fitz . three

pogue Graphics 1,811 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5 Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?	fitz . three Aug 31, 2020 20:25:52 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by pogue on Aug 31, 2020 20:25:52 GMT -5 --- Fitz Meyers. Eighteen. Three.
	Last Edit: Sept 3, 2020 23:11:21 GMT -5 by pogue

pogue
Graphics

1,811 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

fitz . three Aug 31, 2020 21:18:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by pogue on Aug 31, 2020 21:18:28 GMT -5

F I T Z M E Y E R S

Oh what a night it is, all blurry and distant and pulsing and spinning. You're collapsed on your back in the middle of the junkyard, dust clouds enveloping your form as the crowd sneers and jeers and pumps their fists into the night sky. You taste red, steel like the cars that you dig your claws into during the week sliding across your tastebuds before dribbling down and out of your lips, coursing its path down your cheek and into the dirt below.

Another lost fight and the crowd hurls every curse word imaginable as you pull yourself up to your feet, hopelessly dusting off blood stained rag tag clothing as you limp out of the ring. Give 'em the bird is what you've learned, slender fingers outlined in the moonlight as you throw them up in the air.

”You got fucked up in there.”

Kye's voice powers over the distant murmurs of the crowd behind you as he passes the beer over, liquid sloshing out of the top of the can and onto your bloody fingertips as you take it in your hand, licking them clean and tasting metal and alcohol as you glance up at the night sky, a chuckle escaping your lips in response.

”Fuck, I did didn't I?”

Your body screams in white hot fiery pain when you try and turn towards your friend, strained ligaments and bruised bones clawing and tearing underneath your skin. You wince, painful gasp dripping from your lips as you groan, before slamming back the rest of the beer and smashing it into the hood of the car you're sat on. The stars greet your vision as you lose yourself in them, tracing little circles into Kye's back as you do so.

It's not long before tradition takes hold and he's pressed up next to you, feeling his warmth as a cigarette passes from lips to lips, little smoke clouds obscuring the night sky above.

“Y’know, you keep breakin' bones and losin' teeth and I'm just gonna leave you altogether. You look like shit, Fitz Meyers.”

“Yeah? And I'm still better lookin' than you, you fucker.”

And it's all laughs and smiles thrown out into the night, breathless and fleeting like the adrenaline that so quickly leaves as soon as your ass hits the fucking dirt, vision blurry and dazed and just as confused as the world you live in. But it's gone just as quick as it comes, and your fingers curl into his as you both stare up into the moonlight, watch the stars twinkle in between the hazy smog of District Three. The stars stare back, unattainable as so many other things you've seen in your lifetime.

”Oh, does it get any better than this?”

Kye passes you the cigarette and you lace it into your fingertips as his question (studded in sarcasm and dripping with mockery), cuts through the silent heartbeats you'd been sharing. It's a long drag of the little death stick pressed so delicately in your fingers, the smoke warming the inside of your mouth before you let it escape into the night above. You watch it for a moment, drifting up to join the pollution that rains down on this fucked up district before you let a small laugh escape your lips in a response.

“Ha, yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Pause, let the heartbeats in your chest echo and pull along with the dull pain that courses through your form from strained muscles and broken bones. You know his tone is mocking, dipped in venomous sarcasm and tossed out into the world, but you also know that it's true. Deep in your heart, coursing through your veins you know that it could get better for Kye, if your dead beat ass didn't drag him into this life so low, into curling fists and shared cigarettes and screams and jeers from the crowds. You know it's selfishness that keeps you keeping him around, even when it hurts your heart to recognize it.

“Just not for people like us.”

You carry your sins and sorrows to work with the next day, your body grinding and screaming in protest when you lean into the hood of the car in front of you. Prodigal status marked in oil stains and smears wiped across your skin and uniform, smudges scattered across your forehead whenever you swipe the sweat from your brow. The heat in the warehouse is stifling, the kind to reach down your throat and choke out whatever words you wanted to say, lose 'em to the heat and the smell of gas and oil that seeps into the walls.

The type of day to just keep your head down and work, lose yourself in the way the wires cross and the machine in front of you comes to life. Yet then again, that's your every day.

Your focus only breaks when the sun in the sky sets the precedent, falling from its throne with as much grace as a slow burn can offer. And you sit passing the flask from oil stained hand to oil stained hand, feeling the burn of whiskey trace its course down your throat with every swig. Ice leaks from your form, memories of a home too quiet to hear yourself think desperate to flood forward from the back of your mind. It's a sort of tradition, to think about what life could be like if you didn't have a slow-beating heart still pumping heavy in your chest, bleeding red and gold out into the world. Kye tells you that you're a teddy bear deep down, and you tell yourself that even the softest of bears still have bloody fangs and sharpened claws.

It's a lie that keeps you going, but a lie that drags you down too. Maybe that's why you take punches to the gut and the jaw and the arm and the leg every night when the crickets start singing out in the night, when the moon watches with a smile on its face as you get your ass beat again and again. Because, when a fist connects with your jaw and the world dims and pulses over and over again, all stumbling feet and curling fingers, you can forget for a brief moment that you're stuck in this bleeding heart trap of a world, stuck wasting away at a job you're too good at to get satisfaction from, stuck counting the bruises you put on your skin just to feel something, stuck wrapping your arms around Kye and feeling the heavy echoes of a heartbeat deep in your chest, lost on a boy you know would survive with or without you.

Shelter a bleeding heart and a bleeding soul, cage of wires and gears and machinery and metal. You realized years ago that you were worth both more and less than what Three could give, worth more or less than what you could give Three or Kye or anyone else. And in a place like Panem, that's the worst thing you can do for yourself.

Last Edit: Sept 3, 2020 23:11:09 GMT -5 by pogue

pogue Graphics 1,811 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5 Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?	fitz . three Sept 3, 2020 23:12:14 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by pogue on Sept 3, 2020 23:12:14 GMT -5 idk man i just like the name Fitz honestly. ripred_bot

pogue Graphics 1,811 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5 Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?	fitz . three Sept 9, 2020 20:30:45 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by pogue on Sept 9, 2020 20:30:45 GMT -5 Bump! love you all

ᴥ
Head RP Tutor

4,548 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
Member is Online

oof

fitz . three Sept 9, 2020 22:18:52 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ᴥ on Sept 9, 2020 22:18:52 GMT -5

i am here to say i love your style so much
"You carry your sins and sorrows to work with the next day, your body grinding and screaming in protest when you lean into the hood of the car in front of you. Prodigal status marked in oil stains and smears wiped across your skin and uniform, smudges scattered across your forehead whenever you swipe the sweat from your brow. "
A very long quote but I couldn't clip just one part of it - I loved it too much!
accepted~

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n