#[Cesar was his only hope of survival.]

[ctorres74]

God that guy is so sweet. How did you manage to get him to stick around again

Mewww?

...Mrrrp...

#[If they could talk he would tell you that based on what Mark's told them today he doesn't think Mark had much of a choice in the matter.] #[It was hell for them either way. Mark had no one else but him at the time... not even parents.] #[Cesar was his only hope of survival.] #[They would tell you that they wish he hadn't been such a waste.] #[...] #[But he can't talk now.]

[laceswan]

The Smiling Princess

Finnick Odair x fem!dancer!OC

What if the equivalent of a Disney Princess was thrown into the Hunger Games? Sylke is optimistic and has an affinity for all that is gentle and sweet. What happens when she is placed in an arena and forced to kill or be killed?

fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, canon typical violence

part two is out!

The capitol wasn’t all that different from district one. It was more modern, more luxurious, but not by much. Sylke thought back to the reaping. This year was a strange one. For some reason, none of the training female career tributes volunteered, either too young or not ready. She was only fourteen, never once had she wanted the life of a career. And yet her name had been the one drawn. Standing on that stage next to a man much older who’s trained his whole life for this, she felt more out of place than ever before. The train ride was not long, less than a day, but Sylke found it hard to relax, and time seemed to pass at a snail's pace. She had decided the moment her name was called and no one volunteered, that this was the end of her life. It wasn't even a question in her mind. Normally she would try to maintain a certain amount of optimism, but as she pondered on the train it became evident that such hope was almost always applied to someone not herself. Undying optimism was reserved for everyone else, while a more calculating hope was held for herself. In this case, the odds were not in her favour. The best she could do was enjoy the little bit of life she has left. And she did. Regardless of its strange and bloody traditions, the capitol was beautiful. The gifts she had been offered, the world she got to see from the train window, so much of it was bright and wonderful. And with the little time she had left, she resolved to appreciate it.

The other tribute from 1, Cesare, didn’t seem to like her much. He was cold, offered only backhanded advice, and made a lousy excuse for her only companion. Their mentor, Victoria, was sweet, convinced that Sylke could survive with some allies and sponsors. Their escort, Misty, agreed, and was already assembling a list of rich possible benefactors she planned to meet with. When they arrived in the capitol, Sylke was desperate for a new face, a friendly one. There was one person around her age, the tribute from four. She saw him at the tribute parade, dressed glamourously in blue and green. When they met, she tried to be as friendly and genuine as possible. That was his first instinct as well, to simply be kind, to make a friend, but when the conversation was over, he was swiftly pulled aside and reminded that she wouldn’t make a good ally, that he should put energy into connections with other, more fit tributes. As he tried to talk to Cesare, a broad-shouldered athlete who clearly had an advantage at the game, Finnick couldn’t keep himself from looking in her direction, from thinking about her and what she must be feeling. There was a churning anxiety, an uncertainty, that raged like a storm in the high seas within his core, one deeply tied to being so young in a place full or intimidating older kids. She was probably in the same boat, and he was drawn to that. No one else was that young in this Game, and in a different world, perhaps they even would have been friends. That is what kept him lingering in her mind as well. That they could have been friends. Only to her, they still could be even if only for a short while. It was the only friend she might be able to find in this place.

There was a gala that night, a chance to meet people, network, get sponsors. Sylke’s stylist put her in a long, heavy gown, white and gold with little pearls and jewels, to appeal to sponsors from one as her stylist put it. Something about portraying luxury. As much as she disliked the performance of it all, it had been a while since she’d been in a gown like this, with the heavy silks that draped off her body like water flowing gently over time-smoothed rocks. Something about it felt authentic, the daintiness and femininity. If she looked in a mirror she looked like herself. There had been a few times like that in her life, all of them before or during dance performances. The mirror that hung on the wall backstage was where she would check her costume before going up. She was grateful each time that her character wouldn’t be be frowning. She wouldn’t have to act. It would make her smile like nothing else, to see the dress she was wearing, because the person looking back at her was the girl she would see in her dreams, the princess she always wanted to be. And she would smile, a real smile, and she would go on stage with that smile, and everyone watching would know it’s real. The gala was different. People were closer, meaner, there was a tension in the air that never truly went away. The other tributes were there, closer to her than she’d ever seen them before. They were all so strong, so ruthless, merciless. It became clear to her that she didn’t stand a chance. They all looked out of place in fragile evening wear, like they belonged in a suit of armor on the battlefield. They could kill her in an instant, rip her apart like silk. This was the way she was going to die. She had a week or so until then, a week that she wanted to enjoy. But how would she enjoy what was essentially her deathbed? She would need to look at the little things, just the details could perhaps keep her happy for a week. She would need to distract herself, take comfort in all the things around her that weren’t awful. Those details weren’t as rare as she had thought, not if she looked in the right places. The gala was certainly not the stage, but it wasn’t that different. Those similarities were what she took comfort in that night. The dress, the lights, the few faces in the crowds that were truly friendly. Her dress didn’t flutter like a tutu, it didn’t spin the same, but it still made her happy, she looked liked herself in every glass, every reflective surface, she would see the dress, the jewels, and in a matter of seconds, her smile. She met all sorts of sponsors that night, they loved her. After all, there was no point in trying to appeal to them, and thus she could just be herself. Perhaps they made plans to help her in the arena now that she’d met them, but it didn’t matter. All that she could do was enjoy her night. Bask in the luxury and make some friends. The sponsors weren’t really friends. They weren’t her equals, they weren’t fearing for their lives. Only twenty-three others were like her. One of them was standing alone, at the edge of the dance floor. The boy from four that she had yet to learn the name of. He wore bronze to match his hair and tanned skin, a fairly simple ensemble akin to any other tuxedo or suit. The part that caught attention was the brocade. Just like Sylke’s jewels, they glittered in the light, adorning his chest and shoulders. There was a heavy patterned fabric that was draped off his shoulder like an asymmetrical cape fit for a prince. It hung still as he leaned against the wall, but Sylke pictured it fluttering with every movement and step he took. He was alone, as though waiting for company of some kind. So she walked up to him, the fabric of her dress swaying with each step.

“Hey. I’m Sylke. ”

“Finnick. You’re from one?”

The question was awkward, like he didn’t know what else to say.

“Mhm. And you’re from four, right?”

“Yup.”

There was a silence. She wanted to ask how he was enjoying the night, if he liked galas like this, if he’d ever been to one before, in fact she was about to when-

“But you’re not a career?”

There it was.

“I’m not. Just a regular tribute, like you.”

“Actually I’m not. I trained for this.”

“But you’re fourteen, don’t you wait until eighteen?”

“Yeah, usually.”

His answer was short, clearly a sore subject. She wanted to ask why, but as she looked at his face it became obvious that he didn’t know. So she didn’t push.

“Do you feel ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

His mentor, and kind woman named Mags, had told him not to show weakness, to portray confidence, never let the image slip, but it still did when he was talking to her. He let it slip, for some reason that he couldn’t yet identify. Something in him just wanted to tell her everything, every thought, every feeling, every doubt that floated through his head. Or rather he wanted to tell the world, but the world could not be trusted and so he looked to trustworthy individuals. Something told him she was most certainly one of them. Of course he didn’t say everything, but his performance was still weakened by her presence. Mostly by that smile. So genuine it made him want to smile too. They spent most of the night seated at a table in the corner of the room, occasionally beckoned by a mentor or escort, but always returning to the conversation. That conversation began with talks of the games, but it took little time to expand. Finnick told her about his life back home, and Sylke did the same. They talked about almost everything, from the birds that Sylke kept and trained in her garden to the rigorous dental hygiene Finnick was instructed to keep when he was a boy due to his sweet tooth. He was shocked to learn that she’d never eaten fish. On special occasion shellfish, but never proper fish. Soon after, Mags called him to meet a sponsor, and he returned a bit later with a plate of some of the fish being served that night.

“Here. I found some at the table, you should try it. It’s not like I catch at home, but it’s good.”

“Is there a certain way I’m supposed to eat it?”

He laughed, putting the plate on the table and sitting beside her.

“A fork and knife will do”

She laughed with undeniably genuine cadence before taking a bite. It was certainly new, but still familiar. Like a heightened version of the shrimp her family would get for celebrations, something meant only for the most celebratory of occasions. It was rich and just salty enough, and perfectly seasoned. Perhaps fitting for the celebration of one’s life, a good last meal. She made a decision to request this as her final meal before going into the arena.

“So… do you like it?”

She turned to him, swallowing before smiling, with the edges of her lips pulled high and making crescent moons of her eyes.

“It’s really good! If I had that as my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

“Yeah? Wait until you try mine. No seasoning or capitol kitchen can make up for freshness--catching, cooking, and eating it right there on the sand.”

He spoke with confidence, almost arrogance dripping from his voice, with a pearly white grin to go with it.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They continued to talk and to laugh, exchanging stories and jokes like old friends catching up after too long apart. At some point she had reveled in the dress she was wearing, how the luxury and flow reminded her of costumes she would wear, how she felt more like herself wearing these than any time before. She spoke with a beaming smile, eyes flitting from his to the fabric to the jewels to the glittering room and then back to him. He said little as she did this, simply watching the joy pour from her every word. It was that genuine joy the pulled him to her, that made his performance slip, that made him content to let it.

“You glow when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“About the things you like, the things that make you smile.”

She laughed.

A minute or two later, the music switched to a new song, and Sylke perked up.

“I know this song!” She stood up and took his hand. “Come on, get up!”

“Wait, to dance?”

“Yeah! What, they never taught you how to dance?”

“Only a little,”

She pulled him to the dance floor and took both his hands in hers. “It’s a waltz, do you know how to do that?”

He shook his head.

“That’s alright,”

She brought one of his hands to her waist with her own on his shoulder. It felt nice to have someone so close, someone to trust. They didn’t move.

“It’s slow, do you wanna look at my feet and I can teach you?”

He pulled her a little closer, practically speaking directly into her ear. It hadn't been long since he felt the warmth of another human, just a few days ago he was hugging his family goodbye. But the capitol was so cold, so glamourously sterile, that this closeness with Sylke felt like a moment of fresh air after a month of factory smog. The rest of the capitol felt sickly cold in comparison to this. This comforting, trusting warmth. Neither of them wanted to leave.

“Maybe later. Let’s just sway for now”

“Okay.”

They swayed in silence, trying to savor this moment of trust. Gold, ivory, and bronze melded together as they moved, these clothes must have been made to dance together. The music was soft, a subtle background for their movement. The night was coming to a close, the dance floor had few people left on it. It didn’t take long for Sylke and Finnick to be pulled away for final goodbyes, the last chance of the night to get sponsors before they went back to the apartments.

They spent the rest of the week training. Sylke spent most of that time learning about plants. The training centre offered plants from multiple different biomes, and Sylke did try to learn about all of them, but she couldn't help but favour the jungle plants. Something about the vibrant colours striking shapes was absolutely fascinating to her, especially because she grew up in an urban area that held only artificial, staged cactus and succulent terrariums. She learned quickly what was poison, what was edible, and what was medicinal. Often, she learned, something poisonous because helpful when delivered in the right dose. There was a tree near her home in district one, planted in a concrete box in a public square. From midsummer to the first cold breeze, the blossoms would hang from its branches like white handkerchiefs dipped in rosy dye at the bottom. The tree was lovely and admired by Sylke as well as many of her neighbors, but everyone who lived nearby to admire from a distance. Adults told her when she was very young that every part of that tree was dangerous, not to be touched, and deceptively beautiful. The man at the medicinal plants station told her however, that the leaves, once cooked, make for a powerful pain reliever. Still to be ingested with caution, as with any other narcotic, but helpful when taken prudently. Sylke was simply fascinated by such topics. She didn’t care much for violence, which most of the training room was dedicated to. She also learned how to use a friction bow, but that was mostly out of boredom. Her favourite part of the training was most certainly the medicinal plants. She took comfort in knowing that with this knowledge she could perhaps help someone stay alive, and that if she taught someone else they could as well. Perhaps if things were different, if she hadn't been reaped, if for whatever reason she couldn't pursue dancing, perhaps she would have become a healer. Sometimes she would catch a glance of Finnick, throwing his trident and hitting his mark each time. He was so assured in his ability, a security that would certainly serve him well in the arena. He trained for this after all, his confidence was justified. His kills would be swift and painless, and she had no doubt that was how he liked them to be. He never seemed the type to torture something like that, something about him, the kindness that he offered to many (though not all) was too great for such cruelty.

The evaluations came too quickly. The game was approaching too fast. Cesare was first, then she would be up. When she entered the room, a small pile of stalks and leaves sat on a table in the corner of the room. In her fifteen minutes, she separated them into three piles. One she burned, another she ate, and the last she sorted into their different uses. She gave a curtsy before walking out.

She was sitting on a couch in the apartment that night, all eyes staring intently at the screen. The man next to her had gotten ten out of twelve. She got a four. No one was surprised by that. Finnick got an eleven. She hoped he would win. A part of her was sure that he would.

After that was the final show with Caesar Flickerman. Everything was just like back home, just a little more glamorous. There was a mirror just before the entrance to the stage, and in it she fluffed up her skirt before looking at herself in full. She had a tiara too, adorned with little gilded doves. She had once mentioned to a sponsor that doves were her favourite bird, a symbol of peace. Not only that, but the tiara was made to look like branches, with green jewels like olives ready to be harvested. In fact, all of the jewels she was wearing were green, to match the olives and complement the dress as her stylist had put it. And the dress. They had her in a rosy pink ball gown this time. It spun better than a tutu, with even more layers or tulle. It was perfect, everything the little girl inside of her could ever dream of. They were really leaning into the princess thing, and it made her happy beyond belief. The smile on her face was genuine, and everyone in the crowd knew it. She walked out from the steel doors, stage lights beaming from every direction as she took a seat. Caesar introduced her to the crowd, but all she could think of was music. She could hear it in her head, like she was sitting upstage while the principals danced. Like clockwork, he’d back straightened and her hands folded in her lap. She only caught the last bit of Caesar’s words.

“You really do look like royalty, sitting so poised like that. Do you know what people have been calling you?”

“What have they been calling me?”

“The smiling princess.”

He looked out to the crowd.

“Now folks, can you think of anything more fitting? Here she is in her royal gown, with a crown on her head, and the prettiest smile in the world. I can’t think of a better name for such a lovely young girl.”

“Thank you Caesar. I really do feel so lucky to be here and to have been received so kindly. My heart is truly warmed by the kindness you show me.”

“And look at that, such impeccable manners!”

His galavanting smile and raucous laugh shifted quickly to something of a pout as the crowd quieted and he took a more serious tone.

“Now of course, manners and sweetness are all gone in the arena.”

“That’s true. I will be completely out of my element.”

The crowd went quiet as Sylke formed her next words. She wondered if she should tell the audience the certainty of her death, how little hope she had for herself. But she decided against it. Instead, she focused on what she knew, the morals that she upheld and took comfort in.

”You know, I’ve been taught that the way to live a good life is to be kind, to have mercy, and to offer grace. I know not how that will apply in the arena but I have no intention of abandoning my morals.”

“Such wisdom at such a young age.”

He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes.

“We all know that the arena is deadly. Unfortunately, other tributes are not as kind as you are. But we wish you the best of luck. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

The skirt rippled with her as she stood, walking of the stage with cheers sounding behind her. Misty was by her side immediately.

“That was good, you did good. A lot of sponsors are really loving the princess image, and that kindness, mercy, and grace speech really turned some heads.”

Sylke watched the rest of the show from backstage. Tributes came and went, each leaning into distinct personalities crafted by mentors, escorts, and stylists. She wondered how many were real. How many were total fabrication? And how many were what she imagined most of them were, exaggerations and oversimplifications, initially based on truth, but dramatised and amplified to make a good show. That’s what Finnick’s was. When he came on the stage, he had a big plastic smile. He acted arrogant, confident, but in a peacock sort of way. He had confidence in his own ability and his odds in the arena, and in the interview he missed no opportunity to flaunt it. And that was mostly based in truth. He did carry himself with confidence, and he did come off as arrogant when she first met him at the parade. But he was also compassionate, and that same confidence and security in himself allowed him to be wonderful at helping others, caring for the people around him that he trusted. It meant that he wasn’t afraid to step up and protect someone. And Sylke was sorely disappointed when she didn’t see that on the screen in front of her. That wasn’t Finnick, not all of him. But the audience loved it. They had no idea who he really was, and they didn’t care. They cheered and screamed with every toothy grin he flashed. They loved him. If he won they’d love him even more. He’d be their golden boy.

“You know they love him almost as much as they love you.”

She looked up and back to see the speaker. It was Cesare.

“What?”

“You hear the cheering? It’s almost as loud as when you were up there. Looks like the capitol found their prince.”

He slinked away again, with a smirk, like all he came up to do was tease her. But he was right. She wondered what would become of it all. She would die, and hopefully he would live. The capitol would lose their smiling princess. Would they mourn? What about him? If he died would they mourn him too? Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps coming backstage.

“Hey! They loved you out there!”

“They loved you too, princess.”

They began to walk together, with no defined direction, just aimless, something to do with their bodies as they chatted. Finnick noted how regal her dress was, prompting her to revel similarly to the night of the gala at the way she felt wearing the dress. And again, he watched. She spun, the skirt flying up and revealing layer upon layer of fluffy tulle, and he felt a pang of desire to be the one spinning her, the knight in shining armor to her princess. And then he wondered if it was an act. If even around him she was playing up the princess thing, like he would with his playboy image for the cameras and other tributes. But he didn’t do that with her. Did she?

“Are you really like this?”

“Hmm? Like what?”

“When you’re on stage you’re essentially no different than how you are now. Is this just who you are?”

“I-I guess. I never really thought about it.”

They walked without words for a moment. He began to wonder if he made her uncomfortable.

“I try to be honest with everyone. I know my team likes to have a certain image, but when I get to talk I like to just be me. I’d like to think I’m always like this.”

Always a princess he thought. That’s just who she is.

“You’re not like that though. You were acting different on stage, I could tell. Did they tell you to do that?”

“Yeah. Apparently I’m becoming a capitol heartthrob.”

He rolled his eyes, drawling though his words with palpable disgust.

“My escort said I’ll get more sponsors if I do all that flirty stuff.”

She nodded, waiting for him to say more. There was a question she hadn’t the courage to ask, but he knew it, and answered before she asked.

“It’s not totally fake. But it’s icky, like they’re whittling me down into… it’s not something I’m not, but…”

“It’s not all of you.”

“Yeah.”

Stylists and escorts were moving about, organising the tributes to go into the stage for the finale. As Sylke was summoned to line up, Finnick pulled her close just as he had at the gala and whispered in her ear.

“I wanna come to your room tonight. Will they be asleep by midnight?”

Victoria would likely pass out the moment they returned to the apartment, and Misty always took a sleeping pill at eleven. Cesare would be asleep too, getting a good nights rest before the game in the morning.

“Yes.”

She was pulled away, and soon after so was he.

That night, she asked for fish as her supper. It was similar to what was served at the gala, tender and perfectly seasoned with a certain luxurious richness that she adored. The meal was quiet. They were always awkward, but usually Victoria, or failing that Misty, would try to make conversation. The table was quiet this time. Cesare was eating with vigor, trying to get as much down as possible before the game. Sylke was eating slowly, simply trying to enjoy all of it. Victoria had said all there was to say, now it was just a waiting game. As the night progressed everyone but Sylke went to bed early. She didn’t enjoy silence. Much more pleasant was to have something to listen to. Sometimes that would be bird songs and wind making melodies in the rustling flora, other times it was an orchestra unpacking and tuning as the crowd settled in. Whatever it was, she always preferred noise over silence. And so when all was quiet and everyone was asleep, she closed her bedroom door and found music to play. It was on the vanity, a turntable next to a selection screen. She chose something soft, classical, to remind her of home. She closed her eyes and for a moment she was back home. All was well, all she needed to worry about was the crowd, the choreography, that was it. Music had a power over her, to bring her anywhere in the world so long as she could hear it. Her feet moved across the floor, gliding and stepping with the music she knew so well. The piece was short and coming to an end. Her eyes came open a long time ago, but they didn’t actually look anywhere until the final note, when she would smile and bow to the audience. But of course, the roaring applause wasn’t there, and she was back in reality, back in the cold and grey apartment room. But she had enjoyed her escape, short as it was. A quick glance at the clock showed the midnight was nearing. She made her way to the door and kept an eye peering out the peephole. Right on time, she saw him walking, turning to check behind nearly every step. She laughed to herself at his caution, knowing full well that if she were in his place, she likely wouldn’t look back once. He approached the door and gestured to knock before stopping. He stood pondering a quieter method for perhaps a second before she opened the door. They tried not to make noise until she had closed the bedroom door again.

“You're playing music?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say much for a moment. In the end it was Sylke that spoke first, voicing the question that had stayed at the front of her mind for hours.

“Why did you want to meet tonight?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see you again before tomorrow.”

She nodded, understanding and reciprocating his sentiment entirely. Another song faded out, and a lively waltz took its place.

“I never actually got to teach you to dance.”

“I’m still interested.”

She stood up come her place seated on the edge of the bed and placed her hands behind her back.

“Watch my feet. You know how a waltz goes 1, 2, 3…”

He nodded and stood next to her, mimicking her every movement. She took two steps and he did the same. She brushed her leg forward and he followed. With each step she counted, one, brush, turn, two, step, three, step. It took him a moment to pick it up, but with time he was able to find the rhythm and it became easier with each turn.

“Great. Face me,”

They kept their hands behind their backs, not wanting to complicate with arms yet.

“Just waltz, and I’ll be going backwards to match you.”

He nodded again and hesitated before stepping forward. She stepped backwards. When he brushed his leg forward she moved hers back. When they turned it switched. Once again, it slowly began to make sense to him.

“That’s great! Do you want to try arms?”

“Sounds good.”

They assumed a familiar position, with his arm on her waist, and hers on his shoulder. Only this time there was significantly more distance between them. Finnick was too focused on his feet to notice, but to Sylke took note of it, how as much as she loved to waltz with him, she did miss being closer. As the moved clumsily about the floor, she smiled and giggled both when he struggled and when he succeeded, finding joy in anything and everything he did. He almost didn’t hear her laugh with his laser focus on taking the right steps. At some point it seemed to get easier for him, but he still kept his gaze fixed on the ground. Upon seeing this, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and gently took hold of his chin to turn his face to hers.

“Look at me. Or to the audience, but we don’t have one of those.”

Just as he was told, he didn’t take his eyes off her. His steps were a bit messier as a result, but they smoothed over in time. Looking into his eyes, she found herself smiling even more, something he mimicked with a grin of his own. It wasn’t the plastic one from the stage earlier, it was different. Genuine. They could hear the song getting closer to its end. Finnick took the hand that was clasped with hers and placed it on her waist as the final phrase played.

“Dip?”

She smiled again, and that was all they needed for a response. He lowered her, with one hand at her waist and the other moving to support her back, keeping his head by hers and his eyes never leaving. The music went quiet before transitioning into something softer, slower, clearly in 4/4 as well. Neither of them moved once again. Her smile had gone slightly, now just doe-eyed and looking at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. Sweet and slow, they moved closer until their lips met. The kiss was tender, slow and yet fleeting as they pulled apart. With foreheads pressed together, both of them donned massive smiles, eyes thinner than crescent moons. Finnick brought them back upright but kept them close. He didn’t want to let her go, perhaps not ever. He didn't want to think either. The future was too dangerous to consider right now. They mostly stayed cuddled on the bed for the rest of the hours they spent together, talking softly because they were too afraid to fall asleep. The conversation was not nearly as lighthearted as other ones. The game was tomorrow, and it weighed heavily on both of their minds. They talked about what it meant to take a life. Sylke didn’t like to think about it, but with the game so near, she could not pluck the thoughts from her mind. To kill someone, to rob them of their life.

“Have you ever…”

“No. No, never. I don’t think I want to either. I can, I know I can, but… I don’t know. It’s that or die.”

She admired his drive to live. It was amazing, an extension of that security in himself she figured. She was choosing to die, but she couldn’t blame him for choosing to kill instead.

“I don’t think I could. It takes so much, so much that I don’t have. I envy you Finnick. You’re strong and capable and-“

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“What, am I wrong?”

“I-no, but… don’t whittle it down like that. You’re not wrong, I have skills that serve me in the arena. And with those particular skills you’re not as strong. But that’s not the whole story. Sylke, I’ve only known you for a week or two but I’ve seen how incredible you are. I’ve seen your kindness and your optimism and your care for the world around you. Those are skills too, even if they don’t serve you in the arena.”

By the end or his little speech, there were tears making their way down her face. There was quiet between them once more, but not out of awkwardness or lack of things to say. She moved closer and rested her head on his chest. His hand almost automatically moved to her head to play with her hair, something of an unconscious attempt at comforting her. The flow of tears came to an end. He tilted her chin to look up at him. Her face was still wet, with doe eyes and little trace of a smile. He’d never seen her look so sad before, and he promised himself to do everything in his power to keep that beautiful smile of hers around.

“You’re wonderful.”

He pressed his lips to hers, this time quicker, more passionate. Time seemed to fall away, and for just a moment so did the music. When they pulled apart she nuzzled into his neck, taking comfort in his arms securely around her. She felt safe here, like the danger of tomorrow could never reach her here. Some amount of time that neither of them bothered to note passed, and the glare of the clock seemed increasingly present. They were tired but still too afraid to fall asleep. Not here, not like this.

“I should go.”

“You need to go.”

Nothing moved.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

For a moment, all was still. Slowly, they rose, making their way to the apartment door. Before she could reach for the door, he took her hands in his and made a point to look square in her eyes.

“There’s gonna be a bloodbath at the cornucopia tomorrow. You should run, but don’t go far. I’ll find you once I get some weapons. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She didn’t need to ask anything more, all was understood. He knew her odds, he knew of her intention to die quickly, this was it. He would kill her in the morning, quickly, painlessly, end her suffering before things could get worse. She opened the door and gave him a melancholy smile. As he began to walk away she spoke quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Better with you than anyone else.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick x oc #finnick x reader #hungerverse #district 4 #distict 1 #hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #finnick odair x oc #mags flanagan #caesar flickerman #president snow #fluff #angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick fluff #finnick angst #strangers to lovers

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ough augh uhm uh. Any of the mandela catalogue victims (you can pick!!) with a long-distance friend reader who keeps an eye on them and opens their home up to them and their family they would want to evacuate? They just want to help in anyway they can :(

Yeah! Also in terms of "long distance" we'll say Reader lives in a different county with no Alternates or Alternate activity reported (but they're still aware of the invasion bc they keep up with the news).

......

Adam

As much as he appreciates you keeping in touch, he's dead set on staying where he is and and investigating Alternates.

He refuses to leave. Like ever.

After hearing about Jonah's death your concern over his safety only grows, and you even tell him he can bring Evelin should he change his mind-

Only to quickly learn they broke up a while ago, with him not even caring about her either..

Still, you insist that it's not too late for him to leave, though part of you fears that M.A.D already got to him (or you weren't actually speaking to Adam anymore).

His "obsession" with the Alternates has gone too far and you even threaten to drive down to Mandela yourself to convince him.

But he snaps that he doesn't want to be found by anybody before hanging up.

You haven't heard from him since, as he ignores your phone calls and PMs. You presume he's dead.

Cesar

He trusts you a lot despite the long distance and would 100% take you up on that offer.

But only if his mom is allowed to come along, of course. Though you assure him there's plenty of room for them both!

As much as he hates to leave the town and school, it's simply too dangerous for them to stay any longer.

He thought the broadcasts were just fear-mongering tactics if anything, but if you believe they're serious enough to warrant an evacuation...he'll take it seriously too

He hoped Mark would come with them, but unfortunately he doesn't trust you, an online "stranger", 100%. You understand though.

So he's left behind in Mandela.

And Vol 1 plays out as normal.

If Cesar ever learned that his friend died to an Alternate...he's gonna hold onto that guilt for a while, wishing he could have convinced him more.

Jonah

Your late night texts/calls have stopped him from having one too many panic attacks about everything that's been going on in Mandela.

He confides in you about the pressure he feels running from the law and BPS missions, and you simply listen. You reassure him he doesn't have to keep doing this.

If he ever wanted to leave, you'll let him and his dad stay with you; you give him your address and tell him just to consider it.

Let's say he survives Vol 2 by destroying the radio so Six stopped talking, before driving nonstop until he reaches your place, frantically knocking on your door.

When he finally sees you face-to-face for the first time....he immediately cries into your arms, exhausted.

It takes him a while to calm down, and even longer for him to confess that he abandoned Adam.

He's torn whether he was selfish or not for leaving, but just like always you're on Team Jonah, reassuring him that he did the right thing.

Adam, on the other hand, was like a lost cause. He could've gotten both of them killed.

Mark

Besides Cesar, you became a good friend of his despite only ever hearing your voice through calls and online chats.

You sound like a genuinely kind person, always looking out for him and up for talking into the late hours whenever he felt stressed or depressed.

When broadcasts of the Alternate invasion came out, you invited him to stay with you in your county--which was completely free of those "demons", as he called them.

He jumps at the first opportunity, not caring about school or anything anymore, packing whatever he needed.

Poor guy's far too paranoid to live in Mandela anymore.

He feels kinda awkward staying in your guest room, often asking you if it's alright for him to pray.

Whether you're religious or not, you reassure him it is. He's safe.

#rip adam but the other guys are built different #clanask #mandela catalogue x reader #tmc x reader #adam murray #cesar torres #jonah marshall #mark heathcliff #platonic #headcanons

[saladtweezers]

GRIEF

Part 5 - static au

TW: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION

Adam and Cesar walked through the city anyway , Cesar having to deal with the grief of killing his own mother alone . He looked everywhere around him , hoping he can atleast get Evelyn safe for Adam and Sarah .

Cesar took her packet of cigarettes out , lighting one . She had to get stress out of his system .

" So , anything . . else you found in that house ? " Adam asked . " Rubbish at best . That house is bound to rot . Jonah came there before we did . "

" What about the cause of the sickness ? "

" Cause ? " " Yeah . "

. . .

" We were watching TV . Me , Mark and Sarah . I don't remember anything before that . Since that living room hang out , he has been complaining about some static noise in his ears . I better get to Sarah fast . I don't want her to stay waiting . "

Adam nodded and moved on , to a grocery store . Cesar opened his satchel bag and started buying some food to survive a few days atleast . Water was important . Every single drop of water could be contaminated .

The town hasn't gone on the biggest of lock downs just yet . They needed to get Evelyn .

" I saw Jonah last in the forest . " Muttered Adam . " They still might be there . "

Cesar scratched his chin , the subtle beard itching her face before answering to her companion .

" Then they might be at the park . And if at they're park we should not be fucking around here . "

They walked out fast and stayed alert while walking towards Evelyn's belonging house .

Evelyn was looking out the window , seemingly afraid . Her face lit in joy when she saw Adam and Cesar . She quickly ran down to unite with them .

" Nothing bit you did it , Eve ? "

" I stayed in my house for days like a mole ! Nothing walked in or out . "

Cesar waited for their small talk to end while staying on guard . He backed up behind some corner to finish that damn cigarette while looking towards the park .

. . . A silhouette . A figure . Running towards them . Running FAST towards them . He panicked and let out a cry , pushing Adam and Evelyn away while shooting at the thing . Eve had nothing at hand , Adam had a wrench at best , but bullets did nothing . Hits did nothing . Jonah grabbed Cesar before anyone could reach for him and directly ripped a leg off of him . Adam tried to quickly pick the shotgun up and push the thing off of Cesar , but nothing worked. The only sounds were Cesar's sobs and praying while trying to push Jonah away by the mouth.

It felt as if Jonah had more than only one set of teeth and it hurt bad , his eye being bitten off , his face ripped , being disboweled alive . He was alive and he was left by Adam and Evelyn after no hopes were given for him .

Jonah ate through him , even constructing some sort of buildings with her ripped organ matter . Cesar was alive .

She painfully alive and could barely breathe . Jonah stopped once he was satisfied , limping her way off , purposely leaving Cesar to suffer his last hours in pain and agony.

Cesar was alive.

#the mandela catalogue #tmc #alternate universe #static au #trigger warning

[mustangs-flames]

Wait I'm a bit confused . Befor Deer disappears , did it actually touch or come that close to Mark or was it all his M.A.D and Deer stayed at a distance the whole time?

Due to his M.A.D., htb Mark is a wildly unreliable narrator at times - he will fully believe something is there and be terrified of it only for it to never have been there at all. M.A.D. in this AU is pretty much the same as it is in canon TMC, but I've just added a bit more depth to it so it translates over to a written format story instead. So, M.A.D. isn't just a thing that appears whenever an alternate is actually around and anyone who is affected by it (and is in the 3% to survive) can spiral at any time. It picks away at the individual's psyche - every guilt, every fear, every supposed 'weakness'. It essentially exacerbates how people truly feel about themselves. For example, Mark is guilt ridden over everything that happened in INWCT so he has so far hallucinated the deer alternate and alt!Cesar, whom are two of his biggest fears. Additionally, he is terrified of fully letting go of his faith and yet knows it has only ever been cruel to him, so a lot of his spiralling involves religious imagery and connections to the Bible. Currently, it's impossible for Mark to know what is an actual alternate and what is just his mind playing tricks on him.

I hope this cleared things up!

#hail true body au #mustang answers! #htb mark #M.A.D. is a pretty unique concept to play around with and lends itself well to unreliable narrator characters!

[xsdjkl]

Okay so I wanted to share one of my favorite choices in the base game: V choosing to let El Cesar keep the fight winnings (and the car as well, I do this every single playthrough).

V: Keep it. Not takin' anything from you.

EC: Wait... you serious?

V: Not my idea of a joke.

Then she tells him not to waste what precious things what he's got left. And then him suggesting to his wife they name their baby after V, which I thought was sweet.

Later on, he sends a pic of the little cutie with part of the caption being:

"You know, you've got a pretty big heart for a merc."

And idk it just really stuck with me. V doing good things like that when not many in NC would do that same. You could tell EC was a decent dude, as Coach Fred commented. I think it's this sense of compassion that goes widely overlooked regarding V's rep. So yeah, I love how soft you can make V and it's not such a far stretch for her to help someone in So Mi's desperate situation.

Also! Before we ever see her drink the champagne, So Mi mentions she'd need a full pot of coffee and 24 hours to 'unhack' SF1 when V asks why So Mi can't just stop it that way.

Yes, yes, yes I love what you just wrote - V having a good heart. I'll share about my character in return, cause even if I roleplay her as a cold professional, always getting the job done, in reality, it is only her armour - the defense mechanism. Because beneath all this distance caused by her work as a merc, there is a person who cares deeply about the world around her, and she will make choices that sometimes don't suit her rep. Choices that won't bring her cred, but will do something good. It's the only way the hopeful person that she is inside can survive in Night City. Only very few, lucky people can see that goodness of her heart. not saying anything about songbird being actually the main reason why V started to show much more comapsion

Oh yeah, I remember about coffee mention!! So, wait, it would actually have an effect on her🤔

#I love this ask #cyberpunk 2077

[wizzard890]

5 and 10 for the top three asks! I hope you feel better soon :)

Top Three Books

Les Miserables - I mean, what is there to say? I finally read the brick and it was a transcendent experience. As true a work of art as I've ever encountered. (Wow, a famous classic is a famous classic for a reason? Groundbreaking.)

The Antichrist: A New Biography (Philip Almond) - I read this while prepping for Heretic, the homebrew tabletop game that @pyrrhiccomedy is running for me. It's a fascinating look at just how flexible and diverse antichrist prophecies were in the early Christian near east, and the ways in which Muslim and Jewish tradition influenced the figure we think of in eschatology today.

Robespierre: A Revolutionary Life (Peter McPhee) - Not my favorite biography of Robespierre's, but one that pays an unusual amount of attention to his early life and career in Arras, and includes all the stories about the times when his colleagues got sick of him and wanted to punch him in the face. Gripping stuff for your girl.

(honorary mentions: The Stars Undying, a four out of five star scifi retelling of Cesar and Cleopatra's romance, and Devil House by John Darnielle, which I've only just started but is already captivating.)

Top Three Obsessions

This cookbook, Treasures From The Mexican Table - I've cooked every recipe in it at least twice, I'm on a first name basis with the guy who delivers ancho chilis to my local grocery store, and I will never again eat a tortilla that was not crafted with my own two hands.

This cypress perfume oil - it smells like the dark essence of a pine forest next to a windswept sea, and also has the most deeply embarrassing, millennial, ~notorious RBG~ name possible. Sharing it with you now is an act of bravery.

The Real Real - I'm all in on secondhand designer stuff. Better for the planet, better for my wallet, better for the long-term survival of my wardrobe. I'm out on fast fashion completely. Buying unstyled pieces from past seasons is not as easy as pulling the trigger on an instagram or a tiktok trend, but searching the virtual racks asks me to be more imaginative in the outfits I create.

#top three asks #replies

[reikiajakoiranruohoja]

PSN: Some parental HCs

Because I dig thinking of character backgrounds that include family lines, here's Loboto's dysfunctional family.

WARNING: Ableism in both literal and metaphorical senses, parental abuse and medical abuse. Discussions of dystopic countries and war.

Father: Dr Cesare Loboto- Cesare claims he comes from a well-established merchant family in Italy. Only one of those things is true. His family came from a small fishing village that has survived for generations despite everything else going around them. A big reason for this is a long line of hydrokinetic and zoolepathic psychics. Naturally, the Loboto family hails from this line, though Cesare's parents were already second-generation immigrants.

Cesare doesn't as much hate psychics as he considers their existence just a genetic malformation that modern science can fix. This mentality meant Cesare's family has cut nearly all ties to him, as they still remember the old stories and consider psychics a blessing.

For all his ignorance and cruelty, Cesare has many regrets regarding his son. He knows the lobotomy and the further surgeries all but destroyed Caligosto as a person. As much as Cesare tries to tell himself he did what he had to, he knows deep down that he is responsible for Caligosto becoming a monster.

Mother: Sylvia Loboto (nee. Gresache)- Sylvia's family emigrated to America soon after the Grulovian War. It was a desperate move to escape the Gzar's reign and the monster that he used as his attack dog. Grulovians already had a dim view of psychics but Lucrecia Mux was the last straw for many.

Sylvia grew up hearing horror stories from her mother. Of psychic monsters and of their loyalty to dictators.

As such, Sylvia does not have a son. She never had a son. The thing that walks around carrying her eye colour is nothing more than a demon that pretended to be her son until it was banished. It still tries to pretend to be her son, but Sylvia knows better. This is how she justifies to herself the mental disconnect between her sweet Caligosto and the monsters her mother told her about.

General HCs:

- Though Cesare did not put much resistance against the surgery, Sylvia was the one who pushed for it the most. She hoped her husband was right and it was just a malformation. When Caligosto did not improve but degraded, Sylvia concluded that a psychic was always going to be rotten to their core and could not change.

-If Cesare had been the sole parent, it is very likely he would have never even noticed Caligosto was a psychic, let alone sent him to the surgery. While he saw being a psychic as a flaw, he never feared them. This does not mean Caligosto would have had an easy time and would have likely been dumped into an orphanage. -Caligosto doesn't know much about his family history, nor has he met any relatives outside his parents. Though he has more important things to think about, he does at times ponder where he comes from. -Other psychics from the Loboto-line are running about on American soil and in Italy. Caligosto has somehow not run into any of them yet and they would not know he was related to them. -It should come as no surprise that most psychics of the Loboto-line are fishermen or sailors, though some are pirates or marine biologists. Historically, the family was often associated with privateers and whalers.

-  The Gresache line is essentially dead, Sylvia was her mother's only child and any relatives drowned in the Deluge. This means Sylvia clings to what her mother brought from Grulovia.

- A lot of Caligosto's anti-psychic mentality came from the time his maternal grandmother died and he helped his mother pack up her things. Sylvia spent hours just ranting about how awful psychics were. Caligosto did not connect the dots between his powers and the horrid psychics his mother spoke of until the spoon incident.

-Grulovia does not have any changeling myths, Sylvia is just deep in denial. Because Cesare cut off his family and was in turn cut off, she has no idea where the psychic blood came from.

#caligosto loboto #dr loboto #dadboto #momboto #psychonauts #medical abuse // #child abuse //

[sweet-vanilla-sims]

Year 1674 - Part 2

TW/CW: Miscarriage

Sometime between the loss of Baldissere and Tess, Ashley began to show with her pregnancy but she didn't care too much as she tried to adjust to her life without her son in it.

Ashley and Giuliano felt bogged down with their grief and yet they did their best to push through it and support their surviving children as they were to young to fully understand what they had all lost though they couldn't help but be slightly jealous at the naivete of youth their children had.

But as the month changed from November to December it was getting easier to deal with their emotions and Ashley made sure to acknowledge the fact that Giulia had had her birthday.

Ashley's mother also shared the news that she was expecting with her new husband though she mostly worried about her age as she wasn't exactly a young mother anymore.

With Gabriella mentioning her own age, Giulia couldn't help but feel a bit despite being only a few years apart in age.

Orelia was glad for the peaceful village of Henford that she could walk around freely with her daughter away from the house that brought her bad memories but the fact was that each day she felt less and less attached to Henford.

Orelia and Orion did discuss their feelings about Henford and perhaps since they both were foreigners who came for family rather than the place, both weren't exactly tied to the land.

As his mother, Orion was the one to bring up the subject of moving to Antonio and after the loss of now three of his children and two of his wives in the town, he was thinking of moving as well though he had little idea of where he wished to go except not there but since Orelia had her lone niece in Newcrest, Orion thought that maybe Newcrest could be good for them and bring the family back close together.

With no real argument against the idea, Antonio broached the subject with his wife who didn't want to move with their baby but she also could read the room in that everyone else in the household already had one foot out the door so she begrudgingly accepted the idea.

Orelia had mixed feelings about leaving Henford now that it was really happening since it was the place where both of her daughters were born and where her eldest died but she was excited to leave and live near the waters of Newcrest. Meeting her niece was also something that excited her. Staying in Henford any longer just felt like it would bring bad news.

As the year came to a close the news that her brother's wife Ashley had lost their pregnancy only proved Orelia's fears right. Ashley was devastated to lose her oldest and her unborn child with the span of a few short months.

The year ended with Giovanni Cesare's thirteenth birthday as the family celebrated his good health and milestone, they all hoped that the year to come would be kinder.

#Giulia Morosini #Orion Michaelson #Gabriella Taroni #Antonio Carlisle #Sarah Carlisle #Orelia Morosini #Giuliano Morosini #Ashley Morosini #Giovanni Cesare Morosini #Luisa Carlisle #Bastiano Morosini #Borthola Morosini #Clement Carlisle #Orsetta Morosini #The Carlisle Chronicles #Decades Legacy Challenge #tw miscarriage #cw miscarriage #1674 #1670s #ts4

[voraciousvore]

Bucky's (18/44)

***Contains some soft, safe vore***

Chapter 18: Strange Feelings

After that fateful night, Patty couldn’t get Ronny out of her mind. She was obsessed. She believed he was the key to her escape. If he could get the tracker off her wrist, she might have a chance to get away. She couldn’t see herself convincing any other Giant to help her take it off. He seemed sympathetic to her plight as well. She hoped he would come back soon. She was desperate to get away, and she felt renewed vigor with the vague outline of a plan. 

Her revelation that he thought she was an employee at Bucky’s, working voluntarily for a wage, stunned her. She had assumed that all the Giants who came to the restaurant to feed on humans knew the humans were prisoners. It had been plainly obvious to her, but perhaps not to the customers. She saw the restaurant in a different light now. Maybe not all the customers were so ignorant, but at least some of them must be under the same delusion. Maybe not all Giants were as bad as she thought. Perhaps, if she did successfully escape, she’d be able to survive on the large side of the city—especially if she had Ronny to help her. 

Ronny. She wasn’t sure what to think of him. His hot temper and sullen attitude scared her, with him being so incredibly large. Plus, he was a Giant, and Patty didn’t have the best experiences with Giants. From observing his interactions on his dates, Patty sensed that Ronny had a lot of baggage in his past that he was trying to work through. Yet, underneath that rough, edgy, gruff exterior, she saw good in him as well: buds of compassion, gentleness, motivation to be a better man. There was something about him that made her heart flutter, that made her feel warm inside. These feelings alarmed her, and seemed wrong and inappropriate to her when directed toward a Giant, so she made an effort to deny and reject them. She couldn’t accept that any of that made sense. She needed him to help her escape, nothing more. 

The humans arose in the morning with Bucky’s usual banging on the ceiling and ate their breakfast, which consisted of leftovers from last night’s dinner service. Patty found herself next to Cesar, of all people. She hadn’t talked to him much, even though he was always hanging around in the common room since there was nowhere else for him to go. 

“Hey, Cesar, why do you bother to get up with the rest of us this early in the morning? It’s not like you have to be present for Bucky’s morning inspection,” Patty pointed out. 

Cesar shrugged. “Just to be with everyone else, I suppose. A little community time before I’m alone again here. It’s awfully boring with little company and nothing to do, day after day.” 

“But at least you don’t have to be eaten, right?” Patty said, trying to look on the bright side. She had to admit, Cesar’s situation sounded abysmal, being trapped in the same rooms indefinitely, pointlessly, perhaps for life, with no stimulation. As terrible as it was to be served as live food in a restaurant, at least Patty got some variety in her life and had a function, a purpose, a role to fulfill. 

Cesar sighed and gave Patty an intense look. “The irony is painful.” 

“Huh?” Patty replied, confused. 

“I’m probably the only human in here that WANTS to be eaten, and I’m the only one that won’t be. The universe truly hates me.” 

“Wait. You WANT to be eaten?” Patty balked. 

“More than anything!” Cesar exclaimed passionately, a dreamy look in his eye. “I don’t care if it’s a Giant or a Giantess, to be honest, as long as they’re sexy, with nice teeth. I just want to be eaten so badly. It sounds so hot, so intimate, to be inside someone like that. To pleasure them with your whole body. And you know, a lot of Giants get erotic pleasure from eating people, which makes it even better.” 

Patty stared at him with bafflement. “You’re nuts.” She was grossed out at the thought that Giants that ate her might be doing it to satisfy lustful, not just gluttonous, urges. Just then, Bucky opened the ceiling, and the humans scrambled into rows. Patty happened to be standing next to Graham Cracker this time. 

“Graham, your glasses!” she hissed. 

“Shit,” he muttered, removing them from his face and hastily stashing them on a couch nearby. He moved back into line just in time for Bucky to pass over him with his glittering eyes. He sighed with relief and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “Thanks Patty.” 

“No problem,” she whispered back. After studying each human with painstaking detail, Bucky dismissed them to the tank. The day started off fairly typical, with a few humans being chosen for breakfast. The breakfast shift was always the worst, because humans who were eaten early in the day were always returned to the tank later, where there was a good possibility of being picked again for lunch or dinner. On the other hand, fatal ingestion was very rare in the morning, so at least the humans had that for consolation. 

Patty hung out with Slim Jim and Little Debbie most of the time, since they were such nice people. Patty had no idea how Little Debbie kept up her cheery demeanor despite the empty despair they all suffered from, but she appreciated her attempts at positivity. Many of the humans couldn’t stand Little Debbie’s chipper attitude, and preferred to wallow in gloom. Patty didn’t want that: She knew the importance of not giving up hope, if she ever wanted to escape, and she was feeling more optimistic than ever today.  

Patty learned more about Little Debbie as she spoke to her. She was the youngest of three sisters. Her mom was too sick to work, so she had been forced to step up to financially support the family and help pay for her mother’s exorbitant medical bills. Working as a prostitute, on top of her other job, proved to be lucrative. Unfortunately, she had been caught. She worried about her mother, in her sickly condition, and hoped she was still doing alright.  

Slim Jim talked about how much he missed his wife and children. He had two young kids, a girl and a boy. He hoped they were doing okay, but of course he had no way to contact them. He wasn’t optimistic, considering how desperate he had been to provide for them when he was arrested. Jim was normally a respectable man, not a hardened criminal, and he berated himself for the bad decisions he had made. He was full of regret and beaten down after his failed escape attempts. 

Patty tried not to get too close to anyone, for obvious reasons, but it was impossible not to get to know people and make friends. There was nothing else to do in the tank except talk to each other, huddle in fear, and watch the selected humans get eaten. Honey was one of the first unlucky humans of the day. Patty, Jim, and Debbie watched as a Giant slathered her with butter, stuck her inside a blueberry muffin, and wolfed her down, rubbing his belly with contentment afterwards. Pepper was next, accompanying a southwestern-style omelet and some hash browns. The Giant whose plate she was on delighted in tormenting her, stirring her up with the food on his plate, picking her up with his fork and dropping her, before finally scooping her up with a forkful of hash browns and tossing her in his mouth. After playing with her on his tongue for a while, he swallowed her whole and licked his lips. 

Despite the distractions, Patty continued to daydream about Ronny coming to rescue her. Little did she know that Ronny was thinking about her as well. Much like Patty, he was ambivalent about his true feelings. He figured she was an inferior human, a small little nothing designed to fit on his dinner plate and inside his belly. So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Why did he feel so strange when he thought about her, so excited and euphoric, like he was floating? Such feelings made him exceedingly uncomfortable, yet at the same time the heavy darkness that was constantly crushing him down seemed to vanish. He felt light and sunny—perhaps even happy. What the hell was wrong with him? 

He could hardly focus on his work the next day, thinking about her. He typed on his keyboard, mechanically going through the motions, but his mind was elsewhere. When he ate lunch, his food seemed tasteless and bland without her in it. He barely touched his macaroni and cheese, so by the end of the day he was already starving. At first, he resisted the strange impulses in his head, and went home. He changed out of his suit into more comfortable clothes and checked his fridge. Nothing looked appetizing. He only had eyes—and an open mouth—for Patty. 

He thought about how delicious she tasted and began to salivate. How good she felt, tumbling down his throat. Moving around inside his belly. His stomach growled. He was disturbed to find himself aroused, his pants growing tighter around his groin, his insides and lower half reacting in a visceral, carnal way. This feeling wasn’t right, not when directed towards a human. He sat down on the couch, turned on the TV to distract himself, and tried to cool down. He needed to put a stop to his racing thoughts and his heart throbbing in his chest. 

He stared at the TV for a good fifteen minutes before he realized he hadn’t paid attention to any of the programming. He couldn’t get Patty out of his head. He wanted her—and not just to eat. He wanted to be with her, to get to know her. To hold her in his hands, up to his chest. He was burning with an unexpected passion that was almost painful in its intensity. He wanted to rescue her from her terrible confinement and be her hero. He had felt whole with her, in a way that literally nothing else could. 

Ronny sprang up from the couch, slicking his black hair back with his hands. He was sweating. He needed to get these thoughts out of his head. He couldn’t possibly feel this way about this woman, this human. Could he? And what would she think about it, if she knew his true feelings? About him? Some despicable, barbaric, man-eating Giant who ordered her up on a plate to be eaten? There was no way she could feel anything for him beyond fear and revulsion.  

He reflected on how he had aggressively, angrily scarfed her up in his pasta the first time he met her. Chowed down on her with chicken wings. Drank her up in his beer, even after she begged him to have mercy on her (though, to give himself credit, he had stopped himself initially, until Bucky interfered). And, the whole time, unbeknownst to him, she had been a prisoner at the restaurant, forced to suffer and submit to his whims. He had been such a stupid jerk to her. He wondered, if he had known the truth, if he would have treated her any differently upon their initial encounter, if it would have changed anything. He honestly wasn’t sure. 

Ronny started to spiral. He was drowning in guilt. He recalled memories from further back, all the horrible things he’d done. He thought about that sweet human girl back at the office, Candy, whom he had tortured and almost murdered. She had done nothing wrong to him except make him bitter because she was pretty and he resented humans. He had a long, long list of cruel actions he had inflicted upon her: dunking her in his coffee, playing with her in his mouth, flicking her in the head to knock her out, stashing her in the perverted boss’s laptop bag to take home, smashing cake all over her, belittling her with insults, trapping her in a refrigerator, wrapping her up in spaghetti, putting her in a microwave—the list was endless. He had done so many objectionable things, he couldn’t keep track of them all. Sure, he had saved her from the boss’s savage lust and gluttony in the end, but that hardly made up for all the horrors he had committed. He knew he had sinned beyond what could be forgiven. 

He looked down at his hands, shaking. He couldn’t go on like this, continuing to be the monster that he was. He needed to change. He realized he wanted to save Patty for selfish reasons, but a good deed was a good deed. She needed help, desperately, and he had the means to free her. At least, he hoped he did. He wasn’t sure if he could steal her away from the restaurant and get away with it. The owner had seen him before, knew his face. Bucky had taken precautions. The trackers. There were obstacles, but Ronny was certain, if he were gutsy enough, he could overcome them. 

Full of determination, Ronny left his apartment and made his way over to Bucky’s with purpose. He didn’t have a clear plan in mind, but he knew he had to try. He needed to feel, in his heart, that he could be redeemed. 

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

#giant #giant/tiny #g/t #tiny #g/t writing #size difference #giant tiny #g/t fluff #Bucky's #g/t story #g/t vore

[maple-writes]

WHG 20 - Interview

WHG tag list: @concealeddarkness13 @ratracechronicler @pen-of-roses @grailfish @forthesanityofsome @pied-piper-of-hamlet

featuring concealeddarkness' Ares

--

“There you go, all done!”

The head stylist stepped back and turned a mirror towards me to show off what it was he had done to me this time. Compared to the chariots, he’d done better. A simple black suit at first glance, but when caught the light shone in swirling patterns paired with an orange shirt that matched the orange dye at the ends of my hair that they’d gone and refreshed. Everything had just a hint of shimmer to it, shining and glittering when I turned under the dressing room lights. For a second I almost wanted to ask how expensive all of this was because it did not look like anything I’d ever dream of being able to buy for myself and honestly…

It didn’t look half bad. Maybe if I survived they’d let me keep it.

“You’ll be up first,” the stylist motioned for me to follow as he turned and started to walk. “You first, and then your friend. So that means you’ll be the very first interview this year, isn’t that exciting?” He glanced at me, seeming genuinely happy about that. “You get to set the tone for the evening in away, lucky you.” He paused by the stairs leading to the stage, muffled amplified voices announcing something I couldn’t make out clearly. “I have a feeling you’re going to put on quite a show out there.”

Was I? Nerves already coiled around my throat and I hadn’t even left the wings. I probably should have thought about this before, should have talked with Ares about some kind of strategy but I hadn’t had the presence of mind to get there.

I swallowed, forcing a short laugh to try and shake off some of the nerves. “I don’t know, don’t get your hopes up.”

The stylist only grinned, eyes gleaming in a way that sent ice straight through my stomach. Gleaming like he knew something I didn’t.

But I didn’t have time to question before I heard my name called and he nudged me towards the stage and into the bright lights.

I flinched, squinting a moment before shaking myself out with a long breath. These interviews weren’t very long. This would be over soon. I smiled, unsteady and forced as the crowd gathered yelled and screamed as if they knew who I was. As if I was someone worth cheering for. I swallowed. Had I done anything worth cheering over? I’d made a mid-range score for drawing power and making the lights flicker in the testing room but surely that wasn’t enough for them to root for me?

Maybe the host had hyped them up. Maybe drinks here were free too.

In the front row, Ginger caught my eye and I smiled genuine. She returned it with a small nod, sitting back in her seat.

“Hello hello!” The host, Cesar, welcomed me in with a handshake and clap on the back before pointing me to one of the armchairs set up in the center of the stage. “So I hear you work at the local college back in district one, anything you’d like to say to your students? I’m sure they’re all excited for you.”

I swallowed, heart falling a little. They wouldn’t be excited. Cautiously optimistic at best but excited? It would hurt if I ever found out they were but I doubted any would be glad I was here.

“I,” I glanced between him and one of the cameras, not sure where to look, not sure exactly what to say. “I just hope they’re doing well.”

Hopefully Nova’s arm healed and wasn’t anything that turned serious while I was gone. That the girl who always sat in the same spot but hardly ever spoke except in private found someone else to turn to. That it wouldn’t be too taxing for the boy with his fear of the dark to have to disclose it to whoever it was who replaced me. That someone else would be willing to walk him between the college doors to where the streetlights started if he had to stay late. That all the others adjusted well, that they didn’t worry too much about me, that they didn’t try to push themselves too hard if they were upset about me being here.

I swallowed again, dry, harder this time. “I hope I get to come back soon, too.” I tried to smile and maybe it looked less forced then it felt.

“How lovely!” Cesar smiled, too easy. “And what about family? Anyone special at home waiting for you?”

I opened my mouth but paused. “Not anymore.” I couldn’t let them know about Striker, Kyra, the rest of them if I was going along with what Triel planned. “I was an only child, and it’s been a few years now since my mother passed, and almost a decade since my father.” My voice wavered at only child but the rest was easier. The rest wasn’t a lie.

Maybe they already knew, and maybe they knew I was a liar, but I had to try.

“Well how unfortunate.” His smile slipped, about as much sympathy as he could manage. “No doubt they would be very proud of you.”

He stood with his smile returning and I stood with him, silently relieved. It was almost over now, did it always go so quickly?

“Now, before you go, we have something special for you and your districtmate.”

I froze, blood chilling at his words. “What, what do you mean?”

His grin mirrored my stylist’s as he waved to the wings. “Well, I’ll let my special guests show you! Come on out!”

Peacekeepers dragged Ares out from the shadows, kicking and struggling. “I won’t ever do this again! You hear me?!”

The scientist, Elari, the one who’d forced me before Primary, stepped out on stage. He held a vial of something shining, glowing, power and magic radiating through the thin glass. “Oh, you will, my dear. The people will demand it.”

I lunged for the vial but a peacekeeper grabbed me by my arm, holding me back as I glared, heart racing loud in my chest. How dare he do this. How dare he try this again? Subject both of them to this once again when nothing would come of it.

The crowd cheered, spurred on by Ceasar’s animation but I hardly heard them over the beating, beating of my heart in my ears and my eyes locked on Ares.

She shook her head, defeated and Elari had the nerve to laugh.

“There’s no use resisting.” He grabbed her head, forcing her mouth to part just enough to pour the liquid inside, seeping in slowly but it was enough. It was enough for them to reenter.

Ares screamed and my stomach twisted, magic engulfing her, flaring out, a familiar heat that pin pricked across my skin even across the stage. Fire engulfed her as she struggled, screaming and I could only watch.

“I told you to wait!” I hissed. “You won’t get what you want from her.” I told them I would be back. I told them, I told them they didn’t have to.

Ares coughed and coughed, smoke and eerie darkness swirling around her. Blood dripped from her nose and she curled in and slowly the flames and shadows faded and her form shifted to a weak, squawking phoenix laying spasming in the center of the stage.

I wrenched my arm from the peacekeeper and dropped down beside her. Primary’s power came in surges, hot enough to sting my skin. My chest tightened and my heart raced and told me to run, to retreat where this power wouldn’t reach but I leaned in, swallowing, and keeping my voice as steady as I could. As steady as I’d trained to do.

“Ares, breathe Ares. You kept your soul once and you can do it again.” She would win, she could win, she just had to believe she could just as if it were a demon trying to steal her body. “Primary is desperate. They will tell you whatever they think will break you. They are wrong, Ares, whatever it is they are telling you.”

Twitching and shuddering she shed the phoenix body for human, laying splayed and gasping on the ground. “They can’t… Destroy my soul. Not unless I agree.” She winced. “And I won’t.”

I nodded, calming my voice and hiding the way my head drifted, wavered this close to Primary’s best efforts. “Good, that’s good. They can try but you are stronger, and more determined than they are, Ares.”

“They want to kill you. Everyone I’m friends with.” She sobbed, breath hitching and fresh tears steaming down her face. “I can’t see anything else.”

“I am not dead. Your friends are not dead.” I reached for her hand, hesitating just a moment as my palm burned. Gently holding her hand felt gripping a fresh coal but I held, held and let as much as I could seep in through my skin and burn its way up my veins. “You can hear me, you can hear that I am alive. Primary cannot kill, not me, not anyone, in their state.”

It didn’t have to be true. She just had to believe it.

“I,” her voice came faint, weak, “can’t banish the images though.”

My chest tightened as her fear, her horror and sorrow and grief joined Primary’s rage and fire. My heart skipped in my chest, knocking against my ribs as my blood burned and my throat tightened and tears slid from my eyes hot down my cheeks and onto the polished floor below. Blood tasted in my mouth, filled my nose, a phantom sensation of whatever it was that Primary was showing her. Whatever hell it was.

But still, even still, I had to keep my voice calm. Had to breathe, had to let it pass. It hurt, and I wanted to scream and gasp but I forced my voice calm. This would pass. This would pass.

“I know they’re distressing and they’re cruel but they aren’t real.” I swallowed and took a measured breath, and another in quiet rhythm as I slid my hand up her arm, spreading my fingers around her forearm. “You might feel cold and sick in a moment. Tell me what you’re seeing.”

I leaned in, gripping harder, the points of small black claws piercing the skin. I grit my teeth, jaw muscles aching as I held on draining more and more fire licking through my arms, the muscle and simmering deep in the marrow of my bones and spinning my vision, greying the edges, pulling at my head and shifting the ground beneath me. My eyes burned, face wet with tears and sweat as I breathed. In and out and in and out as my heart beat and beat and beat and beat irregular in my chest.

“The visions are blurry.”

Primary was faltering as I breathed in and out and in and out deep and measured deep and measured and the pain would pass. The pain, the burning, the ache in my chest it would pass.

“Is it getting better?” My voice shook this time, unable to hide.

“A little,” she grimaced. “I don’t think I’ll be any help in the arena.”

My hand prickled numb and my arm burned but their strength was fading. Fading and fading as it flowed instead into me, deep inside, smoking my organs, glowing and baking my tissues and tendons before dying, vanishing within me. Vanishing, gone, fading.

Ares blinked, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Please stop if it’s hurting you!”

Wrenched face, hair clinging to my scalp wet with sweat and eyes red from crying I shook my head. “Don’t worry about me.” I swallowed, breathing in and out and in and out and this would pass. They were weakening. It was working. This would pass. “They are not strong enough to keep this up forever.”

Already the fire had lowered just enough to notice. Already they must have decided it wasn’t worth it, that I wouldn’t be swayed, that I wouldn’t give up and let them ravage her alone. That it wasn’t worth—

A peacekeeper’s boot slammed into my ribs.

I yelled, falling and sliding across the stage, vision blurred and ears ringing as I lay on the cold floor. Cool, cool against the heat leaking from my skin, the last that didn’t find it’s death inside of me. My side ached and my head spun, dizzy as I tried to lift it. My body, I could hardly feel the muscles on my arms, my legs as I tried and failed to push myself up off the stage.

Ares screamed. She screamed and screamed and anger burned along with the last of Primary’s power dying in my heart. She screamed and my vision cleared. They, peackeepers with their heavy boots kicked her, kicked her while she was down as the crowd cheered. Kicked her and beat her as she screamed and I grit my teeth. I pulled the shadows in towards me, lights flickering above my head as I glared, pushing myself up off the ground.

Ginger shook her head. I met her stare. She shook her head, eyes wide and warning.

I growled, black horns and thrashing tails forming out of the light dying and leaving shadow. Claws curled out from my hands and I scrambled up, rushing for one of the peacekeepers, the nearest to me, swiping across his chest and snagging his soul out from his body.

It struggled in my grip, cold as ice and panic as I held him captive between my fingers, as he collapsed comatose to the ground. “Let her up.” I snarled, baring sharpened teeth at the rest of them frozen now that their comrade had fallen.

The peacekeepers retreated, fear, panic, uncertainty all filling the air between them.

Ares raised her head, weak. “Thank you.”

Elari, the scientist, the damned, the unright scientist, scoffed. “Either way, she’ll become the vessel. We can wait.”

I turned my glare to him, jaws aching to dig into his skin, to tear flesh from bone but not yet, not as I held the soul of my captive, not as Ares was on the line. “You’re lucky you were out of reach. You should be ashamed of what you’ve done. To both of them.” To Primary, to Ares, trapping them both again and bringing despair to one and false hope to another. How dare he put them through this, put them both through this again.

The peacekeepers soul tugged against my grip and I held tighter, ice replacing the fire in my blood and freezing the muscle up my arms. “No one moves until she is gone from this stage or he,” I kicked the still body by my feet. “Will neither live nor die but suffer in between.”

She stood, dragging herself to her feet on unsteady legs and hurried off the stage.

Elari the damned, the damned scientist glared my way. “I’ll make sure your death is extra painful.”

I snarled, hands twitching, and then a smile, a grin, spread across my face. He thought he had any power here. Thought he had anything to stand against me.

“You should have held your tongue.”

I stuffed the peacekeeper’s soul and crushed it between my teeth, cold as ice and swallowed cold all the way down my throat until it vanished, gone from this world and never coming back and never moving on.

His body lay still and breathing, eyes open and staring through the visor of his helmet. Empty, vacant, never to wake again.

Silence fell heavy over the crowd save a lone grieving cry that rang out long and sharp through the still air.

The lights flickered once, twice more.

The peacekeeper lay at my feet.

My throat closed coated in ice.

He would never wake.

Silence pressing hard from every angle I pushed past the cursed, damned, wretched scientist and left the stage. No one stopped me, stumbling down the stairs as my heart pounded in my ears to drown out the silence of the reset before the next tribute.

He would never wake up.

My throat.

My stomach twisted and my eyes stretched wide. I shouldn’t have done that. I should not have…

Ares. She sat slumped against the wall. Was she okay? I should ask her, I should.

I should not have done that. My hands shook and my legs trembled and I paced back and forth. I needed to talk to Ares but I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have. I took him. I took him from this world and for what? I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have.

I opened my mouth but there was nothing I could say. Nothing that would come out from my throat coated in ice even still. Fear still lingered deep inside me, fear and pain from his last moments yet to fade. There was nothing, nothing I could or should say. I should not have.

I turned and nearly ran down the hallway. Away, far away, just in case. Just in case something happened and what if I did something else that I shouldn’t? That I should never have done that wasn’t right.

I stumbled, my legs wobbling and caught myself against a wall. My shoulders heaved with fast breath and my stomach turned. I was sick, I was going to be sick. I should be. I should be after what I’d done.

His eyes staring blank behind the visor.

That rabbit, years and years ago, still and lifeless but breathing and empty in the rain and grass.

There was nothing worse I could have done. Nothing. Hands shaking I dug claws into the drywall, carving deep canyons into the material powdering under my fingers. Knocked my horns into the paint letting the force echo jarring through my skull. My breathing didn’t get better, ragged and fast as I stared and stared, stared straight at the plain, torn up wall inches from my face.

“Asher,” Ares voice, shaky and thin, “are you okay? Is that… My fault?”

Fault. Fault. It was my fault, I knew better. I knew better and yet I still destroyed him, took everything he was and wiped him from this world. I dug my claws back into the wall, clenching and gorging the canyons wider.

“Leave me alone!” I hunched my shoulders, pressing my horns harder into the wall.

A soft thud, whispered voices, and then Ginger. “I will do no such thing Asher.” I turned my head, watching as she stepped closer. “You knew better than to do that.”

I did. I knew better. I knew better and I shouldn’t have but they… It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair what they were doing and I…

Ares cried, collapsing on the ground as a sobbing pile. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.” She hunched, curled over with her face buried in her hands and I missed the next words she spoke.

Whatever she said it made Ginger turn on a dime, “don’t!” She forced her head up by her hair. “Don’t you dare Ares Machina. This is not your fault. Do not give in over this.”

Her back turned I could see the outline of the hilt of her sword tucked away in the inside pocket of her jacket.

She, she kept it just in case. She knew, did she know? Did she know there was no hope for me? A chance I, I would—

I wailed, stepping back from the wall, staggering and leaning my head all the way back. “Why not?” I cried, shrieking and shaking. “What, what’s the point?” Did it matter how hard I tried? How far I’d come if I could still do this? Still do what I shouldn’t what should never, “What—”

“No, Asher Sang you stop right there.” I froze under Ginger’s shout, captivated by my name. I stood, back arched but watching as she came closer and pulled on her gloves. “You know better than to think that way.”

I did. I did know better. She knew, I knew, it was dangerous. Dangerous for me to give up. Dangerous for me to lose hope, to forget why I’d tried so hard in the first place.

She stood before me and set her hands gently on my shoulders. “Try to calm down, Asher.” She spoke softly, so soft I could hardly hear her over my own breath. “You made a grave mistake today, a mistake made under unfair duress, but an unforgivable offense all the same. I would be lying if I said I was not disappointed in you.” She sighed, gently bringing me closer and I leaned against her shoulder as she ran a hand down my back. “But I am also so very relieved to see you handled yourself afterwards.”

I closed my eyes, tears smearing from my face and into her jacket. I should have thought of how she would see it. Of how she would have feared what happened next. Would have feared she might need to draw her sword on me again, this time for good. Feared she would have had to kill another student. Would have had to prepare herself to take my life for a second time, and this time Cirrus wouldn’t be there to take me away just in time.

Slowly my heart evened, the shadowy forms faded, and the ice and energy changed to heavy fatigue that pulled at my body, trying to drag me down in through the floor and the earth.

Nothing changed that everyone at home, they would have seen what I’d done. Striker, Kyra, Dylan and Argent and everyone who knew me. They would know, they would know what happened but not what became of me until tomorrow morning.

“We shouldn’t linger too long.” Ginger whispered, gently nudging me to stand on my own. “You will need to rest as long as you can before tomorrow.” She held me steady while I found my balance and looked back over her shoulder. “I’m sorry for being rough with you Ares, are you alright?”

She nodded, her shape blurred and watery as I stepped away from Ginger and let the wall take my weight as Ginger went to crouch in front of Ares, speaking gently and offering her a hand. I couldn’t hear what they said, or maybe I could if I’d tried but my head wobbled and dizziness seemed to lace any movement I made. If I got out of this alive, I would have to find a way to send something to that peacekeeper’s family. It wouldn’t make it better, wouldn’t fix anything, but it would be something.

But… All the same something bitter simmered deep in my chest, sharp on my tongue. Elari shouldn’t have gone and toyed with such a power on a whim, shouldn’t have brought his so-called trials public if he couldn’t handle a public consequence. An uncontrolled variable. Shouldn’t have forced my hand by bringing a militia in to the mix, by beating Ares while she was down as if he’d wanted something horrible to happen.

I clenched my jaw and glared down at the carpet below. He should never have gambled with the lives of those peacekeepers, with the lives of the hundreds watching. I shouldn’t have done that but neither should he. What would have happened if I didn’t? Would Primary have won? Would every living thing be destroyed? Was the sacrifice of one worth saving the rest? Was Cirrus right? Was he right that maybe it wasn’t always wrong for me to let the worst part of me be uncovered in times like this?

Ares shuffled towards me, taking my hand. “thank you so much, Asher.”

I swallowed. Should, should she be thanking me? Would she if she understood what I had done? “I shouldn’t have done that.” I could have done something else. I could have leaned on the power I held without sacrificing a life.

Ginger picked her up a moment before her trembling legs looked like they would give out. “We should go before they send someone for us.”

Fresh tears streaked down Ares’ face. “You protected me. Thank you.”

I, I shouldn’t be thanked for this. Wiping my face with my sleeve I followed Ginger as she led the way out. “He didn’t deserve that.”

“What happened? Didn’t you kill him?”

If only I had just killed him. “He’s done. Not dead. Gone.” I should explain but my head slowed with thick fog. “His soul, it’s gone.” My shoulders fell. “I swallowed it.”

Ginger took over. “Part or all of what Asher consumes ceases to exist. With souls everything is gone.”

I stayed quiet as Ginger explained, grateful that she’d decided to step in instead of making me do it. Making me speak more through a throat painful and sore and thoughts drifting aimless and difficult.

“Light, energy, emotions, they are drawn to him, enter him, and vanish. You may have noticed it already and not known what was happening.”

Ares spoke quieter, weaker, so I could barely hear her. “And I didn’t help any. I’m sorry.”

“Asher can uphold his own boundaries,” Ginger cast a glance my way, a slight scolding edge to her voice. “And should have more firmly.” She looked away. “But that is not your fault.”

Fault… Who’s was it? Mine probably. I’d been the one to destroy a life but then, Elari, he was at fault for this whole situation. He was at fault for harming Ares, for calling his dogs to pile on her and for involving me.

Gingered sighed, her tone softening. “I’m sorry you both had to go through this tonight.”

She led us both into the elevator past a disinterested peacekeeper who likely hadn’t heard yet what happened to his co-worker. I stood by her shoulder as she held Ares still. Staring into the mirrored walls I could hardly meet my own eyes.

“I’m just glad Asher found someone he could trust in the arena.” Ginger glanced at me. “Look after each other.”

Ares nodded. “I will. I can now.”

“I’ll see what I can dig into what can be done about your Primary while you’re gone too.”

I swallowed as the doors opened and I stepped out, letting Ginger leave with Ares, probably to her bedroom. For a moment I stood aimless in the hall but what else could I do besides rest? Ginger had said it herself that I should, and I wandered in a daze towards my bedroom, collapsing on the bed in the dark.

The bed dipped beside me and I rolled over, squinting as Ginger set a glass of water on the table for me. She sat on the corner watching me with an expression unreadable in the dark.

“Asher,” she spoke quiet, but sharp. “I know you know the gravity of what you’ve done today so I won’t admonish you further. Ares does not understand what you’ve done and I do not agree with her praising you for it but you likely know that as well and can’t blame her for it.” She pauses, looking out the window at the lights twinkling across the celebratory city. “She trusts you. Don’t break that trust. Look after her and I feel she will do the same for you.”

I nodded along as she spoke, lacking the strength and thought to speak. She sighed and stood, rounding the bed to stand in front of the window, watching the city closer. It was strange, seeing her so quiet. So serious for so long and it sent unease running up and down my spine.

Her back to me she whispered in the quiet. “I don’t want to lose you Asher, and I find myself struggling with to what lengths I’m comfortable seeing you go to here and in the coming weeks.” She turned, backlit by the dozens of spotlights and tower lights behind her. “I suspect it may be selfish for me to want you to survive at the cost of horrors that should not be entertained but I may just have to accept that given the circumstances I cannot hold it all against you.”

I swallowed, pushing myself to sit up a little as I watched her. “I, I don’t know.” At what point, if any, was I resolved of the responsibility to do the right thing, to resist the tendency to tear away at the sanity and life of innocent others? If I did so in order to come back, would it make it right if I had done so to free Primary from eons of torture? Did the end make it right?

She left the window, resting a hand on the doorframe a moment. “I can’t tell you what to do out there, and I trust you will use your best judgement when you can. I can’t say I have always made the right choices either, and haven’t torn families apart in my past in a moment where it felt I had no other choice.” She sighed. “Whatever happens, I will try not to be too hard on you.”

She started to close the door but stopped, as if remembering something. “And if you do not return, I will attempt to find a solution to Primary myself in your honour. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks, Ginger.” I choked out the words.

There was so much more I could have said, could have told her. Could have told her I would not be here without her, that I owed her everything I was today. That I don’t know what would have become of me if she had not agreed to take me as her student years ago, that I don’t know what would have happened if she’d given up on me when everything was going wrong, that I didn’t know how I would have gotten through this week if she had not come here.

But I couldn’t get the words out before she shut the door and left me in the quiet, in the dark. In the last safe night I would see for a long time.

#whg 20 #asher sang #ares #ginger lark #sorta proofread lol

[caesarclowningaround]

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

Tagged by @zebsfloppyears <3 Thanks so much dearie!! This was fun!

Jafar’s gaze was cold as stone, impersonal, as if they were only meeting now and hadn’t spent the previous night together. That gaze flickered to the side with a subtle gesture of his chin. Adam forced himself to tear his gaze away in the direction Jafar was referring to. Violet Skies (Beauty and the Beast 2017, Aladdin 2019 - Jafar/Prince Adam - E)

Cayman was a smiler, so when she forced them it was easy to spot the difference. It was an obvious distinction for someone who was good at reading people - and Mickey was very good at reading people. Thursday's Child (A Dangerous Fortune, What Happened to Monday - Adrian/Mickey - E)

Guido frowned, obviously not liking the threat in Majid’s tone. Was it worth threatening a god? Probably not, but Majid was determined and he wasn’t going to be bullied first. But We Sing it Anyway (Wolf, Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot, Tutti i santi giorni, Aladdin 2019 - Majid/Fabio, Jafar/Guido - T)

Now here he was, standing in his own bedchambers with Miguel, whose bright eyes felt as if they could see straight through him. Miguel wasn’t going to give up his pampered lifestyle so easily, and honestly, Jafar could relate. If their roles had been switched, he would also do what he could to ensure he’d never return to the streets. Red Lights (Aladdin 2019, A Dangerous Fortune - Jafar/Mickey - E)

Fabio had left the body days ago, allowing for whatever scavenger wildlife was out here with him to find it and feast. He, on the other hand, moved on, determined to find the river. Baptism in the River Styx (Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot - Gen/no ship - E)

Above Mickey’s name in striking red was the same verdict: “NAUGHTY.” Only now, the word murderer had been added to the list of Mickey’s horrible actions from the past year. Arose Such a Clatter (A Dangerous Fortune, Violent Night - Santa/Mickey - E)

“How come I didn’t wake up until now? I survived. Why did they bury me? Who buried me?” He turned to Majid. “Was it my father?” There was a hint of hope in his voice, but his face fell. A Rotten Kind of Cute (Wolf, A Dangerous Fortune - Majid/Mickey - E)

Majid finished his cookie as he looked at the rest of the spread. One mediocre news story got Cannizzaro to make all this in a few hours? He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. How to Have Your Cake and Eat it Too (Wolf, Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot - Majid/Fabio - T)

Jafar glanced at Mickey before taking Emily to the center of the dance floor. Mickey followed after with his gaze, watching as they took their positions. He turned away and broke off from Augusta to make a beeline for the nearest waiter holding a platter of untouched glasses of white wine. the frayed red thread between us (A Dangerous Fortune, Aladdin 2019 - Jafar/Mickey - E)

Mickey emerged from his room, fingers still looping buttons through holes on his waistcoat, early in the morning at the sound of an unfamiliar voice with a French accent coming from the kitchen. Somewhere in Time (A Dangerous Fortune, Aladdin 2019, Trust, Non Essere Cattivo, Beauty and the Beast 2017 - Mickey/Jafar/Primo/Cesare/Adam- E)

Tagging @lumiereandcogsworth @heroofshield @pigsinablanketfort @aphroditestummyrolls aaaaaand ANYBODY ELSE WHO WANTS TO DO IT CAN CONSIDER THEMSELVES TAGGED BY ME!! :D

#my fic #I also aimed for fics I've written recently within the past 1-2 years

[teecupangel]

21 & 26 ?

21 and 26 from the List of AC Fic Ideas I have at the moment

26 was already posted earlier but as part of a reblog-fest so I posted the same notes here as well for easy reference.

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21. SpyxFamily-ish AU (AltDes)

just a head's up that this isn't a beat by beat AU. More like heavily inspired by (hence the ish)

Altaïr as an Assassin whose target Robert de Sable only makes appearances during his family's exclusive parties. 

Has a daughter Maria who will be in Minerva Academy this upcoming school year. 

Altaïr needs a child to make friends with Maria. 

Enter Desmond Auditore, a bartending working for the bar that was actually a front for the Brotherhood (who is secretly their boss' son) whose son is the same age as Maria, Connor 

Fake marriage with Desmond with Connor who is a mind reader

Desmond agreeing so that his dad would stop telling him to leave his job and return to the Farm with his kid (Altaïr doesn't know that)

Altaïr doesn't know Desmond knows who he is and assumes Desmond is just a kind single dad who needs fake ids to stay in the country.

Desmond knows who Altaïr is because he's their Brotherhood’s best Assassin. 

Connor saying nothing because Desmond told him never to tell anyone about his power. 

Ezio as Desmond’s brother (technically cousin) who is also an Assassin. 

Both Altaïr and Ezio know one another as they keep taking the top spot in the Brotherhood from one another. 

Altaïr believes Ezio hasn't told Desmond his real job and Desmond believes his cousin/brother is a janitor. (Desmond says it as a joke because Ezio likes to say he's cleaning house when he's busy on an assignment) 

Ezio believes Altaïr has targeted Desmond to get the top spot permanently. 

Desmond being a shitty imp who spurs their misconception for his own amusement.

Malik as Altaïr's handler who knows who Desmond is and knows Altaïr asked Desmond out without knowing about Desmond's connection to the Brotherhood because he mistakenly assumes Desmond is a foreigner (he's not, he just likes telling customers different backstories) who is working in Malik's bar because he's in the country illegally and can't take any other job (sorta true? Desmond only has fake papers but they're the most authentic they could be thanks to the Brotherhood's resources) and because Altaïr had been crushing on him for months now (much to Malik's continued headache).

(Maria and Connor becoming friends after they beat the crap out of a kid (Cesare) who tried to bully Connor for being quiet)

==================================

26. (Multi) AltDes: Otome AU Sequel

Badump Animus Destiny (REDUX!): The Chosen One of A Highly Advanced Civilization of Dead Jerks and One Surviving Megalomaniac Got Digitally Resurrected In An Otome Game (I hope AO3 lets us use this isekai inspired longass title)

Set after Black Flag (or Syndicate? Just after Sample 17 gets turned to entertainment source material)

Rebecca and Shaun copies all of Abstergo's data on Sample 17, transfers it to the Assassin database, Baby goes wrrrryyyy and Desmond’s Apple glows (do we need Bill? Bill has Apple according to wiki)

Desmond gets transported into the BAD and nobody knows why. BAD has updates and no logout/exit button (add a bit of angst where Desmond doesn't know if he's the real Desmond Miles or if Baby created him based on Desmond Miles' data and Sample 17)

Add additional inventory: golden egg

(make sure: Desmond checks his inventory and have a line about the Assassin insignia for true ending)

Same introduction as 1st part of BAD? Or fast forward it to the first day in the main setting?

Egg hatches and it's a chick. Turns out to be Clay who gets taken along for the ride and becomes the freaking animal mascot

#altdes #fic idea: assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot

[nolongerh3ree]

Folds my hands together neatly. It is time for me to ramble about my Savior in the dark au..

TW FOR THEMES OF MANIPULATION, CANNIBALISM, MENTAL AND PHYSICAL TORTURE, AND RELIGIOUS MANIPULATION/RELIGIOUS THEMES!!

Mark had been stuck in his room without food and water. It was starting to get to him, he had cried, sobbed, clung onto his holy bible while the alternate, “Cesar”, banged on his door and tried to sweet talk Mark into coming out, for it had a “Gift” for him. Mark didn’t listen, but he was losing his mind as the days went on.

Mark knew he couldn’t survive in his room forever, he only had a few snacks left over from before he went to Cesar’s house in the middle of the night, due to him calling mark to turn his security cameras on, and didn’t have much water left. He had to preserve it the best he could, but it was hard, he was hysteric, and he tried, over and over again to call the police, to call someone, anyone, he even tried to call Cesar, but he didn’t pick up. Nobody picked up, nobody came to save him, so he was stuck with the alternate pounding on the door, and begging Mark to let it in.

Mark started to scribble nonsense in his journal on the third day, he hadn’t gotten any sleep, and he didn’t have much water left, he was dirty and drenched in his own sweat and tears, he was practically choking in his room. Mark had held his necklace close to him for comfort, to try and keep himself safe from the alternate pounding on the door. He kept praying too, praying to something, anything to save him, if there was a god, to save him from what could very much likely be his death. And that’s when his TV had turned on, on its own. Static played on the tv, and mark was horrified, he remembered how alternates could travel through devices, and he was scared the alternate finally found a way into his room, so of course, he started to freak out and scream and cry, until a oddly calm and soothing voice spoke through the TV.

Mark wanted to ask more questions, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice when he tried to choke out a few words to say, only able to listen to the voice as it coaxed and soothed him, and then watch as the TV turned off again. Mark of course, was able to hear everything again, and he screamed. He screamed for the voice to come back, and that he needed answers, more advice, he had so many questions racing in his head, and this..disembodied voice from his television just told him in order to survive, he would have to cannibalize parts of himself.

He waited a few days, maybe the voice was bluffing, maybe he would survive and the alternate would go away, surely. But his hopes dwindled and drained as the days passed by, seeing as the alternate wouldn’t leave him alone. So he did as the voice said, and started to cut parts of his flesh off on his arms, shoulders, thighs, and cheeks. It hurt, a lot, and it was..really gross. But, he was at least getting some source of food, considering he had ran out a few days beforehand after the voice spoke to him.

After surviving a bit on his own flesh, the alternate still wouldn’t leave, so he called out to the voice again, begging for the voice to show itself again and tell him how to get the alternate away, or how to get away from it. He didn’t expect the voice to come back, but to ignore him. It did come back, though, the tv had turned on again, and it had spoke to him, the voice soothing his panic and cries, and instructing Mark to put his “full trust” into him. Mark was scared, and skeptical, but there was nothing else he could really do, so he did. All he remembers is blacking out, and waking up in the living room of his home, covered in fresh wounds and blood, but the blood wasn’t..his. It was completely black and oil like, and it stained his clothes, his living room, everything. Mark was hysteric, quickly getting out of his house and collapsing on the sidewalk, begging pedestrians for help in pure panic, to which people were horrified and concerned about him, and took him to the hospital right away.

He was taken care of and checked up on, his Sister coming to the hospital and berating him with questions about what happened, to which he didn’t want to say. He just wanted to go back home and let things go back to normal. He returned back home, but was too anxious to be alone in the house anymore, and cried to his sister multiple times about some details of what happened, including the fact that he was pretty sure cesar was dead. Both Sarah and Mark grieved for their friend, Mark grieved the most, considering that was his only friend.

Mark became severely depressed and didn’t talk to his sister as much as he used to, which made Sarah become concerned with him, and tried talking to him more, but he wouldn’t really talk back. His mom wasn’t good to him even after the trauma he had been through, she still pushed her beliefs on him, and mark couldn’t help but listen to her even more with how mentally broken down he was, and his only friend was gone now.

It had been months since the attack, and Mark got fed up, he packed his stuff, and ran away, leaving Sarah with his mom. He felt bad not taking her with him, but he just had to get out of there, he had to escape that hell hole he was stuck in.

Later on, Mark went on to create BPS, later on employing Adam and Jonah to work with him. They took calls, ran from the FBI, most of the normal stuff. Adam never got left in the basement, and Jonah never left him in there, mark took care of Adam and Jonah like a father figure, but also a friend and a brother, whatever they preferred, mark just cared about them a lot.

They soon enough got a call to stay at a motel for a few days, for a report about a “large alternate in a tuxedo”, which gave mark instant flashbacks to his old; and now deceased friend. He tried to push those thoughts in the back of his mind, and agreed to stay for a few days and set up a trap to capture it.

Mark and the voice had stayed in contact all those years, of course mark didn’t speak out loud to it, but he did whenever he was alone, and it liked to tease him sometimes, which annoyed him, It liked to manipulate him into trusting it more, which, sadly mark was completely blind to.

After taking the call, he went to the bathroom to clean his face and clear his mind from the flood of memories of his dead friend, and that’s when the voice spoke again, it didn’t say anything long, only a venomously sweet sentence, which was the words, “The world works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it, heathcliff?” This made mark freak out more than he already was, and demanded the voice, who had revealed themself to be named Gabriel a few years back, to which he didn’t answer, and Mark’s yelling and questioning fell on deaf ears.

Mark, being clearly upset gave up, defeated and got ready to leave the next morning with Jonah and Adam, not mentioning anything that had happened after he finished that phone call. They made their way to the motel as usual, and got themselves a rather small room together, which was really all they could afford at that moment, but it still worked for getting their equipment set up. They left some snares here and there incase it decided to wander around, and possibly try to come to the room the three were staying in.

A few nights in, there was a loud noise coming from the kitchen of the motel while Adam, Jonah, and Mark were talking about when they were going to leave the motel and what they would do with the money. Adam instantly shot up, eager to see what it was, but mark told him to stay behind him, he didn’t want anything happening to Adam, or Jonah for that matter, and would probably hate himself if something did happen to them.

Mark went first into the kitchen, cautiously carrying a weapon with him incase the snare snapped from whatever got trapped in it tugging on it. When they all turned the corner; they were greeted with the sight of a large, formally dressed alternate with long, fluffy hair that covered half of its face on the ground, screaming and struggling to get the snare off of its ankle. Mark froze as the alternate made eye contact with him, and Gabriel’s words came back to ring in his mind like a bell, reminding him of what the Angel had said.

This was Cesar, this was his best friend he knew since elementary school, laying crumpled on the floor right in front of him, his leg snapped up in a Snare and crying because of the pain. He thought Cesar had died, and he was..cautious, what if this wasn’t Cesar? Just like that alternate that mimicked his best friend at his bedroom door for an entire week and a half.

#SINTD!Au #the mandela catalogue #tmc mark #tmc au #tmc #tmc cesar #tmc alternate #tmc gabriel #tmc jonah #tmc adam #Jack rambles #long post

[mustangs-flames]

since the pain is kicking your ass, do you have chronic pain hcs for the htb cast?

hope the pain lets u Live soon man.

Characters who have/will have chronic pain in the AU so far are-

Mark: He got very lucky surviving the fall, but nothing is ever the same as it was after it heals. His left arm has nerve pain from where his elbow broke and it makes writing for longer periods of time painful. The actual place he got impaled always aches and it gets worse whenever the weather is cold or damp - he gets pain in his ribs but also tightness in his chest (the rebar went through part of his lung). He has an inhaler for it though and it does improve a little bit as time goes on, only really becoming noticeable in bad weather when his voice and breathing gets a bit wheezy.

Jonah: He has hypermobility syndrome so he's always lived with the pain of overly bendy joints and partial dislocations. He wears supports and splints on the worst of them and whilst he has pain medication for flare ups he prefers to make edibles.

alt!Cesar: After losing his [REDACTED], he is extremely surprised to learn just how long pain can persist, even after the injury has healed. Pain medication does help a bit, but the loss makes something deeper and more primal ache, something he finds can only be soothed with noise cancelling headphones, white noise, and the quiet company of someone he trusts. He also wears a compression band/sock over it. But sometimes the pain is really bad and there's very little to be done other than to wait and ride it out. In those more severe flare ups, it's Mark that he seeks for comfort.

#hail true body au #mustang answers! #htb mark #htb jonah #htb alt!cesar #sorry guys i will be hurting the alternate again :( #but it's not for a while yet don't worry lmao #thanks for the kind words too #i think it's the temperature drop that's triggered this flare up #it's been cold and damp and none of my bone issues are a fan of it lmao #if it's no better in the morning I'll call the doctors about morphine

[bardic-tales]

4.11.23

As today is my day off, I thought I would share another fanfiction character. This is still my husband's SWTOR character. He has given me permission to write for him.

question provided by @oc-a-day. What’s your OC’s immediately family like and their dynamic? Who do they get along with most? Least?

Adaki has the following immediate family:

Aatana - Daughter

Cynthia Prescost - Wife

Ellese - Daughter - in - Law

Gor'en - Son

Kymor - Son

Zhorrid - Daughter

The Godfather and the real-life Borgias inspired the Arturis family. Like both Vito Corleone and Rodrigo Borgia settled in a foreign country, Adaki Arturis, later known as Darth Noktis, settled in on a foreign planet where he needed to settle and raise his three children: Aatana, Gor'en, and Zhorrid.

Adaki created his power-center in Kaas City on Dromund Kaas and had a host of homes and apartments. Rodrigo and Vito centered their power centers around the Vatican and New York.

Below, I go into depth on what inspired each of the children.

AATANA ARTURIS

When designing Aatana’s personality, I wanted someone who could be used as a political pawn by her father. Aatana would have several failed engagements as Noktis dominated his eldest daughter’s life. Her first engagement was to a useless and abusive Sith lord, who would betray the Arturis family, much like Giovanni Sforza had done to Alexander VI. Aatana, herself, would murder this Sith.

Aatana was in a brief relationship with the bounty hunter: Channas. This fizzled out as she became tired of sneaking around. It is no wonder why Aatana spied on Adaki for her mother, Farina.

GOR'EN ARTURIS

Like Kymor, Gor’en was inspired by Michael Coreleon. While he was at odds with his father most of the time, he would help his family out of obligation, protecting his siblings. Gor’en wants nothing to do with the Force, as he describes it as “putting on a wet sock” when he used the Force to stabilize Ellese’s life until he and Aric Jorgan could get her to a kolto tank after Noktis attacked them on Ord Mantell.

All that changed when Cynthia, Ellese, and the four-year-old Kymor came for his help on Risha. They needed his help to rescue his father. He didn’t show it, but he was overcome with emotion and pledged to help Ellese and his younger brother. He did not desire to lead the family, leaving that to Kymor, but he wanted to join the fight.

Noktis gets along least with Gor'en. He views him as a shameful secret, someone who deserted the Sith academy, and, therefore, deserves death.

KYMOR ARTURIS

Kymor is inspired by Michael Corleone and Cesare Borgia. As soon as Darth Noktis and Cynthia disappear together on Oricon, Kymor takes over the family. It is during this time that it is revealed that he is a true leader. He is very intelligent, inheriting that from both of his parents. Kymor shows no emotions, except to Romina, and shares no secrets with anyone. He is always one step ahead of his enemies. He is one of the only children that Noktis is proud of.

ZHORRID

My interpretation of Zhorrid was inspired somewhat by Lucrezia Borgia. Until Cynthia and Noktis conceived Kymor, she was the youngest member of the Arturis Family. She is the youngest daughter. Unlike Aatana, Noktis did not use her as a political pawn.

Until she became a Sith Lord, Zhorrid was the apple of her father’s eye. He would hire a tutor, so she could have singing lessons. He would set up an event in Kaas City for her only. Her singing would make all in attendance cry. Noktis would commission several paintings of Zhorrid.

Much like with Aatana, Gor’en, and Kymor, Noktis’ parenting changed when Zhorrid was admitted into the Sith Academy. He became more critical of her and the damage that she would do to his legacy.

All of his children needed to pass a “Rite of Courage.” Noktis truly believes in the survival of the fittest, but he watches over his children who are in the Academy, hoping to embolden those children. He’s teaching his children to be strong Sith. None save Kymor realizes this.

#get to know my oc #oc: adaki arturis #wip: death of an apprentice #fd: star wars #fd: the old republic