#and it’s been such an uphill battle trying to build that here

[theriverdalereviewer]

Second month of teaching down I am officially a jaded being

#if September was just anxiety and being lost and working myself like a horse #then October was just being annoyed and not caring and still working myself like a horse #this job is so 😑 #the amount of bullshit you’re dealing with is ridiculous #everyday is just make it to 2:00 / make it to the weekend / make it to the holiday / make it to break #and constantly waiting for time to pass is not the way I wanted to live my life #on the bright side I’ve developed a lot more confidence and less nerves #I feel a lot more comfortable with discipline now and less upset when students are being mean #but those insecurities are unfortunately still really strong #I don’t know I just had such strong rapport with students when I was student teaching/interning #and it’s been such an uphill battle trying to build that here #it makes me constantly wonder?? AM I UNLIKABLE???? #especially cause one teacher who I work with CONSTANTLYYY is so utterly good at building rapport #that the comparisons make it feel so fucking stark #what I have been told by the other teachers in the building is that I am too hard on myself #and I concentrate too much on the negatives #but I just feel like every compliment is FAKE! A LIE! UNTRUE! #YOU ARE JUST SAYING THIS TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER FUCK YOU! #and while I like being the youngest/smallest/extremely young looking teacher is that all of the veterans like to look out for me #but I worry that I come off as naive/stupid/easy to walk all over

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 11

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn A/N: LADIES N GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! there are multiple POV changes in this, I'm training yall for the arena and Mockingjay. FYI: I was so disheartened bc this felt like the worst past I've written for this story :(((

Past (xii) - Finnick

[ 21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick is sitting at his desk, probably looking as worn out and exhausted as he feels. It’s the early hours of the morning, and he hasn’t slept for the past two days. He’s been writing for hours, trying to find the right words to say. The sun had just set when he poured himself into the seat, and now, he glances to his left, the first tendrils of sunlight are peaking up.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of Finnick's labored breathing. His hands are shaking, a side effect of the stress that has been building inside him like a pressure cooker. Snow's visit has left him reeling, unable to process the implications of the deal he's been forced to make. He knows he has to write you a letter, but the thought fills him with a sense of despondency. Something that normally fills him with insurmountable excitement and anticipation fills him with devastation. It feels like, like…there’s nothing he can compare it to. Not everything feels like something else and Finnick knows this kind of grief is very rarely experienced. 

What is he supposed to do? He hasn’t opened the last letter you sent, knowing it will be the last one that won’t carry the weight of mourning. He knows that you'll write to him again, that you won’t take this lying down. You’ll write and write, and he will...he will do nothing.

It sits in front of him, innocuous and unassuming. Something devastating folded in a green envelope and wrapped in your scent like a well-dressed bomb. Does his fear outweigh his longing for you?

He picks it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.

No, he realizes, it doesn’t.

He’s careful to tear the seal on the flap and your perfume wafts up like a surprise. He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent, trying to steel himself for what comes next.

Dear Finn,

I feel like I’ve missed you longer than I’ve had the chance to know you. It's been three months now, but maybe by the time this letter gets to you, we'll both be on our way to the Capitol. I'm working on being more optimistic, but that uphill battle is becoming steeper the longer I'm away from you. 

I keep thinking about when I first met you. When I looked into your eyes, I didn't see fireworks exploding or any of that other shit they depict in those gaudy Capitol romance novels. I looked into your eyes and saw you, something far more breathtaking than fireworks. And what a sight you were.

Three years back, you said something I never agreed with, that it was hard to love you. At the moment, I didn’t get to say what I really wanted to because I was eighteen and the thought of being so emotionally vulnerable made my teeth itch. 

I wanted to say that you aren't hard to love. I wanted to say loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done. And that's why it was so difficult. I could never let myself love you—let myself have you because how could I possibly deserve to? But that’s the kicker. It’s not hard to love you, Finn, it’s impossible not to.

Something happened recently that made me realize that I’m not the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. But, Finn, know that my love for you is never in doubt. How I feel about you may be complex, but it’s not complicated. I love you desperately, humanly, simply. Without even trying, you peel me back to my core, but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul. 

I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.

We may not be next to each other, but we’re under the same sky, and each glowing point on that backdrop of black is a star—a sun at the center of someone’s solar system. 

In some other universe, on a different Earth, there’s a girl in love with a boy whose freckles run like constellations. On another, there’s a girl who’s in love with how her boy’s eyes squint when he smiles.

That's the one constant. There are billions of stars, billions of universes, and I love you in every one of them. 

Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other, because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’ . Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.

Maybe , he thinks, maybe there’s a way I can explain why I’m doing this, some kind of code or something. Maybe I can still meet with her, just in secret. But Snow …It always comes back to Snow. 

Snow reads these letters, and surely he'll be more vigilant of Finnick to make sure he keeps his side of the deal. Besides, if you knew the real reason he’s doing this—that it’s against his will, that he wouldn’t even think to do this in his worst nightmare—you’ll latch on, consequences be damned. 

He’s doing this for you. He has to remind himself that it’s your life on the line here, not just his heart.

Still. 

He's careful when folding the letter back, only bending it along the preexisting lines. He sets it beside himself. 

He picks up a piece of paper from the stack in front of him tucked against the wall, twirling his pen along his fingers. His leg bounces, nails tapping on the desk. 

He writes something down and comes to a stuttering halt. It isn't good enough. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and picks up a new one. 

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's stuck in a loop, unable to find the right words. The pressure is building, and he can feel himself starting to crack. He needs to get this done, needs to find a way to say goodbye.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's lost track of time, doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. The words are eluding him, and he's starting to feel like he's lost his grip on reality.

Finally, he puts pen to paper and the words flow out of him like a dam breaking. He writes about his love for you, about how much he misses you, about how impossible it is to imagine a future without you. He writes about his fear and his grief, about the weight of the world on his shoulders. He writes you goodbye. 

When he's done, he holds your letter carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. He knows what he has to do, knows that there's no turning back now. 

With trembling hands, he picks up the tan envelope and slides his letter inside. He seals it with a kiss, feeling the weight of his decision like a physical burden. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and places the letter on the stack in front of him. It's done. The words are written, the decision made. 

He sits back in his chair, feeling numb and hollow. He doesn't know what comes next, but he knows that he'll face it head-on. For you.

Past (xii) - You 

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

Finnick's reply came faster than you expected it to. 

You plop down in your office chair, giddy as you rub at your sore cheeks. You've been smiling like an idiot since you picked up the letter from the Mayor's office. You tear into the envelope and pause. 

The words are kind of smudged, dried drops of something smearing the ink. Luckily, you can still read it. 

My heart, 

My moon and stars. 

I must have rewritten these words at least a dozen times by now. You should see the pile of crumpled paper next to me. You'd call it wasteful, but I'm sure you'd be secretly charmed by how nervous you make me after all these years. 

There's no way to dance around it, and I know how much you hate when people mince their words.

It pains me to think it, let alone write it. This will be my last letter to you. 

I know you have a hundred and one questions bouncing around that beautiful brain of yours, you'll want to know why. And the answer is, there is no why. I've decided that it's best, for both of us, to stop. Stop the letters, stop the meetings. 

It ends here. 

I don't want you to hate me. But if that makes it easier for you to stay away from me, then despise me. More than the Peacekeepers, more than the Capitol, more than Snow. Take that loathing and hold onto it like you used to hold me. 

But, selfishly, I want you to know what I'll be holding onto. 

Those little moments outside of time where you and I were the center of each other's universe, two stars orbiting each other. The balcony of my room, the floor of yours. 

I want you to know this because I don't want you to doubt that I love you. 

Because I do. I love you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough. I could say it until my tongue falls off and I'd find a way to sign it to you. 

I could live a thousand lifetimes, be a thousand different people, and I will never love someone like I love you. 

I think of your smile and I fall in love again. I think of your touch and I fall in love again. I won't leave you without you knowing this. I'd sooner stop breathing. 

There are plenty of things I should be thanking you for, but if I tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper. 

I felt...free with you. As free as anyone can be in our situation. I've never felt so close to another person before—I never let myself. 

I thought it would pass eventually, like a sand castle when it's high tide. Noticeable, beautiful, but temporary.

But I can tell you now, that was such bullshit . Since that first dance, there was never a moment I wasn’t in love with you. I loved you before I knew I was capable of it, before I knew I had it in me, and you had my heart before I even knew it was there. I saw the thorns of your past and held my hands out, ready to bleed if it meant I could touch you.

And that scared me. The very thing that gave me strength was my biggest weakness. That’s a hard pill to swallow at sixteen and it’s just as daunting at twenty-two. 

Years ago, you asked me if I could wish for anything, what would it be. I still wish I was a different person, someone you could be proud of. And I wish that person got to grow old with you. 

God, you don't know how badly I want to grow old with you.  

I have no doubt that there's a planet out there under a different sun where we end up together. Hand and hand with the two kids we always talked about. A little girl that'll have me wrapped around her finger because she'll look just like you. And a little boy that'll drive you up the wall because he's a little too much like me. That universe is where my heart lives.  

We'll find it someday, just you and me. Until then, they'll find our love written in the stars. In every constellation.  

-Yours until words lose meaning,  

Finnick O.  

You reread the letter. Then reread it again. You keep rereading it until the words refuse to sit still, letters blurring together. 

It ends here? What’s he talking about? He can't possibly mean the two of you. He can't. 

But he’s ending it. He ended it . Why would he—? He said there’s no reason, but…but there has to be. 

You try to think of anything you did—anything you said that could have led to this but you're coming up blank. 

This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know. 

The letter says that he loves you, and you thought you knew he loved you, but it’s pretty hard to believe that when he’s leaving you.

He promised he'd stay with you, he promised , and Finnick doesn't break his promises. Not with you. No. Not after everything you've been through together. You only have each other. 

The paper falls from your trembling hands to the desk. 

No . You only have Finnick. But, Finnick—he doesn't want you anymore, right? So, where does that leave you? What else do you have? 

A grandfather clock ticks in the background, though it sounds muted to your ears. 

You look down at the paper and find wet spots, ink more smeared than it was before. Your cheeks are wet. Are you crying?

Stupid. You wipe at your cheeks roughly—angrier at yourself than you are at him. There are a million and one reasons this could have happened and they all begin and end with you. You have no one to blame but yourself.

You know what it feels like for your body to break. What it feels like to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it feels like to have your mind broken. 

But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same. 

You’re so cold. You don't think you've ever been this cold before. Not even when you were nine and you got such bad hyperthermia that you couldn’t work for the rest of the winter. He always ran hot, you think distantly. And all his warmth has left you. 

You hold on to yourself because no one else will. You would have preferred your body breaking. At least that heals. 

“I can’t,” you weep, stuttering over betrayal and loss, “I can’t do this on my own.”

You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sitting rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs . Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected. 

You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. Maybe if you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles you could pull out the problem.

But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. You wanted to give him your heart, but not like this.

Did you get ahead of yourself? Thinking anything could last with someone who shines as bright as him? Maybe…maybe if you were a little more like him, if you shined just as bright. 

You scoff. 

You’re not a star, you’re not even the moon. How can the sun love the same darkness it chases away?

He described the ocean to you once. Vast and endless, like it could go on forever. And he told you about all the people who get lost at sea. Now you’re one of them. 

You have capsized, water rushing up past your neck and into your mouth and nose, just as salty as your tears. Your lungs burn from the lack of air, you can’t breathe and no one will come for you because you're as good as dead.

Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway. 

You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.

Present (X) - Finnick 

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

It’s a last resort, a unanimous choice between them all. A wordless decision that the victors made to appeal to the Capitol citizens. Though they’re all using different means, it’s all for the same result. That’s what Finnick has to remind himself when he’s called on stage after Beetee. 

The crowd screams at his entrance and he locks his hands behind his back. He smiles while nodding to his adoring fans as he stands beside Caesar.

“Finnick, I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody.” The crowd hoots and hollers at the dramatics of it all and the idea of one of them being the special someone close to his heart. He chuckles and looks down. The Capitols being painfully predictable is finally paying off. All according to plan. “Can we hear it?”

He could spew some generic flowery shit that could apply to literally anyone he’s come in contact with, but…

He looks at the camera. There will be fourteen victors coming up to perform before you, so you should still be in your dressing room. Are you watching? Watching him?

"My love, my star . My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”

Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen. Look how far we’ve fallen, Star. 

“Oh, my. That’s very touching, Finnick. Isn’t it? I’m sure whoever it is, is listening and feeling truly loved.” 

“I hope you’re right, Caesar.”

They allowed Mags to opt out of her interview on account of her not being able to speak. How kind , he scoffs. And as he settles on the raised platform beside her, he briefly squeezes her hand. 

You okay? He mouths and she nods with a smile. 

One by one, each victor comes with their own approach to sway the masses. Oh, he knows there's no way they'll be canceling the games. Finnick is more likely to drain the ocean with a teaspoon before Snow even considers stopping this cruelty. But it’s worth a shot, he supposes. It can’t possibly make going into the arena any worse.

Besides Johanna's impassioned speech, nothing the other victors do stands out to him. Then, you're called out.  

He sinks his teeth into his lip as the audience applauds at your entrance.

From what he can recall, your outfit is a remix of the dress you wore in your first interview as if it has aged and matured with you. It’s gained a long train and the hip-high thigh slits that your stylist is known for.

You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.

He blinks when the crowd breaks into raucous laughter and he realizes he’s missed something.

"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver. The crowd laughs with him and your cheeks must hurt from holding that coy smile. "Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift. Finnick doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you’d use the violin as your strategy. Mostly because of how much you hate it. Or maybe you don’t anymore. Maybe you’ve grown to love it and he’s none the wiser. “Can you play it for us now?" The crowd clamors in ooohs and ahhhs at the idea. It has always been a privilege to hear you play. Finnick watches your face closely.

It wasn't your favorite thing to do, by far, but you took to it like a fish to water. Usually, Snow would have you play at the more "personal" get-togethers. But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick . And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory. 

“You’re kind of putting me on the spot here, but, sure. I would love to play it for you all.” You laugh. You place the instrument under your chin and position your fingers and bow.

And you play .

It's not showy like the pieces you usually play for the public. Not grand or performative, but soft and soulful. Melancholy. It feels nostalgic almost, like something you would write for him. 

The haunting melody carries throughout the silent room as if everyone is breathing with the lilting notes. Everyone but Finnick—who holds his breath. 

He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it. 

It sounds like a goodbye. 

You come to a stop and Finnick's lungs stop constricting with your movements.

When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.

“That was marvelous , my dear. Truly moving—wasn’t that moving?” He asks the audience, and Finnick will be surprised if there’s a dry eye in the crowd. Even their applause sounds sad. 

“Thank you, Caesar.” You nod at the praise. “You taught me so much—all of you. If I had known this would be the last time I got to play for you—” You trail off into a sob and the crowd coos. The words may be fake, but he isn’t too sure about the tears. He wonders if you think you won’t make it out of the arena alive—not that he would let that happen. If he could just talk to you, and have an actual conversation, he could know what you’re thinking.

Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”

You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry. 

You’re met with a standing ovation as you climb to your place on the platform. With the way the victors are positioned, he stands directly behind you. Or, well, strictly speaking, he’s more diagonal than directly behind you. Still, how lucky is he? He could, theoretically, lean forward and catch a whiff of your perfume—

He gathers himself, straightening up and lacing his fingers behind his back. He squeezes the space between his thumb and forefinger.

Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes. 

“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.

The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.

"You know Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if it weren't…if—" Peeta stops himself, glancing around nervously.

"If it weren't for what? What?"

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Now, that catches his attention. Gasps echo throughout the room at Peeta’s revelation. Finnick’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline with how high they raise. Caesar tries to do damage control, but the situation is quickly escalating. 

“Call off the games!”

“This is cruel!”

He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…that’s certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous. 

Chaos unfurls in a way he never thought the Capitols were capable of. They’ve always been so docile; sheep shepherded into any direction Snow leads them. But it makes sense. The romance act was meant to fool the Capitol and fool them it has. He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now. 

How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?

He looks over, brows furrowed, as Mags takes his hand with a proud smile and he glances down in time to see you take Chaff’s hand. He pauses for a moment before taking the hand the woman from Five offers him. In sync, the victors all raise their hands in a show of solidarity. 

“Stop the games!”

“Call them off!”

Finnick grins big at the mayhem unfolding before him and they keep shouting long after the lights cut out.

Present (X) - You & Finnick

[23 & 24 ] - THE CAPITOL

“Star!”

It didn't take long for the tributes to be escorted off the platforms and as he chases after you, Finnick realizes that he vastly underestimated just how many people stood between you and him. He isn't sure if he's too far away for you to hear or if you’re actively ignoring him.

”Star!” Finnick pushes through the crowd of victors and stage crew to get closer. Chaff glances at him and now he knows for sure that you’re ignoring him.

“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “ The message was for you! ”

You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? God , it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy. 

You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.

There are dozens of eyes on him, people milling around as if they aren’t honed in on whatever this is. He can’t blame them for being curious, he’s a little confused himself. He went into this with no plan, not that he would have been able to stick to one with how you’re looking at him.

“What?” The lingering crowd fully parts for him as he approaches, and you regard the gathering audience warily. 

“What I said, the message—it was for you.” He repeats. 

He can’t afford to be coy, that hasn't worked the last dozen times he's attempted a conversation with you and it definitely won't work now. He knows if he doesn’t catch you now, there won’t be any more chances.

Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight. His eyes are locked intently on you, either unaware of all the attention he’s captured or just uncaring.

You look over to Chaff for some kind of help and he smirks at your growing embarrassment. You watch in disbelief as he walks away using the excuse of finding Seeder to escape. 

“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes. 

"Can you please just,” he shifts his weight on his feet, "can you look at me, Star? Please, just look at me." He lifts his hand like he aims to reach out to you, but hesitates. 

This situation is developing into something far more intimate than your current company should allow. More intimate than you should allow. You can always just walk away, turn your back to him and get on one of the idle elevators—let it end here once and for all. The only thing stopping you would be the completely unfounded guilt. 

You don't owe him anything, let alone your time. 

And, yet. 

Maybe you can get some kind of closure and set clear boundaries before you go into the arena—and that reasoning sounds weak even to you.

Both of you could die tomorrow and truthfully, you don't want to walk away from him; you've never wanted to.

Besides, it's not like he can hurt you any worse than he already has. 

Finnick jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, a sensation he should be accustomed to but has grown foreign. 

You pull him aside away from eavesdropping ears, but not from nosey eyes. You feel like a spectacle, with how front and center Finnick has made this, but when haven't you?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You question him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what this is or what you think this is, but it is not the place for it. What if this gets back to Snow—”

“I don’t care.”

“—There’s already so much…what?”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and for once, he’s not lying. “I don’t care if they hear us, or—or if this gets back to Snow.”

Your jaw shifts as you narrow your eyes up at him and there’s that anger he’s been expecting.

“Please, Star. Just…just let me speak.” He begs. Your face goes blank, a mask slotting into place like a lock with a key that Finnick has long since lost the right to. He blocks out the chatter around him. 

“Not here.” For a moment, he thinks he’s being rejected until you grab his wrist and drag him behind you. The elevators are filling in droves and you just so happen to pick the one housing some of the last people he wants to witness this. 

Haymitch takes one look at your faces and the grip you have on his wrist and raises his hands in defense. 

Haymitch turns to Katniss and Peeta. “Nuh-uh, believe me. You do not wanna be locked in here with them.” He shakes his head and steps out without a backward glance and you contemplate going with him. “I’ll meet you guys up there.”

Johanna steps on in his place, elevator doors closing behind her. She looks between the four of you and whistles. Finnick sighs.

“There’s the happy couple.” You glance at Peeta and Katniss because she certainly isn’t talking about the two of you. “You caused quite the stir out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting? We could have thrown you a baby shower.” You sigh through your nose. You don’t even have it in you to intervene in this conversation.

“What the hell is a baby shower—”

“We didn’t know how everyone would take it.” Peeta cuts Katniss off. “We’re already the newest victors. The baby might’ve painted an even bigger target on our backs.” He says without stuttering once.

“That’s a fantastic answer, Peeta.” Johanna crows sarcastically. “Did Haymitch prep you on that one or did you come up with it on your own?”

“No. No, it’s all me.” He assures with a downward smile. It certainly is all him. He’s the mastermind behind all of this, right? Ironically enough, Finnick doubts Katniss had any real part in making this ‘baby scandal’.

Finnick opens his mouth to make a quip but thinks better of it. You’re already aggravated at his presence and he honestly doesn’t want to remind you that he’s here. His only consolation is that you’re still holding his wrist, all five pads of your fingers are searing points on his skin.

Peeta gives you an imploring look, eyebrows raised as if to ask if you’re alright and you nod and—when did that happen?

It’s quiet, with no other sound than the nearly inaudible woosh of the elevator going between floors. No one makes an effort to break the steadily growing awkward silence. Finnick does, however, make the mistake of making eye contact with Johanna. She mouths you’re dead at him over your head and, yeah, that definitely fills him with much-needed confidence. 

Present (X) - Finnick

[21 & 22] -  THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“Alright. You wanted to speak.” Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition. “Speak.” 

He stays where he’s standing a couple of feet away. He probably should have figured out what to do on the elevator ride, but, again, he’s without a plan. “Did you hear my message? When I was up there with Caesar? I know you were still getting ready—did you hear it?”

“I might’ve.” You shrug and cross your arms, still so stubborn. “Great strategy by the way. I’m sure you’ll reel in plenty of sponsors.”

“God, Star, it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for the fucking movement.” You raise a brow at his words but give no further outward reaction. He moves to stand before you, each step more unsure than the last. Your glare is scorching, but there’s been enough space between the two of you to house the sun. “Do you remember when you said my poetry was a gift? And—and that I shouldn’t waste it on them? You said you would never be tired of anything I do. Do you remember that night? What I said?” He implores. It was a special night full of promises and you gave him more than he deserved.

You look him over with a critical eye long enough that he’s sure you’re just not going to answer. Especially when you turn to stare off to the side before sighing out of your nose.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you. A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I. Everything I do, I do for you.” It only takes him half a second to recognize the lines and he’s stunned, transported back to that garden under the stars. “I remember all of them…I remember everything you’ve made for me.” You give him fleeting peripheral glances and avoid his gaze like you’re ashamed of that. 

He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down into a kneel before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his inspiration. 

You stare down at him, giving no indication that anything he’s said has swayed you. He grits his teeth through the sting of rejection and sighs, arms falling to his sides.

“I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“Why now?” You cut him off. “It’s been two years. You don’t owe me anything, Finnick, so if this a guilt thing—”

“I–It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not…it’s not why I’m here.” He sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. “We could die tomorrow. And I don’t want you going into that arena thinking that I don’t love you or…or that I wanted to leave you.”

You squint at him, face twisting into a sour scowl.

“You said,” you drawl, slow and drawn out like you’re explaining something fundamental to a child, “you thought it was best if we ended it.”

He shakes his head. “I lied. I had to and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I know saying sorry won’t be enough, but please know sending that letter was the last thing I wanted to do. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said—”

He holds his hands up, stopping your completely warranted stream of questions.

“I know. I know what I said and I never would have said it if Snow hadn’t shown up at my house—”

“Snow showed up at your house?” Your arms unfold and you lean forward so suddenly that he almost flinches back. “When?” 

“Uh, a few weeks before I sent the letter. He’s the only reason I even sent it.” He scoffs, remembering the state he was left in after Snow offered the ultimatum. He doesn’t need to try to remember the words written in the letter he sent you because he’s never forgotten. They’re tattooed on the back of his eyelids, seared into his memory every time he blinks.

“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this ? What could have possibly been worth giving you up? 

“Snow he–he was convinced that our relationship would somehow lead to—civil unrest. His solution was to get rid of one of us, get rid of you . I couldn’t let that happen. He never explicitly said it, but you know how he is, how he speaks …I was scared. I was. I didn’t—” His voice cracks and you stare down at him with stunned, wide eyes. He wants to shuffle closer. He wants to sway into you and take some kind of comfort. But he doesn’t. “I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t just tell you because you would have tried to find some kind of loophole and we couldn’t afford to make him more hostile than he already was.”

You look to your left out of the wall-length windows and smirk, completely throwing Finnick off. 

"Star?"

You stand. He watches as you pace the length of the room before turning on your heel and walking onto the balcony. He can do nothing more than follow you. 

“He came to my house too, you know. Around the same time, I think. He wanted to remind me about how privileged I am.” You snort and that sick feeling is developing in his stomach, organs twisting to make room for the settling dread. He isn’t sure what he thought you’d do in light of the revelation, what he expected you to say, but it’s not this. “Went on about how thankful I should be that he was allowing us to be in a relationship and…and that as long as I kept myself in line, I could keep you.” You sigh, propping your elbows on the railing and placing your face in your hands.

He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and he’s been tired for even longer.

“We played right into his hand, Finnick. He gained something from this, bastard that he is.” You scoff. You turn and sit with your back against the glass railing. "That's all that matters to him."

Finnick stews on it and many things are starting to make sense. In the months leading up to the event, the two of you started seeing each other less and less. Long periods where all he had was your perfume and words to keep him company. And considering Snow was the only way either of you were allowed to come to the Capitol…Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now .

"I should have known better. Snow was never gonna kill you, he's too fucking— God .” He stops and shakes his head. All of the lost time, the unnecessary pain. 

“Come sit down, Finn.”

Finn. 

He hasn't been called that in a long time. He takes a second to stare unseeingly at the stars before sliding down beside you.

It's quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if there's anything he should say, and he's sure you feel the same. But he does know if it was up to you, you'd both sit in silence for the foreseeable future and he has two years' worth of confessions to make. 

“The mo—” he stops, overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, but nothing feels good enough, “I loved you the moment you laughed at my stupid joke the first time we danced together and I have loved you ever since. Even when I wasn’t there to show you, even when I—I left you. I’ve loved you the entire way, Star. There are billions of suns out there, billions of universes, and I love you in every one.”

Your head whips up.

“I remember everything you’ve made for me too.” Your mouth twists, brows furrowing as you stare at him and he can’t express in words how good it feels to be seen.

"I don’t hate you.” You shrug a shoulder, smiling small and quick. “You said ‘even if you still hate me’, I don’t hate you.”

“...You don’t?” 

“I tried to. For a while, I thought I did." He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is. “But I just… couldn’t . I didn’t even want to, after a while. I was just tired.”

His head thumps against the railing. He closes his eyes. There's a question on his tongue, an answer he shouldn't need but wants regardless. 

“Is that why you stopped sending letters?” When he opens his eyes again, he’s relieved by the fact that you’re still facing him.

Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten. “I just…I was fine waiting for you, Finnick. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt. Not too bad, at least. I would’ve waited a thousand years because it would have been worth it to hold you for a second. And I could get through that because I knew you were waiting for me too. But, I realized you were never coming. And, eventually, I realized…you weren’t waiting either." You whisper, wrapping your arms around your legs as you pull your knees up. He stiffens, freezing in place as he tries to slow his heartbeat. 

He drops his head, brows furrowed as he tries, and fails, to stop tears from forming. It's just, it's cruel . The one thing he promised himself he'd never do—leave you, hurt you—he had to do for you. 

He wipes his face, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes. 

"Star, I…I would never…It killed me to write that letter, you have to know that, right? Right ?" He implores, voice rough while his breath hitches repeatedly. His throat feels tight and swollen as he stutters over the words in his chest. The words you have to hear, the words he needs you to hear. You stare forward, refusing to look at him anymore and he turns to face you full-on, refusing to look at anything but you. "How can I let you know that? What can I do—to prove—that I'm sorry ?"

He thought you both had changed, changed too much to be fluent in what you two used to have. He thought it was a different language, but here, up close, he can see that it’s not so much a new language as it is a cipher. You just had to let him get close enough to understand again. He had always thought you had such an open face, it was a wonder to him how you were able to lie so eloquently when you could never lie to him. But it wasn’t until he was shut out that he realized you were letting him read you, subconsciously or otherwise. He reads you now, eyes tracing your face eagerly—hungrily, and finds…remorse?

"I know you’re sorry. I know. And logically, knowing the truth should make it easier to get over it.” Your mouth opens and closes, hesitating. “But you left me." He nods hard enough to hurt his neck. "I did." And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is. "You left me, Finnick. I know it isn’t rational to feel this way knowing you didn’t want to, but…” You lick your lips, resting your cheek on your knee. When you look up at him, actually look at him and not somewhere over his shoulder, the glossy state of your eyes has him digging his nails into his hands to ground himself. "It’s just—it’s more than a little hard to dissociate you from that hurt." I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.

"...I'm sorry too." You say and he wants to tell you there’s nothing to apologize to him about, but you lock your pinky with his and it’s entirely unexpected and truly enough to make his throat tighten, and all he can manage is a wistful sigh at the feeling of coming home.

Far below them, the sound of the city is dampened by the distance but no less heard. He goes to speak but spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It’s your ankle. Or specifically, what’s on your ankle.

“You wore it?” He asks, touching the fraternal twin of his own bracelet. He appraises what he thought was lost reverently. Tracing the grooves of the shells, the divets in the charms, the rough twine of the rope—it all feels like a live wire under his fingers.

“I never took it off.” You slip your heel off, loosening the straps of the bracelet and wiggling it down your foot. “I just thought it might be a little sad to parade it around when you didn’t want me.”

“There will never be a moment on this Earth of me not wanting you, not while I still have air in my lungs. Not even after.” 

“And how’ll you manage that?” You ask, your eyes crinkling in that old mirth you used to wear around him like a beauty mark.

“For you? I’ll find a way.” He promises.

You hum, appraising the jewelry for a second before passing it to him. He can’t help but smile when you lift your hand, silently prompting him. He places the bracelet on you, tightening it on your wrist. It feels like muscle memory when he lifts your hand to place a kiss on the center shell.

The corner of your mouth twitches up and you nod. “Okay.”

He leans in, placing a hand on the base of your neck and pulling you towards him and he’s still in awe that you actually let him. He holds the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his slender waist. 

"I'm not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair to.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “But after we do this, I want the chance to make it up to you." He'll spend the rest of his life mending what he tore apart if you let him.

“I think…I’d like that.” You speak into his chest and he feels your voice more than he hears it. “It was for you too.”

“What was?”

“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. Honestly, I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.

“ Star .” He begs you beseechingly, and there’s no hesitation when you look up at him and he grins. It feels like it’s been years. “There you are.”

You smile. It's small and heavier than he remembers, but it's there and he is as whole as he will ever be.

A/N: IMAGINE POURING YOUR HEART OUT AND EXPRESSING HEARTFELT INTIMACY TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST TO GET DUMPED yeesh. fun fact: "...but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul." I actually texted this to my beta reader about Finn from Adventure Time after seeing an edit bc I love him so much, but then I converted it into Finnick love. also, Finnick's letter was one of the first things I wrote for this story months ago. That balcony talk was inspired by Hozier's Unknown/Nth WE IN THE ARENA NEXT CHAPPY

#3d wifey talks #3d wifey answers #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #and they'd find us in a week #finnick #finnick odair fanfic #catching fire #the hunger games x reader #hunger games smut #hunger games fanfiction #finnick fanfic #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #hunger games finnick #the hunger games

[nobodyfamousposts]

Chloe’s Lament: Ripping Apart

Chloe’s attempts to improve her situation…didn’t work out, to say the least.

Mostly because in her mind, improving things for herself had to involve tearing down others to build up herself by comparison. Something she was easily able to do in the previous world when she was the ‘Princess of Paris’ with the power of her father and her social status to push her demands.

Here…she didn’t have that. At all. Which to Chloe’s ever-growing frustration, made her efforts entirely uphill battles.

She didn’t even have the Ladybug Miraculous to either set things right or to use to her advantage. She didn’t know who the new Ladybug or sidekick were, either. And unfortunately for her, her disregard for people unless she needed something immediately meant that she hadn’t paid attention to the old man Hawk Moth was attacking and thus didn’t know where to start looking for the Guardian or the Miracle Box to at least get the Bee again. Even worse, she hadn’t thought to bother with Hawk Moth or his sidekick once they had been stung, meaning she was just as clueless as everyone else was on the villain’s identity, so she couldn’t try to target him for his Miraculous either!

What she did have, however, was future knowledge of events—or at least what she bothered to notice outside of her own activities in the previous timeline. And one in particular stood out the most:

The hat contest.

Dupain-Cheng was still very much a fashion enthusiast despite the changes in this reality. That meant if nothing else, she would still take part in the contest once it came around.

And Chloe knew it would. She even checked to make sure! Even if Adrien despised her, she was still his ‘friend’ as far as Gabriel was concerned. Thus, she was still allowed to visit the Agreste Mansion. Sure, she had to make an appointment and didn’t have as much freedom to go about as she pleased, but she was able to slip away and confirm Gabriel’s intention to hold the contest.

So that meant she already knew what was coming! And with her foreknowledge, she was sure to win!

The plan was simple: recreate the famous feather derby hat for the contest before Marinette could. 

Without the signature this time.

This way, when the would-be designer tried to reveal Chloe as the thief, Chloe would have the upper hand. With no signature to prove Marinette’s claim and more than enough time to build proof that she had created the design first, Chloe would succeed in gaining fame and simultaneously crush Marinette’s dreams of being a professional designer. She would be branded as a cheater and blacklisted from any further design competitions. Gabriel would certainly never trust her again. And Adrien—poor Adrien would obviously need Chloe’s shoulder to cry on once he learned that Miss Perfect Marinette was only using him!

But as it turned out, there were three problems with this plan that Chloe had not accounted for…

Originally, Chloe was able to send Marinette’s hat design sketch to a professional hat maker to bring to life within the deadline.

This time, Chloe had neither the influence nor the funds to get any decent professional to make her design. Her attempts to use her mother’s channels didn’t work either when she couldn’t replicate the original design for them to use as a base.

“They’re feathers! What’s so complicated about it?!”

She also didn’t have the original sketch this go around.

And her less than eloquent efforts to explain the appearance, make, or materials of the desired hat to the interns only got everyone involved both frustrated enough to set off an argument that quickly got her mother’s attention.

Audrey Bourgeois was still very much the famed Style Queen and had no patience for Chloe or her tantrums. And without Andre’s position as Mayor or hotel owner to at least make him a business associate that could exert influence, it wasn’t like Chloe was in a position to make demands. And with only so much time to Paris Fashion Week and not to mention the other shows in the meantime, Audrey didn’t have the people or the patience to spare.

Audrey promptly told her to leave the workers alone unless she had something revolutionary. And despite her insistence to the contrary, a half-formed idea of a hat made with feathers of all things did not count.

As such, there was no one Chloe could get to make the hat for her.

This meant that if she wanted to create this hat and crush Marinette, she would have to make it herself.

Which led to the second problem with Chloe’s plan: for all that she prided herself in knowing and wearing fashion, she had no idea how to actually make it.

Sure, Chloe had a head start on the contest, but that was a very limited advantage for someone with little to no experience in sewing and an unwillingness to learn. Instead of taking the time to plot out a process, figure appropriate fabric, and learn the steps to make a hat, Chloe decided to jump into trying to just make the hat from her memory.

It couldn’t be that hard, right?

As such, by the time the competition actually started, what Chloe had was not so much a hat as…

“What is that? A gaudy balloon?”

“It looks like someone tarred and feathered a plastic bag.”

“I thought it was a deflated football?”

Yeah…that.

It was a sad-looking thing that could hardly be called a hat. Sunken and lumpy with a few feathers sticking out in odd directions. Chloe’s attempts to make her hat by hand resulted in a complete mess, and she had only a number of burns from the hot glue gun and bandages over her fingers from pricking herself to show for it.

“It’s…definitely unique.” Bustier said, clearly trying to be supportive.

Okay. Fine. So her hat was a failure. But she had wasted no effort in building proof that it at least was solely her creation. She could at least still get Marinette on theft of the idea. Maybe she could even claim sabotage if she spins it well enough!

And maybe she could have, except that there was still the final problem with her plan…

She had been assuming all this time that Marinette would be entering the contest with the same hat as before. That she would experience the same lack of inspiration and go to the same place and thus gain the same idea to enter into the contest.

All of which were very vital steps that Marinette would have to go through to reach the desired outcome Chloe had intended to achieve. All were steps that Chloe could not ensure Marinette would follow.

…all were steps which would be completely pointless when Marinette didn’t even compete.

“Wait—what is she doing in the stands?!” Chloe demanded, pointing to Marinette in outrage.

Marinette, for her part, had been sitting in the stands with a notebook in hand and surveying the various entries. She had been taking notes or drawing or who knew what until she looked up in confusion at the yelling.

“Chill out, Chloe. It’s an open contest.” Nino said, frowning at her.

“Yeah. People are allowed to watch.” Alix added.

“No!” Chloe shook her head furiously. She spun on Marinette. “I mean why are you THERE instead of HERE? It’s a hat competition! Aren’t you supposed to be competing?! Where is your entry?!” She demanded.

Marinette blinked in surprise.

“Well, I’m not competing. I’m just here to cheer the others on. And maybe observe. The officials said it was okay.”

And just like that, all of Chloe’s less than carefully laid plans were thrown out the window.

“What do you MEAN you’re not competing?!”

Because Marinette HAD to be competing! That was the entire point of Chloe even wasting her time with this stupid contest!

Marinette shook her head. “I’m friends with Adrien, and he’s the son of the man holding the contest. And the one who will be modeling the hat. While I don’t doubt Mr. Agreste would be impartial, there are rules against this sort of thing for a reason. It would reflect poorly on his integrity. And I don’t want people to question anything I create because of any potential bias.”

But…

That…

That was—!

“Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!”

What was even the point of having connections if you didn’t use them? What kind of socialite was Dupain-Cheng supposed to be, anyway?! It was like she didn’t even know anything!

Marinette was an idiot! She had this amazing position and the world at her fingertips and she couldn’t even use it right!

Chloe stormed out of the auditorium, ignoring the voices and attempts to call her back.

It was…

That was so…

It wasn’t fair!

Marinette was just being lazy! Not using her position or appreciating what it gives her! Not doing anything to prove herself to anyone and show just why she deserved her role! And yet everyone just loved her anyway!

And that…that was the worst part!

Previously, Chloe had to fight tooth and nail just to get people to so much as acknowledge her greatness. She had stayed on top of trends, learned how to navigate the world of the elite, and dealt with anyone and everyone to show why she was not one to cross. She showed why being the “Mayor’s Daughter” was such a pivotal role and why she most deserved it. She had learned to take advantage of any mistake to use to her own ends and end up on top. From Daughter of the Mayor to Queen Bee to Miracle Queen, Chloe had earned her kingdom.

And yet Marinette Dupain-Cheng…she wasn’t doing any of that! She was rich and didn’t use it. She had the power of the Mayor’s Daughter and she didn’t defend it.

She…she was doing nothing and people loved her.

It wasn’t fair!

It wasn’t FAIR!

It wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair 

IT WASN’T—

“Chloe?”

Chloe jerked up at the voice and immediately wiped her eyes.

Bad enough her plan had been such a failure, she didn’t need people knowing she was crying over it, too. She had nothing left in this world but her dignity. She couldn’t be seen as weak to anyone.

Even if it was Bustier.

“Chloe, I’m sorry. Were you upset?” The teacher asked as she approached cautiously.

“No.” She denied immediately. Because she wasn’t upset! That would suggest her plans had gone completely wrong. And they hadn’t! Because she hadn’t lost yet! She could still find some way to turn things around!

“Chloe, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Chloe refused to look at her.

It wasn’t like Bustier could understand. It was more than just the hat. It was more than a single contest. How could she even begin to explain it all? Everything she’d had? Everything she’d lost?

Bustier—in true ignorance, smiled kindly and rested a hand on Chloe’s shoulder.

“Your hat was your first attempt, wasn’t it? It clearly had a lot of effort put into it.” She said, soothingly. “I think I could see what you were trying to do with the design. You must have felt rushed with the limited time to work with.”

The words didn’t help. They did the exact opposite of help. Because Chloe had known the contest was coming. She’d had more time than anyone to put her entry together. And she still failed.

“With a bit more practice, it would have been a very beautiful hat. I’m sure it would have won.”

It would have won. In another world, it did win. She hadn’t expected it to be so hard to put a hat together. Why was it so hard?

“Oh! Here’s an idea!”

Chloe blinked as Bustier clapped her hands together, smiling brightly at the sudden thought.

“If you’re interested in fashion, maybe we can ask Marinette can help you?” 

And.

Chloe.

Froze.

“It’s hard when you’re first starting out and trying something new—”

It was like she was underwater. Bustier’s words washed over her, but she could barely hear them. Just sound. Just noise. Somewhere above her but its meaning unable to reach her.

“—maybe with a bit of guidance, you can make your hat even better—”

It was like she was falling. No ground beneath her—no stability. Free falling, but fully aware of her own weight dragging her ever downward, not knowing just how far the hole went…

Chloe gripped her creation harshly. Her ugly, pathetic imitation of a masterpiece that even her mother had praised.

“—Marinette loves fashion and knows a lot—”

Marinette must have cheated. There was no way she could do something like that in a few hours without help!

Neither of them noticed as the seams began to unravel and tear in the force of Chloe’s hold.

“—perhaps what you need is a mentor?”

Stretch.

“—volunteer to tutor you—”

Pull.

“—very talented—”

Unraveling.

“—a lot of love to give—”

Unraveling apart.

“—always willing to lend a hand—”

Just like her world.

“—I’m sure she’d be happy to help you improve—”

Just like her life.

“—don’t we try to ask her? I can even go with you and—”

Until it all ripped apart—

“SHUT UP!”

Bustier jerked back in shock at the outburst. She was actually acting as though Chloe had hit her or something—which was ridiculous! Because Chloe was the one in pain right now and nobody would see or try to help her!

“I’m sick of hearing about Dupain-Cheng and how special she is! I don’t need her help! I don’t need anything from her!”

Her teacher frowned, looking confused. Like she didn’t understand. Because she couldn’t see it.

No one could see it!

“Chloe, what are you—”

“She’s a thief!” Chloe yelled. “She knows what she’s doing! I’ll bet she planned this! She must have!”

“What are you talking about?”

She stomped her foot in rage. “This isn’t hers! None of this is hers! She only has it this good because she stole it from me first!”

“Chloe, you’re not making any sense!”

“I didn’t Wish big enough the first time! Why did I even bother with taking everything from her? I should have just Wished for her to disappear!”

“Chloe!”

But she just stormed away.

Out of the hall. Out of the building. Out of the school altogether.

But no amount of walking would take her out of this life she’d Wished herself in to.

All she left behind were the torn remains of an amateurish hat and fragments of her idealized hopes that were just as broken as her plan for revenge.

The only witnesses were her own teacher.

…and a classmate who had seen the whole thing.

#ml fic #chloe's lament #lament series #chloe salt #caline bustier #marinette dupain cheng

[clown-femme]

Okay I have been putting off making this post for a few days but I do indeed need help. I fell way, way behind on our utilities. I was the person in charge of paying them and they just got away from me. It's my fault and I need to rectify this.

(because our power bill is cumulative every 2-3 months they build up fast, especially since there are four people living in a two story apartment running three ACs, computers, the washer and dryer, lights, charging phones, TVs, etc @_@. just one previous bill was $600, and most others are 200-400. As soon as i missed one, trying to catch up has been an uphill battle.)

I have already put about $400 of my check toward this but that's a small dent and with everything else I have to pay (like rent) I can't give much more. We still need about $2000 more. At this point I'm very afraid of it being shut off since the COVID state of emergency is over here and they can start cutting your utilities off again. I applied for a due date extension but it only gave me until the 11th - i dont know what will happen after that. We haven't had a warning, but I don't want to let it get that bad.

Please, reblog if you can, and if you have it to spare, we'd really appreciate the help with our utilities. my paypal is @CaseyPridemore DM for venmo or cashap

[sibillascribbles08]

Been cooking my own tmnt iteration for a while, dunno how much will live anywhere but my brain but I wanna do some refs, so here's the turts!

I've been calling it Teenage Mutant Jazz Turtles or tmjt for short

If you care to hear some more you can peak under the cut

(More refs coming??? eventually I'm still stuck on some designs)

As the name implies, tmjt has more inspiration drawn from musical elements than combat elements. With the turtles not only living in a big ol' tour bus but also attempting to become a competent band after finding their magical instruments. But the ones they discover aren't the only ones out there, and some belong to some pretty nasty characters. (All the villains are gonna have a theme based on a different genre of music!)

The turtles travel and live with their dad (Splinter) and adopted sister (Casey). Originally just trying to survive but that kind of all changes when they accidentally interrupt a plan from the foot clan and not only discover some magical instruments that can turn into weapons, but also an entire world of monsters and creatures when they thought they were the only ones.

Leo is the oldest sibling, but despite this she struggles to be responsible for her siblings after her gender realizations caused a massive crack in her confidence. She's constantly self conscious of how others are perceiving her, even her own family in spite of their boundless support. She's always loved music, thanks to her dad, and dreams of being a singer, but because of how her mouth is built that's also an uphill battle. Her duel katanas can shift into a cello which can put opponents into a trance like sleep. While her given name was Leonardo, she's not sure what she wants to change it to, and simply goes by Leo for the time being. While she doesn't like to show her mouth, her teeth and jaw are powerful enough to bite through a steel knife.

Donnie is the second oldest (by just four days!) and is the one who stepped up to be in charge while Leo figures things out. He doesn't entirely mind the responsibility, though the pressure gets to him sometimes. Especially when Raph decides to criticize his decisions. They're very analytical and logical, their main passion being for mathematics which extends into some of the sciences as well such as physics. They know enough engineering to maintain the tour bus and build a few helpful devices such as their goggles or the calculator in their glove. Donnie puts his passion for math into music, using it to map out patterns for tunes (though not all of them sound good in the end). Their four eyes also have an additional lens to see heat signatures (and their dark vision is incredible). Donnie's clarinet allows him to create visual illusions.

Raph is the second youngest (by four days, Donnie constantly reminds him) and despite his appearance is one of the more level headed members of the family. You kind of have to learn how when your body could release gases that could paralyze your family members. Raph vents his frustration by either releasing gas that Donnie can convert into fuel for the bus or by writing poetry. Not that he ever lets the others read it, but he does put that skill into writing song lyrics. While he keeps cool and collected he still loves a good brawl, and will happily spar with anyone (usually Casey). He just leaves a lot of the destruction to his younger sibling, unless someone in his fam gets hurt, then the gloves are off. Raph is fiercely protective and will square up if someone so much as looks at one of his siblings funny, especially Leo. His high emotions are often why he and Donnie argue. Raph's trumpet can cause phantom pains in the skull, though he rarely has to use it give it how potent his gases can be.

Mikey, the youngest, is a tiny terror and he not only knows this, he takes great pride in it. Mikey enjoys causing chaos for the sheer joy of it, and enjoys it the most when Raph will simply hurl him at opponents for him to latch onto. Over the years he's learned to climb very well with his four arms, going up trees and buildings with ease which can make him very hard to chase after. Despite his love for trouble, however, he can be just as sweet, though his desire to do good deeds for his love ones can be a bit misguided at times (no Mikey you can't just rob the ice cream stand stop). Unfortunately as long as it keeps hiding behind Raph when the consequences happen, it may take some time to grow up (not that it has any interest in doing so right now). Mikey's drums allow him to create intense vibrations in the ground, enough to topple some buildings.

#sibillasart #sibillasocs #tmjt #tmnt #don't @ me about how the instruments look they are simple drawings #also yes each of their mutations are based on human senses #excited to draw trans he/him lesbian casey jones #also fyi splinter is a bat #Mikey has no sexuality flag not because it's straight but because it cannot be bothered to think about romance #Leo's my daughter who I'd kill seventy people for

[asgodsfall-if]

As Gods Fall - Now on Tumblr!

In a dying world of magic and steel a god has been murdered. And it’s your job to find the murderer.

You are a Peacekeeper: an officer of the law upholding order in the last city of a dying world. Along with a new partner it is your job to find the one responsible for murdering a being once considered eternal. Become part of a unique modern fantasy world shaped by over a thousand years of history and uncover parts of it never before seen by mortal eyes.

Gameplay and features:

Play as one of 5 distinct races, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. Pick between smart and resourceful humans, physically unstoppable werewolves, graceful and kind fairies, elementally potent demons or shapeshifting formis.

Customize and build your character. From their looks through their skills and attributes to their personality.

Approach problems with brute force, swift hand, sharp mind or quick tongue using an attribute based stat system.

Take advantage of a unique active ability system to overcome challenges.

Investigate crime scenes, interrogate witnesses, discover the city’s secrets and sins of its creators.

Experience a city on the brink of collapse and help control the panic, or add fuel to the fire.

Find rivalries, friendships and romance as you embark on 4 unique character journeys.

Find a way to stop the ongoing apocalypse or let the decay finish its job.

The world:

The world of Etr was always driven forth by conflict. Be it the wars of its first era, the technological race of the second, or the fight for survival in its current era. Once a land full of life and wonders, it is now plagued by an unstoppable force that is the decay as it ravages all in its path. The only place safe from it: Citadel City is a boiling pot of those that remain. Full of life and dangers as the last representatives of surviving races try to live together despite centuries of bad blood between some of them. A city where magic of old coexists alongside the cold steel and concrete of modern technology.

Companions:

Coren Ashver: Coren’s life was always an uphill battle. As a demi born of human and demon parents he was always an outcast. Wishing to follow in his dead father’s footsteps he joined the force and eventually signed up for an experimental enhancement program before becoming your new partner.

Erinwehulda Drakebraid (Eri): Erinwehulda’s the smartest forensic your precinct has. Seen as eccentric by most of your colleagues she prefers to stick to herself and her inventions. Now it’s your turn to get past the aloofness and work with her as you tackle the big case.

Mesar Nemo: Mesar’s the definition of a free spirit. A werewolf born into royalty and set to take over the clan in a few years. There’s a lot resting on his shoulders which he learned to push aside by chasing the rush of adrenaline. Now that his patron deity is gone will he step up to fill the hole?

Paoni Crowelo: To Paoni information is power and a tool used to maintain balance in a world gone mad. She sees herself as a caretaker of the city and its people and as the city’s biggest information broker there is nothing that goes by her. What secrets will her intel uncover as she aids you in your case?

You can play the publicly available demo consisting of the prologue and 3 chapters (~88.5k words) here: https://moody.ink/play/cavus-rex/as-gods-fall/mygame/index.php

For a more direct line of contact you can join the official discord server where it's easier for me to organize feedback and bug reports: https://discord.gg/Dv6HtKVYSd

Also if you want to support the project and receive perks like access to patron only chats, early access to new chapters and exclusive filler stories (none available right now) you can join the Patreon, or support me through Ko-fi: https://www.patreon.com/cavusrex https://ko-fi.com/cavusrex

#interactive fiction #if community #choice of games #hosted games #if demo #work in progress

[sasster]

What IS That Thing?

Can you guess what ICP song is on this guy’s playlist with what was provided?

[Doc] —

The lights are out when you return to your hive, not just turned off, but actually smashed out. Small piles of broken glass near where the lamps live, only partially lit by the light in the hall of the building as you enter, indicate that much. Maybe the lights in these hivestems have a tendency of just exploding with very little stress put upon them, it has only been a few perigees since you moved into the place after all. At the behest of everyone that heard about your campaign to dethrone the local regional ruler.

Not many trolls possess that sort of audacity, at least not the ones that aren’t also fleet aligned. Dethroning those guys is a little bit like pulling teeth, or, more appropriately, getting rid of a bedbug infestation in the hive of a hoarder. Short of burning it all to the ground and starting over from scratch, it is always an uphill battle. But doable. Certainly doable. Actual Empress-fighting would be punching a little bit above your weight class, but you think you can handle a little skirmish with some run of the mill general. It should be a no skin off your nose sort of situation. After that, you’ll be able to put in place the sort of guidelines that will see that the people who live in these areas won’t have to deal with the mistreatment. The fight is only in a few hours, you’re amped, and there is no time for second guesses.

With caution you step around the broken glass and make your way into the small kitchen space that shares an area with your living room. It is a far cry from the near palace you were raised in, but laying low is important. The local regional ruler will have your head if they find you, and you’ve done so good to shake off their muscle thus far. What a shame it would be for it to all come to pieces now.

You sit in a stool in the kitchen and sigh, relaxing into a slump against the wall as all of the stress of the day starts to roll off of you in a wave. No one told you how stressful it would be to run this sort of campaign, but that might be just because it goes without saying. There is so little time between now and the fight, but you can’t show up to it wound up all tight like this. 

A creak in the floorboards draws your attention to your bedroom, and a cold dread pricks at the back of your neck. Did you shake off the muscle? Could have just been the building settling. Slowly you pull yourself to your feet and take deliberate steps back to the bedroom, stepping around piles of glass still while you do, and equip your trident in the process.

You call out toward the sound, “Hey, man. Whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it. Just get the hell out of here,”  as you near the door, using your weapon to slowly poke it open all the way. “Or I can kill you, it really doesn’t matter to me.”

The intruder is sitting on your bed when you enter, with a face obscured by a mask that appears to be smooth with some simple designs, from what you can see lit up by the dim moonlight. They angle their head toward you.

“They sent a laughsassin after me? Really?” Your laugh is breathless.

The intruder laughs as well, it is a mirror to yours, but much higher in pitch, and absolutely sardonic in nature. “I always get that. Laughsassin,” he bemoans as he stands up and stretches, there is something incredibly uncanny about the looseness he handles his own limbs with. “It’s outdated. Implies that all I do is kill and laugh. Which, alright, I won’t lie. It does take up a big chunk of what I do.”

Dealing with a clown today was the last thing you thought would happen, it was your understanding that GHBs don’t typically put their noses into the mess of seadwellers trying to kill each other. Isn’t it a net-zero loss for them, at the end of the day? But now that you’re thinking about it, they might just be happy to stick the old ‘the devil you know’ addage.

“Sometimes, I’ll have you know, I’ve also been known to convince.”

“You want me to believe you aren’t here to kill me?”

“I am here to let you know you’ll be taking a dive later this evening.”

This time when you laugh, it comes from sheer shock. They sent a clown.

To tell you to give up in your pursuit of the regional title.

They must be scared.

With his hands on his hips, the clown takes confident strides around the bed and closes some, not all, of the distance that separated you. Your grip tightens around your weapon.

“How about I kill you now, and then your boss later?”

He bounces on his heels. Why is he so flimsy?

“Or you can leave here with your head attached to your body, and watch from the crowd. I’m not taking any bribes.”

He comes to a stop within striking distance of your trident, you can make out two faint lines that curve like tear tracks down the cheeks of his mask, but you hold firm, watching him carefully. He stretches again, bending his body at the waist until something pops audibly. “Oh, I’m not here to bribe. Did I confuse you? The dive you’ll be taking will be the swan type. Y’know? Into your grave.”

In the time that passes between the words leaving his lips and confusion contorting your features, something else hits you, literally — A small blade, tossed with such precision that it slices through a bit of your cheek and ear on its way to embed itself in the wall behind you. “Y’know?” He echoes.

You are already advancing on him with your trident when the gears start turning in your head, and the springy bastard ducks out of the way of the attack and dances behind you with another laugh that suspiciously sounds like it’s still mocking yours.

Clowns are the worst. You didn’t even see him move to throw the damn thing in the first place. A frustrated growl rips out of your chest as you turn to face him.

“That’s all? You’ll need to do better than that if you’re going to scare me out of it.”

It’s hard to tell what he’s going to do next, without being able to see his face, which you gather is the whole point, but he’s already rocking back on his heels, reaching back to get a grip on his knife. He practically cackles, “You’re right,” followed by pulling the thing out of the wall. It doesn’t matter that he has his hands on his weapon, you think, without the element of surprise, a throwing knife loses the fight to a trident every time.

Smugness settles in your breast as you pull yourself to stand a little straighter, having found the confidence to make it through both of the fights the stars have set out for you this evening.

Then, the smugness quickly dissipates when the nuisance does something completely unexpected, and tips his mask up to uhm.

Well, it looks like he is lapping the blood, and bits of drywall but whatever, off of the knife.

“Why do so many fish carry a trident, anyway?” He asks and though you’ve instructed your body to lunge with the subject of his criticism, you stay rooted in place. A sinister glow begins to spill out around the edges of his mask. “I always thought it was a bit on the nose. You know? There are other weapons. Bet you’d have fared better with a harpoon gun.”

His words fly over your head, you are more concerned with your suddenly immovable body.

The masked intruder stays where he is, stretching and bending his freakish form while in the meantime your own disobedient body once again closes the distance between the pair of you. Your mind is racing. You’ve come so far, your aspiration right within your grasp, just to be killed by a clown.

His knife comes up to your cheek, where he’d already cut it before, and from the angle his mask sits at now, you can see two rows of sharp teeth exposed in some form of twisted grin. It is almost worse that the rest of his face is entirely concealed. He presses into the flesh and more of your blood is drawn out onto the blade.

“It’d be really nice of me to kill you just like this, y’know, but the boss wants to make an example of you. No hard feelings, right?”

#hm i made a mistake in choosing his title #because there are several things tagged as the bogeyman #or just bogeyman #whatever #termia #i’ll cope #long post #coko writes sometimes #not my best but it’s what i wasted my free time on today lol

[tjodity]

GOD IF YOU HAVE ANY COCONUT WINS IDEAS I WOULD LOVE TO BEAR TJEM SO BADLY I WOULD KILL SOMEONE

UM. YES. I have so many fics to try and write in the month of march but i've got writers block so im not really procrastinating so I will talk abt this!!! Some ideas:

-Okay so the big important first change is that Fundy's voter fraud can't be proven. The numbers are still suspicious, but nobody can prove that they were tampered with. COCONUT2020 beats POG2020 and SCHLATT2020+SWAG2020 in a massive landslide.

-Schlatt never lets this go from the second he hears it. he knows in his bones that he was cheated. Niki is on an edge of not being able to make a sure decision about it. Quackity, George, Tubbo, and Tommy are all fairly pissed about it.

-Losing the election to his son and his first lady fully fucks up Wilbur. He mumbles congratulations and then fully leaves L'Manberg to go off into the woods and build like. a house. imagine how he was in pogtopia but he has no one to fight and no one to talk to and no justifiable reasons to himself to be upset at all.

-Fundy and Niki become co-presidents. Niki appoints Tommy as L'Manberg's scout so he has an excuse to try and find Wilbur. With no exiles, no dictatorship, and no underground rebellion L'Manberg has a lot of people who don't see eye to eye and can say what they want.

-opposing political parties form pretty soon after. Schlatt, Quackity, and Tubbo form a party on the basis of preserving L'Manberg's integrity, making it a better place to live, and integrating more with the SMP. This is referred to as the Opposing Party but I'm sure if it was real lore it would have a very stupid name. Niki, Fundy, George, and Karl end up in a looser party focused on getting an upper hand in ongoing external conflicts and maintaining L'Manberg as a cohesive unit. This is referred to as the Presidential Party. Hbomb stays relatively neutral and Tommy tries to play negotiator. I'm not sure which side Ponk would be swayed towards.

-Niki and Schlatt sort of come up as the biggest political figures. Fundy gets increasingly weird and reclusive as time goes on and Quackity handles a lot of the actual logistics of running L'Manberg. Fighting an uphill battle with a team of people keeps Schlatt a lot more grounded than he was in Manberg. Niki on the other hand is fucking panicking because she feels like she's been dragged into a set of beliefs she doesn't really agree with but she doesn't really know how to keep everything moving. She tends to go towards fairly straightforward and firm answers to problems which keeps pushing her towards militarization.

-Dream doesn't really get a chance to be a villain, at least to the extent he is in the main story. The result of 2nd Era L'Manberg politics is that the country is expanding quickly and acting with sporadic violence with no predictable diplomatic policy, which is a nightmare for him. He ends up resolving that L'Manberg is a much more pressing issue than the disc conflict and devotes a lot of his time to normal diplomacy. Also due to the different position of Schlatt he never hears about the Revival Book.

-Tommy and Dream could actually resolve their issues a little here. Tommy is the only L'Manbergian trying to soften conflicts between the parties and also spends a lot of his time out in the SMP as a scout. He's also lost a lot of confidence in most of his friends and mostly wants everything to calm down. There wants align enough for them to partially work together and I think that at this point they could reasonably figure out their shit.

-Sapnap becomes a much bigger threat. Coconut winning basically resulted in the country of L'Manberg becoming his enemy. I don't think he'd get as fucked up as Dream did but he was also a pretty violent person to begin with and I could see him both escalating and broadening the conflict.

-I don't have a lot more ideas I can remember than that! Some more may come to me but I think it's fascinating! Take some very quick drawings

#howdywrites #scott #coconut wins au

[astrhae]

i know i'm asking for pain with this but:

wesper + a kiss on a scar? 🥰

double bluff | angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence, 4k

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

“There you are,” Wylan sighed.

He’d been waiting for Jesper to come back with lunch for two hours. The Van Eck office by the Church of Barter was an imposing building that spiraled upward to rival the Geldrenner’s clocktower. They worked on the top floor there three days a week, taking meetings and trying to grapple with the business – even after two years, the empire he’d stolen back from his father still felt impossibly large.

It felt even more impossible when he was hungry.

Things weren’t a complete loss, though: Wylan had managed to sketch some new factory floorplans while Jesper had been out, and he moved those papers away onto one of the armchairs that littered the private office, wiping the charcoal off his fingers.

They were trying to change how things worked in Ketterdam, but it was far more than an uphill battle. Sometimes, that meant upsetting people: like Councilmen who didn't approve of Wylan's plans to open up new harbors.

Jesper held up a bag of uitsmijter. He swung the door closed behind him with his hip, his pistol clattering against the polished wood. The other matching pistol was on the armchair beside the papers: they were also still working on putting down their weapons, one at a time.

“Sorry,” Jesper dropped the bag over the empty spot on the table. His words curled with the Kaelish accent that rarely ever showed itself. “There was quite a line.”

“A line?” Wylan frowned.

It was past three bells in the afternoon, the sun from the office’s bay windows was already beginning to sink near the horizon in the early winter. No one should be lining up for uitsmijter, which was why Jesper had suggested it in the first place.

“Yes,” Jesper shrugged. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

“Well,” Wylan was about to shrug it off – to say they should eat first – but he caught the red stain on the pistol at Jesper’s hip, stark against its pearl handle, and, “were you in a gunfight?”

“No.”

The answer came far too quick, and far too short. Wylan walked around the table, heart hammering. Hadn’t they talked about this? The uitsmijter shop was nowhere near the Barrel – so either someone attacked Jesper, or Jesper had taken a detour. Or, more likely: both a fight and a detour. His vest was too crooked on his shoulder, jacket far more crumpled than it had been when he’d left the office two hours ago, and was that a shirt in a different color?

They could deal with everything else later. For now, one thing at a time, and the most important:

“Were you hurt?” Wylan strode closer, reaching out to take Jesper’s hand, but –

Jesper jerked away, taking a step back. “I’m fine,” he insisted, lips pressed into a thin line. “Let’s get out.”

“Out?”

This wasn’t like Jesper. Yes, Jesper could be impulsive and brusque and rough, and some days even Jesper couldn’t bear to be touched, the world too full and his heart too hollow to do anything except run. Still, this wasn’t like Jesper – one staccato beat off tempo, and Wylan was stumbling to catch up, to try and understand –

“Yes,” Jesper said again, nodding toward the door he’d just closed. The gaudy laurels painted on it was really something they needed to replace soon. “Out.”

Again, too short and too quick.

Wylan stared at him, grey eyes he didn’t think he knew right now. He’d seen enough people change, seen enough people be twisted out of shape: in front of him, because of him. Until there were no more silver linings to hold onto, only slivers of lies he tricked himself into calling hope.

This wasn’t like Jesper.

This wasn’t –

The door swung open and –

Instinct kicked in. He made a dash for the other pistol on the armchair –

“Don’t!” Jesper’s voice rang out.

And it was Jesper’s voice, because it was Jesper standing in the doorway, shirt sticking wet on his shoulders and jacket gone and a cut dripping from his temple. And it was Jesper, too, standing in the office with Wylan, jacket askew and blood on his pistol.

(read on ao3)

#asks #mia tag #one day i'll come up with a better tag akdsksd #six of crows #wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #i know this wasn't what either of us expected from this but #i promise you more murder poetry soon 😈 #tw: blood

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 17: Hypothermia

Summary: Fives, Kix and Rex arrive at the medical facility first, which doesn't help them all that much considering they have no idea what they are looking for.

Warning: N/A

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

"It's freezing in here..." Rex hissed between chattering teeth, immediately regretting having taken off his bucket as soon as they entered the Umbaran medical facility.

The Captain was right too. The quick preliminary scans that Fives had done upon the trio sneaking in, revealed that the entire building was at almost sub-zero levels of cold. For what reason, he couldn't be sure, but it probably had something to do about storing bacterial culture samples or whatever the hell it was that natborn doctors did with the stuff they collected off their patients during tests.

He had already lived through a lifetime of medical tests performed by plenty of Long-Necks and Droids, that didn't particularly care about his or his vode's comfort during said procedures. He didn't really need to know what the nattie docs got up to outside of the war efforts.

"Put your helmet back on." Kix ordered as he uneasily looked around the hall they'd ended up in, after climbing out of the dusty ventilation system. "Your armor's thermal regulation system should keep you from freezing your shebs off."

"Tell me something I don't know..." The blond grumbled as he put his bucket back on, sighing in relief as the bitter cold was chased away in mere instants. "Much better... But moving on, we need to find a floor plan for this place..."

A wise idea, as they couldn't waste time running around blindly. If they got their hands on a map of the facility's various floors, they'd be able to find what they were looking for much faster, rather than risk getting lost in a maze of recovery areas, operation theaters, or even storage closets.

There was no telling how long they'd have before General Kenobi and the 212th could no longer stall for them, and with no word from Coric's group things were starting to look a little grim.

Getting to the facility itself had been a struggle. Between hiding from the Umbaran scouting parties, avoiding the aggressive wildlife, and keeping an eye out for the infected, the journey had been a constant uphill battle where they couldn't even resort to using their blasters. Unwilling to bring unwanted attention to their positions.

Given that they hadn't encountered the other medics, they assumed the others were struggling just as terribly. If not worse. They had no idea if they'd escaped from the base unscathed. For all they knew, Coric, Pitch, Twitch and Sponge had already been caught. Or worse...

And with only a vague idea that they needed to access a database to seek out some critical (but not very explicitly elaborated upon) information, the trio really wasn't all that prepared for this sort of excursion.

One medic would definitely not be enough, should they find a cure. That much they figured, considering the number of infected troopers in the 501st alone. Kix wouldn't be able to tackle the issue on his own.

"You think the others are ok?" Fives asked as he looked around, somewhat unsure if the way they'd chosen to go first would get them anywhere of use. He was walking slowly, steps as light as the bulk of his armor would allow, keeping an ear out for trouble.

"They're tough." Rex nodded slowly. Trying to be optimistic, considering he knew how frighteningly stubborn the medics could be, but still coming off as somewhat unsure in the end. The circumstances weren't easy ones after all. "They're probably just being careful, like we were..."

"Yeah... Yeah probably." The ARC nodded back, before motioning for the other two to stop near a corner where the hallway turned. He had a very quick look, and then gave them the all clear. Moving just a bit quicker now that he had a goal in sight.

Down the hall was a flight of emergency stairs. Besides it, attached to the wall as per standard safety regulations, was the digital emergency floor plan. The three rushed forward to have a look, barely containing their elation as they realized the interactive floor plan had pages that displayed the other floor layouts.

Thumbing through the available information, they saw exactly what they were looking for. The main datahub, which would contain all kinds of data-banks stock full of useful medical information.

"Basement floor." Fives groaned. "Of course the dang thing is in the creepy basement..."

"Not so much creepy, as probably absolutely frozen over..." Kix shook his head in disbelief. Sounding somewhat put-off at the possibility of facing even lower temperatures. "The entire basement of this huge building is dedicated to computers and the server banks. The amount of heat generated would need to be mitigated by considerably frigid mini-climate..."

"Kix, it's already pretty cold out here. I doubt the basement will be much worse..." Rex pointed out. "That said, if it IS worse, we should be as quick as possible. Even if our armor will protect us from the bitter cold, it won't do us any good if we stall and end up overworking the thermo regulation system. We'd freeze on the spot."

"Wouldn't want a case of frostbitten tootsies." Fives nodded, sounding morbidly amused at the idea. "Or hypothermia."

"If there ever was a place to catch your death, I suppose a hospital isn't the worst of options..." The medic responded with his own amusement.

They carried on, hoping their fellow troopers would meet with them soon. They could really use some help looking for the correct data at least... Hopefully the cause for their delay was indeed caution.

#Eps Writes #star wars #the clone wars #whumptober #Umbaran Pathogen AU #arc trooper fives #clone medic kix #captain rex

[adamwatchesmovies]

Ocean's Thirteen (2007)

Inexplicably, the Ocean’s franchise didn’t sink into oblivion after the sewage that was Ocean’s Twelve. This third chapter in the series fares much better than its predecessor but never reaches the level of the original (neither the original original or the 2001 remake). Still, as another installment, it does offer the remaining fans more of what they want to see, which is something.

After Reuben (Elliott Gould) loses his investment in a new hotel-casino to his business partner, Willy Bank (Al Pacino), he suffers a heart attack and becomes bedridden. Danny (George Clooney) and the rest of the Ocean Club decide to get even by ruining Bank and his new establishment.

If you’re not endeared to the Ocean’s crew, this plot will be an uphill battle. "Boo hoo. Poor Reuben is so upset he’s not making millions off this gaudy casino that he’s become catatonic. Guess it’s up to his buddies to get revenge on his behalf instead of just convincing the proper authorities that he was strongarmed into signing a contract?" Towards the end of the film, the crew’s old nemesis, Terry Benedict (Andy García, whose character is brought back under dubious pretenses), sees millions of his money donated to charity without his consent. I wonder if any of the cash the protagonists end up swiping from Banks would’ve gone anywhere except their pockets had they not had a score to settle. While some of this is mitigated by the fact that Willy Bank is a jerk, what we're seeing feels like a whole lot of “the 1%’s problems”. There isn’t a love plot to make us believe this is about anything but money unless you count the brotherly love between the Ocean’s crew. Even that seems like a stretch.

In the first movie and even in the second in a “sure, whatever”, kind of way, it made sense for these 11 people (we’ll get to that number in a moment) to join forces. Now? It seems overly optimistic to think the random Chinese acrobat who doesn’t speak English would put himself at risk as he does here. Now to be fair, this story makes much better use of its characters than Twelve did. No one gets stuffed into a bag and shipped off to nowhere halfway through, for example. Everyone has a role to play and it works though it should be noted that neither Julia Roberts nor Catherine Zeta-Jones return.

You’re wondering who the two new members of the crew are. One is the aforementioned Benedict, who plays the role of a benefactor. The other is… Eddie Izzard as Roman Nagel. I think. The motif of adding a new expert to the crew with each sequel has basically disappeared, and for good reason. This series can barely handle the people it has on its roster. Adding more is becoming increasingly problematic but it’s also necessary. See, “The Bank” has insane security measures, the kind no one in their right might would even try to circumvent. On the one hand, this makes for exciting scenes that make you wonder how the lock will get cracked. On the other, it makes the plot feel manufactured. For example, there's this super secure room that contains expensive jewelry. The plan to get in? Have Linus Caldwell (Matt Damon) and his phoney-looking rubber nose seduce Bank’s right-hand woman, Abigail Sponder (Ellen Barkin). With the help of some magic pheromones, she’ll get so hot and bothered she’ll have no choice but to bring Linus into the only room in the whooooole building that's guaranteed to be deserted. Apparently, there are cameras in the bathrooms, the closets and her private office. It’s a horrible subplot made unintentionally comical by the fact that nothing happens between her and Linus. The movie teases nudity for at least 15 minutes. Ellen Barkin's chest is ALMOST falling out of her dress for so long it’s ridiculous. I thought she was slobbering at the mouth for some man meat but she’s not even taking off her clothes? What’s going on here?!

I’ve been mostly bad-mouthing Ocean's Thirteen because the film is constantly on the brink of crumbling under its own weight. I will still call it a “good” sequel because fans of this series will be happy with it. You hate the bad guy, there are enough laughs to keep you smiling consistently and the con is so complicated it’s fun to see all the pieces coming together. All of the actors are obviously having a great time. I’m in no hurry to watch it again but if you love love love the first, you didn’t mind the second and you want to know if you should watch the third, then I say “sure”. I say this despite feeling like twice was too many for me. (April 29, 2022)

#Ocean's Thirteen #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #Steven soderbergh #Brian Koppelman #David Levien #George Clooney #Brad Pitt #Matt Damon #Andy Garcia #Don Cheadle #Bernie Mac #Ellen Barkin #Al Pacino #Casey Affleck #Scott Caan #Eddie Jemison #Qin Shaobo #Carl Reiner #Elliott Gould #2007 movies #2007 films

[scarfacemarston]

Updates: I'm sorry I have been only reblogging things. Things are crazy here. My house has been "destroyed" by mold and renovations since June, and it's driving me nuts. It's been a lot of ups and downs and moving around. Plus mental health has been interesting to say the least. I want to be active, I can't focus on only work and thesis so that's why I've been trying. I appreciate those who have been here for me and are being patient. You're amazing. <3 I appreciate every anon. They mean the world to me. I'm still reblogging rdr 1 bits as requested, even though the game news turned out to be a bust. :/ But I'm focusing on Abigail a bit since I've been trying to build her profile up again. Her profile is on my main page as its own tab, but I really want to work on modern au RDR. It worked with John! It's been an uphill battle, but I hope I can make something interesting for you all. She has so little back story.

[peachymess]

Today I had what I on my Snapchat story called a ‘perfect day’. I went to the gym to work on my gains, I worked myself haaard, I got some errands done, then I went to the library and picked up some poetry. Been engaging in two of my favorite activities today; literature and muscle building. On the light rail, I got to pet a dog that came up to me. He was such a good boy. I saw my cousins’s bf there as well and we exchanged a nod and a smile. Kind service people. It’s my sister’s birthday. It’s just been… a great day. A perfect day.

That’s what I wrote on my Snapchat story, and then I put my phone in my pocket and continued waking with a smile on my face… A perfect day. I was so happy to have such a mundane, perfect day… an effortlessly perfect day.

…. And then I realized something. On this very day. This VERY day. Six years ago. In the early morning hours of January 12th, 2017, I still recall exactly how I felt. Because this early morning, six years ago, is the day I lay twisting in my bed with how much mental pain I was in. It’s the day I reached my limit. I will never forget how I finally just sat up, and stared into the darkness of my room. It hurt so much to live that I couldn’t bare to even lay there anymore.

It’s the day I made my suicide pact. The pact that said: ‘I can’t fight for myself anymore. I’m spent. If someone else wants to fight for me and try to help me, let them. But i have no more strength to try. And if things haven’t gotten better by the time snk ends, I’ll kill my self then. However long that is from now.’

This day, six years ago, I had the darkest day of my entire life. I’ll never ever forget how heavy it was. How absolutely unbearable it was.

…. And today I had a “perfect day.” The realization almost had me break down in tears right there on the street. I’m so thankful things got better. Of course, it was a long road and not long after I swore never to fight again, I was forced to pick up sword and shield and fight my toughest battle yet. But I’m here now and I’m so much better. I’m still ill, I’m on welfare and I’ve got a long uphill recovery ahead. But I’m better. So much better. I’m so grateful I stuck it out and that I’m no longer trapped in that room, in that moment. I’m so glad it got better.

#personal #mental health #tw suicide

[dreadnotau]

Big (but sort of not big) announcement time! (At the bottom is a TL;DR if you don’t have time to read paragraphs of my ramblings.)

First thing’s first, I got into college!!! A lot of you probably don’t know, but it’s been a massive uphill battle to practice for the exams to enter the art college I wanted. It’s why I haven’t been posting basically anywhere but here since the year started. It was a lot of work and stress, but it paid off! I’m gonna be studying subjects and doing art things that I’m ACTUALLY interested in! No more are the days of dreading the next German test or pulling my hair out because of some bullshit math equations, from now on it’s just blood, sweat and tears poured into canvases, baby!

Joking aside, this is genuinely monumental for me. Though it DOES mean I’m gonna be pulled thin on my time and creative juices the moment the first semester starts, I’m still excited to keep working on Dread Not alongside the schoolwork I’ll inevitably have to do, too. This comic is, as I’ve said many times, my biggest passion project yet, and the fact that I stuck with it for over a year now is another thing I have to be very proud of.

But, in all honesty, this project wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for my best friend, Meow! As some of you may know (or maybe noticed the changed bio), Meowchela is the co-author of Dread Not, and is the one who encouraged me to go through with a full comic telling of the story, (instead of just letting it sit idly in my brain like most of my Deltarune and Undertale AUs do, whoops) so, again, you have her to thank for all of this. She’s not directly involved with the creation of the pages (yet?), but she is the one who helped add many characters, sideplots, and satisfying conclusions to what was, originally, just an AU about Toriel, Asgore, Spade, Gaster, and Kris, as well as helping with designing characters both that appear later on and have appeared already (Rouxls’ fabulous design was made by her!)

The reason I bring this all up in detail now is because she is now OFFICIALLY credited as a co-author. I used to just mention her in posts and tags, as well as give her a special role in the discord server, but now she’s credited alongside me in the bios of both the Twitter and the Tumblr accounts! The reasons why she didn’t want to be credited until recently are her own, but I hope you all give her as warm a welcome as you gave me as a fellow author of Dread Not! She knows this story better than anyone (better than even me sometimes, whoops x2) and I hope we can all see it through to the end!

Don't take my word for it all, though, here's a statement from Meow:

Hello everyone! I'm Meow, who you now know as the co-author for Dread Not! I've been around for this project since the concept stages, and seeing all of your love and support for it means so much more than I can reliably say. You may now be wondering why I've been so silent despite being around for so long, and the answer to that is very personal. All I'll say is that it took a while to build up the courage to allow Kooki to even mention me by name (and trust me, he's wanted to since we made the blog!) and so having a proper credit like this is monumental. I'm happy to finally be more front and center for the project, even if still a litle nervous! =w=;;

Thank you for reading from the bottom of my heart. Seeing everyone being so kind about the comic is half the reason I came out of my shell in the first place. While it's true that without me the comic wouldn't exist, in turn my efforts would never have been realized had it not been for all of you! So thank you again, and I hope you're as excited for what's to come as I am!

And, lastly, and kind of least importantly (to me), I’ll be postponing this week’s page. Both so I can relax for 2 seconds after my exams, and so I can have more ready for the week after this one. I’m gonna be going on vacation soon, too, so I’ll try to have a page ready for posting while I’m away from home. And, if it’s not ready, it’ll just be postponed for a week, too. You guys have dealt with longer hiatuses, it shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

TL;DR: Kooki is in college now and October is gonna kick his ass. Meowchela is now officially credited as a co-author of Dread Not. This week’s page will be postponed so I can actually go touch grass for once.

Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for your continued support of this comic! Act 1 is in it’s last third, and progress on Act 2 is looking promising. Stay tuned!

#dread not #dreadnot #dread not au #dreadnotau #not comic #not a hiatus announcement thankfully #this is just a post basically bringing to the spotlight some recent developments #seriously tho i wish i could give meow more credit but shes like nooo ur the one drawing the pages dont put my name on those #and like i get where shes coming from but also? she def deserves more credit for helping as much as she has already #maybe i'll get to include her name on some future pages who knows #for now though im gonna go like. lie down. exams were HELL

[burningtacozombie]

'Mayans M.C.' Season 4: Danny Pino on Miguel Galindo's Evolving Endgame

He also discusses Miguel's ever-evolving endgame.

From co-creator Elgin James, the FX series Mayans M.C. is currently in its fourth season, with Miguel Galindo (Danny Pino) trying to figure out what comes next for him. Without his criminal empire or his family, there’s no telling what’s next for Miguel, but it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to make a choice and decide what path he wants to travel down.

During this 1-on-1 interview with Collider, Pino talked about working with a showrunner that’s open to input, exploring such a different side to his character, not trying to make Miguel sympathetic, the complexity of human nature, and Miguel’s evolving endgame.

Full interview under the cut!

Collider: Miguel seems to be in a very different place than we’ve seen him before. What was your reaction to learning about where he would be this season?

DANNY PINO: It was actually something that I spoke to the writers and to (showrunner) Elgin [James] about last season. We were talking about, “Where do we think Miguel is?” We have a very fluid facile relationship on set, and Elgin loves input. He asks, “Where do you think your character goes?” He has very strong ideas and a very active imagination, as you can tell, in terms of where characters go, but he is also open to input, so it was something that we arrived at together.

It seemed like a natural point of entry for Season 4 that we hadn’t seen from Miguel, having lost it all. There’s a touch of poetry. I love that Elgin added Miguel maintaining the cemetery. He was back on the earth, grounded again, rather than on this lofty perch that he had, being the head of the cartel. He finds himself in charge of dealing with the dead and having to maintain the cemetery, and I thought that was incredibly poetic. It’s a microcosm of Season 4, across the board, the poetry that runs through the entire season.

What’s that like for you, as an actor, when you’re playing a character that you’ve played for a bit, to then play this version of him, where he doesn’t even know who he is and everything has been stripped away from him? What does that feel like, as far as your process and how you approach the character? Does he feel different?

PINO: Oh, absolutely. Just waking up in the morning and looking at myself, and not recognizing myself, with the beard I had to grow over the course of several months and my hair that I grew out. That doesn’t really lend itself to the conversation of how you build a character because you’re really just letting your hair grow, but that’s something, aesthetically and visually, every morning, when you look at yourself and you’re like, “Oh, right, I’m that guy. That’s how people see me.” My neighbors stopped talking to me. People stopped recognizing me. People just treat you different, and you start behaving a little differently.

Actors love to work, and I certainly do, from the inside out, but that was a way to go from the outside in. It was an interesting exploration for me. How do you do that? It real life, oftentimes adversity hits, and you don’t recognize the world you’re living in anymore. When something awful happens in your family or to you, or you get terrible news, your perspective and your worldview shifts a little bit. You’re a little bit more confused with what happened. How did you get here? How did this happen to me? Who am I, now that I have this news? I think that’s something Miguel has experience in. I just tried to tap into that part of living that I’ve lived through and suffered through, and come to the other end of, on several occasions in life. You look around, and you don’t recognize your life, and you don’t really know how anything is gonna get better, but it does.

Does it feel like an uphill battle to make him a sympathetic character, or is that not something you even think about at all?

PINO: No, I don’t really pay a lot of attention to making him sympathetic. The writing does some of that. Elgin does some of that. I think Elgin loves the color gray. He loves the different shades of gray. He’s not a black and white kind of guy. So, whenever you find yourself rooting for somebody, just know that soon enough, you’re gonna hate that character. Whenever you think somebody is just the most awful person you’ve ever seen on television, just know that the next moment you might actually like that person. It’s an exploration of the range of humanity. That’s what Elgin is really looking to investigate. Frankly, I think that he gets bored with characters that are one-sided. He’s always trying to figure out, how can I mess this character up, if the character is too clean. And if the character gets too dirty, how can I show that there’s some humanity that exists in this?

It’s such an interesting show because it could so easily not have any of those vulnerabilities. It’s a very male-heavy show, and the fact that there are so many moments of vulnerability or emotion continues to be surprising.

PINO: I think you have your finger right on the vein. It’s the complexity of human nature. It’s the inconsistencies that we all have. We’re not always good, and we’re not always evil. It’s the exploration of that, that not only interests Elgin, but that he knows this ensemble wants to tackle. We want that complexity. We want that inconsistency. We want that duality. That’s really what we’re interested in too.

And sometimes even manly men just need a hug and a good cry.

PINO: I think we all, at some point, need that. The vulnerability that some of the characters show, I think actually comes from courage and not from weakness. Most vulnerability comes from a person who is secure enough or strong enough to be able to show that. Not that that’s the message, because we don’t really have a message. We’re not a message show. But if there is a message, the way that our show is written and the way that we act it, we’re going for as authentic an experience with our characters as possible.

At this point, what does Miguel want? Does he know what he wants, or is he trying to figure out what he wants?

PINO: I would never ruin that for you. I would never tell you what Miguel wants. There were times when we were shooting, especially episodes four and five, where Elgin and I would sit on set and talk about what Miguel’s end game is. Oftentimes, we would have very concrete ideas as to what that could be, so I’d play a scene that way, and then the following scene, we’d be like, “Hmm, what if his end game is this?,” and I’d play that scene a different way. That just speaks to the range that we’re trying to find in all the characters. I’m not a hundred percent sure that, like you said, even Miguel truly knows what he wants, at the beginning of the season. But he’s gonna know what he wants towards the end.

It seems like some clarity could be on the horizon.

PINO: Yeah, he’s definitely in the chrysalis right now. There was a metamorphosis happening in the convent. I certainly was very interested to see what would happen to him, as the season went on, and I think fans will be too.

#danny pino #miguel galindo #mayans mc #mayans fx #this is an amazing interview #I could listen to him and read his interviews all day long

[thevindicativevordan]

Vordan, what do you think of the entirety of Robert Vendetti's run on the Green Lantern franchise?

Anyone tasked with following up the Johns era, which took GL from a third rate franchise into a legit competitor with Batman for the status of DC's top dog, faced an uphill battle. How could anyone possibly hope to maintain the momentum, especially given Johns' final issue acted as the perfect "jump-off" point by showing you glimpses of the the main human GLs futures? GL was completely upended and revamped, Johns touched on almost every major character, he introduced wildly popular new concepts like the Emotional Spectrum, he created a massive Myth Arc that culminated in Blackest Night, and his run ended with Hal taking over leading the Corps from the Guardians. Where do you go from there?

Well Venditti had the right instincts but the wrong execution. He tried continuing to introduce new concepts - which was the right move then and is the right move now, how has DC STILL not introduced a new villain or revamped an old one to the level of Sinestro - but the direction he wanted to go didn't capture much interest. People didn't want to read about the Emotional Spectrum running low on juice and the rings losing power. They didn't want hobo Hal or Relic. They sure as hell didn't want Carol breaking up with Hal and dating Kyle. Johns run ended in a way that called for another seismic shift in characterization for Hal and the Corps, which Venditti tried to deliver but was unable to.

His second run on GL was better but gave up the fight to move on from Johns, instead opting for a safe replaying of the beats.

Here's Sinestro and his Corps threatening the universe again! Venditti even opened with a tease of a second War of Light. Never actually told that story but the intent was clear: we're playing the greatest hits again! Only real exception to that was when Hal and the Corps went up against Zod, that was my favorite arc personally because I like Venditti's take on Zod and it wasn't something I had seen done under Johns. Venditti is a huge Superman fan and you could tell he really perked up when he got to bring in Supes himself and his larger world into the GL book. He clearly had opinions and ideas for what he would do with that franchise, and it meant he pushed himself to do well whenever they showed up.

A big criticism I have is that the ending of Venditti's run left Hal exactly where Johns left him, he and Carol were teased to get together and the GLC was back on top. It was a solid run but it didn't move the GL franchise forward the way it needed to, and I think the problem lies in keeping Hal as the star. Didio was not a fan of marrying superheroes, and so once Johns left they immediately broke Hal and Carol up again and made Hal's life miserable. Hal regressed from where Johns left him and it took until Venditti was ready to leave for Hal to recover back to where he was before.

What they should have done is married Hal and Carol and let Hal step down from being the "main" Lantern for a bit. Not retired him, not even left him without a book, but made it so he wasn't the Lantern at the center of the franchise. After all the blockbuster storytelling of the Johns era, the next chapter of Hal's story should have been quieter and more character focused. Give Hal a book where he's patrolling Coast City again and has passed control of the GLC to someone else. Make it a book focused on Hal trying to build a life on Earth, Johns had frequently brought up how Hal's Earthly life was a wreck after spending years in space, do a book focused on him rebuilding it! The new status quo of a married Hal back in his city after being absent for a while could have been and still could be now a great set up.

Would have been good for Venditti too because while Venditti was a great John Stewart and Guy Gardner (bromance between Guy and Arkillo ruled) writer, his Hal was just ok. He was as hot headed and cocky as ever, he got to do cool feats like solo Parallux Sinestro and beat a double yellow sun empowered Zod, but both John and Guy had more character depth and development. Letting Venditti pick either John or Guy as the main protagonist for space stories while Hal was back on Earth might have helped sustain the momentum after Johns' departure. Kyle kinda got screwed but that's par for course with Kyle alas. "The Four Corpsmen" teaming up did make me grin frequently, if Venditti has left any major mark on the GL franchise, it's that it's him not Johns who convinced me that the human Lanterns do in fact share a sacred bond amongst each other.

If nothing else he can be proud of that.

#green lantern #robert venditti #hal jordan #john stewart #guy gardner #kyle rayner