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#Victor may want to go and get some of that eventually

victorluvsalice · 8 months

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Of course, having cake for lunch means that it's probably a good idea to get some exercise afterward, so Alice took over dog-tending duties by taking Shadow out for a nice long jog around the neighborhood! They had a lovely time going over hill and dale and past the community garden (where I took the opportunity to evolve a few plants). Victor, for his part, finished up the harvest, Repairioed everything that was busted around the house, and had himself some fruit pie for lunch before calling up his new best buddy Felipe for a chat (reception was horrible as per the moodlet Victor got afterward, but it was actually a positive "glad to unhook from the modern world" moodlet, so -- yay?); Smiler, for THEIR part, headed upstairs to retrieve all their honeymoon videos out of their drone and start editing them and investigating the trends. Victor moved onto making more candles (his first cylindrical molded candle, in fact) as Alice came back home and, pooped, plopped right down for a nap on the floor --

But what ho, who is this at the door? Why, it's Knox Greenburg, Eco Master! With a request to use the recycler and a promise to share the bits and pieces. Alice got up at his knock and let him know that he was indeed free to use the recycler outside, then went upstairs to have a shower before settling into bed for a PROPER nap -- soon joined by Victor, who was pretty tuckered out after all his early-morning crafting and gardening! Smiler, though, being immune to getting tired, was free to fly downstairs and have an enthusiastic chat with Knox about the important of living green before asking for a drink. Which Knox was happy to give, because Smiler is his friend and just generally awesome. There are many perks to being a vampire with a Pristine Reputation, 10 Charisma, and the "Regained Humanity" bonus trait! :p

After that, it was back to chores -- Victor woke up and checked in on Moory, finding she needed a good brushing and another milking. Unfortunately, he woke up a little too late to do anything about the chickens -- yup, we had another fox steal an egg out of the coop! *grumbles* I suppose I should just be grateful none of them have straight-up killed a chicken yet... Smiler, for their part, took a moment to check Knox's traits before sending him on his way, then fed the cowplant and recycled all the trash in their inventory. Guess that chat with Knox was pretty inspiring! All in all, reasonably typical day around the farm...

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mrs-kmikaelson · 4 months

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Our Song and Dance⁴

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: LONGGGG, descriptions of torture, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, violence, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, grief, and some unhealthy coping mechanisms Words: 18.2K

Masterlist

a/n: since it's that time of year, i decided to give u guys a lil present. merry christmas and enjoy!!!

You had never felt so cold.

Growing up in a working home, you sometimes went through winter just hoping that your sheets would be enough to keep you alive, unable to afford a heater. In your first Games, you nearly froze to death, your matches being the only thing that saved you. Then once you had won and made it to the Capitol, you went through those cold nights with Finnick, sometimes hoping that you really would freeze to death, even if you never told him that.

Yet none of those times could compare to how cold you felt now.

Cold as you were brought out of the Capitol. Cold on the hovercraft. Cold when they sedated you. Cold as you were wrapped in blankets. Cold as Finnick went to touch you. And now, as the doctors examined you like you were an artifact, you were still just as cold.

But you were an artifact, weren’t you? You were the Princess.

So it didn’t really matter how cold you were at all.

You had been transported from the open medical area to your own room. It was almost like you blinked and, just like that, you were in a different room. Like magic.

Even though magic did not exist. Not in Panem. Not in this world.

Someone named Boggs had come to see you, explaining that you were in district 13, a district that you thought didn’t exist for your entire life. This is the revolution, he said. He was meant to bring you up to speed, ease your confusion, but you weren’t sure that was possible at the moment.

Throughout his explanation, you didn’t say a word, just staring up at him. This may have been seen as rude, but you weren’t doing it on purpose. You really didn’t know what to say.

He eventually left, not getting anywhere with you. From what you could tell, he had a lot more to deal with than just one girl. For a supposedly dead district, there was a lot going on in 13, but that wasn’t where your mind was.

Your body was in 13, but your mind was in the Capitol.

“Please, don’t-”

You closed your eyes, trying to rid yourself of these memories, but that only made it worse, images appearing underneath your eyelids. Your eyes quickly snapped open, darting around the room, your chest rapidly falling and rising.

You were in a bed. There was a desk, some chairs, a glass of water on the night stand next to you. The floor was white, tiled, not grey concrete. There were lights. You were in 13, where the lights were on, not in the Capitol, surrounded by darkness.

You’re alive, Y/N, you told yourself. But that didn’t seem to make anything better.

When did it ever?

You ran your hands up and down your arms, feeling new scars that hadn’t been there before, scars that could maybe heal one day, but you knew there were still open wounds you had that couldn’t be treated, open wounds that may never scar at all.

You didn’t think the wounds you had right now would ever close.

Your heart was racing, beating so loudly that you could hear it, so you imagined it wasn’t yours at all, that it was Finnick’s heart that you heard. Though you supposed that your heart did belong to him.

Even though you didn’t want to see him.

Nevertheless, imagining him sitting with you and pretending to listen to his heartbeat was what calmed you down. It always would. In a way, that was the only thing about you that remained sure, the only thing you had left from the life you lived.

Because that’s what it was: a life lived. Y/N Y/L/N lived her life. For a time, she was happy. She fell in love. And then she died. Now… now, you didn’t know who you were.

What you did know was that you weren’t the same Y/N that Finnick knew, the same Y/N who’d fall asleep in his arms. Now, you weren’t sure you could fall asleep at all, not for long, never for long.

Johanna and Peeta’s faces flashed through your mind. Their screams still echoed in your head. They were different now, too. Johanna wasn’t so fearless anymore, and the golden boy wasn’t so golden. His bright gold had been captured by darkness, and you weren’t sure if any of you would ever see it again.

At that thought, you finally got up, ignoring the ache in your bones. You couldn’t just sit there. You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t think anymore- you wouldn’t. You had to see them.

You left your room, a nurse coming up to you right away. “Ma’am, please, you need to rest-”

“I’m fine.” Your voice was raspy and scratched at your throat, so you cleared it. You didn’t know what you looked like, but you knew it couldn’t have been great with the way the nurse was looking at you. “Could you please take me to my friend Johanna?”

Hesitance was painted all over her face, as well as fear. You didn’t know why; you weren’t in any position to fight. “I’m sorry, I- I can’t-”

You cut her off. “I just want to see my friend.” Annoyance laced your voice, but if one listened closely, they’d also hear the desperation. You needed to see her, you needed to see someone familiar, someone that wasn’t there just because you were their responsibility, someone that wasn’t the boy you loved.

Her mouth opened and closed for several seconds before she responded, “I- she’s with a counsellor right now-”

You sharply inhaled, blinking and seeing Johanna, hearing her cry. When you opened your eyes again, you only saw the nurse staring at you anxiously, expectantly. You ran a hand through your hair. You needed to see someone. “Peeta then,” you said. “Take me to Peeta.”

Her fright seemed to increase. She looked at you like you weren’t in your right mind, which was right, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. There was something else in her expression, like there was something you didn’t know, something she didn’t want to tell you, but she nodded, anyway, agreeing.

This nurse was young, kind, and even a little naive. If you were in your right mind, you’d feel more empathy for her, be more compassionate or soft, but you weren’t. Your mind was in all of the wrong places all at once.

She reminded you of the nurse you had in the Capitol. She wasn’t there to ease your pain but to keep you alive, make sure you didn’t bleed to death so that you could go through the whole routine all over again the next day. She looked at you like that, too, like she was scared of you, even though you were the one that was powerless, even though you were the one on the brink of death.

Now you weren’t. You’re safe now, Boggs had told you. You didn’t say anything in that moment, but what you wanted to say was that he was wrong.

You’d never feel safe again.

When the nurse brought you to Peeta, Katniss was also there, but she didn’t notice you, staring through the glass of a white room. There was a blond boy in that room, strapped down to the bed.

But this boy wasn’t Peeta.

He wasn’t Peeta at all.

“Y/N?”

You turned away from the sight in front of you to the voice that called your name. The voice belonged to none other than Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the 50th Hunger Games and second Quarter Quell, but you knew him better as the man who drank his sorrows away until he couldn’t remember all that’d happened to him.

You nodded in greeting, but didn’t speak. He looked like he had more he wanted to say but held it in as he glanced back at the room, a young blonde girl entering it and carefully going to sit on the bed.

“She’s too close,” he remarked.

“It’s okay,” someone else responded. You turned and saw a greying man on the other side of Katniss, recognizing him immediately as opposed to when you first met him. Plutarch Heavensbee.

You glanced to Haymitch who was already looking at you. He glanced at the Gamemaker then nodded to you. Whatever he was trying to say didn’t fully translate, and you didn’t understand why this man who had caused so much pain was standing right next to Katniss like it was nothing, but for now, you still remained silent, choosing to let it be.

Throughout this interaction, Katniss had practically been none the wiser, eyes fixed on the inside of that room. When you redirected your attention to the scene, you realized why she was so focused. You still recognized the blonde girl from the reaping, even though it’d been over a year since they took place.

Primrose Everdeen.

Yet little Primrose never went into The Games. Her sister took her place. This was Katniss’ sister.

We live in district 13 now, she told him, her voice soft, soft enough to tell you that even though she was surrounded by war, her childhood was still there. It’s a real place. Stories are true. A pause. You were rescued.

Peeta didn’t look fazed by what she was saying, his attention on something else entirely. The look in his eyes was contained, but you saw it. Anger. My family hasn’t come to see me, he said, but he was talking to himself more than he was talking to Prim.

Family.

You saw your mother’s face in your mind, but you weren’t sure if that was still what she looked like. The last time you saw her was a year ago, her face stricken with grief, tears leaking from her eyes.

She hadn’t come to see you, either.

And you realized it was probably for the same reason Peeta’s family hadn’t come to see him.

At that realization, anything else Peeta or Prim said fell upon deaf ears. You couldn’t hear a thing, your song playing in your head on a loop, dancing so fast that the world blurred and you couldn’t see a thing.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-

“Y/N.”

The call of your name cut through the music, making you turn your head to see Katniss staring at you. You glanced around; Haymitch and Plutarch were gone now, so was Prim. It was just Peeta on the other side of the glass, kicking and yelling, people in scrubs going to sedate him.

You actually looked at her now, noticing the purple marks around her neck that matched the bags underneath her eyes. She looked different now, different from the last time you saw her in person and different from when you saw her on TV.

The Girl on Fire looked like her spark had been extinguished.

And, suddenly, she reminded you of yourself now more than ever.

You nodded to her and then turned to walk away, but her hand caught your wrist. Like a reflex, you yanked it away, spinning around to face her. She muttered a sorry under her breath, making you inhale.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice quiet. She couldn’t be blamed for how you could no longer handle touch, neither could Finnick. You felt guilt wash over you as you heard his voice cracking in your head, remembering how you didn’t say a word to him.

He’s fine, you told yourself. He has Annie.

Your thoughts were diverted away from him and back to Katniss as she spoke. “Has anyone explained it all to you yet?” This was a question, even though her voice was monotone while she asked it.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, thinking back to Boggs. “Yeah- um, a little.”

She looked at you like you were a puzzle and she was rearranging the pieces in her head, using what little energy she had. “Did they tell you?”

You furrowed your brows. You were just as if not more tired than her, your mind all over the place, too all over the place to understand what she was asking you. “Tell me what?” You questioned.

She didn’t respond right away, still looking at you as if she was trying to figure you out. Her eyes told you this story; however, her expression was blank. You’d seen snippets of her videos, not in full, never in full, but even from a snippet, you were able to see that look.

The way a victor looked.

When you met Katniss, you thought to yourself that she hadn’t been under the spotlight long enough to have been burned.

But with the spotlight they had on her now, she’d gone up in flames.

After a beat, she ceased her mental debate and decided to speak her thoughts. “I think we should talk.”

And she may not have known it, but what she told you may have just changed the course of your life.

Katniss took you to her room, sat you down, and with her raspy voice, she explained your situation to you. I’m The Mockingjay, she said. And they wanted you, too, Y/N. They wanted the Princess of Panem and The Mockingjay to be the voices of this revolution.

You stared at her wordlessly as she went on, just listening. To her, you must have looked crazy, listening to everything she said without any reaction whatsoever, but you knew that Katniss had been dancing long enough now to read you, too.

You were mind-blown. She was telling you that they wanted you to be a voice for the people, but wasn’t that so ironic? Your voice had been on mute for years. You were silent as you were used in the Capitol. You were silent as they made you go back and take everything from kids, kids just like you. Even when you thought you were about to die and had so many things to say to the boy that you loved, you didn’t say any of it.

How could you ever be a voice?

They chose the wrong person. Katniss was good. She was good at being The Mockingjay, good at saying the right things, and great at being a voice for Panem. But you? You weren’t cut out for this.

Why would she tell you this? This revolution had been well-planned and was proceeding fine without you. Why would she tell you this- why now?

You cut her off mid-sentence. “Katniss, what exactly are you trying to tell me?”

She paused as if she didn’t know the answer, either. Her red eyes glazed over and, for a few seconds, you both sat in silence. You thought she wouldn’t say anything until she looked back up at you. This time, her eyes were full of light, like she’d just realized she held the key to all she ever wanted, all you ever wanted.

And, in a way, she did.

“Hope,” she breathed. “I’m telling you that I have hope for a better world.”

A better world.

Once, you had hopes, too. You hoped that your kids would make it through The Games. You hoped that you could be loved back by the person you loved. You hoped that you could one day mend your relationship with your mother. You hoped that you could be happy.

But each of these hopes were crushed until nothing remained but disappointment.

You didn’t have any hope left.

After Katniss’ declaration, you sat silently before eventually leaving without saying a word.

She was so young. Sometimes, you forgot that. She wasn’t a child, but she was supposed to be. She was supposed to have a childhood, not the weight of a country resting on her shoulders.

But you’d carried the weight of the crown for years now.

You knew better.

You abandoned the idea of hope as soon as you dived off that pedestal in The Games, and then it abandoned you for good the second you woke up in the Capitol.

There wasn’t any hope left, not for you.

You got back to your room, ignoring your nurse who opened her mouth to speak to you but ultimately didn’t say anything, letting the door close in her face. It wasn’t personal. There were too many different people on your mind to think about her, so many words you said and didn’t say floating around, things you did and what was done to you.

You didn’t want to be awake anymore, to think about these things. Sometimes, nightmares offered more relief than your real life ever could.

But as you went to go lie down, you suddenly stopped, seeing something on your bed that hadn’t been there before. It was a sleek black box, one that wasn’t so common back where you were from but became an everyday custom after you won The Games. You picked up, clicking the side button and watching light shoot of it and project an image in front of you.

For a moment, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

Because that image that the box projected was of Finnick Odair.

It was a video shot here, in 13, similar to others you’d seen, but you’d never seen this. This was the first time you saw him on camera since before the Quell. And this was also the first time you’d looked into his eyes since you left that night.

Even if you weren’t really looking at him.

Finnick was always charming, the corners of his lips always quirked upward. He had mastered this façade- oh, Finnick knew how to dance, dance around all of the hard topics, dance around everything that was wrong with your lives to make you seem like the perfect happy couple, like victors.

But he didn’t look like that in the video.

He looked solemn. And maybe even a little scared.

No matter his appearance, you could’ve never expected the words that came out of his mouth, never from Finnick, never from one of you, from a victor. But he still said them.

Your mouth fell open. For the first time since you arrived in 13, you let tears fall down your cheeks, though you didn’t know if you could stop them, even if you tried. They burned on their way down, rubbing salt into the bruises you could see and the bruises you could never fix.

May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.

The box in your hands clattered to the ground, the video cutting out as you ran to the toilet, but Finnick’s voice still echoed in your ears. You threw up what very little you had eaten, head spinning.

Dancing, dancing, dancing.

This song didn’t sound right anymore. This dance didn’t feel right anymore. You were so tired of dancing- you just wanted to stop.

But Finnick hadn’t stopped at all.

Finnick was still dancing. Katniss was still dancing. Peeta, Johanna, every single person in Panem was now dancing with you. They knew now. They could hear the music, too. And who would save them?

You had wished for years and years that someone would pull you off the dance floor, that someone would make it stop. There were so many people that knew, so many people that just let you endure it- let you all endure it. How could you let any more people endure anything close to that?

You couldn’t stand on the sidelines and watch as everything burned to the ground. No, you wanted to help them set fire to the Capitol and burn Snow alive.

Hope. I’m telling you that I have hope for a better world.

You may not have had this hope. There was no better world out there for you.

But you’d be damned if you didn’t try to make one for every kid out there that cried and prayed their name didn’t get called at the reapings.

You would not get to live in this better world.

But you would make it in memory of the younger you that could have.

You later found Katniss again, telling her that you’d do it. You left out the part about how you sobbed for hours at the recording you knew she left you because that wasn’t what was important right now. You were not important right now.

This was about something much bigger.

She took you to Coin, who cleared the room at the sight of you, a surprised expression on her face. “Ms. Y/L/N, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She stood up, shaking your hand, glancing at Katniss periodically before looking back to you. “I’m sorry I couldn’t visit you sooner-”

“It’s alright,” you cut her off, trying your best to pull your lips into a smile. You had barely been in the room with her for a few seconds, but there was something about this woman that threw you off.

Katniss explained her story to you, how she was a widow, how her entire family died in a day. You sympathized with that, but Alma Coin did not remind you of a widow in the slightest.

She reminded you of the people you saw in the Capitol.

Clearly, she sensed the tension, giving you a smile and letting go of your hand, beckoning you both to sit. You sat down in the chair across from her, surveying the room, looking at the blueprints and papers sprawled everywhere. Your attention was drawn back to the woman when she spoke.

“So, how may I help you? I know adjusting to life here must be hard for you. But I will be here every step of the if you so need it.” You opened your mouth to speak, but she kept going, “You are an incredibly strong young woman. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live through those Games, nor could I imagine what it must have been like within the walls of the Capitol.”

No, you couldn’t, you thought, but you didn’t say that. Instead, you gave her a stiff smile, hoping that all your practice faking it could make it look believable. It seemed that President Coin had some practice faking it, too.

However, you cut straight to the point. “Madam President, I want to help the rebels in any way that I can.”

Her mouth fell open slightly, as if that was the last thing she was expecting. She looked to Katniss again, like you were out of it. And maybe you were, but so was The Girl on Fire. So were all of you.

It wasn’t fair of her to treat you like glass because, the truth was, she was right. You went through The Games not once but twice, and then you were immediately thrown into the Capitol, facing horrors that you weren’t sure you could ever speak aloud, horrors that flashed before your eyes every time you blinked, even as you sat across from her.

But you were. You were sitting across from her. You were ready to do something.

You may have just been pulled from the Devil’s clutches, but you were ready to walk through Hell all over again if it meant you got to kill him.

Katniss didn’t waver. “So do I.”

Coin’s hesitance was easier than expected to spot. For someone who wanted to lead Panem, she surely wore her heart on her sleeve. Or maybe you had just gotten too good at this dance that you could spot anyone’s slightest misstep.

Slowly, she cautioned, “You both are going through a lot right now-”

The brunette sharply cut her off, “That doesn’t matter.” Your eyes were trained on Coin, but if you stole a glance at Katniss, then you knew you would’ve seen the fire in her eyes. In a way, she hadn’t changed at all since the last time you saw her.

And you wished that was true.

“Send me to the Capitol- send us to the Capitol.” Underneath her demand was pleading. “I’ll do anything.”

Coin brought her hand to her mouth, an indent on her finger where her ring was supposed to be yet no ring in sight. “I can’t.” But she wanted to. “I can’t send you there. We can’t get into the Capitol until we control district 2.”

“Then send us to 2,” you spoke up, her eyes moving to yours. There was some emotion in her eyes, pity or fear, you couldn’t tell, but you didn’t want to know what you looked like to find out. “I can fire up your troops, call out to the loyalists. You’ve seen what The Mockingjay can do, and I don’t doubt that you know what I am capable of.” You paused. “Let us win this for you, Madam President.”

She was silent for a moment, continuing to stare at you as if she was waiting for you to break, to do something that showed her that you weren’t capable of this, but she wouldn’t get that opening. You wanted this more than anything, and you would stop at nothing to get it.

Finally, she blinked, and you knew you had her.

“It would be an honour.”

You didn’t tell Katniss, and you certainly didn’t tell Coin, but a part of you was relieved that you weren’t going back to the Capitol so soon. You just left, and yet it felt like it had both been a world ago and just yesterday.

You didn’t know if you could handle it so soon, going back there. You could barely even handle looking at Finnick.

It wasn’t his fault. It was never his fault. You could never blame him, never for this.

How could you blame him when picturing his face was what got you through it?

How could you blame him when the only reason you survived was to find out if he was still alive?

They told you he was dead. They played his screams on a loop until you couldn’t tell that they stopped. His screams now blended in with the music so well.

Oh, you loved him. You loved him so much more than you could ever express. And maybe that’s why you never told him, but now you knew it was for the best. Finnick was strong, and beautiful, and he had a long life ahead of him with the woman of his dreams. You weren’t gonna get in the way of that.

You knew that you’d never truly be happy without him.

But you also knew from experience that he’d never be happy with you.

These were the thoughts that filled your head on the hovercraft. Even as he was nowhere in sight, his face was still all you could see.

He was here, too. You knew he was. Katniss told you beforehand. She didn’t know the whole story between you two, but she still told you. She had no idea how grateful you were.

You were hiding from him. You accepted the fact that the two of you would never get a happy ending, but that didn’t mean that you were ready to see him, knowing that. If you looked into his ocean blue eyes, God knew that he’d only pull you in and drown you in them.

You couldn’t do that.

It wasn’t fair to him.

It wasn’t fair to Annie.

It wasn’t fair to you.

And it wasn’t fair to all the people that were depending on you.

Suddenly, your thoughts were cut off the sound of footsteps came your way. You looked up, letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you saw it was just Haymitch.

He nodded to you. “Princess.”

You held back a scoff as he sat down next to you on the floor. “Haymitch.”

You still remembered when you met him. He was one of the first people to actually speak to you after you won your Games. For some reason, the others were too “intimidated” by you, but Haymitch didn’t have much left to be scared of, not when he went into an arena with 47 people and was the only one who walked out.

What you couldn’t remember was the last time you had an actual conversation with him, or at least the last time you had a conversation and he was sober.

“How’d you find me?” you asked, but your eyes were still trained on the floor. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I hang around here sometimes, go through the boxes and see if there’s anything medicinal in ‘em,” he responded, making you chuckle.

If he was looking for something medicinal, then you weren’t such a great replacement.

“Well, sorry you couldn’t find what you were looking for.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shake his head. “No, I need to be brought back to reality, anyway. And you, uh, you do a good job at that.”

You snorted, sensing the compliment was backhanded, even if he didn’t see it that way. Or maybe he did, but Haymitch was never one to hold his thoughts in. “Why, because I’m so fucked up?”

“No.” A beat of silence passed. “Because you remind me of a human’s will to live better than those Games ever did.”

You finally looked up, seeing that he was already looking at you. The sincerity in his eyes was so strong that it burned into yours, making you look away before it burned just enough to spark tears. “I don’t think I’m the best example of that.”

His reply came quick, like he didn’t even have to think about it, but he had no idea how much you would after he said it. “You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

Aren’t you?

You didn’t say anything after that, nor did you look at him, and he didn’t force you to. You spent the rest of the ride pondering over his words.

You thought of every painful thing you ever went through. The Hunger Games. Being sold. The Quarter Quell. The Capitol. Falling in love.

You went through all that, and you were still here. You were still standing.

Weren’t you?

Or were you just waiting for the right moment to fall?

Your thoughts were halted as you felt the hovercraft come to a stop, realizing just how long you’d been thinking. You both stood up, going to leave this room. Like most real conversation you’d had with victors, you thought you both would just pretend it never happened, but right before you were about to enter the main ops room, he stopped you, grabbing your wrist. This time, you stopped the flinch before it could happen, looking up at him.

Haymitch Abernathy was not a soft man. After being cut so many times, his edges were jagged and sharp, but looking at you in that moment, he looked more than just soft. He looked sorry.

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure to say what he wanted to say or not, something unusual for him. He seemed to have made up his mind, telling you, “Stay standing, Y/N. There are still people out there that can’t do that by themselves.” Then he paused, eyes glazing over.

“Show them that they can.”

Getting off the hovercraft, damage surrounded you. The once pristine nature of district 2 was gone, replaced by devastation, rubble everywhere. If this was district 2, then you couldn’t imagine that any of the other districts were any better, that your district was any better.

Your mind was drawn back to your mother before you shook it away. You couldn’t be thinking of that right now.

A man in black attire carrying an assault rifle greeted you. Not a Peacekeeper. But a chill still went down your spine.

You couldn’t really tell if it was because of the soldier or if it was because you felt Finnick staring at you.

He wasn’t far behind you, in the row behind you and Katniss with Boggs and Gale. You tried to ignore it, but that proved to be harder said than done.

Katniss carried her bow in her hand while a sword was strapped to your belt, lightly hitting your leg as you walked, but you got used to this feeling during your first Games. In a way, it was almost comforting, even though it never should’ve been, even though weapons should’ve never been comforting to a child so young.

But you weren’t a child anymore.

In your hand, you carried a crossbow, Beetee’s special arrows on your back. The sword was really only there for show. This wasn’t The Hunger Games; no, this was a very different and special game entirely.

This was war.

You wouldn’t be getting up close for combat very often, so a crossbow made more sense, but after The Games, weapons started to hold sentimental value, both for the victors and the viewers that watched them. For Katniss, it was her bow; for Finnick, it was his trident; and for you, it was your sword.

Suddenly, as you were making your way to the Justice Building, a bomb went off, shaking the ground and making you spin, your grip on your bow tightening. Your heart was beating rapidly, but Corporal Homes wasn’t fazed, even letting out a little laugh. “Don’t worry. It’s just how the loyalists say good morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, holding the bow tighter to try and stop your hands from trembling. You shut your eyes, trying to calm down, but all that did was bring you right back to the Capitol. Your eyes quickly reopened, but when they did, they met those ocean blues that you’d been trying to avoid.

Your body went rigid. It begged you to look away, but you couldn’t. You were pulled to him like a magnet, a magnet that scraped against you, a magnet that nearly stopped your heart with how strong it was, but no matter how much it hurt you, fighting against it was useless.

Concern swam through his eyes, along with another familiar emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. It had been so long since you last saw him, since you last really saw him. Maybe that was why you couldn’t decipher it.

But, really, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Are you okay?” God, and his voice. How was it possible that his voice could both fill and create a hole in your heart at the same time? It was both quiet and loud, both sure and uncertain, and caring in every sense of the word.

So warm but made you feel so cold at the same time.

You just looked at him for a few seconds, as if you were hypnotized, until you realized you needed to respond. You nodded, afraid that your voice would crack if you tried to speak.

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but a hand came to your shoulder, yanking you out of trance. You turned to see Katniss, glancing between you both for a second before her eyes rested on you. She nodded towards the building and the rest of the crew who had walked ahead of you. You nodded back, walking away from Finnick without another word.

How did we get here? you wondered.

We’re gonna be fine. Look, whenever you get nervous up there, you just hold my hand, alright? You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.

He was right there. He was still right there.

But the difference between then and now was that you could no longer just hold his hand.

He was right there.

But you were still alone.

Once you had put some distance between yourselves and Finnick, Katniss whispered, “I’m sorry.” You turned your head, but her eyes were directed in front of her. “That looked personal.”

“No, it’s fine,” you assured her, and then you left it at that. Because, truth be told, you were grateful for Katniss interrupting you. You weren’t sure you would’ve ever walked away if she hadn’t. But you did. And now you had bigger problems to worry about than your love life, if you could even call it that.

You finally made it into the Justice Building, being greeted by both Commander Lyme and Paylor. While they lived in higher ranks, they were still soldiers. You appreciated how they cut right to the chase.

You and your squad from 13 stood around a table projecting a hologram of district 2’s mountains with at least a dozen other soldiers, more littered throughout the room with Coin on a TV in front of you.

Lyme started, “President Coin, we’re indebted to you for the reinforcements, the Princess, and the Mockingjay.” She glanced at you. “But I’m not sure that anyone outside of 2 knows what we’ve been up against.” She pointed at the hologram. “This is The Nut. The Capitol’s headquarters for all offensive operations. It’s manned by both military and civilian personnel from district 2.” She then continued to explain what all more or less knew, that it lied so deep beneath bedrock that it was untouchable.

“Yesterday, we attempted to take the northeastern gate. The enemy countered from higher up and we were forced to pull back.” She momentarily looked down, her mask of a stone cold commander falling and showing the human behind it. “We took heavy losses.”

Another commander spoke up. “Could we create a decoy? Send troops towards one gate, launch a staggered attack on another.”

Paylor didn’t miss a beat. “Whose troops do you propose as a decoy, Commander?”

Although the question was not directed towards her, Coin still responded, “We have the Mockingjay and we have the Princess of Panem. Do not underestimate their influence. We could use them to erode support, sway some of the loyalists.”

“You’ve been underground a long time, Madam Coin,” Lyme said. “This isn’t like the rest of Panem. Support for the Capitol runs deep here.” And why wouldn’t it? When the oppressor had done just about everything but oppress you, then how could you see the oppression happening everywhere else?

Coin quickly retorted, “Then there is no sacrifice too great.” Her voice was like that of a widow: soft enough that you could tell what she’d been through but firm enough for the exact same reason.

No sacrifice too great… but wasn’t there?

“We need to control the arsenal inside that fortress. Even with every district in this alliance, we are outgunned.” All twelve other districts could band together, but without 2, none of you stood a chance.

No sacrifice too great.

“I won’t commit my people to a ground assault just to pillage weapons.”

“Commander Paylor, your people have suffered more than just about anyone else at the hands of the Capitol.”

“Which is why I won’t condone a mass suicide.”

“If we don’t take district 2, we won’t get into the Capitol.”

For the first time since your entrance, you spoke up. “What if we don’t have to take it?” You felt everyone’s eyes on you but yours remained focused on the hologram in front of you, unblinking as if you weren’t there at all.

And maybe you weren’t.

Lyme responded, “What are you proposing, Ms. Y/L/N?”

What were you proposing? You couldn’t be sure. But you knew what you needed, and that was this war ending in Snow’s final breath.

No sacrifice too great.

“What if we don’t need The Nut to win?” You looked up. “What if we could take it away from them instead?”

Gale seemed to be the only one who caught onto what you were saying, or at least the only one willing to speak it aloud. “We could disable it, trap them inside or flush ‘em out.” He continued, gesturing the hologram. “If we can’t attack straight on, then couldn’t we use our hovercraft to strike around it? We’ll use the mountains; we’ll hit weak spots in the peaks.”

“We could design the bomb targets in sequence using seismic data.”

“Trigger avalanches,” you muttered just above a whisper, imagining it in your head. Something like this happened in The Games once, one of the years you were mentoring. It was catastrophic, akin to a bloodbath. It was a miracle there was even anyone left alive to fight for a victor’s title.

You wondered if Finnick thought of this, too, but you didn’t dare look over at him, looking back to hologram and trying to block the images of blood and terror from your mind.

But as you stood there and spoke about war, you didn’t know if that was possible.

Not when the war in your mind had still yet to be won.

“Block all exits, cut off their supplies. You make it impossible for them to launch their hovercraft.”

Paylor had a look of realization on her face. “Bury them alive.”

“We’d forfeit any chance to control the weapons-”

Beetee cut Coin off, “Yes, but we’d face a weakened Capitol.”

“There’s civilians in there,” Boggs interjected, stoic but any hearing person could hear the compassion in his voice. Civilians. Is that what they were?

You were a civilian too, once. Then you were a tribute, a pawn, a victor, the Princess. Did civilians still exist? What kind of civilians could support the Capitol? What kind of human beings could support the torture you were subjected to, the torture people in the districts were subjected to on a daily basis?

You wondered if your mother was given the courtesy of a civilian before the Capitol took her life.

You weren’t.

“They should be given a chance to surrender. Could use one of the supply tunnels for the evacuees.”

“It’s a luxury we weren’t given when they firebombed 12,” Gale said, as if he were reminding you, as if any of you needed a reminder.

“There’s gotta be a better way.” You were already so focused, but if you were losing attention in any way, Katniss brought it back, the disbelief in her voice audible to everyone in the room. She glanced in between Gale and you, but she didn’t get whatever response she expected of you.

Katniss may have had hope for the good of humanity, but you didn’t have that. The Capitol took that away from you without a second thought. She may have been driven by hope, but you were driven by anger.

There was no sacrifice too great.

“I suggest we try the avalanche, but leave the train tunnel alone,” Coin decided. “Civilians can escape into the square, where our armies will be waiting for their surrender.”

“We should have every available medic standing by.”

“And if they won’t surrender?” Lyme challenged.

Coin’s lips almost formed a smile. “Then we will need a compelling voice to persuade them.” And a voice was something she had.

The Mockingjay and the Princess, two sides of the same coin. Heads or tails, luck was on the President’s side either way.

You tuned out after that, letting everyone else talk logistics. Throughout the entire conversation, you didn’t hear Finnick say a word. He was perhaps the most talkative person you had ever met, and yet now, he had nothing to say.

He only looked at you the whole time, like an artifact.

And even as you walked away, you still felt the cold burn of his stare.

You watched from a broken window of the Justice Building as the hovercrafts started, rubble blowing in the wind. The sight was magnetic, pulling you in to look at it. It was almost beautiful.

This world could’ve been beautiful.

You wished that this dance could have been more beautiful before it made your feet bleed.

You watched as the hovercrafts danced in the sky before dropping bombs on the mountains, dancing to the sound of explosions and then to the sound of cheers around you.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-

“This isn’t right.” A voice brought you out of your trance. You turned to see Katniss, her eyes on the scene outside the window, as mesmerized as you were. But mesmerized wasn’t the right word. She was stricken by horror.

Oh, if she saw what happened to you that could make you ever justify this. If she saw what happened to Peeta to make him hysteric. If she saw what happened to Johanna to make her numb. If she saw, then would she still be so transfixed then?

If she saw, would she still be standing?

If she saw, would she understand why you still were?

You stared at her for a moment, contemplating if you would say any of this before deciding against it, turning back and monotonously replying, “It’s fire catching, Everdeen.”

She scoffed, “And we’re lighting the match.”

Sharply, you countered, “Don’t forget that the Capitol poured gasoline everywhere first.” You turned back to see her already looking at you. A sigh left your lips. “They did this, Katniss.”

“And so anyone that had anything to do with it deserves to burn for it?”

No.

Yes.

“Did we deserve to burn, Girl on Fire?” You caught her off guard, anger slipping through the cracks of your voice, resolution filling your eyes. “Did we deserve to burn in those reapings, in those parades, in those damn Games as they all made a spectacle of it? All those kids and their families, did they deserve to burn just because the Capitol saw fit?” She was silent, tears coming to her eyes that she refused to let fall, so different from that girl you were with in the arena yet the exact same. Your eyes burned, too. “The way I see it, we’re fighting fire with fire.” You scoffed. “At least we’re giving them a way out.”

You didn’t stick around to hear Katniss’ response, walking away to find whoever would tell you what do next. You could’ve stood by that window for the rest of the night, watching as the terror unfolded, but you had more important things to do than watch the fire.

You had to go light a match.

You examined yourself in the mirror blankly. You were donning a black costume, and a costume it was. Because what was a costume if not an impersonation of something you were not?

But someone thought that this was what you were. Someone thought that you could be a leader. Cinna did—or at least that’s what Effie Trinket told you. You didn’t know why she seemed to be in charge of “design” or why she showed such an interest in you, but you supposed it wasn’t so unusual for an artifact.

Your makeup artists did their jobs fabulously, painting your face until you were almost unrecognizable, until you looked like that girl from before The Games, that girl that the people of Panem knew and loved. With this makeup, you couldn’t see the circles under your eyes, the discolouration of your face. They made you look alive again.

On the outside, at least.

On the inside, you weren’t sure if there was any makeup that could repair the damage that’d been done.

Your hair had been braided into an updo, like a crown. They tried to give you back your necklace, the one Finnick gave to you before The Games, but you never wanted to see that necklace again, never wanted to see a rose ever again.

You would hate the smell of roses for the rest of your life.

“It’s time.” You looked away from your reflection to see Haymitch standing at the door. You nodded to him, glancing back at the mirror one last time before exiting the room. Katniss fell into step with you both as you made your way toward the train tunnel, but remained silent. You didn’t speak, either.

Soon, you were joined by the rest of your Star Squad, but you avoided any and all eye contact with Finnick. It’d be a shame to cry and ruin all that beautiful makeup on your face.

It’d be a shame to feel something right now when you felt so numb.

But you’d quickly be feeling a lot.

“Don’t worry, Katniss. There’ll be survivors,” Boggs tried to reassure. She glanced at him, but didn’t respond.

Haymitch was more concentrated on what you came here to do. “Let’s focus on what it is you gotta say.” He looked in between both of you. “Now, Plutarch wrote a speech that either of you can read-”

“No,” you both simultaneously said, briefly glancing at each other.

Haymitch sighed, throwing the cards to the side. “Okay, didn’t think so. Let’s, uh…” he stopped you both, standing in front of you. “But just remember you’re talking to everybody. Not just the rebels, but the Capitol, the survivors in 2. We want them to lay down their arms. So you- both of you might wanna experiment with a little sensitivity, warmth.”

They have the upper-hand, that’s what he was really saying. But you understood how this worked. You’ve danced this dance a million times already.

“Don’t worry, Haymitch. I know how to fake it.” He looked over at you as if he wanted to say something, but Boggs spoke before he could.

“Make it quick, you’re exposed.”

Katniss walked toward the tunnel first, turning once she was far enough to face the rest of you. They decided that she would go first. She had been at this for a while now, much longer than you.

You’re lucky, you know.

How so?

You just are.

Maybe the Katniss Everdeen that you met in the training centre was lucky, but this one, the one who shot an arrow at the force field in the Quarter Quell, the one who became a symbol before she could even blink… you weren’t so sure that this one was so lucky. Not anymore. Not in this world.

Luck didn’t exist in this new world.

“This is Katniss Everdeen, speaking to all of the loyalists from the heart of district 2-”

“Survivors! Inbound!”

The sound of the train’s horn became audible to you, its wheels screeching against the train tracks. Boggs went running for Katniss while a hand grabbed your shoulder. This time, you couldn’t hold back the flinch.

“We need to go, Y/N.” And then your body went rigid.

That was your name.

That was your name coming from Finnick Odair.

You didn’t even notice when he moved so close to you.

You swallowed, nodding, but it was like your feet were cemented to ground. You couldn’t move. If you moved, if you turned around, then you’d be looking right into his eyes.

Oh, there was time when the only thing you wanted to do was stare into his eyes all day. And maybe the problem was that you still wanted to.

You closed your eyes, inhaling a shaky breath, and when you opened them, the survivors were jumping off the train, being forced down to the ground, guns pointed at them, loud noise everywhere. Suddenly, you couldn’t take your eyes off of what was happening, even as every bone in your body begged you to, even as your head spun.

Finnick’s hand was still on your shoulder, but neither of you moved. None of you did.

Another man jumped off, looking disoriented, but what drew your attention to him wasn’t his appearance but the gun in his hand. The grip on your shoulder got tighter.

“Drop it! Drop your weapon! You! Drop it,” Boggs shouted, aiming his machine gun at him as he moved in your direction. “Drop the gun! Drop it-”

Suddenly, a gun went off, and everyone was screaming. You ducked down, eyes frantically darting everywhere before they settled on Katniss, running towards him, yelling. Your eyes widened, a wave of déjà vu passing over you as you remembered this exact scenario in the Quell, Katniss running towards danger and you running after her.

And just like that, even though you were paralyzed by fear, you quickly shot up, running after her without a thought. “Katniss!”

“Y/N!”

“Stop! He needs help!” She screamed as you were about to reach her. The next moment happened too fast for you to grasp it, the man jabbing his gun at her chin and cocking it. You skidded to a stop where you were, your breath catching in your throat.

Boggs was shouting, but your ears rang. It was almost as if you could feel that barrel on your own skin, and maybe it was because you had.

Snow’s voice rang through your head, Tell me about the rebel plan, Y/N.

You’re gonna have to kill me first.

Oh, sweet girl. He had knelt down next to you. I will make you wish that you died in that arena.

The man’s voice shook you out of your daze. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you.”

“Drop the gun!”

Katniss was silent, staring right into his eyes, but you saw what was behind the brave façade she was putting on. She didn’t have a reason.

“She can’t.” His eyes went to you, widening as if he hadn’t realized you were there. You stepped forward, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. Inside, you were shaking, but on the outside, you were calm and collected. On the inside, you were just a tribute in this game, but on the outside, you were the victor that everyone had crowned you.

“We blew up your mine. But you burned her district to the ground- my district to the ground.” You stepped closer, your resolve hardening. “So I guess we both have every reason to want to kill each other, but, really, does that make sense?” You asked, not looking away from his eyes once. “You know who I am. You know who she is, and I can bet that you know a few of the people standing behind me. So many people that the Capitol has rooted for, that you have rooted for- why would we be doing this? After the riches, and the glitz, and the glamour, why would we fight back against a system that has supposedly given us everything?”

Because they took everything from you first.

You took another step closer, putting your hands up when he jabbed the gun in Katniss’ neck. “Look around you.” He quickly glanced around before his eyes fell back on you. “Are these the people you want to kill? The same people that you cheered for?” Slowly, your hands fell. “Why are you fighting us? Why are you fighting the rebels? You’re neighbours. You’re family.”

He looked up at you for a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. In his eyes, you could see evil, chaos. But you also a sliver of humanity, and you prayed to God that you reached past the chaos to the humanity. You prayed to whoever would listen that he heard you. And, maybe, for the first time, the universe was on your side, because his gun slowly lowered to the ground.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Katniss was stuck in a trance until you pulled her up, but you weren’t so focused on her. Your eyes panned over the people, your people and the loyalists alike, but they were all just people, you realized.

They were all just people.

“There is no our side or your side,” you yelled, backing away from the man and facing everyone. “There is only freedom and captivity. These people are not your enemy.” You turned, facing the rest of the crowd. “We all have one enemy. And that’s Snow.” Tears gathered in your eyes. “He does not care who you are or how loyal you are, how important you are—to him, we are all just pieces in a game.”

You pointed to your people behind you. “Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Finnick Odair, Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta, Johanna, Beetee, Enobaria- we are all that is left from three generations of victors. The rest of them are dead.” The faces of those that you killed flashed through your mind. “Slaughtered in the Quarter Quell or killed in the aftermath, it’s all the same. They were murdered by the Capitol—and it didn’t matter how important, or loyal, or loved they were- their lives were ended like they didn’t mean a thing.”

“And they would do the same to any of you if it benefit them.” You shook your head, raising your voice. “Stop killing for him.” You paused, breathing heavily. Your fight was not with people in the districts. Your fight was with one person and one person only. It was time that everyone else saw that. “Tonight, turn your weapons to the Capitol. Turn your weapons to Snow.”

Before you could say another word, gunfire erupted and you were falling to the ground.

And then your vision went black.

“Please, I don’t know anything,” you sobbed, fighting against your restraints, but it was no use.

Snow tutted, coming out from the shadows in which he hid. “Oh, Y/N, I wish I could believe that.”

Your body shook. “Please, I’m telling the truth, I don’t know anything about a revolution.”

“And yet all of your comrades did?”

You rapidly shook your head back and forth, worsening the pounding in your mind. They kept telling you about an uprising, but you didn’t know what they were talking about. They said you knew, but you didn’t know. They said that Katniss knew, that Peeta knew, that Johanna knew, that Finnick knew, but they couldn’t have.

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know where they were.

You prayed that Finnick was safe, but if he wasn’t, then you prayed that he was dead. You’d rather him be dead than ever face what you were facing now.

“They didn’t. I didn’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Snow looked at you silently for a few moments, and you had no idea what he was thinking. Then brought his hand up. You flinched, but his hand only went to your hair, petting it. The look in his eyes was almost something like pity, you realized, but it wasn’t real. You didn’t know how long you’d been there, wherever you were, but in the time you there, you learned that President Snow was incapable of sympathy.

You even thought that he enjoyed this.

“Oh, my dear princess… I would’ve hoped that you would’ve learned to be honest with me by now,” he sighed, and then he took his hand away and looked away from you altogether, looking to the Peacekeeper that’d moved to the wall. “Again. And let’s be a little more… effective this time.” He moved to walk away, and you shook your head.

“No, no- please don’t- please, please- no- no!”

You shot up, panting, your hands digging into blankets. Your eyes darted around the room and you realized you were back in your bed in the medical centre. A hand was placed over yours and you immediately shuffled away, your eyes going to the person and meeting blue, concerned orbs.

Finnick held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Your chest still rapidly fell up and down, but for some reason his presence calmed you down and put you into a panic all at the same time.

Only Finnick could do that to you.

You closed your eyes, blinking the remnants of your nightmare away, even if that nightmare wasn’t a nightmare but rather just the life you so happened to live. You’re here, Y/N. You’re alive.

But why?

“How am I alive?” you croaked, looking down at the dull bed sheets instead of into his eyes. It was funny: you looked down to avoid the blue of his eyes, but the colour of these sheets was so similar.

What’s your favourite colour?

It’s blue, not really dark or light either. Sort of green- it’s close to grey, too.

Now that colour just made you want to cry.

Finnick didn’t say anything for a moment, as if he was shocked that you were even speaking to him. And you were, too. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and if you went back to the last time you spoke, back in the arena, you would’ve never thought that this was how it would turn out. Even if you went back to just your first days in the Capitol, you still could’ve never imagined a reality where you didn’t speak to Finnick.

But you could’ve never imagined any of this happening in the first place.

If you went back to the night you met him, you could’ve never imagined how deeply you’d fall for this boy.

And you never could’ve imagined how much it’d hurt when you hit the ground.

Finnick’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “You were shot back in 2. But the bullets were stopped by your costume. Cinna made sure that it was bulletproof.”

Cinna.

The way people spoke about him, in the past tense, the way you hadn’t seen him anywhere. You’d figured that he was dead.

You wondered how many more people would die for this revolution before you could all be free.

“The doctor says you sustained minor injuries, bruised rib, bruised lung. But nothing worse than the injuries you came back from the Capitol with.” At that, you turned your head to face him, meeting his eyes immediately. His eyes were soft but almost hard. He was almost looking at you the same way he did after you volunteered for Annie. In his eyes, you saw care, confusion, sadness, some anger, and emotions you couldn’t name, but most of all, you could see the pure exhaustion weighing him down.

He stared at you for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, maybe longer than that—time didn’t seem to exist. “Why would you do that, Y/N?” He whispered. And in that moment, you knew you weren’t talking to the Prince of Panem, the victor of The 65th Hunger Games, or the soldier who wanted to build a better world.

You were just talking to Finnick.

And that scared you.

Your breath hitched.

Why would you do that?

Finn-

Why would you volunteer?

Because you had to.You volunteered for Annie because you had to, the same way you did what you just did because you had to. To you, there was no choice, only one path to follow.

“I did what I was meant to do, Finnick.” Even as you willed it not to, your body betrayed you, your voice cracking on his name, but this time, you kept eye contact. And even though you were talking to Finnick, the Finnick that held you at night and soothed you when you cried, your Finnick, he was not talking to Y/N, not the Y/N that he held and soothed.

That Y/N could not talk to Finnick, not this Finnick.

If she did, you didn’t know if you’d ever get her back again.

He was shaking his head before you even finished speaking. “No, you could’ve died.” I’m already dead.

“But I didn’t.” But I did.

“But you almost did!” You flinched as his hands went up in the air, and then he froze, freezing you with him. You flinched. You flinched like he was gonna hit you, and he saw that. You cursed yourself immediately, wishing you could take it back as the look that encompassed his eyes became hurt.

There were few times when Finnick ever looked at you like that, and you could remember each as if they just happened. You never wanted to see that look on his face again, to be the reason for that look.

Time stopped again. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t find the words. And before you could, time picked back up. Finnick’s hands fell down to the bed, and he looked away from you, lowering his voice. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/N.”

Tears welled in your eyes. He didn’t know what he was saying. “You could have the world at your fingertips, Finnick.”

“There is no world for me if you’re not in it.” He looked back at you. And you couldn’t tell if your imagination was playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn there were tears in his eyes, too. “You’re my world, Y/N.” And just like that, any hope you had of remaining invulnerable shattered and the dam you were trying to hold in your eyes broke, tears falling down your face.

You shook your head, silent sobs wracking your body. Did he have any idea the effect he had on you? Did he have any idea what he was doing to you? “Why are you saying these things?”

Something akin to a scoff left his lips. “Because it’s true-”

“No- no, they’re not-”

Finnick latched onto your hand, making you look right at him. This time, you saw tears trailing down his cheeks, and they seemed so real. “Y/N, I swear to you on everything I believe in that I’m telling you the truth.”

You wished it was the truth. You wished that this was real. You had been wishing that your pretending could become real for ages now.

But you’d danced this dance long enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.

Even if Finnick had convinced himself that it would.

“It’s impossible.”

“I l-”

“Ms Y/L/N?” You both turned the source of the new voice, finding your doctor at your door. She glanced between you both carefully as you ripped your hands away from Finnick’s, wiping at the tears that’d fallen and the ones that continued to fall. “May I speak with you, please?” She requested, glancing at him.

He quickly stood up, but this time, you weren’t looking. “Yeah, I’ll, uh- I’ll head out.” He paused for a second, like he was waiting for you to say something, but you weren’t sure that you could continue to speak to him right now, even if you wanted to. When you remained silent, you heard his shoes pitter-patter against the ground as he made his way out of the room.

When he was gone, you exhaled and Dr. Terren looked back at you. She hesitated, “Did I… interrupt something?”

“No,” you breathed out. “Nothing important.”

She nodded after a beat, getting right into her medical talk, but she didn’t look so convinced.

And you weren’t sure that you were, either.

You were hit bad, the doctor said, but it could’ve been worse. And she was right. It could’ve been worse.

You didn’t feel a thing. Lung, ribs—all you felt was heartache. Maybe it was good that you couldn’t feel the pain. But you couldn’t be sure.

She kept pushing the same idea: therapy. That’s where Johanna was. That’s where Peeta was. But that wasn’t gonna be where you were. Terren kept talking about trauma, about how this near-death experience called for you to talk to someone, but really, what good would that do?

Would that therapist understand? Did they go through what you went through? Did they understand what you were going through? You didn’t have time to stop and talk about your feelings, if you could even sort them out into words, nor did you want to reminisce over anything that happened while you were in the Capitol.

Even if reminiscing was all you could do.

When Terren left, you ripped the IV out of your arm, leaving your hospital room to go to the other room they gave you. At least that one wasn’t filled with your favourite colour.

Your room in 13 was grey, like most things here. It was drab, but you wouldn’t complain. Anything was better than the Capitol. The door to your room slid open, and then you stopped. On your floor was the same black box Katniss left you, the same one you watched Finnick from.

Poison.

You swallowed, deciding to ignore the box altogether and go to your ensuite. You never wanted to see that video again. Watching it from that box was the first time you ever saw it, and it would be the last.

They must have gone through extra effort to hide it from you in the Capitol. They made you believe he was dead. You believed this was such conviction that, when you saw him again after the rescue, you thought you were dreaming.

You even thought you’d died.

You even wished you did.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, dead is what you looked like. That bullet may not have killed you, but you still looked like a corpse. You’re very lucky to be alive, Y/N, Dr. Terren told you.

Luck.

If luck was what kept you alive, then it wasn’t good luck at all. Luck would’ve been that bullet puncturing like it was intended to.

Your hand went to your ribs, looking at the bandages wrapped around them in the mirror. Then your hand travelled to your hair. Long and silky, so sought after in Panem. But as you ran your hands through it, you didn’t feel its softness. All you felt was Snow’s hand, petting you as you begged him not to kill you.

And then that turned into you begging for the exact opposite.

You don’t know how long you were looking at your reflection before you were opening and closing the sink drawers, your hands moving with a mind of their own. Part of you didn’t know what you were doing, but another part of you must have as you suddenly stopped, having found what you were looking for.

Scissors.

You picked them up, staring at them as if they were treasures, watching the light glare off the blades. You didn’t know what you were doing.

All you knew was that this feeling was tearing you apart.

And that’s all you could focus on.

Suddenly, your hand holding the scissors was moving. You still didn’t know what you were doing, but before you could find out, your name sounded.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, seeing Katniss stand in the doorway, confusion on her face that slowly contorted to fear. She glanced down at your hands, making you do the same. Quickly, you moved the scissors away from your wrist, unknowing of how they even got there.

You looked back at Katniss, your mouth opening and closing. You didn’t know what to say. Finally, you stammered, “I- I-” she looked back up at you and you realized that she, too, didn’t know what to say. “My hair. It’s- I want to cut my hair.”

That’s not what you were doing.

Katniss seemed to know that, not looking convinced in the slightest. She was quiet for a few moments, eyes on the scissors before she was walking towards you. Gently, she pried them out of your hand, as if you were a child holding a gun.

Then her eyes met yours. The eyes that were once hard as stone now looked at you with softness. “I’ll help you,” she whispered. She nodded to herself, repeating, “I’ll help you.”

You were grateful for her going with your story, even if it was just because she didn’t know what to say to what she really saw. She moved behind you, exhaling and getting ready right away.

And she may not have known this, but in just her walking in, she had already helped you more than you could’ve ever helped yourself.

Muffled chatter came to your ears as you sat in one of the common areas. Most people ate in the cafeteria, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go in there. Finnick was in there, along with Katniss, and you couldn’t really talk to either of them right now.

With Finnick, you didn’t know where you stood. He said so much to you in your hospital room, after you were shot, but you didn’t know what to make of any of it. He was talking to you like you were more than just fake lovers—and truth be told, that’s what you were. You may have forgotten that for a while or pretended for too long, but it was fake. The dance changed every so often, but at its core, it was the same.

Finnick was acting like this was a dance you engaged in voluntarily, like this was a dance he enjoyed dancing. While you had no one you’d rather dance with, you knew it wasn’t the same for him. You saw the way he looked at Annie; you saw it for the entirety of your “relationship.” He looked at her with such tenderness and care, like she put the stars in the sky. The second you saw her, the second you saw the way he looked at her, you knew that you didn’t stand a chance.

But for some reason, in that hospital room, you almost felt like he looked at you that way.

And that didn’t make sense.

That didn’t make sense at all.

Another part of you didn’t want him to see you like this, not again. Katniss did, and you weren’t ready to see her so soon, either. It was a weak moment, you told yourself, but you were fine now. You were here for a reason—you were still here for a reason.

Show them that they can.

You didn’t have hope, but you were still the hope of so many people, the hope of Panem. You weren’t gonna let them down. You were not going to stand by and let Snow’s reign of terror continue.

You made a pact with yourself. As Katniss was cutting your hair, you promised yourself that you would see this through. Afterward, it didn’t matter what happened, but you would fight until this country was free.

Even if you died for it in the process.

“Looking good, Princess.”

Your head shot up from your tray and, for the first time since you arrived in 13, you felt a smile arise on your face. “Johanna.” Your tray was pushed to the side as you stood, wrapping your arms around her.

“Easy. I hear you’re injured.”

“I’m fine, Jo,” you reassured her, pulling away. She mirrored your smile, a sight you never thought you’d see again after what you heard in the Capitol.

“You always are, aren’t you?” She retorted. You only continued to smile, opting not to respond. She must’ve seen your discomfort—of course she did, she knew you so well—so she changed the subject. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ditto,” you responded, even if it was a little untrue. You loved Johanna. She was the first person you looked for when you got to 13, and seeing her right now made you so unbelievably happy, a happy you didn’t anticipate feeling for a long time, but it wasn’t good to see her like this.

She had always put on a brave face, was always so much stronger than you, but right now, she looked like she was barely holding on. Her eyes were hollow, bags underneath them that matched yours. Her face was pale. And the beautiful red streaks that had once filled her hair, the hair that she loved, was now gone. It was all gone.

The Capitol took it just to show her that they could.

And even though you cut yours out of your own will, they still took yours, too.

Eventually, she sat down with you, resting her head on your shoulder. Before, when things were bad before they got worse, you’d sit together in the Capitol, you, her and Finnick, and you’d pass time together, just like this.

Except Finnick wasn’t here.

However, you convinced yourself that it was for the best.

Annie. He had Annie. You volunteered for Annie, got yourself in this position for Annie, so that he could have a life with her, the life he always wanted. He may have denied it, or maybe he didn’t know that you knew, but some nights, he’d dream about her, talking in his sleep. He wanted to marry her, to have kids with her.

He could do that now. This is what you did this for, so that he could have his happy ending. Even if it meant taking away yours for good.

Like she was reading your thoughts, Johanna muttered, “How come you aren’t in the cafeteria with prince charming?”

You stiffened, but you still knew how to dance this dance, deflecting, “Why aren’t you?”

She lightly chuckled. “Good point.” She didn’t answer, even though you knew the reason why, just as she probably knew the answer to her question. You expected her to drop it, but you supposed you should’ve known better from Johanna Mason. She was silent for a few moments until she spoke again. “He loves you, you know.”

You sighed, “Jo-”

“That boy loves you with all he has, Y/N.” She lifted her head up from your shoulder, making you look at her. “Always has, still does.”

Oh, Finnick and you were incredible. You made the masses believe that the love you shared was real- he made them believe it. You didn’t have to do any work. It wasn’t acting for you, but you knew it was for him.

Not even Johanna knew that it wasn’t real. She might’ve suspected, but for all she knew, you two were really in love. You wished that was true. For years, you wished that was true.

But your wishes rarely ever came true.

“It’s not that simple,” you said.

She slightly tilted her head. “Isn’t it?” Her words echoed throughout your head. Isn’t it? It should’ve been. In a different world, maybe it was that simple. In a different world, maybe the two of you really were as in love as everyone thought you were. In a different world, maybe all those wishes and all that pretending could’ve been a reality.

But that was not this world.

So you didn’t say anything, instead resting your head on her shoulder this time, conveying your thoughts to her without speaking them.

I wish it was.

You lied on your bed in silence, staring up at the plain ceiling and imagining patterns of your own. Back at home, the ceilings had colourful swirls on them, muted tones swooshing together. But that wasn’t really your home. The home you came from didn’t have pretty designs or fancy furniture. The home you came from had paint peeling off the walls. The home you came from didn’t have furniture at all.

But that wasn’t really your home, either.

At some point, you think, that place was something like a home. When your dad was still alive, you’d wake up every morning to the scent of food cooking in the kitchen, even if it was only a bit. But then he died, and there was no one to buy food at all.

That year, you barely ate a thing.

The next year, you picked up the slack. You could still remember it, being ten years old and finding your father’s hunting gear. Going into the forest, you were scared. You didn’t want to harm an animal.

But you did.

And then you did it every time after that.

When you came home, you saw the way your mother looked at you. Somewhere inside of her, something cracked. Somewhere inside of her, she saw something that you couldn’t. And, after that, she started looking at you a lot less.

Five years later, you were sent off to The Games. You could remember seeing your mother in the crowd, but when you got into the Justice Building, she wasn’t there. You waited. And she never showed. But you held your tears and told yourself you had to stay strong, for her, because she couldn’t.

You thought about her in the arena. You thought about her when you picked up that sword. You thought about her when you took your first life. You thought about her when Bay died. And you thought about her when Claudius announced that you, Y/N Y/L/N, had won the 67th Hunger Games.

Was she watching? you wondered. Is she happy?

When you got back to 4 and opened the door to your house, her jaw fell. Like she didn’t know. Like she was shocked. Like she never thought you’d win at all.

Like she didn’t want you to.

Mom, I- I won. Did you watch?

Silence. I watched. I tried, I just- I couldn’t watch you kill after that first- that-... The boy. A boy your age. A boy you stabbed into. A boy who you watched bleed out. A boy whose blood was on your hands–and with the way your mother stared at you, you almost felt like the stains were still there.

And they might as well have been.

She hugged you. But it didn’t feel like she was doing it because she missed you. It felt like she was doing it because that’s what a mother is supposed to do. They’re supposed to hug you–they’re supposed to love you.

But you weren’t you anymore.

You moved into the new house together. Then, soon after, you were moving into Finnick’s, leaving the house to her. You think she was relieved, relieved that she wouldn’t be sleeping in the same house as a killer.

And now, as you lied on this rough bed in 13, there was no house at all. No old house, no new one, no Finnick’s house, no district 4 at all. No mom, either.

What was the last thing I said to her? you wondered. Why can’t I remember the last thing I said to her?

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t even remember when you last spoke to her. Your own mother. She was the woman who gave birth to you, the woman who raised you. Yet you couldn’t remember the last time you were in the same room.

And now you’d never be in the same room again.

A burning grew in your throat, but you didn’t let the tears fall, blinking them away. You’d cried an ocean of tears already. Now wasn’t the time to cry anymore. Now was the time to be strong.

You never wanted this. You didn’t choose this, to be princess of a country that only abused its citizens, a country that threw you to the wolves then claimed they loved you when you came out seemingly unscathed, a country that wouldn’t have loved you so much if they knew just how scathed you were.

You did not choose this. But, for some reason, it chose you. The people chose you. The people believed in you. They believed that you were some sort of hero, coming to save them all from this villain that had hurt them all so badly. They didn’t know that it wasn’t true, that you weren’t a hero. They didn’t know that you were scared of the villain, too.

But if the people in the districts could believe in you, the people being bombed and attacked, the people grieving the loss of their loved ones–if they could believe that, then you could, too.

If the people of Panem believed you could be a hero, then you promised yourself that that’s what you’d be.

“So I changed the chemical compound of the powder, adding more fluorine to excite the electrons, causing them to jump more rapidly from orbital to orbital and ignite faster as-”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Beetee paused, like he was surprised that you couldn’t understand. To him, it was so simple, but to most people, like yourself, it had no meaning. “Chemical reaction,” he reiterated. “I increased the strength of the chemical reaction so you can hit more.”

Your mouth formed an O shape. “Makes sense. That’s all you had to say, y’know.”

His mouth opened, likely to say something sweet and snarky as per usual when the two of you spoke, but he was halted by the door to the armory sliding open. You both turned to see The Mockingjay making her way into the room.

Your breath got caught in your throat for a moment before you regulated it, calming yourself down. You hadn’t seen Katniss since she walked in on you in the bathroom. The way her eyes met yours told you that she remembered that day well, too. But if you knew anything about Katniss Everdeen, it was that feelings were not her strong suit. If you knew her as well as you thought you did, then she’d pretend it never happened.

You hoped she’d pretend. If you knew Katniss as well as you thought you did, then she was just as good at pretending as you.

“You wanted to see me?” she queried, directing her vision to Beetee. A breath left you.

“Yeah, I wanted to show you both your new arrows. I adde-”

You cut him off, “He did something to the chemicals to make the arrows better.”

“Reaction. I increased the force of the chemical reaction.”

“Same difference.”

Beetee took a deep breath, closing his eyes and then reopening them. “Since you’re so… well-versed, you can explain it to her.” You snorted at his response while he wheeled away. Beetee always had the ability to make you laugh, even if it wasn’t his intention.

When you looked away from his retreating figure, you were met with Katniss staring right at you, realizing she was still in the room. Her brows furrowed, a light, light smile on her face that would otherwise be invisible to a stranger. “I’ve never seen Beetee get so… irritated.”

The tension in your shoulders dissipated as they shook with your laughter. Nobody had seen him get annoyed often, unless you were around. “Yeah, that happens when you're stuck in the Capitol with someone for years on end.”

Beetee was always a pretty good friend. You met at a Capitol function, of course, and from then on, you made it a point to annoy him whenever you could. Besides amusing you, it also served as a reminder that he was a human, too, not just some Capitol pawn.

Snow didn’t sell Beetee, but he used him in so many other ways. You and Finnick were their pride, but insiders knew that Beetee was their prize. He was perhaps the smartest person you’d ever met, but you figured that, every once in a while, he deserved to let his guard down and just be normal for a few minutes.

And, deep down, you knew he wasn’t as annoyed as he seemed.

Even though you were laughing, the smile on the brunette’s face slowly dimmed as she looked down. Your smile disappeared. “What is it?”

She was quiet for a second until she spoke, “You and the other victors… you all seemed close.”

Seemed.

Pictures flashed through your mind, pictures of your time in the Capitol. Normally, when you thought about your time there, you pictured all the bad, all the conversations behind closed doors, all the grown men and women who used you when you were still a child. What you didn’t think about was all the kids who were there with you, all the kids who had to grow up just as you did.

Some of these people were people you killed, the same people you had conversations with, the same people who were going through exactly what you were going through.

You were close.

Until you weren’t.

You didn’t say anything for a while, letting yourself remember it all. “Yeah,” you finally responded. “Yeah, we were.” And you didn’t say anything more on the matter. You didn’t know what more there was to say. You cleared your throat, changing the topic. “Anyways, this is what Beetee wanted to show us.” You picked up the arrows, showing them to her.

She hummed, looking back up. You knew that she knew what you were doing, but fortunately, she went along with it. “Never knew you could shoot.”

“Oh, please, Everdeen, anyone who grew up in the districts can shoot.”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean they’re any good,” she retorted, shrugging.

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know, is it?”

Another laugh left your lips, your third time laughing since arriving in 13. “You’re on, Girl on Fire.” You grabbed one of the non-incendiary arrows and a random bow lying on the table, loading the arrow in.

You faced your body to the targets across the room, bringing the bow up to your ear, pulling the arrow back, and eying the red. The corners of your lips quirked upward and, as soon as you turned your head to face Katniss, you let it fly. The look on her face made your smirk widen, turning to see that you hit the target dead-centre.

“How the hell did you just do that?” She walked closer, shock etched onto her face.

“Precision. And years of experience,” you replied, lowering the bow. “My father was a hunter.”

When you looked back at her, she had a different expression, like she was remembering something. Her eyes glazed over. “So was mine.” Her eyes found yours again, and this time, there was something there that wasn’t there before.

Back when you met, she was just Katniss Everdeen, and you were just the Princess. But now, you were both a lot more than that.

It seemed that you and Katniss Everdeen were more alike than you thought.

Right before the 74th Hunger Games, when you and Finnick were watching the training scores on TV, you didn’t think the tributes from 12 stood a chance, even though the girl had the highest score.

Watching the Games, you disregarded them completely, even as they got just as many sponsors as your tributes. You watched as Haymitch Abernathy actually tried, actually cared for these kids, but not even that deterred you.

You ignored the possibility of them winning at all. You wanted it to be your tributes, so badly. They were good. You wanted them to survive, one of them to survive, to make it out of this, to live the rest of their lives. But you should’ve known better.

No matter your best efforts, those kids died, and there was nothing you could’ve done about it.

After that, you assumed it’d go to the Careers. Glimmer and Marvel were crowd favourites, flashy and luxurious, but not as cutthroat as Cato and Clove. A part of you even rooted for them. Maybe tradition would be broken, you thought, maybe it’d go to that kid from 11. Thresh had the determination and resilience to win.

That’s why you were surprised when you turned on the TV to see Peeta and Katniss as the last ones standing.

One of us has to die; they have to have their victor.

No. They don’t.

You were even more surprised when they both walked out of that arena alive.

Peeta became Panem’s golden boy, and he knew exactly what strings to pull, as if he’d been doing this his whole life. Katniss, on the other hand, was not a performer, not the performer you knew Snow wanted her to be. You could tell she was angry, but being angry was not her job.

You knew this because it wasn’t yours, either.

People like you and her didn’t get to be angry. You were supposed to be grateful for the opportunity that the Capitol so generously bestowed upon you, not angry or sad or guilty. That wasn’t for you.

You saw so much of yourself in her. And for that reason, you thought you’d never meet her. Too rebellious, too jagged, too questioning–she was nothing that Snow wanted around the Princess. You were right; you didn’t meet her.

Until the time came for the 75th Hunger Games.

You were surprised when she was the one who came up to you. She was confident and put-together, but you knew better. This was your dance she was dancing. You could hear the lyrics so well.

She was scared.

And she was angry.

Her attitude made you like her. You could’ve been friends, you noted, but not in this lifetime, not when she was meant to be your opponent. You never thought that you and Katniss Everdeen would be friends.

Little did you know, she’d become one of the only friends you had.

“C’mon, Everdeen. You’re going easy on me,” you said, holding your arms out. Katniss stood opposite to you, lightly panting with her hands held up.

“I’m just- I’m just tired-”

“No, you’re not. You’re going easy,” you deadpanned. “Stop stalling and hit me.”

The brunette hesitated for a moment before going in for a punch that you easily caught. “You call that a punch? Where’s that Mockingjay fire?”

She scoffed, yanking her fist out of your grasp. “I’m not going to hit you, Y/N. You were just shot-”

“Well, the revolution doesn’t care if I’m shot or not.” You gestured to your body. “I’m perfectly fine. So hit me like you mean it.”

“No-”

“Hit me like I’m Snow.”

She scoffed again. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going to hit you. You’ve barely healed-”

You cut her off. “Fine. If you won’t, then I will.” Without another word, you threw a sharp punch for her face that she narrowly dodged. You didn’t miss a beat, throwing another one right after, and another one right after that like rapid fire.

She blocked your hits, but your pace didn’t alter. The two of you moved around the ring, but Katniss' hands remained in front of her face, not once swinging. You weren’t relenting; you weren’t gonna stop until she swung back.

You had almost backed her into the corner when, suddenly, the wind was knocked out of you and your back was hitting the ground. The world spun. You blinked and you were back in the arena, lying on the ground with Johanna hovering over you. You opened them and you were back in the training room, and now it was Katniss that hovered.

“Holy shit, Y/N, are you okay?” Her eyes were worried and her voice was panicked. Holy shit, she actually hit me. With that realization, a smile slowly formed on your face. “What? Why are you smiling-”

She was abruptly cut off as you swept her feet out from under her, sending her to the ground right next to you. She groaned while you laughed, almost hysterical.

If the old you could’ve seen you now. You never thought you’d be friends with Katniss Everdeen, much less that you’d be laughing with her after she kicked you.

“It’s not that funny,” she heaved, but you didn’t stop, uncontrollably giggling.

“You- you actually did it-” you cackled, tears in your eyes. She looked over at you, still panting, until you made eye contact and she was laughing, too.

You stayed there on the floor together for a while, laughing your hearts out. For all you knew, you wouldn’t get many moments like this for a while, moments where you could just lie down and rest. For all you knew, this revolution would kill you.

So there you were, the Princess and The Mockingjay, pretending that you were just Y/N, and she was just Katniss.

And for now, that made you forget about everything else.

“Please. Please, I’m begging you- please don’t do it again.” Your shoulders shook with sobs, vision blurred.

“Ah, you know that that is not how the game works, my dear.”

“Please- please, I don’t want to play anymore.”

Snow tutted. “You know the rules. You give me something, and you get something in return. If you do not give me anything, then I will take something.”

“Please, I don’t- I don’t have anything more to give-”

He sighed. “Is that so?” He didn’t give you time to say anything else. “In that case, I won’t take from you.”

You blinked the tears in your eyes away to look up at him, a chill going down your spine at his expression. He didn’t look angry. No, he was smiling. “W-what?”

He hummed. “I’ll take from Peeta.” Your heart dropped. You pulled at your restraints as he turned to leave the room.

“No, please! Please, stop! Stop!” He ignored you, walking out the door and letting the door slide closed behind him.

And then the room went black.

You shot up out of bed panting, heart racing with your eyes darting around the room. The walls were grey, but there was a window. There wasn’t a window where you were in the tribute centre. Moonlight shone into the room. There was light. There weren’t Peacekeepers waiting by your bed, waking you up when you fell asleep. You were alone. You were safe. It’s okay. You’re in 13. You’re alive.

You’re alive.

Somehow, that didn’t make it any better.

You breathed in and out slowly, trying to regain control of your breathing like how Dr. Terren showed you. When you were rescued, you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t be consoled. This feeling that you felt right now was like that, but you don’t know if any panic attack could ever compare to that one.

You were rescued. But it didn’t feel that way.

It didn’t feel that way at all.

Once you calmed down or reached some semblance of feeling calm, your mind went right back to Peeta. You hadn’t been to see him since you first arrived in 13–and even then, you didn’t speak. He wasn’t really in a condition to be spoken to. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. But there was more to it than that.

There was always more to it than what you were willing to acknowledge.

As if your body was moving on its own accord, you threw your bed sheets to the side, slipping on a sweater and sliding your feet into the slippers next to your bed. Walking out of the room, you didn’t spare the clock a glance, walking with a subtle determination that many wouldn’t understand.

You called it a victor’s drive. It was a certain determination that came with fighting for your life, even if it meant taking another’s. It was not wanting to kill, but doing it anyway. It was not wanting to live, but doing that, too.

There were many things a victor did not want to do.

And there were just as many things that you’d do, anyway.

A part of you didn’t know where you were going while the other part was sure of herself. Regardless, you let your body take you to where your mind didn’t want to go, making your way through the dark hallways with no sound other than your feet heard.

Before you knew it, you stood in front of the glass wall that you hadn’t seen since you first got to 13. On the other side lied Peeta, looking no better than the last time you saw him. His screams echoed throughout your brain.

Please! Stop! No-

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to block out the noise that surrounded you even in such silence. His screams quieted after a few seconds, but no matter your resilience or techniques the doctor taught you, no matter what, you’d never be able to silence your song.

There was a time when you almost believed that you could escape it, the music. When Finnick and you were pretending, it felt like you could really have it, a family, like one day it would be more than pretending. But now you knew that wasn’t possible.

This song would never skip.

And you’d be dancing until the day you died.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with blue ones staring back at you, as if he knew you were there. You took in a sharp breath, scared, but maintained your stare. His hair looked shorter and more unkept than you’d ever seen it. It wasn’t so gold anymore.

Peeta’s eyes were blue, but not blue like Finnick’s. They were bright like the sky and full of a childlike innocence that you no longer saw. His eyes weren’t so bright anymore.

He looked like a ghost.

And maybe that’s what you looked like, too.

Without thinking, you went for the door, pulling the handle only for it to remain still. You furrowed your brows, trying again with the same outcome. That’s when you saw the pin pad on the side and realized that it was locked.

Of course, it was. They weren’t gonna leave Peeta Mellark in a room by himself with the door unlocked. Not this Peeta.

This Peeta had to be strapped down to the bed because his one and only objective was to kill the woman he loved. This Peeta wasn’t the same Peeta you met at the parade.

This wasn’t him at all.

With that realization, you turned around, letting his eyes burn into your skull as you walked away. You weren’t sure of anything, but what you were sure of was that you couldn’t be alone right now. If you listened to the music by yourself right now, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Your feet pitter-pattered against the floor in quick motions. You didn’t know where you were going, just that you needed to find Johanna. If you couldn’t talk to Peeta, then you needed to talk to her.

Suddenly, you turned a corner and went tumbling to the ground. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the fall, but it never came. Slowly, you opened them and the first thing you saw were another set of blue eyes, not bright or vibrant, but your favourite colour.

Finnick.

Your heart sped up. Suddenly, you could feel that the hands on your arms were his. Suddenly, you realized you were in Finnick Odair’s arms.

You think he only just realized that, too.

He cleared his throat, helping you up and letting you go. As soon as his hands were no longer on your skin, you felt cold. You felt just as cold as when the two of you were in the Capitol, standing outside together.

Except, now, you couldn’t hold each other like you did then.

Even if it was the one thing you wanted more than anything in the world.

Your breath got caught in your throat as you realized just how close he was. He was right there, in front of you.

You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.

Right here.

And not at all at the same time.

He looked at you quietly, not saying a word, but after so long, you’d learned to read Finnick well. He looked like he had so much to say but couldn’t find the words to put them in. He looked like how he looked that night, that night that you were in the Capitol and that poor boy and girl died, that night that you kissed for the first time.

But as you looked at him, really looked at him, he also looked nothing like the Finnick you knew. You’d avoided looking into his eyes ever since you got to 13, in fear of what you’d see, and now that you finally were, you could see that his eyes weren’t so lively anymore. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Could you ever?

“What are you-” he cleared his throat again, “What are you doing up?”

At his question, you diverted your eyes, suddenly finding the floors much more interesting to look at. “I, um, I couldn’t sleep,” you reasoned. You didn’t explain why.

“Yeah, neither could I,” he muttered back, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t explain, either.

There was a time when you’d seek him out if you couldn’t sleep, a time when you’d go to him if you had a nightmare. That wasn’t possible anymore.

If you danced with him, you didn’t know if he’d be enough to keep you from collapsing.

If you danced with him, you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to keep going.

After a beat of silence, you spoke, “I should, um… I should get going now.”

You moved to leave, but Finnick grabbing onto your wrist stopped you. You masked your flinch, not because someone was touching you anymore, but because of who that person was. Your skin ignited so hot that it burned.

“Wait, can-” he hesitated, “can we talk?”

Your breath hitched, back still turned to him. His voice was pleading, a tone you never would’ve imagined him taking when you first met. You closed your eyes at the memory, feeling tears gather.

You wanted to say yes—oh, you always wanted to say yes to Finnick. His happiness became the only thing you strived for. You stayed with him even when you knew he loved Annie, you fought for her, you volunteered for her, you pretended you were okay, you pretended you didn’t love him, you pretended all the time.

But you couldn’t pretend anymore.

A nation was counting on you. People were counting on you. People needed you.

You couldn’t fall apart right now. And if you talked to Finnick, you weren’t sure you’d be able to put yourself back together again.

“I-” your voice cracked, “I can’t-”

“Please. Please, Y/N, I just need to talk to you.” You shook your head, holding in the sobs that were begging to escape.

Why was he doing this to you? Why, why, why, why, why, why-

“Please.”

Y/N, please. I’m just asking you to trust me. Please just trust me.

Trust you to do what?

I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please. Trust me.

I trust you.

You would die for this man. You died for this man. And if it came down to it, you’d die again if it meant that he’d get to live in a better world. But you couldn’t talk to him now.

If you talked to him, then it didn’t matter what the Capitol would throw at you, what bullets you’d take. Those eyes would drown you.

You couldn’t do this. Not now.

“No.” You removed your hand from his grasp and walked away as fast as you could, even as your feet felt anchored to the ground, each step hurting more and more. You didn’t turn back once.

The tears that you held in fell as you walked away, running down your face like a waterfall. You walked faster and faster until your walk escalated into a run. The door to your room slid open before you ran in, locking it as it closed. You slid down the metal and let out a sob, more and more following it.

Your hands went over your ears, trying to block out the music, but it only got louder and louder.

No, no, nothing is okay!

We will never be free, Y/N.

Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Hunger Games.

Mom?

President Snow used to sell me.

We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear.

May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.

You screamed in agony, nearly ripping your hair out, uncaring if anyone heard you. Your body shook with sobs and your heart ached. It hurt so bad. You never thought it could hurt this bad.

You didn’t wanna dance anymore. You didn’t wanna feel like this anymore. You didn’t wanna feel anymore at all if this was all it’d feel like.

But it didn’t matter. How you felt didn’t matter. What you wanted didn’t matter. It stopped mattering the second you won those Games, the second you stabbed that boy. You stopped being a person and became the person Snow wanted you to be. You became the Princess.

And now it was your job to make sure there wouldn’t ever be another Princess, another you, another Finnick, another Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Haymitch, Annie, Bay—it was your job to make sure this never happened to anyone again, that there would never be another group of kids that were forced to kill each other and themselves in the process. It was your job to make sure nobody else ever felt how you felt right now.

As you reminded yourself of that, your sobs gradually subsided and your heart rate came down. You weren’t okay.

But you had to be. You still had things to do- dancing to do.

You were gonna dance one last time, for this country, for all the kids that died, for the kids you were, for the kids you could’ve had, for yourself, and for the man that you loved. You were gonna dance until you couldn’t anymore. You were gonna dance until the music stopped. And amidst all the unknown, one thing was certain.

The day the music died, so would you.

It’s the things we love most, that destroy us.

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darkmold · 1 year

Note

could I request yandere cato hadley hcs?

Yandere!Cato Hadley HCs

Warnings: typical yandere behavior (obsession, possessiveness, etc.), Cato is a spoiled douche who tries to force you to marry him, tried to make Reader gender-neutral but lemme know if I gendered something

Cato is a lot to handle. Being from District 2, his life has been fairly easy and he views aggression and dominance as honorable traits

He trained for the games since he was a kid, and takes his goal very seriously. His obsession probably began because he saw you as a rival. Cato is extremely competitive, and didn’t take kindly to being one-upped. You were his motive for getting stronger, and eventually you invaded his thoughts more and more often.

His frustration towards you became fascination. He’s arrogant, and the thought of someone being half as great as him is mind-boggling. He begins thinking of ways to impress you, starts subconsciously looking for you in crowds, and even looks for ways to establish some sort of dominant role over your life.

Cato is a jerk, but he knows how to turn on the charm when he needs to. When his feelings become romantic (his twisted version of romance at least), he lays it on thick. Brings you all sorts of gifts. Nice and practical gifts that, despite your stubbornness, do make your life easier. Ex: new shoes that are just a tad more expensive than the old pair (he’s gotta show he’s “better” than you financially ofc)

The next stages could go one of two ways; you willingly go out with him, or you refuse and provoke his utter douche-ness

Option One: you willingly date him

He may actually prefer to call this “courting” or something else that implies a much more serious relationship

He asks you out in a very nonchalant way, however. He brings up how similar you both are maybe complimenting you but don’t hold your breath and suggests that it would be mutually beneficial to partner up (I imagine he’d phrase it similarly to forming an alliance in the games. His entire life is focused on that shit)

Anyway, he’s over the moon when you say yes. Just be aware that this is a “no backsies” kind of situation. He immediately tells everyone whats going on between you and makes it very difficult to change your mind.

At this point, you’re probably a bit uncomfortable with his behavior but still think you can get through to him somehow and fix him up (spoiler: you can’t)

Option Two: you reject him

He’s pissed. Point blank.

Every positive thought he had about you is gone, but the obsession remains. The rejection solidifies his belief that you are below him.

He’s not gonna let a weak embarrassment of a person hold him back from the plans he’s built these past months. In his meltdown, he spills every idea he’s had for the two of you

He’s been training so hard to win this shit, just for you. Weak, pathetic, adorable you. So he can come back as a victor and bring honor to his district. So he can come back and marry you! How could you not want that?

I imagine that Cato’s family has some kind of foothold in District 2’s community, so it wouldn’t be hard to keep you under his thumb even after you refuse him. Wether that be through social isolation, threatening people who help you, or direct abduction is up to you.

The day of the reaping, you get dressed together. He chooses your clothes to compliment his, sits silently at the breakfast table as you both eat, and stops you at the door before you head to the square.

With your wrist in a tight grasp, he pries your hand open and gives you a plain golden ring. It’s proud and foreboding; like the man who gave it to you. He tells you that when he gets back, you’ll be his. Forever.

You can only hope for a deadly miracle in that arena.

#the hunger games x reader #yandere the hunger games #yandere hunger games #cato hadley x reader #yandere headcanons #tw.yandere

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calaisreno · 5 months

Text

Yes and No

“Do you love her?”

It had taken them less than thirty minutes to go from the Rizla game to just asking each other random questions. The only celebrities that Sherlock knew were nineteenth-century chemists and twentieth-century criminals, which had more or less spoiled the game, and Sherlock had declared it pointless.

Then he suggested Yes or No, which at least required some deductive reasoning, and John agreed. But Sherlock was very good at this game, having deduced nearly everything about John in the first days of their acquaintance. Without asking any question, he deduced that John would choose violin, a human liver, Mrs Hudson’s nephew, and Sherlock’s old mouse-coloured dressing gown.

John gives up. “Fine. What don’t you know about me?”

Do you love her is a real question, he gathers— from the look on Sherlock’s face, which is serious and a bit sad.

The answer, which should be yes, of course I love her, instead comes out, “I’m marrying her.”

“People marry for reasons other than—“ Sherlock stops, appearing to realise he is going in a direction that can only lead to bad feelings. “Sorry, not a fair question. Better: When did you know that you loved her?”

He remembers grief. The intense pain of the days after he saw Sherlock die on the sidewalk in front of Barts. There are few details he can recall after that moment. It was as if the pain had receded just enough to let him breathe, and a kind of grey fog had descended. Pain, then sorrow.

Somewhere during the sorrow part, Mary had appeared. She may have been there sooner, but he hadn’t noticed. At some point he became aware of her bringing him coffee, talking to him, urging him to come out for lunch. Always there, cheerfully bullying him back into life. Eventually he noticed that he wasn’t quite as sad, and that she was rather pretty.

But the pain was still there, a tender spot in his memory, and most days he still felt defeated. Mary helped, though, and he thought that if she stayed, everything would be easier. He didn’t need to explain; she understood. He could keep the memories at bay when she was around.

By then he was having sex with her. He didn’t remember exactly how that had begun. Maybe it was a pity fuck one night when he’d had too much to drink. He woke up in her bed hungover, waiting for the darkness to descend like a weight on his chest, and she was there, making him a cup of tea, urging him to have some toast, sweetly solicitous and not accepting any excuses.

Does he love her?

Sherlock is still looking at him, the question in his eyes.

“She was there when I needed someone,” he says. “I just knew.”

He’d known that morning that he needed to move on, to leave what had happened in the past and live his life. And there she was.

“Your turn,” Sherlock says.

John thinks of all the things he’s ever wanted to know about Sherlock, but has never asked because it has never seemed a good time. Sherlock has a way of warding off questions with just a look. An armour that does not allow anyone in, not even John. He’s wondered about a lot of things, but asking has never been an option. Sherlock never has to ask; he simply deduces. John is terrible at deductions, as Sherlock often reminds him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Twice.”

“That was a yes-no question, so I get follow-up. So, the first. Who was he?”

Sherlock smiles. “You’re assuming it was a man.”

“Wasn’t it? I thought… you’re… erm…”

“Gay? Yes, I am.”

“You loved a man,” John says. Obviously.

“Well, a boy. I was twelve. I suppose it wasn’t love so much as infatuation and hormones. His name was Victor. I never told him until I met him again at uni.” He gives John one of those looks that makes him feel like he is being x-rayed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”

“I’m not gay,” he says at once. “I mean, why would I kiss a man if I knew I wasn’t gay?”

“Follow-up question, then. When did you know you were not gay?”

John’s mouth may have been open for a bit. It’s an odd question. Everybody knows they’re straight until something happens and they know they’re not. Isn’t that the way it works? “I just knew. When did you know you were gay?”

“When I was twelve. I was at a stupid birthday party my mother made me attend, and we were playing Forfeit. I was asked a question I didn’t like to answer and took the forfeit. Up until then the penalties were stupid things like singing a song or doing a dance, but this time it was kissing a girl. The girl was willing, and I was curious, so I agreed. That was when I realised girls weren’t my cup of tea, so to speak. I wanted to kiss Victor.”

John says nothing, though it’s his turn. He remembers a similar party, a boy who wanted to kiss him, and feeling terrified that his parents would find out if he did. Harry had just come out, and he was trying very hard to make up for all of her shortcomings.

Sherlock asks, “How do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never kissed a man?”

“I’ve kissed lots of women,” he replies. “I don’t need to kiss a man to know I’m not gay.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I assumed that I was like everyone else, that some day I would meet the right girl, get married, and have children. That was how it was supposed to work, and I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t like girls that way. All my fantasies were about boys, but I thought I would eventually be attracted to girls as I got older. That kiss told me I would never love a woman.”

“You think I should kiss a man just to see if I’m a bit gay?” He laughs.

“It’s your forfeit, for not having an answer.”

“I’m not going to kiss some random bloke just because you—“

“Not a random bloke. Me. Kiss me.”

This is dangerous ground. Somewhere in his libido lies something that he’s thought about. Maybe he’s even fantasised about kissing a man. Having sex with a man. Just a lark, maybe. Don’t lots of men go through that? It doesn’t mean anything.

But, Sherlock. He lived with him for a year and a half, and they’d been friends. And he grieved when Sherlock died. Not grieved like a friend. He’d lost friends before, and this was nothing like those losses. Pain, darkness, unending regret. Even after Mary, some of that darkness remained. Moments when he remembered something Sherlock had said or done, a stab of pain. If it hadn’t been for Mary—

And it came to him. Mary was balm for his wounds. She brought him back from the edge. He is grateful to her. But gratitude isn’t love. Being in such pain for so long, and then a bit of light— that isn’t love, it’s relief. He’s seen patients in physical pain become almost giddy when given a dose of something that takes their agony away, not even enough to make them high. Relief feels like intoxication when pain has gone on so long.

If it hadn’t been for Mary, he would have understood what he’d only begun to see. She helped him, saved him even. But she was a distraction from the pain, not a cure.

He glances at Sherlock, who is pulling back, looking like he wishes he hadn’t just asked for a kiss. Maybe he’ll make a joke about their game, move them towards goodnight, goodbye, see you at the wedding.

“Yes,” he says. It’s an answer to everything— regret, grief, sorrow, love. It’s an apology for not seeing sooner, for the night at the Landmark, for his anger and cruel rejection of the man he has loved for years. “Kiss me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Sherlock is right. The kiss tells John things he’s tried hard to forget. It tells him that has loved men before, but called it friendship, that he has wanted to touch men and kiss them, and called it lust, or fantasy, or a phase that all men go through. Women attract him too, and he grabbed onto heterosexuality like a life-raft because he was afraid of the alternative. His sister and his father, yelling. Harry thrown out of the house. His father, looking at him, saying not you too. Never you, my boy.

The kiss tells him that has already met the love of his life.

“I need to call Mary,” he says when they break away.

Sherlock looks sad. He nods. “Of course.”

“One more question,” John says. “Who was the second person you loved?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says. “I’m about to call my fiancee and break our engagement just days before the wedding because I’m in love with my best friend. So please, answer the question.”

Sherlock’s face does something John has never seen. It crumples and tears fill his eyes, and then he’s laughing and crying and not able to speak.

John kisses him again.

Author note: This is an old ficlet, from Trifles, posted here.

#my fics #johnlock #bbc sherlock #stag night #sign of three #fixit fic

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lawrites · 5 months

Text

Sweet Thing (NSFW)

Gotham Victor Zsasz x Plus Size! Female Chef Reader

(Honestly is this kinda pwp that resulted from the once scene where Zsasz doesn't get a cupcake, making me feel sad and want to give him one?? Yeah...yeah maybe. Also @finniestoncrane and @riddle-me-ri have made me obsessed with Gotham rogues again so...thanks for that and for inspiring me to write again. 💙💙)

Warnings: some weight insecurities on the readers part (listen I have them so I'm writing them, shush), descriptions of reader's body, Zsasz probably being ooc, smut!!!!

It was...strange...in a way, this relationship you may or may not have with Victor Zsasz. You both work for Oswald Cobblepot, you as his private chef/patisserie and him as...well...one of the most dangerous killers in Gotham. It started when he scared you half to death the first time he snuck into your kitchen in the Cobblepot residence.

You were carefully simmering something on the stove, stirring and scraping the edges to make sure nothing burned, and you turned around to grab some salt only to see a man all in black staring at you from across the kitchen island, obviously well-armed.

You screamed and dropped the salt, of course. It's Gotham and you work for THE Penguin. You assumed the worst. But he just raised one eyebrow and smirked at you, his expression surprisingly...goofy for someone with at least 4 guns on him in plain sight. "Oh, no need to worry. I'm Victor Zsasz, we share the same boss."

You remember nodding, being immediately comforted as you did recognize the name. "Oh! Oh, I apologize for the reaction, Mr. Zsasz." You did your best to smile back shakily, which only made him grin wider. But then he looked behind you and raised his eyebrows, which reminded you where you were and what you were doing. You let out a slightly undignified squeak as you turned back to your reduction in worry, trying to see if anything had burned when you stopped stirring.

Relief flooded you when it was still perfect, and you called over your shoulder, "So what brings you to my Kitchen, Mr. Zsasz?" Waiting a few beats, you were met with silence, so you snuck a glance behind you only to see that he had left just as quietly as he came.

And that was the first time you encountered one of Gotham's finest killers.

Since then, you interacted with him at least once a week, if not every day, in almost the exact same fashion. He would quietly show up, (possibly trying to scare you again), stay for a bit to watch you cook, and then leave just as quietly. You started talking with him to pass the time, being met with vague, cryptic responses laced with occasional names for you. "Sweetheart" seemed to be his go-to, but he also loved "Honey." It was a bit awkward in the beginning...

"So Mr. Zsasz..."

"Sweetheart, call me Victor."

"Oh! Ok...Victor...any hobbies??"

"...crochet, actually."

...but you got into a rhythm eventually. Sometimes you would ask him for a prepped ingredient, a spice, or a measuring spoon if your hands were full.

You have convinced yourself that he must be trying to scare you again, because he loves quietly sliding up behind you and brushing up against your arms as he hands it to you with a softly whispered, "Whatever you say, Chef."

It DID make you let out another squeak the first time, which was met with a deep chuckle from him, but after that it started to create a different reaction. Your cheeks would flame as you would take the item you asked for--the cute names, his slight most likely accidental touches...all of them affecting you.

You do your best to tamper it down each time, not allowing yourself to even start down the path of hope. Being obviously bigger than what lots of men find attractive due to society's standards means that you have either met mainly men who were desperate or mean. It's not your fault, you sometimes really dig your body, you just can't seem to find anyone else who does.

You have no idea why he visits, but his conversations make your day better, so you don't want him to stop. And he doesn't seem to be showing up to frighten or taunt you anymore...you just don't want to let yourself believe that he would be into you. A tiny voice that you think is your conscience pipes up and says he also kills people for fun and profit, but you just remind it that you're in Gotham and honestly you could do worse.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts a bit, you glance down at the oven. It's later in the day for you, after dinner has been done, and you are prepping desserts for tomorrow. Oswald has requested cupcakes, for some reason, so you are watching them to make sure they don't burn. Easy as they are to make, it wouldn't do to have the Penguin himself angry at you for any reason.

Taking out the tray, you check to make sure they are fully cooked before letting them cool and prepping the frosting. Humming along to the radio and swaying a bit, your thoughts drift back to Victor. He usually would have stopped by before this time, which means you probably won't be seeing him today. It does make your heart fall a bit, but you remind yourself that it shouldn't because he is just a...friend? Coworker? "Possible cryptid??" Your tiny conscious supplies.

You giggle to yourself as you imagine Victor creeping around the woods with Mothman. Shaking your head, you finish placing the frosting in your piping bag only to turn around and feel it slip from your fingers as the form of Victor appears closer than you would have expected. He catches the bag and grins at you, his usual serious countenance turning into something softer as he says "Woah, Chef, wouldn't want your hard work to go to waste."

You place a hand on your forehead, catching your breath a bit as your heart slows down, "Yeah, it's almost like someone showed up out of nowhere and scared me." You grin back at him "But I know that's nowhere near what you meant to do, right?"

His eyes shine with mischief, "Oh, of course not Honey. You're so sweet it forces me to be on my best behavior around you."

He hands you back your frosting with an exaggerated bow and cheesy grin. You roll your eyes but can't disguise your blush as you take it from him, "Victor, you know you don't have to flatter me if you want a cupcake."

He stands up straight, his eyes showing shock. "Me? Get a cupcake?"

Confused by his excitement, you respond with a question in your voice, "Of course??"

He seems almost shy, a word you would never have used to describe him before, and rubs the back of his head. "Oh...it's just...you've never offered before..."

You think back through the past few months, each and every encounter...and then you slap yourself on the forehead, "Oh Victor, I've been holding out on you haven't I? I'm sorry, I should have given you something even the first time you stopped by. I've been remiss in my duties as a Chef."

His shocked face turns softer, but some other emotion that you can't place is also present. "While I can't disagree, as I was definitely hoping something was on offer that day, I can't blame you. I remember thinking what you have was too sweet for a killer like me."

Walking up to your cooled cupcakes on the kitchen island, you scoff at him even though you are secretly preening at his words. As you start to carefully create a swirl of frosting, you respond, "Victor, I'm not THAT sweet." You turn for just a second to wink at him, returning to your previous task to avoid seeing his reaction. "And I'm not sure why you kept coming down here when I wasn't even feeding you! That's usually the only way I make my friends, killers or not."

As you finish the swirl with a flick of your wrist, you see him walk into your field of view across the counter. Feeling proud of how perfect it is, you add the final touch, a perfectly prepped red rose made of icing, and align it just so. And then...after all that work...you gladly pick it up and gently offer it to Victor.

There is a hunger in his eyes, and you wonder how you had managed to not die for the past few months if a cupcake could do this to him. He should have rightly torn you to pieces to get to the apple cider macarons you made last week.

He plucks the cupcake from your hands and examines it, turning it to and fro. "Very nice, Chef, as always." He grins and unwraps the dessert, barely hesitating before taking a big bite out of it. His eyes widen and then close in what you assume is enjoyment. Your suspicions are confirmed only a second later when he actually moans at the taste, swallowing heavily and letting out a soft, "Fuck." Your traitorous eyes trace down the length of his neck almost involuntarily.

Trying to disguise your heavier blush that is most likely down to your chest at this point, you quickly look down to the rest of the cupcakes and focus on decorating them instead of the images racing through your mind. Your pride at your work won't let you keep quiet though, so you have to comment on his reaction. "I don't know if I've had a better reaction to my food before. I'll have to remember to make even better stuff for you later."

You don't see his reaction, but you see him set the rest of the cupcake on the counter after a beat of silence and begin to move slowly towards you out of the corner of your eye. "You would make me, of all people, better stuff?" He takes another step, "Not just discards from the boss's requests?"

You smile, but continue to look down at your icing work. "Your wish is my command! I love making desserts for my..."

Just a moment of hesitation, an instance. You implied that Victor was your friend earlier, but would that be appropriate by his standards? Is he even your friend? And you know that even that would be a lie, coming from you. But as your thoughts race, you feel a firm hand lift up your hand and take the icing bag away, setting it gently on the counter. Then Victor grips into your soft arms and physically turns you towards him, all while you stay silent in shock.

He is staring at you again, but this time with a more guarded expression. "For...who? What am I to you?"

You are stunned and stumble over your words, not expecting his question, "I-I don't know, Victor, I like to think t-that you are at least my f-friend at this point, but I totally understand if you don't think we are there yet. I mean...I do enjoy your company..."

You feel his hands grip a bit harder at your arms, effectively cutting you off, "...And is that all you want from me, Sweetness? Are you sure?"

Your mind is screaming at you, and your heart as well. Both at war with each other. He can't like you that way, but maybe he's noticed your reactions. Why wouldn't he? He's trained to kill, he probably notices everything about you.

He's just trying to put a stop to this before it gets further, your mind screams.

"I-I..." you find yourself unable to form words, a panic rising inside you. You don't want to lose some of the only company you have during your shifts...some of your only company in general, in Gotham. It is near impossible to determine if anyone is trustworthy when working for the Penguin. You usually find yourself walking directly home from work, and having civil conversations with neighbors at most.

It is even more difficult to keep that panic at being alone again from continuing when his dark eyes keep constant contact with yours, never wavering. You can see now how people are terrified of him. All of that focus that he usually uses against his enemies, his...targets...all aimed at you. It makes your mind fuzzy, cloudy. You struggle to think of any words, let alone the ones you need.

But, you decide it would be easier to speak if you weren't looking at him. So you allow yourself to look at your shoes instead. He will be able to tell if you lie, with or without eye contact. There are better liars than you in Gotham that he has matched and ended.

Alternatively...leaving isn't wise, either. It would lead to the same outcome as lying. With a quick breath to steady yourself, you know your only course is to admit whatever you feel.

"I...I don't think I can lie to you, whether or not the both of us want me to. I have thought of...more...with you. But if that makes you uncomfortable, I entirely understand. I know I'm not what most..."

He again cuts off your rapid-fire words by putting a singular finger under your chin to raise your face until it is looking at him. His eyes are searching yours as your heart pounds in your chest with anguish over your confession, and you wait. Seeming to find what he was looking for, you hear him mutter "Fuck, finally," and then he slams his lips into yours.

Shocked, you don't react for a few beats...but then you start to move your lips against his. His hands have moved from your chin and arm, both going to your wide hips. He groans as they sink into the soft flesh you have there, pulling you closer until you are flush with his front. The feel of your soft belly connecting with his slight frame makes you pause and short-circuit, your lips hesitating. He notices and breaks from the kiss.

"I-I...Victor..." his hands release you, a more worried expression taking over his face.

"Sweetheart, is it too much?" He takes a gloved hand and gently sweeps your hair behind your ear, then cups your face to make sure you keep looking at him...gently, though. His hands are more gentle than you expected.

Damn him and his need for eye contact right now. And damn his gentle hands while you're at it. "No, that was wonderful, truly. I loved it." You do your best to show him honesty. "I-I just...oh God...I don't know how to phrase this."

His eyes don't leave yours, and one of his thumbs starts to sweep against your soft cheek.

Taking a deep breath, you muster up some strength of will. Either way this will be over soon. "I just...I'm big."

He nods as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, "Yeah, Honey, I know." One hand stops cupping your face and moves down to lightly trace your hip.

Sighing at his inability to see, you continue, "So-so...most people don't like that I'm bigger, or that I have a belly, and I'm just nervous that..."

"That I'm most people?" Victor stops gently cupping your face and instead forcefully uses his hand to bring you closer, "Sweetness, I'm Gotham's finest killer, I'm not most people."

And then he slams his lips into yours again, and you find that you don't care to think anymore. His hand drifts from your chin to your throat, gently gripping there for now as he starts to walk you back until your ass is pressed right against the island. He tears his lips from yours, both of you catching your breath, and his other hand moves from your hip to your ass.

His hand traces the excess flesh that spills over the counter and he groans, squeezing it and leaning forward to whisper in your ear, "I've been thinking about getting to dig my hands into this perfect ass ever since I saw you in the kitchen that first day." His thumb on your throat starts to stroke up and down, feeling you swallow and moan at his words.

His grin is back, "That's right, sweetness, let me hear you." His hand moves away from your throat so he can start to trace down your neck with his teeth, but in between bites he continues to talk. "Been wanting to hear the noises you might make for me since then too." He pulls back to give you a dangerous smile, "Do you really think I kept sneaking up on you to scare you?"

Your voice is a bit strained, but sure, as you reply plainly, "Yes." But then a smirk stretches over your lips and your eyes light up with mirth at your tease.

His dangerous smile softens just slightly, and he chuckles, "You DO know me well, then." He hides his face in your neck once more, his hands gripping your ass harder as he presses himself into your front. You feel how hard he is against you just as he bites down on the juncture at your shoulder, and it makes you let out an involuntary whimper, your smirk disappearing.

"Just like I've heard in my fucking dreams for the past few months." He pants against your skin, grinding against your center and licking at the bite he just made. Surprisingly, instead of continuing his trail like you expected, he stops, sniffing at the part he just attended to, and almost lets out a choked sound.

"So fucking sweet." He pulls back, and you see some of the desperation in his eyes. "Your scent, your fucking baking." His eyes close, "Sweetness seems to follow you around, seeping into everything you touch."

He turns you around gently and places your back to his front, settling his chin on your shoulder and speaking softly. "You know, I was planning on just sneaking down that first day, annoying the boss's baker like all the others that came before." He nuzzles his nose against your skin, "...stealing something that wasn't mine."

His hands begin to wander, the first one moves lightly across your collarbone, making you shiver, while the other weaves across your front, hugging you to him and digging into your soft side. The hand that traced your collarbone slowly starts to trail down, arriving at your breasts. His touch stays light. "Maybe I would find some of that excess that others are loath to give me." He breathes in sharply along with you as he squeezes your breast, almost unable to keep himself from doing so. "I can't even fit all you have to give me in my hand, pretty Chef."

Shaking his head, resolving himself, he continues his previous train of thought. "Imagine my surprise when I encountered what I already told you was the perfect ass, still able to be seen through these awful chef clothes you wear." A hint of disdain makes its way into his voice as he pinches your loose work shirt.

Releasing the fabric and smoothing it over, his hand joins the other around your front, almost sweetly hugging you to him with a light grip. He breathes in as he forces himself to slow down so he can speak. "The way you spoke...so unsure, but still trying to be polite even to me."

He pushes himself against you again, as if to remind yourself where you are even with his shockingly sweet words. "And your sweet voice calling me Mr. Zsasz..." His hands dig into your plush stomach, pushing you back but also making you wince again.

He doesn't allow your doubts to get to you, his blunt words stopping them in their tracks, "I had to run out of the room to fuck my own hand as it echoed in my mind."

A bolt of heat goes straight to your core and you moan, grinding your ass against him. A hitch in his breath, and then he whispers into your neck "Yes, I knew you had it in you, good girl. So desperate, hmm?"

You nod, holding back a whine at his praise and trying not to get too heated at work. At work! Suddenly you remember where you are. Slowing yourself down, you reach for his hands and gently pry at them. To his credit, they loosen instantly. Turning around to look at him again, you catch his own blush, his chest rising and falling, his eyes dark...but also saddened by the loss of you against him.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry if I went too far. You don't owe me anything..." His voice is breathy as he now desperately spits out words, "...not cupcakes or yourself or..."

You now hold up a finger to his lips, shushing him. His eyes widen, darken even more, and then look almost dangerous again. Filing his reaction away for later, you saunter over to where he left his cupcake from before, making sure to sway your hips for him. "I know I don't owe you."

You turn around with the cupcake held right in the palm of your hand. "I would be happy to give you whatever you want." He seems almost dazed as he approaches you, leaning down to your hand. With a nod from you, he leans forward and licks through the icing, holding eye contact the whole time.

Your heartbeat stutters and you almost forget where you were again. Damn him and his tongue now, too. Taking a shuddering breath, you finish your thought. "But we are both at work, unfortunately." His eyes fall and he pouts. It's almost adorable to see the serious, dangerous man so...cute??

"Luckily for you..." His eyes perk up instantly. You roll your eyes and your free hand points to the ground. "Down, boy."

He licks his lips in response.

"L-luckily for you, I was just thinking about leaving the rest of the icing for tomorrow." He relaxes his pose and plucks the cupcake from your hand, happily moving to sit at a chair and gesturing for you to do your cleanup.

You begin, only to stop when you hear his voice again. "Sweetness...how long would it take you to make another batch of icing?" Connecting what he means when you notice his eyes staring at the current bag of icing resting on the counter, you pick up the pace even more.

He giggles, actually giggles, at your haste before he bites into the cupcake. "You know I have an appetite for sweet things."

---------------------------

Idk if this was great or not lol. No beta, no proof readers, barely any hint of a story line, just vibes. Also this is very "he would not say that" but let me live within my delusions. Victor Zsasz could like a sweet, plus size girl in MY French vanilla fantasy.

#lawrites #plus size reader #gotham zsasz #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz x plus size reader #x reader #gotham x reader #victor zsasz #gotham

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yoificfinder · 4 months

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Hi anon! Sorry I accidentally deleted your ask while I was in the process of making a rec list for your request because of the editing issue I have on tumblr. Fortunately, I was able to take a screenshot before deleting. And hopefully, the issue is now fixed!

Here's my rec list of canon-divergent fics where it was Victor who skated Eros/Agape:

a certain playboy by fan_nerd [G, 4K]

@v-nikiforov - The handsome playboy has returned to town. Please pay special attention to my Free Skate tomorrow. ♥♥♥

There’s no way that Victor, Yuuri’s childhood idol, could be calling Yuuri a handsome playboy, just because they’d met eyes at two skating events. Besides, a total stranger had given Yuuri the tickets. It would be totally absurd.

Yuuri frowns, turning his head on the pillow. Wouldn’t it?

catch me (i'm falling) by @spookyfoot [T, 5K]

Victor skates the saltiest Eros routine of all time and issues a call out on international television.

darling, stay by my side by jenmishe [T, 16K]

“Yuuri!” Phichit cries. “I know you have this weird insomnia thing, but for the love of god, get some sleep. Or at least turn the phone down. I know it’s after midnight there.”

“Holy shit, Phichit,” says Yuuri. “Yakov Feltsman wants to coach me.”

“Holy shit,” Phichit agrees, wide eyed.

(Or: Vicchan lives and fate is a funny thing.)

A Myriad of Possibilities by ztwilightzx [T, 92K]

“I have to go!” Yuuri blurts out. As an assistant coach, he needs to be at Minami’s interviews, even if it is Victor of all people standing right in front of him.

“Wait—” Victor says, but Yuuri has already ducked away. “Yuri!” he hears Victor call from behind him.

Yuuri doesn’t stop. He’s made that mistake before – why would Victor Nikiforov know who Yuuri is this year any more than he did last year? Yuri Plisetsky is debuting as a senior, after all, and might be here at the Cup of China to support his rinkmates.

It may be the sound of Yuuri’s name on Victor’s lips, but there is no way Victor is calling for him.

(Canon-divergence. The Nishigori triplets never upload Yuuri's rendition of Stammi Vicino online. Yuuri buys himself time to decide whether he wants to stay on the ice or retire by joining Minami Kenjirou's team as an assistant coach.

Victor never hears from the beautiful Japanese skater after Sochi. He choreographs On Love: Eros because he can’t quite let go, but it’s getting harder to push himself on the ice and the cracks are starting to show.

Two lost individuals take a different route to find love and life, but they eventually get there all the same.

same song, different dance by @crossroadswrite [T, 88K]

The line is silent for a moment, as Yuuri stands there, fingers getting progressively colder as he hears Minako breathe in his ear, not really willing to hang up first.

“The Grand Prix is just around the corner,” Minako says, her tone almost wistful.

He breathes out slowly to steady himself. “It is.”

“… Are you going to watch it?”

Yuuri shouldn’t. He knows it’ll feel awful to watch everyone he knows trying their best at something he loves when he can’t anymore. But it’s Phichit’s first year in the Grand Prix, and Victor’s competing, so…

“Of course,” he says, and is proud of how steady his voice comes out. He doesn’t know if it’s a lie or not.

(Or: in which Yuuri's Stammi Vicino skate never gets posted and he retires, Victor keeps himself skating for better or for worse, Yuri struggles with his debut, and missed opportunities have a way of righting themselves.)

Other recs are welcome!

---

ETA: Other people's rec:

starting right now I'll be strong by @alexseanchai [T, 1k] *WIP

Enthrall by poppysocle [E, 106K]

#yoi #yuri on ice #yoi fanfic #victuuri #yoi fic rec #victor skates eros au

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a-libra-writes · 11 months

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Do you have any more headcanons for our darling Rocky? Romantic, general or whatever. I think that whenever he sees his s/o he has stars in his eyes and that he loves boasting about them to all of Lackadaisy (much to their annoyance; Victor is that close from throwing him out the window).

Who is your favourite character btw?

This is kind of a part 3 to my previous Rocky Romantic HCs, with these focusing more on domestic living together and family stuff! Femme and masc options included.

When Rocky starts living with you, it's an adjustment. He hasn't had a permanent home-home in nearly 10 years. There's so many things he forgot about, and things he missed dearly but tried very hard not to dwell on. And he gets to see so many new things about you - you'll catch him staring more than once as you go about your routines, from shuffling through the morning to winding down in the evening. All the things you keep on your shelves, everything smelling like you, noting all your interesting habits! It's your private world he's been invited into and he's a little obsessed. The place wouldn't need to be anything fancy, either - even in an apartment, he takes in everything like it's s gift.

(You'll find all sorts of cute notes scattered about where you'll surely find them, even if it's weeks later. Drawings, poems, love notes, song lyrics - all sorts of sweet, sappy things like that. Then there's the BIG obvious ones he leaves right on your nightstand or mirror.)

Rocky wants to be useful, of course, he always does, but his domestic skills are ...well. There's room for improvement. Cleaning and keeping up with himself is one of those things he needs to pay more attention to, and while he wants to help with the cooking, uh. Maybe hold off on that until you're sure he won't get distracted in the middle of boiling water. Also, when he does cook breakfast, there's usually a huge mess left behind ... But it's the thought that counts! He'll figure out pretty much any chore you assign him, anyway. And at this point you know how much Rocky wants to please you.

When he first moved in, there was an initial period where you two slept separately. It was only proper, especially if you're femme, buuut that went out the window within a week or two. Rocky wouldn't be the one to bring it up, but he wouldn't complain a bit if you just let him stay in your bed instead of going back to the couch or guest room. (And I mean, he looks so comfy and he loves snuggling ... are you really gonna kick him out?)

Even if you both fall asleep on opposite sides of the bed, eventually the grey tabby will migrate over to you. The clinginess doesn't stop just because he's asleep! And he either sleeps like the dead, or bolts up at the slightest noise. Most mornings Rocky is up at the near crack of dawn, antsy and ready to get on with whatever idea is rattling around in his head. Snuggling might incline him to sleep in just a little longer - or maybe he'll just soak up the comfy bed, sunny morning and loved one next to him. It's a very quiet and still peace that takes some getting used to.

If you're femme - happy as he is to go on about how wonderful you are to others, he doesn't breathe a word of it to his aunt. He might actually be skinned alive if Nina catches a whiff of him "living in sin".

If you're masc, y'alls domestic life is probably closer to a "bachelor pad" than some suburban bliss, but it's still homey in it's own way. It's far more likely you're both sharing an apartment or row house close to the Little Daisy. Your laundry tends to get mixed up (which Rocky doesn't mind at all, even if you're much bigger than him), there's lots of late-night attempte to cook on the terrifyingly worn out gas stove and opening the window at night to let in a cool breeze and the sounds of the city. Other tenants don't may you two any mind, assuming you're family or two workers trying to save money by boarding together.

(Bonus points if y'all live in the same apartment block as Zib and his band, as if he doesn't have to deal with the nauseating lovebirds enough)

Being in a safe, stable place with a loved one can stir up some buried memories. You've probably seen Rocky despair dramatically already, but the actual crying is new. He's a noisy cryer, it's difficult for him to hide it. He'd even apologize if it woke you up, but Rocky is surprisingly comfortable with crying on you and being held, though there been a few times where he's initially resisted, feeling like he ought to hide these emotions instead. It's been so long since he had this kind of comfort, but there's still shame when he feels the tears came from out of "nowhere". Oh, there's a lot repressed there ...

And there's the whole ... getting a concussion and nearly dying bit. Initially Rocky is unaware of long-term effects of the concussion, and later willfully ignores them as long as he can. Sudden bright lights and loud noise cause twinges of pain that can snowball into a full blown migraine, something he's never had to deal with. And the first time he banged his head on a doorframe? Bam, flat on his ass. Rocky woke up resting on your lap, your frantic face hovering above him. He was only out for a few seconds but uh, still scary. Something he should be aware of and more careful about because he's sooo good at being careful...

(Small silver lining is you fuss and take care of him during the migraines but Rocky haaaates having to be still in bed. Good luck keeping him there!)

Regardless of gender, there's some potential friction with your family. You adore Rocky and are perfectly happy with him, but well, to your family ... If they're middle or upper class, associating with a destitute musician with bizarre behaviors was not in the plan for you (god forbid anyone finds out about the bootlegging and arson). No matter how well he cleans up, or is on his "best behavior", you could risk getting cut out from the family entirely. Note if you're masc, your relationship could simply be brushed aside as that "friend" of your's they don't approve of. A woman will be judged far more harshly, especially if you and Rocky are living together without being married. You can kiss any inheirtance or family support goodbye.

(Of course, being from a poorer family or not having one at all mitigates much of this drama.)

The fact you're willing to defy your family for him and defend him gets Rocky emotional all over again. It's probably not possible for him to be any more devoted to you, but now feelings of guilt will bubble up. On darker days he'll worry he's ruining someone's family relationships (again) and it'd be best if he just left.

Actually getting married to Rocky would amp that family drama even further, no matter how happy you are about it. It'd probably end up being one of those thrown-together elopements where you're both giddy and a little anxious and driving out to who-knows-where to find a priest who won't ask questions. There's no ring, but - hey, maybe a family heirloom was found. Maybe a friend lends a dress that's almost white, and you repurposed a fancy tablecloth for a veil, and Rocky is wearing a borrowed suit of Freckle's, and the bouquet is flowers you two found alongside the road.

It's slapped together and messy but also exciting and y'all are so happy in spite of everything. Rocky's grinning so much you think his face might get stuck; this isn't something he ever imagined for himself, but now that you're here, he just wants to love and be with you forever. Expect a few years. Maybe a lot. There could even be a little 'reception' at the Lackadaisy, with lots of dancing and music and everyone having to witness how blindlingly sappy you two are (as if they weren't painfully aware).

(Baby & family stuff here!)

So. If you're AFAB, the reality is you and Rocky will have one ... or several ... scares, unless you're very diligent. Look, his pull-out game is shit because he just gets so caught up in the affection and being with you. Hell, that may be what led to the elopement in the first place, spurred on by a healthy dose of Catholic guilt and maaaaybe a family member's shotgun.

Just like the whole 'Finding the Most Wonderful Love of His Life' thing, Rocky didn't think children were anywhere in his future. If any thoughts were given to it, he might assume he'd been a poor parent, because isn't he a screw-up with anything else? What example did Rocky have, anyway - a dad who basically abandoned his family when they needed him most? He does his worrying and anxiety spiralling in private, but it'd be easy for anyone to pick up on it. Of course he thinks you'll do wonderfully, but the chaotic tabby has little hope for himself.

(If you also have no idea what you're doing, congrats! It's utter chaos. And you think anyone at Lackadaisy knows what to do? Also nope! Godspeed!!)

But the thing is, Rocky is quite good with the kitten once they start crawling and exploring. He has the energy level to keep up with them, and he naturally encourages the kiddo to explore and play more. The tot being noisy or fussy or agitated doesn't faze him much; Rocky quickly picks up when they just want attention and playtime or if something is actually upsetting them. I think he'd also sing and play music to soothe them, like his mom used to do when he was restless.

(Also the three of you going out for a picnic or playing in the park and he's just! So happy!! He really had his own tiny family that loves him. He doesn't care if the kitten claws up his back when they're startled or eat grass and immediately vomit or drop their toy into the park fountain. That's his baby!)

Also, at least one (but realistically most) of his kiddos would also have ADHD. Obviously in this time period there's no recognition or diagnosis, but it's easy to notice if his kid has similar 'odd' behaviors and mannerisms. Anywhere from the hyperactivity, to fidgeting and chattering, to sudden focus on things that interest them. I think anytime his child seems to act like him, even if it's considered "misbehavior", he just melts and can't find it in himself to scold them. Rocky would generally be the forgiving, fun and permissive parent, much as his own mother was. He'd also worry about being too absent; normally no one cared when he was gone for days (or weeks ...), but now there's a little one who can't even handle him being gone for an evening. No Rocky you can't strap the kitten to your back and take them everywhere....

Notably if the kitten was neuroatypical in a different way, or disabled - either deaf, or they struggle to walk, etc, Rocky picks up on this quickly. He'd be good about thinking up accommodations or ways for them to get about the world easier, and patient, so very patient. Making up hand signs? Jury rigging a mobility aid? Recognizing when a place might be too overwhelming for the kid? Figuring out exactly which textures are upsetting for them? It may shock people how observant he is about these things - and, given the time period, he could be seen as too "indulgent". Okay he's definitely an overly indulgent parent in other ways, but in this case, Rocky is quite fixated. He's very familiar what it's like being on the outside and disregarded.

He absolutely wants to teach his kiddo music, and likes singing to them and rattling off poetry when it comes to him. The household is full of music and art in general, especially if you're artistically inclined yourself. He'll gather all sorts of unusual books to read to them (even if they're too young for it, his voice is nice to listen to). He's the parent who keeps literally anything his kid makes him and gets happy and emotional all over again when he sees it. He's also the parent who can't deny his kiddo when they've had a bad dream or are afraid of the dark ... so either he falls asleep on the couch with them, or he carries them back to y'all's bedroom.

It goes without saying that Rocky's going to continue his criminal activities. If anything, he's been spurred on even more in order to support you and the kitten, especially if this is after 1929; the kids would be growing up during the worst of the Great Depression. This could either be a point of contention between you and Rocky, if you aren't doubling down on the crime yourself.

(Personally I HC that, if he had a family to provide for, he'd 100% stay involved with crime even after Prohibition and/or the Lackadaisy is gone. What other choices are there?)

Note if you're masc and had a kiddo from a previous relationship, a lot of these HCs still apply! Rocky would still find himself bonding with them and being delighted by how much they seem to care for him. He likes noticing the mannerisms that are just like your's, and how their faces mimic your own expressions. They'd refer to him as "uncle Rocky" but sometimes they'll slip and say "papa". Which totally doesn't make him want to cry or anything.

#also rocky is my absolute fav... and he didnt start that way haha #im obsessed w him now #rocky rickaby x reader #lackadaisy x reader

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hyperfixat · 5 months

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HAIII!!! ive been browsing your blog a lot recently and i love your writing sm!!! i wanted to ask if you'd be interested in writing the brothers (+ datables, luke, and others, if youd like!) living with an mc who is obsessed with plants? like to the point where the HoL has at least a few plants in every room? idk i just think it'd be interesting to see how human world plants behave in the devildom, and if special equipment (think grow lights, nutrient rich soil, etc) would need to be involved! im also picturing mc ordering plants off of (human world) ebay and the sender being confused like "wtf who is this what is the House of Lamentation"

UAAHHH first of all i love the idea of more noticable differences in the human realm vs the devildom and the game (understandably) keeps it more toned down and appealing to the average connoisseur.

like i own a few plants and have a small garden, and they stay alive and well in my house. bcs i live on earth. But. the devildom being soooo different in terms of soil and atmosphere… delectable.

i may make more stuff involving this idea but for now..

moving on (~500 words):

It’s been a rough few weeks in the Devildom, and not for the reasons many may suspect. It’s not the literal demons, rather the environment, more specifically the death that seems to cling to the air. The atmosphere, both in and outside of the House of Lamentation is suffocating.

It’s not like a couple of house plants would fix this issue, but perhaps the placebo of having some fresh living plants from the human realm would help ease the atmosphere.

Eventually you build up the courage to knock on Mammon's door to ask about and if he could get you an indoor plant. You aren’t picky, truly. After a little discussion you leave a victor, with Mammon having assured you he’d get you the best plant he can find.

It’s a dinky thing and looks like broccoli, but you love it. It’s green, a far cry from the toxic purples and deep blues that the Devildom flora holds. It’s home.

And what is Mammon to do when he sees the look on your face when he gave you that plant, but to get you more? He’s a weak demon! (for you alone.)

The others catch on, save for Lucifer (too closed off to associate so intimately with you), and Belphegor (trapped).

It starts small, Asmo presenting you with a bundle of live herbs he had imported from the human realm, assuring that they’d help with getting your beauty sleep. Beelzebub would occasionally gnaw on some of the leaves in your room, so together you grow some lettuce, so he would avoid getting a tummy ache from the inedible plants.

While you were doing some schoolwork for RAD in the library Satan had sat across from you, a large encyclopedia in his hands, detailing all human realm plants and their care and upkeep. He explains that he noticed your interest in keeping plants and is here to offer his assistance with acquiring and maintaining your collection.

Having all the plants around really does help improve your mood. It provides a hobby and a connection to nature that cannot be replicated elsewhere.

Though you may have underestimated how much space your room has, because it’s a battlefield trying to navigate your bedroom without knocking a vase or pot over. It seems your tripping as you try and place a eucalyptus (a gift from Mammon) had gathered some attention from a hallway passerby.

Lucifer stares.

He doesn’t visit your room often, but he’s fairly certain the only human realm plant they had installed was a tree, not whatever jungle you have going on. And jungle is a bit of an understatement.

You’d roped Leviathan into helping you set up some moss and algae tanks, just to add to the green that is your room.

“This is a fire hazard, MC.”

And with that, your greenhouse of a room gets spread throughout the HoL, a few plants in each room. It is a little frustrating to have to walk the whole length of the house when you need to water them and give them the concoction Solomon mixed up for you to help the plants not wither away in the hellish environment.

#verified hyperfixat post #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #demon brothers x reader #om! x reader #om x mc #obey me headcanons #obey me headcanon #om hcs #obey me drabble #obey me demons #obey me silly

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johaerys-writes · 1 month

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hey its the anon who was asking about achilles’ characterisation in the iliad! thank you so much for your answer, it was super informative and helpful. i think i very much had the wrong interpretation because i had a classics teacher for a year before my school scrapped the subject and they basically rambled about how achilles was a rapist and awful and went against the gods etc. without really going into the nuance of everything or explaining the context of heroes. i was kind of curious about your mention of hubris though? i thought that was a Big Thing in ancient greece because placing yourself on a pedestal above the gods was a guaranteed way to get yourself smote. sorry for acting like a student bugging their favourite teacher for an answer but you really do explain things so well 😅

Hubris is a big thing in ancient greece, you're right; there are so many myths where someone does something stupid and gets their ass whooped by the gods (e.g. Perseus and Andromeda, among many others). But it isn't exclusive to Ancient Greece. In fact, the idea of hubris may have started there, but it changed throughout the years and took different forms in literary tradition. In ancient greek mythos, hubris is usually violent or dangerous behaviours, such as extreme boasting, that are ultimately punished by the gods. In that sense, hubris is external, that means the punishment comes from outside. As cultures changed and the focus shifted more on the individual, hubris started being used to denote a personality quality of excessive pride and arrogance, which are big no-no's in Christianity. So hubris gradually became more of an internal thing, a cautionary tale to make sure the faithful stay humble and are rewarded in the afterlife. In the context of stories, that often comes with personal development of some kind, such as the protagonist seeing the error of their ways and changing their behaviour, which isn't really an integral part of ancient greek mythos as a whole.

Ancient greek hubris and christian hubris often become confused, and because we are taught that hubris is SO important to greek mythos, people try all the time to fit the Homeric works into these neat little boxes. The thing is that Homer does not fit into that; Homer was strange even when the works were written. The Iliad doesn't follow the traditional formulae of stories and myths that were popular at the time, especially oral poetry: it includes emotional change but isn't a story about personal empowerment; there is complexity and nuance in all of the characters but the characters are not idealised; it is a meditation on complex social and human themes such as the connection between rage and grief; it puts mortality, not morality, at the center of the story.

It shows how vulnerable the characters are through their rage or their grief or their passions in general, but the story isn't at all about characters being punished for their hubris or wrong-doings. For example, Agamemnon technically commits hubris in the very first book of the Iliad, when he refuses to give Chryseis back to her father and Apollo gets pissed off about it. This could be considered dangerous behaviour by ancient greek standards, and the Achaeans are indeed punished for it with the plague that Apollo sends their way. However, at the end of the day Agamemnon himself does not get punished for his transgression in any way. He gets everything he wants: Achilles rejoins the fight eventually, Hector is killed, Troy is sacked, he returns to Argos a victor.

Achilles, too, could be said to have committed hubris through excessive violence, when he killed so many people he clogged up the river and then fought the god Scamander himself; and yet he isn't punished by the gods or by the narrative, he is one of the few characters (perhaps the only?) that gets a redemption arc of sorts, by returning Hector's body to Priam and treating the old man with respect, thus showing us his generosity, his integrity, and the nobility of his character once again. And that's where the Iliad ends for him. Not with his death or with him killing even more Trojans or whatever, but with a poignant and moving scene between two people on opposite sides of a war, who have lost everything and yet still find this point of connection between them.

So Homer, and especially the Iliad, breaks all of those norms when it comes to traditional storytelling, and that's why I think it's a work that still baffles and intrigues so many classicists. That's why in my previous answer I said that it's important to keep an open mind, and to try to avoid blindly applying literary criticism devices such as cause-and-effect analyses or importing modern moral judgement and anachronistic theories in works like Homer.

I hope this helped! I love talking about the Iliad so if you have any more questions I'd gladly answer them <3

P.S. WOW that professor really needs to get their facts straight lmao, I'm sorry your first contact with the Iliad and Achilles was through a lens like that. It always astounds me how little some people actually know about the subjects they're supposed to be experts in, like to talk about Achilles, a character from the ILIAD, and to refer to him as a "rapist", a thing that only appears in later Roman works which were basically ILIAD FANFIC LMAO, and BAD fanfic at that because it was essentially anti-Greek propaganda......... wow wow wow

P.S.2 unless the "rapist" thing refers to him sleeping with Briseis/a slave, which WOW once again extremely myopic take, very culturally and contextually tone deaf, I wish they actually do their research and stop spreading slander, that's slander, like come ON

#the iliad #homer's iliad #greek mythology #achilles #johaerys rambles #johaerys is physically incapable of shutting up #seriously though what IS it with all those classics teachers hating on the iliad like what gives??#what did Achilles ever do to you??? ;w;#he's a noble warrior and a beautiful princess and has never done anything wrong ever in his entire life

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jellycatstuffies · 2 years

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Autism Service Dog For Victor

This has nothing to do with Jellycats so feel free to not read: Now that I am starting university next week and never reached my goal to start the process of getting my own autism service dog I want to bring this back.

Some of you may remember my campaign to eventually be able to pay for my future service dog. I had planned to have the dog at least in training by the time I started university again, but as no charities or other support groups replied to my requests for help and I was and still am in financial trouble because of my parents not supporting me, I am forced to start school without a service dog. (this is complicated by the fact that one of my fellow students who I will have to see a lot actually has a service dog (albeit not an autism service dog) which is bittersweet and, quite honestly, heartbreaking for me)

Below is the link to my Go-Fund-Me campaign. All the money I receive through my Ko-fi will also go towards this goal.

Please consider donating or sharing on here and anywhere else you might think useful!

Thank you so much.

- Victor

PS: Due to starting university next week I may be less active on here but the queue will run as always!

#autism #autism service dog #service dog #actually autistic #autistic #autism spectrum #autistic experiences #autistic boy #service dogs

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raaorqtpbpdy · 3 months

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Haunting With Dinosaurs (2)

Danny is summoned by a powerful occult practitioner named Victor Veloci, who wants him to bring dinosaurs back to life. It sounds absurd, but Danny is bound to him and cannot refuse, even though he can't actually bring dinosaurs back to life. Instead, he merges the ghosts of five dinosaurs with the bodies of the five human sacrifices Veloci used to summon him, restoring them to life as dinosaur halfas. And that's only the beginning. I'm lowkey assuming that the majority of people who read this will not have seen Dino Squad, so I've made sure to describe all the DS elements a little more thoroughly than the DP elements so those of you who haven't seen Dino Squad can understand what's going on.

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week, Day 4: Any Fandom Dino Squad | Element

Read it on AO3 also, Watch Dino Squad on YouTube it sucks (affectionate)

Danny is slightly aged up to be 18 and a recent high school graduate, also this is a ghost king Danny AU, and obviously Phantom Planet didn't happen, but other than that, no major changes have been made to DP lore in this fic.

As for Dino Squad, I've made some pretty significant changes, but they pretty much boil down to: This is a supernatural AU, so it won't have canon-typical Dino Squad made-up science. All other changes are explained in the actual fic as they come up.

This may or may not be the last chapter, haven't decided yet, but I made sure to give it a decent ending, just in case. It is not yet edited, but will be eventually.

"Italicized dialogue" indicates speech that can only be heard in the POV character's head. (Danny in this chapter)

Chapter 2: Day of the Dinos

[No applicable warnings]

After dropping off the van and driver, Danny flew straight to the school and waited impatiently. It was a Saturday, so the only people on campus were the boys' soccer team playing practice games, the few unlucky teachers who had last-minute work to get done, and the fewer, even unluckier students who'd gotten stuck with weekend detention.

For the sake of not drawing attention to himself, he'd switched to his human form. Any time someone got close who might recognize he wasn't supposed to be there, he would duck out of sight behind the school's sign, or a tree or something. He didn't need to be mistaken for someone who was supposed to be in detention—or worse, on the soccer team.

In the 15 hours or so that he'd been in this town, Danny hadn't learned much about it. He'd learned that it was called Kittery Point, and it was in Maine, so at least he hadn't left the country. After hearing Victor's accent, he'd been a little worried that he might've been in Europe somewhere. He'd learned that he couldn't leave this town, thanks to his order not to go too far.

And he'd learned that this place was absolutely teeming with dinosaur ghosts.

It was a veritable Jurassic Park of ghost dinosaurs.

It was kind of awesome, but also kind of terrifying, because Danny had nearly been stepped on twice while he was standing in front of the school waiting, and even if they were too weak to be visible or tangible to a normal human, they could still crush Danny just fine. He wouldn't die, but it would hurt like a bitch.

He'd been waiting for half-an-hour before Rodger finally showed up.

Danny had made sure to get all their names before he'd dropped them off. Rodger was the one he'd merged with the styrofoam-saurus or whatever it was. The one that looked like a triceratops, but wasn't. Danny still hadn't figured out the difference.

"Over here!" Danny called out to him.

"Uh... do I know you?" Rodger asked. "Sorry, I can't really chat, I'm looking for—"

"The ghost king?" Danny flashed his eyes. "It's me, Danny."

"You overshadowed some poor kid?"

"No, it's me," Danny repeated. "I can take on a human form to disguise myself. I call myself Danny Fenton in the form. Get it? 'cause it sounds like—"

"Phantom, yeah, I get it."

Back home, Danny couldn't really use his human form as a disguise, since even as a human he was fairly famous locally for his association to his parents, who were regularly in the news, especially the traffic report. It was pretty convenient to be a nobody, all told.

Rodger immediately tried to get answers out of him, of course. He seemed like the inquisitive type. He was obviously the smart one of the group. Not that the others weren't smart, but it was a type, and he met all the requirements.

"Please, be patient," Danny said. "Once everyone is together, I'll explain things to all of you at once, and you can all ask your follow-up questions. I don't want to have to keep repeating myself for each of you guys, okay? Sound fair?"

Rodger begrudgingly allowed it.

Danny had to go through basically the same conversation again when Max and then Fiona showed up, and again with Caruso.

Danny liked Caruso. He was cute when his face wasn't all busted up, and it turned out he was pretty funny too. Now that he'd showered, gotten dressed in new clothes, and put a little product in his hair, he was downright gorgeous. He looked classy too. Not a lot of teenagers wore their skinny jeans with a dress shirt and tie, but Caruso made it work.

Oh, Ancients was he staring? Danny, stop staring!

"So you can shapeshift," Caruso summed up. "That's convenient."

They had to wait a little while longer before Buzz showed up. He strolled up to them wearing brown combat boots, green cargo pants covered in patches and safety pins, and a tie-dyed muscle shirt with the logo of a band Danny had never heard of. Now, with all the piercings, and punk accessories, the mohawk made a lot more sense.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "I almost didn't come. I thought it might be better not to know what was going on and just try to move on, but this voice squawking in my head is really annoying."

"Does it want fish?" Fiona asked.

"Yes! Yours too?"

"She literally won't shut up about it."

"Mine is also complaining about having to walk everywhere and calling me stupid and inferior for nor being able to fly," Buzz added. "Anyone else? No?"

They all shook their heads.

"Awesome."

"It's so weird seeing you without the battle jacket," Caruso commented.

"Well, you'd better get used to it because that thing is toast. Literally."

"Right... sorry."

"Alright, our ride should be out any minute now," Danny said, checking the clock on the front of the school building.

As if on cue, the very woman he was waiting for walked out the front entrance and he waved at her. Joanne Moynihan, a bespectacled, gray-haired, Irish science teacher at the very same high school these kids happened to attend, and she was the second velociraptor who'd survived the extinction.

It had taken Danny all night to find her, asking both human and dinosaur ghosts for leads, but he'd tracked her down that morning and talked to her, and she was way different from her counterpart. For one thing, where Victor had been able to see ghosts the entire time, Joanne didn't even believe in ghosts until Danny proved his own existence to her. For another, she was kind, and cared about humans, and Danny was fairly certain she would never kill anyone, let alone her own students.

"Our AP bio teacher?" Fiona asked. "Am I the only one whose confused?"

"I'm confused," Buzz agreed.

"What does she have to do with any of this?" Max asked, looking a little lost.

"A lot more than you'd think, actually," Danny told them.

"These are the five you were talking about?" Ms. Moynihan asked, surprised. "What are the odds of five students from my third period class all getting dragged into this mess."

"Well, every story gets to have a really big coincidence," Danny said with a shrug. "So here's ours, I guess. Should we get going?"

"Of course," Ms. Moynihan said, leading the way to the parking lot. "You're lucky I decided to buy a van so I could transport lab equipment more easily or it'd be quite the tight squeeze to drive all of you."

They all piled into her car. Then she and Danny explained the situation to them.

Ms. Moynihan took the parts about herself and Victor surviving the dinosaurs' extinction and then for millions more years, part of which was spent in suspended animation. Danny took the spooky and supernatural parts, like telling them he'd merged them with dinosaur ghosts to bring them back from the dead.

"I told him that it would be like a possession, but my intention was to essentially give you the powers of the ghostly dinosaurs while your own wills and personalities were completely in control," Danny told them. "I meant to use the energy from the ghost dinos to bring you back with some residual ghost powers. I didn't expect the ghosts' personalities to stick around.

"Honestly, I didn't really think ghost dinosaurs would have distinct enough personalities to stick around. Sorry about that, guys."

"So basically, the voices we're hearing were an unintended side-effect," Rodger summed up. "But what did you mean by bringing us back with some residual ghost powers? What ghost powers?"

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed them yet," Danny said. "Side-effects of being brought back to life using ghosts may include: intangibility, mild ESP such as the ability to sense the presence of other ghosts, flight, energy manipulation, laser eyes, and much much more!"

"Laser eyes?" Buzz repeated.

"Well, ectoplasmic beams that you can fire from various body parts, but yeah."

"So like... seeing giant spectral dinosaurs tromping through the streets?" Rodger asked. "Yea or nay?"

"You see them too?" Buzz asked. "So It's not just because I missed my meds today."

"That's what I'm talking about," Danny confirmed. "This town has, like, a hugely disproportionate population of ghost dinosaurs, and I strongly suspect that's Mr. Victor's doing. He has this spell or something that calls them right to him. That's how I got the dino ghosts I used to bring you guys back."

"I don't want to have ghost powers," Max lamented. "I wanna be a quarterback."

"Well, your only other option is actually being dead," Danny pointed out. "I'm not asking for gratitude, but you could at least stand to have a little perspective."

Max pouted and sighed but didn't try to complain anymore.

"Hey... we've been driving a long time," Fiona observed. "Where are we going?"

"Ms. Moynihan has graciously agreed to lend us her secret base," Danny said. "It's a lighthouse on the cliffs at the edge of town."

"It's not exactly a secret base," Ms. Moynihan pointed out. "It does have a very powerful light at the top signalling it's position to everyone it can, but Veloci doesn't know I live there, so it should be a safe place to use as our base of operations."

"What operations?" Caruso asked. "What exactly do you think we're going to be doing?"

"Well, for one, I've gotta teach you how to use all your ghost powers," Danny pointed out, "because they can be kind of problematic if you can't use them properly."

"And for another, Veloci needs to be stopped," Ms. Moynihan added. "You five now have the power, and I believe also the motivation to stop him."

"I stalled him by saying it would take centuries to regain enough power to repeat what I did with you guys on other dinosaurs," Danny said, "But with this binding spell on me, it's only a matter of time before he discovers I was lying."

"We should probably add finding a way to remove that binding spell to our to-do list, too, then," Fiona said. "Right?"

"I would certainly appreciate it," Danny agreed. "In the mean time, Ms. Moynihan is gonna help me enroll as a student at your school. I never thought I'd end up back in the hell that is high school after I became the king of actual hell, but I'll do whatever it takes to keep an eye on you guys and protect you."

"Why?" Caruso asked. "In fact, why did you bring us back to life at all? Not that I'm necessarily complaining, but like you said, you're the king of hell, king of the dead. Why do you even care about a few insignificant humans like us?"

"I may be the king of the dead, but that doesn't mean I want everyone to die," Danny said. "I was alive once too. I died young, and it sucked. It only happened to you five because someone wanted to summon me, so... I guess I feel responsible for you. For your deaths, and for making sure it doesn't happen again any time soon.

"Besides, I can't leave town because dear old Victor told me not to go far, so what else am I gonna do? Hang out with him and work as his dumb black magic shop? No thanks."

"I guess that makes sense," Caruso allowed, but he still sounded a bit suspicious.

Danny decided not to push it, even though he kind of really wanted Caruso, in particular, to like him. Hopefully, Caruso would come around eventually, but Danny wouldn't get anywhere with him by aggressively insisting he was the good guy and they had to trust him. He could show them he was trustworthy. That was what he planned to do anyway.

At last, they reached the lighthouse.

Ms. Moynihan went straight inside while the rest of them stayed outside so Danny could give them their first lesson: transforming.

"Transforming from a human to a ghost is just like flipping a switch," Danny explained. "Just try to focus, and shift from human to ghost. I've found a catchphrase can help when you're a beginner. Observe." He clenched his fists, solidified his stance and shouted, "I'm goin' ghost!"

Familiar white rings appeared, spanning his body, and then he stood before them in his ghost form.

"Turning human again should be even easier, since it's your natural state," Danny said, then demonstrated turning human again. "Now you try."

The five teens looked between each other with raised eyebrows and puzzled expressions.

"Uh... going... ghost?" Fiona tried.

Nothing happened.

"Hm.... Oh! I know!" Danny said. "Remember how your ghost powers come from being merged with ghost dinosaurs? Try picturing the dinosaur you're merged with. Fiona, for you, that's a spinosaurus. Caruso got a stegosaurus. Max got a T-Rex. Buzz got a pteranodon—"

"No wonder she won't shut up about flying!" Buzz shouted.

"And Rodger got a... um... styro... styrieco... saurus?"

"A what?" Rodger asked. His brows furrowed and he frowned in thought. "Do you mean a styracosaurus?"

"Maybe?" Danny said. "It looked like a triceratops to me."

"But with spines on the fringe and no horns over the eyes, right?" Rodger guessed.

"Is that what the difference was?" Danny asked, gaping. "You know, come to think of it, it did look like that—Oh! Also, those voices you guys are hearing might actually be able to help with this, since you're kind of trying to transform into them."

"Are you sure they won't be able to take control once we transform?" Caruso asked.

"Absolutely," Danny confirmed. "Well, mostly. Actually, I hadn't even considered that possibility, but it's probably fine."

Wow, Caruso was more clever than he let on. And Danny had just completely fumbled his reassurances. Damn. He was losing points with this guy that he didn't even have.

"Great," Caruso said sardonically.

Still, the five of them kept trying, and one by one, they were each able to turn into faintly glowing spectral dinosaurs. And as a bonus, the dinosaurs' personalities didn't even become dominant when they transformed. Huge win!

While they were practicing, Ms. Moynihan came out with a camera and took pictures of the red markings around Danny's wrists, the markings from the binding spell. They even carried over to his human form, which was concerning, and Danny couldn't make heads or tails of what the symbols meant. Not that he was exactly an expert on that.

Ms. Moynihan wasn't an expert on ancient symbology or languages either, as she was quick to point out. She was a scientist—a geneticist, actually—and all this magic and spirits nonsense was not her field. Nevertheless, she was a skilled researcher with millennia of experience, and she would do what she could.

By the time the teens insisted on heading home for the night, they could all fly back on their own, and Danny felt like they had a solid start. There was a lot they still needed to learn, and a lot they still needed to do before they could beat Victor and Danny would finally be able to return home himself, but they could do it. He was sure of it.

"Come to me," Victor's voice sounded in his head and the marking's on his wrists burned.

He shifted to his ghost form and took off toward the black magic shop in the shady part of town.

This would be both their biggest advantage, and their biggest struggle. Danny could act as a double agent, telling them about all of Victor's plans and schemes and warning them of danger. But he also had to follow all of Victor's commands, no matter what.

Leading Victor on without giving the others away until they were able to take him down was going to be quite the challenge.

"Ghost King," Victor called him. "They're gone! They've escaped."

"First, it's Phantom, not ghost king. I don't call you Evil Velociraptor Witch," Danny said. "And second, I can see that they're gone. I'm standing right next to you. You don't have to yell at me."

"Well where are they?"

"I don't know, they probably went home. Why don't you just call their parents and ask?"

"I can't call their parents, I don't know who they are."

"You sacrificed five random kids without even knowing who they are? Very sloppy."

"Can't you find them with one of your powers?"

"No can do," Danny said. "I can sense ghosts when they're nearby, but I can't magically track them down."

It wasn't a lie. Victor hadn't asked Danny if he knew where they lived, or if he could find them without the use of his powers.

He was starting to realize that Victor was one of those magic-users who was completely over-reliant on magic, to the point where he forgot about easier non-magical methods of doing things. If Danny was right, Victor wouldn't ask Danny to start knocking on doors until one of his missing sacrifices answered one.

He'd try to find a tracking spell or something, and a tracking spell wouldn't work without something that belonged to the person he was looking for. The only thing Victor had from any of them was their blood on the floor of his basement, and that wasn't going to cut it. At least, not once Danny mopped it all up and claimed he was just trying to be helpful when Victor yelled at him for it.

"I suppose I'll have to find a tracking spell," Victor said, turned out Danny was right on the money. "But first, you said they would be possessed by the spirits of the dinosaurs I called. But when they woke up, they seemed to be in complete control. I know how a dinosaur trapped in a human body acts, and they were not acting like dinosaurs trapped in human bodies."

"Technically, I said it would be like possession," Danny pointed out. "I can merge two spirits together, but I can't control which one has control. My guess is that the spirits of the dinosaurs were partially faded and weakened because of their age, which meant the human spirits were stronger and took control."

That actually was a lie, but Victor hadn't ordered him not to lie, so as long as he wasn't refusing an order, he was fine.

At least, that had been basically what he'd hoped was going to happen when he revived those kids. In reality the dinosaur spirits had ended up being much stronger than he'd expected, despite their age. That was why the humans could still hear their voices.

"I've never dealt with ghosts that were millions of years old before," he continued. "Honestly, I didn't even know there were ghosts of dinosaurs until after you summoned me. I'm doing the best with what I've got, but you gotta understand this is completely new territory for me, and I'm learning as I go."

"So what you're saying is I know infinitely more than you about prehistoric ghosts."

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but pretty much."

Victor sneered. "Very well," he said. "Leave me to my work, but don't go too far. I'll call upon you when I need you again."

"Aye aye, sir," Danny said with a mocking salute.

Then he flew up through the ceiling and back toward the lighthouse where Ms. Moynihan had told him he could stay until he was able to return home. He could tell already that he was in this for the long haul. And he definitely had his work cut out for him.

#dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #fic #things i wrote #dino squad #dinosquad #dp x dinosquad #dp crossover #crossover #crossover danuary week 2024 #crossover danuary week #supernatural elements

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art-but-only-sometimes · 5 months

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How your character might react to the sdve bachelors and bachelorettes after they wake up after having a nightmare(s)

just to make sure this is clear this headcanon list is about the farmer (you/ your character) being awoken after the bachelors/ bachelorettes have a nightmare/ nightmares

Spoliers: Victor, Spohia, Olivia Warnings: mentions of death and war-related nightmares/trauma (possibly)

Batchelor's:

Lance: With working with the Stardew Valley Guild and the First Slash as well it probably does have its unfortunate share of dangerous and scary things. Some of them even make their way into his memories and dreams. There have been a few nights out of the year when he stayed and your house or he stayed at yours. (or maybe you started at the first slash guild hall like you do for his 10 heart event.) When you feel Lance stir in his sleep or completely sit up straight in bed. You can't help but worry and be a bit surprised when it happens. If you don't wake up Lance tries to go back to sleep without you knowing. He doesn't want you to ever see him as weak. Or ruin that image of someone who is very confident that he's worked hard to build. However, if you do catch him waking from a nightmare, he'd be a bit surprised and sorry he woke you up. He might want to talk about it or he might not, depending on the subject of the nightmare. But I don't think he'd be opposed to you hugging him and telling him it'd be alright. Staying up with him and talking about it or something else entirely. Eventually when he feels like going back to bed and trying to get some sleep before you both have to wake up early like you both always do.

Victor: Like his mother Victor had escaped a war back in The Grotto Empire. So that would come with an unfortunate amount of nightmares. That and not being able to find a job or thinking about what could have possibly happened to his cat can sneak up on Victor from time to time. He doesn't seem like the kind to jerk up out of bed Myabe a gasp or sitting up halfway. If you were awakened by Victor's sudden stirring in his sleep he'd be a bit surprised and also apologize for waking you up. He'd try to hide it at first but confess a bit that he's had a nightmare. Trying to blow it off at first that it wasn't that bad and it wasn't something that you need to worry about. But if you press a little bit he might cave and tell you, not everything but enough that he'd be comfortable with. He'd talk about it in a quiet tone as you listened. Not looking directly at you, you might have a hand on his shoulder or on his hand. Moving your thumb ever so slightly back and forth, trying to calm him.

Rasmodius: Being the protector of the valley comes with its own stresses and sometimes they get to him in his dreams. While Rasmodius is a very confident and assured wizard in his nightmares he dreams about what would happen if the magic shields protect the valley fail. If the amount of monsters in the mines grows in uncontrollable sizes, despite knowing that scenario is unlikely (but still terrifying), or if you of all people go into the mines and don't come back out. Those things haunt him despite himself trying to assure himself with facts and logic that it won't. One night though he may stir from his sleep from a particularly bad nightmare. He isn't used to someone being there at night, certainly not sleeping next to him. In the past, he might have used work to distract him from the nightmares he'd had. But now with you, he has someone new. But if may take some convincing to get Magnus to stay in bed with you. He may not want to talk about it or he hasn't had anyone to talk to about nightmares or things that bother/scare him in a very long time. But if he does you two talk about it for a while in a hushed tone. Maybe holding hands if Magnus wants to and slowly drift back to sleep.

Batchelorette's: Sophia: I think that Sophia has nightmares it would be about the day she lost her parents or possibly about losing you. The day she lost both her parents was the worst day of her life and as much as she's tried to move on with her life, with therapy, medication, regular doctor's visits, etc. it's still something she does have nightmares about from time to time. If you're awoken by her suddenly moving. I feel like if she tried to hide it she wouldn't do a very good job. Trying to say it through tears but eventually gave in and gave you a big hug. She'd try and explain what her nightmare was through tears but not get it out as clearly as she'd want it. You'd hold onto her and say that everything is ok. That you're here and you're not going anywhere and that everything will be alright. Maybe rubbing her back or brushing your fingers through her hair.

Olivia: Olivia, along with her son Victor, came from the wartorn Grotto Empire. That alone has its own set of fears and nightmares. If she had any nightmares ever it'd most likely be something like that. She'd also lost her husband due to that war. Olivia is a pretty quiet sleeper I imagine so her making movement in the night doesn't happen that often. She'd try to hide it if she woke you up by accident. It may take a conversation for her to admit she's had a nightmare as well as whether or not she's shaken by it. She knows she's far from any conflict but still, assuring her that she is safe and nothing's going to hurt her definitely is reassuring enough to calm her nerves. Maybe even enough for you two to go back to bed and fall asleep.

Claire: Clare has the kind of nightmares of her being at Joja ( or if you finished the community center then being back at Joja). Endlessly scanning, endlessly working. Never getting a break, never relaxing. Morris hovering over her constantly telling her what to do and how it isn't good enough. She doesn't outright scream when she wakes up from a nightmare but I feel like she does gasp. Sometimes she tries to go back to sleep but other nights she sometimes wakes you. She might talk about her dream and you'd stay awake and listen. Thinking about how you used to work for Joja and how much you didn't like it. How familiar it seems to you. But you both eventually do fall back to sleep, close together or in each other's arms.

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angelbowerz · 5 months

Text

Being pregnant with a Bowers gang member's child

(Wrote this while half-asleep so it's very bad..sorry lol)

Tw- abortion

Henry:

-oh god...

-okay,the second you tell him you're pregnant..he freezes and wants to just die on the spot

"I'm pregnant"

"You're...what....?"

-if he could...that boy would RUN all the way to damn Australia just to get away from the situation

-more scared about his dad finding out so he'll probably begg you to keep it a secret

-of you refuse to abort it (even after his begging) he'll probably ignore you or say something like this:

"I want nothing to do with that baby but I'm still your boyfriend."

-he'll ignore you for a few months, then when he realises you're actually keeping it and you're showing...then he'll be a good guy (for once)

"OKAY FINE! I'll look after the damn baby🙄"

-he eventually told his dad...and ended up forced to live in your home

-if its a boy..he'll force you to name him 'Henry Bowers Jr' and Henry would definitely raise it to be just like him (lord save us)

-he'd love a boy but if it's a girl he'll just say some stupid 'joke' about having so many children until he gets a son

-when the baby is like minutes old, Henry will be ruthless😭

"Are you sure this kid is mine? Looks like a goblin to me"

-anyway..once you're all grown up, married to him n everything...it definitely won't be a happy marriage, he'll end up like his father but a not as bad version

Patrick:

-not really much to say apart from the fact he'll either force you to an abortion clinic or will do things (stress you out, putting things in your drinks etc) hoping to make the baby go..and it eventually does

-he only did it for his own pleasure, not caring how you'll feel about loosing the baby

-yeah that's it lol

Reggie:

-PANIC MODE

-he uses atleast 5x protection so how you ended up pregnant would be a mystery

-May have doubts about actually being the baby's father since bro uses so much protection

-but he'll never tell you that

-he would be the BEST father out of the gang

-so supportive of you

-need or want something? He'll be outside your door with said item within 5 minutes

-would refuse to leave your side

-buys so many clothes/toys/plushies for the baby

-when you're in Labour he'll try to be some supportive coach but in reality it just annoys you

"PUSH Y/N PUSH! YOU CAN DO THIS!"

"Reggie I swear to god-!"

-so adorable

-I could see Reggie having a crazy amount of children (like 10)..goodluck with that

(Not writing Victor for this one because I'm bad at writing for him and I'm too lazy to lol...sorry Victor fan girlies)

#henry bowers #bowersgang #belch huggins #bowers gang #it #it2017 #patrick hockstetter #it chapter 1 #victor criss #it chapter one

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strangestcase · 1 year

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Putting an end to the debate “who wins in a fight, Seward, Jekyll, or Frankenstein?” using facts and logic (and stats). They may use weapons but NOT assistance, outside help, or their powers (this goes for Jekyll! DROP THAT POTION INSTANTLY OLD MAN!)

FRANKENSTEIN

YAY: has enough resolve to get into a fight, would gladly fight someone bigger than him if he had good reason for it, the most physically active of the three, also the youngest, has mountaineering experience, can and will use a cleaver, is a Romantic

NAY: rotten coward, chronically ill, emotional, might be too depressed or euphoric to properly fight, anxious, not big or strong, doesn’t have enough fighting experience to defend himself, definitely doesn’t want to be here

VERDICT: if he can be egged into fighting, he becomes a pretty testy and unpredictable foe, but that depends on luck. If he doesn’t have it in him to fight, he just won’t. Most likely to collapse either from fear or a bad cough and not recover quickly enough before he’s utterly destroyed.

SEWARD

YAY: enough guts to face a vampire, very desensitized to violence and weird stuff at this point, good with a knife, probable experience roughhousing, very VERY honor-bound, desperate enough to cheat, crafty enough to not need to cheat.

NAY: emotionally sensitive, not a fighting type, better at facing danger from the backseat, has little self-preserving instincts, too tired to retaliate, generally unlikeable and therefore satisfying to punch/stab, panics all too quick.

VERDICT: good defensive fighter but doesn’t have enough muscle to offend, and his knife isn’t always reliable. With Frankenstein it’s a 50/50 chance he wins, but with Jekyll that might be less certain. Easily distracted. There will come a point in which he finds his two foes too scary and he might either double down or attempt to give up, key word attempt.

JEKYLL

YAY: is full of hatred and anger, the tallest and most physically imposing of the three, has fighting experience, enjoys violence for the sake of violence, crafty, quick at improvising weapons, more pragmatic, overdoes himself, looking for excuses to go for the overkill.

NAY: the oldest of the three, somewhat insecure, maybe impotent, overthinker, concerned with manners, the type to not want to get dirty, arrogant, overestimates his abilities and then backs down.

VERDICT: as long as nobody is watching, he will give his all and unleash loads of anger on his foes. His age might have taken some strength from him but he doesn’t give up easily. Will feel sorry about Frankenstein to a certain degree, but not about Seward. Smokes them both with relative ease, though he probably sustains more damage than he believed, and his indecisiveness makes the battle longer than needed.

OVERALL VERDICT: Seward lasts more than expected but eventually is defeated, Victor has a 50/50 chance of making it to the mid-battle, Jekyll wins but at what cost (his dignity).

#doc talks #gothic fiction #frankenstein #dracula #jekyll and hyde #dr seward #victor frankenstein #henry jekyll #jack seward #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #gothic literature

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cantsomeoneelsedoit · 2 months

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Ch 18: Return

This cover is interesting bc Andy is trying to escape from being trapped, but he's escaping toward the reader. He wants out. It's a little unnerving.

bink bink

Victor says that he's the original and that Andy will never come out again. The Union attacks, and Juiz stops Victor from killing Fuuko.

And look at what he says here! Once he kills Fuuko and buries Andy, there will be two seats open at the Round Table, so he'll just go find two new Negators to fill their spots and--

What? Victor wants to help the Union!! He wants them to have a strong team. He also knows how the Round Table works and what it means to have defeated Burn.

Also, Victor's outburst here gives him a lot of points in the Byronic Hero category. He's already a stock shonen rival, but this gives him some more depth. Victor is such a classic character, and I mean that in a good way.

I think that Victor is one of the first characters the author wrote for the story. Victor is like an OC that changes through the years and eventually turns into two characters who may be superficially similar, but have unique purposes for the author.

It's hard to shelve a character. Why not include them both in the story?

But Fuuko doesn't want Victor. She won't accept a Victor. She wants Andy.

Juiz calls on everyone to attack while Fuuko begs Andy to come back. And as she's trying to think of the right words to use, she realizes a gun is in her pocket. It's the gun she took from the kid in Longing!

Had she forgotten about it? Or is this a wink from the author? It's not uncommon for characters to have some PIS and just forget they have weapons or abilities, after all.

And she shoots him! Right in the card hole.

And she yells into his card hole, which is a sentence that has never been typed before.

Adorable Fuuko and her tie tucked into her bra. But also, look how both halves of Undead's face are smiling at her. The words are only coming from the Andy side, but the smile is on both.

Shen saves the day! Although he admitted defeat to Victor earlier, it was Shen's ability that allowed Fuuko's ability to work. Being able to use the abilities together, like Tatiana and Billy do, seems to be the key to fighting effectively.

It's been quite some time since a person beat me.

So Victor has been defeated by rules? Or something else? I wonder what non-person beat him.

Fuuko's trust in Andy is so pure. This scene is also a great reversal of the CPR he gave her on the boat to Russia. She's even doing a chest compression movement with her hands. And where Andy saw her bare chest, she sees his body entirely without skin. Can't get more naked than that!

Masterpost

#am I the only one who sometimes physically covers up Victors hair to look for Andy?#and vice versa?#putting my finger on the screen like #oh yes that's him alright #truly interactive media #overreading undead unluck #undead unluck #undead unluck spoilers

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rikeijo · 8 months

Text

Today's translation #365

Yuri!!! on Life official guidebook, Kozuka Takahiko's interview

Part 2.

-- In Yuri!!! on ICE, compositions of jumps have very high levels of difficulty, and a lot of skaters jump different types of quads multiple times.

At first, I was watching the anime thinking: "Is this even possible? I think not", but watching last Four Continents and Worlds, the world of Yuri!!! on ICE has become reality, it seems. I started to think that [what we see in the anime] may not be that impossible. For example, Nathan (Chen) seems to be from that [Yuri!!!] world, I think. When I was watching the anime, I was thinking that it shows not-so-near future and none of those things can actually happen anytime soon, but just two months after the anime ended, it did become reality. Although a few people tried something like that during practice sessions before, Nathan at Four Continents actually jumped 5 quads - lutz, flip, toe loop, toe loop, salchow. And other skaters also had multiple quads [in their programs]. Thinking about it, maybe Victor wanted to rest a little bit longer (laugh)? At 27, I have already retired. But he will go back to competitive skating eventually, I think?

-- At 27, Victor starts to coach, as well - have you ever thought about teaching somebody, when you were still competing?

I'm not sure I've ever thought that I'd want to "teach" somebody. But for a long time I have been saying stuff like: "It would look much better if this skater paid more attention to their toes" or "This person' skating when there is no elements perhaps needs some more work put into it". It's on my mind when I watch [other skaters'] performances - "What this skater should do to get more points?" - I'm not their coach, but I just think about that (laugh). Perhaps, Victor felt something similar, I wonder?

[Notes: 365 translations~~ 🎉🥳🥳🥳

The goal is 1000 (like one thousand origami cranes) ✨]

#yuri on ice #yoi translations #yuri on ice translation

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