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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

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48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #the witcher #my fic #anon asks #prompt fill #thank you so much for this absolutely lovely prompt!!!!! i'm so sorry it took me months to actually filling it!!!

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idreamtofmanderleyagain · 4 years

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Five years ago, the women on this site who treated me like trash over loving Labyrinth and shipping Jareth/Sarah were almost always obliviously consuming Radfem propaganda, or were out and out Radfems/Terfs themselves.

They were the types of people who casually threw the word “pedophile” around against grown women who shipped an adult Sarah with Jareth, aka literally one of the most popular ships for women in fandom for 30 years.

Pretty much invariably, these women had serious sex-negative anxieties, which included a severe paranoia about any and all kink and fetish, and porn in general. I saw a lot of shocking, fear-mongering propaganda surrounding sexual expression. Pretty much invariably, their method of approach involved immediate personal shock-value attacks on anyone they perceived to be “bad.”

Today, you can look at the way some people react to other popular so-called “problematic” ships and recognize the same toxic, fear-mongering rhetoric coming from women who consider themselves regular, trans-inclusive feminists. Sometimes it even manifests in the words of very well-meaning people (including myself here), who feel the need to talk about specific issues that pertain to their own experiences of trauma and oppression.

The people who shit on Labyrinth often seem to not really be able to comprehend that the Goblin King, like the film itself, is canonically a representation of a teen girl’s psyche, a soup of fears and anxieties and desires and dreams. He’s not a literal human adult preying on a literal child, and to read the film that way seriously undermines the entire point of the film.

When I (and people of many fandoms) say “This is fiction, calm down,” I’m not just saying it’s not real so it cant hurt you and you can’t criticize me. I’m trying to call attention to what fiction actually is - artistic representations of feelings and experiences. The Goblin King is Sarah’s fiction. Therefore, he can be anything she or any woman who identifies with her wants him to be, including her lover when she’s grown and ready for such a thing.

I once took an alarming dive into Beetlejuice fandom to see what content was there (the cartoon was a favorite when I was little). Chillingly, what you’ll find is an extremely wounded fanbase, with a sharp divide between the older women who had long been shipping BJ/Lydia because of their love for the cartoon series (and whom were previously the vast majority of the Beetlejuice fandom), and a massive amount of young people riding the wave of the musical fad who had decided that the entire old school Beetlejuice fandom was populated by literal pedophiles.

I saw death threats. Suicide baiting. Constant, constant toxic discourse. It did not matter how the BJ/Lydia fandom dealt with any particular issues that would exist in their ship, in fact I’m certain that the people abusing them cared very little to even consider if they were trying to handle it at all. The only thing that mattered was that they were disgusting subhuman scum asking for abuse. If you have at any time reblogged recent Beetlejuice fan art or content from fans of the musical, you have more than likely been engaging positively with the content of someone participating in toxic fandom behavior.

Nobody is really sticking up for them, either, as far as I saw. It’s really hard to imagine how painful it must be to have such a large group of people explode into into your relatively private fandom space to tell you that you are evil, vile, and deserve constant abuse, and also you are no longer allowed into the fandom space to engage in it’s content. But I think there’s something very alarming indeed about this happening specifically to the BJ fandom, and I’ll explain why.

The pop-culture characterization of Beetlejuice, which is heavily influenced by the cartoon series to be clear, has always in my mind been a vaguely ageless being who matches with the psychological maturity of whatever age Lydia is supposed to be. He’s more or less like an imaginary friend, a manifestation of Lydia’s psyche. In fact, I would argue that i think most of us who grew up with the cartoon or it’s subsequent merchandizing before the musical ever existed probably internalized the idea as BJ and Lydia as this ageless, salt-and-pepper-shaker couple beloved by the goth community, similar to Gomez and Morticia. In each version of canon he may be a creepy ghost in the literal sense, but any adult who is capable of identifying literary tropes (even just subconciously) would read cartoon!BJ as an artistic representation of a socially awkward outcast girl’s inner world. Lydia’s darker dispositions and interests, which alienate her from most others, are freely accepted and embraced by her spooky magical friend. BJ/Lydia in the cartoon were depicted as best friends, but to my memory there was always an underlying sense that they had secret feelings for each other, which I identified easily even as a small child. In fact, their dynamic and behavior perfectly reflected the psychological development of the show’s target demographic. They are best friends who get into adventures and learning experiences together, who have delicate feelings for each other but lack any true adult romantic/sexual understanding to acknowledge those feelings, let alone pursue them.

Though I haven’t seen the Musical yet, I’ve read the wiki and I would argue that it embodies this exact same concept even more so for it’s own version of the characters, in that Beetlejuice specifically exists to help Lydia process her mother’s death.

This is not a complicated thing to recognize and comprehend whatsoever. In fact, it looks downright blatant. It’s also a clear indicator of what BJ/Lydia means to the women who have long loved it. It was a story about a spooky wierd girl being loved and accepted and understood for who she was, and it gave them a sense of solidarity. It makes perfect sense why those women would stick with those characters, and create a safe little space for themselves to and imagine their beloved characters growing and having adult lives and experiencing adult drama, in just the same ways that the women of the Labyrinth fandom do. That’s all these women were doing. And now, they can’t do it without facing intense verbal violence. That safe space is poisoned now.

Having grown up with the cartoon as one of my favorites and been around goth subculture stuff for decades, I was actually shocked and squicked at the original Beetlejuice film’s narrative once I actually saw it, because it was extremely divorced from what these two characters had evolved into for goth subculture and what they meant to me. It’s not telling the same story, and is in fact about the Maitland's specifically. In pretty much exactly the same way two different versions of Little Red Riding Hood can be extremely different from each other, the film is a different animal. While I imagine that the film version has been at the heart of a lot of this confused fear-mongering around all other versions of the characters, I would no more judge different adaptations of these characters any more than I would condemn a version of Little Red in which Red and the Wolf are best friends or lovers just because the very first iteration of LRRH was about protecting yourself from predators.

I would even argue that the people who have engaged in Anti-shipper behavior over BJ/Lydia are in intense denial over the fact that BJ being interested in Lydia, either as blatant predatory behavior a la the film or on a peer level as in the cartoon (and musical?) is an inextricable part of canon. Beetlejuice was always attracted to Lydia, and it was not always cute or amusing. Beetlejuice was not always a beloved buddy character, an in fact was originally written as a gross scumbag. That’s just what he was. Even people engaging with him now by writing OC girlfriends for him (as stand-ins for the salt-and-pepper-shaker space Lydia used to take up, because obviously that was part of the core fun of the characters), or just loving him as a character, are erasing parts of his character’s history in order to do so. They are actively refusing to be held responsible for being fans of new version of him despite the fact that he engaged in overt predatory behavior in the original film. In fact, I would venture to say that they are actively erasing the fact that Musical Beetliejuice tried to marry a teenager and as far as I’m aware, seemed to like the idea (because he’s probably a fucking figment of her imagination but go off I guess). The only reason they can have a version of this character who could be perceived as “buddy” material is because...the cartoon had an impact on our pop cultural perception of what the character and his dynamic with Lydia is.

We can have a version of the Big Bad Wolf who’s a creepy monster. We can have a version who’s sweet and lovable. We can have a version that lives in the middle. We can have a version who’s a hybrid between Red and the Wolf (a la Ruby in OUAT). All of these things can exist in the same world, and can even be loved for different reasons by the same people.

I’ve been using Beetlejuice as an example here because it’s kind of perfect for my overall point regarding the toxic ideologies in fandom right now across many different spaces, including ones for progressive and queer media, and how much so many people don’t recognize how deeply they’ve been radicalized into literalist and sex-negative radfem rhetoric, to the point where we aren’t allowed to have difficult, messy explorations of imperfect, flawed humans, and that art is never going to be 100% pure and without flaw in it’s ability to convey what it wants to convey.

This includes the rhetoric I’ve seen across the board, from She-Ra to A:TLA to Star Wars to Lovecraft Country. We don’t talk about the inherent malleable, subjective, or charmingly imperfect nature of fiction any more. Transformation and reclamation are myths in this space. Everything is in rigid categories. It is seemingly very difficult for some of these people to engage with anything that is not able to be clearly labeled as one thing or another (see the inherent transphobic and biphobic elements of the most intense rhetoric). They destroy anything they cannot filter through their ideology. When women act in a way that breaks from their narrative of womanhood (like...not having a vagina), then those women must be condemned instead of understood. Anything that challenges them or makes them uncomfortable is a mortal sin. There is an extraordinary level of both hypocrisy and repressive denial that is underlying the behavior I’m seeing now. Much like toxic Christian conservatism, these people often are discovered engaging in the same behaviors and interests that they condemn behind closed doors (or just out of sheer cognitive dissonance). As an example, one of the people who talked shit to me about Labyrinth was a huge fan of Kill La Kill, which to my knowledge was an anime about a teenage girl in like, superpowered lingere (hence why I stayed the fuck away from that shit myself). Indeed, they even allow themselves plenty of leeway for behavior far worse than they condemn others for, and create support systems for the worst of their own abusers.

Quite frankly, I’m tired. Instead of talking about theoretical problematic shit, we need to start talking about quantifiable harm. Because as far as I can tell, the most real, immediate, and quantifiable harm done because of anybody’s favorite ships or pieces of media seems to consistently be the kind that’s done to the people who experience verbal violence and abuse and manipulation and suicide baiting and death threats from the people who have a problem.

#Beetlejuice #Labyrinth #toxic fandom

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ilguna · 3 years

Text

Berceuse - Chapter One

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

warnings; swearing.

wc; 11.5k

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

–

This year, Alyssum is the first to wake in the house.

Typically, she’s one of the last to rise in the house, but as of recently, Alyssum’s been waking up in the middle of the night with sweat soaked sheets and a hollow feeling in her chest.

It’s always the same nightmare that does it to her, and without fail so far, she hasn’t been able to recall what it’s about. All she knows is that it’s nearly impossible for her to fall asleep after she wakes up. Today is no exception.

She can’t blame it all on the nightmare, though. There’s another reason why she’s up so early, and it’s because this is the first year where she’s officially an eligible candidate for the Hunger Games.

That sentence alone is enough to send a chill down her spine.

She had a hard enough time trying to fall asleep last night, she swears it took her an hour of tossing and turning before she finally wore herself out. The nightmare really cut her a few hours shorter than she wishes.

Still, when she catches a glance of herself in front of the mirror, she’s not able to detect a trace of sleep deprivation in her face and movements. It seems as if her body is thinking this is just a regular school day, forgetting that she hasn’t been in school for the past three days in preparation for today.

She’s not the only one, everyone who goes to the boarding school that you run was required to take the three days off for mandatory testing and evaluation. It’s only been recently instilled as of last year. It’s because of an incident regarding volunteer ages and the practicality of the boarding-school-trained tributes making it out of the arena alive.

And no, as far as Alyssum knows, it doesn’t have anything to do with Annie and her tribute counterpart. They were perfect candidates for the games and you had done the right thing by making the 70th games available to the seventeen and eighteen year-olds.

The problem started when the age was lowered to fifteen, it opened a discussion on whether or not it was appropriate because they’re still too young. Personally, Alyssum thinks that the age restrictions don’t have as much authority as they’re giving it.

Sure, it’s a rule that the boarding school has, but what’s really stopping the younger kids from volunteering if they feel like it? You and Finnick are still going to do your jobs, you have to mentor them anyway.

Of course, you’d already thought of it, and it’s one of the reasons why the mandatory evaluations were set up. It’s to test the capabilities of every student inside of the boarding school. The parents can get a proper assessment of their child’s improvements, and it also benefits the boarding school’s records.

Anyway, the three days off are the three days leading up to the reaping. It mostly focuses on physical and mental skills, like fighting and memorizing. It’s a thorough process, all of it being hands-on. The other victors, Annie, Luther and Scotch, come around to help speed up the process.

To keep it as accurate as possible, it was decided that students should be scored like how the gamemakers would if they were put in front of them. And since the gamemakers only score one skill, the victors do the same for each individual skill. At the very end of the third day, students are given their individual scores, and on top of that, an overall score.

Currently, Alyssum is sitting at an eight overall, which is better than the other twelve year-olds inside of the boarding school. If she hadn’t been enrolled in the boarding school since she was seven, she’s sure that it would be a different story.

And it’s not like she started with the other children, either. She’s not the first kid that’s been allowed to train alongside the teenagers, but she was the first child to train in the older kids’ classes.

After only five years, she’s in the fifteen year-old class. Which is the first year that really introduces the weapon specialties. If she spends two years in this class—following the pattern of two years in each class, with the exception of the twelve year-old one—she’ll have mastered the weapons by the time she’s thirteen.

That’s under the assumption that Alyssum survives this reaping.

As she begins to gather her outfit for today, she realizes what a stupid thought that is. Why wouldn’t she survive the reaping? Her name is only going to be in the bowl once. She might be in the fifteen class but her name isn’t in there four times.

Besides, with how the boarding school has been going these past few years, someone would volunteer over her. She doesn’t even doubt it.

Alyssum stands in front of her wardrobe, a dress in each hand. The first one is baby pink with white accents. There’s a ribbon that runs along the middle, and in the back it’s loose so that she can tie it in a bow. The dress is long-sleeved, soft to the touch with a white trim at the bottom.

If she wears this one, she’ll have to be careful with where she walks and what touches it. It looks like it can be easily damaged, then again it can keep her warm, and it leaves an open possibility for any accessories.

In the other hand is a shimmery gold-colored dress. This fabric is stiffer, not easily malleable, and the accents are black instead of white. It’s not long sleeved, though, it’s got the arms of a regular t-shirt. Not to mention, it also has pockets.

As much as she likes the pink dress when she holds it up to her body, she thinks she remembers you warning her about what the weather is going to be like today. Hot, especially as time goes on.

She gives the pink dress a soft smile, putting it back on the rod inside her wardrobe. She’ll save it for later, a colder time when she needs to look formal but cute. Maybe during the winter Victory Tour, sometimes the mayor allows your family to join you at the dinner.

She pulls out her black Mary Jane’s, placing them outside of the closet. After shutting the doors, she takes her time moving around the room. A white pair of socks that will show her ankles, a black ribbon to tie into her hair if she wants to, a bracelet you gave her for her twelfth birthday.

She lays the accessories out on her desk in a line so that she doesn’t forget anything when it’s time to put on the finishing touches. Then, she gets to work with the little things.

Alyssum gathers her underwear and dress into one hand, moving to open her door to use the bathroom across the hall. The master bedroom, the one that you and Finnick use, is the only room that has a bathroom attached. However, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t bathrooms littered across the house.

She’s lucky that you had placed her across the bathroom when she was just a toddler. It makes for a short and easy trip when she doesn’t feel like getting dressed in the bathroom. Alyssum can’t count on her hand how many times she’s thanked you for it.

All you said is that you understood way before the boys did.

After shutting the bathroom door behind her, she quickly gets the shower started. It’s become a routine with her, something that you had started when she was old enough to get a schedule down. It makes for quick and easy mornings, especially when everyone wants to shower before the reaping to look nice.

Even with the victor houses, though, it takes a while for the water to heat up. She brushes her hair, and her teeth, in the meantime. A small yawn escapes her mouth just as she goes to test the water again.

Finally warm, she hops in. She washes her hair with the strawberry scented shampoo, working the conditioner in afterward. The body wash that you had picked out for her the other day isn’t fruity, it’s floral. Needless to say, Alyssum is going to smell nice.

When she gets out of the shower, she carefully dries her hair, and then her body. She’s heard the stories about the machines in the Capitol that automatically do this for their citizens. You keep swearing that the house will get it one day, but you haven’t found out a way to get it here just yet.

For now, Alyssum has to manually dry herself off.

When she’s half-dressed, she works more water out of her hair, afraid that it’ll end up ruining the dress. It’s impossible to get all of it out, so she just hopes that it won’t ruin the fabric too much, besides making it darker.

She leaves the attached ribbon untied, but zips up the back to the top, being sure to fasten the button too. When she looks at herself, half-put together like this, her first thoughts are of how pretty she looks. And then she turns on the vent, allowing the steam to leave the bathroom.

The moment she opens the door again, she can tell she isn’t the only one awake anymore. There’s the faint sounds of coffee brewing in the maker, and sizzling of food. It could be either you, or Reed. The two of you always go back and forth between waking up first.

Before she goes to investigate, she drops her dirty clothes in the hamper just inside her door. She’s quiet down the steps, because a few of them have a history of squeaking if they’re stepped on a certain way. Everyone in the house has memorized where at this point. It’s always left up to guests to step in the wrong place.

“Hello?” Alyssum calls out quietly, rounding the corner to see into the kitchen.

It looks like you’re the early bird this year.

Your head raises, body twisting to see who’s spoken. You relax considerably when you see that it’s Alyssum. A natural smile covers your face.

Alyssum can see that you’re making pancakes when you move out of the way. The ingredients sit along the counter, a blue mug of coffee sits within arms reach. She thinks that it’s the mug with Finnick’s face on it, a souvenir because you thought it was funny.

“Good morning, honey, you’re up early. Did you sleep okay?” You ask, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Alyssum says, moving into the kitchen, “It’s because I went to bed early last night.”

Alyssum’s made sure that none of you know about her nightmares. The moment any of you find out, she’ll be taken out of the boarding school. It was a rule that was made for her when she was little, along with a lot of others. Like the fact that she can’t volunteer. She’s in the boarding school just in case she’s chosen, not because she’s supposed to be a future volunteer.

If she were to get taken out, it wouldn’t be permanent, but it would be long enough to put a dent in her training in the boarding school. Of course, in this hypothetical situation, if she didn’t get better quickly, she’d stay out for as long as it took. And stuff like that is unpredictable.

“Makes sense,” you say, turning your back to her as you resume your cooking, “Nervous for your first year?”

“Kinda.” She admits, joining your side, “You don’t think that they’ll put my name in extra times or something, right?”

You give her a look, “I talked to Mayor Burrula, he’s going to make sure you don’t go in there more than once.”

Alyssum smiles slightly, “Finnick feeling better?”

“Yes, he’s still sleepin’ though.”

“So he’ll be at the reaping?”

“He wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You smile, “Do you need help with your hair?”

“When you have time, yes.” She turns her back to you, “Can you do my bow?”

While you do her bow properly, Alyssum has a perfect view of the staircase, allowing her to watch Reed come down. His hair is messy, eyes tired like they always are. It takes him a second to realize that you and Alyssum are in the kitchen, but he does eventually.

“You’re up early,” Reed says, raising his eyebrow at Alyssum.

“Went to bed early.” You say.

He nods, heading to the mug cupboard, pulling a random one off the shelf. A collection has grown over the years, allowing a variety to be picked. Still, Reed’s pick isn’t as random as Alyssum says, he uses the same three mugs over and over again, never in a specific order.

This time he’s chosen the one that has an outline of the Capitol’s city.

“You’re all tied up.” You say, standing up again, “Grab yourself a few pancakes, be careful not to spill on that dress.”

“Thank you.” Alyssum chirps, helping herself to the goodies along the counter. She skips over the syrup entirely, preferring the plain taste of pancakes soaked with butter.

She eats quietly, listening to the conversation that you and Reed have. It’s nothing of importance just yet, those topics are typically saved until Finnick and Mox come out. All news can wait until everyone is in attendance.

It really isn’t long before that’s the case. Finnick is down the stairs next, placing a gentle hand on Alyssum’s shoulder as he passes. His hair is much tamer than what Reed’s was, and his first stop is the coffee machine.

You pause the conversation long enough to move the mug you’re using, handing it off to poor Finnick, who doesn’t even realize what he’s drinking out of until it’s too late. His own face is staring him in his eyes.

Alyssum watches you hold a smile, lips pressing together in an attempt to stifle the laughter that’s working its way out.

“You’re evil.” Finnick mutters, voice a little raspy.

“I can’t imagine what you mean.” You say back, a knowing smile on your face.

“You’re lucky you make good coffee.” Finnick points with his pinky finger.

A few minutes later, Mox is coming down the stairs, hair tied back so that it’s out of his face, “And I am the last one downstairs, yet again.”

“Since we’re all here, here’s the plan,” you start, not wasting time, “I’m going to get Alyssum ready first, then it’s my turn so I can see Mags and Anchor before noon. After that it’s a free for all—just make sure you’re at the reaping area early for Alyssum.”

“Finnick going with you?” Reed asks.

“I’m gonna need extra time to get ready, so she’ll swing by and grab me before she goes.” Finnick says, taking a sip of the coffee again.

“Sounds like a plan.” Mox is loading his plate with pancakes, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, turning your attention to Alyssum, “Ready?”

Alyssum nods, laying her fork onto her plate. You sweep both up quickly, leaving them in the sink before ushering Alyssum up the stairs. She doesn’t have her shoes on just yet, wanting to wait until the last minute to put them on. They’re brand-new, and even with the constant reminders around her to break in the shoes, she forgot to.

“What do you want to do with your hair?” you ask, following her into her bedroom, “Braids, ponytail, something else?”

“Can you do the two buns like you did the other day?” Alyssum asks, pulling her chair in front of her mirror.

“On the back of your head or lower?” you touch the spots to give her an idea.

“Top--or in the middle.”

Alyssum sits in the chair, watching you get to work behind her. You’re gentle when you handle her hair, nimble fingers that have her hair in position within a few minutes of starting. You’ve had a lot of practice over the years, most of the smaller girls in the boarding school end up needing help with their hair when they learn. With everyone having their own preferences, or hair types, you began to learn quickly.

“When your hair dries a little more, I’ll curl these front pieces, okay?” you say, eyes fixated on the bun you’re putting in place, “What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty, I think.”

“Do you want to run to the Square real quick and see if they have Mox’s shampoo?” you secure the other bun, pushing in the bobby pin.

“Sure.”

You smile behind her, patting her shoulders, “Don’t touch them too much, be back before eleven-thirty.”

“I will, thank you.” Alyssum smiles back.

After you leave the room, Alyssum pulls on her Mary Jane’s, already not liking the back the back of the shoe rubs against her heel. This’ll definitely be the last time she shrugs you all off when you try to give her advice. She’s going to end up with blisters, and who knows what that’ll do to her training?

On the way out of the room, she grabs a hold of her pocket knife, the one that you gifted to her. When it happened, Reed wasn’t too thrilled about it, and Alyssum understands why. He came around to the idea, though. Especially after Finnick calmly explained that the logic doesn’t pull through, there’s a lot of things that Alyssum does that she shouldn’t be doing at her age. Why stop now?

Mox and Reed are still in the kitchen and dining room area when she passes through, talking about what the betting might look like this year. Ever since District Four got Annie, they’ve begun to pick up speed with the careers, making it to the end of the games before they’re killed.

There’s always been betting inside of District Four, it’s not anything new. The Capitol isn’t the only exclusive place that does it, it’s just a matter of popularity. It’s likely to be more popular in the other districts though, always wondering if they’ll finally have an outlier that makes it to the finale.

It’s hardly ever the case.

Alyssum sticks her hand into the cash jar, pulling out the bills that she’s going to need. Everything in the Square is pretty cheap, but everyone in the house has started a habit of paying more than what they need to. There’s more than enough money that goes around the house, yours and Finnicks’ victor checks combined is a huge influx.

They would have to make a genuine effort to make a dent in the allowance, which says a lot about what the Capitol can afford to give away.

After tucking the cash into the pockets on her dress, she stops at the dining room table briefly, “I’m going to get Mox’s shampoo, I’ll try to be quick.”

“You have your pocket knife?” Reed asks.

She pulls it out of her pocket, showing him the black weapon. It’s folded, tightly secured, it won’t be ripping the inside of her dress. With how often she plays with it, though, it’s only a matter of time before she ends up cutting open her hand. She’s smart enough to play with it out in the open when she does, though. It’ll be easier to clean up the bloodstains than to repair the dress.

“Stay safe.” Mox says.

“I will.”

She’s out of the house after that, taking her time to get to the Square. The original house that Reed inherited after their parents’ death was a lot closer to the black market than the victor house they own now. In a sense, Victor’s Village is near the more expensive stores, since they’re now affordable. It’s a longer walk to get to the Square because of this.

Still, Alyssum enjoys the entire time it takes her to get there. She sees a few of her neighbors outside, offering waves and small smiles. Most of them are friendly, you all have had years to get to know them, and they ended up warming up just fine. Others aren’t as open, for a number of reasons.

You won the Hunger Games, and afterwards came a lot of changes. A lot of losses at the beginning of your mentorship, the boarding school, the strictness of the reaping, and the economy changed regarding the smaller businesses on the poorer side of District Four.

It was all inevitable, the more victors that come into District Four, the more the changes are going to be. In a way, they hold all the influence of who stays open and who stays closed. Like Alyssum was saying, they all live closer to the expensive side of District Four, so it’s expected that they spend their money there. Yet, they still end up going to the poor shops, which changes the expectations.

It’s hard to tell someone what to do with their money, especially when they’re already doing a lot for the area they live in. Still, people find a way to do it anyway. And if they’re not being vocal about it, then they’re surely not being shy with the way they look at people.

Mox has told her stories about where they used to live, a house that’s still in their possession. She’s been back a few times, but it doesn’t hold any sentimental value to her. She doesn’t remember living there, and the few memories that she tries to cough up are likely made up. She really relies on what her older siblings have to say about the place.

A constant story that’s brought up is always about the neighbors in that area. How kind, generous, understanding they are. Even after you won your games, they never left the Gallows’ family side, because they’re all one big community there. Through thick and thin, they support the families that always get the lesser. Babysitters, meals, clothes, gateways to jobs, anything that a person needed, someone in that neighborhood would find a way to get it to them.

Alyssum may not have experienced it first hand just yet, but she hopes that she’ll be able to see it in person. There’s not much hope for District Four if there’s no humanity that goes around.

Like every reaping day, the Square is crawling with people. There’s a bouncer of sorts outside of the warehouse, someone she hasn’t seen before. She normally knows the people that stand outside as lookouts. Busts on the Square aren’t common, but it’s happened enough times for people to finally crack and make sure that there’s a person standing outside at all times during the busy days like today.

It’s a man, with short dark hair and brown eyes. His arms are crossed, he’s leaned back against the uneven metal of the building’s wall. At first, when Alyssum approaches, he seemingly pays no attention to her. It’s only when she makes a move to go inside, does he finally react, putting his arm out to stop her.

“You can’t go in.” he says, looking her over.

Alyssum raises her eyebrows, giving him a small smile, “Why not?”

“It’s not a place for people like you.” His tone is simple, slightly annoying. Just because she’s dressed nice, she’s not allowed to go inside?

Her hand secures around her pocket knife, thumb over the space that’ll allow her to flip open the knife, “You’re new here, that’s okay.” she states, watching the man’s face, “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but you do know that you piss off the vendors when you turn people away, right? Especially the regulars, like me.”

She finally pulls out the knife, motioning to his arm with a straight face, “Move it, or I’ll make you.”

He doesn’t move at first, staring her down to see if she’s serious. When Alyssum doesn’t crack either, he finally moves his arm, allowing her entry.

“I’m Alyssum, by the way.” she flicks her knife shut, shoving it back into her pocket, “My older sister is (Y/n), I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

She slips her way inside, leaving the man to realize the minor mistake he made. There’s enough people inside of the Square for it to be claustrophobic, her arm is always touching someone else. It’s not enough to make her worry about the well-being of her dress, though. If she really thinks that it’ll get damaged, she smoothes it down just enough to slip by.

The vendor she’s going to isn’t that far inside, yet it takes forever for her to actually get there. Many people want to stop and have a conversation with her, all of them knowing that this is her first year for the reaping. It’s all good words, reassurances that she won’t get chosen. The chances of it happening are too slim, and there’s plenty of volunteers that’ll want to get to have their try at the Hunger Games.

At the table, the vendor already has Mox’s shampoo on the surface. All Alyssum has to do is pay and grab the bottle, thanking the vendor and assuring him that he’ll be seeing her siblings soon. She waves goodbye, and takes her time leaving the Square. When the sun finally hits her face again, she stops a familiar face long enough to catch the time, finding out that she has thirty minutes to make it back home.

She doesn’t waste time anymore, trying to take the shortcuts so that she can get back to the house quicker. She doesn’t have to rush too badly, Mox is always the last to shower every year. He likes to let everyone else go before him, not minding the cold water. He’s also by far the quickest when it comes to showers.

Victor’s Village is just as barren as always, the silence overwhelming. It’s weird to think that there are seven different families living in the little neighborhood, yet there isn’t a single sound to prove that. Alyssum is sure not to disturb the peace, quietly making her way up the house steps.

Finnick is sitting at the dinner table when she goes inside, head resting against his hand, eyes closed. She doesn’t say anything to him as she goes up the stairs, knowing that he needs the sleep. Finnick’s been sick for the last couple of weeks, and you were convinced that he wouldn’t get better before the games. It wasn't normal sickness, Finnick had been out of it for weeks.

He only recently started feeling better, rising from the steep dip that he suddenly took. You didn’t want to push him into the normal routine so early, but he insisted that he got back to it as soon as possible. There was a slight rift when it came to that, in the end you gave it up, making him promise that he’ll take it easy and not strain himself too badly.

Alyssum drops the shampoo off in the bathroom, and then heads towards Mox’s bedroom down the hall, to the right. She knocks quietly a few times as a warning before opening the door. Mox’s head is raised, waiting to see who’s at the door.

“Shampoo’s in the bathroom.”

“Thanks.” Mox smiles, “(Y/n) wanted me to tell you that she’s taking you to the reaping, so stick near Finnick.”

“Gotcha.”

Alyssum heads back to her bedroom to put on any finishing accessories that she might want to wear. She had laid out a lot of potential earlier, knowing that she would end up changing her mind on a lot of it, like the ribbon. And there’s not nearly enough time to curl the front of her hair, anymore. She’s left to wind it around her finger to give it some temporary curl.

She empties her pocket knife onto her desk, setting it off to the side. She pulls on the gifted bracelet, and a dainty ring that Mox got her that same birthday. Alyssum’s ears are pierced, so she carefully works in silver stars. She doesn’t wear earrings often anymore, and it’s because they get caught on fabric and hair when she trains in the boarding school.

She takes a step back to see herself in the mirror, and a broad smile covers her face.

She looks so pretty.

Finnick is still at the table when she gets back downstairs, the only difference is that he’s awake now. He’s drumming his fingertips against the table, sounding off a steady rhythm. He doesn’t seem to notice Alyssum at first, not until she’s pulling out a chair to sit at the table.

“When did you come in?” he asks, looking her over.

“While you were napping.” she smiles, playing with her bracelet.

He hums.

The two of them sit in silence while they wait for you to finish your rounds. It’s a daily occurrence, the job of it just bounces back and forth between you, Finnick and Anchor. The older victor’s need to be checked up on, starting with Mags, then Luther, and finally, Scotch. Annie has her family so she doesn’t need to be looked over as vigilantly.

Ninety percent of the time, they don’t need to be checked up on. It’s the other ten percent of the time that makes it worth it, though. Luther’s taken some nasty spills recently, forcing him to move to the downstairs part of his house to avoid another accident. Or like a few years ago, when Mags had her stroke, and you’d found her before it had been too late.

It also helps build relationships, too. It lets the other victor’s know that someone cares, even if it’s the person across the street. Scotch wasn’t always friendly, it took years of talking to and invitations to finally get him to open up. He never married, didn’t have any kids. Luther’s wife died a long time ago, he didn’t want any kids. And Mags only has your family to rely on.

Remember what Alyssum had said about community? Victor’s Village didn’t have one, not until you and Finnick rolled around. It took years of building, but it got there, and it’s what keeps the neighborhood running. Not to mention, it takes an hour, two max to check up on the others.

It’s not a waste of time, not if it can save lives.

The door opens a little while later, revealing you. Upon seeing that Alyssum and Finnick are ready to go, a smile appears on your face, waving for them to get a move on.

“Sorry I took so long, apparently Luther needed to shower so I had to go and grab Anchor.” you hold the door open for Alyssum, allowing Finnick to take care of it when he walks out last.

“You didn’t wash him yourself?” Finnick jokes, you give him a playful eye roll.

“No, I’ll leave the sponge baths to you and Anchor.”

Mags is waiting at the bottom steps, cane in hand. She doesn’t really need it, it’s just extra support to take the weight off of her feet. Together, the four of them start to head towards the courtyard area where the reaping takes place. This year, Anchor has agreed to go ahead and take Scotch and Luther to the reaping. As always, Annie’s family can take care of their daughter.

The walk is fairly quiet, with only you and Finnick talking, and the occasional question being directed towards Alyssum. It's a lighthearted conversation, keeping Alyssum’s mind off of the fact that she’ll be standing with the other twelve year-olds in less than a half hour.

Besides the fact that the courtyard is so far, they left early so that they’d be able to get Alyssum signed in before it got too busy. The Capitol takes advantage of the Hunger Games’ reaping by keeping track of the population. Mostly just the children eligible for the reaping itself, they could care less about the actual adults that are too old for the games.

After all, their deaths will be recorded by the hospitals that get the misfortunate of reporting it.

“They already know that you exist, Alyssum,” you tell her once you see the station full of peacekeepers, “All you have to do is tell them your name and they’ll take a blood sample. It’s going to hurt for just a second.”

“And then I go and find you?”

“We’ll be nearby, you don’t have to go searching too far.” Finnick says.

Alyssum gives them a nod, “Okay.”

She splits from them, heading towards the end of the line. It’s moving at a steady pace, it’ll be her turn in no time. From where she stands, it looks like there’s not a lot of people in the fenced-in area for the reaping. She’ll get to choose where she wants to stand, and it’ll be in view of you.

Alyssum watches the boy ahead of her, stating his name, and then holding out his hand for the peacekeeper to take when they’re ready. He moves on quickly, going straight towards the courtyard, and suddenly it’s Alyssum’s turn.

She moves forward, “Alyssum Gallows.”

The peacekeeper writes the name down, “Twelve?”

“Yes.”

“Sister of (Y/n), right?” he looks up, the visor on his helmet is at the top, allowing her to see the peacekeeper’s eyes. They’re a dark brown, not a very common color inside of District Four. He’s definitely from the Capitol, “The victor?”

Well, obviously the victor. There’s no one else in District Four with the last name of Gallows, and it's because it was hand-picked by a great-grandmother during the Dark Days. The family name wasn’t always Gallows.

“Yes.” Alyssum says it slower this time, eyes narrowing slightly. What is he getting at?

He holds out his gloved hand for hers, presumably for the blood draw. He secures it, yanking her forward, closer to the table as he brings up the buzzer. Just by looking at his eyes, the wrinkles that have engraved themselves in the corners, he’s got a smile of sorts on his face. She’s got a sick feeling it isn’t friendly, though.

He tazes the tip of her finger, presses the print down onto the space beneath her name, and doesn’t let go immediately, “The Capitol will love you.”

Alyssum recoils, pulling her hand free. She’s careful not to touch the blood to the outside of her dress, instead she opts for shoving them straight into her pockets, staring down at the man, “It’s a shame they didn’t like you the same, isn’t it?” she can see the wrinkles fading, which means his smile is going, “After all, you became a peacekeeper.”

She goes to leave, a step in, when another thought comes to mind. A grin covers her face, eyes landing on the man again, who’s no longer as smug as he was before, “And the Capitol already loves me.”

She walks away, heading straight to you and Finnick. She doesn’t have to grab your attention, because the two of you are caught between looking at her, and looking at the peacekeeper that had just given her a hard time.

“What did he say?” Finnick asks, you press a hand to her back, ushering her to the stage.

“He asked if I was your sister, was all.” Alyssum says.

“Besides that, he said something else.” you say, “I know he did, because you wouldn’t have pulled away like that.”

Alyssum shrugs, “He said, ‘The Capitol will love you’ and so I told him that they do.”

She doesn’t miss how you and Finnick share a look. It’s not very subtle at all, she’d like to read your minds, but she hasn’t gotten to that point yet. She does begin to get a little worried when you stop walking, and make her stop too.

“We talked to Elysia and Mayor Burrula.” Finnick reminds you.

“But they aren’t in charge--” you start, pausing briefly to secure your hands over Alyssum’s ears. It’s all muffled, too hard for her to hear besides a few words. She thinks you mention President Snow and the Capitol, that’s as far as she can hear, though.

The hands are removed, and Alyssum is being pushed towards the stage again.

“Is everything okay?” Alyssum asks, looking at you.

You give her a gentle smile, “Yes, the reaping starts in fifteen minutes, so why don’t you go ahead and stand at the twelve section, okay?”

Alyssum nods, allows you to grab her head to place a quick kiss on the top of it. Finnick gives her a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, and then follows you to the stage. Mags has already taken her seat, right next to Luther, Scotch and Anchor. When Alyssum turns to get a quick glance behind her, she’s able to see that Annie is coming up. Reed and Mox are not in sight.

They always arrive late. You asked them to be early this morning, but that’s practically impossible for them to do. They always have something going on, an extra-long shower, stopping at Caspian’s house, walking slower than normal. The most that Alyssum will probably get is five minutes before the reaping. If she enters now, like you asked her to, then she won’t be getting those few minutes.

It’s not all that important, anyway. She’ll be seeing them after the reaping, and maybe a quick goodbye from you before you and Finnick go to the Capitol to mentor.

She takes a deep breath, and then goes forward, passing the peacekeepers that are in charge of corralling the teenagers and keeping them inside. She has to walk all the way up to the front, since the older kids are required to stand in the back. It’s mostly because of height differences, it makes it a lot easier to actually see the eligible faces of the young if the old aren’t in the way.

There’s not a lot of girls in her section, so she positions herself wherever she wants. She can see your chair, and where the Mayor and Capitol escort is, and that’s really all that matters.

In the meantime, she keeps her feet planted and lets the other girls walk around her. One of Alyssum’s friends, Laleh, decides to stand right next to her, talking about her dress. Alyssum tries to be polite by listening to what she has to say, but eventually can’t pay attention anymore. Her hands are sweating and her stomach is twisting into knots.

As soon as there aren’t teenagers coming into the reaping area anymore, Mayor Burrula stands from where he was sitting. He heads towards the microphone, and starts his usual speech, starting with the history of Panem, moving onto the Dark Days and what brought them to the Hunger Games, and then the list of District Four’s victors.

“Mags Flanagan,” he starts, he holds no cards. The speech is committed to his memory, “Luther Burch, Scotch Holloway, Anchor Ridge, (Y/n) Gallows, Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta.”

A total of seven.

And with that, he introduces Elysia Petalsong, District Four’s Capitol escort.

This year, she’s dawned in a gentle blue, with fake seafoam strategically placed around her dress. She gives the mayor a smile, wandering her way up to the microphone on the podium. Alyssum’s had plenty of conversations with Elysia by now, so she knows that Elysia’s reliable and kind. District Four is lucky to have her.

“Happy Hunger Games,” Elysia’s accent isn’t as strong as some of the Capitol people Alyssum’s met, “And may the odds be ever in your favor. Let’s begin with the ladies.”

Elysia moves to the bowl on her left, her hands are also covered by gloves, this time white. The ones that the peacekeepers have are black and leather, most smooth to the touch. The one sitting at the table wasn’t, it’s obviously had its fair share of wear and tear.

She stops in front of the girls bowl, a smile on her face. She sticks her hand in, picking a slip of paper that’s pressed to the glass bowl. With two fingers, she brings it back out, taking her time to find her place back at the podium again.

Alyssum can feel her heart beating in her chest, blood rushing in her ears. She’s only twelve, she knows her name is only in there one time, so why is she feeling this way? There are many, many other girls that could be called, who’s to say that it’s her?

The feeling doesn’t shake, not even when she looks at you.

This scene, it’s too familiar...

Elysia unfolds the paper slip, a smile on her face. She inhales, preparing to say the name, but it never comes. She deflates, the microphone catching the wind. Elysia seems to go rigid, eyes glued to the paper slip between her gloved fingers.

Alyssum can see you sit up taller, eyebrows inward and trying to see if you can catch the name yourself. It must be too far, because you’re shaking your head and shrugging at Finnick.

Another couple of seconds pass, and it’s enough to make the head peacekeeper impatient. He clears his throat, letting her know to get a move on. It’s enough to finally slap her out of her daze, blinking several times. When she speaks, though, it’s barely above a whisper.

“The girl’s tribute this year is--um--” she pauses for a moment again, shaking her head, taking in a deep breath. She ends up letting out half of it before she speaks again, “--Alyssum Gallows.”

It hits Alyssum, making her go rigid.

Her nightmare, she remembers what it’s been, and why this whole scene was so familiar. It’s because she’s lived this exact scenario several times a week, leading up to today. It wasn’t just a nightmare, it was the future.

The now.

Alyssum lifts her head slightly, eyes finding you first, wanting to make sure that this is real, this isn’t some dream. By the way you’ve braced yourself against the chair, hands gripped around the seat, how Finnick has his hand wrapped around your stomach, holding you back. It’s real, this is all real.

She sucks in a sharp breath, her hands curling into fists as she moves to go to the aisle. The volunteers will not be immediate, after District Four started getting so many, the Capitol encouraged Mayor Burrula to fall back on the old rules; the original children get up to stage, and then volunteers are asked.

Alyssum can still hear her heart in her ears, feel the back of her shoes rubbing against her heels. She should’ve broke the shoes in, it wouldn’t be painful to walk, had she just broke the shoes in.

She relaxes her hands, forcing a smile on her face, despite the grim looks that everyone on stage is sharing at the moment. The peacekeepers march her to the stairs, which is only a few feet away, and then they leave her to make the rest of the way up by herself.

Elysia gently takes Alyssum’s hand in hers, directing Alyssum to stand in front of the girls’ glass bowl. There’s a constant thought running through her head, reminding her that every camera is currently on her and her older sister. Everyone in the Capitol is currently on the edge of their seats.

Alyssum Gallows, younger sister of (Y/n) Gallows. Or as you’re professionally known, The Executioner.

From way up there, on the stage, Alyssum can finally see her brothers, who also aren’t looking too hopeful. Reed has paled severely, lost all color in his face. Mox doesn’t even look like he’s inside of his own body anymore, just staring straight forward.

Alyssum can understand why you’re all looking this way, horrified. It’s because you all knew it was a possibility, you didn’t think that it would come true.

Even with his current state, Reed waves a hand to catch Alyssum’s attention. He has his lips pressed together, face twisted. She’s never seen him cry before, but that might change today. Still, he stands up taller, draws his shoulders back, and raises his chin. Then, he motions to her.

She understands, and follows what he did, one at a time. He wants her to look confident, standing tall and brave. It’s a smart tactic, takes away the idea that she’s scared.

“And now, to the boys.” Elysia isn’t as confident, moving towards the boys’ bowl.

She digs her hand into the paper slips, and pulls out one that was sitting in the middle. No matter where she grabs from, there will be an unlucky child that’s called to the stage. There’s no escaping it. Alyssum is a good example of this.

Back at the microphone, she unwraps the tape and clears her throat, “The boy tribute for this year is Delroy Hardin.”

Alyssum recognizes the name, he’s in the boarding school. And funny enough, he’s fifteen, so she’s trained alongside him. Just like Alyssum, he’s good, just not perfect yet. With more time, both of them will get there.

Delroy comes out of the right side in the boys section. The peacekeepers spot him, and join his side for the march up front. He looks straight ahead, not paying attention to them. During the few conversations that Alyssum’s had with him, he was standoffish at the beginning.

It’s not really a surprise that he’s not a big fan of the peacekeepers.

He takes his time going up the steps, Elysia guides him to his place behind the boys’ glass ball. When she returns to the podium, she seems to have lightened up a little.

“Any volunteers?” She asks.

For a moment, it’s still, then a hand shoots up in the seventeen section for the boys, none of the girls move. Which is fine, because Elysia is going to ask again, anyway.

“I volunteer!” The teen emphasizes, coming out of the section. The peacekeepers spot him, and move him forward to the front.

Alyssum knows him, too. He’s from the boarding school, but even worse, he’s the brother of Marsh Milillio—Annie’s tribute counterpart who ended up being decapitated. Paslee Milillio has come close to going inside of the Hunger Games once before already, and that’s when Marsh volunteered over him.

She holds her breath, wanting to look at you.

Delroy backs up, allowing space for Paslee to take his place. First, he joins Elysia at the microphone to introduce himself.

“And what’s your name?” She asks.

“Paslee Milillio.” He echoes Alyssum’s thoughts.

Elysia doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Alyssum wonders what Annie looks like, actually.

“Brother of Marsh Milillio?” Elysia asks slowly.

“Yes.” Paslee nods, and then flashes a smile.

“Thank you for your nobility.” She says, queueing Paslee to take Delroy’s place. Once he stops moving, she turns to the mic again, “Any girl volunteers?”

Silence. No one moves. Alyssum can hear the wind whistling in her ears, and feel her heart beat harder in her chest, knees locking so that she stays upright.

“No volunteers.” Elysia says, taking a deep breath, “Well, Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

She backs up, allowing Alyssum to see Paslee. The two of them shake hands now, she’s seen it happen a dozen times. She forces a smile on her face, being the first to move forward. Paslee’s hand is warm, and he’s got a tight grip. They shake once, and then twice.

Once again, Alyssum turns to face everyone standing in the sections. The Capitol’s anthem blares overheard, hurting her ears. And she doesn’t miss how Mox is crying, a fist pressed to his mouth.

As soon as the anthem is done, she’s getting swept into the Justice Building. Paslee is taken one way, she’s brought the other. They put her in a room with velvet couches and lock the door behind them, leaving her alone to her thoughts.

Alyssum stares at the window, not knowing whether to laugh, to cry, or to pinch herself. It feels like she’s dreaming, as if none of this is actually real, but she runs her hand along the couch and she can feel the softness beneath her fingertips.

Still, for good measure, she pinched herself, tighter and tighter. The pain grows, and there’s a red spot when she pulls her hand away. She’s not dreaming, she’s still awake.

Alyssum takes a seat on the couch, places her hands together, and then slides them between her thighs. She leans forward, prepared to get up at any moment while she stares at the sunbeams on the floor.

She’s only twelve, her name was on one paper slip. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence, like it just-so-happened to have turned out this way. It feels planned, especially since no one volunteered over her. Every single year, there’s been two volunteers, why is this year any different?

It takes only a moment for her to realize.

The peacekeeper just before the reaping, he knew that this was coming. He knew, and that’s why he said something, to taunt her. You and Finnick had gone out of your way to make sure that Alyssum wouldn’t get picked for the Hunger Games, and still, the Capitol always finds its way.

But why would they want her now? Why wouldn’t they want to wait until she was older? Is it because of experience?

With the thousands of questions running through her mind, Alyssum nearly misses the fact that the door opens. She looks up, and then over at the area to see who is first to say goodbye. Of course, it’s her family.

Reed, Mox, you, and Finnick are all coming toward her at once, with widely different reactions on your faces. Alyssum stands, and collides with Reed first, who holds her tightly, tight enough for her to think that her ribs are going to break. She squeezes back, eyes closed.

“I am so--” your voice is wavering, Alyssum pulls away long enough to see the tears in your eyes, “--sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

She hugs you next, even though she knows that she’ll be around you for the whole week.

“You can do this.” Reed says, “All you have to do is remember your training, okay? You’ve got five years right now.”

Her head bobs, moving on to Mox. He lets out a shaky breath, sucking in quickly afterwards. When she moves off of him, you and Reed work at the same pace. You take off her bracelet, he slides off of Mox’s ring. The two of you pocket the jewelry, and she doesn’t have time to argue before there’s a replacement being presented.

A necklace.

It’s blue, reflecting the sunlight that comes through the window. It has a silver chain, and she very carefully lifts it into the air to get a better look at it. She has a feeling she should know where it’s coming from, but she can’t place her finger on it.

“It’s tanzanite.” your voice is soft, quiet, “It was mom’s, and before that, it was grandma’s too.”

“And it’s going to be your token.” Reed says, cupping her hands, “We love you.”

“Thank you,” Alyssum says, “Thank you.”

Reed pulls her back into a hug, head angled backward to look at the ceiling. Alyssum can hear their thoughts, even if they’re not being said aloud. They can’t believe that they’ve spent eleven years raising her, protecting her, loving her. Only for it to come back down on them in the worst way possible. You getting chosen for the Hunger Games was bad enough, this is--was--out of the question.

“You listen to (Y/n) and Finnick,” Reed starts, she knew this was coming, it was inevitable, “Every word they say, every piece of advice they have to give, you listen to it and you find a way to make it work.”

“Yes.” she says.

“No,” Reed says suddenly, making her look him in the eyes, “Promise me, right now.”

No one wants to say it. No one wants to say that she has a little to no chance of winning, that it’s not funny. Finnick was the youngest victor to ever win, and that’s with the help of you. There hasn’t been a single tribute younger that’s come close to winning.

It would take a miracle for her to pull it off.

“I promise.” Alyssum says, “I will listen to (Y/n) and Finnick.”

“Good.” he breathes, he doesn’t look more at ease.

The sound of the doorknob turning across the room, makes them all look over. The peacekeeper on the other side stares into the room for a second, and then says, “Time’s up.”

Alyssum watches as you and Finnick join the group hug that’s given to her, and then quickly back away so she can have an official goodbye with her brothers. Reed squeezes her, Mox cries into her shoulder, the both of them telling her that they love her.

Just before you exit the room, you stop next to the door, “Cameras are at the train station, so chin up, okay? Big smiles.”

The peacekeeper shuts the door as soon as you’re out of the way, leaving Alyssum alone again. She’s sure that she won't get any more visitors. Laleh is her friend, but her mother will hold her back from doing it. Instead, Alyssum stares at the necklace for a while longer, running her thumb over the smooth rock.

You wouldn’t have given it to her if you knew that it had the chance of getting declined from being a token. Which means that she’ll be able to represent mom, and grandma, just like you had when you went into the games. You took that engagement ring, a family heirloom, and took the spirit of your family with. Maybe the necklace will have the same effect.

Actually, she’s counting that it will.

When the peacekeepers come back, it’s to collect her and bring her to the car. By then, she’s already got the necklace around her neck, so she follows them to where they guide her to be. Inside of the car is Elysia and Paslee, the door slams shut behind her.

The ride from the Justice Building to the train station isn’t all that long. It’s enough time for Alyssum to think about how this is her second time in a car, ever. The first time being when you had been chosen for the Hunger Games, and Reed and Mox needed a speedy way to get to the train station before you did. She was only three then, she doesn’t remember a single thing from it. Not even the urgency.

Elysia is required to get out of the car first, Alyssum is directed next. She doesn’t miss how badly the back of her feet hurt, and bites back the facial expressions she wants to make. Paslee comes out after, graceful and smiling. The two of them are brought to the platform, and stand there to allow the Capitol to get a good look at them before the train takes them away.

Reed and Mox are at the very front. Reed’s arms are crossed, face in a frown, and briefly musters a smile just for her. Mox is still crying, hands pressed together in a prayer, which are against his lips. He’s shaking his head, disbelief, she thinks it is.

Alyssum gives them a smile, blows a kiss, and then waves.

“Okay, come on.” Elysia finally says, pressing a hand to each of their shoulders, pushing them inside of the train.

The door shuts, the train immediately beginning to move. You and Finnick are nowhere in sight just yet, and Alyssum has a feeling it’s because Elysia has to give a tour of the train first. The Justice Building in District four is nice inside, probably a lot better than the poorer districts--she won’t even bother to compare it to the other career districts--but the train is even nicer.

Alyssum and Paslee each get their own bedrooms, private bathrooms, and large dressing rooms. It’s better than her house back home, of course. However, she still wouldn’t trade her small bedroom and the bathroom across the hallway for anything here. The dressers inside of the bedroom are filled with expensive clothing from brands that she didn’t even know existed. Elysia keeps repeating that they can do whatever they want on the train, wear the clothes without charge, this is their time to be comfortable before the chaos of the Capitol.

Elysia stops in the hallway that’s shared between the two tribute bedrooms, with Alyssum to her right and Paslee to her left, “Neither of you will see the mentors until supper, which is in an hour. I suggest showering, changing, letting out any emotions you might be feeling beforehand.”

“Thank you.” Alyssum says.

“Yes, thank you.” Paslee repeats.

Elysia smiles at the both of them, leaving through the door they all came through. For a moment, the two tributes stand there, not moving to go to their rooms. Paslee is the first to speak up.

“Do you want to try out an alliance?” he asks, “And decide later on if we want to stick to it?”

Alyssum gives him a smile, “Sure.”

He gives her a smile back, splitting ways. Alyssum gets into her bedroom, only a few steps in, the door just barely closing behind her, and she’s already bursting into tears, a hand clamped over her mouth. She squeezes her eyes shut, lowering herself to the floor to sit down. It doesn’t feel real, none of this feels real.

She sniffs, and she’s breaking down immediately after.

Her name was supposed to be inside of the bowl once. Who knows how many times the Capitol requested it be? They could have had the whole bowl be her name, and it wouldn’t have mattered what paper Elysia picked. All outcomes would’ve pointed to Alyssum, and she would have ended up here, on the train to the Capitol, a contender of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

She slams her fist into the carpet once, twice, three times. It hurts, she wants to stop, but she doesn’t know what else to do. How else is she supposed to let all of it out? Rip the clothing in the closet? Order plates and break them against the walls? Smash everything around her?

It’ll just create a mess that someone else will have to clean up. So, for now, she continues to slam her fist against the carpet, hoping that she’ll still have this frustration later on in the training center. That’s where all of this anger will really matter.

She should shower.

Alyssum pulls herself together, dragging her feet into the walk-in closet. She digs through the drawers, finding a pair of black jeans and a red shirt to wear. She skips over shoes, knowing that she’ll have plenty of time leftover to pick a pair out.

She places the necklace into a glass bowl, being careful not to tangle the silver chain. After she starts the shower, she undresses, using a hanger nearby to put the dress up. If she makes it out of the Hunger Games alive, she knows that she’ll ultimately want the dress as a keepsake, for whatever reason that may be later on. She doesn’t bother to pull out her hair, not wanting to get it wet in the first place.

She wants to use the bodywash that’s offered, the only problem is that she doesn’t want to wash away the floral scent from home. The one you picked out for her months ago, and she hasn’t been able to get enough of the smell ever since. In the end, she doesn’t have much of a choice, she smells like sweat from standing out in the sun for nearly an hour.

When she comes out of the shower, she gets dressed, and decides against shoes. If she’s going to be walking through the train to get to the dinner table, she should be fine. It would be a different story if she had to go outside or step into anything dirty. Knowing the Capitol, and how they prioritize safety, both of those scenarios have been ruled out.

Alyssum walks herself to the dinner car, running into Elysia on the way. Elysia gives her a small set of directions on how to get there, and then goes right back to trying to retrieve Paslee for dinner. Alyssum makes it to the car just fine, and just as Elysia had promised earlier, you and Finnick are sitting at the table.

“You look nice,” you say, you haven’t changed your outfit at all. Neither has Finnick.

“I skipped out on shoes.” Alyssum admits, taking a chair.

You suppress a laugh.

Elysia comes back a few minutes later, Paslee walking behind her. He’s hunched forward at first, until he notices that you and Finnick are here. He perks up, back straightening, a smile coming over his face again. He must be eager to learn, which is weird, because he’s learned everything possible in the five years he’s been with the boarding school.

Well, Alyssum thinks it’s five years.

Paslee takes his seat next to her.

“The dinner comes in courses,” you warn, allowing Elysia to sit, “Eat too much of just one food and you won’t have enough room for the rest.”

“I’d suggest eating small portions, and knowing how to pace yourself.” Finnick continues, “The food can make you feel sick after.”

Alyssum nods, Paslee does the same.

It starts with a vegetable soup, with potatoes, carrots, celery and more. It moves onto the salad, full of greens, then a beef roast, a light snack of crackers and cheese, and ends with a dessert of ice cream and a small chocolate cake that leaks fudge when it’s broken open.

All of it is delicious, far better than what Alyssum eats back home, which is typically the high-class stuff. With the Capitol money, you can afford the butcher shops, the real bread, the freshly grown vegetables. She’s never had to endure the same pain that you have. Still, even with Reed’s cooking--something he’s very good at--he doesn’t even compare to what she’s just eaten.

She’s full, but craving more. She’s glad that she’ll be able to eat like this for the rest of the week. If the tributes going into the arena with her don’t treat her well, then the food that the Capitol feeds her will.

After their stomachs are settled, Elysia brings them all to a new compartment, one that will allow them to watch the recap of the reapings. This is the part that’s important, what Paslee and Alyssum have been waiting for. They can finally get a good idea of what their competition will look like, and decide whether or not alliances will be worth it.

As always, District One isn’t anything to get teary-eyed over. It was figured out years ago that the mentors pick their tributes prior to the Hunger Games. So when a tall, skinny boy volunteers, it’s not really noble. Neither is the blonde girl, who’s strikingly pretty, giving the crowd a white smile.

District Two follows the same pattern of volunteers, this time starting with girls. She looks average at first, but the truth is that she’s strong, even if she did walk out of the fifteen section. And undoubtedly, she is much heavier than Alyssum is. Her tribute counterpart is just as terrifyingly large, he’d be able to kill Alyssum without blinking.

She doesn’t like to watch the recap of the District Four reaping as much, pressing her lips together and trying to focus on Caesar and Claudius’ narration.

“And finally, the last of the careers,” Caesar says, “District Four.”

Elysia follows through with her normal routine, picks the girl tribute, and then stands at the podium. This is when it stops, because she’s not speaking immediately, and her Capitol facade dies.

“What’s taking her so long?” Claudius asks.

“Maybe she doesn’t know how to pronounce the name?” Caesar suggests, leaning his chin against his hand.

She suddenly jolts upwards, which must be because of the peacekeeper. She takes a deep breath, and quietly repeats the name for everyone watching. It’s loud enough for the microphone to catch the words, but just barely.

Caesar straightens up, eyebrows drawing in, “Did she say Alyssum Gallows?”

“I think so.”

“Must be why it took her so long.” Caesar looks at the camera now, Alyssum can feel the history lesson coming, “For those of you who don’t know--”

Claudius scoffs, “--which should be impossible--”

“--Alyssum is the younger sister of (Y/n) Gallows, winner of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games, alongside Finnick Odair.” Caesar finishes.

“We should note that there is no guarantee that she goes inside.” Claudius says, “District Four has had an incline of volunteers over the past ten years.”

Caesar nods, agreeing.

Alyssum makes it to the top of the stage, standing with her hands at her sides, smiling at her brothers below. Elysia calls Delroy, who comes up to the stage too. This is when Elysia asks for volunteers, Paslee comes to the stage. And for one final time, volunteers are asked for again, with no response.

“And just like that, Alyssum is going to the Capitol.” Caesar smiles, “I can’t wait to see if she’s anything like her older sister.”

“They make me sick.” You spit, crossing your arms.

The following six districts don’t stand out to Alyssum in any way. District Eleven picks at her interest when another twelve year-old is picked, and met with the same wind-whistling answer when volunteers are asked for. As for District Twelve, it was nearly another repeat, another girl, but her older sister volunteered over her before she even got to the stage.

And then the program ends.

They all sit in silence, staring at the television as Caesar and Claudius begin talking about what they noticed throughout the reapings but didn’t have time to point out, the predictions will follow soon after. Elysia goes to turn off the tv out of habit, never making it past the reapings anymore.

You catch her hand, stopping her from pressing the button, “Wait.”

They mill around with Districts One and Two, going back and forth on commenting on their tributes. Someone then says something off-screen, making the two men lean back and swivel in the direction the sound is coming from.

“What was that, my dear?” Caesar asks, cupping his ear and leaning forward.

The voice is much too quiet for the microphone to pick up, but they seem to hear the girl. Caesar raises his eyebrows, a smile coming to his face while the screen behind him changes to a picture of you from your reaping.

“Oh.” Claudius says.

Caesar laughs slightly, “For those of you who didn’t catch that, one of our interns has noticed a similarity between reaping outfits for the Gallows sisters.”

It’s you, in this gold dress that you had inherited from your mother. Alyssum doesn’t recognize it, doesn’t even know where it came from. For all she knows, you bought it prior to the Hunger Games at the Square.

Next, they fade in a picture of Alyssum standing on the stage, in her own gold dress. It makes her feel sick again, reinforcing her idea that this was planned, she was always going to go into the arena this year.

“It doesn’t matter if this was intentional or not, because I think it’s fantastic!” Caesar laughs, motioning to the screen, “There’s practically no difference between the two here, they look the same. She may only be twelve, but she’s already begun to leave a lasting impression. Once again, I can’t wait to see how this all plays out.”

“And let’s not forget the boy that volunteered--” Claudius is saying quickly, not wanting the subject to change, “Paslee Milillio, was it? We had a tribute a couple of years ago by the name of Marsh Milillio, and by what Paslee had said on stage, they’re brothers!”

“Yes,” Caesar says the word as if everyone has already made the connection, “We’ve got a lot of siblings going inside of the arena this year, including the girl from Twelve--”

The tv shuts off then, not allowing them to go any further.

Alyssum looks over her shoulder to see you tossing the remote back onto the couch, “We’ll be in the Capitol in a few hours. I suggest the two of you get some rest until then, you’re going to need it.”

“We’ll come and get you.” Elysia smiles, getting up from where she was sitting.

She’s the first to leave, Paslee is second. Alyssum doesn’t move from the couch until they’re both gone, and when they are, she’s throwing herself at you. You hug her tightly, rubbing her back.

“They did this on purpose, didn’t they?” Alyssum asks, sucking in deep breaths to keep herself crying.

“Yes, they did. And they’re going to regret it.”

BERCEUSE IS A SPIN-OFF //MASTERLIST//

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#ilguna #berceuse #berceuse chapter one #halcyon

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firaknight · 4 years

Text

I’m gonna make Adeleines opinions on all the dream friends and then maybe the helpers idk (and a few others cuz fuck it!)

Kirby: 10/10 best goddamn friend

Huge ball of love and joy!!! The happiest little friend!! He may be small but he is packed with love!!! One of Adeleines best friends and she care him :)

Bandee: 10/10 Friend :)

Friend from way back during the Crystal Shards incident! He’s a little anxious (think Tuter from Bear in the Big Blue House) but he’s very sweet and strong! He’s supportive of her and also squishable. Dees are surprisingly squishy!

King Dedede: 10/10 Mentor figure!

He’s super cool! Helped her find herself during Crystal Shards and was the first to get her to speak to everyone! She used to only speak French and barely spoke English (tragedy had occurred a few years before and she hadn’t recovered from it yet, being so young when it all happened), and he taught her a whole bunch of stuff along the way! She learned how to speak a lot of English, got a bunch of random trivia out of him, and learned how to be strong! He’s almost a dad but she’s too scared to try and call him that (he would ABSOLUTELY let her call him “dad” tho)

Meta Knight: 9/10 Oddly nice!

She was nervous around him early on because “mysterious knight has a sharp sword and doesn’t seem to care about safety” but he proved her wrong! He’s surprisingly chill and she really enjoys his company!

Rick, Kine, and Coo: 9/10 Old friends!

She’s known them since she was 3! Her mom introduced her to them before Dreamland 3 happened and she’s best buds with them! They’re all a lot bigger than you’d think and she can and will snuggle up with them in a big sleeby cuddle pile. All are soft except for Kine who is smooth :)

Marx: 7/10 Kinda scary but SOFT

He’s kinda creepy looking, especially when he’s got his wings out, but he’s not as terrifying as he looks? He’s got some odd little ticks but he’s snuggly and smol! He’s fluffy and it’s really weird? Like, he doesn’t look like he’s fluffy??? But he is??? She cannot wrap her brain around it but tries not to.

Gooey: 7/10 Funky lad

Points taken off because of him being Dark Matter and thats got a lot of trauma behind it for her, but Gooey is a legit funky friend. She was terrified of him at first (see: Star Allies title screen skits) but she’s friends with him now! He’s got a habit of holding everything with his tongue and exploring with said tongue (stuff gets slimy real quick) but aside from that he’s a malleable squishy friend!

Daroach: 8/10 Rat boy!

He’s got a New York accent and he’s a chaotic little bastard but absolutely sweet!! He’s made Adeleine an honorary Squeak Squad member and even gave her a little bell to commemorate the event! He takes her on occasional treasure hunts (safer ones because she’s fragile and speed is not her forte) and she gets to keep whatever she finds and an even portion of the total spoils!

Dark Meta Knight: 10/10 Adopted dad

Dude literally said “Is anyone gonna adopt this poor, fragile child who deserves the world?” and then didn’t wait for an answer. She was originally almost just as scared of him as she was of Gooey, but she warmed up to him super quick! He looks scary (and can be) but is really just a short ball of love and purrs.

Magolor: 7/10 What is he saying.

He’s the cool wizard friend but points off because half the time he’s speaking in Halcandrian and she has no idea what that is or how to translate it, nor does anybody else. He’s wacky and absolutely does magic tricks for people (Adeleine being one of them since she has a very vague grasp on magic and that stuff looks super cool to her) but like... what is he saying????????

Taranza: 9/10 Spider friend!!!!!!

He’s really good friends with her! They both sorta have someone they lost and still grieve over (Adeleines being her mom and Taranzas being Sectonia), so they look out for one another in that aspect, but they get along really well!!! He’s kinda soft and he sticks out his tongue when he’s happy!! They both go to Floralia and drink tea together at least once a month!!!

Susie: 6/10 Tolerable...

Susie is not a personal favorite for Adeleine on account of the fact that she tried to invade (emphasis on tried) Cloudy Park to mechanize it. She only succeeded in getting data from Kracko (who nearly fucking obliterated her and her robot right then and there) and was quickly chased out. The two have just... not liked each other since and Adeleine wasn’t very happy to see her join the group. She’s done some good things!!! She created super eco-friendly tech and gave it out to Dreamlanders and such, but her personality can be bitchy and she tends to not get along too well.

Francisca: 8/10 Cold but a friend!!!

She’s very very pretty and Adeleine kinda envies that (she doesn’t exactly have the means to keep herself looking pristine. The best she can do is wear something that isn’t her smock and fluff up her hair a little) but they’re close friends!! The two make gelato sometimes and it always turns into a fun mess because Adeleine has no fucking idea how to bake literally anything other than cinnamon rolls and gelato is WAY outside her skill level. It always tastes good tho!!!

Flamberge: 9/10 Cooking buddy!

Don’t let these two into the kitchen at once unless you want a banquet of food to come out of it. Berge brings out Adeleines more chaotic side and they get into trouble a lot. They make up for it with cooking! You’d think Berge would burn stuff with her fire magic but nope! Shes a frighteningly good cook! They can often be found cooking together!!!

Zan Partizanne: 8/10 Gives me mom energy but doesn’t seem to like me.

Had a bad habit of insulting everyone because she didn’t like them (see: Kirby Twitter) but she’s warmed up to everyone. She tried to keep up that “tough-guy” facade because she hates being seen as weak, but Adeleine has caught her holding Kirby like a kitten and bouncing/rocking him whilst baby talking him. She’s shown some genuine care for Adeleine, but sometimes it’s reeeeeaalllyy hard to tell if she genuinely cares about her or not.

#fira knight screeches #I need a headcannon tag...#fira makes braincells #there we go!#I’ll do the Star Allies helpers later my braincells need to recharge and consume #I am hungy and require sustenance #anyways yeah Adeleine likes just about everyone! Helpers are probably gonna be a different story tho #more variety and I can go ham on those #also 1 more hour before a cursed sight blesses your dash ;)

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justjessame · 3 years

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Avery Emerson Clay: Hook, Line, and ... Have Y'all Ever Been Bait?!

My new schedule began the next morning, tempered only by waking up in Jake’s arms, and followed by a lengthy shower that was definitely Jake’s way of negotiating for me to behave in the way my dad and brother expected me to. Trust me, if Jake was willing to wake me up this way every damn day, I’d be more than willing to go along with Daddy and Clay’s stupid script with less bitching than my tiny body would put out naturally.

If you’d ever seen Jake Jensen fully naked and covered in bubbles, which you won’t because I’d beat you bloody, you’d understand my compulsion to go with the flow.

While being put into a more malleable state, I wasn’t completely devoid of my own personality. I pulled a few choices for attire for my first day as bait. Since I’d be jogging, then running errands to the office, and - God help us all, shopping, I would need a few wardrobe changes.

“Do you really think that is a good idea?” Jake was barely containing his laughter, and I didn’t really want him to. I was pulling on my first costume, the athletic look, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.

I turned to face him and made sure I was wearing the most exaggerated perky look I could force my face into. “Now, Jake, isn’t the point to make Maxi-poo grab my tiny ass?” The shirt was tight and bedazzled with the word “SNACK” across my tits, it was a joke clearly, something my mom had grabbed on one of her and Dad’s many trips. Something NO ONE ever expected me to actually wear in public. “I have another one in here that says ‘JUICY’, if you think that’s better?” I bit my tongue and he shook his head laughing before coming close enough to kiss me.

“You’re incredible, Avery,” I was on tiptoes to keep contact, but Jake was helpful and cupped my ass through the very tight shorts I’d paired the stupid shirt with and lifted me so I could wrap myself around him. “I’m sure your dad and Clay are going to pop a blood vessel between them, but I think you’re fucking amazing.”

With that in mind, I grabbed my earbuds, my cell phone, and headed off for my extra dose of jogging that I fucking hated. Dad stared at my outfit, but refrained from offering any feedback while Clay lamented the narrow choices that it gave for hiding the tracking device and bug to keep me company.

“So I get to keep Jake inside me all day?” I caught Jake’s eye and grinned at how red and purple he could get in public. “Maybe next time lead with that when selling the op to me.”

“Ave,” Clay was tucking the earwig into my earbud, making them one, “maybe try to keep Jake alive by NOT making him a target for Dad’s fucking rage?” His voice was quiet enough that I was fairly certain Dad couldn’t hear him. “You like him, right?”

I sighed, “yeah, I do.” Which sucked, because pissing Dad off was pretty fucking fun, but getting Jake maimed would suck far worse. “Alright, so I jog down the hill and around the park and then back up the bike path,” I thought the best way to fix shit was to pretend I didn’t say anything bad at all. “If I have to do it more days than usual, I don’t see the point in diverting from the same course.”

“Right,” Dad offered, grabbing my water bottle from the fridge and handing it to me. “While you jog, keep the music to a lower level than eardrum bursting, that way not only Jake can hear you, alright?”

I nodded and he walked me out. Dad stayed with me in the driveway while I stretched, talking me through the finer points of some of the self defense shit that I hadn’t touched in awhile. “But I can’t incapacitate him, right?” I groaned, touching my toes. “The point is to get Max to take me.”

“Take you, but not hurt you, Avery.” Dad stepped closer to me. “Make sure he knows you're a Clay, princess.” With a kiss to my forehead and a pat on my back I was off on my run.

Nothing happened during my jog, or my shopping trip. Aside from mind numbing boredom. I hated to shop. Unless it was for my pets or for a purpose. Mindless shopping because I could? Boring. Glancing at the files I had on the passenger seat of my car, I felt another sigh build. Last errand on my list for day one of my ‘routine’, Guardian Incorporated.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Dad’s voice cut in, as I moved through traffic. Throughout the day, Dad, Clay, and Jake had given me mini pep talks. They weren’t as helpful as they hoped to be, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t tell them that. “One more stop and then you can come home.”

“Yep,” I agreed, pulling into the garage after being nodded through the security gate. “One more chore then fetch and yoga.”

Soft chuckles broke through my earbud and I smiled. “Never thought I’d hear you sound happy about the yoga, princess.” The chuckles belonged to all three men in my life, but the comment was fully Daddy.

“Yeah, well don’t hold me to it for long.” I muttered. Grabbing the files and my employee badge, I beeped my car locked and headed for the bank of elevators in the employee garage.

The first couple of days were simple and non-eventful. I jogged. I shopped. I did errands to GI. We added stops and errands that made sense.

Rose was back at work. She didn’t say a word about the missing practice dummy or about my new schedule, which says a lot about how long she’d been with our family.

Jake had moved into my room, there seemed to be NO point in keeping up some stupid pretense in having his things in a separate room, and forcing Rose to keep it in the same state as a room that actually had a person staying in it.

It was a regular day, at least my NEW regular. Wake up wrapped up in the warmth that was Jake Jensen, get a hot shower to make my day a little easier to face, then dress for a jog that I’d rather not fucking deal with - with an earbud in my head with music and three men giving me their version of motivational advice.

Once I was miserable from the exertion, I’d come home for a less pleasant shower, redress in my next costume change, this time for mindless shopping and whatever bullshit “look at me” errands the men in my family devised for Max to find me doing. A bundle of “files” for good measure next to me in the car, and away I’d go, my earwig in place.

Jake, Daddy, and Clay would take turns to tell me how good I was doing or tell me how fabulous I was in all ways shapes and forms. I’d maneuver through traffic and I’d work through the stores and the shiny happy people that I was supposed to enjoy dealing with on the daily. Spoiler: I wasn’t enjoying dealing with these people on the daily.

Off to GI, where I’d be waved through the gate, onto the employee garage, into the employee elevators and up through the floors. Dropping a file here, there and everywhere until I was back in my car and home. Except, today, I made a different choice.

“What if I don’t park in the garage?” I had to ask out loud, the earwig wasn’t a mindreader, thank fucking God. No one answered, so I went on with my idea. “If I go in through the main entrance, maybe Max will see me. I mean it’s not like he has the same access as I do.” Fucking lightbulb moment.

“Try it,” Clay, the voice of reason, or at this point fucking try anything. “Give it a shot, Ave.”

“I plan on it, bro.” I was pulling up to the curb, hoping that I had the necessary shit for the parking meter. “Let’s hope I don’t get a fucking ticket, OK?”

The light chuckles told me they were tense, but hopeful. Could family members and your boyfriend really be hopeful for your possible kidnapping? Yes, I figured. Yes, they could. I grabbed the files and some change from the cupholder and clipped my badge onto the top folder. Here goes nothing.

I was waiting at the first bank of elevators, holding the files and doing the mental math for how long the meter would give me before I’d have a ticket to pay, when I felt it. The tingle that tells you someone is paying attention to you. Close attention.

The mantra started in my head. “Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.” The worst thing I could do was look, right? I mean if Max was actually here, looking would be the tale tell sign that I KNEW.

The elevator dinged open and I stepped onto it, alone. And as the doors were about to slide shut, a voice called out asking for me to hold it. I just managed, and the person who stepped inside was so benign that I doubted highly that it was the Max that my brother was looking for. This man? This linen suited, perfectly coifed, somehow pansy-assed looking man was a black ops burning psycho? REALLY?

“Do you mind pressing 3 for me?” He asked and I shook my head and tapped the button. “Thank you, Miss?”

“You’re welcome.” I stepped to the right, putting a bit more space between us and focusing on the files in my hand.

“That’s not very friendly,” I didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need me to. “I’d think that the daughter of Guardian Incorporated’s founder would want to put on a more welcoming demeanor for a prospective client.”

I looked up to see him staring down at me with a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I’d expect a prospective client to know that the daughter of the founder is in disgrace right now, so pandering to prospective clients isn’t high on her to-do list.”

“Touche, Miss Clay.” He gave a small tilt of his head, point to me. “I guess I missed that tidbit. Whatever could such a striking young woman do to fall into ‘disgrace’ was it?”

I moved slightly closer to him and tilted my head closer too. “I tasered an employee's balls when he muttered ‘nepotism’ at me a time too many.” A shrug of my shoulder and I moved back to my original position. “Now I work from home, unless I’m forced to bring paperwork in that can’t be faxed or digitally sent.”

He was grinning at me with real amusement now. “Pity, I’m sure you add more than just beauty to the workplace, Miss Clay.”

My floor dinged and I exited the elevator. “It was nice to meet you, Mister -”

“Oh, I think we’ll meet again real soon, Miss Clay.” He was fixing his cuffs and I noted that one hand was wearing a leather glove. “Very soon.”

“I can’t be completely sure,” I muttered once the elevator doors were shut and it started to move to the next floor. “But I’m pretty confident that Max and I just shared an elevator.”

#Franklin Clay #jake jensen x ofc #The Losers (2010)#alternate universe #Mild smut #humor #fluff #Family Fluff #FLUFF AND SMUT

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onlysmagic · 4 years

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🌌 ——— MEET CORDELIA .

hey hey hey! it's me, honey, back again. i've miss everyone so very much. how have you all been? good, i hope. for the time being, i'll be playing sweet cordy again ( nothing new . . . nothing's changed . . . still the same old cordy! ) but noah could be coming back soon ~* and maybe some new muses *~ ooOOoOOh. as always, hit the heart for a new old friend and i'll im you to get the party started!

cordy’s stats 🌌 cordy’s wanted connections 🌌 cordy’s pinboard

thanks again for an incredibly warm welcome back! i've missed you all terribly!

🌌 — THE STATS .

FULL NAME * . CORDELIA AMI WANTANABE . NICKNAMES * CODY , DELIA , CORDY . AGE * TWENTY-FOUR . DATE OF BIRTH * APRIL 3RD 1996 . STAR SIGN * ARIES . HOME TOWN * NARA , KANSAI , JAPAN . GENDER * CIS FEMALE . SEXUALITY * ( CLOSETED ) BISEXUAL . NATIONALITY * JAPANESE . ETHNICITY * ASIAN . FAMILY * WANTANABE TSUYOSHI ( FATHER , MAINTENANCE WORKER - JAPANESE ) & WANTANABE AMI - FORMERLY ITO ( MOTHER , FLORIST - JAPANESE-CANADIAN ) . OCCUPATION * UNEMPLOYED . PLAYLIST * COMING SOON . QUIRK * STELLARKINESIS , OR THE ABILITY TO CREATE AND / OR MANIPULATE STARS AND USE THEIR STELLAR ENERGY .

🌌 — THE STORY.

ONCE UPON A TIME , IN A FAR-AWAY LAND known as nara , an ordinary girl is born to two parents who love her ( but cannot seem to love themselves. ) they name her cordelia and, from a young age, there was always something a little . . . off about their sweet girl. now, many parents would claim that their child glows & a light seems to follow them wherever they wander, but the wantanabes would be right.

it isn’t until the young girl turns 10 that she realizes that no, not everyone can bend space and time to their own whim. not everyone sees the universe as a malleable thing, able to be crafted in one’s own image should they wish. in fact, she is the only one she knows who can do anything of the sort. okay, her dad has superhuman-like strength ( in that he can help her open bottles and things of that sort ) and her mother is incredibly quick-witted, but neither of them can conjure hot balls of gas and light whenever they wish. cordelia can. it’s her mother’s idea to keep it a secret, out of fear that someone could find the young girl and exile her for being so . . . different. delia doesn’t see the harm in it. what’s the worst that can happen? at that age, all she tended to do was bring a bit of starlight to the light-polluted nara and its surrounding areas. it wasn’t like she was dangerous in her mind, it’s all fun and games . . . until someone gets hurt.

and who should get hurt? why, her beloved parents, of course. a freak accident ( a rush, a blur, not knowing where her powers could take her. ) cordelia was swallowed whole by the guilt of seeing both of her parents in the hospital, doctors whizzing around them while not knowing what in the world had gotten to either of them. they couldn’t for the life of them guess; most thought lightning had something to do with it. if they only knew it was the little girl sitting at each of their bedsides, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

they both eventually got to go home -- becoming known around nara as the lightning couple, due to the belief that they both were struck by lightning, despite the outlandish odds -- but cordy knew that she wouldn’t be able to go home with them. she would never forgive herself if something worse ( and there wasn’t much worse that could happen to either of them ) so she found hosu and ran, ran, ran. of course, when she arrived safe and sound, she wrote to her parents, but she’s broken inside knowing that, well, it has to be this way. it’s breaking them all, but it has to be this way.

🌌 — WELCOME TO THE ISLE.

THE BROWN-EYED girl shows up on the island shaking. she'd never done anything so brash before, yet, here she was, so many miles away from everything she'd ever known and with nothing to her name . . . nothing other than that stupid quirk she'd been all but cursed with.

stupid stars. stupid light. stupid gas. stupid universe.

. . . so what if she's not exactly eloquent, she's too angry to care. what a wicked way to go, but cordelia figures it's better her than her parents. they do forgive her, eventually, but it takes quite a few conversations that last hours upon hours and some good, old fashion groveling. afraid of growing so close to someone that she can hurt them again, cordelia becomes a master of being seen and not heard; it's easier to not be missed if no one really knows you, after all.

but it's incredibly lonely. living by a rule that an eleven-year-old version of herself created is becoming harder and harder with each passing day, especially when she starts having to lie to mom and dad when they ask about her friends ( cordelia never did like that sad sounding sigh that would always come across the line. ) so she creates these fanciful friends and their fantastic adventures across the isle. they all have their own quirks but they learn to live with them, learn to love them and, by extension, themselves. yeah, it sounds something out of a coming-of-age film that cordelia would probably love . . . but what her parents don't know won't hurt them.

but it'll end up hurting cordelia. karma's been chasing not too far behind with its sight set on her and, one day, it finally gets her. a horrible accident, her mother exclaimed, so much blood and just -- what, what is going on? cordelia's heart was in her throat and she wanted to scream until she broke the sound barrier. she nearly went supernova ( quite literally, too. it took everything in her not to explode right then and there. ) her father was hit by some punk drunk driver and was announced dead on arrival . . . what? why would the universe do such a thing? why would those stupid stars that everyone swore by decide to take such an inherently good person away?

it wasn't fair. cordelia fell into a deep deep depression. the stars didn't shine nearly as brightly as they once did ( there was no one to create new galaxies for anymore. ) every night, she'd watch the stars she'd created for her father, her mother, the old friends she knew in nara, die slow deaths. soon, there would be nothing left in the world with her namesake on it and cordelia, all at once, found that to be a crying shame. call it her father's optimism finally rubbing off on her, or just simply finding it hard to keep lying to her now-widowed mother.

she was going to find some friends . . . anyhow, anyway. if karma, the stars, the government, anything or everything was keeping an eye on her, she’d at least give them a worthwhile show.

🌌 — PERSONALITY TRAITS.

POSITIVE : appropriate, brave, balanced, sugary, polite, organized, practical.

NEGATIVE : co-dependent, stuffy, standoffish, aloof, lethal, anti-social, incapable, dishonest.

LABEL : the doll . . . beautiful but fragile / untouchable.

EASTERN ZODIAC SIGN : THE RAT . . . a clever, quick thinker; successful, but content with living a quiet and peaceful life.

WESTERN ZODIAC SIGN : ARIES / THE RAM . . . a fire sign. a passionate, motivated, and confident leader who builds community with their cheerful disposition and relentless determination. uncomplicated and direct in their approach, they often get frustrated by exhaustive details and unnecessary nuances.

PERSONALITY TYPE : INTJ / THE ARCHITECT . . . highly analytical, creative and logical.

🌌 — THE CONNECTION IDEAS .

AURIGA / THE CHARIOTEER . . . you and cordelia live in the same building. you have the ( un ) fortune of living above her, and in the middle of the night, you awaken to so many odd noises. when you look outside your window, you see her in the middle of the field painting the night sky with thousands of sparkling lights. stars . . . and so many of them! maybe you like them, maybe you ask her to spell out a swear word in the sky, or maybe you just want to sleep.

CASSIOPEIA - THE QUEEN . . . cordelia rubs you the wrong way. that emotionless void of a girl has gotten on your last nerve and you are going to show her. how? you're not sure yet, but she will rue the day she ever crossed you. wait, what do you mean she's not that bad? that's not fair! you're supposed to hate her . . . wait, did you ever?

CYGNUS - THE SWAN . . . you fell for a vision. no, literally, a vision. they say you only dream up faces you've seen in real life, and for some reason, cordelia is that face. maybe she visits you in dreams and messes with your head, or maybe she's that serial killer who runs after you down the never-ending hallway with a knife in her hand and a smile on her face. how do you deal with seeing her . . . all the time?

GEMINI - THE TWINS . . . something happened and you were both in a tough situation, with cordelia being in the tougher of the two. you two strike a deal to help one another, but you tell her that she owes you. whatever she owes you, that's the deal ( please don't be weird about it tho ) and, for as long as you'd like, she can run around and do your errands for you, tell everyone your blunt opinion of them ( she's pretty good at that ) or just have to listen to you sing the entire aladdin soundtrack over and over again at 3 am. your call.

LYRA - THE LYRE . . . cordelia's never been the type to truly understand people. she always thought that it was because she was so sheltered growing up, really choosing to spend her time with her parents and a select friends from school. however, as she's grown up, she's come to learn that she does want to understand people . . . she just can't. not for trying, but she's too blunt, too sardonic, too -- cordelia. which is why she enlists your help. you're the golden child and she'd like a little bit of that sparkle to shine on her, thank you very much.

ORION - THE HUNTER . . . call it fate, destiny, whatever you will -- something brought you and cordelia together for a fun summer romance. however, now that summer’s melted into fall and everything is getting colder, so did your romance. you broke it off in a way that you thought was amicable but cordelia would be quick to disagree with. she doesn’t want you back, per say, but she does wish that she could have had better closure than a single text message . . . then again, she wasn’t exactly an angel in the relationship either. after she drops off one of your hoodies, you find a crumpled up note stuck in the pocket of someone confessing their love for cordelia . . . during your relationship. seriously, it includes your name and everything! do you confront her, or do you try and get the pair together?

URSA MAJOR - THE BIG BEAR . . . she didn’t mean to, honestly !! you just so happened to be hit by that star and, oh god, it’s like the entire ordeal with her parents all over again. only except she doesn’t really know you. every day during your stint in the hospital, you receive a bouquet of beautiful flowers -- maybe they’re your favorites or maybe they’re the type you cannot stand -- with the same note. i’m sorry. you figure it isn’t from anyone you know; it can’t be, can it? on your second-to-last day, the apologetic message is accompanied by an address and a little, scratchy handwritten note asking to meet someone there. against your better judgement you do, but no one is there . . . until you look up in the sky to see an incredible array of different-colored gasses ,you’ve never seen a nebula up close, save for photographs. a tall, black-haired girl walks beside you and begins to explain that she did not mean to hit you with a shooting star. she was simply practicing but her aim isn’t where it needs to be. do you believe this girl, or run as far as you can away from her?

#quirks:intro

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spiderman-gets-squished · 3 years

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Pawns Of Paternity, Chapter One

Warnings: Cursing, being tied up with duct tape over the mouth, technical kidnapping, mentions of being “owned”.

I take a deep breath as I recite my optimisms in my head, slowly nearing my next target, a large phone in someone’s back pocket.

I am optimistic that no one will see me take the phone. Even if I wave it around! I’m optimistic they will think it’s just my phone.

I gently bump into the woman and grab her phone, sliding it into my pocket in one fluid movement as I turn around, my face apologetic.

“Ohh my gosh I am so sorry!” I laugh, light enough to reassure them nothing is wrong, and not to heavy to make them suspicious.

I am optimistic they will brush it off and laugh with me.

The woman does just as I thought, and I cross the street at the next possible moment, not wanting to be around her for too long.

Barely a minute has passed before I spot my next target.

Short, male, very expensive watch.

This is why I love walking through the rich part of New York. People practically begged you to take their shit.

I am optimistic that I will be able to quickly take his watch. I’m optimistic that when he notices later he will think he just forgot to-

I start to do my signature bump and grab, but the man grabs my wrist tightly and whirls me around to face him, the watch still on his wrist.

“Shit.” I breathe out, because I am facing the one and only Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man.

“No need to get handsy kid.” He says smoothly. “But now I’ll need to know why you thought you could take my, of all people’s, watch.”

“I’m optimistic you will let me have the watch and go.” I say, hoping that he would stop trying to break my arm. Normally saying my optimisms out loud is super effective, but it just makes Tony Stark laugh.

“Optimism isn’t getting you out of a visit to the police station.”

Quickly, I grab his wrist and turn, forcing his arm to move down and let go of me. Rushing away, I duck into the nearest building and beginning to run up the stairs, hoping he didn’t have the time to see where I went.

As I race up to the roof, I yell my optimisms as loud as I dared. “I am optimistic there is something on or below the roof that will allow me to escape. I’m optimistic nothing will harm me!”

Panting for breath, I push open the door at the top of the stairwell and stumble onto the roof, hoping to see some planks I could use to get to the next building, or a hiding space.

Instead, I see the one and only Spiderman, looking over at me in shock.

“Fuck, man.” I breathe heavily. “Today is not my day.”

“No it really isn’t.” A loud sound of metal clashes with the roof and I wince, turning to see Iron Man behind me in his full suit.

“I didn’t even take your watch!” I back away carefully, keeping my eye on Spiderman as I do.

“But, I bet you have plenty of other stolen goods on you.” Tony Stark crosses his arms and clunks forward. “If you didn’t know, stealing is a crime.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m a little confused on what’s going on right now.” Spiderman admits.

His voice sounded way to young for the Avengers, it had to be modulated. And I had found my optimism.

“I really don’t want to threaten you but I’m optimistic that I can tell the whole world Spiderman’s secret identity.”

“You use optimism a lot when you talk.” Tony Stark notes. “Did you have a bad past, depression maybe? Lead you to a life of crime?”

“Stop trying to read me!” I say loudly. “I am optimistic that Spiderman will agree to let me go.”

My words hung in the air, and Spiderman freezes, before stepping between Tony Stark and I.

“Listen Mr. Stark, maybe we should let her go. She didn’t even take your watch.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Tony Stark stares at Spiderman, then at me. “How did you do that?” He asks cautiously. “You some kind of witch?”

I shake my head. “Just optimistic.”

I could practically see the lightbulb over Tony Stark’s head. “Optimism. Okay, you’re coming with us. Underoos, I’ll race you to the tower.”

“Oh no-!” I shriek as Spiderman nods and wraps an arm around me, shooting a web to another building and jumping off the roof.

My words get stuck in my throat, the only thing I managed to do was scream. Luckily, Spiderman’s careless swinging through New York didn’t last long, as we weren’t to far from the tower. As soon as our feet hit the ground outside of Avenger’s tower I crumple down, practically hugging the pavement parking lot.

The once more un-suited Tony Stark strides out of the building and pulls me up, practically slapping duct tape onto my mouth and tying my hands behind my back.

“Mr. Stark?” Spiderman cries out incredulously as he starts to pull me into the building.

“Get inside,” Tony Stark gestures to Spiderman, who nods and starts to climb up the building.

I watch him go, then turn to face Mr. Stark nervously.

“Oh, don’t worry.” He shakes his head. “It’s not me you have to worry about.”

I gulp as we enter the building, and anyone who was in the lobby stares at me as we go straight to the elevator.

I hide my slight surprise at the talking elevator as we slowly move up to the floor below the very top, and Tony Stark leads me down a hallway into what looks like an interrogation room.

“Now would you kindly,” He sits me in the chair facing the two way mirror, and straightens up. “sit patiently and wait for Black Widow to come speak with you.”

My eyes widen and he stifles a laugh as he leaves, shutting the door behind him. I look at myself in the mirror and close my eyes.

I knew there was probably already people looking at me.

I didn’t care.

I’m optimistic that the rope will break.

I wriggle my arms around, smiling behind the duct tape when I feel the small cuts in the rope. Continuing to move and tug my arms, the rope slowly whithers, before snapping, and I rub my arms to get the circulation back in them, ripping the tape off of my mouth in disgust.

The door opens and the one and only Black Widow walks in, slamming it shut behind her.

“You can do that in your head.” She states, not really a question.

I nod. “It’s more efficient if I say them out loud.”

“But you said them out loud for Tony, and nothing happened.” She notes, sitting down across from me.

“At first I only thought the normal stuff. But he’s a super genius. He’s not as…Malleable.” I look over to the two way mirror and smile apologetically. “Sorry, Spiderman.”

“Why did you try to take his watch?” She asks.

“I didn’t know he was Tony Stark.” I answer honestly. “I couldn’t do it to him.”

“Could you do it to me?” She tilts her head slightly.

“No.”

“Could you do it to another Avenger? Besides Spiderman.”

I think for a moment, then nod. “I’m pretty sure.”

Natasha muses over my answer, then nods towards my backpack. “Take out anything you stole. Your pockets too.”

I huff and pull it off my back, taking the stolen phone out of my pocket and spilling the backpack’s contents onto the table.

Earrings, phones, bracelets and watches, broaches, necklaces, and rings all pile up.

I have the decency to feel guilty.

“Are you guilty that you stole or guilty you got caught?”

Man, this woman doesn’t miss anything. “Both.”

“Do you,” Natasha picks up a broach and studies it, “sell these, or are you a klepto?”

“I sell them.” I admit, my voice quieter.

“How?” She looks up at me. I remain quiet. Natasha nods and sets the broach back down, getting up and leaving.

I breath out and drag my hands through my hair anxiously, hiding my face in my hands.

What feels like an eternity passes, before Tony Stark and Black Widow re-enter the room.

“You are going to write down your name and address on this pad.” Black Widow instructs firmly, setting a small notepad and pen in front of me. “And Stark is going to go to your house and tell your parents that you have been chosen to be one of his personal interns. We are only doing this because we clearly can’t take you to the police. But you will come here after school every day and work, and we expect you to find every single person you stole from and return their items.”

My eyes widen at that last bit, and I stare at the notepad in shock before pushing it forward. “No. I’m not giving you my name, and I’m definitely not giving you my address.”

Tony Stark rolls his eyes and steps forward. “Listen kid, we aren’t gonna tell your parents about the-”

“My parents are dead.”

We lock eyes for a brief second and Tony Stark freezes, before pinching his nose in frustration. “Ohh Jesus Christ every time.”

“What?” I look over at Black Widow, who stares up at the lights, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Well, who do you live with?” Tony Stark finally says in exasperation. “An Aunt?”

“If I tell you that you’ll be able to track me down.” I remain just as firm as they are. “I am not putting the people I care about at risk.”

Tony Stark storms out of the room and as the door shuts I hear another door open, and raucous laughter from inside.

My brow furrows slightly in bewilderment, and Black Widow sits down across from me.

“Listen, kid.” She stops and lets out a long sigh. “I promise you nothing bad will happen to whoever it is you care about, okay? We can keep them safe.”

“I can’t be here after school every day, okay?” I admit. “I have people that need me. This isn’t about worrying about the people that own me find out I’m a petty thief-”

“I wouldn’t say petty.” She interrupts me, eyeing the pile.

I look down at it and wave my arms in reluctant agreement.

“Wait…” Natasha looks at me. “Did you say own?”

“I said what I said and I stand by it.” I cross my arms. “If I’m coming here everyday after school…Then I need my foster siblings to come with me.”

“We’ll need to discuss that with Stark, and your foster parents.” Black Widow tells me.

I shake my head again. “No, you can’t ask them. They won’t care.”

“If they won’t care, then why can’t we ask them?” Tony Stark asks smartly as he once again re-enters the room.

“Because, they’ll be curious as to why I’ve all of a sudden got an internship with you and you’re just allowing them to tag along?” I raise an eyebrow.

“How many foster siblings do you have?” Tony Stark asks quickly.

I wince. “Ten…”

His eyes practically bulge out of his head. “No fucking way. Does this place look like a daycare center to you?”

“I’m sure if you looked hard enough you’d find one between the indoor pool and bowling alley.” I snark.

Black Widow actually snorts, and Tony Stark shakes his head.

“We’re going to talk about this, and you’re going to write your name and address down.” Black Widow decides, pushing the notepad towards me again.

Tony Stark looked like he was about to yell some real obscene language as Black Widow whisks him out of the room, and the door shuts once more. I stare down at the pad and pick up the pen, tapping it on the table in a fast rhythm, before I shut my eyes and scribble my full name.

Charissa Kristine Kemp.

It looked so weird on paper. I add my address and shove the notepad away from me like it was on fire. As I wait for them to come back, I whisper my optimisms to myself, for good luck.

“I am optimistic that they’ll let my sister’s come with me to where ever I’ll be going. I’m optimistic they’re not gonna decide to just chuck me in a cell and-”

“Congratulations.” Tony Stark’s annoyed voice speaks from the open door. “They can come.”

Words: 2095

Ask to be added to the taglist

#POP #pawns of praternity #spiderman #marvel #iron man #peter parker #tony stark #black widow #natasha romanov #superhero #super powers

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whitehotharlots · 5 years

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It’s impossible to square the circle of #BelieveWomen

Let’s think back a month ago, to what turned out to be a pivotal moment in the 2020 campaign: Elizabeth Warren’s bizarre claim that Bernie told her a woman could not win the presidency.

The dishonesty of the attack on Sanders was so manifest that the takes barely need to be re-enunciated: her campaign was stalling so she lied about Sanders, hoping to re-focus media attention on herself while riding the most cynical aspects of MeToo into a poll bounce. Bernie faced an accusation, and since the only properly woke response to an accusation is immediate and uncritical acceptance, he was going to be dinged no matter what happened afterward. (Only, hilariously, he was not dinged. It was actually Liz whose campaign was ruined by the stunt. And this signals, I hope to god, an end to this bullshit).

This is all very basic. Good writers have already covered it. You don’t need me to rehash it any further.

I would like to talk, however, about how this highlights larger and more fundamental problems within the #BelieveWomen/#MeToo cinematic universe--problems that must be confronted if the people who seriously believe in the goals of these movements wish to accomplish anything other than securing book deals for a handful of shitty writers. My framing device here will be a concept introduced by Rogers Brubaker and Frederick Cooper, in their 20-year-old critique of identity politics. This has to do with the split between hard “identity,” a fixed and firm conceptualization of identity that carries immense rhetorical weight but does not hold up to theoretical scrutiny, and soft “identity,” which views identities as protean and constructed--a more theoretically sound concept that has very little purchase in everyday discourse.

To start with an aside: it’s important to note that the malignant strains of identity politics presently infesting liberalism have been around for decades. It’s just that they didn’t have much utility until the Obama years--when it became clear that the promises of Hope and Change really just meant more means testing, more austerity, mass deportation, the wanton destruction of the planet, and an acceleration of our Forever Wars. The Democratic Party had to shift gears. In response to a crushing defeat in the 2010 midterms, their media apparatus decided to aggressively pursue identitarianism. This came with two benefits: 1) It allowed them to differentiate themselves from Republicans and motivate supporters while still sharing 98% of the GOP’s policy positions (this is where we get the logic about it being, like, so important for kids to see Black Panther); and 2) it provided an easy means of discrediting any material politics (“if we broke up the banks tomorrow, would that create more trans CEOs?”). Very little has changed within cultural studies-based understandings of identity over the last 20 years, as will be demonstrated from our review of Brubaker and Cooper’s piece.

Brubaker and Cooper posit that

“Identity,” is both a category of practice and a category of analysis. As a category of practice, it is used by ‘lay’ actors in some (not all!) everyday settings to make sense of themselves, of their activities, of what they share with, and how they differ from, others. It is also used by political entrepreneurs to persuade people to understand themselves, their interests, and their predicaments in a certain way, to persuade certain people that they are (for certain purposes) ‘identical’ with one another and at the same time different from others, and to organize and justify collective action along certain lines. (4-5)

As a category of practice, identity is morally neutral--its goodness or badness depends upon what ends its evocation is utilized toward. The trouble is when this category of practice is spun into a foundation of analysis, at which point the conception of identity becomes reified, made to appear as sort of an inatlertable given. “We should,” the authors note “avoid unintentionally reproducing or reinforcing such reification by uncritically adopting categories of practice as categories of analysis” (5).

Now, you may be fine with the notion that identity markers are un-transcendable, that they serve as the primary or perhaps even exclusive determining factor of a person’s being, worth, or moral stature. That’s what’s called an essentialist point of view. There’s trouble, though, because essentialism is (at least nominally) rejected within most bodies of academic thought. The more prevailing frame is called constructivism, which posits (correctly, I feel) that there’s nothing magical or inevitable about identity groupings, that they are instead social constructs and can therefore eventually be transcended even if their present-day effects are very real. This, the authors note, points to the fundamental contradiction of how identity is actually understood:

We often find an uneasy amalgam of constructivist language and essentialist argumentation. This is not a matter of intellectual sloppiness. Rather, it reflects the dual orientation of many academic identitarians as both analysts and protagonists of identity politics. It reflects the tension between the constructivist language that is required by academic correctness and the foundationalist or essentialist message that is required if appeals to ‘identity’ are to be effective in practice. (6)

Basically, “identity” has been formulated in such a way that it can be utilized in a essentialist sense even while its purveyors issue rote denials of its essentialism--like how someone can shamelessly use the #VoteLikeBlackWomen tag while claiming to not regard black women as ideologically monolithic. Or, more generally, by asserting that social problems can only be addressed by listening to Oppressed Group X or Y, (which is done most commonly as a response to left-materialist suggestions for change), as if all members of those groups would understand each issue identically and would suggest the same response. This is a dishonest and incoherent approach to politics, but it prevails because of its utility--that is, because it poses no real threat to existing power structures.

Here we find a rhetorical move that is foundational to contemporary identity politics: leaning on popular but theoretically indefensible understandings of terms and slogans while claiming that we actually understand these terms and slogans in obscure ways that are unpopular and rhetorically weak. Simply put: this is a lie.

Brubaker and Cooper go on to explain that “weak or soft conceptions of identity are routinely packaged with standard qualifiers indicating that identity is multiple, unstable, in flux, contingent, fragmented, constructed, negotiated, and so on. These qualifiers have become so familiar--indeed obligatory--in recent years that one reads (and writes) them virtually automatically. They risk becoming mere place-holders, gestures signaling a stance rather than words conveying a meaning” (11). And the parallels here to Intersectionality are manifest--like how class is perfunctorily nodded toward but never substantially engaged with, or how what is purported as a means of understanding a multitude of identity positions is, in practice, a victimhood hierarchy that’s used to determine the (in)validity of people’s actions and observations. As long as we keep allowing people to hide within this double-conceptualization, we will continue promulgating an understanding of social problems that contradicts itself so fully that it cannot lead to any actionable analysis.

This is fairly obvious now, in 2020, with identitarians having taken control over our liberal institutions and failing miserably at enacting any but the most superficial of changes. But in 2000, Brubaker and Cooper pointed out the simple fact that “weak conceptions of identity may be too weak to do useful theoretical work. In their concern to cleanse the term of its theoretically disreputable ‘hard’ connotations, in their insistence that identities are multiple, malleable, fluid, and so on, soft identitarians leave us with a term so infinitely elastic as to be incapable of performing serious analytical work” (11). And so they wondered, naturally, ““What is gained, analytically, by labeling any experience and public representation of any tie, role, network, etc. as an identity” (12)?

I find the answer pretty simple: leaning on an intellectually dishonest understanding of identity allows writers to cosplay as radicals without giving up any comfort, status, or power. Liberal leadership (by which I mean, those with power in academic and media spaces, as well as the center-right mainstream of the contemporary Democratic party) embraces this charade, as they realize it poses no threat of disruption or upheaval. Conservatives (Republicans, and more generally those in power in business and finance sectors, as well as the military), however, despise this, and are ideologically unaware enough that they regard it as an actual threat, and react to it with physical and fiscal violence (mass shootings are domestic terrorism are conspicuous examples, but selective austerity is much more commonplace and causes more harm on the whole). But now, most terrifyingly, a whole generation of young humanists have found themselves inculcated into this belief system but utterly unable to interrogate its foundational contradiction. They don’t realize it’s a grift.

This is why the left-leaning criticisms of Warren’s’ campaign stunt fell so flat, even when they were being issued by writers with whom I usually agree. Warren was accused of cynically misappropriating the #BelieveWomen mantra. Writers explained that, actually, everyone knows that we shouldn’t seriously believe every claim by every woman, that the hashtag is instead meant to encourage people to simply be more empathetic and less dismissive to women who claim to have suffered abuse. This is the same fundamentally dishonest contradiction we find in the split between hard and soft identities. The hashtag isn’t #BeSomewhatLessIncredulous. It’s #BelieveWomen. It a blunt mantra, a demand so intense and absolute that no one could possibly take it literally--that it sometimes comes packaged with some post-facto qualifiers does not change this; it just makes its purveyors seem dishonest.

Warren’s stunt failed because most people could see through it. We recognize self-contradiction as easily as we recognize cynicism and hypocrisy, and unless someone has an awful lot of charm we tend to react negatively to all of those traits. A movement founded on such a flimsy edifice is never going to attract outsiders and is never going to achieve anything of value. It’ll elevate a small number of people and make everyone else even less likely to engage with social justice going forward.

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randomkposts · 4 years

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Stalker with a crush

K: E, crack idea. Kyoto hitman reborn crossover with Yandere simulator

How the crack crossover would go, depends on who Yandere has a crush on.

The easiest would be Tsuna, who pre-reborn invokes protective feelings in Yandere, and makes them want to go after his bullies. They even had a kidnapping plan prepared, only for Reborn to show up, and all these guys to start surrounding him, like bodyguards.

Though it would be hilarious if Yandere crushed on Hayato, or Hibiri, for different reasons

E:Ong Plus its very norm for Tsuna to straight up tun into someone. And he's a sweetie.

The only time a girl ever liked him first and she's nuts.

K: It would be very Tsuna, wouldn't it

E: It would and it's hilarious for us. Now he can also pressured vy reborn to take the delinquents as a "Decimo" should uphold *something somthing reborn would say*"

Gokudera would probably jump the bomb on that one already goes on the delinquents.

Hibari would be suuuuuuper hard to get to even come to this place and honestly Yan-chan would find him as a t he eat *i mean as long as she ain't breaking rule she good*

K: That one opens up the most scenarios. Like a possible spinoff, where Yandere did go through with the kidnapping earlier, Nana tells her husband, and a crazy struggle opens up to find Tsuna. The Mafia, VS yandare's family, would be quite a battle.

E: Hibiri and Megami teeth clenched teamwork.

K: Yamato has so many fangirls (and boys) that it would probably start up some rivalry's, if Yan's attention is on him.

E:A long line of Yandere? Already implied to have some hands in the underworld. They're pretty damn great at tying up loose ends.

They haaaaate eachother so much. Well maybe Megami does, Hibari doesn't give a fuck.

K: Meanwhile, Tsuna and his future fiancee are in a different town, where nobody's bullying him, and it's a bIt weird, not terrible.

E: Yamato fanclub totally. You know I think Budo knows kendo I believe.

K: "Join the boxing club"

"I have formed my own club"

E: He would try that!!!! Someone would even explain to him you can join the other two clubs but nope!!

JOIN HIS BOXING CLUB

K: The other way it could swing, is Yandere becoming a Guardian. What kind of flame do you think they would have?

E: Yandere I always see to have either a cloud flame. Or malleable en9ugh to have storms.

K: I wonder if an argument could be made for lightning flame. Lightning's property is hardening, right? Except, rather than physical hardening being it's first use in the household, it's emotional hardening. We don't question it as much in the show, but Lambo is a 5 year old Hitman. And otherwise seems to be a normalish kid, demanding attention.

What if he hardened himself towards killing, in a bid for parental attention.

Or perhaps, he demands so much attention, because his parents are absentee

E: He was also sent out basically on a death mission by his own family.

Kids gotta be emotionally strong enough to be in a household like that. We never did find out what the hell his parents are even doing.

Not even Fuutas.

K:Yandere, uses hardening properties to achieve a different emotional effect. Hardening against them. Their dad is a kidnapped victim, living with his murderous kidnapping wife who is obsessed with him first and foremost, and teaching the kid to be like her. Social skills were not taught particularly well as a small child, which led to further isolation from peers. They didn't even notice they were doing it, just shut It all out.

E: True. Even Yan mother even see her as a threat. Imagine being on the side of a murderous intentions from your own mother.

Yan has to be emotionally hardened at this point. She is pretty good to have as a mafia ally. I mean it's not far fetched for them to try to control her . I mean they have Mukuro with them. The Yakuza ending also pretty much stated she would join them. She kidnaps a lot of girls and boys without getting caught.

K: Tsuna, catches their attention. This boy, who the school calls no good, who is failing his classes, who is ruthlessly picked on. He keeps coming. And they start to get mad at the people who keep picking on this sweetie, and then he talks to them one day, and that's it. They feel a lot for him & are determined to put a smile on his face.

And while just talking to him would probably do that , Yandere is too shy to do that, and resorts to other things.

And they are unhardening, and finding emotion can be brought to the forefront to do things for him, and he must be Sempi.

Hayato gets kidnaped a few times (and rescued by Bianchi and others), before Yandere realized they both are here to protect Tsuna

Like, before they bond over that, Hayato is out smoking or something, and just gets nabbed.

He has conspiracy theories over who is kidnapping him.

He kind of just wakes up in these random houses.

One time Hibiri rescues him, and goes after Yandere for disturbing the peace, with kidnapping. And Hayato gets rescued from the truck by kusakabe.

The Yakuza are doing the kidnapping, because that would cut into time with Senpai.

E: Other things like leaving encouraging note to him in his locker or small gifts he would like *honestly Tsuna would be so touched if someone even remembers to include him in something. And it is canon option for Senpai*

Would Yandere be more lax in them? If he is also interested in protecting Senpai, then ally?

Omg.

Stop cutting into time with Senpai, she makes sure he gets home safe!

K: Eventually, they decide, with all the problems that come after Sempai, more people on the job may not be a bad thing.

How would Reborn react to all of this? Would he be dropping cryptic hints.

K: He totally would.

He's probably not liking how much attention Yan would bring if she isn't careful. Impressed with her skills, but honestly who is he to judge in his own profession. Utilize her skills. He would have already gone through her background even her parents. Ryoba history is the most surprising so far.

K:How would Mukuro becoming Sempai possibly come about? As a what if, I mean. It's pretty unlikely, given he's in prison, as is most of the Varia, but this is a crack premise, so it's a possibility, I guess.

If she's the most surprising so far, then he has not gotten far into the family history.

E:Well can it be possible for Chrom to be senpai? She's quiet and sweet. Kind and Senpai can be a girl or boy either way doki doki.

Ahaha yeah, true. He hasn't gona so far cause he wasn't expecting her parents to be ...well a boy who went missing and a girl who was on trial of a decade for murder.

He probably started looking into Yan history if he noticed her skulking around Tsuna.

K: That's a good point.

Operation: find Sempai organs is a go

A family history reading that disturbs Reborn the more he reads it.

E:FIND HER MATCHING ORGANS

The more he goes, the more fucking questions he has. How big is this family even?

He would start looking in local Yakuza history or the underworld to see if Aishi family has connections to it.

K: With Yandere unhardening, through friendship, operation organs may happen anyway How long has this been happening, and why was it none of the reports!!?

E: If senpai cares for his friends and wants them happy, if that makes Senpaj happy she would do it.

CAUSE AISHI'S ARE HELLA DETAILED IN THEIR WORK

They slip under the radar as they please. Reborns a bit chilled at how long this has been going on and no one seems to notice

It happened in literally thousands of people watching and she still was acquitted innocent

Reborn can see Yan as a blessing in a really messed up disguise as she has talking a liking towards Tsuna. Maybe this can work in his favor

K: Who else is in this investigation ?

E: *lol Yan is pretty pissed at how much trouble Reborn puts Senpai in*

WAIT WE FORGOT ABOUT THE REPORTER. (C :Part of reborns investigation? Maybe Info?)

K: Idk, isn't he worried she might kidnapping him?

E: Maybe, but is she did Reborn would be getting kinda loose in his abilities as a hitman if that happens

K: what about info and the rivals?

E:With the right manipulation he can make it work. Yan may be a dangerous girl but she's still too young and is still learning. Rivals? Depends on how they react with Tsuna?

If Yan find out about Kyoko, she a dead girl. Nah jk, Ryohei wouldn't let that happen and IF TSUNA EVER FOUND OUT.

K:It could happen in the future. Just one day, the demecio dissapes.

Does he still have a crush on Kyoko, in this world? It's middle school, and another rival may have caught his interest. maybe Ami?

E: Well I kept thinking back to One day Decimo disappears and honestly i really like that idea he just vanishes

K: Did his lightning grab him, or was it someone else? Can you see Tsuna having a crush on any of the Yansim rivals instead of Kyoko?

E: Yan i wanna say to most. Dedication and honestly it can be the long game. Everyone thinks they're finally as normal as they can get. But one day maybe during a siege, **i wanna say Yan helped it start but that would be redundant maybe take opportunity of it happening to do it* they Tsuna.

Hmmm definitely Ami

Osana is like "ehhh" why she keep going tsuntsun on him

Mida/and the Nurse is obvious no

He might blush *i would too what the hell is the dress code in Akademi???*

Osoro would scare him

Hanako would probably like him to be honest,

K: Would Kokona show up?

E: He think sport club leader Asu is pretty cool

K: and Oka? Osoro?

E: Kokona is fucking sweetie too. OKA IS TOO PRECIOUS. BUT SHE WOULD KINDA SCARE HIM WITH THE OCCULT STUFF. She would remind him of Chrome

K:they should meet!!

E:Osoro would scare him. Like a female Hibari just more hnnn i dunno i say sane to

THEY SHOULD OMG I WOULD DIE FROM HAPPINESS.

K: Osoro and Hibari fight a lot due to disturbing the peace. Are they both clouds you think?

E:Uekiya would also be a great choice too!

HIbari would fight her cause of her delinquents. Hibiri isn't going to have that.

I wanna see her delinquents vs the disciplinary committee.

MY YANKEE HAIRED ELVIS BOIS ARE GONNA WIN.

K: Just imagine the students desensitised to Hibiri and Osoro fighting.

"Oh this happens whenever she comes back from suspension"

Reborn is a bit perplexed to find two strong clouds having a frequent battle is normal, and hasn't destroyed the area yet

E: The delinquents from Akademi were former bullied student’s which is why Genka is so lenient on them. She feel guilty on how it went so faR.

#Random K #KHR #Yan-sim #sawada tsunayoshi #ayano aishi #plot bunnies #A conversation with my friend #headcanon #alternate universe #crossover #Ayano x Tsuna #Ayano x KHR #crack shipping #crack crossover #kyoto hitman reborn

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annakie · 5 years

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An Annotated Mass Effect Playthrough, Part Five

Will we make it off the Citadel in this update??

List of Posts: 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Flux is my favorite bar in all of the first game, I know there’s not many to choose from, but I like the music best, everybody’s clothed, everyone’s having a good time, there’s slots upstairs for entertainment, there’s dancing, and plenty of space to chill out in. Also the color scheme is great. It looks particularly great now with the graphics mod improvements.

Doran gets a nice glamour shot here.

I’m a tattle tale who always turns this guy in. I agree with Kaidan...

Also I really love Rita’s quest with her sister. She loves her sister, Jenna wants to be helpful, even Doran’s like “Hey I’d love to give her her job back.” Everyone here is pretty wholesome. And Jenna gets one of the best surprise appearances in ME3 if you do things right. ME1Recalibrated fixes the bugs with her quest, too!

Speaking of bugged quests, Hello Conrad! ME1Recalibrated fixes Conrad’s bug, and even if it doesn’t, ME2Re does. The only bad thing about that is it makes his apology for accusing you of something you maybe didn’t do make no sense.

Everyone else was sure Conrad would turn out to be evil, too, right? Instead making him into just a big lying dummy with an advanced degree was a great move. I was kinda hoping he’d show up in the Citadel DLC.

Harkin is JUST the FUCKING WORST. I’m always tempted to let Garrus cap him in ME2 because what a waste of air he is and doesn’t learn his lesson.

This is also maybe the most overt place where FemShep experiences sexism. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s some pretty shitty sexism sprinkled throughout the games (as discussed a bit last post) but ugh this guy, if I could shoot him this game, I might. At least on renegade playthroughs.

Speaking of Garrus...

Finally, an alien who wants to hang out with us.

As primarily a Kaidan-romancing gal, who tends to keep up with the Kaidan Alenko tag, especially back in the heyday of tumblr, for a while, loving Garrus was... difficult.

In October, when I was finishing up my latest ME3 playthrough and also cleaning up my blog, and also rewatching Doctor Who and thinking a lot about Rose Tyler and Martha Jones, I posted a long thing in a post about Kaidan and Garrus and badly behaving fanbases, which I don’t feel like typing again. Here’s the whole thing, but I’m going to pull a part of it into here.

I love Garrus, so much. And I was thinking with this whole parallel DW rewatch / Mass Effect replay think I’m doing right now how both Rose Tyler and Garrus Vakaraian are characters that were ruined for me for awhile due to their respective… overly enthusiastic fanbases who a small percentage of were dicks to people who loved other characters. The Kaidan tag (and from what I understand Thane got some of this too, but not nearly as bad) was a pretty hostile place for awhile (and yeah I used to regularly check the Garrus tag too and there was a small amount of tag-invasion there but uh, like 5% of what the Kaidan tag got) which made loving the character of Garrus a lot harder for awhile. But when actually watching seasons 1 & 2 / the end of 4 of Doctor Who, or actually playing the ME games, those characters are awesome.

Fanbases can be amazing or terrible, and time and time again I think you start to realize that no matter how great a fandom is, there are going to be a few people who can only enjoy themselves by feeding on drama, or on lifting up what they love by stomping on other people/characters/plotlines.

It’s not fair to characterize everyone who loves a popular thing as someone who does this. It’s also hard to avoid completely because there will always be jerks, or young/new people who don’t realize what bad form they’re showing. I did learn by trying to fight it for a year or two, that responding might help that one person not do it again, but it’s not going to stop overall.

Anyway, don’t be a dick about the things you don’t like.

It’s sad that even thirteen years past the release of ME1 and eight years past ME3 some people still need to have this fight online. It’s basically impossible to enjoy like, any non-curated Mass Effect space online because of pissing contests or people spouting the same boring opinions. Which they’re entitled to. I’m just real tired of “Kaidan is boring!” “Ashley is a racist!” etc with no further depth of thought being given.

The ability to mute / block people and get away from the worst of it is one of the reasons I’m still on tumblr. Especially always mute/block “confessions” blogs. Yeesh.

---------

I’m glad Garrus is here, and I’m glad he’s on the team. What’s funny though, is that people tend to forget that Garrus like, wasn’t really all THAT popular of a character before ME2. I know I was only in the fandom for a year before ME2 but I dug in pretty deep in that time.

It wasn’t until he gets his face blown off and starts talking about Old Times that a lot of people started to REALLY like him. He’s still great in ME1, but not like, elevated to god-tier that so many people did post ME2 release. But in ME1 he IS neat because he’s really malleable. Probably the companion who can have the biggest personality shift depending on your choices.

Also, I remember a time when the people who wanted to romance Garrus were like... outliers? I remember thinking “GARRUS? As a romance? That’s... weird. Who would do that!?”

OH HOW I WAS WRONG. But that was before reach and flexibility.

Hey I even have a Shep that romanced Garrus in ME2 and ME3. And I loved it!

Were I to replay a different Shep, she’d be my first choice.

So yeah, I love Garrus, I keep Kaidan in the squad all the time in ME1 and the other spot I try to rotate everyone else somewhat evenly, but you’ll see plenty of him. Then ME2 he’s by my side most of the way. And an awful lot in ME3, too. But I’m happy for him to get crushed on by Dr. Michele and glad to see him and Tali find happiness in ME3. SO that’s the path we’ll be going down if we get that far here.

I love the Destiny Ascension flyby moment on the Citadel, and it’s so easy to miss. Also really hard to get good screenshots of. Thanks Flycam. Don’t pay attention to the untextured wall in the first pic, just look at the pretty lights!

Let’s go get another squadmate! This time, a not-as-initially-friendly alien!

What an amazing entrance for Urdnot Wrex.

“Do you want me to arrest you?”

“I want you to try!”

Hell. Yeah.

Here’s where the somewhat in somewhat evenly comes in. I probably do favor Wrex and Ashely in the squad in ME1 a little because... well you know what’s coming for Ash and Wrex you get the least amount of time with by far of the other companions. Also, he’s just... great? A tank, with some biotics and a shotgun... okay well so am I as a vanguard, but Kaidan has just enough tech powers for us to muddle through where we need to when Wrex is in the squad and he’s so much fun to have around. His “Fuck you, I don’t care” attitude is great, and his growth story throughout the trilogy is one of the best arcs a character gets, imho. I just really love Urdnot Wrex.

This is a real nice flight control office you’ve got here, C-Sec. It would be a shame if someone planted a bug in it later, since literally anyone can just walk on up here uncontested.

This entire area really is so pretty though.

I always pump points into Paragon as much as possible from as early on as possible, and saving these poor guys’ lives is one of the big reasons. They don’t need to die.

Ash usually still stays in the party up to this point, though sometimes it’s Garrus. Fist is still a dick in ME2 but he doesn’t need to die here, sorry Wrex.

...raise your hand if you still occasionally forget to pick up Emily Wong’s evidence and have to reload. I remembered! ...once I was almost out of Chora’s Den and had to turn around this time.

Kaidan? Kaidan my love? My darling... perhaps YOU shouldn’t be the one standing in the middle of the corridor with no barrier or protection? (I suppose I could scooch over but then I’d look less badass for these screenshots. Naaah.)

It’d be a shame if someone properly lit the corridor so we could see what’s going on.

But hey... TALI! Tali Tali Tali! The first quarian we see, and only one for... awhile? Is there another quarian in this entire game? I’m trying to remember and seriously can’t think of one.

Anyway, I love Tali, but another character you really need to ignore their most rabid fanbase portions of. Yikes, Talimancers were really something back in the day. The biggest problem I have with Tali being in the squad is that normally she’s REALLY useful against Geth and... not so much against just about anything else. She gets sidelined on my team more than I wish she would. Especially since she doesn’t show up until very late in ME2 and late-midway through ME3.

Finally, the proof we need. And the game continues to introduce new concepts to us with the Conduit and we hear the word Reapers for the first time. We also get a loredump on the quarians and the geth.

Tali’s voice doesn’t have quite as heavy of an accent in ME1 as it does in 2 and 3. I guess we can assume she’s lost part of it while on her pilgrimage? Picking up the local dialects a bit? The next two times we see her she’s just spent a lot of time with her own people.

Tali’s suit and omnitool look SO GOOD with the updated textures.

I swap Ash out and Tali in at this point, and usually finish up a few more quests along the way.

Ah, Septimus. You lovesick fool.

Honestly, the very best thing with Septimus is to bring Garrus here if you’re gonna romance him, have Garrus laugh at him for coming undone for love and then... well, ME2 and especially ME3 happen. But still. Septimus... always needs a kick in the pants but will get around to doing the right thing.

Hey here’s a cool thing ME1Recalibated does -- Morlan carries a Squad Iconic Armors stock, so you can always find tier-appropriate default look armor for you and all the squad. Very cool of you, Morlan. You are currently my favorite store on the Citadel. Now stop sending me spam, I didn’t sign up for your mailing list.

Look, I have questions about what exactly Xeltan told the consort and how... all that... works... but... I don’t think I actually want to ask them. Just.. let’s all shut up about all of it, it’s over now.

BTW, according to one of the novels, Councilor Anderson finds Ambassador Cayln super annoying. I need to re-read that book.

OK fine... I’ll go talk to the Council.

Coming at ya with Actual Proof and a quarian tagging along to back up the claims, the Council is ready to listen. And while not surprising that it’s finally time to become a Spectre, the actual ceremony is really well done. With the swelling theme music blaring, and all three councilors stressing what a big deal this is and what will be expected of you, you really feel the weight of this moment. People take notice. Although apparently later, Kaidan or Ash get an entire televised event around becoming a Spectre, I guess there’s no time for that right now.

It definitely feels like the game so far has been building towards this moment, not only with POUNDING it into your brain about who Spectres are and why they’re so important and letting you know you’re being evaluated... but it feels like there’s been a shift in the game after this moment. It’s A Big Deal.

I didn’t finish all the sidequests on the Citadel yet, they can wait, I’ve been here long enough. Let’s go check out the new cool stuff we can buy.

ME1Recalibrated adds in this Spectre Armor. Eeehhhhh... no thanks. We’ll stick with Onyx.

I did cheat myself in a bunch of credits and picked up Spectre weapons though. This ain’t no tryhard playthrough.

Well OK, we can finish ONE more quest. Thanks, startlingly loud and triumphant music queue that’s never used again!

Man, this would be SUCH a good pic of the Normandy if... the airlock didn’t go straight through the ship.

We’ve got a ship of our own! And most of our squadmates to put on it!

Sucks for Anderson to be sidelined, though. We already love you, Anderson!

It’s cool to get a bit more of the Saren & Anderson backstory here for real. Still, I enjoyed the book more. Maybe I’ll do a re-read of all the ME books here soon.

Udina... just keep being you, I guess.

WE HAVE A SHIP!!!

Okay, whew... we made it off the Citadel. Now I gotta actually play some more to have more updates to post. Might be a few days. Have to actually go back to work tomorrow. :p

Let’s probably do like one sidequest then go get us an Asari!!

#mass effect #bioware #kaidan alenko #garrus vakarian #urdnot wrex #tali'zorah #annakie's mass effect stuff

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petitepistol · 4 years

Text

headcanon;but it is very messy

oh god strap in because this is going to be 3k words worth of rambling under the cut which you don't actually have to read since i posted it at 5am so it probably does not make much sense!! also I have only just recently accepted that my elena does not follow compilation timeline to the letter because I fucking hate the fact that before crisis placed her age at being a high school student almost immediately preceding the start of the original game and I always saw elena as being at least aerith's age by the time she became a turk so please bear with me as my elena uses a floating timeline to prevent her from being...like a literal teenager for original game fuck that noise they had cissnei be the uwu fifteen-year-old turk and elena gets to be her own character when im writing her so compilation can fuck right off

so first off her dad is a military man, and that entire side of his family? kind of just defaulted into the military for generations. well before shinra at least, the old shit. I'm constantly flabbergasted by the idea that shinra is the dominant military force on the planet when as little as forty years before game them were a fledgling company, and I'm fascinated by what kind of insane shit must have gone down to facilitate shinra going from defense contractor/power company to defacto global superpower, and what they superseded when that happened. so yeah her dad is military, and even after he was put out to pasture he still wound up teaching at a prestigious shinra sponsored academy in junon and both of his daughters attended.

her mom was upper middle class and driven as hell, had a ballet career which got cut short due to injury in her late teens. then she wound up going into nursing by her early twenties and spent some time working in deepground when it was still a run of the mill army hospital where she met elena's father who was...voluntarily a candidate for some biotech stuff that shinra was doing back when shinra was still a defense contractor, go figure he was one of many early examples of mako conditioning. they didn't get along at first but did wind up marrying but never actually settling down because of the nature of his career. she retired from nursing but did medical coding part-time.

elena's sister was born in deepground (canonically from the 'midgar slums' but deepground is pretty fucking close and it makes sense to the era and background worldbuilding), and things went as smoothly as possible at this point in time. elena herself was born in icicle because lol military stationed there (elena being an icicle native was also a very popular piece of fanon in the pre-compilation era and I feel like it may have had some supporting evidence in something like kaitai shinsho but I never really managed to cross-reference that so probably not true and just a gut feeling), and by then things were getting...fishy. details being covered up about the full extent of the side-effects of mako conditioning and rumors that shinra had an egregious amount of influence over the military at large. these things all turned out to be true, but elena's father kept his head down and did his duty because he was a good soldier. he was also in wutai on and off during this, before the situation over there fully hit the fan, so he had more pressing matters to worry about.

anyway, elena was born in icicle but she and her mother and sister weren't there for more than a year or so before it was back at it again in midgar because dad was being put on some kind of assignment that had him closely working with shinra. the general implication of this is he was doing legwork for the implementation of SOLDIER in a few years, but what that means can vary by interaction from being paperwork to mk ultra style endurance testing to teaching an adolescent jenova project specimen how to integrate into military procedure before they drop him in wutai which is slated to become an all-out conflagration very shortly. it all depends but the point is it is sticky and worsened significantly when his wife is killed in a car accident. if this seems familiar it is because I firmly believe elena is the aya brea of ffvii and parasite eve featured similar background story. I'm borrowing deal with it.

by this point, elena is around eight and in school but elena is just barely four and in the vehicle when it happens. mom is killed instantly, elena survives but barely fares better. she's in intensive care for a while and there is a period where they don't even know if she is going to be brain dead or just have permanent brain damage in the first few days. her sister is basically staying at a school friend's house for like...way more than a fortnight while this got sorted out because their dad still actually has orders to carry out, even if he isn't on a battlefield. at one point on of his higher-ups implies that it could be arranged to transfer elena from the civilian hospital to the recently renovated deepground and he turns it down and feels like shit for it because yeah, deepground probably would mean a better chance at his youngest daughters survival because of that cutting edge shinra biotech, but at what cost? he knows well enough now something is wrong and justifies his willingness to let fate take its course with elena by focusing on the fact that her sister is still alive and well and he needs to keep his head down for his older daughter because she needed him too, even though they barely saw each other during the crux of this.

so lo and behold elena does recover and goes through the icky sticky of physical therapy and does just fine. great, right? well yes but the family dynamic is stupidly fucked up. dad has done either really good or really bad on his assignment, and gets put out to pasture in junon to teach at a military academy that is now nearly entirely funded by shinra (yeah so in before crisis it is all but implicit that academy is in midgar but fuck that junon is the seat of military power it would be near there if anything). this is great because it keeps him in work and both of his daughters will benefit. which they do. elena's sister is an ideal student, and the roughness of losing her mother happened at a sensitive period but a period where she was old enough to understand what was going on. she was capable of being a little trooper through all of it, but the cost of it was not being able to emotionally process the loss of her mother and the fact that her little sister was still alive when mom was not. the seeds of discord are sown there and that will be an ongoing thing throughout their childhood and into adulthood. they don't hate each other, but the relationship is fraught with tension and it is far from a healthy dynamic, especially since their father has pulled back almost entirely from fatherhood. he has no idea what he is doing without his late wife, and can't organically interact with his daughters so he defaults to being an instructor. both of them flourish despite this, but it is not a good family dynamic.

paint over this family drama with the fact that wutai is now well and truly happening. the military is effectively controlled by shinra and very very soon the propaganda blitz surrounding SOLDIER is going to push that over the edge and shinra will be accepted on a public and official level as being the army. the slogans are changing and going from an old fashioned sense of unity to focusing on becoming top class and singularly extraordinary. there is an emphasis on joining to be great rather than joining for the greater good. the recruitment plays into the deeply seated neurosis of adolescence for a reason because the younger some kid joins up the more malleable they are to both the shinra rhetoric and the by now very refined mako enhancement process that costs so much but nets such spectacular gains. in fact, it costs far too much to ever justify wasting that kind of money on doing it to women. so yeah it is blog canon that women in the shinra army is not a thing that is encouraged and like hell would they ever be in SOLDIER. the company culture is an old boys club steeped in misogyny and the only reason scarlet succeeded is because she took that and marinated in it and played the game very well. dirge era deepground operatives are little more than a consequence of years of unethical human experimentation left to rot in a basement. we don't really see women in actual military positions in the original game. sexism is alive and well and it serves my characterization of elena and her development.

so yeah it is a time of paradigms shifting and reforming very rapidly. elena's sister takes to this with aplomb, she is a perfect cadet and in elena's eyes a perfect daughter. someone easier to idolize than the SOLDIERs on the glossy recruitment posters and more available than their emotionally distant father. she is pristine and by extension beloved, things elena wants to be as well. elena is too young to realize her sister doesn't have any better of a relationship with their father than she does, but who knows if that would change anything. she emulates her ideal sister but remains a half step behind, which makes perfect sense because elena is four years younger. from a critical perspective that half step is a very close gap because even if elena doesn't realize it, she is just as prodigious as her sister is. the difference is while her sister can follow orders to the letter, elena has the makings of a maverick. not a positive thing in the strict environment of a military academy, no matter how high her scores are. idealization goes hand and hand with a quiet resentment, the latter of which her sister has also harbored towards her ever since their later mother died and elena did not.

that simmering toxicity stays at a low boil until her sister graduates. at the top of the class, even she could not become anything. or at least, to elena it looks that way, as she watches her sister back her things for midgar where she will start as a trainee for an administrative/auditing position for the shinra electric power company. elena does not know what a turk is at this point, even if her father does. he seems as impassive as ever, even if that is not the case and in actuality he is struggling to accept the reality that his oldest daughter is far too smart for his own good and is entering a profession no one would ever want for their child. despite his distance and his lack of connection and all of his failings as a father he does love his children and that will eat away at him until he dies no doubt. but all elena sees is her shining example of an older sister being doomed to desk work. when gun leaves (because she becomes gun the moment she is added to the payroll) the real constant of elena's childhood also leaves. and during adolescence, that is hard for anyone. more so when you realize no matter how sharp your skills are your future is off the chopping block and there is no path for you to take with them.

elena goes from being a prodigy prone to pesky critical thinking to a prodigy with a chip on her shoulder. her technical marks don't plummet, in fact, quite the opposite. she picks up a secondary battle specialty, close-quarters combat, which will set her apart from her sister. she flourishes with equal parts precision and aggression, despite her small size. the academic commendations feel entirely hollow to her though, and in the way teenagers tend to do she convinces herself she is not much more than nothing. the memory of her sister becomes tarnished with the bitterness of her negative self-image. her instructors must hate her for her failures, she tells herself with false objectivity. her instructors include her actual father, who is nearly clueless aside from a vague feeling in the pit of his stomach and he doesn't know if that is due to his oldest daughter going into wetworks or the fact his younger daughter is shattering academic record after record with the sheer force of what he assumes to be ennui driven spite.

at least he is clueless until in the spring just after she turns fifteen she files for early certification to leave academy, just like every other boy in her year as well as every other boy on the continent and beyond. they do it to catch the recruitment push and join the army soon enough to have a shot at making SOLDIER before they age out. but elena can't do that and he knows it and braces himself to have that conversation with her, calling her into his office where she keeps her stance formal until he tells her to be as ease and even in the chair across from his desk her posture is tense. spine straight, eyes ahead. he begins what he thinks is going to be the "you know you can't join SOLDIER" conversation but she cuts him off in what he thinks is a somewhat uncharacteristic display, but to her is just another example of how disgraceful her conduct is and how she needs to get out of academy before brings the value of the whole institution down. she tells him this, she tells him she is aware of her shortcomings and the fact she has no future in a military career and her intention is to go to midgar and learn how to be a civilian on her own terms. he signs off on it because none of her bullet points are actually wrong.

midgar is a city of industry and a city of vice and she hasn't been there since she was a child. it is good to her and it is bad to her, as she unlearns years of quasi-military discipline and figures out how to be her own person. she still sometimes wears the academy uniform because old habits die hard and it is a durable thing. she has a one-room apartment in the slums and a job tending bar in wall market. the hours are early evening to after the last train ends and her circadian rhythm adjusts from 4am wakeups and beds made with hospital corners to the distorted clock that comes from living under a plate with no natural sunlight. there are just as many fights and skirmishes to be had in midgar but none of them are like the training exercises at academy. each one is a beautiful short-lived shrine, sometimes they are fun and on her terms, and other times they are fraught and meant for survival. elena relishes them all as a skillset she once thought was a dead-end turns out to be valuable once more. the major negative point is her sister.

gun is in midgar and wears a sleek black suit along with many other people in sleek black suits. elena hears the term 'turk' for the first time. whether they are urban legends or hired killers or pencil pushers who do double duty waterboarding enemies of a power company turned judge and jury doesn't matter. what matters is the deadness she can see in gun's green eyes when she drops by the bar before closing, oftentimes with equally dead-eyed coworkers. those confrontations are never pleasant, they are a powderkeg. elena would like to reach out to her sister, chase away the exhausted look in her face the way she can with other patrons, but the sentiment gets stuck in her throat and they just snipe at each other. gun is a terrible adult and so are all of her colleagues and they are trying their best to neutralize a growing terrorist threat and they are failing. when they come around in the low light of the bar illuminates the stark futility of everything after midnight.

elena does not know exactly what is going on at the highest level of intrigue but she has a good guess. shinra is shitting the bed, and that includes the turks and SOLDIER, which seems to her to be in the middle of a massive coverup as their public-facing 1sts disappear one after another. she wants no part of it and her agenda switches from mastering the nuances of being a civilian to finding sustainability and meaning outside of shinra as the cracks in the facade split ever wider. when the sector six plate is effectively destroyed, it takes the bar she worked at with it and elena decides it is time to get the hell out of midgar.

her years in wall market set her up with some interesting connections and the owner of a small weapons shop (who she might have married for tax purposes but that isn't fleshed out) sets her up with a distinguished older gentleman who is a complete asshole and happens to run guns all across the continent. despite his immaculate coiffure he is not a people person and requires someone who is both qualified to demonstrate his product and more pleasant to deal with than him, because the market is hot right now. shinra has never had much interest in dealing with flyover country. sure they build reactors in some of the backwaters, but not all of them. and no reactor meant no need for shinra to spend the money on protecting hick villages from increased monster presence. the planet is dying and the monsters are restless in the same way wildlife gets in the real world. the people in those tiny towns do their best to defend their homes and livelihood and that means purchasing weaponry, mostly old stock from competitors that shinra has long since crushed or acquired. shinra lets this happen because it is not a threat to them.

so, for a few years, elena is a pretty face with a bang and it is almost scarlettian. she never comes close to the sex appeal of the actual weapons development director of shinra, but it is enough to help move merchandise. most of the buyers are just people trying to survive in the middle of nowhere, but not always. sometimes they are rougher than that, but the money is good enough that she doesn't care about that, or the fact the man who employed her hates her guts and doesn't care much whether she lives or dies. it is a thrilling rush and it is outside of shinra and more than ever does she want to put as much distance as possible between shinra and herself. because her sister is dead according to a notification that tseng of the turks had been cordial enough to send to her father, news that he passed on in a voicemail to elena with a hollow tone. maybe he was trying to reconnect with her because she was now all he had left in the way of family. maybe he just had the same sense of duty as always. she never calls back to ask.

midgar calls her back though. one day her employer informs her with a vindictive grin that he has sold the business part and parcel and that includes her as an employee. acquired by shinra. the reason, ironically, is scarlet, whom she has been doing a two-bit impersonation of. scarlet is a forward thinker but that doesn't mean she can't be swayed by a stockpile of vintage firearms, and with the viciousness required of her position she can throw weight around and get her hands on anything. the weapons are what she wanted and elena knows this and rejects the notion that she will become apart of the shinra payroll because of this little merger. this is proven wrong in short order as her assets are frozen systematically because the turks are hard up for people. they know her. they knew her sister and they know her, even if they haven't kept tabs on her. as soon as the papers cross his desk tseng seizes the opportunity.

the interview with hr to place elena is a mere formality. there is no other place for her there but in the turks. elena, for all her audacity, accepts this and plasters on a professional veneer. the game begins and the world ends.

#ooc #headcanon #somebody sent me a very broad development ask and i wrote several thousand words in the middle of the night #holy shit im sorry for the wall of text someday i will clean this up i swear #some of this has been touched on in existing headcanon posts but not as a whole #as a whole it is...a lot to take in and whoever reads this has my condolences

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