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niennandil-me-writes · 1 year

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Fragments of a Cybernetic Mind: Chapter 6 - We've Been Here Before

Summary Half a year has passed since the events of Christmas of 2064. The world is slowly adjusting to sentient ROMs. But Turing is distracted from their task as ROM-kind’s leader and ambassador by another obligation they carry. They want to deliver Leon Dekker’s last words to his daughter. But first, they’ll have to find her, which doesn’t prove easy. They ask their journalist friend for help, who seems less than thrilled.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 (final) Epilogue

[Content Notes: This chapter features some heavy gore and very graphic descriptions of violence. A plot summary is included in the end notes in ao3 for everyone who wants to skip on it. It starts gradual and becomes more intense, so feel free to take a break or skip down at any moment. Additional more specific content notes are there as well (I'd usually put them directly here, but in this case to prefer to leave you the option to get surprised). Please take care.]

The digital clock shows 3:25 am. I should be sleeping. Instead, I am sitting on the couch, bathed in the cold light of my laptop, a cup of coffee on the table in front of me. I tried out one of the VR experiences Ramona gave me. A walk through a forest. But even though it was calming, I still couldn’t sleep. So I might as well get some work done. Typing, scanning data, taking notes. I don’t get anything done. 3:43. The lines blur in front of my eyes.

My eyes wander to the VR helmet on the table. I hesitate. But maybe that will let me find something I have overlooked so far. Help me get closer. So I take the helmet and connect it to my laptop. Put it over my head. Play a memory.

The view the goggles offer me is almost as dark as my living room. My eyes need a moment to adjust to the artificial memory. It’s so unlike the VR I experienced that evening. Everything seemed so real there, I could feel the rain dripping down on my skin and the sun on my arms, hear the wind rustling through trees, could taste autumn air. Here, everything seems muted, like through a veil. I lift the helmet and check the plug, the system, but everything seems to be working well.

I return to the memory. I hear a buzzing, a humming, a hammering like drums in the distance. What memory is this? I forgot to check.

Then I see the metal, the glowing of electricity. Smoke on the floor, around my – no his – feet.

I know where this is!

I try to take off the helmet, but I can’t move. I’m frozen. But I move. Stepping through Parallax’ server room. Hunting. Hunting myself. I need to get out! I need to – I need to –

I need to find you. But that can wait for a while. In the end, I am glad I didn’t kill you when I had the chance. You proved worth our while. Leading me exactly where I needed to go, finding the clues so I didn’t have to. You might as well have pointed a finger at all the people that I needed to kill. One should think someone this skilled in investigative journalism would have seen it coming. Then again, maybe you did. Maybe to you I was – how did the ROM put it? A calculated risk.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. You miscalculated. I can practically smell your fear in the air, hear your hammering heart even beyond the sizzling and buzzing of the electronics. I take a step in the opposite direction. Now that my cloaking emitter is fried, the ROM is no doubt tracking every step I take for you. I hope they do. Maybe I can actually get you to believe you might survive this. It makes the whole deal oh so much sweeter, like just another spoonful of honey in the tea my mother used to make. It’s the closest approximation I can get to that taste.

I’m enjoying every second of this, my mind racing with all the things I want to do to you, even as I tell you my little story. You are probably piecing everything together yourself right now. But that is bound to lack real pathos, all the best details missing. Like how Zinn’s body felt against my arm as I pushed her out the window of her own office. The surprise mixed with pain in Otsuka’s eyes, mirrored in his computer screen, as I drove the knife through his back. The look on your face as I ran over Nonya. The way his guts looked spread out across the street. You just can’t imagine it. Well,you can with that last one, you were there for that.

But you aren’t sharing your thoughts, which is just too sad. Just as you aren’t telling me what you think of my plan to rip out your entrails and wear them like a scarf. Maybe that was a bit overdramatic, but beggars can’t be choosers and I am positively starving for some violence. I haven’t even told you yet that I intend for you to be alive during that part, but you will find out soon enough.

A door snaps shut just in front of me. Getting nervous? A chuckle escapes my metal throat. Those metal walls aren’t a problem for me. I could tear through them like paper. But where would the fun be in this if I just revealed that I know exactly where you are and can get there in seconds? I’ll let you keep hoping.

I walk past the wall and continue the story. Then again… I can’t let you feel too safe. Why not show you what I’m capable of? Stimulate your imagination a bit. I walk straight ahead. My sensors catch something to my left. I turn. Walk faster. The metal screeches as it gives way around me.

And there you are. Cowered in a corner. Your hands clutching the zapper so tightly that your knuckles turn white as chalk. You scream.

(I scream)

And it’s music to my ears. Promises of what is to come. Are you even aware of screaming? Do you know what I am about to do to you? The first shot misses. Hands trembling violently. Have you ever shot at anyone before?

I push those thoughts to the side for later, and leap at you. The next shot hits my face. I laugh as I fall to the ground. Your footsteps running away. I heave myself up. The door in front of me closes. You really still think that will stop me?

I touch my hand to my face, where the zapper peeled off even more of my synthetic skin, revealing the metal grin beneath. It barely hurts, just a sting. But oh, does it feel good. It increases my appetite even more. What a wonderful toy you are. Anyone else would have given up by now. But you have guts. I like that in a victim. Can’t wait to rip them out of your body.

Maybe you, too, find this situation exciting, albeit in a different way? You enjoyed your little detective play, and what better climax to that than a hide and seek game with a homicidal android? Maybe that’s what the glint I spotted in your eye means. Maybe, after a life of mediocrity, you enjoy being the center of attention, people dying because of you, and you being the only one left to solve the case. Maybe deep down, you are as fucked up as me. Or maybe that’s just me projecting.

I chuckle to myself. Continue our little game. After that shot, you deserve your reward, so I keep on telling the tale, rattling off the facts about Fairlight and Big Blue and yadda yadda… to be honest, I don’t really care. Oh, it pays the bills alright, and I prefer to keep it that way, but in the end, I don’t really care about the politics. Turing’s crazy idea about turning all robots sentient is nothing but a welcome excuse to wreck shit. Isn’t it nice when things work out like that?

Another door closes next to me. Slowly I’m getting impatient.

“Like how you feel about doing journalism? It’s all that matters to you”, I say. “That’s how I feel about murder.”

A whimper, just around the corner. You made a mistake and you are just now realizing it.

Turning, I charge at you at the speed of sound. You lift the gun, pull the trigger. No shot rings out.

(Wait)

You are out.

(That is not what happened!)

In a pathetic last attempt, you fling the weapon at me. It bounces right off my body, tearing some more skin off. I don’t care. I’ll have to make some replacements after I’m done here anyways.

I grab you by the throat. The ROM charges at me, but I just kick the little shit into the wall. Metal crashes against metal, the little body explodes in a flash of electricity. It’s beautiful. But not as beautiful as your pale face in front of mine.

(This didn’t happen! This is not what happened! I try to get out. I scream, but all that comes over my lips is – )

“Now let the real game begin,” I grin into your face, which is slowly turning blue as I increase the pressure on your throat. I won’t deny, if I still had the necessary parts, this sight would seriously turn me on right now. But I won’t finish you off just yet, no, that would be boring.

I let go and you fall to the floor, gasping for air, hand clasped to your throat. As soon as your lungs are filled with oxygen again, you crawl away, trying to get to your feet. But I am infinitely faster. My boot meets your leg. A wet crunching sound. A scream. How beautiful. Seeing how well you did so far on your little adventure makes it all the sweeter to see you reduced to a small helpless mess on the floor.

I lift my foot off your broken leg. A piece of bone is piercing the skin. I crouch down, grab it and twist until it comes out. Screams turn into whimpers at your lips, which then turns into silence. You’re fainting, as is to be expected. But I’m not letting you fade away just yet. I slap your face, again and again, shake you, until your eyes flutter open again.

“Wakey, wakey,” I grin. “Time for your nightmare.”

Reflexively, you try to jump up. A hiss of pain as you try to move your useless leg. I pin you to the floor and use your own bloodied bone to tear through your shirt and the skin beneath, stabbing it into your stomach.

“please...” Your voice is barely another whimper.

I grab your head. “What is it, sweetie? You want to beg for your life? Maybe if you ask nicely, I’m gonna let you live? After all, I could still get you out of here, to the next hospital? But we both know, it ain’t gonna happen. As much as I would like to hear you beg, see you grovel in front of me, it just can’t be done. You know too much.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even scream anymore. But I know you can feel everything. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My fingers grip your hair, holding your head in place while I continue to rummage through your body with my other hand. Your ribcage is lying open now, bones looking out of your flesh. Blood and parts of organs splattered on the floor. It looks like an abstract painting, one of those Yannick has hanging in his villa. For a silly moment, I consider taking a picture for him, but quickly discard the idea. That would be evidence. And anyways, the view is already burned into my memory disks, where I can retrieve it whenever I feel like it, whenever I feel bored and need some nice distraction to put a smile on my face.

It is making me smile right now, and that makes me notice the blood on my lips. I can’t taste it, naturally, but my sensors tell me everything I need to know, adrenaline levels and suchlike. Almost like eating candy. Or the closest I can come to that.

I run my fingers through your hair, almost tenderly. Unwanted memories of my wife resurface, of stroking her hair like that. Instead of pushing them away like I usually do, I dwell on them for a little. Getting excited at the dying stranger’s hair in my hands is as close as I can get to that past sensation. Your hair turns into her hair, your face into hers. Closest approximation and all that.

My touch doesn’t stay gentle for long, though. I yank you up by the hair, pulling you off the ground. Your entrails are spilling on the floor. I let go and you stay standing up for just a second before I place a punch into the gaping hole in your stomach. You sprawl to the floor. Barely alive now. Time to decide how best to end this.

I grab your guts from the floor, and, climbing on top of you, wrap them around myself and then around your neck and start pulling. It’s almost like a hug, or the closest approximation or whatever - enough of this sentimental bullshit. I tighten the grip. Organic fiber tears, your eyes flutter, you don’t even struggle anymore.

(I watch myself die, unable to do anything. It’s not the first time.)

I tear another bone from your ribcage, stab at you with it, rip your hair out, squash your eyes until they explode between my fingers, I yank your arm out of its socket. I tear out your heart and take a bite I can neither taste nor swallow.

That’s how they find me.

I knew I was forgetting something. Your friend from the police escaped, calling backup. Even so, I could have gotten away, if I hadn’t gotten so lost in our fun.

But seeing the cop lady walk in just as I am led out in handcuffs, seeing her face as she looks at your body (or what remains of it), hearing her uncontrolled sobs, her gibberish as she falls to the floor, it makes it all worth it. Who knows... Maybe now Wilson Dekker will finally be allowed to die. And what a hell of a last day it has been.

#my writing #fanfic #read only memories #2064 read only memories #2064rom #leon dekker #alys #fragments of a cybernetic mind #gore #I wrote the first version of this chapter almost 3 years ago after I first played the game and had some brainworms to work through #I considered toning it down a bit #but that would honestly feel wrong at this point after everything that writing did for me #It wouldn’t be a self-indulgent project of mine if there wasn’t some gore #aka this is how teo was formed

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writingoddess1125 · 6 months

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i really like your work! Quick question what is buggys biggest fear he'd share with his s/o?

Thank you!

As for fears, I think he has many that he's not afraid to share like Death and the Ocean- but ones he'd only share with his S/O is simple but sad.

1. Be abandoned again. He hates to be alone, it scares him more than anything and he will have panic attacks if he gets locked in a room by himself- but worse is if someone leaves him or ghost him- It terrifies him and causes him to mentally break down.

2. Being forgotten. He doesn't want to be forgotten which ties into the first fear-

Bonus!-

Buggy from the Old Men Series would be different-

• Something happening to you or the kids- Like if the wrong people found out about you two and took advantage he would lose his mind. He would blow up the world if he found out anything happed to any of you.

• Second is kinda funny but his daughters as teens/adults. Since they have his flashy personality they will wear things in style of him. Aka Buggy loses his mind everytime and is worried they will be objectified or hurt- He knows how dirty minded and awful pirates can because he is one.

Ali & Ari: Dad it's 40° C outside why do you want us to wear a winter coat?

Buggy holding two giant coats in his hands with a fake smile.

Buggy: No reason-

Will cry to you that they aren't babies anymore and doesn't want them to grow up anymore.

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader

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trashyangelic · 1 year

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ML Prompt (w/ Lila Rossi Redemption, A Little of Lila Salt, Adrien Salt, Alya Salt, Class Salt, Bustier Salt, Damocles Salt + Felinette)

I got something in mind. I'm not sure if anyone wants to make it. But if I were to make this then I might do one but for now I'll post this if anyone wanna do this one. You can decide an OC for Lila if you want or let her stay single that is. The pairings are Felinette, JulekaXNino, ChloeXNathanielXMarc, there will be no julerose since Rose is a salt. Outside of CFD is LukaXKagami.

What if Lila Rossi got the part as Marinette's Job aka. Class President from her classmates? But what she doesn't know that she is recieving pure pressure from the class and her teacher causing her to rant at home.

Marinette has transferred school from this toxic classroom that she has been telling her parents about and send her to Jeanne Arc on the otherside of Paris where she meets the Quantic Kids and her twin sister Bridgette as she somehow fallen in love with Felix Graham de Vanily.

As for Lila she was glad that she was picked for Class President here in CFD but what she doesn't realize is that her classmates wants her to do the jobs like field trips, fund rasier, birthday parties, etc for them instead of them doing it for themselves. Just like before with Marinette and Chloe when they had connections from publicity before Lila but now it is her turn.

Until a few days ago it gotten out of hand for Lila. As she was thinking of a possible way to finish this file for the class but she even ask for Sabrina's help since Alya isn't doing her job as a Class Deputy as to what Nino told her the day she was selected as Miss Bustier's Class President. But Sabrina told Lila to ask Alya for that this made her very annoyed at the last second.

Lila told her mother to called the school as she isn't feeling well which she is tired of this stuff that her class wants her to do plus she didn't want to talk to her classmates on the phone she turn off her phone it was driving her nuts while working on this folder that Dupain-Cheng gave her after leaving the class for good.

But what she didn't realize is that her mom is at kitchen after a early day off from her job that her boss had decided for her to spend time with her child. Lila did some research on the internet of what a Class President is suppose to but now it clicked.

"This entire time the fund raisers, field trips, and birthday parties were meant for the teachers. Why is Miss Bustier putting this on me then if its her job to this it is not the Class President job. Well that explains why Dupain-Cheng left from that including my lies as well. I'm starting to regret being the Class President. I think I should tell this to mom maybe she can do something to get a contact to the school board this is ridiculous." Lila muttered to herself.

Lila went to tell this to her mother that she was selected as the Class President but something went off for her so she explain it to her mother which made her super pissed off. But now regretting everything that is happening so she send a text message to Dupain-Cheng that she is sorry for ruining her life and other stuffs but ask for forgiveness as she wants to restart over to find who she is.

Then for Marinette well she is surprised to read Lila's text on her phone but respond back that its gonna take time to forgive her but also suggested her to transfer to Mrs. Mendeleiev's class if Bustier is pure pressuring her to do it. Which caught her attention instantly but now that is done she went to tell her mother the truth as her mother was angry but scold her never do it ever so then she send emails to celebrities that she lied to including Prince Ali that she is sorry for lying to them and other stuff but to be fair she even told them that her classmates from CFD believe in the lies she told them which made Prince Ali felt betrayed by Rose when the girl explain it on email to him but he forgave the girl but told her not to do this again but the other two celebrities as in Jagged and Clara weren't very happy as they remembered that Marinette told them about Lila but to her she apologize to them which gave them a huge relief.

Then there comes Adrien who practically scold Lila on text message to do it which made her scream in fustration in her room as she send a message back to NO. Lila started to hate Adrien with passion plus she doesn't even like him anymore after getting that off her chest.

Lila explain this all to her mother as Mrs. Rossi decided to transfer her daughter to a new class that is in Mrs. Mendeleiev class but highly threaten the principal if he doesn't do this damn job she will send a message to the school board to get him fired. But to Lila she will have to explain this to her science teacher why she is moving to her class instead of Bustier.

While Marinette's squad with Chloe, Nino, Juleka, Nathaniel, and Sabrina looked really surprised the way Lila acted out of the shell then they told their parents to get them transfer to Mrs. Mendeleiev's class away from those people who wants free stuff instead of them getting it for themselves.

Tag me if you are willing to make it. It doesn't have to be a prompt it can be a fanfic but thats your choice.

#miraculous ladybug #lila salt #lila rossi redemption #alya salt #bustier salt #marinette deserves better #adrien salt #chloe bourgeois redemption #nino sugar #class salt #ml fanfic #miraculous #request #damocles salt

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catofadifferentcolor · 6 months

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Terrible Fic Idea #72: Game of Thrones, but make it Ptolemaic

There's something fascinating about the way the Ptolemys took over Egypt following the death of Alexander the Great - sure, anyone can conquer, but it takes an interesting mind to look around for ways to legitimate their rule and fall on sibling marriage as the solution. Yes, it was common among certain royal dynasties, but the Macedonian Greeks, from whom the Ptolemys descended, despised it. I would love a snapshot into how that first sibling marriage came to be.

It was this in mind I stumbled upon the idea for my next terrible fic idea: What if Jon and Robb were not of age with each other?

Aka: The Weirwood Queen Fic

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon, with two exceptions: 1) Lyanna dies giving birth to a daughter at the Tower of Joy. Ned names the girl after their favorite Great-Aunt, Jocelyn; and 2) Catelyn loses the child she conceives on her wedding night.

(Robb is still born, but his birth date and the birth dates of all the other Stark children are pushed back two years.)

Now, it is one thing to return from war with a bastard when your wife has just given birth to a legitimate heir; it is quite another thing to return from war with a bastard after she miscarried. For this reason Ned choses to pass Jocelyn off as his brother Brandon's bastard daughter with Ashara Dayne.

Jocelyn's childhood is similar in many ways to canon, but not. Without her "twin" or any trueborn siblings to draw attention away, most of the castle dotes on young Jocelyn. Even once her cousins are born, Jocelyn remains the oldest of the lot, filled with the confidence that a child only has when they know they are loved. She loves her cousins in turn, but with the age gap they're never quite as close as canon, and she's more nursemaid for the younger ones than a playmate.

Catleyn, of course, loathes her, and begs for her to be sent away - which she eventually is. But instead of sending Jocelyn to the Silent Sisters, or across the sea, or marrying her off to a loyal man-at-arms stationed on the edge of Stark lands... Ned accepts widowed Rickard Karstark's offer for Jocelyn's hand. He's a loyal bannerman whose family has often wed Stark bastards and was notorious for his care and devotion to his first wife. It is the best Ned can do for her.

And so Jocelyn becomes the second Lady Karstark, which is awkward, as her stepsons are quite a bit older than her and her stepdaughter Alys is only six months younger, but Jocelyn thrives as a lady of a Northern House. Her husband is kind enough and largely allows her to run the house as she will, which is as best as she could have hoped for in a marriage.

By the time King Robert rides north two years later than canon, Jocelyn has given birth to a son, Brandon, and is pregnant with a daughter, Lyanna.

Canon continues apace, if somewhat delayed. Ned becomes hand of the king and loses his head. The North rises up, names Robb King in the North... and Rickard's sons Torrhen and Edward are killed by Jaime Lannister, for which Rickard kills two hostages. Robb still choses to execute Rickard Karstark.

Meanwhile, Jocelyn has been rallying forces to take Winterfell back from the Greyjoy's in the North. She succeeds, only to learn within the week that her cousin has made her a widow.

Jocelyn quietly rages. She'd never loved her husband, but she'd been fond of him. It's the hypocrisy that gets her most - because the Starks have always put family first, but she's known from the beginning that some family counts more than others, otherwise Ned would have never killed her uncle Arthur, or led her mother Ashara to throw herself off a tower, or allowed his son to think it fitting to kill her husband while they knew Jocelyn was preparing to take back his home for him.

And so what you have is Jocelyn continuing to rule Winterfell in her cousin's name but largely acting on her own, never outright ignoring Robb's commands while he's still alive but following the letter rather than the spirit of the order.

This continues for some time, with Jocelyn Queen of the North in all but name after the Red Wedding - holding off the Boltons and the Greyjoys - and gaining the respect of the North.

Into this enter Bran (as played by the Three-Eyed Raven) and baby Rickon.

After four or five years of playing Regent for Sansa, still held hostage in King's Landing, the last thing Jocelyn wants to do is give up power to her thirteen year of cousin who 1) spent the last five years beyond the Wall, letting her do all the hard work of ruling and 2) has no idea what the political situation is in the North. Most of the Northern lords feel similarly and insist Bran and Jocelyn wed, if only so Jocelyn can continue what she's been doing while Bran learns the ropes.

Jocelyn is even less happy about this, but goes along with it in name only, sleeping in a separate part of the castle.

This goes on for about two years, Bran making all sorts of subtle attempts to undermine Jocelyn's rule that - if they'd succeeded - would only have destabilized the North. Jocelyn is gearing up to have him declared addled by his trip beyond the Wall when she catches Bran - or, rather, the Three-Eyed Raven - trying to jump ship into Jocelyn's son seven-year-old son, Brandon Karstark, who with his Targaryen and Stark blood would make a better host.

Explaining to her bannermen just why she murdered her second husband is a challenge, but the evidence - that he was trying to kill her son - is rather irrefutable. Unfortunately, it leaves her in the same position as before, this time having to marry her her ten-year-old cousin Rickon to continue ruling the North.

Through all of this, it should be clear Jocelyn is doing this less out of desire for personal power - though there is a glimmer of that, especially when certain lords demand she give up her regency to man - then desire to stabilize the North. Ned and Robb had gone south, and it had nearly cost the North everything. All Jocelyn wants to do is keep the madness consuming the south from infecting the North too.

Meanwhile, Daenerys and Young Griff have joined forces in Essos, married, and begun their reconquest of Westeros. Amid the chaos, they succeed brilliantly.

They leave the North for last, attempt to replay the submission of Torrhen, but in a much weaker position than The Conqueror was - they have dragons, but winter is setting in and their martial might is largely exhausted by a decade of warfare. Regardless, Jocelyn tells Rickon to bend the knee, realizing the North can't survive on its own for long. For this they get many concessions - a break in taxes, the title of Prince of the North, and the betrothal of the Dany and Young Griff's son and daughter to Jocelyn's children Lyanna and Brandon Karstark respectively.

Jocelyn continues to rule the North, largely without the input of her third husband, who after his majority largely spends his time in Dany and Young Griff's ongoing military campaigns - putting down rebellions throughout their empire, pirates in the Stepstones, and the like - until he is killed crossing a river in Essos. The title of Prince of the North falls to Jocelyn's son, Brandon Karstark, who drops the Kar from his name and rules well - with the help of his mother.

Bonuses include: 1) Jocelyn never expressing anything other than familial fondness for any of her husbands, never sleeping with the second two, and largely being presented as an aromantic asexual who because of societal expectations forces herself to try to have romantic/sexual feelings for her first husband, fails, and then keeps her second two firmly in the baby cousins category; 2) An exploration of family dynamics in Westeros - specifically, what it means to be on the outside looking in as a bastard and knowing that your uncle and cousin don't seem to count the death of your mother, mother's brother, or husband as kinslaying, and being a woman allowed to hold the reins of power while the men are away and being expected to turn everything over to the first male claimant who shows up after you've done all the hard work; 3) The Three-Eyed Raven putting on a masterclass of how to be subtly creepy enough to cause everyone around him to think they're imagining things, when in reality it's worse than they imagined, and having been working even beyond the Wall to help bring about the Targaryen Restoration; 4) No one ever suspecting Jocelyn as being Rhaegar's daughter, and historians using the Valeryian looks her children have with their Targaryen spouses as proof Young Griff was really Prince Aegon; and 5) An exploration of the North, its traditions, and its religion, with Jocelyn somewhat inadvertently bringing about a revival of the last two through her desire to Damnatio Memoriae her late and unlamented Aunt Catelyn.

And that's all I have. I suppose its not as ptolemaic as it could be, but I was thinking of Cleopatra VII and her marriages to her two younger brothers as I wrote it, so. As always, feel free to adopt this plot bunny, just link back if you ever do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #asoiaf #jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #female jon snow #bran stark #rickon stark #arranged marriage #house stark #the old gods #three eyed raven #targaryen restoration #king in the north #queen in the north

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lime-ether · 4 days

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Do you have any other headcanon for the beatiful dead people group?

1. The whole group supports each other, and even if someone ends up in the hospital, they will come and just throw supportive words And not only.

Almost everyone in the group doesn't like Ivy's house, because it's... Too lonely and empty, Anyone who is there during the day may not feel comfortable there...

Every two to three weeks they all meet together and can spend time either visiting someone from the group, or going for a walk somewhere

2. Ali, if he identifies unpleasant people or if he wants to hide, does not panic and simply takes on the appearance of someone they know

Perhaps they listen to jazz music in their abandoned house , And perhaps they have tea parties with Catri

3. Dravolo maybe if Ivy gave them her threads, used them as whips , It’s also possible that this is a member of the group who either called or came to wrestling lessons (from the same Ivy, why not)

Even though they are older than the Catri (???) (IT SEEMED) But with them they can behave as they want. They are the ones who introduced the group to Sam, and support this humble ghost

4. Catri probably has a closet full of horror franchise movies or merch.

Perhaps they find Topics for conversation with Shi, And they can often frown when little Den does tricks.

She asked To prevent friends from clapping firecrackers near her

5. Jirlshi When she goes out somewhere, she puts on clothes that cover her back and similar areas of the body where her organs are visible, so that any garbage does not get there.

Often spends time with Ivy because she knows how to Travel through portals and semblances

Although sometimes she is extremely responsible, sometimes she can also create chaos (such as prank or painting someone’s face with markers

She is ready to do a 48 hour viewing of old horror cartoon films, and this is just the warm-up

6. Ivy......... She Really ready to sacrifice everything she can.

Likes to fall asleep cuddled. She didn’t accept Sam into the group from the first day, but Wants to know more about him

When Ali, Dravolo, and Catri are around her, she behaves more responsibly (To take care of them as the eldest in case of any danger) And together with Shi She can behave absolutely chaotically.

7. Den Able to irritate and touch everyone with his tinyness

Unfortunately, he falls victim to Ivy's creativity and she makes him tiny, stylish suits.

Often sits on everyone's heads (for example, Ali Dravolo and Ivy)

He treats Dravolo like an older sibling.

8. Sam is new, so sometimes he gets lost when the guys offer something.

Ali sometimes blurts out next to him that he likes Brook , And sam understands everything

Finds it interesting that he's a ghost , And sometimes may not hold objects in your hands (aka he is transparent)

Sometimes he politely asks Ivy to make him more clothes, and she doesn't mind.

9. Fey doesn’t come to this group often, but she visits these guys and brings all sorts of baked goods from home

He thinks Ivy's friends are kind as long as Ivy says so...

Finds it normal that Ali fell in love with someone and generally supports the guys from the group to the fullest.

#dead people #deadpeoplegroup #dead people group #lime ether #ivi and fey #ivy #oc #boneheads #hc #ali #catri #dravolo #little den cute #jirlshi #skele sam

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velidewrites · 1 year

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Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter V: Let The Hunger Games Begin

The first thing Feyre saw was a blinding flash of sunlight.

Her eyes narrowed on instinct, trying to adjust from the white, artificial brightness of the hangar below. Still, the sun felt…different here. Colder.

The platform stopped moving, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence as Feyre’s vision slowly regained focus.

Then, a mild breeze kissed her face, and chirping birds flitted over her head.

Twenty-four Tributes stood in a semi-circle, surrounded by nothing but a rolling green land. The place was so wholly quiet and serene that Feyre nearly forgot what it truly was—the Capitol’s most prized and deadly stage.

A forest, lush and dense, edged the clearing—far out of reach, yet still much safer than the centre of the arena. The trees would offer shelter—would veil her in their shadows, hopefully dark and thick enough for no one to scent out her fear.

Because the truth was, Feyre was afraid. It had been easy to stab a prop whose chest was marked with a red X. Would her arrows be able to pierce through a real heart? Would her own heart allow her to kill in the first place?

Either way, Feyre would not begin the games unarmed. She would only run for the forest after she managed to get her hands on a bow.

Her eyes settled on the Cornucopia—a horn-shaped structure at the very centre of the arena. Tall and iron-made, it stood at an equal distance from each of their platforms, close enough for every Tribute to see the treasure within.

The small bags laid out front carried food and medical supplies—Alis had told her as such. There weren’t enough of them for everyone, of course—but enough for them to kill each other over. And while the idea of having something of sustenance on her first night did sound appealing, the sun reflected even more beautifully off the silver bow, resting peacefully against the Cornucopia’s back wall.

There you are, Feyre thought. The bow gleamed, as if her presence had awakened it from its slumber. She could swear it called out her name.

And Feyre would answer.

The Games will start with a bloodshed you’ve never seen before, Alis’s voice suddenly crept into her mind, casting doubt over her resolve. Unless you have a death wish, you want to avoid staying at the Cornucopia at all costs. Ignore the food, ignore the weapons—run for your life. You will have sponsors for everything else.

Sorry, Alis, she thought bitterly, but I doubt the sponsors will be watching over me.

Something flashed on a screen hung atop the iron structure, and a timer appeared.

Fifty-nine seconds.

Feyre’s entire body went rigid, and her insides began to burn.

Standing on the platform at the left end of the semi-circle, she turned to look over the others. She could make out Tamlin’s strong figure on the far right—they’d placed them at the opposite ends. Her eyes slid over familiar faces, most of them betraying fear, but some of them hardened with conviction—and one of those people stood in the middle, practically shaking with anticipation.

Brannagh met her gaze and smiled.

Her stomach turned, and Feyre quickly looked to the timer again.

Forty seconds.

The bow or the forest—Feyre’s mind frantically weighed down the options. Would she survive the initial massacre without a weapon? Would she be able to run away in time without it? The Careers would certainly do their best to not let that happen. The light flicked over the bow again, and Feyre swallowed hard.

Would she risk her life for it?

Thirty seconds, the timer announced in red—bright and vivid like the blood that would soon cover the ground beneath them.

She felt someone’s stare on her, and instinctively, her eyes drifted to the far right.

Tamlin’s lips formed a tight line—somehow, he must have sensed her struggle—and he slowly shook his head.

Twenty seconds.

Don’t do it, she could practically hear his voice in her head. Run.

Her fist tightened, as if already gripping the lethal steel.

Feyre was done running.

At fifteen seconds, the boy from Eleven beside her tensed.

At ten, someone towards the middle began to laugh, a shrill, vicious sound that Feyre felt inside her very bones. Briallyn.

At five, she braced herself and leaned forward.

You’ll be okay. Just get to the bow.

For Elain.

The cannon went off with a loud boom, and someone far away from her screamed.

Feyre’s head whipped towards the sound, cut off as soon as it began.

A body laid still at Devlon’s feet, its eyes hollow and glassy. The boy from Three’s mouth was still gaping open.

He broke his neck.

Feyre went deathly still, unable to tear her gaze off the young kid. Devlon broke his neck in seconds, and now…now the boy was dead.

A blurry shape behind them began to fade into distance. Tamlin.

He’d ran for the forest without even attempting to get close to the Cornucopia. Feyre’s chest heaved, letting fresh air pour into her lungs and sharpen her senses. With another breath, she looked around and saw everyone running—and the Careers leading the race.

Brannagh was the first one to reach the centre, her gaze drilling into the sword hanging proudly on the wall. Feyre imagined the sharp steel in her enemy’s hands—imagined it pressed to her neck, slowly slicing the skin.

She would not allow for this to be her end.

Feyre launched herself forward, her sole focus the shining bow at the back.

Everything, everyone around her ceased to exist—she was in the forest again, ruthless and starving, every nerve in her body fixated on reaching her prey. Her muscles tensed in her legs at the sheer speed of her chase, every step determined yet precise. Nothing in the world mattered but this. This was the hunt her life depended on.

She was so close—she could see it so clearly, could practically feel it in her hands.

And then, someone shielded it from her view.

Someone much faster than Feyre had darted past her in a blink of an eye. She’d recognised the girl from Four, though right now, she couldn’t remember her name. The girl’s head turned over her shoulder as she shot her her a look that Feyre had seen in the forest more often than she could remember. No older than fifteen, her face was perfectly resembling of a deer realising its life was about to end.

Except she wasn’t looking at Feyre.

Four’s eyes widened on a point somewhere behind her back, and Feyre ducked on instinct.

A dagger flew past her, a mere inch away, and landed in the deep of the girl’s throat.

Blood splattered on Feyre’s face, her hair, her hands, its fresh, metallic scent filling her nostrils and raising bile up her own throat. She could only gape as the girl reached for her neck, brown eyes flared with shock as her palm closed around the leather-clad hilt.

A gurgling cough was the last sound she’d made before she dropped to the ground.

Feyre whirled the the dagger’s source, finding the blonde from District Five standing only a few feet away, a cruel smile already blooming upon her pretty face at the sight of her first kill.

“If you wait here a few seconds, Starshine,” she shouted, “I’ll go get another dagger!”

And with that, she breezed past her and into the Cornucopia.

Frozen in place, Feyre’s eyes darted between the blonde and her victim, the bow still waiting for her in the back, and the blood staining her hands. Soon, the girl would emerge from the hollow structure, and Feyre would face her unharmed.

The bow would have to wait.

With a final look at Four’s bloodied body, Feyre reached for the backpack the girl was still gripping in her left hand—small and light-looking enough not to hinder her escape. Feyre kneeled and, fighting to keep her own hands from shaking, opened the girl’s still-warm palm.

“I’m so sorry,” Feyre whispered, and threw the backpack over her shoulder.

Another scream sounded from the Cornucopia, and Feyre took it as her signal to go.

She didn’t look back as she ran towards the forest. Her heart thundered along her veins, and Feyre prayed her knees wouldn’t give out before she could get somewhere safe.

Safe. She would have laughed had her breath not been short with exhaustion.

No matter where she went, Feyre was never going to be safe again.

She could hear the silence of the forest before her as clearly as the bloodshed taking place behind. The distance grew between her and the sounds of carnage, though the scent of it remained, as if impaled on her skin. Feyre swallowed hard, wondering if the girl from Four’s body had already begun to grow cold.

Finally, she reached the clearing’s edge, the trees casting shadows over the grass, still unstained by death. She disappeared into the darkness, though she didn’t stop running.

***

Feyre hadn’t stopped until the sun began to dim.

Thankfully, it seemed that she truly was alone. No one had emerged from behind a tree, ready to punch their sword through her throat, or, better yet, rip it out with their teeth. After what she’d witnessed today, Feyre expected just about anything.

She had no idea how long she had been running for, though, by the setting sun and the cooling air around her, she suspected well over an hour. The fallen Tributes’ bodies must have already been picked up by the Gamemaker’s hovercraft. She wondered if they’d at least give them the courtesy of being transported back to their families.

Her throat bobbed. How would Elain and Nesta react at the sight of her dead body, cold and unmoving? She couldn’t imagine their faces as a Capitol official brought it to their cottage, covered by a pristine white cloth. Although…Elain would probably cry. Nesta…Nesta would burn the entire world.

Perhaps, after Feyre died, it would be better to keep her remains here. In the forest, where she belonged.

She hadn’t even taken the time to take in her surroundings. Apart for the Games she’d watched these past two years, she’d only seen two other arenas—on the train to the Capitol. The time now seemed forever ago—simpler, somehow. The sixty-eight and sixty-ninth Hunger Games had been nothing like this—tough, after what Feyre had seen, it was perhaps a blessing in disguise. She couldn’t imagine surviving the night through blizzards of such magnitude—and the year after, the ruined city under the scorching sun…Feyre would have been dead in a minute, probably buried beneath the rubble and left to rot.

This arena was at least somewhat familiar.

The forest was empty with silence, with an occasional sound of birds flapping their wings that made her flinch every time. And while Feyre was familiar with the tall trees, mossy rocks and mud sticking to her shoes, this place was…different, somehow.

Ironically, everything smelled of life. The moss was plush and a vibrant shade of green, the bark of the trees around strong and fragrant, and the trees themselves stood tall and proud, their leaves rustling quietly atop the wind’s gentle breeze. In some places, even, Feyre spotted blooming flowers. She’d noted their appearance—from the shape of their petals to the colours of the stem—for later. So far, none of them had seemed poisonous, though Feyre didn’t trust her knowledge enough to take this judgement as a fact. If she was to die soon, she wouldn’t let something as fragile and pathetic as a flower be her demise.

Elain would probably find it beautiful, death by a flower. She’d call it poetic—she’d say death was the most delicate thing experienced by man.

Nothing about this place was delicate.

Feyre would have to find shelter before the night fell—the woods were dark enough already. But first—water. She could survive without food another day, but after hours of an endless run, Feyre needed to drown out the fire that burned inside her lungs.

Finding a stream was easy—Feyre had done it countless times before. Back home, when she’d still been learning to navigate the forest, her life often depended on it. She used to get lost sometimes, overwhelmed by the scale of the world behind Twelve’s electric fence. The second time she’d ever gone into the forest, she delved in too deep—and found herself stranded for two days. Had she not managed to find a river flowing on the far east, she would have never come back home.

That day, Nesta forbade her from ever going back in. But, only two weeks later, they ran out of their supplies—even those stored away for the winter. And so, when Feyre put on her hunting boots and walked out of the house, she was met with very little protest.

For some reason, Feyre thought fondly of that day now. It killed Nesta to let her go back, she knew that—but Feyre felt safe in that forest. She felt…free.

Maybe this arena was a mercy, a gift from the Capitol to its Star. Frankly, she thought as she scouted the area, Feyre wouldn’t mind dying like this—surrounded by the woods, no matter how different they seemed.

She’d promised her sisters to try, though, and she would. If she found water, she’d live another day. Perhaps that would make them proud.

A short distance further, Feyre kneeled by a small patch of moss, growing between the thick roots of an oak. Placing her hands on each side, she lifted it up slightly, feeling the ground for any wetness. A small gasp of relief escaped her as she felt it—dirt, dampened slightly by what was indisputably water.

She rose to her feet, her hearing on full alert for the sounds of the gentle flow of a stream, hopefully waiting for her somewhere close by.

Finally, she heard it.

A narrow path led her to a small clearing—someone one must have found the stream before her. Feyre’s heart filled with dread at the thought. Did she have company?

She stopped behind a tree wide enough to shield her from view. There it was—water, flowing quietly and glistening faintly under barest hint of the evening light, peering through the leaves. Feyre’s mouth went dry at the sight—still, she forced herself still.

Her eyes scanned the area—any rocks, trees or bushes large enough to use as a hiding spot. Feyre was usually good at picking up the most subtle hints of someone’s presence—back in Twelve, there was no prey quiet enough to avoid one of her arrows. She could only hope that same rule applied here, in the arena.

Detecting nothing, she decided the clearing was fine for her to enter, though her steps remained quiet, cautious as she approached the stream. With a hard swallow, she took in the sight, that fire in her chest only growing hotter.

Feyre cupped her hands together, and without another thought, drank straight from the stream.

It wasn’t until the cold water hit the back of her throat that she realised.

Alis Urisk won the Games at only fourteen, Tamlin’s voice crept into her mind. One night, shortly after the games started, she poisoned the river, the only water source at the arena. Fifteen Tributes were dead by morning.

Feyre choked on the water.

How could she be so stupid?

The pace of her heartbeat began to rise too quickly for her breath to catch up, and Feyre’s hands started to shake. If Alis was watching her right now…she could almost see her mentor’s wrinkled face, twisted in disappointment and resignation.

Was she about to die?

It was too late—she’d already swallowed the water. If whoever had come here before her thought to poison it…

Trying her hardest to ignore the loud thumping of her heart, Feyre closed her eyes and looked into herself, feeling for any signs of pain or discomfort besides the panic raging in her veins. Her stomach felt fine—a little nauseous, perhaps, though nausea seemed to have become a constant state Feyre’s body had learned to live in. Her lungs felt as though they’d shrunk into a size too small to fit all the air she needed, although she supposed this had more to do with the sudden realisation that she’d just foolishly drunk water that had very likely been laced with poison.

All Feyre could do now was breathe.

She counted down the seconds—ten, fifteen, twenty. Nothing.

After five minutes, Feyre was still alive.

She decided then that the water was fine to drink—and finally, she allowed her shoulders to drop and her jaw relax. She dipped her hands back into the cool water, rubbing them together harshly in hopes of washing off the blood that should not have been on her hands. The water turned light pink, and Feyre sighed in relief.

She sat by the stream and took the backpack off, determining that this was the appropriate moment to examine its contents. She didn’t expect much—it was hardly large enough to fit a decent-sized loaf of bread.

Feyre unzipped the bloodied top and sighed.

A rope.

What the hell was she going to do with that? She seriously doubted she’d be able to strangle a squirrel with it—let alone a person. With another sigh, Feyre dropped the rope back inside, ready to wallow in self-pity until she noticed something gleaming at the pit of the bag.

Feyre’s breath caught.

A hunting knife.

It was small, yes—but at the very least, it was a weapon and Feyre no longer was utterly powerless. This…this was something she could kill with.

A small, steel bottle laid beside it, and Feyre dipped it in the stream to save some drinking water for later. As much as she wished she could stay there, the place was too dangerous—like all areas rich in water, it attracted too much attention, and even though she was now in possession of a sharp knife, she was more inclined to remain in solitude. For as long as the Gamemakers would allow it.

She stood up at last, wondering which Tribute had managed to find this place before her in less than three hours before the Games began. Though she’d never care to admit it out loud, she silently hoped it was Tamlin—Tamlin, who, after running straight for the forest the second the cannon had gone off, surely must have found some kind of shelter already. Feyre could only hope that he was still alive.

Something rustled in the bush to her right, and Feyre jumped, her head whipping towards the sound. She did not take a single breath as she approached it, her grip tight on the knife and ready to strike.

A squirrel emerged from the leaves, and Feyre exhaled shakily.

You throw daggers the same way you’d shoot an arrow, Ressina told her back in training. Relax your wrist and throw it as you release a breath. Steady.

Praying her friend had survived the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, Feyre made a mental note to thank her if their paths ever crossed again.

The knife landed in the animal’s body, pinning it to the ground until it stilled completely.

***

As she roasted her meal over a small fire, Feyre wondered how long she had before the Careers would see the smoke.

She did her best to contain it—she’d eat the squirrel half-raw if she had to. It was getting dark, and Feyre would not risk getting spotted at a time her vision was at a limited capacity.

Using her sleeve to wipe the blood of the dagger, Feyre’s thoughts drifted to Ressina again. The Capitol is going to kill her the first chance they get, Alis told her yesterday. She wondered if they’d found a way to get to her yet.

What did the Games look like behind the scenes, anyway? The Gamemakers watched their every move, to be sure, and controlled every last inch of the arena. Had Eris Vanserra demanded it, the air around her could suddenly become too thick to inhale, killing her instantly. A rogue animal, watching from somewhere in the shadows, could launch itself at her and rip her to shreds had the Gamemaker himself commanded so. Feyre wondered what he’d said the moment the Games began—wondered if he’d heard the boy from Three’s neck crack and smiled.

This was cruelty in its finest form—according to Feyre, at least, and surely so many others like her. To the Capitol, it was nothing but entertainment—something for the bored, hungry masses to prey on. Perhaps that was why they called them the Hunger Games.

Her teeth finally dug into the hot, steaming flesh, and Feyre looked to the sky, almost impossible to see under the veil of leaves floating over the wind. The weather became warmer, strangely, despite the night approaching so soon. Feyre fully expected her sleep to be disrupted by her shivering, by the never-ending sound of her teeth chattering in the cold. Yes, the night had not technically come yet, and still…Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling that the temperatures grew with each passing hour.

Returning to her dinner, Feyre wondered if her sisters were watching. She wasn’t exactly sure how the broadcasts worked—though the camera was definitely on her at all times, hidden in the hollows of trees or carved into stones. She’d even tripped over one on her way here. Hopefully, the holos weren’t focusing on her then.

Elain had probably held her breath for the entire minute Feyre waited on the platform. She’d probably gasped at the loud boom of the cannon as it announced that the Games had finally begun. Feyre could practically hear the sob her sister choked out when the girl from Four died right in front of her, her blood gushing out so violently it stained Feyre’s skin. Since then, Elain likely sat in the worn-out armchair in their living room, curled up with her arms wrapped around herself to prevent her body from shaking. She’d always done it whenever she was wracked by nerves.

Nesta, no doubt, remained silent the entire time, those icy-blue eyes fixated on the screen and not leaving it for a second. Feyre imagined her lips tightening into a thin line as she watched her little sister’s attempts to reach the Cornucopia and fail.

Feyre so badly didn’t want to disappoint them. She wanted them to see her try—to see that she was doing her best to fulfil the promise she’d given them before she left. And when she died, her sisters would grieve, yes, but they’d at least do it knowing she fought for them until the very end.

And Isaac…it had been days since she’d last thought of him. Was he watching the Games, too? He hadn’t turned on the holo ever since he came back two years ago, after his own victory, despite the Hunger Games broadcast had been mandatory for all of Panem’s citizens. The Capitol had sent him warnings, of course, though Isaac ignored them persistently—he could afford to do it, after all. Still, if he’d decided to watch them, watch her friend this time…Feyre’s heart filled with warmth. The thought of having a set of familiar eyes on her at all times was comforting.

Finally, Feyre decided she’d gotten far away from the water enough to try and find shelter.

The trees grew taller here, their crowns so high up in the sky that she could barely make out where they ended. It was the perfect hiding spot—and so Feyre started to climb.

Thanks to Tamlin’s help over training, she knew exactly where to place her feet to avoid slipping and falling to her death. Within minutes, out of breath and exhausted, Feyre was nearly at the top. Spotting a branch thick and sturdy enough to carry her weight, Feyre sat, tempted to accidentally smash the camera clearly hidden in the bark. Surely the Capitol wouldn’t kill her for that.

She opened the backpack and pulled out the silver bottle, careful not to drink the entirety of its contents—as tired as she was, Feyre had no idea when she would get the chance to find water again. She then took the rope and got to work.

Tarquin would be proud of the knot she’d managed to create—tight enough to keep herself tied to the tree, but easy to undo in case another Tribute stumbled upon her in the night. The last thing Feyre needed was falling off the tree or getting murdered in her sleep.

For some reason, Tarquin remained on her mind. She briefly saw him deep inside the Cornucopia, expertly assessing the strange, forked weapon in his hand. Iron-clad and gleaming, it looked sharp enough to kill from a distance. If he found her now, he could throw it up and pin her body to the tree with little effort.

Feyre shifted slightly and forced herself to breathe as she leaned back. Trying not to think of her blood dripping down the bark and sinking into the ground beneath, she eventually drifted into an uneven sleep.

***

The loud thunder of a cannon jolted her awake, ripping the air from her lungs.

For a moment, Feyre was transported back onto her platform, watching the timer strike zero and hearing the chilling sound of bones being cracked.

She blinked a few times, forcing herself to return to reality. The rope was still secured around her, and the wind still hummed gently between the leaves above. Feyre was alone.

She knew what the sound had meant, though. Someone, somewhere in the arena, had just lost their life.

That was how they signalled it—by having the cannon go off each time a throat was sliced with a knife, or a chest pierced with a spear. Feyre didn’t want to know which one it was this time, but undoubtedly, a Tribute had just been killed.

Was it someone she knew? Was it someone she…cared for?

Was it Tamlin?

Feyre’s teeth dug into her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. That kind of thinking would get her nowhere—she was on her own now, and she needed to keep it that way until the very end. There could only be one victor in the Hunger Games.

Fortunately, the assassin had seemingly decided to continue on in a direction opposite from Feyre’s, as silence fell over the forest once again. Feyre relaxed, letting her shoulders fall back to the sharp bark of the tree, and looked up.

It must still have been early in the night, as the arena was fully enveloped in darkness, no light but the stars shining faintly above her. She could see them more clearly from here—if she reached up, she could pretend like she was touching them, holding them lightly in her grasp. A weak smile began to play in the corner of her mouth at the memory of Nuala and the masterpiece she’d created for her—a dream she’d made come true.

With that thought, Feyre closed her eyes, determined to get a few more hours of sleep before the bloodshed continued with the rising sun.

Her thoughts began to melt into one, a quiet song flowing in her mind, and even her breath fell into an even rhythm.

And then, Feyre smelled smoke.

Her eyes shot open and immediately closed, stung by the burning feel of fire and ash. Trying to blink the pain away, Feyre looked down frantically, though there was no light anywhere, no sign of fire catching at the ground below.

And so, Feyre looked to the trees ahead instead, and her chest dropped with a heavy breath. Somewhere in the distance, a trail of smoke was swept up with the wind, filling the air with a musty, pungent smell. Feyre’s eyes narrowed on the scene, and she sighed again. Which one of the Tributes was stupid enough to light a full-sized fire in the middle of the night?

It wasn’t even that cold. In fact, Feyre could have sworn the temperature had increased even further since she’d gone to sleep. They must have only just managed a successful hunt, their belly growling out its hunger loud enough for them not to wait until morning.

Feyre shook her head and leaned back again, resting her head against the tree. Just as she closed her eyes, a blood-curdling scream cut through the air.

A few seconds later, the cannon went off again, and this time, Feyre didn’t flinch. It seemed that whoever had started the fire was found at last.

The scent of smoke soon died out, though Feyre’s eyes continued to burn. This death could have been avoided so easily.

Something flickered in the sky above her, and Feyre’s head tilted up, her eyes narrowing on the sight. A star, maybe?

Another speckle of light lingered longer this time until it expanded into a holo of an enormous scale, casting a bright, blue hue over the arena. Feyre’s brows furrowed. Was this…a broadcast?

The national anthem of Panem roared suddenly, and Feyre watched as the image of the emblem—a mighty eagle surrounded by a barley laurel—transformed into letters reading…

The Fallen.

Feyre’s heart stopped beating.

She was going to learn who of the twenty-four of them had not survived the first night.

The first photo appeared—the boy from Three. The soft locks of his hair fell messily over his forehead as he smiled shyly at the camera. His eyes—so kind and full of life. Feyre would never forget the loud sound of his neck breaking.

There was only one word displayed beneath the image—Thesan.

Thesan, Feyre thought, that burning sensation in her eyes only growing stronger as she fought back tears. Wherever you are right now, I hope you find peace.

The picture flickered again and switched, now showing the girl from District Four, the same one whose blood still lingered on Feyre’s clothes. Feyre squeezed her eyes shut before she could learn her name.

Both Tributes from Six were shown next, then a girl from Eight, then the two Tributes from District Nine. Feyre’s heart clenched at the sight of the young boy from District Eleven, who had come here with Ressina. She wondered if they’d known each other back home. Ressina was out there somewhere—watching this. Feyre couldn’t imagine…

She held her breath. Was Tamlin about to be shown next?

But the holo had switched back to the image of the emblem, and, with the final notes of the anthem, it disappeared, returning the arena into the arms of blissful darkness.

Tamlin had survived, then. Feyre released her breath and started to count.

Eight. Eight people, some of them kids, had lost their lives to the cheers of the Capitol. Eight families had gone to sleep today knowing they would never see the faces of their children again.

Closing her eyes, Feyre visualised those faces in her mind and replayed them over and over until finally, she fell back into a restless sleep.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase @cascadingmoon @rhysiedarling @msfeyredarling @itisiyourfemur

#chapter 5/30 #acotar hunger games au #feysand au #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feysand #pro feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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asumofwords · 5 months

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I just revisited Till Death Do Us Apart and once again I’m amazed at what a magnificent read it is💗 Here comes my renewed question if you don’t mind: Has Aemond ever regretted cheating with Alys? What’s the reason behind him killing her? Did he put the blame aka Reader running away on her somehow, and last one, would he ever inflict pain on Reader ever again as he decides to starting living with her in this cottage? Thank you!

Ahhh thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it again haha ! 🖤

To answer your questions:

Aemond regretted cheater with Alys only because it made the reading run from him

It’s implied he killed her, but because he’s snapped and he knew that so long as Alys was around, the reader would never go back to him! And instead of rationally being like okay I end things and don’t see her, he was like I have to kill her. He was also angry and blamed Alys on the fact that his wife was gone to the wind !

He would hurt the reader if she tried to leave him again for sure. He would trap her in the cottage and “make her see”

Hope this clears it up! 🖤

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almahiphop · 11 months

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Rap 2023 Part. 1

Lanzamientos de Rap 2023 Enero, Febrero, Marzo, Febrero Part. 1 . . . ALMA Playlists https://open.spotify.com/user/22tb3ajvqr4bti2sjqp3eabea?si=6e3cb6c2e9034e89

2023 Rap / Hip Hop A pesar de una industria afanada que busca ventas aceleradas detrás de la farándula y la degradación de la música el Rap sigue dando la lucha para llevar un mensaje, la unión de artistas alrededor del mundo es una muestra de que el Rap sigue siendo una cultura internacional que mide la fuerza no por su dinero sino por su poder en la palabra, en los sonidos, en la singularidad…

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twisted-in-underland · 4 months

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I have no self control…I made a TWST!Genie 🫣

Meet my lovely Maram Grant! I’m still fleshing out my idea for the genies as a species but I’ll include some of my current ideas later in this post! [edit to make include link to coloured info card]

Note: did this one traditional because I didn’t have my iPad with me, sorry if it looks a little messy and that it’s not in colour 😅.

Some basic info about Maram;

They’re genderfluid, and have no pronoun preference, but will make “did you just assume my gender???” jokes with people they’re close with.

Maram is a Djinn/Jinn, aka a genie. Since my take on genies is fae adjacent/are an offshoot of the fae species, genies live much longer. Maram’s actual age is unknown, but they would be considered 17 in “human” years so to speak.

I chose the name “Maram” because, from my research, it means “wish” or “desire” in Arabic which I thought was fitting for a genie! It’s also gender neutral which I thought fit for a genderfluid character

Someone on my Reddit post about genies in TWST had mentioned the idea that TWST!Genie was one of Jamil’s middle school friends and I’m rolling with it.

Maram is friends with both Jamil and Kalim. They met Jamil first and then met Kalim through Jamil. Jamil and Maram had a bit of a falling out before they moved on to high school and haven’t really hung out since.

Maram is also friends with Amir Ali (my TWST!Aladdin) and they hang out often when they’re not at school.

Maram’s personality is very similar to Genies in both the live-action and animated movies. They’re a fun-loving and loyal person. They can be a little bit of a prankster but their pranks are all in good fun and never cause harm. Maram is also very invested in pop culture and will make movie/TV show references all the time. They’re also the type to use humour to ease tension or comfort a friend.

Maram is also a sucker for romance novels and love stories. They’re often the ones Amir goes to for advice on how to impress TWST!Jasmine (I haven’t come up with a name for her yet :’D)

Because of Maram’s outgoing personality, they make friends rather quickly. However, they don’t throw around the term “best friend” willy-nilly; there are only a small handful of people Maram would consider their best friends.

In terms of overall appearance; Maram generally takes a more humanoid form to blend in better. Their appearance is similar to the live-action version of Genie in terms of skin tone and general hairstyle, same with their clothing colour palette.

Maram also loves to sing and dance, I think it’s one of the things they bonded over with Jamil originally. I also love the idea that Maram gets introduced to some of the other NRC characters through a fun little rendition of Arabian Nights (the 2019 version b/c I really like that one). Perhaps Maram was doing some kind of performance in the bazaar when the NRC group passed by or something.

Maram is claustrophobic and hates tight spaces; being at the bazaars when it is busy is not fun for them. They also hate guavas; Maram got sick after eating one once as a kid and developed a full-on food aversion to anything guava-related. They can’t eat or drink anything with guava, even the smell makes them gag 🤧

The info I have on genies as a species will be under the cut!

Like I said before, I’m still fleshing out genies as a species, but here is what I have in mind so far;

The real names for genies are Djinn or Jinn (depending on who you ask), though the term “Genie” became popular due to the Scalding Sands legend of the Beautiful Princess and the kindhearted thief (ie, the TWST tale of the Aladdin film) which used the word “genie” to describe the being that helped the thief. The Djinn don’t have a preference over what their species is called since it’s all relatively the same. I'm going to use "genie" for the sake of ease.

Genies are fae-like magical beings who have a wide variety of abilities. It’s said that they are notably skilled in conjugation and illusionary magic due to their “vivid imaginations”.

I imagine a genie's ability to shapeshift is similar to Lillia's ability to fly without a broom; it's a natural ability that doesn't require much magical energy.

Genies share a few physical traits with their fae cousins such as sharp nails, pointed ears, short fangs, and occasionally slit pupils. Genies can also sometimes show traits similar to scorpions, snakes, or lizards, though not ALL genies have these traits.

Genies can change their physical appearance to whatever they desire and not accumulate blot. There are rumours that genies have naturally colourful skin (ie. Pink or blue) but change their appearance to appear more human-like to blend in.

This is true of Maram, who has a naturally blue complexion but often changes their skin tone to match humans so they stand out less.

Genies live incredibly long lives, so it’s not uncommon for some to become sentimental and even take on traits of friends or loved ones that have since passed to stay connected to them.

While there are slight differences, Maram’s hair colour and the little fringe they have are reminiscent of Jamil’s. Even though they aren’t close anymore, Maram still values Jamil’s friendship and this is one way they feel connected to Jamil.

Genie magic is similar to fae magic with the strongest genies having magical powers similar in strength to Malleus or his grandmother.

When it comes to normal spell casting (think the conjuring spells Genie did on his own, separate from Aladdin's wishes in the movie), blot accumulation isn’t that different from the fae or even other mages. Genies are not “all-powerful” though they do tend to possess a lot more magical powers than humans or beastmen.

One difference, however, is that genies don’t rely on mage stones to deal with blot. They actually use a combination of their lamps and bracelets to cast magic and decrease blot.

The lamp is what accumulates blot - the more tarnished the lamp looks, the more blot there is - while they use their bracelets similar to how NRC students use their magical pens.

Genies almost ALWAYS have their lamps on them to keep them safe. The lamps are very important to them so if they lose them it can be terrible for the genie.

The lamps can also act as “recharge” stations of sorts, but only for the genie who’s connected to the lamp. Maram cannot enter another genie's lamp to recharge their magic or diminish their blot and vice versa. They can only use their own lamp.

Now this is where I don’t have everything completely fleshed out; schooling and the three wishes idea.

I mentioned in my discussion post on genies in TWST, but how would their schooling work? Part of me thinks that genies wouldn’t attend normal mage schools like NRC or RSA. Their magic is different enough that it's easier to learn from other genies.

This is particularly true when it’s taken into consideration that they use lamps and bracelets to cast magic and monitor blot rather than mage stones and magical pens.

I think perhaps young genies start schooling when their powers start getting stronger. This is also when they would first receive their lamp and bracelets. Though this concept is open to change, I don’t have much figured out yet.

For the wishes things; I have this idea that genies can access more powerful magic through the use of their lamps. This would be something unique to genies and would be similar to a mage's unique magic. Genies refer to this magic as “wishes”

I mentioned earlier that genies aren’t all-powerful, normally. This magic they can access through their lamps, however, is a lot closer to “all-powerful” than their normal magical powers. However, because of the strength of these spells, it’s easy to overblot.

This is kind of why there’s the “three wishes” rule; typically it takes three wishes to reach the stopping point of build-up up, any more and overblot is likely to happen.

The thing I don’t have figured out is how to tie in the classic “the master rubs the lamp and makes a wish” troupe to this. I think that having a “master” (ie. Someone that is not a genie) being a requirement to access this power helps to make it less overpowering.

It would mean the genie has to find someone they trust with their lamp to be able to access more powerful spells. I just don’t have the specifics figured out yet.

I do think it would be funny if Maram tried to play off this ability as their unique magic by calling it “Friend like me” or something. That or maybe some younger genies think it would be cool to give this power a name or something like other mages. Idk, it’s just a silly little hc of mine.

This is all I have figured out so far! Like I said I’m open to ideas or suggestions because this seems like such a fun and vast topic to me! This is just my take on genies and isn’t anything set in stone 100%. I tried to stick close to the movies while also fitting it into the Twisted Wonderland lore without it being over powered. I have a tendency to try and balance out seemingly over powered abilities with really specific limitations and/or drawbacks.

Let me know if anyone would want to see a proper info card for Maram!

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twst #twisted wonderland #aladdin #genie aladdin #TWST!Genie #genie oc #Maram Grant #TWST genie concept #my art #traditional art #traditional drawing #Maram my beloved #this is the result of 1 am Reddit discussions #the person i was talking to about this was super sweet btw #Maram would totally pull a Chenya and just randomly pop up at NRC to see Kalim 🤧#Maram and Jamil's relationship is 100% platonic btw

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