#also this may only be a canadian thing

[13eyond13]

I feel like there is a joke to be made about Light Yagami being born on Anti-Bullying Day but I don't know what it is...

#also this may only be a canadian thing #but everyone wears pink today to say bullying is bad #is he trying to ensure he will not get any mean comments on this the day of our lord and saviour kira's birth #??? #light yagami #death note #p

[rigels-nigels]

Something I don't get is when someone is talking about things being expensive and then some americans are like, it's not actually a scary $125 guys it's actually only $80 which is still a lot but it's actually kinda reasonable for the item

And it's like no!!! It doesn't work like that!!! Just because it costs less in usd doesn't mean the person didn't actually pay that much!!

If you buy a mug for $125aud, and you live in australia, you're paying that in $125aud, not $80aud!! Currency conversion doesn't matter in the slightest for understanding because in practice it is functionally the same as paying $125usd for a mug in america!!

If I earn $15cad/hr, and someone in Poland is earning 15zł/hr, and they bought an item that was like 150zł, me converting that price into Canadian and being like it's actually not that bad bc it's only like $50cad :), it doesn't change the fact that that for them!! It was a lot more!! Like functionally that's the same as $150cad

Functionally 1cad = 1zł = 1aud = 1usd = 100¥

Like the only time currency conversion is useful is for figuring out how far your coin goes when used in another economy, not for understanding if an item is or isn't expensive for a person living in said economy

#op #i dont go on tiktok often but. a few weeks ago there was a thing with this influencer who bought a mug and didnt see the price first and was #shocked to see it was $125 and there was a lotta discourse about it even tho she wasnt really mean about the cup or anything #and there were people in the comments being like oh 80usd that's not as bad as i thought it was (prev thinking it was $125usd) #and i just. aughhhh #gestures wildly at my post #anyway. unless im buying something in another country i just cannot see the point in currency conversion for figuring out if something's #expensive in that currency #like gimme ur min wage/is there a functional equivalent of a dollar/monthly or yearly cost of living #and like yeah it's not perfect but imo its soo much better to understand things #im sure a repeated some things here but whatevs #this is also good for more accurate despair when buying anything in euros/pounds bc it may only be 18£ for them #but comparatively for me id have to spend like £30 😩 #currency conversion hell euros are basically double canadian #also if im wrong on any price things do correct me. pretty sure my equivalents are correct but ive only ever lived in canada so :p #rant done now lol #does anything i said make sense? who knows. will i attempt to bury this in reblogs? absolutely!

[allbeendonebefore]

heheheh the vindication of reading about a cross country tour for a montreal magazine in the early 70s passing edmonton’s queer scene off as just for “swishy queens and hard drinking butches” and the collective eyeroll of edmontonian queer community completely used to this kind of perception of edmonton, paralleled with me in toronto a few years ago with the torontonians telling me that they heard that drinking is like the only thing to do here like. listen i am the boring hermit shut-in teetotaller and even i know better, lol

#go outside for once in your life please aAAAA #im begging you to go to a fringe play instead of a sports bar for once in your life #and this goes for the people i grew up with in rural ab who think of edmonton as just a place to rent a limo and drink in also #Not just the Big City Folk #also thinking about the people in my german class who were assigned to either do a tour of edmonton or make a story for class and they like #did an extremely boring review of clubbing in edmonton im just SO TIRED!!!!!!!! #if you can spend that much on alcohol there are so many other things you could do in this city ARRHGHGH #hapo reads canadian history #personal hapo #only valid toronto reaction is my coworker who read that twitter thread that mentioned edmonton not being real #and then immediately asking me wait youre from edmonton right #WHO KNOWS PAL... I MAY JUST BE A FIGMENT OF YOUR IMAGINATION #its just that the imagination of edmonton both from inside and outside desperately needs some improvement #hapo reads queer history

[strange-aeons]

you remember how the onion man said that everything is his books were real? and also that in his (third??) book a documentary on a dinosaur-human hybrid was shown to him as a child, causing him so much trauma that he learnt how to astral project? well i think ive found the documentary.

so i have been reading a book on evolution for school and this book talks about a canadian palaeontologist called Dale A. Russell came up with the ‘dinosauroid’ this as a thought experiment. the idea was that if dinosaurs had never been wiped out, would a non-mammalian human like bipedal, intelligent thing have evolved and what would it have looked like.

so this was theorised in 1982 making it definitely the right age for this to have been the thing that traumatised ole greggy-poo. what did it look like to terrify such an alpha you may ask?

as far as i know, the only documentary that has come out about this was discovery channel, paleoworld ‘troodon: dinosaur genius’ released in 1995, when onion was ~10. the full thing is up on youtube (skip to 18:45 for The Creature) and i think it might be the very video that gave greg the ability to astral project.

thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

Oh my god????????

[seat-safety-switch]

Every time it snows, I see lots of people who are terrified to operate their cars. This is poppycock, and originates from the media trying to force fear into your brain so that you stay home for a few more minutes to watch the morning traffic report and, oh, just a coincidence that it comes with a ton more ads. Stay Afraid. Buy Oreos®.

Winter driving is all about momentum. You keep your car moving, perform only gentle adjustments, and pay attention. Above all, you must not make any abrupt movements. This will unsettle the car, and then you'll careen towards a ditch, bus stop, or ballet recital. Important: allow thing to happen slowly, without your direct involvement. Freaking out and starting to chop at the wheel because you didn't get a prompt response to your last gentle input is what a toddler would do, and that's why only certain states let them drive.

Think of yourself as being engaged in the proud Canadian sport known as curling. In it, someone throws a rock down an icy slope, and some other suckers pretend to do anything at all by rapidly sweeping their brooms in front of it. Those frozen janitors are not allowed to touch the rock, because doing so will cause it to fly out of control and kill someone. When driving, you want to be the person throwing the rock, not the person frantically sweeping for no reason before accidentally maiming a cameraman from the CBC.

Whenever it snows, the first thing I do is head to the local giant parking lot. There, I can safely practice losing and regaining control of my car in the snow, without worrying about smacking a pedestrian or highway abutment. Critically, it's here that I also figure out what new holes in the cabin are letting water in. This lets me stop, get out, and apply duct tape at my leisure, rather than stewing in reflected road juices for my entire commute to work. That last part may not apply to you: for instance, you might be rich enough to be able to put marine-grade caulk or even Bondo over the rust holes in your car's floor.

If there's only one thing I can leave you with, it's this: don't panic. Like I said, tensing up and jerking around the car is only going to make things worse for everyone else on the road. Instead, let things happen. Be chill. Make sure you've got enough gas and maybe a sandwich on hand. Take a break if you've been pushing through traffic for hours. And above all, do not put an album by The Prodigy into your stereo system and then rip through red lights, completely sideways, banging off the rev limiter as you engage in icy doughnut after doughnut, just because you bought studded winter tires and have a generalized contempt for society at large. My attorney thought adding that last part would help with negotiating the plea bargain.

#best of

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance¹

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: super-duper-duper long, exploitation of minors, forced prostitution, unrequited love, complicated relationships, violence, death, mental health issues, canadian spelling lol, and i make up some names (lmk if i missed smth) Words: 19.7K

Masterlist | Part 2

a/n: i alr have this finished, but it was way too long to post in one part (as you can see) so i split it up into three parts. this one goes from pre-hunger games to right before the quell. had this idea in my head as soon as i finished thg, so i hope u enjoy!

Y/N Y/L/N, victor of the 67th Hunger Games. You were from district 4, one of the youngest victors that not only your district has ever had, but also all of Panem. Of course, you weren’t the youngest; that title belonged to none other than Finnick Odair.

A man you hated with a passion and, frankly, a man who didn’t like you very much either.

You could still remember the night you met.

Snow was droning on and on, giving a speech about something you couldn’t care less about. It was all lies, anyway, and you were only gonna end up in some rich man’s bed tonight, so you’d prefer to go through that interaction as drunk as you could be. With that thought, you downed the rest of your flute.

“Ah, careful, Princess.” Before you even saw the person, you knew it was him. His voice was so easily recognizable, even though you had never met, not even after living in the same district, then the Victors’ Village, or even at these little Capitol parties. 

Finnick.

You turned, a faux smile on your face that he fully reciprocated. “Snow wouldn’t want the Capitol’s pride and joy to be under the influence,” he said, teasing but with an undertone that put you off.

You didn’t give a damn what Snow thought, but you weren’t gonna say that, especially not in his own home. Instead, you gave him the smile you gave the rest of Panem and directed the topic of conversation away from the President. “I won my Games, Finnick. Trust me, I’m not a lightweight.” Oh, but you wish you were. You wish you could get so drunk that you’d forget who you were entirely.

A part of you felt bad: twenty-three other people died while you walked out of the arena, and yet you wanted nothing more than for your life to end. A part of you wondered if the great Finnick Odair ever felt this way, either, but it wouldn’t be good small talk to ask.

Finnick’s grin only widened. “Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Your eyes just so imperceptibly narrowed. “Likewise.”

He started to walk away, but he suddenly paused like he forgot something, leaning closer to you. Your breath got caught in your throat when you felt his on your neck. Your eyes locked, and all of a sudden, you wondered how it was possible that you never noticed how beautiful his eyes were. 

“May the odds be ever in your favour, darling,” he whispered, and then he walked away without giving you another glance.

That night, Finnick didn’t leave your mind. It wasn’t until there was a resident of the Capitol lying on top of you that you stopped thinking about him. When you were in that position, you stopped thinking about everything, really.

When you walked out of your hotel room, done with your little job, Finnick was brought back to the forefront of your mind as your eyes met his. He looked like he was in the same state as you, also having been leaving a room. He looked surprised to see you.

You stared at him for a moment, but then you let yourself disappear down the hallway before he could say anything.

You knew what that meant; you knew it wasn’t his own room that he was leaving. When you got to your own room, you realized you were much more alike than you thought. You supposed that you couldn’t be surprised; Finnick was desirable, so of course Snow would put him up for sale.

You were in the exact same boat.

Since that night, you saw him in a different light.

You two didn’t talk when you got back home, no, but at your next Capitol event, you decided that you’d refuse to leave him alone, to leave someone who was going through the same thing as you to their own devices. That’s what you told yourself, but deep down, you just didn’t want to suffer in silence, either.

So you went and found him after a night with another Capitol pig. Standing outside, hands in his pockets, he looked so calm, but you saw a storm brewing in his eyes that only few could ever decipher.

You went and stood next to him, even though it was freezing cold out. He glanced over at you, and then his face became surprised, not surprise at you being there, but at you being there with him. Neither of you said anything; it was either that you were too afraid of a jabberjay overhearing or of yourselves. You just stood there in a comfortable silence.

You’d learn that, with Finnick, sometimes doing nothing could mean everything.

The two of you went on to do this every time you were there until, slowly, you graduated from just silence to holding each other. Oh, Finnick Odair was a cocky asshole, but when you were in the Capitol, he wasn’t him and you weren’t you. You were just two people that needed comfort, and that was enough.

You still didn’t talk, though, and when you were at home, you didn’t communicate at all. That was why you were surprised when you answered your door to see him standing on the other side.

Finnick went back to being Finnick, striding into your home without so much as an invitation. This caused you to roll your eyes, but they suddenly widened at his words. “Caesar Flickerman is on TV, saying that we’re dating.”

If you were drinking something, you would’ve spit it out. “What?” An incredulous look was painted onto your face.

Finnick, on the other hand, was a little more stoic, not exactly the charmer he was on television or in Capitol balls, but you could easily guess why—and if you hadn’t, then he was gonna tell you, anyways. “You know what this means.” He looked you in the eye, jaw clenched. “Two of Snow’s best—the Prince and Princess of Panem—dating? It’s the last thing he wants.”

“Finnick-”

“No, he won’t be able to sell us if we’re together, and if he can’t sell us, then he’ll start killing the people we love.” This was the first time either of you were even acknowledging the situation you were in.

You felt stung for some reason, even though you didn’t love Finnick—and he didn’t love you. But, deep down, no matter how much you tried to repress it, you knew there was something between you, so hearing him speak to you this way, like you were just nothing, hurt.

However, you got over your feelings quickly, the same way you always had. You moved your thoughts away from your heart and started thinking with your head. You were quiet for a second until you let out a soft gasp, like a light bulb went off in your head.

This time, you made eye contact with Finnick effortlessly. “What if this is exactly what we need?” You asked, a glint in your eye that he hadn’t seen before.

The blond scoffed. “I don’t see how our families dying is exactly what we need, Y/N.”

“No- no, Finnick, you already said it.” You grabbed onto his shoulders. “The Capitol- hell, everyone already thinks we’re the Prince and Princess of Panem. If we give them what they want, then- then we’d be unstoppable.” You paused to let him weigh in, but he only stared heavily at you, not a trace of what he was thinking on display, so you continued, “Snow and all of those Capitol motherfuckers will eat this shit up, Finnick. And then we’ll be free.”

You were trying not to show any emotion, either, but you couldn’t help it. At the mere thought of freedom, something you never thought was possible, you felt so many different things at once. While you were holding your feelings on your sleeve, Finnick was less easy to read.

But, in seconds, you knew exactly how he felt.

“We will never be free, Y/N.”

He walked out after that, leaving you alone in your living room. He’d never know it, but you stayed in that same spot for three hours, staring at where he once stood. His words had awakened something in you, the part of yourself that’d been thrown into the Hunger Games at only fifteen-years-old. 

At the time, you thought you were going to die. You were hopeless, but after you won, you realized there was hope after all. You could still make it. Even as Snow allowed your body to be violated, your mind to deteriorate, you still had hope. But Finnick’s words brought back that frightened little girl in you that you thought died.

You’d later realize just how lucky you were that he buried her again. He came back and told you that he’d do it, and as easily as he brought that little girl back to life, he drowned her.

It wasn’t easy at first, pretending to be in love. You didn’t know the first thing about it, but Finnick helped you as if he’d been doing it all his life.

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s gonna be fine-”

“No, it’s not gonna be fine. Caesar’s gonna call us out immediately- and if he doesn’t, then Snow will-”

“Y/N.” Finnick cut off your nervous ramblings with a stern calling of your name. Even him saying your name was still weird to you. You weren’t used to so much conversation with the victor, but now you were gonna have to pretend to love him. “We’re gonna be fine.”

You weren’t convinced, and he saw that with the twitching of your fingers. You knew Finnick was a great actor, and normally you were, too, but this situation was unlike any other that you’d ever been in. It was foreign territory for you.

“Look,” he grabbed onto your hand, “whenever you get nervous up there, you just hold my hand, alright? You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say your heart skipped a beat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d even say you felt a spark when his skin met yours.

For a second, you pretended that you weren’t pretending. You pretended that you were holding hands because you were two kids in love, not because you had to survive. You pretended you were never in The Games, that you never killed so ruthlessly just to live without truly living. You pretended that you weren’t you, and Finnick wasn’t Finnick, and you were holding hands just because, not because you were about to go on TV and lie.

But that second ended far too quickly as you pulled your hand out of his grasp, nodding. “Okay,” you took a deep breath, repeating his words to yourself, “we’re gonna be okay.”

“Of course, we are. Now tell me again how we met.”

When the time came for the actual interview, you never let Finnick’s hand go.

The experience became more familiar to you as you went on. It was the same as any other show you’d put on for the Capitol. When you were younger, you dreamed of being a storyteller.

Now, you told stories of a life of yours that’d never existed.

Finnick and you were thrusted into the public eye, reciting the same stories day after day. It almost felt like it was actually real, and sometimes, you wished it was.

He’d look at you with a look of love in his eyes in front of all of the cameras, touching you tenderly. Oh, he was a wonderful liar. He even made you believe it for a second, too. But you knew that no such thing would ever happen.

Finnick Odair would never fall for a girl like you. Even if you were slowly falling for him.

During nights alone, you’d marvel at the turn of events. Finnick was once a man that you hated, but now look at you. You didn’t even know if you were faking it anymore. But it is fake, you’d remind yourself. He doesn’t love you, and you won’t love him.

You weren’t gonna let yourself love him. Truth be told, you were never gonna let yourself love anybody in the first place. Loving someone only made a new liability, a new weakness for the Capitol to exploit, but you could not love Finnick.

You’d been through a lot; your heart had taken many blows and survived, but you knew loving Finnick would only one day break it into a million little pieces. Still, it’s not like he made it easy.

You were lying in your bed- your shared bed with Finnick. Since announcing that you were dating, you moved in with him. You both decided it’d be easier to hide it all that way, easier for the public to believe, too. Sharing a bed was his idea—“just in case,” he’d said.

You wanted to object, but what would you even tell him? That you were afraid of falling in love with him? You would never even put the mere idea into his head. So you went along with it.

It was funny, though: you never went to bed alone, but that’s still how it felt. Being next to him, under the covers… it didn’t make you as warm as you hoped it would.

He didn’t live with anyone else. From what you gathered, Mags, your shared mentor, was his only family. His parents died of sickness early on; Mags took him in and kept him alive, all the way up until he was sent to The Games. Finnick didn’t get sappy with you often, but you knew that he couldn’t lose her.

What he was doing for Snow, he was doing for Mags. You thought Mags was the only person he cared about, but you learned that this wasn’t true. There was one other person who he was close to, who he’d do anything to keep safe. That person was Annie Cresta.

You met her once. She was beautiful and sweet, so you understood immediately why Finnick was in love with her. He never talked to you about her, but you could tell just from how he looked at her that she was the light of his life, even if she herself wasn’t aware of that.

Annie was good, the perfect girl for Finnick. She didn’t come with all the baggage you had, she wasn’t as rude, and she always knew what to say. You would’ve wanted them together, too, if it weren’t for the fact that Finnick was becoming your Annie. He was becoming your person, and so it killed you to know that not only was he in love with another girl, but he was also unhappy.

He’d never be happy with you. While you wished you could spare him the torment and just let him be with her, you had people you cared about, too, and he was now also on that list. So your job was to keep you all alive, not happy.

The door to your bedroom opened, interrupting your train of thought. You faced away from the entrance, but you knew it was Finnick. He had perfected soundless footsteps, even though you weren’t in an arena anymore. But you supposed you were still fighting for your lives, anyway.

He climbed into bed, letting out a big exhale when his back hit the mattress. You didn’t greet him, nor did he greet you, even though he knew you were awake. You’d gone through this whole song and dance already. You had to pretend in front of the cameras; you weren’t gonna do that in here, too.

The two of you were silent. This wasn’t a silence like before when you stood together in the Capitol after those horrible nights. This was a silence that was suffocating.

Things were never the same after you decided to go through with this charade. Maybe you were almost friends before, but now you were allies at most, just there to help the other survive. Oh, you wished you could be friends, but life was never so kind.

As if he could hear you begging for companionship, he whispered, “Y/N?”

Your breath hitched. “Yes?”

There was a beat of silence before his response. You wondered what his face looked like, but you wouldn’t dare turn around. “Can we- can we just be together tonight?”

Out of all the things he could’ve said, that didn’t even make your list. You sharply inhaled. Finnick didn’t sound like Finnick at all. He sounded small, and vulnerable, and scared, all states that he’d never let you see him in. But he was.

“What do you mean?” You didn’t turn around. “We are together.”

So unlike Finnick, he stammered, “No, I mean- can I- I want to hold you.”

If this were the dance you compared it to in your head, then you’d be stumbling over your own feet. He’d never asked about anything like that before. In fact, Finnick never even seemed to like you or this predicament much. Sure, you interested him, and maybe you were friends, but you knew that if he could’ve pick anyone else to dance this dance with, he would’ve.

You wondered what brought him to this point. Maybe it had something to do with Annie, but at that moment, you couldn’t bother thinking about it. He’d never know it, but you could never say no to him.

So you turned around and let him wrap his arm around you. But little did he know, you obliged not just to comfort him, but also yourself.

You’d fall asleep in Finnick’s arms every night after that. 

You’d always been so independent, so alone, that you forgot what it felt like to lean on someone, even if it was just for a little while in the dead of night. But when Finnick held you, sleep came easier and nightmares came less.

He had no idea that he became your knight in shining armour; he never meant to, but he did. Soon after you started “dating,” Snow left you alone. You still attended Capitol parties, still mentored kids every year, but you no longer found yourself in bed with members of Snow’s cabinet, and neither did Finnick.

It was easier once it stopped, but you still had to grapple with the pain of what had already happened to you; all of this didn’t even take into account The Games. Sure, you were done, but you still had to come back once a year and prepare a kid to kill or be killed. Nothing dredged up old memories like that did.

Doing it with him was what got you through it. When you lost a kid, Finnick was there to hold you and reassure you and himself that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have done much more to stop it. At times like those especially, you had to reel yourself in and remind yourself that, yes, he cared for you, but he wasn’t in love with you.

There were times that every bone in your body told you the exact opposite, that Finnick’s actions told you the exact opposite. Sometimes, he’d kiss you for the cameras and made you fall for it, too.

God, you were a team, such a great team. Would it be so horrible of you to assume you could be more?

You’d later realize that, yes, it was.

Because at the reaping for the 70th Hunger Games, Annie Cresta’s name was called and your little fantasy of a relationship with Finnick was shattered to pieces.

His usually calm demeanour was broken as he ran toward her as soon as you both got on the train, engulfing her in a hug and soothing her while she sobbed. You just watched from the sidelines, a frown on your face. You wished you were frowning because your dear friend Annie was just chosen to be in a fight to the death, but you were frowning because Finnick had never hugged you like that.

There were no cameras here; this wasn’t for show. He never looked at you like that when there weren’t any cameras around.

You felt like you were intruding on a private moment, even though you were just standing there, even though you were supposed to be his girlfriend, not Annie. A girlfriend would’ve probably cleared her throat, interrupted the interaction, but you couldn’t find the courage to do that.

Instead, you waited for the moment to end and walked over to her yourself when Finnick stepped away, giving her a tight hug as if she hadn’t just brought you to the brink of tears. But that didn’t matter. Annie could possibly die, so your little feelings for Finnick were pretty insignificant at the moment.

You tossed those very feelings to the side, directing all your attention to preparing your tribute. Finnick was trying to explain everything, but he was too worried, so you took over for him, pushing forth all your efforts while he focused on the boy that’d been reaped from your district.

You always tried your best with the tributes, always, but this wasn’t just any tribute. This was Annie Cresta, your friend and the love of Finnick’s life. You needed her to make it out of this alive—Finnick wouldn’t survive without her.

You gave her every piece of advice you could think of during that trip, digging through your memory for things you might’ve even forgotten. You wished you could help the boy in the same way, but there could only be one victor in these Games, and it had to be her.

Remember that these are games, Annie. Don’t worry about the killing once you’re in the arena; you need to treat it like a game, like the other tributes are just pieces that need to be knocked off the board, you told her. You hated every word that came out of your mouth, but she needed to hear it. She needed to overcome the shock now so she didn’t get choked up during the actual Games like you did.

When the time finally came for you to send the tributes off into the arena, you hugged yourself, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. You imagined that it was Finnick’s arms that were around you, but you weren’t gonna ask him to comfort you. He was the one that needed comforting, but you knew he wouldn’t accept it, so you didn’t offer.

Instead, you worked your ass off to get Annie sponsors, to get people to like her as if they didn’t already. You didn’t sleep for days, and neither did Finnick until he accidentally fell asleep for a few hours one day.

You both watched as she took the tips you’d given her, using them in her own way. She was small, but she was smart and she picked up on how to play the game quickly.

Only when the last tribute was dead did a sigh of relief finally leave you. Your shoulders slumped as you sat in front of the TV. Finnick’s muttering fell upon deaf ears as static filled your brain. She made it, you thought. She’s okay.

But that didn’t make life any more okay.

After all, nobody ever really won The Games.

“Annie- Annie, it’s alright-” 

“No, it’s not!” You heard something break, like it had thrown it to the ground. When you walked further into your house, your guess was proven right. Finnick and Annie stood in your living room, the former worried and the latter frantic, pieces of a broken vase all over the ground.

“Nothing is okay, Finn! Nothing! Do you hear me- nothing is okay!” The redhead was pacing around with your so called boyfriend trying to stop and calm her down. They were both so panicked that neither of them noticed you, and you didn’t announce your presence, either.

You only stood from the side, just like on that Capitol train. The Annie that went into that arena was innocent. She was eighteen, but she was still more of a child than either of you ever got the chance to be. Now that she won, she didn’t look so innocent anymore.

She wore a look that was so familiar to you. She was alive, but Annie had never looked more like a ghost of herself.

“Annie, please-” Finnick’s voice cracked mid-sentence. He kept trying to get close to her, but she moved away every time. The tears in his eyes made yours watery, too. You had never seen him look so broken, not even as you stood in the Capitol together those cold nights after being used.

If you weren’t sure of how much Finnick loved Annie, you were now.

“No, no, nothing is okay!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. She suddenly stopped, letting out a sob before collapsing onto the ground. Finnick ran to her right away, pulling her close and rocking her as she repeated the same thing over and over.

You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until you felt the tear falling onto your cheek, wiping at it immediately and turning around to walk away as quietly as you possibly could. You weren’t gonna just stand by and do nothing while Annie fell apart and Finnick cut himself trying to put the pieces back together. You couldn’t.

You found yourself in the kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove to distract yourself. Your eyes zeroed in on it as you tried to block out the sound of Annie’s crying, trying not to cry yourself. At one point, you succeeded, because you couldn’t hear anything anymore.

You don’t know how long you stood there, but you were eventually broken out of your trance by a hand reaching out in front of you to turn off the stove, moving the kettle. It was only now that you realized how loudly it was whistling.

You turned to see the hand belonged to Finnick who now poured the hot water into your expensive tea cups. They were a gift given to you by a patron of the Capitol, an old man with kids and a wife. He was somewhat of a regular of yours, and so he gave you that tea set to try and make himself feel better for what he was doing, along with many other gifts.

You never told Finnick any of this. You wondered if he would so readily pull them out if he knew where they came from.

He wordlessly put the tea bags into the cups, sliding one over on the island to where you stood. Then he brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip of the scalding liquid like it was nothing. You ignored your disbelief and the rational part of your brain, picking the cup to do the same thing.

When the tea met your tongue, it burned, even as it went down your throat, but you still went back in for a second sip, anyway. This pain was able to distract you from all the thoughts bouncing around in your head, and so that made it feel like it was worth it. You wondered if this was Finnick’s logic, too.

You didn’t say anything for a long while, didn’t ask about Annie or where she went. You knew he must’ve known that you heard what happened, but he didn’t mention it, either. You assumed that she fell asleep.

You wished you could fall asleep so easily, too.

Your song kept playing as you both danced around the same topics, standing together silently as your world crumbled. You danced, and danced, and danced, until your tea cups were empty, but the song was still playing.

Finnick’s voice cut through the silence of your music effortlessly, even though he was still so quiet.

“Sometimes, I think she would’ve been better off if she died.” You slowly brought your head up to meet his eyes, but they were aimed at the cup in his hand. He looked nothing like the Prince of Panem, the charming man who always had something witty to say. No, he looked beaten down, just as lifeless as Annie. Maybe you looked as lifeless as you felt, too; maybe you were all so unaware of how broken you seemed.

You didn’t know what to say to his confession. So you didn’t say anything at all.

You’d never know where that conversation would’ve went, because in seconds, Finnick collected your cups, put them in the sink, and then he left you standing there.

His words from before echoed through your head. We will never be free, Y/N.

And maybe he was right.

Annie was back home, but she never really came back from that arena—none of you did. Hell, you were thrusted into a life you never wanted, a victor’s life, as soon as you were out. You thanked God that Annie wasn’t gonna have to go through what you did; the way she was spinning out made her undesirable. At least a good thing came out of her losing it.

Oh, you were starting to find a silver-lining with everything. You had to—otherwise, you’d lose it, just like Annie. You had to find some sort of good in this situation because, otherwise, what was the point?

Time supposedly healed all wounds, but you felt like you were still bleeding. You just learned to conceal it better than others.

Before The Games, you had friends. Now you really only talked to Finnick, and you two didn’t talk much, either. Every now and then, you’d see Annie and Mags, but they weren’t your people. And your family… well, how close could you be with them after what happened? You weren’t the same girl your mother raised.

She could barely even look at you anymore.

But you couldn’t think about any of this. If you did, you’d fall apart, and you couldn’t do that. You had a role to play, an image to protect—for your safety, for your family’s safety, for his safety.

You couldn’t afford to break down like that in your living room and throw things. You wanted to, so badly, but you didn’t have that luxury.

So your song kept playing, and you danced along with it.

Finnick’s walls went back up, too. His charisma was like a light bulb that briefly flickered, but it was back now. He was dancing, too. But, without even realizing it, you both held each other tighter at night, as if you were trying not to lose the other to the tornado that was your life.

However, when you woke up, you both pretended the tornado didn’t even exist.

Annie wasn’t one for pretending. Oh, she got wrapped up into the tornado the second she was declared a victor and there was no saving her anymore. Yes, she would’ve been better off dead, maybe you all would’ve been, but if you thought about this for too long, if you let the song stop, then you’d get caught in the cyclone, too.

You pretended for a year, attending Capitol galas with a smile on your face, getting interviewed right next to Finnick with his hand in yours, acting like you were the picture perfect couple. He spoke about you like he knew you like the back of his hand, but truth be told, he didn’t know you at all; he barely ever tried to. You didn’t blame him, though; it was hard to try to talk to someone when the music was so loud.

Then came the 71st Hunger Games, and you were mentors again. Meeting the tributes, it was almost like the music stopped- almost. The girl was quiet but angry, and she reminded you so much of yourself. The boy kept cracking jokes that she didn’t laugh at, jokes that were probably inappropriate for a time like this, but you knew he wasn’t doing it to be an ass. This was his way of coping.

He reminded you of Finnick.

Looking at these kids was like looking into a mirror. On the last day of training, he finally got a reaction out of her, made her smile with a faint blush on her cheeks. Oh, these kids should’ve been laughing together in the diner back home, not on their way to die.

They were too young and too innocent. It makes you wonder if things would’ve been different if you and Finnick had met before The Games. Would that have made soothed the heartbreak?

You didn’t know. But when you saw that boy crying as he held her in that arena, blood pouring onto him from her stab-wound, you knew that heartbreak was what he felt.

Too young. They were too young.

The boy died too. He didn’t even put up a fight.

These kids were just kids, and they died young.

Just like you and Finnick did.

You sat in your room at the Capitol, swirling your scotch around in your glass. It was a crystal glass so beautiful you knew it could’ve only been crafted by hand, but you didn’t want to admire it; you wanted to throw it at the wall.

Their names were Delta and Aalto. Aalto was the more talkative one; he said he dreamed of opening his own bakery one day, right in the middle of the district with food that everyone could afford and enjoy.

He’d never get to do that now.

And Delta- she didn’t know what she wanted out of life yet. She never got the chance to figure it out.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

The door to the room opened, making you look up from the liquor in your hand to see Finnick walking into the room. He looked defeated. Of course, he was better at hiding it than you were, but you knew how to read him better now, after all these years.

The bed dipped as he sat down next to you. You held your glass out, almost like a peace offering, and he took it without much thought, downing it in one go.

You sat there together the same way you had many times before, not saying a word. But this time felt different. It felt like there was something you were supposed to say. So you turned to look at Finnick, trying to see if he felt the same weight, only to see that he was already looking at you.

You could tell just by his eyes that he felt it, too. He opened his mouth, then closed it like he’d lost his train of thought. When you met him, you never thought you’d see the day when Finnick was speechless.

Look at how wrong you were.

You opened your mouth after a few seconds, wanting to articulate your feelings in some way, but Finnick’s lips slammed against yours before you get anything out. Without thinking, you kissed back; it felt like second-nature to you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but he had never kissed you like this, so passionately, not a camera in sight. He was kissing you like you were air and he’d been holding his breath for so long, like you were the treasure he’d been searching for and he didn’t want to let go.

It felt like nothing you’d ever experienced.

When you eventually pulled away for air and opened your eyes, you were brought back to the real world. There was something you were supposed to say. But you quickly disregarded it, pulling him back in for another kiss before he could notice the way you were looking at him.

Yes, there was something you were supposed to say. But you couldn’t put it into words.

So you hoped that this kiss said everything that you couldn’t.

You were both grieving, and you were both there. And you knew that Finnick didn’t like you like that, so you weren’t gonna get your hopes up. This meant nothing, even if it felt like everything for you when it was happening.

He was the only person you’d ever done anything like this with before. You did things with those people Snow set you up with, but that didn’t count. You were doing this because you wanted to. You didn’t know if this was his first time or not, but you weren’t gonna ask. You did everything but talk for the rest of the night.

When you woke up, it was still dark out and Finnick was still asleep. You stared at him for a few seconds, his fluffy blond hair that you messed up, his swollen lips. He looked so peaceful like this; you couldn’t bear to wake him up and ruin that, bring him back to this nightmare.

So you got up as quietly as you could, wrapping yourself in a robe and closing the door to the bedroom, walking into the living room. The rooms the Capitol provided the victors were beautiful, but never beautiful enough to make you forget about the ugly reason that you were here.

You sat on the couch, exhaling and leaning back. You were gonna sit there in silence, but your song kept playing, and the record was skipping, and you were starting to get a headache, so you turned on the TV.

Without having to change the channel at all, you were immediately met with the news, Caesar Flickerman’s face on the flat screen. It wasn’t long before you realized why he was so excited: the Hunger Games were over. Someone won.

Caesar’s attitude made your mood go sour. He was behaving like twenty-three children weren’t just killed. It didn’t matter if they died of starvation, dehydration, an animal, or actually another tribute—it was all murder, and the Capitol was the perpetrator. It disgusted you that there were people who found enjoyment in watching these Games, Caesar Flickerman included. They’d pretend to be sympathetic, but at the end of the day, you were all just circus animals to them.

The victor’s face came onto the TV, and you immediately recognized her from the rankings. Johanna Mason. Caesar kept talking, explaining how Johanna had managed to cause so many people to be enamoured of her, and you suddenly felt sick.

Snow was gonna jump at this opportunity. He was gonna use her, too.

You turned off the TV, going back to your room and getting back into bed like you’d never left. Your song came back on, and you went back to preferring to listen to it instead of your own thoughts. You weren’t gonna think about Johanna much longer; there wasn’t any point.

There was nothing you could do.

The next time you woke up and it was actually morning, you were surprised to see that Finnick was still there. While you were sleeping, he managed to snake his arms around you. 

You didn’t get up, even though there were Capitol duties to attend to.

You stayed in bed and pretended that you were a normal couple, that maybe Finnick actually felt something for you, that you weren’t in the Capitol right now, that the world wasn’t so fucked up, that you weren’t so fucked up. But you didn’t pretend for long, eventually getting up and facing the world that you didn’t want to be apart of but had been sucked into.

He didn’t tell you this, but he was pretending, too.

You both went to the gatherings you had to go to, talked to the people you had to talk to, kept smiles on your faces, and shook Snow’s hand, even though it made you want to puke. You endured it all—you both did. The Prince and Princess of Panem…

You realized it was true what they said, heavy is the head that wears the crown. This figurative crown was weighing you down; you wondered if it’d be so coveted if people got the chance to feel how you felt.

Then you went back home, even if it didn’t really feel like a home to you. It was still all you had. But Finnick kept surprising you.

Your dance suddenly changed. The song was still playing, but the dance was different, almost like that night you’d spent together had actually meant something.

You started having dinner together every night. Before, you often forgot to eat, but now how could you? You were beginning to look forward to your daily dinners; there wasn’t much more to look forward to in the life you led.

He made it hard for you not to fall even more in love with him.

You two still didn’t talk during dinner, but it almost did feel normal, like you were a family- like you could be a family.

And then the dance changed again, and that dream felt even more real.

You pulled your chair out at your dinner table, sitting down across from Finnick. You were both dressed “down” in more comfortable clothes, but you knew there was some people in the district that still couldn’t afford them. That bothered you, but when you had dinner, most of your worries were pushed to the back of your mind.

When you two had dinner, you just enjoyed the dance.

You were a few minutes into dinner when you noticed that Finnick wasn’t eating but he was staring at you. He hadn’t stared at you like that since when you first met, so curiously, like you were a secret he wanted to be let in on.

You couldn’t ignore his stare, even if you tried. However, you tried to act nonchalant. “Is there something you want to say?” You quizzed, twirling another bite of pasta like you were unaffected by his gaze.

Finnick responded in the same beat, so much like the Finnick that was charismatic and lively, not the quiet one you normally lived with. “Something I want to ask you, actually.”

“Oh,” you said, immediately kicking yourself at how stupid you sounded. “Well, ask away.” He didn’t need to be told twice.

“What’s your favourite colour?” 

You were caught off guard by his question, blinking like you were trying to figure out if you just imagined him saying him that or if he really did. He blinked back at you but never faltered.

“What?”

He repeated himself, slower this time. “What is your favourite colour?” You blinked again when you realized he was being totally serious. “You know, colours, like a rainbow-”

“I know what colours are, Finnick.”

“Ohhhh.” His eyes got big as if he thought you actually didn’t know what a rainbow was. “Sorry, you were just looking at me like I had said the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. So what’s your favourite colour?”

You couldn’t stop the corners of your lips going up as his grin just got wider. God, you hadn’t seen him smile like that in so long. It actually looked real.

You thought about it for a second, looking right into his eyes when you came up with an answer. “It’s blue, not really dark or light either. Sort of green- it’s close to grey, too.”

He looked at you for a few seconds before blurting, “Y/N, that sounds like the least vibrant shade of blue I’ve ever heard of.”

You laughed. “It’s vibrant to me!” He laughed, too, shaking his head like you were crazy. That shade of blue that you described was more vibrant than any other blue you’d ever seen. You could never tired of looking at it whenever you looked into Finnick’s eyes.

When the laughter died down, you asked him the same question. “Okay, now what’s your favourite colour?”

He shrugged. “Don’t have one.”

You scoffed, “Oh, come. on. You have to have a favourite colour; you can’t be that boring.”

“That boring? I’m not boring at all,” he argued, a look of faux offence on his face.

You snorted. “I beg to differ.”

“I can make you beg a lot more if you don’t take that back.” Your eyes immediately went wide and, against your will, a faint redness spread on your cheeks.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said, crossing his arms. He looked pleased at the reaction he got out of you. “Take it back.”

You scoffed again, but you weren’t sure if it was because of your stubbornness or because you wanted to see how far you could push him. “I’m not taking anything back.”

He just stared at you for a few seconds before flashing that famous smirk of his, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Really?”

You crossed your arms, too, nodding. “Mhm.”

He chuckled. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning.”

And then he spent the rest of the night showing you just how boring he wasn’t.

The day after, you didn’t wake up dejected but instead with a smile on your face. You didn’t get out of bed at all, staying in Finnick’s arms. You felt giddy, like a school girl. There were no thoughts of his lack of feelings for you, Annie, or The Games. You just laid there and enjoyed the moment.

It didn’t even feel like you were pretending.

When Finnick woke up, you did it all over again. You ended up staying in bed all day together, cancelling your plans.

And when the time came to get out of bed, to go back to the real world, the music didn’t go back to normal. It was more upbeat now. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the beat to drop, but it didn’t.

Finnick didn’t pretend like you two sleeping together never happened. In fact, you two kept doing it almost every day. You actually had conversations during dinner. You learned basic things about him that you hadn’t known in all of the time you were living together.

He made you laugh often. You stopped crying so much.

Is this what happiness feels like? you wondered. If it was, you never wanted anything different. Whatever Finnick felt for you, it didn’t matter. As long as he kept making you happy, it didn’t matter.

You were so in love with him that it stopped mattering if he reciprocated your feelings. You didn’t want anything to ruin this, what you had. Your relationship was the most special thing you’d ever had, even if you didn’t know what to call it, so you were gonna do your damn best to hold onto it.

The things he’d say in front of the cameras felt real, then the things he did when you were alone made you believe it even more. Whatever this was between you, it felt real.

So real.

You were stirring something on the stove when two arms snaked around your waist, tickling you, making a squeal fly from your lips. “Finnick!” You screeched, trying to suppress your giggles as you turned around. The culprit (who was shirtless) didn’t look guilty at all, a shit-eating grin on his face. You shoved his shoulder. “I am trying to cook us breakfast.”

He snorted. “Yeah, trying and failing.” You shoved him again, causing him to laugh. “I’m sorry, you can’t cook!”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “I’ll have you know, I can cook very well, actually.”

He wrapped his arms around you again. “You know, you’re cute when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting!” You exclaimed, but a blush still arose on your cheeks that Finnick noticed right away. It was almost like he was always watching for those types of things, always trying to say or do something to get you red.

“You’re even cuter when you blush.” 

Your blush worsened, but you weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction of your defeat. “I’m not blushing. We’re in a kitchen, and it’s hot.”

He pulled you closer to him, grin widening. “Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart, about your blushing or your cooking.” He glanced behind you. “Oh, look, burnt food.”

Your eyes went wide, immediately turning around. You groaned when you saw the brown eggs and the trail of smoke coming from them. “It’s all your fault, Finn, you distracted me.”

He gave your head a kiss, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “Sure, darling, whatever you say.” Luckily, you were turned away from him so he couldn’t see how your cheeks reddened. You still weren’t used to the pet names, even though Finnick seemed to adore them. “Let’s leave the cooking to me from now on.”

You lightly scoffed, “Whatever.” He kissed your cheek before you started walking away, planning to sit on the couch while you waited for him to cook the food. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was probably smug.

“Who messes up eggs?” he muttered under his breath once you were a few feet away.

“I heard that, Finnick!” you shouted, but he only let out a loud laugh.

You shook your head at him, plopping down onto the couch in the adjoining living room and turning the TV on, but it was really just background noise. You found it much more enticing to watch Finnick cook. The way he moved so swiftly looked effortless; he knew what he was doing, that was sure. And it didn’t help that he was shirtless.

You discreetly stared at him for a while—or, you thought you were being discreet. Without looking up from what he was doing, he teased, “You know that I can feel you ogling at me, right?”

You went red as a tomato. “Shut up, Finnick!” you shrieked, turning back to the TV as if you even knew what was playing. His laugh boomed and you turned up the volume to tune it out, only causing him to laugh even louder.

Even though you were thoroughly embarrassed that he’d caught you staring at him, a smile still found its way onto your face. Around Finnick, it was hard not find a reason to smile.

You’d be content if you didn’t do anything for the rest of your life but wake up to him every day.

You spent many more mornings like that together, and lunches, and dinners, and everything in between. You exchanged jokes and playful banter constantly. Finnick really did make your cheeks hurt.

But he knew when to be serious.

There were still nights when you’d wake up from nightmares, and he’d comfort you back to sleep every time. When you caught him in a nightmare, you’d try your best to repay the favour, even though that didn’t happen often. He rarely wanted you to see him like that, so he hid his nightmares, but you did everything you could to keep him happy while he was awake to make up for it.

When you went to the Capitol, all of the darkness crept back in, squeezing in through the cracks of the walls that you’d built—for both of you. But you kept each other grounded. You weren’t alone.

Once, he had to talk you back from the edge as you had a panic attack in the bathroom. He locked the door and stayed there with you until you calmed down. You told him that you saw someone you hadn’t seen up close in a while, an old patron, and that just opened the floodgates. You saw his hands ball up into fists; he tried to hide the anger on his face, but you saw it and you understood it. 

He was angry at the Capitol, and so were you. He’d been through the same things you had, and that made it so much easier to cope, to have someone that understood. He understood for you and you understood for him, and so when things were bad, they at least became more okay. As long as you were there for each other, things were okay.

Meeting Johanna Mason at a later event nearly brought you right back to the brink. Her family was dead, she’d told you. And you wished you hadn’t understood so fast. You wished that none of you ever had to understand these things, that you could’ve stayed kids for longer before childhood was ripped away from you.

It’s not fair, you cried to Finnick. He killed her family. She said no, and he killed her family.

He let you cry on his shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down your back as he whispered, I know. It’s not fair, I know. But it was the world you lived in, and, unfortunately, neither of you had the power to do anything about it, even though you were the so called Prince and Princess of Panem.

So you did what you could. You were there for Johanna like how you were there for Finnick when you still didn’t know him. Both of you were there for her, teaching her the moves to your dance so she could dance with you while you were all at the Capitol together.

She was brutally honest, maybe even rude to the average onlooker, but it was what The Games did to her. Finnick and you understood that, and that led to you both forming a friendship with her. Coping with other people, people who understood, was the best painkiller that not even money could provide.

The Games were the hardest, but you went through that together, too. You trained those tributes with everything you had. You tried your best, but sometimes, not even that was enough to keep them alive. Finnick and you would grieve together. At times, he was more rational than you, reminding you that it wasn’t your fault, that these were games made to kill.

Whatever you went through, you went through it together. The good days, the bad days, the laughs, the tears—you were together every step of the way.

Things went like this for years. You really were a team, and nothing could convince you otherwise this time. You loved him more and more each day, but you never told him that; you didn’t need to, and you didn’t need him to love you, either. Being there, being together was good enough.

Your song never got old. You were so in sync as you danced. Oh, you never would’ve thought that Finnick Odair of all people would not only make your life bearable, but also joyful.

You were fake boyfriend and girlfriend, and yeah those lines started to blur, but you also became best friends over time. 

Finnick and you lied together in bed, the TV going on in the background. Your head was on his chest as he pet your hair. It was your seventh time doing this mentor thing, but it never seemed to get easier.

Your tributes were promising, but they still died early on, even though you both got them as many sponsors as you could. Mentors were usually down in the lobby, talking to sponsors and watching The Games with everyone else, but after your tributes died, there was no point.

So you went upstairs, and you both just lied there. It was one of those times where neither of you had to say anything. You were together, alive together, and that was enough.

Listening to Finnick’s heartbeat could calm you down in any situation. You must’ve been doing something to help him, too, because his heartbeat was steady. You stayed like that for a bit until he moved a bit, murmuring under his breath, “What?”

He sat up, making you sit up, too, while he grabbed the remote, turning the volume up. You glanced at it and the scene immediately caught your attention. You heard the last bits of what the announcer was saying, that a rule about two victors was being annulled. Your brows furrowed; you must not have seen the part where any such thing was declared.

You recognized the tributes who you quickly realized were the last people left standing. They were the kids from district 12, the Girl on Fire and the boy in love with her.

You scoffed. “Of course, they want the star-crossed lovers to battle to the death.” You were about to turn away, refusing to indulge in the Capitol’s bullshit, but Finnick grabbed onto your arm.

“Wait.”

You stopped, turning back. The girl, Katniss, had a bow and arrow in her hands. Peeta was a few steps away from her. They were both staring at each other, Katniss looking like she didn’t know what do, but Peeta looked like he already accepted that he was going to die.

You didn’t want to watch this, watch two people fall apart on television, but for some reason, this had captured Finnick’s attention.

One of us should go home, he said. One of us has to die; they have to have their victor. Katniss was already shaking her head.

No. She dropped her arrow to the ground, walking forward. They don’t.

You tilted your head, but you understood what was happening when she pulled a handful of berries from her pocket. “Holy shit.”

Peeta grabbed her hand, rejecting the idea immediately, but she whispered, Trust me. He must’ve really been in love with her, because he did. She poured some berries into the palm of his hand, making you lean closer.

“You don’t think they’re gonna…” you trailed off, puzzled. There were people that’d killed themselves in past games, but this had never happened. There was always a victor.

Peeta hesitated, but looked sure when he looked back into Katniss’ eyes. Together? he mumbled.

She repeated his words. Together. She looked up for a second, and then you suddenly recognized the look on her face. This was a bluff.

They counted down from three, and just as they were gonna bring the berries to their mouths, the announcer frantically cut in, Stop- stop! He cleared his throat. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners… of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Relief flooded into Katniss’ eyes as she embraced Peeta in a hug. Shock flowed through you, and Finnick’s expression was no different.

Once you had processed the information, you couldn’t help the grin that grew on your face, disbelief and pride filling you at the same time. “They just screwed the Capitol.”

You turned to see him smirking. “Hell yeah, they did.”

And this made your Hunger Games experience just a little bit better.

Neither of you were surprised that Seneca Crane was found dead days later. He made a grave mistake, letting two victors win. Snow wouldn’t have that, and you could guess why.

What Katniss and Peeta did was causing chatter, sparking hope. People in district 4 were more hush-hush about it, but outlying districts, like 11, had gone into revolts. The Capitol must’ve been stressed, and knowing that brought you some sick form of comfort.

Katniss and Peeta were spinning their actions, making them out to be this act of love, like they couldn’t bear to live without each other, but you and Finnick saw right through it. After all, if there was anyone who could spot a fake relationship, it was you two.

However, the two love-birds flew from your mind when you got home. You were brought back to your little world, living life alongside Finnick. The urge grew to ask him what you were, if you were still in a fake relationship just like Katniss and Peeta or if this was real, as real as you felt it was, but you didn’t wanna mess up the one good thing you had going.

The truth was, you don’t know how long you would’ve made it without him.

Finnick was your lifeline, and he had no idea.

The next time you were at the Capitol, you were in the Presidential Palace for the so called biggest party of the year. It was always hosted right before the Hunger Games, so being there gave you many things to be anxious about.

But, like always, you concealed it, smiling and shaking hands with the people you came across, even as you were disgusted. Some of these people, the very people who paid for your body at sixteen, were there with their families. You wondered how they could have children and still do what they did.

You were a child, too.

Normally, Finnick would be there to calm you down, but he snuck off somewhere without telling you.

You were wandering around, trying to find him when a head of brown hair streaked with red came into your view. “Hey, Princess.”

A sigh left your lips, both out of relief that you found someone you knew and discontent at the nickname. “Hey, Jo.” You would usually make conversation with her, but you were pretty distracted, glancing around behind her. “Have you seen Finnick anywhere? I’ve been looking for him for a while now.”

When you looked back to her, a look you couldn’t decipher flashed across her face, but it was gone in an instant. “No, can’t say I have.”

For some reason, you got a weird feeling from her. It was almost like she knew something that you didn’t.

“Hey, why don’t we go grab a bite while we wait for him?” She suggested, gesturing to the buffet. “I’m starving.”

You shook your head, dazed. “I’ll catch up with you- I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”

She perked up. “I’ll go with you.”

You were quick to decline. “No, that’s fine; go eat. I’ll be back in a sec.” She was hesitant  for reasons you couldn’t fathom, but she eventually nodded, agreeing to meet you later.

You walked through the halls, passing the bathrooms and not even sparing them a glance. You didn’t really know why you lied about where you were going, but in that moment, it felt like instinct. You trusted Johanna, but you were catching the same weird vibe from countless other people. All you wanted was to find Finnick and have him tell you everything was alright.

You didn’t have to look long before you found him, outside along with many other partygoers. But he wasn’t alone. Standing next to him was a man you’d just recently seen on TV. You just couldn’t remember his name.

You made your way over to them. They cut themselves off as soon as they saw you, not letting you overhear a single detail of whatever they were talking about. You stifled the reappearance of that weird feeling that was starting to feel a lot like suspicion. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen.”

Finnick waved you off, “No, it’s fine, sweetheart.” He pulled you into his side, kissing your temple. “This is Plutarch Heavensbee.” A lightbulb went off in your head as you looked to the man.

He was Seneca Crane’s replacement.

What the hell was Finnick doing talking to him?

“It’s an honour and a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted, holding his hand out. There was something about him that was throwing you off, not just your revelation of who he was, but you still shook his hand.

“Pleasure’s mine, Mr. Heavensbee,” you replied, smiling your umpteenth fake smile of the night. But you had an inkling that no one in the Capitol was as genuine as they seemed.

Plutarch didn’t try to stay and make small talk like the rest of the people you encountered at the Capitol, bidding you both farewell and wishing you a good night. Something told you his departure had something to do with your arrival.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned in Finnick’s arms. “Was that the new head Gamemaker?” He nodded, but didn’t offer any explanation. You furrowed your brows. “What were you talking about?” 

Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, but for some reason, he seemed tense. “He wanted to meet the youngest victor of The Games.”

You found that hard to believe, holding back a scoff. “Well, he didn’t seem too interested in meeting me.”

A smile arose on his face as he wrapped his arms back around your waist. “That is because you, darling, are not the youngest person to ever win.”

This time, you did scoff, but the tense atmosphere dissipated. “You’re a dick.”

“You love me.” Your heart nearly stopped, but you kept your composure. You did love him, more than he’d ever know.

You shook your head, acting unaffected. “C’mon, Johanna’s waiting for us by the buffet.” You tried walking away, but your faux façade of annoyance was broken by Finnick latching onto your hand and walking forward with you, chuckling.

And then the entire matter of everyone’s weird behaviour was pushed to the back of your mind.

Returning home from the Capitol was always peaceful, like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, but this time was unlike any of those other times. When you got home, the so called peace that the Capitol so delicately crafted was ripping at the seams.

The chatter from before, from when Katniss and Peeta defied the Capitol, was louder than ever. They had just gone on their victor’s tour, right before you left for the Presidential Palace, and they had apparently sparked a reaction in just about every district they visited, yours included.

You found out that district 4 had been in a revolt since Everdeen and Mellark came and gave their speech. The people were outraged. The news talked about seafood shortages due to bad weather, but the Capitol just didn’t want to let Panem know what was going on, that people were refusing work, that Peacekeepers were murdering innocent people left and right for the smallest of incidents.

When you were all caught up with what had happened, you were furious, too. You wanted to march out onto the streets and give the Capitol the finger, but Finnick pulled you back. 

“What are you gonna do, Y/N?” he questioned, not even giving you the time to answer. “You don’t even know.”

Your voice was vicious as you responded, a tone you’d never given him. You were angry, and you both knew you weren’t thinking clearly; you just didn’t care. “I don’t know right now, but I’m gonna do something, Finnick.” You tried pulling your arm away, but he was much stronger than you.

“I’m not gonna let you go out there and get yourself killed.” You could tell by his demeanour that he was angry, but not for the same reasons that you were.

You shook your head. “You of all people should understand where I’m coming from.”

His eyes went hard. “You must not know me well if you think I’d let my girlfriend kill herself.” That shut you up.

His girlfriend.

He called you his girlfriend.

You got over the shock and, suddenly, you were even more angry than before. While you could pretend all you wanted to that you lived in candy-land, the cruel reality was still there. Finnick didn’t love you. He was only playing with your emotions.

Tears built up in your eyes: sad tears, angry tears—they were everything tears. You felt everything. “I’m your girlfriend now?”

He scoffed, “Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t be serious right now.”

“I am so serious right now.” 

At your deadpan, he finally let go of your arm, running a hand through his hair. A part of you felt bad that he was so stressed, but you were stressed, too. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say when he looked back up at you. His voice was no longer harsh, but small. “Y/N, please.”

You swallowed. 

“I’m just asking you to trust me.” He grabbed onto your hands. “Please just trust me.” He was begging you.

“Trust you to do what?”

“I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please.” He held your hands tighter. “Trust me.”

Oh, it didn’t matter how angry you were, if your thoughts were set in stone. Finnick would still be able to mold you like clay. Every time.

“I trust you.”

There was something different about him, but you were too distracted to try and figure it out.

There were so many things going on.

You were with Annie when it happened. Oh, that must have been some cruel joke from the universe. You were walking through the town square, on your way to Victors’ Village with pastries from the bakery in your hands. You were slowed down by the all of the people congregating together, watching the screen.

President Snow was announcing the third Quarter Quell, and they were eating it up. You weren’t gonna do that, entertain his lunacy. You’d go the Capitol and play your role, but you weren’t gonna watch these broadcasts anymore. You weren’t gonna play along.

Finnick could explain it to you later so you’d be able to prep your tributes. The Quells were always made out to be the hallmark of The Games; they were always harder. You felt for whatever kids would have to go through them.

You felt a lot more once you realized who these tributes were gonna be.

You weren’t listening to what Snow was was saying, but his words cut through any sort of mental block you had. “On this, the third Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are… to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.” 

Your stopped walking as if you’d hit a wall, the stuff in your hands falling the ground, but it was almost like you didn’t hear it. You stopped hearing anything, not Snow explaining the condition or everyone’s gasps. Your ears rang. Everything was muffled like you were underwater.

You were done. You were supposed to be done. You went through those Games, you won, and now you were supposed to be done.

He was gonna make you go through it all over again.

You were so shocked that you pinched yourself, like you were a child and this was some nightmare, and even though you didn’t wake up, even though you knew you were awake, you were still caught in a nightmare that you’d have to die to escape from.

Your senses came back to you and you spun around, pulling Annie into a tight hug the second you saw the tears streaming down her face. She muttered the same thing over and over into your shoulder.

“This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.”

She couldn’t go through this again. The Games broke her beyond repair. She couldn’t mentor because of it; she could barely ever attend any of the Capitol parties you and Finnick frequented. She would die in that arena, either mentally or physically.

You couldn’t let that happen.

Your song played on a loop in your mind, making the decision for you. You were reminded that, even though your dance may have changed, Finnick didn’t love you. He loved Annie, and he would be destroyed if she died.

You couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t let Mags go back into the arena, either. He needed her. These were the only people he cared about; you couldn’t let them go through this.

Then and there, you decided your fate.

You were gonna be the one to go back into the arena, and no one was gonna stop you.

When you and Annie had made it to your house, ignoring all of the looks of pity thrown your way, Finnick looked just as beaten down as you, but not surprised. You didn’t have time to analyze that.

He hugged Annie first, shooting you an apologetic look, but you didn’t understand what it was for. You knew what Annie meant to him.

You weren’t so deluded that you’d believe you came before her. Besides, she needed to be consoled more than you did. You were calm. Annie was lost right now, but you knew exactly where you were headed.

That night, once Annie left, your clothes came off, and you and Finnick had the softest sex you ever had. It was gentle, and you let yourself feel loved one last time. You let yourself be selfish and have this one thing, just one last time.

You knew that the odds of coming out of that arena were slim, so you kissed Finnick like you were gonna die the very next day. I just might, you thought. And then as you fell asleep in his arms, you pretended that everything was alright. You pretended that your dance wasn’t gonna end so soon, that you weren’t gonna sign your life away when you woke up, that Finnick really loved you, that he loved you just as much as you loved him. You pretended one last time.

The next day, you and all of the other victors walked to the Hall of Justice, escorted by a dozen Peacekeepers. There were so many male tributes. As terrible as it sounded, you were praying that it’d be one of them that was chosen, not Finnick. If he was, then you would throw away any chance you had of winning.

If he went in with you, then he’d be the one walking out.

Cassia Locke stood in the middle of the stage, in between the male and female victors. You found it funny, almost: you were victors, but now the Capitol was gonna rip that refuge away after they’d already taken everything from you.

Cassia was just another mutt in your eyes. She was district 4’s Capitol escort; she was meant to be an advisor, but she didn’t do that well, not for you or the other tributes you mentored. But you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised. Her job was to make spectacles, not survivors.

However, she almost looked human for a moment, glancing at the women sympathetically before she pulled out a folded paper from the bowl. You stood on edge; there were only three of you. Unbeknownst to you, Finnick also stood straighter in trepidation.

She cleared her throat, announcing, “The female tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games and third Quarter Quell is… Annie Cresta.”

Annie’s face fell, but you quickly stepped forward. “I volunteer as tribute.”

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Annie whispered, putting a hand on your shoulder, but you brushed her off and ignored her.

Cassia nodded. “Very well, then.” She moved back to the bowl. “Now for the males.”

You glanced over to see that Finnick was already looking at you, an unknown emotion written all over his face, though you realized what it was quickly. Betrayal.

You were confused why. If anything, he should’ve been relieved.

“The male tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games will be…” she unfolded the paper, “Finnick Odair.”

Your heart dropped. That wasn’t supposed to happen. 

The universe must’ve hated you.

Finnick’s mask was back on. Any trace of emotion on his face was erased and replaced with the cocky, charming façade that he’d perfected. He smirked as if he wasn’t just chosen for the most brutal “game” there ever was, like there was nothing to be worried about.

He was so good at pretending. Maybe even better than you.

You both walked toward the centre of the stage simultaneously, routinely. You’ve danced this dance before.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Hunger Games.”

Right after that, Peacekeepers came from the side, trying to grab at your arms, but you shook them off. “We know where to go,” you said. You don’t know if it was the your tone of voice or the look on your face, but they actually listened.

You were escorted into an inactive chamber, the same one you were brought to for your first Games. Memories flashed through your mind before you shook them away. You couldn’t get PTSD right before you went into this.

Finnick was stoic as he stared you, but before either of you could say anything, Mags and Annie came rushing into the room. Annie took you by surprise, immediately engulfing you tightly.

She was still crying, but manage to blubber out through her tears, “Why- why would you do that?”

You rubbed her back. “Annie-”

“Why would you do that for me? It was supposed to be me. Supposed to be me, supposed to be me.” She kept repeating herself over and over, shaking in your arms.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Finnick and Mags watching you. “It’s gonna be okay, Annie,” you told her, but you knew it was a lie. “I’m gonna be fine.” You weren’t.

As if she knew this, she only cried harder. You didn’t know what else to say, so you just kept rubbing her back, hoping that she’d calm down. Eventually, she stopped shaking, but tears kept flowing from her eyes like a waterfall. She tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming.

She sniffled, going over to hug Finnick, then hugging you one last time before she left. “Take care of each other- please,” she asked, and you weren’t thinking of doing anything but.

You nodded, assuring her that you would do just that. Mags hugged you, saying the words she couldn’t express through her gaze. You could tell that neither of them wanted to leave, but they had to. 

Only one of you was gonna come back, and that was gonna be hard to come to terms with.

They left, and then it was just you and Finnick. The music kept playing, and playing, and playing, and you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. You didn’t want to hear this song ever again if it could be your last time listening.

If you could have it your way, you’d dance together until the end of time. But forever was never promised, not in the world you lived in.

The silence, however, felt like it lasted a forever in the moment, so you broke it. “Can you say something?” Finnick just kept staring at you in a way he had never looked at you before. The music got louder. Tears came to your eyes. “Please.”

Maybe he took pity on you, because he did say something. You just weren’t sure if it was any better than the silence. “Why would you do that?” His voice was cold.

You felt cold.

You swallowed. “Finn-”

“Why would you volunteer?” He stepped closer to you, so much venom seeping through his tone that you thought you were gonna be sick. “Annie was going to go-”

You cut him off, throwing your hands up. “You saw her, Finnick. She’s a mess.”

“She was going to be fine-”

“She can’t go through The Games again!” You shouted, losing it. Why was he berating you as if you didn’t just save the love of his life? “It would kill whatever part of her is left.”

“She would’ve been fine. You would’ve been fine-”

“God, why do you care about what happens to me? Annie’s gonna be okay—you’re gonna be able to come home to her and build the family you’ve always wanted-”

He snapped. “You’re my family!” You recoiled like he just hit you with his words. It was like you’d been doused in cold water. Finnick sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was a beat where neither of you said anything, letting his revelation soak in.

But you didn’t know what that meant.

When he spoke up again, his voice was quieter. He didn’t look like the Finnick that smirked up on that stage; he looked defeated, not triumphant. “You’re my family, Y/N. Don’t you get that?” He looked back up at you. “I could’ve protected Annie in that arena, and you would’ve been safe, here—not there with me.”

You shook your head. “There is no protecting someone in an arena- you and I know that best.” You let a tear fall, smiling sadly. “You’re gonna come home, Finnick-”

“Stop.”

“You’re gonna come home and you’re gonna live a long life with Annie-”

“Stop it.”

“You have people to take care of. I don’t.”

“Y/N, stop it.”

Another tear. “You deserve this-”

“Stop it.” Finnick grabbed onto your shoulders. You didn’t even know he got so close. “I’m not gonna let you die in there. Do you hear me? You’re not dying.”

“Only one of us is coming back, Finn. It’s gonna be you.”

You don’t know if your eyes were just really that blurry or if there were actually tears in his eyes, too. “No, you are coming home-”

“Finni-”

He grabbed you tighter. “We are both coming home.” The dam in your eyes broke, and all of the tears you were trying to hold came flooding down your cheeks.

Why was he saying these things? He knew it was impossible.

“We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear,” he promised, but these were promises he couldn’t keep. These were things he couldn’t control. Why was he lying to you- why was he lying to himself?

You wanted to say all these things, to scream, to tell him that it wasn’t true, that you were going to die. But then you remembered every other time you lied in bed together, every time you kissed and held each other. You’ve been lying to yourself all along, pretending you could have a future together when, deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case.

So you held everything in, pulling Finnick to you and hugging him with everything you had. You were gonna let him pretend, just this last time.

You were gonna dance together one last time.

You spent the entire train ride in each other’s arms, only getting up to eat and go to the bathroom before getting back in bed. You didn’t have mentors—you were the mentors. You’d been here before already, and that was surreal in and of itself.

You thought you already won. But nobody ever won, did they?

Those games killed everyone, victors included.

The press was insane, but just as you expected it. You were the Prince and Princess of Panem; they didn’t want to watch you die. Turns out, people in the Capitol did have hearts; clearly, they weren’t all too functional.

This visit, in more ways than one, was completely different from any other time you’d been in the city. Instead of the graceful show you normally put on, waving and smiling, you were much more mute. You were gonna die, anyway, so what was the point of continuing to be a puppet? 

Finnick was still his usual self, smirky and arrogant, but even his anger snuck through the cracks of his act. All of you were angry, all of the victors. You could tell just by the mere glances you’d gotten of them, by the news coverage. Nobody wanted to go into an arena and kill people, not even the Careers (who you’d admit were pretty crazy).

However, this was all still a show to the Capitol, with you as the unlucky cast. And the show had to go on.

You and Finnick were separated to be prepped by the “glam teams.” The first time around, you remember being scared, but now you were just bored.

You were sitting idly in the dressing room, waiting for your designer when a man walked in, making you raise a brow.

This was a designer, but not your designer.

“Wait, I know you.” You tilted your head as his face became more familiar to you. “You’re Cinna- you designed those outfits with the fire.”

Cinna nodded in a way that you perceived as both humble and prideful at the same time. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Princess.”

This elicited a bitter chuckle from you. “Please, call me Y/N.” You then stood up to shake his hand when your curiosity sparked. “Aren’t you Katniss’ designer?”

“Yes, but I’m also going to be designing your outfits, as well,” he replied. “The head Gamemaker requested it. You are the Princess, after all.”

The corners of your lips went up. Most people you met at the Capitol would beat around the bush, but this guy didn’t seem shy. It was refreshing. You teased, “Ah, and since I’m a princess, I get Panem’s best to dress me?” 

Cinna chuckled a bit under his breath, but didn’t confirm or deny your comment. He dived straight into his plans, explaining what he wanted to for you with a twinkle in his eye that you noticed most artists had when speaking about their work. “I want to stay true to the district 4 theme, but I want to make a statement.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling.”

He smiled. “We’re gonna show the Capitol that they can’t control you.”

And then your little smile turned into a grin.

Cinna did not disappoint. You were in a golden, long-sleeve, grid shirt with holes where the squares were supposed to be; your velvet skirt was a dark blueish-green, skin-tight; and atop your head was a golden crown, decorated with blue jewels.

Of course, it wasn’t a normal outfit, but you were gonna save the theatrics for the parade.

Finnick was around somewhere, likely causing trouble while you were walking around, looking for Johanna. However, you ended up running into someone else.

“Peeta,” you called, and he turned around. He immediately reminded you of Finnick, a mask of charm hiding him. Although Peeta had only been at this for a year, he already knew how to play the game, unlike Katniss who was rather unapproachable.

“Y/N,” he greeted. He scrambled for something to say for a few seconds. “I heard about how you volunteered for that girl. It was really brave.”

You hummed, almost sarcastically. “You don’t have to suck up to me—it’s not like I bite.”

He got red, making you stifle a laugh. “That’s, uh- that’s not what I meant-”

“It’s fine, I get it,” you waved it off. “It’s probably intimidating to be here around all of us, just a year after you won.” He didn’t say anything, just awkwardly smiled. “You know, you don’t have to be scared. You have a lot of power ‘round here; you just need to learn how to wield it.”

He gave you a confused look, so you elaborated, “There’s power in the masses, Peeta. The people here love you.” You paused. “Use that.”

A look of realization crossed his face, and so you decided that you said all you needed to say. He thanked you, but his mind looked to be elsewhere. You nodded, then walked off to find your carriage.

Sure, the Capitol could try and treat you all like pieces on a chess board, but if you got rid of the board altogether, then there would be no game to play. You spoke to Peeta to help him realize that. It didn’t matter if you were all meant to be on different sides; until you got into that arena, you were all one team, and you were gonna try your hardest to stop The Games before they began.

If that didn’t work, then you would just have to concede. One way or another, you would make sure that Finnick made it out of that arena alive. Peeta reminded you an awful lot of him, and while you would otherwise be rooting for him, you would choose Finnick if it came down to it.

You met Finnick at the chariot not long after leaving Peeta. He was shirtless, wearing a skirt similar to your top, rope around his wrists like bracelets. If you weren’t about to go into this stupid parade, you would’ve probably been making out already, but you were far too worried to think about that.

You had Cinna to thank for calming your nerves, giving you something to look forward to. Once the parade had started and you were coming through, you pressed the button of the device he had given you and then your top went up in flames, disintegrating until you were just in a black bralette, revealing the swirls of blue they painted on your arms, resembling waves. The rope around Finnick’s wrists caught fire, too, burning up until there was nothing there.

The crowd cheered, chanting your names. The faintest of smirks grew on your lips, but you really had to stifle your enjoyment when you saw Snow staring your carriage down.

What you did symbolized freeing yourself of the shackles of the Capitol, of these stupid Games. They could try, but they wouldn’t control you. 

You would’ve usually felt some sort of fear- hell, you were never so defiant just in fear of what they would do to you. But what more could they do to you? They were already going to kill you. You didn’t care anymore.

After the parade, you ran into Johanna who gave you a good laugh as she told you how she stripped in the elevator. You would’ve paid good money to see it, that was for sure. You also talked to a few other victors on your way back to your suite.

You’d been friends with many of these people for years and now the Capitol was just gonna try and pit you against each other. None of you were looking forward to that—you were friends. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t make any allies.

Alliances didn’t last forever in the arena, but they lasted long enough. Considering your status, almost everyone wanted you and your “boyfriend” as allies; they certainly didn’t want you as enemies.

The next day was spent at the training centre, a brand new one made specially for the Quarter Quell. The thought made you roll your eyes. The Capitol would spend their money on things like this and yet there were still kids out there starving. What kind of world was that? One that you were okay with leaving, so long as Finnick would remain in it.

On your way in, you passed Cashmere and Gloss throwing knives at holograms. They were good, you noted, but not better at it than you. Johanna was off practicing by herself—though you were sure that she was doing it more so to release her pent-up aggression. Wiress and Beetee, Nuts and Volts as Jo called them, were by themselves, much less violent than everyone else here and much more strategic. Finnick was tying knots, looking more bored than anything. And you… you weren’t doing anything.

You leaned back on a wall, watching the other tributes instead of joining them. You didn’t care about the rankings or making yourself look dangerous. You didn’t have anything to prove; you did that already, and you really didn’t need to “practice,” either.

You’ve danced this dance before.

However, not everyone was so aware of just how well you danced last time.

“Not practicing?” You turned your head, seeing the newest victor walking up to you, donning her famous hairstyle. The corners of your lips quirked up in amusement. 

She must have been told to make friends. You couldn’t imagine it was working out so well if she was coming to you.

“Don’t need to, Everdeen,” you replied, shrugging. “I don’t need the spotlight; got enough of that.”

She lightly snorted. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.” And you didn’t doubt that. Katniss had definitely captured the attention of Panem with her actions, and she certainly acquired the attention of the Capitol. Snow couldn’t have been her biggest fan.

In another life, you could picture you and her being friends, but you knew it wasn’t gonna happen in this one.

“You’re lucky, you know,” you said. You knew she didn’t see that way, and maybe it was a little bitter of you to say that, but it was true. At least she hadn’t been under the spotlight long enough for it to burn her like it’d burned you. 

She scoffed, “How so?” The girl had restraint, you’d give her that. She clearly wanted to say a lot more than that, but she was smart. She knew better.

You shrugged again. “You just are.” And you left it there. If she wanted all the dirty details about you, she could try her luck with one of the other victors, but you doubted she sensed the real meaning of your words. She hadn’t been dancing long enough to even hear the song yet.

A dramatic sigh then escaped your lips. “Ah, though I suppose even your luck can only run so far, Girl on Fire. So sorry about your wedding.” The sarcasm in your voice was toned down just enough that it wasn’t so evident but evident enough to make your point.

She gave you a tense smile, although you weren’t sure if any of Katniss’ smiles ever weren’t tense. “Thanks,” she responded with zero sincerity in her tone. “I’m sorry you and Finnick never had one, either. Would’ve been a real royal occasion.”

You hummed, smiling your royal smile back at her. The Kat has claws, you thought. But you didn’t really feel like standing here and trading subliminals with her all day; you’d have enough of that with everyone else, anyway.

You left it at that, going to walk away before pausing as if you’d forgotten something. “Tell Haymitch I said hi.” You gave her a once over. “He’s done a good job.” And then you walked away.

Finnick’s voice rang through your head: May the odds be ever in your favour, darling. You almost felt like recycling that line and repeating it to Katniss, but you had already messed with her enough. 

Your demeanour was in stark contrast of how you normally behaved. You may have been more agreeable or kind at home, sweet on cameras, but in this territory, you had an entirely different reputation. Sharp, cunning, unpredictable—ruthless. That’s the way it needed to be if you wanted to survive, or at least survive long enough to do what you needed to do.

So, you supposed that you had a mask, too.

You all did.

When you got back to your suite later in the evening, Finnick informed you of Katniss’ display with her bow and arrow, how she had renowned victors quaking in their boots, but people were even more scared of you, and you hadn’t even done anything at training.  

You basically had the entire pool of tributes to choose from for an alliance. You were choosing Johanna, of course, and Finnick already had his mind made up on his pick.

Making his way over to you, he tossed you something that you swiftly caught before sitting down on the armchair across from the sofa you were sitting on. You looked down, opening your hand to see a golden pendant, a medallion with a rose in the middle.

You raised a brow. This wasn’t a present. “A rose?”

“They’re a Capitol favourite.” Precisely why you hated them.

“Alright, and why are you giving it to me?”

Finnick brought his wrist up, showing you a golden bracelet made of vines while wiggling his fingers. “They’re gifts,” he told you, “from Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy.”

You were familiar with both people. Effie Trinket was crazy, but that wasn’t the dominant thought on your mind. “Gifts for what?”

He answered, “They’ve brokered an alliance with us on behalf of Katniss and Peeta.” At that, you groaned, but Finnick readily cut you off. “This will be good for us, Y/N.”

“They’re brand new to this,” you countered. Sure, you liked the spark that the Girl on Fire had, and Peeta was quite the catch, but they only won a year ago. The Careers would be a better pick, even though you didn’t exactly like them, either.

“Yes, but they’re good; you’ve seen them. And the Capitol’s gonna love it, the two pairs of lovers together. C’mon, you know all this.” You did. You knew that this was one of the best avenues to take, but something in you was against it.

Maybe it was just that Peeta reminded you of the man you were in love with, and Katniss reminded you of yourself. But right now, you had to remind yourself to think with your head, not your heart. You needed to disregard your feelings and do whatever it took to win this.

To you, winning didn’t mean surviving this. Winning meant that Finnick did.

So, with a sigh, you surrendered, agreeing to this little deal. “So, these accessories are, what? Bargaining chips?”

He smirked. “No, they’re symbols. Katniss and Peeta have theirs, too.”

You chuckled, shaking your head and mocking, “So we’re in a little golden alliance, then?”

“It appears so, darling.”

After a little more conversation, Finnick and you headed off to bed, even though neither of you could really sleep. You held each other, though, and so the insomnia was bearable. He told you to stow the necklace away, that you were saving the objects for The Games. Apparently, Katniss and Peeta still needed a little persuasion for this, especially the former.

She was smart not to trust you, but she was equally as naive for the same reason. If you wanted to, you could be judgemental all day, but you didn’t have the time for it, so your mind didn’t linger on the subject.

When you were waiting to be assessed the next day with the rest of the tributes, your mind didn’t really linger on anything. You felt numb: not pleased, not sad, just numb. If you could pin-point an emotion, it had to be anger, but that feeling hadn’t left you since your first Games.

Finnick, on the other hand, looked no different, maybe even a little amused by the tension in the room, too amused for somebody who had to go back to the arena. But Finnick was always one to look a challenge into the eye and, instead of looking away, give it a wink. That was his persona while you were here, in the Capitol, so you’d let him indulge in it if that’s what made him feel better.

You’d do anything for him, even if he didn’t love you back.

He went into the room first. You didn’t know exactly what he was gonna do, but you knew that you were all basically doing the same thing. Plutarch Heavensbee may have been new, but even he knew who you all were. You’ve all shown your skills already, been here already, danced this dance already.

The song was getting old.

You were all giving your own personal fuck you to the Capitol.

When Finnick walked out, he flashed you a smirk that almost made you laugh. You stifled a smile as you walked into the room yourself, but it was quickly wiped off your face as memories played in your head like a movie.

You remembered the first time you did this, coming in and saying your name, scared out of your mind but ready to win, ready to impress the sponsors.

Now, you didn’t have to say your name. You caught their attention as soon as you walked in. You were the Princess. You needed no introduction.

It was funny, though, how that imaginary crown couldn’t save you from this.

The thought of your inevitable death was what fuelled you. You were known for your abilities with a sword, but that wasn’t what you reached for. You reached for the jug of gasoline and a lighter, immediately opening it and pouring in a circle in the middle of the room before stepping into it.

Then you looked right up at all of them and their confused faces, and threw the open lighter to the liquid in front of you, igniting a circle of fire around you.

You stared right at the head Gamemaker as you did it, expressionless. His expression told you that he got the message, or at least your hostility.

You would burn this place to the ground if you had to, even if you got burned while doing it. 

When the flames got smaller, you turned and stepped over them, walking out of the room without another glance or word to the Capitol mutts. As far as you were concerned, they weren’t worth your time—you were running out of that, anyways.

Once the assessments were over, all any of you had time to do was get ready for the show. Caesar wasn’t exactly a face you wanted to see right now. Maybe he saw his enthusiasm as a way of “calming the tributes down,” but it was really just his lack of empathy. You didn’t need him cheering and practically gossiping about your death before it happened. 

As much as the people in the Capitol liked to think of these Games as games, they weren’t. They were your lives. But you really could spend days obsessing over it, days that you didn’t have.

It was time to dance, and there was nothing you did better.

You were backstage, standing with Finnick and Johanna, waiting your turns. Cinna had made you very pretty. He was good at what he did.

You were wearing a dark blue dress with wide straps tied into blue bows at your shoulders and a sweetheart neckline. The bottom half was pretty fitted, but it was covered by a sparkly, golden, A-line, hoop petticoat made of the same material as your top from the parade, gridded with holes like before. And of course, your crown sat atop your head—Cinna insisted.

He really wanted to nail the whole Princess thing, milk it for all it was worth. And you let him, because his designs were great. Part of you wished you could’ve gotten more into fashion; now you’d never get the chance to.

You couldn’t blame Katniss for being so stand-offish. You’d be intimidated, too, if you were new to the club, watching from the sidelines. You, Finnick, and Johanna didn’t really seem all too approachable right now, either, even the ever so charming Odair. They were exchanging jokes and laughing at the interviews, mocking them, while you were rather stoic, observing the interviews watchfully.

Cashmere and Gloss went first, of course. They did theirs together since they were brother and sister. It was odd to you, how two siblings managed to get reaped together out of all the victors district 1 had, but you were paying more attention to the act they were putting on. 

Casmere was sobbing. She’s a much better killer than she is an actor, you thought, but the people in the audience clearly bought it. You’d give her credit, though; you were all trying your best to get this thing cancelled, even if that was highly unlikely.

Next came the two crazy Careers who made Gloss’ acting look world class. Then Beetee went on stage, using logic as a tactic rather than emotion. Smart, but logic wouldn’t sway President Snow’s wishes. The Capitol sent innocent kids off to die every year in a televised event to pay for something that happened years before any of them were born—logic was obviously not their strong suit.

Wiress went next, and that’s basically when you tuned out. She was pretty out of it, not really saying much. Finnick was going after her. That’s what occupied your thoughts.

“Hey, you alright?” Your were snapped out of your daze by the very man you were thinking about, as if he was reading your mind. Those blue eyes that you loved so much stared down at you, concern swimming through them.

Those ocean eyes. You could drown in them.

You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “Yeah, I’m good.” He continued to stare down at you like he was completely unconvinced, but before he could say anything, they were calling his name.

He cursed under his breath then placed a soft kiss on your temple before having to walk out on stage, that famous smirk on his face. He was so good at that, at going from hard to soft so easily, cursing to kissing you.

He was good. He was real good, and he was a much better actor than any other tribute here. He was so good that he could make even you believe his performance.

You watched them from the TV backstage. “Finnick,” Caesar started. “As I recall, the last time we spoke, it was with your other half, who is here today.” The crowd cheered.

Finn nodded, smiling tensely, which you were sure he did on purpose. “That’s right.”

“You and the Princess have so graciously shared your love with us, and we have fallen in love with you both, perhaps as much as you love each other.” You and Johanna simultaneously rolled your eyes. Finnick, though, smiled to the cheering audience, mouthing thank you’s that no doubt made them swoon. “None of us know how to deal with the fact that you are both going into The Games- I certainly haven’t come to terms with it. Tell us, how are you dealing with this?”

You scoffed. If there was something the people of the Capitol liked to do, it was pretending that your tragedy was their own. They didn’t know even half of your pain, any of yours. 

Caesar practically shoved the microphone in Finnick’s face. He looked down, like he was thinking, but you knew he probably had this bit down pat already. “If I’m being honest, neither Y/N nor I have come to terms with it, either.” He now looked right to the camera. “What I do know is that I will do whatever it takes to protect the woman I love.” The crowd cooed as you looked straight at the TV, as if Finnick was staring into your eyes. “And if I… if I die in that arena, then my last thought will be of her lips… and how lucky I was to have met her and have had the opportunity to give her my heart.”

The crowd went wild and Caesar said something in response, but you couldn’t hear it. You were stuck staring into Finnick’s eyes, the eyes you fell in love with. Oh, he was so good. He could dance the dance so much better than you. Because everything he said, he almost made you believe that he meant it.

You blinked the tears in your eyes away when Johanna shook you, telling you they were about to announce your name. You put the mask back on, and it was your love for Finnick that made you do it. You were doing this for him.

An exhale left your lips as you waited for your cue. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, as our Prince exits, I have the honour of welcoming his counterpart to the stage. The winner of the 67th Hunger Games. The Princess of Panem. Y/N Y/L/N!”

The doors you stood behind opened and you walked onto the stage, a stellar smile on your face as you waved to the roaring crowd. You just had to play the role, and everything would be fine.

When the cheers died down, Caesar gave you a sympathetic look, or at least a look that he thought was sympathetic. “Now, Y/N, it is lovely to see you. You look stunning.”

“Thank you, Caesar. It’s always wonderful to see you. I just wish it was under different circumstances.” You glanced to the crowd, catching their pity. For once, that was the exact emotion you wished to inspire.

“Yes, I think I speak for us all when I say that this is not easy.” You tightly smiled, even though you really just wanted to flip him off. “We just spoke to Finnick, he has been quite expressive these past few days in the Capitol, but you, Y/N, you have not been as revealing. Please, we’d like to know what’s been on your mind.”

If Caesar really heard what was on your mind, then he’d be appalled. That wasn’t your goal, even though you’d greatly enjoy that. Instead, you had a different play.

The audience was very quiet in anticipation of your response. You sighed, keeping the tired smile. “I, um… I’ve had a lot on my mind, really. Finnick and I, we thought we had more time, time to get married and even have kids, but now it’s like that time has just been… stolen from us.” Collective awes resounded throughout the crowd as Caesar brought his other hand to his chest, like your words moved him. “It’s- it’s just not fair, simple as that. But I love him, and that love will survive, even if I don’t.”

The audience let their dismay be known while Caesar shook his head. “Oh, my dear, I have seen your love- we all have, and I know that it will never die.” You nodded in agreement, listening to everyone else agree with you.

The acting was easier than you thought it’d be. Maybe that was because it wasn’t all acting, not for you. You knew your role, and you knew it well, but your love for Finnick was not something you had to fake. It was perhaps one of the only real things you had left.

“Now, we are all in for an emotional night, so I’d just like to lighten the mood a little- is that alright?” You nodded again, though you wondered how he would’ve reacted if you didn’t. “Okay, now we all saw your display at the parade- isn’t that right, everyone?” He paused, letting them applaud. “Yes, it was magnificent. Would I be right in assuming that you have something similar planned tonight?”

“Oh, you’d be correct,” you responded, flashing a grin at the whooping crowd.

“Please, please.” He stepped back. “Go right ahead.”

You glanced at Cinna sitting front row before pressing the button of the device he gave you. The golden petticoat then went up in flames, seemingly “ejecting” the skirt of your dress, sending it from above your knees to your ankles as it went from skin-tight to flowy. The very bottom faded into a teal colour, like the sea.

The crowd’s cheers got louder than you thought possible. Caesar wowed, then raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Princess of Panem!” You gave the crowd one last wave before making your way up the stairs to stand with the rest of the victors.

You were standing next to Finnick by the time the next tribute was called out and the attention was on them. To your surprise, he grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. But what really surprised you was the slight tremble you felt.

You looked up at him to see him already staring down at you. His mask fell a little, and instead of the at-ease Finnick you just saw, you were looking at a much more serious, stern version. You were confused by what could’ve brought this on, but then he leant down slightly, whispering in your ear, “I told you. I’m not letting you die.” When he pulled away, he didn’t look any less serious.

Oh, what a great liar he could be. There he was, making you believe in things that couldn’t possibly be true. You were going to die. You knew that, and you’d accepted it already. But Finnick hadn’t accepted it at all. He looked like he was believing his own lie.

You don’t know why this had shaken him so badly. Maybe he felt obligated to you, maybe he felt bad for you, but whatever it was, you weren’t gonna make it worse.

You could be a good actor, too.

For him.

You nodded, whispering back, “I know.” This looked to have calmed him down a little. He kissed the side of your head, and then the mask was back up. He kept his tight hold on your hand, and you let him.

You never know when it’d be the last time you held hands, and so you were gonna enjoy this while it lasted.

Even though this was an “emotional night,” as Caesar had dubbed it, you still got satisfaction out of everything the victors were pulling. When Johanna came on stage, she had a totally different approach than all of your sad acts and Beetee’s logic: she said what you all really wanted to say, giving the Capitol a loud fuck you.

You and Finnick had to stop yourselves from laughing amidst your shock. Caesar definitely wasn’t expecting that. You knew Snow definitely wasn’t expecting that, either. You hoped he was watching this right now, and you hoped that all of Panem could feel your outrage.

But if you were surprised by anything, it was the so called star-crossed lovers from district 12. Katniss’ wedding dress was a nice touch; she could’ve convinced even you that they were in love, if you didn’t know any better.

You weren’t the only one with a message to send to the Capitol with your attire. She spun around and her white dress was engulfed in flames, transforming into a midnight blue dress similar to yours. And when she lifted her arms, wings were revealed, and the smile on your lips widened.

“It’s a bird,” Caesar stammered in awe. “It’s like, a- it’s got feathers- it’s a bird- like a-”

You murmured at the same time as Katniss spoke up, “Like a Mockingjay.” You looked up to Finnick, seeing him already smirking. Everdeen was a lot ballsier than you thought.

“Your stylist certainly has outdone himself this time, hasn’t he? Bestowing not one, but two just astonishing looks upon us! What theatricality.” The attention was drawn to your designer. “Cinna! Take a bow.”

You were growing to like this man more and more, knowing that the Capitol must have hated him.

When the cheers died down and Katniss came and joined you all, the event was almost over with just Peeta left. You remembered the advice you gave him; you had high hopes for him, and he did not disappoint. 

He claimed he and Katniss had a secret wedding, reeled them all in, and then he added the cherry on top. “You know, Katniss and I, we’ve been luckier than most. And I wouldn’t have any regrets at all…” he paused, choking up, “i-if, if it weren’t… if…”

“If it weren’t for what? What, Peeta?”

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

The audience clamoured. You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide the upturn of your lips, feigning horror. Finnick was in the same boat, stifling a laugh.

Golden boy was smarter than he got credit for.

People in the audience stood up, shouting while Caesar tried to calm them down. They were calling for The Games to be stopped, exactly what you’d been trying to achieve all night. Caesar whispered something to Peeta away from the microphone, and he walked up the stairs to the rest of you, hugging his apparent wife.

Then suddenly, you were nudged by the person next to you, looking down to see their hand outstretched. You quickly realized what was going on and grabbed it. And then amidst all the fury, you brought your hands up together. Yes, they wanted you to kill each other, but you were all united in the same fight first.

It became obvious that Caesar couldn’t contain the crowd’s indignation any longer, so the anthem played, increasing in volume to try and drown them out, but your actions were still so much louder than words. 

That’s when the lights cut out.

But it would be a lot harder for the Capitol to snuff out the spark you all lit.

While you all did your best, your efforts appeared to be futile. Snow wasn’t against killing children, so you supposed that you all should’ve known better than to think that he’d cancel The Games for Everdeen’s baby.

However, it wasn’t completely useless. You had the public’s support. Sponsors wouldn’t be hard to get, so at least that was something. But all in all, The Games were still happening. One winner. Twenty-three of you would be dead, and you were going to be one of them.

Your last Games, you were relentless, selling your soul to stay alive. And you were gonna do it all over again, but this time, your objective wasn’t staying alive at all. It was making sure Finnick could make it home to Annie. 

Lying there in Finnick’s arms that night for what could possibly be the last time, you realized that you would die without ever having been loved by someone. You were with Finnick, and you loved him, but he didn’t love you back.

These last few days, you had been consumed by fire, knowing that you would burn everything down if it meant your lover would be safe, but it was like it was just hitting you that you’d been warming yourself up with a flame that wasn’t ever really yours.

You knew without a doubt that Finnick Odair was your soulmate.

But you weren’t his.

Tears pooled into your eyes at the thought, and so you quickly buried your head into his chest before a panic attack could came on. You calmed down to the sound of his heartbeat, the heartbeat that you personally would make sure didn’t stop until he was old and his hair was grey.

The next day was a blur between the hovercraft, having the trackers injected into you, and then being separated from Finnick. The only thing you really could remember was how he kissed your cheek before he left.

And then you were in the tube, rising up into the arena. You couldn’t get a good look at it. Every time you blinked, your Games flashed before your eyes. Sun, cold, dirt, blood, screaming, murder.

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes as the announcer counted down. Pull yourself together, Y/N, you thought.

And then The Games begun.

Taglist: @honestlycasualarcade

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #i love finnick odair #the hunger games #thg #thg fandom #thg fanfiction #catching fire #angsty imagine #angst #the hunger games trilogy #mockingjay #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #katniss everdeen #johanna mason #peeta mellark #katniss and peeta #everlark #the golden alliance #effie trinket #haymitch x effie #haymitch abernathy #coriolanus snow #cinna #caesar flickerman #finnick and annie #annie cresta #odesta #finnick imagine #thg finnick

[cameronspecial]

The First Son And The First Spare

Pairing: FSOTUS!Rafe Cameron x Princess!Reader

Warnings:  Panic Attack, Swearing, Mentions of An Attempted Murder, and SMUT.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 10.1K

Summary: Just because they are the children of world leaders, it doesn't mean that Y/N and Rafe have to like each other. But what happens when they have to get along with each other for the sake of their countries?

A/N: This is inspired by Red, White, and Royal Blue.

Masterlist

The traditional wedding march plays as Y/N watches her soon-to-be sister-in-law walk down the aisle. However, Y/N’s eyes can only see one person. She narrows in on the rude, egotistical, pain in her ass, who also happens to be the First Son of the United States. What she wouldn’t do to bash his head in with her bouquet? Unfortunately, it would be unbecoming of the Princess of England. Fiona finally makes it in front of Y/N’s brother, Prince George. The ceremony begins and Y/N feels as though time slows down. The only thing that can keep her sane is the hateful glares she sends Rafe. She prays no cameras to capture her un-Princess-like scowl. After an hour and fifteen minutes, George and Fiona kiss and leave the chapel. Y/N follows her siblings into the open air, catching Rafe’s gaze as she passes his pew. 

———

Greeting guests is one of Y/N’s duties for today as well as maintaining her family's reputation. While the newlyweds enjoy a moment in private, Princesses Y/N and Amelia exchange pleasantries with all the arriving guests. “I may not be into men, but I get why girls desperately fawn over him,” Amelia whispers to her sister while waiting for the Canadian Prime Minister and his wife to approach. Y/N addresses the foreign leader with a shake of her head before addressing her sister, “Thank you for coming, Prime Minister. Who are you talking about, Lia?” The younger girl’s flicks her eyes over to the next people in line. Y/N follows Amelia’s eyeline to Rafe. She lets out a low scoff, “You have to be insane to say that.” 

“Right, I forgot you have this irrational feud with him.” 

“It is not irrational. It is not my fault that he likes to bother me like a schoolboy. He is immature and a playboy.”

“Y/N/N, it’s called flirting. How can you not understand that he is delicious? I mean look at those ocean-blue eyes.”

“Being annoying is not flirting. I really do not understand the attraction of him. My Phelan is handsome and gentlemanly. That is attractive. Not whatever Rafe is.” 

Y/N shouldn’t lie to her sister, but she would rather be stuck in a room with her most conservative relatives than admit to finding Rafe hot. Little do the two royals know two children of a president are also having a similar conversation. “What did I do to Dad to make him send me here? He knows I hate England. Wheezie would kill to be here with you,” he mumbles to Sarah. She gives him a teasing smile, “You don’t hate this country. You hate the fact that one of its Princesses would rather be anywhere but near you.” “Please, I could care less about where Y/N wants to be,” he huffs, chancing a glance at the mentioned princess. “Funny how I didn’t need to mention her name for you to know who I was talking about. And before you try to argue, even if she likes girls, Amelia is a Princess, who can be places.” Sarah skips ahead of her brother without waiting for him to answer. He rushes after his sister to stand in front of the sisters of the groom.

“Sarah, it is lovely to see you again. Thank you for coming,” Y/N greets the First Daughter and sends her to Amelia. She turns to who is next in line, internally groaning once she sees him, “Rafe… Thank you for coming.” “What? It’s not lovely to see me, Princess?” Rafe taunts, feeling her fingers grip him tighter than necessary. She holds her head high and away from him, “You are meant to address me as Your Royal Highness.” She doesn’t say anything else; instead, she has her eyes set on the next people in line. Rafe walks toward the ballroom where the reception is being held. “How can someone so pretty have such a huge stick up her ass?” he grumbles under his breath. He thinks it goes unnoticed by everyone, yet Ms. Stick Up Her Ass hears it all. 

———

Y/N’s hands rest on Phelan’s shoulder and hand. They twirl around the room in time with the music, oblivious to Rafe’s stare. The lip of the glass meets his as he takes a sip of his drink. The rum burns his throat. He doesn’t get what she sees in Duke Phelan. The pompous ass looks like a massive buzzkill. Rafe doesn’t care though. Why would he? There is no care in him for the woman in Phelan’s arms. He must admit, when he first saw Y/N, fifteen-year-old him couldn’t believe she was as beautiful as her pictures. It was the first event he had to go to with his new presidential father and she was the only person there around his age. He was in anticipation of meeting her throughout the opening. Their meeting didn’t go how Rafe planned. He had no idea what he did to set Y/N off because he was only met with an icy gaze. It was nothing like the warm glow he saw her give other teens on television or even the adults today at the Olympics. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she quips quickly. The words were polite; the tone was not. It differed greatly from how she addressed the others. From that day on, it left Rafe with so many questions and the only ability to return her behaviour. 

The song comes to an end and Phelan breaks away from her with a kiss on the cheek. “I must use the lavatory. I will be right back, Darling,” he informs her. She spends the time searching for a flute of champagne, heading to examine the cake her brother spent an exorbitant amount of pounds on once she found her drink. The flute is placed on the cake table. She doesn’t notice the other person waiting near the cake. “You looked so serious dancing up there. Do you ever have fun with that snooze,” Rafe comments, not turning in her direction. She rolls her eyes at him, allowing herself to go against decorum for him, “For your information, I have plenty of fun with Duke Phelan. Although, it is none of your business, sir.” He can detect her lies easily. He knows her tell. Her lies are given away by the slight tucking of her inner lip between her teeth. The minuscule tell keeps up with her royal appearance and is recognizable solely by people who know how to look for it. 

This is the longest they have gone without sarcasm dripping from their voices, so Rafe takes it as an opportunity to have a decent conversation with her. “Do you ever think about getting married?” he asks, giving her his attention for the first time since they started talking. She gives him a soft smile, “I do. I’ve always wanted a smaller wedding, even though it is virtually impossible because I am a royal. I imagine something more intimate, exchanging vows with the person whom I love. I could pretend for once that my whole country does not place me on a pedestal.” He doesn’t mock her for her dreams like she expected, which surprises her. Maybe, they can be civil with each other. She spots Phelan in the crowd and starts to make her way toward him. Rafe spots her champagne and gently places his hand on her shoulder to point it out to her. He overestimates his strength, causing her to stumble backwards from his pull. She slips on her dress and backpedals into Rafe, sending both of them flying into the giant white cake. The buttercream and sponge of the cake paint their skin and turn them into an abstract painting. Rafe tries to get out from under her. He slips on some icing and this causes him to fall on top of Y/N. She groans at his sudden weight hitting her ribs, placing her hands on his shoulder to push him off of her. He plops to his side at the same time that Phelan comes running to her.

Phelan hands her his handkerchief to wipe her hands off prior to him helping her up. Rafe wants to laugh at the ridiculous notion of getting her to clean up before she can be aided. If required to get her standing, he would’ve picked her up by her waist without a care for the cake getting on his suit. The handkerchief is handed to a waiter and Phelan brings Y/N to her feet. Rafe stands up with no help, going over to apologize to Y/N. “This is all your fault,” she grits through her teeth. She and Phelan make their exit for her to return to her spotless manner. 

———

“This is an absolute disaster, Y/N. We are supposed to be presenting a united relationship with the United States because of the upcoming deal the Prime Minister has with President Cameron,” her mother criticizes, showing the multiple headlines of the cake incident on the screen. Y/N’s head bows, “I am sorry, Mother. I will make a public apology to George and the public for wasting the money by destroying the cake.” “That will be added to the list of damage control. Nevertheless, that is not the main focus of this meeting. I called you here to inform you that you will be heading to America tomorrow,” Queen Isabel states, rounding her desk to sit in her chair. Y/N leans forward, “I am not sure I heard you correctly, Mother. Did you say that I am to be in America tomorrow?” “Yes, Y/N. You and Rafe shall pretend that you are actually the best of friends. You will appear at events and hold interviews together,” Isabel begins. “I do not care how much you both hate each other, you will act as if you love each other. Did I make myself clear?” Y/N nods at her mother’s warning, “Yes, Mother.” 

———

Y/N always prefers to fly commercial flights. Her mother rarely approves of such flights, except because this flight is not in the original travel budget for the year, a commercial flight was needed to stay within budget. It allowed Y/N to feel normal for once. She could people-watch without the stares of other people, not being recognized because of her coppery-brown wig. The different hair causes people to hesitate if they think she is her and they eventually chalk her up to being a look alike. The copper colour was chosen because it stood out but not too much. She spent her flight people-watching and reading over the dossier on Rafe. It doesn’t surprise her that he is studying Business at UNC-Chapel Hill, Ward after all comes from a business background. Even with the insistence of helping her from her bodyguards and assistant, Y/N persists in getting her bags herself. 

During the car ride, Drew, her bodyguard, quizzes her on Rafe for the upcoming interviews. “Where did he grow up?” Drew questions. Y/N doesn’t bat an eye, “Outer Banks, North Carolina. His father was from the Cut, which is the working-class side of the island, but with his developmental firm, he bought a house on Figure Eight, which is the wealthy side.” “You didn’t have to go through that whole backstory. You had it correct after the first sentence,” he notes. She gives him a knowing look, “You know I like to be thorough. Next question, we are almost at the White House.” “Right, who are his best friends?” Drew continues. She thinks about the question for a second, “Topper Thornton. Son of Dr. Cynthia Thornton and Cyrus Thornton, a lawyer. As well as Kelce Smith. Son of Linda Smith, CEO of Smith Enterprises, and Scott Smith, an investment banker.” “A very detailed answer as always,” he is about to come up with another question when the limo comes to a halt. “Your Royal Highness, we are here,” the chauffeur calls out from the front.

The car door swings open and Drew shuffles out of the car, holding out his hand for her. She brings her knees together and shifts her legs to hang out of the car. She looks around the North lawn to find it void of a certain presidential son. “You would think he would be here to greet his own guest,” she snarks when a fancy dark green car comes drifting dangerously close to her. Rafe exits the car with a smirk, “Don’t worry, Princess. You don’t have to be without my presence for very long.” She ignores his remark and pursues the Deputy Chief of Staff, Zahra, to where the interviews are being held. 

Y/N sits on the sofa with her back straight, which contrasts Rafe’s slouched position. The first interviewer arrives with a notepad and camera. “It’s nice to meet you, Your Highness and Mr. Cameron. I’m Esther Sparks from British Times,” Esther salutes, shaking both of their hands. “It is lovely to meet you,” Y/N returns with a smile. Rafe mocks her, “It IS lovely to meet you, Ms. Sparks.” He sends a devious smirk and she brings her eyelids close together. They answer generic questions about each other by different interviewers until they each ask one question that they both use to take turns to embarrass each other. “Tell us about the cake incident,” they would each press. 

“He very much wanted to try the cake.”

“She was so distracted by my beauty that she didn’t notice where she was walking.”

“He was very inebriated and he fell into the cake.”

“She was so jealous about her brother getting all of the attention.” 

Each answer received a laugh from the interviewers. During the final recording, the man behind the camera actually had a different eye-widening query. He lays out pictures from the wedding. “In all of these pictures, there is a fire within both of your eyes. Is there something more than a friendship that you have been hiding?” Rafe’s water spews all over the coffee table. Y/N hides her disgust whilst responding, “That is certainly incorrect. I am in a very happy relationship with Duke Phelan. Anything you have interpreted is not based on facts.” Only the camera captures the slight waiver of Rafe’s mouth into a frown as he processes her answer. Even he won’t admit it happened. 

———

Rafe waits by her bedroom door while she gets ready as ordered by Zahra. He didn’t want to escort the princess to the car, but Zahra argued that it would look good optics-wise if they went out to the car together. Right at twelve-forty-five, her door creaks to reveal the most laid-back outfit he has seen her in. She is wearing jeans with a plain pastel pink T-shirt. He has only ever seen her in formal pants, skirts or dresses. The most casual she has been in pictures is semi-formal. “Are you finished staring? We have somewhere to be,” she quips, leaving him to watch as her hair swishes from side to side. He chases after her and holds the door open to get brownie points with the media for being a gentleman. Once he catches up to her, he clarifies his reason for his earlier gaze. “I was staring because I didn’t know you owned jeans.” 

“I didn’t know you kept up with my wardrobe.”

“I… I don’t. You just always dress like you are going to a wedding or something.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I can’t always dress like I just rolled out of bed. I, for one, have to maintain my appearance.”

He chuckles at her retort, “Damn, look who finally got some good bite to her bark.” Her eyes form a circle and she has to stop the small stutter in her step when he opens each door they pass for her. He has to admit he really does like her new style. She looks more relaxed and comfortable. They both slide into the car, waiting patiently to arrive at the hospital. 

———

How can someone so rude be so good with children? They all sit in front of Rafe, listening to him read from the storybook. He would change his voice for different characters and the hand not holding the book would gesture wildly. The moment would be interrupted if she tried to join in on the reading, so she silently observed the scene. He really does enjoy entertaining the children. They feed off of his relaxed demeanour and return it back to him. A toddler waddles up to her, leaning back against her knees. She hasn’t exactly interacted with a lot of children, so she doesn’t know what to do with him. At this time, Rafe finishes his book and glances at the uncomfortable look on her face. He leans in, letting his lips meet the shell of her ear. “He wants to sit on your lap. Pick him up by the waist and put him on your lap.” She gives him a hesitant look, doing as he instructs. She struggles a little and Rafe helps her by gently pushing the boy onto her lap. The young child is satisfied with the result. He turns into her hold, sucking his thumb with his head in her neck.

A thought pops into Rafe’s mind that makes him reevaluate his life. Y/N holding the toddler brings up the image of her doing the same with their own children. To have those thoughts, he would have to like her and that can’t be right. He can’t have feelings for Y/N. He doesn’t even know her last name. She speaks like an old person all the time and she can’t stand him. This must be a mistake. A trick of his brain. Because there is no way that he is falling for her.

———

After a successful afternoon of spending time with children in the pediatric unit, Y/N and Rafe are heading back to the car. A pop sounds throughout the room and Y/N docks for cover in a panic. Rafe reacts on instinct, using his body to shield the crouching Y/N. Drew rushes the two public figures into a storage closet and orders them to stay there until he comes to get them. Her breathing starts to quicken, feeling like she can’t get enough air into her lungs. He hears the gasps she lets out and he grows concerned. She must be having a panic attack, yet he doesn’t know what to do. He hesitates in bringing her head to his chest and he demonstrates his controlled breathing. “In. Out. In. Out,” he mumbles, cupping her ear to muffle the commotion outside. She mimics his pattern. Her feet take a step back, “Thank you.” “No problem. I didn’t know you got panic attacks triggered by loud noises. It’s not in your file,” he voices. She shrugs, “I do not desire it to be public knowledge. It does not uphold a royal’s controlled behaviour.” “Did… did you want to talk about it?” he offers, sitting against the shelving unit.

“During my first royal tour, I was five, a gunman tried shooting my mother. In the chaos, I was knocked to the floor whilst everyone around me tried moving away,” she begins to recount. “I remember how much it hurt to feel the toes of everyone’s shoes hit against my skin. I was so scared I was not going to be found. However, I was more terrified of going back to a family that no longer had a mother. I had no idea what happened to her.” Tiny globs of water form in the corner of her eyes and he pulls her in for a hug. “Since then, loud sounds remind me of that day,” she explains. The mood in the closet holds a dark cloud over both of them. Their arms fall to the ground and their fingers gently brush against each other. He can’t think of a way of cheering her up; therefore, he tries to cheer her up by moving the conversation along.

“Why do you always sound like you have a stick up your ass?”

She chokes a little on a laugh, “What is it with you and sticks up my arse?”

“It’s always funny to get a princess to say ass.”

“That is very immature. And to answer your question, I may be the second born but I am still the first spare. If god forbid something happens to my brother or he chooses not to have a baby. I would be up to bat. No one wants a normal queen. They want an exceptional one.”

“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”

“It is but it is the pressure I was born to handle.” 

There is strength within her, except he can see how this expectation is chipping away at her. His pinky reaches for hers to provide comfort, “You may be born into the pressure, but it doesn’t mean you should have to deal with it by yourself.” Before she can answer, the door opens and the both of them jump apart. Drew’s eyebrows almost met his hairline at the sight of the pair. “The scene has been assessed and it is safe, Your Royal Highness. It was a child who brought a firework for his friend. No plans of harming you or Rafe,” Drew shares, holding his hand out for Y/N to take. The connection of her hand with another man’s causes jealousy to burn in Rafe’s stomach. 

———

Rafe felt victorious once he finally got Y/N to use a contraction. It was over text, but it still counted. Ever since the day at the hospital, they have been texting each other. He had asked Zahra for the princess’ number because he missed being snarky with her after she left for home. He hates how his heart tickles upon seeing her contact name pop up in a notification. Princess. His hand reaches for his phone, not being able to hold his smile in. If this photographer tells me to smile bigger one more time, then I’m going to cut my lips off and staple them to his camera. Rafe chuckles at her gruesomeness. It was surprising to him when Y/N divulged her love of gruesome movies. He couldn’t believe the prim and proper princess of England enjoyed the sight of bloody murders. It wasn’t just any kind of horror movie though. It was slasher movies that she fancied the most. She said it relaxes her, which only slightly concerned him. Come on, Princess. All he wants to do is see your pretty smile. 

She sees the flash of her lock screen with a notification. She can’t respond because the photographer snaps his fingers to catch her attention. Rafe is going to have to wait. After the photoshoot is over, Y/N gets changed into her sweatpants and jumper. She remembers she has to respond to his text, so she calls him instead. “Are my ears deceiving me? Is Princess Y/N actually calling me?” he teases, lying back down in his bed. He was about to get ready for the day; this was better. She shakes her head, “I am. Not because I want to talk to you, I need to work on my American accent. I’m planning on running for President. You know so I can actually be the ruler of a country.” 

“I’m hurt, Princess. And here I thought you liked me.” 

“There are a lot of words I would use to describe you, Rafe. Bring liked by me is not one of them.”

“I beg to differ. If you didn’t like me, then why are we talking right now?” 

“Because I am bored and for some reason, I keep getting texts from you.” 

A knock comes at his door before it is opened by Wheezie. “Dad needs to see you,” she relays the message. His head flicks up to acknowledge her and he moves his phone away from his mouth, “Okay, I’ll be down in a second.” A pout forms on Y/N’s mouth. “Aww, you have to go. But we literally just started talking.” “I know. I’m sorry, Princess. I think it is a good thing though. The more you talk to me, the more and more you sound like a commoner,” he jokes. She huffs, “Haha, I’m sorry that I no longer sound like I have a stick up my arse. I bet it’s disappointing for you.” “You really are getting better at sounding more human. I’m proud, Princess,” he lets out a disappointed sigh. “I have to go now. Bye.” With no other choice, he hangs up the call to go talk to his dad. 

———

After months of texting and calling, Y/N and Rafe are going to be in the same room again. Rafe is hosting his annual New Year's Eve party. All the most prominent children in the world are going to be in attendance, so, of course, Y/N would be in attendance as well. Rafe and she are on familiar terms with each other; nonetheless, she is dreading the party. The holiday season involves being cattled to different events to boost the family name and Y/N is exhausted. Any other year, New Year's Eve would be the pause in the season she needs. This year is different because of the cake incident. To make matters worse, she obviously misinterpreted the type of event this is because she is very overdressed. Her black and white plaid knee-length polyester skirt matches her blazer and with her long-sleeve button-up, she is burning up. Rafe can spot her easily in the crowd. Her outfit makes her stand out more and he loves it. He likes being able to quickly locate her. 

The dancing people part to create an easy path for him. He reaches her with a smile. “I’m glad you came, Princess. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he taunts, kissing her cheek as a welcome. A whirlpool stirs in her stomach. Her hand grips her forearm, “Yep. I’m sorry I’m late. There was a delay on my flight. I also overestimated the dress code and now, I feel silly.” His head moves from side to side with a comforting look. “Don’t feel silly, you look beautiful. And hey, you’re using contractions so you fit right in,” he promises, a warm hand resting on hers. 

He can see through the smile she offers. It doesn’t reach her eyes, which are slightly glazed over with bags just peeking through her concealer. His mood matches hers because suddenly his happiness depends on how she is feeling. “You look tired, Princess. Is everything alright?” he presses, stepping closer so his mouth is near her ear. Her head darts up, “Yeah, I’m peachy. A little jet lagged though.” He catches the way her bottom lip appears to be microscopically pitched between her teeth. “Come on, Princess. I don’t like it when you lie to me. So please tell me what’s wrong,” he implores. She exhales, “No offence, I really don’t want to be here. New Year’s Eve is the time that I get a break from being paraded around like a float. I can settle down in my room by myself in comfy clothes and as many movies as I want.” The corner of her lips droop downwards. “Why don’t we do that then?” he suggests, holding his hand out. Her breath hitches at his proposal, “You can’t leave your own party, Rafe.” “Ehh, it’s dead anyway. Let’s go,” he insists, tugging her out of the tent and into the White House.

His room is exactly as she imagined, although with fewer Playboy posters than she thought he would have. The sheets of his bed are crisply made and a peek in his walk-in closet shows clothes hanging at an equal distance from one another. Everything is pristine and in place, which isn’t surprising for the man she got to learn more about. He guides her onto the bed and leaves a pillow-width distance between them. The click of the remote causes the screen to light and he pulls up Scream. As the clock tickets toward midnight, the pair watch one slasher film from the franchise after the other. “Okay, I get why she stays in America in the second movie. No one expects to get chased after a serial killer again. But if it were to happen to me a second time, you bet your ass that I would be moving to a remote island somewhere after the second time,” Y/N fills the silence. 

He chortles, “I’m with you on that. How many times does Sidney need to get chased by a Ghostface killer before she leaves civilization? What would you bring to your remote island?” “Horror movies, a Swiss army knife and you,” she rattles off mindlessly. His head swivels toward her, “Me? What about your amazing boyfriend?” “I love him. I do. He just isn’t great with survival skills. I would die immediately if we were deserted,” she clarifies, reaching for the popcorn they popped earlier tonight. He nods, “Right. I’m from the Outer Banks, so I can fish and shit.” “Yes, you can. Ooh, look. It’s almost midnight. Change it to the countdown please,” she implores, accidentally pressing her breasts against his chest to grab the remote for him. He takes the remote out of her hand; their warm hands brush each other to make both of their breaths hitch. She pulls away as he switches the TV to display the New York Countdown. The crowd of people on the screen starts to count, watching as the ball descends. 

Rafe observes how the glow of the screen lights up her face. Her voice fills in with the partygoers. He is drawn to the way her lips move. They are stained a reddish mauve that makes him wonder what it would look like smeared on the skin around his mouth. The colour makes her lips even more kissable. He has to remind himself they don’t belong to him, yet he needs to know what they feel like on his. Fireworks go off at midnight and Rafe has to take this chance while he has the excuse of a midnight kiss. The pads of his digits face her head toward him. He leans forward and their lips meet. His mind searches for signs that she doesn’t want this. A push of his chest. A shake of her head. A yell of no. They don’t come. Instead, her lips move against his. The peck he was going to give her is reworked into something deeper.

She can’t be mad at him kissing her without any warning. She saw him leaning in for the kiss and had ample time to turn him away. He would definitely respect if she said it wasn’t what she wanted. This is wrong; she has a boyfriend. Nevertheless, her brain screams that it wants to know if his lips are as rough as she thinks they are. The contact of their mouths causes her to part her two petals. He matches her actions and slots his kisser against hers. The roughness isn’t what she expected; it’s less than she imagined. His hands maneuver to her hips to shift her onto his lap. She twines her hand in the field of his hair. Even if she isn’t pressing hard, she can feel the rock forming in his pants against the growing wetness of her pussy. The moment they are sharing creates a fire within her, akin to the one he normally builds. The difference with this one is that it is fueled by passion. Her head is woozy and she believes she needs this feeling to breathe. Being with Phelan isn’t like this. What she has with her boyfriend is soft like a cool breeze. It doesn’t spark this desire for more. It doesn’t have her chasing after it.

This makes her realize how wrong this is. She isn’t with Rafe. She shouldn’t sense the urge to be consumed by him, so she has to pull away. The tint of her lipstick coats his pale skin and he is wearing it with pride. The corners of his piehole droop like a wet towel. Her head wavers from side to side, “I should go. I’m really tired.” She swings off of him and gathers her things before dashing out the door. Leaving Rafe to wonder if he has ruined everything they had and possibly could have. 

———

Going back to no contact absolutely destroys Rafe. The kiss clarified everything for him. He loves her and maybe his crush on her from when he was fifteen never went away in the first place. After running his fingers through his hair in frustration for not following her out, he took a picture of the way her lipstick was practically tattooed onto his skin. This vision deserves to be remembered forever. The flowery scent of her perfume is imprinted in his memory. He flicks through the pictures as he listens to Zahra go over the different events he needs to attend in the following month. In the most non-creepy way, he wishes he had more candid pictures of Y/N. The only ones he has of her are the professional photos that show none of her personality. She looks so poised and stiff, which doesn’t show the whole of her. “Rafe, Rafe. Are you listening to me?” Zahra criticizes. He slams the phone down on the counter; nothing would be more embarrassing than getting caught looking at a picture of himself. 

He has no idea how to hide his lack of attention, “Uhh, you were talking about… How I need to go to LA?” “Stop looking at naked girls on your phone. I was talking about how you are going to go to the UK again for Prince George’s Charity Polo Match,” the Chief exasperates. His interests are piqued and he scrambles out of the meeting with Zahra calling after him. He is furiously typing on his phone. Hey, I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be at your brother’s Polo Match, so hopefully we can talk. He hits the arrow to send the text and listens to the whoosh it lets out. It doesn’t take long for the sent under the bubble to change into read. It disappoints him that no bubbles follow the change. He doesn’t know why he thought she would respond.

———

Phelan sits beside Y/N in the Royal box with his fingers laced between hers. Thousands of eyes are probably on her, yet she can only feel one burning into her skin. She glimpses at him and their orbs encounter each other. “I need to talk to you,” he mouths to her. She disregards his attempt to speak to her and faces her boyfriend. Her lips plant on Phelan’s cheeks and his cheeks redden like a cherry. She moves to the shell of his ear, “Maybe you can meet me in the equipment shed in a few minutes. I have the urge to engage in coitus.” Phelan and Y/N are never spontaneous or lustful with their sexual intercourse. Phelan prefers the privacy of one of their beds and to be the one on top. While his slow pace is sweet, it can lead to Y/N feeling a little unfulfilled by the experience and makes her wonder what more is out there. She thought that maybe this could be the opportunity for that. Phelan leans away from her with a taken-aback look on his face. “We most certainly must not do so. We are in public and it would be inappropriate,” he scolds like she is a child. The hope on her face drops and she decides she needs to get some air. She excuses herself from her sits, heading to the equipment shed as she had originally planned. 

The hut is empty and smells of the hay tracked in by the riders, who were returning their equipment. Peace fills her soul. Finally, a moment without the stares of everyone on her. The rolls of the wheels cause her to turn toward the door. Is Phelan surprising her? Her teeth flash to the entering figure; they hide once she sees who it is. “What are you doing here?” she murmurs to him, not connecting their gaze. He closes the door and remains where he is standing. He fears she will feel trapped by him. “We haven’t talked since New Year’s Eve,” he expresses. She acknowledges his statement, “I am aware of that fact.” She keeps her sentences short. “I know I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry,” he apologizes with his hand on the back of his neck. 

Her head bobs up and down, “Okay, I accept.” He waits to see if she will add anything. Her silence lasts. “So that’s it. I make one mistake and we can’t be friends. I get that I made it uncomfortable and I’m not trying to say it is your fault, but you kissed me back too,” he points out, taking a step forward. She stares at him, “I should not have done that. I did not enjoy it.” A longing look fills his eyes and his head dips to be close to her ear. “Then why did you grip my hair so tightly.” Her eyes flit to his lips and she can’t contain herself. She throws her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers. He groans at finally being able to feel her against him again. His hands bring her flush against him by the waist. He asks for permission to enter her mouth with a swipe of his tongue along her bottom lip. She allows him in with a slight moan. Their feet glide on the floor and she presses him up against the door. Being in control of this situation built a fire inside of her that she didn’t know could exist. No matter how hard or how much their lips are together, she feels like it will never be enough. A loud shout from outside snaps her back to reality and she can’t believe she did this against. Once again, she leaves him alone. 

However, this time, he isn’t going to let her run off again without talking about what happened. He chases after her, losing her in the crowd. When he finds her again, he can’t manage to get her alone. As the event comes to an end, she is rushing off back to Kensington Palace with her sister. 

———

He couldn’t let her go another time, especially since he was already in England. It was pretty easy to get into Kensington Palace when Amelia was such a big fan of him. “Let him through, Conrad. I like him,” she orders, beckoning Rafe into the palace grounds once the guard at the gate moves out of the way. “Thanks,” he says as they walk inside. She flashes him a smile, “You’re welcome. I’m secretly hoping you and Y/N get together. I already know you guys have kissed so we are almost there.” “Your sister told you about that?” he inquires with hope. If Y/N told her sister about the moment, then she is at least acknowledging it happened. Amelia shakes her head, “No, I can just tell though. She’s my sister. I have to go, but good luck!” She heads in the other direction, leaving Rafe to search for Y/N’s room. 

He finds it and knocks gently on the door. She calls out for him to enter. Her room is exactly as he expected. It is completely void of her amazing personality. The pristine appearance fits perfectly with the aesthetic that the royal employees push onto her. He wishes she would be allowed to plaster horror movie posters around the room. He wishes he could help her litter the room with pictures. Maybe they could’ve been of them on dates or kissing or being in each other's company. The political books on the shelves should be of the smutty romance books he has caught her reading when they were first getting to know each other. The room definitely needs more colour. 

She is sitting at her desk, staring him down. “Why are you here?” He walks over to her, “I’m tired. Tired of you always running off after we kiss, so we can’t talk to each other.” “Both times were a mistake. I have Phelan and I am perfectly happy. I do not want to see you anymore, so please leave,” she argues. His head moves from side to side, “No. Because we need to talk about it. I know we both felt that spark and we can’t just ignore it.”

“There was no spark. And even if there was, then why would it matter?”

“Why does the spark matter? It matters because we love each other and we deserve to give us a chance.”

“I am in love with Phelan.”

Rafe chuckles, “Really?” He towers over her; his breath hitting her neck as he brings his lips to ghost the skin of it. “So he satisfies you? With his kisses? With his touches? With his dick?” He kisses down her neck with each question and she knows she should move away, except she doesn’t. She craves the feeling of his lips and wonders the type of pleasure he can bring her. “We can’t be together,” she informs, thinking about what her mother wants for her future. A future that features marrying Duke Phelan. He disagrees, “Why not? Give me one good reason.”

“My mother says I have to marry Phelan.”

“I said give me a good reason. Aren’t you tired of doing what everyone else wants? If you had to be selfish about one thing, shouldn’t it be with who gets your heart?” 

“And what would you do with my heart?” 

“I would help you kindle the fire that burns in it. I would show you that you deserve to be treated as more than just a spare. Because you are your own person, Princess, and that merits the freedom of choosing who you marry.”

His tone drips with care and it squeezes at her heart. Beside her sister, he is the only person who can see past her royal side. “And who should I choose to marry? You?” she teases, placing a hand on his chest to steady her slightly dizzy head. His shoulders rise to his ears, “Maybe. I mean if you want to. Not know though. In the distant, distant future.” His cheeks redden at the thought and he rubs the back of his neck. “You’re right. I want to give you my heart,” she mutters to him. “I also really want to kiss you.” He takes this as an invitation to lean in. She stops him with a finger to his lips. “We can’t do that again until I break up with Phelan. It isn’t fair to him,” she tells him. He nods, “Right, right. I’ll text you the hotel I’m staying at. Come over when you do what you have to do.” 

“Okay, I’ll be over as soon as I can.” 

“Sounds good. Also, don’t think that I haven’t noticed you started using contractions again. But you know what would sound even better?” 

She giggles, “Get your ass out of here so I can go break up with Phelan.” 

———

Breaking up with Phelan felt like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. He didn’t understand why she wanted to call it quits on them but eventually came around to the idea. She left him alone to cry into his pillow and went to Rafe’s hotel. She had one stop to go to first. She leaves the store wearing her newly acquired purchase and bounces in her seat while she is being driven to Rafe. She practically falls out of the car and rushes to the elevator. As soon as he opens the door, she attacks him with a kiss. Their lips separate with a grin and they laugh at her lipstick smudge on him. “In case, it isn’t clear. I want to be with you because you make me feel the most alive I ever have before. Like I can be myself with you and I won’t disappoint you,” she murmurs against his lips. Rafe grips her into his arms and drags her into his room, “You could never disappoint me. You are the most amazing person I have ever met.” They continue the kiss as he falls back onto the bed with her on top of him. 

Her hands go to the buttons on his shirt and start popping them out of their holes. She tugs his shirt off of him, not breaking their kiss to do so. His arms rest at the hem of her shirt and he breaks the kiss. “We don’t have to do this. I know it might be a little early. We can just watch a movie or get something to eat,” he offers. She shakes her head, “I need you, Rafe. Please, make me feel good.” His dick strains against his pants at her pleas. He loves the neediness in her voice. “Your wish is my command, Princess.” He rids her of her shirt and he almost drools at the sight before him. 

Her breasts are barely contained by the dark red lace cupping it. The material barely kisses the top of her nipples. Y/N was nervous about buying this for Rafe; however, with the way he was staring at her, she determined she chose correctly. This set makes her feel confident and sexy, which contrasts with what Phelan prefers for her to wear. It was always soft pink and covered her assets completely. Very feminine and cute. She prefers this feeling over that. She gets up off of his lap to slide off her pants and he takes off his. She has to stop herself from drooling at the size of his length. Even though she has never done it before, she wants to know what he feels like in her mouth. She drops to her knees and hesitantly reaches out for his cock. He can sense her doubt, “You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, Princess.” “No! I want to. I just never done this before,” she reveals, dropping her hand down to her side. His eyes widen, “You’ve never had sex? You should’ve told me this was your first time, Princess. I would’ve made it more special.” “I’ve had sex. It’s just… Phelan’s idea of foreplay is running a finger through my folds and then squirting lube on his dick before he pushes into me, missionary style,” she explains. 

He gives her a soft smile, “I’m sorry he never made you feel as good as he should’ve. I’ll make sure you get to experience everything you want to. But that is going to be the last time you think about him because the only man you are allowed to think of is me.” He joins her on the floor and guides her onto the bed. He looks up at her, “I want to show you how good foreplay feels and then I can show you how to give me a blow job. Is that okay?” She bobs her head and butterflies fill her stomach. He takes off her matching lacey thong and her legs spread for him. She can’t wait to fill his lips against her pussy, so she eagerly shoves his face into her heat. His chuckles send vibrations through her core and she throws her head back at the feeling. He sucks on her clit, flicking his tongue at it whilst he does so. 

She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, so she threads them through his hair. After a few more sucks, he moves his tongue into her hole. He laps at it like she is his final meal. “Do you like how this feels, Princess? Am I making you feel good?” he seeks her assurance as if her moans and pulls aren’t enough of an answer. She brings him back to her, “So good. More, please, Rafe.” He continues his assault on her pussy and goes back to devouring her. She screams at the feeling, grinding against his face. His hands find her hips and hold her down against the mattress. He presses his face further into her. He can fill her walls trying to grip onto his tongue, so he gives her a finger to cling to. She tightens around him as he moves his finger in and out of her, using his mouth to stimulate her clit. She adjusts to the finger and he uses another finger to stretch her out some more. This is when she starts to contract around him and a knot starts to build in her stomach. Her back arches as she pulls his hair, “I’m going to come.” Her words motivate Rafe more and he speeds up his motion to bring her to her high. Her walls relax against him and he pulls out of her. “Look at my princess all wet for me. I’m so proud of you. You want to know what you taste like because you taste fantastic,” he praises. Wonder fills her and she moves his head to hers. She can taste herself on his lips. 

He comes to stand between her legs as they make out and she can feel his hard length against her pussy. She parts their lips, looking down at his hips. His dick stands tall against the bottom of his stomach. “Can I suck you off now?” she asks in a small voice. He twitches at the thought of her mouth around him, “Of course, you can, Princess. You start off doing what you think is right and I’ll tell you what I like.” He helps her stand, grabbing a pillow off of his bed for her to kneel on. Her knees rest against the soft cushion. She gently takes him into her hand and examines every inch of him. The veins running up and down his cock call to her. Her tongue sticks out from the cavern of her mouth and she traces along them. She moves from the base of his penis up to his tip. 

The tiny slit on the tip is oozing with pre-cum and she kisses it. Salt fills her mouth. She peppers it with another kiss before trying to take him into her mouth completely. He hits the back of her throat and she has to pull away with a cough. Rafe lets out a low laugh. He cups her cheek and keeps her off of him for a second. “Look at my eager princess, who just wants to make me feel good with her mouth. You need to sle help you.” His hands go to theow down a little. Don’t want you hurting yourself. Here, let m back of her head and slowly direct her back onto him. With the more controlled movement, she can get a better hold of her breathing. “See, there you go. You are doing so much better. Breath through your nose, Princess,” he advises. She follows his instructions and this helps her get farther down his cock without the need to come out for air. She isn’t able to take his full size, so he continues to aid her in handling what she can fit. His dick starts to spasm inside of her mouth and he tries to remove himself from her mouth. She doesn’t let him. She grips his wrists to stop his attempt and her head continues to bobble against him until ropes of his cum release into her mouth. She swallows the salty substance and drops him out of her mouth. 

She licks her lips to gather whatever is pooled around her mouth. He yanks her to his feet and brings her lips to his again. He unhooks her bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. He kisses down her neck to her nipple and starts playing with the bud with his tongue. She moans at the feeling. He uses a hand to give attention to the other nipple. The manipulation grows wetness in between her legs again. Her hand goes to try and relieve the tension. His grip halts her movement, “Nuh-uh. The next time you come again is going to be on my cock, Princess.” He spins them around, so he can flop onto the bed. “Come ride me, Princess. Take what you want.” Lava must be running through her veins because she has never been more turned on by something. 

She straddles his waist and her hand goes between their bodies. The tip of his dick finds her entrance thanks to her help. She sinks onto his girth with her head thrown back. She can feel every single inch of him thanks to the position and he is hitting places within her she didn’t know existed. She anchors to his hilt, staying still so she can adjust to the feeling. “God, how can you feel this good?” she questions as she starts to raise her hips. Rafe chortles, “Because you are doing so well for me, Princess.” His tip remains inside of her before she slams herself back down of her. This is so much more different than she is used to and she loves it. She gets to set the pace. She gets to determine how hard it is. She knows Rafe doesn’t want her to think about Phelan, but she can’t help but curse him for never letting her experience this. He can tell she is driving pleasure from the harsh piercing of his cock, so he decides to show her how much better it can get. His hand grips her waist and he keeps her still. His hips buck up into her with all of his force. She lets out a pleasured scream as she jerks forward. Her hand lands on his bare chest and her nails start digging crescents into his skin. 

“God, Rafe. Keep going,” she begs between moans. Rafe grins up at her, “You like that, Princess? You like it when my dick drills into you? What do you think the people of England would say if they saw their beloved princess likes to be fucked like a dirty whore?” “I love it so much, Rafe. Please, let me move,” she requests. Rafe’s grasp on her loosens a little and he helps lead her down his shaft. The combination of both their movements gets him to hit her G-spot repeatedly. She starts to constrict and a bud of pressure starts to form in her stomach. Rafe’s thumb presses onto her clit, moving in a circular motion to intensify her enjoyment. 

The tension of her walls around him causes him to spasm inside of her. She senses that his end is near; regardless, she doesn’t get him to pull out. She wants to experience everything that he has to offer. He is brought over the edge before her and he doesn’t think about removing himself from her as he does so. She can feel his seeds seeping into her, continuing her descent onto him to come too. His pace doesn’t let up and his thumb presses harder into her clit. “You can do it, Princess. Come for me. Show me how tight you can get for me,” he demands. The bud inside of her finally blooms into a flower and she comes undone around him. She drops so their chests are pressed against each other. Their drive doesn’t stop, just slows down until they have both finished coming down from their high. They clutch to each other like a baby koala to a mother koala. He smoothes her sweaty hair back with a kiss on her forehead. “You did so good,” he whispers his applause. “I am so proud of you. You made me feel so good. Did you like it, Princess?” She nods in his hold and kisses his collarbone, “I loved it. I’ve never felt like that during sex before.” “Well, that’s a damn shame. Whoever left you unsatisfied didn’t deserve you,” he notes.

The couple hold each other for a few minutes, taking in the serenity of being together at last. He slips out of her and they both feel the rush of their fluid out of her. She monitors as he moves around the room. She can hear the bathtub begin to run and he returns to place her into the warm water. Y/N scoots forward to let him in behind her. He rests her back against his chest and interweaves their fingers. The silence is good for their voices after all the noise they make during sex. “Why did you hate me before we even said a word to each other?” he ponders out loud. 

She shifts in his hold and rests the back of her head on his shoulder. Her shoulders meet her ears, “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She can feel the outburst in his chest as laughter emits from his mouth. “Don’t play stupid with me, Princess. I’m talking about how I almost got frostbite when you first set eyes on me.” 

“Right, that. You are going to think I was a little ridiculous or hate me for what I tell you.” 

“I promise I won’t. I just want to know what triggered our four-year feud. You know so that I don’t make the same mistake with the next princess I meet and I can bed her faster than four years.”

She giggles and slaps the arm wrapped under her armpits. Her mood changes at the remembrance of the topic she is about to disclose. “I hated you because you had a dad,” she speaks out into the world. His arm close in around her some more to provide her with comfort. He kisses her cheek, “Princess, everyone, at least biologically, has a dad.” “I know. Except, you had a dad when I just lost mine. I didn’t want to go to the Olympics that year. It would’ve been filled with too many memories of the person I lost because my dad used to take me,” she clarifies. “And I was right. Everything reminded me of my dad. It hurt too much to be there. However, I had to maintain my composure because the world was watching and when I saw that you were there with your dad treating you like how my dad used to treat me, I envied what you had.” He nods to show that he is still listening. “It was a stupid thing to get upset at. It’s not like you had any control over it. Then, you reciprocated my attitude and I guess we got into a vicious cycle.” He plays with her fingers, “I see, I’m sorry that you felt that way and that I didn’t give you a chance before being rude to you too. I knew you lost your father and I didn’t think about that. “You don’t need to apologize. I guess this whole thing is just a miscommunication,” she makes it out to be what it truly is. Rafe’s chin digs and lets up from her head, “Yeah, I’m just glad we cleared everything up. I love you.” “Me too. I love you too,” she concurs. 

They get out of the water and wrap themselves in the fluffiest robes. Their hands are connected as they head back into the bedroom. They flop down onto the bed and he loses himself in his thought. She rests her head against his chest, “What are you thinking about?” “I hate your room,” he articulates. She lifts her face to look at him, “Why?” “Because it doesn’t have any of your beautiful personality. I mean where were your smutty books? Where were your Scream posters? Where were the other colours of the rainbow?” he justifies. Her head falls back onto his chest, “Apparently all of those things don’t match the palace’s aesthetic.” “That’s stupid. I’m going to help you add some life into your room and we can start with some of my sweaters. I want to leave you with some piece of me when I go back home,” he informs. Her eyes find the bright blue sweater hanging in his open closet. Her heart skips a beat at his offer. “I like the sound of that. I have a feeling you are going to get me in so much trouble,” she thinks out loud. “I am. I’m going to turn you into such my rebellious princess.” 

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[sameheart-sameblood]

Love in the Time of Cordyceps

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: when the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. joel miller makes that rule hard to stick to

words: 7.1k

warnings: mentions of gore (pretty tame but still), swearing, sickness, angst, fluff, two dummies not realizing they love each other until one of them almost dies 🙄

a/n: this was supposed to be more angsty but then i remembered life is hard enough already. and i just want soft joel soooo here we are. also i meant to write 2k at most but boy do i love to ramble

read on ao3!

After the world goes to hell, you promise yourself you’ll never love again. A person, an animal, a place, nothing. Only a fool would choose to make themselves that vulnerable, needing every fiber of your being one hundred percent devoted to your survival and nothing more. 

Was a life without love worth living? Every time that question enters your mind, you swat it aside. It’s like a nagging fly that buzzes around you until your persistence finally drives it away completely. Of course you could live without love. You’d been doing it just fine these past fifteen years. 

Living without attachment proves useful in the new world you find yourself in. It makes the countless people you lose along the way easier to move on from. In the early days, your heart still twinges as the people around you drop like flies. Most fall victim to the bites of clickers, some to raiders’ gun, a few by their own hand. 

The first group you had travel with is filled with Midwesterners who see the terrors of the new world and still somehow have a smile and a joke for you. Their joviality can’t save them, though. Clickers swarm you one rainy night two years after the fall of civilization. The sight of Gail, a woman who reminds you of your grandmother, having her stomach ripped out by an especially voracious clicker cures you of your need for any connections to the living. 

Over the years, you make your way to the East Coast. Smiles, defiant in the face of adversity are replaced by permanent grimaces etched into the faces of everyone you meet. It seems as though every survivor has lost the ability for happiness of any kind. Good, you think, they’re finally learning. You wonder what took them so long. 

Tales of peace the Canadian wilderness has to offer reaches your ears. In your heart you know it is most likely a tall tale spread by desperate survivors. But the good thing about a zombie apocalypse is you now have nothing but time on your hands. Working your way north, if all goes well, you’ll reach Saint John by May, continue to Port Elgin and then decide if you’d try for Prince Edward Island or turn east to Nova Scotia. 

Plans are made to be broken, though, and yours, along with your ankle, break clean through one day as you make your way through Boston. It would have been over for you if not for the two survivors that find you nursing your injury in a department store that will most likely be swarming with clickers by nightfall. 

The woman, after she puts her gun away, introduces herself as Tess. The man doesn’t offer his name, preferring to keep the barrel of his shotgun pointed at you. As they argue quietly over what to do with you, you observe their faces. Both are etched hard with years of loss and worry. Even harder than your joyless face. It’s impressive albeit in a sad kind of way. 

Tess had somehow persuades the man to help you back to the Boston QZ. Joel. You hear her call him Joel. “Fine,” he had grumbles as he places your arm over his shoulder for support, “but if she scans red, I will not hesitate to put her down.” Oddly enough his threat somehow makes you almost like him. You sense a kindred spirit. Another follower of the “no love, no attachment” way of life. 

You do not, in fact, scan red and are allowed to enter the QZ. An apartment is assigned to you, a crappy little studio with faded lime green paint. The old you would have adored it, called it quirky and planned out how best to decorate it with your meager funds. The new you just appreciates a safe place to sleep. 

After your ankle heals, Tess invites you to join her smuggling scheme. Thoughts of Canada flee your mind for the time-being and you gladly welcome something to keep yourself occupied. 

“But what about the cowboy?” you ask. 

“Joel? What about him?”

Your eyebrows arch, “He threatened to shoot me.”

“Only if you were infected. Just don’t get infected.” She says it like you’re discussing the weather. 

Joel allows you into the group begrudgingly, probably because he thinks they can use you as bait or a distraction if needed. Fine. Let them label you bait. You’ve been called worse before. 

The first few months working together are tense. Joel reprimands you for the smallest mistakes and warns Tess you’ll get them all killed. At first, you bite your tongue, reminding yourself of the part he had in saving you. But one night after he scolds you for the millionth time about not checking your blind spots for clickers, you snap. “Fuck off, Joel! I survived the clickers for fifteen years. I think I know what I’m fucking doing!.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, wandering off with a hurt pout like he wasn’t the one who was just being the asshole. You wonder why your victory leaves you feeling hollow. 

After that, Joel keeps his mouth shut around you. No nagging, no “helpful” tips. Just the bare minimum of whatever he needs to convey. You’ll never admit that it hurts. You don’t have to, though. Tess, at the end of her rope, explodes one night as the three of you eat dinner in awkward silence. “Couple of fuckin’ babies I’m working with,” she seethes. “If you don’t grow up I’m finding a new crew.”

It’s decided that you and Joel will do the next supply run to Bill’s. Alone. No Tess there to act as buffer between you and him. Joel grunts at that but doesn’t argue, always deferring to your leader. The trip to Bill’s goes as well as you can ask. There are no arguments between the two of you at least. You’re sure you even see Joel crack a smile. Of course it’s when you clumsily tripped over a raised tree root…But hey, progress is progress.

With the supplies in tow and Frank’s compound behind you, you actually think this trip might be a success. A gang of raiders lying in wait to sabotage you dashes your hopes of that. They had seen the two of you lugging your supplies and thought it would be an easy win. At first, they are correct. They outnumber you and Joel in size and wickedness. The four of them aren’t content to kill you outright. They tie you up and discuss what to do with you next. 

Of course their attention quickly falls on you. The man with an ugly gash across his face leers at you. “Maybe we should keep her around awhile. She looks like fun.” Try as you might to act tough, that sends the blood rushing through your ears. 

You almost don’t hear Joel snarl at them. “You lay one finger on her and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” The venom in his voice snaps you back to reality. While their attention is on him, you discreetly start ripping at your bonds with the little pocket knife you thankfully decided to stow in your back pocket. 

They beat Joel senseless by the time you get free. You honestly think you’re too late as you stab the goon nearest to you in the thigh, by some miracle hitting his femoral artery. The others turn to you, blindsided as you go wild at the sight of your bloodied and broken companion. Gash-Face comes roaring at you, all brawn no brains. The look of surprise as you lodge the knife in his neck makes you smile with sickening glee. 

The remaining two corner you, murder in their eyes. Your gun is just beyond them, taunting you to come retrieve it. The only “weapon” you have is the belt you’re wearing, it’s clasp heavy and silver. You undo it and swing it at the nearest man. He grabs it, cackling victoriously as he uses it to pull you closer. In their grasp, you become the target of their blows. You curl into the fetal position, angry that after all the near death experiences you’ve had, this will be the way you go out. 

A shot rings out, then another. Two thuds on the ground next to you make you open your already swollen eyes. As you look up, you realize your savior is Joel. Back from the dead. His face is covered in blood, like some kind of ghoul. But in that moment, you have never seen someone look more like an angel. The two of you limp back to the QZ where Tess nurses you as she simultaneously curses the deceased thugs. 

Joel corners you in the bathroom the next day as you study your bruised face. “You could have run,” he hisses at you, making you jump. You don’t know what he wants so you just shrug. He invades your space, making you back against the counter. “Why didn’t you run?” His voice has gone low, anger simmering just beneath the surface. 

Faces inches from each other, all you can muster is a weak, “We’re a team. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Several emotions flicker across his face in quick succession. Anger, fear, worry and something you can’t quite put your finger on. Pride? Maybe that was you projecting but you hope you were right. Joel studies you for a moment longer, then reiterates, “Next time, you run.”

******

After that, things change. Joel is still a man of few words but the ones he does grace you with are softer and more intentional. Instead of berating you for the knowledge and skills you lack, he takes them time to teach you. He shows you how to identify fake ration cards and to spot the kind of guard you can bribe. Nights are spent with you following behind him like a shadow as he shows you all the secret ways in and out of the QZ. When your hands shake during target practice, he places his calloused ones over yours. It steadies your hands but frays your nerves, threatening to awake a feeling long thought dormant. 

It goes both ways. Joel lacks attention to detail in certain situations and you show him how to read people and ascertain their flaws that can be exploited. During your runs you point out the flora that can be consumed safely or used as medicine. At Flynn’s, the only bar in the QZ, you teach him how to play pool. An essential to survival? No. But it sure helps you win a huge stash of ration cards from your fellows survivors. It also gives you an excuse to sidle up behind him and mold your body around his, all in the name of helping him get the “proper pool stance.”

Your excuses to fleetingly touch one another became more and more common. They are all perfectly innocent but carry the weight of something elicit, at least to you. Joel is never one to give away his innermost thoughts, happy to wear a permanent poker face. For all you know he couldn’t care less about you. Maybe he just knows keeping you alive is good for business and that’s why he takes a particular interest in making sure you’re safe. Whatever the reason, you hope he never stops. 

******

During one supply run, a torrential thunderstorm forces you to spend the night at Bill and Frank’s. You know it makes Joel nervous to be indebted to anyone for such hospitality but you can’t hide your glee. A night there means a cozy bed and a hot shower, something hard to find in your home where the water runs tepid at best. 

Afterwards spending way too long in the bathroom, you curl up in your bed, toasty and content, only to find sleep won’t not come. Your hosts are dear to you, even the grumpy Bill, but their snoring through the wall you share makes hopes for a deep sleep impossible. 

After an hour of tossing and turning, you decide to go make your bed on the couch. As you tiptoe down the stairs you run into Joel, on his way up . “Going somewhere?” he drawls, exhaustion making his voice deeper than usual. You shrug, “Couldn’t sleep. There are two buzzsaws in the room next door.”

Joel chuckles, “I’ve had that room before. Can’t say it was the best night of sleep I’ve ever had.” You lived for these little snippets into Joel’s life before you came around, always eager to hear more. But the trek to the house through never-ending sleet and over the turbulent river left you more tired than you had felt in years. Right now all you want is to get where you could pass out immediately. “I’m just gonna make camp on the couch,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Joel shakes his head. “You take my room. The couch is good enough for me.” This man. Hadn’t anyone told him chivalry is dead. You sigh tiredly and beckon for him to come back up the stairs with you. “It’s a big bed. We can share.” There is silence behind you where there should have been footsteps. Joel’s smile disappears as his forehead creases in thought. “Please,” you pout, “I can’t sleep in my room and I won’t get any rest knowing you’re crammed on that dainty little loveseat.”

It takes far more coaxing than it should but finally Joel gives you a little nod and follows you into his - your - room. You gesture to the bed, “Care which side you get?” Joel thinks, then shrugs. “Left is good.” You flop onto the right side, eyes immediately drooping shut. Once again, there is no movement from your companion. Without opening your eyes, you chide him, “If you’re gonna be weird and watch me sleep all night then you can go sleep on the couch.” That got him moving again. 

The sound of the shower turning on lulls you to a sleep that is disturbed only when you feel the dip of the bed several minutes later. You watch through barely opened eyes as Joel does a strange shimmy under the covers. It’s clear he’s trying his best not to wake you. The sight makes you laugh softly and his head whips to you. 

“Thought you were asleep,” he murmurs. 

You hum, “I was. You woke me up.” 

It’s meant to be a joke but Joel grimaces. “Sorry.”

The sight is sweet and your heart flips, his frown making him look almost boyish. “It’s ok. It’s your bed.” 

As you burrow into your cocoon of blankets, Joel props himself up, a pillow behind his back. He looks from you to the bedside lamp and back again. “You mind if I read for a few minutes?” 

That surprises you. In all your time together you had rarely seen Joel do something just for the pleasure of it. There was usually no time. But Bill and Frank’s is a sanctuary and even the hyper-vigilant Joel Miller is able to slow down here. You nod enthusiastically, perking up. “What are you reading?” 

It’s like you had asked him what his darkest secret was. He reddens, then finally grabs a book from the table. Pride and Prejudice. He stammers, “It’s just…I never had a lot of time for reading before and this was a favorite of…it was a favorite of somebody I knew.”

“You can read out loud to me if you want,” you offer with a grin. Honestly it was half in jest and half a serious hope. It had been decades since anyone had read aloud to you. Joel, always thinking you were making some sort of fun of him, smirks sarcastically. “Not a chance.” 

Your glower slowly melts away at the sight of him putting on his reading glasses and settling in. Silently you curse as you feel your hardened heart crack just the tiniest bit. Idiot that you are, you try to talk yourself out of your own feelings. You aren’t attached to Joel. How could you be? He’s just a handsome, rugged man who keeps you safe and reads Jane Austen in his spare time. Maybe some lesser fool would fall for him but not you. No, sir.

The next morning, you find yourself curled into him, chest pressed against his back and arm draped over his side. Like a bomb diffuser, you carefully try to extricate yourself from the position, every movement slow and precise. Joel, still asleep, lazily grabs your hand, keeping your arm around him. He sighs contentedly as you settle back down and you swear under your breath, nestling your head at the crook of his neck. You are so that lesser fool. 

******

The thunderstorms of summer give way to the pleasant days of autumn. Those good days don’t seem to last long enough. You should have appreciated them more while they were there but so is the way of being human. 

Winter in Boston isn’t fun. Ok that’s an understatement. It makes you long for the soul-sucking, never-ending Midwestern winters you had lived through for most of your life. There is something about being next to the ocean that makes everything feel colder. 

The nights are especially hard, the wind seeping through the cracks in the walls of your apartment. No matter how many blankets you tuck around yourself, your body never truly feels warm. Runs to Bill’s or anywhere outside the QZ become less frequent and more difficult. Only those deemed truly necessary are attempted and even then there is always a long discussion beforehand weighing out the pros and cons. 

Runs between the months of November and January are too risky and after much debate, it  is decided you three would lay low in the relative safety of the QZ. In the meantime, you’d assess your stockpile, make connections over the radio and wait for the spring thaw. With less food smuggled in from the outside, you decide to put your energy into earning ration cards. Even though no one could argue you don’t pull your weight in the group, you often feel like the weak link. Making sure Tess and Joel have a hot meal every night is the least you could do. 

Joel had always told you to stay away from sewer work. It paid double what the other jobs did but at a high risk. Besides not being able to wash the stink off for days, the tunnels under the city were treacherous. Many had gone down there only to be blindsided by a stray clicker or jumped by a loner who made their home away from society up above. Some just got lost in the labyrinth, never to be heard from again. Or at least you had been told. You hoped those were just myths. 

You and three other desperate souls are sent down to the sewers with the task of clearing the rubble from a recent cave in. A hard day’s work definitely but you were optimistic that you could get it done in a few hours time and be on your way.

The first few hours go well, the biggest pieces of the concrete being cleared easily enough. Your back aches and callouses quickly form on your palms. But still, all of that you can deal with, mollifying yourself with the thought of the stack of ration cards you’ll proudly gift to Joel and Tess. 

Maybe if you hadn’t been daydreaming you would have heard the shouts of your fellow volunteers sooner. Finally coming back to reality, you move just in time to avoid another piece of falling rock. You save yourself from being crushed but lose your footing, coming down hard on your shin. 

A stream of bright blood instantly trickles from the gash and you swear as you try to keep the tears that spring to your eyes at bay. Wanting to prove yourself, you brush off your group’s insistence that you go get it checked by the doctor. It doesn’t matter if you complete ninety percent of your shift. You still don’t get your payment if you leave early. So you suck it up for another hour, slogging through the muck as you finish the job. It’s fine, you tell yourself, it’s just a scratch. You’ll wash it off when I get home and be good as new. 

With the job done and ration cards tucked away in your pocket, you hobble back towards your apartment. The thought of a shower, as lukewarm as it will be, is the only thing keeping you upright. That is until you feel someone putting your arm around their shoulder. Joel helps you the few blocks to your house, his icy silence hurting you more than the cut that now throbs with every jostle. 

It’s only after you get inside and are deposited on the couch that Joel speaks. He rolls up the leg of your jeans, cursing as he sees the already festering wound. “I told you to stay out of the sewers.” 

You suck in a pained breath as he starts wiping away the dirt. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cut. Besides, it was worth it,” you pull out the stack of ration cards and present them to him proudly. The sight gives him pause. But the look on his face isn’t one of gratitude, it’s worried exasperation. His signature grimace returns, “It’s not worth it if you lose your leg.” And people claim you’re dramatic. 

Pushing him away with a shoo, you rise, limping to the bathroom. “I just need a shower. Then I’ll be right as rain.” As you peel off your now ruined clothes, Joel hovers on the other side of the door. “I can hear you pacing,” you call over the sound of the warming shower. 

Even through the almost closed door you can hear Joel sigh. “I just think we should take you to the doc. Make sure you’re alright.” The water hitting you makes you audibly moan, the filth on your body washing down the drain and with it, the memory of the hard day. You appreciate the concern but all you want to do know is forget about the day. You call out to a still pacing Joel, “I’m fine. You worry too much!”

******

It turns out Joel worries the right amount. Of course he does. As eager as you are to forget about your day, it’s not long before you can’t ignore your leg. The wound is an angry red and the area around it has swollen, leaving it tender and throbbing. Thankfully you have Joel there to dress it because, honestly, you can’t stomach the sight of it. These past years have been filled with much blood and gore at your own hands. But there’s something different when it’s your own blood. 

In any other circumstance you would have reveled in the feeling of Joel holding your leg so tenderly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he wraps the bandage around you. It would have driven you insane seeing him crouched in between your legs as he is now. But at the moment all you can think about is how you much pain you’re in. 

You try not to show your discomfort, but your poker face is nonexistent. Joel’s eyes flick up to yours as you slowly exhale, trying to keep calm. Avoidance has always been one of your favorite tactics when dealing with uncomfortable situations so you pipe up, overly perkily, “See? All better. Now about those ration cards, I was thinking for dinner-“ 

Joel rolls his eyes, standing with a groan, his knees audibly cracking. “The only thing you’re gonna do tonight is rest.”

You slowly turn your body to prop your leg up on a pillow as he watches. Pouting has never worked on Joel but you figure it never hurts to try. “I still have to eat,” you mope. 

“You will. I’ll open a can of soup or something.”

The disappointment is real and bubbles to the surface quicker than you realized it would. “I just wanted us all to have a nice dinner. You and Tess do so much and I feel like…” Thinking how you feel is different from saying it out loud and you have to psych yourself up. Joel’s softening gaze helps you continue. “I feel like I’m useless. I just thought this was one thing I could do to really contribute.”

The silence between you feels heavy as you avoid his stare. Finally, he speaks, confusion contorting his features, “Of course you contribute. We wouldn’t have kept you around if you hadn’t.” It’s meant to make you feel better but it doesn’t, especially in your current laid up state. 

“So are you going to get rid of me if I’m no longer useful?” you gesture at your leg, feeling your eyes beginning to sting with tears. 

Joel sits down next to you. Your fear has made you defiant and you meet his gaze, wanting to fight. But Joel speaks in a soft, level voice, as if teaching a child a lesson. “First of all, you’re going to get better. You just need to be patient. Second, you’re thinking there’s only one kind of way to be useful.”

“I can’t shoot like you two can. I can’t fight. I can’t threaten people into getting what I want. I can go on runs and earn ration cards. That’s it. I’m too soft for anything actually important.” 

Joel frowns, “You say that like it’s a bad thing. ‘Being soft’ in a world like this is an act of defiance. It’s brave as hell. What you consider important? I don’t want that for you.”

Warmth spreads through your chest as you observe him. He’s trying so hard to find his next words, to make you believe his truth. “Me and Tess, we let the world harden us more than it needed to. It was easier that way. But having you around reminds us there’s still innocence and good out there.”

The angry tears have turned to ones of gratitude. The sentiment is too much for you, unused to such vulnerability from Joel. You give him a small smile and he returns it, leaning over to wipe a tear off your cheek. “You’re useful just being you.”

While you still wish you matched Joel and Tess’ levels of badassery, the conversation helps ease your mind. You might not think much of your survival skills but you remind yourself that you’ve stayed alive in a world that wants you dead. Fifteen years you’ve been fighting and surviving and that’s nothing to look down on. 

“And for what it’s worth, “ he adds, “you scared the hell out of me the first time we met.”

You grin at him, shocked, “Really?”

He nods, smirking cheekily, “Really. Still do sometimes.”

******

Joel heats up a can of tomato soup for you to share. You try not to think of how old it must be as he prepares it. But actually, it’s not bad, the taste reminding you of your childhood. 

It also helps that you’re sharing it with someone you care about. A part of you hates that how easily you’ve let him into your heart. The one thing you swore off all those years ago is now all you can think about as you watch him sitting across from you, ladling out the steaming liquid. 

He catches you staring and breaks the silence, “Were you even going to tell me you got hurt today if I hadn’t run into you.” The fuzziness of your feelings for him makes your brain a little mushy and instead of having a grownup conversation, you reply with a childish, “No, I thought I’d let it be a soup-rise.” 

Joel rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. You chuckle and continue eating your rapidly cooling dinner. You sober up a bit and add, “The extra ration cards will be good, though. Right?” 

He nods, “Yeah. I think it’s soup-er.” His eyes flick up to yours as they crinkle, the only sign that he finds himself amusing. 

After dinner, Joel excuses himself to go work his overnight shift. When he leaves and you’re left along, the throbbing in your leg returns with a vengeance along with a mild fever. Your usually chilly apartment now feels stuffy and you have to remove all of your layers except your t-shirt to be even somewhat comfortable. 

Worry creeps in as you sit there, alone and increasingly unwell. You long for the company of Joel or Tess, anyone to reassure you that you’re fine. But you’re alone and the dark thoughts creep in, whispering in your ear that whatever is brewing is not good. Unsure of what else to do, you slip in to bed, hoping that whatever this is will be better by morning. 

******

You don’t wake for two days. Or at least, you have no real memory of the past 48 hours. Later, when the worst is over, Joel will tell you the details of that lapse in your memory. He’ll recount how you faded in and out of consciousness, sometimes submitting to your fever for so long that he wasn’t sure you were coming back. His voice will waver as he remembers how bad it got and how fragile you looked…

But for now, he stays by your side, foregoing his own health to make sure you stay alive. The first thing you remember is waking up to the sounds of Joel and Tess arguing in hushed tones. 

“We need to get her to a doctor. Now.” Joel’s voice sounds strained, like he’s trying desperately not to lose it. 

Tess still maintains her signature composure. “We can’t, Joel. It’s too late for that.”

Joel must make some kind of face because Tess sighs and re-words. “It’s too late to take her in because if we bring her to the hospital all they’ll focus on is her fever. They’ve put people down for way less. You know that.”

In your addled state, you wonder who they’re talking about. Your throat hurts to much to speak up though and ask. 

“The doc will give us the meds. We’ve bribed him before.” 

Tess shakes her head, “Antibiotics are on lockdown. Shipments have been delayed because of the weather. No one gets any without FEDRA knowing. Breaking in guarantees we get caught. We’re no good to her dead. ”

Joel scoffs, “So what do you suggest we do?”

“She rides it out.”

“She’s been ‘riding it out’ for two days. Look at her,” Joel’s voice gets closer as he peers down at you, “she’s fighting but she’s losing.”

Oh. Fever may have taken hold of you, making your brain fuzzy and concentration near impossible, but you understand now that you are the subject of their argument. For Joel to sound so forlorn you must look bad. 

If you’re dead soon, you want to let them know to leave it and just let you slip away. Your well-being means nothing if it puts them in unnecessary danger. Rule be damned, they’re your family now and you care about them. If you’re being honest, you’ve cared about them since you met them. It breaks your heart thinking you won’t be able to tell them that now. It nearly kills you right then and there to know you won’t get the chance to tell Joel you love him…

Opening your mouth to articulate all of that takes great effort and when you do try and speak, all that comes out is a strangled groan. The two rush over, Tess sitting down beside you. She takes your hand, an uncharacteristic show of tenderness. Yep, you’re dying. 

“You’re ok, kid,” she whispers, “you just have to hang in there.” It would be easy to ignore reality and blindly trust her. But you’ve always been stubborn and so you shake your head and continue trying to speak. Again, nothing comes out but garbled nonsense as you writhe around trying to make your limbs do what your brain wants. 

You must look a sight because Joel lets his anger overflow. “Maybe you can sit here and watch her die, but I can’t.”Heavy footsteps and Tess yelling are all that you can focus on as you fade back into oblivion. 

******

Living is hard and unconsciousness is addicting. Peaceful and cozy are feelings you can scarcely remember having. It would be easy to stay in that enveloping darkness but the feeling of the back of someone’s hand on your clammy forehead pulls you back to the realm of the living. You grumble weakly as you’re made to come to. 

Everything is painful. Stabbing jolts of electricity radiate up your leg from the cut. Your chest is tight, making breathing troublesome and your eyes can barely stand the dim, watery sun coming through the shades of the window. Someone places a damp cloth on your forehead to keep the fever at bay. Still out of it, you try and swat it away. 

A gentle hand grabs yours, shushing you. “It’s alright. It’s only me.” 

Joel. Maybe you have died and this is heaven. The man you love by your side, nursing you so tenderly. It’s more than you could have ever hoped for. This might be the afterlife believers talk about if only you weren’t in so much pain. The neurons in your brain begin firing more rapidly as your fever dies down. They remind you that you and Joel aren’t lovers. Your cowardice, disguised as intelligence, has kept you from telling him how you feel. 

“What’s happening?” Your voice comes out croaky and soft but at least it’s intelligible. The bed dips as Joel moves closer to you. As you peer up through barely opened eyelids you can see him leaning over you. His tired eyes look down at you as he caresses your hair. 

“You got real sick, honey. That cut you got festered and turned into a fever. We thought we were gonna lose you.” The slight falter in his voice makes your already tight chest contract. 

“How long was I out?”

“Three days. We got you some meds, though. You’re gonna be ok.” He says it firmly, which does some good in easing your worry. 

Trying to open your eyes a bit more you continue your questioning, “Where did you get the antibiotics from?”

Joel hesitates, “Bill and Frank had some.”

You try and sit up, angry that he made that trip and put himself in danger. Even now, you can see the snow whipping around outside your window. Knowing he made the trek there and back through that storm makes you curse. Joel tuts and puts a gentle hand to your chest, keeping you down and resting. 

“It’s done. No use getting angry about it now.”

You glare up at him even though you’re really just upset with yourself. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

His smiles peacefully down at you, exhausted but eyes bright. “We’re a team, remember?”

It’s too much for you to handle. You cover your face just in time to hide the angry, relieved and grateful tears that spring to your eyes. Silent sobs wrack your frame, making you seize with pain. 

Joel pulls you into him, shushing you as he resumes stroking your hair. You hide your face in his side, trying to regain your composure. Crying shouldn’t be something you feel the need to earn. But you’re all sorts of broken, so you take this rare opportunity to not judge yourself and weep with abandon. You almost died, for Christ’s sake. Surely that warrants some show of emotion.

After a few minutes, the tears stop and your breathing calms. Peeking up, you see Joel has his eyes closed. His face is the most serene you’ve seen it in ages, most of the worry lines softened. There’s still a few that refuse to relax, though. The crease in between his eyebrows remains stubbornly indented. You gaze up at him as he continues to run soothing patterns along your back. 

Feeling the weight of your stare, he opens his eyes. Coward that you are, you glance away. “Thank you,”is all you can mumble out as he gazes at you. After a moment, you add a shy, “I would do the same for you. You know that, right?”

Joel pulls you gently into him, almost to remind himself you’re still here with him and that the danger has passed. He nuzzles into your hair, murmuring an affectionate“I know, honey. I know.”

******

After a few more hours and another dose of antibiotics, you begin to feel more like yourself. Joel still won’t let you get out of bed yet, except for a trip to the bathroom for a quick shower. Even though you’ve been dead to the world for much of your ordeal, you’re quickly getting bored with bed rest. But you’ve learned long ago that resistance is futile with Joel. So you shower like a good patient, scowling as the water hits your scabbing cut. 

Once you finish, Joel hops in and washes the grime and worry of the past three days off. As you settle back in bed, you can hear him singing softly to himself. Through the patter of the water you can hear his soft rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s Songbird. It’s one of your favorites, too, and you hum along as you settle back into your pillow. 

After a few minutes, sleep still won’t come. You toss and turn as Joel finishes getting ready for bed. He comes in to find you still awake. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.” He says it like a loving mother gently scolding their rebellious child. 

You flail as you try and get comfortable. You shoot back a moody, “But I’m just not tired.” Joel chuckles as he sits down into the arm chair next to your bed. He smooths back his wet hair and gives you a faux stern look. “Your body’s been through a lot. You need rest.”

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

Joel looks confused, wondering what he did wrong. “Sorry I just thought I’d sleep here tonight in case you need anything. I can leave, though.” 

“No!” you yell out, completely abandoning any hope of looking cool. You give him an apologetic smile, “I want you to stay but you’re not sleeping in that chair one more night.”

Joel glances to the spot on the bed beside you, then looks to you for confirmation. He sighs, a smile playing at his lips. “If I stay will you promise to go to sleep?”

You nod very seriously. “Of course.”

Joel grins, knowing you too well to believe you. “Liar,” he chuckles but still gets up and makes his way to the other side of the bed. You pull back the blankets so can get in, then cover him up. Settling on your side, you watch as he suddenly looks lost, unsure of what to do now. It’s cute, this powerful man rendered helpless by something as innocuous as sharing a bed. 

You can’t help but laugh at him and he looks down at you, eyes wide. Taking pity on him, you make a suggestion. “If you’re not tired you could read to me.” Joel opens his mouth to refuse but you blurt out a quick, “I did almost die, you know.” He glares at you but his lip quirks up. He grabs the book from the other room then flops back down in bed, opening to a spot in the middle. 

Frowning, you reach out to touch Joel’s arm. “Do you mind starting from the beginning?” He rolls his eyes but flips back to the first page. You grin triumphantly as you settle into his side. Joel places his arm around your shoulder as he begins to read. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…” 

His southern drawl mixed with the Romantic Era style of writing makes for an amusing but  pleasant combination. After a few chapters, your eyes get heavy and Joel feels you nodding off against him. Jane has just been invited to Netherfield Park but even that can’t keep you awake. Joel puts the bookmark in to save your spot and places the novel on your bedside table. 

You grumble in weak protest as he tucks you in and turns off the light. “We can keep reading tomorrow. But right now you’re going to sleep.” Joel lies down beside you and with the pale light of the moon through your curtains you can see him studying you. He caresses your face and you close your eyes, delighting in the sensation. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispers. 

You force your eyes open, needing him to see the truth of it when you pledge a soft,“I won’t. I mean it.”

Joel nods gratefully and you reach out for him. He slides into your arms and you rest your chin on the top of his head. He’s watched over you for long enough. It’s your turn to take care of him and reassure him that, in this moment, you both are safe. 

For most, an outright admission of affection is needed to understand how you feel about the other person. But you and Joel are cut from the same cloth, stubborn and slow to reveal your feelings. In this world, for people like you, ’I love yous’ are rare and replaced with actions and deeds. 

You realize that even though you've never told Joel that you love him, you’ve shown it. Joel has been showing you all this time too and you were just too dull to realize it. While you know you’ll long to say the words to him soon, for now it’s enough to have him in your arms. 

Joel’s breathing deepens and you feel him completely give himself over to sleep. Looking at his face bathed in the moonlight he looks like a new man. His edges soften and his vulnerability brims to the surface. It tugs at your heart and you understand how rare of a sight this is for Joel to allow anyone to see. 

Smiling sleepily, you close your eyes and nestle into him. This feeling coursing through you is something foreign but familiar, an old friend you thought you had said your final goodbye to long ago. The love you have for Joel will leave you vulnerable. But it’s a price you’re willing to pay a thousand times over. 

******

#im on a mission to make joel as soft as possible lol #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #allie writes

[neechees]

How is the cult from Midsommer white supremacist? Because they are swedish and borrow from paganism? The nazis appropriated Norse culture, they even misused different runes and symbols, and Scandinavia is one of the most tolerant regions in Europe.

There's Nazi imagery throughout the film, & the fact that all the poc die first is no mistake. Ari Aster himself has said that the Harga are White Supremacists:

Defying an outdated horror trope, Aster does not kill off Josh (William Jackson Harper) — the only black character for miles — first. As Aster points out, though, the Hårga are racist, a callback to “a part of Swedish history and European history,” and all of the “outsiders” or “new blood” recruited for mating are purposely white.

“He’s thrown away in a way that the other members of the main cast are not," Aster notes. “And that is because these people have no further use for him.”

The Harga, when not inbreeding with each other, go out and groom new members to either 1. Be sacrified or 2. Introduce new genes by manipulating people into the cult or drugging & raping them (what they did to Dani & Christian), & they ONLY pick white people for this. There are no nonwhite Harga & that's not an accident.

The script also makes it crystal clear that the nonwhite couple were specifically chosen (bc they are not white) & brought there to be sacrificed & were never going to live. The member that brought the nonwhite couple displays hatred & malice towards them when they're not looking, but doesn't do this with the other white outsiders

(Ingemar is the Harga that brought Connie & Simon, the nonwhite couple). Connie & Simon didn't do anything wrong, they didn't do anything outright to insult the Harga. The only thing they did was be shocked about seeing the ritual suicide & express desire to leave (and they weren't the only ones who did this, Dani also did). And yet they were some of the first to die.

Even the visuals-- the Harga wear all White, it's always in blinding daylight. Whiteness is a GLARING theme. There's also foreshadowing early on in the film, where a book titled "The secret Nazi language of the Uthark" featured in Christian's room just before they go to Sweden.

There's also other Nazi ideology present within the Harga, such as the strict gender roles (the women all wear dresses & cook & clean & care for the children together but the men butcher the bear together), eugenics & ableism (the elderly are killed off at a certain age because they see disability & needing to be cared for as an elder "shameful", which is what one Harga states at the ritual suicide scene, & of course killing off the nonwhite characters), the "return to tradition" ideology (there are NO modern technology in the community, & it's in the countryside).

You see a cult full of ONLY White people, using Norse paganism (something VERY popular with Nazis) in an isolated area, who routinely murder poc, don't intermix with poc, kill off their elderly, Dani (the blonde, light eyed white girl) is praised for her beauty & made their May queen by the Harga, with strict gender roles, & this film was made by a JEWISH MAN to show the Harga as the bad guys, & you don't have a hunch that the Harga are maybe supposed to be white supremacists/nazis? That doesn't raise any red flags for you?

& let's not forget how Scandanavia committed genocide against the Saami, the Indigenous population who were there for hundreds of years before anyone else. That's a little off topic, but as a First Nations Canadian I aint gunna let that just go unacknowledged. Scandanavia has a white supremacy problem too, & Ari Aster is right for pointing it out

#I've talked to other poc about this film & me & other ppl snuffed out that this movie would be about a nazi cult just from the trailer #nazi tw #being Scandanavian & being into paganism doesn't make you a white supremacist no. #but the film makes it obvious through the other clues that that's not what's going on here #anonymous #rape mention #cult tw #nazism tw

[nicohischierz]

outed: adelaide hughes au

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hisch you want to join the taglist let me know!!

trevor zegras

adelaide and matt had slept in seeing as neither of them had training or a game.

the thing that woke them up from their nap was when addy’s older brothers best friends voice rang through their apartment.

“addy, are you home?” trevor asked.

trevor knew no limits so he walked straight into the younger girls room ready to jump in her bed. however, he was greeted with a sleep adelaide on top of a sleeping matt rempe

the new york native screamed causing addy and matt to jump out of bed.

upon seeing trevor, adelaide moved away from matt and stood on the side. she slipped a sweater over her head and turned to her brothers friend

“z, what the fuck are you doing here?” addy asked. she threw a shirt at her boyfriend, who simply pulled it on without a word.

“what am i doing? i came here to spend time with my honorary sister and im met with the rangers number one fighter. im concerned addy,” trevor rambled.

matt couldn’t help the smile on his face. after all the stories he’d heard about your brothers, trevor seemed like a true friend.

adelaide’s eyes softened as she lunged at the boy for a hug. “i’m fine z. matty makes me happy, like really happy,”

trevor patted the younger girls head and glared at matt. “that’s all i want addy,”

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

cole caufield

adelaide was having her monthly catch-up with cole as she cooked dinner for her and matt.

however, half-way through cole had to answer some texts on the team group chat leaving the two in silence.

whilst adelaide was cooking, she failed to notice her boyfriends arrival. the tall canadian stood by the doorway, admiring his girlfriend.

“well don’t you look so pretty,” matt complimented

the taller boy stood behind adelaide and pressed kisses on her neck as she plated their food in front of the camera.

when adelaide looked up she was met with cole’s shocked face. matt looked at her girlfriends phone and stepped back a bit.

“shit. is this what z meant? he mentioned you were seeing someone but i thought you’d tell me!” cole ranted.

“and you. you may be taller than me but i will fight you. god damn addy now i owe trevor $100.” cole muttered before ending the call.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

william nylander and matthew knies

adelaide had been having a tough couple of weeks so she took some personal days and flew to toronto without telling anyone.

“adelaide?” willy asked as he saw the girl outside the practice arena.

he noticed her sunken eyes and the frail state her body was in. william immediately rushed to the girl and held her as she broke in his arms.

“come on älskling. you’re coming home with me,” willy asked matthew knies to help him, knowing that you two knew each other.

matthew helped put you in william’s car when your phone started ringing excessively. willy was tempted to ignore it but he didn’t know whether you’d told anyone of your whereabouts so he answered.

“ada!” matt rempe answered on the other side.

“this is william nylander, who are you?” he asked.

matthew urged his teammate to put the phone on speaker and that is what the blonde did.

“i’m matt. is adelaide there?”

“matt who?”

“matt rempe. look i just got back to our apartment and she isn’t here. i’ve called barzy and the martin’s but they haven’t seen her either”, matt rambled.

“she here. she’s in toronto,” willy answered.

“is she okay?” matt’s voice was timid, worried about his girlfriend.

“not really, but i’ll keep her with me for a bit,”

“can you hand her the phone please,”

william turned the phone off speaker and handed it to adelaide.

“matty,” she mumbled.

“hi ada, is willy going to make you feel better?” matt knew how close the two were during their time in toronto. he also knew that other than barzy and tito, willy was the only one who could get her out of a slump.

“willy’s the best. he always looks after me and kniesy’s here too. i miss you,” adelaide smiled at the two leaf players.

“i miss you too princess. get some rest and call me later, i love you,”

“i love you matty,” adelaide ended the call and was about to close her eyes.

“so you share an apartment with matt rempe.” kniesy stated.

adelaide hummed “i share an apartment with my boyfriend,”

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

brendan brisson

brendan and adelaide were in the latters room playing smash or pass whilst they waited for dinner.

brendan was scrolling through a girls list of hockey players on tiktok as they both shouted out their answers.

“eww i can’t believe people find my brothers attractive,” adelaide groaned seeing jack for the sixth time.

brendan laughed and continued scrolling until they landed on matt rempe.

“oh i’ve seen him on fyp, the girls really seem to like him,” brendan added.

adelaide let out a nervous laugh. “pass. he’s a ranger, i’d be hung,”

of course, the knights prospect read between the lines. “okay forget his team, smash or pass?” he asked.

“well pass, he’s not really my type i guess. i don’t know briss,” adelaide answered truthfully.

brendan scoffed. “i think you’d smash. actually i think you already have,” he accused the girl.

adelaide got off her bed and looked to her best friend. “w-w-what, you’re crazy brendan. why would i hook up with a ranger?”

“i don’t know addy but i think he’s the guy you’re soft launching. i mean when i showed you the picture you started blushing. whenever any of the guys brings your boyfriend up you just say he’s tall. also i saw the way he looked at you at the isles vs rangers game i went to,”

brendan gave his best friend a pointed look.

the girl caved fast confessing everything to brendan from the time she met matt to them living together.

“who else knows?” brendan asked.

“well cole, trevor, my team, kniesy, willy, our parents and braden schneider,” addy answered.

“how do cole and trevor know before me!!” brendan exclaimed.

“they caught us,” adelaide replied sheepishly.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

mat barzal and the team

the islanders were out having drinks after their season and to celebrate adelaide's new sponsor.

of course, adelaide celebrated too much as she hung onto mat and slurred her words. her teammates found it amusing as she gave them all advice on their love lives.

"mat. i love you, i really do but i swear if you show up to training camp with a shaved head finding a girlfriend would be the least of your worries," she threatened.

the boys laughed as mat dropped the girl off on their goalie ilya sorokin. the girl then started counting in russian and muttering random curse words causing the others who understood to look at the girl in amusement.

"oh no, i have to factory reset her to english," mat groaned as adelaide began rambling on in different languages intertwining with her sentences.

adelaide then laid her head onto ilya's shoulder. "i miss matt," she mumbled in english. the poor goalie then pointed at his two teammates with the same name, making the girl excited.

"eww, that's not matt. i want to go home to matty," she whined.

matt martin carried the younger girl out the bar as she stumbled over her feet, mumbling about 'matt'. barzy was given her bag as he searched for a contact under that name.

just as he was about to hand the phone back to adelaide, she received a call from 'remmy 🐀'.

"ada, it's 2:30. you told me to call if I don't hear from you at this time," matt answered on the other end.

"are you matt?" barzy asked.

matt straightened up and prepared to head out the door. "yeah, I'm matt. umm is ada alright?"

"she's fine. i mean a little wasted but functioning,"

"i'll come pick her up. i've got her location, i should be there in ten minutes,"

barzy put adelaide's phone in her bag and hung it over his shoulder. "addy, matt's on his way," he told the younger girl, holding a bottle of water to her lips.

despite some having families and significant others, they all waited to ensure that adelaide got home safe even if that meant they walked across the city for her.

the sounds of matt's jeep alerted the crowd and the boy pulled up as close as possible before stepping out.

adelaide smiled at the sight of her boyfriend. she pushed away from her teammate and stumbled into matt's arm, the boy catching his girlfriend.

"matty, look this one and this one has the same name as you!" she exclaimed, pointing at the other two.

matt smiled at adelaide's teammates and fixed his grip around her waist. "come on ada, let's get you in the car and then I'll run you a bath when we get home,"

adelaide’s teammates looked at one another and then at how comfortable the girl was. “bye friends! i’m gonna miss you,” she shouted out the car door.

“is that?” one of the guys asked as they watched the couple drive away.

“yup,” barzy replied.

“with ..”

“we all pretend we don’t know until she tells us,” anders lee told the group before they split.

#adelaide hughes au #matt rempe au #matt rempe x hughes!sister #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe x reader #nhl imagines #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nicohischierz writes

[youremyheaven]

Rahu: Obsession, Abuse & Stalking

I was doing some research and I noticed a disturbing pattern emerge among women who have been abused due to someone's obsession upon them.

The woman on the left is Canadian model and actress, Dorothy Stratten (1960-1980) she had Shatabhisha Sun, Revati Moon & Swati Rising

The woman on the right is Divya Bharti, who was an Indian actress (1974-1993) Shatabhisha Sun, Revati Moon & Swati Rising

Dorothy's birthday was on Feb 28 and Divya's was on Feb 25. They were 20 and 19 years old when they were murdered by their partners.

Dorothy was shot to death by her former husband and manager who subsequently shot himself. They were both found dead by the cops.

Divya fell from the balcony of her 5th floor apartment that she shared with her husband and filmmaker Sajid Nadiadwala. It was officially deemed an "accidental death" 🙄but numerous conspiracy theories over the years have suggested that her husband may have pushed her off. I am suspicious of people dying due to "accidental drowning/overdose/falling/anything" because 9/10 times its just a very convenient way to murder someone and have it be written off.

I find the deaths of both these women incredibly creepy due to the many similarities between them including the fact that they have the same exact big 3 placements.

Shatabhisha nakshatra's deity is Varuna, was initially the omnipotent force of the universe and the personification of divine authority but after a lot of different journeys he was banished to the bottom of the ocean by Indra and was stripped of his former status and made the God of rains and sea (he had done nothing to prevent a drought so Indra making him the God of rains and sea is a double punishment intended to make him repent and spend his time dealing with the thing he was avoiding).

The theme of having your status stripped from you and someone "punishing" you seems to be prominent in the lives of many Shatabhisha natives unfortunately.

Every pada of Shatabhisha is ruled by either Jupiter or Saturn and both these planets have a very harsh energy.

Nancy Spungen, Shatabhisha Stellium (Sun, Mercury & Rising) was the girlfriend of Sid Vicious. She was found dead in a hotel room at the age of 20 with a single stab wound. Sid died of an overdose before he could be convicted but he is alleged to have stabbed her.

They had a very violent and turbulent relationship.

Jiah Khan- Shatabhisha Sun, Revati Moon, Magha Rising

Jiah was 25 years old when she was found dead at her home which she shared with her boyfriend, Sooraj Pancholi. Her suicide note mentioned her abortion, and sexual & mental abuse by Pancholi. An independent expert confirmed that her death could not have been a suicide but Pancholi was acquitted due to a lack of evidence🙄

Revati is another nakshatra that is closely linked to abuse but is often not talked about in that context.

Revati is the sum total of all nakshatras. Hence it possesses characteristics of all nakshatras. Looking into the symbol of two fish, these fish are moving opposite to each other. Some depictions show they are moving in a circle with each one having its head near the other’s tail. The opposite moving fish indicate two opposite sides of most aspects of life. It means they represent the good and the evil, happiness and sadness, day and night, life and death; and all other such phenomena. Revati is the nakshatra that embraces these seemingly opposite extremes at the same time.

This means that while Revati often grants immense wealth and privilege, it also indicates abuse and violence.

Rihanna- Shatabhisha Sun, Revati Moon & Rising

Rihanna's abusive relationship with Chris Brown is quite infamous. News of it became public after pictures of her bruised face leaked online. Even after this, Rihanna stayed with him and hoped he would change. She only left him after she found out he was cheating on her.

In a 2009 interview after the attack, Rihanna said that Brown threatened to kill her and that their relationship was "dangerous"💀💀im so glad Riri survived and left his ugly ass in the dust

Nicole Brown Simpson- Shatabhisha Rising

unfortunately not all victims survive.

During their marriage, Simpson physically abused Brown. According to a police report of an incident that occurred on New Year's Day in 1989, Simpson shouted: "I don't want that woman [Brown] sleeping in my bed anymore! I got two women, and I don't want that woman in my bed anymore." Brown called the police multiple times to report Simpson's abuse; he was arrested once, in 1989, after which he pleaded no contest to spousal abuse.

Following the divorce, Simpson and Brown had a volatile relationship but eventually reconciled. Audio released during the murder trial of O.J. Simpson revealed that Brown called 9-1-1 on October 25, 1993, crying and saying that Simpson was "going to beat the shit out of me". When the police arrived, Brown was secretly recorded by Sgt. Craig Lally. "He gets a very animalistic look in him," Brown stated. "All his veins pop out, his eyes are black and just black, I mean cold, like an animal. I mean very, very weird. And when I see it, it just scares me."

Nicole Brown Simpson was stabbed to death by OJ who infamously acquitted 🙄🙄

Miranda Cosgrove, Shatabhisha Moon

In 2014, Cosgrove was granted a restraining order from a Los Angeles court against a stalker who had allegedly followed her, sent her unsolicited gifts and threatened suicide. The man was subsequently arrested for violating that order and sentenced to three years of probation. In 2016, a man who had been stalking Cosgrove shot at a woman in a car near Cosgrove's home before lighting himself on fire and shooting himself in Cosgrove's yard. The man was found dead at the scene. He was supposedly going to kill Cosgrove but ended up killing himself.

Shakira- Revati Rising

There is a disturbing video of Shakira's mother in law grabbing her face and asking her to shut up. It is also known that her MIL helped her partner, Gerard Pique cheat on Shakira and that Shakira used to pay her bills?? as well?? Shakira has not spoken up about any violence or abuse but given the circumstances, I wouldn't be surprised if it were true.

Duffy, Ardra Sun (Mercury & Venus), Swati Mars conjunct Saturn, Revati Moon and Punarvasu Rising

She was kidnapped in 2010 and taken to a foreign country where she was drugged and raped for 4 weeks. She has since lived under the radar before finally opening up about the ordeal in 2020.

Drew Barrymore, Shatabhisha Sun

She had a stalker who went around asking people in New York about her address? He climbed on stage during her talk show and tried to get close to her and has generally been unhinged af

Bjork, Swati Moon & Vishaka Rising

Bjork had a creepy psychopathic stalker who was obsessed with her for years

On September 12, 1996, López mailed a letter bomb rigged with sulfuric acid to Björk's residence in London, then returned home, recorded a final video diary explaining his motivations, and ended it by filming his suicide by gunshot. Hollywood police found his body and the videos four days after his death; they contacted Scotland Yard, who located the bomb in a London postal sorting office. The parcel was safely detonated, while Björk was unharmed.

This man had been videotaping himself talking about his love for Bjork for a long time and they are superrr disturbing to say the least. He had put up a canvas behind himself while he was preparing to blow his brains out because he wanted his splattered brains to be his final art piece??? the words "best of me" was written on it😨😨

for your own sake i highly suggest not googling about this guy because it is gory and DISTURBING, those videos should not be up on the internet.

George Harrison, Shatabhisha Sun, Swati Moon

Harrison was stabbed 40 times by an intruder (who hated the Beatles) who broke into his house in 1999

the intruder evaded prison time, having been cleared of attempted murder on grounds of insanity. He was placed into a secure psychiatric unit near Liverpool and was released less than three years later.

Harrison died in 2001 from cancer having survived the stabbing.

Olivia Newton John, Ardra Moon, Ketu in Swati

The mass murderer Michael Owen Perry had been obsessed with Olivia for years and stalked her relentlessly. He eventually murdered his family (5 members) and had a list of people he wanted to kill which included Olivia. He was arrested and imprisoned. I cannot find info as to whether he's still in prison or if he was ever released tho.

Kendall Jenner, Swati Sun

She has spoken about the constant issue with her stalker a few years ago on KWK. There are even episodes showing that Kendall was hiding out at her mom's house because she was so terrified.

Kendall had purchased John Krasinski and Emily Blunt's home, then the stalking incidences began. the stalker managed to find out where she was living and he trespasses on the property, her security had to chase him off numerous times, and Kendall contacted the police. Unfortunately, each time he was gone before the police arrived.

This isn't the first time. One stalker ended up being deported while the other took a naked swim at her house and she filed a five year restraining order on him.

Claire Foy- Swati Moon

Her stalker was finally got deported to the U.S. but he was sending 1000s of emails and letters to her and her agent, contacting her family, and showing up at her door and "constantly ringing the doorbell."

Taylor Swift, Ardra Moon

she has had soooo many stalkers over the years. several stalkers have broken into her building. one even slept on her bed and took a shower in her bathroom. thankfully she hasn't been hurt.

Toni Morrison- Shatabhisha Moon

She wrote extensively about child abuse, violence, murder, rape in her novels and they were major themes of her work.

Kesha- Shatabhisha Sun

Kesha sued Dr Luke, her producer for sexual harassment, misogyny, civil harassment, violation of California's laws against unfair business practices, infliction of emotional distress (both intentional and negligent), and negligent retention and supervision. She claimed that Dr. Luke "sexually, physically, verbally and emotionally" abused her since the beginning of their professional relationship. The suit alleged he drugged and raped her on two occasions, made threats against Kesha and her family, and called her derogatory names.

The suit was dropped and the two have come to a mutual agreed settlement as of 2023 because the justice system is fcked up like that

Ellen DeGeneres- Revati Moon

another example of a Revati native suffering abuse is Ellen who was sexually abused by her stepfather

Robert Downey Jr- Revati Stellium (Sun, mercury & venus)

Robert Downey Jr. was born in New York City in 1965 to underground filmmaker Robert Downey Sr. and actress Elsie Downey. At an early age, his father, who also struggled with substance abuse, introduced him to drugs, allowing him to try marijuana at a party when he was only eight years old. In an interview with People Magazine, Downey Jr. explained how doing drugs with his father became their way of bonding, and that this early exposure to drugs led Downey Jr to struggle with addiction for most of his adult life.

Clara Bow- Saturn, Ketu & Rising in Shatabhisha

Clara Bow was born into a poor family; she was sexually abused by her father and neglected by her mentally ill and often violent mother. She went to Hollywood by way of a beauty contest while still in high school. She was the first "it girl", in fact the term was invented for her.

One night in February 1922, Bow awoke with a butcher knife against her throat; when her mother hesitated, Bow fended her off and locked her up. In the morning, her mother had no recollection of the episode and was later committed to a charity hospital.

Her mental health deteriorated in the 40s and she never left the house and eventually passed away.

Gene Tierney- Shatabhisha Moon

Gene's case is another example of the "sacrifice" and "punishment" theme of Shatabhisha manifesting

Gene had a daughter who was born with severe disabilities (deaf, partially blind, severally mentally disabled) and Gene suffered from manic depression post childbirth. she sought psychiatric treatment and was admitted to Harkness Pavilion in New York. Later, she went to the Institute of Living in Hartford, Connecticut. After some 27 shock treatments, intended to alleviate severe depression, Tierney fled the facility, but was caught and returned. She later became an outspoken opponent of shock treatment therapy, claiming it had destroyed significant portions of her memory.

she lived in self imposed exile in Texas where she passed away

almost all the people ive mentioned on this list (who are living) live very private lives. being forced to be "low-key" is a major theme. Rahu is a planet that makes an individual very obsessive but also makes other veryyy obsessed with them. this can manifest in really brutal ways.

Rahuvians are often the type of people who will relentlessly stalk someone but they are also the type of people who can be victims of other people's obsession and unwanted attention. Rahu's energies are not for the faint of heart and its incredibly scary what happened to sooo many of the people I have mentioned on this list.

stay safe, be conscious of who you're interacting with and cut off weirdos<33

#astrology notes #sidereal astrology #astrology observations #nakshatras #astrology #vedic astro notes #astro notes #astro observations #vedic astrology #astroblr #jyotish #rahu #swati #ardra #shatabhisha

[lokideservesahug]

For How Long!?!

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-Pairings: Logan Sargeant x fem!Reader SMAU

But, platonic pairings of reader x:

Oscar Piastri, Arthur Leclerc, Mick Schumacher, Liam Lawson, Max Verstappen and many, many more.

Warning: None to my knowledge and reader is faceless- there are no mentions of ethnicity or body type. Pictures are there only as a visual, you can imagine them however you would like!

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you all so much for the support!

This is my first piece of writing or even smau so I apologise for how bad it is and the lack of characterisation. No photos are my own. This is by no means an attempt to harm or distress any people mentioned in the story. This is a work of fiction!

Please don't steal, translate or copy my works in any way.

P.S. Also I don't know how to title this so it may change but for now here is the intro...

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

When the year changed to 2024, the last thing you expected was to be racing in F1. But after a sudden drop out of a certain Canadian driver, you recieve an extremely unexpected phone call with an offer that you would have never ever expected; this leads you to question where your loyalty lies and your future in general...

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Google:

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You sit down and stare at the camera. The woman behind gives you a nod and at that moment a red light turns on on the right hand side of the recording device. "State your name for the camera please" Someone says to you.

This is a nice, calm break from the constant stress recently. "My name is Y/N Y/L/N" you say as the woman from before nods. She turns to speak to an assistant as you look down. You're used to being overanalysed in motorsports but to have that feeling whilst also having every move recorded...It's already nerve-wracking and you haven't been here for more than a few minutes. "That was good but could you add a bit more detail afterwards this time around?" You accept her request as she returns to her original position behind the camera.

"Hi I'm 22 year old Y/N Y/L/N. I drive for Aston Martin Aramco Formula 1 team, and you're watching drive to survive."

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

So it's not much but this is the introduction of sorts to this story.

Likes, reposts and especially feedback is greatly appreciated. :)

#logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant x reader #f1 #ldah's writing #logan sargeant #logan sargeant fic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Electrons, not molecules

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then SAN FRANCISCO (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

When hydrocarbon barons do their damndest to torch the Earth with fossil fuels, they call us dreamers. They insist that there's a hard-nosed reality – humanity needs energy – and they're the ones who live in it, while we live in the fairy land where the world can run on sunshine and virtuous thoughts. Without them making the tough decisions, we'd all be starving in the frigid dark.

Here's the thing: they're full of shit.

Mostly.

Humanity does need energy if we're going to avoid starving in the frigid dark, but that energy doesn't have to come from fossil fuels. Indeed, in the long-term, it can't. Even if you're a rootin' tootin, coal-rollin' climate denier, there's a hard-nosed reality you can't deny: if we keep using fossil fuels, they will someday run out. Remember "peak oil" panic? Fossil fuels are finite, and the future of the human race needn't be. We need more.

Thankfully, we have it. Despite what you may have heard, renewables are more than up to the task. Indeed, it's hard to overstate just how much renewable energy is available to us, here at the bottom of our gravity well. I failed to properly appreciate it until I read Deb Chachra's brilliant 2023 book, How Infrastructure Works:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/17/care-work/#charismatic-megaprojects

Chachra, an engineering prof and materials scientist, offers a mind-altering reframing of the question of energy: we have a material problem, not an energy problem. If we could capture a mere 0.4% of the sun's rays that strike the Earth, we could give every person on the planet the energy budget of a Canadian (like an American, only colder).

Energy isn't just wildly abundant, though: it's also continuously replenished. For most of human history, we've treated energy as scarce, eking out marginal gains in energy efficiency – even as we treated materials as disposable, using them once and consigning them to a midden or a landfill. That's completely backwards. We get a fresh shipment of energy every time the sun (or the moon) comes up over the horizon. By contrast, new consignments of material are almost unheard of – the few odd ounces of meteoric ore that survive entry through Earth's atmosphere.

A soi-dissant adult concerned with the very serious business of ensuring our species isn't doomed to the freezing, starving darkness of an energy-deprived future would think about nothing save for this fact and its implications. They'd be trying to figure out how to humanely and responsibly gather the materials needed for the harvest, storage and distribution of this nearly limitless and absolutely free energy.

In other words, that Very Serious, Hard-Nosed Grown-Up should be concerned with using as few molecules as possible to harvest as many electrons as possible. They'd be working on things like turning disused coal-mines into giant gravity batteries:

https://www.euronews.com/green/2024/02/06/this-disused-mine-in-finland-is-being-turned-into-a-gravity-battery-to-store-renewable-ene

Not figuring out how to dig or flush more long-dead corpses out of the Earth's mantle to feed them into a furnace. That is a profoundly unserious response to the human need for energy. It's caveman shit: "Ugh, me burn black sticky gunk, make cave warm, cough cough cough."

Enter Exxon CEO Darren Woods, whose interview with Fortune's Michal Lev-Ram and editor Alan Murray contains this telling quote: "we basically focus our technology on transforming molecules and they happen to be hydrogen and carbon molecules":

https://fortune.com/2024/02/28/leadership-next-exxonmobil-ceo-darren-woods/

As Bill McKibben writes, this is a tell. A company that's in the molecule business is not in the electron business. For all that Woods postures about being a clear-eyed realist beating back the fantasies of solarpunk-addled greenies, Woods does not want a future where we have all our energy needs met:

https://billmckibben.substack.com/p/the-most-epic-and-literal-gaslighting

That's because the only way to get that future is to shift from molecules – whose supply can be owned and therefore sold by Exxon – to electrons, which that commie bastard sun just hands out for free to every person on our planet's surface, despite the obvious moral hazard of all those free lunches. As Woods told Fortune, when it comes to renewables, "we don’t see the ability to generate above-average returns for our shareholders."

Woods dresses this up in high-minded seriousness kabuki, saying that Exxon is continuing to invest in burning rotting corpses because our feckless species "waited too long to open the aperture on the solution sets terms of what we need as a society." In other words, it's just too late for solar. Keep shoveling those corpses into the furnace, they're all that stands between you and the freezing, starving dark.

Now, this is self-serving nonsense. The problem of renewables isn't that it's too late – it's that they don't "generate above-average returns for our shareholders" (that part, however, is gospel truth).

But let's stipulate that Woods sincerely believes that it is too late. It's pretty goddamned rich of this genocidal, eminently guillotineable monster to just drop that in the conversation without mentioning the role his company played in getting us to this juncture. After all, #ExxonKnew. 40 years ago, Exxon's internal research predicted climate change, connected climate change to its own profits, and predicted how bad it would be today.

Those predictions were spookily accurate and the company took them to heart, leaping into action. For 40 years, the company has been building its offshore drilling platforms higher and higher in anticipation of rising seas and superstorms – and over that same period, Exxon has spent millions lobbying and sowing disinformation to make sure that the rest of us don't take the emergency as seriously as they are, lest we switch from molecules to electrons.

Exxon knew, and Exxon lied. McKibben quotes Woods' predecessor Lee Raymond, speaking in the runup to the Kyoto Treaty negotiations: "It is highly unlikely that the temperature in the middle of the next century will be significantly affected whether policies are enacted now or 20 years from now."

When Woods says we need to keep shoveling corpses into the furnace because we "waited too long to open the aperture on the solution sets terms of what we need as a society," he means that his company lied to us in order to convince us to wait too long.

When Woods – and his fellow enemies of humanity in the C-suites of Chevron and other corpse-torching giants – was sending the arson billions to his shareholders, he held back a healthy share to fund this deceit. He colluded with the likes of Joe Manchin ("[D-POLLUTION]" -McKibben) to fill the Inflation Reduction Act with gifts for molecules. The point of fantasies like "direct air carbon-capture" is to extend the economic life of molecule businesses, by tricking us into thinking that we can keep sending billions to Exxon without suffocating in its waste-product.

These lies aren't up for debate. Back in 2021, Greenpeace tricked Exxon's top DC lobbyist Keith McCoy into thinking that he was on a Zoom call with a corporate recruiter and asked him about his work for Exxon, and McCoy spilled the beans:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/01/basilisk-tamers/#exxonknew

He confessed to everything: funding fake grassroots groups and falsifying the science – he even names the senators who took his bribes. McCoy singled out Manchin for special praise, calling him "a kingmaker" and boasting about the "standing weekly calls" Exxon had with Manchin's office.

Exxon's response to this nine-minute confession was to insist that their most senior American lobbyist "wasn't involved at all in forming policy positions."

McKibben points to the forthcoming book The Price Is Wrong, by Brett Christophers, which explains how the neoclassical economics establishment's beloved "price signals" will continue to lead us into the furnace:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3069-the-price-is-wrong

The crux of that book is:

We cannot expect markets and the private sector to solve the climate crisis while the profits that are their lifeblood remain unappetizing.

Nearly 100 years ago, Upton Sinclair wrote, "It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends on his not understanding it." Today, we can say that it's impossible to get an oil executive to understand that humanity needs electrons, not molecules, because his shareholders' obscene wealth depends on it.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

#pluralistic #bill mckibben #exxon #exxonknew #solarpunk #climate #climate emergency #climate crisis #gaslighting #guillotine watch #Darren Woods #incentives matter

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Favorite Buddie fics of 2023!

Every single year at @epicstuckyficrecs I used to do a fic rec at the end of the year with my favorite fics. I figured I should keep the tradition going! So, without further ado, these are my favorite Buddie fics (in no particular order) published in 2023! (you can also check out some other favorite Buddie fics of mine here)

If you have any favorites that aren't in this list, don't hesitate to share them in the comments! :)

Complete

find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (Post S6E13: Mixed Feelings, Pining | 19K | Mature): the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-Coma AU | 54K | Explicit): or, a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along

Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Time Travel, Post-Season 6, Getting together | 80K | Teen): When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica.

Evan Buckley & The Coma-Verse of Madness by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Coma AU, Multiverse | 58K | Teen): After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime.

like a dog with a bird at your door by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-S6, Getting Together | 51K | Explicit): or, evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 62K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

where all of the people dancing and clapping would greet me with such warmth by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Season 6, Magical Realism | 15K | Mature): In the fall, Buck begins to disappear. (Part 2 of All I Am, All That I Am)

Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU | 27K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Canon Divergent - Supernatural Elements, Ghost Buck | 67K | Explicit): When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

come with me, together, we can take the long way home series by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Canon compliant | 105K | T to M):

Get me through the night; Make me feel alright (Post-S3 Finale | 11K | Mature): After an emotionally-gutting reunion with Abby, Buck turns to old coping mechanisms. Eddie helps him find a better way. In Uncertain Times, The Uncertain Rules Apply (Pre-S4 | 22K | Teen): Covid comes to LA. Eddie copes. Or doesn't. Holding out for Something More (Stuck in Reverse) (Post S4E3/Lone Star Crossover | 26K | Teen): LA is coming out of lockdown and the world is returning to some sense of normalcy. But going back to the way things were hurts more than Buck expected. While his therapist challenges him to confront what he really wants, the team takes a trip to Austin... and El Paso. so far from being free (S4E4: 9-1-1 What's Your Grievance?, S4E5: Buck Begins | 46K | Teen): That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible.

Kink Club AU series by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Canon Divergent - Different First Meeting, BDSM, Dom Eddie, Sub Buck | Complete | Explicit): Canon compliant one shots where Eddie works at a Kink Club as a side hustle and meets Buck there before his first shift in 2x01.

The Warmth (of You) (25K): aka where Buck and Eddie first meet at a kink club before the firehouse To Weather the Storm (With You) (21K): aka the fallout of Buck finding out the dom he met at a Kink Club is his new coworker Safe Here (With You) (20K): aka Buck and Eddie handle working a shift after their first scene The Building Pressure (of You) (15K): aka Buck reaches out to Eddie after he leaves Abby's place in 2x07 An Offer to Torment (You) (14K): aka Eddie is all twisted up inside about what to do with Shannon. Buck offers himself up for some much needed holiday stress relief.

like when the sun came out by spaceprincessem/ @spaceprincessem (Canon Divergent, Ghosts | 39K | Mature): Evan gave up trying to explain what happens to him after his parents forced him to have a talk with one of their friends, supposedly a pediatric therapist, and cruelly hinted that if Evan didn’t stop seeing and talking about his “invisible friends” as if they were real then his parents would send him far away to places where they lock children up in padded rooms. “Look,” Evan says quickly, forcing out the words before he gets too scared to speak,” I—I know this is going to sound crazy, but, um, ever since I was a kid I can see ghosts.”

tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia

All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 107K | Explicit): Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

Don't They Know It's the End of the World? by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Fallout 4 AU, Post-Apocalyptic | 32K | Mature | Warning: Violence): After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back.

but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

WIP

And here are my favorite WIP that I really hope will continue to be updated in 2024! 🤞

for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 11/? | 96K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 104/? | 283K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 10/? | 25K | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

Right Where You Left Me by hyacinthusbloom/ @thebloomingheather (Canon Divergent, Post-S4, Angst | 89K | 20/? | Explicit | Warning: Rape/Non-con): "Therapy?" Eddie suggests. Buck almost laughs, but instead says, "I'll go if you go." Because he had fully expected him to be chicken shit, to disagree, and instead Eddie, the bastard, replies, "Deal." Or Buck never tells anyone that he slept with his therapist and deals with the butterfly effect years later.

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 7/? | 12K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

#epic buddie fic rec #buddie #buddie fic rec #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie fanfiction #911 fanfic #911 fic #911 fanfiction

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for refusing to buy my friend gold? 

I (f/33) have a very good friend (f/39) who is Hindu and an Indian immigrant, and this year she invited me and my wife (33) to celebrate Diwali with her. My wife and I are white canadians and not religious. We’ve been friends with her for almost a decade, but in the last few years have become very close and now she is basically family. We happily accepted.

We brought over food and the stuff to make paper lanterns, and we had a lovely time. The problem came when near the end of the night, when my friend told me that it’s been so long since she had people to celebrate Diwali with, and she was getting excited for presents. I didn’t know Diwali included presents so I hadn’t brought her anything, besides the craft supplies and food, she said that was fine and we could get her something next year.

I asked her what sort of gift she would like, and she said gold was the traditional gift and, I quote “but make sure it’s above 10 karat or it’s basically tin, I’d just throw it away.”

I thought this was a joke at first so I laughed, which made her confused. I explained that I would never give anyone gold as a gift, I’ve never even gotten my wife gold, we couldn’t even afford wedding rings. When she still looked confused I tried to clarify, and asked how much is a gift of gold, traditionally (since I’ve never bought gold, I had no idea how much it would cost.)

She told me a minimum of 500 dollars.

At this point is the behaviour I think might make me an asshole, because I was laughing in complete disbelief very openly. I told her that was completely insane, and I would happily spend every Diwali with her and get her a gift, but there was no way I was buying her 500 dollars worth of gold, ever, especially not if it was a yearly thing.

I know that in India, my friend was of a pretty high caste socially and her family is well off, and here in Canada she is an accountant who owns her own condo, and is looking to buy more property and become a landlord. My wife and I live frugally, we’re blue collar and both from working class families. An average amount I spend on a Christmas or birthday gifts for someone I’m close to would be about 20-50 bucks.

After I’d explained all this to her, I could tell she was disappointed and it had made her sad and confused. Part of me feels bad for laughing at her tradition, especially since she made the effort to include us and has no family here to celebrate with. But it honestly boggles me, and makes me a bit mad, honestly, which I know is unfair since it’s just differences in how we grew up, but I can’t help feeling annoyed and like she’s not seeing her privilege.

This has been compounded by the fact that for Christmas, which we also celebrated with her, she actually gave us gold, worth quite a lot, in the form of a special coin. We’re not the type to display fancy stuff, so it just sits in storage now. But I’m worried she may expect tit-for-tat, even though the only way we could possibly afford to give her gold back in exchange is if we sold what she gave us which we are definitely not supposed to do.

We still hang out constantly and we will continue to do so, she is a for-life friend for a lot of reasons, and I’d love to make her holidays and celebrations special, but this is just a sticking point for me, and I find myself feeling/acting like a prick every time it’s brought up.

So, AITA? Does anyone have suggestions for this situation?

#aita #am i the asshole

[feyarcher]

Okay, I know the English internet spends a lot of time staring and ongoing political disasters in the US and the UK and oh what disasters they are, but CANADA 🇨🇦 WE GOTTA FOCUS FOR A MINUTE.

Ontario has municipal elections THIS MONDAY OCTOBER 24th! And you need to show up and vote!

Just like all our regular provincial and federal elections, it is okay if you aren't sure if you are on the voters rolls or if you info got updated after you moved or whatever - YOU CAN DEFINITELY VOTE AS LONG AS YOU ARE A CANADIAN LIVING IN THAT SPOT. You just bring proof of your address to the polling place and you'll be fine, I promise. I've done it. It takes like 2 minutes to sign the paper declaring you do indeed live there.

Now you may be asking "but do these elections really matter?" And the answer is YES THEY MATTER SO MUCH. There are racists and xenophobes and transphones and sexist and antisemitic and antivax people running all over the place and the one thing we know by now is that bigots get organized to get to the polls so we have to also organize to counter them by voting!

There are probably 3 things you need to look up who to vote for in your area: mayor, councillor, and school board trustee. All three matter! Please don't only focus on mayor, if the terfs get onto the school boards, they'll do serious damage.

So what can you do?

- First, search "[your town] election" and you'll get the link to the official election page on your city website. It'll tell you the poll hours for THIS MONDAY OCTOBER 24th and you'll be able to find your polling place and a sample ballot showing all the people running for all the roles (mayor, councillor, school board) in your district.

- Check out the candidates! If you want to narrow it down, for major things like mayor you can see which 3 or 4 people have a realistic shot of getting more than 10% of the vote based on polls and then look at the platforms for just those people. For more niche things like school board, you probably need to look at every candidate but less will be running. Please check the CBC article I linked above to narrow down the obvious terfs.

- Make a plan of when you are going to vote! Know what time is best for you to go and how you will get there.

- Get your friends and family to plan to vote too! Help them out by sharing your research and let them know who you are voting for for each part. Sometimes the idea of doing the research into candidates is too daunting, but if you share your plan with them, you can get more people to the polls.

- IF YOU AREN'T IN ONTARIO: Reach out to your friends and family here and ask what their plan to vote is. Help them out with the above if you can.

So much stuff gets decided at the municipal level, but they are expecting record low turnout and low turnout is dangerous for shitty people getting into positions that matter. We are already stuck with a clown at the province level. We need to make sure people who will work against him get elected at your local level.

It's one day, probably 45 minutes of your time including travel both ways and any line at busy times. Honestly, voting usually takes me 7 minutes at most at the polls even whe I was a student and voting in weird ways. They make it so easy if you just show up.

MASK UP AND GET TO THE POLLS ONTARIO!

#I'm on mobile which is why this is caps instead of bold font #ontario election #ontario #canadian politics #canada #i cannot tell you how worried i am about the asshats running in niche elections #but i can tell you that every time I have voted anywhere in any election has been easy as pie #please share if you have anyone following who might be from Ontario