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sagewritings · 5 months

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Shadows of Peace - Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

pairing: finnick odair x female reader

synopsis: in the aftermath of the war, you and Finnick attempt to grasp a sense of peace amid the ruins. while the external scars slowly fade, the internal turmoil within Finnick's mind persists, casting shadows over the fragile peace you both seek.

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: post-war, mentions of death, trauma

a/n: hello everyone! it’s been a while since i’ve posted here on my blog because of college and as an apology, i’m posting 2 fics for yall :> i just recently watched the ballad of songbirds and snakes and it took me back to my hunger games phase when i couldn’t focus on anything else whenever finnick would be on screen lol

the other fanfic is about young coriolanus snow so if you’d like to check that out (as well as my other works) you can check the pinned post in my blog :)

i hope you’ll like this one! happy reading!

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The smoke from the rebellion had settled, leaving District 13 in an uneasy calm. Finnick Odair, the once-dazzling victor from District 4, stood on the balcony of his quarters, a ghost of the man he used to be. His eyes, once vibrant with life, now held a haunted look, reflecting the toll of war and loss. As he stared into the distance, memories of the arena, the Capitol, and the faces of fallen comrades flashed before his eyes.

The door creaked open, and you stepped into the room. The connection between you and Finnick was undeniable, a thread woven through the chaos and pain of the rebellion. You had fought side by side, relying on each other in the darkest moments. Yet, despite the camaraderie, an unspoken tension lingered between you two.

"Hey," you said softly, your voice breaking the heavy silence. Finnick turned to look at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Hey," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of the world. The two of you had survived the unimaginable, but the scars ran deep. Finnick's mind was a battlefield, haunted by the ghosts of the arena, the Capitol's manipulation, and the friends he had lost.

You approached him cautiously, your eyes searching his face for any sign of vulnerability. "Finnick, you don't have to carry this alone. We're here for you."

A bitter smile played on Finnick's lips. "We all have our demons, sweetheart. Some of us just got better at hiding them."

The weight of his words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the scars that the rebellion had left on everyone. The cost of freedom had been steep, and for Finnick, it felt like the very essence of who he was had been sacrificed in the process.

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating, as if the air itself held the weight of unspoken words. Finnick's gaze shifted to the distant mountains, a longing in his eyes that mirrored the ache in your heart.

"I thought winning the Games would be the hardest part," he mused, his voice a low murmur. "But it turns out, surviving them... that's the real struggle."

You nodded in understanding, your heart aching for the man before you who had faced horrors most could not fathom. Finnick's eyes met yours, a mixture of pain and yearning reflected in their depths.

"Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "All the fighting, the sacrifices. For what? A broken world, a shattered existence."

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. "Finnick, we fought for a chance at a better future. We fought so that others wouldn't have to endure what we did."

He sighed, the weight of exhaustion evident in every line of his face. "I know, I know. But at what cost? Look around, and all I see are reminders of the price we paid."

You wanted to argue, to convince him that the sacrifices had meaning, but the haunted look in his eyes silenced you. Finnick pulled away gently, as if your touch burned him, and walked to the balcony once more.

"The Capitol took everything from me," he continued, his voice a bitter edge. "My family, my friends, my identity. And even though we won, it feels like I'm still in their grip, like I can never escape."

Your heart ached for him, for the wounds that ran deeper than any physical scars. "You're not alone, Finnick. We're here for you, to help you find your way back."

He turned to you, his eyes searching yours as if seeking a lifeline. "I don't even know who I am anymore. The Capitol shaped me into their plaything, and now... now I'm just trying to piece together the fragments they left behind."

Tears welled in your eyes, a mixture of frustration and empathy. "You're more than the Capitol's creation, Finnick. You're a survivor, a fighter. And there's strength in that, in the person you've become despite everything."

Finnick's gaze softened, a vulnerability breaking through the walls he had erected. "I just... I don't want to lose myself completely."

In that moment, you made a silent vow to stand by him, to help him reclaim the pieces of himself that the Capitol had stolen. The journey to healing would be long and arduous, but you were determined to be a steady anchor in the storm that raged within Finnick's soul.

Days turned into weeks, and the remnants of the rebellion slowly transformed District 13 from a war-torn refuge to a semblance of normalcy. Yet, the scars remained, etched into the fabric of the survivors' lives.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the district, you found Finnick sitting alone by the shore of a small lake. His gaze was distant, lost in the ripples of the water as if seeking answers to questions that plagued his mind.

You approached him, the soft crunch of gravel under your boots announcing your presence. Finnick glanced up, his eyes meeting yours. There was a weariness in his gaze, but a glimmer of something else—resilience, perhaps.

"Hey," you greeted, taking a seat beside him.

"Hey," he replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, the lull of the water and the fading sunlight creating a sense of peace. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and violence that had defined your recent past.

"I've been thinking," Finnick began, his voice breaking the quiet. "About everything that happened, about who I was, who I am now.”

You turned to him, giving him the space to share what was on his mind.

"I can't change the past," he continued, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "But maybe I can shape my future. Find a way to be more than the Capitol's puppet."

Hope flickered in your chest, a warmth that spread through the chill of the evening air. "You don't have to do it alone, Finnick. We're here for you, to support you every step of the way."

Finnick turned to you, his eyes holding a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I know. And I appreciate that more than you can imagine."

As the days passed, Finnick took small steps toward reclaiming his identity. He sought solace in the company of those who understood the scars he carried, forming bonds with fellow victors who shared the weight of the Games.

One evening, as a group of you gathered in the communal area, laughter echoed through the room. It was a sound that had been absent for too long, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

Finnick, now surrounded by friends who had faced the Capitol's horrors alongside him, allowed himself a genuine smile. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a glimpse of the man he could become beyond the shadows of the Games.

In the midst of the healing, a connection blossomed between you and Finnick. It was a slow burn, a fragile ember that neither of you dared to name. The wounds of the past still lingered, creating a delicate dance between wanting to move forward and the fear of what the future held.

One evening, as the two of you strolled through the reconstructed gardens of District 13, Finnick spoke, his words weighed with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"I never thought I'd find something worth fighting for beyond survival," he admitted, his eyes meeting yours. "But being here with you, it's like... like I've found a piece of myself I thought I'd lost forever."

The admission hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you. In that moment, you understood that your connection went beyond the shared trauma of the Games; it was a lifeline, a source of strength that allowed both of you to rebuild.

"I feel it too," you confessed, your voice soft but sincere. "We've been through hell, Finnick, but maybe... maybe we can find a new beginning."

He nodded, the weight of the unspoken understanding lingering between you. As the moon cast its gentle glow over the quiet district, you and Finnick stood together, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the possibility of finding love amidst the ruins of war.

In the weeks that followed, Finnick and you navigated the complexities of a burgeoning relationship. It was a delicate dance, filled with moments of joy and vulnerability, but through it all, the connection between you grew stronger.

One day, as you sat together on the rooftop of the reconstructed buildings, watching the sunrise paint the sky in hues of pink and gold, Finnick turned to you.

"I never thought I'd have a chance at happiness," he admitted, his fingers intertwined with yours. "But with you, it feels like maybe... maybe I can find it."

You smiled, the warmth of the rising sun reflecting the hope that had blossomed between you. "We'll find it together, Finnick. Whatever comes our way, we'll face it together."

And so, in the aftermath of the rebellion, amidst the ruins of a broken world, Finnick Odair and you found solace in each other's arms. The scars of the past were still there, a testament to the battles fought and the losses endured, but together, you forged a new beginning—one marked by healing, love, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

As the days turned into months, the rebuilding efforts in District 13 continued. The scars on the landscape mirrored the healing process within the hearts of its people. Finnick's journey, too, progressed as he rediscovered pieces of himself he thought were lost forever.

The bond between you and Finnick deepened, evolving into a partnership built on trust and shared experiences. Together, you faced the challenges of rebuilding not only the district but also your lives. The echoes of the rebellion were still present, but they no longer defined the narrative.

Finnick threw himself into community projects, channeling his pain into rebuilding the world around him. The once-dull district started to bloom with life as gardens flourished, laughter echoed through the streets, and a sense of normalcy settled over the survivors.

One day, as you and Finnick walked through the bustling market that had replaced the desolation of war, he turned to you with a sparkle in his eyes. "I never thought I'd see something beautiful emerge from the ruins."

You smiled, grateful for the newfound hope in his words. "We're making something beautiful together, Finnick. It's a testament to the strength within all of us."

The scars on Finnick's soul didn't vanish completely, but they became a part of a larger tapestry, woven with threads of resilience and shared purpose. The Capitol's grip on him loosened, replaced by a determination to shape his own destiny.

As the seasons changed, so did the dynamics of your relationship with Finnick. The initial fragility evolved into a robust partnership. He learned to lean on you not just in times of despair but also in moments of joy. You navigated the complexities of love and healing, forging a connection that became an anchor in the ebb and flow of life.

One evening, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the district, Finnick pulled you into a gentle embrace. The lights of District 13 shimmered below, a testament to the resilience of a community that had faced the brink of destruction.

"I never thought I'd find peace again," Finnick murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "But with you, I've found something more profound than I ever imagined."

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "We've come a long way, Finnick. And we'll keep moving forward, together."

In the months that followed, the remnants of the rebellion became tales told to the younger generation, a history etched into the collective memory of District 13. Finnick, once haunted by the ghosts of the arena, became a beacon of hope for those who had faced the Capitol's tyranny.

Together, you and Finnick worked to ensure that the scars of the past didn't dictate the future. District 13 prospered, becoming a symbol of resilience and rebirth. Finnick's journey of self-discovery inspired others to find strength in their vulnerabilities, to rebuild not just the physical structures but also the foundations of their lives.

As the years passed, and the wounds of war healed, Finnick and you found solace in the quiet moments. The rooftop sunsets, the shared laughter, and the simple joys of everyday life became the pillars of your relationship.

One day, as you walked hand in hand through the district, Finnick stopped by a patch of blooming flowers. He plucked a vibrant bloom and tucked it behind your ear, a tender smile gracing his lips.

"From the ruins, something beautiful emerged," he said, his gaze filled with gratitude.

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. "And it's still growing, Finnick. Our story is far from over."

In the evenings, as you both sat on the balcony, watching the sunset cast its warm glow over District 13, Finnick would often reflect on the journey from the ashes of rebellion to the blossoming of a new life.

"I never thought I'd find love after everything," he'd say, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and contentment.

"You found more than love, Finnick," you'd reply, your fingers intertwined with his. "You found a new beginning, a chance at happiness despite the scars."

And in those quiet moments, with the echoes of the past becoming softer, you and Finnick would embrace the present and look towards the future, knowing that, together, you had found a strength that transcended the trials of the Games and the horrors of war—a strength that could build something beautiful from the ruins of a broken world.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair imagine #the hunger games #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff #thg finnick

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probablyhuntersmom · 11 months

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The contrast is so poignant when it comes to Belos isolating Hunter for years and instilling the fear of wild magic, versus Hunter's future in carving palismen to connect with nature and with others.

We have his signature gloves as part of all his outfits before he went to the human realm, representative of that isolation and fear: Belos wanting to keep 'Caleb' to himself, wanting to prevent Hunter from forging connections and thus finding freedom. The gloves come off once Hunter has room to create and experiment and explore.

During the many many months in between him beginning to learn the palismen-carving craft and us seeing him mastering it in the epilogue, there would've been many setbacks. Many cuts and splinters via mistakes (thus, more wounds and scars...small, but numerous) and bandages on his hands, like what happened with the sewing needle. Thus, many times when he was reminded of what happened with his best friend. I can imagine that on the more difficult days of learning under Dell, remorse and horrible memories eating into him, he'd be more at risk of leaving more cuts because it would be harder to focus. There would've been days where he got close to giving up.

In his arc, this changed everything:

He was found by a free-spirited, strong-willed palisman.

This was when things began to be truly dangerous:

but by then he gathered enough courage to finally question Belos directly.

What a high price to pay. Recovery from trauma is certainly that way in real life too. But it led him on that path towards transformation, towards what he truly wanted.

In his old life, he'd point a staff at others to intimidate, to instill fear, and be Belos's instrument in furthering a cause that Hunter didn't truly support.

In the future, he generously gives palismen to others from the heart, via new creations made with his own hands, to bring more love, connection and wonder into the world. Letting others live out their truth via the bonds forged with their new palismen, the same kind of truth he himself had to fight so hard for.

If we rewind back to what the Bat Queen said in Hunting Palismen:

contrast that with this point in Hunter's arc:

Still blocked and numbed out from fully experiencing the worst thing he had ever been through: being possessed and in that process, slaying Flapjack.

Willow and Gus had just began to reach that vulnerability within him, moving him with their love and support (which is why the anger he had for around 2/3 of For the Future began to subside).

But it wasn't enough.

In the finale, he gets some temporary respite and relief:

But I believe the real gruelling work was to begin beyond this exact point:

More vulnerability ahead, to pave the way for healing.

Putting the scene of him looking at the old Flyer Derby photo (in For the Future) next to the scene where the Bat Queen sums up what palismen are all about...it indicates to me how steep the climb would be to connect with the full range of his emotions and memories, which parallels his development under Dell's mentorship. To bring some beauty out of that horror he has endured. To bring about the conviction that yes, he deserved Flapjack's gift, from Flapjack's sacrifice.

It would've been years before he would confidently and effortlessly rest in the truth of who he really is, and who he would like to be (remember his "Even if I'm not who I'm supposed to be, I like who I am right now" in front of the mirror, right before getting possessed?).

Liberating himself from enmeshment with his violent abuser and that old life, a process he'd have to repeat again and again even beyond Belos's death. Changing that narrative of "supposed to":

into freely choosing the person he would like to become after Flapjack granted him love and literal life. We receive the one clue that he wanted to freely choose, as early as this scene:

When it comes to palismen, we have "emotion" and "conviction" and also the deepest wishes that witches have in their hearts.

For emotion to flow freely, there must be vulnerability, generosity and love: Hunter integrating even the most difficult emotions into his story.

For him to grow into acceptance of his future major role, it would have involved wrestling with many questions to reach that place of conviction.

#whoops I got emotional. again. now you guys get this #the owl house #toh hunter #palismen #the bat queen #loz writes a meta

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planetvries · 3 months

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"Boy oh boy… The price of freedom is steep.”

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stars-and-inkpots · 7 months

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could you possibly do one where Tav is on the verge on burnout in Baldur's Gate, from carrying the litteral weight of the world on her shoulders, plus the murders, dismembered clown, emperor chattering away in her mind and just tryingto help every soul in the city... oh, and everyone looking to her for guidance in making difficult life decisions... possibly after advising Wyll not to take the pact and/or one of their companions being abducted

And Gale being there to help her and lift her spirits up (maybe a little guilty about being too wrapped up in his hubris before having a forgiving audience with Mystra to notice how hard it all was on her)

I loved this idea so much because Act 3 really is just so overwhelming and stressful I was excited to write something about it! Thank you!! I hope you enjoy!

The Weight of The World | Gale x Reader

There is so much you have to do. So many things you have to fix and people you have to save. It's starting to become overwhelming carrying so much alone.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Blood and injury, panic attacks (kinda), hurt/comfort, comfort, angst, cuddling, spoilers for Act 3

Ao3 Link: The Weight of The World

Word Count: 1,799

You like helping people. If there is a way you can make someone else’s life easier, you are both eager and happy to do it. It’s in your nature to give.

But you’re wearing yourself thin.

It seems that ever since you got off that nautiloid, you’ve been helping people. First, it was the tieflings in the Grove; then the Shadow-Cursed lands; then the refugees on the way to Baldur’s Gate. And along with all of those problems, you’ve also been helping your companions with their own; some with higher stakes than others.

Wyll is quiet today, and when you notice the look on his face, guilt quickly settles in beside the exhaustion that rests on your shoulders.

He is free now, but it has come at such a steep price. You were there with him when Mizora appeared to offer him the deal. He had asked you for advice. You told him that he deserved a chance to be free from the infernal chess board he had been forced to play on for so long.

But what if you were wrong? What if you don’t find a way to save his father? What if Baldur’s Gate is worse off without the duke once everything is done and over with and the dust has settled. What if Wyll ends up blaming you for the death of Ravengard, resenting your decision that was his own to make.

You’re happy to help… happy to give counsel to your companions when they (so often, it seems) need it, but why should you be the one making the decisions for such things? How can you be expected to decide between Wyll’s freedom and his father’s life?

You haven’t even begun to prepare for what could lie beyond the walls of Cazador’s palace, but you’re certain it can be nothing short of dreadful.

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the task at hand. You have potential murder victims you need to find.

More people that need saving.

---

Finding the Stormshore Tabernacle after Elminster arrived to tell Gale that Mystra had yet another message for him was only another goal added on the growing list of things you needed to do. This, of course, took a little priority, given how much you could tell it mattered to Gale.

You brush off the growing exhaustion that hasn’t had a chance to fully dissipate in the wake of so many new problems.

You stand in front of the statue of Mystra, Gale beside you while the others wait outside. You can feel the magic that flows around it, crackling and humming like an electric current. It is not a feeling that brings you comfort or a sense of calm that one might expect from a god; perhaps that is mainly because of your own opinions of the goddess though. While he does a good job at hiding it, you can tell that Gale’s nerves are beginning to get the better of him. You bring your hand to rest it on his shoulder.

“Time was I’d have given my right arm for a chance to speak with Mystra again. The left one too. Maybe a knee…” he says quietly, and as much as you want to believe he is exaggerating, you know there is an air of truth to his words.

“You know you don’t owe her anything, Gale.” You hope he knows that. It’s impossible for you to understand the nuances of their relationship, and you recognise that, but you know that what she had asked of him was cruel and manipulative.

“Perhaps,” he answers. Then adds, “Her first love was always the weave. At best, I was always a close second.”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to justify Her actions to you, or simply giving himself a reason for them that hurts less than the idea that she did not truly care for him like he did for Her.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Despite your personal distaste for the goddess, you would accompany him in an instant if it was what he desired.

“As much as I’d prefer not to face her alone, I’m afraid the magic is only able to bring one person through. I’ll only be gone a minute though. Wait for me, please.” His voice shakes only slightly. You would wait for him even if he didn’t ask.

When he turns to face the statue again, he moves his hand like he’s grasping at something in the air. Then just as quickly, he is gone.

You wait there anxiously. You wonder if you should have told him not to come here. It was entirely possible that Mystra only asked him to come here so that she could punish him for not following her orders to blow up both himself and the Absolute. It would be another lapse of judgement that would impact only your companion.

The stress of the week is steadily catching up to you again, pushing itself into the forefront of your mind while you wait for Gale to return. Thankfully, he doesn’t take long.

Gale reappears in a small flash of shimmering purples. He is smiling, which you assume is a good thing in spite of the general unease the thought of him speaking with the goddess brings.

He recounts the visit with you while the two of you find the rest of your party outside.

---

No one says anything when you go straight to your tent after you return to camp, Gale letting go of your hand to give you a moment to yourself.

Lae’zel is gone, taken by Orin, and being held ransom in the Temple of Bhaal. The memory of the encounter makes you sick to your stomach.

Lae’zel rounding the corner, bloodied and limping, clutching her side while blood pours out in thick rivulets. Your heart beating so fast that you worry it will stop entirely. Grasping her arm to pull her with you, refusing to leave her behind. The feeling of her flesh shifting under your palm, moving, undulating in that unnatural and revolting way you had come to recognize in the shapechangers you had encountered. You recoiled backwards into Gale, watching in horror as Lae’zel’s form shifted; her neck snapping to the side sharply. Her green skin fading to pale grey. It was never Lae’zel at all, but Orin.

She cornered you into making a deal with her. You were to return with Gortash’s netherstone, or Lae’zel would be left to bleed out on the temple floor.

You can imagine Lae’zel’s voice, condemning you for giving in to the Bhaalspawn’s orders. But you know Lae’zel. You know that she is not as unshakeable as she likes to present herself. You know that, wherever she is right now, she is scared.

You can barely think. Everything feels blurry, the world fraying at the edges of your vision dissolving into a mess of colour and sound.

You should have noticed. Gortash had warned you.

You still have so much you need to do.

How did you let this happen?

---

Gale waits a few minutes before he follows you to your tent. He waits nervously outside, unsure.

“Can I come in?” He asks softly.

“Please,” you answer, and his heart breaks at the roughness of your voice; no doubt from crying and struggling to keep the sobs quiet enough that the rest of the camp wouldn’t hear them.

Your eyes are tired, fresh tears still flowing freely down your face.

Gale is terrified too, just like you and so many of the others, but something else weighs heavy on his chest. Guilt, he quickly realises as he looks at you.

You’ve been dealing with so much, and so much of it alone. You’ve taken their problems and made them your own; you’ve done everything for them. You’ve bore their worries, their concerns, and their mistakes. You’ve had no one to do the same for you.

“Gale-” you start, but a sob bubbles out of you cutting you off as your shoulders shake.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispers into your hair after he quickly gathers you into his arms as he sits beside you. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he’s protecting you from the world itself.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise through hiccups against his chest. He only gently shushes you, carding his fingers through your hair.

“If there is any apologising to be done, it is us to you. You’ve been doing so much for us; carrying our burdens and helping with them. I will admit even I have been far too preoccupied with my own mess that I failed to consider the weight that we’ve put on you.”

“I should be able to bear it,” you say mournfully.

“Absolutely not,” Gale objects. “It’s impossible to do that alone. You are only one person. You are not weak because you failed to carry the weight of the world alone.” He sounds so certain, so genuine in everything he says that you know he isn’t merely saying this to comfort you. “Even if you struggled with even the simplest problem, it would be no slight on your abilities.” His words, as reassuring and comforting as they are, bring on yet another wave of tears. He rubs his hands soothingly along your back.

“You are not weak because of this,” Gale assures you once you’ve mostly stopped crying.

“Thank you,” you answer after a while. “Thank you.”

The two of you sit there together. The steady rise and fall of his chest while you lean against him helps calm your racing heart. Gale hums softly, and you relax in his arms.

“Everything is going to be alright. We’ll do this together,” Gale says, with a finality that leaves no room for disagreement.

You nod, too exhausted in both body and mind to bother with speech for now. You reach blindly for one of Gale’s hands, holding it tightly and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. You feel him return a kiss of his own to the top of your head. You don’t need to use your words to explain your gratitude for his presence in your life. He understands you all the same. Your love may go unspoken, but never unheard.

You let yourself relax. The weight of the world may be both figuratively and literally on your shoulders, but your companions can help you hold it.

Yes, you think to yourself as Gale moves you both to lay down on the bedroll, everything will be alright. It will be difficult, but you will be fine. And at least, in his arms, you can pretend that everything will be fine for now. You have to hold onto the hope that everything will be fine.

#gale x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate x reader #x reader fic #gale dekarios #baldurs gate 3 x reader #baldurs gate gale #gale x you

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yaytheboop · 9 days

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I absolutely support paying artists and supporting creators, and seeing the quality of Watcher's videos especially lately I've understood that it wouldn't be sustainable for a while now. I will never say that I expect anyone to come out with so much high-quality content so regularly without being financially compensated for it.

That being said, I think the way they've gone about this has just not been the smartest. First off by doing this so suddenly with no warning, and also having a big countdown to it when it's actually quite a sad thing to see them go. Like it felt like they were counting down to a party but then it was a funeral that took place instead, and even the mood of the video they put out was quite somber. I think it put the wrong expectations in fans (me included), which just made the shock even bigger than it needed to be (especially for this sort of announcement).

I think they actually were quite respectful of the fact that people wouldn't be able to continue to follow them over to WatcherTV, but the comment about "making it affordable so everyone could subscribe to their plan" and then it being $60 a year was kind of insulting. It would have been better if they'd been realistic about it and said that they understood that it might be a steep price for some, but that they hoped it would be affordable for some of their subscribers while still giving them the chance to produce high-quality content or something along those lines.

What I don't understand however is how this is supposed to be sustainable in the long run? Because if I'm someone who's scrolling Youtube and comes across one of their old videos, I'll watch them all there. If I'm scrolling and come across one of their newer videos, and see that the rest of those videos are behind a paywall, then I'm gonna continue to scroll, I won't pay $60 to watch someone I previously didn't really know.

I don't know businesses, especially businesses in creative fields, and definitely not USAmerican businesses in creative fields, so I'm not sure how this would work financially. However, I think there's one of two things they could have done to make it easier for us as fans to transition, as well as still earn them some of that extra revenue (to start with):

They could add a free subscription with ads on their streaming service. I don't know how easy that is, getting sponsors and incorporating pop-up ads on a service, but that's an option.

They could have started out by putting some of their bigger projects on the service, but still regularly making content on Youtube that was not as produced or financially

I think having their own streaming platform is a good idea because then they won't be bound by Youtube's restrictions and have more creative freedom, as well as the whole economic side of this. The way they're executing it however is just alienating and frankly a bit insulting to the fans who have been with them for so long and supported them through so much and now suddenly can't watch anything new anymore with barely any warning.

Yeah, this became very long but I had some thoughts that I just needed to air.

#watcher #watcher entertainment #watchertv

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nightingale-the-lurker · 8 days

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Hic est nihilum

[DEMO] Last update: 19/04/2024 | [ROMANCE OPTIONS]

SYNOPSIS

Hic est nihilum is a 16+ fantasy story set in a desolate, post-apocalyptic wasteland. Assume the mantle of the Omen, a rebel who endured a harrowing betrayal. Embarking on a perilous journey through the lifeless Abysm, you must rescue your allies from the clutches those who'd sooner see you dead and stop two loving, loathing gods from taking control of your mind.

PLOT

After a lifetime of enduring the Matriarch's iron grip, you dared to defy her tyranny. Empowered by the enigmatic Sud the Time's End, the smiling harbinger of death, you led your forces to reclaim a portion of the desolate, lifeless wastes of the Abysm. Victory seemed within reach, until betrayal shattered your ambitions.

Left for dead in the unforgiving desert, your survival now hinges on an ambiguous mission from your divine benefactor. As you navigate this treacherous path, the fate of your allies hangs in the balance, while the Matriarch's dominion remains unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the chaos, whispers of alternative powers echo through the Abysm, offering salvation at a steep price. Will you bend to the will of fate, or forge your own path to freedom? The choice is yours, but in this land of turmoil, nothing comes without sacrifice.

FEATURES

Play as a male, female, or non-binary character and choose your sexuality.

Customize your appearance and personality.

Decide on your skills, weapon, and fighting style.

Gather a patchwork group to rebel against the Matriarch.

Interact with two gods who want to take you as an ally, servant, and saint: Erichea the Drowned Maiden and Sud the Time's End.

Decide how you'll lead your rebellion: Will you be a ruthless rulebreaker, an idealistic liberator, or a pragmatic diplomat?

Don't lose your mind. Or do.

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Faz Sharaan is a tech expert who mysteriously appeared at your doorstep, offering his expertise. Though invaluable to your cause and a man with a heart of gold, his past remained a tightly guarded secret. It's as if he emerged fully formed from the desert sands.

Yuan Lixue is your steadfast ally and fierce protector. From the outset, she dedicated herself wholeheartedly to your cause, her loyalty to freedom unwavering. Yet, the crucible of battle has left its mark, turning her into a hardened warrior with an appetite for blood.

Rhys Dariann is exactly what he says: A flesh-eating demon. Yet he seamlessly transitions into kind town doctor and devoted chaplain. His reasons for aiding you are veiled in secrecy, but one thing is clear: an old hatred towards the Matriarch fuels his every action.

The Angel is an enigmatic and inhuman celestial being sworn to your cause without explanation. Their price? To never again take a life under your command. You've always wondered, however, if they're fallen from grace or merely overlooked by the gods of the Abysm.

#interactive fiction #cyoa #interactive game #twine #if wip #twine game #twine if #if intro #fantasy #post apocalyptic

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bunabi · 2 years

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should not have looked up how much I’ll owe in taxes as a fully self-employed artist right before my beddy time

#we'll cross the bridge when we get to it but ye gods dear neptune mother of pearl egads #zack fair was right the price of freedom is STEEP

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salternateunreality2 · 2 months

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Angeal: Dreams and Honor. You're only a little more important than my sword.

Zack: The price of freedom is steep. Cloud's survival is more important than my sword.

Cloud: Fuck it, we ball.

#ff7 #zack fair #cloud strife #angeal hewley #dreams and honor

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starsologyy · 5 months

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𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ─ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 [𝟎𝟎𝟏].

001. ─── ✦ A BITTER 17 [SERIES MASTERLIST} ✧˖*°࿐

synopsis ─ [31 DAYS LEFT TILL THE EXAM]. after being rejected by your childhood best friend, you walk by yourself to your other best friend's birthday party. but even after you use the celebration to forget him, it seems he leaves you a parting wish to forget what he said.

content warnings ─ alcohol usage, curse words, and etc.

𝐍𝐎𝐕 𝟗 ─── 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍.

“change is good.”

it’s a quote with words that soothes the ache of the guilt of never ending metamorphosis with its dearing touch, yet sears with regard to whatever you may have yearned to keep. your body still lingers though in an oblivious trance of the past, stuck even when you tell yourself this quote, noticeably the presence of the sound of dreadful repetition of the god awful radio in the car when your phone has died and your dad doesn’t like the silence.

you’re supposed to move on, and yet, change doesn’t feel all that great like it should.

suguru telling you it was an impulse to kiss your lips that morning had forced the wrenching of your weak guts, mutating what little love you had found in mind and self to be left to shreds. you used to consider his voice the melody entertained with the love belonging to naive youth, but his rhythm now leaves you bitter when you know yours is no longer a proper one itself.

his words have left you to appear restless despite the hours of rest you have laid with him yesterday as you walk to the library, and you wonder just how much one boy could just seemingly ruin everything in a mere second or two.

the soles of your aged sneakers brush harshly against the fissures of similarly old concrete when you try to figure this matter. of the uncomfortably familiar streets that you tread, you’re forced to witness the disaster hurling inside the crevices between your rigid bones that call out to lay your eyes and in heart to seek a selfish longing such as a motionless life.

ingrained in privileged purity and righteousness in the midst of infancy, your body used to run gravely cold at even thought of something like an easy life.

when suguru left initially, you too, originally planned to leave when you got a bit older. because in a town so miniscule, there was nothing close to the freedom of living out the wildest dreams one may have. stuck by the identical proximity and communal till lungs inhale and exhale finally, you used to find that life daunting. to remain in bind forever by the opinions of those who resided was a possibility of hell, and now remains so admittedly.

the city allowed you to breathe. do whatever you want, and nobody will dare to care. the thought that you don’t matter much, you found that to be freeing.

you had always planned to escape from the nostalgia and the redundancy of the town; to lace your worn sneakers in a haste manner before taking off to wherever your heart had desired at the moment. you’ll escape in the cheapest vehicle at the junkyard you had bought beforehand, then drive recklessly while you release your thoughts to the cds that play as soon as you land on the first highway out of this town. you didn't know (or care) if you would struggle all alone somewhere else. its dread lacked importance as long as you were free. perhaps a skinning sort of agony, but it meant you had the determination to do it, and you would be better than the boring folk who resided in oblivious comfort. you wanted to be better.

however, just as the hastful suguru was to abandon what built between you two when he moved, as quick as he was to enter your life once more after his return. jovial though you were to see him once more, but it was at a steep price of daring the depths of the disaster in your very soul that you found the horror (yet truth), that suguru had led you complacent into discovering the very pleasure of domesticity. for his words to lead you astray from the philosophical freedom you once sought, to instead let the eventual ache of your feet be mediated by the possibility of the gentle rocking of the wooden chair you’ll purchase for the house in the countryside with him.

after this morning though, you doubt he would even visit that house if you had bought it. he’s gone to wind, and you were stuck with your feet embedded in soil, yearning to keep time still as a caterpillar’s walking pace of early metamorphosis to preserve the fading moments with him. it seems he didn’t feel the same for you, since suguru grew mosaic wings from this, and you were still on the ground.

the roughness of the pads belonging to the surface of your fingertips attempt to sooth the chaos stirring in the puffiness surrounding your eyes when you realize this truth. they glide to smooth an approaching swelling, and with every wrinkle they flush back into your supple skin, you even feel yourself whispering curses directed to the very silence around you like someone would come console you of this actuality.

it’s laughable.

laughable because you’re now standing in front of another very proof that time can’t stand still after it has crossed your path during this pitiful walk of yours.

it’s only an old truck the local elderly couple on the block owns, and yet you wonder if the universe just yearns to entertain your anguish in the midst of this freezing autumn.

sure it may be invaluable and complicated to deal with to most, yet if they didn’t have love for this car, they would have simply abandoned it in some junkyard nearby. you know how complicated and annoying it is to maintain that car because you and suguru had also worked with your dad at the auto shop to repair it every summer. despite suguru’s departure, you and your father still begrudgingly repaired it yourselves. it took days, and certainly wasn’t cheap for them because everybody involved had realized it was a miracle your dad even had the talent to fix something that old. but you can tell it meant a lot to them, because they paid the hefty price every time with a pretty penny too as tip.

through change someone loved it. when it got old, it still was taken care of. you think you now yearn for that determination from somebody.

it lingered in your mind, causing you to wonder if suguru had loved you through the metamorphosis your vulnerability had undergone during his leave. you had become rough around the edges, like a dog who bites at its owner rather than bark. had he eventually gotten too tired to throw his bone to you? so now he rejects you?

you decide to forget about it, afraid it would cause you to become too obviously depressed before you had met up with the others, so you quickly rushed your feet to avoid further thought.

──────────────────────────────

once you finally arrived at the quint library, you pushed open the glass doors, just for your jaw to collapse.

the widened pupils in your eyes saw your best friend kana, also suguru’s little sister, kissing suguru’s best friend, satoru.

“okay don’t worry I can explain this just calm down!—” she shouted nervously.

“oh jesus so you’re dating your brother’s best friend and I’m supposed to be calm? you couldn’t have even told me?—”

“sure bring that up but aren’t you dating my brother? So who’s acting supposed to be calm? cause it’s definitely not you—” kana nagged.

“who said i’m dating your suguru when i got rejected this morning by him when i tried!?—” you retorted.

“you’re dating suguru?” satoru interrupts, appearing rather dumbfounded as his lips curve to whisp a “huh” a moment afterwards. “sorry, i mean, did you try to date him? lameee! was your confession that bad?” he teases, but you and kana are still standing there, again with both jaws dropped on the wooden floors at the fact you even confessed to suguru and she’s dating his best friend.

where do you begin now? that you thought after all these years he was showing signs of feelings but it turns you’re actually just delusional? kana jabs at satoru’s side before raising an eyebrow at you, awaiting a response as well clearly. it’s the season where your exhales release as mist and yet you can feel an approaching drop of sweat down your forehead.

“can we start on one thing before making fun of me? and yeah he fucking rejected me after he stole my first kiss—” you stutter finally after a couple of moments, “but how the hell did he steal your first kiss though?—” kana interrupts right after, satoru even letting out a boisterous laugh at way you just keep fucking up your words.

“you fumbled badly. we’re going to championships too. you could’ve been one of those basketball star girlfriends,” he pokes, throwing you a can of beer from his bag before settling further into the seat he was at. “but really, i thought he liked you…so what did he actually do?”

you didn’t really notice it before you were too ashamed really to look at him, yet it’s the first time you’ve seen his cheshire like grin suddenly drop, a glimmer of concern laying in the blinding blues that swirled in his very eyes. has he always been upset once you first told him of this incident? for your sake?

the concealment of the anger through the vein that pops on his forehead was almost hidden if you hadn’t peered closer through the heavy bangs he adorns. you do great when you start to pace between the shelves surrounding you three, attempting to rest the worry that he may, in the simpleness of the vocabulary you have accumulated, knock the shit out of suguru when he arrives later.

oh how the tightening and crease around his knuckles grow pale through his grip on the table edge easily silence the very potential of any words to be said die in the closing of the space between your lips to possibly reveal what lies inside you. the fact he can do so, is impressive, admittedly.

you almost laugh at the way he now releases a huff of air or two when kana traces her manicured blinged nails along the veins on his soft hands though, relaxing him like how satoru himself does with his own dog, callie. she doesn’t appear to contain her raging annoyance at brother like how her supposed boyfriend (and his best friend) does from first glance, but you can still tell she does since she’s almost violently trembling (likely in words she’s about to yell suguru with) despite the truth she has two sweaters on and acting as if she’s in antarctica.

it’s also when you stand only a couple of inches away you can tell this relationship hadn’t been one that developed only recently. you don’t comment on it though.

“he rejected me.”

“…so what made you think he liked me then?” you ask, kicking the wooden seat to let yourself settle onto it before cracking open the metal can beneath your rigid nails.

“[y/n] wake up, what kinda “best friend” looks at somebody dumbstruck during class if he doesn’t like her?” the white haired boy sighs, rummaging with a sigh or two as he plucks out another beer from the cooler beside the leg of the wooden table.

kana nods in agreement, and when she doesn’t say much, that’s how you know someone has found the words of absolute perfection to voice what she must have thought (which is rare you admit).

“im pissed off because he does all of that lovey dovey shit and still gets to do you like that,” he chugs the gold corona past the openings of his lips, wincing immediately after, “aren’t you mad? i teased you about it but…if someone ever did that to me, i wouldn’t know what to believe,” he mumbles.

“is this really right to talk about during kana’s birthday?” you chuckle (rather awkwardly), glancing over at your best friend seemingly staring off into space. the splashing of your can doesn’t seem to rip through the silence between all of you anymore unfortunately.

you didn’t want to shit on suguru just yet for some unknown reason. perhaps, he’ll come back and say he was simply joking of course, so you wait to align with your anger.

“it’s not a very fun birthday if i find out that my best friend is sad because the love of her life is a pussy, sooo…” kana says finally, scurrying off to the magazine stand near the cashier, running right back to hand you a magazine a moment later. platinum highlights in her onyx hair look especially taken care of today you realize.

“what’s this about?”

“my apology for not telling you about satoruu obviously!” she wraps her arms around your shoulders, “and my thank you for the amazing gift you got me.”

you raise a brow at kana before shrugging, starting to flip through the overly decorated paper with scented perfume samples and plasters of the hottest idols at the moment. it bores you slightly after you have smelled the fifth sample of some random strawberry perfume, until you come across a little interview.

you have to admit. the idol being interviewed is stunning.

the questions seem a little two faced at first, like all the media could care is how many times she curls her hair to achieve the wavy beach effect, but you come across a section where she seems to try to help her oh so “unfortunate” audience.

it’s hilarious, yes, but you’re reading it like religious literature.

she doesn’t seem to divert from the typical “how to look better” guides, change your hair color, wear different makeup (both that are supposed to suit you better somehow), and foolery like that. but you can’t seem to ignore how your eyes linger on pink bold letterings soaked in messy glitter that also mention changing your style, diet, and everything.

you don’t want to admit it, but it seems tempting.

“earth to [y/n]?” kana grins, flickering your forehead as your head automocally shifts to her eyes staring into yours. you can tell she was late to arrive home yesterday since her concealer can’t even cover the depth of exhaustion meshed with the rosy, blushed flesh belonging to her face. “now you’re interested?”

“it’s lame.” you chuckle.

“was it really lame if you were enjoying it?” satoru pokes, and you roll your eyes before kana shrugs in agreement.

“he’s not going to suddenly leave whatever girl he likes just because i got a glow up, he’s not like that.” you sigh, resting your head in your hands as you daze off.

“you guys are next level delusional if you think me having a pokemon sort of evolution is the key to all this.” you slightly laugh, twirling your locks around a finger of yours.

when the flowery scent of your dollar store shampoo approaches your nose, it makes you wince for some reason. perhaps it’s because suguru told you he liked the way your hair smelled once. he never said it ever again though, and you wonder why at this moment you remember it in your pit of misery. a living grave of what could have been said in response to his compliment, to now to follow you to be stuck to your head from there on since you had (regrettably) only showed a smile at the time.

“whatever you say…” kana yawns, looking at her phone for a moment, “but if i say for my birthday wish I want you to do it, will that help?” she grinned.

“she got you there.” satoru whistles.

“shut up.” you mutter, taking a sip of your beverage before continuing, loosening up.

“…it’s not that i don’t want to, but i don’t know if it’s the best idea,” you mutter, setting the laminated sheets of thin paper on the table as your eyes linger once more. “it’s just, changing my entire look, for a guy, isn’t very productive either right before our exams, idiots. ever thought of that?” you groan, running your fingertips through the base of your hair.

“not me though, i have one year left. i’ll worry about exams…next year? still, even if you guys have them, doesn’t mean you can’t have romance in your life. it's a piece of paper, and if you die alone because of it, it’s kinda your fault.” kana chirps, and satoru simply gives you an agreeing look to accompany his girlfriend’s disagreement to your qualms.

a look that can only mean, in the entire two years since he first moved to this small town to follow suguru mindlessly from the other school he had attended, that satoru knows he’s right for once. it worries you a bit because of his usual playful and rather talkative manner.

“but—”

“ah, happy birthday kana!” a long onyx haired girl cheers, unintentionally interrupting you as her figure walks through the glass doors, a familiar taller, coffee colored short hair girl following behind her, the cigarette between her maroon lips escaping their crevice to be thrown out in the bin immediately by her calloused hands.

“good timing for the both of you, now help convince [y/n] she doesn’t need suguru. and that I’m right, as I always am—” kana says, an immediate, “what even happened—” escaping from shoko’s lips soon afterwards as she applies lip gloss to hide the scent of the smoke on them.

“suguru rejected me, that’s what happened!” you blurt out, your brows furrowed as the apples of your cheek burnt up while the two that had entered let out a sigh. they soon sit down beside you, and an awkward moment of silence continues again.

“he told me he didn’t like me, and now kana is trying to convince me to go through some mega glow up to make him regret it.” you groan, shuffling through the cooler once more for another beer to cool off.

“and so because of that, [y/n] is releasing her anger on everybody,” satoru murmurs, taking another sip of his own drink before he whistles obliviously to avoid your piercing glare. “am not!—”

“so are you completely lucky go happy and not threatening to murder us?” he raises a brow, and your lips are sewn immediately. “see? she’s going to lose her damn marbles over this crap.” satoru chuckles, and they nod in a certain understanding.

“i just, i feel bad for ruining for kana’s birthday like this. I admitted to being in love with her brother, and now i’m having some group therapy session.” you huff, looking over at the birthday girl as she sits on a shelf all casually before she grins at you after adjusting her bangs.

“well, how about we celebrate kana’s birthday first, and then we can do whatever the birthday girl wants for you.” utahime chuckled sheepishly, grabbing a lighter effortlessly from one of the twenty seven pockets on shoko’s cargos, before directly looking at satoru. you’re suspicious why she knows where it is so easily, but you’re too grateful for her excellent topic shifts to to say anything.

the rest of the group nods, and you take a big sigh of relief.

“where’s suguru with the cake?” utahime adds, her eyes rushing to meet the ink hues of the taller boy who entered the room as he grins at her.

“here, fifteen dollars for a birthday cake is pretty insane.” suguru says, placing the cake down on the table beside you before he waves at you, yet you can see his eyebrows scrunch when you look away instead of reciprocating it. nobody comments on it though.

“is it because you’re broke suguru?” satoru interrupts out of the blue, getting up to ruffle suguru’s silky locks beneath the pads of his fingertips before a smirk emerges on his face from his joy of annoying his best friend. “personally, me, i have never complained about two digit prices.” the white haired boy whistles, walking away as he took out the number one and seven candles in his bag, pushing them down into the soft cream of the cake.

suguru roll his eyes before he laughs, and everybody surrounds the cake.

it’s cheap, proven by the buttercream frosting reaching peaks that seem to grow appetizingly weak the further your eyes follow them, but you still have to admire the thick script of the simple ‘happy birthday kana’ likely made by the middle aged cat lady at the local bakery. it’s not too perfect (she seems to have forgotten cursive for some letters) but she improvised its mess into something somewhat bearable to stare at.

“ready?” utahime says, lighting the rainbow candles.

“happy birthday to youuu, happy birthday to you,”

and there everybody sang a simple tune of happy birthday for kana. it felt a little weird to sing it in a library so early in the morning, yet oddly jovial to be able to witness that over the moon glimmer of light in kana’s eyes as she made silly poses for shoko to record her during all your singing. as long as she was happy, nobody cared how idiotic they looked.

“happy birthday dear kana,”

satoru was no exception either clearly, because you spot his hand around her waist despite suguru being right beside her, but you pretend to have not. it wasn’t your business in the end, and as long as he continued to make her happy as this obnoxious singing did, love shall prevail as corny as it may sound, you thought.

“happy birthday to you!”

and the song has ended. you stifle a laugh as satoru removed his hand at the speed of light as suguru began to cut the cake.

“thank you, thank you!” kana chirped, hugging everybody rather tight before she dug in into her slide of cake, the ombré layers all smushed as her fork pierced it’s layers, simply to entertain her taste buds as quickly as she got the utensil to do so. “it’s really good,” she says with a mouth full of it, everybody laughing as they soon got themselves a slice.

but it’s not really a birthday party without obscene amounts of pizza and junk food, so she didn’t spend long on that cake before digging into the steaming pizza that was delivered just as she took her last bite.

“happy birthday again idiot,” you grin when you poke at her, hugging her side once more as she hugs you back. she radiated the sun, and you simply wanted to be in the radius of her shine today.

everybody started to open drinks after a while of eating, leaving on a playlist in the background as they chatted.

──────────────────────────────

time seemed to fly by fast, because it was eight o clock pm now and you could feel the dim stars ever so slightly seep into the moles and freckles of your flesh through the opening of the slightly cracked window. it’s from when shoko wanted another smoke and utahime whined about its oh so ‘deadly’ effects since shoko herself thought it was smart to open a window in the middle of freezing autumn. no one complained in the end though since the slight breeze helped to not end up wasted immediately, which was nice.

you look over your shoulder as you remain pressed against the shelf of science fiction, noticing your best friend almost knocked out on the floor as satoru sits right beside her on the carpet, stroking her back. you thought satoru would be more drunk by now, but he seems to rely more on a lollipop at the moment to fix his oral craving for some reason. you wonder if they’re so drunk that they can’t tell suguru is only ten feet away sitting down at a table. but you can’t blame the couple too much. he’s too drunk himself to notice anything since it seems since he can barely keep his head up.

speaking of him though, you feel a bit sick when you see his eyes glance on shoko a little too often for your liking. utahime was oddly focused on a kids manga so she wasn’t talking much in that group conversation, but you wonder what could be so entertaining in their world that suguru isn’t talking to you at the moment (even after this morning’s fiasco.)

sure you confessed, but why is he treating you like some stranger? he didn’t even talk to you that much during the party. and yeah maybe you're mad because your drinks have made you more sensitive than ever, but you felt oddly sober enough to realize you should get out before he could tell the look of jealousy in your eyes from staring at the two of them.

shoko has been your friend ever since suguru came back from his stay with his dad. she hasn’t been anything but a shoulder for you, always getting you to stop being a ‘stick in the ass’ as she crudely refers to it, and never giving you shit despite sometimes acting manic. so it makes you feel worse you’re jealous of her right now.

you stand up slowly, waving bye to satoru and kana, only a murmur from the both of them to be heard as you slowly push open the glass door. you walk the night in a shiver, yet the chill sobers you more as your eyes are glued on the concrete.

shoko’s pretty. short brown choppy hair. it wouldn’t look the best on you as it did on her. her cool tight eyeliner and the way she pulls off any bold color of lipstick must be tempting for suguru, and you can’t blame him for liking someone like her. the way she was with the flow, and you were exactly the opposite. she liked those bands you don’t tell your parents about and instead just steal their car to go see them at a underground bar. shoko was the type to just so cooly light a shared cigarette with her effortlessly. if you tried you would probably burn the other person’s lips somehow.

you feel horrible.

you can’t be mad at him for finding someone else prettier. and you can’t be mad at her if she found herself to like him. what kinda friend would you be?

so you wonder why your feet have led you to the park you and suguru frequented.

and you even wonder more why your feet lead to let you reside on the swing you always chose ever since you first came. your hands grip the bit of a rust on the chain, and you let the weight of your body slowly push you as you think.

what were you doing here but reminiscing over a man that wasn’t yours? you feel stupid, and the drinks don’t help but to cause your tear ducts to spill a little more than they should as you sob out into the silence of the night for the decaying nature around to take your anguish with them before their greenery finally disappears with the upcoming winter.

it doesn’t help when you accidentally look over to the swing that suguru always took when you guys played together, and you just remember how cool he always looked after he ran from his basketball game to accompany you whenever you looked lonely swinging by yourself. He would talk your ear off, and as much as some may have loathed his pity and slight savior complex disguised as a philosophy of kindness , you embraced it with all you had.

and now you kinda wish even after everything he would do the same. you continued to weep, wiping your eyes even if you had some half assed glitter on your lids from this morning.

“you okay?” suguru whispered.

shit.

“why are you here? thought you were avoiding me, suguru.”

you don’t notice the way his heart pangs at the lack of your nickname of his.

“i was passing by to go home.” his voice cracks. suguru’s voice always does that when he lies. you wonder what is there to hide now. but you don’t ask.

“then go home.”

“you don’t own the park.” he chuckles heartily, and it somehow even makes you roll your eyes during your misery. “and why are you here?” suguru whistles.

“because i can.”

“then i can too.” he says as he rests himself on the swing beside yours like he always has, an uncomfortable silence between the two of you for a minute or two. “you drunk?”

“are you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“yeah.” he nods, holding up his crushed can.

suguru never remembers anything when he’s drunk. and you don’t think he’s lying since his typical bun is disheveled. it’s too many strands out of the hair ties grasp to be considered to be a sober suguru. you’re kinda glad he’s not sober to remember this state of yours by sunrise tomorrow.

“well I’m drunk then too.” you laugh, and he grins at the sound of your odd joy.

“cool.”

more silence between the both of you.

“suguru, why did you kiss me this morning if you don’t like me?” you blurt, and you keep your head low in case your eyes suddenly spill tears you don’t mean to.

he’s silent.

you feel your body burning in embarrassment once more, and you stand from your seat, so you can possible run out of there, but when you try, you feel a familiar hand grabbing on to yours.

“don’t leave.” he whispers, and you glance to see his eyes looking weak as they stare into yours.

“then tell me why you did it.” you mutter.

“i felt like it. it was just because, i was still tired, and i wasn’t thinking straight. i didn’t mean to do that to you.”

you wish he could have just been honest and told you the real reason. suguru doesn’t do things for no simple reason such as human impulses, and he must think you’re dumb to believe him.

“be honest suguru.”

“i’m telling you the truth.”

“don’t lie.”

“im not ready for a relationship.” he starts, “and i guess i really liked how your makeup looked, since you forgot to take it off when we hung out last night. the smudged eyeliner, and you know…” suguru shrugs.

shoko did your makeup like how she does hers typically earlier that yesterday afternoon. didn’t that mean he just saw a piece of her in you at that moment? and that’s why he was

tempted? to get a sample of what it must be like to kiss her? sure you both don’t look alike, but men are primal creatures, and they simply focus on the idiotic things rather than the big picture. he liked you, because you resembled her for a split second with smudged burgundy lips.

you don’t think he knew that, but you couldn’t say that to him without breaking down at the seam at the moment, so you keep silent for another moment to compose whatever you have right now.

“oh. okay.” you decide to say in the end, about to start walking again, but he again tugs you back.

“you’re leaving?”

you thought he was joking when he said don’t leave. but if rationale says to leave him, you just shake your head no, and you go back to sitting ‘a bit too close to comfort’ kinda close to him on the swings.

he doesn’t speak, using his hand to rest on your thigh. you let your own hand rest on that hand. you’re happy he’s kind enough to let you do that.

you would regret this night, but you’re going to blame the alcohol you had to say that this was your last hurrah before highschool was over.

you two don’t look at each other, just looking at whatever. you soon see the broken down car from the morning, but it wasn’t enough for you to want to start a conversation. it’s still sitting there. like you guys are.

ironic as it was, for the rest of the night, under the full moon, you both didn’t speak as you remained there, and simply enjoyed the presence of each other in these moments.

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