you to Gloss while you weren’t there yesterday. And the night before you spent hours talking on the balcony after Bauhinia died. The two of you came to the conclusion that Finnick is deciding that he’s going to stay for a while--which you’d partially come up with by yourself yesterday.

Cashmere said it was a good sign, good for you when it comes to mentoring and the boarding school. You can finally chill out and be there for Alyssum more after school instead of relying on Reed and Mox to take care of her all the time, “You don’t want to be the absent older sister, trust me.” She’s right, it would be a shame to be so focused on saving other teenagers in District four, and completely miss out on Alyssum’s innocence while she still has it. A couple more years and she’s enrolling into the boarding school early.

After that was over, you went ahead and got Finnick before you would be too exhausted to get up this morning. Your attempts were, obviously, futile, as you hardly slept last night and you’re tired anyway. Finnick’s lucky you’re reliable, otherwise you would have considered staying in bed for a little while longer. What ruined that idea is the sweltering heat of the fucking Tribute Center. 

And since the betting room is quite literally under a glass roof, you can’t imagine that it’s very cold in there, either. In fact, you’re sure that it’s going to be worse. Which now makes you partially consider changing into a pair of shorts so you’re not stuck sweating the entire day. The tank top is nice, but it only brings you so far.

Ugh.

Sanguin is up and at it already, heading towards the woods in the direction of the stream. Figures that she wouldn’t wait a little while to give herself time to heal. She’s always on top of it, always moving. A part of you wonders if she put on healing cream as soon as she got up this morning, or if she’s waiting to do it later tonight.

Either way, she’s got a full backpack again, her sword is propped up against her shoulder with the blade flat. Exactly how she’d carried it before she went and murdered the boy from Three. To think that was only two days ago is fucking insane, it feels like forever. But you guess that’s just what happens when you get back to back days of absolute mayhem.

The Seven tributes are wandering around, heading into their own personal uncharted territory of the left side. Well, actually there’s a lot where they haven’t been before, always keeping to their safe bubble. It’s not a bad strategy, but they can get away with it for so long. The gamemakers don’t like comfortable. Comfortable means you need to be pushed outside of your boundaries and experience new things.

As for Nine girl, you think she’s unintentionally stalking the District Seven tributes, with how she’s trailing them. She could very well be tracking, but the path that Seven is leaving isn’t all that obvious. It’s too obvious to be a coincidence, maybe she’s just trying to play it off that way? Or see where District Seven leads her? You’re surprised she isn’t cloud watching today. She’s sitting pretty, does she really need to follow the other tributes around?

You eat your sandwiches, watching the tributes move around inside of the arena. Annie stays put, Sanguin gets closer to the stream, Seven is nearly in the section all the way off to the left. When you’re done eating, you have the avoxes pack up some sandwiches for your friends inside of the betting room, and get ready to go.

You take one step towards the door, before you’re stuck where you are, watching what’s unfolding on the screen. 

Uncharted territory can be dangerous for obvious reasons. The tributes don’t know what they’re heading into, which means that they don’t know what to expect. Foreign animals, plants, traps set up by the gamemakers to ensure a pleasant surprise. Heading off into the unknown means that you’re expecting unpredictable situations. Anything can happen the moment you’re no longer in your safe space.

Because of this, it’s important to keep a schedule. Let the gamemakers come to you, they’ll be playing on your side of the court for this reason. But walk right into what they want, you’re subjected to their own house of horrors. And the only way of making it out alive, is fighting for freedom, or hoping your counterpart isn’t as good as you are.

The gamemakers hardly ever allow both tributes live. If they did that, it would take away the entire entertainment aspect. Not allow the Capitol people to see tributes like Annie fall apart at the seams because she doesn’t have her best friend around her anymore. You’re not sure what’s so fun about a depressed, sleep-deprived teenager but… to each their own.

Seven girl is leading, with the male tribute just behind her. Everything appears to be just fine, there’s no visual signs that they’re about to be submerged into frigid waters. Then they’re warned, a howl loud and clear, telling them to turn back and go away now, before they continue to make the mistake that they’re working on.

Maybe the tributes don’t hear the wolves, maybe they’re so caught up in their own heads that the silence breaking doesn’t register. Or maybe they choose to ignore it, because it’s a couple of wolves, and animals tend to run away once they realize that there’s something much bigger trying to challenge them. Because of their blatant obliviousness, they’ve fucked themselves over.

They’re not any ordinary wolves. They’re Capitol-made and controlled mutts.

The first one breaks through the trees, huge, black, eyes belonging to the devil himself. The girl catches sight of the genetically mutated mutts, comes to a complete stop, and then spins herself around. She takes off running, grabbing onto her district partners arm, snapping him out of his daydreaming daze, bringing him right back to reality.

They run together, arms pumping at their sides. The boy doesn’t care what path he takes, through thickets, thorns, and between trees that shouldn’t be possible to squeeze past. The girl however, is more careful about where she goes, thinking that it’ll help her move quickly, knowing where she’s stepping and that the path is definitely clear. It’s working the other way around. For once, a lack of carelessness is going to be the downfall of a tribute.

She falls behind, the wolves gaining on them both more and more. The pounding of their paws against the dirt is loud enough for the Capitol cameras to pick up. Like a heartbeat, a steady thrum against the ground. It’s also a telling sign that the Seven girl needs to give up her act or accept her death.

It’s frustrating, especially since she doesn’t even seem to notice her mistakes. One of the first rules of being chased is always being aware of how close they are. She doesn’t have to do it by looking behind her, which is always a mistake the idiots seem to make. She can just hear the footsteps all by themselves, getting louder and louder. Doesn’t she have any will to live?

If she does, she doesn’t get a chance to prove it. The lead wolf uses its hindlegs to launch itself at her. It’s mouth unhinges like a python snake, revealing rows of sharp teeth, drool coming out as a long string. It pounces on Seven girl, snarling, and bites straight into the back of her neck. The screaming is loud, you wince and sit back down at the dining room table.

The wolves around the leader continue after Seven boy, which comes as a fair surprise to you. But then again, the girl isn’t necessarily dead just yet. As soon as that cannon goes off, it’s like a whistle to the dogs. They’ll all go back to whatever hell hole they crawled out of. They might even be used a different year, for the exact same purpose that they’re serving now.

The leader bites down, and whips its head to the side. A mouthful of flesh rips out of the girl, her scream loud enough to be heard as a warning to both Seven boy, and Nine girl. Run, and run fast if you want to survive. The blood coats the tree bark around the girl, drips off the flesh that was previously attached to her body. Her hands twitch, eyes open and rolling to the back of her head.

It’s more or less the same situation that Bauhinia was in. But instead of it being done by another tribute, which will definitely leave a permanent impression on mentors and future tributes alike, this is being done by a mutt. The Capitol has specifically engineered these guys to do this. Bite, rip, rinse, repeat. Seven girl’s screams start off loud, but slowly die out like she’s lost her voice.

The next wolf that is leading on Seven boy, jumps at him just like the last wolf did to Seven girl. However this time, instead of all the other surrounding wolves continuing forward, they swarm and maul the boy. Their teeth are just as sharp, but without all the rows. You’d say that his situation is better, but he’s got more mutts going at him from different angles, with no time to breathe in between bites. 

By the time that Seven girl does die, allowing the wolves to go home, the boy is severely hurt. Puncture wounds from the teeth, shredded skin, half his face is missing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a noise. He just lays in the grass like he’s already dead, the only thing keeping him from being collected by the gamemakers like his district partner, is the cannon. 

He’s a living soul in his corpse of a body. 

It’s like sleep paralysis. He can’t speak, can’t move. He’s stuck where he is, like a suffering dog that just needs to be put out of his misery. But there’s no one to do it. You all will just get the pleasure of watching this poor boy wheeze and bleed. Doesn’t mean much for entertainment, his life is practically over.

The only tribute that’s nearby is Nine girl. But there’s no promise that she was following the Seven tributes in the first place. It looked like it, now you’ll just have to wait and see if it was true. This could take hours, and she has a bigger chance of accidentally missing him than stumbling upon him in the bushes. It’s not like he’s being loud.

You stand up from the table again, “I’ve got to get downstairs before anything else happens.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

You go down the steps and through the door. You punch the elevator button, head down to where the betting room is, bad quietly walk down the hallway. It’s all barren cement, no one hangs out here, and the peacekeepers standing outside of the door are required. Just in case a few mentors get too upset, because the Capitol people hardly ever care about rivalries.

The moment you open the door, a cool breeze hits your face. No wonder why the Tribute Center is so hot, the betting room is hogging all of the air conditioning. The glass ceiling is now blocked by a white cover to reflect the sun and ensure that you all won’t be sweating like pigs. Because of the cover, it’s dark, which is why there’s colored lights strung up on hooks. Almost like Christmas lights, but somehow less fun and more sophisticated.

Finnick and Gloss are already sitting at a white table, so you head over and drop the basket of food in the middle. 

“Did you see what happened?” Finnick asks, watching as you unload the basket.

“Yeah, Elysia and I watched it together.” You then move the basket off the table and onto the floor, sitting down and crossing your legs, “I guess the gamemakers were bored.”

“Or they have a vendetta against the Seven mentors.” Gloss cocks his head in the direction of where they’re standing off to the side. Arms crossed, angry faces. They’ve been screwed over, you can’t really blame them. Their tributes couldn’t even defend themselves, “Thanks for the lunch.”

“Figured you guys were hungry.” you look at Finnick, “What are you making of Annie?”

He shrugs, uncapping the bottled fizzy drink, “Well, besides the obvious fact that she’s some form of depressed, I think she’s in shock. How long did her and Marsh know each other?”

“They were only a year apart. So, since Annie was fourteen and he was thirteen.”

“Four years.” Gloss says, “A long time to build a friendship. What about you and Finnick, how long did you two know each other prior to your Hunger Games? I remember you guys being mentioned as friends at some point.”

You make a face, not entirely sure, “Well, I was a sophomore and he was a freshman…”

“Middle school?” Finnick proposes, but he doesn’t look confident either, “Only a year or whatever. We mostly saw each other in the hallway, and then it went on from that after my girlfriend dumped me.”

“Which one?” you ask, half-kidding, half-serious.

Finnick gives you a look, “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember which girlfriend?” Gloss asks.

You snort, “He has brain damage from all the girls he’s gone through. I can name fifteen he went through while we were just friends.”

“It was not fifteen!” Finnick defends, face turning a shade of red, “Probably only five or something.”

“Probably.” Gloss has a smile on his face, clearly enjoying Finnick’s discomfort.

“Finnick, just trust me for once when I say that it was fifteen.” You muse.

“Except there weren’t fifteen girls in my class that liked me like that. I should know.” 

You and Gloss share a look, and then laugh. He wouldn’t know, it’s not always obvious when girls have crushes on people. Girls learn to hide it when the guy or girl they like is after someone else in that moment. You wouldn’t be surprised if his entire grade of girls had liked him, and only a quarter of them showed it. Finnick thinking that he’s aware of everything is a complete joke.

The Afternoon Line Odds say that all the remaining tributes are standing where they were yesterday. There’s only four tributes inside of the games, about to be three as soon as Seven boy is gone. Annie, Sanguin and Nine girl, who you really need to find a name for to make it all easier to say. 

“Do you guys know the name of the girl from Nine?” you ask, running a hand through your hair for any snarls that might exist in your ponytail.

Gloss’ face scrunches up, eyes finding the Line Odds too, “Uh…”

Finnick tilts his head from side to side, also thinking. They’re just as clueless as you are. You can’t even remember if anyone mentioned her name outside of the training score and interviews. Everyone normally stops paying attention after District Four, for obvious reasons. No one can really compare. The only person you think would know her name is Annie, mostly because she likes to keep track of stuff like that.

It’s not like you can really ask her. And you can’t really pull a name out of thin air, anyway. When it comes to the districts, you guys have ridiculous names just as much as people in the Capitol do. Gloss? Cashmere? Enobaria? What about Anchor and Marsh? Even Sanguin’s name isn’t really a name. It’s an adjective, based off the word sanguine, which means positivity or something dumb like that.

Of course, this philosophy can’t apply to everyone. Finnick’s name is normal, so is Mags, Luther, Scotch, Wade and Cecelia. It only really falls apart when it comes to last names, like Gallows or Golding. At some time or another, you all came from the Capitol, or you great grandparents changed their last names to make them more fierce during the rebellion. That last part is especially true when it comes to your family.

You don’t remember the original last name, just that Gallows wasn’t inherited through a husband. Your great-grandmother had changed it after the nickname she got from the people around her in District Four. She was in on the plan before the rebellion had even started, and got a head start when it came to taking out peacekeepers and Capitol officers in the district. It was suspicious after a while, how every single one of them committed suicide the same way, one by one. After all the known Capitol people were gone, she was onto traitors, and she was good at finding them.

Hanging people from rope relates to the gallows. However, after the rebellion failed, she wasn’t able to go back to her regular life. With the conspicuous last name, and the way that people would talk when she came around, her position was found quickly. She was a wanted woman inside of District Four by high-standing officers. By then, she’d already birthed your grandmother, who was being held at someone else’s house during the day, and went unfound by the peacekeepers when they went looking to wipe out your family.

Your great-grandparents died, as well as any of their siblings, grandchildren, cousins, whatever. The only person left was your grandmother, who got sent into the foster care system with the last name still attached. And since there was no family to help her revert back to the original last name, she just kept Gallows out of spite. What are the peacekeepers going to do eighteen years after the fact? Kill her? She was a baby when it happened, wouldn’t even be able to recall the details, much less looked like she had an inkling to continue her mother’s murder path.

It’s a fun story to tell to the older kids, you know that your brothers enjoyed it when they got to exaggerate every little detail and add in facts of their own. As you got older, they filtered out the bullshit to make it more believable. Even now, the entire story seems like it’s out of some dark fairytale or something. With no happy ending.

“I think it starts with a T.” Finnick says.

“Huh?” you ask, looking at him.

“The girl’s name.” 

“I think you’re right!” Gloss says, he’s rubbing his forehead, “What the fuck was it?”

“Something stupid that ended in a vowel.”

“That starts with a T?” your face twists.

Finnick hums for a moment, listening as Gloss tries out names. Then, Finnick’s face lights up entirely, slamming his hands on the table, “Tekla!”

“Tekla?” Gloss pauses for a moment, “Oh fuck, you’re right.”

You nod slowly, taking their word for it. So, Seven boy, Tekla, Sanguin and Annie. The boy dies, it only leaves the three girls. What an accomplishment, to completely unintentionally wipe out the guys. You don’t want to say that they’re a bigger opponent, but they typically have an upper hand when it comes to fighting. It’s like they’ve been taking drugs.

Finnick and Gloss eat their lunch, you all come down with your final predictions on what’s going to happen inside of the arena. You all think that Sanguin and Annie will be fine, since they’re miles apart and both caught in their own worlds at the moment. The real problem is Tekla and her moving around so often. She knows that Sanguin is alone in the cornucopia by herself, and she also knows that she could sneak up on Sanguin since she has a weapon of her own. Courtesy of when the careers had left the cornucopia alone.

Seven boy is still alive an hour and a half later. Tekla has slowed down in the direction she was heading. She doesn’t look unsure, more that she’s lost motivation, you guess? Or maybe she’s lost the path that the Seven tributes were taking before they stumbled into the Capitol trap. Either way, there’s no telling whether or not she’ll actually be able to find the boy.

Every time you think that the boy has finally breathed for the final time, he inhales sharply, like he’s being pushed back into his body. It’s a shame, watching him struggle like this. You’re sure that he should be dead by now, well past his expiration date. Hell, soon the bugs are going to start to get to him. If you thought the wolves were bad, watching him being eaten alive is going to be worse. Much, much worse.

“I’m going to use the bathroom.” Gloss says, gathering the trash, “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t have too much fun.” you smile, he gives you a mock look before leaving. You turn to Finnick, “I’m thinking of going out and drinking after this. You wanna come?”

“With or without Gloss?” Finnick asks, eyebrows drawing in.

“If it were with Gloss, I would’ve asked while he was here.” you wiggle your eyebrows, “Come on. Me and you, at that awful drinking place, The Victory Speech.”

He purses his lips, “You think it’s a good idea?”

“Annie’s safe inside of her house, what’s the worst that can happen overnight?”

“The dam breaks?”

“You think that the Capitol would do that right after mauling two tributes to death?” you look at the timer above the Morning Line Odds that says how long the tributes have been in there for. It’s a couple hours less than seven days, “The games haven’t been even going for a week, they’ll want to draw it out for a little while longer.”

Finnick gives you a look.

“Don’t start acting like a parent, I’m older than you.” you point at him, “Yes or no. Or I’ll ask Gloss and Cashmere--”

“Yes.” Finnick says.

You grin, “You won’t have some sort of relapse, right?”

“Haha.” he rolls his eyes, “Ready to get shitfaced off the water-tasting alcohol?”

“I am going to have three of those in a row just to see what happens.” you laugh, he does too.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’ll give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“I’ll probably be fine.” You shrug, “Won’t be my first near-death experience.”

Finnick cracks up, shaking his head.

It’s only another thirty minutes before Tekla does come across Seven boy by accident. She wouldn’t have even known he was there if it weren’t for the wheeze he let out as a warning before she stepped on him. He’s hidden under bushes, camouflaged in. The only obvious sign that he’s there is his legs, but even then, they were easily missed by Tekla.

She stands over him, eyebrows drawn in. Her eyes will occasionally flicker up like she’s looking for someone, like it’s some sort of trap and a tribute is waiting for her to be off her guard to attack. Unfortunately, it’s none of those things. Just bad luck, and horrible timing. She crouches down next to him, face twisting as she carefully moves leaves out of the way to see him properly. 

“Gross.” she says, “I don’t even know how you’re still alive.” Tekla shakes her head like she’s getting rid of her thoughts, standing back up on her feet, “It’s over now. Rest easy.”

She raises her weapon and puts him out of his misery. A second cannon goes off, making Sanguin stop in her tracks, looking up at the sky for a moment. The Fallen won’t show until later tonight, but the tributes all have the same reactions, anyway. It’s because the sound comes from above them, so naturally they’re going to want to see where it comes from.

As for Annie, she barely snaps back to life long enough to squint, allow wrinkles to appear on her face, and then she relaxes again. She sets her head back against the wall and closes her eyes, gripping onto her sword tightly. You wonder if she came to the conclusion that she’s one of the final three inside of the arena now. Annie’s made it, she’s beaten all the tributes from District Four that came before her.

Hang in there, Annie. You’ll be home soon.

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

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[kaetastic]

Where Have You Been? 2

pairing: Harry Potter x Slytherin!Potter!Aunt!Reader (no incest- just aunt and nephew battlin’ through evil :)), (possible future evolution to pairing with Sirius Black)

summary: After years blinded from the tainted power and lies, Y/N Potter finally sees the truth. The truth that urged her to clamber out of the hole created by the Dark Lord. Will young year-2 Harry accept the absence of an aunty he didn’t even know he had? 

word count: 4.8k

warning: fluff, heavy angst, guilt, mentions of death

note: lately, i haven’t found myself writing as much, i don’t think it’s w****r’s b***k, it’s just me being distracted by so many other things lmao. thank you for waiting this long for the second part, i’m pretty sure there’ll be a third :)) there’s no harry in this but i wanted to keep the pairing consistent

Harry was just a thirteen-year-old boy. He was a young wizard, trapped in the walls of muggles who wished they had nothing to do with his kind. There was no other safe place for the boy. If Y/N had not fallen into the rabbit hole that branded the mark on her arm, maybe she had the chance to keep her nephew with her. Y/N could do nothing about it. Despite her ideas of getting him out of that suffocating house, to finally enjoy the presence of someone she shared her blood with, to show him what magic truly was, she knew it would only place great danger onto him. Her life which had slanted down like that anticipated, fingers-digging-into-the-railing part of a roller coaster had gone from a flowery childhood to having no other alive family member if Harry was to be excluded. 

If the time she had been on the run was to be calculated, it would’ve roughly been thirteen years. Thirteen years of shifting houses to houses. Although, one year, she had feared for the loyal followers to be sent to capture her, the rest twelve, she had to constantly check over her shoulders for a sign of Aurors who were on a mission to chuck every last death eater into Azkaban. Y/N hoped the day where she would not have to leave a bed to enter a new one would come. The witch didn’t mind if it was sooner than said, it would be nice to open windows to the scorching sun with a cup of warm tea in her hands. It would be nice to walk on open streets without a heavy, ominous clock over her head. It would be nice to walk on the streets, not pathways that had been littered with spit. 

Although, the sweet victory taste she had dreamed for had turned bitter, acidic to her tongue as if those scenarios she wondered on for hours had been nothing but bait, a tease. The Privet Drive might’ve not been the best place for Harry, but it was the safest for the boy. Well, safer than going on the run with his aunt who had to keep glancing over her shoulders in case a shadow scurried after her. 

Even though the wizard had suggested he could follow her since she had magical blood, just like him, the witch had no choice but to turn him down. Even the frown on his face had embedded itself in her memories. The disappointment at the rejection of a better life with the sister of his father had plagued Harry’s time at school. Not before Y/N told him to not mention their meeting to a single soul. It might’ve been hard for the young boy, but he somehow managed… well, apart from his two other friends he had found a strong connection with. Harry had mentioned the name Hermione and Ron during the heart-aching conversation of the early morning in his bedroom. Unfortunately, it had been cut short when the witch had realized the time. 

Y/N was sick of scrambling around, running away and cowering from everything. Because she had not only feared the suppressed group that had gone either into hiding or had lied to not face the terrible consequences but also the Aurors. Aurors who had tied a price tag around her head. She couldn’t even defend herself. By that, the witch meant that the way her head had wrapped around the wrong she had done placed her perspective in an angle some people would not believe. In simpler words, Y/N believed- no, she knew that they wouldn’t spare a speck of mercy onto her soul. Even though she had thought of surrendering herself with hands high in the air, the Potter had not been dumb. Not to forget, she had pride. Pride to not give the golden trophy right into the hands of the Aurors. 

Then, she made a move. It had been a risky path she fell into, but she moved her Queen piece across the chessboard. The only piece she had defending her sole King. Y/N sent a letter to the headmaster of Hogwarts. Despite her worry about his response since he was in fact, the creator of the Order of the Phoenix, there was no need to overthink of the great wizard’s reply. Dumbledore waited for the day, not losing a bar of hope for the return of the witch. The day she would clamber out of the dark hole she had stumbled into. Taking a chunk of his busy and occupied time, the wizard had made time for her. It was not long before they met up at the place he had chided to her when she was just a twelve-year-old, the place he told her where one should go before they die. Although, the place didn’t live up to the wizard’s words as it had been nighttime, the perfect and safe time for her to be out of her lodging, and it had recently just rained.

“There isn’t anything I say that will defend for what I have done. What I’ve done… it’s unforgivable.” Her gaze trailed down to brush over the clumpy doughs of the drenched soil. The stretched-out shapes had been filled in with the recent shower from the tears of the clouds. Although, the teardrops had been pure, innocent without a speck of tainted colour, now- it was just clouded. Y/N wished that was how she remembered her horribly chosen youth. Unfortunately, it had all been crystal clear. Despite her trying multiple choices of blurring out the wrong she had done, every single moment plays in her head every night. It sat in her mind, permanently. 

With her lack of interaction with other wizards to minimize her appearance to the wizard community, obliviating herself wasn’t really an option. There had been some… pathetic muggle suggestions such as hurling her head against a wall. It didn’t take her long before she discarded the idea that would only cause more harm than good. Even though she wished she would not be reminded of such memories, she then remembered one of the few hopes that kept her hanging on that cliff. 

No one was placed at such a position like Y/N’s. Well, other than someone she had grown to associate with the passing of years while she was a death eater. Is it still ‘was’? Was the thing she needed to yank out of her chest in the past? The ‘tattoo’ still remained. As time passed, it had faded from the prominent ink. Even though Y/N felt joy unfurl in her chest at the thought of it becoming non-existent, ready to see her bare arm once again without the hideous memory from her past, it lingered. The mark stayed to torture her every second. The branding on her arm had been the last string that labelled her as a death eater. She had not found anything to remove it. Y/N had gone through books after books, crumbling pages to flying lines, unreadable handwritings to hidden, enchanted chapters. None had given her an ounce of hope she needed.

“There have been many people who’ve done nothing but wrong their whole lives, yet, they always had something to say. What makes you an exception?” The man quirked up, his silvery eyebrows jumped at her figure with his infamous words that had been packed full of knowledge and riddle. It had always been like that, ever since she was just a child, the man who still rocked his extensive beard had become a prominent feature. Although, the two lost contact as she dived into the side she was warned about during dinner. Dinners that lasted short, a smudged out memory. Y/N pressed her lips in thought, fingers twiddling without a slight intrusion in her head. A habit she had grown up with. And like as always, he cut her off with another sentence for her to process. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned in the letter that you have not done more than maiming someone.”

“In the name of the Dark Lord.” 

“Yes, but it was for your survival,” Dumbledore interjected. Oh, he always had his way with his speeches and his sentences. 

A sigh brushed her lips, creaking into the heavy air of the light wind toying with the hairs of trees as if they were puppets. Pushing her legs to rest her back against the bench that had been damp from the previous shower, Y/N murmured without peeling her eyes away from her fingers, “He killed Regulus. Regulus never came back, you know? After a trip, he was gone… forever. That’s what made me doubt my choices. His death was the sole reason I had left.”

“Regulus Black. Sirius’s younger brother.”

Y/N hummed while her arms slithered to wrap around her body, the chilling kiss of the air had been merciless to the defence of her clothing, “Regulus Arcturus Black. Whenever I was lazy to call his name even though it’s just seven letters, I called him ‘R.A.B’,” She let out a chuckle since it had been her joke for the boy to embrace the three letters as his signature, before the corners of her lips curled down in realization. “Although, now, I seem to find the longer being comforting.” 

“There’s no need to worry, what matters most is your safety. You must try to stray away from any sight of those who may seem interested. I will write a letter once Harry starts his third year.” Y/N nodded even though she was slightly reluctant to the life she would have to shift her own foot in. Deep down, she knew, no matter what other’s would say to comfort and calm down her nerves, she would always have something to fidget about. Something that came in the package when one falls into the Death Eater’s path.

It had barely been a month since she had met with the well-known headmaster, and Y/N hadn’t exactly found peace in continuing her life of being a criminal. The ability to sit still in a seat for longer than fifteen minutes was non-existent. Thoughts ran, scrambling from one side of her head to the other without rest. Every second, she would always have something to think of. A smart decision she made during her Hogwarts years was focusing during classes despite her side chores, so, it only became helpful when she needed a vial of ‘Draught of Peace’ or ‘Calming Draught’ to calm down her relentless thoughts. 

Harry recently started his third year at Hogwarts as the letter sent by the one and only, Dumbledore. The wizard had reminded her as he had promised; although, she remembered the day the students would be going back to school. Y/N could only stare into the abyss while she dreamed of walking onto the ground of the school once more. Oh, to feel the chilling stone walls during winter. She could only dream. 

It was for the safety of her nephew, and for her to stay in hiding that she didn’t write to the boy; even though she desperately wanted to. So, Y/N spent hours on the crooked wooden desk which had been slanted down, the folded piece of newspaper had begun to damp in the humid air, melting into the floor. The witch wasted hours of her day that flew by once she completed the letter to her heart’s desire. Days that stretched out when she didn’t occupy herself. 

She could barely count the number of lines she had scribbled down onto countless yellow sheets of paper. After a day of jotting down hefty block of paragraphs that was enough to build castles, she would stuff the pile of letters away, under her bed, or she would try her best to cram the sheets into the minuscule gaps between tattered books and the shelves. Most addressed to her nephew, now, just unsent thoughts that had been occupying her head, and desires of her heart which she had no one to pour out to. 

There was nothing Y/N could do. She was edging to the last sentence of her book, the last chapter of her story. If she was to stay, all she would have is Harry. Even so, she didn’t have him. The young wizard was hurled into the palms of her sister-in-law, muggles who hated whatever wizards were capable of. 

Maybe the only reason she reached out to Dumbledore was because she had information, intel that would be impeccably useful to the Order. Things the members wouldn’t even be able to smear against, things they can’t even imagine. Comparing herself to some members of the organization who had achieved great things in the available tasks by the Ministry, Y/N had seen far more than some of them has. She has seen gruesome sights, sights she wished she had glanced away from. However, she knew, she knew he was watching. 

That was her lifestyle now. The witch would have to suck it up, swallow the truth and deal with the reality she was stuck in. Stranded in a sole, pathetic room of a sad excuse of a building. Y/N had barely left the place she would have to call home. There had been multiple times the owner had tried to usher the lady out for a quick talk, Y/N did not want to risk anything. The only walls that had been present in the rented room were for the loo, that- she was grateful for. 

Then, news broke out into the wizarding community, it cracked over their heads like a spoiled egg, the yolk oozing out in a battered pace before it splattered into a squelch. News that sent everyone into a frenzy, news that made heads poked into corners of streets before they proceeded to walk the route they had been used to for years. News of the notorious Sirius Black breaking out of Azkaban. It was impossible. No one had fled away from the prison. He was the first. 

However, unlike most, Y/N knew things some didn’t know. It was not belief, rather, she knew the truth. Sirius Black did not do the things wizards and witches had whispered into each other’s ears. He was not capable of said-things. Y/N had met the man from his tight friendship with her older brother. Friendship that people had poked at him for being weak since he had shown his back to James. Those people knew nothing. They didn’t know how close they were for James to bring the boy to live at their house. They didn’t know that her parents had seen Sirius as their son. No one knew the truth, yet, they still let their words slip up into stubborn rumours. 

During her years of being a death eater, side-by-side with Regulus, her head held high without a quiver in her bone, Y/N had heard and seen things. Maybe some of them she should’ve not even eavesdropped on. It would’ve cost her life… she still did so. Y/N was meant to be in Slytherin, it was destiny that she had denied ever since the hat had spoken, and she saw her brother’s expression falter at the declaration. Despite her opposition to the situation, she wore the new shoes perfectly. The first few years, she was as close to her brother as she was before, any time she saw him in the corridor, she would wave, or they would pick up a desultory conversation. With that, he had introduced his friends. Y/N could see the tight rope around them, bonds she can’t see broken. Or so she thought. 

Then, it inched to her fourth year when she truly distanced herself. No, nothing would be blamed onto Regulus, no idea of his would be looked upon for the dead could not even defend himself. Y/N fell onto the path her parents had prominently warned her about. Their occasional talks about people who were surrounded with an aura that would send shivers down their spines sparked into muffled ears. Those lectures and lessons were all forgotten as Y/N found comfort standing beside the person she could not tear herself from. 

Walburga would accept the girl with warm embrace. Although, that came with its consequences. Y/N had to sit at the dining table, next to Regulus while the woman rambled poison-filled words about her parents who were not ashamed to be in the presence of muggles. The blinded girl did as her blurred head told her to do so, she tolerated the blows to her gut. It was only rare times when Regulus would speak up to stop his mother from hurling more onto the meal made by the elf. Despite Walburga’s hatred for Y/N’s parents, the woman had mentioned countless times that she had filled in the shameful place of her other son. Y/N was sure the empty space in her house had been plucked in with Sirius Black. 

Regulus would just be flushed with crimson red whenever his mother had brought up the two. She always took the chance to talk about how good they looked next to each other. There were few, forgotten times when she had dropped the word marriage. However, there was nothing but friendship between the two that would constantly burgeon, blossoming every second of every day. Walburga would swat it away, not believing them. 

It was true, despite the pureblood mother believing the two had something going on. It was nothing but friendship. Sure, there had been gentle kisses against cheeks, but it was nothing more. 

Everything then fell apart. She didn’t know who was amusing themselves by having a poke at the blocks of her life, but she knew it had wavered her platform. It was Regulus, then, it was her mother and father. The night when the elf had stumbled into the Grimmauld place, an ominous locket in his grasp, Y/N’s head went into a frenzy. She had never seen the creature look so distraught. The only reason she had remained at the house was because she had nowhere else to go. It wasn’t until days she would piece everything together. Regulus had gone, so the house-elf had confessed. The truth was not to be told to his family. How did anyone expect her to stay at the house she had made unforgettable memories? Y/N left, not even a farewell or a note for the family. 

The two had whispered conversations of the truth of becoming a death eater, they would do so under their breaths, afraid of who might listen. Whatever Regulus did, she did too. 

Kreacher said he had been ordered by Regulus to go back home with the locket, leaving the wizard to die. Y/N had screamed at the creature for his pathetic words, thankfully, Walburga nor Orion was at home. The two Slytherins had discussed of the Dark Lord’s attempt to murder the house-elf before they dived into countless pages, all so they could land to assume that the locket had been a Horcrux. The two eighteen-year-olds had just found out the deepest secret of the Dark Lord. And one of them died with the truth, while the other ran for her life.

If it wasn’t enough, Y/N could not even attend the funeral of her parents. The people she had not spoken to for years. She had listened to the words on the street that it was to Dragon Pox. It was then Y/N had to sit through excruciating months before she had the chance to visit their graves. The last she had seen their faces was a photo she had absent-mindedly packed before she had run away from home. If seeing her parents in flesh was in consideration, it was the sobbing mother who could not calm her hiccups in tears with every caress of her husband’s warmth. The photo might’ve been the best mistake she had ever made. 

In the midst of 1980, thoughts that would only surface when the sun no longer exists had steered the witch away from the path she thought she would be on until she bled to death. Just before she allowed the thought of living her life on the run consumed her, she had planned and listed out everything that would come as consequences if she was to proceed. That was when she tumbled over something. Still a death eater, she had stumbled upon the voice of a man who had been deeply trusted by her brother conversing with none other than the leader of the dark. His squeaky voice poured out every information he had about James and Lily. However, that was not the thing she had eavesdropped on. It was the fact that the man was Peter Pettigrew, the boy who would trail with the group. All so he could fall under the protection of the Dark Lord. What a grave mistake he had made. 

Y/N didn’t know what it was in her, but she then cut off any ties with the death eaters. That sounded easier than it truly was. There would be nights when she would feel her arm burn, flames piercing into her skin. He was angry, furious- she knew. All she could do was clutch onto the frigid sheets of the bed around her inflamed arm. She lived and survived, something she didn’t know how she came out successful, and lived her life on the run, always on edge. She stayed at multiple places, hoping the dark lord and his goons had not found her. To her luck, the pain dimmed down, she had only felt the faintest of a sting at the mark. 

Then, it was the unseen, unfortunate death of James and Lily. Y/N didn’t waste a second when she had heard a man regurgitate the words at the bar to sprint towards the house. The motionless figure of the man she once had picked on for accidentally wearing her jumper of an adorable bunny. So, she cradled his chilling body while streams of tears gush out of her eyes. There was no one left for her. That was, until she reluctantly pulled away from the corpse to follow the boisterous cries. Up the mess of a corridor and into a nursery with planks of wood decorating the floor She was met by a gruesome sight of her sister-in-law, flat on the ground, and the relentless toddler who the dark lord feared, her nephew.

Even though Y/N wished to spend more time, she had no choice but to peel herself away. She apparated away once she jumped through the window. Not long after, it was the rest of the Order’s turn to take in the event. 

Y/N knew there had been some death eaters who remained loyal to the dark lord despite his fall. Some had been locked up in Azkaban, while the rest still sauntered over streets casually. She knew some of them would be chasing after her, she knew the Ministry was searching for her, so why did she fall for the words scribbled by Dumbledore to meet up with Remus? 

“Sirius didn’t kill James and Lily.” Remus nodded, his eyes finding the sight of the pond to be more captivating. 

“I know.”

“Sirius didn’t murder those muggles.” Remus nodded once again.

“I know.”

“You know, yet, you had not defended the man when everyone’s ears had been stuffed with lies.” The wizard could only press his lips, lost in thought.

“Y/N, listen, we haven’t exactly been on the same path, but I feel like we are now,” The witch’s eyebrows furrowed. Remus swung from the same bench she had sat with Dumbledore. “I wanted to meet you when Dumbledore had told me he had met you. Although, I didn’t have a good excuse to do so. Now, I do.” 

His ominous words had only made her fingers crawl towards her wand. Neck snapping towards the rustling of leaves, she shot up from the seat, the wooden stick pointing towards the source of noise. With a spell murmured by Remus, her wand was out of her hand. She didn’t want to falter her gaze from the shadow that poured out of the bushes, but she couldn’t help her expression morphing into that of betrayal. Remus didn’t bother to send a face to comfort her. 

Y/N felt every muscle in her body freeze, every fibre was pulled taut before they remained stationary. The black dog paced towards her at a casual pace, almost approaching her carefully. Its eyes, it looked familiar. She had seen it somewhere. And no wonder… she had. Before her eyes, the dog transformed into a man who was dressed in tattered and shabby clothing of dull colours. The face of the man who had been plastered all across newspapers and streets, “Sirius?”

Maybe she should’ve panicked first, to why he had even put himself at risk, her even, but she reverted to another path. She saw Regulus in him. The infamous Black’s dark hair which Regulus would gingerly trim and take care of had flourished on Sirius’s head. 

“You’ve got to be joking me,” Y/N gushed out, the corners of her lips curled up in amusement even though she felt anything but amusement. “Are you out of your mind? You truly have gone insane in Azkaban.”

The witch turned to face Remus, “You too. Is this the plan of yours? What? To bag me up for the Ministry?”

Remus sighed out, his fingers splayed out against her wand, “Sirius wanted to meet you, the reason, he had not told me. This meeting is not a trick, no one knows Sirius is here.”

“Will you be holding my wand throughout this?” The man could only give her a slight nod of his head. Y/N let out a frustrated huff. “Fine, get on with it, I can’t wait to leave the country after this.” 

“Do you know of Peter’s boundaries?” Sirius’s voice sounded hoarse, raspy as if he desperately needed water. Maybe that’s what happens when one has just escaped a prison which was believed to prevent escapes.

Y/N’s face transformed into that of an offended expression, “Peter Pettigrew?” Once the man confirmed with a nod of his head, Y/N scoffed at the accusation. “What makes you think I know where he is?” 

“Well, you two bear the mark,” The words fell off his tongue without a care for her. “You two sold yourselves to Voldemort, it would only make sense if you knew where the traitor is.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but I have no idea of where he is.” 

Seconds morphed into minutes, minutes of Sirius’s eyes beaming onto her, “Have you bothered to search for him? Did you even know he was the one who sold out James and Lily to Voldemort?”

“I know a lot of things, Black,” Y/N sneered. “To satisfy your endless questions, I’ve done everything I could to find him when I happened to stumble upon his voice at the Malfoy’s home.”

“You knew that Peter was meeting with Voldemort and you didn’t bother to spend a cent on the thought that it would be James and Lily’s fall? Were you too busy snogging my brother?”

The mention of Regulus sparked up something in her chest, something that spun through hurricanes, Y/N’s expression hardened at the sight of the man, “Do not speak ill of Regulus.”

“Still defending my brother? You two never parted away from each other, every corner I turn at school, you two were always side-by-side.” Sirius could feel the corners of his lips curl up. 

“Sirius,” Remus interjected to stop the man, he knew this would not go well if the convict had not held himself back. 

“How hard it must’ve been for you to see him gone.”

Y/N could feel her fingers furl with every word he uttered, “He was your brother.”

“Was. I was exiled from my family, remember? You would remember clearly, I remember the day you left home to stay at that horrid place.”

“Sirius, that’s enough.”

“No! Remus! She must know the pain she inflicted onto her parents when she stepped away from that house, the sadness James drowned himself in when he couldn’t find any way to invite you to his wedding.”

“Would you stop mentioning my brother?”

“Oh, so now you consider him with sentiment? What happened to avoiding us?” 

“Are you done? I had only prayed the meeting with Remus to be civilized, yet, here you are.” She sneered. 

“Why do you fear of talking about James? Are you turning away like a coward? Now?”

“I don’t want to talk about James because I’m not in the mood for it, Sirius.”

“When are you in the mood then? Is it because you are saddened by the fact that you couldn’t take Harry when you visited their house?” Y/N accidentally allowed her eyes to widen at his words “You didn’t think we wouldn’t know?”

“I was in no position to take Harry.”

“You were in every position to take Harry!” Sirius yelled out, his veins popping up to bulge into the air. “You are his blood! His aunt! His godmother!”

“His what?”

taglist: @teheharrypotter​

[azure-steel]

@mercyxkilling​ said: predictable. cloud’s footwork always seemed to follow the same pattern so it had been child’s play really to bob and weave out of the man’s attack and sweep her leg to kick at the back of both his knees and drop him. in his defense, she thought as she moved to straddle him and pin his wrists down, he was a fierce and formidable opponent, but after they’d sparred together for so long it had been very easy to anticipate his moves. 

a triumphant smirk pulled at her lips as she hovered over him, her long tresses slipping down over either shoulder, creating what almost seemed like a veil that shrouded the two of them from the outside world. all mercy could see now was cloud, and all she could feel was him beneath her. she had become very aware of how agonizingly close her hips were to his, and slowly that smirk disappeared from her mouth. her lips parted as if to speak yet instead the only sound she made was an audible and shuddering sigh. heat rose to her cheeks and her eyes never left his, her gaze smoldering with unfulfilled desire. 

there had always been tension between them and many times opportunities arose where either of them could have acted upon it, but ultimately they both would pull back. this time, though, given the position (literally) that she was in, mercy found it impossible to resist the temptation. 

“i think i won. but i still think you should get some kind of prize for at least trying. a participant trophy, so to speak. so... what to do, what to do...?” she wore a faux look of contemplation for only a moment, then leaned further down with her face mere centimeters from his. 

“mmn, how ‘bout i try something like this...?” she dipped her head down against his neck and dragged her lips across his neck briefly before placing a trail of kisses against the delicate exposed flesh there, moving up to his jawline, stopping after she pressed her last kisses at the corner of his lips. 

“but you know,” she purred softly into his ear, “you did keep up with me pretty well. so i’ll give you a little something more.” and with no other warning mercy crushed her mouth onto his, delving her tongue into his mouth to taste and explore. for so long she’d wanted him and denied her desires, believing they’d dissipate over time. she’d been so, so wrong, and it made everything all the more delicious Unprompted Asks (Psh, who am I kidding, I wanted this more than chocolate~) - ALWAYS ACCEPTING

He was getting sloppy, and it showed each time his opponent managed to land a hit, but it wasn’t as though Cloud could even blame his own lack of precision and balance on cumbersome armour detail, considering he was wearing a simple tank and sweatpants for this bout of hand-to-hand combat. 

No. 

It was her... it was always fucking her, with her lithe figure, killer thighs, pretty face and smart mouth, distracting him, tripping him up and turning him on; to say he was frustrated was putting it mildly, it had to be noted, and Mercy certainly had to have noticed. How was it even possible to like and hate something all in the same instance? 

Cloud isn’t entirely sure when he’d stumbled into this rabbit hole but the fact of the matter remained that he had and the longer this particular sparring session continued the more frustrated he got and it showed with how he glares at her from beneath his lashes after each shunt, each weaving dodge and every scathing bit of trash-talk she fired his way. 

It should be a crime for Mercy to look this good while all but handing him his own ass. 

But then she came in low taking out both legs, an action which had Cloud sprawling onto the floor with a heavy bodily thud. The loud grunt he emits isn’t from pain but from the abject irritation of being caught unawares, again, and he just lays there on his back staring furiously at the ceiling just preparing for this crushing defeat to be rubbed in his face like salt into a festering wound. And that moment came soon after with the woman straddling his waist and pinning his wrists to the floor on either side of his head. He’s only thankful that she’s sat on his stomach and not below the equator... that could have been a little bit awkward, and possibly not helped his rapidly darkening mood any either. Cloud doesn’t struggle against her, though he does offer a defeated nasal huff as he allows his bright eyes to glower at her from beneath a heavy brow. 

“Yeah, yeah, you got me, congratulations,” he says, impassive of course with only a hue of irritation carrying on the winds of his voice. What he didn’t expect was what happened next as the smirk tugging at her mouth withered away shortly followed by a quivering lascivious sigh, but it was that look in her eye, that soft wanton glint of inspiration which made his cock twitch. Cloud habitually drops his gaze between them towards that hot swell of fresh blood between his legs, despite the obstruction of her body still sat on his midriff, as though his manhood would suddenly break free of his pants and scurry away at any given moment, but the motion was fleeting before he’s meeting again with Mercy’s heavy eyes. And she’s so close now, so dangerously close, with her long hair blanketing him from the rest of the room, as though the world beyond her had long ceased to exist. 

Cloud had lost count of the amount of times they’d found themselves closer than was considered usual, and even he wasn’t oblivious to the chemistry which roiled between them in those few risqué moments. He wanted her, more than he was really willing to admit even to himself, yet the notion that could possibly be reciprocated in kind was a struggle to translate when it came to Mercy and her teasing ways. Not only that, but she was the captain of this somewhat dysfunctional crew, the idea that acting on his own impulses seemed... inappropriate. Yet somehow, right here and now, it was different, the way she spoke while talking about consolation prizes... it was... it was just... 

Different. 

“Mercy...?” a quick whisper, little more than a breath which almost caught in his throat as his lips form her name. “... what are you doing...?” He doesn’t need a verbal answer, not when her mouth is skimming the hot flesh of his neck, followed by soft hot kisses, eliciting a low groan to rumble from deep in his chest. Cloud arches into her, an instinctual action causing his head to roll back against the hard floor, to struggle lightly against the grip of her hands still wrapped around each wrist, and awakening a needy trembling in the muscle of each thigh. 

“Mercy...” She’s torturing him, she has to be, even as she lays one final kiss on the corner of his mouth he’s still not convinced that this is even happening, despite the desire he can spy in her gaze, despite the fact he’s now pitching a tent in his sweat pants, despite how utterly gorgeous she was... because that was just it, wasn’t it? She could have anyone she wanted... why was she even looking twice at him? Why was he even questioning it?

Fuck... he wanted her. 

Cloud’s following her mouth now, not really listening to the words she speaks as each breath comes to him in sharp shallow rasps, and he can feel everything; the weight of her body on top of him, the heat between her legs against his belly, the hot rush of her breath on his face, the soft press of her tits against his chest, a sensory overload of sorts as the desperation takes hold, the desperation for a taste of her and Mercy does not disappoint him. When lips mesh and her imploring tongue slips between the barrier of his lips, he reacts instantly, straining again against the bind of her hands holding him in place. And he moans against her lips when their tongues meet, bending each leg if only to tilt her body upwards, forcing her flush against him, to reach further into the depths of her glorious hot mouth. 

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before, to be subjected to such impassioned desire, to be wanted by this woman in a way that he so desperately wanted her, where savage words were so suddenly replaced by heavy lust driven breaths betwixt wet hungry lips. Cloud pulls back eventually, slowly, and not without capturing the supple flesh of her lower lip between his teeth before finally finding his voice. 

“I got the better end of this deal, yeah? I reckon you should win more often~”