buck + facial expressions âł 911: lone star 2.03 - hold the line

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@mattyalston
buck + facial expressions âł 911: lone star 2.03 - hold the line

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orquidaeasâ:
â Â just outside the mall, 15th of july 2044, with matty alston. @mattyalston
if just a month ago, someone were to call him reckless, heâd wholeheartedly agree. in a way, it goes against all of his training, all that has defined him for decades - the system is corrupt or not, heâs loyal or not, none of it matters because people simply must find a way to navigate the system. gilbertâs devotion to the man in charge has died many years ago, and disdain has grown in its place, but anger makes him reckless and a reckless soldier is a buried soldier. hasnât he always been reckless, however? prone to the whims of his heart? perhaps that was alexei volkovâs first sign that the attack dog was not fit for anything more than the leash. after the wall with suri, the murder of ray, the encounter with anso, or the carelessness of the storm night, gilbert was ready to move like a fast truck on course to crash into a wall. let alexei hang him outside the hotel, for all he cared. gilbert, for once, denounced survival as his ultimate driving force, even if it was what brought him through sleet and snow back home in january. the frozen man would be appalled if he encountered the one from the spring.Â
itâs not reckless anymore, he thinks. itâs purposeful. discipline forces to the grave all thoughts of simply jumping onto alexei with a sharp knife in hand, or exploding the enforcer floor, all collateral and himself be damned. oddly enough, it feels similar to the purpose he found in the form of alexei and his rebellion, many years ago. but it has to be different. he canât keep making the same damn mistakes, right? âi know. thatâs the conundrum, right? but youâre just too young to remember this. there was hope in the early days, yâknow? more food, the end of war, no more entire families getting whipped out in the middle of the night.â patrol shift has ended about ten minutes ago, but gilbert still leans by the window of the truck, chatting with a young soldier who should have gone and parked it the moment they returned. âit was all a lie. i mean, youâve got eyes to prove it. itâs like i told you yesterday⌠just because this is all youâve ever known, doesnât mean it canât change. realistically, fedra rule was pretty much all i knew. where the hell is fedra now anyway? do they even have a single zone up, still?â gilbert isnât whispering. he eyes the surroundings every now and then, ignoring the one in the back, unbothered. savannah looks around constantly, with wide eyes, but isnât running away from the conversation at all. it is certainly not the first time gilbert introduces the topic.Â
she whispers something to him, far more careful than the older one. âi mean, weâve all got families to think about. i donât think volkov thinks about them, though. the enemy is just as much internal as it is external, right? you try to keep them alive and happy, you pick up a gun and go on patrol, and then what? he gets angry one day and executes them in the middle of the mall?â he eyes the soldier that is, theoretically, far enough for comfort for savannah, inside a truck and whispering. not so much for gilbert. itâs a dare, like it was inside the middle school during the storm. and yet, it is also a lesson, much alike the middle school too. gilbert hasnât been hung for treason yet, so itâs fair to assume matty did not rattle him out. he wonders how far he can stretch his luck.
Trucks donât talk. He knows how to fix them if they break.  They donât feel pain. They donât suffer, when they stop working. Truck dutyâs something he canât fuck up. Matty drags himself up from the bench, wrist protesting at supporting his body weight. Even his limbs are rebelling against him now. Fucking ironic, isnât it?⨠â¨He grabs the set of spare keys for the missing truck that shouldâve been back ten minutes ago, and heads out front to go yell at whoeverâs still got the damn thing. What if something happened again, and they couldnât get people away as easily because they couldnât account for where some asshole left a truck? â¨â¨â¨There she is. Goddamn gossiping with Orquideas. Heâs pretty sure he can guess what theyâre talking about, too. Being this blatant about it? Heâs gonna get that girl killed with him. Sheâs looking around, but sheâs not paying attention to her six. Matty unlocks the passenger door, slips in beside her. Taps her on the shoulder, and watches her practically jump out of her skin. â¨â¨âSavannah, were you gonna give the truck back any time this year? Would be nice.â He smiles. âItâs about time to stop fucking talking about this where people can hear you both.ââ¨
daiyusâ:
This isnât how it is supposed to be. Embraces between them are scarce, especially of this kind â in the face of traumatic loss, Matty and Daiyu have always opted for avoidance rather than tight comfort. They shut down, skirt awkwardly around the otherâs and their own pain and then, perhaps, attempt to reconvene when the wounds arenât as fresh.
But here she is, pulling him into an instinctive hug and here he is, delivering a necrology. Suddenly the loss between them is more shared than ever â before it had always been his family or hers, people they both knew but meant more to the one than the other.Â
Marsie was one of them though, wasnât she? Child of a warzone, daughter of the post-apocalypse, healer of the community. Marsie was one of them, but she also wasnât, as she was exponentially better.Â
Daiyu feels herself go slack for a moment, a breath getting stuck in her throat as ice water spreads through her veins. Then, sheâs back to clutching him, because now she needs this as well. She does not say no, does not go down the path of denial: that has never been much her style, with the corpses piling up in her life since childhood. Her mother, FEDRA soldiers, conspirators of her fatherâs, trespassers, infected, and then all those she had truly known. There is no room for denial when life is more about death than life, most days. But there is the quiet resignation. The rage, too.
The anger, that simple and only answer that exists in the face of pain. But where can it go, with her face pressed against Mattyâs chest and his arms around her? And while her instincts scream to push him away, she cannot break the contact â if only because he seems to need it.
âWhat happened?â The words muffled, her eyes stinging. Daiyu isnât sure when the last time she cried is. She swallows, dips into rage all the same, âWhat the fuck happened?â
Theyâve lost so much, between them, the two of them, but Marsie - Marsie was supposed to be behind the lines. It was supposed to be them who protected her. None of this was ever supposed to happen.⨠â¨He doesnât know what else to tell Daiyu. He can tell her things - has told her things he probably shouldnât have. About the revolutionaries. But this - he canât find the words for this. ⨠â¨Marsie was so good, so kind, so caring - too good for this world, and now sheâs not in it anymore. He was too late. He failed her. Itâs up to Pedro to look out for her now, and he knows he will. He knows he doesnât even have to ask - that heâll have greeted her with open arms. Heâd have run to her the way Daiyu ran to him.⨠â¨The words stick in his throat. Heâs been the bearer of bad news before. He canât do it, this time. The images are still stuck in his mindâs eye. He doesnât want Daiyu to have to imagine them too. âThe Infected got her. I - I killed them, but it was too fucking late.â If he hadnât panicked, if he hadnât taken so long to get out of that storage roomâŚ
cordiicepsâ:
â  grand teton mall,  30th june 2044,  with matty alston. @mattyalstonâ
she only had a few months with marseline well. only a few months of comparing her silently to farah. comparitively itâs nothing close to the loss sheâd feel if it was gabriel, or the older sister she never had in eva. but marsie out of all of them, was most like farah. part of her feels guilty to be mourning, when she knows at least part of that is tied to the death of someone else. but in her sadness, she hopes she can give matty something to hold onto.Â
she holds his hand tightly, not a care in the world for how tightly he grips hers. physical pain has always been easier than the emotional. her free hand wraps gently around his forearm. itâs a silent assurance, a promise even. you are not alone in your sadness.Â
the two stand in the car park, watching the pile of bodies slowly turn to ash. the fire is strong enough to make her squint occasionally, and the heat doesnât help the wetness of her eyes. suri sniffs as she watches the spot where marsieâs body was left, barely recognisable. âhow long did you know her?â she asks quietly, resting her head against his shoulder. âshe was a lot like my sister. good at patching people up.â
Heâd wondered if it wouldâve been easier to mourn his family if theyâd been able to retrieve the bodies. Too many Infected to go back in, and by the time theyâd found him...there probably wasnât much to go back for. He feels sick again. He canât get Marsieâs body out of his mind, and the funeral pyre wonât burn the memories away. Having closure doesnât make this any fucking easier. Matty allows himself to lean against Suri, to grip her hand back. Everyone leaves eventually. He has to hold them while he can. Make sure they know how much they matter to him. She knew. She had to have known. They were like brother and sister. âAges. Basically forever.â Matty mumbles, knowing sheâs close enough to understand him. âShe stayed with me, after - when I was in hospital. I shouldâve been there for her.â
kinderdaysâ:
.
her feet carry her forward before her mind can direct her where to go. perhaps there is a bit of her thatâs in shock, watching people die never really gets easier. sheâs moving directionless. she needs to listen to her surroundings, she needs to find safety. but everything in front of her feels like a blur. before she can stop herself sheâs colliding into another body. she yelps out of instinct, but looks up and sees matty, his eyes wild and his face bloody. despite his startling appearance there is a sense of relief. heâs trembling as much as she is, the fear in his face is apparent.
âiâm fine matty, iâm alright, no bites,â her hands grip his arms attempting to ground the both of them.  âitâs okay, itâs not my blood.â ophelia tries to catch her breath, she focuses on the feeling of mattyâs shirt under her fingers, the sensation of the tile floor under her feet.  âi donât- i donât even know what happened.  i just ran i- i wasnât thinking, i just ran.â her eyes run over him, checking him for injuries of his own.  âwhat about you, are you alright?â one hand lifts to his face, her thumb gently wipes away the blood near his eyes hoping it isnât his. Â
itâs in this moment however, that she realizes sheâs left the infirmary with nothing. she doesnât have her bag, no bandages or sutures. even if matty is hurt, what is she meant to do? she looks down at her self and takes stock. all she has is a roll of gauze in her pocket. but, the blood. god, thereâs blood on her shoes, theres blood on her hands, on the fabric around her knees from where she bent down next to mike. mike, his body is still laying feet behind her. she can only pray that eddie is far from here now, out of mattyâs view. but now there is just her and a corpse, and sheâs covered in his blood.
Phee. Sheâs real, sheâs alive, sheâs not bit. Sheâs not bit. Sheâs okay. She wonât be okay if she stays here. He - he scared her. He never wanted to scare her. He should tell her to go, but as long as heâs holding onto her, he knows sheâs safe. ⨠⨠He should help her out. He should find Marsie. He doesnât know what the fuck he should do anymore. âNo bites.â He hasnât checked himself. It didnât matter. She matters more. He leans back from the touch, like heâs been electrocuted. âFought a Runner. Iâm fine, but - donât touch.â⨠Heâs not a scientist, and he doesnât give a shit about his own life, but heâs not going to gamble with Pheeâs. If heâs gonna die, heâs gonna fucking die, whatever, but not before he makes sure everyone else makes it out safe.
â¨When he does lean back, he can see more of the state sheâs in. ââŚwhose blood is it? Fuck, thereâs so fucking much of it, Phee.â Sheâs covered in it, like she tried to save someone who was beyond help...

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zahramoralesâ:
She wasnât looking for an apology, but Matty offers one anyway, which somehow makes Zahra feel like sheâs said the wrong thing. âItâs okay,â she assures him, trying to find a way to spin it back into the compliment sheâd been intending for it to be. âItâs not like I didnât know what I was getting myself into.â Zahra wonders if Matty had known. Sheâs not the a religious fight night attendee, but sheâs a frequent one, and she knows sheâd never seen Matty there while Pedro was around. She wonders what Pedro told him about the nights at the Alibi, if Pedro told him anything at all. âA win on your first nightâs a big deal. You should feel proud.â
Thereâs a lapse into silence as Zahra finds herself scrambling for something else to say again. Something that might bring the tiniest glimmer of the old Matty back into his eyes. It almost feels selfish, searching so desperately for that old version of him that she knows wonât ever exist again. Especially when she knows there are dozens of old Zahras that sheâll never be again, either. She doubts her parents would recognize her if they saw her now. The thought used to keep her up at night; Zahra hopes Matty isnât dealing with the same.
Her attention drifts as the hum of the mallâs daily operations is interrupted by someone yelling about their innocence. Enforcers taking another person away for questioning. Eight days in and the QZâs already tearing itself apart for the title Alexei keeps dangling over their heads. âI was surprised your name didnât get called,â Zahra says, mouth moving before her distracted brain has a chance to catch up. âHonestly, I thought youâd get promoted ages ago. Way before me, at any rate.â There are so many soldiers who shouldâve gotten promoted before she did. Zahra had fought tooth and nail for the enforcer title, but it still doesnât feel like something sheâs truly earned. Or maybe she has, just doesnât want to accept all the shit sheâs done to do so. âI assume youâre gunning for the last spot, like everyone else?â
You should feel proud. Should he? He doesnât really know what winning means anymore. It was easier when Mom and Dad were around. He knew where he stood, then. Winning was overcoming their enemies. Winning was not just surviving, but living. Sharing stories, sharing songs, enjoying the little things. â¨
â¨Heâd never had to fight for food before. Heâd always been in the inner circle. Heâd thought heâd understand more, if he went to the fight club. What it was like for Pedro to be on the outskirts of the circle. He never spoke much about it, but Matty would never have made him. The bruises and the missing rations spoke for themselves.
â¨â¨So no, Matty doesnât feel proud. He does understand more, but he wishes he didnât. There was an old Matty whoâd never experienced any of this. Who could still carry on chatting shit and messing around with cars like he hadnât lost everything. Itâs not okay, and it wonât ever be okay again. â¨
â¨He says none of that. Lets her move the conversation onto what should be safer ground - if you hadnât been trapped in a middle school with a wannabe revolutionary, that was.
An enforcer. He nods, looking for his words. His words escape him these days, like never before. âYeah, I - I want it. Itâs what Dad wouldâve wanted.â He wants it. He doesnât want it that much. Heâd never sell out âPhelia. âNo fuckinâ clue who did it, though. I was busy - I was - looking for Marsie.â
daiyusâ:
when â june 30th where â the mall who â @mattyalstonâ
She runs a hand over her face, an ache starting to form in the hollow of her chest. The sad thing about adrenaline is that it always leaves and when it does, it makes her feel mortal again, and small, and hurting. It is no easy feat, to return to the centre of the mall, to follow the sounds of people convening and accept that this is it, for a while. This place, it truly is a matryoshka doll. Cage opening to reveal another to reveal another to reveal another.
Daiyu has half a mind to find a way out, abuse the privilege she has been granted by her position (something she resents doing and denies herself on sheer principle, almost all of the time) and avoid being shot down or forced back by guards. But thereâs people here that are more important than her own selfish fears of being stuck in the building. Where would she go, anyway? To her father? To be alone? The desire is there, certainly, but what weighs heaver is them. Something about loveâs strength Daiyu is unable to verbalise, even in her mind.
So she moves into the mall, inspecting the hand sheâs just ran over her face. Thereâs grime, blood, something stuck under her nail. The smell of gunpowder. Daiyu looks up from it and finds a face in the crowd, rushes over â heâs been on her mind, ever since she heard his distance voice come from the front of the truck Nik had been driving. Sheâs rude as she moves over, pushing a person or two aside as she picks up speed and then rushes right into his arms, pulling him into hers despite all the height he has on her.
These public displays of affection, of touch, of closeness are rare, considered risky confession to watchful eyes, but Daiyu canât find it in her to care. âYouâre alright.â The words exhaled, spoken against his chest as she pulls back, looks up. âRight? Youâre alright. Fuck, Iâm so glad.â
He doesnât remember anything after - after he found the - Marsie, the - remnants of Marsie. Itâs all flashes of being led away, the smell of the herbal pastes Muriel washes her hair with. He was in a kitchen, at some point. It seems like years ago, this morning, before everything. After the first everything. Before the second everything. He didnât remember Daiyu was supposed to be coming for him. He was just - he was back in April, and then he was now, and there was Marsie, he was going to save her. All her hope, all her sweetness and light and joy in a shitty world. Heâs seen her bones. He doesnât have anything left to throw up. Thereâs so many people around him, but none of them are his. They come from where he comes from. The dead outnumber the living, in the group of people who give a shit whether Matty Alston lives or dies. Thatâs why he isnât expecting it, the figure cannonballing across the room at him, dragging him into a tighter hug than heâs had in months. He knows Daiyu instinctively, anywhere, and he catches her. Lets her pull him close. Lets himself break. âNo - no, they - they - they - Marsie, they - Marsieâs dead.â
kinderdaysâ:
when: june 30th, morning where: the mall who: @mattyalstonâ
iâm not supposed to be here are the words that repeat in her head. ophelia usually works in the hotel infirmary, but today she is working at the mall- a favor for a friend. the medics are a fairly close knit bunch, when one is in need they tend to try and help each other out. she took the early morning trek to mall, itâs a much longer walk than the quick trip down the stairs, but she took this chance to get a bit of fresh air. walking is good for the third trimester, her mother has told her.
but now sheâs here. screams of terror echo around her but in this small corner of the mall it is silent. admittedly, she had selfishly ran to this nook quickly after the outbreak ravaged the infirmary. she could have stayed to fight, she could have sought out the injured, but she fled. as it turns out, the alcove wasnât empty. she had stumbled into a scene she instantly knew she shouldnât be apart of. iâm not supposed to be here.
the knife is still in his hand, slick with red. âeddie,â she says breathlessly. maybe she shouldnât have spoken his name out loud, but heâs already seen her. they are cemented now in this moment and thereâs no going back. he stands up, his eyes locked on hers. they donât waver for a second. Â
âophelia,â he responds. itâs quiet, dejected, afraid. his voice shakes with adrenaline. opie quickly steps forward and kneels next to mike. eddie steps back, looking down at her with a glaze over his eyes. out of nothing but instinct she places two fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse. there is a weak slow beat and every muscle tells her to put pressure on the bleeding- but she hesitates. her fatherâs words ring in her ears, first do no harm. she looks back up at eddie and sees another father. a father with pain and anger on his face. Â
âheâll be dead in a minute,â she tells him. in that moment she knows there is nothing she can do. perhaps she could yell, bind his wounds and press reps of compressions into his chest that is already weakened from his last run in with revenge. she remembers another lesson her father once taught her, when someoneâs loved one dies, you tell him that you did everything you could to save them. when you say those words, you should mean it.  but she realizes in this moment that trying to save mike means condemning eddie.  âyou should go,â her voice shakes as she looks up.  âgo!â it comes out as a raw, croaky yell, and eddie doesnât hesitate any longer. he escapes down the hallway and opie slowly pushes herself back on her feet.
iâm not supposed to be here. her hands tremble with emotion- fear, adrenaline, heartbreak, horror. she backs up from the scene in front of her. mikeâs now lifeless body drains blood onto the tile floor of the mall. itâs on her scrubs, itâs on the bottom of her shoes. she canât save him, she canât save eddie. the only thing she can do is run.Â
One minute heâs guiding Jesse out, and the next heâs tackled to the ground. The breath of a Runner against his face, as he desperately pushes its teeth away from his throat. This is how they died, their hearts beating their last out of their chests like his is, now. Motherfucker wonât get him, too, not until he finds Marsie. He rolls to the side, pushes the runner down until heâs the one pinning it to the ground. Smashes its skull against the hard floor, once, twice, three times - until it stops moving. Matty sits back, chest heaving, hands covered in blood, hands shaking - and more of them screaming.â¨â¨â¨â¨ He has to go. Go! Matty stumbles to his feet, away from the sounds, to where itâs quieter. Itâs closer to the infirmary. Closer to Marsie. Thereâs nobody here. Why is there nobody here? What if theyâre all dead? What if heâs too late?
â¨â¨â¨â¨If he lets himself think like that, he will be. Maybe it wouldnât be so bad, but, he canât go before he knows the people he has left are okay. Marsie, Daiyu, Ophelia, Eva, Nik - Nik, whoâs still looking for his cowardly ass. He keeps dragging himself forward, every step heavy with trepidation about whatâll be before him next. Itâs - itâs - Ophelia, practically crashing into him, as bloodied as he is. He grabs her shoulders, wide eyes scanning her for injuries. â¨â¨â¨â¨Please, fuck, no, not Phee. Pedro never asked him for anything, except this, keep her safe, and he couldnât even do that. âPhee, fuck, Phee - tell me youâre not bit.â
zahramoralesâ:
with â @mattyalstonâ where â mall rooftop when â evening of july 10
Over a week later and it still feels wrong, like it shouldâve been abandoned after quarantine. Instead, operations go on as normal, even though the halls are a little too empty, the mood a little too somber. There are people to feed, new enforcers to train, supplies to ship between bases. That was the way of things in Idaho Falls; there was no time for mourning, no time for grief or despair. Those who remained were always forced to pick up the pieces and stick it back together into something functional, even itâs never going to be the way it used to be.
The one good thing about the mall is that itâs the only place big enough to give you a feeling of being able to move around while also giving you privacy, even with Alexeiâs new restrictions. If Zahraâs being honest, the mall is the last place she wants to be, but it still feels better than being cooped up in her room at the hotel or wandering around another base while sheâs off shift. She turns down the offer of a ride to the hotel after dinner, instead making her way to the roof.Â
Sunset is still a few hours away but the temperature has started to cool and the skyâs been streaked with pink and purple at the edges. Zahra makes her way toward a secluded section of the roof, where she can sit and maybe pretend like things are normal. She picks her way around a vent and nearly steps on Matty, whoâs apparently beaten her to the spot. âOh, hey,â Zahra says. She doesnât wait for a response before taking a seat beside him.
Zahra opens her mouth to say something else, but no words come out. What was there to say, really? The past weekâ past few months, reallyâ have been shitty for everyone, but she knows theyâve been especially rough on Matty. Losing his parents and Pedro, now Marsie and who knows who else⌠how are you doing or the sky looks pretty donât feel like they cut it. She tries to think of what she wouldâve wanted to hear in those days after her mom had left, when sheâd officially been on her own, and comes up short. Zahra doubts anything short of, âoh, look, everybody you love who you thought had died is actually alive and waiting for you to join them for lunch,â would make Matty feel better, either. She settles on, âGood job at the last fight club,â mostly to fill the silence. âMy jaw hurt like a bitch for at least a week. You should teach me your moves sometime.â
Over a week later and he still barely knows what day it is. He just goes through the motions. Does whatever jobs heâs allocated to. â¨â¨
Alexeiâs answers raised more questions. It still rings in his ears - the silver lining amongst the loss. A chance to be an enforcer. What Dad wouldâve wanted. His name wasnât on the list, and he didnât expect it to be. If he was a better leader, had more resolve, Marsie would still be here. To get thereâŚhe needs a confession. He has no idea who it was.
He knows it wasnât Opie - knows heâd die before heâd let her get in trouble.â¨â¨He doesnât really know how to respond to small talk. It all just feels like too much, too soon - itâll always be too soon. Time can only do so much healing, and you can only survive so many gaping wounds.
â¨â¨It had to be Zahra, as well, the victim of his attempts to fill the void by fighting. He didnât want that for her. He saw the way Pedroâd wince if he moved his jaw wrong in the week after a fight club. âSorry. Wonât do that again.â It didnât help, understanding what heâd gone through. Just made it worse, really, because Matty was always the hard-man between the two of them, and if it sat badly with him - it mustâve absolutely cut Pedro up inside. Heâs not going back there. He can promise that much.
evarhieâ:
this isnât a foreign feeling to eva, not wholly. sheâs always started just like this â a stranger. always a foreigner in the four walls sheâs had to make practice of making into homes. it had felt like this in salt lake city, too. to pledg herself to fight, to want more or better â it had always needed justification, needed payment in blood. this isnât your home, not like it is mine. it doesnât matter what you want.Â
what sheâs wanted, what sheâs thought as right, hasnât always held itâs worth in weight the way it has for those sheâs stood beside and against. those whoâve called the places of her memories home for longer than sheâd ever gotten a chance to. in the before, sheâd fought tooth and nail for her place on the frontlines because sheâd had something to fight for: a future for her and samar, for her family, for his. but nowâŚnow?Â
it was her own lack and the acute awareness of it that had frozen eva in time ever since sheâd arrived at idaho. she had been all but immobilized by her grief, shrouded by her own stillness. time, however, was a patient and unforgiving balm to her wounds. time had shown her that maybe now, in her lack, she had the best semblance to fight. now, with nothing to lose, why shouldnât she go out swinging?Â
she sighs at his response, exasperated. dropping the debris clasped in her hands, the piece of it clunks to the ground â heavy. âwhat â you want to ignore it? pretend like the conversation didnât happen?â
âthis, all thisââ tongue stumbling over the flatness of her words, an attempt at keeping some vagueness to talks of revolution since they were in open air. âitâs happening, matty. itâs already happening and itâs going to keep happening. pretending like itâs not isnât going to do us any good.â the use of us is generous, here â eva means you. it isnât going to do matty any good. sheâs already clear on where she stands.Â
her eyes stay on him, watching him carefully â her frustration clear in the way her brows are threaded. but she shuffles, her expression softening, as she lets out another sigh. âitâs not personal, matty.â she says. and it could be patronizing, but it isnât â thereâs an earnestness to her words. she understands something of it, of the fact that thereâs an alston legacy tied by blood to alexei and what heâs built. but thatâs just it; there is blood between the walls holding the zone up and it needs cleansing. âjust â think about it. think about what weâre saying. objectively. outside of what you think you have to defend. youâre telling me you donât agree with any of it? with any of this?â
Matty doesnât have anything to give her. Thereâs nothing he can say. He just wants this whole fucking thing not to have happened. All of it. Itâs all gone to shit since his family died, and heâs not losing everything he has left. Whatâs the point? Depose Alexei, someone new rules over the ashes of this place? â¨â¨Itâs not personal. She can say that, but itâll all be intimately personal for him, forever. This land is where they died. He thinks he can feel them on the breeze, in a ray of warmth from the sun. When he thinks about it, about tearing everything down that Dad worked so hard to build, itâs like heâs suffocating. â¨â¨He blinks at her, opens his mouth to say something - once, twice, three times - and doesnât know how to make the words come out. Can he tell her he doesnât agree with any of it? He canât do that, either. Pedro - beautiful, infuriating, wise Pedro - wouldâve agreed with them. He knows that, instinctively. He wouldâve said - â¨â¨Thereâs something to this. You canât deny that. Matty shakes his head. Those words wonât leave his mouth either, Itâs not safe to tell her where that comes from, itâs not safe to have this conversation at all - all he manages to give her is a frustrated cry, throwing another piece of debris into the stack. âI - I donât fucking know what I think, okay, Eva? I got drunk about it and I told Daiyu and nothing fucking happened, and thatâs the best we can hope for.â

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is there somebody who can watch you?
[this is the âMatty discovers Marsieâs bodyâ post - take this as your warning for canon-typical graphic violence]
With: @jesseshawsâ Where: Grand Teton Mall When: 30th June 2044
He still can't do this. He didn't realise it was real, at first. He thought he'd fallen asleep somewhere, until the screaming was different from the ones that replay in his nightmares. It wasn't mixed with clicking, but the yells of more recent infected. Indoors. In their base. Matty didn't remember locking himself in a storage closet, nor shoving the shelving over in front of the door. He remembers scrabbling for the radio he'd had on his belt. He remembers wanting Dad, calling Nik instead. The cavalry's not fucking coming. He's going to go crazy or die in this box or both and how much goddamn air is there in here because he can't breathe and whyhasitgonequiet are they all dead again - He has to see, has to know, has to get out - wrenches the shelving out of the way - ow ow ow FUCK, his wrist's never gonna work right, bites his tongue, scream and you're dead too - It's quiet, entirely too fucking quiet, and so's the only figure he can see. Not hunched over, not howling like a runner. Please be alive, please, please - Matty joins the other man, crouching beside him. Fuck, there's next to no cover in this hall. They're gonna die. "Go, we have to go, now, man, go!" He whispers.
Hunger Games AU -
Matty was an ordinary trainee lumberjack from District 7 who was Reaped over a decade ago, and found himself handy with an axe and terrifyingly ready to do what it took to come back home. Whatever it took. Heâs shattered the bones in his wrist from a Games finale injury, and it didnât quite heal right despite Capitol technology. If it was up to him, heâd spend his life drawing Sevenâs beautiful landscapes, reading stories, and passing them onto others. His parents want for nothing, now that heâs a Victor. They still take on shifts teaching kids basic maths and English now and then, but they donât have to work full time. Heâs one of the lucky ones, but it doesnât feel like it when heâs travelling back from the Capitol with two coffins every year. Matty has too much to lose to express dissent, and would be terrified if anyone shared those kind of beliefs with him. He is terrified, a lot of the time, because heâs seen what happens to Victors who step out of line - or, more accurately, to their families. Heâd do pretty much anything to keep his alive. And - thereâs a Victor from Ten whoâs a beautiful soul - too good for the Games. An almost-accidental winner, who tricked the Careers into a muttâs fight zone, without blood falling on his own hands. A guy who heâs a little bit - a lot, actually, in love with. Â Cue the Quarter Quell twist with the Victor Games. Matty is the one who gets caught by the Capitol, and Pedro escapes to Thirteen. Matty plays along with Capitol propaganda, still desperate to keep everyone alive, but that doesnât stop them from bombing Seven to try to fend off the rebellion. His parents are killed in one of these attacks, as are Pedroâs in Ten, although they find each other still alive after the revolution. Thereâs a certain amount of tension there, having spent the war on different sides, but also a bit of hope for the future.
Iâm on my way//from misery to happiness today - Modern AU
Mattyâs birth mother gave him up, reluctantly, due to her circumstances. Timmy and Kiera, both academics at the local university, have not told him that he is not their biological child. He did not follow in their footsteps, enrolling in the military - which is where he met his buddy Pedro. As they were in our universe, theyâre very much in love with each other and struggling to communicate their feelings to the other. Both men have recently returned home for the holidays from a European deployment and have a lot of catching up with friends and family to do. Matty comes bearing snacks and souvenirs, and trying to avoid being the local gossipsâ latest target. He plans to revel in all the little pleasures of modern life - good coffee, overly sugary food, and hanging around the shops with his friends like he used to when he was a teenager. Â Unfortunately, his own car - which he had nicknamed Millie - is still living her best life back in Europe, so heâs reliant on trying to convince other people (read: his parents) that he is a sensible adult who wonât wreck their cars if they let him drive.
31, soldier, idaho falls qz
[I am going to come up with some AUs of my own, but please feel free to prompt me đ]

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daiyusâ:
matty.
With: Daiyu @daiyusâ Where: Grand Teton Mall - Food Court When: 8th June 2044 Matty really appreciates Muriel. He isnât sure if he said that to her, or maybe he did, maybe a couple too many times. Sheâs super old, seventy-four, and thatâs wild because some people only get three decades, and heâs 90% sure she topped up his glass when he said that out loud. Because sheâs awesome. She has these witchy grandma vibes and she makes wine and - heâs gonna need this recipe. She wonât give him it, no matter how puppy-like his pleading gaze is. Where did that much of the bottle go? What the hell time is it, even? Itâs - does it matter? Every dayâs kinda the same since the storm. Get up, fix stuff, get tired, pass out, repeat. This is - different. This is nice. He can just be here, all warm and fuzzy. Not thinking about anything much at all. Definitely not thinking about the middle school. 100% Not That. Matty reaches for the rapidly-emptying bottle, to top up his similarly-rapidly-emptying glass. He catches sight of movement, familiar dark hair seeming to be practically flying past him. Trying to jump up doesnât quite work, and he finds himself stumbling forward a couple steps. Okay. Walking. He can manage one foot in front of another. âD! Daiyu! I wanna - I missed ya, yâknowâŚyâknow, with the - all the stuff, fuck, I wanna speak to you real bad. I wanted tâcome help, at the plant, but I hadâta stay here - sâwild, how - how a surname protectsâya right up âtil it doesnât.â
The harsh irony of her situation continues to grow, leaving Daiyu frustrated and confused. Her father wants her primed for succession and yet does all to make her despised, recreate him in his image without any of the insight or power he holds. She thinks on his words, of how leaders need not be loved or even liked â that itâs about instilling fear. And while there are days where Daiyu wants people to flinch away from her, to see her as a monster and keep their distance, she has no interest in purposefully making people afraid.
So she lives somewhere in-between. Regarded, after the rescue attempt, as the privileged daughter of the tyrant, an exception to his cruel rule. It doesnât make them fear her, though: they just dislike her. Daiyu figures Alexei likes that too, though. It does make these moments harder, though, moving through the food court with a great haste. No interest in idle chatter, no interest in her rations either but supposing that she ought to eat something.
In and out. Abuse her privilege and sneak her food out of this place, eat them somewhere quiet and private â but then someone calls her name and she whips around. Her face betrays something of frustration, something bleary-eyed and angry, but it melts as it often does for Matty. Heâs not like most here, after all.Â
Heâs drunk. She smells it on him, grimaces at the realisation. âHey, shit, itâs been fuckinâ wild, hm?â The storm, the getting stuck, the wetness of the rain seemingly still sticking to her skin. Daiyu takes one more look at Matty before tossing her tray on a table, letting it clatter and wrapping her fingers around his wrists. âCome.â Not here. Whatever heâs talking of, whatever causes him to walk around like this â better to do it somewhere with less eyes. Better to not let him show off his drunkenness so publicly, when thereâs less and less room for liability in this place.
So she doesnât ask as she drags him out of the food court, into a hallway, past storefronts until she pushes him into what had once been a drugstore. âGot into the potato vodka, did you?â Sheâs not good at this: support, comfort, helping out. But she tries. âWhatâre you on about, Matt?â
Matty blinks at Daiyu a couple times, before her words start making sense to his brain. He just nods at her, lets her lead him. Itâs a belated realisation, that she abandoned her meal for him. âYâshould eat. âM always starving at meals.â Fuckinâ OrquĂdeas would make some kinda asshole comment about how he should think about why that is. Thinking sucks. âSpecially when youâre surrounded by ghosts. Storefronts slip past, and, hey, itâs kinda like when they were daydreaming about going to the mall. If all the stores were realâŚif there werenât any InfectedâŚthey could get ice cream. And coffee. Coffee ice cream? He keeps his mouth shut about that. He isnât sure where he is, when they stop, but sheâs here, and thatâs all that matters. âWine. Flower-wine. âM a classy bitch.â Thereâs something important he needed to say. Lots of important things. Heâs very serious, all of a sudden. âDee, I - missed you, I love you - in a 100% brotherly way, yâknow Iâm -â Gay? In love with a dead guy? Both? Shit, heâs not having a sexuality crisis on top of all the other crises. He shakes his head, starts over. "Whyâd I have to sit here when yâneeded help? Nobody fuckinâ listens to me now Dadâs gone. Not the enforcers, not with that shit in the middle school -â Fuck. Oh fuck. He hides his head in his hands. â - we never stopped beinâ at war and I never even noticed.â Matty mumbles, avoiding her eyes. âI canât do it, Dee. I canât fight anymore.â Heâs tired, down to his all-too-often-aching bones, the muscleâs falling off him, practically, with the rations theyâre getting these days - itâs as if the storm never ended.
evarhieâ:
9th june. clean up by the mall. with @mattyalstonâ
theyâve been working in a silence thatâs uncomfortable solely for the fact that itâs between them. thereâs plenty to be done, plenty to keep the hands busy and feet moving â but the unsaid hands between them; ugly, obvious.Â
eva jostles the wheelbarrow, kicks it with her foot to get it moving. thereâs piles upon piles of debris stacked in there and plenty still to clear from the wreckage of the storm. it had done a number on the infrastructure of the base, destroyed what had needed tending to. eva could imagine the clean-up duty would last weeks to come.
she reaches the other side of the path theyâve cleared around the wreckage, lets the body of the wheelbarrow drop and brushes her hands off. hands placed on waist, she eyes the pile ahead of her and then turns to eye matty to the side where he makes his own work.Â
a breath escapes her, short â pointed. eva levels her chin, raises it as she addresses him. âalright, out with it. are we going to talk about what happened at the school?â
He doesnât know what to say to Eva, anymore. Sheâd helped him find his words, talk about his family. Now heâs more unmoored than ever. As soon as he thinks heâs back on track, someone else pulls the rug straight out from under him. Just goes to show. He can only rely on himself, really. He works quietly. Itâs familiar, reassuring. Keeping his hands full and his mind occupied, pulling himself back from the edge of a deep, dark, pit. Stack debris, load it into the wheelbarrow, rinse and repeat. He stops, stares at her. What? Thereâs nothing else to say. He pleaded with them at the school, and they didnât listen. Anyone could come around the corner at any time and overhear. Itâs not safe to do this here. Fuck it, it wasnât safe to do it there. Which she knows. She doesnât know he brought it up with Daiyu, and sheâs better off not knowing that. âNo, but I guess youâre going to anyway.â