#ruben didn’t die for this

[2nd2tar]

proud to say i was never a story mode hater.

[ornitharts]

I really hope that if the Ratgrinders try to pull something on the Bad Kids Ruben remembers that Adaine saved his ass from that disintegrate spell

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Fig should just get a free vicious mockery for that rant cause holy shit

[andyet-i-fish]

Thinking about my “Alfred & poozie” e&h au I made like 3-4 years ago..angsty amnesiac Alfred you’ll always be real to me

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔳

summary. the capitol, what a lovely place. however, as humanity's story goes, the most captivating sights have the darkest secrets. capitolites crawl around the city like vermin, teeth bared like daggers ready to sink their teeth into the newest tributes. good thing they have a few days to train.

content warnings. mentions of past suicide (only lasts a paragraph or two), depictions of gore (it's in a dream tho dw), graphic depictions of addiction, smoking, and fist fighting (not in the way you think??)

total wc. 13,045

notes!! i don't have much to say ab this one guys im sorry,, i didn't edit it so that's really great but i talk about that more in the post-notes @ the end!! once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

20:10.

TRAINING CENTER, FLOOR 4.

“Oh, isn’t it lovely?” Alice Reymond beams at the suite, clasping her hands together in awe.

The Training Center is one of many skyscrapers within the Capitol, a large portion of it dedicated to the yearly tributes and their teams. Each floor is assigned to its corresponding District. For example, the first and lowest floor is where the tributes of One will reside. As such, you and Remy are assigned to floor four. Sam and Henry are below you on three, Ariadne Evans and Selene Jones above you on five.

Since the Reapings, you’ve spent hours memorizing each tribute. Ruben deems it to be a waste of time, saying most of them will die in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. You beg to differ. Sure, a good portion of tributes will die early on, but most of them will end up surviving the bloodbath and be threats to your survival. Since most people view it as Ruben does, your determination to memorize each tribute provides you with the ascendancy. Well, it would, had you not been born a L/n.

If they Capitol weren’t so fucking infatuated by your family, you’d undeniably have the upper hand by knowing each tribute by name and District. But they all already know you. By more than just name, at that. They know your family tree, history, District, name, and all else that’s up for common knowledge — which is everything. It’s fucking maddening. You have to do double the work just to learn each name whilst yours is a given to everyone else. 

You’ll be a target in the arena, deemed the highest threat and the most valuable kill.

“We each have our own rooms, bathrooms, and dressing rooms. Just like on the train. Though this place is far more ostentatious.” Alice continues on, walking around the space with a wide grin. “Dinner will be served in half an hour, so you’re able to get washed up. Return back here in something more comfortable than those costumes, yes?”

Alice shoos you and Remy away, turning to admire the suite alone. She continues to mutter words of veneration under her breath long after everyone has left.

The suite has an open layout, kitchen and living room separated by a three foot wall. To the right of the space is a wide hallway, corinthian columns on either side. Down the hall are four doors, one for each of you. The floors are hardwood, the walls velvet with intricate mouldings.

You push open your door. Your room is decorated in different shades of blue, likely due to Four’s being a fishing District. It’s cliche, though you find yourself far more fond of the blues than you were of the pure whiteness back home. It adds character despite that being basic.

You’re quick to strip out of your pirate outfit, slipping into something more congenial. 

Your stylist was kind enough, a short plump woman named Birdie. Her hair was chopped into an electric red pixie cut that messily framed her round face. She didn’t look as much as a Capitolite as Alice Reymond, though she still had that wealthy aura to her. She was super sweet, asking how you wanted your hair done and how short you wanted your skirts. Most stylists don’t care to ask for the tributes’ preferences, so you were grateful to her in that sense of things.

The piracy was her idea, though she allowed you to choose between fabrics. You were sure you’d be dressed into something appalling, whether that be two shells or a full blue bodysuit. But the pirate dress wasn’t too bad. It was actually the best option possible. It was creative enough to draw attention, yet modest enough that you weren’t exploited.

You remember feeling someone’s eyes on you at all times, making you shift uncomfortably as you couldn’t figure out who was staring.

But when your carriage turned after leaving President Fedra’s building, you caught the eye of District Seven’s tribute. Ellie Williams, you believed her name to be. She wore something much showier than you did, making her undeniably attractive. Her short auburn hair was cast back, accentuating her blotchy freckles. Whoever Seven’s stylist is this year surely has an eye for Ellie’s features, knowing exactly what to highlight and how.

You walk around your room, taking in the sight of the space. It’s larger than your room on the train, though it’s full of so many gadgets that it doesn't feel as vast as your room at home. You mess around with the devices for a while, exploring the wonders of Capitol technology. 

You can change the color of your walls, lightbulbs, and carpet with the press of a button. You leave it on blue though, something about the color bringing a sense of comfort to the foreign space. There’s also a machine that materializes food within the blink of an eye! All you have to do is order a meal by speaking into the intercom! How cool is that?

Your adulation is quick to fade. And you’re now disgusted by it.

Kids die from starvation in the Districts daily. Yet, here in the Capitol, food is materialized by the press of a button? The thought makes your stomach churn and you’ve suddenly lost your appetite.

Right on time, there’s a knock at your door. You rush to open it, no longer wanting to be near the sickening machines of the Capitol. Alice stands in the hallway, eyes bright as she announces that it’s time for supper. You nod, following behind her to the kitchen. On the way, she knocks on Remy’s door and he joins you guys at the table.

You sit down, the meals already set out in front of each of the four chairs. Though, one remains empty. Looking down the table to where Ruben should be sitting, there’s naught in his space. You raise an eyebrow at this, turning to Alice.

“Where’s my brother?” 

“Oh, all mentors attend a dinner at the Capitol following the Parade! They’re able to talk with sponsors about how well you guys did.” She responds cheerily as she tells an Avox to cut her steak. “He should be back by now, though. Hm. Perhaps he’s just running late.”

You frown, having no choice but accept her nugatory explanation — which did nothing to console your nerves. 

The Avox nods, stepping away once he’s cut her meal into tiny bites. You catch his eye and he raises his brows, silently offering to cut yours as well. You shake your head, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Alice glances up at you, her movements paused. “What’d you say?”

“I wasn’t speaking to you.” You tell her, gesturing to the Avox behind her. You speak casually despite knowing how this will inevitably vex her. “He was going to cut my steak for me and I declined.” Her eyes widen before she places her fork down gently, trying hard to withhold her patience. “It’s informal to speak to Avoxes in such a manner, Y/n. You’re meant only to address them when giving orders. They’re criminals and have earned their place as servants.”

“What’s informal is your lack of sympathy.” You scoff. “You have no idea what their crimes are. There’s a high possibility that they’re defendable, that they have families who miss them dearly.” “Yet there’s a higher chance that’s not the case.” She responds. 

Alice appears to be absolutely horrified by your show of defiance and willingness to argue on such a matter as this. Remy watches with wide eyes as you two continue to bicker back and forth, all Avoxes now having lowered their heads to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

Your argument is ended only when the front door of the suite clicks open.

Ruben staggers through the doorway, his hair tousled and his shirt half unbuttoned. Your eyes widen as he lifts his head. His pupils are blown and bloodshot, his lips are parted and chapped. The cause is obvious — the post Parade dinner. He must’ve taken one too many of the personally enhanced drugs that the Capitol provides him with.

Alice is quick to her feet, rushing to his aid. It’s so odd how she can be so caring at times, yet so malicious at others. Remy’s brows are furrowed in confusion, clearly not understanding why Ruben is acting so peculiarly. 

Alice brings him over to his chair, where he slumps down onto the table. You don’t move. Part of you feels a sense of pain, seeing him like this. You feel like you should help him as he’d helped you all through your childhood. But another part of you wants to run away, cower in your room until it’s all over. You’re frozen in place, feeling like that useless, defenseless child you once were. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Remy asks, his voice small.

It takes a few seconds before you realize the question is directed at you. Remy watches you with concerned eyes. You blink a few times, taking a deep breath to ground yourself before you answer him. 

“He just had a lot of fun and he’s feeling a bit tired, is all.” You say, using the same response Ruben once gave when explaining why your father would return home drunk all the time. You then turn to Alice with the same pointed expression Ruben would give your mother. “Stay with Remy, I’ll take Ruben to bed. We’ll let him sleep it off. He’ll be better by dawn.”

Alice’s brows furrow for a second, though she’s quick to piece it together. She nods, pulling Ruben’s face out of his food before stepping away to allow you to intervene. You crouch down, draping one of his arms over your shoulders before pulling him to his feet.

Ruben stumbles, his knees buckling under her weight so you’re practically carrying him all the way to his bedroom.

His room is a carbon copy of your own, though he’s switched the color settings to a dusky hue of taupe. You lead him over to his bed before dropping him onto the mattress, allowing his weight to slide off your sore shoulders. He groans, shifting around atop the blankets.

“Oh, quit your whining.” You roll your eyes, though you’re aware he’s likely too far gone to comprehend anything you say. With a sigh, you begin to unlace his shoes. “If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“Thanks, Y/n.” He says, syllables slurring together. He barely opens his mouth, his voice muffled through his teeth. He lulls his head to the side, peering at you through lidded eyes. “‘Never wanted ya t’ do this part, y’know.”

“I know.” You whisper, tossing his shoes aside.

You unbutton his shirt, pulling it off his shoulders for him. Scars cover his arms and torso, painting his skin in different shades of pigmentation. Some scares you recognize to have been caused by your parents’ abuse, others by his time in the arena. There are only a couple that you were unaware of. Though, despite already having known about almost all of them, the sight of his body so battered is painful to look at. 

You wonder if yours will look so bad after your Games. You’re already coated in scars from your parents' inflictions, but that makes up only half of what Ruben has. A mosaic of all things bad, scars are. They paint a picture of ache, telling the story of one’s agony.

You stand straight, folding his shirt over your arm before placing it on his desk. The Avoxes clean the rooms while everyone’s asleep, which includes picking up clothes. So, taking a few seconds to fold them neatly goes a long way.

“G’night.” Ruben murmurs as you open the door to leave. Despite his residual grogginess, the next three words that leave him ring clear as day through the dark room. “I love you.”

Your heart clenches in your chest at the sound, not having heard those words fall from his mouth in a long, long time. You never thought you’d hear them again and, if you did, you hoped it would be said in sobriety. With him inebriated in such a way, you don’t feel it’d be fair to return the gesture. It’d erase all intended sentiment.

“Yeah,” You whisper, “You too.”

With that, you exit his bedroom and shut the door softly behind you. You walk back out to the dining area, seeing that the table has long since been abandoned. Remy and Alice must have gone off to bed. The Avoxes are clearing the dishes, working in complete silence. You thank them, grabbing the attention of a few. As they’re unable to respond, they simply nod in appreciation before returning to their task.

You stand in there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. You could go to your bedroom, though the sight of all the gadgets makes you sick and you’re certain you’ll be unable to sleep. In the end, you decide to exit the suite. 

It’s frowned upon to venture the halls at night, though it’s technically not unallowed. There are cameras everywhere, watching the tributes’ every move. You spot three in just the hallway down to the elevator. The buttons on the wall start at ground level — where the actual training is set to take place starting tomorrow morning — ranges from 1 to 12 for each District, then ends at rooftop. You were unaware that the Training Center even had roof access. Curiosity gets the better of you, causing you to press the button.

The walls of the elevator are glass, allowing you to look at each floor as you pass it. Though you’re moving far too fast to actually examine what you’re seeing. 

You step out of the small space once you’ve reached the roof, the doors sliding open to reveal a huge amount of space. The railing is made of concrete, reaching the height of your chest. Though you know that there’s an invisible boundary preventing the tributes from killing themselves before the Games. The Capitol wants to see your deaths, so prior suicide is highly loathed by the excited viewers.

The air is chilly, but not cold. You walk across the roof to the edge of the building, resting your elbows on the concrete wall. You can’t see the stars here as the city pollutes the sky with artificial light. The streets, however, provide their own spectacle. And, if you squint hard enough, they almost look like stars. But you quickly feel dumb once you’ve done it. 

The fresh air is nice, despite the lack of stars. It helps to clear your head, ridding your thoughts of your own problems. But whenever your mind manages to stray, you’re reminded of Ruben and how closely he resembles the father he loathes so greatly. They’re perfect mirrors of one another — addicted to the Capitol’s attention, abandoning their family to relish in the spotlight of the sadists, and eventually falling victim to addiction. The only difference is that Ruben hadn’t had kids yet. Perhaps he never will, the fear of replication too much to bear. More than that, you wonder if you’ll end up like the same way, partying with the Capitolites until you’re unable to walk. It’s in your blood, you suppose, so you’re sure it’s inevitable. Might as well accept it now, right?

Just as your thoughts begin taking a darker turn, you hear the elevator doors slide open.

You straighten our back, knowing whoever it is must be either a tribute, mentor, or escort and they’re thereby an enemy to you. As soon as you’re in the arena, whoever they are will be working towards your death.

“You can’t jump, y’know.” A rough, female voice says as her footsteps thud across the rooftop toward you. “I heard a rumor that there’s an invisible field around the building.”

You only look in her direction once she’s leaned against the railing beside you, her back facing the cityscape. Ellie Williams. The girl who defied the Capitol at her Reaping, the girl who stared at you throughout the Parade, the girl who’s suddenly pulling out a cigarette.

“Want one?” She asks, catching your gaze.

“Didn’t know those were allowed here.” You respond shortly, turning to face back forward.

“They’re not.” Is all she says.

Your lips thin in silent perspicacity, eyes narrowing. “Of course not.”

“Well they can’t arrest me, can they? It’s too late, they need me in the Games.” She points out, placing the cigarette between her lips. She once again holds one out to you. You shake your head and she shrugs. “It’s not like your lungs will kill you any sooner than the arena will.” “Unless I survive.” You point out.

“There’s always that, yeah.” She agrees easily, igniting the cigarette with an oddly shaped lighter. It looks oddly familiar to you. She notices your staring and is quick to defend herself. “It’s not mine, it’s Joel’s. So are the cigs. He’s the one who advised me to smoke in the first place, said it’d helped to ease his nerves before his Games. So I decided ‘why the fuck not?’”

She inhales deeply, though it’s apparently too deep because she suddenly breaks out into a coughing fit. She spins around to lean on the wall forward-facing. 

You watch as she struggles for air, the hacking eventually fading to laughter. She straightens, still raspy as she says, “I get that you think you’re better than everyone, but you could at least try to make conversation before we’re shipped off to die. What’s the harm?”

“I don’t think I’m better than everyone.” You respond with a huff.

“Might not think so, but you are.” She says, inhaling once more. She coughs again, though it’s far less riveting than the first time. She exhales the smoke out into the night sky, her breath forming a puffed cloud against the blackness. “You’re the rich girl, you’ll get all the sponsors. You’re already better off than I am in that sense.”

“You’ll get sponsors just fine, I’m sure.” 

You say, thinking back to her costume in the Parade and the way the Capitol adored it. Exploitation is one of the most used methods to obtain sponsors. If she plays her cards right, she could easily be the newest Diamond. She’s attractive and you’d be a fool to deny that.

“Not if you’re hoarding them all.” Says Ellie. You know she doesn’t mean it insultingly, but it still hits you that way. She notices your expression and adds, “Intentional or not, the Capitoli- Uh, Capitol people will be tripping over themselves to get you gifts.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation to you, they won’t be sent through to me.” You say, because it’s true.

Ruben may be your mentor, but your father is sure to be present in Saint Mary’s Hall — which is where the mentors watch the Games and coordinate sponsorships. He’s a Diamond and will therefore be permitted entry, especially considering his daughter is a tribute. 

When Ruben was in the Games, your father had been his mentor and controlled all his sponsorships. Because gifts must first be approved by the mentor prior to being sent into the arena, he had this power. But, the thing is, your father refused a single gift from reaching Ruben. Even when he was dying of dehydration and bloodloss, he refused to let anything through. It created a rift in Saint Mary’s Hall, many sponsors deeming him immoral. He was quick to patch that up, though, as he said he’d been doing it to make his son stronger. Being as skilled as he is at manipulation, the Capitolites were quick to naivety. From there, he was only praised for his thinly veiled neglect.

So, if your father is within the Hall this year — as he likely will be — there’s no way anything will be sent through to you. He’ll refrain Ruben from permitting gifts and withhold sponsorships completely, purely because he wants his kids to win fair and square. It’s iniquitous to let you starve, yes, but you’re almost glad for it. Because Ellie is right. If it weren’t for his cruelty, you’d be undeniably hoarding all sponsors from other tributes. Sponsors could send you buffets and magical medicines while all other tributes die out slowly of starvation and lack of medical care. It’d be the equivalent to cheating the Games and you’ll be damned if you win this thing through sponsorships. If you make it out alive, it’ll be thanks to you, not the Capitol.

“Won’t be sent through?” Ellie asks. She raises a brow at you, wordlessly inclining you to explain.

Instead of telling her your entire life story, you redirect the subject to one you know she’ll be unable to deny. “Actually, I changed my mind. I could use a smoke.”

Ellie’s eyes widen, the corners of her lips twitching as she removes the cigarette from her lips and holds it out to you. You hold it between your index and middle fingers, staring at it with a hint of uncertainty. It’s unwise to do anything related to addiction, considering your family history. But it’s so tempting and the arena isn’t too far away. Plus, being addicted to smoking cigarettes is far better than your father’s alcoholism or Ruben’s drug addiction. Right?

“Scared?” Ellie taunts you.

Her gibe is the final push to make you indulge. You scowl at her before placing the cigarette between your lips and inhaling deeply. It seeps into your lungs, burning the back of your throat on the way down. Your head instantly feels wonky, your vision swimming. You hear Ellie’s laughter as you begin coughing just as hard as she had.

You lean against the concrete barrier, resting your forehead on your folded arms to muffle the hacking sounds. Between coughs, you manage, “That was fucking awful.”

It takes a bit for you to quiet down. The first feeling that you register is queasiness, but then you notice the equanimity. Your maddening thoughts have begun to muffle, pushed to the back of your mind. It only lasts a few seconds though, causing you to already reach for another drag.

“What’d you come up here for?” Ellie asks, passing you the cigarette. “You already know I’m here to smoke, it’s only fair for you to explain in return.”

“Hey, I never asked you for an explanation.” You remind her, inhaling. “I owe you nothing.”

“No, but you’re using my cigarettes aren’t you?” She points out, a glint of something akin to regalement behind her gaze. “A form of payment is due anyhow.”

“Joel’s cigarettes, you mean.”

“Shit,” She curses as you pass it back to her, “I forgot I told you that.”

You huff a laugh, watching as she turns to face the horizon. Not that it’s much of a sight though, what with the buildings plaguing the skyline. Her side profile is illuminated by the dull lighting of the roof. Your eyes trace the slope of her nose, admittedly infatuated by her. You blame it on the nicotine, even more so on the relaxation it causes you.

Ellie drops the cigarette off the roof, pulling a second from her box. While she’s turned, you begin speaking. Perhaps because it’s easier to talk when you can’t see her face or perhaps the cigs are making you that much more sociable.

“Back home, there’s nowhere I could go where I couldn’t see the ocean.” You say, causing Ellie to suddenly perk up at your voice. Her eyes flick between your face and her hands as she rushes to light the cigarette. “I rarely spent time in it, always holed up in our house. But the sight of the sparkling water was a comforting constant throughout my life. It’s odd to be where the water isn’t. Plus, despite not having been in it much, the few memories I do have are enough to satisfy me. They’re all good ones.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.” Ellie says, passing you the lit cigarette. 

You inhale deeply before speaking, “Well, my first memory of the sea is learning to swim in it. My brother took me. He wasn’t allowed to, but I begged him so he did. He was patient, but laughed at me the entire time, saying I looked like a fish out of water. He claims I was a fast learner, that I picked it up quick. But I can remember the salt in the back of my throat and the way my eyes burned. There was nothing quick about that. I was four and was certain I would die.”

Ellie chuckles, watching you from the side. One arm is rested atop the railing, the other taking the cig from your hand. “He’s your mentor this year, right? What’s that like?”

The question itself is innocent enough, genuine curiosity that comes with getting to know a stranger. But it makes you bristle nonetheless, your shoulders suddenly feeling tense. Not because of Ellie’s question but because of the answer. 

‘It’s horrible.’ You could say in regards to the technicalities. The distance between you, the long glances you share, the unsaid apologies. Flashes of his messy hair, bloodshot eyes, and undone blouse pop into your head. ‘It’s great.’ You could say, just as truthfully. This time, you’d be referring to the mentality of his proximity rather than the materialistic things. The comfort that comes with being near him, even amid deafening silence, the odd nostalgia that hits you when he’s sat at the dinner table beside you.

Though, as it turns out, the memory that announces itself most needily is the one most painful — tucking him into bed after he’d taken a few too many pills only a short while ago. Perhaps because it falls under both categories. The horridity of seeing him so disheveled paired with the aching reminder of your father. Though, there’s still a greatness to it. To feel him lean on you, knowing that you’re actively repaying all he’d done in your shared youth, that he needs you. To hear those three words whispered into the darkness of his room despite knowing they’re empty of the meaning you covet.

“Did I say something wrong?” Ellie is quick to ask, nervosity to her tone as she picks up on your hesitation. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No,” You say, “I’m just not sure how to explain it. The duality.”

She hums in recognition. “I get that. I came here with a loved one as well and, uh, it surely didn’t turn out as I thought it would.”

You blink at her, taking the cig from her offered hand. Your thoughts are fuzzy, though just barely enough that you hardly even notice. It’s nice how you’re still in control of yourself whilst feeling the faraway effects of the nicotine. 

“Riley, right?” You ask, tilting your head at her as you breathe in the tingly air.

She nods, “Yeah. We’ve been best friends since we were nine, inseparable. But, recently, she’s grown a bit distant. Though she didn’t fully disappear on me until the Reaping. Since then, we haven’t spoken a word to one another.”

“You looked pretty close during the Parade.” You tell her.

You can vividly recall the image of their intertwined hands coming onto the screens. The crowd cheered as you watched with thinned lips. It was obvious to you what it meant, though the audience remained completely oblivious. You were impressed, at first, by their unapologetic defiance to the Capitol, especially considering it was the second time they’d done it. But you knew it was a bad idea on their part. Once they're in the arena, the Gamemakers need only press a button to end their lives.

“Didn’t realize you were looking.” Ellie says.

“Everyone was looking.”

She thinks on this before saying, “It’s odd, isn’t it? The lack of privacy. The Parade aside, there’s always someone looking.”

“I suppose.” You agree.

To you, it’s not such a foreign concept. Even in your own home, you were unallowed to lock doors. Your father claimed that needing solitude was a flaw that’d lead to vulnerability in social settings. So having privacy was never even a question, though there’s a vast difference between the possibility of someone walking into your bedroom when compared to being ceaselessly monitored at all times. 

How someone could ever grow used to being watched nonstop is beyond you. Even in your private bedrooms and bathrooms in your assigned suites, there’s no way of knowing whether there are cameras. You wonder how Ruben dealt with it, how he still deals with it annually during his mentorship for the past ten years.

Ruben’s Games were twelve years ago, though he’s only been a mentor for ten in total. He was a mentor for two years until your uncle, Theodore, won the 64th Games. Theodore promptly took over the role of mentorship for District Four for the following two years. It was only cut short when he drank himself dead. His second year being a mentor, two children were Reaped and both died brutally in the arena. He’d blamed himself and ended up committing indirect suicide via alcohol poisoning.

It was a hard toll on everyone. He was always so cheerful, a big round man who was exceedingly vocal about the things he loved. After his Games, though, he changed. He was secluded in a way he’d never been before. To learn that cheery Uncle Theo killed himself was hard on a ten year old. He was your favorite relative after Ruben. You oftentimes wonder what he’d think of your Reaping, how he’d mentor you in place of your brother. Would it be more or less tolerable?

At the thought, you reach for the cigarette. Ellie passes it to you wordlessly.

You’re grateful for her lack of questions, glad she’s able to realize when you don’t necessarily wish to speak. You’re also grateful for the comfortability of her silence. With Ruben, quietude is an awkward endeavour, making the air so thick you feel suffocated. Even with Alice, it feels unnatural. But with Ellie, it feels intrinsic to her company. 

“Shit, it’s probably getting late, huh?” She says after a long time of silence. You look up at the moon, noticing how far it’s risen into the sky. It’s been about an hour or two since you abandoned your suite for the fresh air. Ellie runs her hands down her jeans as she straightens. “I’ve gotta get going before my escort notices I’m gone. She’s super controlling about that kind of thing.”

“Your escort is Tilly Reymond, right?” You ask, recalling the way she’d approached Alice right before the Parade, referring to her as a sibling would.

“Oh yeah,” Ellie says, “Yours is Alice.”

You laugh, remembering their conversation from earlier today. They bickered like children. Tilly had come over to ask if Alice was feeling proud of herself for having another L/n Reaped in her lifetime, to which Alice grinned madly and said she did, in fact, feel rather pleased. From there, they did little aside from argue. 

Their quarrel differs greatly from yours with Ruben. Tilly and Alice are passive aggressive, giving compliments on each other’s dress whilst eyeing a certain stain or disarranged jewel. You and Ruben, on the other hand, fight as though you’d both rather eat glass than admit the other to be correct. It’s nasty, throwing insults like daggers. Something you’d both been unfortunate enough to inherit from your parents, presumably. To argue with such animalistic avidity.

“Well,” Ellie says with a small smile to announce her residual need for departing, “Meet me here at the same time tomorrow? I’ll bring some more cigarettes.”

“More of Joel’s cigarettes.” You correct her with a teasing grin.

She waves a dismissive hand, “Yeah, yeah.”

And with that, Ellie Williams walks back inside. She’d left you with the cig you’d been smoking, so you remain outside for a little while longer as you work it down to a butt. Your mind reels with tangled thoughts of the Parade, Ruben’s addiction, and Ellie’s laughter. Fuck, it’s been a long day. And tomorrow is bound to be even more taxing.

6:00.

TRAINING CENTER, FLOOR 7.

Ellie hardly slept a wink last night, her dreams full of terrors regarding her upcoming fate. Through wafts of heavy smoke, trees from Seven, and estranged voices, she could barely make out the contents of her slumber. What she could decipher was waking up over and over, only to find she’s still trapped in a dream. 

At one point, she was in the arena. As she doesn’t yet know what she’ll be thrown into, her brain concocted the one from last year — which had been won by a girl named Abigail Anderson. It was a rocky terrain, the entire arena on a slope. The tributes were on a mountain, having to find shelter in caves and trees that littered the topography. The tributes in her dream, however, were the ones Reaped this year. She was starving and wounded and struggled to walk on the dampened stone. Other tributes ran past her, their forms abstract and footsteps inhuman. She called for help, only to be ignored by each one. Finally, after what felt like hours of agony, someone crouched down to aid her. Riley. Her best friend and her savior. Except she wasn’t. Instead of propounding assistance, she pulled Ellie to her feet only to shove her back again. She’d tumbled down the mountain, eyesight rolling alongside her. The scene shifted.

She’d fallen all the way down to the rooftop from last night. The logistics were nonsensical, though that hardly mattered when she took in the state of the unwaking world. From her place of elevation, she was able to overlook the Capitol as she’d done last night. Though, this time, the buildings were up in flames, people screaming in the streets with scorched flesh and mutilated bodies. She attempted to run to the elevator, only to find that her feet were manacled to the floor. She fought with futility against the chains until her ankles were bruised and blistered from the unforgiving metal. Somehow, due to unconscious malarkey, she could see the Capitolites as though she were looking through a pair of binoculars. Their faces, distorted and pained. Their hair, scorched and lacking in their tell-tale extravagance. Then she saw a familiar face. Riley, crumpled on the ground just as Ellie had been when they were on the mountain. Riley reached up, begging for help. Ellie lurched at the sight, though she was still bound to the rooftop. Riley was pleading with someone. Ellie followed her gaze to see you, leaned back coolly against a brick building with a cigarette hanging from your lips. Her– Well, Joel’s cigarette. You helped Riley to her feet, only to shove her to the ground. It was a perfect mirror of what Riley had done to Ellie. Only this time, the shove caused her to be trampled by the huge crowd of panicked people that plagued the streets. Her body was crushed under the people until she was naught but a heap of meat and tissue.

Ellie awoke with a jolt, her chest heaving. 

Those were the only two dreams she could accurately recall. All the rest were blurred and distorted by the others. But she knows there were more, so many more. The scene kept shifting, antagonizing her relentlessly. Flashes of Riley’s face, both pleading and cruel. Of your face, imbued by that same duality. Of Joel’s or Marlene’s or even Tilly’s. Her mind was a horrid, callous place and she never wanted to think of the terrors again.

Though, as it turns out, her luck ran out rather quickly. The trepidation of her dreams followed her all the way down to the training rooms below ground level. Joel and Tilly brought she and Riley down, the group of them comfortably conversing in the elevator. Even Riley joined in, though Ellie couldn’t. Her head was still reeling, though she’d woken an hour prior. She wonders if she’s still in a dream, only this time with sentience.

She chews at her nails as the elevator opens to reveal a wide, metallic hallway with two heavy doors at the end. Above them is a sign reading, Tribute Training Rooms. She removes her fingers from her face, stuffing her hands in her pockets. 

“Hey,” She feels a heavy hand on her shoulder, causing her to jerk away. She turns to see Joel standing beside her as Tilly and Riley leave them in favor of entering the training rooms. “You’re actin’ weird today.”

“Oh,” She breathes, willing herself to relax, “It’s nothing, just on edge. I guess.”

He nods, pulling her over to a shadowy corner of the hall. “Did the cigarettes work? Y’know, for your nerves.”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” She says. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

Just then, the elevator doors creak open and another pair of tributes walk out with their mentor and escort. She recognizes them to be from Eleven, only able to remember because that’s the Reaping that Riley stormed off after. 

They’re the two kids, their mentor being Dina Woodward who won the 66th Games at age thirteen. She’s infamously kind to her younger tributes as she’s able to relate to their youth. The Capitol is split directly in half, one portion adoring her for the empathy whilst the opposing portion loathes her for it.

As they walk past, Dina offers Joel a kind nod that he returns. She pushes the heavy double doors open, holding them ajar for her little tributes to saunter through. Joel only turns back to Ellie after Dina has shut the door behind them.

“Ya have to be more careful.” He tells her harshly. “If anyone, even Dina, overheard that you’re smokin’ in the Capitol, we could get into a shitload o’ trouble. Me specifically, since they can’t do anythin’ to you before the Games. But still.”

“I get it.” Ellie scoffs. “I didn’t even say anything while she was out here, anyway.”

“Well still.” He crosses his arms. “What’d ya wanna ask me?”

“Why’re you helping me?” She inquires, eyes narrowing in distrust. “You were a complete dick when we first met and now you’re giving me illegal solutions to help my nerves. Why even bother if you think Y/n will kill me?”

Joel sighs through his nose, leaning back. “I had a talk with a friend last night.”

“At the dinner party?”

“Yep.” He concurs. “She kinda lit into me ‘n’ said I need to at least try with my tributes. See, I wouldn't usually take such hard criticism, but t’ argue with Teresa Servopoulos is a fuckin’ death wish.”

“That’s..” Ellie trails off, trying hard to remember which District she’s from. But her mind is blank. She knows Tess is a mentor, which would explain her presence at the dinner party last night, but Ellie can’t seem to recall anything else about her.

“District Three.” Joel says, picking up on Ellie’s contemplation. “Victor ‘f the 55th Games.”

“Oh yeah.” She says. “She won the year before you did.”

“Yeah, she–”

Joel is cut off by the elevator doors opening again. From them, District Two’s crew exits. Ellie stiffens at the sight of Abigail Anderson’s strong build. The braided girl scowls at Joel, her gaze so sharp it could cut through the tension that’s suddenly accumulated within the hall. Had Ellie not just had that funky dream about Abigail’s arena, she’d likely have not thought anything of her presence. But she did and so she does.

She won last year’s Games, taking over mentorship from Melanie Moore. Abigail’s victory allowed Melanie to move to District Ten, where she instantly wed Owen Moore — winner of the 70th Games. Their relationship gathered a lot of attention from the Capitol as people gushed over their love story, much to Melanie’s distaste. This year is the first time in seven years that Melanie isn’t the mentor for Two. Which is a shame because the tributes appear to have already picked up Abigail’s insolence. Lev and Yara walk shoulder to shoulder, glaring at Joel just as their mentor is.

Joel frowns, though he seems more upset than angry at their show of distaste. Once they’ve entered the training rooms, Ellie turns to him. “Geez, what’s her problem?”

“Uh,” He pauses, thinking on how best to explain, “Her father, Jerry, was Reaped the same year that I was. And, well, only one victor can win, so–”

“I get it.” Ellie nods, feeling a sense of solemnity to his tone. It’s unsettling to hear from such a naturally rough man. Joel’s Games were aired when Ellie was three years old, so she doesn’t recall much from them. The Capitol replays highlights from past Games, but it’s not the same. She knows only what the Capitol deems important — his most brutal kill, him running in the opposite direction from the Cornucopia, and his final kill. Jerry Anderson isn’t among that.

“C’mon, kid.” Joel says, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Let’s go.”

Ellie nods, following him down the hall to the training rooms. The interior is exactly like the outside, a big metal box made of tile, glass, and concrete. A large circle is formed at the center of the room, all the tributes and their corresponding mentors and escort encircling an athletic man who’s preaching explanations, schedules, and rules for training here. There are stations set all around, an expert in each skill located there, willing to offer help to the tributes. The escorts and mentors all leave once the instructions are finished.

Ellie watches them depart. The crowd of them is plagued with ambivalence; the escorts exude an air of wealth and elegance reserved only for someone raised in the Capitol, whereas the mentors exude strength, honor, and dignity reserved for killers who won past Games via brutality. 

As the doors close behind them, she watches through the cracks as pairs are formed. She sees Joel and Tess begin talking with a blonde woman she recognizes to be Maria Miller — she married into Joel's family by marrying his little brother. Joel doesn’t talk about him much. Abigail and Owen also seem to instantly turn to each other, as do Tilly and Alice. And, before she can see any other duo, the doors close fully. She turns back around to see the rest of the circle has dispersed.

Her instinct is to look for Riley, though she quickly discards that instinct and walks over to an empty station without reading what it’s for. A short, hoary man welcomes her to the plant section. She withholds a sigh, now realizing why it was empty. Everyone else fled to the weapons.

“Plants are much more important that most people realize, you see.” Says the old man, picking up a small bunch of berries. “What does this look like?”

“That’s nightlock.” She says.

“Oh, uh-” The man’s brow furrows.

It’s clear he was expecting her to say ‘Those look like blueberries, I would totally eat them!’ but she didn’t. Ellie hunted in the woods in Seven often enough to know her way around which plants are and aren't edible. She feels bad for the man, as she looks clearly upset. It’s not her fault, though, she hadn’t meant to come over here.

“What are nightlock berries?” Asks a small voice from beside her. Ellie jolts at the sudden presence of another, turning to face the owner of the voice. A small girl with dark skin and coiled hair stands to her side. She’s from Eleven, one of Dina Woodward’s tributes. 

“Oh, I’m glad you asked.” The old man grins. “Nightlock is a wild plant that grows small purple berries below its pointed leaves. They’re extremely poisonous to anyone who eats them. You’d be dead before they even reach your stomach.”

“Woah,” The girl whispers, looking at the pomes with wide eyes. “I never would’ve guessed such little things could cause such big reactions.”

The man chuckles, “Yes, nightlock is not something to underestimate.”

As the two of them fall into a long conversation about plants, Ellie slowly backs away from the scene and exits the station. She knows well enough not to sit at stations she doesn’t need to sit at, doing so would be a waste of everyone’s time. But then again, perhaps it was a good thing. Everyone is learning, yes, but they’re also watching. She feels the careers’ eyes pinned to her as she exits the plant station. Everyone is observing everyone, learning their weaknesses and strengths.

For Ellie to walk into the plant section first, they’ll assume she knows nothing about it. They’ll underestimate her. And, much like the poisoned berries, it’s a foolish thing to do. An idea pops into her head as she walks over to the archery section.

A few other people are there, she counts three. Henry from Three, showing his little brother how to aim an arrow at a target; Ariadne from Five, who’s hitting the bullseye each time; and the other little kid from Eleven, whose name Ellie doesn’t know, attempting to hold the bow with both hands. See, just from gazing across the space, she’s gathered enough information to be considered valuable. Ariadne Evans is a beast with a bow, Henry will likely be trying to teach Sam to use every weapon possible, and the little Eleven boy is horrible at long range.

Ellie walks over to the table, grabs a bow and quiver, then positions herself in front of one of the targets. The instructor offers assistance, though she refuses it easily. She feels a pair of eyes on her, though she doesn’t dare turn around. Every instinct in her body screams to hit the bullseye, to show off. But that’d be useless. Then her strengths would be revealed.

She positions the bow in her hand, holding it out a bit crookedly. She places the arrow on the string, purposely messing up a few times. Then, with both eyes open and her back slightly hunched, she releases the arrow. It clatters against the floor and Ellie huffs, feigning annoyance. She does this three more times before setting the bow and quiver on the table and storming off, appearing to have given up on archery.

As she leaves the station, she does a quick assessment. Three people had been watching her. Nolan Barlowe from Ten — the buff guy who looked overjoyed to have been Reaped. Thalia Thatcher from One — the younger sister of the 68th victor. And, finally, you. The literal best people to have put an impression on. You three are the most threatening. If she’s underestimated, all the better.

You’re leaned against the wall, arms crossed as you observe everyone with sharp eyes. She fights a smile at the sight. You look the polar opposite of who she’d smoked with last night. Your gaze remains steady as you eye her from across the room. 

Right. You’re not supposed to know each other aside from brief passing. 

She is amused by your technique, though it’s the single most cockiest thing she’d ever seen. You’re not training with everyone else, instead opting to watch as though you’re superior. It exudes the idea that you don’t need to train, which Ellie assumes is the case. 

She walks over to another station, struggling to ignore the way your eyes follow her every move. The station happens to be spear throwing — which won’t be hard for her to suck at because she does suck at it. Throwing the overlarge stick over her head and hitting a target? Yeah, it’s not exactly something she practices back in Seven. There’s no need to spear while hunting as it just damages the meat. Had there been any bodies of water in her District, which there’s not, she’d perhaps have learned it through fishing. 

She vaguely wonders if you’re good with a spear, being from Four and all. She then recalls what you’d said about not being in the ocean much. God, it pisses her off how secretive you are. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that you know how to spear. You’ve clearly trained a lot, so you’ve likely practiced with it. But also, she knows you went to the ocean sparingly.

Two other people are at the spear station — Nolan Barlowe, and an old man she doesn’t recognize at all. She doesn’t even remember him being Reaped. Oh. He must be from Twelve because she hadn’t watched their program when it aired.

He watches her with a glint of something unreadable in his eye. It makes her stomach churn as she grabs a spear.

There are human-shaped mannequins against the wall for tributes to practice hitting. Nolan sees Ellie and scoffs under his breath. At first, it irritates her. But then she remembers this is her plan: look weak and be underestimated. She sighs, feigning recluse toward his show of disregard. He keeps his eyes locked on hers as he throws the spear without looking, the blade wedging right between the mannequin’s eyes. She swallows, this time not needing to feign her unease. I mean, seriously, who practices with a spear in their freetime?

Ellie shifts as the two men practice on either side of her. She adjusts the spear in her grasp, dramatizing her oblivion. 

Do I hold it with one or two hands? She thinks to herself. The fuck do I do with my elbows? 

With a grunt, she throws the spear at the target. She shocks herself when the blade wedges in the mannequin’s heart. She’d fully expected to miss. Nolan’s brows furrow in curiosity. Ellie grabs another spear, desperately needing to undo what she’d just done. She holds it the same way as before, muttering under her breath to remember how exactly she’d done it. She then tosses it halfheartedly, the spear landing three feet in front of the mannequin. She frowns and Nolan chuckles.

“I knew it was just beginner’s luck.” He says with a scoff, causing the man from Twelve to chuckle. Ellie sighs, fighting the urge to argue with him. Instead, she scowls at them both as though she’s terribly offended, then storms off. 

The next hour in the training rooms is spent doing the same thing. Sometimes, she actually feels like she could get the hang of some weapons. She finds herself quite enjoying small throwing knives, though she purposely drops them when she notices herself getting better with them. She also, shockingly enough, is good at just straight up hitting things. She’d used a crowbar as a weapon and scared the trainer, who was forced to take a few steps back to avoid being injured.

She’s noticed other tributes’ traits as well. Nolan hasn’t left the spear station, so it’s likely he’s only good at one thing. After half an hour in the archery section, Ariadne left to practice with a mace. And, terrifying as she is, she’s even better at that than with a bow, swinging it around like it weighs nothing. Ellie was also proven correct when she watched Henry escort Sam to each station, instructing him on how to use every weapon. Lev and Yara are both scary with a bow as well, having even better aim than Ellie herself. The couple, Roland and Archie, don’t dare stray a foot from one another, bound together at the hip. She’s also noticed that Riley has been trying different stations, though she’s careful not to be near the one Ellie is currently at. She’s stayed away from the axes, not daring to show off her skill with them just yet.

Ellie is walking over to the fire-making station when she feels a tap on her shoulder. She whips around to see you standing behind her, finally having peeled away from your wall. Your gaze is steady as you watch her, looking every bit the threat you are.

“I need a partner at the combat station.” You tell her easily, casually. As though you’d never spoken before. Ellie gets flashbacks to doing this exact same act with Cat at the Remake Center. It makes her chest cave.

“And I’m your first choice?” She asks.

Everyone’s eyes are pinned to the two of you, though Ellie knows they’re far more interested in you than her. You haven’t left your wall for the entire hour of training, watching everyone with such closeness that there’s a heavy weight in the air. You’ve done naught but observe. It’s truly no shock that they all find it impossible to look away.

“Yes.” You say easily, your voice deceptively smooth.

She narrows her eyes, desperately trying to read what you’re thinking. Is it not foolish to be talking at all? She’d thought you two came to a silent agreement that speaking would give away your recent rendezvous. She continues to stare at you. But you’re a closed book, thoughts cryptic. But then you tilt your head at her, inclining her to reply.

Ellie shrugs, “Why not?”

With a threateningly alluring grin, you begin walking toward the large mats set to the side of the room. Ellie trails behind you. Nobody has used the mats yet, leaving the instructor to be sleeping in her chair. You kick off your shoes before stepping up to the ring. Ellie unlaces hers, taking a few moments longer than you did.

She’s still clueless on your logistics to this, to training with her. You’re the most feared. The tactic of refusing to show your strengths was honestly the smartest thing you could have done in your position, in spite of the clear show of pride. If you were to train with someone, it’d make best sense if you were to do so with your fellow tribute, though Remy is too small to fairly practice hand-to-hand with. Or you could train with the second strongest tribute present, which would either be Nolan or Ariadne. Or, possibly, the weakest, which would be– Oh. Well, shit. It’s Ellie. Perhaps she took her strategy too seriously. Yes, the children from Eleven are weaker than she is, but it’d be unfair for you to beat them up. Ellie is a year older than you and thereby your best option.

“No damage to the face.” You tell her as she pulls herself up onto the mat.

She looks around. A crowd has formed around the ring, everyone yearning to see you in action. Ellie feels a sense of pride at knowing she’s the one who gets to fight you. She turns to face you, realizing she has two options. She could keep up her weak facade, causing everyone to continue to underestimate her so she can easily sneak up in the arena — which is the wiser of the two. Or she can reveal that she’s not the useless girl she’s pretending to be — which is more satisfying. 

Ellie squares her shoulders, already coming to a decision. Fuck, her dignity will be the death of her.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She replies.

You chuckle, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Good to hear.”

Ellie holds up her fists, not at all knowing how to approach this. Are you a tackler or..? She knows that Marlene likes to keep her distance, dodging more than she punches. She knows that Riley uses her legs more than most people, sweeping or kicking her opponent. But you’re a mystery to her, to everyone. Do you rely on offense or defense more heavily? She knows Marlene uses–

Her thoughts are cut off by a blow to her gut. Ellie hunches over, not having even noticed you moving in on her. She’s quick to recover, though her stomach aches from your punch. 

The crowd remains silent as you two begin to circle each other, holding their breaths in anticipation. 

She watches you, taking in the way you step and the way your fists are idly positioned in front of you. But you’re giving no signs toward your next move, completely closed off. She decides to make the move this time, aiming for your jaw despite her agreement of ‘No damage to the face’. You evade her easily, light on your feet as you back out of her reach. 

Ellie comes forward, attacking again. She’s fast. Fast enough that you’re unable to dodge her fist to your ribs. Breath is forced from your lungs at the impact. Ellie is momentarily proud of herself. But that's before she realizes all she managed to do was rile you up.

Your leg collides with her side before she registers the movement. The same side that you’d punched in the beginning. While she’s still catching her breath, you grab her by the arm and twist it around her back. She grunts at the ache in her shoulder. 

Your lips caress the shell of her ear as you whisper, “I knew you were a good pick.” before then shoving her hard in the back, sending her stumbling forward.

She’s quick to spin around to face you. It pisses her off to see that you appear unmoved, standing in the same spot as before without so much as a hair out of place. You move with fluidity, like a dance. More than that, you’re calculative. You already know Ellie’s style. 

You close in on her, reeling your arm back and aiming for the face. Apparently, you’ve both abandoned the agreement. Ellie ducks under your fist, taking advantage of your unprotected stomach, punching you hard in the gut. Exactly where you’d hit her. It’s childish, but it makes her feel a sense of satisfaction as you buckle over.

The satisfaction is short lived as your ankle is suddenly coming at her face. She twists, grabbing you by the calf and using her own leg to sweep you off your feet. Your back slams against the mat. Hard. Ellie stands over you with a shit eating grin.  

“Still think I’m a good pick?” She asks, crouching to taunt you. You’re splayed across the mat, chest heaving. Sweat clings to your hairline, your lips parted. Ellie’s stomach flips at the sight, though she’s careful not to show it.

A smirk tugs at your lips, “I knew you weren’t weak.”

“Is that why you chose me?” She chuckles. “To prove to yourself that–”

She's cut off when both your feet fly into her stomach. She coughs, staggering backward as you hop to your feet. You’re instantly on her, hands on her shoulders before you drive your knee into her gut. Once. Twice. Three times before Ellie notices your face has been left unguarded by your busy hands. Her fist collides with your jaw. Your head snaps to the side. She’s quick to use your momentary shock to her advantage, tackling you to the ground.

You slam against the mat, on your back once more. This time, she’s wise enough to hold you down. Ellie’s knees are on either side of your torso as she pins your wrists above your head. You pant heavily as she grins down at you. You scowl up at her, brows contorted into a furrow. But then, all at once, your expression does a 180 and you’re smirking with just as much titillation as she. You squirm under her, causing Ellie’s grip to tighten on your wrists.

“Y’know,” You say through heavy breaths of exertion, “If it weren’t for our current situation, this could be a rather fun position.”

Ellie’s face flushes, her eyes widening. Her focus slips and your grin widens. Unbeknownst to her, that was your only intention — to get her to slip up, to be taken aback just long enough for you to change the game. You buck your hips hard enough to roll her over. You straddle her waist as Ellie pants beneath you, glaring. 

“That wasn’t fair.” She says.

“It worked, though, did it not?” You point out with a grin. She groans, tipping her head back against the mat in defeat. She can feel every movement you make, your bodies close enough together that she’s sure you could count the freckles on her face, if you so desired. “What’s your next plan, Williams?”

“I’m thinking.” She grunts. “I could headbutt you, but that’d damage your face.”

“Oh, so now you care about that.”

“I don’t want your stylist killing me in my sleep.” 

“Ah, she’s far too kind for that.”

“Is she?” 

Ellie thinks of Cat, wondering what she’d make of this. Do you have a similar relationship with your stylist? She doubts it. What she and Cat have is highly illegal and could result in both of them being turned to Avoxes if they were ever found out. You’re far too reputable to risk such a thing. But then again, most stylists barely even talk to their tributes. 

She wonders, wonders, and wonders when it comes to you. A mystery, you are. An enigmatic book so foreign to her she’s unsure where to even begin to read you. The words blur and the page numbers shuffle, forming an unintelligible story left unread by all. 

“What an odd tone, that was.” You say. Ellie hopes you’re unwise enough to not recognize it as jealousy. To imagine you with your stylist as she was with hers is a sight she wishes to remain as such an enigma.

“I yield.” Ellie says, cutting the conversation short via surrender.

The crowd hums with conversation. Everyone knew you would win anyway, though they’re shocked at the fight Ellie was willing to put up against you. They disperse as you climb to your feet, offering Ellie your hand. She takes it, standing.

She briefly catches the sight of Riley’s face as she’s pulled up. Scowling, condescending. Not at all an expression one would reserve for their lifelong best friend. It makes her stomach twist and she quickly releases your hand. You don’t seem to think much of it, walking over to put your shoes back on. She does the same. 

And with that, you part ways as strangers. Which, with or without the rooftop acquaintance taken into consideration, is technically true.

21:37.

TRAINING CENTER, FLOOR 4.

“Did I or did I not say to avoid any type of combat?” Ruben asks, trying desperately to keep his tone level as he reprimands you for the bruise on your jaw. The moment you walked into the suite, he rushed to freak out over it whilst Alice gaped dramatically.

“I won.” You argue back, scowling at them both. “Plus, it’s not like I was hiding some big secret. They all know I can fight.”

“Yeah, well now they know your technique.” He says, pinching his nose in annoyance. “They know what you’d do in certain situations. They know if you prefer offense or defense, if you use your upper or lower body more, if you–”

“I get it.” You butt in, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you? Because it doesn't seem like you do.” Ruben snaps. 

He’s been, frankly, acting odd all day. You wonder if it has something to do with last night’s dinner. You want to ask about it, sitting at the foot of his bed with bright eyes as he speaks about his issues. But you can’t do that, no longer on that level of relation with him. 

You frown at him, fists clenching at your sides. “You’re not my fucking parent. I’m an adult and can handle the Games how I damn well please.”

“Well if you die, that’s on me. That’s my guilt to carry.”

Of fucking course. It only makes sense that he’s only interested in how your death would affect him, how guilty he would feel. Not once does he think of his little sister who would be the dead one, buried six feet under the dirt.

“Great. Then you add my death to your fucking sob story.” You seethe. “Cry about it to your Capitol friends, maybe they’ll make you some new drugs.”

Ruben opens and closes his mouth a few times. His eyes are wide, clearly offended by your comment. A mixture of satisfaction and repent swirls within your gut, creating a recipe for cataclysm. You know this’ll end one of two ways — you and Ruben will get into a screaming match, taking after your parents in all the worst ways, or one of you’ll storm off and subsequently not talk for a long time. Both options result in misery, so you allow Ruben to make the choice.

Alice’s jaw is hanging open, resembling some sort of a fish gasping for air. She appears absolutely appalled by your audacity to insult Ruben in such a way. It takes everything in you not to wipe that expression clean off her face.

“You say some really fucked up shit when you’re mad.” Ruben says, voice quiet. “Y’know who else used to do that?”

You say nothing, already knowing his answer. You hope your lack of indulgence will prevent him from saying the name, but it doesn’t. He speaks it nonetheless, spit with such venom that your jaw twitches.

“Your father.”

Something deep in your chest yearns to lash out again, to bear your words like daggers ready to slice him open with their cruelty. It’s an insatiable, carnal desire that’s followed you all your life, looming over you like a shadow. Anger is so quick to wrap his hands around your throat, so hasty in pulling the strings like a sadistic puppeteer. You only now register that it’s not Anger causing this, it’s you. The blood in your veins and the nitrogenous bases in your DNA that tether you to your father. There’s nobody, nothing else to inculpate aside from your own heritage.

You crave the sweet release of shouting at him, imagining the hurt look on his face. Despite knowing the satisfaction won’t last long before guilt replaces it, you still want it. To inevitably hurt the ones you love, what a curse that is.

As said, there are two options from here and you take the latter. With a heavy huff of anger and a clenched jaw, you turn on your heel and storm out of the suite. You’re on the rooftop before you’re even able to register how you’d gotten there.

You were supposed to be here half an hour ago, having promised Ellie to meet at the same time as last night. You desperately hope she hasn’t left yet, for you really want a cigarette.

“Look who finally showed up.” her voice is heard before her form is seen. You turn toward it to see Ellie leaned against the railing opposite of the one you’d occupied the night prior. Fair skin and freckles dance under the silver moonlight cast upon them, auburn hair a flame against the darkness.

She already has it lit between her fingers and you refrain from lunging toward it. 

You wave off her comment, walking toward her.“Yeah something came up.”

“Such as?”

“A desperate need for some food.” You lie. “Didn’t mean to take so long, Capitol meals are just too good to turn down.”

Ellie chuckles, mindlessly passing you the cig. You take it, placing it in your mouth with an animalistic hunger that only causes her laughter to grow laced with amusement. The smoke fills your lungs and clouds your head, a momentary sense of tranquility washing over you. It causes the sting from Ruben’s words to not burn so much, easing the wound he’d left like intangible ointment.

You begrudgingly pass it back to Ellie, staring at her as she inhales. There aren’t any bruises on her face, which is rather unfair as you’re certain you got a lot of punches in. Well, you suppose they were mostly aimed at her stomach and ribs. Shame.

“Why’d you choose me?” She says into the chilled night air, breath fogged. It takes you a moment to realize what exactly she’s referring to.

“As a combat partner?”

“Yeah,” She confirms, “If you wanted strong, you could’ve asked Nolan or Ariadne. If you wanted weak, you could have asked Selene or Elliot.”

“I didn’t want them, though. I wanted you.”

Her mouth twitches at this, though she simply speaks, “But why?” “Because I knew your frailty was an act.” You shrug, swiping the cig from her. “You’re a good actor, a great one even. But I know what it looks like to enjoy something. And you really enjoyed that archery station. The spear and the crowbar too, just not as much. And, oh, how could I forget your cute little plant section?”

“Okay, stalker.” She huffs as you laugh. 

“I was watching everyone, Ellie. Don’t feel too special.”

“Awh,” She feigns a pout, “I was just beginning to.”

It’s comfortable here, on a roof of solace. It’s like a secret oasis shielded away from the rest of the world, obtained only by the two of you. It’s nice, perhaps too nice. You’ve formed a bad habit of distrusting things when they grow too good to believe. As you pass the cigarette back to Ellie, your mind comes up with countless scenarios of how this could end — you get caught, cast out of the games, and turned into tongueless Avoxes; or maybe you don’t get caught, become good friends, then you’re forced to kill her in the arena. No matter how this goes, the ending is the same. Inevitable loss of comfort. 

Ellie remains silent beside you, comfortable in the lack of conversation. She overlooks the city, the lights reflecting within her viridescent eyes. You imagine the way the light will leave them in the arena. Because, amid the infinite scenarios in your mind, there’s not a single one that entails you losing the games. Whether you’re the one to take Ellie’s life or not, she won’t live.

“Where’d you learn to fight?” You ask, desirous for an off-switch to your thoughts.

Ellie’s eyes remain on the scene below as she responds. “The higher Districts might train for the games, but the lower ones are taught to defend themselves.”

“From what?”

“Anything?” She shrugs. “Everything.”

You hadn’t thought of it that way, as an act of defense. Of course you’re aware that’s what fighting is for. But you were raised into thinking it was a fact of life — you’d been expected to know how to take an enemy down at the age of seven. You were trained to fight with Ruben before you used the holograms. 

“Well who was your practice partner?” You ask. “Back in seven.”

You hadn’t thought much of the question, though it causes Ellie’s expression to falter. Her lips tighten as she passes you the cigarette. “It was interchangeable between my caretaker and Riley.”

Oh. Okay yeah, that was your fault. You’d completely forgotten about her stifled relationship with her best friend. Guilt traces up your spine. You want to ask what she means by caretaker, but you decide against prying for more information. 

Although she’s good at hiding it, Ellie’s expression is rather dejected. At the sight, you feel the need to offer a fair trade. To give her information about yourself that’s not so easy.

“Mine was my brother.” You say softly, turning toward the city before inhaling the smoke. It’s her turn to stare at you while you observe the city. Her eyes bore into the side of your face and you fight the urge to look at their greenery.

“Are you guys, uh,” She trails off, sounding unsure on how to approach this. “What’s your relationship like? Currently, I mean. You— well, I know you used to be close because you said he took you to the ocean as a kid. And, uh,” 

Her rambling makes you laugh, lightening the ache in your chest.

“We’re not so close anymore.” You admit, passing. Her brows furrow, clearly wanting to ask more. You appreciate her forbearing from doing so, though you know she deserves honesty. If you wish to pry as much as you do, you can’t expect to not return such an endeavour. In a much quieter voice, you speak, “He wasn’t the same after his Games.”

Ellie frowns, “I wouldn’t expect anyone to be, considering what the tributes are put through.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, “It was just, really bad.”

She nods in understanding, though you know she doesn’t exactly have many details. “I’ve lost people too.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I was a baby but yeah.” She says, quick to undermine her own losses in comparison to yours. It’s endearing. “Both my parents passed when I was an infant. I was raised by my mom’s best friend, Marlene. She’s cool and all but– Well, she’s not my mom. And she makes no effort to act as one.”

You’re quick to recall Ellie referring to Marlene as her caretaker. Well, now you know why.

Ellie turns, looking out at the horizon. Her face is illuminated by the moonlight, smoothing her skin and shining her hair. She breathes out a cloud of smoke, clouding the cool air.

You’re not sure what to say, unused to having people confide in you. Are you supposed to tell her more about yourself as to relate to what she’s saying? Or would that be self-centered? Just as you’re about to spew out a random response, Ellie speaks up, swiftly changing the topic. Thankfully.

“I don’t tell many people emotional shit like that.” She admits. “But, for some reason, that’s all you and I seem to talk about — sentimental crap.” She then turns back to face you, your eyes meeting for a moment. Something passes between you, her gaze sharp but in a watchful way rather than a predatory one. She hands you the cigarette. “Tell me something about you. Something conversational.”

“Like what?” 

“What’s your favorite color? Who’s your biggest inspiration? What’re your hobbies?” She lists off, counting each point on her fingers. 

“I don’t really have hobbies.” You say, huffing a laugh. “Don’t have time for them.”

“That’s impossible, everyone has hobbies.”

You hum as you inhale the smoke, thinking. You truly can’t think of anything. You’re normally too busy with your mother’s training or retrieving game from mister Alden. When you finally think of something, it’s from your past. Long before Ruben left, when you were allowed to be a kid. “I used to enjoy writing poetry when I was younger, though it was no good.”

“See, that’s a great hobby.” Ellie smiles encouragingly, nudging your shoulder. 

“Okay, then. What’s yours?” You redirect, narrowing your eyes at her.

She grins even wider, already knowing her answer. “Hunting, gardening, doodling, painting, reading comic–”

“Painting?” You ask, mildly shocked by this.

“I mean, it’s the one I do the least out of them all, but–” “What do you paint?”

Her brows raise at your sudden interest. “Depends on the day. Sometimes I paint people, though I can never get the proportions right so I only end up pissed at myself by the end. Sometimes I paint abstractly, but I can never figure out what the end result depicts because it’s just a big burst of colors and vague shapes. Ninety percent of the time, they’re landscapes. Of the woods, of the road by my house, of the abandoned mill. Anything, really.”

“Hm, I didn’t really take you as a painter.”

“I’m not, really. I mostly just doodle in my notebook.” She says. “I only paint when I want to create something bigger than the journal’s confines.”

“Is that what you brought with you? Into the arena?”

“No. That would've been a good idea, though.” She shakes her head, clearly disappointed in herself for not having thought of that before you. 

“What’d you bring, then?” You ask. She holds out her hand in response. On her right index finger resides a thick metal ring, shaped as a moth. The creature’s wings wrap around her finger, body thin. It’s so intricate, so detailed. You lean closer to get a better look. “Is it a family heirloom or something?”

“No, uh,” She falters as she decides on how to answer. You straighten, still looking at the ring even after her hands have been dropped back down to her sides. “It’s from a friend.”

“So is mine.” You tell her before reaching up to touch your necklace. Ellie looks at it, eyes tracing the line of your collarbone all the way down to the pearl pendant. She reaches out, fingertips grazing the thin chain. Her hands are cold, causing your breath to hitch. She notices and is quick to pull her hands away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

She turns back toward the Capitol, you do the same. The city is asleep, the lights all turned off in the windows as the streets are naked of vehicles. You wonder if there’s a curfew, though you doubt it. Capitolites rarely have rules.

You imagine yourself living here, residing in an overpriced home that you won’t be charged a penny for. You’d be tended to by a vast quantity of Avoxes, never hearing any of their voices. The home would be yours to keep and yours to design. There’d be blue everywhere, subtle reminders of your life back at Four and the salty ocean that mister Alden would put through each visit on his skiff. The thought sounds nice at first, the luxury of it all. But the finer details — owning people, never seeing the ocean again — those are what get you. Not to mention all the parties you’d have to attend. All Capitolites are made to attend the more prestigious parties, mandatory under President Fedra’s decree. But then another thought crosses your mind. You’d have to win the Games first. To even be pondering on your life after them, you’ll have to survive before all else. The idea sickens you as it never has before. At first, you think it’s because you'll have to kill people, a thought that’s never sat right in regards to your morals. But then, as Ellie passes you the cigarette, the cool metal of her ring brushing your finger, you realize it’s not only that. It’s not the fact that you’ll have to kill people. It’s the fact that you'll have to kill her.

[post] notes!! i'm gonna be so fr, i only edited half of this chapter bc its SO fucking longggg (sorry ab that btw). i normally try to reread & edit as i go, but i seem to have abandoned that process #whoopsies!!

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo.     @ilovewomenfr.     @zzombiegirl.     @elliessweetheart.     @shawangel.     @defnoteleonor.     @fatbootymuncher.     @autisticintr0vert. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 series taglist @kirammanss.  @dsybouquet.   @serraphinm.   @smellovie.   @sakiigami.   @opt1mistic.   @spacecinnamonbuns.   @clouded-whispers.    @sappicarribean.   @corpsebridenightmare.     @jaliyah-s.    @pixiec4t.    @chappellroankisser.   @mxquelo.    @vahnilla.     @moshuka.    @cupidluvzz.    @elliewilliamssrealgf.    @h4-rt3s.    @tmbpyv.     @prwttiestbunnies.    @jinxtheplanet.    @sevyscoven

[t0yac1d]

My Juliet, my special girl (C. Diaz x Fem!Reader)

I hope that she looks at me and thinks, "Shit, he is so pretty"

Warnings: gang violence, death, after Olivia's Quince, blood, contemplating suicide

Word Count: 889

It was the morning after Olivia's Quince. The morning after a beautiful party. The morning after Latrelle shot Ruby and killed Olivia.

"It's all my fault."

"I shouldn't have shown mercy to Latrelle."

"I shouldn't have gone after him in the first place."

Cesar blamed and hated himself deeply.

He hated what happened to Ruby and Olivia because in his eyes, that should’ve been him.

In his eyes, that should’ve been him who got shot.

In his eyes, that should’ve been him who got killed. 

I need to cry, but I can't get anything out of my eyes,

Cesar sat on the edge of his bed, eyes filled with frustrated tears that threatened to spill but they wouldn’t fall. No matter how upset he was, they wouldn’t pour.

Or my head. 

And oh my god, the night. That night kept repeating in his brain. 

The sound of the gunshot.

The sound of Ruby screaming his name before getting shot. 

The sounds of Geny and Ruben screaming as their son lay on the ground, bleeding out. 

Every little detail played continuously in his brain. It was like a record player stuck in a loop.

Did I die? I need to run,

Days went by without Cesar coming out of the house. He felt like an empty body, just moving on its own throughout the day.  

but I can't get out of bed for anyone.

He was scared. 

Not of Latrelle or any gang member after him. 

But of his friends and Ruby’s family. 

What if they all hated him? He wouldn’t blame them, but this was the last thing he expected that would break the group up. 

He couldn’t get out of bed to see anyone.

 Not for you,

Not even for the girl he wanted to live for. 

When he did get the courage to go outside, he went to school first. He wanted to see if everyone still wanted to be his friend. Because if not, then he’d just apologize and go away. Leave their lives for good and keep them out of harm’s way. 

When Cesar got to school, no one greeted him. It was like he didn’t exist. 

He hated how no one talked to him, but he couldn’t blame them. He took their friend away.

Cesar skipped a couple classes that day. He just sat in an empty and dark classroom, silently sobbing and crying. 

My sour boy is a pain, 

His chest hurt with each sob he let out, 

I wanna shoot him in the brain,

He doesn’t deserve to live. It should’ve been him instead of Olivia.

He feels like if he died, everything would be better for his friends. 

 but I'd miss him in the morning. 

But a part of him says that this isn’t the way to think. That what happened has already happened and there’s not much to do about it but move on and make amends.

It really hurts when I need to so bad, but I can't see her..

He missed you, 

My Juliet, 

He missed you so dearly.

My special girl.

The only girl that can really, truly help him through a time like this.

But I need to understand when I can power through,

Because he knows you’ll get him through this, and help guide him to the right choice here. 

Cesar pulled his phone out with shaky hands and sent a text to you, he was sure there were a few words that were misspelled, but you’ll understand what he meant. Hopefully. 

He sat in that classroom, patiently waiting for you to come to him. But this time alone helped him think to himself, about himself. 

Sometimes I act like I know, but I'm really just a kid.

He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he’s really doing is causing problems.

With two corks in his eyes, and a bully in his head.

And hurting those around him because of his actions.

I wanna make a colour that no one else has seen before 

He wants to get out and do something with his life. He doesn’t want to be stuck in the gang for the rest of his life. 

I wanna be so much more

He wants to show everyone that he can make something of himself. That he’s not “Little Spooky”. That he’s Cesar Diaz. 

You walked into the classroom and saw Cesar sitting on the floor. You walked over to him and sat with him. You didn’t say anything to him, you just sat there and looked at him with a slight frown. 

You didn’t like this. He looked so exhausted. 

He had dark eye bags under his eyes, and even then they were red and puffy from the crying. He had tear marks on his face and his clothes were disheveled. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, resting his head on your shoulder, as you rubbed his back and lightly scratched his head while you held him.

“It’s ok Cesar.” 

He leaned back and looked at you with teary eyes, wondering what was running in your head as you saw him like this. 

I hope that she looks at me and thinks, "Shit, he is so pretty”

The one thing that was running through his mind at this moment was how you thought of him.

Something I can't believe..

[rainbowtransform]

Before this new episode, I have to say that I love the rat grinders. I think they’re great antagonists.

Redemption arcs? Absolutely not.

Could there be? Yes, of course.

Will there be? Probably not.

The Rat Grinders hated the Bad Kids from the very beginning, they didn’t even know them. They hated them and what they could do.

Kipperlilly hated that Riz had a sad backstory, Ruben hated that Fig got the fame he wanted, Mary-Ann hates that Gorgug is able to talk about his feelings with his party, Oisin hates that Adaine was able to get out from her family’s thumb, Ivy hates that she’ll never have the relationship and love that Fabian has from the Bad Kids.

They won’t became unraged and like love the bad kids they hated them from the very start. They just won’t want them to die anymore.

[mazeyphaedra]

brennan is so intentional about the things he lets slip about the ratgrinders that i refuse to believe ruben’s in space no one can feel you dying is about him being a bad boyfriend. it’s about lucy frostblade

heads up this is gonna be a very surface level assessment lol i hate making definitive statements if there's the slightest chance im wrong. oops! also none of this takes into account the devil’s honey, ruben’s dream, or ivy’s reaction to seeing “lucy”. (lyrics from FHJY ep3, Not All Who Wanda Are Lost)

Your boundaries slit my veins

this makes me think lucy really didn’t want to change her deity to ankarna, that she was pressured into it (still can't pinpoint a reason but probably has smth to do with the ratgrinders wanting a big bad to resurrect and fight). they fought about it and ruben got cut.

Your no thanks killed my family

in her defiance, and probably the fight and death that ensued, the high-5 heroes broke up. (raises an interesting point re: mollykiggins wanting to protect oisín. was she always like that or was it something that came up bc nothing must go wrong. she lucked out that the debacle with lucy happened after finals, but what if something happens within the year? the strength of the hero is the strength of the party. she needs to protect her party.)

And when you asked for space the space you made was outer space

lucy, lucy, lucy. principled, noble, 'she stuck to her guns' lucy. i think she asked out of the high-5 heroes and little miss overachiever was like you know too much that cannot happen i would rather you die. and in the fight, some portal or other was opened, allowing her allies or co-conspirators to do the unholy last rites. if you push a soul back past the point of raising, they can't rat you out! duh!

Can you hear me screaming

yeah ruben it's kind of embarrassing. everyone at the bus stop is staring at you and now none of them are gonna mob you for autographs

crossing my fingers for ruben on the complicated women podcast next ep!!! i need to know what happened to this made up group of high-schoolers like i need my next breath. like a normal person. see u at basrar's! <333

[schmuckered]

Lil first draft snippet from a future chapter of AA

“Can I just ask, and I know that this isn’t like, super popular for a question, but like… why didn’t you guys bring back Kip?” 

Ruben was nervous that he just offended Riz with the question, seeing as the goblin looked up at him with a piercing glance, but then he remembered that’s just how Riz looks at everyone. Riz sighed and put his hands together, resting his chin on them as he leaned forward onto his desk. “Do you remember Penelope Everpetal or Dayne Blade?” 

“Uh, vaguely? They were seniors when we were freshmen, right?”

“Yep. And they fought us, and they died, and they didn’t get brought back.” 

“Right…”

“Ragh also fought us, and also died, and we did bring him back.”

“OK… so um, what was the difference there?”

“Not much of one.” Riz said flatly. 

Ruben blinked. “Huh?”

“There really wasn’t much of one. We brought Ragh back because we needed info from him. That’s it.” The detective’s tone was so monotone that his words sent a chill up Ruben’s spine. 

“Oh.” 

“But then we let him live because we found out he didn’t really know anything. He was just being used.” 

Ruben nodded, still a little unsure about what was translating directly to his original question. 

“We brought you guys back because it looked like you were just getting used, too. And I’ll be honest in saying I don’t think all of us agreed that you all needed to come back. I think it’s good that you did, but still.”

Ruben licked his lips. “But not all of us.” 

Riz nodded slightly. “Not all of you. You know what the difference between you and Kipperlily is? It’s about as similar to Ragh and Dayne or Aelwyn and Penelope. The difference is: choice. Ragh’s choice was to follow the orders of one of the few good men in his life or get his life ruined, and not know that any of it was bad. Dayne’s choice was to kill innocent people or not and he followed every direction to a T and knew what it all entailed. Aelwyn’s choice was to follow the orders of an evil familiar of a dead god or die. Penelope’s choice was to sacrifice people she loved for just pure power and a title, and that’s it. You chose whether or not to be angry and live or die and be tortured in an afterlife for possibly an eternity. Kipperlily’s choice was whether or not to sacrifice her friends and possibly the whole world so she could finally feel special. That’s the difference, Ruben. That’s why we didn’t resurrect Kipperlily. Some people are misguided into doing wrong, some people are threatened into doing wrong. They deserve a second chance. Some people choose to do it only because they can benefit from hurting others. And those people deserve to stay in hell.”

A little voice in the back of Ruben’s head, the voice that reminded him of all of the times Kipperlily looked out for him in battle or hung out with him after class or was just a regular teenage kid, that voice made him speak out one last little defense. “But Kipperlily might’ve just gotten manipulated by Porter, right?”

“And maybe Penelope just got manipulated by Kalvaxus. Maybe she would've grown up to be less self-centered. Or maybe Dayne got manipulated by Daybreak. Maybe he would've grown up to be less racist or homophobic. But I went to hell in my sophomore year and I saw those two, and you know what, Ruben? They were thriving in hell. And I think Kipperlily might just be thriving there, too, from what you’ve told me. And I don’t want to see someone who thrives in hell walking the same streets as people that don’t want to hurt each other just for some kind of profit.”

[adaines-furious-feast]

Anger, Sadness, Injustice

A year and a half and a lifetime after

I wanted to be done with sad stuff for a little bit but here I am, back at it again, making myself sad.

It was over a year since Lucy had stood in the sorcery classroom. She was alone. She’d been alone a lot in the past year, but being alone here was different. The ghosts of the past were suffocating, almost as bad as the silence.

Lucy knew a lot of people described her as sad. She didn’t remember a time when sadness wasn’t part of her bones, binding her personality together. The thing about being sad so much was that she didn’t really cry. It was a choice between not crying or constantly crying.

She sank into a seat at the round table where she and her best friends had spent so much time. So many hours studying with Oisin. So many games of scrabble. So many times they’d hidden Fantasy Subway from jace before he’d told them he knew they were eating and that was fine.

She remembered the last time she sat here, having to pull Kipperlilly off the table as she yelled at Ruben. Just days before she… they…

Lucy didn’t realise she was crying. Tears silently streamed down her face, seeping into her mouth and leaving a salty taste on her tongue.

She folded her arms on the table and rested her head against them. She tried to pray, tried to reach out to Ruvina. But the only things that swept through her head were “it’s not fair” and “I’m sorry”. The words chased themselves over and over in her mind. It’s not fair I’m sorry it’s not fair I’m sorry it’s not fair I’m sorry.

Lucy realised something else pushing her tears. It wasn’t sorrow. It was anger. 

How could something so unfair be the result of bringing back a goddess of justice?

A small hand touched Lucy’s shoulder. For an instance, she thought “Kip”. When she looked up, she saw Ruben.

Ruben was at once familiar and unfamiliar. The swoop of died black hair, the tattered remains of his clothes, the distant look in his eye all hinted at what had happened after death.

Ruben didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Lucy reached over and squeezed his hand. It quelled the anger, slowed her thoughts.

Ivy, Oisin and Mary Ann came round and silently took their seats. It was almost the same. Almost as if the past year and a half hadn’t happened.

There was an empty seat at the table.

Almost.

Nobody sat behind the teacher’s desk.

Almost.

“This is all my fault,” Lucy whispered.

Ruben was still holding her hand. It was the only thing stopping the anger boiling into her voice.

“Of course it’s not,” ivy said. “We tried to tell her they were evil. You tried-”

“They?” Lucy asked, consued.

“Cliffbreaker and Stardiamond,” Oisin said.

Lucy looked between her friends, trying to keep her breathing steady as she skimmed over the empty chair.

Had they forgotten? Forgotten the Mountains of Chaos? Forgotten Jace’s broken body on the temple floor? Forgotten how Porter had conveniently appeared and stopped Lucy from healing him herself? Forgotten how different things had been after that?

Or was she making it up? She’d been dead for so long, she didn’t know if she trusted her own memory.

“No, not Jace.”

They all turned to Mary Ann. She was staring off into the distance. When Lucy followed her gaze, it landed on the teacher’s desk.

Lucy watched as a cloudy look crossed her friends’ eyes.

“Not Jace,” Ruben repeated, nodding. A couple of seconds passed, then Ivy and Oisin echoed the words.

“I told him about Porter,” Lucy said. “This is my fault.”

“We… we all made our choices…” Ivy said quietly.

“No.” 

Lucy pulled her hand away from Ruben and clenched her fist. Sadness began to be enthused with anger. An image flashed into her mind, of sitting right here and holding Kipperlilly back as angry tears covered her red face. 

“No, we didn’t go through all that, we didn’t die so a god could come back just to sit here and accept injustice.”

What was the point of sorrow? What was the point in being sad about things if she didn’t change what she could?

It dawned on her that this was what had been missing for so long. Winter was beautiful and cold and people couldn’t survive it without each other. But no matter how much community there was, nobody could survive the winter forever. 

What was the point of winter without summer? What was the point of sorrow without the chance of justice?

How many times had Kipperlilly sat right here and insisted it wasn’t fair? She’d been wrong then, and let anger lead her to a place where justice never lay. Lucy imagined she could feel the same boiling sense of injustice that her friend had felt. They had a path to justice now. And the only thing more unfair about the whole situation was ignoring that path.

“Well, you’re the cleric,” Oisin said. “What can we do?”

“I’m going to Yolanda. I need to add a deity to my school forms.”

[zarkishere]

On the sixth day of Christmas, Zark gave to me...

MORE art + fic >.<

fic below too!

_____ What was the reason? _____ “ There’s people! “ He hissed, making his way to Ruben.

“ Eh? “ He took a little step back, looking at him confused.

“ C’mon, we have to go through the window “ Arthur whispered, gently pushing Ruben toward the window. “ Ay—pero…wait, wait, and the rest? “ Ruben asked, looking back at Arthur with worry.

“ I’ll get them in a second, let me just… “ Arthur checked the window and…it was locked. He cursed quietly, looking back at the door. “ C’mon. “ He whispered, walking over to the door again.

They crouched up to the railing, looking down…lo and behold, people had started to come inside. Some sort of party, perhaps, given the fancier clothing. Or maybe that’s just how these types of people dressed up…Ruben didn’t know.

They looked at each other, then to the other doors.

“ So…? “ Ruben whispered.

“ Go over there, check who’s inside and tell them to get out. “ The other whispered back.

He nodded, and they split up…unfortunate for Ruben, he opened the door to another bedroom…in which Javier was in.

He sighed, walking over to Javier and tapping his shoulder. “ Ey, hay que irnos. “ (Hey, we gotta go.) He whispered as quietly as he could.

“ Hm? Ah, bueno…porqué? “ (Hm? Oh, alright….why?) He answered, gently closing the closet he was checking out.

“ Entraron personas a la casa. “ (People came into the house) The other explained, glancing down at Javier’s hands…he was holding a particularly shiny object. He didn’t know what It was, but it looked interesting. “ Ay, mierda…. “ (Ah, shit…) Javier cursed quietly, looking back at the door. “ Pues…vamos “ (Well…let’s go)

They quietly made their way out of the room, finding Arthur and the Callanders waiting by the balcony for them…well—waiting isn’t the right word. The Callanders were already jumping off, Arthur was the only one by the balconies door.

“ What took ya so long?? “ He hissed, glancing between them and the main door.

“ It didn’t take that long! “ Ruben retorted as they went up to him.

“ Jesus… “ Arthur huffed, making his way out, placing his hands at the rails and jumping off—presumably landing on his feet, given all the pair heard was an ‘oof’ and the sound of Arthur’s boots hitting the gravel below.

Ruben looked at Javier expectantly. “ What? “ The other said. Ruben sighed.

“ Get out. “ He motioned to the fence.

“ Ah—you first. “ Javier said, taking a little step back. Ruben frowned.

“ No, you go first. “ He said, crossing his arms.

“ Qué importa? No me voy a morir por esperar 2 segundos más. “ (What’s it matter? I won’t die ‘cause I waited 2 more seconds.) Javier responded, crossing his arms as well.

This was stupid. Another stupid argument. And they knew it, but they went on anyway.

“ Por qué me peleas? Para molestas nada más? Salta y ya, pesado. “ (Why are you arguing with me? Only to bother? Go on and jump, annoyance.) Ruben stated, frowning.

Javier’s eyes widened ever so slightly before he frowned as well. “ Y tú por qué me insultas? Siempre igual, carajo, no tienes nada que decir entonces insultas mi carácter. “ (And why do you insult me? Always the same, damn, you have nothing to say so you insult my character.) He spat, shoulders tensing up.

Ruben groaned, rubbing his face with his hand.

“ Thank you for the coin. Is that what you wanted? “ He asked, no longer whispering, tapping his foot on the floor.

“ First, be quiet, and second, this has nothing to do with the coin! You’re always being rude to me for no reason. “ Javier answered, also not whispering anymore.

Suddenly, they heard the click of a gun.

“ What are you two doing in here? “ A feminine voice asked.

The two whipped their head toward this person—old, obviously rich, with two men with her pointing their guns at the pair. Only two, one younger than the other. Strange. Perhaps she wasn’t ready for any type of trouble…

They slowly raised their hands up, eyes wide as plates as they took a small step back.

“ Fock’s goin’ on up there, lads!? Jump down! “ Mac called out from below. Javier groaned and Ruben snickered. The woman didn’t seem amused.

“ Check them, go check if anyone else is inside and catch the man below. “ She said, and their gunmen did, one of them leaving while the younger one patted down their clothes—obviously, they found what the two had stolen in their pockets…but they also ripped away Javier’s necklace away, breaking the cheap chain in the process.

He glared at them, and Ruben could see his hands twitching as if he wanted to ball them up into fists…he refrained, though, which was stupid to Ruben…that necklace was his, bought somewhat lawfully. This was stupid. They could take them, kill them and run away…

“ You simple fools will pay. After this, I’ll make an example out of you. “ She said, crossing her arms and tapping the floor.

Ruben sighed, quickly thinking up a plan, and when the man approached him to pat him down…he quickly punched his jaw, making him stumble—Javier, taking the hint, turned around and left through the balcony while yelling at the others to run.

He tried to do the same, turn around and run—but the gunman pulled him back and punched the air out of his lungs. Ruben practically growled, tackling him to the ground before he could react and punching him as hard as he could. The woman hollered for help, attempting to pull him off but that only gained her a shove—which made her stumble down the stairs—and for Ruben to get more vicious with his punches.

He broke skin more than once, feeling skin and blood on his knuckles. The kids face swelled with tears and blood. What a mess.

He fought back, obviously, getting a few punches and kicks in…but he just wasn’t strong enough. Ruben almost felt bad…almost. In times like these, guilt only makes things harder.

You can feel guilt for hurting your friends, people you care about, but not some stranger who’s making your job harder than it needs to be.

But did he deserve this? He didn’t NEED to beat him this hard. Hosea often says he goes too far. Maybe he’s right. Maybe. He’d always been like this—well, no…maybe? It was hard to tell.

Hearing more people be on their way, he took the broken necklace back and stood up, running to the balcony and jumping off. The next few moments were a mess—The group ran away while the lady’s hired guns shot at them, so they had to get on their horses and go through the forest to lose them—there weren’t many, so Mac had offered murder as a solution, but Arthur denied it.

All Ruben could hear was a ringing in his ears. The feeling of the blood on his hands. He still had the necklace in one of them, holding so hard onto it he was a little worried it might break.

After a while, he didn’t know how long, they lost their pursuers…

“ Ruben! “ Arthur called out to him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“ What!? “ Ruben turned his head toward the voice…realizing he was much further ahead than the rest. “ Ah—sorry! “ He pulled on the reins, making his horse slow down.

“ What the hell happened!? “ He asked as their horses came to a halt together. The rest of the group stopped a little before.

“ Some…uhh…well— “ Ruben looked into Arthur’s eyes, the mix of worry and anger swirling in them like a storm…he sighed, deciding to just admit his fault. “ Me and Javier argued…and we got caught… “ Arthur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, frustration evident in every inch of his posture. " Christ… " His voice was more weary than surprised. Like he expected this. He let out a deep sigh, his eyes narrowing. " Alright… we’re headin’ back to camp and tellin' Dutch. " With that, they spurred their horses, their hooves pounding against the dirt as they galloped hard toward camp.

The group were mostly silent. What a mess. When they finally arrived, the camp was anything but calm. It was a damn mess. Word had spread fast—As it turned out, the lady had called for the law, and what was supposed to be just a little robbery ended in a whole mess…the law was already on their tail. There was no time to waste. They had to pack up, move out, and fast. The group were questioned by some gang members, Ruben and Arthur splitting and heading for Dutch, who was talking with Hosea, already planning where to go…north, as it seemed.

Arthur’s jaw clenched as he glanced at Hosea. The older man’s expression was grim. This wasn’t the plan—hell, it wasn’t even close. Hosea and Arthur had agreed they needed to head south, away from the law. But Dutch, as usual, had his own ideas. He wasn’t listening. " Dutch, we need to get south " Arthur muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. " This is gettin’ out of hand. " But Dutch, ever the optimist in his own twisted way, ignored their advice and pushed forward. " We’re moving up, son! " he insisted, his eyes filled with the same determination that had led them here in the first place. " The trees have done well for us, but I heard there’s a few nice rivers up there…a bath wouldn’t do you wrong. " He joked with a smirk. Arthur shot a look at Hosea, who simply shook his head. This wasn’t so bad, they’d figure it out. Run, like always. They had no choice but to follow Dutch’s lead anyway.

[footywritingworks]

It's our love story, baby just say yes {Martin Ødegaard x fem!Reader}

Summary: Going with his best friend to a wedding proves to be difficult for Martin, especially when someone else seems to be keeping her attention away from him.

Wordcount: 1,3k

Warnings: pining, Martin is a lovesick fool, kinda angsty, Rúben Dias

A/N: not edited we die like soldiers here

It had all gone so well until now. He had asked you to come to that wedding with him for two reasons. One, all his other friends and teammates brought dates as well and he didn’t want to be handed around the single women by them in hopes he would settle down. And two, because he hoped he would finally have the guts to tell you how he felt.

For the time you two had been friends he had always known there was something special there. It started his heartbeat going just a little too fast when you got really close to him, longer gazes and little sparks up his nerves when you touched him. But he knew he was done for one night a couple of months ago when he had found you asleep on the couch of his apartment waiting for him after Arsenal had sadly bottled the league. You had wanted to be there for him after the tough loss but since it was an evening game you had fallen asleep. The way you curled up in one of his jerseys sleeping softly made his heart grow that little bit fonder. And the fact that you had driven all the way from the other side of London to comfort him meant the world to him. From that moment on he didn’t know what to do with himself. All he knew is that he wanted to be with you.

He tried to get advice from his mates how to approach the subject and they had come up with a plan to do it at this wedding. It was supposed to be perfect timing. Dolled up in a gorgeous dress, surrounded by the romantic atmosphere and the glow of happiness. There wasn’t any other place more fitting. He wanted to seep you away to the dancefloor to then get you to the decorated, enlightened balcony to confess his feelings. In his mind, it was a wonderful idea.

Until now it had all gone so well. While you got ready in the shared hotel room he noted that his tie had the same colour as your dress, making you look like a couple. He had held you close during the ceremony, his arm around you as you leaned into him while wiping the happy tears away. While walking around the reception venue you had clung to his arm, a little uncomfortable with the amount of people in the room.

The way your hand wrapped around his bicep to keep yourself close to him made him feel protective over you. He knew he would never let anything bad happen to you and he would make sure of that today as well. The way your hands gripped the fabric of his suit jacket made him want to bring you back to the hotel room and make you grip his back instead.

Things were going so well. But now? Now he was sat alone at your table, glass of whiskey in his hand as he watched you being spun around on the dancefloor by someone who wasn’t him. The grip on his glass was so tight that it looked like he was about to break it, knuckles turning white. Of course it had to be him who stole you away. Wasn’t it enough he had stolen the league title from him? Did he have to do the same with his girl? With the love of his life.

His jaw clenched tight as he watched Ruben pull you close to continue dancing. Your hand found his shoulder while his rested on your waist. Whatever he was saying, it made you laugh. And Martin hated every single second of it. He often had felt the feeling of anger burning inside of him but nothing could have prepared him for the raging jealousy that was taking over his body. He imagined how he could rip Ruben to shreds and take you away to make you his. Who was Ruben anyway to try and take what’s his. How dare he? Ruben wasn’t someone for commitment. He jumped from one girl to another and seeing him with you made his heart ache. You deserved someone who would commit to you. Someone who would drop everything just to be close to you. Someone who would love you with every fibre of their being. Someone like him.

Just as Martin was about to take another sip of his drink Declan sat in front of his line of sight, blocking him from watching you and Ruben. A smug smile graced Declan’s face as he leaned close so Martin could hear him over the loud sound of music.

„What is your girl doing with another man?“

Martin raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his drink.

„She isn’t my girl.“

This seemed to make Declan’s smile even wider. He almost looked like a kid in a candy store.

„Not yet. Come on Skipper. This isn’t like you to sit around and watch. Go to her! Get your girl. I can’t keep watching you two walk on eggshells around each other. You are hopeless.“

Martin sighed and looked over at you again. You were even closer now than you were before. And Martin had enough. He drank the last bit of his drink and stood up abruptly. As he made his way to the dancefloor he could see Declan waving over his other teammates so they could watch whatever was about to unfold now.

On the way over to you his mind was racing. All possible scenarios went through his head as his hands began to become sweaty. He was nervous. But he had to power through because he knew you were worth it.

He laid a hand on Rubens back which made him turn back, finally away from you.

„May I take over?“

Martin didn’t even acknowledge Ruben any further, his eyes stuck on your face. You looked absolutely beautiful. The light making your face glow all while a small blush graced your cheeks. The soft smile directed at him made his heart stop. And he could swear he saw your eyes sparkle.

You immediately had stepped into his arms as you started to dance. You were so close. He could feel the heat of your had through the fabric of his jacket and your breath on the side of his face. You fit perfectly together like puzzle pieces. Your body slotting against his just right. When the steps became more of a routine Martin risked looking down to your face. You were already looking at him, gentle smile with a blush on your face, your eyes in a soft gaze. He couldn’t stop himself from switching his gaze from your eyes to your red painted lips. You leaned your forehead against his cheek and he could smell the intoxicating mix of your shampoo and the perfume he loved so much on you. He subconsciously took in a deep breath.

„Do it.“

Confused he pulled his face away from yours after the whisper. It had been barely audible due to the music but he still understood every word. His heart was beating out of his chest and he prayed that couldn’t hear how embarrassingly fast it was going. The confused visage still very much visible on his face.

„Do what you have wanted to do the whole night. What you have wanted to do for so long but never had the guts to. Do what you have been craving to do and can’t hold back any longer. Kiss me and make me yours Martin.“

He wasted not a second to dive in and connect your lips. He had wasted enough time already. Not anymore. He tried to give all the feelings into the kiss. The longing, the love, the passion, the jealousy and the relief he now felt. Your hand had meanwhile found refuge in his hair, messing up his perfect styling but he couldn’t care less. His Hand squeezed your waist to pul you impossibly closer. You both smiled into the kiss while you could hear his mates cheer in the background. As you pulled away your lashes fluttered before opening, the smile not leaving your face.

„Does that mean you’ll be my gir-„

You let out a giggle before interrupting him.

„Yes. Absolutely.“

[sseomtada]

being [ruben dias]

you run into ruben twice - both ending in unexpected and disappointing ways.

warnings: none | wc: 5609 | 2/???

It was as if all the time in the world and none at all passed simultaneously.

During that theoretically improbable glitch, you felt like you experienced every emotion known to man. Disbelief was the first. Was it really him your eyes were taking in, or did the mice actually exist in your brain and managed to do severe damage to your amygdala?

Then came shock. He stood to his full height, seemingly taller than you recalled and held out something in his hand. It took a moment for your gaze to drift to the item - ah, your original weapon of choice.

You reached out to grab the tail end of your keys. Whether it was to avoid contact with his skin was left to be determined.

Wave after wave, each one slamming more forcefully than the last into your body, you spun helplessly through a cycle that would only end one way.

Confusion, because what was he doing here? Not in this city, the answer to that was fairly obvious even without knowing his affiliation after seeing his address, but actually here on your street. Not remotely close to where he lived.

Anger followed suit. At the forefront leading the march of red hot flames licking the back of your neck was all of the questions you had about that night. Every single one of them starting with the word why. Though, not all of that vitriol was directed his way.

A fraction of it had been left to God or Fate or whichever entity decided to move your chess pieces to end up in this predicament. This was the last thing you needed and the worst time for it to happen. The one thing both he and the powers that be shared was the prefix to all of your venom laced inquiries, why.

You fought against the current and undertow. Nothing good waited for you at the bottom.

That was easier said than done, especially as the sky illuminated with a flash again and gave you an even better look at him. Adding insult to injury was the fact that he was achingly perfect, fully grown into the features you adored.

His strong brow bone contrasting those soft eyes more than they did before. That nose of his, still as big as ever, but sitting just right in a way that highlighted his prominent cheeks. His lips were possibly the one thing that remained unchanged, but you wouldn’t know for sure unless…

“I-” Ruben croaked.

A tiny, broken word was enough to tear you into two pieces. One half of you begged and pleaded desperately for him to spit it out. All of it. The other part wanted absolutely nothing of the sort. It wanted him to never even do so much as breathe in your vicinity for as long as he lived.

You swallowed thickly, eyes squeezing shut. This was too much for you to fully grasp right now. What were you even doing still standing here getting torrentially poured on? What did you hope to gain from watching him grapple to form a single sentence?

It’s over. Don’t contact me. I don’t love you anymore.

The keys bit into your palm as your grip around them tightened. If there was anything he had to say to you, he could’ve done so when you showed up at his door. He could’ve said something on any of the days, weeks and months that followed while you experiencing a part of yourself die and fade out of existence.

You turned to leave and didn’t make it more than two steps before his hand grasped your wrist. He was still so warm. Flashes of memories flooded your mind so quickly and intensely that it threatened to bring you to your knees.

How are you always freezing, baby? Come here. Closer. Perfect.

Just as you pulled your arm up to free yourself of his grip, he released it. You stood with your back still facing him for a beat. It was long enough for him to drape his jacket over your shoulders, shielding you from the rain. Your body let out an involuntary shudder.

And then you ran.

Everything muted. You didn’t feel your legs moving, or your galloping heartbeat, or your lungs burning from uncontrolled breaths. The next thing you knew, you were in your building facing the door opposite yours.

You knocked, careful not to be too loud given the hour and hopeful that despite the time, you’d be let inside. Only God knows how long had passed before you leaned your head against the cool surface. With a final attempt, you raised your first to knock again.

Instead of your knuckles connecting with wood, they swung into empty space. Your torso fell forward into Aki’s as she yelped.

“The rain just had to come down on your run, didn’t it?” She peeled your wet frame from her pajamas.

The playful look of concern quickly turned serious once she took you in. The look in her eyes filled you with deja vu. It was that September 15th stare all over again because she just knew.

This time, the water running down your face was warm - coming from within. There were millions of mice wreaking havoc in your mind now. They gnawed, scratched and unearthed all that you buried years ago, decimating the walls you’d built brick by brick.

Aki pulled you in tight, squeezing and cradling your head.

You let it all out.

Everything that you had created with Bana held more importance to you than most things in life.

It was far more than just a passion or a dream. As silly as it sounded, forming that company quite literally gave you hope. At a time where you’d felt so lost and at your wits end, fully at odds with what seemed to be your only option, you decided to do the craziest and most ill-advised thing. Although the road was anything but smooth in the beginning, you managed to navigate from treacherous dirt tracks to freshly set tar.

You currently found yourself in that same pocket of gratefulness that you were in back then. With the contract finally being signed, the real work had only just begun on the project you had with Nike.

There was so much to be done. That coupled with the pressure of having to solidify Bana’s strength in the new city left you devoid of extra time or energy to expend to whatever the fuck happened a few nights ago.

Aki was more than a saint. She gave you a safe space and the support you needed to seal the cracks, without judgment or prying into things further. The only thing she had to offer was: if you need me to take over from here, just say the word.

She knew that this venture meant an infinite amount to you, so suggesting backing out wasn’t a gesture you would appreciate. An attractive alternative, however, would be for you to take as much time as you needed to decompress while looking after the business for you.

There were no IOU cards in existence that could compensate the support a friend like her gave. You began to think you’d spend your entire life trying to repay her for all that she did for you. On this occasion, that looked like breaking the cycle of the past.

You weren’t going to fall apart and have her clean up your messes anymore. Everything that you went through wasn’t going to be in vain. Despite the massive destabilizing event, you would carry on for both your sakes.

“T-minus two weeks, ladies.” You set your stack of materials on the conference room table. “Let’s get to work.”

Cindy whooped and Aki clapped, ready to dive in. Their high spirits empowered you to shake off any residual feelings in order to pour everything you had into Bana’s debut in the Manchester market.

The schedule was torturously tight, leaving no margin for error. Neither you nor the client’s team had the luxury of dillydallying when the date for the launch party had been set and was a non-negotiable. Your first order of business was meeting up with the design team to essentially interview them about their process and goals.

That would help you in forming the image you intended to portray to the audience. They had been outsourced just like your team, so even delving into a bit of their backstory and their journey to working with a major company would come in handy.

Cindy’s expertise would come in next. She had an unrivaled pulse on current trends across seemingly every culture. Her knowledge was a inspiring and an endless resource that would take this project beyond the local scene, which was the whole purpose of working with a brand like Nike.

Aki had to be the smartest person you knew. Her ability to forecast financials was seen by the top four multinational firms even when she was an undergraduate. She even spent time working with Deloitte post graduation, but was fast to come to the conclusion that the corporate accounting world wasn’t the environment for her. It was a realization you owed your company’s life to.

The weeks approaching the deadline quickly dwindled down to days. All the while, the three of you worked tirelessly alongside your accompanying staff to ensure that the product’s marketing was seamless.

“And…breathe.” Aki shut her laptop with a smack.

Cindy let out more of a roar than a breath, drawing both of your gazes to her.

“Sorry, was that a bit much?” She grinned sheepishly.

Actually, it wasn’t in the slightest. You too found yourself bellowing aloud, to everyone’s confusion at first, until they joined in as well. It was a release of everything you all had endured to drag your bodies to the finish line. It was also strangely therapeutic to nonverbally, yet vocally, express your relief.

At the end of it, you were laughing - something you realized you hadn’t done in quite some time. That moment made continuing on regardless of whatever issues loomed feel so very worth it. This was why you took the leap you did, the rewarding feeling of succeeding and doing so with an amazing set of people alongside you.

“We’ll tidy things up here.” Aki shot you a don’t even argue with me look.

“Sure will! You go and get some well deserved rest, boss.” Cindy offered a sincere smile.

As much as you wanted to put up a fight, you learned with experience to graciously accept kindness when it was extended to you. After bidding them goodnight, you headed back to your place.

For once, your body wasn’t coursing with insane amounts of adrenaline. Maybe the post project high wore off with age. Or maybe you’d finally discovered the limits to running yourself ragged. Either way, you were happy that when your head met your pillow, sleep was all but ready to welcome you instantly.

o passado

Your sophomore year internship was going to be the end of you.

Across every industry, it seemed that there was a rite of passage one had to complete in order to be considered a serious candidate. Going into working for your current firm, you held that belief too. But why?

You thought there’d be some lesson to be learnt or character to be built while being put through endless trials of your patience. Was it to make you value every level or work, or to not take your future position for granted? If that was the case, you didn’t need to go through them.

Everyone held some level of privilege. Whether you were fully able bodied, or neurotypical, or alive, regardless of anything else going on, you held something another wished they had. You’d never gone a day in your life without recognizing the privilege you possessed to be able to go to school, and then work a job.

The only thing the constant barrage of belittle comments, humiliating scolds and time wasting tasks achieved was making you feel disappointed. Was this all there was to life? Were you expected to obtain this badge of honor only to inflict the same horrors upon the next generation in hopes that they’d do the same?

Your tired legs carried you to bed where you curled into a little ball. What made this experience even more gut-wrenching was the misplaced guilt that crept in at moments like this. Sometimes recognizing your blessings came with a side of feeling ungrateful when you were sad because of them.

All those long days and nights your mom worked to sustain a comfortable life were undoubtably for you to even be in a position to be so stressed out. You couldn’t ever bring yourself to tell her just how hard some days were, especially knowing how much she must’ve suffered to provide for you alone.

“What’s wrong, coração?”

Ruben’s question made you whimper. You’d been trying to hold it in as much as possible so that you didn’t disturb him having fun in the living room with his friend. The go-to guise of yours was having to work on a report in order for you to duck out early.

He sank into the bed beside you and wrapped you in his arms. You shuddered, not even realizing that you hadn’t pulled up the duvet or shut the window against the winter air outside. His hand stroked your hair softly in a steady rhythm as your heartbeat slowed to mirror his own.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” You choked out. “I can’t.”

Something about letting the voices in your head speak aloud felt even more devastating. Your body shook against his as you were hit with another wave of sobs. You felt stupid and weak and hopeless.

Ruben turned you over to face him, his brows pressed together with concern before tucking your head against his chest. He stroked the length of your spine while you cried, giving you the time you needed to let everything you felt pour out. When your shoulders finally stilled and your breathing regulated, he angled your face to look at you again.

“If you truly feel that way and want to quit, it’s okay.” Ruben wiped your cheeks with him thumb. “I won’t think less of you, neither will anyone else who loves you. More importantly, I don’t want you feeling this way or considering that decision make you see yourself as less than.”

You cupped his face with a trembling hand and touched your forehead to his, closing your eyes. With the emotional tsunami subsiding, you slowly put back together the pieces of your spirit.

It was difficult right now, but you genuinely loved what you were pursuing. Just because you were in this current predicament didn’t mean you’d stay there, or have to perpetuate it upon anyone else.

“I don’t want to give up, but…” Your voice was small.

“That’s it, then. All that matters.” His brown eyes crinkled at their edges. “You don’t want to give up on your dream.”

You shook your head, lips pouting.

Ruben sat upright and brought you with him. His hands engulfed your shoulders as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You subconsciously found yourself doing the same. When yours reopened, you found him gazing at you lovingly.

“You can do it.” He led.

It was a journey to muster up the energy to follow, but you did, “I can do it.”

“You’re the best.” Ruben continued, hands coming down to squeeze your own.

“I’m the best.” You huffed out with a half laugh.

He brought your fingers to his lips, kissing the tips softly.

“That’s my girl.”

o presente

The blaring alarm from your phone on the bedside table didn’t startle you since you were already wide awake.

You’d gotten the most sleep you have in months the night before, but woke up earlier than you’d hoped. The past hour saw you staring into the darkness of your bedroom, groggy mind going places you were too tired to derail them from.

It was better to get those thoughts out of the way before you got your day started, you guessed. Especially those as important as the one that laid ahead.

With one last deep sigh, you threw off your duvet to get things moving. If you didn’t complete your morning routine, you wouldn’t be half of the person you needed to be. And you had to be even more than that given that the launch party was tonight.

You got dressed to go for a jog - indoors at the gym in your building this time, for obvious reasons. Avoiding songs with lyrics had been a habit you picked up since that unexpected run in too. Annoyingly, you were the type of person to be reminded of personal situations when hearing a singer croon about theirs that mirrored your own.

For an hour, you zoned out to a random chill house DJ set while your legs moved without a thought. After ending your run and stretching, you headed back up to your loft for a shower followed by a big breakfast.

You felt strangely serene despite all the recent chaos. For once, instead of questioning that, you decided to lean fully into it. On the way to the office, you even swung by a nearby cafe to pick up coffee for the girls. It would be a nice detour from the exhausted Nespresso machine.

“For me?’ Cindy beamed, taking in her signature flat white.

“Yes, for you.” A bright grin spread across your face. “And you, madame.”

Aki clutched her iced americano to her chest dramatically. “CEO of the year: Y/N.”

Your eyes rolled playfully as you all settled in for a quick recap. Something you liked to do after wrapping up a project was to firstly celebrate the work put in by everyone. Then, you analyzed strengths and weaknesses that could be improved upon for endeavors to come.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for making this process as hassle-free as possible and smashingly successful.” You concluded.

“We’re going to do great things together.” Cindy reached across the table to give each of your hands a squeeze.

“I’m so excited for our debut tonight!” Aki wiggled in her seat.

It wasn’t always a given that the client would invite outsourced teams to launch parties with their stakeholders, but Nike was gracious enough to extend an invitation to your team. They were clearly pleased with the work Bana presented, but this added an extra layer of validation.

The importance of an event like this also couldn’t be overstated. Though it was more or less a party, it was a huge networking opportunity. You and the girls had to be in your best form tonight to do the job that mattered most in this industry - marketing the firm.

After checking in on your home office and answering a few emails that could potentially produce leads, you joined Aki in her preparations for the event. It had been a minute since either of you had the opportunity to get this dolled up, so you decided to go all out.

Why not let the professionals do the heavy lifting? You felt more relaxed than you had in ages having someone else wash and style your hair. Even Aki had found herself less talkative than usual, going as far as nearly dozing off while she got her pedicure.

“You should wear that dress you’ve been saving. Remember the one you got when we were on vacation?” She suddenly perked up.

“The one from Nice?” You scrambled to find the exact one she meant. Shopping on vacation was a kryptonite of yours, making her meaning a bit difficult to pinpoint.

Aki shook her head, “Santorini…”

“Ah,” Your eyes bulged and then you nodded. “Santorini.”

There was rarely a time where you experienced love at first sight with clothing. Most of your pieces were carefully thought out and heavily deliberated upon prior to purchasing. Classic, sleek and complimentary trumped jumping on trend bandwagons to you.

When you saw that dress on the mannequin in the window, you felt like you had an out of body experience. The soft cream color, the draping with it’s exposed back and beaded details - it was a no brainer that you had to have it.

Tonight was the perfect occasion to finally break her in.

It went with the theme you’d decided on for your team’s fist major outing as well. In the spirit of celebrating Bana, Cindy suggested wearing the colors in the logo - cream, burnt orange and sage green. There were no limits to your options, anyone could choose any color and it didn’t matter if you all showed up in the same hue.

You'd just finished fastening your chunky gold hoops when Aki’s knock sounded from the door. She was always on the dot, so that meant you had exactly five seconds to head out to the car waiting downstairs.

“Good lord…” Her mouth dropped at your appearance.

“Stop,” You scrunched your nose. “Is the slight glisten on the skin too much?”

“It’s perfect! You’re giving trophy.” She gave a thumbs up.

“And you look like a sunset on the Gulf.” Your hand extended to grab hers, giving her a twirl to make the orange fabric of her halter-cut gown dance.

If there was ample time, you two would’ve stood in the hallway having a compliment battle. The ticking clock, however, demanded that you haul ass since there was one last stop to be made before arriving at the event.

“You look like a fairy!” Aki gasped as Cindy hopped into the back of the car.

“A sexy wood nymph, I hope.” She arched a freshly shaped brow.

You made a noise of agreement, “It’s exactly that.”

Fate played its hand well tonight given that you all ended up blindly choosing different colors. Cindy’s dress looked like something straight off a Dipesta runway - a soft, dreamy green that perfectly sculpted her frame.

The team’s car arrived just in time for a few photos to be taken before receiving an escort to your table. Aki took an appreciative sip of the champagne that was poured, savoring the bubbles in her mouth.

If you didn’t know she tended to not drink while working on huge projects, you might’ve thought she was a weirdo. You took a sip of your own and understood her pleasure even more — it was fucking delicious.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming tonight to celebrate this new line of our iconic Air Max. Even though we’re still a few months out from consumer purchasing, each one of you here has made it possible to bring this dream of ours to life.” Nike’s CEO began.

A short round of applause followed. Their words filled you with gratitude and relief. The best part of branding a product like this was that you got in and out early. Everything was in their hands now and you wished them the best of luck on the remainder of their journey.

“A special thanks goes out to our major partners, who’ll be pivotal in the time leading up to the release.” They continued, point towards a table near yours. “We look forward to seeing them on our Manchester City players on European nights and beyond.”

You clapped along with the other attendees, eyes following the direction of their attention. The meeting of your hands slowed to a stop. Only a few feet away from you sat the owner of the brilliant grin that haunted you, that same expression returned to the speaker on the podium for their words.

Aki sensed a shift in your energy instantly, looking at you and then picking up your line of sight. She squeezed your knee to bring you back to the present. Your burning eyes blinked before turning to hers.

Are you okay? They silently asked. You mustered a small smile and placed a hand overs hers. I’m good.

“Our concept with this new shoe in the Air Max line was to really emphasize that trademark, shock absorbing feel that they’re known for.” The head of the design team took the stage.

As much as you wanted to give them your undivided attention, you struggled to keep your eyes forward without shifting off to the left. Get it together, Y/N, now’s not the time. You took a breath breath and held it, begging oxygen to flow straight to your brain.

“The team at Bana really understood what we were going for and found the perfect way to translate that to the masses. A big shout out to you lot for being absolute rockstars.” They saluted your table.

Faces filled with smiles turned in your direction, crippling your efforts to steady your nerves. You somehow gathered what you needed to slightly bow your head in appreciation before they continued with their speech.

Cindy inhaled sharply and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “Uh, don’t look, but Ruben Dias is staring over here for some reason. Do you guys know him?”

Fuck it.

Any hope of regaining a sense of normalcy to your night was thrown in the trash. It wouldn’t ever be a usual occurrence as long as you two ended up in the same space. It couldn’t.

You had to stop avoiding that, especially considering that this wasn’t your fault. You’re not the reason why it felt like trying to breathe outside during a heat wave whenever you shared the same space as him.

“Yeah,” Your eyes locked with his, unshifting. “Something like that.”

It didn’t take a detective to realize that your words were loaded. Cindy was quicker than most to pick up on that and her back quickly rejoined with her seat. Aki downed the rest of her champagne, signaling discretely for a top up as soon as the flute touched the table.

She was right on cue for the start of the event’s mixer portion.

You swiped a fresh glass from a tray being floated around the room and tapped into the part of your brain that gave you laser focus. Bana was your priority, had been for the past four years, and nothing - or no one - would ruin that.

The head of design was your first stop. It was only fitting that you return the kindness they’d extended to you in their speech and throughout working with their team. They promised to keep your firm high in their mind when cooking the next great invention for all your hard work.

Cindy introduced you to her mystery contact who was on the executive side. You got to know a bit more about how they met, the middle-aged woman being her former advisor at her university. It said a lot to you as an employer to see that she still kept very strong connections with people she’d met years prior.

Aki was working her charm as usual with some guys who seemed to be too shy to get into the cocktail hour. You weren’t sure about their affiliations, but everyone in this room was worth sparing a conversation. Besides, she’d definitely fill you in later.

“Are you Bana’s CEO?” An accented voice spoke from behind you.

He was tall, tuxedo fitted to his huge frame with superior precision. Oddly handsome too, though you couldn’t pinpoint if his lips were real or not. He was also the person sitting beside Ruben, if you weren’t mistaken.

“I am, nice to meet you.” You shook his hand. “And you’re in the City squad. Excuse my ignorance, I don’t keep up with football.”

His laugh exuded relief, strangely. “That’s quite alright, I can imagine how busy you must be. I play up front, Erling Haaland.”

If there was any waver if your expression, you did well to mask it. So, he was Ruben’s teammate. It made you question whether or not he knew anything about your previous relationship to his coworker.

“I hope our firm continues to have a good relationship with Nike, maybe we’d keep running into each other at events like this.” Though far from explicit, your tone was leading. What was his reason for approaching you?

“It’s something I hope for as well, though I might want to pull your attention away from them just a bit.” Erling smirked.

Suddenly, you became the one being roped in. “How so?”

“I’ve been looking for a change in my own personal branding. Based on what you did here, I’d be interested in having a conversation with you and your team.” He answered directly.

This time, it was your tiny laugh that was filed with relief. No grilling about your past, then. Even better was the fact that you’d potentially lined up a new business opportunity. Was continuing to work in this particular vein the smartest idea? Yes and no.

But you didn't have the luxury of playing it safe currently, you also didn’t particularly care to anymore. Manchester was just as much yours as it was his for the taking.

“We’d love to hear what you have in mind.” You smiled.

Erling accepted your contact via Airdrop, telling you to keep an ear out from a call from his assistant before excusing himself to make more rounds. You bit down on your bottom lip to ground yourself from showing just how good it felt to be in top form. Not just yet, that could wait until you were done hunting for the night.

You refocused on combing through the sea of people for your girls to see if they needed bailing out. Unfortunately, classy gatherings like this didn’t put a halt to rather tasteless behavior from men. You'd just spotted Aki cackling at something the person she was speaking to said, thankfully, when your view was obstructed by yet another tuxedo clad chest.

Salt water, patchouli, sage…tobacco.

Your sense knew it was him before your eyes combed up to meet his. It was the same potent yet subtle fragrance that lingered on his jacket, and your skin, even after you’d washed them.

“I always knew you could this.” Ruben’s voice made your flesh raise.

You can do it. You’re the best. That’s my…

“Well,” You spoke aloud to shut the memory out. “I guess deep down I did too.”

Awkward silence took the reigns yet again in an encounter neither of you expected. Unlike the previous one, it wasn’t an empty street providing him with the opportunity to say any of the things you wanted to hear. It certainly wasn’t the place to get into why he’d so terribly and abruptly ripped your heart clean out of your chest.

“Excuse m-”

“Y/N.” His call paralyzed you.

From within your own body, you watched helplessly as he stepped just a bit closer - shined loafers nearly meeting your gold sandals. Ruben was never in the business of hiding what was on his mind, a trait that evidently remained as he scanned over your daringly cut gown.

At that moment, it felt like more of a curse than a blessing that you chose to wear this of all things tonight.

“If it make things too…difficult, me being teammates with Erling” He whispered. “I can make sure there are no questions if you want to decline.”

A fault line appeared in your composure as you scoffed, blinking in disbelief like you’d been physically struck. Who the fuck did he think he was? Actually, who was this person standing in front of you?

The Ruben you knew was far from this version. Someone who was all but telling you to walk away, much less based on an assumption that his presence in a client’s life was too much for you to handle. Because what, he broke your heart almost a decade ago? Did he really think he held that much power of you still?

Him being here tonight might’ve been a good thing. If you hadn’t ran into him again, you’d still be subconsciously romanticizing the past and letting your mind dip into the imaginary pool of what ifs for longer than you deserved.

Seven years was a long time. It seemed to give Ruben a level of audacity that quite frankly made you feel an emotion that you didn’t think was possible when it came to him, disgust.

Your limbs were suddenly free of any stiffness, and quicker than he could object, you made your way to the exit. You weren’t running away from him this time. Leaving was for the best given the fact that you were seeing red. Besides that, you’d already secured something of a win.

An opportunity that you were going to pursue with every ounce of your being.

[2nd2tar]

ruben didn’t die for this

[octochick]

My personal favela five headcanons (and bonus redstone gang trio ones)

Cellbit - So this wet cat of a man has a Backstory. You know. Born a catboy, occultists took him and experienced on him, ascended, learned some rituals and escaped. Was kinda out of sanity at that time so he kinda became a serial killer, classical Cellbit things. He was indeed rescued by Felps after Alcatraz, and had to get some reeeeealy intense therapy... how Felps found a therapist that would effectively treat him is a mystery, but he did and slowly, Cellbit got better. Nowadays, he looks like a mostly normal man. Mostly thanks to his appearance distortion ritual hiding the biggest part of his scars, the tatoos from when he was a guinea pig to occultists and his cat ears. Oh and he also has faceblindness.

Felps - A Felps from the felpsverse that decided to go on a simple vacation to meets some old friends but was dragged to the island. This Felps is actually a quite important Felps, being the one to bring the Felpses that die outside of the felpsverse back home. Sometimes he likes to substitute for other Felpses (The Fuga Impossível universe doesn’t actually have a Felps, it was this guide Felps the “Felps” there). He used to hang quite a lot around some of the few non-Felps entities back on felpsverse, like Rubens. Physically, he has some small differences that distinguish him from the other Felpses, like how he always walks barefoot and how he can float some centimeters off the ground. He can’t really die, but can be hurt. He bleeds black, has lots of spirals over his whole body, and any chunk of flesh that is ripped out of him turns into goo. He has a small mental link to the greater Felps conscience that sends small bits of information about the other Felpses memories whenever he needs it.

Mike - So Mike started out as a simple slime hybrid, orphan, met Pac at school and the two ran away when they finished 9th grade and did some shit, including going to prison. But well, they get out and try a new life for themselves of scientists, with pretty good results if they do say. Anyways, things got kinda freaky when the two figured out genetic modification. So Pac, at the time a simple human, decided to be reasonable despite Mike’s and his own voice and just did a simple fusion. Now, Mike, very confident that his hybrid status would make him sturdier to more extreme transformations, decided to go a little crazy. First was creeper, complete success. A touch of spider, only for the wall climbing? Yup, splendid. Now... blaze? Blaze fucked things up beyond repair. The blaze dna didn’t interact well with his slime dna, fused into magma cube dna and overwrote a lot of his own genome. He almost died and his body became almost unrecognizable. If analyzed, he is around 1% spider, 5% human, 16% slime, 23% creeper and 55% magma cube nowadays. His body is basically a slime mold, vaguely human in shape, red fading into pink, lightly explosive with large eye spots. Despite this body having its uses, Mike was always used to a human body so he and Pac worked hard to make him a robot body. His body went through lots of versions, and it still is being updated. The most recent version has a digital TV face, fingers that have deployable tools (A staple since the second version), and a complex camouflage system. If you pay attention to the joints, you can see glimpses of his true body.

Pac - So Pac used to be a human, but now he is a third planaria. His leg suffered more than Jesus. Despite the rumors, Cellbit DIDN’T eat his leg. But he did bite it. At first it wasn’t all that bad, excluding the obvious, but he still could walk ok, things just got bad when they returned to land and it got infected so bad the leg had to be amputated, bellow the knee. So one of the first things Tazercraft built when they got their lab was a prosthesis for him. And thing were well and swell, buuuut a lab accident happened and Pac’s leg had to be amputated further, over the knee. New prosthesis, everything ok again. Genetic modification time! Mike’s adventures are already written, but Pac decided think a little bit more about it. He decided to go for planaria, because of their regeneration capabilities. He went, got that planaria dna and almost died. But he survived. His leg, for some miraculous reason, got regenerated, but not perfectly, so nowadays he needs a cane a lot of the time. He does wonder what would happen if he is cut in half, but its better to not think about it too much.

 Now the bonus Viniccius13 and DaviGamerHD because they were for a very long time the only minecraft channels I watched

Viniccus13 - He is something of a demigod, almost omnipresent and omniscient, but only on his home world. He is basically a ginormous redstone circuit, the size of a minecraft world, that reached sentience. He can feel and see through all the redstone that is from his home world, and he can “contaminate” the redstone of other worlds to also do that. His body is completely made out of redstone. Think of him a little like a mushroom. He, the man, is the fruiting body, and the redstone underground is the hypha. But he can’t survive outside of his world for very long, he will simply crumble and loose consciousness. To be able to go to other worlds he uses a stabilizer in the form of sunglasses.

Davi - Davi is a hybrid of deer and dryad, a little of a strange mix. His antlers form a ring over his head like a halo, but they have lots of cracks and fractures, and are also very uneven with different growth patterns, caused by his frequents deaths in Viniccius world. Some of Richarlyson body language reminds Forever of Davi, so he calls Richas Davi as a small joke.

[blood-darkened-moon]

(3/3) The documents both in game (Jimenez) and DLC (Marta Martin) stated he "appeared" outwardly normal and even functional. If the fire never happened, that would be way more terrifying in my opinion because he would’ve been more dormant, so his career would’ve lasted longer, which would’ve affected more people. What do you think?

That’s a difficult question to answer. After all, the fire was the trigger for all the things Ruvik did. Without the fire, Laura wouldn’t have died, and his father would have had no reason to lock him up in the basement for years. So maybe Ruvik would never have become a serial killer. And even if he did, I still can’t give you a clear answer. I agree with you that he would have been more dormant, at least the urgency of seeing Laura again would be gone. But I can’t say whether he would have lasted longer or less and whether more people would have been affected.

First of all, he carried out experiments on people for quite a long time undetected. His first victims were his parents when he was 20 years old. He didn’t experiment on them, but they still count as victims. Mobius then eliminated him when he was 37. So, he was active for a total of 17 years. That’s quite long.

In addition, he must have killed quite a few people. The newspaper articles alone indicate at least 21 victims.

“More than a dozen mutilated bodies found in village of Elk River.” (at least 13) “More bodies found near Elk River community.” (at least 2) “Four mutilated bodies found just outside of Victoriano Estate.” “Bodies of Ernesto and Beatriz Victoriano found in wreck.”

In a dialog with Jimenez, he answers the question, “How many have you killed, Ruben?” with “Numbers are irrelevant.” This dialog likely did not happen towards the end of his career. Therefore, there were more victims to come. Ruvik’s statement also suggests that the actual number of his victims might have been far higher if he was not even counting at this time anymore. Furthermore, the dialog and the newspaper articles only refer to Ruvik’s victims from outside Beacon. More died at Ruvik’s hands inside Beacon. Subject Number 23 was the first not to die of cardiac arrest while trying to connect them to the STEM. Further deaths after Subject Number 23 cannot be excluded either. This brings us to a total of at least 43 confirmed victims and probably an even higher number of unconfirmed ones. (I am not counting the people Ruvik later killed in the STEM because he was at least physically dead by then). Exceeding this number will not be easy. Incidentally, with 43 confirmed murders, Ruvik is ahead of well-known serial killers such as Ted Bundy (28 confirmed) and John Wayne Gacy (33 confirmed).

Although many of his victims were found, Ruvik was never linked to the murders or even caught. Mobius eventually put an end to his career. The same thing could have happened to Ruvik without the fire. I would assume that Mobius would have gotten rid of him sooner or later anyway after the STEM was completed. They had what they wanted, he was no longer needed, plus he knew too much.

But since Ruvik could have lived a normal life without the fire, he would certainly have been able to publish his research results himself. Accordingly, there would have been fewer conflicts with Jimenez because of this, and he would generally have been more mentally stable. Therefore, Mobius might have waited longer to eliminate him than in the game. That could indicate more victims. On the other hand, he would also have lacked the deeply traumatic experiences that made him start to despise other people. As a result, he would probably be less sadistic. Therefore, his experiments might have been better planned, and he would have been less wasteful with the test subjects. This could also mean there would be fewer victims.

Lasting longer and killing more people would not be easy, and it is impossible to say in which direction Ruvik would have developed if the fire never happened. It would all depend on the circumstances. I think without the fire, it could have gone either way.