#this is straight up blonde slander | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ilguna · 1 year ago

Note

From expired medicine number 66 with sejanus pls 😌

☼ forget-me-nots (Sejanus Plinth) ☼

warnings; swearing, bombs, blood, ehh gore, death, death mention, starvation mention.

wc; 11.1k

prompt; 66. amnesia au

notes; slow burn, all they get to do is hold hands. also coryo slander.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy? You in the wrong cage?” One of the other tributes asks, eyes on a blonde Capitol boy dressed in bright red. He’s standing at the back of the truck, hand reached up to hold onto a bar to keep from falling over.

You let out a breath through your nose, giving a look to Marcus, who seems just as unimpressed as you are. Leave it to someone from the Capitol to think it’s a good idea to jump in the back of a truck with a bunch of teenagers that hate his guts. He might be untouchable anywhere else, but here it’s fair game.

“No, this is exactly the cage I was waiting for.” The blonde boy tells him.

The tribute jumps to his feet, hands encircling the Capitol’s boys throat, proving your point. He slams the boy back, forearms pinning him against the bars. The Capitol boy is quick though, bringing his knee up to the tribute boy’s crotch. You watch as he doubles over, releasing him.

“He might kill you now.” The girl from the same district coughed, wafting straight into the Capitol boy’s face. “He killed a Peacekeeper back in Eleven. They never found out who did it.”

“Shut it, Dill.” The boy from Eleven growls.

“Who cares now?” Dill asks.

“Let’s all kill him.” A tiny boy grins. “Can’t do nothing worse to us.”

A few of the other tributes murmur in agreement, taking a step forward to close in on the Capitol boy. The truck hits a bump, the heels of your feet rise, and then fall flat when it comes down harshly. You sway into Marcus, and he uses his free hand to steady you.

“Not to us, maybe. You got family back home? Someone they could punish there?” A girl from the corner asks. She’s wearing a colorful dress, which has since been turned dirty from the cattle car they kept you in on the way here. She crosses the small space, wiggling herself between the tributes and the Capitol boy. “Besides, he’s my mentor. Supposed to help me. I might need him.”

“How come you get a mender?” Dill asks.

“Mentor. You each get one.” The Capitol boy says.

“Where are they, then?” Dill challenges. “Why didn’t they come?”

“Just not inspired, I guess.” The colorful girl says, turning her back to the rest of you.

The truck turns into a narrow street, where the cement must not be completely flat, because it hits a bump every second. It makes a wide turn, before you’re jostled back, as the car begins to move backward into a dimly lit building.

Your face twists, as a new smell invades your nose: a mix of rotten fish and old hay. Your hand tightens on the bars, unable to see through the darkness. The sound of two metal doors opening fills the air. You think you can see a Peacekeeper opening the back door of the truck, and then the ground beneath you turns into a slope.

You’re able to hang on for the first couple of seconds, watching as the tributes in front of you tumble out. Your fingers slip when you try to adjust to hold on better, afraid of where they’re sending you. You hit wet cement, and continue to slide, until you hit a drop.

A scream rises up your chest, clogging in your throat as you hold your breath. You fall for what feels like forever, and land hard at the bottom. The heap breaks your landing, but a shooting pain flies up your back. You hiss, face twisted as you reach back to grab your lower back.

A pair of hands grabs you beneath your arms, pulling you out of the way of another tribute coming down. Marcus places you on your feet, where you hunch while the pain subsides. When you can’t feel it anymore, you stand up fully, looking around to see where they’ve dumped you.

It’s another cage, only bigger. There’s a stretch of sand, with rock formations in the middle that twist high in the air. A shallow, dry moat separates the island and the row of metal bars on the far side. And beyond them are the faces of small Capitol children, their eyes wide at the sight of the group of you.

You begin to wander away from the pile of teenagers and hay, as they pull themselves out to be on their feet. Marcus moves with you, letting you decide how far you want to go. The faces on the other side of the bars begin to multiply quickly, filling with adults, too.

They begin to shout, pointing at the Capitol boy, attention shifting from the rest of you, to him. You glance over, finding that he’s standing taller now, expressionless as he stares where he should be. In no time, the audience begins to call out to him, asking him why he’s in here with you. One of them must recognize him, because the crowd grows thicker.

“It’s the Snow boy!’

“Who’s that again?”

“You know, the ones with roses on their roof!”

A smirk creeps to the corner of your lip, a laugh making its way out of you. You begin to walk again, around the Capitol boy, like a wild animal pacing their lunch. “Snow, huh?”

His eyes snap to you, slightly wide.

“Do you like to play games, Snow?” Your words have an edge as they leave your mouth. You stop when your back is partly turned to the Capitol people. “Because it looks like you do.”

The other tributes have caught on, beginning to surround him. The two tributes from Eleven, the boy that suggested you should kill him, and a few more, coming to build a circle around him. He notices this almost immediately, eyes darting between each of you, like he can’t decide which one of you is more dangerous.

His breathing is picking up, chest growing and shrinking. He really didn’t think this through, did he? He thought he’d be able to come in here and do whatever he wanted. A dribble of sweat begins to run down the side of his face, heading for his jaw. He’ll be so fun to tear apart.

“Own it.” A soft voice says.

It’s his girl tribute, sitting on a rock. Snow takes in a deep breath and turns to see her, where she’s fixing a white rose behind her ear. The same one that he’d brought to the train station for her.

He holds his hand out for her, she smiles slightly, taking his hand. You watch as he bows, and she gets up like a lady. When he raises his head, he asks, “Would you care to meet a few of my neighbors?”

“I would be delighted.” She says, as they begin to walk off together.

He leads her up to the bars, where the people are gawking. You roll your eyes, taking several steps back as you pivot to take a look around the area. There’s not many places to hide if you wanted to. Which means that the cameras will reach you at almost any point in here.

Snow and his girl tribute—Lucy Gray—introduce themselves, going around the crowd, talking to the children. You manage to find a nice spot behind a rock that’ll block their view, which Marcus joins you behind.

“What’s the plan here?” You murmur, eyeing the other tributes, who are scoping out the land, themselves.

“Survive.” Marcus has his arms crossed, leaning on the wall across from you. “Wait it out.”

“For how long?” You ask, you wrap a hand around your stomach when it rumbles. “I’m starving here, Marcus.”

He tilts his head, “What do you want to do? Eat one of the other tributes?”

“That’s not funny.” You tell him.

“They won’t give us food, (Y/n), I told you this.”

“I didn’t think that they’d keep it from us completely.” You hiss.

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. It’s been three days since the last time you’ve eaten. A small portion of bread and oatmeal, which was on the morning of Reaping Day. If you’d known that your name was going to be pulled, you would’ve eaten more.

You sigh, “I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault.” You push your hair back. “And you’re hungry, too.”

You peek out from behind the rock to see that the pair have moved over to the cameras, having an exchange with the reporter, you presume. You watch them through squinted eyes.

“So, do you know my mentor? Says his name is Coriolanus Snow. He’s a Capitol boy and clearly I got the cake with the cream, ‘cause nobody else’s mentor even bothered to show up to welcome them.”

“Well, he gave us all a surprise. Did your teachers tell you to be here, Coriolanus?”

Snow steps forward. “They didn’t tell me not to.” The crowd laughs. “But I do remember them saying that I was to introduce Lucy Gray to the Capitol, and I take that job seriously.”

“So you didn’t have a second thought about diving into a cage of tributes?” The reporter asks.

“A second, a third, and I imagine the fourth and fifth will be hitting me sometime soon.” Snow says. “But if she’s brave enough to be here, shouldn’t I be?”

You scoff, Snow turns his head slightly to find where the noise came from. Brave, as if you all didn’t end up here by chance. By their hands.

“Oh, for the record, I didn’t have a choice.” Lucy Gray says.

“For the record, neither did I.” Snow says. “After I heard you sing, I couldn’t keep away. I confess, I’m a fan.”

Lucy Gray moves her skirt to show off the color, as the audience erupts into applause.

“Well, I hope for your sake the Academy agrees with you, Coriolanus.” The reporter says. “I think you’re about to find out.”

As if on cue, the metal doors nearby squeal against the concrete, as if there’s not enough space to allow them to move. A group of four Peacekeepers march out, heading straight for the Capitol boy.

Snow turns back to the camera. “Thank you for joining us. Remember, it’s Lucy Gray Baird, representing District Twelve. Drop by the zoo if you have a minute and say hello. I promise she’s well worth the effort.”

Lucy Gray holds out the back of her hand to him, which he takes and presses a kiss to. After that, he waves to the audience once, before joining the Peacekeepers and leaving the exhibit. The doors shut tightly behind them.

They dumped you in a fucking zoo.

Lucy Gray mingles around the bars for a few more minutes, before she comes down the moat to join her tribute partner. The crowd thins out considerably, now that they don’t have a source of entertainment. You disappear behind the rock, lowering yourself to the ground. Marcus doesn’t move from where he stands, looking down at you.

You pull your knees up. “Do you think our mentors will show up?”

“It won’t matter.” Marcus says. “They can’t do anything for us. All they’ll do is bring more people to stare.”

You rest your head back. “Right.” For the first time in days, you feel at peace enough to relax, the drowsiness coming in waves. You sigh, letting your legs down. “Will you wake me if something happens?”

“I will.” Marcus nods.

His confirmation is good enough for you. You settle on the cement, shoulders square with the rock. It’s uncomfortable, but your body doesn’t seem to care, focused on the idea of being able to sleep. The moment you shut your eyes, you’re practically done for, as the chatter of the Capitol people acts as perfect background noise for you to doze off to.

When you wake, it’s on your own accord. There’s a pain in the side of your neck, due to sleeping with your head at an angle. You squeeze your eyes, face twisting as you reach up to massage the area. When you look around, you find Marcus standing nearby, face hard.

You stretch, letting out a groan. It must be getting dark out because the artificial lights on the other side of the rock have been turned on. There’s no telling how late it is. You wonder if they’ll even bother to turn them off when the zoo does close.

You push to get to your feet, swallowing the nausea that rises with the movement. It’s due to hunger, but it’ll pass soon if you take it easy. Marcus looks over when he sees that you’re on your feet, his face smoothing out briefly.

“Anything big happen?” You ask, arms above your head. You can hear your upper back pop, relieving the pressure.

“No, but we have a familiar face in the crowd.” Marcus says.

“Like who? Snow?” You sneer, coming out from behind the rock.

You squint through the white light, holding a hand up to shield your eyes. The tributes that you’re in here with have spread out to keep from getting in each other’s space. You look up to the bars to see that the crowd has grown again, peering down at the group of you.

To humor Marcus, you search for the blonde boy that belongs to Lucy Gray, yet you come up blank. A joke begins to form on your tongue, as you turn your head to tell it, you hear your name being shouted from the other side of the bars. You glance back at the crowd, eyebrows together, wandering away from your partner to find who it is that knows your name.

You make it all the way to the moat before you see who it is. He’s crouched, hands wrapped around the bars, forehead pressed to them. His brown hair and brown eyes are unmistakable. You used to stare into them everyday when you were friends, before he moved away to live in the Capitol.

Sejanus Plinth is dressed in the same bright red uniform that Snow was wearing when he came into the truck. He looks just like he did when you went to school together, only older now because it’s been ten years. He still wears that innocent look on his face, which is unsurprising. His heart is big enough to house dozens of people.

“(Y/n).” Sejanus shifts on his feet, leaning away from the bars as he turns to a black backpack at his side. He opens it up, reaches inside, and pulls out something that’s wrapped. It’s reflecting the light. “Please, take it. Marcus won’t.”

“Sejanus.” His name is foreign on your tongue. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a meatloaf sandwich.” He says, holding it out between the bars. “Please, I know you’re hungry.”

He’s right, your stomach begins to hurt at the thought of the sandwich, but you don’t move from where your feet are planted. You glance behind you, to Marcus, who’s still standing against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s determined to stay there.

He was Marcus’s friend, too. The three of you were very close during grade school. If there was one of you, the other two would be following close by. That is, until the Plinths upgraded from District Two to the Capitol, due to their loyalty during the Dark Days. In many people’s eyes, the Plinths are a bunch of traitors.

Including Marcus’s.

You would think the same, if he weren’t a child at the time. And especially not now, with you being stuck in this situation. With Sejanus being on the other side of the bars, maybe he can help, beyond just giving you sandwiches. If all the tribute mentors are wearing these red uniforms, that means he might be one, himself.

So, you move forward, crossing the moat and climbing the hill that’ll lead you to the bars. You don’t lower yourself to his height right away, looking between the faces behind him. With your presence, they all seem to shuffle a step back, unsure if you’re one of the hostile tributes or not.

You breathe through your nose, amused. You grab onto the bar with one hand, using it as support as you get down. Sejanus is still holding out the sandwich for you to take, which you do so carefully, setting it on your knee.

Sejanus nods, happy that you’re trusting him. “I tried to get any of the other tributes to come over but they won’t.”

“Can’t blame them.” You say, not being able to focus on his face when the people behind him peer over his shoulder. “I wasn’t going to, either.”

You jerk forward, a threat to the Capitol people. A few of them let out gasps as they return to where they’d been standing, hiding behind Sejanus. When your eyes make their way back to his face, you find his face screwed.

“Marcus doesn’t want to see me, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“But he knows that I’m sorry? You know I’m sorry, right?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s angry. Or that we’re both here in a zoo cage.”

Sejanus swallows.

You’re tired of this conversation already. “I hear that we get mentors. Where’s mine?”

“I am.” He says. “I’m your mentor, and Marcus has Florus.”

“Oh, how fortunate.” You shake your head. “Did you ask for me?”

“No, I was assigned.” Sejanus says, glancing behind him. His face lights up as he raises a hand to wave someone over. Your eyes shift in that direction, finding the Snow boy coming your way. He weaves through the crowd, and stops two feet away from the bars.

“Trouble?” He asks, paying no attention to you.

You scoff, “Great, you’re friends with Snow.” You grab the sandwich with one hand, pulling yourself to your feet with the other. By then, the blonde boy has his eyes on you.

Sejanus looks between you two. “Do you know each other?”

“Of course not.” Snow says first, face twisting, seemingly disgusted by the idea.

You laugh, it’s venomous, “You know, I think I do pride myself in not hanging around Capitol scum.” You spit, holding out your hand that has the sandwich. “Give me another, Sejanus. I’ll see that Marcus gets it.”

Sejanus doesn’t need you to tell him twice, grabbing another. You don’t break the eye contact you have with Snow, which is growing tense by the second.

“Capitol scum?” He repeats, smiling. “That’s funny.”

“Is it now?” You steal the second sandwich from Sejanus’s hand before it’s fully through the bars. You look over Snow, taking in how big he is. “For a Capitol boy, you look pretty starved. You belong more in here than you do out there.” You take a couple steps over so that you’re directly in front of him. “Except, you wouldn’t last ten seconds before getting ripped apart.”

You look at Sejanus to find that he’s holding out two plums. You pluck them from his hands, giving a nasty look to Snow before you go back down the hill with your winnings. There are several pairs of eyes that watch you return to the rock that you and Marcus have claimed. You return their stares with pressed lips.

You step behind the stone, Marcus following you. When you hold out the two sandwiches and plums, he shakes his head. “I don’t want that.”

“If we want to win, we need to be strong.” You tell him. “Take one.”

He sighs, irritated, but grabs one of each. You sink back to the ground, unwrapping your sandwich, resting the plum in your lap. The moment that you sink your teeth into the soft bread, every ounce of self control leaves your body. It’s perfect, delicious, and gone within a minute. The plum, too.

Once Marcus has finished his sandwich, he wipes his mouth, sucking the ketchup off of his finger. “Who’s your mentor?”

“Sejanus.” You tell him, “You have someone named Florus.”

“As long as I don’t have him—I don’t care who I have. They won’t make a difference.”

“That’s what you think.”

—

“Get up!” A voice shouts.

Your eyes pop open as you fly into an upward position, looking around to see where the danger is. Your eyes land on Peacekeepers, dressed in grey uniforms, standing next to the steel doors that are swung wide open.

The other tributes are shuffling toward the Peacekeepers, hardly awake. You rustle in the hay to look at Marcus, who’s already getting to his feet. A yawn escapes you, holding out your hand. Marcus takes it to pull you to your feet, steadying you when you stumble a step.

“What’s happening?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes.

“No idea.” Marcus says, walking away. You follow him, briefly looking at the bars to see if there’s an audience, finding it empty. The zoo must not be open yet.

On the other side of the building is a truck, similar to the one you rode here on. Marcus steps inside first, and then turns to give you a hand, pulling you inside. The two of you choose a spot in the middle, where you grab a rod and try not to touch anyone if you can help it.

Once you’re packed inside, they slam the doors shut. The car jolts forward a moment later, and then they begin to take you through the streets. You sigh, watching the blur of buildings and people on the sidewalk. Occasionally, you glance at the people around you, taking in details in increments to avoid setting them off. The last thing you’d want is to cause a fight in here.

Your eyes linger on the boy from Eleven and the way he hovers over Dill, feeling a need to protect her. It’s the same for Lucy Gray and her tribute partner, who she seems to be close with. Last night, you weren’t the only one to take a sandwich, soon after, Lucy Gray went to have one too. When she decided that it was good, she told her friend… Jessup, that’s his name. She told Jessup to grab one too, which then prompted the rest of the tributes to follow.

For now, you can’t find anyone else that sticks out in your mind. You’re sure that they’ll reveal themselves as time goes on, all you have to do is wait until then. You know that you should keep a distance from Four and Eight, at the very least. They have previous experience with weapons, much like you.

The truck comes to a hard stop. A Peacekeeper comes out to stand on your side of the truck. You look down at him, finding a pair of handcuffs that he has gripped in his gloves.

“We will take one district at a time. When you step out of the truck, hold your hands out in front of you, palms up.” He instructs. “District One.”

The boy and girl get up from where they’re sitting. The doors open, allowing them to step out. They don’t bother shutting the doors again, letting you take in the amount of Peacekeepers they have on standby in case something goes wrong. The tributes get handcuffed, and then led inside of the building by four Peacekeepers that have a tight hand on them.

“District Two.”

Marcus moves first, stepping out of the truck. He turns to help you, which you accept when you jump off the ledge. On the ground, the two of you turn to the Peacekeeper, holding out your hands as you were told to. The steel is cold against your wrists, he squeezes the cuff, tightening it as much as he can. He repeats the process for Marcus.

With that, he instructs you to move forward, heading inside of the building. The floors are polished, reflecting the dull sunlight, and with how big and empty the hall is, the sounds of your shoes echo. You move down several hallways, until you spot the open wooden doors with a Peacekeeper standing post outside of the room.

When you step inside, you can see that the boy and girl from One have each been sat at their own table. There’s a cement slab on top of it with a metal loop, where the handcuffs are fed through to keep them in place. You grind your teeth, looking at Marcus to see that his face has hardened.

“Girl, sit down.” The Peacekeeper tells you.

Biting your tongue, you decide not to tell him your name, just listen to the directions. You sit in the folding chair, scooting it up slightly to close the gap between you and the table. You hold up your wrists, he unlocks the one side of the cuffs, guides the open side through the loop, and then closes the cuff on your wrist again.

He crouches down, reaching for your feet. Your face twists, feeling him pull up the bottom of your skirt just high enough, before the coldness encases your right ankle. When you give it a pull, you can hear the rattling of chains on the cement. You look over at Marcus, raising your eyebrows. The Peacekeeper secures your left ankle before getting to his feet.

If anyone had any plans of escaping this afternoon, they’re going to have to rethink it.

Marcus sits at his table unprompted. Right as his shackles are being double-checked, the pair of tributes from Three come through the door. It goes on like this, all the way around the circle, up to Lucy Gray and her tribute friend.

While this is happening, you take the time to look around the room you’re in. It’s classically wealthy, with the columns, the arched windows and the tall ceilings. The best you can compare this building to is the Justice Building at home in Two, but even that’s lacking in several departments.

Halfway up the wall, you find a balcony. You sit back in your chair, forearms resting on the edge of the table. There are faces up there, staring down at you. From what you can see, they’re all wearing the red uniform that Snow and Sejanus were wearing yesterday.

“Eyes up.” You murmur to Marcus.

Out of your peripheral, you’re able to watch him tilt his head back to see what you mean. He straightens up in his seat, hands curling in to form fists.

A door slams, the people on the balcony jump and turn to see where the noise is coming from. “Stop eyeballing your tributes and get down there.” A feminine voice orders. “You only have fifteen minutes, so use them wisely. And remember, complete the paperwork for our records as best you can.”

The first person to come down the spiral staircase is none other than Snow, heading straight for Lucy Gray. When he passes in front of you, a laugh leaves you at the sight of his determined face. He’s quickly forgotten when you see Sejanus bouncing your way, a smile spread across his lips.

“Hey, Marcus.” He says, but he doesn’t get a response. Sejanu takes a seat in the chair across from you. “(Y/n), they’re just having us do interviews today.”

“I’m sure that’ll be easy.” You say. “Considering you know everything about me already.”

He swings his bag into his lap. “I still have to go down the list.” He pulls out a piece of paper and a pen, setting it on the table. His hand dips inside again, and when it surfaces, he has a pair of sandwiches. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I am, you think. All you do is give him a smile. “Thank you, Sejanus.”

“One more thing.” He says, bringing out a clear container. He opens the lid, revealing a slice of brown cake with a fork inside. “Ma made it. Help yourself.”

You nod, “What’s on the paper?”

“Just the basics so the Capitol can get to know you better.” He says, reaching for the pencil.

You manage to grab one of the sandwiches, unwrapping the paper. With the limited mobility your hands have, you have to lean forward to take a bite. The bread crunches under your teeth, meaning it must’ve been toasted. The roast beef inside is cold, and it must be freshly bought. You hum, closing your eyes.

“I can fill it out, just correct me if I come across something wrong.” Sejanus says.

You listen as he reads out the list and his answer to them. Your name, district address, your date of birth, hair and eye color, height and weight, and any disabilities you may have. You give him the answers when he pauses to look up at you, for the most part, he nails them.

“Family makeup. If I remember right, you’ve got your mom and dad and two sisters, right?” He asks.

“Mom’s dead.” You tell him, balling up the paper when you finish your sandwich. “One of my sisters is sick, she probably won’t last much longer.”

Sejanus’s hand stops, face twisting as he looks up at you. “(Y/n), I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” You tell him, pressing your lips together. “Do you need their names or is that it?”

“That’s it.” He says, voice quieter. “You’re not married, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have a job?”

“Not legally.” You sit back in the chair. “I help out in the warehouse and earn money for it, but I’m not supposed to be in there.”

He nods. “I’ll put you down as no.”

“Thanks.” You murmur, looking at the paper. “That’s the last question?”

“It is.” He says.

“Five minutes.” A woman announces, she’s wandering around the room.

“You should give the other sandwich to Marcus.” You tell him.

“He won’t take it from me, only you.” Sejanus shakes his head.

“I don’t have pockets, so I can’t give it to him later.” Your eyes wander away, finding his mentor, Florus. “Why don’t you hand it to Florus?”

“He’s not having very good luck with Marcus, either.”

You sigh, “All I’m hearing are excuses.” You roll your eyes, looking over. “Marcus, there’s an extra sandwich. You should take it.”

“Excuse me.” Florus says, eyebrows drawing in. “I’m trying to interview him.”

“Looks like you’re havin’ a lot of luck.” You smile at his blank paper. “I can’t smuggle it out of here, and you’re the only one that has pockets between us.”

Marcus looks at you, but nods. Sejanus seems pleased with this, handing the sandwich over to Florus, who begrudgingly stuffs it into one of Marcus’s pockets. You turn to the cake, digging out the fork.

“It’s carrot cake.” Sejanus says.

“I’m sure it’s good either way.” You stick the fork into the icing. “Your mom always made the best sweets.”

“She’s gotten better.” He says. “I’ll tell her about your ma, I’m sure she’ll be apologetic.”

“Don’t make her feel too bad.” You place the bite into your mouth. The sweetness explodes across your tongue. You can’t remember the last time you were treated to something so good. All your money goes to your sister’s medicine, you can’t get sweets like this anymore. “It’s not her fault.”

“I wish we hadn’t moved away.” Sejanus swipes some of the icing off the corner of the container. “It’s harder to make friends here than it is there, but I have Coriolanus.”

“Snow?” You ask, looking to your right. He’s three tables over with Lucy Gray, leaned forward to talk. “He doesn’t look like much company.”

“He is.” Sejanus sighs. “How is it in Two?”

“Worse.” You shrug. “Or the same, depending how you look at it.”

“You said you work in the warehouse, at least you have the job lined up.”

“It’s district work, it’s always going to be available. It’d be a different story if I was a blacksmith but they won’t take me until I’m eighteen.” You say. “Or rather, they wouldn’t.”

He frowns, “I’m really sorry you’re here, (Y/n).”

“I know.” You murmur. “Nothing that we can do about it now.”

A whistle suddenly blows, making you turn your head to the woman by the door. She drops it, allowing it to hang over her chest. “Time.”

You look back at Sejanus. “When’s the next time I see you?”

“I can visit tonight.” He says.

“That would be great.” You drop the fork into the container. “Thank you, Sejanus.”

—

The Capitol people standing on the other side of the bars is an irritating sight, especially since they’re holding food with seemingly no intention to give it to any of you. It’s gotten to the point where the tributes around you don’t bother to go up anymore, knowing that they’re all going to take a collective step back.

They don’t really matter to you, anyway. You have Sejanus, and as long as he’s feeding you and trying to keep you company, you don’t need them. You’ll suffice just fine with one of your old friends. As for Marcus, he wants to be left alone, but you won’t let that happen.

He’s currently laying on his bed of hay. Last night, the Capitol had released a couple of bales into the enclosure. While the tributes fought over them, you and Marcus sat back and watched, slightly amused. When he decided that he had enough, he went and grabbed the last bale from two tributes, throwing them away.

He split the hay with you, but you wanted enough to act as a pillow to rest your head on. You’re fine with sleeping on the cement, because it feels like your bed back home. Except, that one is a little more broken in, and you don’t wake up several times throughout the night.

Marcus ate the roast beef sandwich from Sejanus, and even admitted that he was glad you had Florus give it to him. He doesn’t want to forgive Sejanus for what he’s done, even though you’ve tried to explain the fact that it’s not necessarily his fault. He was only a child at the time they moved, and he has no choice but to mentor tributes now. It’s just bad luck that it’s the two of you and not anyone else.

You push to get to your feet, kicking the hay into a pile once you’re upright. You wander out from behind the rock, curious to see where the tributes have moved and what the bars look like. The crowd has surely tripled in size since the last time you looked. They’re still up there, holding food.

There was a pair of twins in the corner earlier, a boy and a girl. They’d brought lunch for their tributes, but they’re gone now; replaced by Snow and Lucy Gray. You wander, arms crossed over your chest, looking for Sejanus. He must be coming through the crowd now, because you find his dark hair a second later, when you’re doing another sweep.

You immediately start for him, crossing the moat and climbing up the hill. Your arms fall, as you crouch to join. “Hello.”

“Hey.” He murmurs. “Did Marcus eat?”

“Yes he did. He says that the sandwich was good.”

“Ma sends her regards. She’s been upset since I told her.” Sejanus pulls out two eggs and a couple wedges of bread. “For an egg sandwich.”

“I told you not to make her feel guilty.” You tell him, holding out your hand. He places them inside. “Are the eggs raw?”

“No, hard boiled. I just didn’t peel them.” He says. “And I couldn’t help it. I told her what happened to your ma and she asked about the rest of your family.”

You nod. “I see.”

“(Y/n), they might be implementing new rules.” He laces his fingers. “They’re thinking about letting the Capitol citizens sponsor tributes. Which means that you’ll need to gain their favor somehow.”

“I’m not a circus animal.” You tell him. “Unlike Lucy Gray, over there.”

“I know, but if you could come up with something with Marcus, then Florus and I might be able to pool together. We could feed you and give you water, at least.” Sejanus says.

You shake your head. “These Games never go on longer than a few days.”

“That’s because they didn’t have food to eat in the past.” He reasons. “Now we’re able to feed you and they’re taking suggestions for different ideas.”

You sigh, looking at the sandwich components in your hands. “I’ll try to brainstorm with Marcus, but he’s pretty set on not participating. It’s a fight just to get him to eat food, Sejanus.”

He reaches through the bars, placing one of his hands over yours. You look down at it, and then up at him. With his other hand, he grabs onto the bars, leaning forward. “I want you to live, (Y/n).”

“I do too, Sejanus. It’s just not that easy.” You tell him.

“Well, they’re going to have you do an interview on television. That’ll be your chance.”

Laughter erupts around you, making you break eye contact. You follow the gaze of the crowd, and find a mentor a few feet away. She’s sitting on a towel or blanket, a picnic displayed in front of her. On the other side is a tribute, you think the girl from Ten. The mentor holds out the sandwich, the tribute reaches for it, and the mentor pulls away.

She turns to give the crowd a smile before taking a bite out of the sandwich. You roll your eyes, sighing. The tribute’s face drops, no longer hopeful, as her hand slips between the bars. You watch as she grabs the knife on the blanket, leaning forward to grab the front of the mentor’s shirt, and then slitting her throat.

The crowd screams in shock, the sandwich is dropped from the mentor’s hand as she reaches up to her throat, pawing at her neck. The tribute lets go of her, giving her a shove for good measure.

You get to your feet this instant, Sejanus’s hand falling from yours. You clutch the food to your chest as you turn to the hill, wanting to put distance between you and the scene. Sejanus grabs you, pulling you back down to the ground.

“Help her!” A voice shouts. “Medic!”

“Sejanus—”

“Put your head down.” He tells you, you lower to your knees.

“Is there a doctor? Please, someone help!” The voice belongs to Snow, who’s holding the girl mentor in his lap. She reaches up to grab his shirt, choking on the blood. Snow turns to the crowd. “Come on!”

The Ten tribute leans through the bars, snatching the cheese sandwich into her hands, raising it to her mouth. The sound of metal slamming into concrete fills the air, as the Peacekeepers burst through the far side of the enclosure, raising their runs, presumably aiming for the district girl.

She manages to take a bite of the sandwich, before the bullets are fired, piercing her body. You duck your head, squeezing your eyes shut, as Sejanus presses down on your back to keep you down. Another round of screaming, no more shots fired.

You sit up, Sejanus’s hand retreating. He opens up his bag, showing you the bread and eggs that he has inside, all meant for the tributes you’re trapped with. You know what he’s asking, so you lift the bottom of your skirt to create a bowl, letting him dump the food inside so it doesn’t go to waste.

The people have begun to flee the area, Sejanus rising to his feet. He leaves his backpack behind, holding a single wedge of bread. You get to your feet with shaky legs, turning to look at the Peacekeepers, where they have the others lined up against the wall, hands on their heads.

You carefully step down the hill, breathing slowly to keep from panicking. You glance over your shoulder at Sejanus, to find him sprinkling the bread over the Ten girl. His lips are moving, whispering the prayer, before a Peacekeeper grabs him by the back of his shirt, yanking him away.

You make it all the way to the wall. When they take notice of you, they grab the underside of your arm, pulling you to stand next to Marcus. They don’t tell you to put your hands on your head, letting you tremble.

They wait for the zoo to clear out, and as soon as the last person has left, they begin to search each one of you thoroughly. When it’s clear that you’re not hiding any weapons, they brandish the shackles. They go down the line, slapping the metal on your wrists, tightening the cuffs, and then moving on to the next person.

And when the last restraint is secured, they leave. The doors scraping on the cement before slamming shut.

—

The Peacekeepers work silently as they direct the truck to back in as far as it possibly can into the alleyway without damaging the bricks. When it comes close enough to the doors, they hold up a hand, making it stop. A few of the Peacekeepers gather together briefly to speak, before turning to the line of you.

They bring you up to the long truck bed, where they make you get down so they lock you to it. You start by crouching, but as the minutes tick on with no sign of movement, you tuck the skirt beneath you as best as possible so that you can sit. The heat from the metal burns through the fabric, and it feels like there’s nothing under you at all.

Marcus is placed a few feet away, where he shifts on his feet, opting not to sit. The two of you share a long look, where you raise your eyebrows and he shakes his head. Neither of you have a clue what’s happening. The Peacekeepers haven’t said so much as a word to any of you.

They just gathered you up, they sent someone to retrieve the body of the Ten girl, who had been slumped against the bars all night. Since the incident yesterday, no one has been allowed to visit the zoo. Except for Snow, where he briefly spoke to Lucy Gray before leaving.

There’s a large metal structure attached to the truck bed in front of you. You have to tilt your head all the way back to see what it is. It’s a crane, it seems. A metal hook hangs off a chain, swaying in the air from the small breeze. It’s so hot out that it isn’t that much of a relief. You’ve been baking in the cage all night. Forget the food that Sejanus has been giving you, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for a cup of water.

Machinery begins to whirr, the hook slowly coming down at you. You look over your shoulder, curious to see why they could possibly need the hook. You can’t find the Peacekeepers, only the faces of the tributes behind you, who are avoiding eye contact, or staring at the ground.

The chains and hook begin to curl on the ground, when suddenly it stops. A Peacekeeper grunts, there’s a hard stomp on the truck, making it vibrate. It’s quiet for a second, as the sound of something dragging across the uneven surface is all you can hear, until there’s a violent gag, followed by desperate coughing.

As you turn to see, a closed fits smacks the side of your face, causing you to jerk away. You lean as far as the shackles will allow, looking up at the Peacekeeper. You realize quickly that it wasn’t done on purpose, because he’s clutching a pair of handcuffs between his gloves. They’re attached to a pair of wrists, and furthermore, a body.

The rancid smell of a decomposing body hits your nose, making you sick. You bury your nose in the cloth on your shoulder, deeply inhaling to rid the assault. Tears pop into your eyes, which you struggle to blink away. The Peacekeeper reaches down to grab the hook, sliding it between one of the chain links.

He lifts a hand, indicating to lift the hook. A moment later, it does. The Peacekeeper keeps a hold on the body, setting it straight, making sure that it won’t come loose. It isn’t until he twists the body to get a look, do you see that it’s the dead girl from Ten. In the open air, you’re able to see the bitemarks along her skin, a few chunks missing from the rats that were nibbling on her all night.

A gag rises, you turn your head to the other side of the truck, teeth grit tightly together while you try to calm your stomach. It isn’t a full minute before they’ve decided that she’s up high enough in the air, which is when the Peacekeeper leaves the truck, jumping down.

They wrap up the area, closing the door to the enclosure, getting in the vehicle. They drive out of the alleyway and down the streets, where a few pedestrians stop where they stand to stare. You drop your head, lips pressed together.

The car comes to a stop a few short minutes later. When you peer around the front of the truck, you can see the grey uniform of Peacekeepers. There’s hundreds of them too, perfectly in place. Your eyebrows twitch, lips parting. This can’t possibly be for the twenty-three of you, can it?

You look back at Marcus, who’s on the inner side of the row, making it impossible for him to see. “Peacekeepers, hundreds of ‘em.”

A few heads rise, eyes landing on you. Marcus’s face contorts, “Why?”

“No idea.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then the beginning notes of the Capitol anthem cuts through the silence. The Peacekeepers straighten, finding their places.

“Gem of Panem,” A male voice starts. “Mighty city, through the ages, you shine anew.”

The next three minutes are filled with the lyrics to the anthem. They’re vaguely familiar, you haven’t heard them in a couple of months, at least. They used to have you chant it every morning at school, but it fizzled out because it took up precious learning time. Now, they play the instrumental to allow the teachers to talk over it.

The applause that follows after the final note is thunderous, coming from far down the street. You can’t see anyone, though. Only the Peacekeepers, standing still as they wait for their cue to move. A heavy feeling weighs in your stomach, as the thoughts of what may be waiting for you begin to claw.

“Two days ago, Arachne Crane’s young and precious life was ended, and so we mourn another victim of the criminal rebellion that yet besieges us.” A powerful voice says. “Her death was as valiant as any on the battlefield, her loss more profound as we claim to be at peace. But no peace will exist while this disease eats away at all that is good and noble in our country. Today we honor her sacrifice with a reminder that while evil exists, it does not prevail. And once again, we bear witness as our great Capitol brings justice to Panem.”

There’s a slow, deep drumming that starts. The Peacekeepers move forward, as if drawn to the sound. The truck doesn’t move until they’re a good fifteen feet ahead, it jolts, you catch yourself by placing your hands on the metal bed. The scorching heat licks your palms so aggressively that you jerk back, chains rattling, cuffs digging into your wrists.

For a good stretch, you can’t see anything, it looks like any other road. And then, you spot the stands, the people dressed in black on the left, mourning. On the right, it’s the same, but there’s also a choir of the mentors in red, standing together. You search quickly for Sejanus, yet you’re unable to find him.

Behind the truck is another army of Peacekeepers, marching in sync. The car continues down the avenue until you’re out of sight completely. And instead of stopping at the end of the street, like the Peacekeepers, it continues moving. You expect it to bring you back to the zoo, but you’re going in a different direction.

The wind caresses your skin from the car picking up speed. It temporarily cools the burning on your shoulders, but not by much. The group of you are brought across the river, where an amphitheater stands. The truck comes to a stop out front, and it stays here for the next thirty minutes, until the brigade of Peacekeepers show up.

After that, you’re brought off the truck, one by one, with two Peacekeepers flanking one tribute. With you being so far up, it takes them fifteen minutes before it’s your turn to get freed. They line you up numerically, in girl-boy order, and make you wait an additional half hour while the mentors get here.

They step off the bus, instructed to stand next to their tribute. Sejanus comes out with a grave look on his face, eyes on the ground. He lets out a sigh when he squeezes between you and the boy from One.

“I’ve got nothing for you, I’m sorry.” Sejanus murmurs.

“It’s fine.” You whisper back. “They fed us last night and this morning.”

When all tributes and mentors are counted for, the Peacekeepers remove the bars from the entrance, swinging open the large doors to reveal a grand lobby. Inside, there are boarded-up booths and old curling posters from wartime. The Peacekeepers lead the way through the lobby, to the turnstiles.

Two soldiers stand at turnstiles on opposite ends, feeding coins into the machine to allow you to pass through at the same time as Sejanus. As soon as you step through, a cheerful voice says, “Enjoy the show!”

There’s a long cement hallway leading to where you’re going, lit up by only the red emergency lights. It’s too dark for you to walk with sure steps, so you reach over to Sejanus, chains rattling as your hands wrap around his elbow. He briefly glances over, where you give him a small smile.

He places his free hand over yours, squeezing your fingers. He doesn’t let go, either, not until you’ve made it to the end, where you walk into the sunlight and onto a giant field. Your pace slows considerably, eyes sweeping the area, wondering why this is so familiar.

“Where are we?” You ask.

“The arena.” Sejanus tells you.

You stop, wanting a moment to take in just how large it is. What should be a healthy and green field is now dead and dried up. There’s a scoreboard hanging over the opening you just came through, with thousands of seats circling the arena behind it.

If this is where you’re going to come to fight in a couple short days, then you’ll have no issue hiding, at least. No matter where you go on Game day, you’ll be safe as long as you’re careful.

The Peacekeepers move off to the side, letting you spread out. Sejanus begins to lead you away immediately. “Did you come up with anything for the interview?”

“No, not with Marcus.” You sigh. “He’s dead-set on figuring it out on his own. I figure that I can play the sick sister card, maybe earn some sympathy.”

“That could work, but they’re looking for talent.”

“I don’t have much of that.” Your feet come to a halt, you pull away from Sejanus’s arm. Your fingers are warm from where he’d been holding them. “You don’t need to worry about the interview, I’ll have that covered. It’s not a half-bad idea. People like to help the poor, and that’s all the districts are, right?”

Sejanus’s mouth turns downward, but he doesn’t object. “Right. I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re already doing enough, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.” You say, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Arachne? I could hardly call her that. She was closer with Coriolanus than me.” Sejanus shakes his head.

“Still, it’s hard losing someone in your class.” Your eyes land on a stray eyelash laying on his cheek. “Don’t move.”

You reach over, hand resting on the side of his face just long enough for your thumb to swipe away the eyelash. You hold it out for him to see, before brushing it away.

“Thank you.” He says.

“You have to keep up your appearance.” You laugh. “Mine doesn’t really matter anymore.”

“That’s not—”

An explosion shakes the arena, the fiery blast throwing you to the ground, head cracking against the cement. Through blurry eyes, you’re able to make out Sejanus in the smoke, hovering over you, before the black blotches eat away at your vision completely.

—

“Follow the light.” The woman tells you, clicking on the flashlight.

As you adjust the pack of ice against the side of your head, you listen to her directions, eyes flickering to keep track of the light. When she’s satisfied, she clicks it off, dropping it into a pocket on her lab coat. There’s a badge hanging from her neck with an old picture of her and her name.

Magnolia Peacescape. Her occupation is a veterinarian.

Your eyes land on her again, squinting suspiciously. The Capitol couldn’t even afford to give you a real doctor? They had to insist on someone who works on animals?

“What’s your name?” She asks, grabbing a clipboard.

“(Y/n) (L/n).” You murmur, attention shifting to the Peacekeepers who are dragging tributes into the zoo cage.

“How old are you?” She asks.

You open your mouth to speak, the number on the tip of your tongue before it slips away. Your face twists as you search the open air as if it’ll have some answer. All you come up with are blanks, you resort to staring at Magnolia.

She looks up from the paper. “How old are you?” She repeats.

“I’m not sure.” You admit.

Her face contorts, she reluctantly looks away to write something on the paper. “District?”

“Two.”

“Who’s your mentor?” Her pen pauses.

Once again you have nothing, so you shake your head at her. “Am I supposed to know?”

The wrinkles on her face are deepening with every passing second. She licks her lips, looking over at the Peacekeepers briefly, before turning back to you. “Honey, what’s the name of the boy you came here with?”

Your eyes fall to the cement as you try to picture his face, or any features that may belong to the boy that she’s referring to. When that doesn’t work, you try to conjure up details about him, like his name, his age, his height. All of which she’s withholding.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, trailing off.

She sighs, “Wait here.”

Magnolia Peacescape lowers the clipboard, pulling it against her chest. She walks over to one of the Peacekeepers standing by the metal doors, beginning to speak very quickly, none of it that you can hear over the moans of pain. The tributes are spread out through the enclosure, varying in how hurt they are from the bombing.

Most are covered in soot and smell like smoke from the fire. Their clothes are ripped or burned at the edges, exposing their skin. From what the Peacekeepers were saying, a good number of tributes were injured, but not as severely as the pair from District Nine, who were caught in the fire for an extended period of time.

And of course, a few of them died in the attack. Like the tributes from Six, who got caught by shrapnel, and the two from One, who had tried to escape the arena but got shot before they made it out of the entrance. There was one tribute that managed to escape, though, and that’s the boy you came here with.

As for the mentors, they don’t say much about them. You heard in passing that a pair of twins had died and three mentors got hospitalized. You couldn’t get any more than that, because they pushed you inside of the zoo.

“She needs to go to the hospital!” Magnolia’s high voice suddenly cuts through the noises. “She has a concussion.”

“We aren’t authorized to take them out of the exhibit.” The Peacekeeper drones. “If you have a request, you need to submit it to Dr. Gaul, she’s overseeing the mentoring program and the treatment of the tributes.”

She shakes her head. “So I’m going to have to go through that process for each one of them?” She motions to the cage. “They don’t have time for that.”

“It’s your only option.”

She waves her hand in the air, turning away, coming back in your direction. You move the ice pack the wrong way by accident, making the throbbing come back full force. You wince, pulling it away from your head as you fix your holding.

Magnolia grabs it from you, pats on the ice to make it flat, and then presses it against the dressed cut. “Keep it there until it melts.”

“Thank you.”

“I haven’t done much to deserve that.” She says, looking down at the clipboard. “It says here that you have two sisters, what are their names?” When you don’t respond, she takes a deep breath. “And your mother is dead, can you recall from what?”

You blink, “My mom is dead?”

She writes on the paper. “This is information we gathered from the interview that took place with your mentor.”

Your eyes wander away, thinking about your mom.

“Do you remember the interview?”

“No.”

Magnolia sighs. “(Y/n), you’re eighteen years old. Your mentor is Sejanus Plinth, and the boy you came here with is Marcus. He escaped early this afternoon.”

Your face twists.

“I suspect you may have anterograde and retrograde amnesia. It’s caused by head trauma.” She stops long enough to write something on the clipboard, then clicks her pen and slides it into her pocket. “From what Mister Plinth told me at the scene, it would make sense. I’ll make a request for them to admit you to the hospital, but I can’t treat you any further. I don’t have the equipment.”

“Amnesia.” You mutter.

“I’ll be checking in on you as much as Dr. Gaul will allow it.” She presses her lips together. “You need to rest and take it easy. If you have any allies, I would suggest asking them to watch over you.”

With that, she walks away, heading to the next tribute. You stand there for a moment, watching as she begins to assess them. And then you turn away, to two piles of hay behind a rock formation. You wander toward it, lowering the ice pack, blinking away the tears that appear in your eyes.

—

In the three days that… that veterinarian visited, you were never actually taken to the hospital. Despite the numerous requests she made, and the notes stating that your memory is gradually getting worse, the doctor—the one in charge of the Games—never had you admitted.

You weren’t the only one, the tributes from District Nine, who were in much worse shape than you, were neglected. They died sometime during the night, and their bodies were retrieved in the early morning yesterday. A few hours later, the rest of you were packed into two different trucks, separated by gender, with bars, where you were paraded through the streets for what you assume was another funeral.

When they got you together again this afternoon, you were afraid that more people had died, but the Peacekeepers said something about a second interview with your mentors. Which might as well be your first, because you can’t recall a single thing that happened the last time.

The two chairs on either side of you sit empty, their tributes long gone. You know that one of them is dead, but the boy you came here with is still missing. The Peacekeepers have questioned you five times in the past few days, demanding to know where he could’ve possibly gone. Each time they come around, you have to tell them that if he did mention a plan, you don’t remember due to the bombing.

You don’t remember anything.

A group of students dressed in bright red uniforms come down the spiral staircase on the far side of the large room. It really is nice here, with the tall ceilings, the engraved pillars and the arched windows. You haven’t seen anything like it before, the closest building that would come to this in District Two is the Justice Building, but even that’s too worn to compare.

A boy with curly brown hair comes in your direction, with brown eyes so wide that you can see into his soul. He sets his book bag on the ground, settling in the chair across from you. Without saying a single word, he leans forward, placing his hands on top of your shackled ones.

“(Y/n), I’m so glad you’re okay.” He says, face twisted with worry. “When I saw the amount of blood…”

The veterinarian… fuck what was her name? She kept telling you that you needed to be testing your memory, but it’s so hard when you can’t recall the smallest detail. She must’ve told you this boy’s name easily over three dozen times, and how he meant something to you. He’s your mentor of course, you know that much. He’s supposed to be beyond that.

“How are you feeling? Ma made a couple of cold cut sandwiches, you must be hungry.” He says, taking his hands away, opening his bag. “She told me that Doctor Peacescape saw all the tributes.”

Peacescape, that’s the veterinarian’s last name. Whether or not it’ll stick in your mind this time is a complete mystery. Just like the rest of the names, faces and events that should be ringing a bell but don’t.

The boy places a wrapped package on the table, presumably the sandwich. He sits back up in his chair. “It looks like she’s treated you well, the cut on your head is healing nicely.”

You stare at him, face contorted as you struggle to dig through your mind for his name, a significant memory, anything.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, beginning to shake your head.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s not your fault. They suspect it was rebels from the districts that placed the bombs.”

“That’s not why I’m apologizing.” You say, “The veterinarian…” You grit your teeth, you just heard her name. “Peacescape, that’s it. Doctor Peacescape diagnosed me with some amnesia disorder due to the concussion. She tried to get me admitted to the hospital but the um… the head doctor for the Games denied her requests.”

The boy has visibly paled. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I mean, I remember some.” Your eyes drift away, to the empty desk to the left, where your tribute partner should be. “There’s a lot of gaps in between.” You look back at him. “I know you’re my mentor, but I don’t know your name. And I know that the boy I came here with ran away in the bombing, but there’s no picture of him in my mind.”

His head has lowered, staring down at the sandwich. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, thinking to himself. You reach as far as the handcuffs will allow you, which isn’t much. Still, you’re able to place a couple fingers on top of one of his hands.

“Peacescape said you mean something to me. I don’t think she was referring to the fact that you’re my mentor.”

He breathes out, defeated. “I used to live in District Two. Me, you and Marcus went to grade school together.”

Your eyebrows draw in, waiting for there to be a hint of a memory. “Marcus?”

“The boy that escaped.” He says.

“And what’s your name?”

“Sejanus Plinth.”

A part of you wishes that the memories would suddenly flood in at the mention of his name. Like the dozens of times before, there is no reaction, nothing magically clicks. It sits there, at the front of your mind, where it’ll stay for the next few hours until its spotlight is gone. Then, it’ll fade like everything else.

“Sejanus, I’m sure we’re great friends.” You tell him.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n). You shouldn’t be here.” He’s back to holding on to your fingers, tears appearing in his eyes. “You and Marcus should be at home.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” You shake your head. “How far are we into the process?”

A tear slides down his cheek, he wipes it away. “Dr. Gaul has approved the sponsorship program, so we need to get you support from the Capitol.”

You nod, “That’s vaguely familiar.”

“Well, they’re still doing the interviews for that, it’s on a voluntary basis now, so it’s no longer required.” He sighs. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“I feel like I don’t have much of a choice. If that’s a factor that’ll help me win, I should do it.” You press your lips together. “Did I have any ideas?”

“You said you wanted to gain sympathy by telling them about your sick sister.” Sejanus murmurs.

“My sister is sick? Which one?” You ask.

“You didn’t say.” He says.

You tilt your head back, looking at the balcony above. You could honestly scream from how stupid this is. It makes no sense, how could you forget a detail that important? Or the fact that your mom is dead? Why is this happening to you?

“I’ll think of something else.” You tell him, closing your eyes. “I can’t use that anymore because I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay, (Y/n), you don’t have to.” Sejanus says.

A whistle is blown, you jump in the chair, yanking your hands toward your head to cover, but they don’t even make it halfway before the cuffs dig into your skin harshly, halting the movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands begin to tremble.

A hand is placed on your arm, squeezing your shoulder. “You don’t have any pockets, so you need to put the sandwich in your shirt somewhere. I’m out of time.”

You breathe out shakily, leaning into the table to hook a finger around the inside of your shirt. “If you can wedge it there.”

He does, and no matter how hard you jostle, it keeps in place, giving you hope that it’ll make it back to the zoo enclosure. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says, getting to his feet. “Okay?”

You have to force yourself to nod, raising your head. He doesn’t move from where he stands, waiting for your confirmation. “Okay.” You breathe.

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

296 notes · View notes

jadewolf22 · 4 months ago

Text

Shoot An Arrow Through My Heart Pt.2

Fem!OC (Adriella Selmy) x Brienne of Tarth

Series Warnings: Men being disgusting, mentions of abusive siblings, gore, death, violence, detailed mentions of murder, mention of parent deaths, slander towards women, fighting (physical & verbal), harsh language, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, ect... (Let me know if I missed any!!!)

A/n: This fic mixes scenes from the show and book but follows the same timeline as the show. Character ages are from the show. I have no clear vision for this story so try to bear with me here. Not sure how long this series will become; might just keep going until I get bored of it.

Word Count: 2,179

Adriella rode for three days straight with no food nor rest. News of Lady Catelyn’s party returning to Riverrun was in the forethought of her mind. If Brienne was with them Adriella would not risk stopping and allowing the company to move on again before she could reach them. Her ass and legs ached from the constant harsh riding but she would not slow her pace unless her mare showed signs of tiring. She was desperate to learn what had become of her friend, the thought alone keeping her awake through the long nights. A sigh of relief fell from her lips when Adriella, at last, came within sight of Riverrun. Pushing her horse just a bit further, Adriella approached the bridge, eyes scanning nervously for any sight of the tall blonde she sought. She paused on the bridge when her eyes caught sight of three bodies hanging over the side of the wall. Adriella only looked at them long enough to assess that they were not Brienne before attempting to shove the sight from her mind and move on.

“Who goes there?!” A bannerman called from the ballister overhead, nearly scaring Adriella out of her skin.

She looked up, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she responded, “ My name is Adriella Selmy.”

“What is your business in Riverrun, Adriella Selmy?” the bannerman questioned, his tone indicating that he did not believe she was who she claimed to be.

“I am looking for a friend.” Adriella answered honestly, “Last I’d heard she was traveling with the Lady Catelyn.”

“You’ve arrived just in time it seems.” the man told her, a smug smile playing on his lips as he looked down upon her. Only now did she regret choosing a corset as her armor rather than a proper breastplate, “The Lady and her party arrived just before you. They’re still unloading in the courtyard.”

“Thank you.”

With a snap of the reins in her hand, Adriella rode through the gate, dismounting in the courtyard where a large sum of people were gathered, chatting in soft tones and unloading tents and knapsacks from horses. Stones crunched beneath Adriella’s boots as she navigated the crowded courtyard, her eyes sharp as she searched for the one face she longed to see. Relief washed over her when she finally spotted Brienne, standing tall and stoic among the soldiers. Without thinking, Adriella ran to her, heart pounding with a mix of desperation and hope; hope that her sight was not making a fool of her.

“Brienne!” Adriella’s voice cracked as she called out.

Brienne turned at the sound of her name, her expression shifting from surprise to disbelief when she caught sight of Adriella. Without hesitation, Adriella threw her arms around Brienne in a fierce embrace, nearly knocking the blonde warrior to the ground.

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re alright.” she breathed, arms tightening around Brienne’s shoulders.

“Adriella? You—what are you doing here?” Brienne’s voice wavered as she gave Adriella an awkward hug in return, completely unused to this sort of affection.

Adriella pulled back slightly, locking eyes with Brienne. “After what happened to Renly, I went looking for you. Cain said that the others were saying you’d murdered him, but I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t believe you’d do something like that, not after everything. I thought maybe someone else killed Renly and you to make it look like you betrayed him.”

“You think I would have done such a thing?” Brienne asked as her face hardened, lips pressing into a grim line, as if she hadn’t heard Adriella confess her worries.

“No!” Adriella’s voice rang out with conviction. “I knew it was a lie, Brienne. You wouldn’t betray someone you swore to protect. That's part of why I came. I had to know what really happened… I had to know if my fears were real… If you were dead…”

“I’m fine.” Brienne practically deadpanned, still in utter shock that Adriella seemed to care so much for her. Sure, the two of them had become close, but Brienne couldn’t believe that anyone—let alone someone like Adriella—would actually care to know if she was alright.

“What happened that night?” Adriella questioned, pulling back a bit to look Brienne in the eye, another act the blonde was still attempting to become accustom to, “I saw Renly’s body… and Emmon Cuy and Robar Royce… I thought you were with him?”

Brienne hesitated, then let out a heavy breath. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Adriella shook her head, “You’re not a liar, Brienne. I have no reason to doubt anything you say.”

Brienne swallowed hard before speaking. “It was Stannis. He used dark magic—a shadow that took Renly’s life right in front of me… I couldn’t protect him… Emmon and Robar came in when I screamed. They thought I’d killed Renly and so they… they attacked me… They would have killed me if I hadn’t killed them first…” when Adriella stayed quiet Brienne seemed to take it as a sign that she didn’t believe her and tried to pull away, muttering, “You must think I’ve gone mad—”

Adriella’s chest constricted at the fact that Brienne thought she didn’t believe her, tightening her grip on the woman to keep her from pulling away. “I do believe you, Brienne.” she said firmly, “This world is full of horrors that defy reason. I know you would never betray Renly.”

“Adriella, I—”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Catelyn, her eyes taking in the scene with quiet curiosity as the two women practically jumped apart. “Brienne,” she greeted with a nod, her gaze shifting to Adriella. “And who might you be?”

Brienne straightened, her tone taking on a rare warmth despite the conversation with Adriella not moments ago. “This is Adriella Selmy, my lady. Ser Barristan Selmy’s niece. She’s a fierce fighter, and a good friend. If there’s one person in this world that you can trust, it’s her.”

Lady Catelyn’s eyebrows lifted slightly in recognition, glancing at Adriella again, studying her features closely in search of a resemblance. “Ser Barristan’s niece, you say? That is a name that carries great respect.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Adriella said, inclining her head respectfully.

Lady Catelyn returned the gesture, her face impassive but her tone kind as she spoke, “If you are anything like your uncle, I would be glad to have you in my service. Brienne has already sworn herself to me, and I could use another strong sword at my side.”

Adriella’s expression remained steady as she replied, “I appreciate your offer, my lady, but I will not swear myself into the service of another. I choose my loyalties, and they are not given lightly. As long as Brienne stays, so will I, but my oath is to my own honor, not to any lord or lady.”

Lady Catelyn regarded her thoughtfully before giving a slow nod of approval. “A woman who keeps her own counsel is a rare thing. You’re welcome among us, Adriella.”

With that, Lady Catelyn turned and moved away, leaving the two women alone again. Brienne looked down at Adriella, her expression softening again. “You didn’t have to come all this way just for me.” she said meekly.

Adriella smiled up at her, nudging her in the ribs playfully. “And leave you to deal with all this alone? Never. Besides, without you, there’s no way I would be staying back at the camp with all those men. Who would protect me with you gone?”

Brienne allowed a rare smile to tug at her lips as Adriella let out a light chuckle, the two of them following Lady Catelyn into the castle. The Lady stopped for a moment to speak with her father while the two women stood guard outside before showing them to one of the castle's many rooms.

“I do hope you ladies won’t mind sharing a room,” Lady Catelyn said gently as she led the two into a room, “With the castle so full we do not have many to spare and I do not think either of you would wish to sleep amongst the men.”

“We got along fine in Renly’s camp, my lady, but the gesture is appreciated. And who are we to turn down a small comfort such as this when it’s presented to us?” Adriella said in thanks, inclining her head towards Lady Catelyn. Again, the lady returned the gesture before leaving the two alone to get settled.

Adriella and Brienne both took a look around the room. It was spacious enough with a large bed, a chaise lounge with a small oak table before it, a small bookshelf, a decent sized wardrobe, and a chair off in one corner. The two looked to each other with the same question in their eyes, the ocean blue meeting cold iron; who was going to take the bed?

“You take the bed,” Adriella decided, settling the argument before it could even start as she moved to set her knapsack down on the chaise lounge, “There’s no way your frame is going to fit on this thing.”

As much as Brienne wanted to protest, she knew Adreilla was right. Her monstrous frame was far too large for the piece of furniture so, reluctantly, she moved to the bed and began to unpack. A silence fell between the two as it came time for supper, neither of them sure what to say to the other. It had been easy to speak freely with each other before, to talk of past experiences and such but now, to Adriella, it seemed as though she was no longer with the Brienne she knew. This new Brienne was stoic and quiet, never speaking unless spoken too first, and giving the most basic of responses. She was a shell of the woman Adriella had met almost a week prior, but Adriella understood why. She too knew what it felt like to witness a loved one die, though the death of her parents had not been near as horrific as Renly’s. Even so, no one-especially not a nine year old girl-should have to watch their parents die, struggling to breathe as their throats slowly swelled shut… Adriella understood the want to shut down and build up walls so tall and thick no one would ever see how much she hurt inside, to relive the moment again and again, looking for a way she could’ve changed the outcome even when there was nothing that could have been done. Adriella wanted to console her friend, but she also knew that no words would help ease the ache, especially not when it was still so fresh. And so she let Brienne be, hoping that she would come to her when she was ready.

When it came time for supper, the two ate with Lady Catelyn at the high table, overlooking the hall. The atmosphere there was no different than the dining tent in Renly’s camp. Here most thoughts of war were drowned out by ale and thoughts of home. Singers took turns belting out one ballad or another, some of them sweet and cheerful, others melancholy and grim. Adriella watched the men and serving girls quietly from her pace at the table, only looking away to tear off a bite of bread or cut a portion of her meat. At one point, she stole a glance at Brienne, frowning at the sight of the woman’s plate, still nearly as full as it had been an hour ago, her drink practically untouched.

“You need to eat,” she said as she sipped on her ale, her voice firm though still gentle, “Starving yourself will help no one. Least of all Lady Catelyn and yourself. How can you expect to defend her if you do not keep yourself at full strength?”

“I’m fine,” Brienne grumbled, eyes transfixed on the table as she reached for her water, taking the smallest sip before setting the goblet down again, “I’m just not hungry.”

“Eat.” Adriella said again firmer this time, turning to look at Brienne, “Your body will thank you later.”

Brienne growled, her hand clenching into a fist as she repeated, “I’m not hungry.”

“If you think I’m going to sit here and watch you starve you’re sorely mistaken, Brienne.” Adriella had had enough. Sulking in silence she could allow, but she would not let her friend ruin her health over a man who held no love for her, “You will eat of your own accord or I will force the food down your throat right here in the middle of the hall.”

“Adriella—”

“Choose.”

Brienne pondered the demand a moment before sighing in defeat, slowly tearing into her meal under Adriella’s watchful eye. Adriella hated to be so stern with Brienne in her grief, but she had seen it destroy one too many people. If she had a chance to save others from its grasp, she would.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #jane murdstone #jan stevens #miranda hilmarson #captain phasma #lady jane #brienne of tarth #brienne x oc #brienne the beauty #game of thrones

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azrakaban · 7 months ago

Text

Masked pt 1 - Draco Malfoy

This is a 5 part mini fic, hope you enjoy <3

next part

Summary: Draco attends a masked ball... but leaves with more than he anticipated.

A/N; If you can't tell, this is based off of the classic Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet! Idk when and how this came to my brain but I hope you guys enjoy it. Also: NO PANSY SLANDER IS TOLERATED IN MY COMMENTS. PANSY IS BAE AND I LOVE HER SO KEEP YOUR MOUTHS SHUT PLEASE <3

Key info: This is set in Draco's sixth year, so when Voldemort was actively back. Also in this one shot, Theodore and Draco hate each other, whereas in other one shots they're friends

The plot of Deathly Hallows happens after the golden trio's year leaves Hogwarts, so basically the equivalent of their 'eighth' year. The seventh year is just Voldy doing his thing.

Mini Playlist for you guys:

-Love Story (Taylor's version) - Taylor Swift

- Wanna be yours - Arctic Monkeys

- Line without a hook - Ricky Montgomery

- My Blood - Ellie Goulding

- Set fire to the rain - Adele

- Don't blame me - Taylor Swift

- Hits Different - Taylor Swift

- I'm yours - Isabel LaRosa

- Love me or leave me - Little mix

- Only love can hurt like this - Paloma Faith

- Shameless - Camilla Cabello

- Daddy issues - The Neighbourhood

- Total eclipse of the heart - Bonnie Tyler

- Wildest Dreams (Taylor's version) - Taylor Swift

...

Third person POV:

The Malfoys and the Notts hated each other. It was a rivalry that ran deep and long since both families could remember. It was rumoured that the dispute had started with Cantankerus Nott's publishing of 'The Pure Blood Directory' in the 1630's, which featured a small jab at the Malfoy family. The Malfoys, indignant, retaliated, leading to a fourty year dispute.

Needless to say, the only reason the families were ever civil to each other was for the sake of the dark lord. Although even this was strained, and the families tended to go out of their way to avoid each other.

So you can imagine the reaction when the Malfoys turned up to The Dark Lord's ball at The Nott Estate.

It was a dark November Saturday night and the few Death Eaters that that had re-emerged when The Dark Lord rose once again were gathered at a masked ball, hosted by Nikovos and Helyre Nott, accompanied by their son and daughter, Theodore and y/n, twins.

your pov:

As you entered the hall, you pulled the mask down over your eyes, standing to survey the guests before your parents made a beeline for the dark lord and Theodore headed for his friend from Hogwarts. Having been home schooled for your safety, you had never experienced Hogwarts. Your understanding of people your age came from forced 'playdates' with other Pure-Bloods.

It had taught you to be nice to the right people, but you yearned for a true friend. One your parents hadn't pre-approved, a genuine friend.

Unfortunately, you didn't see an end to the monotonous life your parents forced upon you from a young age. You were stuck attending the balls, feigning interest in every new idea presented the Death Eater Meetings you rarely attended. You were usually the only teen there. In reality, you didn't remember a single meeting, having either fallen asleep, zoned out or excused yourself.

Pulling out of the memory with a shudder, you walked through the people filling the hall, heading straight for the drinks table. You grabbed a drink quickly. Non-alcoholic of course. You couldn't stand the substance, having an extreme intolerance to it.

You sank down onto a seat with a view of the drinks and leaned back against the wall, sipping your drink. You zoned out entirely and didn't notice the atmosphere tighten when three masked figures walked in. They spread out and vanished from view, dispersing through the crowd. The atmosphere relaxed and the crowds babble resumed, conversations resuming and turning back to their companions.

It was as you came back to reality that you noticed the blonde haired boy standing by the drinks table throwing back a glass of some liquid. As you watched, he sighed and refilled his glass, downing half his glass in one gulp. You couldn't see the rest of his face, just his mouth, set into a hard line. The mask covered the rest of it.

"You know, if you keep staring, I'll start to be self-conscious." He said, looking over to you and quirking his mouth up a little. "Not staring, just wondering if I've seen you before." You said.

He smirked. "You haven't, I can tell you that Princess." He said, coming over to sit beside you. "Or do you prefer Miss Nott?"

You flipped him off, not giving him the satisfaction of a serious response. "Actually, I prefer Princess." You said, matching the smirk on his face. "And shouldn't I know your name if you know mine?" You said, actually turning to look at him.

"I'd really rather you didn't. " He replied, watching the people dance. You looked to them and your eyes softened, watching the couples dance. He looked to you. "Beautiful." You turned and smiled at him. "Yeah, they are."

"I wasn't talking about the dancing."

You blushed, thankful for the mask covering your cheeks. He stood, setting his glass on a nearby table and outstretching a hand to you.

"May I have this dance?" You calmed your sudden blush and took it.

"You may."

He gently tugged you to your feet and brought you into the circle of dancing couples. His hands rested on your hips and your arms went around his neck, gently swaying to the music. You moved through the motions of the dance, him spinning you at the right times, you moving your feet in time with the beat.

The dance ended and you found your faces close to each others, mere inches apart. You could see the pale blue colour of his eyes, the dark lashes surrounding them and his lips... oh god, his lips. He swallowed and his eyes flickered to your lips for a second. Your faces moved closer, the distance between you growing shorter...

"Y/N!" Yours and mystery guy's eyes snapped up to the source of the yell. Your father came running towards you, his expression thunderous. Your mother came running after him. "Nikovos, calm down, I'm sure its a misunderstanding!" she said. Mystery guy looked back to you and locked eyes with you.

"Tonight, midnight, west balcony." He said. You were instantly confused. "Wha-?"

"Y/N!" Your father yelled again, finally reaching you and pulling the two of you apart. "What in the Salazar do you think you're doing dancing with the Malfoy boy?" he spat, eyeing mystery guy with a glare.

The Malfoy boy. Oh hell.

You looked back to mystery guy. "You're Draco Malfoy?" You said, although you already knew the answer.

"Yes princess. This seems to be new information to you though... perhaps your parents are keeping you too isolated from the real world?" He drawled, smirking at your parents. Your father seemed to be seeing red. (Little inappropriate, given it was a Slytherin ball, but okay Mr Nott - that was an author comment, not part of the story lol x)

"Move yourself far away from her before I make you. And I won't hesitate to snap each of your fingers while doing so." Said Theodore, appearing at your side. You turned, seeing an expression of stone set into your brother's face.

"Ah, but you see Nott, I'd rather keep my fingers for doing other things." Said Draco, rolling his tongue in his cheek. He winked at you from under the mask and you nearly died.

"YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" Your father whisper yelled, a few onlookers starting to watch.

"Were you talking to me or your son, Nr Nott?" Said Draco, smirking once again.

You met Draco's eyes and they had had a glint to them that matched the mocking smile aimed at your father. He was enjoying this, you could tell, and it was nearly frustrating. Nearly. It was more fun watching Nikovos get mad. Your mother's feeble attempts to get him to calm down had done nothing, so she resorted to a different tactic.

"NIKOVOS! You will calm down this instant! We are in the presence of the dark lord, and this sort of behavior is unacceptable. Theodore, go find your friends again, and do not grace me with your presence unless you have something useful to contribute. Nikovos, Yaxley is looking for you, go speak with him. Y/N, go dance with Mattheo, you need the distraction. And you boy..." She finished, turning to Draco. "... You stay away from my family." She said, glaring at him from behind her feathered mask.

"Oh don't worry Madam, I'll stay far away from your husband and son. Be sure of that." Said Draco, turning to walk away.

"I assume your father will be hearing about this?" Said Helyre, almost taunting him. Draco lifted his head a little and halted, but didn't turn.

"No, I don't think he will. I think I'll keep this our little secret." He said, before resuming his walk and being lost from sight. If you were honest, you weren't sure if that was directed at your mother or you.

End of Part 1! If you enjoyed please leave a like, reblog or comment <3

Next Part

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #don't even ask #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys #slytherins #slytherin boys headcanons #slytherin boys fluff #lorenzo berkshire #theodore nott #pansy parkinson #astoria greengrass #tom riddle #shakespeare #romeo and juliet

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dozing-marshmallow · 1 year ago

Note

If requests are open... Chris and reader watching Heathers the original release together?

Ooo! I haven’t actually watched it until today, and it was worth the watch! I hope you have a good time reading this as I did watching the film! This took me the entire day to write since there was so many good scenes to choose from.🥲

Spoiler warning to those who haven’t seen it!

WATCHING HEATHERS: ORIGINAL RELEASE WITH CHRIS MCLEAN

“Yo Chris.” You approached him one evening,“You wanna watch a fun nostalgic movie that involves childhood trauma as a plot point, the idiocy of teenagers in love and girl power?”

“As innnn?”

“Heathers!”

He recognised the film, but his response didn’t demonstrate that,“You know I can never see that name the same way after meeting Heather.”

You knew it wouldn’t,“I don’t think anyone can, but lucky for us, this film isn’t about her.”

“Of course it isn’t, no one with a brain would centre a movie around something like her.”

“Chriiiis.” You pout, setting the disc into the DVD player. You weren’t on tv so there was no need for him to be so destructive.

“What? Can’t I tell the truth?” He asks in a sassy manner,“Producers don’t want someone controversial leading their movie, the public would tear it down before it’s even released! Then again, it is a good way to ensure people will watch, even if it’s not for the reason they were hoping for.”

The film opens with a blonde girl tying her hair back in a red scrunchie with a feminine song elegantly lacing the girls’ beauty and image. The clothes, the hair, the camera quality pull Chris in to reminisce.

“I remember those times! All the gals loved keeping their hair fluffy and in scrunchies!” A shot of the girls stepping on the flowers brings him to ponder,“Can’t remember if they loved mallets though.”

“I thought they would have the colour coded everything.”

“What do you mean?”

You explained,“As in, they were gonna wear the same thing just in their colour, and have their hairstyles identical too.”

“Ohh, yeah, I think that was in the musical.” He recalled,“Speaking of which, if I end up liking this movie, we’ll totally go watch that too.”

Hearing that potential chance to see it made your heart skip a beat, disguising it with,“It’s crazy coincidence that all three of these girls happened to be named Heather.”

“I for one hope they end up like Heather.” So in other words, he wanted them to suffer tremendously.

You’re introduced to the sore thumb protagonist, Veronica, who was being ordered by red Heather to forge hot and horny, but realistically low-key note Kurt’s handwriting and we’ll slip it onto Martha Dumptruck’s lunch tray. The note will give her shower nozzle masturbation material for weeks.

Chris’ eyes ran corner to corner,“How did she say that with a straight face?”

“Welll it’s clearly not their first ploy, and you’ll be surprised to know that’s how teenage girls talk.”

“I have experience, (Y/N).”

The camera pans on an unconventionally attractive girl in sweatpants and a pink hoodie getting her lunch tray. Must’ve been the Martha the girls were planning on upsetting.

“Beth? I didn’t know she was in this film.” Chris chirped.

Your mouth drops at his attempt to slander another one of his contestants,“Chris, you know that’s not Beth! Beth has longer hair and she wears glasses!”

“Scissors and contacts exist, (Y/N).” He pats your back, treating you like a simpleton,“Wouldn’t be surprised if she did them herself for the film.”

Heather pulled Veronica with her on a poll protocol, featuring a question about five million dollars given two days before an alien explosion. She began the poll by a table with a girl named Courtney sitting there.

“Oh, great.” Chris groans,“It’s already a nightmare that three girls are named Heather, now there’s someone called Courtney? Who’s next, Harold?”

“Huh? Chris, Harold is a complete anomaly with Heather and Courtney. I thought you were going to say someone like Tyler.”

“My badd.”

There was a montage of teens from different cliques having individual screen time to answer Heather number one’s question.

“This scene has to mean something, right? I am betting you a hundred bucks that these question protocols are some sort of motif and have a deeper meaning.” Chris confidentially proposes.

“Alright.” It was pointless, but whatever made him happy.

“Uh.” He pauses the movie,“You’re supposed to hedge now.”

“What?”

“Y’know, if I end up being right, you give me a hundred dollars instead.”

What is this man on,“No? If you end up being right, you get to keep your hundred bucks.”

“But whyy? Come on (Y/NN)...it’ll be fun! Live a little.” He rested his head on your shoulder. If that was meant to convince you, it backfired.

“I’m good.”

“Booo! You’re boring! Bo-ring!”

“Chris, a hundred dollars doesn’t even equate to a dollar in your eyes, why are you so bothered?”

The movie focuses on Martha again, clearly in a trance from the letter she was misled into believing was written by her presumed crush. Chris waved at the screen,“Hi Beth!” As music in the background played, with the enhancement of a woman breathing like she was having an orgasm.

You pre-flinched at the motion of Martha getting up and appearing to be walking over to the Jock table, forged letter in hand, anticipating the next few seconds to be nothing, but ripping insults and a confused girl with her heart broken, returning sulkily to her table in confusion and tears. Meanwhile, Chris was sitting up in his seat, smiling.

And your guess was correct: the second that guy, Kurt saw the letter, the dreamy music was replaced by a jagged cruelty of laughter escaping him as he passed the letter to his mate, where he also started laughing. The Heathers were gracefully infected by it too and so was Chris. Feeling humiliated, Martha stomps out of the cafeteria.

“Oh dear. Poor girl.” You verbalise your pity, leaning more towards Veronica’s reaction.

“She’ll be fine.” Chris coughs,“As far as Beth knows, he’s just trying to deny how much he loves her.”

You don’t try scolding him anymore,“Let’s hope she doesn’t turn out to be a yandere.”

“A what now?”

The guy you and Chris questioned the relevance of was revealed to be named Jason Dean. You didn’t pay attention to the problem those jocks had with him, but you couldn’t connect the reason to the utterly random choice on Jason’s part to take a gun out and fire it. Twice.

“What the hell!” You exclaimed.

“What’s the big deal? I do that all the time.” Your boyfriend shrugs lightly.

“Not funny.”

It transitions back to the scenery the Heathers were in the beginning, with their mallets, their balls, the grass and statues.

“God they won’t expel him, they’ll just suspend him for a week or something.” The one in yellow claimed.

“He used a real gun. They should throw his ass in jail.” The leader Heather levelled more logically.

“So it actually happened?” You thought aloud, seeing that Veronica was now not only on the same ground as the others; she possessed her own mallet in blue,“In the beginning, I thought this was place was meant to be a metaphor.”

“A metaphor for what, (Y/N)?”

“...Sisterhood?”

He shakes his head in disapproval.

No way, they were actually plotting on killing Heather Chandler- After the disastrous party at Remington university where Veronica blows it and potentially foreshadows the bad dust forming between her and the rest of the Heathers, Jason crawls in through her window and stayed the night with her, topless. In the morning, they mixed something together with cleaning liquid and orange juice to bring for Heather, Jason’s “family recipe” for her hangover.

After indirect peer pressure, Heather takes the cup from Jason and right after consuming it, the damage instantly kicks in. To Heather’s horror, her gagging became more and more tyrannical to the point of her clasping her hands around her neck and gluing her eyes shut. She wheezes out an incoherent statement, before she falls face first unexpectedly into her glass table, motionless pink robed body landing on a bed of broken glass shards and her flowers, magazines.

Where that scene was meant to be silent, Chris revived an equal reaction of Kurt’s in the beginning- Hilarity.

You were still processing it. You didn’t think they would kill the leader off so early. You thought it would be one of those things where the protagonist would have started off with the lower ranks, saving the leader for last. Not in this story.

“Ahahaha!” In your partner’s fit, he shakily grabs the remote,“I’ve...I’ve got to see it again!”

He rewinded it a few seconds back. Since he knew what was going to happen, his relentless laughter ran in prematurely and lasted longer.

“Chris, come on.”

“One more- one more time.” He repeated, readying to hold onto his stomach again.

You rewatch Heather fall into the glass table. How did he not get bored?

He rewinded it again.

That’s where your patience ran too,“Enough, Chris!” You asserted, trying to grab the remote from him.

He still had that large smile on his face as he holds it away from you,“Wait (Y/N), maybe she won’t fall down this time.” You both know that’s not possible, as she disproves his statement for the fourth time,“Nope!”

“Can we move on now please?” You screech.

“Augh, fine! Let’s have it your way then.” He throws the remote to the floor and latches his arms folding,“Remind me to never watch anything with you again.”

“I won’t.”

“Uh uh...” Chris chuckled, watching the note Veronica forged as Heather’s suicide note be present in the teacher’s hand to be shared around the class so they can “feel its pathetic beauty for yourself”.

“Isn’t that like...a major piece of evidence at the crime scene though? How did she get a hold of it?” You were thinking too deeply about it.

“I don’t know dude, but it seems that no one really liked Heather to take her death personally.” His enthusiasm profound,“Isn’t that similar to the situation for our Heather? Chick was so despicable, her own parents wanted her gone!”

“Do you see how everyone else is dressed in black and she came in navy?” You pointed out Veronica’s standing out funeral attire.

“I’d have done the same.” Chris retorted,“You won’t get a dime of respect from me.”

You scoffed at the prayers Heather’s guests made over her death bed, most of them not even being about her,“The amount of disrespect at her own funeral.”

“Could never be me. The world would die with me.” Of course Chris needed a time of the movie to stroke his ego.

Two days after an atrocious “double date”, Kurt and Ram were coming to school early for some promised fun with Veronica; in reality, they were going to mask a double suicide. They? Why, yes! Jason was waiting behind a tree, with his gun loaded and the two notes Veronica forged the night before, confessing their dying sorrow of the love they felt for each other, that could never be revealed to an uncaring and ununderstanding world.

“Hi Veronica.” Speaking of the devils, they had smugly arrived to the told meeting spot, behind the school.

Chris rubs his hands together deviously, the performing girl requesting them to strip,“Ooo here we go!”

“You do know she’s not actually going to-“

“I know (Y/N), I wasn’t talking about that. I was referring to the part where their bodies fall to the ground helplessly in blood. What kinda sicko do you take me for to think I’d want to see high schoolers have a sword fight with their dicks?” God, he was actually offended.

“Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“I was kind of hoping you could rip my clothes off me sport.” Veronica flirtatiously played.

“Girl’s got serious game!”

“She’d have to, to be able to fool those guys.”

Baam! After Jason’s chasing steps terrified Kurt to return back to where he once successfully fled from, Veronica finally pulled the trigger to send his nearly naked body falling to the ground. Despite Chris getting what he wanted, he was unamused,“So he had enough sense to run the first time, but was paralysed the second time? Seriously? She didn’t even have the gun ready!”

“One more dead body to add to your collection.” Gruesome words, but it cheered him up.

Unnecessary to inform, but they were real killer bullets used on Kurt and Ram that day. When Veronica wrapped her head around it, Chris made it known that he took much pleasure in her screaming at her boyfriend in his car that she never wanted to kill them, while he was trying to unveil the intention that she did. The start of their crumbling relationship.

You shake your head in disbelief when the movie cut to their funeral and how their corpses wore football helmets.

Who names their child Kurt or Ram...?

“It was chaos, fucking chaos!” Veronica ranted, distressed from the next day event that happened in school. It was bad enough that teacher Pauline was attempting to use the second tragedy that week to liven things up as a positive thing, it was broadcasted.

“What are you talking about, huh? I mean today was great! Chaos is great. Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling.”

“I like him. He gets it!” Chris too acknowledged the similarity he held with the male protagonist.

He started laughing from shock when he blew up his radio with his gun. That was the breaking point for Veronica to furiously get up and declare the end of their relationship.

...You know when you’re uneasy seeing something, but your mind forces you to keep watching to see the end of it? That’s what was happening to Chris when Jason grabbed Veronica back down and tried to convince her to stay by forcefully kissing her.

“Oh jeez...I am highly uncomfortable.” Chris lets out, turning his head away from the screen.

At least Jason could manipulate Heather Duke into taking the place of leader to carry out some petition (which Chris bragged that he knew the poll in the beginning would be significant to the plot) that would need all students to sign. After failing to persuade Veronica though, Heather leaves, not before taking pride in how ruthless she’s become.

“You know, I really love the colour symbolism here. That one started off as jealous of the first Heather’s power, so she wore green, cuz green is like a symbol for envy, and now that she’s embodied Heather Chandler’s position, her change of colour to red symbolises how her character developed for the worst.”

“Good observation.” The closest Chris will get to complimenting you.

Out of nowhere, Jason descends from the stairs, in his signature waistcoat.

“He’s back.”

“Or rather, she’s back.” Chris appropriately clarified as Jason took Veronica into his arms, fooling you into believing they were rejoining as a couple.

“So... Are they back together?” The second Chris asked that, Veronica hastily rejected his embrace and stood her ground otherwise,“Haha, guess not.”

Chris huffed in annoyance when Jason kneeled by Veronica’s bed, with Moby Dick in his hand.

“I’m super confused, do you like this guy or not?” You called out on him, not noticing you were taking some of his annoyance as yours.

“I do! But it’s nagging me that he’s everywhere!”

After snatching the largest kitchen knife you’ve ever seen, Jason sprinted to Heather Duke’s room where said girl was asleep in her bed and locked the door shut to prevent any witnesses (i.e. Veronica) from interrupting his ploy.

“That’s why you don’t leave your bedroom door open at night!” Chris raised his voice at the tv like the characters could hear him.

By this point, the priest is fed up with leading these constant funerals for popular teens. No one was taking it seriously anymore either- Hell, the guests were wearing lab coats and 3D glasses.

“Out of all the death beds, I think I’d rather die in her one.” Chris trivialised her funeral with his liking to her unusual coffin of a replica of green gunk in a bathtub.

Veronica stands at the back of the ceremony, a Heather dressed in all black joins her. It wasn’t until she sneered about the smaller number of people at this Heather’s funeral that you’re alerted it’s the former leader Heather.

“Plot twist!” Chris declares, downing his entire glass of wine.

“No way...” You’re stunned,“Do you think she actually survived or Veronica’s hallucinating?”

“No idea.”

Turns out it was all dream.

“Oh good because she can’t be going to sleep in tights.” All that Chris was concerned about, Veronica writing her last entry.

“She’s dead!?” Chris regurgitated on his popcorn at the sight of Veronica’s body hanging from the ceiling,“Duuuude! I thought she’d have main character armour!”

You yell when Jason theatrically talks like his ex girlfriend could see,“Look at how he’s reacting to it! He’s acting like she’s not dead! Deraaaanged!”

“That’s probably the most relatable scene yet.”

You flip your head to him,“Sorry?”

“Ohhh listen listen, he’s going to take right after his old man!” Someone regained their composure,”Blowing up the school. Respect. Only so little of us could pull that off.”

“No, what did you say just then?” You probed him, refusing to let him off the hook so easily.

“Huh? That Veronica’s dead?”

“After that.”

“...He’s going to blow up the school?” You can’t tell if Chris genuinely forgot or was playing dumb, but never mind, you lost motivation to interrogate further. Attention is his life source.

Jason reads and reveals,“We students of Westerberg High will die today, our burning bodies will be the ultimate protest to a society that degrades us.”

“So the entire time, they were signing up to die?”

“Sound familiar?”

“You’re kidding. So he went through the difficulty of planting the bombs in the boiler room, just to blow himself up outside the school?”

He’ll finally be with mommy. Chris’ whining disappointment didn’t stop an ashy, bleeding, wild haired Veronica(who by the miracle of God didn’t actually die that scene) to go back inside, like she didn’t witness her crazy ex kill himself moments ago. She stumbles upon Martha, in a wheelchair and as the rest of the school leaves, the both of them decide to stay together, inside, smiling, marking an implication that they may bloom into something tender.

What a bittersweet hour and forty three minutes.

“Oh! That’s it. Well... That was dark.” Chris firstly begins his thoughts by underlining the conspicuous theme of the movie,“No joke, it was really messed up. But you know my vibe.” He sniffled, flicking a teardrop from his eye,“I loved it! See, this is a perfect example as to why the eighties were the best! You don’t get a lot of dark colourful movies like these nowadays, everybody’s so boring and sensitive and unoriginal.”

You added onto that, from another aspect,“I think we were desensitised to a lot of things that happened though. Still can’t get over how Veronica’s mom thought she’d off herself because she couldn’t get some job at the mall.”

He sighs,“What can I say? We were bound to see it one way or another. A fine film that shows a stupid world that’s still accurate today.” That pessimism didn’t go well with Chris gaining satisfaction from stretching his stiff arms out,“Overall, it was sick! Ten outta ten, would watch again. It just feels a tad bit weird watching it all happen as a grown man. I would literally close my eyes at some points, and every time, I would be confused if it was still the movie playing, or if you switched it to Total Drama.”

On the topic of his show...“When you think about it, Jason is the alternative Trent and Veronica is the alternative Gwen.”

Lightbulb moment. Uh oh.

(Sorry if it feels incomplete, there was a lot of things I had to take out to avoid it being too lengthy 😞 If anyone’s interested, though, I’ll publish some of the things that didn’t make the final post, but would have been great to have :))

#td chris #request #chris mclean #chris mclean x reader #total drama chris mclean #tdi x reader #heathers 1988 #heathers #td chris mclean x reader #total drama island chris #total drama

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starrynightarchive · 9 months ago

Note

🥑🍄🔪🦴🧩

(you can't show me ask games and expect me to choose ONE)

welcome to my inbox venus. fancy seeing you here after the boop war that i lost in.

⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

easy. @spiderbends

⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

chuuya has myoclonic epilepsy!! give that man a fucked up nervous system your honour no way his body is pristine after using corruption left and right. back in his pm days, dazai used to accompany him to his appointments <3 he never hovers when it comes to this, but always gives support in his weird autism creature kubrik stare way. he also reminds him to take his meds. chuuya is not forgetful, but dazai brings his meds with him always. just in case he forgot to take it before their missions.

⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

i answered this question already but hm. I'll just give you a random fact i learnt during research for a fic. did you know that people used to sell cheap moonshine claiming it was absinthe back in the days? they put it in cheap bathtubs and colored green with copper salts. They were poisoning their customers without knowing it. lesson learned: don't buy counterfeit alcohol kids

⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?

right now? bsd. honestly whatever anime i'm watching. and if i really like a person's writing style, that makes me temporarily go insane and experiment with mine. for example markus zusak's book thief inspired me to write my dazai&death dynamic study fic.

⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

answered this one too but hm. if the grammar is really bad. mischaracterization to the point that they are straight up slandering the character. see i can excuse some amount of ooc content but if you are getting the essence of the character wrong..... for example I've seen so many popular fics with homophobic kunikida, borderline abusive kunikida etc. like. fuck you. that's my emotional support blonde workwife. he would never.

#thank you for the ask!#vi talks #ask game

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werepuppy-steve · 5 months ago

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gay pirate brianrot (our flag means death)

just straight up vibes, mate

the chain - fleetwood mac

sweet creature - harry styles

could have been me - the struts

here i go again - whitesnake

love is gone (acoustic) - SLANDER, dylan matthew

let me follow - son lux

achilles come down - gang of youths

till forever falls apart - ashe, FINNEAS

i found - amber run

achilles heel - j. maya

pierre - ryn weaver

partners in crime - set it off, ashe costello

motion sickness - phoebe bridgers

arms unfolding - dodie

sea of love - cat power

hello hello - elton john

ready now - dodie

love like you - caleb hayes

this will be (an everlasting love) - natalie cole

abcdefu (angrier) - GAYLE

would you go with me - josh turner

if i ain't got you - alicia keys

ship in a bottle - fin

underground - cody fry

one (mono single version) - harry nilsson

simply the best - billianne

miss missing you - fall out boy

burn butcher burn - joey batey

in case you don't live forever - ben platt

never love an anchor - the crane wives

inkpot gods - the amazing devil

ruin - the amazing devil

i guess i'm in love - clinton kane

chicken tendies - clinton kane

like real people do - hozier

seven - taylor swift

our prayer - the beach boys

hallucinogenics - matt maeson

crazy on you - heart

locomotive breath - jethro tull

high on a rocky ledge - moondog

messa da requiem: 2. dies irae - guiseppe verdi, berliner philharmoniker, carlo maria guilini, ernst senff chor

sonata in e major, k. 380 - domenico scarlatti, khatia buniatishvili

gnossienne no. 5: modéré - erik satie, olga scheps

concerto for recorder and viola dagamba in a minor, twv 52:a1: I.grave - georg philipp telemann, hille perl

II triello - ennio morricone

perfect day - lou reed

träumerei (kinderderszenen, op. 15) - robert schumann, ronny matthes

2 arabesques, l. 66: no. 1 in e major - claude debusy, peter frankl

rêverie, l. 68: rêverie - claude debussy, jean-yves thibaudet

avalanche - leonard cohen

miles from nowhere - yusuf / cat stevens

go to hell - clinton kane

back to december - taylor swift

mine - taylor swift

break my stride - matthew wilder

viva la vida - coldplay

blackbeard's ghost - jesse rice

back to black - amy winehouse

change (in the house of flies) - deftones

we'll never have sex - leith ross

make up your mind - florence + the machine

everybody loves me - onerepublic

the captain's daughter - alison krauss & union station

easy on me - adele

hoist up the thing - the longest johns

gimme! gimme! gimme! (a man after midnight) - abba

right where you left me - taylor swift

super trouper - abba

soldier, poet, king - the oh hellos

raise hell - brandi carlile

ocean blue - moniker

no choir - florence + the machine

leggie blonde - flight of the conchords

little lion man - mumford & sons

rolling in the deep - adele

pirate song - ben barnes

i love you like an alcoholic - the taxpayers

hello my old heart - the oh hellos

a pirate's life - joel fry

to death we go - joel fry

hurts like hell - fleurie, tommee profitt

lay all your love on me - abba

judas - lady gaga

the moon will sing - the crane wives

this side of paradise - coyote theory

shrike - hozier

enchanted - taylor swift

the night we met - lord huron

dear wormwood - the oh hellos

iris - the goo goo dolls

favorite crime - olivia rodrigo

the foundations of decay - my chemical romance

curses - the crane wives

matilda - harry styles

if i could fly - one direction

welcome home, son - radical face

the mary ellen carter - the longest johns

sweet disposition - the temper trap

like ships need the sea - emily hearn

#cj talks #clearing out my spotify #i did this on vampeddie a couple times with other playlists i wanted to get rid of but then it got nuked 😔#ofmd #our flag means death

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lemonhemlock · 2 years ago

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Cersei fooled her husband and the entirety of Westeros with the paternity of her children for decades, used her pussy power to straight up usurp the throne for House Lannister without anyone being the wiser, and succeeded where Rhaenyra failed (putting her sons from a different biological father on the throne).

Cersei murdering and destroying as quickly as possible Robert and Ned and paving the way for her son’s coronation to go unchallenged VS Rhaenyra choosing to alienate herself in Dragonstone knowing HER ENEMIES are literally in King’s Landing with her sick father and instead choosing not to do anything about it. THEY ARE NOT THE SAME.

And unpopular opinion but Cersei is much more admirable and impressive than Rhaenyra for asserting her sexual and reproductive autonomy. Cersei is the queen consort and married to a man similar to Aegon IV, an incredibly muscular and large man who regularly rapes and beat her and hates her. Rhaenyra is a princess, the heir to the throne, she has a dragon, the king, her husband, and her lover unconditionally support and protect her. Of course she can do whatever she wants. Is it really defiance and rebellion if you are allowed to break the rules ? Rhaenyra has never been in the same situation as Cersei or Daena the Defiant.

always here for the cersei galaxy pussy brain supremacy 🙏 so often in the fandom i see takes about how dumb or delusional cersei's plots are, rarely do i see some heartfelt appreciation for our one true queen's successful machinations 😪

i have to do a re-read before i can elaborate a proper critique, but i will say this, though: as a police procedural / detective story, AGOT isn't really where it's at. catelyn's reasoning for thinking cersei & jaime pushed bran out of the window is not really convincing (she discovers a blonde hair in the tower? be serious, george. i had no idea the lannisters were the only blonde people in westeros). ned's reasoning for thinking joffrey can't possibly be robert's son is not really satisfying for me (they wouldn't know about recessive genes back then, but they would know that some rarer traits like blonde hair sometimes manifest back into family trees after some generations). it's never said how stannis found out about their affair (did renly know as well? i can't remember, i'm inclined to say he didn't). or littlefinger. or varys. or jon arryn. or what kind of proof they could have possibly produced, other than "because i say so"?

the author just doesn't bother with those questions and wants us to believe they simply knew, the consequences of which is unforgivable cersei slander 😤

anyway, agree with the rhaenyra comparison: she only wishes she could be as based as THEE queen!

#cersei lannister #anti rhaenyra targaryen #ask #laurensbacall

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novankenn · 2 years ago

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"Jaune Gets a Gun AU" Eddie Valiant's Toon Gun

Inspired by the posts of @howlingday

Jaune and Ruby continued to wander about the gun show. Jaune's head was swimming with all the models, variants, and types of weapons he and Ruby had perused. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jaune caught sight of something very familiar.

Ruby was busy chowing down on a whistle-dog when she noticed that Jaune was not by her side anymore. She scanned the crowd around her until she saw the familiar and distinctive mop of blonde hair. Scarfing down the rest of her snack, she made her way over to the small, out of the way booth that Jaune was standing before.

Ruby slowed her approach as it was obvious by Jaune's body language that he was getting a little heated with whomever was in charge of the booth.

Jaune: This isn't yours! It belonged to my Grandfather Eddie Valiant!

????: Eh, whatever, kid. I gots it, and I can sells it!

Ruby closed enough to see around the edge of the booth, and stopped dead in her tracks. She blinked twice and then pinched herself. Looking about herself, she noticed no one else at the show was paying any attention to the commotion, as her first friend of Beacon was literally arguing with...

Jaune: How did you get it?

????: Eh, from somewhere. Don't matter, kid, without proof, what you are accosting me of is slander.

Ruby: Jaune?

Jaune: You want proof! Here's the proof!

Jaune reached forward faster than the weasel could move and ripped open a small compartment just below the oversized gun.

Ruby's eye bugged out as she witnessed the six dressed up bullets start to move, yawning and bending as if they were just waking up.

????: What in Sam hill... Little Jauney! Ain't you a site for sore eyes!

????: I ain't seen you for a dog's age, youngin!

Jaune: Hey Whiskers. Good to see you too, Stogie. Good to see all of you.

Weasel: Eh? No touchin' the merch!

Ruby: Jaune?

Jaune: Merch!? This belongs to my family! It was given to my grandfather by his partner before some low life dropped a piano on his head! This is a Family Heirloom!

Weasel: Not happening, Kid. Youse got no...

Jaune: Listen here, if you don't return this to its proper home, not only am I going to start bouncing off these walls, I'm also going to kick you in the...

Ruby: Nose!

Weasel: Eh, what? Nose doesn't rhyme with walls?

Jaune: No, but this does!

Ruby winced as Jaune caught the Weasel with a kick straight in the crotch that launched him straight through the roof.

Jaune: Guys, you ready to go home?

Whiskers/Stogie/Buckaroo/Chief/Rebel/Bandido: (Yip and Holler)

Jaune smiles as he closes up the box and tucks it under his arm.

Ruby: Jaune you're not...

Jaune: Nope. Going to send this home to Mama Valiant. Where it belongs.

Ruby: Good.

Jaune: Good?

Ruby: There's been enough weird stuff going on today... and seeing that just makes it weirder than normal...

(Just having some fun, doubtful that it is as entertaining as @howlingday's stuff, but felt like trying again. Hope you enjoyed)

#jaune arc #ruby rose #who framed roger rabbit #jaune gets a gun au

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miku-meeku · 1 year ago

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Gurl, Variable Barricade was literally the first otome game I played.

I'll give you a quick run down, our MC Hibari is an independent girlboss who's just awful at romance. She's from a powerful family so she expects an arranged marriage but her grandfather was like 'LMAO, no. You have to choose from these 4 trash men instead and your gonna live with them for a while'.

So for our 4 love interests are as follow, marriage fraud who is Ichiya Mitsumori who is also the ultimate male wife, the gold digger which is Shion Mayuzumi (material girl), submissive and bully-able Nayuta Yagami and finally gambling addict Taiga Isuguri (personal fav)

The game is very much a sort of rom com, our lovely Hibari has to pick one of them to be her husband which is hard when everyone seems like they would be a dead beat spouse. It's dangerously hilarious, like girl I was laughing every 10 mins

Also to me Taiga is definitely Whitney, hands down no arguments. Shion could be Robin since ya know, Robin doesn't do jack shit and is only there for eye candy, Nayuta is Kylar mostly because he would just straight up do anything Hibari says to the degree that if she said she wanted him to be her dog he would woolf, Ichiya is... I can't really see him as Sydney, well atleast corrupt Sydney, idk he wouldn't fit

Anyways play Variable Barricade

i feel like literally only one character suits one of the LIs in DoL and its just Whitney BAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA

Shion is too pretty to be Robin (no offense Robin) but then again, I did a lil digging (cuz blonde boys makes me drop my pants) and wowie this mf doesnt do anything other than loiter, hes just like me frfr- and Robin also doesnt do anything other than loiter (sorry for Robin slander, ily Robin)

Nayuta's dog traits and obeying yada yada does seem to fit Kylar's but this guy is too happy, he reminds me of someone that I can't pinpoint HMMM,,, you think if i color his hair black, he'd look more like a happy version of Kylar,,,

and the one who doesn't fit anyone is Sydney BAHAHHAHA, I read a lil abt Ichiya and they literally have nothing in common, rip Sydney

anws its actually kinda funny, back then i always look away from bad boys until recently with Whitney cough, TAIGA LIKES BRITISH ROCK BAHAHAHAHA ISNT THIS JUST WHITNEY FR, i wonder if he sounds like floyd from twst since hes voiced by nobuhiko okamoto or is using more of his bakugo voice instead (i really love nobuhiko okamoto sm)

honestly would love to play this game to immerse myself in romancing a Whitney look-a-like but....

no money

no nintendo switch

im poor sobs

goodbye japanese whitney voiced by nobuhiko okamoto

maybe one day in the future...

#asks #otomate

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skydigiblogs · 5 months ago

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sky and co's seeker thoughts (ch 2)

ough, okay, quick thoughts on chapter 2. will try to be brief but i'll likely elaborate on these at a later point once i finish the whole novel (which, yeah, i am still gonna force myself through even though i am disliking it; i did the same for next, and it'll keep me occupied at work lmao)

so, first thing's first: i really do not like the worldbuilding of seekers. there's a lot going on that makes me very uncomfortable. that is:

everything to do with nation x. introducing it and describing it only through its low GDP, state-sponsored terrorism, and dictator, is uh. hm. it just doesn't sit right with me to strip a nation down to strictly these things, because unfortunately even if you call it "nation x," those characteristics have real world geopolitical connotations. to put it lightly, guys that feels a bit racist of you.

following on that, uh, hey, you know what also doesn't look great? SoC is introduced as "A militant organization that is considered to be the right wing of the code cracking team." SoC is described as a terrorist group itself (and i genuinely can't tell if this is the writer trying to write it so that this is supposed to be slanderous).

and one of their top execs is also the only person of color we have in the novel. right, right, cool, um. hey. like i love marvin's characterization so far dgmr, he is an actual person, but i really hope seekers tries to do anything to counter the fact it literally described SoC as a right wing, terrorist group??

final worldbuilding note: i don't like the fact that seekers hinges on us believing that the fuckin metaverse took off enough that there's a crypto rivaling the USD. this is the only worldbuilding note i am willing to let slide, since it is, at the end of the day, in service of giving us more of a reason why digimon can affect the real world at all (since, afaik, digimon can't realize in the real world, only hololize). other series like CS and GG did it just fine without this shit but i will let it slide for now. i may not be so kind on it in the inevitable essay about the whole thing.

i fucking hate sad white boy (leon). just straight up thumbs down i hate everything about him and how he is used narratively. this is because he is described as a blonde, blue eyed man with a tragic past whose fit physique is thanks to him working out to bury that "weakness" (his trauma). he has a savior complex and is an american and god holy fucking shit i hate him.

reason why i hate sad white boy number 2: sad white boy in chapter 2 is, by the end of it, almost explicitly meant to represent an ideal of his that is in conflict with eiji. that's to say, sad white boy is "justice," and eiji is "freedom." this is practically handed to us in chapter 2-9. i am aware that takemikazuchi mode exists so i know obviously at some point these two have to make amends, but seeing how chapter 2 ended with eiji crying over sad white boy martyring himself to save him (we'll get back to THAT in a sec), implying that he would even consider relenting his idea of "freedom" for sad white boy is. hm.

reason 3: following on that last point, sad white boy is by definition privileged. seekers isn't hesitant to point this out, which i do like! what i don't like, however, is that them doing so feels hollow after sad white boy's martyring at the end of chapter 2. this is especially so thanks to the fact that it's also coming after loogarmon's dark digivolution, which, in the text, feels like the narrative trying to condemn eiji for his resentment towards leon (something which, for a kid like eiji who has lost so fucking much makes sense!).

(side note: i know in general digimon has a habit of using dark digivolution as a way of like, condemning certain emotions. i would love to unpack that in a longer essay, to be honest.)

i love eiji though. dumb little shit.

still not sure what the narrative wants me to think about the police though. by the end of it i'm probably going to have a lot of notes about it. certainly feels sour on the reading palate considering what police actually do though. yesterday i mentioned how much i hated the narrative putting a line about colonialism right next to a scene that, at least imo, felt like it was trying to paint the digipol as the good guys. like, irl, cops function as an extension of colonialism, so it just. idk.

tl;dr: savers i miss you. savers please.

(for context: i started my rewatch of savers because i wanted to see how DATS was treated in terms of portraying police. savers pleasantly surprised me considering it quite explicitly showed that the government can and will enable genocidal behavior. like, kurata wasn't a "bad apple," he was enabled by the impatience of the japanese government and a LOT OF TROOPS.)

(also savers did the privileged character clashing with the more hot-headed/loose main character thing way better than my experience is feeling at the end of chapter 2 with eiji and sad white boy.)

#sky talks #digimon #digimon seekers #sorry to any leon judge alexander fans out there #but if i met that man in real life i think i would punch him very hard #i really want to be surprised by seekers but man oh man the parts i knew i was gonna hate hurt so much worse than i thought they would

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rhaenyrasbabe · 1 year ago

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The Duke and I (Part 1)

(This is fully extracted from book, only Diana's character and Aemond's character belong to me)

The Bridgertons are by far the most prolific family in the upper echelons of society. Such industriousness on the part of the viscountess and the late viscount is commendable, although one can find only banality in their choice of names for their children. Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Diana, Eloise, Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth— orderliness is, of course, beneficial in all things, but one would think that intelligent parents would be able to keep their children straight without needing to alphabetize all of their names except one of them.

Furthermore, the sight of the viscountess and all eight of her children in one room is enough to make one fear one is seeing double— or triple— or worse. Never has This Author seen a collection of siblings so ludicrously alike in their physical regard. Although This Author has never taken the time to record eye color, all eight possess similar bone structure and the same thick, chestnut hair. One must pity the viscountess as she seeks advantageous marriages for her brood that she did not produce a single child of more fashionable coloring. Still, there are advantages to a family of such consistent looks— there can be no doubt that all eight are of legitimate parentage.

Ah, Gentle Reader, your devoted Author wishes that that were the case amid all large families…

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers,26 April 1813

"Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!" Violet Bridgerton crumpled the single-page newspaper into a ball and hurled it across the elegant drawing room. Her daughters Diana and Daphne wisely made no comment and pretended to be engrossed in her embroidery.

"Did you read what she said?" Violet demanded. "Did you?"

Daphne and Diana eyed the ball of paper, which now rested under a mahogany end table. Daphne spoke "I didn't have the opportunity before you, er, finished with it."

"Read it, then," Violet wailed, her arm slicing dramatically through the air. "Read how that woman has maligned us."

Diana calmly set down her embroidery and reached under the end table. She smoothed the sheet of paper out on her lap and read the paragraph about her family. Blinking, she looked up. "This isn't so bad, Mother. In fact, it's a veritable benediction compared to what she wrote about the Featheringtons last week."

"How am I supposed to find you both a husband while that woman is slandering your name?"

The twins forced themselves to exhale. After nearly two seasons in London, the mere mention of the word husband was enough to set their temples pounding. They wanted to marry, truly they did, and they weren't even holding out for a true love match. But was it really too much to hope for a husband for whom one had at least some affection?

Thus far, eight men had asked for their hands, but when Diana had thought about living the rest of their days in the company of any of them, she just couldn't do it. There were a number of men she thought might make reasonably good husbands, but the problem was—none of them was interested. Oh, they all liked her. Everyone liked her. Everyone thought she were funny and kind and a quick wit, and no one thought them the least bit unattractive, but at the same time, no one was dazzled by her beauty, stunned into speechlessness by her presence, or moved to write poetry in her honor.

Men, she thought with disgust, were interested only in those women who terrified them. No one seemed inclined to court someone like her. They all adored her, or so they said, because she was so easy to talk to, and she always seemed to understand how a man felt. As one of the men Diana had thought might make a reasonably good husband had said, "Deuce take it, Di, you're just not like regular females. You're positively normal."

Which she might have managed to consider a compliment if he hadn't proceeded to wander off in search of the latest blonde beauty.

Diana looked down and noticed that her hand was clenched into a fist. Then she looked up and realized her mother was staring at her, clearly waiting for her to say something. Since she had already exhaled, Diana cleared her throat, and said, "I'm sure Lady Whistledown's little column is not going to hurt my chances for a husband, the same for Daphne."

"Diana, it's been two years for you and Daphne!"

"And Lady Whistledown has only been publishing for three months, so I hardly see how wecan lay the blame at her door."

"I'll lay the blame wherever I choose," Violet muttered.

Diana's fingernails bit her palms as she willed herself not to make a retort. She knew her mother had only her best interests at heart, she knew her mother loved her. And she loved her mother, too. In fact, until Diana had reached marriageable age, Violet had been positively the best of mothers. She still was, when she wasn't despairing over the fact that after Diana and Daphne she had three more daughters to marry off.

Violet pressed a delicate hand to her chest. "She cast aspersions on your parentage."

"No," Diana said slowly. It was always wise to proceed with caution when contradicting her mother. "Actually, what she said was that there could be no doubt that we are all legitimate. Which is more than one can say for most large families of the ton."

"She shouldn't have even brought it up," Violet sniffed.

"Mother, she's the author of a scandal sheet. It's her job to bring such things up."

"She isn't even a real person," Violet added angrily. She planted her hands on her slim hips, then changed her mind and shook her finger in the air. "Whistledown, ha! I've never heard of any Whistledowns. Whoever this depraved woman is, I doubt she's one of us. As if anyone of breeding would write such wicked lies."

"Of course she's one of us," Diana said, her brown eyes filling with amusement. "If she weren't a, member of the ton, there is no way she'd be privy to the sort of news she reports. Did you think she was some sort of impostor, peeking in windows and listening at doors?"

"I don't like your tone, Diana Bridgerton," Violet said, her eyes narrowing.

Diana bit back another smile. "I don't like your tone," was Violet's standard answer when one of her children was winning an argument. But it was too much fun to tease her mother. "I wouldn't be surprised," she said, cocking her head to the side, "if Lady Whistledown was one of your "friends."

"Bite your tongue, Diana. No friend of mine would ever stoop so low."

"Very well," Diana allowed, "it's probably not one of your friends. But I'm certain it's someone we know. No interloper could ever obtain the information she reports."

Violet crossed her arms. "I should like to put her out of business once and for all." Diana soon realized that Daphne left the room

"If you wish to put her out of business," Diana could not resist pointing out, "you shouldn't support her by buying her newspaper."

"And what good would that do?" Violet demanded. "Everyone else is reading it. My puny little embargo would do nothing except make me look ignorant when everyone else is chuckling over her latest gossip."

That much was true, Diana silently agreed. Fashionable London was positively addicted to Lady Whistledown's Society Papers. The mysterious newspaper had arrived on the doorstep of every member of the ton three months earlier. For two weeks it was delivered unbidden every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And then, on the third Monday, butlers across London waited in vain for the pack of paperboys who normally delivered Whistledown, only to discover that instead of free delivery, they were selling the gossip sheet for the outrageous price of five pennies a paper.

Diana had to admire the fictitious Lady Whistledown's savvy. By the time she started forcing people to pay for their gossip, all the ton was addicted. Everyone forked over their pennies, and somewhere some meddlesome woman was getting very rich.

While Violet paced the room and huffed about this "hideous slight" against her family, Diana looked up to make certain her mother wasn't paying her any attention, then let her eyes drop to peruse the rest of the scandal sheet. Whistledown —as it was now called—was a curious mix of commentary, social news, scathing insult, and the occasional compliment. What set it apart from any previous society news sheets was that the author actually listed her subjects' names in full. There was no hiding behind abbreviations such as Lord S------and Lady G------. If Lady Whistledown wanted to write about someone, she used his full name. The ton declared themselves scandalized, but they were secretly fascinated.

This most recent edition was typical Whistledown. Aside from the short piece on the Bridgertons—which was really no more than a description of the family— Lady Whistledown had recounted the events at the previous night's ball. Diana hadn't attended, as it had been her younger sister's birthday, and the Bridgertons always made a big fuss about birthdays. And with eight children, there were a lot of birthdays to celebrate.

"You're reading that rubbish," Violet accused.

Diana looked up, refusing to feel the least bit guilty. "It's a rather good column today. Apparently Cecil Tumbley knocked over an entire tower of champagne glasses last night."

"Really?" Violet asked, trying not to look interested.

"Mmm-hmm," Diana replied. "She gives quite a good account of the Middlethorpe ball. Mentions who was talking to whom, what everyone was wearing—"

"And I suppose she felt the need to offer her opinions on that point," Violet cut in.

Diana smiled wickedly. "Oh, come now, Mother. You know that Mrs. Featherington has always looked dreadful in purple."

Violet tried not to smile. Diana could see the corners of her mouth twitching as she tried to maintain the composure she deemed appropriate for a viscountess and mother. But within two seconds, she was grinning and sitting next to her daughter on the sofa. "Let me see that," she said, snatching up the paper. "What else happened? Did we miss anything important?"

Diana said, "Really, Mother, with Lady Whistledown as a reporter, one needn't actually attend any events." She waved toward the paper. "This is almost as good as actually being there. Better, probably. I'm certain we had better food last night than they did at the ball. And give that back." She yanked the paper back, leaving a torn corner in Violet's hands.

"Diana!"

Diana affected mock righteousness. "I was reading it."

"Well!"

"Listen to this." Violet leaned in. Diana read: "The rake formerly known as Earl Targaryen has finally seen fit to grace London with his presence. Although he has not yet deigned to make an appearance at a respectable evening function, the new Duke of Hastings has been spotted several times at White's and once at Tattersall's. " She paused to take a breath. "His grace has resided abroad for six years. Can it be any coincidence that he has returned only now that the old duke is dead?"

Diana looked up. "My goodness, she is blunt, isn't she? Isn't Targaryen one of Anthony's friends?"

"He's Hastings now," Violet said automatically, "and yes, I do believe he and Anthony were friendly at Oxford. And Eton as well, I think." Her brow scrunched and her blue eyes narrowed with thought. "He was something of a hellion, if my memory serves. Always at odds with his father. But reputed to be quite brilliant. I'm fairly sure that Anthony said he took a first in mathematics. Which," she added with a maternal roll of her eyes, "is more than I can say for any of my children."

"Now, now, Mother," Diana teased. "I'm sure I would take a first if Oxford would only see fit to admit women."

Violet snorted. "I corrected your arithmetic papers when your governess was ill, Diana."

"Well, maybe in history, then," Diana said with a grin. She looked back down at the paper in her hands, her eyes straying to the new duke's name. "He sounds quite interesting," she murmured.

Violet looked at her sharply. "He's quite unsuitable for a young lady of your years is what he is."

"Funny how my 'years,' as you put it, volley back and forth between being so young that I cannot even meet Anthony's friends and being so old that you despair of my ever contracting a good marriage." "Diana Bridgerton, I don't—"

"—like my tone, I know." Diana grinned. "But you love me."

Violet smiled warmly and wrapped an arm around Diana's shoulder. "Heaven help me, I do."

Diana gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. "It's the curse of motherhood. You're required to love us even when we vex you."

Violet just sighed. "I hope that someday you have children—"

"—just like me, I know." Diana smiled nostalgically and rested her head on her mother's shoulder. Her mother could be overly inquisitive, and her father had been more interested in hounds and hunting than he'd been in society affairs, but theirs had been a warm marriage, filled with love, laughter, and children. "I could do a great deal worse than follow your example, Mother," she murmured.

"Why, Diana," Violet said, her eyes growing watery, "what a lovely thing to say."

Diana twirled a lock of her chestnut hair around her finger, and grinned, letting the sentimental moment melt into a more teasing one. "I'm happy to follow in your footsteps when it comes to marriage and children, Mother, just so long as I don't have to have eight. "

At that exact moment, Aemond Targaryen, the new Duke of Hastings and the erstwhile topic of the Bridgerton ladies' conversation, was sitting at White's. His companion was none other than Anthony Bridgerton, Diana's eldest brother. The two cut a striking pair, both tall and athletic, with thick dark hair. But where Anthony's eyes were the same deep chocolate brown as his sister's, Aemond's were icy blue, with an oddly penetrating gaze.

It was those eyes as much as anything that had earned him his reputation as a man to be reckoned with. When he stared at a person, clear and unwavering, men grew uncomfortable. Women positively shivered.

But not Anthony. The two men had known each other for years, and Anthony just laughed when Aemond raised a brow and turned his icy gaze upon him. "You forget, I've seen you with your head being lowered into a chamber pot," Anthony had once told him. "It's been difficult to take you seriously ever since."

To which Aemond had replied, "Yes, but if I recall, you were the one holding me over that fragrant receptacle."

"One of my proudest moments, to be sure. But you had your revenge the next night in the form of a dozen eels in my bed."

Aemond allowed himself a smile as he remembered both the incident and their subsequent conversation about it. Anthony was a good friend, just the sort a man would want by his side in a pinch. He'd been the first person Aemond had looked up upon returning to England.

"It's damned fine to have you back, Targaryen," Anthony said, once they'd settled in at their table at White's. "Oh, but I suppose you'll insist I call you Hastings now."

"No," Aemond said rather emphatically. "Hastings will always be my father. He never answered to anything else." He paused. "I'll assume his title if I must, but I won't be called by his name."

"If you must?" Anthony's eyes widened slightly. "Most men would not sound quite so resigned about the prospect of a dukedom."

Aemond raked a hand through his dark hair. He knew he was supposed to cherish his birthright and display unwavering pride in the Basset family's illustrious history, but the truth was it all made him sick inside. He'd spent his entire life not living up to his father's expectations; it seemed ridiculous now to try to live up to his name. "It's a damned burden is what it is," he finally grumbled

"You'd best get used to it," Anthony said pragmatically, "because that's what everyone will call you."

Aemond knew it was true, but he doubted if the title would ever sit well upon his shoulders.

"Well, whatever the case," Anthony added, respecting his friend's privacy by not delving further into what was obviously an uncomfortable topic, "I'm glad to have you back. I might finally get some peace next time I escort my sister to a ball."

Aemond leaned back, crossing his long, muscular legs at the ankles. "An intriguing remark."

Anthony raised a brow. "One that you're certain I'll explain?"

"But of course."

"I ought to let you learn for yourself, but then, I've never been a cruel man."

Aemond chuckled. "This coming from the man who dunked my head in a chamber pot?"

Anthony waved his hand dismissively. "I was young."

"And now you're a model of mature decorum and respectability?"

Anthony grinned. "Absolutely."

"So tell me," Aemond drawled, "how, exactly, am I meant to make your existence that much more peaceful?"

"I assume you plan to take your place in society?"

"You assume incorrectly."

"But you are planning to attend Lady Danbury's ball this week," Anthony said.

"Only because I am inexplicably fond of the old woman. She says what she means, and—" Aemond's eyes grew somewhat shuttered.

"And?" Anthony prompted. Aemond gave his head a little shake. "It's nothing. Just that she was rather kind to me as a child. I spent a few school holidays at her house with Riverdale. Her nephew, you know."

Anthony nodded once. "I see. So you have no intention of entering society. I'm impressed by your resolve. But allow me to warn you—even if you do not choose to attend the ton's events, they will find you,”

Aemond, who had chosen that moment to take a sip of his brandy, choked on the spirit at the look on Anthony's face when he said, "they." After a few moments of coughing and sputtering, he finally managed to say, "Who, pray tell', are 'they'?"

Anthony shuddered. "Mothers."

"Not having had one myself, I can't say I grasp your point."

"Society mothers, you dolt. Those fire-breathing dragons with daughters of—God help us— marriageable age. You can run, but you'll never manage to hide from them. And I should warn you, my own is the worst of the lot."

"Good God. And here I thought Africa was dangerous."

Anthony shot his friend a faintly pitying look. "They will hunt you down. And when they find you, you will find yourself trapped in conversation with a pale young lady all dressed in white who cannot converse on topics other than the weather, who received vouchers to Almack's, and hair ribbons."

A look of amusement crossed Aemond's features. "I take it, then, that during my time abroad you have become something of an eligible gentleman?"

"Not out of any aspirations to the role on my part, I assure you. If it were up to me, I'd avoid society functions like the plague. But my sister made her bow last year, and I'm forced to escort her from time to time."

"Diana, you mean?"

Anthony looked up in surprise. "Did the two of you ever meet?"

"No," Aemond admitted, "but I remember her letters to you at school, and I recalled that she was fourth in the family, so she had to start with D, and—"

"Ah, yes," Anthony said with a slight roll of his eyes, "the Bridgerton method of naming children. Guaranteed to make certain no one forgets who you are."

Aemond laughed. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Say, Aemond," Anthony suddenly said, leaning forward, "I've promised my mother I'll have dinner at Bridgerton House later this week with the family. Why don't you join me?"

Aemond raised a dark brow. "Didn't you just warn me about society mothers and debutante daughters?"

Anthony laughed. "I'll put my mother on her best behavior, and don't worry about Di. She's the exception that proves the rule. You'll like her immensely."

Aemond narrowed his eyes. Was Anthony playing matchmaker? He couldn't tell.

As if Anthony were reading his thoughts, he laughed. "Good God, you don't think I'm trying to pair you off with Diana, do you?"

Aemond said nothing.

"You would never suit. You're a bit too brooding for her tastes."

Aemond thought that an odd comment, but instead chose to ask,

"Has she had any offers, then?"

"A few." Anthony kicked back the rest of his brandy, then let out a satisfied exhale. "I've allowed her to refuse them all."

"That's rather indulgent of you."

Anthony shrugged. "Love is probably too much to hope for in a marriage these days, but I don't see why she shouldn't be happy with her husband. We've had offers from one man old enough to be her father, another old enough to be her father's younger brother, one who was rather too high in the instep for our often boisterous clan, and then this week, dear God, that was the worst!"

"What happened?" Aemond asked curiously.

Anthony gave his temples a weary rub. "This last one was perfectly amiable, but a rather bit dim in the head. You'd think, after our rakish days, I'd be completely without feelings—"

"Really?" Aemond asked with a devilish grin. "You'd think that?"

Anthony scowled at him. "I didn't particularly enjoy breaking this poor fool's heart."

"Er, wasn't Diana the one to do that?"

"Yes, but I had to tell him."

"Not many brothers would allow their sister such latitude with their marriage proposals," Aemond said quietly.

Anthony just shrugged again, as if he couldn't imagine treating his sister in any other way. "She's been a good sister to me. It's the least I can do."

"Even if it means escorting her to Almack's?" Aemond said wickedly.

Anthony groaned. "Even then."

"I'd console you by pointing out that this will all be over soon, but you've what, three other sisters waiting in the wings?"

Anthony positively slumped in his seat. "Eloise is due out in two years, and Francesca the year after that, but then I've a bit of a reprieve before Hyacinth comes of age."

Aemond chuckled. "I don't envy you your responsibilities in that quarter." But even as he said the words, he felt a strange longing, and he wondered what it would be like to be not quite so alone in this world. He had no plans to start a family of his own, but maybe if he'd had one to begin with, his life would have turned out a bit differently.

"So you'll come for supper, then?" Anthony stood. "Informal, of course. We never take meals formally when it's just family."

Aemond had a dozen things to do in the next few days, but before he could remind himself that he needed to get his affairs in order, he heard himself saying, "I'd be delighted

"Excellent. And I'll see you at the Danbury bash first?"

Aemond shuddered. "Not if I can help it. My aim is to be in and out in under thirty minutes."

"You really think," Anthony said, raising a doubtful brow, "that you're going to be able to go to the party, pay your respects to Lady Danbury, and leave?"

Aemond's nod was forceful and direct.

But Anthony's snort of laughter was not terribly reassuring

Taglist :- @watercolorskyy @velaryon-seahores (I just wanted you to see, my neck hurts due to bending down and looking at the book every second)

#aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #prince aemond #aemond targaryen fic #brigerton

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