all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 21, 2018 23:22:37 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Apr 21, 2018 23:22:37 GMT -5

The day breaks slowly and gone is the beauty of last night's sunset. Snow falls heavy, covering the tribute's camps in a heavy, silent blanket. Suddenly, an angry roar breaks the quiet and footfalls shake the earth. It's Bigfoot and something has sent him into a rage. He stomps through the snowflower meadow and the hot spring, crushing everything in his path. His rage seems endless and large crevices begin to form in the snow, beginning a dangerous game and leaving the tributes remaining no choice but to scramble up the mountain side.

A storm, dark and angry brews on the horizon and the wind already stings the cheeks of the tributes. It blows away the snow in spots, revealing the bodies of more tributes but their bodies seem fresher. The snow around them is stained red with their blood, creating a ghoulish setting. The snow comes down hard and heavy, it is difficult to see anything at all. Artemis and Khonsu bear witness to the coming struggle, both resting low in the sky to the north and south, providing light.

Welcome to the finale, tributes! Many congratulations on making it thus far. This is it, the end of all things. You may have as long as you need within reason to wrap things up, but please be considerate of your fellow tributes and mindful of the site's schedule.

Tribute information:

Raven Sayer - 6.5 dmg
Accuracy
Strength
Plants
Thievery

Stella Blakesley - 7.5 dmg
Accuracy
Self Defense
Firemaking
Rationing

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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last seen May 5, 2024 23:01:44 GMT -5

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 22, 2018 7:07:13 GMT -5

Quote

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Apr 22, 2018 7:07:13 GMT -5

{✞}

Rusted scepter and crown; maybe the stars are bestowing it to you. And, as a compensation for every tragedy that’d shattered throughout this snowy gradient of an arena, I would gladly accept the token. For the better. For every fiery heartbeat smothered to a cold silence.

This is the greater of two evils – a reward, bequeathed if this spear can afford to skewer out the crimson of the last tribute walking. The slaying can be effortless, the thought is graceful, yet the guilt does not fade away. It carries onward, directionless, akin to the light of dead supernovas, stretching across galaxies above, mistaken for comets – and forever burning, and burning ceaselessly.

I only felt the reverberation when two names were crossed out by these scabbed fingers – an outburst from Finley’s cannon, and something else, something far more explosive. When Bella Rose fell, it was a swan song masqueraded as a shipwrecked skeleton, a graceful descend to the earth below.

Then, the only sentiment was grievance, for I’d committed the most unholy act – which is to fray the wings off a seraph.

But, the moment silver gouged rubies out of Finley, a weight was set upon these rickety shoulder blades, a burden larger than myself.

I slain a boy who was not beast, who didn’t reign over pandemonium. Innocence, torn to death at its thigh, lies sprawled over scarlet snow. Through a kaleidoscope of buried memories and ghosts, I see not divinity, but sin.

Everything’s scorched down to cinders, a crimson pond beneath where Finley’s hollow remnants rests. There’s only a charcoaled helmet for taking, which I set briskly upon my crown of dark threads. The panoply is fragmentized to metallic shards, strewn about the hot springs, glistening under the day’s fading glow.

It’s the last sunset— and the most blood-stained of all, as if the skies were echoing the crimson below. Oranges and marigolds adorn a seamless horizon, pushing past the flakes of snow to bathe this boneyard tangerine. For a moment, everything turns golden— before the reds peer over.

Lower your eyelids
to die with the sun.

Leaves and twigs and branches begin afresh, yet bones and veins don’t. The evening’s quickly rushed past for the night to linger even more, the canine howl of snow singing dark premonitions.

It’s fortunate of me to have stumbled upon Finley here, along the hot springs. There’s warmth, and no bonfire’s needed to illuminate the scene – to drown out the stars above – for the paper lanterns glow. Wrapped delicately in a fleeting serenity, these fingers mend battle-scars, stitching, anything to hasten this twin-mooned night. Bones cocooned with exhaustion, I could resort to slumber but can’t, for the anthem has yet to blare.

Then, as if it’d heard
screamed to earshot—
the anthem.

Through technicolor and holography, Aeson’s countenance seizes the skies. I exhale a trembling breath I didn’t know I held on, for days, since Caine gave burial to himself in the crook of my neck.

“You’re dead, Aeson.” Croaked and hoarse, a voice whispers out, then a catharsis of quivering fingers and a racing heartbeat.

“Why don’t I feel more relief—fuck.” When the riptides explode from these hollowed eyes, they sting. Quickly, fingers smear them away, because I have to be remorseless for the nameless beast who murdered Caine. He’s dead, and I am explicitly weeping, under the carbon-copied moons.

Maybe, seraphs
are cursed to feel
everything in extremes.

The latter doesn’t aid – it’s Finley, a soft gaze which speaks volumes, which yearns for the sisters back at Nine. I robbed them away from him, I robbed him away from them. These tragedies are a double-edged blade; it bleeds both way. This is what it entails to be an open wound, to break apart at the seams.

There's no beauty to it.

Arms tighten after embracing themselves around shivering knees – rosy brims breathe out wisps of ivory, my ghosts, which disperse in the blink of an eye.

Hours slowly cascades away, and this seraph had lost his barb-wired halo to decay. At least that’s what I fathomed, until the skies rain down a miracle, something silvery thrown from the clouds above. It embeds itself to snow, a graceful landing. A parachute. Fingers quickly pry it – unlock it, revealing a jar of tar and an armored vest, folded neatly.

“Thank you.”

Bruised tongue only whispers out two syllables after wearing the armor, stashing the tar, completing the panoply again. Maybe, my halo hasn’t completely smoldered out yet.

Exhaustion brings these bones down – to a sunken place, where phantoms gallop on their dark horses, and the corpses beneath us crawl back to surface, my skeletons become unburied and it’s a land of decay, towers rusted and scattered with corrosion.

This is my kingdom, beckoning from below. The hundred ghosts are there – awaiting an emperor, for the scepter and crown. It’s the middle place, a palace amid hell and ether.

But, when the coronation
Is about to occur,
The earth –
It wails.

Feet rise on instincts that they’d schooled themselves in as the hot springs tremble – water breaking ripples, splattering out. I shake my head, as if to shake the somnolence off, and drink in the surroundings.

But the morning horizon’s obstructed by snowfall and a mass of shadows which rises to a length that scrapes the sky. The breathing darkness takes a step forward, towards this timber skeleton, breaking fissures – breaking the earth below.

It’s the creature that had been singing its bestial melodies throughout the arena. Run, Forrest, run; I make a course towards the mountain’s peak – feet stomping past slush and snow.

When the beast halts its pursuit, brown circles turn – to a boneyard of the discarded. Trinkets prod out, along with dead arms and eyes and bodies. Everything’s marked crimson here; it’s the concluding bloodshed. It’s a mosaic, fitted together by dead tributes and memories and two corpses.

She is silhouetted by a curtain of snow, but I can spot the sunglow on the armor she’s wrapped delicately in. “Stella.” I welcome her, as an old friend, as my only friend, to the pinnacle. “Are you still fighting for the glory of your home?” A laugh goes, which metamorphoses to echoes. But the next words – I croak out. “I killed Finley.” The riptides come, again. “I am so, so, sorry. But, I know Aeson died by your hand. Thank you, for that, for avenging Caine – even though I know that's probably not what you were doing.”

We’re not here for haloed talks. A strike of the flint and the smeared tar on my javelins catch flare, igniting to embers. They soar to the skies; I envy their freedom. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you that you are also a poet.”

“So, let’s talk Stella.
Over tea and javelins.”

is sponsored a jar of tar
is sponsored an armored vest
lights 4 javelins/ski poles using f & t

raven attacks stella blakesley / flaming (javelin)
1/4

26T5j9XP1-50

Minor burn (+2 damage)

javelin

15192 -- MISS (SPEAR LOST) -- 0.0 damage
(javelin)

javelin

15064 -- DEEP GASH ON RIGHT BICEP -- 8.0 damage
(javelin)

1-50�javelin�javelin

Last Edit: Apr 23, 2018 5:32:57 GMT -5 by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

alex 🐺
Veteran Member

999 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 4, 2024 12:41:48 GMT -5

a la folie

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 23, 2018 18:19:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by alex 🐺 on Apr 23, 2018 18:19:28 GMT -5

s t e l l a;

She is havoc personified, relentless and unstoppable. She is chaos and her bones are tectonic plates, igniting sparks with every shift; fault lines running beneath her verglas skin. She was not fragile - seismic waves crashing behind her eyes and incandescent magma was pumping through her veins. She was disaster and she was a goddess, eyes went and shining. In silence, her teardrops sounded like an explosion.

“I’m not ready, but maybe I am.”

Even villains bleed ichor, their dark deeds not staining the brilliance of their life force even as their souls crumbling to ash. Stella realized this as she fell, as Aeson fell. Collapsed on the snow, she watched him take his final breath, arrogant even in death. She fell as she hit him, knees bent and sprawled out, her back sinking into the snow.

She grabbed only his reserve ski poles, including the one he used as a crutch and pierced her with. Her promises to Euley, Euley’s promises to her echoing in her ears as she crawled away from Aeson’s body, the cannon sounding.

“And if you die here, I'll leave your body alone. I'll leave everything behind that won't keep me alive — but I'll go home for you. I promise."

She left a trail of red behind her as she dragged her half-dead, half-burned shell of a corpse towards the tent. Steel and ivory, sinews and iron. They all bleed the same and she was close to death as she pulled herself through the flaps of the tent, the leather billowing from the gusts of wind from the hovercraft retrieving Aeson’s body. She would not mourn him. She would not carry his death the way she she wore Euley’s so boldly on her body. She was fraying, tearing herself in two.

Stella lay on her back for what felt like hours listening to her breathing even out, the loss of blood making her sick to her stomach. Her heart was pumping slower than usual and she knew that she was dying. In the ashes of it all, she falls to the embrace of death. She is bleeding and writhing, staring up at the smoke-obscured sky, but isn’t it actually snow? Does dying by the flame, existing as the wildfire, feel like freezing? Flames closing in around the edges of her vision, she wills herself to rise up.

Get up, get up and stitch yourself back together. This isn’t over.

The anthem blasts through the sky and she stumbles out of the tent, holding onto a tent pole as Aeson’s face flashes across the sky, followed by Finley’s. Stella hangs her head, tears blurring her vision. He was too damn good for this place and tears would not bring him back. A hollow in her chest, her ribcage breaking open as the breath leaves her body and she falls forward once more into the snow. Beautiful things do not exist here - the dance they shared flashing across her vision. Torturing her mind with memories of them dancing. Her heart wakes to memory. Distant worlds etched into skin, tangled but tender.

She sits there in the snow, piles gathering around her like ashes from a fire before she is able to pull herself upwards. She enters to tent, her satchel in the corner and Euley’s coat thrown wide to dry. She sits, stitching up the wounds on her thigh as she bites a piece of wood found in the tent. Her teeth and jaw ache as she clenches the wood, the needle piercing her skin to sew up the wounds that Aeson left. He was right - he would never truly disappear as long as she wore Euley’s coat, carried his ski pole, and bore the scars from his hand.

Sleep comes easy when one is near death. She leaves the tent - it had served its purpose for others before she had needed it and would become lost to the arena. Her armor is pulled tight on her body, her fur coat high on her head. Blue seeps into red, then ochre, splashes of pink before light takes hold of the darkness and banishes it for the day with the rise of the sun.

The tredgehogs allow her to approach the sled, but she is still wary, knowing they will transport her up to the High Peak - where it all will end. She is not Euley, she cannot commune with animals, but she whispers a few quick words to them, asking for trasnport. They obey her rather begrudgingly and she pulls their reins to direct them as if she was actually in charge. She wasn’t - they knew where to go.

Snow whips around her as the elevation climbs and she stops for a moment, eyes not quite adjusting to the swirling vortex. Smoke in her eyes, and a prayer on her lips as the world is burning down around her. Falling snow made of ash as the past licks like flames at her feet. The snow piling grey and soft around her . A girl of fire, setting ablaze everything her fingers brush, cutting a path of destruction through field and sky as she races up the High Peak.

He sees her before she sees him - yelling over the din of the snowstorm.

“Stella. Are you still fighting for the glory of your home? I killed Finley.” His voice breaks at this, barely rising as she jumps off the sled, satchel on her back and violence on her lips and running through her veins like ice. She should tear his throat out for speaking his name, for touching his skin in malice.

“I am so, so, sorry. But, I know Aeson died by your hand. Thank you, for that, for avenging Caine – even though I know that's probably not what you were doing.”

Of course that’s not what I was doing, you silly boy, she thinks, her jaw set as he prattles on. She is a child of ichor with the blood of the sun filling her veins. Aeson and Euley’s deaths took her to madness, but that was necessary here. Madness is in the viscous liquid of her spine, coating her bones. Infecting her like a disease and spreading like cancer, embedding. In the bleached ivory of her bones, and poisoning her. She is death and she is glorious.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you that you are also a poet. So, let’s talk Stella. Over tea and javelins.” The monologue ends and he attacks quickly, launching the lance of flame and iron, catching her in the arm that she had stitched the night previous. A groan escapes her lips.

She cloaks herself in righteousness and innocence, but she is wrapped in hypocrisy as she wears the wolf’s pelt and carries Aeson’s spear. Treasures that were perhaps not hers to take, but she survived. Holes in bronze hammered into her soul, bruise blossoms on her neck the evidence of the savagery. Her skin stitched together in patchwork pieces. Jagged wounds like broken glass, blood on her hands in and her mouth. She is made of war.

”I’m tired, Raven.” She begins, because she is. It is the honest truth and it is bound in plainness. Bittersweet fluid drips from the fractures in the guarded depths of her heart, memories of a life lived too long ago. Sorrow and regret seeps through the jagged cracks, staining the ivory of her bones. Marking her.

”I’m burned and bleeding and I’m tired. So let’s just finish this and let one of us go home. Spare the poetry and the pretty words and call it what it is. This is war. This is a black space. This is the last cruel act.”

[ sets four ski poles/javelins on fire using a jar of tar + firemaking]
[attacks raven | flaming javelin one of four]

kkV2FTNwjavelin

[15103 -- SHALLOW CUT ON FOREARM -- 3.0 damage]

1-50

[+4 damage]

javelin�1-50

Last Edit: Apr 23, 2018 18:20:24 GMT -5 by alex 🐺

the smell of night, inhaling stars.

napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 24, 2018 5:29:56 GMT -5

Quote

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Apr 24, 2018 5:29:56 GMT -5

{✞}

We're the last breathing wounds, a mosaic of battle-scars and shredded iron. Every pedestal's empty now, only Stella's glowing silver against a bleak horizon, the concluding obstacle.

I thought Aeson would be here; the pent-up fury coursing within this veins isn't meant for her. But, he's faded away, an ephemeral beast, six feet below. The snow's unburying our skeletons — unveiling dead branches of arms, which prod out of snow like rusted shrapnel. There's no facade to wear now, no marble to shatter.

The storm and patches of red stain everything saturnine. Twin moons above galvanize us to action, smearing wet silver upon two sets of shipwrecked bones.

the ending,
the apotheosis,
the ultra-violence.

Seraphs— our tongues whisper plagues, the embers of scorched javelins there to coronate divinity, haloes in disguise of barb-wired crowns, Polaris fragmentizing to shards throughout endless space. The gods have gone away but the ritual does not recede, retrograding itself back to origin perpetually.

If this battle speaks of inevitability, I have to seize the crown for myself. Call me inconsiderate, for these veins had been nothing but selfless in between these tragedies. It's the hour, of change, of epiphanies.

”I’m burned and bleeding and I’m tired. So let’s just finish this and let one of us go home. Spare the poetry and the pretty words and call it what it is. This is war. This is a black space. This is the last cruel act.”

She speaks vindication; incantation of violence — as raw as the scars they're evoked out of. But, there’s no need for chants as these bones are already creaking, prone to corrosion more than they've ever been. I am weary, exhausted and tragic, all in one vessel. And, the lines of fatigue bordering her visage tells me that the sentiment is mutual. Another act of violence after this would fragmentize our pedestals to their ultimate ends, ceasing out, faltering, breaking apart at the seams. Twenty-two ghosts await for a funeral, to welcome the last tribute.

“Then let’s end this, Stella. Quickly. Before the arena collapses on us. This isn’t going to be as pretty as our words—you know that already, right?” I twirl the second of my four javelins, embers fleeting – akin to the snow amid us. “Thank you for killing Aeson, but I was saving up all my strength for him. Looks like I’ll have to channel it onto you now.” If anything the past days had schooled me, it is not act like the sacrificial lamb that we are. I’d stared at the heinous face of tragedies personified and wavered before—but not now. All that had been the groundwork, the preparations for this slaying.

I lift the crimson-stained foundations of a murderer within my gut, channel its ferocity. Unapologetic—fingers shoot another javelin at the final obstacle, at the final beast. “I am not sorry; not anymore.”

raven attacks stella blakesley / flaming (javelin)
2/4

gXTl4MSp1-50

Minor burn (+2 damage)

javelin

15109 -- SPEAR IN BACK -- 9.0 damage (javelin)

1-50�javelin

Last Edit: Apr 24, 2018 5:33:27 GMT -5 by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

alex 🐺
Veteran Member

999 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 4, 2024 12:41:48 GMT -5

a la folie

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 24, 2018 12:40:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by alex 🐺 on Apr 24, 2018 12:40:28 GMT -5

{✞}

Heavy is the head that wears the crown but neither of them could claim that title yet. Their endings circling over their heads like vultures, hawks, crows. Eager to fulfill the omen that had plagued her every night since before the Reaping. The dream transforming but always snow, always ice, always the boom of the cannons - but maybe that was just the wind, maybe that was just the echoing of her heartbeat.

She hated using the flame and the javelins - they never felt right, even if she thought herself a wildfire. She found safety and security in the crampons that she wore on her feet, the metal spikes taking the lives of the wolf and the villain when the fire and spear failed her. The flame that she projected, thrown wildly off course, struck Raven in the forearm. Matching scrapes, but his dug deeper. She sighed, her head aching with the gash suffered from days previous despite the helmet that she wore to protect it.

Her ribcage was the wrong size for her her lungs, her heart pushing frantically against the bones that sat too close. Her heart pushing blood to a skull and a body full of poison, insisten murmurs of those lost crawling through her ears and never leaving her brain. Euley said she would not carry her but Stella was weighed down with their deaths, dead corpses trailing behind her, bloody steps of iron and bone as she fell apart.

Her eyes though, her eyes were wide while her body wasted away, shaking in the snowstorm. Afraid that she would waste away to nothing but bleached bones and scraps of bruised skin. A tomb on a mountaintop forgotten to the world hours after one of them fell. That would be their requiem. That would be their elegy.

“Then let’s end this, Stella. Quickly. Before the arena collapses on us. This isn’t going to be as pretty as our words—you know that already, right?”

He is taunting her as he plays with his javelin, no longer the broken boy from a few days ago, but perhaps he had taken his grief at the loss of Cade and made it into the fire that was dancing before his eyes. Silver purified them both, iron forging bones of steel that could not be broken, but she needed to wear the valor’s crown, dead flowers stuffed down her throat with thorns intact, teaching her to gorge, to kill, to hurt. The concussive explosion when the bomb finally hits the ground and there is silence, if but for a moment, and then it all changes.

There were simpler ways to change rather than destruction, but she had never chosen an easy path. She had smeared her lips in blood and dusted her eyelids in the stars, the galaxies. She had ripped apart Euley and Aeson, muscle from bone. If Euley was the wolf, Stella was the lioness - masking her deeds in mourning but wearing the skin of the wolf and professing self-preservation. She was a hypocrite, but she was alive. Breathing and bleeding, but alive. Grinning behind her hands, drenching herself in the blood of others like a false prophet.

She swears she will shatter gold like glass, break silver whole like hollow bones and burn bleached white black as iron to survive. She knows this now.

“Thank you for killing Aeson, but I was saving up all my strength for him. Looks like I’ll have to channel it onto you now.I am not sorry; not anymore.”

He launches the spear at her, just at the moment she was bending to light another, the steel striking her chest armor and damaging breastplate in one fell swoop. Embers flying everywhere and burning her skin, but she watched the ash swirl, mixing with snow and breathing a sigh of relief.

“The last thing I need is your gratitude, Raven. An obstacle was placed in front of me and I dealt with it. He was beautiful even as he fell, just as Finley was before you took his life. I’m not mad at you for that, you did what you had to do to get here. But what now? I don’t feel anything anymore. I’m not angry. It’s all so fleeting - these feelings - love and hate. “

She pauses, chest heaving as she watches the boy from District Seven, both children of the forest lost in a frozen wasteland.

“You can channel all your anger into fury, but my heart is on fire. Each scar, each drop of blood, each tear is a further evidence that their sharpened knives and monstrous teeth missed their mark.”

[attacks raven | flaming javelin two of four]

Fm|qeMG5javelin

[15152 -- DEEP GASH ON HAND -- 8.0 damage]

1-50

[+2 damage]

javelin�1-50

Last Edit: Apr 24, 2018 12:41:46 GMT -5 by alex 🐺

the smell of night, inhaling stars.

napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
Graphics

3,101 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen May 5, 2024 23:01:44 GMT -5

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 25, 2018 4:27:26 GMT -5

Quote

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Apr 25, 2018 4:27:26 GMT -5

{✞}

Hand recoils, like a wounded serpent, as her flare and silver devour a fragment of it, skin ripped open — exposed to frostbite, to the last remnants of this ice-brimmed arena. The agony runs deeper than veins, sinking itself down bones and marrows, exacerbating to a bushfire of suffering.

It's impossible to grow familiar to the pain; being a frail expanse of skin disguised as armor, I am as phantasmagoric as the memories haunting the hollow of this skull, a kaleidoscope, always fleeting, short-circuiting. No time left; the hourglass has poured out all its grains.

The weight of guilty conscience is mountainous, a burden on bruised shoulder-blades that's grown rickety from damage, from tragedies. The bricks of my skin are becoming undone one by one. My hearth of a heart is smoldering out, from embers to wet coals. These windows, shaped as eyes, search desperately for the ensuing scatter of quicksilver but they're exhausted, dangling loosely from dark circles. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart. A cycle of vengeance; it's perpetual.

I am futile, feet rooted to ground, flames scorching my leaves to marigold – then to cinders. Maybe, she is the divine judgment for Raven Sayer, an angel with a fierier halo, armor disguised as skin. But, for now, we are parallels. She draws a scar and I return one to her, as heinous as these fingers can muster.

“The last thing I need is your gratitude, Raven. An obstacle was placed in front of me and I dealt with it. He was beautiful even as he fell, just as Finley was before you took his life.”

Beauty, wrapped delicately in poison; a belladonna flower grace. Aeson was as dangerously enticing as they come, yet that does not alter the deeper hatred this heart holds against him. It's permanent, processed through brimstone and fire.

“I’m not mad at you for that, you did what you had to do to get here. But what now? I don’t feel anything anymore. I’m not angry. It’s all so fleeting - these feelings - love and hate.”

“You can channel all your anger into fury, but my heart is on fire. Each scar, each drop of blood, each tear is a further evidence that their sharpened knives and monstrous teeth missed their mark.” She croons, words devoured by canine wind. I run my fingertips close to the embers, the warmth caressing the scars there.

“But I am neither Aeson or Euley, just Raven. There aren't knives or teeth of a monster in my body, Stella. Only a deeper malice that kills. I don't have the bite of a Salazar. A force of nature won't miss its mark because it doesn't have a target.”

There were no Blakesfeys or Sayers before us — her spine and mine aren't smeared with rivulets of blood, cascading down from dynasties.

“Maybe we survived it all because we were the first of our names to enter this arena. The Izars, the Frays — so many of them have died here. The arena prefers fresh blood. There has to be a reason for our survival, right? So, when you die, I'll mourn you, Stella. Just as I mourned Bella Rose and Finley. But, I am not going to fade away now, not when victory is so close, no matter how hollow that may be. I am tired too. You need to get the hell out of my way.”

I think of Caine—
of miracles.

raven attacks stella blakesley / flaming (javelin)
3/4

E2qfP9nw1-50

extinguished (+0 dmg)

javelin

15042 -- DEEP GASH ON LEFT BICEP -- 8.0 damage (javelin)

1-50�javelin

Last Edit: Apr 25, 2018 4:44:07 GMT -5 by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

alex 🐺
Veteran Member

999 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 4, 2024 12:41:48 GMT -5

a la folie

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 25, 2018 10:04:18 GMT -5

Quote

Post by alex 🐺 on Apr 25, 2018 10:04:18 GMT -5

{✞}

The universe around them swirled and moved, the world tipped on its axis and yet, here they stood on a jagged peak - life boiled down to attack and defend, attack and defend. Mechanic in movements and nature. Empty shells with hearts pumping on automatic - survival encoded in skin and spirit. A battery of bruises and cuts littering their skin - galaxies of cardinal sprays decorating themselves, the air, the ground.

Her last attack struck Raven in the hand - deep and true and cutting to the bone. Her own hands bound in armor and yet he continued to find spots of weakness. A girl forged in the flames of combat but wearing weakness, waving it like a banner of all of her transgressions. Perhaps that was the true test of the Arena - a swirling vortex of snow like ash with teenagers thinking themselves immortal, felled by others who can penetrate the spots uncovered.

It feels like it has been years since her body has been her own. She taps fingers that are not hers against her skin she can hardly feel, watches a chest rise and fall, inhale and exhale, and wonders if her empty shell would echo if Raven hit it hard enough. She is reminded of memories that wake of her life before - that there was once life here, something made of soul, light, of humanity. Ripped out by others adorned in furs and steel, boys throwing flowers at the feet of unsuspecting girls, wolves whispering poisonous words, vitriol dripping from the mouths of killers.

Her voice comes out in a croak, the names of those dead passing her lips like ghosts. They took scalpels and carved letters into her body and maybe, just maybe, this body is theirs. It belongs to Euley, to Aeson, to the Captiol and the Arena. Has she been beaten hard enough to spit her spirit out? Has she been tortured enough to pull the soul from her lips - wrapped in barbed wire to keep her ribcage intact while her her heart tilts off of its axis and out of orbit, pounding into the cage built to keep it safe. Has she been chased enough to bring her spirit to its knees? She has run far enough in this race - reaching the end of hell and cursing heaven with every beat and yet she can never stop running, her scars a testament to the memories of the last eight days.

“But I am neither Aeson or Euley, just Raven. There aren't knives or teeth of a monster in my body, Stella. Only a deeper malice that kills. I don't have the bite of a Salazar. A force of nature won't miss its mark because it doesn't have a target. He pauses, gathering his breath as he again watches the flames they both hold. Dancing around in the wind.

“Maybe we survived it all because we were the first of our names to enter this arena. The Izars, the Frays — so many of them have died here. The arena prefers fresh blood. There has to be a reason for our survival, right? So, when you die, I'll mourn you, Stella. Just as I mourned Bella Rose and Finley. But, I am not going to fade away now, not when victory is so close, no matter how hollow that may be. I am tired too. You need to get the hell out of my way.”

His spear again, again, god damn it, strikes and hits her arms and she stumbles backwards, clutching her left arm with her right as the rivulets of blood burst forth, the dam broken, the skin split open. How many countless times had she stitched herself back together only to reopen old wounds with each strike of steel and iron upon her porcelain skin. Burned, stained, marred skin.

“You know, before the games, I couldn’t give a shit about the history. Or the legacy of the great ones who had come before us. The gods who survived this place. I didn’t care then….and I really don’t give a shit now.” Sardonic laughter breaks through her throat and her face aches, aches with the effort to smile. Aeson’s burn leaving its mark.

Her body is a ruined temple for a vacant god, a god who smeared his ichor across the earth and tinted the whole world gold. Raven is matching her with words and actions, stronger than he looks with the patience of a forest, but this is war and she is a forest fire. Rage splinters in the cracks between her bones and she will damn him in her inferno. He spoke once of beautiful things, but she is a white hot supernova, crumbling inward, exploding outward. She is the storm.

“I think you misunderstood me a few days ago. This isn’t about the glory of home. This is about going home. That is all that matters to me - that is everything and I will fight like hell to be able to walk out of this fucking place. So you’re wrong - you’re in my way, Raven.”

This is how it starts: sucked poison from lips praying sins, clenched fists from ichor in their veins. This is how it ends: bloody lips from sharp edges, broken bones from crashed dreams.

[attacks raven | flaming javelin three of four]

fGlR7aPijavelin

[15186 -- SHALLOW CUT ON NECK -- 4.0 damage]

1-50

[+0 damage; extinguished]

javelin�1-50

Last Edit: Apr 25, 2018 10:05:01 GMT -5 by alex 🐺

the smell of night, inhaling stars.

napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
Graphics

3,101 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen May 5, 2024 23:01:44 GMT -5

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 25, 2018 13:18:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Apr 25, 2018 13:18:54 GMT -5

{✞}

“You know, before the games, I couldn’t give a shit about the history. Or the legacy of the great ones who had come before us. The gods who survived this place. I didn’t care then….and I really don’t give a shit now.” She veils her malice with laughter; it screams counterfeit.

“I think you misunderstood me a few days ago. This isn’t about the glory of home. This is about going home. That is all that matters to me - that is everything and I will fight like hell to be able to walk out of this fucking place. So you’re wrong - you’re in my way, Raven.”

Although her declaration of violence is perilously volatile, Stella’s fangs turn delicate for a moment—a mere scrape on neck as the embers respire out of life to a smokescreen. It stings, but when compared to the collection of scars my body carries wearily, the wound is transient, simply a rush of adrenaline which jolts somnolent bones awake.

Clarity returns to sight and I blink, feverishly, desperate for an advantage. But, my tired eyes only drink in the ambiance—snow tinted crimson, the crooked zenith lost in a bank of clouds, the ground patched with dead hearts. The world’s halcyon as it ends, splattered together by dichromatic acrylics borrowed from a color-blind artist.

This is the boneyard where Aeson’s silver sent Caine reeling, onto the crook of my neck, then mother earth’s wintered skin. C’rizz Moon, mouth aghast, ice axe loosening from fingers as he falls. Each memory flickers into existence with each step taken forward, towards Stella, a supercut of macabre jammed on a perpetual replay. It’s the haunting, ghosts levitating out of the holy confinements for this last ultra-violence. They’re ravenous for the closing tragedy.

Out of the corner of an eye, I spot Reese LaChance. They’re taunting me—the Gamemakers, the puppeteers, for arranging a funeral for that boy. Dark threads, dark circles, a darkened soul; I can’t erase the remnants from our encounter. The boy with a timber skeleton from Seven, he deserved a seraphic miracle, something—anything to steer Ripred away from his strange trails.

Jacinta, on the other hand, seized vengeance for the Sevens who’d fallen at the finale by embedding a spear in Cynthia’s eye. The angels chant in both melodies and war cries; this is my calling.

My penultimate javelin soars, rubies gashing out of a skinned barrage and she’s turning ephemeral: we both are. The carbon-copied moons could break orbits any moment now to submerge the two of us in a heap of decay, of rumbles and we wouldn’t be able to flee in the direction of shelter. A graceful end; it sounds dangerously enticing, but not as enthralling as the thought of freedom, away from this crimson, away from the howl of wind, away from death’s cold grasp.

A weighting scale with self-destruction and freedom set on it; everything leans towards the latter. I won’t stomach defeat, not now.

I don’t grasp this concept of a home her tongue speaks so vehemently about—never did, until Caine came along. This ghost of a boy needs a new home before death. I want to feel pure sunlight again, not synthetic, just a ray enriched by vitamins. I want to swim in a lake landlocked to earth and taste sickeningly sweet honey, and find another home for me and so, so much more. Before the next affront, a bruised tongue whispers, holding back its spite,

“There’s so much I’m destined to do, Stella. We are both in each other ways but the path in front of us has space for only one god. Who is it going to be? I’d much rather it be me.”

Thunder—
I summon your aid.

raven attacks stella blakesley / flaming (javelin)
4/4

qyTdmzXn1-50

minor burn (2+ dmg)

javelin

15173 -- MISS (SPEAR LOST) -- 0.0 damage (javelin)

1-50�javelin

Last Edit: Apr 25, 2018 13:30:33 GMT -5 by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

alex 🐺
Veteran Member

999 POSTS

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a la folie

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 25, 2018 19:33:32 GMT -5

Quote

Post by alex 🐺 on Apr 25, 2018 19:33:32 GMT -5

{✞}

He was dripping in iron, in silver, clad in gold, his armor not quite as thick as hers, but they had each found ways to embed in each other’s skin attack after attack. The silence is turning violet around them - the sun banished from this high peak, twin moons watching over this scene like dark sentinels, gods intended only to observe but never intervene.

Stella feels the girl inside of her dying - the girl who wore pink ballet shoes, ran through the forest, helped her father with cleaning the cabin, watched him hunt for the first time when she could barely take steps. That girl was gone, dying, vanishing into nothing but a black soul forged in fire after she took the life of the wolf, after she took the life of the villain. But they had left their marks as well. They had dug in deep, just as deep as Raven was tearing into her skin, girl with the golden heart tied together with teeth and bones made of ivory and marble crumbling.

The gold was tarnished now - gold heart transformed and built from fire and stones, swallowing stars and extinguishing the sun, a despot of decay with a derelict crown. Not a miracle, but created by blood, bones, and stardust, her heart beating so loud that it drowns the scream that erupts from her lips as Raven’s spear blows past her, missing its mark - thank, Ripred - burying itself in the snow, but leaving a trail of burnt flesh. The smell bunt in her nose but she was used to it now - her cheek still shining with Aeson’s fury.

She felt him trying to reach into her heart, and she would not allow it. She had felt too much for Finley and could feel Raven’s fingertips prodding the edges of the organ incessantly. His venomous words lingering in the air like a smoke bomb. She did not want his venom, she did not want his poison. She had enough of it already.

“There’s so much I’m destined to do, Stella. We are both in each other ways but the path in front of us has space for only one god. Who is it going to be? I’d much rather it be me.”

This was not redemption. It was ruination. The destruction of a girl so soft - too soft for this world, her father had always told her. She was hard now. She was shrapnel - melting skin and embedding. Like Aeson, she refused to leave this place. She refused to disappear.

“Keep swinging, Raven. I’ll take you down with me if I have to. I don’t want to be a god. I don’t want to be immortal - molded in marble and stitched on tapestries to hang in the Capitol. I want to be a fragile human. I want to dance. I want to run through the forest again. I want a choice in it all. And I choose living today.”

[attacks raven | flaming javelin four of four]

mNOE|faLjavelin

[15001 -- MISS -- 0.0 damage]

1-50

[+2 damage]

accuracy re-roll finale

javelin

[15075 -- SPEAR IN CHEST -- 9.5 damage]

javelin�1-50�javelin

Last Edit: Apr 25, 2018 19:36:13 GMT -5 by alex 🐺

the smell of night, inhaling stars.

napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
Graphics

3,101 POSTS

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all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 25, 2018 22:36:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Apr 25, 2018 22:36:08 GMT -5

{✞}

Carry on, carry on, carry on,
and after us the flood
carry on, carry on, carry on
Our silver horn it leads the way

The last javelin completely misses its mark, only a trail of embers rushing past her bloodied and broken form. Maybe I am as fruitless as she declares, a patchwork of scars that are swiftly beginning to suffocate the system. There isn't much ichor left for the heart to gush out; tributaries of ruby losing quicksilver momentum.

Scabbed fingers hunt through the arsenal of alloyed iron, for comfort, for a miracle. When they fish out the spear Bella Rose fell to, it glistens idyllically under the silvery glow of twin moons.

“Keep swinging, Raven. I’ll take you down with me if I have to. I don’t want to be a god. I don’t want to be immortal - molded in marble and stitched on tapestries to hang in the Capitol. I want to be a fragile human. I want to dance. I want to run through the forest again. I want a choice in it all. And I choose living today.”

This time, I reciprocate the sardonic laughter. She whispers, of faraway worlds, of newer galaxies, for the Capitol would never permit that. Number backs and souls; our lives were purchased before this even began. “You don't have a choice, Stella. If they want you to be a god, then a god you will be. There's no lesser of two evils here, it's just pure evil.”

Eyes can almost trace the two moons slowly setting down auroras and constellations—or being devoured by them whole. Albeit the frost, skin feels as if it’d been set ablaze because it had been, a myriad of times. These broken bones long for sleep, to lay rest to themselves, marrow and all. Her mark’s potent, a javelin embedding itself in stomach—and crimson, every rivers of life cascade out.

But, I am not at her mercy; I give refusal to Ripred for one last dance, one last violence.

“When I die, tell my family to cremate me – so that my body won’t be laid in surrender like them. Bathe me in rosewater, purify my hands, purify me.” A faint heartbeat flutters; something tragic, kindred and communal amid the adolescents, the doomed youth who were condemned to death, to carnage.

We didn’t need stories, but they were already engraved onto our skins, patterns of lilac planets and ancient comets. This is the steady anthem of our tragedies, the reverberation of a cannon, breaking ripples onwards— towards a halcyon tomorrow. That who Gillian was, who Aeson was, who Mercy was, who I am; children, the cursed posterity.

The silver horn’s blaring in a distance, declaring my invitation to the necropolis. Glacial steps— they bring me towards its iron-cladded gates. “I won’t be a plaything. I was, since the first day, quietly unapologetic. And, neither death nor the Capitol won’t be able to rob this rebellion away from me.”

Under the cobalt of moon,
these eyes halt their tears
Caine— I am coming home.

Banners of gold shine
In the cold, in the cold, in the cold
Footprints of snow, blind from the road
Hail

raven attacks stella blakesley / ski pole (spear)

Rtk9S2a2spear

3081 -- Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage (spear) + 1.0 (strength)

spear

Last Edit: Apr 25, 2018 22:38:20 GMT -5 by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

alex 🐺
Veteran Member

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last seen May 4, 2024 12:41:48 GMT -5

a la folie

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 26, 2018 9:08:14 GMT -5

Quote

Post by alex 🐺 on Apr 26, 2018 9:08:14 GMT -5

{✞}

Call it what it is - this is not a rebirth. This is destruction. This is a reckoning wrapped in filaments of gold, muscle, and bone. This is the striking of a hammer on malleable lives. This is the desecration of a temple so beautiful that it was destined for a short life. This is the sacrificial lamb ready for the slaughter. This is the beginning and the end of everything.

Stella’s final javelin strikes Raven squarely in the chest, an eruption of blood and embers, but he was still alive. He was still breathing. He was still standing before her. A mosaic of gashes as deep as canyons and she was faring no better. They were destroying each other - tearing pieces out in hypocrisy and calling it salvation while the funeral pyres were lit.

Her chest heaves, burns and aches where Raven’s spear destroyed her armor and made her vulnerable. The ending was close, she realizes. One final leap. One last jete before the curtains closed. And she was almost there.

He is out of fire but his attack is no less damaging - the spear reaching out to dance against the skin of her calf. She screams out and falls, knees crashing into the down of the snow swirling around them, eyes swimming with darkness, tears falling.

A boy of the forest but his venom, in words and attack, screams of learned movements.

“You don't have a choice, Stella. If they want you to be a god, then a god you will be. There's no lesser of two evils here, it's just pure evil.

She rolled her eyes, but knew that he was right deep down. Even as her defiance burnt inside of her like a smoldering flame, he was right about everything.

“When I die, tell my family to cremate me – so that my body won’t be laid in surrender like them. Bathe me in rosewater, purify my hands, purify me.” Purification from the staining of this place, something that she would never wash off herself. The scars, the memories - burned into her brain and seared into her body.

His words emboldened her, but her vision was fading. The twin moons above them swirling in her mind. Off axis and spinning out of control. This was how it ended - this was the moment before the final assault, unsteady hearts beating a rhythm of the war drums. The choking fear that one bites back, the smoke in your lungs as you inhale ash and burn within.

”Then I defy them and their false gods. But I won’t defy you. If I survive, and both of us are knocking on death’s door and either one of us could walk away from this, I will honor your wishes.”

Her chest ached, ached and she bit back tears, her lip bloodied and salty from sweat. Eyes glistening because this was falling. This was meeting death and defying his cloak and scythe. This was a war-cry from a broken ribcage with a heart so damaged that it beat at half-pace.

“But you must honor me too - take my necklace back to my father. That is all I want. That’s all I’ve wanted. Then we can both go home, Raven.”

A prayer burst forth from her lips as she ignites.

[attacks raven | spiked blunt]

z|Bil7qtspiked blunt

[14060 -- GASH/BRUISED LEFT SHIN -- 3.0 damage]

spiked blunt

Last Edit: Apr 26, 2018 9:10:33 GMT -5 by alex 🐺

the smell of night, inhaling stars.

alex 🐺
Veteran Member

999 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen May 4, 2024 12:41:48 GMT -5

a la folie

all of my demons greeting me as a friend / / 78th finale Apr 27, 2018 20:04:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by alex 🐺 on Apr 27, 2018 20:04:09 GMT -5

{✞}

“But you must honor me too - take my necklace back to my father. That is all I want. That’s all I’ve wanted. Then we can both go home, Raven.”

A prayer burst forth from her lips as she ignites.

Stella Blakesley breathes in, breathes out, and lunges. Her attack mirroring the last attack in the Training Center, a final hail mary and call to prayer rolled into one last attack. Her favorite composition is playing in her head - a piano sonata that builds and builds like a wave crashing. Like a wildfire sparking. She remembers dancing to it, beginning with slight steps and spins, endless spins. She always ended with leaps. Throwing her body forward with measured calculation. One wrong step and she could break an ankle or tear a muscle.

She strikes forward, her crampons sparkling in the storm around them, burnt steel kissing the armor of Raven's legs, but he is too far gone. She has hit metal, but his porcelain skin is marked with too many holes and he has lost too much blood. With the gust of the explosion, less than seconds away, this is the end.

Her chest aches, aches and she bites back tears, her lip bloodied and salty from sweat. Eyes glistening because this was falling. This was meeting death and defying his cloak and scythe. This was a war-cry from a broken ribcage with a heart so damaged that it beat at half-pace.

Raven Sayer falls, miraculous, earth-shattering, like a supernova engulfing everything around it into the void.

Stella realizes that she is dying as well, bleeding from her extremities, her wounds from the past two days weighing her down and making their presence known. The pressure of gravity forcing the ichor out. Stitches ripped out of their place, the sewing frayed and the thread unraveled, this is the end. She realizes she has spent too long sifting through the brokenness inside of herself, cursing the gods and their immortality and refusing to embrace her humanity as it seeps out of her skin like a river. She clamps a hand to her arm and it comes away drenched, her eyes blurring at the edge.

Her body screams out in pain, cursing the spears of Raven Sayer and Aeson Kight, the crampons of Euley Sarasin but her mind is racing, her legs giving out from underneath her, her face hitting the snow as the wind swirls around her. She collapses and they lay in the snow together, worlds away but together. He is beautiful as he falls, galaxies on the tip of his tongue and a supernova burning out before engulfing everything in the void. He is miraculous. She is near death as well, bleeding out at a fantastic rate, and she is dying. The wounds she carries - gashes on her arms and legs pumping cardinal across the snow, warming the space around her, tells her she has moments to live.

She shuts her eyes to stop the visions, but the darkness amplifies them. Her allies. Her enemies. All dead while she was deemed worthy to survive. There was no worth in this - the sacrifice of lambs for the slaughter upon a golden chariot. The gold was tarnished now, destroyed in fire and rebuilt in stone, swallowing stars and extinguishing the sun, a despot of decay with a derelict crown. There was only survival and the brandishing of sharp teeth, sharp words. Vision swirling and memories tangled but she sees Finley, she sees Eva, Exar, Vesper, Allie. Euley, Aeson, Raven.

She squeezes her eyes shut as the memories playback. The blows that killed Euley, the promises they made. The violence and defiance that Aeson wore so proudly even until the moment the life flashed out of his eyes. Her nights with Finley by the fire.

Murderer, murderer, murderer, the chant echoing in her mind as she inhales and exhales, picking herself up with unsteady arms. The agony of the deep gashes on her arms making her scream out, her movements shaky and stilted. Weak, she rights herself on uneven legs, eyes skyward. Looking back down, she sees the cowboy hat Raven wore so proudly. She wanted to keep his promise of cremation, even as she knew his body would go to the Capitol. Perhaps this token, perhaps she could take it to someone - a family member, someone who would cherish it so that it was not swalloed in the bowels of the Capitol. She plucked the hat off the snow, dusting it off, eyes raised upwards in silent prayer.

Her body a desecrated temple, she is chained to it. A broken headstone in a forgotten field. A dancer plucked from the forest and dropped at the top of a mountain.

Tears run down her face, salt mixing with the snow as the wind around Stella and Raven's body shifts. This was no time for reflection - she would have years to cycle through her downfall, her ruination. Her destruction. The dream of the girl to return home to a castle that was crumbling, a derelict crown and a broken scepter, family and friends plucking off her new feathers, leaving her flightless and covered in ash.

There was no way that this death sentence would not spell tragedy and she knew the singsong melody of warning bells: her father’s gentle words when she was younger, the restless-reckless humming beneath her skin. She threw herself off of cliffs to teach herself how to dance, how to fly. She threw herself off of cliffs to teach herself how to fall. She hollowed out her body, divesting herself of her useless organs and filled herself with something like longing for home, but something more like vengeance and darkness.

So she takes the offered hand, the hovercraft landing next to her and Raven, the collection underway, staring straight up through the chaos, mouthing, “I’m just ready for home I’m just ready for home. I’m just ready for home. I’m just ready for home. I’m just ready for home.”

The cannon fires, but all she can hear is the whistling of the wind under two twin moons. The silence so loud, it erupts like an explosion.

♛END OF THE 78TH HUNGER GAMES♛

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Wow, this is totally surreal. I remember getting ready for the Reaping and not even betting that I would be reaped, let alone sit here with a Victor. This has been such a fantastic and challenging experience and I still cannot believe it. I saw the first four districts roll in with the reaping and definitely went to bed after that and woke up to the news that Stella had been chosen. Everything since then was just a whirlwind, but I couldn’t have done it without you all. There are so so many of you to thank for your kind words and appreciation, so I really hope this list does you all justice. I love you all so much and I cannot wait to be mentor/shield for all yall in future games.

Griffin - I’m going to start off with you because you gave me such a challenge in this finale to craft the fight with Stella and Raven. I know in character Stella called Raven a poet, but you really are, and I definitely tried my damndest to keep up with you. Thank you for such an anxiety-filled, entertaining, and beautiful finale. OMG, I almost forgot - that last table that you made though <33

Ele, Thundy, Geebs - Thank you all for being absolutely fantastic Gamemakers. You all kept us guessing with the REs, the change-up on Day Four, and just the amazingness of the Arena and the spirit of the Games. I have nothing at all to compare to it to and I think it’s better that way because every new day and Anthem, I was just in awe. The Arena was beautiful, the mutts were insane (bigxar forever) and I gotta give it up to the real OTP of the Games, singe <3

Kay- I don’t even know where to begin. You totally dragged me with you with an alliance from the get-go and it was all of your insight and kind words that got me to the end. I think I was definitely naive and along for the ride the first couple of days with you, Jade, and Aza (how do I maintenance?) but all of our chats totally helped me. I think you were my biggest cheerleader, even when I texted you and it was like 5:00 a.m. PST ranting about something or other, you were always there with reassurances and telling me to breathe. I love you so much.

Jade- Stinley forever! Finla? <3 But seriously though, I don’t think I would have gotten through these games without you. Our threads and planning our dialogue each Games days was always a blast with Stella yelling about something or other and Finley probably crying tbh. I’m not crying, you’re crying. You and Kay and Aza were the original alliance and I could not have done as well as I did without you. I love our friendship and I thank you for calling me out for saying that I just ‘appreciate’ you, even when I totally love you. I cannot wait for more platonic and/or non-platonic ships with you and I love you.

Aza - Thank you so so so much for being such a fantastic ally with the rebellious little thing that was Vesper. Our little clan was amazing and the fact that we kept the chat going for the entirety of the Games was one of the big reasons that I never gave up and pushed myself in my writing each Games day. Your sass and your spirit are honestly infectious and I cannot wait for the chance to ally with you again.

Kou - My boy. There is so much that I don’t think I could put into words with how much I absolutely adore you and our friendship. The fight between Aeson and Stella totally broke my heart and challenged me as a writer and pushed me to new heights. Aeson was such a joy to read every single day. You are such an inspiration with your characters and your characterization and the narratives that you weave that I just die reading any and everything that you write. I love our ships that we have and I love writing with you and I hope to keep writing with you because you really do make me a better writer because I’m trying to be like you. I cannot wait for future games with you. <33333 - real hearts, not fake.

Tris - Ugh, that fight with Stella and Euley still gives me chills. I remember early on in the Games you told me that you would see me in the Finale, but Stella vs Euley was such an epic fight that it felt monumental when I was writing it with you. Thank you so much for your poetic prose and your words of encouragement dripping with compliments in typical Tris fashion. I told absolutely everyone that I talked to that I was trying to write for you and for Euley because I look up to your writing so much. We had never threaded before and it was just a total dream. I love you. <3

Arrows - Your words, especially right before the Finale definitely helped me get through the Games. Thank you for Eva and for your generosity as an ally (even though it was short lived) and for your positivity and spirit. I cherish you as a friend.

Cato - I know we don’t talk much, but you were such a joy to have as an ally and Bigxar really was one of my favorite threads to read this Games day. I loved how you were just so kind and generous and you always had super positive words. Exar was definitely probably a great scary big brother for Stella and I wish they had more time together.

Mattio - Fets! Thank you so much for your kindness these Games. You’re such an absolute joy and even when you would just interject in the chat with a hellmo or a hellvest, I loved being a part of that with you. For you and Cato and Arrows and our little band of misfits, abominablsnowgladesforever <3

Dars - OMG, your tables though! I cannot with how amazing they were and they just got better each day which was like fantastic. I was so stoked to be able to use your tables in my fights with Tris and Kou when we were really going for the feels, so I totally thank you for giving a face to my girl Stella (even when she was getting it burnt off by Aeson).

Anzie - I know I don’t know you very well but you definitely caught me off guard when you sponsored me and told me you loved my PTS. I was not expecting it at all, but it was much appreciated.

Tom - Thank you so much for your kind words every single day through these Games. You helped me so much to get through things and to just keep writing even when I was struggling. Caine was gorgeous and I wish he and Stella could have met, even though she killed his boyf (sorry about that). I cannot wait to build a narrative with you and Teddy. I’m so looking forward to it.

Kari - Thank you so much for your friendship, love. I think I mostly just got a lot of OMGs from you in all caps every day that progressed throughout the Games, but you were such a fantastic source of great words and encouragement to keep me going. I love your positivity and I am so thankful to have you as a friend. It means a lot to me.

To everyone else that supported me and had kind words for me this games, I thank you so much. I endeavor to be a fantastic Victor for you and for the site. <3

tags: napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. , ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ , Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] , sbeeg , d10f ekta ram // [earthling] , d7m fraser birk ♚ frankel , Azalea , kousei ♚ , d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris , Arrows , Malachor Erso D2 (Cato) , LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio , hesper hart 🐺 d9f , анзие (Anz) , Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] , d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi

Last Edit: Apr 28, 2018 11:26:08 GMT -5 by alex 🐺

the smell of night, inhaling stars.