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fandomplethora · 4 years

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(ummm, i’m not sure what inspired to make this post (besides the fact that i have been listening to this artist on a near constant basis now) but here we go anyways;;;)

MYSTIC MESSENGER CHARACTERS AS HOBO JOHNSON SONGS

Hyun (Zen) - 3%

“you should go and quit your job and make all of those dreams come true. how is your self esteem? huh? that's important in what you're about to do. don't talk to your friends, their opinions hold so much weight. and that doesn't make sense. even your family, parents just don't understand. make the time. drop school, and people, and work to play music all night. you'll make a dollar an hour, at least you'll like your life. and roll with the punches even when it feels like you're getting fucking jumped but you're a real bad judge of it. hold on tight, boy. might be a fuckin', hell of a ride. but, but, but, they said it's a three-percent chance...that I'm gonna make it. that's a little bit less than what it is in my mind but it's ok, I think I can take it. they said it's a three-percent, my friends, that's what they said. and then I sat there and thought about it and almost believed it for a sec. but I think that they'll love me.”

Yoosung - Mario and Link

“mario's never getting some and link's never getting some, so why would princesses love me? i'm not really making moves, I'm just kinda breathing. i work at fucking pizza places just so I keep eating. (that's the type of shit)...thats the type of shit to make be buy a flask for 25 and fill it up with takka vodka only 4.99...yester-year yes-sir-please let me get the recipe, to not being broke. fuck I'd really love to be a king, but mario and link should've showed that perseverance is not the end all to everything. the princess in the hallway with a robe, I asked "do you for coffee and scones and she says "no!". but I just killed a fucking dragon though! with this sword that I made from the words of my soul. I just killed a fucking dragon though, I just killed a fucking dragon though. but its whatever I don't even care that much.”

Jaehee - Peach Scone

“...disregard every time I call you pretty. though it's meant sincerely it's just my imagination drifting...so I fall to ground, collect myself and get ready to take over your heart...or at least your spare time. and I love the thought of being with you. or maybe it's the thought of not being so alone. the second one's way sadder than the first one...we should go get a cup of coffee...I don't know what to tell you if I try to confess my love for- scones! i just wanna tell you real quick please, shh, I love- these scones! ...but she, you know, she is just so sweet and she cared about me a lot when no one else cared about me and I think that's really nice. really you know, she's just a, she's just a peach. she's a peach scone. and I love the thought of being with her, I just really hope that she doesn't get hurt.”

Jumin - Father

“my dad taught me 'bout the story 'bout the birds and the bees. when the bees turn into wasps and take half of everything. he sounded sure, that a bird doesn't need a full nest but a bed for our bird heads to rest...he told me son, beware, of the monsters that roam the depths of your head. sometimes they'll make you real sad or or real real mad, or real real jealous and that's real real bad. boy, breathe...my father's married to a shape shifting monster who can sometimes take the form of a really really really nice woman. and although it seems super fucking frightening, sometimes this scary monster makes a really really great vanilla pudding. he has courage but sometimes your courage isn't quite the kryptonite as the monster runs rampant through the house. sometimes your courage makes you feel strong but it seems as if the monster eats your muscles all along, fucking pickin' out your self-respect right out its scary teeth. her breath smells like pride of self and other men she used to meet. and the monster doesn't sleep - just schemes and fiends on the next tasty meal it gets to eat, it gets to eat.”

Saeyoung (Luciel) (707) (Seven) - The Ending

“she said, "you're like the weird...guy...in all the movies, who turns into the hero at the end and gets the girl" and I was like, "shut your mouth". but I'm gonna take over...the world as soon as everybody dies. i'm gonna take over your heart as soon as I get the balls to try. Ima re-arrange the alphabet and then take "U" and "I" and put a bit of space between 'em and hope that nobody cries. ...Ima be a nice guy might fuck around, it make a difference. Ima hope for the best, but prepare for the worst...I hope that you don't fall into their schemes and what they say, when you look them in their eyes, that they don't choose to look away...I hope that you don't fall into my schemes or what I say. when you look me in the eye, I'll look you dead into the face 'cause you don't deserve to be fucked with unless you're a fucking asshole...yeah, I ain't shit I ain't shit compared to them, right? I ain't shit. and I know she wants a piece of this wit (no!) and I know she wants a piece of this wit. my wit, my wit, my wit...”

Jihyun (V) - Romeo and Juliet

“we're just romeo & juliet but getting drunk and eating percocets. but just to ease the stress but soft what light, thru yonder window breaks it is the east - but juliet just puked off the balcony. how romantic. nothing like getting drunk and getting manic on a motherfucking monday, i brush the bangs behind her lovely little ear as she describes in detail how the end is truly near. wow, and I'm sure that we can do this for forever or until we drink the poison, 'cause she sees some cloudy weather. ...dear shakespeare, could you write a happy ending please? we just deserve a happy ending please, please. ...and every sting from every teardrop from every ring at every pawn shop. ...but dear mom, conversations from a couch haven't ever felt the same...my mom was made from adam's rib and the marriage went south...but dad loves to shout really loud. loud enough to knock the lamps and dressers to the ground. in my memory, i can hear chopin's nocturnes playing in the background, a slow trainwreck, you'll close your eyes, but forever hear the sound, and boy, it's tough. ‘cause that’s the sound of people falling out of love.”

Saeran (Unknown) (Ray) - Jesus Christ

“jesus christ seems super nice, i wonder if he'd save me. i've been on the wrong side of a bunch of arguments lately. and jesus christ seems super nice, i wonder if he'd love me. how come I only wonder when I'm sad or really hungry? jesus christ, you're super nice but don't expect much from me. I would kneel down, but I'm afraid that I would just feel nothing. praise god and other things that don't make sense to puny minds, like ours, designing roller coasters that almost always seem to fall apart. ain't it fun, ain't it fun, ain't it fun knowing that. that one day, you know, I fly to the sky, to the sun? and jesus christ, you're super nice. so I'll write a song about it. or that no one ever knowing for always claiming they're about it. press "ignore" on both sides that always claim to know that they're so sure. or just not be a giant fucking prick and enjoy the show. I'll enjoy the show if I'm not a giant prick, does that just mean that I am saved? jesus christ, you're super nice, i'm sure that you could love me. even if I don't go to church every sunday. jesus christ, you're super nice, how could you let me burn? if I'm not murdering people, then smashing their fucking urn. but jesus christ, you're super nice, how could you let me burn? but if I go to hell, I'll grit my teeth and get to work.”

? (Vanderwood) - Demarcus Cousins and Ashley *note: this one was more difficult because we are not shown much of vanderwood currently in the game though i do consider him a pivotal character - and one i want to get to know more as a player. we know vanderwood is a caring guy who can be rough around the edges - he’s also funny, awkward and, personally, charming. so, i look at this as him relating how he does care for those around him while comparing it to other shit he has seen. okay, analysis done. bye.

“I'm not a nice guy (he's not a nice guy). I go to jail sometimes (he goes to jail sometimes). but I am slowly getting better ever since a little lady wrote me such a lovely letter. I love breathing...I love drinking, but not enough to ever have to go to all those stupid meetings (let’s go)...I- I love you like the dog hates the leash and the leash loves the dog, like I love nothing else at all. love you like my dad loved my mom before they realized they don't love each other at all...I love you like bosses love to talk a lot of shit and like getting really mad when I quit, what? I love you like the bird hates november or just really really rainy windy weather. I love you like america loves to fuck things up and cops love to do things that are super unnecessary...and I love you like the stars love lonely eyes on seven consecutive friday nights.”

Mina (Rika) - Creve Coeur 1

"hi," says the girl with the right eyes that pairs pretty well when she hits you with the soft smile. you can kinda tell that something's going on, but she's like a skrillex song that never drops, she'll never talk. she'll never talk about the feelings that she felt today. better kept inside of a fence, inside of a cage, inside of a safe. that's safe for her 'cause they just hurt. and she don't know why that god sauntered. I hope he's trying. she said, "I hope he's trying. do you think he's trying?" then I said, "I don't know" but I asked her, "what’s wrong?" she just nods her head. and then I asked her, "what's wrong?" and she said...hold me closely. I don't think you should love me. I always feel so lonely knowing that nothing will ever last forever. sorry, you're much too late, much too late. ("you are so late")...she holds her breath all day and fucking gasps for air at night. she promised she would love me but only 'til the morning time. sorry, you're, you're much too late. you're much too late, you're much too- sorry, you're much too late- much too..."

MC - ? (MC is more difficult...I almost can find lines from various songs but it came down to these two.)

#2 - Mover Awayer (and it’s mainly for this part only.)

“fear the man who lives without love and the lover who lives without fear. fear the man who always wants to fight, he's not a talker. fear the talker who never wants to fight, he's got no guts. fear the man who knows he's gonna die so he cries every night and just denies his life's beauty. and fear the man who has heaven in his plans, so he gets so complacent that he doesn't call his family. fear the man who doesn't understand that there's a million fish in the sea, but fear the girl who he really thinks is a different species, she'll rip your heart out. ...makes my Mondays feel like Fridays (give me a break)...makes my Ruby Tuesdays taste like Benihanas (give me a break) and all I've really wanted was for us to get along.”

#1 - Typical Story (I genuinely won’t even put the lyrics for this song because it is more about the theme and feel of the song itself - as MC is the only one “playing” and going through these character’s “stories”. Casual, Deep or Another. So, I will just recommend listening to it and reading the artist’s notes on it for why I picked it as number one for MC’s song.)

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maxhoemo · 6 years

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hey can u do an ask with max and ian where max has a mean ex and they run into him and ian comforts him? max isn’t like baby, he’s like normal swearin max but when he sees his ex it takes a toll on him so ian has to help with snuggles 💕 totally understand if youre not comfortable with the ask

“Look at these!” Ian laughed, pulling out a ridiculous looking pair of jeans from the rack. Wide legged, men’s jeans with a huge be-dazzled cross on the ass.

Max laughed. “I bet some fucking dumb cunt would walk around in those thinkin’ he’s cool.” They were out shopping at the mall, just for fun. It was coming up to there one year anniversary as a couple, and Max wanted to do something special for it. He just couldn’t think of anything yet.

He was so grateful to have Ian in his life, he just had to show it in some way. Ian was really the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. He was funny, easy to talk to, compassionate, kind and a host of other things Max couldn’t even begin to name.

They stopped by the food court for lunch. It may seem lame, but this mall’s food court was one of their favourite places to go for lunch. It just had a good atmosphere. Max’s smile soon faded though.

“Oh my God, Max!?” A light brown haired woman smiled, greeting the couple. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“Oh… Hey…”

“Who’s this?” Ian asked.

“Oh, hi,” She shook Ian’s hand with a warm smile. “I’m Ronnie. Max and I used to date.”

“Oh, hey.” Ian greeted her politely. It probably wouldn’t be nice to bring up the fact that Max had never mentioned her before.

“It’s so nice to see you again! We really should have kept in touch. It’s too bad…”

“Yeah. It is too bad…” Max agreed. Though, he wasn’t really on the same page. He just wanted her to leave them alone and starting an argument probably wasn’t the best way to make that happen. She soon did, but it didn’t really make anything much better.

Max felt nauseous all of the sudden. Like a nervous sting in the pit of his stomach, really. “Ian… I don’t wanna eat…”

“Huh? Why not?”

“I just wanna go home…”

“But we were having such a good time, and…”

“I know. I’m sorry. But, please, can we just go home?”

“If that’s really what you want, then… Yeah. Of course.”

“I just don’t feel good.”

—-

“Hey, Ian. How’s it going?” Max asked, standing in the door-way of the living room as Ian worked on the computer. He was ready for bed, wearing only a long T-shirt and socks.

“Pretty good…” he nodded. “I’ve just about gotta be done here.”

“Look, umm…” Max came further into the room, sitting down on the couch near Ian. “I’m sorry about earlier. I guess I kinda ruined our day out or whatever.”

“Oh, no. Max, it’s fine. Why did you suddenly feel so sick though? Are you feeling better?”

“Eh, not really. But like, it’s more of an emotional sickness. Does that even make any sense?” he laughed slightly.

“No, I think I get what you mean…”

“It was because of that cunt we ran into.”

“Oh. So, I’m guessing there’s a reason you never told me about her?”

“Uh, yeah,” Max nodded. “I fucking hate her.”

“Why? Did she like, cheat on you or…?”

“No. Well, maybe I don’t know. She was like, I don’t know… Abusive.”

“Oh…” Ian’s expression fell. He gave Max an empathetic look. “Did she hurt you?”

Max just nodded. “Yeah, dude. She was nuts. She fuckin’ threw shit at me all the time. Like, one time she threw a plate at me and it broke against the wall. Fucking scary shit.”

“Fuck…. That’s…”

“Really shitty?”

Ian laughed a little. “Yeah. I’m really sorry you had to go through that.”

“Well, I mean, that’s not even half of it.”

“You can tell me. I mean, if it would make you feel better.”

Max looked at Ian, thinking about for a moment. After a few seconds he decided Ian was right. It would make him feel better. He gestured to the couch, for Ian to sit beside him. He did, wrapping an arm around Max, who in turn rested his head against Ian’s chest.

“I love you, Max.”

Max laughed. “I know that! I love you too.” He took another moment, just sitting with Ian before he began to open up. “At first… Everything seemed… Great. But, she always had anger issues. I mean, I do too. You know how I get when something doesn’t go my way.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. Like yesterday at the park when you cursed out that wasp that landed on your fries.”

“Yeah. Exactly. But I mean, she… She took everything out on me. Everything was always my fault. And she got violent, eventually. But you know, she always apologized and for some reason I believed her. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No, Max. Don’t say that… She manipulated you. It isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah… But I just…”

“No. Stop. Don’t say that.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “Anyways, I just… Couldn’t fucking take it anymore. I was on edge, and miserable all the time. I finally realized how she was ruining my life. I was fucking terrified to break up with her. I didn’t know what she would do.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I uhh, packed all my shit and made Chad take me to his place one day while she was working. Just sent a text. I know that’s kinda a dick move but…”

“No. I understand why. I mean if you did it in person…”

“Exactly. Look. I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I feel a little better. But, it’s all too much at once I guess.”

“I’m always here if you need me to listen,” Ian assured, giving Max a kiss on the head. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

“I know Ian. I love you so much.”

“It’s good you didn’t tell me before, cause if I knew how bad she hurt you I’d have knocked her teeth out.”

Max laughed. “I would love to see that.”

“I’ll do it for you then.”

“Ian! You’ll be arrested!”

“I’d still do it for you.”

“Shut up!” Max laughed. He bent his neck up and kissed Ian on the lips a couple of times. “Just tell me you love me a few more times.”

“How many?”

“Umm… I don’t know.. Five?”

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you,” Ian answered, ending each sentence with another kiss.

“I’m so glad you’re here for me…”

“Me too. I’ll protect you from all the crazy cunts and assholes of the world.”

“And I’ll do the same for you.”

#requests #maxian #writing

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largehearts · 6 years

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still alive, who you love. || written for @madefate

exhaustion is a heady thing, when it’s all you have.

it doesn’t take a full week after they leave on the mission for you to realize you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life. it’s really – not that surprising of a revelation, in the end; you are a logical person, and when you really stop to think about it, it all makes sense. there is a reason why it didn’t even occur to you to at least put away the framed picture of the two of you from your nightstand, let alone throw it out. like every time before when takashi was in space, it is the last thing you look at before falling asleep, and consequentially, your last thought before falling asleep is him.

it’s about four days before you stop to take a moment, to realize that this is an ingrained, near-subconscious thing that may not have solid ground to stand on anymore. the comfort that let you sink into sleep was the thought that when you think of him, somewhere far away in outer space, there is a possibility that he, too, is thinking of you.

obviously, you’ve ruined that now, so why should you get the luxury of being allowed your half of the thought, the comfort?

you put the picture away.

(it doesn’t work; you still think about him every night, exactly the way you used to. you can’t make yourself stop it, even though you don’t deserve that comfort anymore. guilty, guilty, guilty. a terrible person.)

it’s the first time you have a panic attack in class when you hear the news. you are woefully underprepared for it, and it’s not like anyone else thinks to prepare you for it, either. some of the faculty knew you were together, but it wasn’t widespread knowledge (you are a private person, especially when it comes to keeping distance from your students, and your peers – takashi included – respect that), so of course the cadets would only know you taught keith, and he is suddenly missing from your class, so of course they fill you in. oh, you know what he’s like, griffin says dismissively. he probably lost his shit again when he learned that shiro’s gone missing.

your mind instantly puts the last three words on repeat like a broken record. scratchy bakelite noise included – what else could it be, that wasp-like buzzing in your ear? that bubble that tightens around you until everything outside of it is faded, frayed around the edges, muted in colour and sound. the pillow pressed against your mouth you suffocate into. the fingers around your neck, tightening, tightening.

the kids – bless them, you think later – take it fairly well. someone runs to get a glass of water. someone stands over you as you scramble into your chair and talks to you, though you can’t make out the words. curiously, you can still make out the background conversation. what’s the big deal? nobody liked keith. – he probably didn’t know about shiro, you asshole. (griffin and – mcclain? you can’t make out the voices clearly enough.)

vaguely, you think about continuing the lesson, when your head is a little clearer, but by the time the fog is starting to lift, someone has fetched ryu, and she tells you to go and rest, that she will find cover for the rest of your classes.

(ryu was always a little bit softer than anyone else you know at the garrison. you take her up on the offer anyway.)

you don’t know what you thought, really. neither people nor things die slowly all the time. sometimes it is sudden and violent. as the son of soldiers, you should know this.

it still leaves you breathless for months and months to come; you think you should know, by now, how to cope with grief – you’ve seen death before, you’ve lost people. it’s – not the same at all. you’re not sure what you’re doing wrong. all you know is it isn’t getting better. after a certain point the only time you aren’t feeling anxious is when you’re flying. you wonder how long you will be able to pretend otherwise.

it’s been over a year. you’re digging through your drawers, quietly praying you are not quite as out of medication as you think you are. instead, your fingers bump against the frame and you pull out the picture you stuffed away.

you don’t consciously realize your panic is melting away as you stare at it, sitting on the edge of the bed. but it does occur to you, vaguely and far removed from what this emotion truly could be, that this is actually, as inexplicable as that is, the first time you’ve cried for takashi since he left.

perhaps you could be self-conscious, but nobody else sees, so what’s the point? you resolutely put the picture back to its place of honour, and slowly but surely start to gain a handle on everything that’s been spiralling out of control. you don’t deserve the relief, but you are weary to the bone, and you can’t find it in yourself to care. the only person who has the right to deny you your daydreams and memories is the person you are mourning. you will take what you can get.

you don’t find out about takashi being briefly back on earth until years later.

sam’s broadcast doesn’t tell you much about what exactly happened, but you do learn that takashi survived, and that’s honestly worth the two years you’ve spent having dreams about it and nightmares about the opposite. it’s just the slightest bit awkward when you meet him to ask more questions, mostly because you haven’t seen colleen since before you broke up with takashi, but they are both far warmer and more welcoming people than you remember, and you leave with some second- and third-hand stories about the things the love of your life (and his brother) have done in deep space – and a tight ache in your chest that feels suspiciously like what you vaguely think (but aren’t sure) hope might be.

(have you seen it, is the first thing out of your mouth, and you’re almost surprised – but not really – at how you’re choking up in the middle of those four small words, because you’ve been doing fine until now. you know exactly why, though, as soon as you see camila’s smile and her watery gaze and you almost drop the bottle of wine you brought – like you always do for your regular monthly evenings together – when she throws her fierce arms around you.)

you know, somehow. it rattles you to the core, but it doesn’t matter. you know it’s a decision that shouldn’t have been made, you know what the consequences will be, you know, know, know. it doesn’t make a difference. you know you will do it anyway, because that’s what you’ve always done; it’s not your call, and honestly, that is fine. your parents taught you early what a soldier is. your dad would do the same. it stings, a little bit – not because you’ve lost hope, but exactly because you still have so much of it. it’s been six years since you last were happy, and you don’t remember what it felt like, but you know it with absolute certainty, that takashi will be back. just like you know you will die before he arrives. you don’t really mourn your own lost opportunity; you’ve done your mourning and then some. but you do think, at the back of your mind, how bitter and pointless this life is, how you’re glad you’re the one going and he will live (he has to), but now he will never get the apology he would deserve.

(objective. you used to be far more objective. you still are, but not about yourself. this is a wound you inflicted upon yourself, and did not let properly heal. it’s difficult, when the only person who could apply the salve is gone. still, these are the facts: you are going to die, and it does not occur to you that he will mourn you.)

everyone talks about your life flashing before your eyes when you’re dying. you feel cheated for it not happening to you. it’s your fault, probably; too practical of a person, you don’t have time for it when you work almost on instinct (it isn’t, though, it is something far more – skill), piloting a fighter with its comms dead, navigator dead, left wing on fire. you plummet towards the earth and you are sure of your demise because the enemy seems sure of it: they don’t follow you to finish the job.

of course the catapult doesn’t work. why would anything ever be easy? this aircraft is not built to withstand the crash. you have to time this well – jump when you’re close enough to earth to survive, but far enough not to be caught in the flames. you do the math in your head. for a brief second of madness, you wish you had a paper and a pencil, or a blackboard. you never did like using your phone for the equations.

you land on your arm and then on your stomach, and then a few more places as you are thrown back into the air by the force of impact, rolling around your axis like a badly thrown pebble across the pond. you have three seconds of respite – nowhere near enough to inventory your broken shoulder and arm and fractured pelvis and – punctured lung, maybe? no broken ribs, though, how did that – ?

the plane explodes behind you, showering its pieces everywhere. it is all you can do (and even that, barely) to curl in on yourself on the ground and hide your face in between your unbroken arm and a small rock formation right in front of you. you feel – you’re not sure what. it could either be tiny pinpricks or wide-bladed knife stabs across your back, wedging into your spine and not being pulled out. so close, you think, frustrated, as you feel the warmth of the blood spreading on your back and soaking your jacket. you had a better chance than most at survival, and yet.

and yet.

your fever dream of being carried, of wet towels against your face, of thick white scrolls of gauze, of pressure on your back that seems to push the knives even deeper – doesn’t feel much like the afterlife.

it doesn’t much feel like reality, either, though, nor anything that comes afterwards.

you are both very different. you are not sure why you ever thought anything could be like it was. you are irreparably damaged (you haven’t dared to confirm it yet, but what else could you be?), and takashi has been through more things than you think you could comprehend if he told you all at once.

except, the way he says your name is the same it’s always been, even if it’s choked, even if you almost feel like panicking again when he clings to you and begs you not to push him away.

as if you didn’t spend six years hating it that you ever did that in the first place.

you are so tired as to wonder if it’s really possible for this universe to be kind. it is undeniable, though – a gift, to the both of you, your lives, with your heart in your throat and takashi’s soft, colour-lost hair between your fingers. your lips on his cheek and his watery laugh and then yours.

it occurs to you, with takashi in your arms, that he is the one that taught you to hope. that the only real hopes you were able to hold onto were all thanks to him, about him. it’s impossible not to hope now, when he tells you he wants this, wants you, that you both want the same thing.

(belief may yet to come, but hope will do just fine for now.)

he picks up the picture from your nightstand. i didn’t dare think of you, your heart shatters with the impact of his words, and you pull him with you onto the bed. they might have taken it.

you can do that now. still a strange concept. a future.

(you already know you want all of it with him. whatever’s left, all of it. maybe eventually you’ll have the courage for it. among other things.)

he wraps around you as he falls asleep. you wake up with your bones hollow like a bird’s.

there is more than one way to take flight.

#hhh do i tag this? okay #adashi #vld adam #drabbles #madefate #!!adam

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leonawriter · 6 years

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To Change A Sombre Morrow (chapter ten)

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Characters: Genesis, Sephiroth, Angeal, others.

Summary: Various people get to play the asshole. Some more intentionally than others. Genesis is vaguely ignorant - and unaware - and is starting to realise as much.

...

Genesis' mind turns into white static at the sudden addition of a familiar long blade unexpectedly appearing to clash against his own in the middle of his training.

His body responded automatically, patterns coming back by reflex while his mind is still struggling to catch up - not even Jenova cells at their strongest could recover that fast from a flash of fire to the face, a kick to the stomach area, his sword brought around to-

Nothing.

Adrenaline buzzes in his ears, a warning that something is wrong. The feeling that any moment now, there will be black feathers and silver hair. The conflict between the need to bring out his own wing for the ability to fly and to utilise the advanced combat capabilities it gave him and the agitated feeling that he was forgetting something, with how the wind didn't sting and the dust didn't dry his eyes or burn his skin-

There's a slight breeze as he turns around, only to see Sephiroth regarding him quite calmly from several feet away. Masamune is still drawn, but not attack-ready. He tilts his head, and the slight wind picks up his hair, obscuring his face even further.

A Behemoth lay, sliced apart and completely motionless, on the ground between them, before disintegrating into pixels. The landscape stayed the same, although now that he was reminded that it was merely a digital representation of the Midgar wastes, a lot of things made much more sense.

"So. It seems your reaction to my presence wasn't merely a one off occurrence. I had wondered."

"If you wanted to spar, you could have just asked," Genesis bit back, nerves still on edge.

"That," Sephiroth said deliberately, "would have defeated the point entirely. And besides," he added, matter of fact, "you've been avoiding me again."

Genesis' mouth opened to retort that no, he had not, but his hand tightened around Rapier's hilt. Remembered how his regained memories that had given him the unwanted gift of nightmares had left him unsure of how to handle his interactions for a time. He looked away, grimacing as he realised that they had noticed.

Avoidance hadn't been an issue in the past. His issues hadn't been the kind he'd felt the need to avoid people over, and in the few cases where they had been, it had been easy enough just to not bring up the problem, pretend it didn't exist.

Being a deserter and fugitive had meant that the only times people had wanted to find him were when they wanted to hunt him down - and not usually to have a friendly discussion. As though he would have encouraged that sort of idea in the first place, at the time.

Waking up to a world post-Meteor had meant that he had been left to himself for the most part again. It was taken as a given that if you'd been part of SOLDIER, if anyone had worked for Shinra, then you'd need time to sort your head out.

Here and now... there was none of that. It seemed that he would constantly be discovering new ways in which his temporal displacement made life harder for him.

"...Honestly, I can't imagine what could have happened to you, to cause my presence to be that distressing." Sephiroth sounded... disturbed. Frustrated. Of course you wouldn't, was Genesis' immediate reaction, but that wouldn't do anything for either of them. "But if that is the case, then I will... remove myself."

Genesis closed his eyes, unsure who or what the surge of disgust and hatred brought about by those words was caused by or aimed at, as Sephiroth straightened, suddenly cold - no, withdrawn, that's what Cloud looks like whenever he's in one of his moods - and walked past him, dismissing his sword and terminating the program as he went, so that the environment around them dissolved into digital data as it turned back into the training room.

This is what I'm good at, isn't it? I push��people away, and then I wonder why none of us can handle the pressure. Cloud's group had never been like this. Cloud's group had stuck together for as long as he'd known them. And before they'd been Cloud's group, Zack had done the same. I wonder if that's why all of this happened in the first place.

They would probably know what to do, he thought bitterly. But the Goddess sent me.

"My friend, your desire is the giver of life, the Gift of the Goddess..."

Sephiroth paused, at the door.

"LOVELESS, again? You've moved to Act Three," he said, the words halting rather than the easy ribbing they'd once been.

"What else? But... no. I think we're still in the prologue."

Remembering what he'd said to Vincent, back in Nibelheim. Remembering how he looked at the calendars and found himself flicking through diaries and organisers, irritated at how slowly time passed, how much was still yet to happen, to be changed, to be stopped, and he felt like he had hardly moved, despite everything that he had accomplished.

"What an odd thing to say."

"Well, we still have a long way to go." He turned on his heel, to talk to Sephiroth's back rather than the wall. "I mean what I said before. If you want to spar, ask me. No one likes the ass who pokes at a person's issues just to see how they'll react," he said wryly.

"Oh? It almost sounds like you're speaking from experience."

Even knowing he was probably just referring to something relatively harmless, Genesis still flinched.

"I can't say I'm not fool enough anymore to say that's wrong," he mused, half in answer and half to himself.

Sephiroth huffed, head tilting forward slightly as he made the amused sound, before picking up his feet again and moving out of the training room altogether, but not before Genesis noticed that despite not knowing what he had been doing, some of the tension in Sephiroth's shoulders had loosened.

"Ha..."

Somehow, he didn't think that it could possibly be as simple as that.

...

"If it weren't for how you seem to have become allergic to doctors recently, I'd warn you away from the science department's floors," Angeal started saying the moment Genesis got in through the door of his office. "Actually, I'm still going to warn you to be careful."

He rolled his eyes, swept his hair away from his face, and leaned Rapier up against the wall before sitting heavily into his chair, and reaching for a pen, which he immediately started to tap onto the desk, taking some small pleasure in the fact that he knew it irritated his friend.

"I know that that already. They've been buzzing around like irritable wasps in white coats for a while now." Tap tap tap. He knew why, too, of course. Not that he was going to admit that any time soon. "The more pressing matter is why you're here. Don't you have an overexcitable puppy to be training?"

Angeal's brows raised, making Genesis wonder if he'd said something wrong, or if something had happened.

"Lazard wanted you to look over these," Angeal said, waving a hand at a pile of files on his desk that he hadn't even noticed until then, "and I figured I'd stay to make sure you actually did."

Genesis flipped open the top file, only to find a nondescript, unfamiliar face staring back at him. A glance at the rest of the page showed him a name, some basic details, and notes from the Instructors that tested the cadets.

He opened up a few others, creating a small pile of chaos on his desk. Once or twice, a name or face stirred faint recollections in the back of his mind - years old, dusty memories - and even rarer, was the one time when he knew he remembered the prospective cadet, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Lazard seems to have mixed up which department he's running, then. This is SOLDIER, not human resources. Or-" He cut himself off. There was no way that saying that SOLDIER were the human resource would be taken well.

Angeal rolled his eyes, smiling even though Genesis could tell that there was at least some annoyance in his friend, too.

"That's more or less what Sephiroth said, but at least he's able to get out of it with the excuse that they're sending him back off to the frontlines in the next day or so. And supposedly, according to Lazard at least, they seem to think that if they play things right, the war will be over soon, so they'll be able to be more picky when it comes to new recruits."

Genesis bit back a snort at the poor excuse the science department had come up with; if Shinra had the resources, then they would continue creating SOLDIERs, and if they had the SOLDIERs, then they would create their own wars. The one they'd had with Wutai had been that way.

His amusement bled out at the reminder of how little time he had left.

"And they expect us to be able to tell just by looking at paperwork?" he asked. Typical Shinra.

Not for the first time, he was struck by how strange it was that he was working for them again.

"Maybe they just didn't want to terrorise the cadets so early into their training."

His hand stilled as his eyes passed over a photo of a cadet with blond hair, but it was too curly, too dark, the face wrong, and when he looked closer, the eyes were still a light brown. Had to remind himself that no, Cloud would not be here yet, because if nothing else Genesis had flown back, and Hojo had probably used a company helicopter to get as close as he could. Cloud, having none of that, would take longer. Far longer.

He had to assume that in the original timeline he'd come from, none of this had happened. He certainly couldn't remember being asked to do such a thing before, no matter how distant or close he'd ever been with any of the cadets. Shinra had vetted the SOLDIER intake on basic merits and a psychological assessment to ensure they'd make it through the mako injections, and any that hadn't made it past that, they didn't hear anything further of, and that didn't always mean they'd just gotten shunted into the infantry.

Which meant that he might even recognise some of these names and faces, which should in theory give him an edge - in theory, at least.

In practice, all looking at the files was doing for him was piling frustration onto more frustration - the overwhelming realisation that despite having lured at least a good number of these men and women - teenagers still, here, the birth dates couldn't lie unless the candidates had, and the faces looked young sometimes - he hardly remembered who they were. Who they'd been.

He almost let out a shaky laugh, holding his face in the hand that wasn't turning the pages of the files.

I used them.

He'd known before. He'd had plenty of time to come to terms with the fact, even before Zack had reminded him of what having SOLDIER pride even meant. He'd been reminded, oh so politely, when Deepground had 'requested' his aid, and made him aware of what else had been done with his genetic information.

They thought I cared. Perhaps I had, before. They were wrong. I only cared about myself.

"I worry about you, sometimes."

Genesis tensed, abruptly reminded of Angeal's presence, having become so immersed in himself and his memories that he'd forgotten he wasn't alone.

"Perhaps you're right to," he muttered under his breath, not looking away from a face that he knew that if he stared at it long enough, he would remember something he wished best left forgotten.

"What was that?"

His eyes finally closed. "When the war of the beast's brings about the world's end, the goddess descends from the sky, wings of light and dark spread afar..."

They're sending us all off to die valiantly for their cause. They think that Sephiroth will continue to be the perfect toy soldier they modelled him into being, never once thinking that he might become bigger than any of this, or realise that the chains that bind him are as flimsy as cardboard, like I did.

His pen began to tap again, a smile, not entirely pleasant, playing on his lips.

"Genesis..."

Angeal's tone was worried again, but a different sort of worry. It was almost nostalgic, the way it reminded him of how Angeal always had worried too much when he'd been planning something reckless. It was too bad he wasn't going to be able to share those ideas of his this time around.

"You're planning something again, aren't you," Angeal carried on. "And you aren't going to tell anyone what you're doing again either, are you?" His friend looked away, and sighed. "When you went off last time, we had no idea where you'd gone until Lazard told us. We had to ask. And when you came back..."

Angeal trailed off. For the first time perhaps, Genesis noticed how tired his friend was.

...Honestly, I can't imagine what could have happened to you, to cause my presence to be that distressing. But if that is the case, then I will... remove myself.

"Angeal, I..."

He wanted, more than anything in that moment, to explain everything, let the words fall from his mouth like dumbapples over the fences and walls that he seemed to have put up without even having realised that he had been putting down the wood and bricks between them. A peace offering.

He closed his eyes for just one moment, and saw Banora burning in front of him as he watched - an empty town with nothing left to destroy, as the Turks had merely been destroying the evidence of his own crimes.

"Zack's been complaining that he was actually starting to get somewhere with you, you know. Keeps saying you look at him like you can see his potential."

He could almost laugh.

How could he say that he sometimes had that look in his eye because he had seen their future - a future where Zack had achieved that potential, carried Angeal's Buster Sword, because Angeal was dead?

He could just imagine the arguments, the accusations, the dismissals, the weapons drawn...

Genesis shook his head.

"I'll see what I can do," he said instead.

His mind wandered toward the date. It was late September, now. He felt like he was lying.

...

He'd left Edge and Midgar behind without having told anyone, not long after regaining his energy, and being able to move around without someone looking like they were going to hold him at sword point simply for stepping out of line.

It's a familiar route, to Banora. He could probably fly there in his sleep, like how a chocobo knew its way home.

The journey had still taken a while, though, but that'd mostly been because he'd made an effort not to fly near too many people, and in the past three years, people had been rebuilding, and creating entirely new towns. It had changed the landscape, and the world had seemed a different place.

He's sure there's a an old children's story along those lines. From before Shinra, but sanitised so that anything the company had been displeased with had been removed - about a man who slept for a hundred years inside a crystal, and who had woken up to find that nothing was familiar, and all his friends were old.

Banora itself, he'd found as he'd approached on the back of a truck, had not changed all that much, though.

If anything, the Lifestream must have found it easier to burst forth here, coming up through ways that were already open. A few places seemed a little more worn away than before, but in general...

What was new, was the few huts that had sprung up near the orchards, people picking the apples, which had made his fingers twitch for his materia, because some of those were his trees - his, damn it - but he had forced himself to look away, to focus on what he'd come here for.

The caves were colder than he remembered, but the routes hadn't changed.

Rapier had been right where he'd left it, where it had fallen after his fight with Zack. The once beautiful sword had been caked with dirt, with a few patches of rust in places that had become damp, but none of that had mattered. It was and had been an old friend, a constant he had been glad to see once more.

He could still remember wiping it down briefly before wrapping it up to clean it properly later, and leaving.

"Wha- hey! Be careful in here, these caves can be dangerous!"

He'd laughed, at the voice that had echoed in toward him. It must have been late on the surface, and the sun had always set away from the entrance, but it had never been all that dark inside, and he'd known the way like any child did their own playground. Their home.

"You don't need to worry about me," he'd said, bemused, as he'd come out.

The man, who had been hauling a heavy crate of apples, had turned. Backed away, first one step, then another.

"You..." Fear had laced the man's voice. His eyes, glowing, were wide. "They said you were dead," he said. "What do you want with us? Shinra's gone!"

"Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return..." He'd shaken his head. "Death and rumours of my demise have hardly held me back before. I fail to see why I should have adhered to them." He'd taken an apple, a single Banora White, while his other hand still held his old sword still in its wrappings. "As for your questions... nothing. I don't want anything from you."

He could still remember the terror in the eyes of the former SOLDIER even weeks later, when he finally told Cloud, which had been while he was maintaining the sword back to perfect condition after its long disuse.

"I didn't merely recognise him," he'd said, in a light tone as though it wasn't important. As though it was simply some trivial matter, another item on the delivery list. "He served under me during the war. I'm fairly sure the only reason he didn't follow me when I encouraged desertion was something to do with not wanting to disappoint his family - saying that he'd attempt to work on Shinra from the inside."

Cloud hadn't said anything, although by the frown on his face he wasn't entirely unaffected.

"The next time we saw each other," Genesis had carried on, harsh cracks in the edges of his carefree attitude appearing in both his voice and the more jagged movements he was making while cleaning, "I only saw him as an obstacle in my way. Honestly, he's lucky to be alive."

He'd told himself that was at least one positive in the entire situation. At least if you met the people you'd wronged, they were still alive to meet. You couldn't meet the ghosts you'd left behind.

After a while, he had resigned himself to the fact that he more than likely wasn't going to get any sort of reply. But then, Cloud was hardly the talkative type. Zack had been, would have said something already, but no matter how many of Zack's mannerisms he could see coming to the surface from time, Cloud wasn't Zack.

Then-

"I think... I think I know what you mean," Cloud had said. He'd looked over. Bright blue eyes had looked troubled, the same way that Genesis had started to recognise in any of them when they began to think too much of the past. "When we were fighting Shinra, I... for a long time, I didn't even really know who I was. But then when I did, when I remembered... I realised I'd probably been killing a lot of the people I once fought beside. Some of them... even recognised me. And I still had to keep fighting. It isn't the same, but..."

Understanding.

They were both traitors to their own people, just on different sides of history. One remembered with fear and the other looked up to.

He'd nodded, and the subject had turned toward lighter subjects the next time anyone spoke.

...

Genesis walks out of Lazard's office and doesn't realise that he has his hand at his shoulder until Angeal asks him if it's giving him grief again. He shakes his head, and shrugs it off, because it hadn't been.

Old habits were hard to kill, and it's easy to get lost in memories when events play out a little too similarly.

He'd been given his marching orders once again. To Wutai, and Fort Tamblin. He could still remember the way that Lazard had danced around the subject of what he would actually be doing the first time around; the way that they had both treated the briefing almost as a scene in some gaudy theatre production full of intrigue and betrayal.

One of the more dry derivative works of LOVELESS had focused on the politics of the countries at war, and the effect the heroes' actions had on the world. It had been both similar to, and nothing at all like, that.

This time, Lazard had glanced at him aside several times, words prodding lightly at prospective openings. Genesis had made a few pointed remarks, implications, loopholes in supposedly simple things.

Genesis Rhapsodos holds no love for Shinra, he had communicated with everything unsaid and implied. But he is a hero, no matter what manner of monster Shinra has made him, and Goddess help you if you try to make him anything less.

He knew the difference now. At least, wanted to think that.

But now - he brushed the hair from his face to keep his hand from going back to his shoulder, put on a smile, and kept walking.

...

He slips out of the Shinra building as it starts to grow dark, not bothering to change his clothes but walking with that exact sort of confidence that made people question what they were seeing, made them assume that he clearly had business being where he was.

It wasn't hard. It was something he'd had practice in since his childhood, after all, and had even encouraged Angeal to it when his friend had looked panicked enough that he would have been caught if he hadn't calmed down one time; Genesis would have been annoyed if he had been, given how Angeal, despite the difference in status, had been his friend. One of his only friends back then, at that. He'd preferred Angeal out of trouble, if possible.

The theatre he found wasn't in LOVELESS Avenue. Instead, his feet had taken him to somewhere between the slums and the lower class parts of the entertainment district.

"When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end, the goddess descends from the sky," the man on the stage was saying. Genesis mouthed the words of the introduction to the act along with him - the bare bones of the story, the only thing that anyone could ever agree on, considering how many versions and derivative works there had been even at the time when it had been new. Now, even a slight change in wording could completely alter the tone of a scene.

It wasn't one of the expensive, extravagant productions to be found in one of the more upper class regions. Nor was it one of the philosophical, meaningful productions to be found in Junon, where the university students there used it as their outlet for exploration of the meaning of life.

The sets were shaky. The lines, often far more colloquial than Genesis was used to. Costumes were haphazard.

But the performance, despite everything else, had heart. For that, he could appreciate it, well worth his time far more than the easy viewing that he had been anticipating. A pleasant surprise.

Lost amid his own thoughts - about the play, their interpretation of it, the war, among other things - he knocks into someone on his way to the train that leads back to Sector Eight, and from there, the Shinra Building. He almost wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't heard the cut off cry as they fell.

He watches as she - and he even thinks he recognises her, auburn hair in a braid and light blue clothes - picks herself up again before he could even offer to help, if he had chosen to.

"Oh! I remember you," she said, "From the church, right?" She smiled. "Just passing through again, are you?"

Genesis raised his eyebrows at her.

"Do you have a habit of remembering everyone who passes through that church?"

"No. Just the-" her face twisted for a moment, as though she were trying to figure out the right words to use. As though she's forgotten her script, said the part of him that was still riding the high of having come out of a halfway decent performance. "Interesting ones," she finished.

"Fascinating," Genesis drawled out. "Unfortunately, I don't have time to ask just how you find me interesting."

"That's all right. I'm sure we'll meet again."

The words followed him all the way back to his rooms in Shinra. She'd probably meant that given how they'd met by chance twice already in spite of Midgar being the sprawling metropolis it was, the probability was high that it would happen again.

A shiver ran down his spine, however, remembering the exact way that something about her had tugged on the edges of his perception - not quite there, but almost, like a word on the tip of his tongue.

From the church, right?

It was her church. Or at least, we all think of it as hers. It's where Cloud found her...

He shrugged off his coat, and began to lay out his things so that they would be ready for the morning. They wouldn't leave until mid-morning, but it was still better to be prepared for every eventuality.

Some of the stitching was beginning to pull apart on the repair job he'd done when he'd arrived back that day; he would have to fix it again.

But not tonight.

The goddess is laughing at me, he thought, just as he drifted off. There's something I'm not seeing.

#ff7 #final fantasy vii #ff7 stuff #Leona fic #to change a sombre morrow verse #oh hi there #and yes the fic was being worked on for a while :)

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everlark-your-own-adventure · 7 years

Text

Mockingjay Manor - Ch 7

Chapter One /// Chapter Two /// Chapter Three /// Chapter Four /// Chapter Five /// Chapter Six

Happy Tuesday dear everlarkers! Last week’s installment of Mockingjay Manor concluded with a drugged and injured Everlark finding themselves whisked away from the terrifying Doctor Snow and hidden in a secret room by an unknown rescuer. You voted to put their trust in this unidentified saviour. What happens next? Let’s check in with the incredible @mega-aulover to find out....

A note, friends, that this chapter is rated M for canon-typical violence and begged-for sexual content.

As always, you have 48 hours, until noon EDT on Thursday, October 12th, to cast you votes in the notes or reblogs, not in the tags!!!

I crumple the note in my fist and toss it on the floor and the syringe I’d hidden in my sleeve drops onto the carpet and rolls away. The warning to stay put doesn’t sit well with me. I’m pissed off, angry at this man, Snow, and his tricks. The stupid portrait looms over me, mocking me. We’ve been attacked, stung by some experimental wasps, and threatened. He will not get away with this.

Peeta groans and my plans for vengeance fly from my mind. I kneel at his side and gently check his stings. “Are you okay?”

“Katniss, I’ve been stung before. Remember? Eleventh grade when you were trying to get rid of that hive.”

The hive had fallen to the ground and we’d both been badly stung. I thought I’d killed Peeta and I kissed him hard on the lips. It was my first kiss. The memory makes me want to blush but instead I grunt, “Yeah, but those were regular wasps.” I gingerly touch a red bump on his neck. “These weren’t ordinary wasps. I couldn’t move.”

“I was knocked out,” Peeta rubs his neck. “Did you find a note or something?”

The discarded note lies at my feet, and I’m fuming once more at the absurdity of the situation. “It says to stay here and that Finnick and Jo are safe.” It’s the last thing I want to do. Fulfilling the will’s requirement to fix up the house has transformed into a personal quest for the truth.

Peeta frowns. “I know that look on your face.”

“What look?” I try not to appear defensive but my arms are crossed and my face has turned into a scowl.

“That nothing-I-say-will-convince-you-to-give-up-or-leave-this-house face.”

Standing, arms akimbo, I say, “Haymitch might have been an asshole, but he was family. I’ve got to clear his name of whatever is going on here. I want answers! Who is Snow and how can I get rid of him?”

“Not alone you won’t.” Peeta struggles to sit up and I pull him to his feet. “We agreed we’d do this together.”

Peeta leans toward me, his sweet face at once disarming me and stirring my libido. It's been this way since we were kids. I’ve never been able to pinpoint whether it’s his boy-next-door face, his sturdy but welcoming arms, or his good natured soul, but it drives me wild.

His hand slips over my chin and its rough texture causes my heart rate to triple. Right before he places a chaste kiss upon my lips, his eyes smolder with unfulfilled passion. Instantly, my panties become soaked, and I think, awe hell, I need him.

I nearly lost him tonight and it’s making me desperate. The anger I’d been kindling is quickly replaced by desire, thick pulsing desire that has me panting.

All of the adrenaline flows south to the juncture between my legs; I feel my body pulse there. My arms wind themselves around his neck. The kiss deepens as his sweet tongue invades my mouth. Peeta always tastes of cinnamon and vanilla. It’s addictive and draws me in further. Passionate electrical torrents pass between us and our kisses become rushed. His large hands grip my hips, then my ass.

He’s still aroused and I can feel his hard length pressing against me. My nipples tighten into buds at the thought of having him. We walk backwards into a wall, and I grind against him. My hand gravitates downward and grabs him through his jeans. He is already thick with need and he groans before tearing his mouth away from mine.

Hungrily he pants, “Katniss.”

His blue eyes are the dark like the night sky; his hands desperately skimming over my body. Seeing him so uncontrolled makes me feral for more of his touch and sends dirty thoughts racing through my mind.

His hands make their way to my zipper and I shimmy just enough out of my pants to give his fingers the freedom to find my needy core.

“You’re so wet,” he mutters against my neck where his lips are burning a path to the sensitive spot under my jaw. His fingers part my folds, rubbing my clit in that magical pattern he knows I like so much. Spending so many hours on the edge of danger has done something to me and the need to feel alive, to know that we are both well, stokes the fire within me until I burn out of control.

“Peeta I neee….” The rest of the words fall away when his thick fingers slip inside of me. It satisfies my cravings for a moment, but soon his fingers aren’t enough.

“Tell me what you want,” he says against my skin.

I am at the summit and I can feel a familiar tightening in my womb. “I need you inside...now!”

He pushes my pants down. I hear the rasp of his zipper and I feel his tip aligned with my entrance.

“NOW,” I urge, as his tongue invades my mouth and his thick member stretches my taught body. My bones melt like ice-cream on a hot pavement.

A muffled groan escapes both of us, his member sliding in and out of my slick, tight walls. Tearing my mouth away from his, I bite his earlobe, causing Peeta to pound into me. My body begins to convulse around him and everything fades to white as we come at the same time.

When I come to, Peeta is softly kissing me. Our bodies slide onto the thick plush rug, somehow I end up lying on top of Peeta. His voice rumbles through his chest, “If the situation weren’t so dire we could play out one of those smutty fanfics you're always reading. Maybe hang from that chandelier.”

My cheeks tinge pink at the mention of my one vice. Fanfic is my one and only guilty pleasure. Peeta happens to be the only person on the planet who knows about it. Playfully I hit him on the arm, “Wiseass.”

Spent, we straighten our clothing. The lightning crackles in the sky and the bright light illuminates the portrait of Maysilee. In the background, I spot white bell flowers cascading from a tree. “Devil's breath,” I gasp, pointing at the painting.

“What?”

“Those flowers in the background, they’re called Devil’s Breath. It’s a plant my mom uses to calm her patients. She’s always careful about using it, because it can make you incapacitated, almost zombie like. It can erase your memories. If Snow has this, it explains why those wasps affected us the way they did.”

“Note to self, stay away from wasps,” Peeta murmurs to himself.

“Quick, help me.”

Startled by the voice we spin around. The dumbwaiter is back, and inside we find an exact replica of Maysilee Donner Abernathy, very much alive and definitely not a monster. “Maysilee?”

“Nope, just her niece, Madge Undersee,” she says, hopping out of the dumbwaiter. “Help me get your friend to the sofa. He was stung pretty badly.” Peeta springs into action, helping maneuver an unconscious Finnick to the couch while Madge disappears in dumbwaiter again to go back for Jo.

“He’s pretty out of it,” Peeta says as he holds Finnick's face in his hands. The dumbwaiter rattles back into the room.

“They need the antidote, Katniss,” says Madge. Together, we move Jo, “Their hearts can stop just like my aunt and your uncle.” Madge takes two syringes from her back pocket.

“Wait, how did you know who we are?” I blanch at the thought of having to administer the antidote. Needles make me squeamish.

Madge rolls up Finnick’s sleeve and administers the antidote as she speaks. “My aunt left me a letter with my mom. After Haymitch died, I did a small inquiry.”

Jo is badly stung and her body is spasming. Rolling up her sleeve, I manage to accomplish what my mother and my sister have tried to instruct me to do a thousand times without success. As the contents of the needle are introduced into her blood system, Jo’s body calms down. “How’s that possible? Your aunt’s been dead for over 25 years?”

Peeta exclaims, “Like in the second Back to the Future when Doc leaves Marty behind in 1955 and writes him a letter from 1855 with instructions to deliver it to Marty in 1955.”

Peeta’s infatuation with Back to the Future could be the only non-attractive thing about him, but I can usually forgive it because that boyish look on his face is yummy.

Madge laughs at his Back to the Future reference. “Sort of,” she agrees. “About six months before I was born, my aunt thought she was going to die and wanted to make sure her killer was brought to justice. She wrote a letter and instructed my mother to give it to me if anything happened to Haymitch. In her letter, my aunt Maysilee wrote that Haymitch wouldn’t rest until he solved her murder, and that if he died, then someone else needed to take up the torch. She also said that if anything happened to her, my mother wouldn’t be emotionally or mentally capable of finding her killer. It’s true, she wasn’t. She still isn’t. She couldn’t even hand me the letter without dissolving to tears.” Madge took out the folded letter from her pocket and held it up. “She died the day she wrote this. As soon as I got her letter, I requested a copy of the coroner's report. It said my aunt died of an overdose. But one of the first things she stated in her letter was that she never took drugs.”

“So that thing in the attic with your aunt’s look, it isn’t her?”

Finnick groans and tries to sit up and Peeta pulls him upright. Clearly, the medication is taking effect. I shudder to think of what could have happened to all of us without Madge’s help. Losing Peeta is my worst nightmare.

“No,” Madge shakes her head, “That thing in the attic isn’t my aunt.”

“Tell me what you know and what’s with that symbol on your locket.” I point to her shirt.

“According to the letter, my family owned Mockingjay Cosmetics. This was the brand symbol. Dr. Snow was in charge of creating and testing out new products. You’ve met his secretary.”

“Effie,” Peeta says as Finnick sits forward. “Haymitch once told me he met her at work. I thought it was at the tech firm he owned.”

Madge pulls out a necklace with a locket. “From what I could find out from the old records my family had, your uncle Haymitch was a genius. He was working with reproducing skin cells, so that they could test the cosmetics without human or animal testing.” She opens the locket to reveal that her aunt and her mother were twins. “When FDA laws became stricter, my family complied, or so we thought. There was an investigation and we lost the company, because of Snow. My aunt believed Haymitch had something on Snow, but she couldn’t prove anything and before she could find out, she died. Your uncle moved to Silicon Valley, where he made his money. My mom has never gotten over the death of her sister.”

“Do you think that beast could have your aunt’s genes?”

“I only know that Snow’s been manipulating the genetic makeup of that mutt. I found some files that seemed to indicate that Effie’s been involved. Snow and Crane experimented on her with the Devil’s Breath, manipulating her memories.”

Peeta speculates, “He made her into one of his mutts.”

Madge nods,“I’ve been able to grab samples of the vials in his lab and send them out for testing. It’s how I was able to get an antidote.”

“So how do we-” My words were frozen mid-sentence as a piercing howl echoes inside the house. A crashing and thumping noise penetrates the air, followed by the high-pitched, panicked screeching of birds. The chandelier shakes above us, and several crystals fall to the ground like broken stars.

Finnick’s eyes shoot upward. Like me, he’s a hunter and he’s instantly alert.

“He let experiment M loose,” Madge whispers, her face and eyes filled with horror.

Grabbing Madge by the arms, I shake her “Are there any weapons in the house?”

Madge gives me a blank stare right before she nods. She pulls on a wall sconce, “I found this one day by accident.” The picture springs open revealing two automatic crossbows. I’m overjoyed as I load it with arrows. The ceiling above shakes, bits of debris of dried plaster and dust fall on our heads . I hear the birds screech in fear and pain. There is no doubt the ape is killing the birds.

Madge bends down and picks up the forgotten syringe. “Katniss, we can stop that creature with this. There’s enough of the Devil's Breath in here to kill it.”

“We did the mash! We did the monster mash,” Finnick sings, as he checks over the other crossbow.

“Finnick,” I warn as I macgyver the syringe onto the tip of one of the arrows with my hair tie.

“Katniss, are you sure this is the wisest thing to do?” Peeta’s voice always has a way of reaching me, even when I’ve got my blinders on and I cannot reason.

We can hear its steps echo through the threadbare walls. The mutt is hunting us. “We got to get rid of it Peeta. If it gets out…you need to take care of Jo.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of Jo, but I swear if I don’t see you in hour, I’m coming after you.” He places a soft kiss on my lips.

I want to tell him that I love him but there’s no time for this so I express it in my kiss. Stepping away, I turn to Madge, “Since you know the house better than us, is there a place where you can take Jo and Peeta, maybe call the cops?”

The howling is getting closer. There is no time to lose. We stare at each other in that pregnant peace before the storm. It knows we’re in here.

“Help me with Jo,” Madge shouts. Peeta tenderly puts Jo into the dumbwaiter and Madge wraps an arm around her waist to hold her up. We realize too late that three people cannot fit inside.

“Take care of her,” Peeta tells Madge and pulls the door closed. As the dumbwaiter rattles away, I hear the mutt sniffing at the door to the room.

“Peeta, get behind us,” I shout. Looking behind me, I see Peeta picking up a chair. The door smashes to splinters and the snarling wolf lunges inside, its eyes glittering with evil. Blood drips from its canine teeth and I spot feathers mixed in with its golden hair.

It snarls and snaps at Finnick, I aim the crossbow. It senses my movement and jumps at me as a blood curdling roar rips from its jaws. The arrow is released and it lodges itself in its chest. It roars in pain and stumbles, but lands on its paws and lunges at me again. Finnick is shooting at it, but his arrows do nothing to it. He tosses his crossbow aside and rams the beast in its side.

“FINNICK NO!!” I scream as he struggles with the mutt.

The chair splinters behind me. I spin around. Snow is holding on to Peeta, who has a syringe buried in his jugular. Snow is wounded. Blood seeps from his nose but his eyes are wild, animalistic. Peeta is limp in his arms and his eyes are glazed over. Yet another secret door gapes open behind them.

“Peeta,” I whisper, my heart is thumping. I hold up the crossbow, Snow in my sights. My mind is flooded with images. Mutts in the attic that look like people, wasps, singing deranged birds, Devil’s Breath and that snake like Dr. Snow accusing my uncle. Finnick is being mauled and Snow holds Peeta. Do I take the chance, shoot at Snow and risk hurting Peeta? Or do I put my weapon down?

#everlark #Mockingjay Manor #Nooooooo!#Our sweet cinnamon bun!#what will happen next?#YOU get to decide!

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austinpanda · 4 years

Text

22 March, 2020

Dear Dad--

Are you having a good global pandemic? Here's something that occurred to me a few days ago: any food you purchase just for the end of the world should be referred to as "Apocalypse Chow." So another week has passed, and the whole world has been sent home, and told not to leave, except for groceries. I've made a new friend, named Bryan, and I still haven't been able to meet him in person because of the stupid coronavirus. He lives .3 miles away! I don't have to text him; I can practically go onto my front porch and shout.

Bryan teaches plant science and just got tenure at the U. of Maine Orono! In his thirties, the overachieving asshole! He's my go-to scientist for this plague, and so I'm following his lead when it comes to quarantining and social isolation, and how long they might be necessary. (His answer, as a science guy: Dunno yet, so stick to the two weeks suggested isolation period, and reevaluate then.) It's looking like it might be nasty, and long-lived! I hope it isn't having a huge impact on your lives, or your supply of decent toilet paper. If this crisis has taught us anything, it's that what this country needs is a huge strategic toilet paper reserve.

So we've spent the last week sitting at home, and only leaving for necessities, and trying to figure out to what extent pizza and weed count as necessities. This is going to be a hugely historical event, isn't it? I saw pics of downtown Manhattan, in the daytime, practically deserted. Makes you wonder how many cabbies (and waitresses, and barbers, etc.) have just lost their paycheck. Zach are doing okay, financially. It helps that we had a nice nest egg when we left Austin, and this is an inexpensive place to live. And I keep fighting the boredom by hopping on Amazon to order fun things, and then talking myself out of it, because there's nothing we really need. Our supply of necessary shit, the perishable and the durable, is quite good. And it's getting warmer! Soon, we'll get to spend less on electricity and kerosene.

As I probably said in the last letter, my job has been put on hold for two weeks. I was supposed to start tomorrow! (I shall have to remember that throughout the day, and be thankful for the first-day jitters that I won't have to experience...yet!) I have to wonder what's going to happen after that two-week delay, however. Does it seem likely that this situation is going to have resolved itself--you know, in something other than the "everyone croaks" scenario--to the point where they'll reopen and start my training period? Seems unlikely. So I'm happy for this reprieve, because when the time comes to start the job at Penquis, I'm going to start it, whether I'm scared or not, and my plan is to do very well at it. I must have done very well at the interview, so I already have something to live up to.

The new version of that video game Animal Crossing has arrived, and Zach has disappeared into it! It's the prettiest, most relaxing shit you could ever see. And the music is pretty, and you run around making things, and planting plants, and catching bugs, and fishing, and growing trees, and...no rancor, no bad guys, no time limit. Just fuck around at your leisure and make everything look the way you like it to. The worst thing that ever happens in this game is that you'll be fucking around with the trees, and a wasp nest will fall out, and a wasp stings your face, (if you choose to just stand there, for some reason) and you look sad for a while. That's about it. And if that's too traumatizing, there's a dozen ways you can get medicine to fix your face, or else it just goes back to normal on its own after a spell.

We are still attempting to adopt our neighbor’s cat! The neighbor refers to her as Blackie, but Zach and I have named her Babka. She is proving an elusive little shit! I was ready to snatch her up as soon as the neighbor could grab her, and then take her to the vet to get spayed and checked for diseases and parasites, but Zach and the neighbor (Clint) realized at about that time, that perhaps we could do it in a way that’s less traumatic to the kitty. If we take the time to show ourselves to the kitty and let Clint pet her and familiarize her with human touch, everything might go easier for her. My thinking is: fuck the kitty’s feelings! Only because, at some point, we’re still going to kidnap her ass and take her to kitty jail (the veterinarian), and that’s all going to be traumatic, and we can’t really avoid it, so...I just want to get that process started. Time to put a blow-dart in her ass and get her to the vet for her oil change.

However, since Clint and Zach are both keen to do it the slow, kind way, I’m going to go with the flow. This morning I saw Blackie/Babka outside Clint’s trailer, so I went out there and just quietly sat down with a crinkly bag of cat treats, to see if she’d come over. She didn’t, but she didn’t flee either. We make progress.

What to expect for the week ahead? Well, it seems like spending a lot of time looking at the inside of my trailer is on the agenda. I’d like to use the time to go see movies, but the movie theaters are closed. I’m considering trying something radical: I’m considering reading a book! I don’t read many books nowadays, because I spend so much time listening to them in audio book format on my headphones, while I’m doing chores. Do some laundry, listen to a Jack Reacher book, fun! Also, I didn’t have a current prescription for reading glasses until just recently. Now that my eyes work again, and I’ve got the time, and I have a library of maybe 150 books, some of which I’ve never read, I think I’m going to reacquaint myself with the joy of reading. I haven’t read “An Army at Dawn,” yet, and I need to!

I hope you’re managing to stay safe and keep occupied! I’m going to put in Midway and watch it twelve more times. Woo-hoo! All my love!

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