#top personal injury law firms
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timmurleyart · 1 year ago
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You want the money? 📞💲💵💎💰💶💷
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postsify · 10 months ago
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Understanding the Benefits of Hiring a Workers Compensation Attorney in New Jersey for Your Claim
When you get injured on the job, it can be a stressful and frustrating experience. You may be worrying about how to pay your bills, how you'll manage without a paycheck, and how you'll recover from your injuries. The good news is that if you live in New Jersey, you may be entitled to workers' compensation benefits that can help you get through this difficult time. But to ensure that you get the full benefits you deserve, it's critical to seek the help of a workers' compensation attorney. In this blog post, we’ll be exploring the key benefits of hiring a workers compensation attorney New Jersey for your claim.
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1. Understanding Your Rights
If you've never dealt with a workers' compensation claim before, you may not know all of your rights as an injured employee in New Jersey. However, an attorney who has experience in workers' compensation law can explain your rights to you and help you understand what kind of compensation you may be eligible for. This can be especially important if you're worried that your employer or their insurance company won't fully compensate you for your injuries.
2. Navigating the Complexities of the Legal System
Workers' compensation law can be complex, and there are many rules and regulations that you'll need to navigate in order to get the compensation you deserve. A workers' compensation attorney can help you understand the legal process and make sure that all of your paperwork is filled out correctly and filed on time. They can also represent you in court or during negotiations with your employer or their insurance company.
3. Obtaining a Fair Settlement
Insurance companies are always looking for ways to minimize their costs, and in some cases, this can mean offering a lower settlement than you deserve. A workers' compensation attorney can help you negotiate with the insurance company or your employer to get a fair settlement that covers your medical bills, lost wages, and other expenses related to your injury.
4. Avoiding Mistakes
One of the biggest benefits of hiring a workers' compensation attorney is that they can help you avoid mistakes that could hurt your case. For example, if you miss a deadline or fail to provide certain documentation, your claim could be denied or delayed. An attorney will make sure that you follow all of the necessary procedures and fulfill all of the requirements for your claim.
5. Focusing on Your Recovery
Dealing with a workers' compensation claim can be stressful, time-consuming, and overwhelming. But by hiring an attorney, you can focus on your recovery and let them handle the legal aspects of your claim. This can help you reduce stress, improve your mental and physical health, and increase the likelihood of a successful outcome for your claim.
Conclusion:
If you've been injured on the job, hiring a workers' compensation attorney in New Jersey is one of the best things you can do to ensure that you get the compensation you deserve. They'll help you navigate the legal system, negotiate with insurance companies and your employer, and make sure that all of the paperwork is filled out correctly and filed on time. By focusing on your recovery and letting an attorney handle the details of your claim, you'll increase your chances of success and avoid the stress and frustration of dealing with the process on your own. Contact us today to discuss how we can help you.
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guardianlegalgrp · 3 months ago
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Website : http://guardianlegalgrp.com
Address : 15760 Ventura Blvd. Unit 1905, Encino, CA 91436
Phone : +1 818-287-7099
A short description: Welcome to Guardian Legal Group, where we are dedicated to providing our clients with the highest standard of legal representation. As the brainchild of founding partners Mike Dermendjian and Hakop Zakaryan, our capabilities span across different disciplines, helping clients face legal challenges with ease. We collaborate with clients to provide innovative and tailor-made solutions, while cultivating relationships that enhance and simplify the client experience. Guardian Legal Group's main areas of practice include Personal Injury, Lemon Law, Civil Litigation, Business Law, Property Damage, and Contract Law. Contact us today for a free consultation regarding your case!
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vinklerlawoffices · 8 months ago
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The Role of Evidence in Personal Injury Claims
Personal injury claims are intricate legal processes that hinge on the availability and presentation of evidence. In Chicago, a city with its share of bustling streets and potential risks, understanding the pivotal role of evidence in personal injury cases is essential. Let's take a closer look into the importance of evidence, shedding light on how Chicago legal experts utilize it to navigate and strengthen personal injury claims.
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Gathering and Preserving Evidence:
In Chicago, gathering and preserving evidence begins immediately after an incident. This could include securing witness statements, preserving accident scenes, and obtaining official reports. Chicago legal experts emphasize the importance of swift action, as crucial evidence can quickly dissipate or become compromised.
Medical Records and Expert Testimonies:
Substantiating personal injury claims often involve medical records and expert testimonies. Chicago attorneys stress the need for comprehensive medical documentation detailing injuries and treatments. Expert witnesses, such as accident reconstruction specialists or medical professionals, play a vital role in objectively evaluating the case.
Surveillance Footage and Documentation:
In an age of pervasive surveillance, Chicago legal experts leverage technologies to obtain footage that can substantiate or refute claims. This could include security camera footage, dashcam recordings, or even smartphone recordings from witnesses. The integrity of these sources can significantly impact the outcome of a personal injury claim.
Eyewitness Accounts and Statements:
Eyewitness accounts often serve as invaluable evidence in personal injury cases and claims. Chicago attorneys stress the importance of obtaining detailed and credible statements from individuals who witnessed the incident. These accounts can provide a real-time perspective that complements other forms of evidence.
Financial Records and Economic Losses:
Financial records become pivotal evidence for personal injury claims seeking compensation for economic losses. In Chicago, this might include employment records, tax returns, and other financial documents that demonstrate the impact of the injury on the individual's economic standing. This evidence aids in quantifying damages.
Communication Records and Correspondence:
Communication records, including emails, text messages, and correspondence, can be critical evidence in personal injury claims. Chicago legal experts stress the need to preserve such records, as they might reveal crucial details about liability or establish a timeline of events leading up to the incident.
Establishing Causation and Negligence:
Evidence is instrumental in establishing causation and negligence—the pillars of personal injury claims. Whether it's a car accident, slip and fall, or medical malpractice case, Chicago attorneys meticulously analyze evidence to demonstrate how the defendant's actions or negligence directly caused the injuries.
In Chicago, where the legal landscape for personal injury claims is dynamic, the role of evidence must be balanced. From the moment an incident occurs, evidence gathering, preservation, and presentation form the backbone of a compelling case. A top Chicago personal injury law firm attorney navigates the complexities of personal injury claims, and a robust evidentiary foundation becomes the key to securing rightful compensation and justice for those who have suffered injuries. Therefore, understanding the multifaceted role of evidence is paramount for anyone involved in or considering a personal injury claim in the vibrant city of Chicago.
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jjlawidaho · 9 months ago
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Family attorney in Boise ID Explains Divorce and Estate Planning
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Family attorney can help you understand ways divorce can affect estate planning
Family attorney in Boise ID can help you understand how divorce can impact estate planning. Divorce is a significant life event that can have far-reaching implications, affecting various aspects of one's life, including financial planning and estate matters. In the state of Idaho, understanding how divorce can impact estate planning is crucial for individuals seeking to protect their assets and ensure their wishes are carried out effectively. In this article, we'll explore how divorce can influence estate planning in Idaho.
1. Updating Beneficiary Designations
One of the critical aspects of estate planning affected by divorce is updating beneficiary designations. Many assets, such as retirement accounts, life insurance policies, and payable-on-death accounts, allow individuals to designate beneficiaries to receive these assets upon their passing. In the event of divorce, it's essential to review and update these designations to reflect changes in circumstances and intentions.
Under Idaho law, upon divorce, certain beneficiary designations may be automatically revoked. For example, Idaho Code § 15-6-111 states that any provision in a governing instrument that designates a former spouse as a beneficiary is revoked upon divorce unless the divorce decree or settlement agreement provides otherwise. However, it's still advisable to update beneficiary designations explicitly to avoid any ambiguity or disputes.
2. Revising Wills and Trusts
Another critical aspect of estate planning affected by divorce is the revision of wills and trusts. During marriage, spouses often designate each other as beneficiaries or executors in their estate planning documents. However, upon divorce, these designations may no longer align with one's wishes.
In Idaho, divorce can impact estate planning documents such as wills and trusts. Idaho Code § 15-2-804 provides that divorce revokes any provision in a will that affects the ex-spouse, including gifts, appointments, or nominations. Similarly, trusts may need to be amended to remove a former spouse as a beneficiary or trustee.
3. Guardianship and Custody of Minor Children
Divorce can also impact estate planning decisions related to the guardianship and custody of minor children. In Idaho, parents typically have the right to designate a guardian for their minor children in their estate planning documents. However, upon divorce, custody arrangements may change, necessitating revisions to these designations.
Divorcing parents need to consider how custody arrangements will affect their estate planning decisions, including the appointment of guardians for their children. Communicating openly with ex-spouses and seeking legal guidance can help ensure that children's best interests are protected and that estate plans accurately reflect their evolving circumstances.
4. Protecting Assets from Creditors
Divorce can also impact asset protection strategies in estate planning. In Idaho, marital property is subject to equitable distribution upon divorce, meaning that assets acquired during the marriage may be divided between spouses. However, certain estate planning tools, such as irrevocable trusts, can help protect assets from creditors, including ex-spouses.
Creating or updating trusts to hold assets can provide a layer of protection in the event of divorce. By transferring assets into trusts, individuals can maintain control over their assets while shielding them from potential claims by ex-spouses or creditors. Working with a knowledgeable estate planning attorney can help individuals develop strategies to safeguard their assets effectively.
5. Retirement Accounts and Pension Benefits
Divorce can significantly affect retirement accounts and pension benefits, which are often substantial assets in a marital estate. In Idaho, retirement accounts accumulated during the marriage are generally considered marital property subject to equitable distribution upon divorce. It's crucial to understand the implications of divorce on these assets and take appropriate steps to protect them.
Qualified Domestic Relations Orders (QDROs) may be necessary to divide retirement accounts and pension benefits between divorcing spouses. QDROs are court orders that establish the rights of alternate payees to receive all or a portion of the benefits payable under a retirement plan. Working with a qualified attorney who understands the complexities of QDROs can help ensure that retirement assets are divided fairly and in accordance with Idaho law.
6. Real Estate and Property Ownership
Real estate ownership is another area of estate planning that can be significantly impacted by divorce. In Idaho, marital property includes real estate acquired during the marriage, and it may be subject to division upon divorce. Determining the division of real estate assets and addressing ownership rights are critical considerations in estate planning following divorce.
Individuals should review property titles and ownership arrangements to ensure that they reflect their post-divorce intentions. Transferring ownership interests or updating property deeds may be necessary to remove a former spouse's name from real estate titles. Consulting with a real estate attorney can help individuals navigate the legal complexities of property ownership and ensure that their interests are protected.
7. Business Interests and Corporate Assets
For individuals who own businesses or have corporate interests, divorce can present unique challenges in estate planning. In Idaho, businesses acquired during the marriage may be considered marital property subject to division upon divorce. Valuing and dividing business interests require careful consideration and expert valuation.
It's essential to work with professionals, such as business valuation experts and attorneys specializing in family law and estate planning, to assess the value of business interests accurately. Developing strategies to protect business assets and ensure continuity of operations following divorce is crucial for business owners.
8. Seeking Professional Guidance
Given the complexities and potential pitfalls involved in estate planning following divorce, seeking professional guidance is paramount. Experienced estate planning attorneys can help individuals navigate the legal intricacies of post-divorce estate planning and develop strategies to protect their assets and achieve their estate planning goals.
Additionally, collaborating with financial advisors, accountants, and other professionals can provide valuable insights and expertise in crafting comprehensive estate plans. By working with a team of knowledgeable professionals, individuals can ensure that their estate plans are tailored to their unique circumstances and aligned with Idaho laws and regulations.
In conclusion, divorce can have profound implications for estate planning, affecting beneficiary designations, wills, trusts, and various assets. Understanding the impact of divorce on estate planning and seeking professional guidance are essential steps in safeguarding assets and ensuring that one's wishes are carried out effectively in Idaho. By proactively addressing estate planning considerations following divorce, individuals can achieve peace of mind knowing that their financial affairs are in order and their loved ones are provided for according to their wishes.
Work with the best-rated family attorney in Boise ID
Jacobson & Jacobson Law Firm, since 1982, is committed to serving the Boise and Nampa, Idaho areas for your top Criminal Defense, Personal Injury, Business Law, Estate Planning, Family Law, Immigration Law, and Litigation needs. Contact us today to get started. For a free 30-minute consultation, book here: https://calendly.com/jfj-1
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uhohdad · 4 months ago
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THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN
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KONIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]
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You & Konig have been chosen to participate in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.
18+, NSFW, 183k WORD COUNT, AO3,Virgin!Konig, Outcast!Konig, 18yo!Konig, GentleGiant!Konig, Mentor!JohnPrice, Fem!Reader, Blood & Injury, Graphic Violence, Death, PTSD, Alcohol Use, Slow Burn, Konig Pines Hard, Sexual Content, Porn with Too Much Plot, First Time, Dirty Talk, Size Kink, Smut, Fluff, Angst
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CHAPTER ONE | PREV | CHAPTER NAVIGATION
➤ THE AFTERMATH II
At the mention of District Eight, your mouth turns to cotton. Your wide eyes dart around the floor of the glittery stage, heels turning inward.
You don’t want to do this.
You give up and pinch your eyes shut, a slight shake of your head, trying to take yourself somewhere you’re not, even going so far as to redirect your focus to remembering the lyrics to an old tune you sing in your thoughts.
Konig senses something’s up and gently guides you into the crook of his arm and his chest, giving your shoulder a squeeze. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you respond by raising your hand to rest in the space between his firm stomach and chest.
You can’t block out their words, the commentary from the people of District Eight. Your heart doesn’t want to hear it but your ears can’t help but listen and your eyes have to peek open.
The recap of the interview clearly cut out a majority of their words, and starts with the conflict between the boy from eight and Willow. The interviewee tries to begin, but she abandons her first few attempts to recount the story.
“Uh-” The interviewee’s eyes dart to the side, “Yeah, they uh- there was-“
She clears her throat, “Willow, uh-“
She trails off, staring off into the distance with a pause before she continues.
“He had this girlfriend, right? And they were - I mean, they were the perfect pair. You could tell, uh, you could tell he really loved her, you know? And the same goes for her.”
The interviewee pauses, and she has to look away.
“I was actually- I remember being jealous of them, wishing I had what they had. Love like that.”
You can hear her scraping gravel under her shoe.
“And I guess, I guess his girl wasn’t crazy about the uhm, The Capitol, and she uh- well, I think she broke a few laws, or something. Real rebellious type.”
She looks to her shoes, nodding slowly.
“And uh,” She clears her throat again before meeting eyes with the person behind the camera, “Willow blabbed about it. And his girlfriend got taken away.”
The interviewee nods slow, her sad, squint eyes staring off at the cameraman.
“They cut out his girl’s tongue, and now she- she serves The Capitol.”
She shakes her head, “He snapped. Just, a different person entirely.”
There’s a pause, and your eyes pinch shut, squeezing Konig as hard as your arms will allow. His hand slides down your back, tracing soothing circles with his fingertips between your shoulder blades.
“Please, no! It was an accident!”
The desperation in her voice is unmistakable. You find the screen, and there she is.
Willow.
As pretty as her name - rich bronze skin and golden brown eyes. Full, curly hair that seems to have a mind of its own and reminds you of the elegant draped tresses of the tree for which she was named.
The boy from eight has her on the ground, towering over her with his blade raised. Her upper half is propped up by her elbows, her feet kicking away from him.
“You knew what you were doing!” He yells, in that same booming, terrifying voice he used on you.
His blade lowers as his fists tense at his sides, “She served us! You hear me? She served us in our suite!”
A hand comes up to his head, and he grabs a fistful of his own hair with white knuckles. There’s tears springing in his eyes, and that daunting shout cracks.
“I couldn’t even talk to her!”
Your brows are pinched as you watch, shallow breaths through parted lips.
The tears crest Eight’s eyeline, and his hands drop limply to his sides.
His voice lowers to a broken whisper, a whiny strain in his words. It makes your brows pinch - you’ve never heard him speak in a way that wasn’t harsh and booming, never seen his eyes swelled with any emotion other than anger.
“I couldn’t even talk to her.”
Willow shakes her head, her words choppy through her stuttered breaths and hiccups.
“I know- I know! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, I didn’t- I never wanted this to happen, I didn’t mean for it to happen! Please-“
His voice shoots back up when he interrupts her, his shouted words ripping his throat to shreds.
“She’s gone, Willow! I lost her!”
He pinches his eyes for a moment, sending more tears down his cheeks, his chin lowering with a tilt of his head.
A snarl creases his face, brows tight when he finds Willow again. He jams his blade at her, his voice just a growl in her direction.
“And there is nothing you can say to change that.”
Willow just stares up at him with wide eyes, her entire body trembling. Her mouth is gaped to speak, but she knows she doesn’t have a defense.
“I am nothing without her.”
He steps closer to her, his boots planted on either side of her ribs. Just as he did with you, he grabs her by the front of her jacket and pulls her from the dirt, inches from his face.
“I am suffering! She is suffering! Everyday!”
He gives her that look, the same gut-churning look he had on reaping day when he threw himself on stage to volunteer.
“Now it’s your turn to suffer.”
The shot lingers on their faces for a few more moments, Willow’s golden brown eyes darting around his gut-churning rage, her breath caught in her throat.
They don’t show it.
You are so thankful they don’t show it.
They cut to you, walking through the forest. You have to close your eyes again, burying your face in Konig’s chest.
Your stomach boils and your heart constricts beyond comfort at each of her moaned wails. You’re clawing at Konig’s suit, a handful of the fabric shaking between your tensed fist.
Konig’s free hand comes up to swallow yours, a gentle reassurance from hardened hands.
Each of her maimed breaths violate you. The stage lights are searing your skin, sweat building up on your scalp and under your dress. The layer forming under your thick makeup is suffocating, aching for the touch of fresh air instead of the roasted stage air you breathe now.
Your eyes are screwed shut, but you can still see her, her exposed, bloody muscle rising and falling with her chest. The whitish yellow pockets of fat, the bones of her fingers, her blood-pooled eye sockets.
There’s a nauseating heat simmering just under your skin, and your breaths turn almost as guttural as hers.
Against every instinct, you have to rip away from Konig, not at all gracefully stumbling in your heels offstage.
“Oh, uh- technical difficulties, folks. Bear with us,” Caesar says cheekily, the audience’s collective chuckle laugh following.
You weren’t aiming for him, but Price catches you once offstage, sturdy arms pulling you into an embrace.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright, kid,” He whispers softly, “It’s alright.”
Your palms find his chest with a firm shove, freeing yourself from his hold. You swivel on your feet simultaneously, doubling over to vomit all over the floor, your bile splattering over Price’s shoes.
He doesn’t seem to mind, standing at your side and pulling your hair back from the line of fire as you heave in rhythmic convulses, struggling to work up what little is in your stomach.
“It’s alright,” Price soothes, holding your hair with one hand and rubbing your trembling back with the other, “It’s alright. Get it all out.”
You feel a second hand on your back, and you already know it’s Konig, standing tall on your other side.
A stage hand rolls over an industrial size trash can, and you grip the rim with white knuckles as you gag into it.
When you’re done spitting out the bitter, offensive taste, Konig has a cloth waiting for you to wipe your face. Exhausted breaths leave you, droplets of sweat trailing down your back and tears streaming over your cheeks.
Your arm stretches over the rim of the trash can as you lean over it, pinching your eyes shut to try to quell the nausea. Konig offers you a bottle of water, and shaking hands reach to take it gratefully.
They wait for you to collect yourself, someone gets you a toothbrush to clean out your mouth - apparently this kind of thing happens enough to warrant keeping toothbrushes on hand, - your prep team touches up your makeup, and Konig holds you wordlessly in his strong arms while you breathe him in, his silken tie brushing against your cheek.
When you’re ready, your fingers wrap around Konig’s bicep, his arm bent at the elbow to keep you steady as he escorts you back on stage, putting himself between you and the crowd to block you from the audience.
The crowd explodes at your return, a standing ovation that echoes with whistles and claps.
“Welcome back, welcome back!” Caesar chimes, dipping each syllable with flare.
The crowd keeps the applause going long after you’re sat, and once settled, Caesar segues back into the show.
You don’t watch, hiding your face in Konig’s chest as he holds you tight, gently stroking your back.
The feed resumes, and you hear your squeak through the speakers, your stumble and trip into the dirt. Your dash through the woods, your dry heaves towards the dirt.
Your desperate plea.
Luring Eight into the fall forest, almost killing him but bailing at the last second. Weakly running for Willow as you cry out to her in the tune of a desperate sorry, spoken exactly like her pleas to the boy who knew no bounds to his spite. Piercing a dart through her exposed muscle, her final three breaths, your sobbing as her cannon fires.
Konig’s grip on you loosens as he watches your mercy kill, his soothing rubs ceasing. He starts back up again when the footage pauses, but you can’t bring yourself to leave Konig’s chest.
The crowd erupts in a truly enthusiastic applause, shouting adorations in your direction as Konig squeezes you tight.
“Wow,” Caesar shouts over the crowd, “That was something!”
The audience ignores his attempt to settle them, showering you with praise for what must be a full minute while Konig rubs your back.
“That was really something,” Caesar says, “Wow, I have to say, that was really admirable.”
You say nothing, trying to block out Caesar and his stupid commentary.
“I must ask, have your feelings about your actions changed after learning of their history?”
Your brows pinch as your head lifts from Konig’s chest to find Caesar, your arms snug around Konig’s core.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Knowing what you know now, would you have still lended her a hand?”
The end of Caesar’s question perks up so innocently, as if he didn’t just ask the most insane question in the world.
Your face twists, “Of course I would have - what kind of question is that?”
You glare at him, voice taught and sharp.
“You think that I think that there’s anything in the world that justifies that?”
You shake your head.
“No, you’re out of your mind. I wouldn’t even wish that fate on someone sick enough to ask a question like that in the first place.”
Konig gives you a squeeze and a little shake to show you he’s on your side, sitting tall with his chest puffed out. The audience is on your side too, apparently, clapping along in approval.
Caesar breaks character for a moment as he flits his gaze between you and Konig, the latter surely dawning a just as loathsome stare. You hold Caesar’s eyes in challenge until he looks away.
You understand the boy from eight’s anger. If someone got Konig taken away to serve the Capitol, surely you’d be just as furious and hellbent on vengeance.
But Eight’s anger was misdirected.
While Willow blabbed, his anger was provoked by the Capitol, not by Willow.
The Capitol is the one who took his girlfriend away, cut out her tongue, and forced her to dote on her boyfriend, unable to speak with him - surely a calculated move to instigate more tension between the District Eight tributes. Willow was just the one who let it slip, intentional or not.
As fucked up as it sounds, though, you get it.
You get where Eight is coming from. There was no way for him to seek vengeance against a government that has the entire country under its strict thumb, so he took out his anger on the next best thing.
Nowhere near to the same extreme - but you’ve been in a similar position countless times before.
That day in District Nine was one of those days. A bad day riling you up, looking for a victim to boil over on. You’re not even sure if you stood up for Konig because it was the right thing to do, or because you were just looking for an outlet for anger you couldn’t direct elsewhere without severe consequence.
Deep down you know the answer, but you’re too cowardly to share it with anyone, especially Konig. He has you on a pedestal. He thinks of you as a true, selfless angel that protected him for no other reason than to do the right thing.
You really don’t want to ruin his perception of you.
But you know who you are.
“Well, more exciting things to come,” Caesar weakly chimes, looking to the floor as he clears his throat.
An arm comes up to gesture to the large screen.
“You bravely risked your life to end this girl’s suffering, my dear, and we have the footage to prove it.”
The replay resumes - cutting to a shot of the three remaining careers gliding over the snow as they make way towards the cornucopia.
“In and out,” Sapphire says to the group, “I don’t want to leave the woods for too long.”
“Not like she can leave,” Titan mumbles.
“If she got her hands on some supplies, she could.”
“Where would Funny Girl find supplies? We got ‘em all.”
“Gotten them off someone else.”
Titan scoffs, “You think Funny Girl’s killing?”
“She’s made it this far. Who knows.”
Titan laughs, “Funny Girl can’t fight. She’s just playing shy.”
“Lover Boy’s got his backpack,” Sapphire says, “If he found her, those two could go anywhere.”
“Well if he found her, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Sapphire just sighs, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t look good. Her face is puffy, bags under her eyes. You know a girl who’s too exhausted to argue when you see it. Clearly Titan’s attempt to get her to rest was unsuccessful.
“I’m sorry!”
The careers immediately perk up at your distant cry.
Titan’s mouth curls into a sickening grin, flashing his razor sharp canines, a giddy laugh threatening to spill from his lips.
Even in Sapphire’s exhaustion, her lips stretch in a smile, those brilliant blue eyes flickering with a spark of gut-churning determination.
“I’m sorry!”
Even from the distance, the desperation in your voice is unmistakable.
The career pack is in a full sprint to the direction of your broken, cried apology, hollering in celebration that their arduous hunt is coming to a conclusion.
As they burst through the trees, the shot cuts to you, running on weak ankles to the spring quadrant.
“There she is!”
Konig shoots forward in his chair, taking your arms with him and forcing you to leave his chest. His brows tighten as he plants his elbow on his knee, the pads of his fingers reaching up to gnaw on his nails.
Eight breaks into the clearing, making a beeline for the careers.
“What did you do?!” Eight shouts at them, barreling right for them with his blade raised. It’s clear now he thinks the careers killed Willow, not you.
The three prime their weapons and when Eight catches up, he’s already swinging.
“Titan - get the brat!” Sapphire shouts, her tone leaving no room for argument as she blocks one of Eight’s swings.
It’s as if Titan was a dog growling on the end of Sapphire’s taut leash, itching to be released so he can maul his target - and Sapphire just unclasped his collar. There is no transition between his stand to a full sprint, both his pace and his strides at least three times as quick as yours.
Konig’s fingers are digging into his knees hard enough to turn his knuckles white, on the edge of his seat and glued to the screen, not so much as blinking.
Titan catches up, powerful hold wrapping around your waist and slamming you into the sand hard enough to steal your breath.
Konig flinches in his seat, his lips parting and pulling to the side to reveal grit teeth. As he watches Titan toy with you, pinning you to the ground and reveling in the power he holds, Konig’s fists are clenched so tight they’re shaking. Resting a gentle hand on his forearm does nothing to placate him - he’s locked on the screen.
“Why don’t you yell for him?”
“Fuck you!”
Really not your best comeback, but to be fair to you, you were running on steam and also thought you were about to die.
When Titan’s hand shoots out to choke you, Konig springs up from his seat and rips away from your hold on him.
He can’t watch anymore, turning to face the couch, his face pinched and a hand threading his hair with a tight grip.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” You whisper, reaching out to grab the rigid hand at his side.
“No,” He grits through strained breath.
He can’t look at you, the sounds of your desperate chokes for air blaring from the speakers and suffocating him second hand.
“It is, it’s okay,” You say with sloped brows, “I’m fine. I’m okay, it’s okay. He’s dead.”
It’s almost funny, Konig is so concerned with your fight with Titan - when it pales in comparison to the rest of your arena experiences.
Even the cold of the freezing nights in the forest were worse than this.
A gory bloodbath, the snap of a neck, a first hand lesson on the anatomy of the human muscular system, blinding and skewering Sapphire, Konig beating Titan to death with his own two hands - these are the moments that truly haunt you.
You give Konig’s trembling hand a squeeze. He doesn’t speak, he just shakes his head.
“Call for him!”
On screen you’re gasping for air, Titan forcing his demands through his clenched teeth.
The feed pauses, the crowd silent as Caesar starts.
“Konig, it’s clear this is upsetting for you to watch, mind sharing your thoughts?”
Konig’s eyes crease when he closes them, his free fist tight at his side. He doesn’t turn around, his shoulders raised.
“Hey, Caesar,” he grits.
Konig takes a breath.
“Shut the fuck up.”
You jump to your feet as the crowd erupts, both your arms shooting up in the air and taking one of Konig’s hands with you.
“Yes! Yes!”
You practically order the crowd to shower him in praise, waving your hands to beckon them to keep it up. You let go of Konig’s hand to grab his tensed arm and give him an excited, proud shake. He rolls his eyes, a half grin blooming on his face as he turns pliant to your jostling.
“Right,” Caesar says, clearing his throat and looking down.
They resume the feed, and you give Konig’s suit a tug, beckoning him to sit with you.
“Watch this part,” You whisper.
He finally looks to you, giving a swallow as he follows your wish.
“Call for him or I’ll make you!”
On screen - your spit-stained face pinches, and you send two fistfuls of sand directly into Titan’s face.
The audience explodes at your escape maneuver, and Konig hums at Titan’s cries of pain, giving that soft inaudible laugh that raises his shoulders. He looks to you, eyes crinkled with a pressed grin. He grabs a shoulder and rests his other hand on the crook of your neck, leaning down to press a long, messy kiss on your lips.
You hum into him, the crowd still cheering when he pulls you into him with an arm slung over your shoulder, squeezing your bicep.
“Wow, wow, wow!” Caesar says after the audience has settled, “Escaping the hands of such a powerful career - I think you managed to surprise every citizen of Panem!”
The audience gives a hearty applause in approval. Caesar leans in, voice suddenly serious.
“And I think we were all very, very touched to see you risk your life to keep Konig out of danger.”
Your brows crease as you turn to the audience, clapping in approval.
It takes you a moment to realize that Panem thinks you refrained from calling Konig’s name for his benefit, to keep him safe from Titan, which isn’t true at all.
You just didn’t want to submit to Titan’s demands, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of fulfilling his plan, didn’t want to give him whatever scrap of dignity you had left. It was a move of spite against Titan, not of care for Konig.
Guilt.
You have to look down at your lap as you try to swallow it - because saving Konig from Titan was not a thought that even crossed your mind.
You couldn’t even think of Konig when you knew Titan wanted to kill him. Konig, the boy who killed Titan with his two hands for even daring to lay a hand on you.
Konig squeezes you tight and plants a kiss on your forehead, the audience cooing at his adoration for you.
Guilt.
When your unearned praise dies down, Caesar continues.
“It’s truly beautiful what you two have.”
You don’t care, Caesar.
You don’t care what anyone in the Capitol thinks of you and Konig. You wish your relationship wasn’t able to be perceived at all, actually - not out of shame, but because you hate how everyone in Panem has their grubby little hands all over your romance, something so personal and intimate and fresh to you.
The people of Panem have had more time to process your new relationship than you have.
The feed shows you collapsing into the grass, cutting to the part where District Eight sent you the bread, eventually showing you picking up the ribbon, tying it around your wrist.
“I have to ask, my dear,” Caesar says, “You’ve mentioned that the ribbon means a lot to you, can you share with us the significance of this ribbon?”
To be honest, you really don’t have a reason for why you kept the ribbon, or why it means so much to you. You just know it does.
You know it’s symbolic, but for what?
Is it a reminder of Willow, the girl you feel an immense connection to, even though you just assigned her name to her less than an hour ago and never shared a word with?
Is it the unification of two districts forced to be pit against each other?
Is it because it is a token of the district who went against all the standards to thank a girl who treated their tribute with human decency - the opposite of what the games are about?
Why does this ribbon mean so much to you?
You really don’t know. But you do know you can’t be snarky here - this moment is important, and you need to get this right.
Your mouth has gone dry again, and you look to your lap.
“I- uh-“
You clear your throat, and Konig gives you a squeeze.
“It just does,” You say, not harshly, but genuinely.
You turn your head to find a camera and speak into it. You’re talking to District Eight now, not the audience, not to Caesar.
“I don’t know why it means so much to me, but I know that I am grateful for the gifts. I am grateful that you helped me put an end to her suffering.”
Your voice cracks.
“And I am sorry for your loss.”
The audience gives a soft applause, and you have to look down at your lap again.
“Wow,” Caesar says, his voice gentle, “Beautifully spoken.”
He’s so full of shit, it actually makes you scoff.
You know your words aren’t striking the proper emotion, because you haven’t even had the opportunity to digest them yourself. To assign words to the attachment you have to your ribbon, to your feelings about Willow, Eight, his girlfriend, about his unwavering dedication and her brutal end and a district who thanked you for making a life-threatening sacrifice.
“Enough about you, my dear, let’s take a look at what Konig was up to in the meantime.”
Eight’s cannon woke him up with a start, a cloud of sand wafting up with him as he shoots to a sit. A hand comes up to his hood, and he lets out a long sigh.
Just by looking at his eyes through his hood, you can tell it’s all catching up with him. The restless nights, his aching body, the instinctual fear.
The jump the sun makes when the feed cuts suggests he laid unmoving in the sand for hours. Price caves once again, sending him food and water.
When he finally gets to his feet, he makes slow, unsteady steps through the desert. To see him so weakened makes your heart throb in your chest, because it reminds you of the last time you saw him stumble, the last time you saw him drained of life.
You swallow, looking down to your fidgeting fingers, smoothing along the pleats of your dress.
It’s your turn to wish you could have been there for him. You get it now, how hard it is knowing the one you love struggled and you were useless to help.
Konig’s eyes are drowsy, his steps sluggish, even with One’s shoe attachments.
Next to you on the couch, all of Panem watching him in this state, Konig’s head is hung, looking to his shoes in shame, the pads of fingers swirling together.
You nuzzle your head into his shoulder and give him a squeeze.
I’m here now.
The effects of the spiky plants in the desert, cacti as Caesar calls them, were severely downplayed by Konig.
Konig trips over his own boot and falls forward, weak hands shooting out to brace himself, his palm catching a handful of needles. He winces, a strangled grunt leaving him as he rips his hand back to his chest.
He rolls over in the sand, propping himself up on his backpack to inspect his palm. Tiny beads of blood smear between his skin and the perforated temperature suit.
He lets out a grunt of defeat and throws his arm to the sand. His breaths are heaved, his chest struggling to work in breaths, eyes pinching shut behind his hood.
When he brings his hand to his face again, it’s swollen and as black as the ooze that dripped from the ginkgo petals and swallowed you whole during your hallucinations. The color soaks into his veins and up his forearm in inky streaks.
He lets out a strained whine, his other hand trembling as he goes in to touch the source of the wound. The gentlest touch has him wailing out in pain, his cries tighten your chest and wring your heart out.
He lies on the desert sand, his infection getting worse by the second. It spreads up his bicep, swallowing his entire arm until he can’t even move it. He’s crying, but the tears that spill from his eyes are not normal tears. Whatever is dripping from his eyes is bleaching his hood, streaks of color pulling up on the black fabric.
The infection creeps up his shoulders, his collarbones, sucking what little strength he has left from him.
He’s given up.
You can see it, in his eyes. He knows he’s about to die.
“Just tell her I love her,” He whispers to the arid desert air, his voice hoarse and barely loud enough to carry, “Just make sure she knows I love her.”
A shaky finger comes up to swipe away the tears threatening to spill from your eyeline, but you are powerless against the squeak that leaves the back of your throat.
You can practically hear Price’s eye roll from the mentor’s suite, and before the infection can spread to his other arm, a parachute comes down from the sky and lands inches from him.
He’s so weak he can hardly get the canister open. Grunting and hitting it against the sand in frustration. His shaking fingers pop it open to reveal a small syringe filled with a clear liquid, a tiny needle at the end.
Konig lets out another grunt as he jams the needle into his dead bicep, and shortly after succumbs to either exhaustion or the pain, maybe both, and passes out propped up on his backpack.
“That looked pretty painful,” Caesar says, “How do you feel after overcoming such adversity?”
Konig shrugs his shoulders at him, a slight shake in his head and lips bunched in annoyance.
Caesar directs the question to you, and you can’t bite your tongue.
“How do I feel after watching Konig nearly die from a cacti?”
“Cactus.”
You pause, narrowing your eyes at Caesar and offering an obnoxious suck of your teeth.
“Cact-you,” You say.
You and Caesar stay locked on each other for a moment before you shrug.
“Feels great, Caesar.”
The audience seems to find your annoyance and sarcasm amusing.
“Well, the fun doesn’t stop there,” Caesar says, “Looks like you woke up to some trouble too.”
Konig’s eyes roll, and the feed resumes.
You had not encountered any mutts in the arena, but Konig was not as lucky.
He wakes long after the sun has gone down to find himself surrounded.
Genetically modified scorpions, ten to twenty of them, the size of large dogs and equipped with bulbous tails that taper into razor sharp hooks. Exoskeletons designed to be nearly impenetrable, serrated claws itching to tear apart flesh.
Konig’s mumbling curses under his breath, springing to weak legs, stumbling through the sand. The scorpions hiss at him, curling their wicked tails, as if beckoning him to come closer.
Konig’s head is ducked, body low as he swivels on his feet, the handle of Eleven’s scythe in a tight grip at his side.
His mind has drawn a blank - he’s panicking.
They close in on him, their spider-like legs dancing over the sand as they hiss at him, snapping their claws and curling their tails.
His darting eyes stop on the cactus, and he’s got it.
There’s no hesitation, his arm winds back entirely, using all of his strength to cut clean through the base. Ten feet of poisonous spikes comes crashing down, a flood of pulpy water pouring at Konig’s feet. It lands on one of the scorpions, giving him a break in the circle of mutts to make his escape.
When one of the scorpions cries out, both you and Konig freeze, shoulders tensed on the couch.
It’s your voice.
Your haunting wails recorded during your nightmares, crying out Konig’s name.
On screen, Konig whips his head around, stumbling on the sand as he looks in the direction of your cry. He trips, his hands springing up to brace himself before he hits the ground.
The nearest scorpion closes in on him, and shortly after Konig’s back on his feet and working up to a sprint, the mutt’s serrated claws snap at and tear through the flesh of his calf. Your brows slope at Konig’s cry of pain, your hand coming up to your racing heart.
He’s limping through the desert now, blood gushing down the back of his leg and splattering on the grains of sand.
The scorpions are following him, not struggling to keep up now that he’s injured.
All of them, crying out in your voice, crying out his name, scared and pleading, desperate and helpless. Both on screen and now, Konig’s hands shoot up to his ears to block out the overlapping wails.
He’s curled up next to you on the couch as you rub your palm over his button down and tie.
“Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m fine, it was just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare.”
“No,” He objects through a grit, his eyes pinching shut.
“Don’t listen to it, just listen to me. I’m fine, it was just a nightmare. I’m okay, I’m right here.”
He throws himself into your arms, wrapping around you and squeezing hard enough to steal your breath, his stubble scraping against you as he buries his face into your neck.
You rub his back, looking over his head to watch the screen over his shoulder.
He straggles through the desert, his leg threatening to give out under the pain of each stride, but he doesn’t stop. He’s scrambling to get away from your cries.
This is when he finds the oasis. The scorpions stop at what appears to be an invisible circle of safety looping the ring of trees. Konig doesn’t look back until he’s in the middle of the pool of water, until the waterfall drowns out the scorpion’s cries. He’s heaving and struggling to stay afloat with his injury and the weight of his soaked backpack. He rips off his hood, pulling in deep breaths of air as he flails.
Once the scorpions lose interest, he swims to where his toes can touch, taking a moment to catch his breath.
He lets out a cry, loud and unrestrained - not from pain, no, this is a cry of pure frustration, the cry of a boy pushed to his limit. He shakes his head, his hair sending water droplets flinging in all directions, fists splashing in the water as he tries to work out the emotions suffocating him.
Konig is still in your arms and avoiding the screen, sunk in on himself, a hand coming up to cover his red face.
You’re not judging him. You get it. In fact, you just threw a nationwide temper tantrum in front of all of Panem. Basically challenged the whole country with a one-girl rebellion because you thought he was dead.
Oh, shit.
He thought you were dead.
Neither of you watched the faces of the fallen, you because you didn’t want to see Willow’s face and him because he’d passed out after the cactus. Surely he thought those screams were recorded not during a nightmare, but during your brutal end. A brutal end where you screamed and cried and pleaded for Konig’s help, and he failed to save you.
When enough time has passed and he deems it safe, Konig drags himself to shore and lies defeated in the wet sand, deep, brilliant red oozing generously from his calf. Tears stream down his puffy, pale face, his breaths choppy and his chest stuttering.
The sight is enough to bring tears in your eyes, your lower lip pulling between your teeth.
You squeeze Konig tight, the hand you rest on his back raising to scratch his scalp and simultaneously shield him from the world.
On screen, Konig digs into One’s soaked backpack, and retrieves the canister of medicine to tend to his wound.
The feed pauses, and you give Caesar a look that would have made a king’s knees buckle.
‘Try it, Caesar. If you even dare utter a word in his direction, I will grab you by your ponytail and beat your ass in front of all of Panem.’
He receives the message loud and clear, and speaks into the audience while you scratch Konig’s hair, cooing reassurance into his ear in between soft kisses on his head.
Caesar rambles on about Konig’s escape maneuver, praising the design of the scorpions, going on about how your screams were just such a heart wrenching thing for Konig to endure.
When the feed resumes, Konig’s wound is tended to, his face no longer pained, but hollow. He just lies face up in the sand, bags under his eyes and gaze fixed to the night sky. Numb, motionless.
Tired.
Tears stream down his temples, and he has no motivation to wipe them away. He gets no rest the night before the finale.
Just lies in the sand, unmoving.
Price caves and sends him more food, hoping that he’ll eat without the arduous task of fishing or scavenging, but he doesn’t eat.
The feed cuts, skipping to when he finally finds the will to move.
You know it well.
The rage, he’s using his anger to push through, to survive. It shows in every movement he makes, too forceful and aggressive. Yanking and slamming and grunting through grit teeth at everything he comes in contact with. It’s a stark contrast to his usually reserved demeanor.
Weirdly, it’s working for you.
Which does make you feel bad, since he’s clearly in distress, both on screen and now, but you can’t help it. Those seething hormones that don’t know their place.
The feed pauses, and Caesar makes his stupid little commentary.
“Now, this next part here, we really get to see some action from Konig.”
The feed resumes, having cut to morning. Konig has left the oasis, heading back to the heart of the arena with forceful steps.
“Please don’t watch,” Konig mutters into your neck, his words just a low vibration against your skin.
Your brows pinch and your lips part, pausing your soothing rubs.
“Okay,” You whisper. You rest your cheek on his head and close your eyes, starting up the back rubs again. He squeezes you a little tighter, nestling into you, his shaky breaths tickling the skin of your neck.
You have to watch.
Your eyes instinctually open at the sound of Konig in conflict, and once they’re on screen you can’t bring yourself to rip them away.
The boy from Four, one of the particularly bigger volunteer tributes, holds out his arms, inviting Konig to a confrontation. He eggs him on with some taunts, and Konig doesn’t so much break his pace.
You already know the ending, not just because Konig is sitting right next to you, a victor, but because the boy from four is decked head to toe in the gear Konig wore at the finale.
It does not deter Konig. He doesn’t evade. In fact, he seems almost eager to fight, picking up into a run.
Konig rams his shoulder square into his front, entirely ignoring the knife that slashes into his bicep. Four is knocked back into the sand, the impact stealing the breath from him.
With each hit Konig lands to Four’s face, Titan’s caved-in head pulses in front of your eyes.
Konig pulls away from your embrace to look up at you, his brows sloped, a glint of betrayal in those worried eyes. Your lips part to give him an apology for watching, but you can get the words out. Between flashes of Titan steadily turned to pulp, choking the breath from you beyond the grave, it takes you right back to the last time Konig looked at you in betrayal, pale and almost entirely drained of life.
The nausea is bubbling up again, and you have to pinch your eyes shut. You blindly nudge into him, burying your face in his shoulder while you try to block everything out.
You don’t watch, but you know Four didn’t die. His cannon doesn’t go off, only knocked unconscious and injured at Konig’s hand.
When you find the screen again, Konig’s wearing Four’s gear back at the oasis, his bicep fully healed. He’s propped up against a tree, his knees pulled to his chest, head in his hands, staring blankly at the sand.
The feed pauses, and Caesar starts up.
“I have to know, Konig, what were you feeling in this moment?”
Konig loosens the embrace and finds Caesar. He shrugs, and says nothing.
“Well then. Let’s take a break from the intense stuff, and let’s see what our lovely lady was doing in the meantime.”
You roll your eyes, and the audience gushes over your crown of petals, your tiny snow-family.
Konig seems to find it endearing, too. He relaxes a bit in your hold, a soft hum vibrating your skin as you scratch his hair.
“Now,” Caesar says, “Before we get into a truly spectacular finale, I’d like to bring someone on stage for a chat.”
As you and Konig sit straight, the crowd whispers to themselves as they try and guess who it is.
“The man who pulled off the impossible, the mastermind behind it all, Mentor - John - Price!”
The crowd explodes into applause, and you turn your head to watch Price walk out on stage, waving a hand loosely at the crowd.
You’re incredibly relieved to see him, actually. It’s clear that you and Konig are entirely lost on this couch, and Price’s experience and his ever-sturdy nature will surely be a crutch for you both. You’re hoping he’ll take the spotlight off of you and Konig for a while.
Before Price sits, he leans down and simultaneously ruffles both you and Konig’s hair with a chuckle.
“How’s my poker face?” He asks with a laugh.
You and Konig sputter, rolling your eyes at him, but you can’t help the half-grin that peeks through.
Price takes a seat on the sofa next to you, giving you a hearty pat on the back before he slings his arms over either side of the back of the couch.
“Wow, wow, wow!” Caesar exclaims, “What an honor it is to have you with us today. You truly pulled off the strategy of the century!”
Price gives a single nod, a raise of his brows that hardens the lines on his forehead.
“Tell us, how did you come up with such a plan?”
Price scratches his temple and gives a light grunt before he gestures to Konig.
“Boy liked the girl. Practically did the work for me.”
The audience laughs as Konig’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck.
Caesar crosses his legs and leans in, “And at what point did you realize Konig was in love with her?”
Price snorts, a small sly smile on his face.
“Took me about an hour.”
The audience laughs as Konig turns pink at your side. Your cheeks flush with heat as well, once again embarrassed it took you so long to notice the obvious.
You were under a lot of pressure, okay?
“For those of us who don’t know, I’d like to take the opportunity to revisit your victory.”
Price just grunts, and you and Konig look to each other with furrowed brows.
The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind - what Price’s games looked like. How he pulled off a feat that no one from District Nine but you and Konig have been able to recreate since.
Judging by the look on Konig’s face, this is the first time he’s considered it too.
Instantly you’re aching to know.
They start with the reaping of the girl tribute from District Nine, a girl named Summer. She’s average in stature, a headful of wavy, miskept hair frames her face.
For a moment, she is stunned, jaw tight and a slight sway in her feet. Round, deep brown eyes are fully blown, staring straight ahead.
She blinks twice, and her face relaxes, a scoff from lips that pull into a devilish smile. Her eyes roll as she elbows her way through the crowd, striding up to stage before the peacekeepers can even get their hands on her.
Summer hauls herself up on stage and rips the microphone from the escort’s hands. Her arm extends, swatting away the escort’s attempts to take back the microphone by alternating planting her palm into her face and chest. Their mild altercation broadcasts over the speakers - grunts, hissed demands, and almost comical shrieks of mic feedback.
Eventually the escort gives up with a grunt of annoyance.
Summer’s laugh echoes throughout the speakers, and she takes a few slow, bouncing strides across the stage, her back sloped in an irreverent lean, strolling leisurely in front of the crowd. She throws her free arm into the air and lets out a sharp ‘Wooo!’
“I just want to say, I mean - what an honor it is to be the tribute of District Nine.”
Her sarcasm slips from her tongue like it’s her native language, her body slack and dipping a shoulder towards the crowd.
“Truly!” She laughs again, spinning on light feet, projecting faux verve, “It is such an honor to sacrifice the wonderful life the Capitol has graciously offered me so far.”
The escort approaches and tries to swipe for the microphone again, but Summer’s shin catches across the escort’s ankles mid-stride, causing her to trip and crash to the ground with a ridiculously dramatic cry.
The crowd actually laughs at this, which is jarring, because no one ever laughs at a reaping.
Summer ignores the escort's aggravated chirping as she continues with a wide smile.
“A life of harvesting grain on an empty stomach, I mean, I really am giving up something special, aren’t I folks?”
Summer laughs again, but it’s interrupted by a shout in the crowd.
“I volunteer!”
Summer’s face falls at once, her jaw tightening. Her lighthearted, sarcastic tone sheds the moment she hears the voice.
“No!” She objects, shaking her head and pointing into the crowd, “No he doesn’t!”
The camera finds the source of the disruption, shoving his way through the crowd with familiar sturdy arms.
Price volunteered.
Your brows furrow, your head turning to find Price on the couch next to you.
He doesn’t look at you. He keeps his eyes on the screen, but you know he can feel your stare. His jaw cocks, his lips fold in, and he gives a nearly indistinguishable nod.
“Johnny!” Summer grits, her tone that of a parent pushed to her limit as they scold a misbehaving child, “Get back in the crowd, you fucking moron!”
Price trips over himself as he makes his way to her. He tries to crawl up the middle of the stage, but Summer sticks her foot out, pressing the sole of her shoe to his chest to keep him from pulling himself up.
“Stop it! Get back!” She grunts, but his sturdy arms pull themselves up to stage regardless of her shoves and objections.
Summer drops the microphone, the entire audience jumping at the ear-piercing thud that echoes through the speakers. She puts her hands on his shoulders, and for a moment the two wrestle as she froths at him.
“Take it back! Take it back!”
The peacekeepers intervene and rip the two apart, dragging them back with tight grips on the crook of their elbows.
Price isn’t fighting the peacekeeper’s hold, but Summer’s kicking her feet, thrashing ruthlessly against the restraint. Her words are slathered with fury, loud enough for the back of the crowd to hear even without the microphone.
“You fucking idiot, Johnny! What did you do?! What did you do?! You killed yourself, Johnny! You killed yourself!”
Price is panting, chest heaving as his bright blue eyes soak in her rage.
When the escort finally restores order, she has the two shake hands. Summer doesn’t take her glare off Price the entire time. She practically smacks his hand, squeezing him with a deathly grip, a twist in her lips as she grumbles under her breath. Price just swallows, staring at her with sad eyes as he lets her assault his hand.
You hate to admit it, the thought itself making your stomach turn, but Price was kind of good-looking at your age.
While his blue eyes are still hooded, they’re not narrowed into his constant squint. Distressed in this moment, but overall his eyes are brighter, wider, full of life. His face isn’t harshened with fine lines, and instead of the intense facial hair he wears now, he only has faint stubble along his jaw. Price is strong as you know him, but his younger self seems to be entirely fit, a young man primed with youth and strengthened from a life of fieldwork.
The year Price competed in the games, the arena was truly foreign, you don’t recognize a single plant or tree that makes up the lush jungle. The trees fork in odd places, their leaves awkwardly fanned. A few are reminiscent of the trees you saw at the oasis, puffs of leaves only at the very top of their branches, but even that comparison is a stretch. Some of the flora carry leaves bigger than your entire body. Plants that you’d describe as large ferns swallow the jungle floor, camouflaging only a few feet into the tree line. Massive bones scatter the jungle, bones much larger than any animal you’ve ever seen. In many places the jungle drops off into truly stunning valleys teeming with huge, thick-stemmed flowers. Rivers carve out the land, sidewinding through the valleys.
A Jurassic landscape, they call it.
Price and Summer are locked onto each other the entirety of the countdown. When the gong sounds, they don’t hesitate to dart for each other, each of them working up to a full sprint the moment their boots leave the pedestals. They link hands at the center of the brutal bloodbath, blind to the gory altercations surrounding them. As soon as their hands are locked they make a run for the jungle, quickly disappearing into thick foliage.
They skip a lot of the games, and show the particularly exciting moments Price and Summer went through.
For the circumstances, the tone between them is light, smiling and joking as they dredge through the jungle. They’re playing a game to see who can catch the insides of a jungle nut in their mouth from the highest toss straight up in the air.
Price, leading the way, gets stuck mid-stride, as if his boot had been glued to the jungle floor. He looks down, and immediately his palms shoot out to shove Summer back in the dirt.
“What-”
Summer’s eyes widen when she sees the pit of thick sand swallowing Price’s boots.
Price panics, jerking his legs to free himself, but it’s only making it worse. The more he thrashes, the quicker the pool of sand climbs up his legs. Summer curses, kicking to her feet and stepping to the edge of the pit.
“Stop!” She yells, her fingers a blur as she shakes her palms at him, “Stop moving, Johnny! Grab my hand!”
He stills as he looks at her, heavy breaths leaving parted lips and wide eyes pooled with fear. His knuckles turn white the moment he latches to her wrists.
Summer grunts through clenched, bared teeth and leans back, every muscle shaking as her entire body weight pulls on his arms. The heels of her boots dig into the jungle floor, but Price doesn’t budge.
“Ow, ow!” He yells, “Gonna break my arms!”
“Oh, is that a worse alternative to dying?!” Summer spits.
“Save now, fight later!” He grunts.
“Just- stay still!” She says, eyes frantically darting around.
She locks onto one of the trees, a nearly matured sapling with a long, skinny, branchless trunk that stretches well above Summer’s head.
“Got it, I fucking got it, Johnny!” She shouts with excited revelation, giving herself a running start before she jumps up to grab the trunk as high as she can. Her legs fold around the tree, climbing hand over hand to shimmy herself up. When the sapling begins to curl, she jerks her body weight in the direction of Price, unwrapping her legs and dangling off the trunk until the tip of her toes touch the ground.
“Grab it!” Summer hisses, a grunt caught in the back of her throat as she holds down the spring-loaded tree.
Price, now submerged to his diaphragm, scrambles for the sapling, his arms getting lost in the sprouts of leaves at the very top of the odd tree.
“Got it!”
“Hang on tight!” She hisses before releasing the tree, falling backwards into the dirt.
The tree springs up a few feet in the absence of her weight and yanks Price from the sand to his mid-thigh. Summer’s already on her feet, scrambling to the edge of the pit to wrap her arms around Price’s core, yanking to help work him free as he climbs up the sapling with shaking arms.
Once the sand spits out the tops of his boots, he pops free, the tree slingshotting back into place and almost taking him with it. He’s dragged into Summer, both of them crashing to the ground with a thud.
Summer’s eyes pinch shut and she lets out a drawn-out, low groan under his weight.
Price heaves a breathless, relieved laugh, planting his palms in the dirt to prop himself up, smiling down at Summer.
“So,” Price says in between heavy breaths, “Want to finish that fight?”
Summer gives an amused hum behind a grin, her eyelids fluttering. She snatches him by the collar of his shirt with two fingers and pulls him in until his face is inches from hers. A sly grin spreads thick on her face, voice low and as smooth as silk.
“Kiss first, fight later.”
“Deal.”
When Summer closes the gap and plants a long kiss on his lips, you have to look down at your lap, swallowing around the lump in your throat.
Because you already know how this one ends.
The feed cuts to a shot of Summer and Price at the border of the jungle, a rock ledge next to a fifty-foot cliff overlooking a truly gorgeous valley. They’re both inspecting bushes of fruit, none of which you recognize.
“I don’t know, if I had to place my bets, I’m going with this weird one,” Summer says as she pats a fruit the size of her head, its skin a deep purple and knotted with bumps.
“Really?” Price asks, tucking his walking stick into his armpit, “Betting your life on the weird one?”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Summer digs with a teasing, but slightly pointed tongue.
Price huffs, lacking defense.
He inspects a curved, green fruit the size of his hand, running his thumb along its grains.
“I like this one,” He says, “Got a good feel to it.”
Summer narrows her eyes at him, that sly grin making a reappearance.
“I’ll test yours if you test mine,” She goads.
Price lets out a huff, “Alright, fine. Loser dies.”
“Deal.”
They switch fruits, and dig in.
“Oh, that’s it,” Summer says with a groan, “Good pick, Johnny.”
Price speaks through a mouthful, juice dripping down his chin and staining his chin maroon.
“Can’t say, I’m hungry enough to think dirt tastes good.”
He takes another bite, sucking out the fruit’s insides.
“Johnny,” Summer says carefully.
“No, no, it’s good,” He reassures her, one of his palms blindly gesturing in her direction.
“Johnny,” Summer repeats, her voice low with a slight waver stitched in.
“Yeah?”
Price licks his fingers, and turns to Summer when he doesn’t get an answer.
“Oh, f-!” Price springs to his feet, stumbling backwards with a flail.
“Sh, sh, sh!” Summer hushes with a soft wince, “Just be calm - Don’t freak out.”
A massive snake with a head the size of a loaf of bread, a body as thick as a tree trunk, has crept from a tree above the fruit bushes. Its scales slide around the back of Summer’s neck, slithering leisurely down her shoulder and her front.
“What do I do?!” Price whispers frantically.
“Relax,” The word rides one of Summer’s exhales as she closes her eyes.
You’re not sure if she’s talking to herself or Price.
“Just let me think,” She says quietly.
The python moves slow, snaking around her core like a sash, wrinkling the fabric of her shirt as it curiously explores her.
Summer’s face pinches - she’s trying to come up with a plan but her focus is split between steadying the rise and fall of her chest and keeping herself from panicking.
“So cold,” Summer whispers under her breath as she suppresses a shiver, “Feels so fucking weird.”
Price takes a few slow steps forward, arms puffed out at his sides and his back hunched over.
“Johnny,” Summer warns.
Price lowers himself to a squat, picking up the purple fruit with careful hands.
“Johnny,” Summer tries again with a draw, but with concern to angering the snake coiling around her, her voice isn’t as forceful as she would have liked it to be.
His brows furrow, and a hand comes up with a wave of annoyance.
“I got it, Trouble.”
Price gets his boots in front of her crossed legs, leaning down and carefully extending the fruit in the direction of the snake’s face.
“What are you doing?” Summer grits.
Price ignores her, cooing to the snake.
“Oh, what’s this?” He says softly, animated and affectionate, the way one would speak to a beloved pet.
The snake’s tongue flicks out, it’s head perking up from Summer’s thigh.
“Yeah, buddy, check this out,” Price coos, “You don’t want her, you want this thing.”
“Run, Johnny,” Summer hisses through clenched teeth.
“Smells good, don’t it?” Price says to the snake, ignoring Summer’s demands.
The snake’s tongue flicks from its mouth furiously, hunting down the fresh, pungent scent of the purple fruit, juice still dripping from the taken bite.
The snake double back on itself, peeling back from Summer’s stomach, and Price gives a drawn out, low, “Yeah-heh-heah.”
Price takes careful steps, shifting to Summer’s side, delicately guiding the snake to unwrap from her core.
Price chuckles, “That’s it.”
When the snake is only draped over her shoulders, Price grits to Summer.
“Run, Trouble, Run!”
With a grunt, Summer shoves the snake from her shoulders to get away from its slimy scales.
The snake did not like this maneuver one bit.
With a deafening hiss, another fifteen feet of tail whips from the jungle, the end coiling around Summer’s ankle in less than a second, pulling her foot out from under her. Summer slams face first into the ground, busting her chin open on the rock ledge.
At the same time, the snake’s jaw unhinges, its lips peeling open well below where the corner of its mouth should be, parting down the sides of its body to reveal an opening large enough to effortlessly swallow a full grown man whole with one bite. Its razor sharp fangs start at a size you’d expect at the front of its mouth, and increase in size down its unfurled body until they’re as big as Price’s forearm.
Price screams as he stares into the snake’s gaped innards displayed in clear threat while Summer desperately claws at plants on the jungle floor. Her shirt bunching up her torso as she’s dragged on her front by the snake’s tail. Price flings himself back when the snake’s uncanny mouth closes with a snap like a whip in his direction. Summer flips over on her front, folding her core to peel the tail from her ankle, but she’s no match for its deadly grip.
As Price moves away, Summer is effortlessly lifted from the ground, flailing her limbs once airborne. The snake fully unfurls its mouth towards the sky, its tail curling to hover Summer over its gaped throat. She screams and kicks suspended in the air, dangling helplessly as she stares into the snake’s mouth.
“Hey!” Price yells from off screen.
The purple fruit smacks the snake’s neck with an almost comedic wet slap.
The snake’s mouth snaps shut beneath Summer, its head whipping to the side, venomous eyes locking onto Price. Summer is slammed against the rock ledge, expelling all of the air from her lungs with a guttural wheeze as the snake slithers with unnatural speed towards Price. A choppy groan leaves Summer, dragged across the rock ledge in the snake’s wake as Price trembles, taking uneasy steps backward as he points his meager walking stick in the direction of the snake.
The snake’s already unfurled its terrifying mouth again, priming to swallow him with a gut-churning hiss, but it does not deter Price from launching himself into the snake’s mouth, jamming the thick branch vertically between the bottom and the roof of its mouth.
The snake lets out a cry as it tries to snap its jaw around Price, but instead pierces the walking stick through the roof of its mouth.
The snake wails, ripping away from Price and releasing Summer as it desperately shakes its head to rid the wedge propping its jaw open. Price boots fumble along the rock as he makes a run for Summer, moaning in pain on the ground.
Price skids to a stop before leaning over and pulling her up with sturdy arms and a grunt. Her wobbly legs come to a stand while Price slings her arms over his shoulders, half-dragging her as they stumble through the jungle.
When the two finally give out, Summer collapses to her knees and Price doubles over, his hands on his thighs and spitting his exhaustion into the dirt.
As they catch their heaving breaths, Price lets out a huff.
“Betting on the weird one worked for ya, did it?”
Summer puts two shaky palms to the jungle floor and lowers herself onto her side with a wince.
“You tell me,” She says after a long breath, resting her cheek on her bicep, smearing her arm with the blood of her split chin.
Price laughs again, lying down next to her.
A tightly pressed smile blooms on Summer’s face. Her eyes close, cheeks bunching with a glow that can be seen even under the blood and dirt. Her voice is soft when she speaks to the jungle floor.
“You’re the biggest idiot I know.”
Price hums.
“Well, I can’t help that.”
He touches the pad of his finger to the tip of her nose, a cheeky, goofy grin on his face.
“You’re the one who picked the biggest idiot you know.”
She scoffs, loosely swatting at him, but her hand lingers on his chest, her fingers toying with the slack fabric on the front of his shirt.
“Tell me about it,” She says with a wistful sigh.
You carefully turn your head to get a discreet glimpse of Price on the couch next to you. His elbows are propped up on his knees, leaning forward in his spot. His eyes are relaxed, lost in the rerun. Wearing the outline of a smile that matches Summer’s and the side of his index finger absentmindedly stroking his beard.
Your heart is heavy in your chest and your throat has gone sore and dry, you have to look away from him.
Because you know how this one ends.
When the footage cuts, they show Price and Summer setting up camp in a dilapidated skull the size of a modest room, a snug but cozy fit for two. Whatever animal it came from must have been massive, and had a powerful, flesh-eating jaw. The entrance to their hideout, the mouth of the once creature, is lined with rows of teeth, each tooth the length of Summer’s palm. The skull has been partially overtaken by time and foliage, dirt filthying the yellowish white bone, moss and vines climbing up the holes along the roof of the skull.
Inside the mouth, Summer’s resting on her back on a hand-gathered bed of moss, her elbows bent to cradle her head in her palms. Price is curled up at her side, a sturdy arm slung over her waist, nestled into her shoulder. He snores lightly into her neck as she keeps watch, staring through a hole in the roof of their skull, watching the stars through the leaves of the nearby trees.
Something shakes the jungle, every last tree and leaf on the foliage disturbed as the world rumbles for just a second.
“What’s’it?” Price slurs as he opens his eyes, a deep inhale of morning as he lifts his head to find Summer’s worried face.
It happens again, something shakes the ground beneath them, the both of them jostled for a brief stint.
“The fuck is that?” Summer whispers to him, her brows pinched.
“Don’ know, jus’ woke up,” He mumbles with a slur, voice low with annoyance and sleep.
They flinch and cling to each other when it happens again, their heads swiveling as they try to piece together what’s happening.
“Earthquake?” Summer asks.
Something gives a deafening, screeching roar, booming in the distant forest, ripping a gasp from both of them. Their fingernails are digging into each other, huddled in a ball of tense limbs as they wait for threat.
The thuds turn rhythmic, the entire jungle vibrating with tremendous force.
A shallow breath leaves Price when a tribute screams in the distance.
Both of their mouths are parted, locked onto each other before they peer out of the skull, unable to see beyond the foliage.
The speed increases, the spaced out jostles quickly becoming one continuous rumble. It’s getting closer, intensifying with each beat.
“What do we do?!” Price shouts.
Summer just shakes her head, face slack with fear. The rumbling stops, and the tribute screams pick up in its absence.
The truly harrowing, bone-chilling roar cuts through the jungle again, both Summer and Price jumping from their skin, arms tensing around each other.
A cannon fires.
For minutes the jungle settles, but the two don’t dare break away from each other, holding each other close.
They both flinch when the thuds start up again, one after another, the entire jungle quaking. It’s getting closer, the two have to lower themselves on their hands and knees to keep from being tossed around.
It is a truly terrifying beast, the ultimate predator.
The beast is well over the size of a building, with flesh like a lizard’s. Two powerful, bird-like legs support a body that must be four stories wide, its feet lined with killer claws. A thick neck supports a head the size of a car and two useless arms hang from its front. Half of its body is just a massive tail balancing out the weight of its huge head, thick near its body and thinning out to a point twenty feet away.
When the beast gives a powerful roar, its screeched breath rustles nearby leaves, displaying its powerful jaws far and wide.
Summer blinks, and her gaze flits to the row of teeth at the entrance of their hideout, and she’s coming to the haunting realization that her and Price would be a snug, but cozy fit inside the mouth of the beast. It cross the jungle what must be only fifty yards from Price and Summer, their entire world becoming a nauseating blur.
The two flinch when the extreme force causes the jaws of their hideout to snap shut, trapping them in the skull.
The two watch through the nostril openings until the beast is long lost to the jungle.
“Okay,” Summer draws out a long sigh, closing her eyes, “Hated that.”
“Not a holiday for me, either.”
“Let’s make a deal,” Summer’s fist jams a thumb in the direction of the beast, “We stay far away from that thing.”
“No?” Price asks with a tilt of his head and a raised brow, “I was thinking we put a collar on ‘em and keep ‘em as a pet.”
Summer snorts.
“Fine, but I’m not going to get stuck taking care of it. You have to clean up after it.”
Price’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at her.
“Deal.”
When the feed cuts again, it’s clear a good chunk of time has passed. The hideout is camouflaged, they’ve rigged the skull’s jaw open with a pulley, and the two managed to get their hands on some modest supplies - some rope and knives.
Price and Summer are digging into a nice bounty of fruit and the meat of a jungle creature, cooked over some now extinguished embers. They’re eating in a comfortable silence, resting their backs against the skull with their legs stretched out. It’s clear they’re both exhausted.
Heavy eyelids shoot open when voices in the jungle near.
“I can smell it, it was definitely over here.”
“Well, it’s not anymore. They’re long gone.”
Two careers, slicing their weapons through vines and overgrown plants, hunting for the smoke from Summer and Price’s campfire.
“Lower district rats prol’ly too stupid to clear out.”
Summer’s face twists, a snarl tugging on her lips. Price shakes his head at her, his eyes wide and lips folded in.
“We can look around for a little.”
“Or we can look until we get to spill some rat blood.”
With pointed brows and a growl threatening to leave her, Summer makes a ring with her index finger and her thumb. She goes to place it in her mouth, but Price snatches her wrist and slaps a hand over her mouth, prompting Summer to muffle objections into his palm.
Summer starts swinging at him as she tries to shake away her muzzle, but Price positions himself behind her, pressing her back to his chest and keeping her secure between his legs as she trashes in his hold until the careers move on.
When Price loosens his grip, she shoves him away.
“What is wrong with you?” He hisses, “Are you nuts?”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?! How can you just sit by after hearing their bullshit all week?”
“Because I’m not trying to get myself killed!”
“Well then you shouldn’t have volunteered, should ya’ve, Johnny?!”
He doesn’t have anything to say to that one.
The pain wells in his eyes for just a moment before he huffs, pinching his brows and looking away.
Summer grumbles under her breath before crawling out of the skull, getting much needed space from him.
The feed cuts, and it appears as if the two have resolved the fight, or at least have repaired things enough to tolerate being next to each other. They walk silently through the jungle, both of their steps sluggish, but are stopped in their tracks as the world gets brighter. It takes only a few seconds for the entire arena to be engulfed in a blinding white light.
The sound of the impact blares over the speakers loud enough you feel the vibration in your ribcage. It makes you jump. A flinch and a sharp draw of breath that drives Konig to tighten his hold on you.
The ground shakes beneath Price and Summer, tenfold more intense than the beast’s footsteps. It knocks them both to the ground instantly, and they have to scramble to narrowly miss getting crushed by weakened trees, uprooted and crashing to the ground.
A cloud of white dust barrels like a wave in their direction, and even though Price wasted no time to grab Summer’s arm and make a run from it, they are swallowed by a thick cloud of smoke, coughing and hacking as they stumble blindly through the jungle.
Half of the arena has been entirely destroyed, now only a burning, fiery wasteland ringing an enormous crater, a meteor wedged deep into the earth at the center. What remains of the arena is so foggy with debris they can’t see a foot in front of their faces.
The impact killed a handful of tributes instantly, including half the career pack, and wiped out all of the beasts that roamed the land.
The feed cuts again, and your stomach twists when Price licks his lips and looks to the floor.
You know what that means.
You follow his gaze for a moment, trying to swallow the lump forming in your throat.
The meteor strike has driven what remains of the tributes together, the pool slimmed. The dust has mostly cleared the arena, now only a slight fog weaving through the foliage.
Where the jungle breaks into the cornucopia, Price and Summer lock eyes with what remains of the career pack.
Summer’s fists clench at her sides and Price’s hand immediately shoots to Summer’s shoulder.
The careers don’t even lunge for them.
They stand in front of the cornucopia, arms crossed over their chests and smug grins on their faces.
Price gives Summer a tug, guiding her to turn and run, but her feet stay planted firmly on the dirt.
“Trouble,” Price hisses, “Let’s go.”
“C’mon rat!” One of the careers calls from across the field, his arms uncrossing and held out at his sides, inviting them to a fight.
Summer’s knuckles have gone white around the handle of her blade, shallow breaths leave her parted lips. She’s caught in a trance as she stares down the careers.
“Summer! Let’s go!” He says sternly, giving a harsh tug on her arm and taking a step to backtrack into the forest.
“You all talk?!” One of the careers calls, “Put your bread where your mouth is, Rat!”
Summer jaw clenches before she rips from Price’s grip, breaking into a sprint towards the careers.
“Summer, no!”
Price runs after her, but stops in his tracks when Summer’s ankle snags against something.
It happens so fast.
A nearly invisible tripwire hidden within the fern-like plants sends an axe into the side of her stomach in an instant. For a moment she is paralyzed, only a slight sway on her feet before she turns to face Price.
It takes a moment for Price to understand what just happened, in stunned disbelief as his hands find his head.
“No!” Price cries when his thoughts catch up, “No, no!”
His boots take off, slamming against the dirt and tearing through the ferns as he runs for her.
“Summer! Summer!”
A heavy wall of tears rims his eyeline, a shake in his hands as he locks on to her wide eyes. Summer collapses face first into the foliage, and when Price catches up he forcefully flips her onto her front.
Summer groans as Price’s panicked eyes dart over the wound, muttering to himself while the blood oozes generously around the blade of the axe.
“You’re going to be okay!” He says, but he convinces absolutely no one, then and now.
“‘S make a deal, okay?” Summer grits, her words chopped with each twitch of her body, “You win this thing-”
Summer coughs, blood splattering on her lips and chin.
“And I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”
He nods, tears slipping down his face.
Price’s voice is just a choked breath.
“Deal.”
She closes her eyes and hums.
“Love you, Johnny.”
“Love you, Summertime.”
“Go,” She says hoarsely, “Make sure you didn’t do it for nuthin’.”
Price nods, his brows pinching. He looks up to the careers, both of them making the dash across the clearing to finish Price off.
He looks back to Summer, his face falling and swelled with worry.
Her eyes roll ever so slightly, her words wet and gurgled through her blood.
“Go, idiot.”
Price nods with a swallow and rises to his feet, breaking into a run further into the jungle as soon as he musters up the courage to take his eyes off her. He doesn’t look back, his boots slamming against the jungle floor with each step, the leaves of the flora wavering in his wake.
Tears streak his face, his lips parted to push out sharp breaths, but otherwise his face is expressionless, stone-cold. He only breaks for a moment when the cannon fires, a wince that creases his eyes, but his boots don’t slow.
The careers are closing in on him, and you find your nails are digging into Konig’s thigh, threatening to tear a chunk of fabric from his dress pants.
Price must have run miles without slowing before he sidesteps the familiar pool of quicksand and returns to his previous trajectory. One of the careers gets sucked right into his trap, his body is thrown when his boot gets caught in the pit, planting his palms right into the quicksand.
By time the other career catches up, the sand has swallowed the boy to his wrists and ankles. He’s tugging futilely against its hold on him, only burying himself further into the sand’s clutches. The other career ignores him entirely, doesn’t even look in the direction of the desperate pleas for help.
When Price finds his and Summer’s hideout, he makes a beeline for it.
Both your teeth and fists are clenched, resisting the urge to scold Price for cornering himself by crawling into the skull.
Price turns on his feet, hunched over to fit as he steps to the back of the hideout, his knife primed above his head.
“Let’s go, Rat!” The career calls before lowering himself to follow Price into the hideout.
Price swings his knife, but not at the career, no.
As the career is halfway into the mouth of the skull, Price slices clean through the rope of the pulley. The skull’s powerful jaw clamps shut with tremendous force, massive teeth piercing through the career’s torso with a snap, pinning him in the mouth of the once beast.
The career sputters his breath, eyes blown and blood shooting from his mouth at once. His hands instinctively press the back of the beast’s teeth to pointlessly try to work himself free.
Price carefully nears as the boy struggles, keeping eye contact with him. Price’s face is eerily even as he squats down in the bed of moss soaking up the blood that drains down the massive, bone white teeth.
He raises his knife to his own forearm, and slices clean through his skin without so much as wincing.
Price inspects the wound with furrowed brows for a moment before he slowly extends his forearm to the boy, droplets of Price’s blood streaking from the cut and down his arm.
“You see that?” He says, his voice low and dangerous.
Price huffs.
“Looks like you bleed the same colors as the rats.”
The boy can’t respond, too busy choking on his blood, but what life remains in his eyes sparks with rage, his brows creasing ever so slightly as he glares at Price.
Price’s eyes narrow into a deep squint.
“You tell Summer who sent you.”
Price’s knife pierces through the career’s windpipe without warning.
You flinch in your seat, eyes pinching shut to rid the sight of Sapphire being skewered at your hand, your nails nearly drawing blood from the flesh of your knee as you try to shake the reverb of the staff in your grip and silence the sound of her choking on her own blood.
“Wow,” Caesar starts, “Let’s give John a hand, huh?”
The audience complies, but it’s muffled by the sound of your own shallow breaths in your ears. Behind the cover of your eyelids, your irises dart furiously.
So much new information you’re learning about your fellow victors today, and not at all the proper space to digest it.
Your nausea is making a reappearance and your heels scrape across the stage in a futile attempt to expel the heat bubbling from your pores.
“It must be really special to you, that after all this time, you managed to pull off getting these two star-crossed lovers out together.”
Price gives a curt nod.
“That’s right,” He says evenly.
Your hand crosses over your bicep, and your lower lips catches between your teeth. That sickening guilt is coiling in your intestines again, the heavy weight that’s impossible to ignore.
What makes you worthy of getting out of the arena, when Summer couldn’t?
Why do you and Konig get to have each other at your sides - when Price didn’t get the same?
You don’t feel deserving of it.
Not just in comparison to Price - but even in relation to your games.
Why do you get to sit here on this stage, alive and unharmed, while there are twenty-two other tributes - many of them much more deserving of the victor title - who’ve long since been packed up in wooden boxes and shipped back to their districts?
Because you are alive today, someone else is dead.
And it’s only worse that a selfish little brat like you got gifted something that an honorable man like Price couldn’t have.
Guilt.
“Tell us,” Caesar says to you and Konig, “Have you seen this footage before?”
You swallow hard enough you can feel it tug on your ears. You can’t bring yourself to speak, or even open your eyes, so you just shake your head.
“And how do you feel after seeing John’s win for the first time?”
You shake your head again, and when you speak, your words are choked and barely audible.
“Not good.”
Price gives you a squeeze on the shoulder before rubbing it out. You think he’s trying to tell you it’s okay, that you shouldn’t feel bad, but it does nothing to relieve the sickening guilt swelling in your gut and swallowing you whole.
Caesar receives little cooperation from Konig.
“Well, John, I have to say, your tributes weren’t the only ones stirring excitement in the arena.”
Price scoffs, a smile tugging on his lips.
”We have some never-before seen footage I can’t wait to share with you all! Let’s take a look, shall we?”
The mentor’s suite is just a sterile white, curved room, lined with screens and chairs. One large screen shows the audience’s perspective, and each mentor’s seat has multiple screens to keep an eye on their own tributes at all times.
You’d think Price bet the farm on you and Konig.
Price is consistently the loudest of all the mentors. It’s easy to see from one look that everyone else is annoyed with him.
Ruby isn’t nearly as loud, but she’s just as obnoxious, looking over Price’s shoulder and squealing every word.
Oh, how you have missed that shrill Capitol accent.
They only show the particularly interesting moments.
When you escaped the snare, Price threw his chair across the room, making everyone in the room flinch.
“That’s my fucking girl!”
“Well, she has always been stubborn!” Ruby chimes.
It actually makes you blow an amused huff of air out of your nose, a grin creeping on your lips.
And of course, they show Price pulling Ruby into an excited kiss when you escaped Titan. She turns bright red and grunts when he lets go of her, smoothing out her shirt.
”Well, I never!”
The audience loves it, a hearty applause for Price’s antics.
Caesar asks Price a few more questions, but you do your best to tune them out, taking your opportunity to shut off your brain for a minute as you bury yourself into Konig’s chest.
When Caesar prompts Price off the stage, he practically strongholds you into standing with him, Konig in turn following.
He pulls you in for a hug and digs his nails into your back hard enough you hiss into his ear. He doesn’t let you wriggle away, holding you for a few more sharp seconds before he finally lets you free, ignoring your face pinched in defense.
His jaw clenches, and the message his eyes are drilling into you is clear.
Be. Good.
The look, the first implementation of physical correction - it’s enough to dry out your mouth and clench your muscles. An ominous feeling pools from your center and infects your limbs, ultimately putting a shake in your fingers and a wobble in your knees.
There it is, that feeling again. The unpinnable, chest-wrenching, breath-stealing feeling.
Something is wrong.
How badly did you fuck up? What specifically was he correcting?
Konig doesn’t get the same treatment. Price plasters his crowd-worthy grin on his face and pulls Konig into a short side-hug, giving him two gentle but firm pats on the back before he struts off, waving at the crowd.
With stitched brows you follow him with your gaze as Price walks off stage, carefully taking your seat once he’s out of sight. Your fingers fidget at your side as you try to heed off the urge to throw up all over the glittery stage.
Caesar hypes up the crowd for the finale before digging into the highlights.
You’re not looking forward to this part.
The oasis does not grant Konig refuge from the dust storm, a light breeze turning to a gusting wind that turns to a full on twister of sand.
They cut to the boy from four, still lying on the sand exactly where Konig left him, skin fried from the desert sun.
Konig paralyzed him.
And judging by the way Konig’s eyes widen and his lips part, he had no idea. He looks to his hands, horrified.
The dust storm steadily suffocates Four, his weak cries more muffled with each passing second before his cannon fires.
Konig’s horrified expression lingers the entirety of the arena being destroyed.
You give him a squeeze that he doesn’t return, motionless when you rest your cheek on his shoulder.
They feature the boy from six and the boy from seven, the boys who ran into the snow quadrant at the bloodbath. They took refuge in the center of the snow quadrant, in the large, complex system of caves. They were out hunting for food before the avalanche chased them out of the woods and swallowed them whole.
Even though you only knew of them as ‘The boys who ran into the snow quadrant’ - there’s some level of unpinnable familiarity there that makes your heart sink. Maybe because you witnessed their death happen in person, or maybe because you got too close of a look at them at the bloodbath, or maybe it was that moment where the boy from seven was smiling in his chariot with his district companion. You don’t know. This interview is so exhausting, and has left you with more than enough emotional homework you care to handle, and you’re still not finished yet.
You still have to relive Sapphire’s death, you still have to watch Konig beat Titan into a bloody pulp, and you still have to see Konig die.
What you wouldn’t give for a breather.
For five minutes with Konig in private.
You just want to be done, done with this interview, done with The Capitol, done with the Hunger Games.
But you won’t ever be, will you? Every year they’ll drag you and Konig back with Price, forced to mentor a pair of kids destined to die, and you won’t be able to keep your distance. Every year they will break your heart, and every year they’ll broadcast your romance far and wide, both in recaps and in new footage.
They start with Sapphire.
As soon as her cry blares over the speakers, your eyes are screwed shut.
Konig’s nearly squeezing the life from you, surely watching Sapphire close in as you bleed generously from your hedge-inflicted wounds.
“He killed him! He killed him!”
Konig’s grip on you loosens as soon as he realizes it.
Realizes that you took the brunt of her vengeance against him for killing her district companion. A boy she surely trained with for years, preparing for this moment.
You give his arm a squeeze. Konig doesn’t know it, but that same vengeance is what saved you.
The exhaustion from mourning her companion made Sapphire’s spear toss sloppy, her hatred for Konig left her defenses wide open, and her spite drove her own spear square into her abdomen.
How many times does a boy have to save a girl’s life before she gets the fucking picture?
Konig is so skilled at protecting you - he managed to pull it off without even being by your side - all while you fought with everything you had to die.
It feels as if these games have revolved around you and Konig since the beginning. Tethered together by a rope that stretched across the arena, ensnaring any tributes that neared in its indestructible, suffocating web.
You can’t help but wonder - if you had never been, if you were never a soul on this earth, what would the outcome have been?
Who would have had a fair chance if you and Konig had not been unintentional allies, if it weren’t for you two being an unstoppable force that pulled tributes under without even trying?
How many deaths fall back on you, simply for breathing, for existing?
Konig’s grip has turned crushing since Sapphire whipped her spear in your direction, and it almost grounds you as you’re suffocated by the replay of her froths.
The squelch of Sapphire’s eye and her haunting wail makes you gag, bile sloshing up the back of your throat and bringing tears to your eyes.
Konig’s clutch on you is so tight he’s shaking. As you and Sapphire attack simultaneously, he sucks in a sharp breath, flinching in his seat. He almost takes your hand with him to find his head, but corrects himself and rests your intertwined hands where your thighs meld together.
Your eyes are closed, but you can see her - on her knees, ripping out her own eye, the tear of her shredded optic nerve. You can feel it - the spear jamming into your stomach, the weight of Sapphire’s body scraping the spear against your flayed hands, the ground jostling you about as her limp body bounces lifelessly on the ground.
“What a moment, what a moment!” Caesar chimes once the footage pauses, a chorus of claps echoing throughout the theatre.
“Wow, I have to say, it’s not every games we get to see a tribute drive another to end their own life,” Caesar’s lips pull to the side, and he speaks in a lowered, cheeky tone, “And I hate to spoil it for you folks, but that won’t be the last time it happens.”
As the audience laughs, your face pinches, crushing Konig’s hand in yours. Your lips part to run your mouth - but you stop yourself, forcing out a deep breath.
Be. Good.
So instead your lips press into a tightly pursed smile, your neck jerking to the side.
Konig finds you, those icy blue eyes just as annoyed as yours.
He lifts your locked hands with a gentle shake and a squeeze.
“And here I thought I was being original,” He mutters with a slight roll of his eyes.
For a moment your brows tighten, and then you scoff, finding yourself actually smiling during this grueling, painful interview.
“Eh,” You shrug, “She may have gotten there first, but you perfected it.”
His chest puffs out with an amused huff, his fingers raising to rub out his temple. He shakes his head and looks at you, and you share a weak, but genuine smile.
It doesn’t last long.
Konig’s next.
Really, you should have connected the dots considering you saw the two dead tributes at the other end of the maze, but it hadn’t crossed your mind to think of the fights that were taking place as you fought Sapphire.
His assigned opponent is the girl from two, Sage as Sapphire called her.
Sage wastes no time once the ground settles, in a run straight for him. Konig’s not fazed by her speed. He roughly tosses his pack to the side, and stands tall with Four’s blade primed.
There’s little to see of his expression under his hood, but his eyes are fearless, slightly narrowed as he waits for her approach.
Sage wields a sword of her own, and once Konig is in motion, it’s impossible to look away. The footage isn’t altered, but it feels as if time has slowed for them. You catch every movement, the way Konig’s leg dips and his arm straightens behind him, winding up to deflect her hit with the perfect clinks of metal on metal. They way her feet shuffle in perfect positioning, alternating between offensive and defensive maneuvers.
It’s violent, aggressive, - but also graceful.
Their fight is a mesmerizing dance. They meet in the middle like it has been rehearsed, perfect timing of the commanding clashes to form a grated song of their swords embracing.
Sage’s face is pinched in determination and focus, grunts behind her grit teeth with each swing.
They exchange no words.
It’s a transaction, professional. The two are there to complete their task and nothing more.
Their swords clash between their chests and hold there, hands trembling as they push against the other. Their eyes are locked and crinkled in focus.
Konig closes in and gives a forceful shove, sending her tumbling back onto the grass.
When she’s on her elbows, her legs bending in a scramble, the very end of Konig’s blade finds her neck, resting an inch under her chin. He looms over her in all his glory, blocking out the sun and casting his shadow over her.
Sage stills at once, her lips twitching as she looks up at him. It’s not quite anger in her eyes, more frustration at herself. Bested even with her training.
She doesn’t beg. She holds his taut stare, and waits. Accepting her defeat in good sportsmanship.
Konig’s sword lingers for a few moments before it slowly retreats, pulling away from her neck.
Sage breaks the stare to follow Konig’s sword until it’s back at his side.
“Up, Girl.”
Her chest heaves with her shallow breaths, irises shifting back and forth as she flits between both of his unreadable eyes.
There’s a pause, lingering their stares on each other before she comes to a slow stand.
Konig takes a few steps back, his sword relaxed at his side. For a moment she eyes him in unease, but he waits patiently. She fixes her shirt, tugging down the hem that bunched up when she fell, and tilts her head to the side to pop a joint in her neck. A long exhale leaves her, she rolls her shoulders, and repositions her feet.
Her face pinches in determination, and they begin round two.
They’re not holding back. Sage is back in the game, catching every swing. She almost gets him, twisting her wrist with a jerk of her arm to leave his core undefended, but he saves it with a quick deflect by putting the sword vertically just in front of his middle. She would have cut him when she forced her sword further into his, but the supplies in his vest spares him from being nicked with his own sword.
Sage retreats her blade and risks opening herself up while Konig’s busy winding regaining his grip on his swords. She returns with all her might, a grunt that borders on a shout leaving her. Konig blocks her from the inside and pushes outwards, and for a moment she loses balance, stumbling at Konig’s side. His upper half quickly leans back as he swivels to keep face to face with her, a few steps back to keep his distance.
He flinches when she cries out. Sage learns the hard way about the hedge’s blades, slicing deep gashes on the undersides of her forearms and through the meat of her palms.
Konig’s eyes widen as he tries to figure out what just happened, taking a few uneasy steps back as she collects herself.
Sage shakes out her arm, flicking blood in all directions. She winces, but it does little to stop her from wrapping her palms around the handle of her sword and finishing their fight.
They sidestep each other for a moment, swords at the ready.
Sage advances quickly and with little warning, frustration laced into her flurry of offensive strikes. Her blade is just a blur, each collision announced with the clash of steel and a splatter of her blood. Konig follows her lead, blocking each strike, both of them slipping right back into their perfected routine. She’s clearly got the upper hand when it comes to skill, her sword techniques much more advanced. But Konig’s holding his ground even with his base level understanding.
Sapphire’s cannon fires, and the girl from two loses her rhythm when she flinches and whips her head to the side.
That’s all Konig needs. He gives a forceful shove to the blades, knocking her off balance. He has no problem dismounting her sword. She’s back on the ground again, unarmed and dwarfed under Konig’s full stature.
She doesn’t scramble for her sword or to a stand, calmly propping up on her elbows and watching as Konig leisurely returns the sword to her neck.
They lock eyes again, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths as they stare at each other.
Sage licks her lips and nods.
“Do me a favor,” She says through shallow breath.
She looks to the blade, and then back to him.
“Make sure that loon doesn’t win.”
Konig pauses, his eyes relaxing.
“Okay,” He says.
She gives him a faint nod, and Konig takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes on the exhale. With one motion he pierces the sword into her neck until it imbeds through the ground beneath her.
As the audience claps for Konig, your eyes are pinched shut, trying to free your hands of Sapphire’s spear.
When you do look to him, your brows pinched and gnawing on your lower lip, he doesn’t meet your stare. His eyes point low and to the side, a solemn look weighing down his pale features.
“Wow,” Caesar starts as the audience settles, “Konig, I have to say, that was a truly thrilling fight.”
You have to agree with Caesar on that one. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your ribcage, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your lips have turned blue from holding your breath.
“I have to ask, what were your motivations in granting Sage a second chance?”
You’d like to know the answer to that one, too.
Konig is silent and still, sunken eyes taking their time to find Caesar. He swallows hard enough you can see it, and he gives an unsteady, slow shrug. This one’s different, it’s not disrespectful. Defeated and sluggish, you can tell he genuinely cannot find the words.
They’re used to careers sitting on this couch, wearing proud with each replay of their kills, cheering along with the crowd.
If The Capitol wanted meaningful commentary from you both, they should have given you more time to think on everything, because right now it is so painful. You feel like you’ve been sliced from chest to core, your guts spilling all over the glittery stage, and Caesar might as well be squishing your intestines under his dress shoes with every question he asks.
Caesar sees he’s not going to get the answers the country is desperate for, and moves on.
Titan’s turn.
His fight is much less fair.
He’s up against a male tribute who’s clearly out of his depth, unarmed and no match for Titan.
If you had to guess, his strategy for the games was the same as yours. To evade until he had no choice, and he’s realizing that this is his reckoning.
A prey trapped with its predator, the instinctual fear of an animal taking control as he tries to put as much space between him and Titan as possible.
Titan’s maniacal cackle as he watches the boy tremble and flee sends a shiver down your spine. He stands so casually, laughing at him as if the boy wasn’t rightfully treating Titan like the killer he is.
It’s a jarring contrast, they’re not even playing the same game.
For Titan, it’s like a game of tag. Toying with the boy as he chases him around their pen, teasing calls in a sing-song tune, smiling and laughing all the while. He purposely slows up a few times to drag the fun out a little longer.
It’s so unnerving, an unsettling twist in your lower core that begs for attention.
Titan.
If you never see those teeth again, if you never hear that laugh again - it’ll be too soon.
It’s clear that both you and Konig have checked out. Shut down on yourselves, staring blankly at the stage and trying your hardest not to retain any of it. Your limp body leans into him, lulling your head on his bicep.
He gives you a weak squeeze on your locked, sweaty hands, but is otherwise motionless at your side.
The Capitol forcing you to falsely grieve his death has worn yourself down emotionally before you even stepped onto this stage, and every highlight chips away at what little of you remains.
You find your mind wandering to that night before the games. Longing for a soft bed and Konig’s chest as a pillow, leeching his cozy warmth, his heartbeat a lullaby to ease you into a much needed break from consciousness.
Your eyes are still closed when Titan finishes the excruciatingly drawn-out hunt, but you can hear it.
Titan chose to break his neck.
Every muscle in you and Konig’s bodies have clenched with such speed and intensity it’s painful. You lurch forward involuntarily, folding your core in preparation to keep from throwing up over yourself.
Titan’s cackle is the accompanying song to the vivid image of Eleven’s limp bounce off the platform, his lifeless eyes a searing, white hot flash behind your eyelids.
You shake your head to try and rid the visual, taking deep breaths in a futile effort to settle your boiling stomach.
You can’t take much more of this. The only thing keeping you on this couch is Price’s fingernails sinking into your back.
It was a warning.
A warning without explanation of consequence or instruction on how to proceed. A blaring alarm, not sure if you’re dealing with a tornado or a wildfire, unsure if you’re meant to hunker down or evacuate.
All you have to work with is - Be. Good.
You barely manage to stay on the couch, squirming and shaking into Konig’s side.
Once Caesar is done analyzing the footage of Titan and his victim, the rest of the hedge walls descend, and it’s on to the three-way standoff.
You have to open your eyes to watch, because other than Konig’s hand nearly crushing the bones in your hand to dust - the glittery stage, Caesar Flickerman, and this godforsaken audience is the only thing reminding you that you’re not in the arena.
The wide aerial shot they use makes the six of you look like insects as Titan and Konig close in.
They pause on you, coated and dripping in blood, brows pinched and eyes pointed, Sapphire’s colorful spear trained at Konig’s chest.
The image makes your face warp, knotting your insides with shame and guilt. You look like a heartless killer, aiming your spear at the boy who loves you so much he sacrificed himself for you.
“Konig, I have to say, it must have been tough watching a friend, your crush, displaying such apparent distrust.”
Caesar’s words are like a knife to the chest. Slicing deep and exposing your heart to the entire country.
And you would know.
Konig swallows, his eyes flitting to his fidgeting dress shoes. He gives a grave nod that twists the knife sticking out of your chest.
“My dear,” Caesar says, “What was going on in your head at this moment?”
It takes you a few moments to coax the words from your dry, raw throat.
“I-”
You take a deep breath, smoothing out your dress skirt. You sound like a child when you speak.
“Nothing. Nothing was going through my head. I was just scared.”
Caesar nods.
“Scared of a friend?”
He might as well have taken the knife from your heart and plunged it right back in.
You swallow, your words consisting of only breath.
“Yeah.”
“And why’s that?”
For fucks sake, Caesar.
Be. Good.
“Because it was the end,” You croak, the audience hanging onto every word.
“I think we understand dear,” Caesar says, “Afterall, you’re not a mind reader.”
You give a shaky nod, and Caesar finally gives it a rest.
Titan’s taunts blaring over the speakers are unable to be ignored.
Titan.
That sardonic laugh, that mocking voice, those killer teeth.
It’s somehow worse the second time.
Your skewered heart is racing, your entire body pulsing in rhythm and blurring your vision with each beat.
At your side, Konig’s jaw is clicking as he grinds his teeth, his hand shaking in your hold.
Sapphire’s ribs snapping under Titan’s boot fold your body in a cringe, Eleven’s lifeless eyes stealing your breath.
When Titan’s gotten his hands on you, Konig lets go of your hand and slings his arms around your waist instead, possessively tugging you flush against him, quick and just forceful enough to pull a gasp from you. As Konig gives your hand a break to squeeze your side instead, your stare follows your touch as you rub out the ache in your palm.
You can feel the vibration of Titan’s chest against your back, his breath in your ear, his massive arm snaked around your neck.
Next to you, Konig’s leg is bouncing furiously, a hand lost in his hair in a useless attempt to placate his rage.
You give his leg a gentle squeeze, trying to get him to look at you, to remind him that you’re right here, that it’s okay. He doesn’t meet your gaze, staring daggers at Titan through the screen as he coos and purrs and growls and yells and taunts.
Every insufferable moment of this standoff is a grating ringing in your ears. Listening to yourself yell at Konig in a demand to kill you is making you feel dumb, Titan’s voice rips a shudder from you with every sentence, and Konig’s rage is a burning heat on your skin.
The worst is yet to come, of course. The encore of Konig beating Titan to a bloody pulp.
Konig’s arm turns to lead over your shoulders, working against each flinch you make. He’s entirely still at your side as you shake in his hold, pinching your eyes shut but not at all able to rid the visual of Titan's smashed face and the waterfall of blood behind him, his lifeless body collapsing to the grass and razor sharp blades shredding his flesh.
As you beg and plead with Konig for your life, you’re both deathly still on the couch, only the rise and fall of your chest to heave breaths towards your lap.
You can’t bring yourself to sit up or to open your eyes. The sound of your own voice, pleading for your life with the boy who killed himself for you, it’s making you sink in on yourself.
To your relief, they skip your breakdown. You find it strange they also skip Konig tending to your wounds and his detail of that day in District Nine.
They do show a few bits of conversation from your picnic, but most of it is cut. They leave out the trip to the oasis entirely.
At first, it’s a relief. The more they skip the quicker this interview is over with, and to be honest, you weren’t crazy about the idea of all of Panem watching you and Konig having careless fun in your underwear. You’re especially thankful that Konig won’t be finding out about the lingering stares anytime soon.
There’s something about it that’s not sitting right with you, though. Yours and Konig’s romance was the star of this year’s games, and it seems odd they’re cutting out the particularly lighthearted, but intimate moments.
The audience does get a chance to gush over Konig carrying you through the desert, and laugh over you asking Konig about having a crush back home, but again, they skip most of yours and Konig’s conversations.
And there it is again. The dread that sloshes around your core, lapping up your insides, a dark cloud drifting into your thoughts but entirely unidentifiable.
Something is wrong.
Konig rests his cheek on the crowd of your head, his finger tracing gentle swirls into your sides instead of squeezing. You find yourself melting into him, your finger absentmindedly stroking his silken tie as you let your eyes flutter shut.
“You’ve really never had a boyfriend?”
You’ve seen this one already.
Might as well try and sneak in a break, here in his chest.
Konig’s hand finds your hair, running his fingers through your Capitol-Standard silken locks, sending electric tingles up your scalp. He manages to draw a soft, content hum from you.
It’s like the eye of the storm, a moment of calm before you’re thrown right back into the hurricane.
Caesar leaves you both alone. He doesn’t need to ask you how you feel, or what was going through your mind, because the versions of you and Konig on screen are doing the work for you.
Caesar does occasionally stop the footage to make commentary that would normally make your teeth drive straight through the flesh of your tongue, but you truly can't find it in you to care. The only thing you care about in this moment is the billow of Konig’s ribcage with each breath, the feeling of his chest from beneath his suit, the soothing fingers sliding through your hair.
“I have to say, it’s the first time we’ve ever seen two tributes fight to the death quite like this!”
And yeah, you’d prefer if all of Panem wasn’t watching you be so raw and vulnerable, but you can’t bring yourself to even be embarrassed about your fits and fight.
Aside from the obscenities and insults thrown at Konig, you stand by everything you said, everything you did, and you’d do it again if you have to.
The kissing doesn’t even faze you.
You’d do it again and again and again.
They obviously skip your intimacy.
You expected at the very least some teasing from Caesar, innocuous jokes and cheeky, knowing stares until you and Konig’s cheeks turn warm, but they don’t even mention it.
And unusually, they skip your preparations for death. You do remember making the faintest slight against the Capitol, but they skip all of it. Your plea to die, the exchange of the ribbon, the final hug.
Come on. That’s the height of television to these people. The drama and the tragedy.
You and Konig put on a show. In more ways than one, and it’s hard to stomach why The Capitol didn’t include any of it in the highlights.
And while you’re relieved you don’t have to relive such a painful, bittersweet moment - you know that there is a reason it was not included.
A reason The Capitol did not like.
And it’s starting to sink in that maybe you don’t have the upper hand anymore.
Because with Konig at your side - they finally have the leverage they need. It is no longer you as the sacrificial lamb. If The Capitol is upset with you, they will not use your tongue against you.
They will use his.
Konig’s chest does little to quell this thought.
The sound of a blade slicing flesh, screams and desperate pleas, weak reassurances also does little to help.
And of course, the audience cheers for your double suicide. It doesn’t even surprise you.
What does surprise you, though, is the footage of you in your hospital room.
Immediately your head rips from Konig’s chest, your face falling, scrambling to comb over everything you said in your fits to figure out what could possibly be exposed to all of Panem in moments you thought were private.
They show you attacking Price in the hospital room, which the crowd finds funny, but you scratch behind your ear, not sure how to feel about it. It is kind of funny, considering Konig was alive the entire time, but you find being forced to believe he was dead, the grief that otherwise was not necessary, not so funny.
And they show Konig. Restrained to his hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling, his temples red and raw from the never-ending stream of tears trailing down the side of his face to contribute to the growing stain on his pillow.
He refused to do anything.
Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t listen to the nurses, wouldn’t even speak to Price.
Just stares at the ceiling, unmoving.
When you try to meet his stare, he refuses, his eyes fixated on his lap, sitting low on the couch.
You rest your head back on his chest, your arms creeping around his waist and squeezing tight.
I’m here now.
After a pause, the arm around your waist gives a gentle squeeze back.
You tune out Caesar’s closing commentary, trying to focus on breathing Konig in, the feeling of his firm chest billowing against your ear. His hand creeps behind you, fingertips tracing over the back of your dress in soothing, abstract patterns.
The crowd gives another roaring round of applause before the anthem plays, and out steps The President.
The sight of him, stepping onto the stage with his stark black suit and precise smile, floods you with a wave of dread from head to toe. You don’t even have the sense to hide the intimidation pulling at your features as you and Konig rise from the couch, your sweaty hands interlocking once again.
Behind him stands a Capitol attendant, carrying your crowns onto stage.
Konig actually has to bend at the knee to keep The President from standing on his tiptoes.
The President gives a soft, calculated laugh.
“Thank you, boy.”
With delicate hands he places a thick and ornate golden crown onto Konig’s head before he steps to you.
Inches from you, he wears a perfect smile as he places your crown on your head. His eyes are cruel and piercing, he doesn’t so much as blink. His icy stare lingers long after he’s dawned you with the dainty golden crown.
You swallow once when he finally turns away, looking to your heels, crushing Konig’s hand with your own.
The standing ovation, bowing, and waving goes on for far too long. You’re starting to think Caesar is dragging it out on purpose just to torture you when you finally get the cue to leave the stage.
You don’t even get a moment to take a breath before the prep teams and stylists swallow you both whole, showering you with praise and squeals overlapping each other, you can’t make out a single thing any one of them are saying.
Their group moves in a pack, forcing you and Konig to shuffle forward, locked at the hands to keep the other from getting lost.
Mauve manages to push her way through, grabbing your free hand.
“Just wait until you see the dress for the party!”
“What do you mean?” You ask, looking down at your dress, “I can’t just wear this?”
“Of course not, babe! It’s a ball.”
No much-needed elaboration is received.
Mauve and the woman you saw whispering frantically with her before the interview try to seperate you both to get you ready.
“No!”
As you object, Konig tugs you closer to his side, the hardened hand engulfing yours doubling its grip.
The group goes silent, all of them looking to you.
Mauve and the woman share an uneasy stare and nod.
“Yeah, babe,” Mauve says with a waver in her unusually high-pitched voice, her hand raising to twirl the charm in her necklace between her fingers, “We can- yeah, we can get you both ready together.”
You give a shaky nod, your other arm reaching across your front to grab his tense bicep.
They take you to your fitting room, and you both are once again transformed.
So sparkly.
Tonight’s color is champagne. A weird mixture of a golden beige and rose. Shimmering rays of gold reflect from the glittery dress with the slightest movements. It almost hurts your eyes.
Another sweetheart bust that comes in at your waist, and you already know the way the hem of your dress drags against the ground is going to be annoying. Two straps only as thick as twine reach over each of your shoulder blades to criss-cross in the middle of your back.
And you find your inner biceps will once again be tortured by the rough texture of the glitter.
Konig’s suit is a matching color, but no glitter. The elegant paisley patterns and the lapels of his suit are the slightest bit reflective, the designs appearing to change color depending on how the light hits him.
“You look beautiful,” Konig says.
His voice is soft, his eyebrows the slightest bit pinched.
“You too,” You whisper.
Unsure eyes linger on each other, a sad smile on both of your faces as the prep team gushes over your compliments.
You don’t want to talk about what happened, but it feels wrong to talk about anything else. Every word feels like it is overheard by twenty-two dead tributes, like every sentence must justify a double suicide.
The air between you is more than heavy, awkward even.
Because how do you look at each other and not immediately think of the nightmare you both just woke up from?
The click of her heels announces her presence before that unmistakable voice does.
“Oh! There’s my tributes!”
Ruby pulls you both into a hug at the same time, smushing yours and Konig’s arms together.
“Oh, you did it! You did it!” She squeals, actually jumping up and down in your group hug, her brilliant white smile flashing far and wide, “I am just so proud of you!”
She doesn’t even let either of you get a word in, which usually is annoying, but at the moment a huge relief. Not just because you’re incredibly relieved to see her, but you’re really not up for talking right now. You feel like a lifeless husk, your insides shriveled up and flaked away to dust.
She reaches out to scoop up yours and Konig’s free hands, the three of you now linked in a triangle of hand holding.
“Not one, but two of my tributes! My stars! Oh, I’m sorry dears, I’m sorry I didn’t come see you before. I just wouldn’t have been able to keep the secret! They wouldn’t let us tell you, I’d have had my tongue cut out!”
Ruby rambles on, gushing and singing praises at you and Konig, both of you hardly having the energy to listen to the words being thrown at you.
“Oh,” You say quietly, interrupting her mid-sentence what must be twenty minutes into a monologue, “I forgot.”
You fish into the bust of your dress and retrieve her token, staring at the small trinket in your palm before extending it to her.
“Thanks for letting me borrow it,” You whisper.
Ruby’s lips fold in, a soft hand resting on her collarbones.
Tears brim in her eyeline as she gently closes your fingers over the token and clasps her hands around yours.
“It’s yours, dear. It’s yours.”
Her words prick the back of your throat, mouth suddenly dry as you try to choke back tears. You go to thank her, but you can’t find your voice. Instead you give her a deep nod, finishing out on an involuntary, choked sob.
“Oh, dear,” She pulls you into her arms, and while you don’t return the embrace, you do bury your cheek into her shoulder, squeezing Konig’s token at your side.
“Thank you,” You whisper, the tears escaping down your cheeks, “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says, stroking your upper back, “Of course.”
She gives you a gentle swat on your forearm.
“And don’t you cry young lady! Your makeup hasn’t even had time to dry!’
You let out a nasally laugh, giving a sniff.
”You got it, Ruby,” You mumble.
You give a long sigh as your smile fades, closing your eyes on the exhale. You’re exhausted, mentally and physically. It’s weighing you down, eyelids heavy and each movement slowed.
How badly you want to take a break, to turn off your brain and fall asleep on Konig’s chest in the privacy of your own room, to have even a moment to process the nightmare you just went through.
But now is not the time for respite, privacy, or reflection
Now is the time for a party.
NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER NAVIGATION
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Dividers @saradika-graphics
Konig Photo Credit
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strawberrystepmom · 1 month ago
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shifting sands and the fingers they fall through | one
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cw: non-graphic discussion of an injury reader has. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 1.7k, reading time: approx. 6 min.
note: this is the first part of a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: two, three, four; five, six
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The late morning sun beats hot overhead but you remain cool enough tucked beneath your fishmongering stall, humming to yourself while pouring more ice into the chests behind you that contain everything you caught last night and this morning.
So far everything has gone the same way it does, well, every day. You wake up, you fish, you clean, you put them on ice, you sell what you can. This is the rhythm of your life, never up or down or out of tune, just the way you think you like it. It has been this way for at least a decade so there’s no sense in complaining about it now, even while you notice the tune your humming feels off key. It must be the lingering heat.
It’s technically autumn although you’d never know it. Island life is perpetually sundrenched, the waters that provide your shelter and food thanks to their contents never cooling quite enough to keep you from doing the job. There’s always demand regardless, whether it be from small fleets that dock near your sleepy seaside hometown or your fellow inhabitants. The work is never quite all the way done.
You go back to humming, fixing your pitch, only to be interrupted by footsteps approaching the front of your stall.
“Good morning, flounder is the catch of the day. The fish comes cleaned and I’ll even throw in deboning for free if you’d like.”
Your spiel goes unanswered which is rare. It’s usually recited back to you by any one of your regular buyers, a smile on their face mirroring your own. This draws you to turn around and face whoever is standing in front of the stall, one of the few in town run by a woman.
The man standing there is a stranger.
Every person on this island knows one another, the various small fishing villages dotting the coastline deeply interconnected. You were an outsider once too. Granted, you tried a lot harder to fit in than this man standing in front of you, his clothes vastly different from the breezy linen and cotton worn by everyone else. His face is firm, mouth set in a line with dark hair that brushes the tops of his eyebrows and narrowed golden eyes.
At least he’s a handsome stranger, you reason. You smile and roll your shoulders forward slightly and he remains as you found him. Unmoved.
“The flounder is fine and so are the bones.”
In an instant, your expression turns from pleasant to puzzled. He doesn’t react, simply keeping his hands folded over his chest wordlessly and expressionless. Clearly this guy isn’t interested in small talk and that’s fine, you get to work and pull a piece of parchment from beneath the counter and open the ice chest behind you to pull out your largest catch.
A fruit of the sea, caught and processed lovingly by your hands. Sometimes you catch yourself softly smiling down at the faces of all the fish you catch, perhaps as a means to honor them or at least say you’re sorry. Today though, you keep the subtle smile to yourself and get to work.
“It’ll be 350 Belly,” you mutter while plopping the flounder down on the paper, folding the edge of the paper over the tail. This mysterious man says nothing but his gaze is heavy and is clearly pinned to your movements, your left arm specifically.
“Your stitches look like shit.”
A loud exhalation followed by a humorless laugh is your initial response, pausing your work and then resuming it for a moment to avoid saying something snarky to a man who is about to pay you. You pause again, tilting your head to the side to look up at this stranger who apparently believes insults are appropriate.
“Thanks, I did them myself,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes, proud of your ability to do so covertly enough he won’t even be able to tell.
He absolutely notices it, alongside the range of emotion you’ve let show all over your face in such a short span of time, and shifts his weight from foot to foot while folding his arms over his chest. Law isn’t trying to be an asshole. If you insist on taking his concern that way, it makes no difference to him. The bottom line is that he can see clear as the sky overhead that this wound was not properly tended to.
“You need to see a doctor about that.”
Still narrowed eyes dart down to inspect the jagged wound that will undoubtedly leave a scar if it doesn’t get infected and kill you first. You shake your head and shrug, back to work wrapping his fish. The wound aches if you’re honest. Thankfully you’ve been able to stay busy enough to ignore it although it’s an angry, screaming red and makes itself impossible to completely tune out.
Sighing again, you finish wrapping the fish and slide it across the countertop to the man still appraising your arm from afar. You have work to do and this conversation is preventing it from getting done. Why is he wasting your time with a lecture?
“When you find one, let me know. We don’t have one on the island.”
Hopefully your tone is dismissive enough that he gets the picture. You still feel him looking at you, which is frustrating. Law raises his brows, eyes finally shifting from your arm back to your face.
“Today must be your lucky day because there’s one right in front of you.”
You laugh again. It’s a bit more genuine sounding than the first, a confused smile spreading across your face. This man, the one with the ominously tattooed knuckles, is a doctor?
“What?” He asks, face as impassive as it has remained since the moment he arrived at your little stall.
What is he doing here to begin with? Fishing islands are no strangers to a range of visitors, some more nefarious than others, but it’s a surprise that anyone shows up here. Maybe he’s just like you and he’s running to find himself. Or hiding, that’s always a possibility.
Either way, your sleepy little life could be about to get more interesting. Thrusting your arm outward in his direction and raising your eyebrows expectantly, you see how he’ll react. If he’s going to brag about it, you may as well put him to work after all.
“I wasn’t offering to look at it for you,” he clarifies while reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist.
He finds it slightly annoying that instinct kicked in before he could stop it, his earnest desire to help people buried deep enough he can ignore it most of the time. The touch makes you a little skittish, defying your boldness in offering the opportunity to begin with.
“I told you we don’t have a doctor here. Where else am I gonna find one?”
Sighing, he tugs you gently toward him. You bend at the waist, leaning over the counter, wincing when his thumb brushes against the sorest part of the wound - the skin directly on the edges of it. It’s hot to the touch, eliciting an annoyed glance in your direction. The wound is bad but you did your best with what was on hand which was nothing but a huge needle and durable thread meant for mending sails.
“It’s going to get infected if it isn’t already.”
This should scare you more than it does but you shrug flippantly, preparing to pull your arm back before being stopped with a firm but strangely gentle thumb on the outside of it. The doctor, as you know him now, leans in closer and really glances at the damage done, shaking his head so quickly you’d miss it if you blinked.
The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under his gaze. This is far more attention than you’re used to even for being a somewhat attractive, single woman on an island mostly populated by men. Most of them are old and settled into their lives with wives or kids or partners or their own unconventionally formed families. Everyone just kind of sees you as friendly but odd, a reputation you’ve grown to appreciate.
So this, this attention, this heavy, searing pair of eyes belonging to not only a handsome stranger but a doctor no matter how bad his attitude may be, makes your face heat. You are ready to send him and his fish on their way, a stranger departing on the wind that brought him in.
“I’ll pop and re-do the stitches myself when I get home,” you assure him, even if it’s likely untrue. By the time you wrap up at the stall you will be too tired to do anything but drag yourself home, throw your dress over your head, and crash into bed to be up early enough to do it all in the morning.
Raising his eyebrows, he glowers down at you. “Make sure you clean it first.”
Nodding to indicate that you understand, you wait for his thumb to drop from your arm and pull it back as soon as he does. The wound aches even strongly now that it’s all you can focus on, painful enough that sweat prickles at your palms. All you want right now is for him to just go as quickly as he appeared so you can move on with your day.
“You got it, doc.”
Getting back to work, you quickly fold and wrap the fish up. Twine is tied into a bow to secure the parcel and it’s passed across the counter, your wide eyes gazing up at him. The way he meets them makes you shiver despite the warm, humid air of your home. Digging in his pocket he produces a few coins and places them down on the counter wordlessly, taking his bundle and turning his back to walk away.
“Hey,” you call, and he looks over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”
That never changing expression remains but his voice, deep as it is, sounds quite nearly amused.
“Law.”
Law, Law, Law. You commit it to memory, notoriously bad with names as you are. Then you start to attempt to recall if you’ve ever heard it before, maybe having heard it muttered amongst the fisherman who help you at night during flounder season.
Nothing rings a bell. By the time you are no longer lost in your own reverie, Law has long gone and you look down at the counter where shiny gold coins sit.
He left you 500 Belly, more than he had to.
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sheldricklawfirm · 2 months ago
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Supercar Diminished Value and Loss of Use Claims in Florida
When a supercar such as a Lamborghini, Ferrari, or McLaren is involved in an accident, the aftermath can be financially devastating. Beyond repair costs, these high-end vehicles often suffer from diminished value—the loss in market value due to their accident history—even if repaired to perfect condition. Additionally, loss of use claims are essential to compensate owners for the time their supercar is unavailable for use. Understanding how these claims work under Florida law is crucial for maximizing compensation.
Understanding Diminished Value for Supercars
Diminished value refers to the reduction in a vehicle's market value after being damaged in an accident. Supercars, in particular, face steep reductions in value because potential buyers of luxury vehicles often seek pristine, accident-free cars. Even top-tier repairs cannot erase the accident from the vehicle’s history.
For example, a 2020 Ferrari 488 GTB with a minor accident may face significant devaluation simply because of the repair history. Buyers of such cars look for perfection, and the stigma of an accident can lower the value by tens of thousands of dollars. Diminished value claims ensure that owners are compensated for this post-accident loss in market value.
Loss of Use Claims for Supercars
Loss of use refers to the inability to use your supercar while it’s being repaired. For vehicles like a Porsche 911 GT3 or a McLaren 720S, this can be a significant financial and personal inconvenience, especially if the repairs take weeks or months. Florida law allows for loss of use claims to cover rental costs for a similar luxury vehicle or compensate for the time the vehicle is unavailable.
For example, while your Lamborghini Huracán is in the shop, you could claim for a comparable rental vehicle. If a similar supercar rental isn’t available, you may be entitled to compensation for the loss of enjoyment and use.
Why You Need a Supercar Accident Lawyer
If your Ferrari, Lamborghini, Pagani Huayra or Bugatti Chiron has been damaged, you’re entitled to more than just repair costs. Many people try to handle diminished value or loss of use claims on their own, only to face denials or lowball offers from insurance companies. Insurers often claim that you lack the documentation needed to prove your loss or even tell you outright that you aren’t entitled to compensation.
This is where retaining a supercar injury lawyer is crucial. Insurance companies are aware that consumers often don’t understand the intricate details of making a successful diminished value claim, and they take advantage of this. However, when you have an attorney who specializes in these claims, the situation changes.
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Dealing with diminished value and loss of use claims for supercars requires a thorough understanding of Florida law and the unique challenges posed by luxury vehicles. Insurance companies often attempt to deny or minimize these claims, leaving supercar owners with inadequate compensation. By working with a law firm that specializes in supercar claims, like The Sheldrick Law Firm, you can ensure that your vehicle's true value is recognized and that you are compensated for your losses. Don't settle for less—reach out to us for high caliber representation and protect your investment.
DIMINISHED VALUE CLAIM FORM
Complete Our 3 Minute DV Form
Submit It For Review
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Diminished Value Form
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FLORIDA CASE LAW:
DIMINISHED VALUE
In American Southern Insurance Co. v. Griggs, 959 So. 2d 322 (Fla. 5th DCA 2007), the court reinforced the right of vehicle owners to recover diminished value as part of a property damage claim when the at-fault party is negligent. The ruling emphasized that even if a vehicle is fully repaired, it may not regain its pre-accident market value, making diminished value compensation essential. This is particularly important for luxury and supercar owners, as vehicles like a Ferrari or Porsche can suffer significant market value losses due to their accident history, regardless of repair quality. Griggs solidifies the legitimacy of pursuing diminished value claims in third-party cases, ensuring that owners can claim both repair costs and the market value lost after an accident, helping to avoid substantial financial loss.
In Trinity Universal Insurance Co. v. Metzger, 360 So. 2d 960 (Fla. 3d DCA 1978), the court ruled that vehicle owners are entitled to recover both the cost of repairs and the diminished value from the at-fault driver’s insurance company. The court recognized that even after a car has been fully repaired, it can still lose value due to the stigma of having been in an accident. This case is especially relevant for supercar owners, as the value of high-end vehicles like a Ferrari or Lamborghini can drop significantly post-accident, even with flawless repairs. Trinity Universal underscores the importance of pursuing diminished value claims alongside repair costs to ensure full compensation for the loss in value.
In Papadopoulos v. Auto-Owners Insurance Co., 581 So. 2d 1387 (Fla. 2d DCA 1991), the court reinforced the principle that vehicle owners can recover diminished value in third-party claims, meaning the at-fault party's insurance is responsible for compensating the owner for both repairs and any decrease in the vehicle's market value. This case emphasized that, even if a vehicle is fully repaired, it might still suffer a loss in value due to its accident history, which is particularly important for luxury and high-end vehicles. The ruling in Papadopoulos is critical because it clarifies that a vehicle owner can pursue the full amount of the vehicle's lost value in addition to the costs associated with the repair. The court's decision helps establish the right to claim compensation for the market stigma attached to a vehicle that has been in an accident, despite any efforts to restore it to its original condition. This case is often cited in Florida when pursuing third-party diminished value claims, ensuring that accident victims are fully compensated for their losses, beyond just the cost of repairs.
These landmark Florida cases serve as strong legal precedents for pursuing diminished value claims, ensuring that vehicle owners can recover not only the cost of repairs but also the loss in market value caused by an accident. By understanding and leveraging these rulings, supercar and luxury vehicle owners can seek full compensation when they’re not at fault, protecting the true value of their investment.
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Has Your Diminished Value or Loss Of Use Claim Been Denied?
Insurance companies often deny Diminished Value or Loss of Use claims for various reasons, and it's important to understand why. Below are five common reasons an insurance company might deny your claim, along with details about each.
1. Lack of Proper Documentation Insurance companies often deny claims because they argue there is insufficient evidence to support the diminished value or loss of use claim. They may assert that you haven't provided the necessary proof of the vehicle’s pre-accident value, post-repair market value, or clear documentation showing the time period for which the vehicle was unavailable.
Tip: To counter this, ensure you gather appraisal reports, repair bills, rental receipts, and market comparisons showing your car’s value before and after the accident. Expert reports, especially for supercars, can be essential to building a strong case.
2. Claim Filed Against the Wrong Policy If you attempt to file a first-party diminished value claim, it will likely be denied, especially in Florida, where only third-party diminished value claims are allowed. The insurance company will argue that your policy doesn't cover such claims, forcing you to pursue a claim against the at-fault driver’s insurance.
Tip: Make sure you understand the difference between first-party and third-party claims. In Florida, third-party claims are allowed, meaning the at-fault driver’s insurance must cover diminished value and loss of use.
3. Failure to Meet Eligibility Criteria Insurance companies will deny claims if they believe you are not eligible based on the circumstances of the accident. If you are partially at fault or the at-fault party is underinsured, insurers might deny the claim or offer reduced compensation. They may also claim the damage does not meet their threshold for a diminished value loss.
Tip: Prove that you were not at fault, and provide evidence of how the accident directly affected your car’s market value. Legal representation can help dispute any inaccurate determinations.
4. Dismissal Due to Vehicle Type For luxury or supercars, insurers sometimes argue that because these cars are difficult to appraise or have volatile market values, the claim is exaggerated or unwarranted. They may also claim that because the car was restored to high standards, the diminished value is negligible.
Tip: Supercar owners should always use expert appraisers to establish the diminished value and loss of use claims. Independent appraisers who specialize in luxury vehicles are crucial to proving that the car has lost value, despite flawless repairs. Hiring a licensed appraiser and citing Florida case law that is relevant and in your favor will leave the defense with little to no options.
5. Dispute Over Repair Quality or Necessity Some insurance companies will argue that the repairs performed on your vehicle were unnecessary or exceeded what was required, leading to an inflated diminished value claim. They might also argue that if you failed to mitigate damages (for example, by not getting timely repairs), you may forfeit your right to a full diminished value or loss of use claim.
Tip: Always retain full documentation of your vehicle’s repair history and work done. Ensure that the repairs are performed by reputable shops specializing in luxury vehicles to avoid disputes over the quality or necessity of the work.
By understanding these common reasons for denial, you’ll be better equipped to strengthen your diminished value or loss of use claim. If your claim has been denied, seeking legal assistance from a firm experienced in supercar claims can help you navigate the complexities and challenge the insurance company’s decision. Should you have any problems, allow for attorney Kayla Sheldrick to handle your case. With hundreds of thousands of dollars recovered from diminished value and loss of use claims, we are confident and ready to succeed on the next qualifying DV or LOU claim that comes our way.
Do You Believe The Insurance Company Is Acting In BAD FAITH?
You might not be the only one with a legitimate claim, but the insurance company could be acting in bad faith by using deceptive tactics to deny or underpay your compensation. Don’t let them get away with it. Discover how insurers have a legal duty to act in good faith and what you can do if they fail to fulfill their obligations. Learn more about bad faith practices and how you can protect your rights by holding them accountable. Click here to uncover the truth and fight back!
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NEED TO SPEAK WITH A LAWYER?
Call (561) 440-7775
Ask To Speak With Attorney Kayla Sheldrick!
Supercar Owners Trust Us: Client Reviews for Diminished Value & Loss of Use Claims
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At The Sheldrick Law Firm, we pride ourselves on delivering top-tier results for supercar owners facing diminished value and loss of use claims. From Ferrari and Lamborghini owners to Tesla and Porsche enthusiasts, our clients trust us to protect their investments and secure the compensation they deserve. Don’t just take our word for it—read what our clients have to say about their experience working with us.
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Miguel O. - Kayla is a very humble, passionate and a hard worker. If you are in search of a personal injury lawyer I highly recommend her. You won’t be disappointed.
Tyler R. - Kayla was both professional and timely in handling my case - an unfortunate incident involving a drunk driver in NYC. She was clear and communicative in her initial approach and through the process. I highly recommend the Sheldrick Law Firm for PI, diminished value, and other legal matters.Thanks Kayla!
Juan P. - Kayla was great, she kept me informed all the time and the result was exactly what she said it was going to be. And since my case took a long time she reduced her fee to help me out.
Miguel O. - Kayla is a very humble, passionate and a hard worker. If you are in search of a personal injury lawyer I highly recommend her. You won’t be disappointed.
Tyler R. - Kayla was both professional and timely in handling my case - an unfortunate incident involving a drunk driver in NYC. She was clear and communicative in her initial approach and through the process. I highly recommend the Sheldrick Law Firm for PI, diminished value, and other legal matters.Thanks Kayla!
Juan P. - Kayla was great, she kept me informed all the time and the result was exactly what she said it was going to be. And since my case took a long time she reduced her fee to help me out.
Read all of our reviews, click here.
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LEARN ALL ABOUT "LOSS OF USE"
Click Here to view our Law Firm's Designated "Loss Of Use Page"
LEARN ALL ABOUT "DIMINISHED VALUE CLAIMS
Click Here to view our Law Firm's Designated "Diminished Value Page"
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casefoxinc · 11 months ago
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Best Personal Injury Case Management for Lawyers: Top Software Solutions
Discover seamless personal injury case management with cutting-edge software solutions. Streamline your workflow, enhance client communication, and maximize efficiency. Elevate your practice with these essential tools for legal professionals.
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koenigdalluge · 11 months ago
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Maple Grove Lawyer Services: Trust Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC for Expert Legal Counsel
In Maple Grove, when legal matters arise, having a dependable Maple Grove lawyer by your side can be a game-changer. Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC, a prominent legal firm in the heart of Maple Grove, offers a comprehensive range of legal services to cater to your diverse needs.
Why Choose Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC?
Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC, is more than just a law firm; it's a trusted partner dedicated to providing top-notch legal counsel in Maple Grove. Here's why they should be your first choice:
Extensive Legal Expertise
Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC boasts a team of skilled Maple Grove lawyers who specialize in various legal areas. Whether you require assistance with business law, estate planning, real estate transactions, or personal injury claims, their attorneys have the expertise to guide you effectively.
Local Insight
As part of the Maple Grove community, Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC's lawyers understand the unique legal landscape in the area. They are well-versed in local and state laws, ensuring that their clients receive tailored legal solutions.
Client-Centered Approach
At Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC, clients come first. They take the time to understand your specific needs and concerns, offering personalized legal strategies to address them effectively. Your peace of mind is their priority.
Services Offered
Business Law: Starting a business or managing an existing one requires legal finesse. Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC offers comprehensive business law services, including business formation, contract drafting, and compliance.
Estate Planning: Protect your assets and secure your family's future with expert estate planning services. Their Maple Grove lawyers assist in wills, trusts, and probate matters.
Real Estate Transactions: Whether you're buying or selling property, navigating real estate transactions can be complex. Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC simplifies the process, ensuring your interests are safeguarded.
Personal Injury Claims: If you've suffered a personal injury due to negligence, their lawyers will advocate for your rights, helping you seek compensation for medical expenses and more.
Conclusion
When it comes to legal matters in Maple Grove, Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC is your go-to choice. Their Maple Grove lawyers combine legal expertise, local insight, and a client-centered approach to deliver unmatched legal counsel. Trust Koenig & Dalluge, PLLC to be your partner in navigating the legal landscape with confidence and success.
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karnsandkarns12 · 1 year ago
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Karns & Karns Injury and Accident Attorneys: Your Trusted Legal Partners in Valencia
Unexpected mishaps can throw off the rhythm in Valencia, a bustling neighborhood where people live life at the speed of opportunity. How to Find the Right Texas Personal Injury Attorney for Your Case? Having trustworthy legal allies becomes critical when dealing with the fallout from auto accidents or personal injury situations. Here are your dependable Valencia advocates, Karns & Karns Injury and Accident Attorneys. Our dedication to quality has made us the top personal injury attorney Valencia, with a focus on cases involving personal injuries, especially those resulting from auto accidents.
·        Unmatched Expertise in Personal Injury Law
We at Karns & Karns take great satisfaction in leading Valencia's personal injury legal field. Our group of knowledgeable lawyers is prepared to handle the intricacies of personal injury claims, and they bring unmatched experience to the table. We have the best lawyers in Valencia. Whether you were hurt in a slip and fall, a vehicle accident, or another occurrence, our devoted legal experts are committed to getting you the money you are due.
·        The Best Lawyers in Valencia
Karns & Karns is the finest law firm in Valencia for legal representation. Success and satisfied clients are the cornerstones upon which our reputation is based and are the best lawyers in Valencia. We have earned the respect of being the most outstanding attorneys in Valencia by continuously providing our clients with positive results. Our steadfast dedication to quality and in-depth knowledge of local legislation establishes us as the preferred legal partner for anyone looking for excellent representation.
·        Personal Injury Car Accidents: Our Specialization
Personal injury car accidents are a common worry, and there is a lot on the line when there are personal injuries. Valencia personal injury claims resulting from auto accidents are the area of expertise for Karns & Karns. We are aware of the financial, emotional, and physical toll that these occurrences can have. Our skilled personal injury lawyers know how to settle cases in court and negotiate with insurance carriers to get our clients the most money possible for their losses and injuries.
·        Compassionate Advocacy for Personal Injury Victims
At Karns & Karns personal injury attorney Valencia, we take a compassionate approach to every case, understanding the difficulties that victims of personal injury encounter. Beyond the courtroom, we genuinely care about our client's well-being as part of our legal advocacy. We make an effort to lessen their hardships by offering unwavering assistance during the legal procedure. We stand out from the competition thanks to our compassionate approach, which transforms Karns & Karns into dependable partners dedicated to helping you navigate the complexity of personal injury law.
·        Customer Testimonials: Evidence of Our Achievements
The happiness of our clientele is the best indicator of our performance. Testimonials from clients we've worked with are very telling regarding the caliber of our work. The people Karns & Karns has assisted in Valencia have trusted and appreciated us because we have continuously produced results. These endorsements serve as a tribute to our commitment, expertise, and individualized attention we provide to every case, solidifying our standing as the best option for people looking for legal counsel in personal injury cases.
Conclusion:
Karns & Karns Injury and Accident Attorneys are your dependable legal partners located in the center of Valencia. Being the most outstanding attorneys in Valencia, we are known for our unparalleled knowledge of personal injury law, especially when it comes to matters involving motor vehicle accidents & personal injury car accidents. Our successful track record and dedication to empathetic advocacy make us stand out in the legal field. You can rely on Karns & Karns to provide you with unshakable attention and legal prowess as they navigate the complexity of personal injury law when life takes an unexpected turn.
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tormeyssolicitor · 1 year ago
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Navigating Legal Waters: Tormeys Solicitors - Your Trusted Partners
Introduction
Tormeys Solicitors, headquartered in the heart of Athlone, stands as a beacon of legal expertise in the Midlands. With a history steeped in knowledge, experience, and value, we have become one of the largest and most respected firms of solicitors in the region. Our central location allows us to serve clients nationwide. Located in a historic townhouse near Athlone Castle, we are dedicated to providing high-quality legal services. Our recent recognitions, including being named Ireland’s Best Law Firms 2023 and Legal Firm of the Year at the Midlands 103 Customer Service Awards 2022, underscore our commitment to excellence.
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Financial and Legal Solicitors
At Tormeys Solicitors, we pride ourselves on being your trusted partners in all matters financial and legal. Our experienced team of solicitors and lawyers specializes in a wide range of legal areas, including personal injury claims, medical negligence claims, and employment law. We understand the intricacies of the legal landscape and work diligently to provide tailored solutions to meet your unique needs.
Personal Injury Claims
If you've suffered a personal injury due to someone else's negligence, Tormeys Solicitors is here to advocate for your rights. Our dedicated team of legal advisors has a proven track record of helping clients secure the compensation they deserve. We'll guide you through the process, ensuring that your case is handled with the utmost care and expertise.
Medical Negligence Claims
In cases of medical negligence, having the right legal representation is crucial. Tormeys Solicitors boasts a wealth of experience in handling medical negligence claims. We understand the emotional and financial toll such situations can take on individuals and families. Our compassionate legal team will fight tirelessly on your behalf to hold those responsible accountable and secure the compensation you need for recovery.
Employment Law
Navigating the complex waters of employment law can be challenging. Tormeys Solicitors is well-versed in this field, offering expert advice and representation to both employees and employers. Whether you're dealing with workplace disputes, contract issues, or wrongful termination, our solicitors have the expertise to protect your rights and interests.
Solicitors, Lawyers, and Legal Advisors
Our team of solicitors, lawyers, and legal advisors is at the core of our success. Their dedication to delivering top-notch legal services has earned us prestigious awards and recognition. We pride ourselves on fostering strong client relationships, working collaboratively to achieve the best possible outcomes for our clients.
Conclusion
Tormeys Solicitors, with our rich history, central location, and unwavering commitment to excellence, is your go-to partner for all your legal needs. Whether you're facing personal injury claims, medical negligence claims, or require assistance with employment law matters, we have the expertise to guide you through these legal challenges. Our recent accolades, including being named Ireland’s Best Law Firms 2023 and Legal Firm of the Year at the Midlands 103 Customer Service Awards 2022, highlight our dedication to providing exceptional legal services. Trust Tormeys Solicitors to be your advocates in navigating the intricate world of law.
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vahdatlawfirm · 1 year ago
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Vahdat Law Firm is the epitome of excellence when it comes to legal representation in Orange County, CA. Renowned as the Best Personal Injury Attorney in Orange County, CA, this firm has earned its stellar reputation through unwavering dedication to their clients and an unparalleled track record of success.
With a team of highly skilled and compassionate attorneys, Vahdat Law Firm specializes in personal injury cases, providing expert guidance and fierce advocacy for those who have suffered injuries due to negligence or accidents. They understand that navigating the legal system can be overwhelming, so they offer personalized attention and a commitment to securing the best possible outcomes for their clients.
Vahdat Law Firm's commitment to justice, extensive legal expertise, and deep-rooted ties to the Orange County community make them the go-to choice for individuals seeking top-tier legal representation in personal injury cases. When you need the best, trust Vahdat Law Firm to be your steadfast advocates in your time of need.
Contact Us:
Phone No: (877) 698-2545
Address: 1224 East Katella Ave. Orange, California 92867
To Know More: https://vahdatlaw.com/
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jjlawidaho · 10 months ago
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Criminal Attorney in Boise ID will Protect Your Rights
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Criminal attorney can help make sure your rights are protected
Criminal attorney in Boise and Nampa ID can help protect your rights. The right to remain silent is a fundamental principle in the legal system of the United States, derived from the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution, which states that no person "shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself." This right protects individuals from self-incrimination and serves as a cornerstone of the criminal justice process.
In Idaho, like in all other states, individuals have the right to remain silent when questioned by law enforcement officers or other authorities. This right applies at all stages of the criminal justice process, from the initial investigation to trial proceedings.
What Does the Right to Remain Silent Mean?
The right to remain silent means that individuals have the legal right to refuse to answer questions posed by law enforcement officers or other government officials. This includes the right to refuse to provide any information that could potentially incriminate them or be used against them in a court of law.
Why is the Right to Remain Silent Important?
The right to remain silent is important because it helps protect individuals from self-incrimination. In a criminal investigation, anything a person says to law enforcement officers or other authorities can be used against them in court. By remaining silent, individuals can avoid saying anything that might later be used to convict them of a crime.
The Role of a Criminal Lawyer in Protecting the Right to Remain Silent
Criminal lawyers play a crucial role in protecting the right to remain silent and ensuring that individuals accused of crimes receive a fair trial. Here's how:
1. Advising Clients of Their Rights:
One of the first things a criminal lawyer will do when representing a client is to advise them of their rights, including the right to remain silent. They will ensure that their client understands that they are not obligated to answer any questions from law enforcement officers and that anything they say could be used against them in court.
2. Representing Clients During Police Interrogations:
If a client is taken into police custody for questioning, a criminal lawyer can be present during the interrogation to ensure that the client's rights are protected. They can advise their client on what questions to answer and what questions to refuse, based on the circumstances of the case.
3. Challenging Unlawful Interrogation Techniques:
Criminal lawyers are trained to recognize and challenge unlawful interrogation techniques used by law enforcement officers to coerce confessions or elicit incriminating statements from suspects. They can file motions to suppress evidence obtained through illegal interrogation methods, such as threats or promises of leniency.
4. Building a Defense Strategy:
Criminal lawyers work diligently to build a strong defense strategy for their clients, which may involve challenging the prosecution's evidence and witnesses. By carefully analyzing the facts of the case and conducting thorough investigations, they can identify weaknesses in the prosecution's case and work to undermine its credibility.
5. Representing Clients in Court:
During trial proceedings, criminal lawyers advocate for their clients' rights, including the right to remain silent. They object to any attempts by the prosecution to introduce evidence obtained in violation of their client's constitutional rights and ensure that their client's rights are respected throughout the trial process.
The Right to Silence in Idaho Law
In the state of Idaho, the right to remain silent is firmly established in both state and federal law. Article 1, Section 13 of the Idaho Constitution mirrors the Fifth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, affirming that no person "shall be compelled to testify against himself" in a criminal case. This constitutional protection ensures that individuals in Idaho have the same fundamental rights as those guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution.
Furthermore, Idaho Code § 19-613 explicitly states that a person who is arrested or detained has the right to remain silent and cannot be compelled to make any statements. This statute aligns with the principles set forth in the U.S. Constitution and underscores the importance of protecting individuals from self-incrimination under Idaho law.
How a Criminal Lawyer Can Help in Idaho
Navigating the complexities of the legal system, especially when facing criminal charges, can be daunting. Here's how a criminal lawyer can provide invaluable assistance to individuals in Idaho:
1. Legal Expertise and Guidance:
Criminal lawyers possess a deep understanding of Idaho's criminal laws and procedures. They can provide invaluable guidance to clients, explaining their rights and options at every stage of the legal process.
2. Protection of Rights:
A criminal lawyer is dedicated to protecting their client's rights, including the right to remain silent. They ensure that law enforcement officers and prosecutors respect these rights and do not engage in any actions that could violate them.
3. Strategic Defense Planning:
Crafting a strategic defense is essential in achieving the best possible outcome for a client. Criminal lawyers meticulously analyze the facts of the case, identify legal issues, and develop defense strategies tailored to the specific circumstances.
4. Negotiation and Advocacy:
Criminal lawyers are skilled negotiators who can engage with prosecutors to seek favorable plea deals or reduced charges for their clients. If a case proceeds to trial, they advocate vigorously on behalf of their clients, presenting compelling arguments and evidence to support their defense.
5. Trial Representation:
If a case goes to trial, having an experienced criminal lawyer by your side is crucial. They will represent you in court, cross-examine witnesses, and present a robust defense aimed at achieving a favorable verdict.
6. Post-Conviction Relief:
Even after a conviction, a criminal lawyer can continue to advocate for their client's rights. They may pursue avenues for post-conviction relief, such as filing appeals or seeking sentence modifications, to ensure that justice is served.
The right to remain silent is a fundamental legal principle that protects individuals from self-incrimination in criminal proceedings. In Idaho, as in other states, individuals facing criminal charges must understand and exercise this right to safeguard their interests. By enlisting the services of a skilled criminal lawyer, individuals can navigate the legal process with confidence, knowing that their rights are being protected and their defense is being vigorously pursued.
Hire the best criminal attorney in Boise and Nampa ID
Jacobson & Jacobson Law Firm, since 1982, is committed to serving the Boise and Nampa, Idaho areas for your top Criminal Defense, Personal Injury, Business Law, Estate Planning, Family Law, Immigration Law, and Litigation needs. Contact us today to get started. For a free 30-minute consultation, book here: https://calendly.com/jfj-1
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caxycreations · 1 year ago
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Character Intro - Kaleb Killian
Kaleb Killian, born Kaleb Hargrove, is the youngest multi-billionaire in Ferus. He is a hybrid of King Snake and Inland Taipan. His mother was the founder of Hargrove Legal, and was a well-known personal injury lawyer. His father on the other hand was an accountant for Hargrove Legal.
Kaleb is a six foot and four inch tall reptilian hybrid of two snake species. His scales are a deep purple, with light, pastel pink scales along his brow ridge, throat, chest, belly, crotch, and inner thighs. These light scales extend along the underside of his tail, ending at the tip. His eyes are a vibrant and bright neon pink.
He is never seen publicly wearing anything less than a form-fitting, perfectly tailored full suit complete with button-up shirt and vest combo underneath the jacket. In the privacy of his home he is often seen in an equally form-fitting button-up and suit-vest, as well as suit pants, but he rarely wears a jacket at home.
He is determined to leave an indelible mark on the world, and will stop at nothing to secure his place as the most enduring name in Relanian history. He is ruthless in this endeavor.
He is a sociopath, and completely lacks a conscience. He does not know, nor care for, right from wrong and knows only what he wants and what he needs to do to get it. This makes him incredibly dangerous when paired with his particular Blessing.
His Blessing is infallible memory. He has the ability to recall any information he has ever experienced at a moments notice. While eidetic memory has downsides at times, Kaleb's memory functions differently in that he is not plagued by these experiences, nor is he bombarded with constant information in his mind.
Rather it's akin to the average person recalling a book they read, simply withdrawing the information from their memory. This allows him several intellectual advantages. This is what led to his ultimate rise to fame and fortune.
He is directly responsible for his parents death, and feels no remorse for the events that took place as he simply sees them as a way he was able to obtain his inheritance early. The inheritance, his mother's legal business and the combined wealth of his parents totaling a whopping 1.4 million Ferusian Dollars, gave him the opportunity to increase his wealth exponentially.
He holds several doctorate degrees, and is certified in various fields of work. He spends his free time studying for various college courses and continues taking classes to expand his increasing wealth of knowledge and prestige.
Over time, he has amassed a vast collection of businesses, from coffee shops to fast food to law firms, clubs, grocery stores, and more. This is what led to his status as the youngest multi-billionaire in Ferusian history. However, his legal businesses are only half of his story.
Kaleb is also the head of the largest crime syndicate in Ferus, with his hands in nearly all black market business. Organs, weapons, counterfeit money, forgery, and extortion. The only thing he refuses to touch are drugs, as he believes they're too easy to catch and may lead to a swift discovery of his other businesses.
In the public eye, Kaleb maintains a generous and kind-hearted appearance, offering top-of-the-line benefits for workers in his employment, even the lowest on the corporate totem pole being afforded the same benefits as Kaleb himself. He is well-known throughout Ferus as the most generous billionaire in the country, with millions of dollars a year going into charity funds.
In reality, he maintains this appearance to prevent his illegal gains from being noticed. Many of the charity funds he donates to are, in truth, his illicit profits which are then cycled back into his businesses via agreements with the organizations he "donates" to. This is to allow him to maintain an appearance of generosity and good will, avoid trouble over unexplainable profits, and keep his profit growth consistent.
He has a vast laundry list of crimes, from murder to extortion to more barbaric and vile acts as well. More often than not, he'll simply order someone else to deal with it, but he does take a certain pride in handling things himself now and then.
He is the target of various crime families, such as The Kings and their leader Devon, and The Veil and their leader Peter. Both factions want his head on a pike, and are kept from it by his own private mercenary army, the Redcaps, a mercenary group originating from Sen that Kaleb has bought out and converted to being entirely loyal to his cause.
Overall, Kaleb is a remorseless, uncaring, monstrous individual that holds nothing sacred save for his own legacy. He is determined to leave a legacy that lasts to the end of Relan, and will do anything at all to achieve that goal no matter how illegal or atrocious.
He is, by all accounts, an irredeemable monster, and I -love- answering questions about him.
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Art by me.
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