#harrow hit replace all without thinking

[bidoofenergy]

can't believe harrow fucked up her Ctrl+F smh

[awakenedsalamander]

Thinking about how vampirism in the World of Darkness isn’t just dehumanizing in the sense that it makes you a literal monster but also how the Embrace quite directly rips away some of the most meaningful parts of someone’s identity to make room for the Beast.

Like, the obvious examples here are Garou and mages, given that the former, when Embraced, become the aptly-named Abominations, who lose their connection to Gaia and the Umbra and find themselves forcibly aligned with the Wyrm, the force that they view as the most horrific and destructive thing in the world; and the latter have their Avatar, their connection to magic and possibility and understanding, utterly annihilated— their one guiding light extinguished and replace with an entity that is (except for probably in the case of widderslainte) more vicious and cruel than even the most harrowing Avatar.

It’s telling that the Embrace is thus reflective of something each group considers to be one of the worst fates imaginable: dancing the Black Spiral and undergoing Gilgul, respectively.

But that’s a lot of jargon and doesn’t really hit if you don’t know the details of those game lines— the haunting part is that the basic idea remains the same even for mortals.

I mean, it’s true that everyone, mortal or otherwise, has some degree of intrusive urges toward malicious behavior, but the Beast is just so much worse than that. To be Embraced is to straightforwardly die, to lose the essence that keeps you alive, and have it brought back in this twisted form— from now on, to live is to kill and the Beast will never let you forget it.

Sure, vampires still retain their old interests and passions. I’m personally not keen on the interpretation of Kindred as inherently not having things like empathy, creativity, or grief. I think they still feel compassion and curiosity and tranquility and love and all that… but always, lurking behind them, is the Beast.

And maybe I’m just being a self-serious edge-boi but that’s such an unnerving thought. To still care about the people around you, but never without something whispering about how much you need— deserve— their loyalty, their service, their deaths.

[blossom-hwa]

in the absence of heartbeats | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader genre: angst, fluff, vampire!taehyun, medium!reader warnings: violence word count: 4.8k notes: — been thinking of this idea for a while but the idea of writing a whole fic for it is very tiring so I decided to just write out this scene lol — for some clarification, my definition of a "medium" is just someone who can see and speak to ghosts! nothing more than that :) After a harrowing night, you find comfort in the cold arms of one with no heartbeat, but much warmth in his heart. 

TXT Masterlist

It's close to two in the morning when you finally decide to leave the library. Your eyes are burning from the light of your computer and there's an ache in your neck from hunching over a desk for way too long, so even though you're not quite done with your essay you end up calling it quits. You haven't written anything substantial in the last half hour anyway. 

All the while you're packing up, a prickle of unease won't stop rippling up and down your spine. It doesn't stop when you leave the room, footsteps echoing loudly in the halls, nor does it stop when you actually exit the library and step into the cool night air. A light wind breezes past your face, but it doesn't soothe you like it normally does after hours spent cramped in one of the quiet study rooms. You find yourself tensing up instead.

Experience tells you not to ignore the feeling. If the hair on your neck is standing up, it means something. What it could mean right now, you aren't sure—you've left the library late and made the short trek back to your apartment many times without issue—but something is wrong. 

You look out at your dark campus, its sidewalks lit only by lamps and the moon. You look back at the library and its windows full of warm light. Almost unconsciously, you find yourself drawing the silver knife you always keep tucked away. You feel a little safer with the blade in your hand, but the prickle of unease doesn't fade away.

It's just so...empty. So quiet. Which shouldn't be that weird—it's nearly two in the morning, of course campus is going to be empty and quiet—but something about tonight's silence still feels unsettling. You glance around the expanse of campus again, and then it hits you. 

There are no ghosts. 

Instantly all of your exhaustion disappears, replaced by a heightened wariness at the situation. There aren't many ghosts who linger at your university—not compared to other places, at least—but there are usually a few hanging around. In fact, you've never been in an open place where there no ghosts, period. As you scan the campus perimeter again, your heart begins to race when you confirm that there are indeed no ghosts around, not even one trailing morosely over the quad.

Ghosts go where they wish. They usually tend to linger around their place of death or somewhere important to them when they were alive, but that's by their own choice. They're not bound to any one place like so many people believe. For them all to be avoiding your campus...

What—or who—could have chased them all away?

You swallow. Whoever they are, whatever they are, you don't want to meet them. Which means you need to get out of here as soon as possible.

So you hurry down the library steps, then start speed walking back to your apartment as fast as you can. It's just fifteen minutes away. You'll be fine. 

Except, five minutes in, you realize that you haven't left the strange absence of ghosts behind. 

In fact, it might just be following you. 

You fight the urge to look back. Someone or something must be following you, but who the fuck would follow you from the library back to your apartment? Why the fuck would anyone want to? As far as anyone except a select group of people knows, you're just a regular college student struggling through finals week like the rest of them. The people who know you can see ghosts, or who at least know that something about you is linked to the supernatural, have no reason to follow you home. 

Except...

Except one.

Your heart drops. Sanya. The guy who's been pestering you for weeks—the guy who asked you once if you could see ghosts, and who kept trying to catch you unawares to ask over and over and over again. Each time you said no. Each time you asked if he was feeling alright in the head. You're a good actor and you know it, but he just wasn't buying it for whatever reason until a couple weeks ago when you finally blew up on him and told him to stop invading your damn space. He hasn't bothered you since then, so you thought he finally believed you, or at least got the message to leave you alone.

Maybe not, though. You didn't think he was unhinged enough to have chased away all ghosts by virtue of his presence, but right now you have to consider all possibilities. Desperation can make people do crazy things. Talking to ghosts...you should know that.

You should've stayed back at the library with its warm glow and well-lit rooms. At least there was a security guard there. But you didn't know, and it's too late to go back. All you can do is keep going and hope you make it back to your apartment before Sanya—or whatever it is that's following you—gets you first.

...The streets are really quiet right now.

The sick taste of fear rises in your throat. You're already walking as fast as you can but you try to go a little faster, all the while clenching your knife so tightly your knuckles feel like they might split. With shaking hands, you also pull out your phone and dial a number as fast as you can with numb fingers. Answer, you pray. Please answer, please, please please—

The call goes through. 

"Hey, Kai," you say as normally as you can. Thank god, thank god, thank god—Kai won't ask questions, and he'll catch on easily. "Where are you? I'm just ten minutes away—"

"Y/N?"

That's not Kai. 

That's Taehyun. Taehyun who always felt a little strange to you, a bit like a ghost but physical and solid and real. Taehyun who has no heartbeat. Taehyun who laughed when you confronted him about it, and challenged you to figure out what kind of supernatural creature he is without him telling you. Taehyun who found you talking to a ghost and asked what kind of supernatural ties you have, which birthed the stupid little bet between you two about who would figure out the other's identity first. Taehyun who is infuriating. Taehyun who is kind.

Taehyun, who is a friend and can still help.

"Oh, hey Taehyun," you say, praying your voice stays steady. "Kai's not there?"

"He went to the convenience store and left his phone," Taehyun replies. "Did you need him? He'll be back in a few."

"No, I—just letting you all know that I'll be at his place in ten minutes," you say. "I'm at 117th, was just heading back from the library. Sorry—" And here your voice catches, like an idiot—"Sorry I'm so late, I just got caught up with an essay."

Taehyun remains silent for a second. Then—

"Y/N, are you okay?"

A sob almost bursts out of your mouth, catching you by surprise. You're so scared—your heart is racing faster with every street you pass that is still devoid of ghosts—you hadn't realized it until he asked that simple question, are you okay, but you're scared. So scared. 

"No," you say lowly. "I think someone, or something, is following me." You swallow hard around the fear rising in your throat. "There—there aren't any ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"I'll explain later," you say, panic creeping into your voice. "I don't know who or what is fucked up enough to have them all avoiding the area, but I think it's following me and I'm still like ten minutes away from the apartment and I'm freaking out—"

All the hairs on your neck stand up. 

MOVE.

You don't even think before flinging yourself to the side just as something—someone—barrels into the space you just occupied. 

You're back on your feet in a second but so is the figure that jumped out at you. Adrenaline rushes through your veins and you start sprinting, clutching your knife like a lifeline—and all the while Taehyun's yelling into the phone, asking what's going on, but between the running and the adrenaline you don't have enough breath to answer except with sharp gasps—

Something lands heavily on your back. You go tumbling down and your knee explodes in pain. Your phone skitters onto the street but you still have your knife, which you swing wildly until it connects with flesh and the mass pinning you down lets go, if only slightly, with a sharp yell. Kicking out your good leg, you manage to pull yourself free, ignoring the sick squelch of flesh as you drag the knife out with you. 

You force yourself to stand. A streetlamp illuminates an unpleasantly familiar face contorted in pain as he also rises, blood flowing freely down one arm. 

"Y/N," Sanya says, and you take a step backward even as your knee screams. "Y/N, I just wanted to talk to you—"

"What the fuck?" you snarl. Your hands are shaking so much you wonder how the knife hasn't fallen to the ground yet. "You want to talk, so you follow me home from the library and try to attack me—"

"You wouldn't talk to me otherwise!"

"Because you keep asking me about ghosts, ghost, fucking ghosts—where the fuck did you get the idea that I can talk to them? Where did you even get the idea that they were real?" You point your knife at him, praying that he doesn't see how badly you're shaking. "I've told you so many times to just leave me the fuck alone—"

"I saw you talking to one," he interrupts, lips curling in a snarl. "I saw you—don't deny it! You were talking to one after class, I heard you call it by name. Lilia." Sanya takes a deep breath. "Lilia Taylor. Committed suicide almost thirty years ago. She's dead, and you were talking to her. Don't fucking deny it!"

You can't say anything. Your voice isn't working. You can only stand there in horror, because there is a ghost named Lilia and you've definitely spoken to her before, even if you can't quite remember the specific occasion he's talking about. 

You're fucked. So fucked. In the past ten years, you've only made the mistake of being caught talking to a ghost twice. You learned that lesson from childhood. Taehyun thankfully ended up being harmless. But Sanya—

He must take your silence for affirmation, because his voice turns desperate, more pleading than anything, and it breaks your heart. "Please, Y/N," he begs. "I just—I just want to talk to my mother. One more time. I didn't—didn't get to say goodbye before she died, it was too fast, I just want to talk to her one more time—"

You shake your head. "I can't do that," you say roughly. "That's—that's not how it works. I only see ghosts. I can speak to them but I can't command them to talk to me. I can't even speak to a specific one if I don't know where to find them first, and that's assuming they're here. That they haven't passed on." You swallow. "I'm sorry. I couldn't speak to your mother for you even if I tried."

For a long moment, Sanya remains silent, his head bowed. You hold your breath. He'll understand. He has to. He can't—can't force you to do something you can't do in the first place. Right?

Slowly, he lifts his head. You take a deep breath, ready to continue soothing, until you see the glimmer of menace in his eyes. 

"You're lying," he snarls. "You're lying."

"I am not lying," you snap, anger and adrenaline powering your voice. "I can't do it. If there even is a way, which I doubt, I don't know it—"

"YOU'RE LYING!"

This time you don't manage to dodge. Your fucked up knee buckles and the full force of his weight knocks you straight to the ground. Your knife clatters on concrete. Your head smacks the sidewalk and pain explodes in your skull but Sanya doesn't even seem to register the blood running down your face as he jerks your head back up. "You're lying," he hisses, staring straight into your eyes. "You fucking liar. You know you can, you have to—"

"I can't," you snarl back through the pain. "I can't! And no matter how much you fuck me up, you can't make me do something I do not know how to do!"

"You can see ghosts!" His voice is rising, hysteria coating every word. "You can talk to them! You have to be able to do this, you have to—"

"I can't!" you scream. "I can't fucking do it! What else do you want me to say, Sanya, what the fuck else?"

"I want you to STOP LYING!"

For a moment, there's just the night air, the silence, your heavy breaths snarling through the air. You blink blood out of your eyes, silver flashing in the corner of your vision. Your knife. If you stretch just a little, maybe you can get to it.

You try to focus on Sanya, even though two of him are starting to swim in your vision. "You're crazy," you say quietly, stretching out your fingers. "You're crazy—crazy enough that even ghosts avoid you. You can't force me to do something that I just can't do. You can't bring your mother back." Almost there—you can feel the handle at your fingertips. "You don't even know if she's still here! She's probably already passed on!"

"Shut up!" he screams, and your head hits the sidewalk again with a sickening crunch that echoes in your ears. There goes the knife, you think vaguely. "Shut up, shut up—you're lying, you're fucking lying—"

He raises your head again, and you brace yourself for another hit. But just as you feel yourself going down again, all of Sanya's weight leaves you at once. 

Body numb, vision blurring, you manage to lift yourself up just enough to see Sanya splayed out on the street, a familiar figure standing over him. Your hands aren't cooperating much so you can't wipe the blood out of your eyes, but from this angle it looks like...

Taehyun?

The figure turns just enough for lamplight to fall on its face and your breath catches in your throat. It's Taehyun, but it—it's not. Taehyun doesn't have gold eyes that glimmer in the moonlight. Taehyun doesn't have fangs that extend past his lips, shimmering white against the night. Taehyun doesn't move that fast, doesn't have nails that shred right through skin, doesn't have a voice that could produce that deep snarl from his chest as he stands over Sanya's prone body like a predator in the night.

Out of the muddled mess of your mind, one word emerges. Vampire. 

Of all the times to figure it out, why now?

Your weak lungs heave out something like a laugh. Taehyun's head jerks towards you and then all in a second, you're being gathered up in strong, familiar arms. The fangs have disappeared but his eyes remain a glittering gold, mesmerizing, and your aching head just wants you to sink into them forever but Taehyun's talking and he keeps on talking and it's really hard to just let your eyes close and relax when his voice is so distracting—

"Y/N. Y/N!" He's shaking you now, and fuck that hurts. You must make some sound of protest because he stops, thankfully, but then those gold eyes are suddenly so close to yours and he's talking again. "Y/N, stay awake. You can't go to sleep. Stay awake, don't close your eyes—"

Thinking is so hard right now. So is keeping your eyes open, especially when the world keeps blinking in and out of sight. Why can't you just sleep? You're trying to keep them open, you really are, but it's so easy to just not, and when your eyes flutter shut yet again you hear what sounds like a panicked curse before suddenly you're being lifted up and then you're moving. The night air is cold and so is Taehyun but with the last vestiges of your energy you burrow into his chest, chasing a comfort you never thought you'd find in the absence of a heartbeat.

No heartbeat. That stirs something in the depths of your mind, and then you remember something that, to your muddled brain, is very, very important.

"Taehyun."

Your name comes out in a panicked gasp. "Y/N?"  

You blink again with immense difficulty. Gold eyes, fangs, no heartbeat. "Vampire," you get out.

He snorts, though you don't miss the panicked edge to it. "That's what you're worried about?"

Worried? Why would you be worried? Taehyun would never hurt you. But that train of thought is too difficult to chase down, so instead you focus on what you were going to say in the first place. "...Did I win?" you mumble into his shirt.

"Stop talking," he hisses, something like a half-hysterical laugh rising in his throat. "Stop fucking talking, and don't close your eyes—"

Of course, that's when your eyelids decide to fall shut, and you hear no more.

. . . . .

Your dreams are filled with ghosts, pain, and mesmerizing gold eyes. You're woken up several times and each time is just as annoying as the last—lots of hushed voices telling you to keep your eyes open, things poking you in different places, and at some point someone is shoving something at your mouth and you think it might be someone's wrist? Which is stupid, because why would anyone be shoving their wrist at you, but then something tangy and metallic starts entering your mouth and even though the taste is terrible a voice that sounds a lot like Taehyun's is whispering for you to swallow, please, please, please so you do, even though it's fucking gross. 

When you finally wake up for good, it's to a dim room, lit only by a small lamp in the corner. Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, your eyes are crusty, and your mouth tastes like something died in it. You try to speak but all that comes out of your parched throat is a dry croak. 

"Y/N?"

You turn your head to the sound of the voice and come to three conclusions.

One: Moving your head hurts a lot less than you thought it would. 

Two: Someone is sitting by your bed. 

Three: Taehyun is sitting by your bed, holding your hand. 

"...Taehyun?"

Relief cracks across his face. "Oh, thank god, you're awake." He turns to a nearby nightstand that holds a pitcher and an empty glass. "Are you thirsty?"

You do your best to nod. The glass of water that Taehyun pours you tastes like heaven. 

Several glasses later, you aren't so thirsty anymore, and your mind feels a little more focused. You look around the little room, then at Taehyun. 

"...Your eyes aren't gold anymore."

"What? Oh." He blinks. "Yeah. That only happens when I'm...in my other form."

"As a vampire."

He nods, a little smile curving his lips. "Yeah. And before you ask again, yes, you did win our bet."

Fuck yeah. You beam up at him. "Sick." Then you frown. "Wait, have you not figured out what I am? I thought the ghosts gave it away."

"There were still a few options, even with that hint," he says, taking your hand again almost absentmindedly. You glance down but decide not to say anything. It feels nice, anyway. "Necromancer. Medium. Witch, maybe."

It would be funny to keep him in the dark, but that's also a little cruel. "I'm a medium," you admit. "I talk to ghosts. Can't really do much else, though."

"So you weren't just talking to yourself the day I caught you," he says with a little snicker. You snort, but he's not done. "Did that guy find out? That's why he was after you, wasn't it?"

The room suddenly feels cold. You shiver underneath your blanket, hand squeezing Taehyun's almost involuntarily. His skin is also cold, but the pressure of his palm against yours comforts you more than the thin warmth of the blanket. 

"Yeah," you get out. "Yeah, he...he'd been bothering me for a while. Asking if I could see ghosts and whatever. I lied, obviously, and at some point I thought he got the message to leave me alone. But he saw me talking to one of them. I didn't know." You take a deep breath. "He thought I'd be able to help him talk to his mom. I told him I don't know how to summon specific ghosts. I don't even know if it's possible, at least for me. But, uh." You try to smile, but it fails. "He didn't really like that."

Something like a snarl sounds in the back of Taehyun's throat. "I could tell," he says, and there's no mirth in that statement. 

A blurry memory comes to the forefront of your mind. Sanya lying in the street, arms and legs splayed at strange angles, Taehyun standing over him. "He's...is he dead?" you ask, mouth dry. You're not sure if you want to hear the answer. 

"No." Taehyun spits out the word bitterly, like he almost wishes the opposite were true. "No, he's not. I didn't kill him." He looks at you almost hopefully. "But if you want me to, I can finish it."

You swallow. Relief and fear do a strange little dance in your chest. "No, I don't think I want him to be," you reply, and Taehyun nods, albeit a little disappointedly. "But I don't really want him coming after me again, either."

"Don't worry. Kai said he would take care of that, if you decided you wanted him alive." Taehyun gives you a half smile. "One of our friends is a witch. Memory alteration spells can go a long way."

Most of the fear dissipates, and you let out a sigh of relief. "That's...good." You stare at the blanket. "He just wanted to talk to his mother. Grief can drive even the sanest of people mad."

"...I know."

A little silence falls. "Where am I, by the way?" you finally ask. "Your apartment?"

"Yeah. It was closer." Taehyun shrugs. "Also, I hope you don't mind, but I called my witch friend over to take a look at you earlier. His name's Soobin."

Hm. You vaguely recognize that name from your intermittent wakings. Which brings back the memory of something else, a tangy and metallic liquid in your mouth. Instinctively you wrinkle your nose. 

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, I just remembered a dream I had." You shake your head. "I was drinking something really weird. It tasted bad."

Taehyun's face turns a little sheepish. 

"...Not a dream, I guess," you get out. Right, in dreams you can't taste anything. How did you forget? "What was it?"

Taehyun raises his wrist, revealing two fading marks against his skin. "Vampire blood has healing properties," he says guiltily. "It was the only thing we could think of without sending you to the hospital. You had a major concussion and your knee was pretty busted, too."

You stare at his wrist, at the marks that seem to be fading before your eyes. "I drank blood. From your wrist."

"...Sorry?"

"No, no, don't be sorry." You pinch the bridge of your nose for a second. "I...appreciate it? It kept me alive. I'm just trying to process things." Then you realize something. "God, I haven't even thanked you for saving me." All at once you remember the fear, the terror, the pain, and then it hits you, really hits you, just how close to death you came. "Thank you, Taehyun," you say in a much smaller voice. "I...I really owe you my life."

Taehyun clasps your hand between both of his and looks at you, his dark eyes deep and serious. "You don't owe me anything, Y/N," he says quietly. "I came because I was worried. Because I didn't know what was happening, and I was scared for you. It was my choice to come," he says, voice brooking no argument. "I don't believe in exchanging lives. I'm just glad that you were okay, in the end."

That does it. Just like his simple question when you were walking home—Y/N, are you okay? His words release the floodgates and all the tears start falling, the full terror of the moment hitting you like a truck—but he's holding you, cradling you close, and you're curling into him again as you soak his shirt with tears, finding comfort in his voice, in his arms, in the absence of a heartbeat in his broad chest. 

By the time you're cried out, you're exhausted again, but you don't really want to go to sleep just yet. So instead you stay curled up against Taehyun, his arms holding you close, and take in shaky breaths until you feel a little steadier. "Sorry for crying," you mumble, even though you make no effort to pull away. "Your shirt's going to be gross."

"I don't care about the shirt," Taehyun says sharply, though his voice softens when you look up, startled. "Sorry. I just meant that...I can replace the shirt, Y/N." He takes a breath, and you notice he looks a little nervous. "But I can't replace you."

His words strike a chord deep within your heart, bringing a sort of funny feeling to the front of your chest. "Damn right you can't," you try to joke, but it falls a little flat. 

"I'm serious." And then he's pushing you away a little, but only so that you have the space to look him in the eyes. "I'm serious," he repeats, large eyes dark and somber. "You almost died, Y/N. And if you...if you did die..." He swallows. "You know why I agreed to that stupid bet?"

You blink. "...For fun?"

"No. Well, yes." He huffs a little. "Y/N, I wanted an excuse to talk to you more."

A little warmth curls in your chest, spreading slowly outwards to the rest of your body. You don't say anything, though.

"You're a fun person to be around, Y/N," Taehyun says, and he's smiling a little in a way that's more mesmerizing than his golden eyes. "I liked you. I wanted to be around you more, and talk to you more. I'll admit, I was definitely curious about what exactly you were, but I didn't care about that as much as I pretended to." He leans in a little, and you don't flinch away. "I like you a lot, Y/N. And before you have—I don't know, some other near death experience—I wanted to tell you that." The smile slips away. "If you died, I never would have told you. And I would have regretted not telling you for a very long time."

He's looking at you in a way that warms you, even though his hands are cold, even though there's no heartbeat in his chest. So you let the quiet warmth of his gaze spread through your body, let yourself lean into him a little more before you press your lips softly to his. 

Taehyun kisses back firmly but gently, never pushing, never yielding, as steady as his arms holding you against him. You don't kiss for very long, but when you do break away, you're warm all over, and you can't stop smiling even with eyes still sticky from crying. 

"I'll tell you that I absolutely cared about this bet as much as you thought I did," you say, and his laugh only makes you smile more. "But I can't lie, Taehyun, I liked you a lot too. I tried to dislike you on principle. You were so fucking annoying about it," you emphasize, eliciting another lovely laugh from his lips. "But I couldn't, because you were sweet, and kind, and even though you teased me all the time, you were still always there. Even when I almost died."

His eyes on yours, dark and sweet. Like the lamp glowing softly in the corner, gentle and quiet. 

"You may not have a heartbeat, but mine can beat for both of us," you say quietly. "If you'll let it. If you'll let me."

Taehyun kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. All feather soft, like butterflies lighting on your skin. "Is that answer enough?" he asks.

You smile back in reply and curl back into his chest. Taehyun's arms close around you again, his head coming to rest on top of yours, and there you sit, and breathe. 

One heart beating for two, two breaths sounding as one.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2025: THE SAINT OF BRIGHT DOORS by Vajra Chandrasekera.

Finished this over the weekend! Mostly had a good time! The worldbuilding was wonderful, and Fetter's wildly complicated relationships with both his parents and all of his friends were interesting, and I liked how much stuff was going on--the doors, the devils, the weird history, the modernity, the revolutionaries, the city, just...all of it.

Unfortunately, this one didn't quite stick the landing for me, and I can't talk about why without Major Spoilers, so. A Cut Will Go Here, and the Spoilers Will Follow:

I really feel like the shadow thing wasn't signposted as unequivocally as it could've been?? There was One Specific Line where I'm like "oh you're going for a reveal here, but I don't think the emotional impact has been built up quite enough for this." Like, sure, once it was revealed what we should've been looking at, I could trace it back through the story (the headaches, the weird feelings), but those weren't enough to hold the twist up for me? It was almost there, but it...didn't quite make it. It needed just. something else. I think. A couple more stronger hints at "woah something's fucking weird here" (I love hints at "woah something's fucking weird"), because the whole book was full of So Much Weirdness that it was easy to lose the physical signs and symptoms in the monsoon.

I did really enjoy the narrative distance, though! I thought that was a good way to tell the story, and I'd be interested in rereading this to see how it holds up knowing about the POV not-shift, but on my first read my reaction was more like "oh. i see :/" than "WOAH HOLY SHIT" (which is what it is for other books that do the POV thing Very Well, like THE FIFTH SEASON, or HARROW THE NINTH, or LEECH).

I really wanted to love this book! And while I did like it, I did not, unfortunately, love it (but I'll still keep an eye out for his other work, because he did do some cool stuff well holy interiority, Batman and I'm interested to see where else he goes).

[ETA: AND ANOTHER THING!!: The shadow POV wasn't as like. Distinct? From Fetter?? As it could've been, for someone who drops an "I" in the last chunk of the book?? That's probably where it lost me most, I think--for a narrator who captured FETTER'S struggle with self and identity really well, the shadow was outrageously quiet about itself, which also contributed to my "oh. i see :/" reaction, I think--we got the distance from Fetter, but we didn't get something Else to Replace That, so the "I" felt like it came out of nowhere (vs in the other examples I listed above, there was Tension between the two perspectives, and there were Hints that Someone Else Was Here). ANYWAY I THINK THAT'S IT I THINK THAT'S WHY IT DIDN'T HIT RIGHT FOR ME~~]

[firequeenofficial]

Okay, we're going through this comic page by page. First of all, in the dedication, we have a black and white lineart of Lizzie and Joel peering around the corner of a building. This is really well done - the building is black, so the lineart of everyone's favourite married couple is in white, but the area beyond the building is white, so the lineart is black. Makes for a very interesting feast for the eyes!

Okay, official page one - the original name of the comic (The First Battle!) has been scribbled out and replaced by a super dramatic collection of fonts that read "The Most Epic and Heartwrenching and Harrowing Battle of the Turn of the Century!" This is iconic and hilarious, especially when, direction below it, HG is caught in a nervous sweat while Joel and Lizzie look on with the most unimpressed expressions in the world.

(I have to admit I have read the comic before because I got overeager and read it when it popped up on my for you page, but I loved it then and I'll love it now, and I didn't analyse it then so this'll be my first time really looking at it.)

The fight begins with HG asking about Jizzie's ears, Joel looking so pissed and Lizzie going "Aren't they cute? :3" which is adorable. Also, Lizzie looks kinda deranged, which is honestly her calling - crazy cat lady in the most literal sense.

Joel, of course, goes straight to insulting him. I can't quite tell, but I think his shirt reads "Fallen Star" (All I can see beneath his jacket is "ALl TAR" followed by the image of a star, so... educated guess). I don't know what this means - I assume it's an Empires reference, or maybe a reference to their band, but idk enough about either to know for sure - but I'm sure it means something.

This is totally giving Lizzie and her wife vibes. "I'm Gal!" "and i'm... guy". HG then uses his bow to tear through the frame before they can finish their "catchphrase" to announce "WELL HELLO THERE! You're probably wondering how I got in this situation! It's really a funny story!" Love this. Also love the detail of the child he allegedly saved from being hit by a car being in greyscale while the background is HG's blue and orange, and HG himself is in full colour. Bringing back my point from the cover about him craving the spotlight.

As HG is telling the story of how he ended up in this situation, Joel interrupts him to "um actually" him. HG claims Jizzie were robbing an "armoured car, no doubt carrying precious valuables". Joel then says, "It was an animal control truck," before adding, "It wasn't my idea." Scar is trying to control the narrative to frame himself as the unequivocal hero and them as the unequivocal villains. It's giving politician. No wonder he fit the role of mayor so well.

The next page shows more of HG controlling the narrative. The first frame (I think they're called frames? idk) shows Joel pointing without looking at the "armoured car", which is in reality a truck that reads "HMT animal", in front of which Lizzie is speaking calmly to a woman who may be Pearl but may also just be a rando. Maybe I'm imaging that it looks like Pearl. Anyway. The next frame, Joel is looking back in alarm, as the image (no longer in full colour) now shows the van with "Big Money Ban!" spray-painted in HG's orange over the side. Lizzie is no longer speaking calmly to the woman, and is instead gesturing threateningly while the woman looks alarmed. The next frame, Lizzie is saying "Give me all your cats!" but the t in cats has been scribbled out in HG's blue and a h added at the end so that it reads "Give me all you cash!" This image, besides Joel and the edits, is also in greyscale - all the images where HG is trying to control the narrative follow this pattern: the parts he's edited are in his specific shades of orange and blue, the parts he's kept the same or doesn't want to draw attention to are in grey, and the parts he can't control, such as Joel's reaction to his edits, as in normal full colour. Also, unrelated, every time Joel looks at HG, it looks like the lapel of his jacket is giving him the middle finger, which is valid at this point.

HG has a full camera and mic crew. He keeps interrupting Joel when he tries to join HG in breaking the 4th wall by point this out, and Lizzie is telling Joel to "play along" and giggling. She has added to the narration in a similar style to HG: "I looked extremely menacing." Her narrations are in a more formal, tidier font than HG's - I didn't notice this the first time.

Lizzie's outfit has changed in this made up fantasy HG is selling - instead of her famous sailor getup, she now has a pinkish-burgundy dress on, with a long, purpleish, fur-lined coat. Her makeup has also changed to look more like war paint. She has joined Scar in cutting Joel off. Joel is the only rational person here. It's giving Ken from The Bee Movie.

Lizzie and HG are now buddies, posing for the camera and blocking Joel and his voice of reason. HG is, apparently, "gallant and just". Lizzie is, apparently, the exiled heir to the throne of the cat underworld, hiding from her evil step-parents who are jealous of her pink fur. I have no idea how accurate this really is, but my word I hope that's her actual story cause that's amazing.

They're fighting again. HG is simply dodging all Jizzie's attacks, and Lizzie is mad at him. No doubt she thought their three pages of camaraderie meant he'd keep the act going and allow the fight to be even. Joel is merely done with the entire situation.

I was correct (totally didn't cheat). "You have to let me get an attack in too!" cries Lizzie. She doesn't quite understand the narrative HG is pushing here - he's the unbeatable hero, not someone who likes flashy fights for an audience. HG distracts her by asking if her cat ears even do anything ("The ears do plenty! I can also talk to cats-" The cats don't talk back, read the sign that Joel holds up. This is interesting - Joel's voice has been taken from him. He's not allowed to speak anymore, so he's resorted to holding up signs with his words on.) then shoots her with an arrow that zips her mouth shut with the HG colours and turns her grey scale. More controlling the narrative by allowing only his voice to be heard.

As HG is doing his dramatic hero pose and "I am great and magnificent" speech, he's interrupted by Joel shouting (in very blurring letters) "HEY AVERAGE GUY!" The final word, however, is hidden by HG's body. Lizzie scribbles on a piece of paper - only Joel and HG are in colour now. Lizzie holds up the paper, but HG shoves it away so it's scrumpled. The words "You're no fun at all :(" can just barely be made out. He resumes his speeching and posing, but is whacked on the back of the head by Lizzie. "Woooooow," says Joel, whose hands are resting outside of the frame, on the page itself. "Silencing women?"

"That's kind of problematic of you, Average Guy." Again, the second half of Joel's words are cut off, and narrator!HG announces "YOU KNOW WHAT? I was only fighting Gal this whole time. Guy was off doing... something else." So Joel has been completely cut out of HG's narrative. A short and quick scroll forward reveals he does not show up again for several pages. His ears (a headband with cat ears on) are left lying on this page, the man himself missing entirely. Lizzie, still zipped and greyscale, is hiding behind the imaginary "Gal" that HG has decided is the ultimate villain, the one with the dramatic getup. Behind both Lizzie's, a bunch of silhouette cats are watching with very ominous :3 faces, except their eyes look suspiciously like Watcher's eyes. No attention is drawn to this at all. In Scar's pretend narrative, he "drew [his] bow, aimed, and knocked both of the dangerous villains to the ground in one hit!" He is lying through his teeth.

The next page is perhaps the most ominous one yet. Scar announces a catchphrase (two birds with one stone), then decides it's not good enough, and - here comes the creepy bit - says "Sorry. Can you hold on a second? I need to go back to the drawing board." Scar is smirking ominously as Lizzie cowers. A black, orange and blue fountain pen fills half of the frame. Lizzie looks up, and her eyes are HG's blue and orange, while all the rest of her is still greyscale. She looks afraid for the first time since her introduction.

The next several pages are (almost) entirely storyboards of the comic so far, with certain parts edited to fit HG's newest narrative. The only parts in colour and detail are HG and the orange and blue background of every frame he's in. I won't go into every detail of every page, but changes are things like "Robbers!" has been changed to "Robber!" to remove Joel. Lizzie's backstory has been edited so she's just some rando from the cat underworld who is looking to steal all of Hermitopia's money from all of the banks. Her claws are poison now apparently. Every one of HG's lines have been changed to corny cat-themed one liners. I'm having Chat Noir flashbacks. At the end of the "big epic fight", Lizzie is dead unconscious dead. "And so Hotguy saved the day!"

And now we're back to the normal style, and HG is still trying to come up with a catchphrase, but everything he thinks of is from something else or awful. My favourites of the options he tries are "You never know when you're going to wake up in the morning" because Scar said that so deadpan when he actually said it and "With great hotness comes great guy" cause it's hilarious.

Finally, HG comes up with a catchphrase in the last panel (that's what they're called! Great job, Ashlley!): "No need to thank me!" The speech bubble is placed over Joel and Lizzie, who are lying on the floor over each other. It is unclear whether they are actually dead or actually unconscious or actually acting. It could be any.

This comic was... interesting. Very, very good art by Choco, and amazing writing by Jonny Sixteenthdays and Zephaniah Grains. The point of this, clearly, is to make you Hate HG, and hoo boy did it work. There were so many details that I missed the first time around - like HG literally zipping Lizzie's mouth shut so she couldn't speak - that really emphasise how awful he is. As I said before, it has the same vibes as politicians lying out of the butts to gain approval or point the big red "villain" light at anyone other than them. He spent the entire comic making sure it was his story that was told, and that he was clearly the good guy, but in doing so made himself look more like the villain than ever. The indecisiveness in the "drawing board" pages between Lizzie being dead or unconscious especially highlights this - originally, he goes for dead, as that's more dramatic; then he thinks, "wait, if I kill her, am I just as bad, if not worse?" and makes her only unconscious; then he thinks, "if she's only unconscious, she can go on with her evil plot and no one feels safe" and goes back to making her dead. He's trying to figure out what paints him in the best light.

All in all, a very good comic, and definitely made me hate the guy, so good job, those of you responsible for this!

Okay, I promised I'd do a liveblog of when I read the Hotguy Comics Zine, so here it is! Spoilers to follow, proceed with caution!

Okay, right off the bat, the first page is beautiful! The lighting is so insane, and the contrasting blues/purples and oranges are worked together so well. Also, HG looks so squeeshable, I wanna squoosh his face like a grandmother.

[texanredrose]

Dance Like a Fool

Day 3: Hurt/Comfort/Atlas Ball

“I could’ve gone to Atlas Academy, you know,” Weiss said, apropos of nothing. “I think Winter would’ve preferred it if I had- back then, anyway. I’m sure she has a different opinion nowadays.”

“I’m glad you clarified,” Blake replied with a quirk to her lips and a dry humor in her voice. “I’d like to think she warmed up to me around our third anniversary.”

Lightly, she swatted at her wife’s shoulder, knowing full well that Blake and Winter got along well from their first official meeting. Despite there not being an ounce of seriousness, sometimes Blake liked to play up what it was like marrying into the Schnee family and what a harrowing ordeal it was to deal with her dysfunctional family. Frankly, marrying into the Belladonna family was more nerve rattling if only because Weiss had never met a nicer couple than Ghira and Kali. Cut throat business types and aggressive antagonists she could handle; genuinely doting parental figures threw her off her balance.

The two stood shoulder-to-shoulder against one side of the ballroom while students from Atlas Academy gathered and talked and danced in the middle of the room. While interest in becoming a Hunter rose after Salem’s final gambit descended upon Remnant, the number of licensed and capable Hunters who remained had dwindled significantly. As such, Blake and Weiss were invited to be honorable teachers at Atlas Academy and worked into a schedule with other such honorable members of the faculty. It wasn’t a perfect system but it was the best they could do at the moment. Hopefully, in a few years time, that first reformed graduating class after Salem’s attempt to destroy all of Remnant would be capable of taking some of the teaching positions. She looked forward to the next generation taking over and doing better than hers did- not that they didn’t do the best they could, of course. But part of entering the future meant stepping down and stepping back.

“What made you think about attending Atlas?” Blake tilted her head, feline ears canting towards her in interest.

“How dreadfully dreary this party is, for one,” she said, making a motion to the minimal decorations and lack of appropriate music. Not that the string and woodwind piece being pumped through speakers wasn’t soothing, of course, but it simply didn’t fit the general mood of an academy dance. One could argue that the Atlas Ball wasn’t meant to be akin to an academy dance but considering Robyn had essentially forbidden mixing various businesses and the like with hunters-in-training, logic dictated that the stuffy formalities enforced by generations past could be replaced by the attitudes of the newer generation. “I would be disappointed with myself if I planned a party this boring.”

Her wife laughed. “Are you sure the word you’re looking for isn’t ‘refined’?”

“Refined is boring.” A pause. “And they aren’t even doing refined right; they don’t have doilies.”

A few moments passed before Blake leaned a bit more firmly into her side. “What’s really bothering you?”

Weiss sighed, glancing at her wife before looking back at the children- and she felt like they were children now, even though she would’ve emphatically denied being described as such when she was their age. “I suppose… it’s just hitting me how close I was to… losing all this.”

“Losing?” Blake’s hand reached for hers, allowing Weiss to feel both the warmth of her wife’s skin and the chilly coolness of her prosthetic fingers. “I thought you weren’t having nightmares anymore…”

“I’m not and I don’t mean that.” She held her wife’s hand. “I mean… if I’d chosen to attend Atlas instead of Beacon… if I’d never met Ruby, or Yang, or you… what misery would consume me… would I even have survived to this point without you and the others?”

“I’d like to think that you would’ve, in this hypothetical scenario.” Blake turned her head and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t want to think about a world where I would never even get the chance to meet you.”

“Still… it’s something I think about.”

“Well… how about no more thinking?” Blake flashed her a mysterious little grin before stepping away. 

Weiss couldn’t help but laugh at the suggestion- when did she ever stop thinking, really- and await her wife’s return. Again, she swept her gaze over the room, imagining herself- briefly- in an Atlesian Academy uniform, probably designated as leader of her team and struggling under the pressure, firmly in Winter’s shadow despite her sister not even being at the Academy. Ironwood would’ve likely treated her the same as her elder sister; he would’ve been just as surprised when it turned out she didn’t bend to just any authority, especially an unjust one. Then again… she might not have developed the spine to learn the difference, and that thought scared her almost as much as imagining her life without her team.

Her train of thought derailed as the music changed to something more upbeat and almost… poppy. Not quite to her tastes but something Ruby might enjoy. Then, Blake appeared in front of her, holding out her hand. “Remember when our friends decided to take over the dance floor to show everyone how it’s really done?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Are you refusing to dance with your wife?”

Weiss laughed and shook her head, slipping her hand into Blake’s. “Of course not, Love.”

As they took to the dance floor to act like fools- Weiss had only ever learned proper dancing techniques best suited to performances, not exactly enjoyment- some of the students decided to join in, the stiff and awkward air dissipating by degrees as others decided to throw decorum to the wind. When she was their age, she would’ve been scandalized by the very thought, but she wasn’t that person anymore- and she couldn’t be happier about that fact.

She’d chosen her path, and all that came with it, and she wouldn’t change it for anything.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

A Tiadrin theory

I woke up this morning with a sudden headcanon about Tiadrin, and as I poked at it, it filled out nicely, so I’m gonna go ahead and call it a theory at this point.

It gets angsty, as all good Moonshadow theories do. If your heart doesn’t weigh 6 tons by the time you reach the end of this post, I didn’t capture the feeling properly.

Several bits of detail flutter around this mysterious woman, and I’ve theorized various versions of her circumstances, her relationship with Runaan and Ethari, her former position before the Storm Spire, the reasons she went there, and the reasons Runaan was so hellbent on avenging her dishonor.

I don’t think any of them landed as well or tied together as neatly as this one, though. Hence “theory” instead of just “headcanon.” Here we go:

FIrstly, some meta information. This is a fun tweet, but in this post I’m looking directly at “belief systems as sources of both comfort and restraint” and at the “weight of guilt” and “cycles of trauma” lines, in regards to Moonshadow culture, and specifically Moonshadow assassin training.

And raise your hand if you’ve been looking further afield than the front-and-center Janaya-with-Soren nod from “ripped women who teach soft boys to stab,” because I have. TDP is full of parallels and imperfect mirrors.

So, in the spirit of soft yet angsty cycles and the ripped women who perpetuate them, Theory Part I: Tiadrin trained Runaan, because she was the leader of the assassins before he was.

She’s referred to as a mastermind. Assassin leaders need to be good with plans of all sizes. We’ve seen how Runaan silently adapts to chaos and doesn’t tell anyone what his new plans actually are. He’s a good leader. But he also had to learn those skills from someone. Whoever instructed him was a tactical genius, and also very Moonshadow, and Runaan was an adept student.

Also, Tiadrin is a goddamn badass. She’s several inches shorter than Lain, Runaan, Ethari, and Viren. But she is a powerhouse in battle. She knows her physics well enough to drag this 6′2″ human battle mage skidding across the floor. Monster thighs, monster intellect.

As a 5′4″ woman who trained in jujitsu for several years, let me just say: gender equality in battle is great, but physics does not care. It will crush your popsicle-stick ass if you try to chuck a 250 lb person across the room and your math is off. The most accurate fighters are the ones who know how hard physics hits back when you’re sloppy.

Tiadrin earned every inch of respect, and every inch of her thigh circumference, the old-fashioned way. She worked for it, all day every day. Runaan does the same thing. He might have half a foot of height on her, but he trains like the world will crush him if he’s not perfect. And that’s very Moonshadow assassin in its own right, because it will, and it tried. Tiadrin knew what she needed. And she knew what Runaan, soft boy that he is, needed. And she made sure she trained it into him, all day every day.

Tiadrin is one of the reasons that Runaan survived the fight in Harrow’s chamber. She made him the fighter he is, the person he is, and that was just enough to pull him through... so he could see his own mentor trapped in a coin. Yay, thanks Viren.

Theory Part II: Runaan’s squad was made up of all the elves Tiadrin has personally trained, or trained by proxy.

If Tiadrin was Runaan’s trainer and mentor, then her honor was his honor. And when she supposedly faltered and fled at the Storm Spire, that suddenly cast him, as an individual assassin and as the current assassin leader, in a terrible light. If his mentor was a coward, what did she teach him? Would he also duck and run when things got hopeless, and abandon his duty?

The doubt that must’ve swirled around him when the village learned the terrible news about Lain and Tiadrin must’ve sliced right through him. Thousand-yard stare, biggest internal Oh No ever. Runaan lives to serve his people, and to have them doubt him, after all he has done to train them and protect them from harm, would be the worst kind of pain. He had to make it right.

But not just him. Assassins seem to take solo missions even for their first kill, if Eljaal’s covered shoulders are any indication. You can Moonshadow your feels if you don’t have to watch your friend kill someone, if you don’t have anyone watching while you stab someone to death. You can pretend it’s all serene and just and smooth and valid and honorable. You can hold to your love of life and dance right past your embrace of death, if no one else sees it. But Runaan’s mission had 6 members. They were definitely going to have to watch each other murder people. Why?

Tiadrin’s honor was their honor. An extended family of brothers, sisters, cousins, fosterlings, anyone who was drawn to Tiadrin, or her to them, bonded together over their family feels and protective instincts. They were family. And then their leader fell, her honor crushed.

They had to make it right.

They all carried Tiadrin’s honor with their own, taught by her personally, regarded as honorable assassins. Until she seemed to have a fatal flaw in her character. Then everyone wondered if that flaw got passed down, too. The assassins had to prove that it hadn’t been, for the sake of their people, and for all of Xadia who trusted them to take out threats in the dark. They had to go set right Tiadrin’s “mistake” and take Harrow for Zym’s death. All of them. Every single one, no exceptions.

No exceptions. That’s why Rayla had to go, too. Tiadrin taught Runaan everything he knew about being an assassin, and when she moved to the Storm Spire, Runaan dutifully passed Rayla’s mother’s teachings to Rayla herself, feeling like part of the family, an essential connection between mother and daughter, between assassin mentor and mentee. He tried to get it just right, just perfect, so Rayla would feel like she’d been trained by her actual mom as much as possible. Not just because Tiadrin was Rayla’s mother, but because Runaan respects Tiadrin’s prowess so much. She was the best, and every bit of Runaan’s efforts to be his best reflects his respect for her.

You don’t get to be the assassin leader unless you’re the best there is. Runaan knows that from both sides. And just like Tiadrin did with him, he does his best to teach Rayla everything she needs to stay safe and alive, so she can do her duty too, and come home safe to her family every day.

And, in the end, part of that duty had to be avenging her mentor’s mentor, her own mother, by accompanying Runaan on his mission. Her lessons were from Tiadrin, one step removed. If there was a flaw in her training, no one would trust her when it was her turn to lead the assassins, and she’s not even done training yet! Rayla understood Moonshadow honor, assassin honor. She was driven to ask Runaan to take her with him, and he could see exactly where she was coming from. Their honor was tangled up with Tiadrin’s. They couldn’t back out. They had to go to Katolis, them and everyone else Tiadrin had trained.

That’s why the binding ribbons came out. They were in a do-or-die situation, in the most literal sense.

They could not go home in failure. If they all failed, it would take out a whole line of assassin training, possibly the same one that had lasted for countless generations (okay maybe we can count them and there are like 30) and crush the Moonshadows’ spirits. And they’d literally rather die than see that happen. They were all ready to give their lives to restore Tiadrin’s honor, and their own, because without her legacy, there would be such a crater in the assassin corps that it might never recover.

Yes, this is basically my angsty “Runaan’s found family went into battle together and most of them died” headcanon again, but this time with a solid theory behind it. I’m not sorry. I love this angsty idea, it’s horrible. Do you see the cycle of trauma? I’ve got one more part to add, which may make it clearer.

Theory Part III: Assassin leaders always go serve at the Storm Spire once they successfully train their own replacement.

In this theory’s version of Why Laindrin Went To The Storm Spire, Tiadrin was always going to end up at the Storm Spire, once she became the assassin leader. That’s where the veteran assassin leader goes, see, to liaison between the dragon throne and the current Moonshadow leader. They know the assassins’ skills far better than any Skywings or dragons do, and they know the leader in charge of them, so they can give guidance or direction as needed, or simply phrase the Dragon King or Queen’s request in such language that the assassin leader knows intuitively what really needs to be done.

Yeah, Tiadrin writing Runaan mission directives. I can see it.

Tiadrin’s mentor would’ve left for the Spire when Tiadrin got promoted to leader. The person she trusted most in the world, who had trained her, left her behind, only to communicate by long distance. Moonshadow deniability, amirite--we’re not stabbing people, we’re sending tactical correspondence, yep that’s it. But Tiadrin was still surrounded by Runaan and the other young assassins, and she bonded with them all, and life was bright.

Then, the shadow came once again. Runaan was an excellent student, and she knew he was ready. Maybe she delayed, and delayed, Moonshadowing her reasons. Maybe she wanted the chance to bring life into the world, to try to balance out some of the death she had dealt. Maybe she wanted a few more years of domestic life in the Silvergrove with all her favorite elves, to bolster her heart for the years to come. Maybe her mentor at the Spire was up to shenaniganry in dragon politics and she wanted to buy them more time to lay those plans in place.

Knowing Tiadrin even the slightest bit, I will assume it was all this and more. But eventually, she couldn’t put things off any longer. She had to go fulfill her duty to the dragon throne and join the Dragonguard as the representative of the Moonshadow assassins who had bound themselves to the protection of Xadia long ago. She had to walk away from her bright life, her family, her friends, her allies, and climb up into that misty stone tower, to spend who knows how long away from everything she knew and loved.

And she did. She chose to walk away, for love of Xadia. She took her beloved husband with her, but she left the Silvergrove, Xadia’s protection, and her own daughter’s upbringing in the hands of the elf she chose to replace her. The soft boy she’d taught to stab, who would teach her baby girl to stab, too.

Because this is The Way.

I know I’ve had an angsty headcanon that assassins don’t retire. But, consider this: maybe one of them can. One of Tiadrin’s many plans could have been counting on Runaan’s extreme prowess and devotion to Rayla. If Tiadrin knew that she could return to the Silvergrove in peace and retire there with Lain once Runaan trained Rayla to take his place as the assassin leader, then she could live in the Silvergrove again for the rest of her life, and also get to see Rayla grown big and strong and become the assassin leader herself, another proud elf in a long line of honor and tradition. She might feel that was a big accomplishment, considering the dangers they all face. And it would be.

Yes, this would hinge on the fact that Runaan would have to leave the Silvergrove to replace Tiadrin at the Storm Spire, to serve as Rayla’s liaison to the dragon throne. Cycles of trauma, remember? Tiadrin can’t have all of her family back in one place, ever again. She has to love and train someone enough to put them through the life that she’s having to live, and she has to be strong enough not to let that break her. And then, she has to choose between them. She chose Runaan first, so that she could hope to choose Rayla later. She trusted him with all the future happiness of her heart. And he did his best with it.

But they didn’t quite make it, in the end, because of Viren.

I know this has been a lot of angst. I know. But there is a moonlit lining to this theory, and I think we all need to consider it. If there is a cycle of taking the assassin leader out of the Silvergrove to serve the dragon throne for ancient promise reasons, then if that ancient promise is ever rescinded or redressed in an effective way, the family won’t need to keep yeeting loved ones out of its orbit. And if assassins cease to be a necessary evil as a result, then no one will have to leave, or stab, again. At least, not for the same angsty reasons. They could stay together and never need to leave again.

It won’t be easy to break such a cycle. It might be impossible. But if anyone can manage it, it’ll be Tiadrin, and her family.

extra headcanon for this theory:

Tiadrin, packing up for the Storm Spire: One last thing, Runaan.

Runaan, stoically attentive because what are feels on the day your mentor leaves you: Yes, Tiadrin?

Tiadrin: Ethari will need to pick an apprentice to replace him, too. He should start looking now.

Runaan: Why? Only the Silvergrove’s Master Craftsman gets to pick an apprentice, and Ethari isn’t--

Tiadrin: *wink” Not yet, he’s not.

Runaan: Tiadrin, please, what have you done?

Tiadrin: I want to come back here someday, Runaan. I want to see your good work with Rayla. And I can’t do that if you flat-out refuse to leave your husband when Avizandum calls for you to replace me. So he needs to be ready to leave, too.

Runaan: I, I, I would nev-- I couldn’t--

Tiadrin: *patting his shoulder briskly as she strides out* Mmhmm, sure thing, kid. The council votes him in next Thursday. Be good while I’m gone! I want to find this place exactly the way I’m leaving it. Lain, honey, get your coat!

Lain, in the next room: Yes, Tiadrin!

Runaan, soft-eyed, to the silence in her wake: Yes, Tiadrin.

[xwing-baby]

Impulse: Aftermath (Javier Peña x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. The worst as happened, your dead. What have you left behind?

Warnings: ANGST! depressive thinking/intrusive thoughts, swearing, discrimination towards addicts, mentions of drug abuse, javi and steve have terrible coping mechanisms.

Word count: 2k (short and sweet)

A/n: So I felt bad about how I left it last chapter, maybe this will heal it? Maybe it will make it worse. Either way, enjoy! 

Part 1 // Part 2 

[1 MONTH AFTER]

 The following weeks after your death was harrowing for everyone involved. Connie was beside herself and flew herself home for a week as she couldn’t stand seeing your empty apartment every day. Without his wife, Steve was falling apart at the seams. He was angrier, drinking more and his relationship with Javier was hanging on threads. Even when Connie returned he was unhinged. Javier was a mess, more than he would openly admit, it was obvious to everyone around him. He tried to find solace in alcohol and women but it didn’t work. Guilt surrounded him like a bad smell that he couldn’t shake. Together, Javi and Steve were reckless and ruthless.

The question of who killed you was still a mystery. The getaway vehicle had been found in Bogata a few days after the shooting, ablaze. Javi and Steve had waited for somebody to claim the killing but no one ever did. Cali and Escobar, even Los Pepes never said a word. Javier had tried to find your CI but they’d disappeared too. 

As with any death of an agent in the field, the DEA intended to investigate your death. Today was the day that Javier was to hear the verdict. He was anxious, he knew they needed help if they were ever going to catch your killer and this could be the final push needed to topple Escobar’s power. 

Alone, Javier drove to the embassy dressed in a nice suit and tie. He was hopeful, almost excited. If this meeting went the way he was expecting you would get the vengeance you deserved and this hell could be over. 

He entered the meeting room confidently but almost immediately stumbled when only one man stood in the room. Ambassador Crosby stood at the top of the large table, he greeted Javier politely when he arrived and offered him a chair opposite. Confused, Javier sat down.

“I’m going to cut the crap with you, Peña. We are not investigating Agent L/n’s death,” The Ambassador said bluntly. Javier’s stomach twisted, “I’ve been talking with everybody that needs to be involved and we all agree. She admitted her drug use to me, her death was entirely so a result of her ‘extracurricular activities’. I see no reason to use any more of the agency's funds on a rookie who went off the rails,” The Ambassador lit a cigarette nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just dealt Javier a nearly fatal blow. Javier had never imagined that to even be a possibility. He was in shock.

“You’re joking,” Javier deadpanned. 

“I understand you’re upset, Peña, I do. She was a sweet girl, and from what I gather from Agent Murphy’s report you two were very close, but I see no reason to investigate further. She wasn’t a qualified agent we hold no loyalty to our usual promises,” 

“She deserves-,” Javier started, rage quickly boiling inside him.

“She doesn’t deserve anything,” He interrupted Javier sharply, “She was an addict. You should count yourself lucky I don’t have you fired. You knew she was breaking her contract and you said nothing,” 

“She was doing her job. She was a great agent and this never should have fucking happened. She deserves everything Camarera got and more!” Javier exclaimed. 

“You’re right it shouldn’t have happened. You were her mentor, you were supposed to be protecting her from exactly that kind of shit. She was never meant to leave your fucking side, what in the hell possessed you to think she could have a CI?” 

“She was a good agent,” Javier repeated, trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“She was a kid,” The ambassador corrected him. Javier hung his head in defeat, “Get out, expect a call from DC too,” 

As if this waking nightmare you had left behind you could get any worse, now this. It was another blow to Javier's ego that he did not need. Without help from the agency, there would be no way to investigate your death and no way for any substantial closure for Javier or Steve. You would become just another name on the list of unfortunate souls lost to this drug war. They had dismissed you as if you were nobody. They had cleaned their hands of your blood without a second thought. That was not a luxury that Javier had. 

Javier was exhausted. The news felt like the final blow that had finally landed him on his ass. But he knew had one last thing to do before he could sleep, he had to tell Steve the news. Javier let himself into Connie and Steve’s apartment, the two were eating dinner together quietly. Without a word, he sat down at the table, and Connie passed the man a beer, which he took and swallowed down gladly.

“So? What did they say?” Steve asked, his mouth full of food.

“They said they wouldn’t investigate further because of everything that she was doing,” He replied after a moment 

“Shit,” Connie sighed, taking a big sip of wine. Steve looked between his wife and his friend, put his cutlery down and frowned.

“What do you mean everything she was doing?” Steve asked, “She was working with us, she wasn’t doing anything wrong,”

“She was doing coke, a lot of it,” Javier said bluntly, finding no other way to soften what had happened, “Guess she got it from her CI, I don’t know but she tried to fix it with the ambassador before she died and now they won’t investigate,”

“What?” Steve laughed in disbelief. Javier’s frown didn’t break, He turned to his wife expecting her to be just as shocked. She wasn’t at all. She knew, “How come you know about this and I don’t?” Steve exclaimed.

“She showed up on the street after Javi caught her at the embassy and I took care of her, made sure she was okay. She told me everything,” Connie explained.

“At the embassy?” Steve repeated, not believing a word he was hearing. He knew something was up with you but he hadn’t imagined it could be that bad, “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I thought you knew and just didn’t want to talk about it!” Connie exclaimed, “I thought you guys would have taken a bit more care with your teammate!”

“Hey don’t put it back at me!” Javi scowled at the woman.

“That's why you were so mad that day? Because you caught her with cocaine?” Steve asked, his volume increasing with each question, “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I didn’t think it was any of your business,”

“Any of my- You’re fucking unbelievable Javi,” Steve scoffed, “Been here how long and you still don’t trust me?”

“I trusted her enough to sort it out herself. You would have freaked her out!” Javier said honestly.

“Look at all the good that did, huh? You got her killed! May as well have shot her yourself!” The words hit Javier like a slap in the face. Shocked, Javi couldn’t speak.

“Steve!” Connie exclaimed.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” Steve spat, stepping up to Javi. Javi quickly backed off, glaring at his partner and leaving, slamming the door for good measure.

In the hallway, Steve and Connie’s argument could still be heard. Javier’s anger was stopped by the sight of your door across the hallway. Someone else had moved in already. The door had been repainted, the chipped blue paint replaced with a glossy green, the number had been straightened and the smiley face sticker you put on had been peeled off. The world was moving on. You were just a passing character, never meant to stay long. You would have left eventually even if you hadn’t died. You were never meant to be permanent. Javi hoped the pain you had left him would be just as temporary but it was likely scars would remain.

He couldn’t repaint over memories of you. The scuff marks on his dashboard from your shoes would remain. The chipped mug you had claimed as yours would still sit on his draining board. Shaky polaroid photos he had kept from blurry nights in bars and a cartoon you had drawn of him and Steve on the back of an invoice all sat in the drawer of his nightstand. Those things would last. Part of him wanted to get rid of it all, burn it to remove you entirely from his life and pretend like it was all some horrible, strange dream. But he wouldn’t. You may have been temporary but your impact on him was permanent.

--

The next day Javier kept well away from Steve. He knew he would still be resentful, rightfully so, and he knew him well enough to know to just give him some space. They could get on with things separately until it blew over.

The news that the DEA would not be making a full investigation into your death had spread quickly and calmed tensions around the compound and in the embassy immensely. The Columbians didn’t want more American’s down here if it could be helped, everyone remembered the brutality of Camerana’s investigation and if a repetition of such events could be avoided it was a win for everyone.

Midday came and Javi took a break from hunting through seemingly endless transcriptions of taped conversations to sit outside in the sun. Guilt was piling up again with Steve against him too, he only felt worse. He couldn’t concentrate. Between his thoughts and the constant interruption of people trying to be sympathetic, Javi had had enough. He wanted to be alone.  A few minutes in the sunshine with a cigarette and birdsong would clear his head and he could be useful again.

Javier sat in the courtyard, looking out onto the training grounds and watched the recruits struggle under their training officers barking orders. He took off his jacket, letting his skin take in the early summer rays. On the way to being relaxed, Javier felt content. He didn’t think of you or Steve or anything other than the way the rays heated his skin and how the grass felt under his palm.

“Mind if I join?” Steve interrupted Javier’s moment. He too needed a quiet moment and while he was not completely over his friend’s concealment of the truth he didn’t want to struggle through the new emotions without him. Javier shrugged and moved his jacket to let his friend sit next to him. “Nice day,” He commented, not sure what to say. They hadn’t spoken at all since last night, avoiding each other like the plague. Javi grunted in response, taking a drag of his cigarette again.

The tension between the two men settled, they needed each other to get through this, even if they wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you man,” Javier finally spoke, breaking the silence. Steve was relieved he didn’t have to be the one to apologise first.

“It all happened kind of fast, I get it,” Steve replied, “She always was so efficient with things,” He chuckled. It was dark but the joke broke Javier’s frown.

“Bet Carrillo’s glad he doesn’t have her nagging at him all the time now,” Javi added. Steve chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“It’s going to be nice without their constant bitchin’,'' Steve smiled, he paused for a moment. “It’s gonna be quiet,” he added sadly.

The two fell silent again. He was right, everything was going to be quieter without you. Whether it was shouting at Carrillo for being an asshole, or singing along to the radio loudly while you're full of adrenaline after a chase, or even just your constant tapping and fidgeting. Life was going to be quieter without you.

“Ey! Peña! Murphy! Vamos, we’re going!” Carrillo’s voice called them back to reality.

The war wasn’t stopping for anyone, your death was just one of the thousands that had already been claimed by it. They would miss you, but both men knew they couldn’t let your short time with them hold them back. They would always carry you with them and their final win, when Escobar was dead, would be yours too.

NEXT PART

--

did that make it worse? did that make it better? 

want to get tagged in the next part? let me know

tag list:  @beskar-tano @buckysbeloved @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @this-cat-is-dea @themidnightsun-12 @wille-zarr @danniburgh​ @itsaisopodkillmepls​ @urbankaite2​ @whataloadofmalarkey​ @ahsofka @yeetus-my-feetus​ @sara-alonso​ @lesbianlena​ @xiao-lusi​ @all-good-things-have-an-ending​ 

[xbunnybunz]

Daybreak (7/?) [Wolf Keum x Reader x Alex Go]

Summary: The day brings to you Alex Go, and in the night, Wolf Keum. Your past is inescapable. They build you up and tear you back down, but this is what you need to survive.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

——

There were three messages from Alex on your phone for you when you got back home.

One concerned for your wellbeing, one worried for whether you got home, and another apologizing for being brash.

You skimmed all of them and opened none.

Night turned into day, and that day into another night, until eventually a week had gone past.

He hadn't messaged you again. Even though you weren't expecting anything, you still waited for something, anything, to happen.

You knew you had to be the one to reach out again, but whenever you opened your messages and stared at his name, a stone would sit itself in your gut and weigh you down, heavy, burdensome and unrelenting until you put the phone down.

The thought that perhaps allowing yourself to become close to Alex Go wasn't such a good idea, the thought that maybe someone like you, so stuck and still hurting in the past would only serve to anchor him down, ran through your mind.

You tried everything to distract yourself.

Within the week you had been thrust back into loneliness, you were a fish out of water. You tried to grasp at anything to occupy the space in your mind, jogs in the morning, after school, in the middle of the night. It tired you out, but never enough to placate your mind.

Between the bouts of exercise, you tried to understand the situation. You think about Alex Go and his friend Ben in middle school, and you thought about Alex Go and you in the present. You think about the broken the stoplight, and how it connected to the night everything changed.

He had been the one to destroy the traffic light.

You had many days and nights to ponder about this, alone in your room. He was the reason that on that fateful night, on that sad, dim street corner, the light flashed erratically between "go" and "stop."  He was the reason it was brandished forever in your mind, your mourning heart, and on blood stained hands.

Your chest ached with regret, so deep and harrowing that you wished you could tear it out. It was curious how reckless life was with passion, sincerity and good will. It stung especially painfully seeing indifference and injustice can convene so sharply right before your eyes. One second there, the next gone.

When you closed your eyes, you could still see your hand, bleached with moonlight and stilled, reaching out to him. A whisper on your lips, dying on your breath to fall upon deafened ears.

All bitter memories.

Dampening your eyes and shaking your core, but no matter where you looked, how many reasons you turned over, you could find no spite for Alex Go. The same Alex Go who, when smiling, parted the clouds and called off the rain. Alex Go, who could never wish harm on anyone, not intentionally.

In a desperate attempt to salvage peace of mind, you had picked up the pen again despite knowing what would happen.

You'd just write whatever was on your mind. It wasn't a story, or a continuation to a novel, it was just pages and pages of nonsense with no exact order. And though it was indubitably the voice of your mind, you felt nothing while writing it and it frustrated you to no end. It couldn't be helped, these words had been bouncing around your head so long they had made refuge in your skin, your fingers, controlling your life long before they were on paper. But you didn't need to see your thoughts to understand them. You needed solace. Needed peace. Needed someone to tell you that you would be okay.

But you didn't have these things, so you kept pressing on, like pouring out these words could help you find the ones you wanted to send Alex when the basin was empty. Poised and pen in hand, for as long as you could, like endurance training, until your wrists burned and your body ached.

It never lasted long, those bouts of writing. So when you could no longer run, or think, or write, you would toss in turn in bed, skimming the brink of sleep and consciousness. There would be moments of clarity, and they always hit you hard and fast. Made you grab for your phone, adrenaline roaring through your veins when you typed out a response to him, something, anything.

Sometimes it was an apology or a simple hello, but other times the sensation would give you an intense high.

You'd remember his laugh, the fierceness to which he defended you from the bitter taste of blame, and it was then that your heart reached out to him, a cacophony of white noise and static that would always die at your fingertips when you hit backspace, remembering the hurt on his face, the pain because of you.

Then you'd think of Wolf. Somehow, at the end of every restless night you spent rolling in bed, hazel eyes flashed in your vision, watching you inscrutably. Hot like fire, icy like a tundra. Almost close enough to touch and feel the burn, the chill.

Tonight as you lay in bed, you ponder the weekend ahead of you. Wonder how many nights you spent alone in your room. Think about your classmates making more memories while you keep reliving your own in a nightmarish daze.

You think about these things until you exhaust yourself, but even then, sleep refuses to claim you.

So you pick yourself up, dust yourself off. Pull on some clothes, comb through your hair. Then you're out the door again, in search of something to make you feel alive.

When you arrive in front of the bar, the moon is strung high and the stars hang far below it, dipping into the darker crevices of Yeongduengpo. It's later than you'd normally show up and catching Wolf at this hour would be nothing short of a miracle, but you were willing to take your chances.

And then like magic he's right in front of you, before you even open the door, before you even enter the bar.

He's with his friends, the same ones that had seen you the first night and a couple more.

One of his hands is braced on the door, and for a second you think that perhaps he's taken by surprise as much as you are. There's a glimmer in his eye, a quirk of his lip. Then the bell chimes above your heads and pulls you back to reality, suddenly feeling quite small and vulnerable in front of so many prying eyes.

Your fingers tingle so you reach up to tug at your top, the chill of the night air biting into your flesh and raising gooseskin.

Your eyes dart from Wolf to the men behind him, wondering if you should address him, if being associated with you in public was damaging to him.

Before you can think too much, Wolf gives a feral grin. "I'll catch up later. Don't wait up."

It only occurs that he isn't speaking to you when the intimidating crowd moves past him without further question, muttering about which internet café was open 24/7 and who had enough money to pay.

They give passing glances as they saunter past you, though none of them seem to suspect you were the reason for Wolf's sudden change of plans, or even recognize you as the wayward drunk from the weeks prior.

You turn and watch them make their way down the block, spitting and cussing and scaring people into crossing the street. Only when they're specks in the distance to you turn back to Wolf Keum, who's lavender hair gleamed nearly silver in the moonlight.

He's still propping the door open, more leaning on it now than anything else.

"Well?"

You swallow thickly, still a bit stunned from the parade of delinquents he showcased just now.

Just who was Wolf Keum?

The men who you had seen just were no doubt untame, with their school uniforms unbuttoned, hair dyed and tongues lashing obscenities. Yet still with all these pugnacious men in one place, Wolf had managed to command them without even turning to address them directly.

You wondered what about this man could be so powerful, so strong that he could instill his rule as absolute with even such fearsome crowds.

His lips curve into a salacious smirk at your gaping, and only then do you realize he's waiting for you to come in.

You slip from the crisp autumn air into the thrumming atmosphere of the bar with a murmur of an apology, Wolf following not too far behind you.

"You an alcoholic or something?" It's a jest, but the tone of his voice is buttery and dark and makes it much less funny and more nerve-wracking.

"Worry about yourself." You bite, and it comes out curter that anticipated so you chew your lip, trying hard not to look too ashamed.

Wolf isn't deterred, falling in stride beside you and not missing a beat. "It was a business meeting, can't drink through that, as much as those fuckasses make me want to."

You want to respond to his quips, but your mind is preoccupied with the hordes of people swarming the premises.

There's a larger crowd than you're used to, much more mature individuals, faces lined with wrinkles, exacerbated by the yellow lighting, palming at their temples. The usual low hum of conversation is replaced with occasional shouts and crashing glass, though no one seems to think this is unusual but yourself. You push onwards until you see that there's a tired looking businessman in your usual seat.

Wolf senses your hesitation and follows your gaze, catching wind of the situation. He leans over a bit, hands in his pockets, breath hot on your ear.

"You seen the billiards room downstairs before?"

You shake your head no and you can feel him chuckle, exhaling air through his nose. He takes one step forward then another, ambling through the mass of people without another word. For the brief moment he leaves your side, time slows down. You watch Wolf's retreating back and feel almost alone. The bar, usually your place of comfort, had turned unfamiliar and foreign, leaving a cold sensation in your chest.

Your heartbeat comes slow and heavy in your ears, like a beating drum. You wonder why you're even here, what you have to prove to yourself, or anyone else. Fingers clutch at your bag, feeling the outline of your phone, cool and solid in your grasp. You wonder if you had any new messages.

"You coming?"

Wolf calls to you over his shoulder, waiting in the middle of the crowd that seems to part for him naturally.

He extends a hand to you, fingers still, gaze unwavering. His dark eyes dance in the lights, lips pulled into a curve echoing a crescent moon. A man of the night, shining amongst the stars, brightest in the darkest hours.

"Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking."

You reach out and your fingers graze his hand, a gossamer touch, his skin calloused and soft to the touch. A blush works its way across your cheeks and you're glad he doesn't catch it, already turned away to make his way to the crowd. He wraps his hand around your fingers and tugs you along, guiding both of your bodies through the restless throng, past the bar, past the tables and to a staircase shrouded in darkness, illuminated by a single golden lightbulb.

[untaemedqueen]

The Lions Den

Mafia!Yoongi x Wife!Hyunah

Genre: Mafia!AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Chapter 12.

Warnings: Smut, Blood, Guns, Knives, Excessive Cursing, Excessive Alcohol Intake, Smoking (Cigarettes and Cigars), Mental Health Issues

Warnings In This Chapter: Sub!Yoongi, Dom!Hyunah, Mistress Kink, Pain Kink, Degradation, Cigarette Ashing, Begging, Use Of A Cock Ring, Edging, Mentions Of A Safeword, Fellatio, Riding, Dry Orgasm, Impreg Kink (Sorta), Multiple Orgasms, Blood, Gorey Descriptions, Cut Body Parts

A/N: Shout out to @xjoonchildx​ and @ladyartemesia​ for beta-ing this and rooting me on

TagList- @ayyyocee​, @mysugabear03, @wisebtsgot7prune​, @imaforeigner​​, @yeonkiminnie​​, @stories1907​​, @ppersonna​​, @brilee64​​, @gooplibrary​​, @vivpurple7​​, @xjoonchildx​​, @brightwingr5​​, @yaniposts22​​, @rjsmochii​​, @taeslittletiger​​, @pjmcth​​, @bts-chub​​, @kpoppingthempills, @kim-ji-hyeons-world​​, @jikooksgirl19​​, @yoong-i​​, @ruinsofangels​​, @absolutefantrash​​, @chiminies-noona​​, @eclectically-esoteric​, @simplybree​

Sequel to The Bird Cage

Mirrors are a good way of reflecting. A good way to stare deep inside yourself and see who you really are. See what has made you become the person you are. 

Yoongi stares at the mirror for hours at a time. Just like today. 

His fingers traipse up and down the long scar on his face as he stares at his reflection. 

He can barely remember how he got it, he feels like he's had it for as long as he can remember. 

He can barely feel through the gnarled skin as he touches it. It's been a long time since he's seen his unmarred face. When this happened to him he was still living in Daegu with Taehyung by his side. 

They roamed the street. The worst of their kind. When Jimin found them it seemed to just make sense. For Yoongi, anyway.

A brotherhood. A family. God, he had gone his whole life without knowing what that was. He used to believe he was the devil incarnate. Thinking everything he had done was due to something wrong inside of him. 

But Jimin helped him. Helped him to change his anger into something more constructive. 

He had been given responsibilities then. The heavy load of moving illegal guns and shipments all on him. And, he found pride in that. He was worth something because of Jimin. He owed him his everything. 

He found camaraderie. He found his place in a world so dark that it no longer begged the question when would light ever come?

Finding himself meant finding his heart. Somewhere along the lines they became blurred. He had countless bodies drifting in and out of the large mansion he once lived in with his brothers.

As he touches his scar, he lets out a gentle snort. He remembers when he saw Y/N for the first time. He had been sleeping with Hyunah every so often even back then but Y/N now she was something new.

He can remember how appealing he found her. He wanted her. He wondered if he could ask Jimin for her, quite like Taehyung did with Hyejin. But, it wasn't in the cards. Literally.

He and Hyunah were together one night and she read him his fortune. Y/N was not for him, but Hyunah was.

There lied the problem then. This gorgeously fierce married woman was his destiny and he had to patiently wait for her husband to die. It was harrowing.

Gut wrenching even. But, in the end he had her. And oh, how he adores her. 

Truly destiny was shining upon him. 

She taught him and continues to teach him.

Teaches him to free himself from all of his burdens. All of his chains. And, his own mind. 

Lighting a cigarette his fingers trail to the back of his neck. Inhaling deeply, his eyes flutter shut as he feels the scarred skin. He can feel the olive branches and the incredible detail.

Exhaling the toxic smoke, he can hear the sound of heels behind him. The noise was once off putting but now it turns his bones to jello.

"Yoongi?" Hyunah's voice is gentle as her hands wrap around his bare torso. 

Her lips glide over his scar and he lets out a small sigh at the feeling. 

"Hmm." He whispers as a hand trails lower. She gropes his crotch roughly earning a groan from him as his cigarette dangles from his lips. 

"Do you need to be distracted? Are you caught up in your demons again?" Her voice is filled with taunting notions riddling him useless.

He gives a small nod with a whine, his head lolling back onto her shoulder. Taking the cigarette from his lips, she puts it in her own parted lips before squeezing his balls harder. 

“Let me hear you say it, darling. Let me hear it.” 

His body goes stiff as his mouth opens. Adoring the painful pleasure his wife gives to him so freely. 

“Yes, Mistress. I need it. I need to be distracted, please.” 

She hums into his ear, tugging him by the belt towards their large bed. Dripping with power and allure, he finds his cock hardening at the thought of being dominated by his wife. 

It takes a big man to admit he needs distracting. And, it takes an even bigger man to give his pride away in times of sexual need to his woman who transports him onto a different plane. 

She steps in front of him. His eyes on her low cut gown before being shoved backwards onto the bed. Hitting the pillows, he watches her inhale from his cigarette. His mouth opens slightly as she narrows her eyes down at him. 

God, she was so good at making him feel feeble and small. So good at taking away his thoughts and bringing him to a state of complete need. 

She starts to undress in front of him. Slowly dragging down the expensive fabric of her gown and he finds himself enraptured by the sections of skin she begins to show. His hand reaches up to touch her and the sharp breath she takes between her teeth has him recoiling in seconds. 

“Did I say you could touch?” The sharpness of her voice makes it difficult for him to swallow.

“No, Mistress. I’m sorry. I’ll behave.” She scoffs at his words gently before raising her heeled foot and pressing it into his chest.

Groaning at the sharp twinge of pain as her pointed heel digs into his sternum, he can’t help but feel his cock twitch and grow with need in his briefs. 

“Looks like you, young man, need to learn some manners.” She whispers before discarding her dress from her body.

The black lace bodice she adorns hugs her body perfectly, thrusting her large breasts up to the heavens as she ashes her cigarette on the floor. 

“Yes. Fuck yes.” Yoongi gasps as she digs her heel deeper into his chest. 

Laying back fully he submits himself willingly to her. Anything and everything she wants, he would more than happily provide. 

“What should I do for you today? Hmm? Should I make you ravage me till you’re crying to cum? Should I fuck your tight little hole until you beg for release?” She teases before ashing on his briefs. 

His eyes roll back as she replaces her foot on his chest with her hand. She gives soothing strokes before burning out the cigarette on the floor. 

“Anything Mistress. Please.” Yoongi can barely recognize his own voice, so needy and whimpering. But, that’s when he’s the best. When he no longer feels like himself. 

She turns her nose up at his words before walking away and he can feel his need for her growing as he stares at the globes of her ass as they jiggle. She leans against the bureau of bedroom treasures before opening the double doors wide. 

“I think you need some good old fashioned edging.” She says as she grabs the tightest cock ring from the loop on the wall.

He would normally protest but with all this Im business lately, all this stress, he wants to be so frustrated. 

Licking his lips, he nods to her as he leans up on his elbows. She watches him stew and fester for a few minutes, letting his eyes roam over her body. She feels powerful off of his love. If there was one thing about Lee Hyunah, she loves the human body and the power you can have by taking others' power away. 

She prowls over slowly, relishing in the way he palms at his fully erect cock. She relishes in the whine he gives as she straddles him. 

“Baby.” She whispers in his ear and his eyes are trained on her breasts as she bends down.

“Y-Yes Mistress.” He mewls as she tugs his hair roughly. 

“Mistress loves you.” He sighs gratefully, eyes squeezing shut at the pain as his tongue licks at his lips. 

“Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for loving me. I don’t deserve it.” He mumbles as she kisses down his face. Stopping at the gnarled scar before licking it.  

He shivers beneath her, hands gripping at the bedsheets knowing better than to touch without being told to. 

“Down, baby.” She instructs and his elbows cave in on the mattress within seconds of her instruction.

She kisses down his chest, taking it slow where his cigarette burns and his large scar is that Y/N so dutifully stitched up many years ago. His gasps and groans make her smirk against his skin. 

It’s powerful, isn’t it? The bond between two people when you truly just let things be. He trusts her completely, and in turn she is his biggest failsafe. 

“Tell me your safeword and we can play.” She says as she hooks two fingers into the band of his briefs. 

He clears his throat, ripping his eyes away from her breasts to look at her. 

“Feather.” He whispers. 

Snapping the band back to him, he grits his teeth as her lips explore his lower half. Her teeth nip gently at the skin above his underwear and he finds it difficult to keep his ass planted on the bed. 

She tugs down his briefs roughly, raising an eyebrow at how angry red the mushroom tip is today. He must really need to be distracted. 

His cock is bigger than her late husband, slightly curved with pretty rose veins that litter the long length. He was the perfect thickness. He was perfect, in all truthfulness. Everything about him was made for her. Destiny smiled upon them in this lifetime. 

She kisses down his long length earnings gasps and whimpers. His eyes fall shut once more, adoring her plush lips against his heated member. 

“Thank you Mistress. Thank you for touching me.” He gasps out as her sharp nails dig into the taut skin of his thighs. 

Precum beads mercilessly at the bulbous tip, Hyunah watches with patient eyes as it slowly begins to glide down the considerable length. 

“Look at how much of a fucking baby you are. I haven’t even really touched you and you’re begging to release.” Her finger picks up the precum before entering the single digit into her mouth.

 Yoongi’s hips thrust upward at her sensual action, watching how her tongue swirls around her finger with precision. 

“Jesus. Please, Mistress. I’m so fucking hard. Please touch me more.” She clicks her teeth at his words before grasping his face in her hand. Smushing his cheeks as her nails dig into his skin.

“You get what I give and you’ll appreciate it. Do you understand me?” With a feeble whimper he nods to her. 

She was painfully good at the long game. She has gone hours with him, teasing and turning his cock purple before even letting him orgasm once. And, if he kept it up today, it would be a repeat if he didn’t get his head on straight.

Sliding the cock ring on, he takes in a sharp breath at the tightness. She strokes his cock once, twice, three times just to hear her name tumble from his perfect lips before stopping. 

“You had bad thoughts today, didn’t you Yoongi? That’s why you want to be punished?” His wife asks as she points to the headboard. 

Scrambling up to the top of the bed, he curses beneath his breath. Of course, she would know. 

“Yes.” He admits as he situates himself as she wants. 

“And what did you think of that got you in this mournful mood?” She asks, straddling his thigh.

In the short amount of time it took for him to get to the top of the bed, her pussy was already unsheathed from her lace panties. Gleaming wet in the daylit master bedroom. She begins to ride his thigh, bottom lip purchasing between her teeth. 

God, she’s a fucking masterpiece. He can feel his cock throbbing harsher with the cock ring. Begging to be touched, to find any relief at all.

“I saw Y/N this morning.” He whispers nervously. 

She hums to him as she brushes her hair over her shoulders. His eyes fall to her arousal on his thigh and he flexes his muscles just to hear a wanton gasp of approval from his wife.

“You did?” She asks as she closes her eyes, losing herself in the pleasure. 

“Yeah. She had on that nightgown. The one I like. With the- fuck.” He groans out as his wife strips himself of her corset. 

Her breasts bounce out, free from the leather and he whines as her nipples begin to harden in the chilly air of their home. 

“Mistress, may I? Please? Your tits are so beautiful.” He begs her, his eyes turning as big as saucers as he looks up at her.

“Go ahead, baby.” 

His arms wrap around her back quickly, tugging her roughly to his body. Snaking his tongue out, he runs circles around her areola before encasing her stiff peaked nipple with his lips. He groans loudly as his hands grip at her flesh. 

Her scent is vanilla and lavender and it brings him comfort smelling it. She was his home and he knew it all too well.

“Good boy.” She moans gently as he abandons one breast for the other. She rocks quicker against his thigh, chasing her own high as his cock leaks more precum in its forsaken state. Her nails run down his chest, leaving bright red lines in their wake.

“You’re so gorgeous Mistress. Thank you for using me.” He whispers out.

“Why am I using you, baby? Tell Mistress.”

“Because I don’t deserve to be touched or pleased. I don’t deserve to feel your beautiful cunt around me for having such thoughts today.” He chokes out as she shoves him back against the headboard. His mouth gives an audible pop as he is ripped away from her breast.

He curses gently as he watches her reach the peak of her pleasure. Adoring the small simpers and whines she gives out before her hips stutter. He pulls her hips roughly, earning a loud moan as she orgasms. Her body undulates in his grasp as she rides out her pleasure. 

He grits his teeth as his cock throbs. The pain becoming almost unbearable. 

“So you saw Y/N today.” Hyunah says as she hops off of his thigh and he sighs. 

He was always truthful with his wife. He didn’t love Y/N, of course. His wife had his heart and more, but yet there was still this pressing attraction to the woman who he has known for years. 

“Yes. And she was wearing that nightgown.” Hyunah hums as she inhales from her cigarette. 

“So your prick got hard because the pretty girl was wearing a nice dress? Hmm?” She mocks and his cheeks blush pink at her degradation.

“I’m sorry Mistress.” He murmurs as she spits on his cock.

“It’s because you love power. You love a woman that can hold their own and you’re just a simpering little man that needs to be punished. Isn’t that right?” He nods fervently to his wife as she presses the cigarette to his lips. 

She lets the cigarette dangle as she bows down. Her tongue licks a circle around the head of his cock and his back smacks into the headboard at her action. 

“Oh, fuck. You suck my cock so well. Thank you Mistress.” He whines before inhaling. 

“Tell me why you like to see the powerful woman you work for.” She taunts as she bows her head down on him. Working assiduously on his cock, she smacks his inner thigh as he finds it difficult to concentrate on any words.

“She just...fuck, baby.” He whines as he cards his fingers through her long hair. 

Smacking his hand away from her head, he closes his eyes before pulling the cigarette from his lips. Her mouth was so wet and warm on him, tears pool in her eyes as she deepthroats his large cock. 

“You know me. You know I only love you baby.” He murmurs and he knows it’s the wrong answer as she pulls off of him. He groans loudly in frustration as his pleasure is ebbed away. 

“I know you do. I don’t want those words. Tell me or I’ll leave you here like this.” He scoffs gently before nodding as his wife bends back down.

“She just looked pretty and soft in the nightgown. She’s pregnant again and I-” Hyunah lets her teeth graze the long length of his cock and he shivers mid sentence. 

Pulling off of him, she straddles him fully before slowly sliding down on his cock. “God, your pussy feels so fucking good Mistress. Thank you for fucking me.” He groans out as she stills on top of him.

“That's what it is? You like to see your boss all pregnant and still so powerful?” His cock throbs within her and she raises her eyebrows impressed. 

“Can we stop talking about it? You know I’m faithful to you and only you. I’m sorry I had those thoughts… I need to be punished, baby.” He whines out as he ashes out the cigarette. His hands find their place on her hips as she begins to bounce on his cock.

He watches her breasts sway with each bounce. Watching how her mouth opens at the pleasure of being filled so nicely with his large cock. 

He could feel his pleasure coming too. Feeling his cock thickening and throbbing as he throws his head back with a loud moan. 

“I know you’re faithful, baby. Or else you wouldn't have a cock or balls left. But, you shouldn’t be ashamed of finding your boss attractive. The human body is so beautiful. Like now, I’m going to make you cum and you’re going to cry. And, it's going to be beautiful. ” She whispers in his ear as she presses her breasts to his chest. 

His fingers grip harder at her skin as she rides his cock. His eyes wander to the place where they’re joined and he bites his bottom lip at how much of his wifes arousal is on his cock. How slick and messy she was for him. His neck veins jut out as he swallows thicky, savoring this pleasurable pain. 

His cock was so relentlessly hard, begging to cum. She nips at the skin of his neck, adoring the way he holds her closer as he moans her name. He becomes lost in the sensual act, forgetting his role as submissive and just teetering on the edge of pleasure. 

“I’m going to cum. Fuck. Baby, please let me. I’m dying.” He begs of her and she pulls off of him. He sobs loudly at the loss, his head tilting and eyes shutting as his orgasm slips away from him. 

“You find her so attractive when she’s pregnant because you can’t help but think about how Jimin drilled that child into her cunt, don’t you? You would love to have the balls to be that confident.” He wipes at his cheeks before clearing his throat.

It’s true. He knows it. His wife certainly knows it.

She slaps his cock, earning his eyes on hers as he stares into her black irises. 

“Yes.” He whispers.

“But you're not that confident. What are you?” She asks as she slides back down on his cock. 

With a stunted gasp, his hands reach up for her breasts and she allows it. She coos gently as she wipes his cheeks as more tears fall.

“I’m just your weak baby. Just want my Mistress to fuck me good and make me beg for it.” He whispers and she hums to him.

Kissing him hard, she begins to bounce on his cock again. Their tongues sliding over one anothers and he can taste alcohol on her tongue. Biting his bottom lip harshly, she whimpers as he pinches and rolls her nipples between his fingertips. 

“You’re such a good boy. Your cock fills me so nicely.” She moans out as her head lolls back. 

His hips lift meeting her every bounce and he takes pleasure in the way her thighs quiver. She was close to her next orgasm and he wants nothing but to please her. He fucks up into her faster, adoring her gasps and hearing his name from her lips.

“Please Mistress, please say my name again. Let me hear you say my name.” He begs as he pulls her close. Her arms wrap around his neck and his cock shudders within her as her ragged breath fans over his ear.

“Yoongi.” She whispers before biting down on his earlobe. 

Without warning he orgasms. Groaning loudly in her ear as his hips still. It doesn’t confuse him anymore but it still hurts. Dry orgasms were his worst form of punishment and his eyes well up with tears as the short pleasure turns into sharp shooting pain.

“Fuck. Your cock is so amazing. Just a pretty little toy for your Mistress to get off on.” 

“Y-Yes Mistress. Just your little sextoy.” He chokes out as tears streak over his cheeks. 

Rolling her hips, his cock fills every part of her and she sighs wantonly as her pleasure builds. Even in his pain, he adores her. Adores how her chest heaves towards him as she lets out small squeaks and moans. 

“I’m going to cum on your big cock, baby. Wouldn’t that be so nice? To have your Mistress cum all over you?” He nods fervently as she tugs at his hair. 

“Yes. Please, please cum on my cock. Show me how much you love your toy.”

“Such a good boy.” She praises and his heart swells at the compliment. 

She orgasms again, her cunt tightening and milking his cock as she whines out his name. 

She caresses his face as she goes through her pleasure. Ears ringing with white noise as she watches him bite down on his bottom lip. 

“Would you let me give you a baby, Mistress? Would you?” He asks as she hops off of him. 

Taking off the cock ring, he chokes on a gasp as the blood rushes back into his cock. He preens as she strokes him, the sensitivity almost making him scream out his safeword. 

“Of course I would, baby.” They both knew that Hyunah couldn’t- and wouldn’t have anymore kids. But it wasn’t about really wanting a baby for Yoongi. It was about “wanting to be man enough to do it.” He envied Jimin sometimes. He always found it easy to get what he wants and being man enough to take it. 

Although his persona was one to be rivaled with, Yoongi was just feeble. Needing to be controlled and begging to be distracted.

“You know your Mistress would let you put a baby inside of her. Let you get me knocked up and rely on you to take care of me.” He nods at her words as she lays back. Her legs spread for him and he jumps at the chance to situate himself inside them. 

He prods at her entrance, tongue licking over her neck as he inched his way inside. He gasps at her tightness, burying his face in her neck as he bucks into her with all of his strength. 

“Yeah? You’d let me get you real big with my baby and make me take care of you? I’d wait on you hand and foot. Make you know how great of a man I am.” He mumbles through gritted teeth.

Her nails rake down his back as she moans his name. He fucks her with force, almost sending her body down the bed if he didn’t have a good grasp on her.

“I’m your little bitch with a big, fat cock but if I got you pregnant you’d need me to take care of you. You’d beg me to help you.” He seethes out and she screams in pleasure as he presses her knees to her chest.

“You let my cock get so hard that it’s painful Mistress. Fuck, your pussy feels so good!” He whines as she kisses over his scar.

“You’re such a good boy for me, you deserve to cum a big load in my pussy.”

“Yeah, shit. I love pleasing you, Mistress. I love being so good for you.” His cock thickens and throbs with each thrust and he finds himself sobbing again. He pleases her? If that’s the case it’s tenfold for him. 

His body wracks with pleasure. White hot and nerve tingling pleasure courses through him as he finds himself close to his release. 

“Hyunah. Fuck. I love you. I love you so much baby. Christ!” He sobs out as he feels his balls tighten. 

“I love you too, baby.” She whispers before running her fingers through his hair. 

With a loud groan, he orgasms. He hugs her tightly to his body as ropes of cum paint her inner walls. 

“Yes.” He whines loudly before sighing. It seems to be never ending, the amount of cum he lets out. 

Finally, he lifts off of his wife before pulling out of her gently. With a hum, she closes her legs and he smirks at her as she grabs two cigarettes off of the bedside table. 

He lights them for them before leaning back against the headboard. “Thanks, baby. I needed that.” He murmurs as he slings his arm over her shoulder. Her fingers glide over the large scar on his stomach and he looks down before putting his head back. 

“You know how much I love you, right?” He asks as his thumb rubs comforting circles on her shoulder. She smiles before nodding and pressing her bare body into his side.

“I know. I love you too.” He closes his eyes as he pulls from his cigarette. 

“You’ve been having a rough week. With all of the Im stuff and everything and I know you need to be distracted.” His wife says as she ties her hair up into a bun. 

He clears his throat before looking out the large windows of their shared home. 

“Something is looming around here. A dark spirit. An aura black as coal. And, we need to be ready when it wants to come and shroud us all.” Hyunah whispers as she stares off into the distance. Her voice was her own and yet completely disembodied. 

He’s gotten used to it by now. Everything that she predicts, everything she sees always rings true. With a sigh, he buries his face into her neck.

“Something is coming.” She whispers.

He wasn’t sure when he drifted off to sleep. When he awoke from his nap, he was groggy and more tired than when he fell out. His wife wasn’t in the bed with him and it was dark outside already. 

“Mr. Min, sir.” That voice, the voice of death. 

Rolling his eyes, he leans across the bed before grabbing a cigarette and packing it against the table.

“What Jeeves?” He mocks Hyunah’s loyal butler.

“It’s Ohshin, sir.” He always has to tell Yoongi his real name as if he hasn’t learned it by now. He was too old and decrepit to understand his humor, or so he thinks.

“Yeah. I’m aware. What do you want?” He asks, lighting his cigarette and watching the white smoke lazily rise towards the ceiling. 

“You have a package. Someone left it on the doorstep for you. No return to sender.”  The old man says and Yoongi nods before waving him out of the room.

Entering the grand kitchen, he takes in his older wife as she stares at the large box on the granite countertop. 

“What’s the matter, babe?” He questions before yawning loudly. 

She doesn’t acknowledge him as she stares at the white cardboard. 

“This box is filled with pain and misery. I can hear...screaming, can feel blood splattering.” He takes in her shaking hand as she lifts it to pull from her cigarette.

“Hey...Hey.” He whispers comfortingly as he walks around the counter to hold her.

“I can feel the sorrow. The confusion. Something horrible is in this box.” She seethes through her teeth and Yoongi can sense her nerves. 

He rubs comforting circles on her bare back as he kisses her cheek. He can feel her body trembling. His eyes flit to the box before tilting his head. 

“Jeeves!” He calls loudly to the empty kitchen and he waits patiently as he coddles his wife to his side.

“Sir.” 

“Get my wife a glass of wine and bring it out to the patio.” He says before kissing her temple. She looks over at him as her eyes become glassy.

“I can feel the pain.” She whispers, tapering off and broken at the end.

“Okay, baby… Alright.” He whispers gently. 

Taking her hand, he leads her to the back patio before opening the door. “Just smoke a cigarette. Drink the wine and relax. Alright? I’ll get rid of the box.” He tells her before pecking her lips gently. 

She gives a shell shocked nod. Her legs are trembling as she takes small steps to the chaise lounge beneath the beige canopy. He waits for her butler to hand her the glass of wine and he nods to Ohshin to stay outside with her.

He shoves the box, pulling his gun out from the back of his waistband. It makes no movement. There’s no smell. It’s just a white cardboard box. 

He lights a cigarette before opening the flaps of the box. He shivers in the eerie quietness of the house before peaking into the box. 

“Oh Christ!” He yells as he backs up. 

A hand with no fingers and a scalp of hair sit prettily inside the box. 

Yoongi’s stomach rolls and he closes the box quickly. Pressing both of his hands to the counter, his body heaves forward. He tucks his head between his arms as he takes a deep breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbles before cracking his neck.

“What is it?” He hears from the patio. His head lifts quickly before grabbing the box off of the counter and angling his face away from it.

“Just stay inside and don’t go out. Do you hear me?” He asks his wife as he takes off towards the entryway of their home. 

“Baby?” His wife calls confused.

“I have to speak with Jimin. Stay inside, babe.” He repeats before ripping open the door and heading towards the other mansion.

[ladyfiresfanfiction]

Flying the Nest; One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest Fic- Chapter Two.

Sorry I am late, guys and girls! I completely forgot that Sunday had been Easter, so it was a busy day with family. This is a bit longer than chapter one and has a bit more of a backstory on Janie. I’m also trying something new to include the reader in my story, too! Let me know what you think of this idea and the second chapter. I’ll be staring the next chapter tomorrow! Enjoy :)

I don't remember speaking this much since I received the call that Charles Bogney had been found in his family's guest room, hanging from his belt behind the closet door. His mother found him, a bottle of Percodan underneath him, what little was left strewn below his feet on the wood flooring, an empty bottle of 40-ounce Belgian imported beer shattered on the ground from when he dropped it as he lost consciousness and passed away, alone and in misery. Our mutual friend, another toxic ex-boyfriend of mine whose name was Bryan Harris, had to be the one to call me. I had been trying to get into contact with Charles for the last few weeks of his short life. I felt something was wrong. Deep inside I knew if I didn't get a hold of Charley, he would die prematurely. Unfortunately, my gut feeling and seemingly spot on premonition had come to fruition. The first few weeks after Charles had died, I blacked it out. I remember feeling as if the world stopped and froze as Bryan had stammered the news of Charles's death. My heart skipped a few beats and my vision started to become blurry. I dropped to my knees, the phone on the ground as I let out guttural cries of pain that escaped my lips and waves of tears burned my eyes like acid. I cried inconsolably for the first 96 hours of Charles leaving the planet. I couldn't make the trip to his native state of California for his funeral, and I refused calls and visitors for much of the first month of his passing. My only nutrition became opium, cocaine, amphetamines, and alcohol. My family treated me as if I was a lepper, never understanding I had lost the great love of my life, despite the toxic and harrowing past we shared.

 Mac listened intently as he showed me around the grounds. The outside, where the patients (which we coined them the lovable nuts) could come out for fresh air and sunshine for an allotted amount of time per day was fenced in, but it was a spacious and breathtaking piece of land. Large trees that covered most of the land, little trails for patients to walk with supervising orderlies or nurses, tables for patients and the staff alike to enjoy a little solitude during the day. It even had a fairly big basketball court and exercise areas near the shockingly high chainlink fence, which was adorned with razor wire to dismay any patient who thought of running away from the hospital. Overall, it looked like paradise for someone who enjoyed being a prisoner. Mac talked of hearing about the patients going on some field trip, however, it would be just for the boys. The girls had had their own trip last week. As we stopped at the entrance of the second-floor corridor in front of a massive pair of white double doors, Mac turned to me and looked broken. He cleared his throat, forcing me to pay attention and face him.

 "I'll never forgive myself for leaving you with Harry and Ethel. You probably wouldn't be as bad off if I just would have taken you with me. You were just a little girl, though. And I was an irresponsible and young angsty teenager. I thought maybe they would have taken better care of you than they did me. I'm so sorry Jane. I have done horrible things but nothing has given me more pride and made me want to be a better man than having you as my kid sister. You'll never have to be alone again." Mac spoke in a low yet sincere voice.

 "It wasn't your job to parent me. You were eighteen when you struck out on your own, and I was only nine. They were so awful to you. You had to get out before they drove you certifiable. Charles brought me here for a reason. I feel it. I'm just glad to have my big brother back. We're going to make this place ours, Mackie. Then when we get out, we can start lives worth living." I said, patting his shoulder.

 "If you need me, even if it's at night, I'll come find you. There are phones in here, all you have to do is call and ask for me. I'll be here in a jiffy. I'll see you during our counseling session with Ratched and the crew tomorrow. Get some rest, Baby Jane."

 As soon as I walked in, I was brought to intake. My medical history was repeated, I was weighed, my temperature taken, asked a slew of questions, and then I was given an ugly patient garb to wear. As I was taken to the room I would be sleeping in, I saw that in each room there was a telephone with a pamphlet that had numbers to the nurse's station as well as the number for Spivey's office and the number for the nurse's station on the men's floor. Each room on the ladie's floor had three beds for three patients per room, a chair and desk, and a nice comfy-looking Cloth chair with a desk on one side and in the far right corner a bookcase filled with books to read. I would have been far more comfortale to be in a solitary room, or shared a room with my brother and his roommates, but it was against the hospital's policy for men and women to be roommates. I sighed, taking in a breath of courage, and went straight to bed, avoiding the two people I would be bunking with until I had the energy to introduce myself. In fullfledged withdrawal from opiates and alcohol I was  writhing in pain already after only 14 hours without a hit and a drink and I was so sleep deprived. I felt dead on my feet. I threw my haggard body on my bed and soon enough, sleep overpowered me.

 The comfort of unconsciousness would not last for long, though.

 The Ladies ward had come alive with an ear piercing scream in the dead of night. It was only a quarter past one a.m. when animalistic cries and screams of "Charley! Please! No!" had caused an overnight nurse, the security guard, and an on call doctor, and every patient on the ward to jolt awake in sheer terror. After several unsuccessful attempts at shaking my writhing body awake, a slight slap to my cheeks jostled me and my eyes widened as I jolted upright in bed, taking in gulp fulls of oxygen as if I had been strangled. I shrink back as I see a roommate of mine looking worried and sitting gingerly on the edge of my bed.

 "Are you okay?" You ask.

"I-I-I'm fine. I-I'm so-sorry. I... I have night terrors.." I stammered, trying to explain my problem.

"I have them, too. Don't be sorry. My name is (y/n), but everybody calls me (y/n/n), what is your name?" You asked.

"It's ni-ice to meet you, (y/n). My name is Janie McMurphy."

 Before we could get to know each other further, three staff members burst into the room with a mix of alarm and annoyance etched into their faces. Turkle, the nighttime guard of the hospital joined a nighttime nurse  whose name I had already forgotten, along with Spivey's nighttime replacement, Doctor Stuart. Another body scrambled in not too long after, a flustered and scared Mac. I buried my reddening face in my hands as four voices bombarded me with questions I was too tired and ultimately too annoyed to deal with.

 "Sweetheart, what happened?" Turkle asked. "You have a set of lungs on you, don'tcha?"

"Do I need to call Doctor Spivey for you, Miss McMurphy?" Doctor Stuart asked.

"I'm going to get you a diazepam pill, Miss McMurphy. It's all okay, I promise. Mister McMurphy, we'll give you five minutes then you need to go back to your own bed on the bottom floor." The nurse said, winking at Mac.

 "She had a night terror, Mister Turkle," (y/n) began. "It's okay, I got her up. Could I have one too, Nurse Katt? I can't fall asleep tonight." they asked.

"Sure. I'll be right back. Doctor Stuart will be sure to write this occurrence in a note for Nurse Ratched and Doctor Spivey and you can see them both tomorrow morning. Five minutes, Mac." Nurse Katt added as she, Turkle, and Stuart left the room.

 (Y/N) shyly smiled at Mac when they made their way back to their bed, turning on their side to face the wall to give the two of us some form of privacy. I was hugging my knees to my chest in the bed, avoiding Mac's eyes. He let out an audible sigh and sat beside me, placing a comforting arm around my shoulders. I trembled, trying to keep my eyes from overflowing with tears and took in a shaky breath, resting my head on my brother’s shoulder. We didn't talk; we sat in silence until I faced him.

 "I'm sorry you came up here, Mac, but I'm fine." I said.

“The nurse called me as soon as she heard your first scream. I came as soon as I could. Why are you sorry?” He asked softly.

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, but mostly for waking you up, brother. I just can’t control these fucking night terrors.” I replied, scrunching my eyes shut as more tears threatened to brim over.

"How long have these damn things been happening?" He asked, looking down at me.

"For almost two years... Since Charles killed himself." I replied, quietly.

"Meet me in my room around seven o'clock, ok? We'll have breakfast together and head to therapy together. It's going to be okay, Jane. Thank you, (Y/N), for helping my sister, sweetheart. I appreciate it." Mac smiled as he stood up and ventured back to his own floor.

 The next morning I awoke before my two roommates, one being (Y/N) who stayed up with me until the diazepam knocked us into another universe, and another patient around our age named Elise who had slept through the night terror debacle.  (Y/N) said that Elise was used to their night terrors and usually saved a few barbiturates so nothing would disturb her at night.

I made my way to the first floor, skulking into the first room on the right, which Mac said would be the room he shared with “one giant motherfucker named Chief, but he’s harmless so don’t be scared.” I felt uncomfortable in my new uniform, or prisoner’s gear as I called it. As I looked around and made my way through the large corridor and found Mac laughing with a rather large Native man, I nearly ran right into someone.

“Oh! God, I am s-“ I began, finally taking in who I nearly ran right through.

“I-I-Its n-no problem, Muh-muh-Miss.” A very red Billy Bibbit replied.

“No, really, Billy, I am very sorry. I was looking for my brother and just wasn’t watching where I was going.” I smiled, looking away shyly.

“M-M-Mac  is-is-is ri-ri-ri-right in there, Miss.” He smiled, pointing to the door behind me.

“Call me Janie.” I said, finally looking at him and finding myself entranced by his big blue eyes.

“Okay… J-Ja-Ja-Jaaanie.” He smiled back, forcing my name out through stutters that flustered him.

“Did you, uh, wanna have breakfast with Mac and me?” I asked.

“O-Oh, I’d like to, b-b-b-b-but  I have my morn-ning appointment wi-ith Doctor Sp-Spivey now. Raincheck?” He asked, hopefully.

“Of course. I’ll see you around, Billy.” I smiled, watching as he walked away.

“My dear, dear sister,” Mac began, smirking devilishly as he stood in the doorway of his room.

“I do believe you would eat that boy alive if you two became an item. Come on in, there’s somebody I want you to meet.”

 I walked into Mac’s small room and saw the man he was speaking with earlier, getting his shirt on. He nodded at me and I waved. I looked around their room and was surprised at how gloomy and small it was. The ladies had larger rooms with picture windows and furniture. However, the men’s room only held two beds and a kind of chain fence separating rooms with the other men in the ward. Their one large window in the room was locked down tight and had bars on it so the patients had no way of escaping, even if they managed to open their window. I watched Mac talk quietly with the man he called Chief, leaving me standing there awkwardly. Over an intercom it was announced that it was time for medication and all patients needed to walk single-file to the medication window. I walked out with Mac and Chief and found that the women in the hospital were standing in a line next to the men, and I stood with Elise and (Y/N).  

“Remember, Janie, breakfast after this. We’ll go to the cafeteria; there’s a small window table we can eat at.” Mac whispered, and I nodded.

Billy and I stood in line side-by-side, and every time I looked over, I caught him staring at me, which made him turn scarlet. I felt self-conscious, wondering if I looked too fat in this uniform, or if my hair was a rat’s nest, or if there was something wrong with me. Mac was utterly amused and mouthed “Billy has a crush on you” to me, but I rolled my eyes and shook my head. He was just being nice, or so I thought.                                                                                   

The doctor put me on diazepam at night in hopes of ending my night terrors, and in the day time had me on a cocktail of medication. Something for my debilitating anxiety, two different medications that were supposed to work together for depression, something for my PTSD and flashbacks, and a mood stabilizer. Within ten minutes I was at the table with Mac, and he was telling me how he ended up here, a girl had lied about her age and her parents found them having sex. She lied that he raped her and her parents pressed charges and that while he was innocent, he figured he would never beat the case so he came here as a last ditch effort  to avoid spending a third of his life in prison. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but I nodded. I believed my brother and I loved him. He had a knack for choosing the wrong girls as I had a knack for choosing the wrong guys.

Several of his new friends sat with us; Taber, who I noticed liked to scream a lot, a pompous and annoyingly whiny man named Harding, a smart and friendly older man named Cheswick, and a little guy who didn’t talk much but was always smiling, whose name was Martini. Chief was minding his own business and standing in the far left corner of the cafeteria, near the exit and watching everyone. He liked to make the staff think he was deaf, mute, and dumb. Once Mac found out that in fact, Chief could not only talk and hear but he was as sharp as a tack, he laughed heartily and gave the Native man a high five, impressed with his trickery and his way of staying sane in this insane place.

“Hey, Billy boy! Can ya show my sister the good Doc’s office? She kinda forgot where it was and I’m still eating this slop here. I’d owe ya one.” He said, winking at me.

Billy had stopped by the table as he had finished his meeting with the doctor to let me know Doctor Spivey was looking for me. He tried to avoid my gaze but caught several glimpses of my blue-green eyes before bashfully turning his head away. I nodded and stood up as Mac grabbed my wrist.

“U-u-Uh, su-sure, M-M-Mac. Come on, Ja-Ja-Janie.” Billy replied, holding out his hand to me.

“Thanks, Billy.” I muttered, glaring at Mac who feigned innocence.

 We didn’t speak much on the way to the Doctor’s office. I felt lost in a sea of fog since this was my first day taking the new medication, and Billy seemed pensive along with being super nervous. As we made it to the office, we stood outside there, not speaking nor looking at each other right away.

“Will you be at th-th-the therapy session today, Janie?” He asked, looking at me this time.

“I sure will. Ratched knows what happened last night and I guess wants me to talk about it today.” I replied, feeling nauseous at the thought.

“Don-don-don’t worry. She ca-can be mean, b-b-b-but deep down she’s a n-n-n-nice lady. She’s friends w-with my m-m-mother, so I’ve known her mo-most of my l-l-life. I’ll be there for y-y-you if things get hard. I promise.” He explained.

This time I looked at him. Really looking and overcome with a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time; safety. I barely knew this cute boy but he, along with my brother, were ready to protect me and get involved in my messy life. I wanted to cry and I wanted to hug Billy, but I didn’t know how he would take that just yet. I smiled and thanked him, finally letting go of his hand before watching him walk away. He had a sweet smile plastered on his lips, his eyes lit up as we said our goodbyes. His soft brown curls bouncing as he jogged back to the cafeteria. I slid down the wall and sat there, trying to gain my composure before recounting what I dealt with last night. The door opened after five minutes and I looked up to see the doctor himself extend a hand and help me to my feet.

“Ah, there you are, Miss McMurphy. Let’s get to the bottom of these night terrors, shall we?”

[timeforelfnonsense]

The Bargain

Astarion x Dafni

Rating: M 

Ao3 || Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series  

I want to add a TW up here: The first half of this fic depicts Astarion having a panic attack/being in fight or flight. The portrayal was informed by my own struggles with BPD and panic attacks. I think it's important to remember our responses to trauma are often flawed and imperfect. It was very cathartic for me to write tbh. I'm very proud of this one and I think a lot of Dafni's character really shines through! This one has a good bit of canon d&d lore mixed with some homebrew/folklore about the fey (WotC pls feed me more feywilds canon I am DESPERATE for it!). Elvish Translations (via candle keep): arael’sha: Heart-friend (used in contexts like beloved or my heart) The stars shining right through your eyes: A common elvish idiom referring to one's youth or naiveté.

A gust of wind blew through the putrid bog carrying the damp, acrid smell of rotten vegetation and sulfuric swamp water. The gray, splintered walls of the tea house groaned, the top half of the gnarled structure swaying. It was shocking the poor construction of the ramshackle hovel hadn’t killed the hag for them. Astarion had made his way to the small alcove hung above the crumbling foyer hoping to find his paramour. He felt his heart sink when he was met with nothing but the witch's clutter. Astarion rocked on his heels. There was something deeply wrong with this place, even with Ethel dead. Oppressive energy hung on the stale air. Filling the whole space with an undoubted misery that left him feeling raw and exposed.

Deep down you like being leashed, don't ya?

Gale and Wyll had begun to make themselves at home below him. He observed them as they languidly poked about, looking for anything of the hag’s that would be of use. Wyll had already summoned a raven to send back to camp, a note attached to its foot informing the others that they wouldn’t make it back for the evening. The old bat had not given up without a fight and they’d been left battered and exhausted. Astarion winced, his arm brushing against the wall.

He was bleeding. Fantastic.

He had been too preoccupied with the feelings this place drew out of him to notice the long gash running down the top of his forearm. Ethel had tried to drag him to the gaping chasm at the center of her abode when the fight was no longer in her favor. He had struggled and thrashed against her but she only dug her twisted claws in deeper. She’d nearly succeeded in pitching him over when a fatal arrow from Dafni’s longbow sunk into her eye with a wet squelch, exiting the back of her skull.

He already felt like shit from being tossed about by a hag and that discomfort was only compounded by the growing need for a drink. The scorch of thirst started to lick at the back of his throat. He must have been bleeding into his sleeve for some time. His body was eager to replace what was lost.

Is there still rat stuck in your teeth? Slave!

Perhaps Dafni would allow him a little nibble. Just the thought of the sweet strawberry wine in her veins eased some of the discomforts. Astarion pressed his back against a hideous wardrobe, sliding down until his backside hit the ground. He had made a point of exercising restraint when it came to drinking from her. He never wanted her to be under the impression she was only a meal to him. But he was famished and she was his favorite treat.

You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone!

Or maybe not...

There had to be something else edible nearby. He took in a deep breath only to be met with the nauseating scent of an overripe corpse. He coughed and sputtered, forcing the repugnant smell from his lungs. Any thirst he might have had was chased off by the gut-twisting aroma. It seemed he wouldn’t be taking a breath for the rest of the night. While his undead nature freed him from the necessity of breathing he’d always been partial to it. The feeling of his chest moving up and down had served as a steadfast reminder he wasn’t  truly  dead despite all he had endured at Cazador’s hand.

Vampire? Ha! You’re nothing but a ravenous cadaver, spawn!

“You bastard! You ruined it- You ruined everything!” Mayrina squawked.

“Are you daft! I helped you!” Dafni spat back.

Well, he found her.

It would seem Dafni’s damsel in distress was none too pleased with her would-be hero. Astarion groaned, bringing his head to his knees. He was agitated as it was and the squabble happening outside was only making the tightness in his chest worse. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to tune them out. Astarion grit his teeth, the pain in his arm was growing more acute by the minute and the strange magic of this shithole had his nerves ragged. His body jolted at the crack of a hand against flesh ringing out across the yard outside followed by a string of elven cursing. A torrent harrowing memories shot through his brain as the appalling noise hit his ear. The simmering dread morphing into fury. A low growl fell from his snarling lips as he tore down the stairs towards the yard.

“The hag promised she’d bring my husband back from the grave if I gave her my baby! I just needed to wait a little longer but you had to stick your nose where it didn’t belong!”

“You promised your child to a hag? You do know hags devour babies, yes? They swallow them whole and within a week the child is reborn a hag daughter.” Dafni’s yelped as Mayrina‘s palm came down across her cheek. She brought a hand to the stinging flesh in disbelief. Foxglove bells dripped from her battle messed hair, hot summer rage threatening to boil over. She took a deep breath in attempting to soothe her nerves but her soundings did little to help. The magic that covered this swamp, was arcane and wild- Much the same as dark and forbidden places in her home plane. Hags often built their homes in places where the barrier between the material and faerie was thin enough for fools from both planes to seek them out. It was unsurprising the shadowy influence of the hag had mingled with the magic of a crossing to create a bubble of negativity. It was likely provoking more extreme reactions from the already distressed woman. “I understand you are upset, but my patience is growing thin. I am only trying to help you. I’m no stranger to hags. They are creatures of my homeland and I can assure you there is always a greater price. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Don’t you judge me! You can’t possibly understand-” Mayrina sobbed raising her open palm for another strike only to her wrist caught in the iron grasp of Astarion’s alabaster hand.

Oh no.

“You foul little wrench!” Astarion’s voice was acid, his teeth bared, “She saved your miserable life and you dare raise your filthy hand to her? I have half a mind to tear your throat out but that seems kinder than you deserve.”

Dafni’s heart was pumping a mile a minute. She’d seen Astarion cross but this was completely different. Astarion’s body was completely rigged. His shoulders forward, back straight. His red eyes glowed with ferocity as his grip on Mayrina tightened. Normally when he was upset he’d get stroppy or belligerent. He’d needle the target of his disapproval with snide remarks until they were as frustrated as he was. He could be rather rude and bab tounged when he felt like it but it was always a cool, controlled vexation. This was unfettered wrath far stronger than Mayrina’s actions had earned.

“I-I’m sorry!” Mayrina uttered with a shaking breath, “Please, let me go!”

“Why?” He snarled, cocking his head to the side, “So you can attempt to strike my beloved a third time?”

“Please, arael’sha, let her go…” Dafni wrapped her hand around his shoulder, her eyes soft and concerned, “I’m fine. She shouldn’t have hit me but I’m in no danger from her and you know that.”

“Fine.” He shot her a loathsome look but yielded to her request, tossing Mayrina’s hand with disgust, “You and your gods damned bleeding-heart. Let the shrew disrespect you if you’d like. I don’t care.” Astarion turned on his heels staking back into the tea house his fists balled tight at his side.

Dafni nibbled her lower lip, her fingers worrying the hem of her sleeves. Astarion had made himself scarce after the incident with Mayrina. It upset her to see him so distressed. Her instinct had been to tear after him when he stormed off. But, she knew him well enough to understand he would need space and time to calm down before they discussed it. Any attempt to talk to him before that would only serve to upset him even more. She made herself busy tending to her friends in the meantime. They had a few injuries but nothing she couldn’t patch up. She might have been too worn out for magic but Ethel had kept a decent supply of herbs and tonics for her less exotic ‘lotions and potions’ that would do nicely. She even found a few things worth snagging for her own medical kit back at camp. If they had to be stranded for the night, at least it was somewhere well stocked.

Gale had a burn on his arm she’d treated with a salve of aloe and quince. Wyll a nasty knock to the head, that while painful, by the Protector’s grace, didn’t appear to be a concussion. She’d put on a kettle of willow bark tea and instructed him to drink at least two cups of the stuff as soon as it was ready. She had done all she could for now. More than anything they both seemed fatigued. With a little rest, they’d be on the mend.

The worn staircase creaked under her weight as she made her way to the second level of the house. Astarion sat on the splintering floor, his back propped up against a cluttered cupboard. His scarlet eyes glassy and fixed on a far off point. He was clutching the top of his right forearm. Between his fingers, Dafni could make out a tell-tale dark stain of red on his sleeve.

“You are hurt!” She gasped racing to his side, “Why didn’t you fetch me! Let me clean and bandage that for you.”

“Don’t touch me.” His voice came out in a low growl as he twisted away from her.

Dafni took a step away, her hands held up. “I won’t touch you without your consent but I need to tend to your arm soon. I’m worried about you.”

“Why should I want your help?” He glared at her arm still held tight against his chest. “You certainly don’t want mine.”

Dafni let out an exacerbated exhale, “Is this about what happened earlier?”

“No, it’s about you and your compulsive need to martyr yourself at every chance! It is foolhardy, reckless, and incredibly selfish! You can be so juvenile- The stars shining right through your eyes! And I can’t always be there to mind you, Dafni! Today it was just a slap but one day you are going to try and save the wrong person and I’m going to find you bled out in an outer city gutter or worse!” He was scolding her in earnest now. His bottled-up feelings coming out in a torrid of icy words. “Is rushing into other people’s disasters to prove to mommy and the gods you are a big girl really worth it? ”

“I do tend to put the needs of others before my own” She admitted, “Oftentimes to my own detriment but, please, don't talk to me as if I am a misbehaving child.” Dafni kept her tone calm and even as she continued, “I care for you and I can tell you are feeling overwhelmed. I want to support you but I can’t do that unless you help me understand what’s going on?”

They sat in silence for a while. His lean frame was closed off and wound tight. As if he was prepared to bolt at the slightest disruption of his already fragile state. An anxious tremble coursing through him every few moments. He refused to face her but Dafni could have sworn she saw the wet shimmer of tears forming in his eyes.

“My patience was already rather thin and then I heard that insolent twit strike you…” He spoke at last, finally met her gaze with an absolutely despondent expression. “And something just snapped in me.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that shouting. I’m sure listening to her smack the daylights out of me wasn’t pleasant for you. Especially when you were already feeling uneasy.” Dafni said as she slowly brought her head to rest on his shaking shoulder. Astarion dropped a smidge of tension from his body as he buried his face in her roseate, satin-soft curls. His breathing grew more steady by the second. She could sense the storm of his disquiet coming to an end. “I want you to know I appreciate you standing up for me. I might not have agreed with the method but I know your heart was in the right place.” She hesitated, “Can I ask you a question?”

He gave her an uncertain look but nodded, “If you’d like to.”

“Do you feel like it’s your job to protect me?”

He shifted a bit his eyes darting away as his good arm rubbed the nape of this neck. His body language all but screamed the answer but he was clearly still trying to craft a response. “Sometimes. Is that a satisfactory response?”

“Hmm?” Dafni mused, “If you elaborate, yes.”

“Why?” The word came at a long, petulant whine. His brows were knit tight, “I answered the question, did I not?”

Dafni brushed a delicate finger along the straight line of his ear. She smiled as a shiver of delight ran throughout him. A faint flush made its way across the bridge of his nose and to his cheeks. So light you’d miss it if you didn’t know what to look for. “Humor me?”

“I don’t like seeing people hurt you.” He said toying with a stray tendril of her hair, “You always see the best in everyone and everything. The world is full of malefactors who would be more than happy to take advantage of that and for some reason, beyond my control, I’ve decided keeping you happy and whole is just as important to my survival as my own well being.” He groaned pinching the space between his brows with the hand of his unmarred arm, “So you see my motivations are far from selfless. Happy?”

Dafni tried to will the bright grin that threatened to take shape across her lips away. Worried she might frighten him off with her enthusiasm. “Your elaboration was sufficient.” She tittered, no longer suppressing her smile. Her eyes shimmering with mirth as she spoke, “I have an idea! How about we strike a bargain?”

Astarion’s mouth quirked with a warm smile of his own, “Wasn’t it the dangers of fey bargains that caused this mess in the first place?”

“Yes, but I am no hag and I’ll give my word to say only what I mean. No tricks. Creatures of Faerie are bound by our word, we never go back on a promise once given.” She explained, “Now, I respect you far too much to lie and say I’ll stop helping people when I think they need it but, I, Dafni Ríwen of Gwynneth, Daughter of Thesmia Ríwen, cleric of blessed Corellon Larethina give you, Astarion of Baldur's Gate my word that I will try to pick my battles rather than jumping in headfirst at every opportunity. In exchange, I ask that you treat me as your equal from now. I watch your back and you watch mine. We protect each other. Always. Do we have a deal?”

“I can agree to that.”

With a bargain struck between them she leaned in close brushing her lips against his cheek, a gentle tingle of magic, sweet as spring spreading through them both. “Now, I insist you give me that arm. You might like the smell of blood but to me, it reeks of iron.” With a half-hearted laugh, he relinquished the injured arm to her at last. Drat. Was nothing simple? The gash was much deeper than she’d thought it to be. “ Hmmm, this will need stitches, unfortunately. At least until I can rest and heal you with magic. I’ll need to boil some more cloth for bandages and find a needle in this mess.” Dafni procured a small flask of pale yellow liquid from her pack, a bit strong for such a simple procedure but with his, she didn’t want to retrigger his fight or flight by stabbing him with whatever dull needle she could scrounge up. “In the meantime take a  very  small nip of this. It’s a bit of poppy syrup diluted with dandelion wine for the pain and nerves. Drink up. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Dafni made her way back downstairs creating a list of supplies in her mind: She’d need to boil some cloth in witch hazel for dressing, a steel needle, and thread, alcohol to clean the wound, something to keep everything clean and safe while she worked in the filthy alcove...

When Dafni returned she found Astarion lounging rather contently with a lazy grin on his beautiful face. She had told him to take only a small nip! Oh well, at least he’d sit still for her. She sat back down, carefully placing the silver tray of makeshift medical supplies beside her.

“This stuff is great, Daffodil!” He chuckled, swirling the remainder of her laudanum around the flask.

“A nip, Astarion. A nip! Now give me that.” She scolded, snatching the glass bottle from his loose grip. He only laughed, completely bemused by her annoyance. “Alright, I’m going to clean out the cut with some alcohol. It might sting a bit.” Dafni explained, rolling her eyes, “Though I hardly think you’ll notice in this state.”

He winced a bit as the alcohol came in contact with his flesh, his nose scrunching up in displeasure but he sat otherwise stone still. Methodically, she began the work of suturing his arm. He was very lucky she’d been able to bum a needle and thread off Gale otherwise she would have been forced to get creative.

“You are a cleric. Doesn't daddy Corellon grant you all kinds of healing power? Why did you bother to learn how to mend people without magic?”

“Ok, first off  please  do not refer to the divine being that created our people as ‘daddy’ ever again.” She shook her head with a giggle all the while continuing her task, “Secondly, I learned because of situations just like this one. Magic takes a lot of energy. I can’t just cast unlimited healing spells and the wilds can be dangerous. I never wanted to find myself in a situation when I was unable to care for myself or my sisters. Besides, I needed something to study while they and my mother worked on their wizardry.”

“I want to know something else. Why did you let that fool girl get away with slapping you?”

Dafni mulled the thought over for a bit as she finished the final stitch, snipping the thread with a pair of sewing shears she fully intended to steal. “Because I felt sorry for her. She had clearly already suffered enough without my vengeance. Humans live such fleeting lives, Astarion. They are over before our people even reach adulthood. They experience so much loss and decay in such little time. I think it can make them blind to the long term implications of their choices.”

“I still think you should have let me kill her for disrespecting you.” He shrugged, “But I suppose I can understand your thinking.”

“As I said, she’s suffered more than her fair share. But I appreciate the sentiment.” She gathered a length of linen, winding it snugly over his arm. “All done! You were a model patient!” She teased before adding with sincerity, “I hope that wasn’t too bad.”

“It wasn’t bad at all. Thank you. For everything.” He paused for a beat, his eyes falling to the well-worn floorboards, “You are the first person to treat me like a man in a very long time. You make it easy to forget I’m an undead horror. I’m eternally grateful for you even if I’m not the best at expressing that.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that Astarion.” She scowled, “It hurts my heart when you say things like that about yourself. We might not always see eye to eye and I won’t lie, you can be an absolute pain in my backside. But you will always be a person to me. Never a monster.”

“Always so sweet.” He sighed, slumping against her shoulder, nuzzling his favorite spot in the hollow of her neck. “I wish I understood you. All that time and I don’t think I’ve ever really understood you- how you can be so... good. Yet, frustratingly you’ve always seemed to understand me better than I understand myself.”

He spoke with an unmistakable familiarity, far beyond that which they’d formed over the past few days. Their people lived many lives. Longing to return to Corellon’s side in Arvandor but unable to as punishment for confining themselves to a single shape. Two elves could find each other in more than one lifetime. It was far from unheard of.

The Feywilds did funny things to a person's memory if they weren’t used to its magic. Even affecting the reverie of those from other lands who spent time among their eladrin cousins. The crossing or the magic of her bargain could possibly have provoked things long forgotten.

Or he was simply three sheets to the wind.

Regardless it was refreshing to have such a candid conversation with him. Free of affectation or pretense. Even if he was almost certainly going to forget all of it and be right back to his cocksure self by morning.

“I disagree.” She stated, “I think you understand me better than you think. You’re just a little out of practice when it comes to letting people close to you. You didn’t ask but, as I’m positive you’ll forget this little talk by tomorrow, I also want to add that I think you are secretly very sensitive. I’ve also seen the puppy eyes you give me when you think I’m not looking. Totally adorable! You are just afraid to let people see that side of you.”

“Puppy eyes?” He chuckled nipping softly at her throat, “I think I preferred thinking you were scared of me.”

“Sorry to disappoint, sweetness.” She tuted placing a light peck on his forehead, “You need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Oh, my darling, Despoena.” He muttered exhausted against her shoulder. “It was so lonely here without you. I’m glad you found me at last.”  

Dafni’s heart stopped dead in its tracks.

How?

He named her.

The memories of one’s primal life were lost after their first century. Leaving only glimmers and fragments behind. For the fey eladrin, true names- The names they had carried when they sprung from the blood of the Creator, were the most sacred and personal of those precious among them. Names held power in the land of Faerie but none so much as a soul’s true name. They were not to be shared with even the closest of loved ones, and yet in his haze, Astarion somehow knew?

“Astarion… I’ve never told anyone my true name. Not even my mother knows it. How did you know it? And what do you mean by ‘I’m glad you found me’? Are you having some kind of waking reverie or are you just high out of your mind? I’m a little taken back- And you are snoring. Great. You blurt out my only true secret and then it's off to Sehanine Moonbow with you.”

As desperately as she wanted to puzzle out the evening's events she was tired in mind and body. The others had already settled in for the night and she’d be wise to do the same. She settled herself in for trance, Astarion’s head on her shoulder, his hand intertwined with hers. Praying her reverie might provide some answers.  

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- GRAWP

"What I don't understand," Remus said in exasperation, "is how Voldemort was even in Nagini's mind? What on earth kind of magic allows that!"

It had taken them ages for the Marauders to finally stop talking about the twins epic leave of Hogwarts, but finally as James made to grab for the book again, Remus chose now to break in with something he'd been thinking on all morning. He glanced anxiously at Harry, and though he paled and flinched again at the reminder, he waved Remus on with a curious look in place.

"We've no more idea than how he's even alive," Sirius sighed, also glancing at Harry nervously, though in fear for what was happening to his pup, he was sure Harry could handle this conversation so long as he had them around.

"I was wondering if it was some unprecedented Parseltongue ability." Remus offered. "Nagini was telling Voldemort what happened in such detail, Voldemort was visualizing the whole thing, and Harry just happened to be present while that was happening. Just because Snape said it happened one way doesn't mean there aren't other options."

"I mean, I guess it could have happened that way," Lily frowned as she thought that through. "He'd be learning about this information and feeling the emotions in the moment, so it still counts-"

"but doesn't explain Harry's insisting fear he felt he had fangs for a moment," James disagreed.

"Harry still could have just been projecting what Voldemort was visualizing during Nagini's attack," Sirius disagreed.

"None of that explains Dumbledore's sudden no contact with Harry," Lily shot down. "This must be something, more. I can't think how else to put it, but something new must have happened over the summer, some ability Voldemort seems to have. It clearly does involve Harry in some way, his mind and connection at least, that has Dumbledore avoiding Harry."

"That doesn't track with everything else though," James said in exasperation. "Why allow Harry to even know about the Order if he really thought Harry knowing anything was dangerous?"

  "He hasn't let me know much of anything," Harry shot back. He hated having to think about all this again, but it somehow felt better as well. He was no longer in the heat of the memory, being forced to listen to the idea he was turning into Voldemort. Now he instead got to hear them push around theories and ideas, and that would always feel more bearable, especially when he could feel they were close.

James didn't blame Moony for the change of subject, that had probably been on his mind since the part before Snape's memory had turned their world in a new direction, and it was a miracle he hadn't butted in with this by now. Nonetheless he beckoned to Harry, "why don't we do something nice for your mum, we'll do lunch."

Harry didn't hesitate in following him out, Lily watching them with a light frown. She didn't think Harry felt any ill will for James anymore, but clearly James had more to say. So she forced herself to remain in her seat rather than follow.

When James had said, 'do lunch,' he actually just rapped a pot on the stove to start heating leftovers, but it was the thought that counted, right? Instead he watched as Harry uneasily set the table. When both tasks were done, lunch was ready, and still neither had said a word, James finally forced himself to just spit out what he'd been chewing on this whole time.

"I am sorry."

Harry looked around in surprise, that was usually his line.

James watched Harry steadily for a reaction, hoping his continuing to bring this up wouldn't change whatever comfort Harry had taken in from Sirius, but he couldn't let this one drop without saying his piece either. "Not for that time," he clarified, "I'll never let anyone talk to Lily like that, but I am sorry I was that way, and it pushed Snape into saying that. I'm sorry if what I did to him really did push him into being a Death Eater, when I'd spent the past five years of my life showing Sirius that would never happen to him despite his family. I'm sorry for the way Snape treats you, that's entirely my fault."

Harry rested his hand on the back of a chair like he needed the support. The realizations still hit sometimes, that he was speaking to James instead of wishing it like he'd spent all his life doing, and now more than ever after such a harrowing blow to his memory was returned. "I forgave you," he told him with confidence. "It's like Lupin said, you were only fifteen. If you guys had just seen shots of my memory, me shouting at my friends for nothing, Hermione punching Malfoy, Ron's anger at me before the First Task; you'd all be thinking the worst as well. I wish I'd gotten to know more about you, but Mum's right. You changed," Harry stopped there. He wanted to say Snape hadn't, that he was still a bitter fifteen year old treating Harry like dirt because of what James had once done, but the words wouldn't fully come to him either. Snape was still a vindictive arse, but this memory had really charged something in him, leaving him very confused about his full memories to the man.

James didn't seem to notice that part though, as he roughly pulled Harry into a hug. The absolute fear Harry could have actually hated him hadn't really been felt until it was gone.

Harry returned the affection with a natural ease he never would have believed.

He also broke the hug first, saying, "I'm glad this one should be almost over, I've had a bad feeling about it from the start and I really just want to be done with this year."

James agreed at once, though Harry felt like he hadn't made himself plain enough about that bad feeling considering he was still smiling.

At least lunch was a calm affair, Lily saying they should be able to finish this book by dinner if they didn't have any more long dramatic interruptions which she tried to blame entirely on Sirius.

Sirius informed her she did this too much, but took the blame with grace by spending the rest of lunch refusing to talk about anything else by discussing with the boys anything and everything he could about Quidditch.

James and Lily managed to slip away for a few minutes by themselves to care for the baby, and James happily showed Lily a broom design made from redwood. Even if that tree wasn't native to their land, he'd import it just for his Lily flower.

It didn't actually take that much effort though to get them all back in seats, but they'd switched it up just a bit so now Harry was in between James and Sirius again simply to prove he had no ill will towards either of them. Remus took the seat next to Lily and muttered for her alone while James began looking for his place, "any bets on how long before the next catastrophe takes place in here?"

"I'd rather just pretend there's not going to be one," Lily huffed.

"Joys of being a pessimist, either you expect the worst, or you're pleasantly surprised to be wrong," Remus shrugged without remorse.

"That sounded more like the optimistic view on pessimism," Lily rolled her eyes while James began with a genuine smile again.

The story of Fred and George's was retold so often over the next few days that Harry could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwarts legend:

"I'm so proud!" Sirius squealed. "We've forever been upstaged by Weasley's and I'm not even upset!"

"I can hardly believe what they did, the mark they left," James couldn't stop smiling for something so momentous as the twins putting themselves into Hogwarts history like that.

For just a moment as Harry watched them react so proudly to this, he got just a touch jealous. They'd made it clear they were proud of him too, but he'd certainly never felt like he'd done anything Marauder worthy like the twins just had. Then he wondered if this was how Ron felt all the time, towards his own brothers, to his own best friend?

it stretched into the two becoming their own phrase, students could now be heard saying if they suffered anymore classes they'd pull a Weasley.

"I can't believe we were so easily replaced with our infamy," Sirius sighed.

"I think hiding our symbol in the Shrieking Shack is still good enough," Remus shrugged, that was where they spent more time than even their dormitory.

"Yeah," James grudgingly agreed, "guess I'm just jealous. If it wasn't for Lily, I'd feel like I wasted my last year at school not doing something as spectacular before I left."

Lily blushed faintly James had actually admitted aloud he'd cooled himself down just for her.

Fred and George had made sure nobody was likely to forget them too soon.

"Oh that's impossible," Sirius said firmly.

For one thing, they hadn't a clue how to remove the swamp filled corridor.

Then James promptly burst out with laughter as he kept envisioning the thing, the others joining in with delight. They hadn't thought the twins could get better and they just kept being proven wrong.

Umbridge and Filch had been seen trying all manner of things to be rid of it, but with nothing working, Filch was given the task of ferrying people across when need be, who was not at all pleased with this.

Lily gave a righteous laugh, still wanting to punt him from the school after what he'd so wanted to do to the twins, to any student. This was far more what he deserved.

Harry was certain that competent teachers could have removed the swamp in an instant,

"Well I do agree," Lily nodded, her mind boggling a bit at this stretch of magic, "I'd like to ask them how. What kind of magic even was that, an ever lasting potion, a transfiguration spell for the corridor?"

"I want to ask the twins!" Sirius whined. "Curse them not having done this yet."

Remus gave him a look for that comment even as he did agree.

but just as in the case of the fireworks, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle.

"The appropriate response," Remus agreed.

Umbridge's door had to be replaced for the two broom shaped holes in it, and rumor now had it Harry's Firebolt was being kept in the dungeon with a security troll to prevent him doing the same.

"I actually believe that," Sirius groaned miserably.

"I wish you'd summoned it to you when they had," James sighed. "Even if you didn't fly off and join them, you'd find a way to keep it out of her webbed fingers."

"I was a little stunned at the moment," Harry protested, and no one argued the point, as they would have been as well.

Her troubles were still only just beginning.

Inspired by the twins, half the population of the school was now vying for the newly vacant position of Troublemakers-in-Chief.

"At some point the title could rest in peace," Lily said without a hope it would happen.

"My fingers are crossed for Ginny now," Sirius grinned, clearly the lot of them ignoring her, "she's got potential."

"What about that one lad always friends with the twins," Remus offered. "He wasn't mentioned going with them, but I'm sure he'd still miss them enough to keep up their legacy one more year."

"Guess it's too much to ask you tried?" James asked of Harry, who was already shaking his head in answer even with a smirk in place for remembering the chaos so constantly erupting in corridors for all this.

Such occurrences of this involved a niffler somehow getting into Umbridge's office and trying to chew off her rings.

"That poor Niffler," Remus said in concern.

"I saw Hagrid nursing it that afternoon," Harry promised.

As well as Dungbombs and Stink Pellets were dropped so frequently in the corridors that the Bubble-Head Charm became a new trend,

"I'm glad that spell's gotten some popularity," James grinned even remembering the ire of not knowing about it when it would have come in handy.

even though it gave them all the peculiar appearance of wearing upside-down goldfish bowls on their heads.

"Well, whoever said fashion isn't functional clearly never met that trend setter," Lily giggled.

When he wasn't attending tasks, Filch was prowling the corridors with a horsewhip in hand, desperate to catch someone to use it on, but the problem was there were so many around he had no clue which way to turn.

Harry watched all of them shake their heads in disgust for that, Lily even starting to get a nervous tick picturing some poor innocent kid ending up on the wrong side of him, so soothed, "don't worry, as far as I know, no one actually did get a single hit. If ever it looked like he'd pinned down someone long enough, kids you'd never believe did something to distract him so others could run away. I saw this Slytherin fourth year knock over a statue on purpose after Filch was screaming at a little Hufflepuff girl for accidentally tripping over one and 'destroying school property.'"

As if they hadn't enough reason to smile already, that gave them all yet more warmth for this display.

The Inquisitorial Squad was trying to help, but odd things kept happening to the members. Warrington was submitted to the hospital wing for his skin being covered in something akin to burnt cornflakes,

"I feel like someone got a hold of more wartcap powder," Sirius smirked.

and Pansy missed all her lessons the following day as she had sprouted antlers.

James in particular looked pleased with this bit of magic, one of his personal favorite tricks when people asked why he was called Prongs was to grow antlers on others for answer and claim that as his signature spell.

It also became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had sold in their time, as soon every one of Umbridge's classes were fainting, vomiting, high with fevers, or had blood pouring endlessly from their noses, claiming to have Umbridge-itis.

"A deadly disease I would not wish upon my worst enemy," Remus kept grinning wider every second.

"I don't know, what do you think would happen if we put Voldemort and Umbridge in the same room?" Sirius couldn't help but ask.

"Either they'll kill each other-" Lily said hopefully.

"Or she'll have a new master to follow and somehow become even more terrifying," James shivered. "I still can't believe she's not actually a Death Eater!"

After putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret,

Harry sighed heavily for that one, rubbing at the back of his hand in remembrance. Madam Pomfrey had ordered whole stocks of Essence of Murtlap and had started handing them out without question, but none of that made it feel better to see others suffering what he had.

she was forced to let the droves of students leave.

In all their efforts though, no student had come close to the master of chaos, Peeves, who seemed to have taken Fred's words to heart.

James looked as if he'd found a treasure map, ticking off each item Peeves did like a new nugget of gold!

In a constant state of cackling, he was never seen without anymore; bursting through walls to scare anyone on the other side, knocking over whatever was upright, regularly shutting Mrs. Norris into anything available, smashing anything remotely breakable, juggling lit candles, flooding whole hallways, dropping tarantulas into the Great Hall during meals,

"I'll bet Ron loved that one," Remus got out in between James' breathless retelling.

and whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke.

"I am actually impressed," Lily said faintly. "I never thought he could get worse!"

None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her.

"I'd be worried if they were," James wheezed, acting so giddy upon reading such massive mayhem he was likely to pass out soon. Of all the regimes going on inside their school, all the hateful new being passed around his son, finally some good was being the cause of it all!

In exact opposite it seemed, as Harry distinctly saw McGonagall pass by Peeves trying to unscrew a chandelier, and she told him it worked the other way.

Sirius fist pumped the air in triumph, all of them red faced from laughter and wishing McGonagall was here already so they could give her a hug in congratulations.

To cap matters, Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet;

Sirius managed an extra hard laugh for that swift remembrance.

and his parents had been summoned to the school, the trio watching their arrival on the front lawn through their Charms class.

Hermione was worried they should say something about what happened to him, if it might help Madam Pomfrey cure him.

"Nah," the three Marauders said at once, while Harry rubbed at his temple in some empathy for Montague and Lily just shook her head at them.

Then they froze, and looked to Harry like any hint of no remorse upon another student would set him back into thinking the worst of them again. He however only considered this like he did all their passing comments, just them mouthing off. Even if they did mean it, he still couldn't really care, Madam Pomfrey had fixed worse injuries without anyone's help.

Ron said no at once, he'd be fine.

Harry agreeing it only caused more problems for Umbridge.

"This is true, it's not a good mark for the woman parents have to come up to the school," James smirked.

Not at all distracted, the two tried to tap their teacups and have legs grow from them. The spell was supposed to be like Hermione's, who's had grown four strong willow sticks and was trotting around happily.* Instead, Harry's grew such tiny stumps they didn't even bend enough to bring his cup off the desk, and Ron's were so flimsy the cup stood for only a second before falling and cracking in half.

Hermione repaired Ron's cup for him while still speaking if Montague was permanently injured?

Remus actually considered that for a second, again remembering the half broken cabinet and genuinely wondering if something had gone permanently wrong there.

Harry suddenly felt a heavy twitch cross his mind, some dire warning he should have paid more attention to this, because someone had...but he tried to shake that off and told, "I feel like he recovered." For some reason though, this only made him feel worse, and they easily let the matter drop, all confident Pomfrey could fix this.

Ron insisted no one cared, this was only a good thing for their already slim chances at the Quidditch Cup. If Hermione wanted someone to worry about, let it be him.

"Oh Ron, the spell's not that hard," Lily giggled, Flitwick would probably just assign them more homework practice.

While putting his finger under his cup to help support its weight, he told them he was expecting a howler any day now when it got through Umbridge's screening process.

"Why?" Sirius said slowly.

"If I'd guessed, it would have been back when the DA had been outed, but it's been far too long, he hasn't done anything more recently," James agreed curiously.

Hermione tried to ask why, but Ron was already explaining his mum was going to blame him for not stopping the twins leaving. He should have grabbed their broom tails or something to stop them, this was somehow going to be all his fault.

"Oh, she wouldn't," Lily tried to say even if her tone showed no signs of meaning it.

"I really can't see even Molly doing this one," Sirius shook his head. "I don't remember her ever saying to go after the twins once he got his Prefect badge. She's got a bad habit of comparing the youngest to the elders, but never seems to have expected the younger set to tell the elder ones off."

Harry at least fervently hoped so, Ron most certainly did not deserve that one when Harry was their enabler in all of this.

Hermione said if she did, it would be entirely unfair, he couldn't have done anything.

Harry grinned for Hermione again, thankful that finally she seemed to be on their side again in these arguments.

She was confident Molly wouldn't, clearly they had been planning this anyways if they had premise in Diagon Alley.

Ron said that was something odd though, as he wrapped his teacup to try the spell again, but he'd hit it so hard it only fell again.

"I don't think that's helping," Lily randomly giggled.

Where had they gotten the gold for that? Their mum was going to want to know.

"Did they never ask you what you did with your Triwizard Winnings?" James asked. He knew Harry had never told them, but his friends had never brought it up?

"I guess they just assumed I shoved it into my vault," Harry shrugged.

Hermione agreed that had occurred to her too, ignoring her own cup that was going in circles around Harry's cup who still hadn't tried moving with its stubby legs.

"This is just getting insulting," Lily couldn't stop giggling even while she said it.

She'd been wondering if they'd been doing work for Mundungus to get that kind of money.

"That wouldn't have been a bad guess," Remus agreed.

Harry said they hadn't at once.

"You finally going to tell them, because otherwise that was idiotic," Sirius scolded.

"I wasn't going to have their family thinking they'd done something illegal," Harry sighed. "I'd far rather Mrs. Weasley hate me than think something like that of anymore of her children."

"She's not going to hate you," James at once said with conviction. "The only thing she might be is flustered at the generosity, but she'll just have to get over that."

They asked how Harry would know that, and he only hesitated a moment before finally telling why.

Hermione was so surprised, her cup took a dive off the desk and neither of them noticed.

"Timing," Lily gave the loudest snicker of all.

Ron stated this was excellent, at once asking if he could tell his mum this was all Harry's fault!

Sirius burst out with laughter once again, James nodding along and agreeing, "Ron's priorities."

Harry agreed he'd better, especially if she was going to start thinking her sons had stolen cauldrons.

"I can see why you wanted to wait," Remus agreed, "now they're really going and she can't guilt them into giving it back."

Hermione said nothing at all for the rest of the lesson, but Harry had a shrewd suspicion that her self-restraint was bound to crack before long.

They all sighed, not particularly wanting to hear another Hermione lecture about what Harry had done stupidly lately.

Sure enough, once they were out in the quad in the weak May light, she turned to him with a determined look on her face, so Harry interrupted before she could start.

"Has that ever helped?" Sirius asked in surprise.

"Nope, but it was worth a shot after the last time she spent a whole day on it," Harry sighed.

He told her not to even start, it was over and done with, and to save her breath because he did not regret doing this for them.

Hermione sounded hurt when she said she wasn't going to say anything about that.

"Maybe if she wasn't nagging you all the time, she wouldn't be so offended when you try to stop her doing it," Remus rolled his eyes.

"Oh stop," Harry cut them off with a sigh. "Hermione's a bit much, I know that better than anyone, but lay off her for a bit, I jumped the wrong conclusion that time."

They gave in with a muttered apology.

Ron snorted disbelievingly and Hermione threw him a very dirty look.

"Can't say that wasn't deserved though," Remus muttered.

She insisted she wasn't, she'd wanted to ask him when he was going to ask Snape for more Occlumency lessons

"Why!" Sirius demanded. "He's been tortured enough this year!"

Once Fred and George's dramatic departure had evaporated their talk, the two had wanted to know what Harry had gone to talk to Sirius about. Still failing to explain the initial reason, Harry instead told them it had been to do with Snape stopping his lessons and Sirius wanted him to keep going with them.

James crinkled his nose at this, saying, "there are far too many holes in that, I'm not surprised Hermione's trying to get the real story."

"That's still not why she was having a go at me," Harry groaned.

He had regretted this ever since, as Hermione had then chosen to bring the subject up again when Harry least expected it.

"Ah, well honestly this one's your own fault, I could have told you not to bring this back up with her," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Especially as you still have no intentions of doing it," Remus shook his head, Harry's expression made that abundantly clear, and he felt quite sore his warning had so easily been brushed off by Harry.

Hermione snapped at him he couldn't pretend like they weren't needed, Ron had said he'd been muttering in his sleep again.

Harry gave Ron a furious look, who had the grace to be ashamed.

"I don't know, I can see the good of that one," Lily sighed as she saw some snippy comment on Sirius' lips. "He's worried about his friend, not on the same level as Hermione, but both recognize far more than you seem to this shouldn't be entertained," she finished with a look at Harry, who also had the grace to look ashamed for never trying harder at this. He wasn't sure if it was his mother's guilt trip, or something far more unspeakable that was causing him to feel this so heavily...

Ron apologetically said for both it had only been a bit, he'd been muttering about reaching further.

Harry lied he'd been dreaming of Quidditch, he wanted Ron to reach out just a bit further for the Quaffle.

Ron's ears went red, while Harry didn't feel a drop of remorse for lying.

"Brutal," Sirius laughed in surprise.

"But deserved," James sighed.

He had in fact again dreamed all the way up to the room full of glass spun orbs, but again woken up feeling he'd been moments away from the true want.

James stopped in alarm at the noise Harry made, all of them looking to him with deep concern as he groaned with misery, head in his hands again, breathing so heavily they could have been his last breaths.

"Harry!" James swiftly put the book aside at such an alarming reaction that somehow got worse each time this was brought up. "Harry, calm down! You're going to be fine, whatever is in there, you are going to be fine!"

This had no effect on making him better, as that was not what was gripping him so tight he couldn't breath. It wasn't his safety he so feared.

"It's okay, it's going to be okay," Sirius insisted, looking frantically to Lily or Remus to help, but they had no more clue what left him in such a mess. "Erm, what if I-" his mind flagged desperately for something to distract Harry with, "show you how we created the Marauders Map!"

"What?" Harry looked up in genuine surprise, the pain from his skull not yet fully subsiding which must explain the tears trickling out, but he wiped furiously at them to keep his attention on Sirius.

"Yeah," he confirmed at once. "Something to look forward to!"

James agreed at once, saying, "it took me a few days to create it, but it won't take near as long to recreate it. I've been wanting to show Lily anyways, you'll both get a kick out it."

Harry gave a slow nod, taking easier breaths now as he kept this promise tight inside him. Whatever horrid thing had happened in his past to cause this feeling, they were right, he had something he could cling to now as a promise he wouldn't have to relive his memory long.

James waited an extra moment to make sure Harry wasn't going to set himself into a full blown panic attack before gingerly picking the book back up, almost afraid of what else it was going to do to his son if this topic didn't change soon.

Hermione inquired then that he was still trying with his Occlumency?

Harry lied and said he was, but the truth was he was curious about all this and wanted the dreams to keep going.

Harry's whole center shook, he looked very much like he would collapse in a fit in moments. Clearly what he'd been thinking at fifteen, the exact opposite was trying to run through his mind now, and the two together were wreaking havoc inside of him.

James reached over again, grasping his shoulder firmly until he fought back for control, still waving him to go on adamantly for this to just be over with.

The problem was, with less than a month till exams, his mind usually seemed much more focused on stupid dreams.

"First you were complaining about them, now you want them and you're not getting enough of them," Remus tried to get a rise out of Harry instead of watching him tear himself apart for something he couldn't yet understand. "You never can seem to make up your mind eh?"

Harry offered him a flimsy smile that was as weak as the toddler upstairs.

He also suspected the more Hermioneish part of his mind was guilting him into waking up before the journey's end.

"Hermione doesn't seem so bad now she's right," James offered as Harry kept rubbing at his temples.

Sirius gave Remus a sympathetic look as well which Moony easily grasped. It wasn't just him being ignored, Harry wasn't taking advice from anyone about this.

Something new to distract him was the final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, which was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match,

"Wow, where's my description of that match!" Sirius yelped, grasping at any pleasant conversation, and this was an easy one.

"Nothing too memorable happened," Harry shrugged. "Malfoy actually caught the Snitch, for once, but he took Krum's way out. Hufflepuff was winning on points, Montague hadn't come back yet and the appointed Slytherin was a right idiot, I don't know what they were doing during training but it wasn't practicing."

"As much as they deserve," James cheered, wriggling in pleasure even as he kept a close eye on Harry to make sure he really was trying to put mention of that Department past him.

Gryffindor did not yet dare for a victory, though no one said it to him, because of Ron's goalkeeping ability.

Ron took his own outlook on the morning of, telling them at least he couldn't get any worse.

"There's the bright side," Lily snickered in surprise, while James just looked bemused at this. Better than constantly ragging on himself he supposed.

As Harry and Hermione were shuffling into the crowd, Hermione mentioned she suspected this game might just go better because Fred and George weren't around, they never helped his confidence.

"I can see that," Remus said fairly.

"They mocked him from time to time," Sirius disagreed, "but they were never so bad I think it damaged Ron any more than that horrid song. I don't think they'll make a real difference to him."

"Least Angelina already had their replacements," James grumbled, still wishing it was Harry on that pitch rather than Ginny, he was sick of reading side line events, he wanted to be back in the air!

Luna Lovegood overtook them with what appeared to be a live eagle perched on top of her head.

The boys burst out in surprised laughter Luna had indeed gone further with that idea!

It was as Harry watched this though, not at all mean spirited but that recent memory still with him, that the expression they'd first carried upon hearing of her finally clicked as he turned sharply to them. "Would you lot have done all that to Luna?"

James' automatic response wanted to be no, but he still considered the question for a moment before saying slowly, "ah, well, we certainly would have liked to have words with her, she's a fascinating thing."

"You would have mocked her?" Harry outright demanded with a raised brow.

Sirius blew a chunk of hair out of his face, but didn't deny, "guess it depends on how well we bothered to get to know her. We thought Remus was a right odd ball before we had a proper chat with him."

Harry saw they were still avoiding the question, as he'd honestly noticed outside their little group they didn't seem to 'converse' with much of anyone unless it was for a motive. Still though, he was just as fascinated they looked a touch ashamed even as they side stepped this. He hadn't realized his disapproval really meant so much to them.

Then the teams assembled on the edge of the field, and Hermione said her surprise she'd forgotten Cho would be playing. Harry grunted in response, he had not.

"Ex crush versus ex fan girl!" Sirius said loudly, very clearly trying not to let Harry linger on that last subject.

"Sadly I think Cho's got the better edge, she's played more games, actually wants this position," James eagerly put in.

"I wouldn't underestimate Ginny, we don't know how long Cho's been flying outside her house team, but we know Ginny's been doing it since single digits, she may well have the advantage," Remus offered insight.

Harry decided to let the Luna matter go, they'd yet to actually be doing anything wrong to her and there was no sense yelling at them for something they hadn't done wrong yet to one of his friends.

Across from them in the stands, the Slytherins were all filing in, and Harry hoped desperately they wouldn't have anymore chances to sing Weasley Is our King.

"I wasn't aware they needed an excuse, they just continued doing it because they're arse holes," Lily grumbled.

Lee Jordan, who had been very dispirited since Fred and George had left,

"That was it," Remus huffed for forgetting.

"Guess I can't blame him for not being in the mood to prank others when his mates up and did that," Sirius sighed.

was commentating as usual. As the teams zoomed out on to the pitch he named the players with something less than his usual gusto.

"I can just imagine McGonagall feeling sorry for the poor kid," James frowned sadly.

Harry watched Cho chat with Davies as the teams matched up, prepared to shake hands, and Harry found he only had a slight twinge of jealous as the two Ravenclaws smiled at each other before the captains shook hands.

"Guess that crush wasn't as gone as we thought," James looked to Harry in surprise, who only shrugged, he really didn't have much of a memory for this game, especially not Cho, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Surely even if he wasn't playing in it, he'd have a care? Maybe Ron really hadn't done any better and he'd tried to block the whole thing out, but that wasn't the right kind of disconnected feeling...

Lee began as usual, saying who had the Quaffle in what position, and Davies was already heading for Gryffindors goals, Gryffindor had a chance at making it, and- Lee swore.

"Least he hasn't lost all of his enthusiasm," Remus chuckled.

Ravenclaw had scored, and the Slytherins at once took up the chance with their song.

Harry and Hermione were distracted from what happened next by Hagrid sidling up to them, trying to remain crouched as if wanting to be out of sight, but even doubled over he was four feet taller than those next to him.

"Why's he trying to hide at all?" Lily asked in surprise. "He's been known to come to a few matches."

"Don't look at us," Remus shrugged even as he looked eagerly at James for this explanation that he had his fingers crossed in hope for.

He asked if they'd come with him, now, while everyone was watching the game.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," James gaped down at this, "but I'd actually go with him."

"If there's one thing to drag away a good Quidditch match," Sirius agreed, though finished rather threateningly, "but Hagrid had better finally be showing you what he's been up to, if it's for anything less, I'll find a way to curse that man through his skin for cutting this off."

Harry merely hummed in agreement.

Hagrid's nose was gently dripping blood. His eyes were both blackened. Harry had not seen him this close-up since his return to the school; he looked utterly woebegone.

Lily crooned loudly for the poor dear, all of them feeling a pain deep inside for what Hagrid was putting himself through. He must have a really good answer for this one!

Harry agreed without any thought.

Harry felt absolutely no regret for this decision, even as his face tightened just a bit, his innards promising this wasn't going to be a pleasant stroll.

The three got themselves out of the stands, Hagrid saying how much he appreciated them, and hoped she didn't see them leaving.

"Only one she I can think of," Lily spat, "and sadly she might have."

"She can't stop them from going off with Hagrid," Remus miserably tried to argue, already feeling it pointless.

Harry said Umbridge was surrounded by her Inquisitorial Squad like she was expecting trouble, there was a good chance she hadn't noticed them.

"Guess she understands less than I thought, which is saying something. No one would try a prank during a Quidditch game," Sirius heavily rolled his eyes.

Hagrid said that may be good for them, give them more time, as he started heading towards the Forest.

Lily began playing with a strand of hair with nerves. She knew Hagrid wasn't purposefully leading Harry to anything dangerous, but this was certainly not a pleasant beginning in her opinion, and it was nice to see the others faces showed agreement even as well used to the Forest as they were.

Hermione asked what they were doing as they went across the lawn, but in favor of answering Hagrid heard a roar go up from the crowd behind them and asked if someone else had scored.

Harry said it would be Ravenclaw again.

Harry winced heavily and they all felt the same, maybe leaving had been a good idea anyways, that wasn't fun to think about.

Hagrid was so distracted, he said this was a good thing.

"Now I know he's not thinking right," Sirius grumped.

Hermione tried to turn into Hagrid's cabin when they passed it, but Hagrid kept walking right to the edge of the trees where his crossbow was waiting.

"He must have just come back from whatever he was training," Remus realized.

"Think he thinks he's finally got it domesticated and wants to show off?" James asked, that didn't feel important enough to be dragged away from Quidditch, but then, Hagrid had different priorities.

"I still think there's something more than that going on," Lily sighed. "It's very clear Hagrid cares deeply for something new going on, just training a new best can't really mean more than his job?" She phrased it as a question though, none of them were quite sure of Hagrid's comments from before.

Harry asked why he needed that, he hadn't taken it with him when they'd seen the Thestrals.

"This new thing of his is less and less encouraging," Sirius agreed.

Hagrid said they hadn't been going in as deep, and that was before Firenze left the Forest.

"Why's that change anything?" Remus asked in surprise.

Hermione asked why that made a difference.

"Thank you Sirius!" Remus said quickly and with such a mocking gratitude you could almost believe it. "Really, just thank you so much for sharing that, I hadn't a clue I'd done it!"

"Alright, no need to get snippy," Sirius smirked.

Hagrid said the other centaurs were now very riled up. It used to be he could go wherever he liked in this Forest, they were always friendly, but not anymore.

"What's that got to do with Hagrid though?" James ruffled up his brow.

"Familiar loyalty," Sirius nodded to himself as he explained aloud. "The centaurs know Hagrid's trust in Dumbledore, they'll blame anyone associated with him right now for what he asked a Centaur to do."

"But it was Firenze's decision," Harry protested. "Why be mad at us?"

"For offering it," Remus sighed.

Harry felt a deep chill web around his mind, promising he had no want to deal with an angry centaur.

Angry didn't cover it, they were livid with Dumbledore and Firenze, probably would have kicked their fellow centaur to death if Hagrid hadn't stepped in, he'd had half the herd on him.

They all gave sympathetic noises for that, Harry even saw some traces of fear in them at the same time. He could hardly imagine the scene himself, but just the thought was giving him the creeps, it probably was terrifying thinking about all this in detail when he wasn't so distracted wondering why he may have seen it in person.

Harry was amazed Hagrid had stopped all that, and Hagrid said he certainly couldn't have just stood by. Then he added more menacingly he'd have thought Firenze would remember that before sending stupid warnings.

"I'm worried he was trying to return a favor," Lily muttered, still considering Hagrid's injuries. They weren't yet deadly, but if he kept at it, they may keep progressing.

Hermione asked if that's what Hagrid wanted their help with, the centaurs?

"Oh he'd never ask for your help with that," Remus said at once.

"And those injuries started up well before this," Lily agreed.

Hagrid simply said no, and kept plunging deeper into the shadows. Harry wasn't too worried, he'd been in the Forest a few times and followed Hagrid willingly, until he stepped off the path. Remembering vividly what had happened in his past when he did this, he tried to ask where they were going, but Hagrid didn't answer as he plunged into the more wild parts of the woods. Harry and Hermione had a hard time following, often getting caught in thickets and brambles while Hagrid walked right through them.

"I'm surprised he hasn't created a new path, as often as he seems to have headed to this thing," James said, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously to what Hagrid had added to a Forest he knew so well.

After several miles of heavy silence where even the snapping of a twig felt ominous, it occurred to him that he had never managed to get this far into the Forest without meeting some kind of creature.

The tense unease kept growing in here, like the book was pressing that darkness out and shadowing the whole room with its eerie vibe. Harry had yet had a very pleasant experience in this Forest in any sense, and even with Hagrid inviting them into this one, they could already feel it wasn't going to turn out much better.

When Hagrid came to an abrupt halt, Harry walked right into him and fell back into a thorny bush Hermione had to dig him out of.

Hagrid apologized and decided to explain back here before they got to the spot, and began by saying there was a good chance he'd be getting the sack any day.

"He did not bring them all the way out there to say that," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"No," Remus agreed, "but we know he finds this more important than that, so at least we're finally getting that answer."

Hermione said he'd done well so far, what changed?

Hagrid said Umbridge thought he'd put that Niffler in her office.

"That's ridiculous," Remus scoffed at once, it was akin to him doing that, and he'd never put anything in her vicinity if he could help it.

"And when has she ever done anything remotely reasonable," Sirius' face was scrunched up for the ludicrousness of it even as he agreed.

Harry asked if it was before he'd thought about it.

"Harry," James said in exasperation, his son should know full well Hagrid would never use a creature for such a purpose.

"I know," Harry agreed with his idiotics. "Reflex question." This lot knew all about that.

Hagrid said no, but that hadn't convinced Umbridge, who associated any problems with creatures on him. He'd honestly leave now so that he wouldn't have to suffer in public like Trelawney had.

James didn't have to think about that one at all as he nodded in agreement, he could respect that.

He'd be useful to the Order out there helping Dumbledore.

"Hagrid knows where Dumbledore is?" That one caught Remus by surprise.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the Order actually does," Lily shrugged, "even if we're not sure now."

They had Grubbly-Plank to get them through their exams, his voice wobbled there and broke.

Lily felt a heartbreaking sigh pour out of her, she didn't want Hagrid to ever feel unneeded! She wanted him in her son's life just for being such a good man, no matter how he was in a class!

The problem was, he couldn't just leave without telling anyone, and he needed their help, and Ron's if he was willing.

Harry agreed at once asking what he needed them to do?

"You have such a big heart," Lily told her son, starting to feel a little teary eyed herself for what Hagrid was going through.

Harry had no response for that, he'd do anything to help his friend.

Hagrid thanked them tearfully, and led them the rest of the way.

"I thought he said he was going to explain!" Sirius said, the suspense was about to kill him. "He just stopped to tell them what was going on!"

"That's the same thing," Remus told him just to keep James paused for an extra second.

Sirius scowled at him, while James decided to ignore them anyways.

They reached a small clearing where a great mound was in front of them like a den, and all around were trees ripped up by the roots. Hagrid breathed sleeping, and Harry heard it too, a great set of lungs at work. He looked sideways at Hermione, who looked terrified.

"I don't blame her," Remus muttered, his mind flipping through all sorts of things that lived inside mounds, though as this could be something undiscovered even any of those may not be possible.

James was more in deep curiosity than anything. Hagrid was there, he had no fear Harry would come to any harm.

She asked who is he?

"Err," Lily began in confusion, sure she'd heard wrong.

Then she kept going, her voice shaking why he was here, Hagrid had said none wanted to come!

"What's, Hermione, on, about?" Sirius said slowly, he couldn't put together such a declaration with just an animal...

Harry looked to Hagrid, Hermione, and then realization struck as he looked back at the mounded earth, which in fact was moving in time with the deep breaths. It was a curved back.

"A giant!" Remus interrupted with a near shriek. "He actually brought a giant into that forest!"

James' voice had failed him, his mouth left hanging open so he couldn't have kept going even when the book had broken off. This truly was a new level of unbelievable.

"Has he lost his mind!" Sirius was so blown away by this one he wouldn't even deny the squeak in his voice. "A giant! A real, bloody, giant!"

Harry felt just as numb as the others from shock, but it was his fumbling fingers that snagged the book away to try and force this to keep going.

Hagrid agreed he hadn't exactly wanted to, but Hagrid had to bring him.

"It's his family," Lily whispered, her eyes still too wide from shock, but a flash of understanding lit them nonetheless.

"When he was at the Three Broomsticks," James recalled breathlessly.

"Oh Hagrid," Remus groaned in sudden understanding, genuine sympathy now for the man even if he couldn't find the air to really say it.

Sirius wasn't quite there yet, he was still putting his mind into the thought someday he'd walk into his Forest and a giant would be there!

Hermione demanded why!

Hagrid insisted that if he just spent a little time around here, taught him some manners, he could show everyone how harmless he was.

"Harmless!" Lily said near hysterics. "He's been beating the shit out of him for months!"

"Hasn't killed him yet though," Sirius couldn't help but point out as this started to fully form in his mind.

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" Lily demanded, her voice wasn't lowering in volume and starting to hurt their ears.

Hermione accused this was why he was always injured. Hagrid defended he didn't know his own strength.

"That I'd actually believe," Remus said slowly, some form of acceptance starting to set in as he really thought past the shock.

Hermione still couldn't believe this was why he'd taken two extra months to get home!

"Yeah, I'd say lugging a giant behind you could slow you down!" Lily's voice was still extremely high pitched, but at least she was making an attempt to lower it now.

Hermione demanded why he had, he'd have been happier with his own kind!

Hagrid insisted he'd been picked on while there for being so small.

"Small." James repeated the word slowly, shaking his head back and forth as he was stuck in the same vision as Sirius, their forays into the Forest suddenly being interrupted by a giant crashing through a nearby tree, no one wanted to know how Moony would have reacted to that. Yet thankfully Harry reading was putting a good distance from that image, and James got the book back from Harry without fuss.

Hermione repeated small in near hysterics.

"I suppose, by that description, he's either not fully grown, or a runt," Remus nodded.

"Try telling him that," Harry muttered, his mind still boggled at such a huge movement as his breathing.

Hagrid pleaded with them to understand, near tears as he told that was his brother.

"That, is a relation, that makes sense," Lily grudgingly agreed, finally her voice only just a touch more off than usual, but sympathy for Hagrid's situation was finally pushing past the shock. It was the same as always, she trusted Hagrid. If he said his brother hadn't meant to hurt anyone, then she'd just have to believe he wasn't going to turn on her son the moment he awoke.

Well, half-brother, he amended. His mum had another child when she'd left his dad, Grawp here.

"Grawp?" Harry repeated curiously.

"Never claimed giants had our kind of names," Sirius shrugged, his brow still set deep in thought, but now he was almost back to normal and could appreciate Hagrid's position at least.

Harry wasn't sure he'd heard that right, and Hagrid said that's what he thought was being said when asked for a name. He didn't know much English, though Hagrid had been teaching him. His mother had abandoned Grawp as well for being so small, so he was all alone, he was only sixteen feet.

"Poor Hagrid," Lily went new, her voice now coming out in a whisper as now she felt like Hagrid needed a hug, after she popped him over the head for giving her heart failure.

Hermione's voice was still in shrieking shock as she said how miniscule that was!

"Who knew Hermione turned sarcastic during these times," Sirius muttered, he couldn't get a joke to his mind yet.

Hagrid insisted he was being kicked around by the others.

Harry asked what Maxime had thought of this, and Hagrid said she'd realized how important this was to him, but got tired of fighting to get him back, so she'd just promised not to tell anyone.

"Good woman, that," James sighed, knowing he'd probably have done the exact same as Maxime, he wouldn't pretend he'd try to handle a giant, even a...small one.

Harry asked how he'd even gotten back here. Hagrid explained they could only travel by night and very out of the way, Grawp could cover quite a bit of distance when he wanted to, the problem was he didn't, kept wanting to go back.

Harry gave a pitiful sigh, he didn't need to ask. He'd been kicked around plenty in his youth but had always returned home because he'd always known he had nowhere else to go. Hagrid seemed to have a gift for taking wayward souls away.

Hermione buried her face in her fingers as she asked why Hagrid hadn't just let him, what was he going to do with a violent giant?

Hagrid defended violent was too strong, he took a swing now and again when he was in a mood, but he was getting better.

Harry asked what the ropes were for then?

"Well if he was wanting to go back, I suppose I can see Hagrid stopping him leaving when he wasn't around," Sirius frowned heavily.

As Harry's eyes had adjusted and made out more detail, he found ropes binding the giants ankles and around his waist.

Hagrid repeated he didn't know his own strength, and Harry now understood why there were no other creatures in the area.

"Oh yeah, I can see that," James finally nodded at something that made sense to him in his forest.

Hermione circled back to asking what Hagrid wanted them to do?

"Almost forgot about that," Remus shivered, he didn't like the idea of Harry around...Grawp with Hagrid around, now Hagrid was asking them to keep looking after a hateful giant after Hagrid was gone! How was this worse than the Skrewts?

Hagrid just said he needed looking after, while Harry and Hermione exchanged an uncomfortable look, well aware they'd already promised Hagrid they would.

"I feel as if at some point there's a line, and he crossed it," Lily said miserably, as she wouldn't feel right backing out of this either even with the circumstances. "A bruised rib to Hagrid could knock your skeleton right out of you! I'm sorry Harry, but I'm worried this one's above you!"

Harry certainly wasn't going to argue the point.

Harry did not argue the point, and they were just as relieved as they were upset for Hagrid Harry didn't seem gung ho to keep this particular promise.

Hermione asked for details, and Hagrid said nothing too big. He got his own food, birds or deer that traveled through,

James looked vaguely offended, even if he knew it to be true. It just wasn't helping his mind's eye as he kept imagining trying to run away from this thing.

Hagrid really just wanted them to come out here and talk to him, help teach him along in talking.

Harry said nothing as he kept eying Grawp, picking out details. Now he saw that his feet were the size of sleds and bare, his clothes seemed roughly stitched together. His head was like a boulder sitting right atop his shoulders with his ears sitting more on the area where his neck should be.

Remus couldn't deny a touch of fascination in him at Harry's description. He'd only heard general depictions of them as well, and though he still had no want to meet one in person, Harry's were always more vivid than usual texts.

Harry hollowly repeated Hagrid's want for them to teach him English. He now understood what Firenze's warning had meant.

"I almost wish I didn't," Sirius grumbled, in this case ignorance had been bliss.

He could just imagine the other creatures of this Forest hearing Hagrid's vain attempts to teach Grawp English.

Hagrid agreed cheerfully, even if they just came out here to chat with him, keep him around people.

Harry looked to Hermione and said it made him wish for Norbert back.

Sirius blanched for a moment, but after considering he told, "no, actually this is still marginally better. I'll take whatever form of intelligence this thing posses over that beast."

"Wow," Harry said towards him, as of now he'd still rather have it the other way.

Hagrid misunderstood, confirming that they'd do it?

"He really didn't get that was supposed to be a bad thing?" James muttered, that concept seemed lost on Hagrid quite a bit.

Harry uneasily said they'd try-

Hagrid beamed at him, saying he'd known he could count on him!

Even as Lily shook her head in exasperation for Hagrid, she was smiling just a bit as well now. She couldn't deny some part of her was happy for Hagrid finally having a bit of family back to him.

He insisted it wouldn't be much, just nip out here once a week, then he decided to introduce them.

Hermione said that wasn't necessary!

"Well yes it is," Remus corrected. "Much safer to be first seen with Hagrid, at least he knows him."

"And considers him his kidnapper," James reminded hollowly. "So I'm really torn here."

Harry still didn't want to say what was really on his mind, he didn't really have a want to see Grawp again with or without Hagrid.

Hagrid ignored them, picked up a long sturdy branch, and jabbed Grawp in the back with it.

"He just poked a giant!" James said faintly, unable to believe what he'd just said and stuck on that one for several moments before Harry gave him a commiserating pat on the shoulder that was probably supposed to be reassuring.

Grawp woke with an ear splitting roar that shook birds from trees. He got onto his knees to turn around and see who was here, and Hagrid greeted him as Grawpy, telling he'd brought company.

Harry and Hermione backpedaled as far as they could while keeping him in sight, as his face leaned in like a dull grey full moon.

All three Marauders blanched in shock at the description they weren't taking kindly too.

His features seemed misshapen, the nose of no real design, the hair looking more like moss even a dark brown, and his pupils were rather tiny and currently still cummed with sleep. He took to his feet with surprising agility and turned away.

"Don't ever underestimate speed for size," Remus agreed, James wanting to smack him for starting to sound more interested than resigned like the rest of them.

He went over to the nearest tree and plucked a birds nest up out of the higher branches, turning it upside down and pelting them with eggs like grenades below.

"I can see how riveted he was by the company," James said deadpan.

"Be pleased while it lasts," Lily grumbled, at least finding some small comfort Grawp hadn't at once started trying to take Hagrid's limb off.

Hagrid tried to keep his attention, yelling to Grawp about that trip he'd be going on, and these were his new friends who'd be coming to visit him.

"I thought he couldn't understand English quite yet," Sirius shifted uneasily.

"I can see why Hagrid does it though," Remus shrugged, "that's one of the ways you learn other languages, hearing them as well as practicing to speak them."

"Oh, so now it's a good idea," James frowned at him.

"I'm not saying Harry should do it," Remus defended, "I just understand why Hagrid is talking to him."

Grawp took no notice, Harry wasn't even sure if the giant recognized what Hagrid was doing was speech. He'd instead sized the nearest tree and began pulling on the top, the fascination on his face making it clear he did it for the simple pleasure of seeing how far he could go before it would spring back.

"Exactly how old is he?" Lily asked.

"Not sure," Harry muttered, "I only know what Hagrid said."

"He could be older than Hagrid, we don't know which kid came first, though I think Hagrid assumed it was himself." Remus shrugged.

"Either way, I don't see what that has to do with anything," Sirius muttered.

Lily considered this response more to do with the fact Sirius would probably try to do the same thing if he was that size no matter what age.

Hagrid tried to tell him not to, that's how he'd pulled up the last ones, but when the creaking roots could be heard, Hagrid intervened and gave him another jab with the stick.

Grawp looked down with an expression of clear annoyance as Hagrid waved to Harry and Hermione. Grawp only just seemed to realize their presence as he gazed down at them still half hidden behind a tree.

"How good is a giant's eye sight?" Harry asked wearily, he wasn't going to enjoy the experience of one checking out his hairline.

"As good as ours I'd imagine," Remus scratched at his ear. "Perhaps better, as they hunt more naturally than we do."

He introduced Harry first, and tried to do the same for Hermione, but realized her full name may be beyond him, so asked her if he could call her Hermy.

Hermione gave a squeaky agreement.

"I know I would have protested," Sirius sniffed. "If my name was the first four syllable word he'd said, it could be an accomplishment."

Hagrid introduced Hermy to Grawp,

"So does that mean we can start calling her-"

"No," Harry told Sirius flatly before he could even finish.

saying she was going to come out here as well and, Grawp no!

James nearly jumped from his chair in surprise, he hadn't intended to shout that so loud but he'd just been getting back to a place of normalcy in his mind as he adjusted to this situation, now Hagrid was scolding him!

Grawp's hand had shot out of nowhere and tried to seize Hermione, but Harry reacted a moment faster and pulled her back behind the tree as Grawps palm scraped against the bark but seized on air.

Lily gasped, watching Harry's arms tense at his side now like he was prepared to pull her away again.

Hagrid scolded he was being a bad boy, not to grab, while Hermione clung to Harry whimpering.

"Oh, he wouldn't have really hurt her!" Remus tried, and failed to say even as he'd gone a bit white in shock. "He might have just been trying to pick her up, out of curiosity-"

"And look how well that's worked out for Hagrid," Harry shuddered all over.

Then Hagrid let out his own yelp of pain, and Harry poked his head back out to see Grawp had swatted Hagrid away and gone back to his tree.

"Good to know of his attention span I suppose," James tried to say around a squeak, there was just no way he could find some fun in this one.

Hagrid stumped over to them holding his newly broken nose, saying that was enough for one day.

Some color finally started coming back to James' face, Lily was still rubbing at her chest, and the other three were still trying hard not to show they were shaking. A giant. This was a new level, even for Hagrid...

They began walking away, Harry and Hermione still struck dumb. Hagrid actually wanted them to come visit a giant in the Forbidden Forest and pointlessly teach him English?

"Now that's pushing it," Remus couldn't quite push into scolding as he was still shifting his weight in unease. "You heard Hagrid say he had full conversations with them, they can be spoken to as well as a Centaur if you give them half a chance, this one in particular just never seems to have been put into any type of situation like this."

Harry looked at him like he wasn't sure what to say to that. He'd put up with a lot of crazy things for Hagrid, and this one still felt like the worst.

Harry had never understood Hagrid's insistence the most killing things were lovable and harmless, but this was a new one fooling himself Grawp could mix with humans.

"That one is stretching it just a touch," Sirius agreed. "He'd be just fine spending his days in a far off proximity, but not unapproachable, if Hagrid shows we're not all bad." He couldn't quite put the right tone into place, he still wanted to rage at Hagrid for putting a giant into the Forbidden Forest! If the name hadn't been appropriate before, it was now!

Then Hagrid took them both by surprise by drawing his crossbow and fitting an arrow in.

"There's a giant in the forest," Lily enunciated clearly like they already would have forgotten. "I can't imagine something much scarier, and Hagrid hadn't pulled a weapon on him."

Even still, James was back to bouncing his leg with unease. He knew plenty of things Harry could expect in there, and it was good for Hagrid to be on guard, they seemed far enough away from Grawp this was necessary.

They waited in tense silence until a male voice told Hagrid he was no longer welcome here.

"Can the Centaurs do that?" James protested in further outrage, that was somehow even more offensive to him than the giant.

"By our laws, no," Remus said carefully. "The Forest is property of the school, so it's technically Hogwarts land...but the Centaurs may well recognize no such thing. It's rather a conflict that's never had to be brought up in our history, for we've never fought over the space."

"That Forest has been there since Hufflepuff sanctioned it back when the castle was being built," Sirius offered to Harry.

"The stories are unclear though, if the Centaurs were already in the area, or if the Hogwarts Founders created it and they claimed it," James sighed.

Lily was honestly impressed at their history lesson, and so apparently was Harry as he tried to keep focus on this and told them how interesting that was even as he kept looking worriedly at nothing. He didn't like this set up, Grawp not too far off, angry centaurs...

A whole group of centaurs had arrived, including one Harry recognized as Bane. Hagrid wearily greeted the foremost, Magorian, who gave no friendly greeting back, repeating Hagrid was no longer welcome here after he'd helped the traitor Firenze enter servitude.

Hagrid protested this, saying he was doing a favor for Dumbledore!

"There is no point arguing this," James said tensely. Even having Hagrid describe the fight before had made him uneasy, now Harry may well find himself in the middle of it.

"Hagrid won't really start something," Lily tried to say with conviction, "he'll get them out of there, he's been dealing with this for a while now at least."

The centaur said there was no coming back from such disgrace, and Hagrid had lost the friendship of the centaurs by helping him, he was no longer welcome in their forest.

Hagrid shot back he wasn't going to be hearing any of this 'their'. It wasn't their say who came and went here.

Magorian cut in no more than Hagrid's. He'd let him pass today because he was with his young,

"His young," James couldn't help but mutter that a second time, though they'd all long since noticed Hagrid seemed to have as unofficially adopted the kids as much as Molly had.

Bane interrupted they were not his, but students, profiting from the teachings of the traitor Firenze!

"I would not call his vague life's a mystery speech profiting," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Not helping," Remus hissed at him.

Magorian did not waver, they did not hurt the innocent. Hagrid may pass today, but this was his final warning.

Hagrid shouted he wasn't going to let these mules tell him where he could and couldn't go.

They all began itching terribly in fear of this fight. It was probably easier not being there, but they could see both sides in light, and didn't care about either! They just wanted Harry to get out of there!

The centaurs turned to leave anyways, but Hagrid kept shouting after them he wasn't going to let them scare him off. Harry and Hermione put their hands on Hagrid's back to try and force him to move along, but then he glanced down in surprise like he hadn't even felt it.

"Bloody hell," James blinked in surprise. Not that they'd ever tried, but they'd have liked to think Hagrid would have at least registered the two!

He told them to calm down, they wouldn't really do anything, then he took off again as if nothing had happened.

Hermione uneasily kept pace, trying to say to Hagrid that if the centaurs weren't letting people come through, than the three of them wouldn't be much help to Grawp.

Hagrid brushed this off, repeating their own words they wouldn't hurt the innocent. Besides, they shouldn't let those centaurs push them around.

"I see where he's coming from," Sirius said genuinely, he knew he'd have a few things to say if a centaur had ever told them off for being caught in there.

"But while I admire Hagrid for not letting them push him around," James grudgingly agreed, "it wouldn't kill him not to insult them while he's at it!"

"A little avoidance can go a long way," Remus agreed, knowing Hagrid knew this place well enough he should be able to pass by Centaur heavy areas just like they could.

Harry watched all of them with a small smile of pride in place. As if he'd needed further evidence they weren't still fifteen, but here they were actually speaking of avoiding a real life fight.

Harry told Hermione nice try at her disappointment this hadn't made a dent in Hagrid.

They rejoined the daylight to see people pouring out of the stadium laughing and cheering,

James spluttered in surprise, he'd actually forgotten a game was going on!

"Well, I found something to cheer me up next time Ron's goal keeping is mentioned," Sirius groaned. "Teaching ABC's to a giant!"

and Hagrid told them to hurry along into that so they wouldn't be missed, then he went to his cabin. Harry and Hermione trudged back looking distinctly out of place with their numerous tiny cuts and twigs in their hair, but Hermione took no notice of this as she said she couldn't believe him!

"Oh I do," Lily sighed. In Hagrid's...inflated world, she really did see where he was coming from, but did he have to drag Harry into this one?

Harry tried to get her to calm down, but she wouldn't hear it. A giant in the Forest! He wanted them to teach English to it, assuming they could get past the murderous centaurs!

"I think the centaurs scare me more than the giant!" Remus shivered harder than ever to prove his point.

"That didn't make me feel better," Harry told him, a still rather distracted look in place as he had no clue why he agreed with him.

Harry tried to say they didn't have to do anything yet, and Umbridge might not-

Hermione cut him off to say of course she'd get rid of him, and after this who could blame her!

"I can!" They yelped in protest. It was very clear Harry wasn't the only one losing his temper this year if Hermione was going to be saying nonsense like that!

There was a pause in which Harry glared at her, and her eyes filled slowly with tears.

"At least she regretted it," James sighed, letting go of his anger the moment he read that. Hermione did care, she was just scared, they all were at this news.

She admitted she didn't mean that, but the rest of her words were cut off by singing.

Insert Gryffindor version of Weasley is Our King.

James paused with his head cocked to the side in confusion, his wild hair looking more flyaway than ever as he shook it and told them he hadn't read that wrong. Hardly daring to pretend to understand the mix up, he kept going in a slow, forced calm voice.

Hermione began miserably she wished they'd stop gloating, it was already bad enough, but then Harry whispered it wasn't the Slytherin's singing as the edited lyrics continued.

"No, way," Sirius whispered, his eyes now locked on James with nothing else going through his ears.

"They, used the lyrics," Remus spluttered, a grin spreading across his mouth more from surprise than actual pleasure hitting him yet.

James ignored them both, Lily and Harry were still sitting there with their mouths open in shock as he practically shouted the rest.

Hermione whispered no in surprise, Harry shouted yes in excitement, and Ron caught sight of both of them atop many people's shoulders and shouted about their win!

Lily squealed in triumph, clapping and bouncing in place as they all began laughing and cheering loudly. The damn broke, James hardly wanted to finish he was dancing around in so much excitement, but he also couldn't have stopped yelling the words in triumph no matter how hard he tried!

They beamed up at him as he passed. There was a scrum at the door of the castle and Ron's head got rather badly bumped on the lintel,

Sirius laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat and banged his own head on the table, and no one stopped to notice that either in their fusing excitement. They didn't have to keep worrying about Grawp right now, this was something so immensely good instead!

They waited until the large cheering crowd had stormed past before turning back to each other, their smiles fading a bit.

Harry said they'd tell him tomorrow.

"You are the best friend ever," Remus assured Harry, or at least tried to over the din. No one would want to be the one to tell all this to Ron in such a glorious moment.

Hermione agreed as they headed up to the party, but both stopped at the door and looked back, wondering if it was their imagination a bunch of birds shooting into the sky far off into the Forest, as if something had just tried to pull up their tree by its roots.

James hardly paid this any mind, the giant wasn't actually hurting anything in the forest yet, but this was wonderful!

"I can't believe you missed that!" Sirius shouted right in Harry's ear, and he hardly even noticed. "You, you actually missed the Quidditch Cup, and they won!"

"I'm sorry, okay," Harry raised his hands in defence even as he couldn't straighten up in his seat from his shoulders shaking too hard. "I know Ron'll make sure I hear every last thing!"

James suddenly didn't want to give the book up to Sirius. This was fantastic! So many bad things had happened this year, but he was actually hoping this was a pattern that was going to keep going, and with his luck Sirius was probably going to get to read about something happening to Umbridge finally. Surely Grawp was the worst thing to happen to Harry the rest of the year.

HPHPHPHP

  *This is one of those spells I genuinely question, why? If you just want to transfigure the cup, then you're in the wrong class. If the goal is for the cup to sprout legs to bring you, like a sugar bowl or something, levitate it to you. This...is just so entirely random to be an actual spell being practiced in class!

[katnissmellarkkk]

AN: Hiiiii, alright I’ve been working on this story since I posted my first chapter and, as it turns out, no surprise, this is gonna be longer than I originally expected. Probably like five-ish chapters? I’m not re-writing every chapter or part of Mockingjay if Peeta wasn’t hijacked, just snippets of the essential plotline and events if Peeta hadn’t been hijacked.... did that make sense? 

Alright, anyways, I wanna also take this time to say I definitely did not expect the amount of love I received on the first part of this and omg I’m so honored and touched. I really wasn't expecting you guys to be so supportive in this fandom. Thank you all so much, for liking, commenting and reblogging. It really made me so happy <3.

Also if you didn’t read part one and you want to, here’s the link. 

I hope everything’s going well for all you reading this! 

Also I need a title for this so any suggestions are more than welcome alright buh-bye.

Shattered Pearl

| Part One |

/

I know I've been shot. I felt it hit me, right underneath my chest. If I didn't vaguely remember standing in the tunnels, appealing to and pleading with the District Two men, trapped inside the Nut, the gunshot of a man standing behind us in the crowd, too cowardly to come closer and confront me to my face, if I didn't retain the image of seeing myself shot on television, I'd swear I'd been hit by one of the Capitol trains that once took me and Peeta district to district.

The thought of the train brought back memories I'd long held close to my heart. I had never spoken of nights shared between me and Peeta on the Victory Tour and prior to the Quarter Quell. Not to anyone. Not even Prim. It felt too personal and too vulnerable a memory to let anyone else claim it. For so long it was all I had to cling to, with him presumed dead and then only seen on Caesar's talkshow, tormented and a shell of the boy with the bread.

I miss him now, as I lay despondently, wherever I am. I feel a jabbing pain right where I predict I was shot, the injury feeling closer to a brutal beating than a penetration.

My mind whirls and flies and wracks itself up and down, backwards and forwards and side to side and somehow I can't remember even a split second where I felt the bullet enter into my body.

I feel my consciousness, my awareness, growing stronger now, slowly crawling in an upwards motion, like I was lying on the bottom of a lake and I'm only now floating to the top.

When my head breaks the surface, there's a bright, ugly, glaring light stinging my eyes and my first thought is one of comparison. Does Peeta experience this too, when he wakes up in his recovery room? Do they actually think that'll help anyone recover here, blasting unsettling yellow colors into their eyes as soon as they crack open? Is it their idea of a luxury, since everything and everyone else is so void of color here in Thirteen, like one of Peeta's drawings that have yet to be painted.

"Disorienting, huh?" I hear a familiar—so familar—voice laugh quietly. "I think Thirteen believes the more the lights hurt your eyes, the less we'll use them and the more energy they'll save in the end."

"Peeta?" I mean to murmur but instead my voice comes out in a whimper.

"Shh," he whispers, his voice all gentleness and sweetness now. The teasing, conversational edge is gone. He runs his fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my sweat covered forehead, hoping the ministration will soothe me.

It takes me longer than it should to place, but it strikes me after a moment that his voice now reminds me of a different foreign place and a different wound and an altogether different time.

The confusion. The comforting, appeasing voice. The soft, tender gesture. It eerily reminds me of waking up in the cave, after having bled out from my head, only to find my body weak and Peeta's shockingly strong and the tables turning and him taking care of me.

My hands act to their own accord and cannot be stilled, no matter how comforting Peeta's fingers feel, sifting through my hair.

I fumble roughly with the bandages covering my left side, where the bullet must have hit, and I force my eyes wide open now, in spite of the still disturbing light overhead.

"What am I still doing here?" I ask before I can really register what I'm saying. At his confused and—now I can see his features better, with my eyes adjusting to the brightness—exhausted face, I clarify. "The bullet didn't kill me?" I look to him for confirmation.

"No," he promises smoothly, understanding my puzzlement now. "No, I promise you, the bullet didn't kill you."

"What happened?" I ask, my voice and body both still far weaker than I'm in any way comfortable with. "I think I blacked out after I was shot."

Peeta forces himself to give me a faint ghost of a smile. "Yeah, I imagine that happens when a bullet hits you in the side." He takes my hand in his and begins to softly kiss it, repeatedly. Finally he replies, "you were shot on live TV and everyone in the country saw you go down. Coin and Plutarch decided immediately to spin this and fake your death. But Cinna made your Mockingjay outfit bulletproof. The bullet never touched you," he assures before adverting his eyes as they grew watery with his words.

"Peeta," I start, my voice raspy as it's ever been.

"I don't think I was that scared in the Capitol," he blurts out as if I didn't speak. "Snow knew, he always knew, that you getting hurt would have been worse torture than anything else he could have ever done to me."

"How do you think I felt when Snow and his guards had you prisoner?" I shoot back before I can stop myself. His torture was harrowing enough without me making it all about myself. He flinches slightly at my words but tries to mask it, for my sake, no doubt. I reach out and squeeze his hand, my body's grip embarrassingly lame and in no way soothing. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"No," he automatically refutes. "Don't apologize to me. You have enough people putting their burdens on your shoulders without adding me to that list."

I swallow hard now, my memory starting to piece everything together and I remember suddenly that this is the first time I've seen Peeta since Coin's men had essentially interrogated him into hysteria.

I hadn't told him I was even going to Two. I didn't even tell him how long I'd be gone.

And then I got shot on camera. And—as I should have predicted—the rebels used this opportunity to their advantage.

I can imagine what that felt like for him. I remember on the hovercraft to and for the first few weeks in Thirteen. Refusing to eat. Refusing to speak. Hiding in closets and sleeping only sporadically. Picturing every single time I closed my eyes Peeta being beaten to death, Peeta being abused, Peeta crying out helplessly.

I wait for him to blink back his tears again before final speaking. "Can I apologize for not telling you I was going to Two in the first place?"

Something new crosses his features and in place of the fear, the agony, the pain, comes an almost sarcastic, satirical expression. "Please do, Sweetheart."

I roll my eyes instinctively when he calls me sweetheart. He'd only ever called me that in the past to get on my nerves or irritate me. "You sound like Haymitch," I can't help but point out.

"This isn't sounding like an apology for lying."

"I'm getting there."

"I've been waiting for days."

I raise my eyebrow mockingly. "So that's why you're here by my bedside?"

"Only reason. I'm out as soon as I get my reparation."

"Well in that case," I trail off, shrugging—and inwardly cringing at the movement before bringing his hand to my lips now and planting a kiss there. "I'm not apologizing then."

He laughs and I pretend to be put out, which works until I try to cross my arms in false indignation and involuntarily eject a loud gasp of pain from the way the motion upsets whatever is broken inside of me.

Peeta drops the ruse then too and stand from his chair, sitting on the side of my bed to get closer to me. "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, cupping my cheek and turning my distressed face towards him now. "Breathe," he commands genially, leaning his forehesd against mine. "The pain will go away, Katniss, just breathe."

I let out a large breath but it only makes the pain worse and eventually I just grip the hand cupping my face and squeeze with all my might. The lame grip I felt ashamed of minutes before is now replaced with an adrenaline rush of strength and I nearly break Peeta's hand in my much smaller one.

He doesn't complain and begins to rub my back to calm me down. When the searing, paralyzing discomfort subsides, the first thing I utter is, "so if I never got actually shot, what is going on with my body?"

He strokes my face affectionately. "You have a bruised lung. Bruised ribs. And your spleen was ruptured so they removed that."

"So I'm without a spleen?" I realize, my voice raising involuntarily. For some reason, I'm petrified that a whole organ was taken out of my body and I had no say in it whatsoever.

"You don't need it, Katniss," Peeta quickly reassures.

I deflate then, not sure if I feel any better or not. Peeta's words suddenly come back to me.

"Katniss, these people aren't too different from the ones in the Capitol."

Would I trust Snow or his guards to remove my spleen? No. So should I be okay with Thirteen operating on me?

I shake my head, knowing this is redundant and ridiculous. My spleen was ruptured. They'd saved my life. I was being paranoid for nothing and I couldn't afford falsely accusing the very people I needed to survive. Especially not when they likely are what saved my life.

Peeta sees my face contort and the disheartenment etch itself across my features. Still remaining tender and cautious, he leans his own wounded, beaten face down and places kisses against my cheek.

I try to hold off but his lips bring a smile to mine, and even with all the confusion bubbling around my head, all the disbelief and uncertainty, in regards to my feelings towards him, Gale, Coin, this war and the Revolution itself, I still can't help the feeling of hope spreading across my chest, filling my heart up in a way I never let myself consider it could again.

"Peeta?" I whisper then and he pulls back from planting kisses on my face to look at me.

"Hmm?"

"If my lung is bruised, why did you tell me to breathe deeply to stop the pain?"

He freezes for a second, contemplating and considering before a slightly bashful smile crosses his mouth. "You're the healer here, not me," he finally teases. When I smile back at him, he leans in simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the word, and kisses me full on the mouth.

The kiss catches me off-guard but only after the fact. In the moment it feels right and tingly and reassuring and I'm lightheadedly happy and I don't even know what to make of how I feel on the inside.

"I'm not a healer," I remind with very little passion for the correction in my voice.

He laughs again lightly but then bites his lip and brushed my hair back. "You did say that to me in our first games, right? Real or not real?"

I hesitate for a full ten seconds before I respond, my face scrunching up. His words almost seem like an already formed game that no one had explained the rules of. "Real," I finally answer.

He's already elaborating before I can ask. "Finnick came up with it. He said it works for Annie and I should try it. If I'm ever unsure about anything that happened or what the Capitol tried to make me believe, I should ask." He shrugs then, slightly abashed. "It's repetitive-"

"It's actually a really good idea," I encourage, grabbing his hand in mine again and giving him a reassuring squeeze. And he looks at me then and gives me a grateful smile and his eyes are lighter now than they were when I woke up and I don't know where this is even going between us or if it's even going anywhere and I don't know where Gale stands and I really can't focus on my feelings right now because I'm a symbol of an entire revolution, whether I asked to be or not, and it may be selfish or immature, but I push away all my other conflicting thoughts and pull the boy with the pretty blue eyes down towards me.

He goes willingly, wrapping his body to me, only placing pressure on my right side, and I feel his face burrow in my neck. When his lips press to the sensitive skin there, like he's done dozens of times before, I shiver instinctively and close my eyes against him.

For the first time in forever I feel, for a fleeting moment, safe.

//

Prim and my mom interrupt not too long after that, but for some reason—other than Prim's cheerful smile—they don't comment on the compromising position they found us in.

Peeta promptly moves back to his previous chair and remains there for the duration of the day.

Haymitch joins us not even five minutes after my mom and sister, and he brings boiled cabbage stew from the cafeteria in tow.

"Here you go, Sweetheart," he says with a large smile, looking at the disgusting concoction with excitement now.

I look at the bowl, wishing I had more of an appetite so I could actually feel some desire to eat it. In spite of Haymitch's jokes, the cabbage stew would have been a luxury to me once upon a time, when all I could find to fill my screaming stomach was mint leaves and, if I were lucky, the roots I was named after. "How'd you know I'd be awake?" I inquire, turning the spoon around in the bowl.

"Oh I didn't," my old mentor quickly replies, plopping down in a chair against the wall. "It was for the boy." He gestured towards Peeta, who's running his fingers softly along my spine, inconspicuous enough that not even Prim catches on. "But I figure you deserve it more, since you're the one in the hospital. Speaking of that, why did you two switch places?" He asks, brash and wry.

My mom glares at Haymitch, disapproving of his callous comment, which catches me completely off guard.

My mother usually ignores all chatter between me and Haymitch and Peeta, only chiming in if Haymitch is speaking of something from Twelve that I'd be too young to understand.

I remember then watching Haymitch's tape on the train with Peeta, realizing he and my mom shared a permanent tie labeled Maysilee Donner. I look between them for a hint of familiarity I didn't see before and quickly realize Peeta's doing the exact same thing.

My mom quickly turns back to me, and gingerly but vigoriously, coaxes the stew into my stomach, even when I try to refuse because my ribs ache and using any of my muscles leaves me feeling irritable and shaky and hot inside.

"Just a little bit more, sweet girl," my mom murmurs, forcing me to finish the entire bowl, and it's only when Prim looks at me, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, that I realize my mom had used a long forgotten term of endearment. One that I'd rejected since her bout of deep, delbilitating depression.

I didn't comment on it and I don't think my mother even realized, but I avoid Peeta's eyes because evidently, by the looks of his smirk, even he knew the exchange was rare and hard to come by.

Just as I all but lick the soup bowl clean and my mom's whispering mournfully she has to go back to work and was only allowed to come see me for lunch. I am caught off guard once again though, when she kisses my forehead and whispers, with audible tears, that she loves me so much.

I feel like a monster all of a sudden, for the absolute hell I must have put her through.

I squeeze Prim's hand as tight as I can as she takes our mom's seat and scoots it even closer to my bed. "Hey, little duck," I greet in my most comforting voice. "How're things while I was gone."

Prim, as usual, puts up a-albeit, very weak-pretense in order to make me feel better. "They were okay for the most part." She pauses and bites her lip, contemplating to herself before adding. "It was just hard because we didn't even know you were leaving and then we watched you be shot on live TV."

"I know," I murmur apologetically, because it's all I can do. "I'm so sorry, Prim."

But my sister's shaking her head before I can finish and I swear Peeta and Haymitch roll their eyes at the same moment and if Prim wasn't here, I'd be telling them both off.

"No one's mad at you, Katniss," she promises, like that's my concern. People I love being angry, not people I love going through absolute turmoil. "Just... next time could you let us know?"

I nod automatically, because I want my sister to feel better, even though I'm unsure if I can even fulfill this promise. "Yeah, of course."

Prim just stares at me for a moment. "You're such a bad liar," she finally calls out.

Haymitch noisily laughs from across the room, but Peeta remains completely stoic now, and I want three sets of eyes so I could focus on multiple people at once.

I choose to keep my focus on my little sister. "Prim," I start, my voice still unconvincing. "I just... I never know what's going to happen next, so it's hard to know ahead of time what I'll do. The last thing I want, that I've ever wanted, was to worry you and mom."

"Yeah, but, Katniss," She refutes even and diplomatically. "You not telling us only makes it worse. Finding out from strangers you and Gale disappeared off to District Two on a secret mission with the rebels? Only to watch them fake your death? It was as bad as watching you in the games."

I feel my chest constrict and the breath fly out of my aching lungs as I swallow down the lump formed in my throat. "Prim, I never meant-"

"She knows, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, his hand sifting through my hair once again.

Prim looks at Peeta—with more familiarity than I've ever seen between them before—and then back at me. "He's right. I know you never meant for that to happen but... if you could just let us into the loop a little more, it'd make things a lot more bearable."

I nod, meaning my promise to keep her and our mom more informed now. I squeeze Prim's hand again and ask quietly, "how bad was mom when I was shot?"

Prim's eyes shoot to Peeta almost intractably. But I catch it and I press it before they can pretend it didn't happen.

"What's going on with you two?"

They both look at me in utter shock. Or is that the look of getting caught keeping a secret?

"Nothing," Prim immediately covers. Peeta, on the other hand, doesn't react so quick, and instead chooses to just shut his eyes to avoid looking at me.

There's something more going on that they want to avoid telling me. And instinctively, I don't think it's about my mother. Even without him meeting my glance, I can tell Peeta's embarrassed about something.

"Prim," I say evenly. "You're a worse liar than I am."

"You actually are, kid," Haymitch adds. "Didn't think that was possible."

"What happened when I was shot?" I ask again, my voice closer to a threat than a comfort now.

"Let it go, Katniss. It's not important," Peeta urges, his own voice more worn and irritated than I'd heard it since the last games.

"When has she ever let something go?" Haymitch ponders, unfazed by our whole exchange.

"Katniss," Prim starts but I cut her off. I can tell she was going to placate me, like getting shot turned me into our mother.

"As your older sister, you're not allowed to lie to me."

"C'mon now, Sweetheart. That's not being fair."

"Then you tell me, Haymitch. What happened when I was shot that they don't want me to know?"

Our old mentor sighs deeply but I can tell he's relenting. If I couldn't see the resignation on Haymitch's face, Peeta's whole body tensing up in anticipation would be a dead giveaway.

"The boy had a meltdown when you were shot," Haymitch finally states. He gives Peeta a long, measuring look before continuing. "He basically went ballistic and lost his grip on reality." He moves his eyes to train them on the floor of my hospital room. I know he's trying now to avoid Peeta's furious eyes, full of betrayal.

"What?" I turn and look at the boy beside me, remorse overtaking my entire being. I reach out and touch his face but he won't look at me, even when I try to force him.

"He was frantic for days. Couldn't tell the difference in reality and the lies the Calitol fed him. He was only released probably an hour before you woke up. So I guess you guys have good timing," Haymitch adds, trying too hard to lighten the mood.

"Peeta," I whisper after a beat, pleading with him to just look at me, talk to me, but to no avail.

"Peeta, talk to her," Prim begs on my behalf.

"It wasn't that severe," he finally states, his voice extremely muted now as he speaks in a hushed tone, only to me. "I didn't want to tell you because you don't need anything else on your plate. Especially not about me. And it was barely worth mentioning."

"I think it was worth mentioning," Prim chimes and Haymitch points at her and nods.

"She's got better sense than both of you."

Peeta ignores Haymitch. "Prim," he groans with an air of affinity that still boggled me. "Stop. It was fine."

"You were so upset though. And she should know, since she's the one the Capitol wanted to hurt when they tortured you," she advocates, impressing even me with her reason. "And I think we should all stop lying," my pure-of-heart little sister tacts onto the end.

Haymitch nods affirmatively towards Prim again, and I see something akin to wonder now in his eyes as he looks at her, and it takes no more than common sense to realize he's imagining life with Prim as his victor and how much easier that would have been.

"I just don't think now is the time to be talking about this, Prim," Peeta tersely states.

I can't help but interject now, after having witnessed their exchange this whole time, "I'm sorry, but do you two know each other?"

A look is exchanged between all three of them and I'm so tempted to ask if they'd like me to leave so they can freely converse in private. Finally Prim informs quietly, "me and mom were there with Peeta when he got upset. He actually helped mom because she had somewhere to focus all her own emotions. You know how she is, Katniss. When things get rough, she puts all of herself into her healing."

"Glad of be of service," Peeta mumbles despondently and I can see in his troubled eyes, he's blatantly ashamed of himself.

"Peeta," I murmur softly, taking his hand against his will—he tries to fight me from even picking it up—and bringing it to my lips.

He sighs deeply and offers me a half smile. "My being a lunatic doesn't disturb you?"

"Of course not," I quickly dispute. My mind is still processing all of this though. "So you and my family... bonded after I was shot?"

Peeta outwardly groans, dropping my hand. "Let it go, Katniss."

"I just never considered it a huge connecting technique. You know, I could have gotten shot a long time ago-"

"That's not even funny," Peeta chides and there's nothing humorous in his voice now.

I shut up instantly, feeling the mood of the room drop. Even Haymitch falls silent and adverts his eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry," I finally whisper and I don't know who I'm apologizing to, Peeta or Prim. I'm know I'm not saying sorry to Haymitch, who is still lolled in his chair across the room. Although maybe I should, since he was undoubtedly as scared as the rest of my family. Not that he'd ever admit that to me.

Peeta shakes his head and his expression softens. Leaning in closer, he gently brushes his lips to my cheek, very lightly and very chaste, considering Prim's proximity.

"Just don't lie to us again," Prim pleads, taking my other hand firmly. "No matter how much you want to protect us."

I nod obligingly, maybe more to relieve my guilt than anything else but I do actually mean my promise. "Okay," I swear.

Peeta pushes back my hair soothingly before running the back of his hand over my cheek. "Okay," he finally repeats, only loud enough for me to hear.

And I know then that he's forgiven me.

///

Within an hour, my mom, Gale, Boggs, Plutarch and my doctor all join the party inside my hospital room.

"Isn't there a limited amount of people allowed in one room?" Haymitch retorts gruffly, unhappy about being squished into the corner and unable to spread out the way he was before.

"Oh there usually is," Plutarch confirms, his tone more joyful than I find appropriate, given my situation. And the state of the rebels now. "But I asked Coin to make an exception for Katniss."

"Can Coin make an exception and give Katniss a bigger room?" Gale mumbles under his breath.

I laugh at his sarcasm and his disgruntled expression. We'd made amends on the way to District Two, not wanting to be in potentially dangerous territories and still on the outs with each other. I expected the issues that made us clash—and whatever feelings that still lied between us—would all come to a head once we returned to Thirteen, but we unexpectedly took longer than anticipated in Two and now I was wounded. And even Gale can't deny he was scared out of his mind when I went down. Even he isn't in the mindset to wrangle with me.

I squeeze Peeta's hand in my own and pretend I don't see Gale's envious eyes staring at our interconnected limbs. I don't feel the same guilt I usually do when it was apparent Gale was upset by me and Peeta, and I wonder, idly, in the back of my mind, if this isn't because of the morphling I'm pumped full of.

My doctor is one of the same people who checked Peeta out after he was rescued and I realize I don't even know his name. It doesn't seem like I'll learn it now either, as he barely speaks. I'm half inclined—though I know it's impossible—to think my own mother is the one who operated on me, from the lack of insight the man provides.

In any case, the doctor doesn't seem concerned in the slightest about me and slips out of the room as soon as Plutarch shifts the conversation in a new direction.

"So, I was wondering," he starts, his face still much too happy to completely sit right with me. "Maybe if you'd be up—once you're out of bed and recovered, of course—to film a propo?"

I just stare at him blankly, wondering how on Earth he expected me to have any desire to film anything right now, while I'm still currently getting pain relievers pumped into my veins.

He misreads my expression and quickly adds, "Of course Peeta would be in it! The Star-Cross Lovers need to be shown reunited. I feel that could help with the cause immensely—"

He keeps talking but I automatically tune out his chirping voice as he prattles on. I can see his vision now. The Mockingjay Lives splayed across the screen, me and Peeta wrapped in an embrace, my voice loud and strong, announcing that we're going to keep fighting to the end.

I'm not the only one looking at Platurch like he's grown a second head. The only person who's not looking at the man with distain or disbelief is Haymitch, who's expression is either mildly entertained or filled with such incredulity that he looks like he's grinning.

Peeta's reaction is much stronger than I expect and it's only after he looks like he's grown nauseous from disgust or is planning on throwing something at Plutarch's joyous face, that I realize Peeta has no real experience with the Gamemaker.

He was in the Capitol the entire time I've really gotten to know Plutarch and the man's antics must seem completely foreign to Peeta.

I squeeze his hand before he can say anything and shake my head in Plutarch's general direction. He isn't harmful and I don't want Peeta to waste the energy he needs to recover.

But he has trouble swallowing down his obvious repulsion and his hands begin to shake and his eyes are far angrier than I would have expected in these circumstances a few months ago.

It's my mom who is murmuring about Peeta needing to check in with his doctors and how she'll walk him down there and she waits expectantly for him to get up and part of me faintly envies him for some reason. And I realize quickly that it's the way she talks to him—it's the way she speaks to all patients of her's, really. It's a firm tone, that's still kind but is very direct. Maybe a little authoritative and unyielding. And I realize at once it's a tone I almost never heard again after my dad's death and I took over caring for the family.

And I miss it. Despite everything. Despite my lack of trust in her and my fear she'll retreat back into her shell one day and leave me and Prim behind all over again. Despite my instincts to never put my faith in my mother again, a big part of me still misses the days when she parented me.

Peeta sighs, seeing through the ruse, and kisses my nose before heading out the door behind my mother.

Plutarch follows too, blatantly unaware of what he set into motion, and saying he was needs to review the film of the other Victors for their propos. I'm still appalled he wanted to parade me out while I'm lying in a hospital bed, but I do feel a bit more at ease knowing it's not just me and Peeta he wants to exploit for the sake of the rebellion.

I wished to myself I could actually go to where the fight was. That I could actually have a shot of getting close enough to really be involved in taking down Snow and his supporters, rather than being filmed as a icon to motivate other people to fight in this war.

I kept this to myself, as my even being in this bed was proof of what happened when I was a more central part of the fighting. And even then, I somehow managed to get shot while they were essentially using me as a talking piece for the other soldiers.

But there was something else on my mind and I turned to focus onto Gale now. Only he, Prim and Haymitch remained in my room and Prim was telling my old mentor about the medical uses of alcohol. I don't know what she planned on accomplishing with that, but it worked as a diversion for me at the moment.

"Okay, so what happened?" I press Gale in a hushed voice when I know Prim isn't listening. He gives me a quizzical look and I quickly clarify. "With Peeta and my mom and Prim?"

Comprehension fills his eyes and he sighs before continuing. "I wasn't there for the beginning. Obviously. I was with you in District Two. But I know that he was watching TV when you were shot, and he completely lost it. Apparently it triggered some kind of flashback to something they used to do to him in the Capitol. He was still yelling when we arrived back. I heard it when I passed his room while you were in surgery. Whatever Snow did to him-"

He's promptly cut off by a new but familiar voice joining the room now. "Ah, yes," Johanna Mason shoves back the curtain separating my cubicle from the one next door. Her's, I guess. "Fond memories you mention, Handsome." She winks at Gale. "One of Snow's favorite methods of torture. The old 'make Peeta watch a thousand fabricated video simulations of Katniss being brutally murdered, on repeat. Don't let him sleep. Beat him. Water him down and beat him some more. Make him watch the Katniss Dying Simmulations again', until he can't even tell you what's real and what's not."

I just stare at her, my heart sinking in my chest rapidly. "What?" Is all I can manage to say, my mouth drying up fast.

"I mean, there were worse forms of torture Snow and his men liked to use on me and your fiancé, but I was told you needed to be kept in the dark about those," she state cheekily, obviously trying to goad me.

"Who told you to keep me in the dark?" I snap, my eyes shooting between Prim, who's now looking right at me, and Gale.

Johanna, much to my surprise, points to Haymitch. The older man is still laid out in a chair in the corner of the room, having made himself comfortable again, but at least now has the decency to look sheepish.

"Listen, Sweetheart," he immediately defends. "You and the boy have your own separate issues, alright? You both don't need to take on the other's all the dang time."

"Haymitch-" I start to growl but am caught off guard by a completely unexpected noise. Johanna's hysterical, dark, morbid laughter.

"I can't believe you were rescued and I was tortured, and I'm expected to protect you from the truth."

I don't blame her. No one could honestly. She was tortured because of me and the rebels. She could say and do whatever she wanted at this point, and no one had the right to tell her differently.

"Johanna," I start but let her cut me off once again, becoming accustomed to the feeling.

"And don't worry about Peeta," she says but the resentful shake of her head doesn't fill me with hope. "Your mom made him her project once they informed her your suit was bulletproof. Her and your sister basically walked him off the ledge."

And because I know she's the only person who will be completely uncensored—something I can't even say about Haymitch these days—I blurt out my next question. "What was Peeta saying? When he lost it?"

Her response is immediate and I get the impression she enjoys telling me, for some sick reason.

"Give me back to the Capitol. They'll find a way to revive her if you give me back. I want to go back. I'll trade my life for her's. Please, let me go back."

As soon as the words sunk into my brain, I wanted to puke.

So I did.

////

Johanna wasn't happy about my vomiting a literal foot away from her and she was downright livid when no one else appeared to be irritated with me but she reached a breaking point when both Peeta—who returned upon hearing my loud gagging—and Gale comforted me.

It was an odd sensation to be in not just conversation with both Peeta and Gale but to have them both be so sweet to me, at the same exact time. Without even so much as looking crossly towards the other one.

Gale held my hand and told me to calm down in a gentle voice he only ordinarily used for one of our sisters or his mom. Peeta was sitting opposite him, on the edge of my bed and telling me softly to just relax as he stroked my hair tenderly. Even Haymitch had gotten out of his seat to call an attendant to clean up my vomit and Prim and my mom were standing at the end of my bed, looking worriedly onto the scene.

Johanna's voice was biting as she took us all in. "How much hand holding does she need? Considering she was apparently strong enough to be the face of our entire cause."

"I shouldn't be," I instantly agree with her. "You should be. No one has to push you or tell you what to say."

"No one likes me, brainless," she says snidely, a leering smile spreading across her face.

"That's because everyone's afraid of you," Prim chimes in timidly, and I drop Gale's hand to reach for my little sister's, almost on instinct upon hearing her scared voice.

But Johanna has the decency to not swipe at Prim and instead gives her a sympathetic look. As if to say you don't have to be scared of me.

Her compassion evidently only extends to the thirteen-year-old, as when Finnick and Annie join the room right on the heels of Prim's words, Johanna barks out a cruel laugh. "Really? More people? Are we having a party to celebrate Katniss?" She gives everyone a mocking look around the room. "Well, I wish someone would have told me. I forgot to bring my streamers."

For some reason her tone suddenly forces back a memory of the last night in the arena. Her cutting my arm open and my red, hot, sticky blood gushing everywhere. My understanding at the time being that this was an attempt to kill me. I know now that this was the rebels' plan and she was really cutting out my tracker but the sense memory can't be so easily rationalized away.

I flinch outwardly and both Gale and Prim's faces silently ask if I'm alright. But I'm quickly distracted elsewhere.

I'm, once again, wholly surprised by Peeta's reaction.

"Don't you have anything else to do, Johanna, besides bug Katniss?" There's a strong irritability in his voice, one I'd only heard from an outsider prospective in the past. On the off occasion I'd witnessed he and his brothers in any sort of conversation. Their relationship was tense at times but they were still siblings and extremely close in age. That made for a lot of squabbling and a lot of fighting and a lot of sparring with each other. And a lot of aggravating each other, causing Peeta to behave in a way I'd never seen him otherwise.

"I don't know?" She shoots back, not even missing a beat. "Didn't I have better things to do than cuddle you after Snow's guards were done for the day? And yet, who's shoulder did you cry on? Who held your hand through our adjoining cells?" She smirks and it's obvious she's speaking for the rest of us to hear.

Annie makes an animalistic squeak and covers her ears. Finnick quickly wraps an arm around her and shoots a glare at Johanna.

"What?" She snaps. "Annie was there in the Capitol, Finnick. She know what went down."

"Doesn't mean you have to remind her of it," I state, my voice grave as I watch the mad girl Finnick loves more than life itself retreat into her own psyche.

And for some odd reason, I relate. To both Finnick, who's doing everything he can now to bring her back from the dark depths of her own mind, and Annie herself, who is buried beneath the ruins of a trauma she'll never be able to escape and is visibly struggling to dig her way back out.

I look to Peeta then, almost imperceptibly, and he just gives me a knowing, almost satirical glance. He was undoubtably thinking the same thing.

Johanna is ready to spit in my face, and she probably would, no doubt, if it were just the two of us. "You have no idea what went down after we were captured," she seethes, growing closer to me, and Peeta places an arm in front of her, blocking me from her reach, but I note the gesture isn't rough or hostile.

Gale and my mom both look like they're going to intervene. Finnick is busy with Annie now. Prim looks shell shocked and Haymitch seems to have lost interest in watching us.

For some reason, maybe it's the morphling, maybe I just feel safe surrounded by so many people who would stop her if she lunged for my throat, but I decide to reply. "Is that why you hate me so much?"

Her violent demeanor dissipates but she still has a spiteful glint in her gaze. "That's part of it. And partially because everyone is so obsessed with you. I've never seen anything about you that's so good or special."

"I agree with you about that," I say quietly, knowing it'll do nothing to mend fences with her.

Haymitch, who out of everyone I thought would agree as well, is the one who speaks up. "There's plenty good in that girl," he retorts sharply, his grey eyes hard as he stares at Johanna.

That caught me—and Peeta, by the look on his face—more off guard than anything Johanna had said thus far.

But it's Johanna's words, which aren't even directed at me, that send a chill to my spine. "Careful, Haymitch. Remember, I'm the one who's always there for the victor you constantly forget about. Or was that you who held his hand while the doctors and Mrs. Everdeen had him strapped down for two days?"

Gale is the one who responds, much to my surprise. "Okay, stop. I know you've been through—"

"Handsome," she cuts off, her voice clipped and snarky but she still bats her lashes in his direction. "You don't know anything."

"Johanna, please," Peeta murmurs now, his tone softer and a lot more understanding. "Please go back to your cubicle. I'll tell the doctors you're complaining of massive pain and need more morphling."

She stares at Peeta, her eyes softening the same way they did for Prim only minutes before. Finally she says, "it's the least you can do. Considering you wouldn't share your fiancé's with me."

And, as soon as she appeared, she had evaporated behind the curtain.

And I feel like somehow, I'm the only person who is left reeling in her absence.

/////

My mom was called back to work once again—and this time, she was made to stay there, my condition apparently too stabilized for them to be letting one of their better healers cut back on her hours—and she took Prim with her. I don't know if it was because Prim would be of use or if she just thought I needed alone time without worrying about my sister overhearing too much.

It occurs to me how much my mom is trying now to wordlessly look out for my needs. I decide to make a point in finding a way to say thank you to her. Even if our relationship will never be what it could have been, had there never been corruption or games or mine explosions. Had there been proper help to those suffering and in need.

Finnick chats with me and Peeta for a moment—and entirely ignores Gale but I suspect that's less about being intentionally rude and more about never knowing what to do with my best friend slash fake cousin—before escorting Annie away. She still looks shaken up and I wonder what happened to her in the Capitol. Or if she was already this unstable. I scarcely remember anything about her or her games, prior to what Peeta reminded me of in the Quell.

"You look tired," Peeta notes, brushing my hair back from my forehead. I smile lightly, about to kiss the palm of his hand before noticing Gale's eyes. They are quite apparently envious of Peeta's affection towards me and my acceptance of it, of how naturally Peeta can touch me, of the innate intimacy between the two of us that I never shared with him. But he tries his best to mask it and for that, I feel even worse.

I look to Haymitch without realizing it and somehow the older man understands without me even consciously thinking of asking.

"Boy," Haymitch grunts, putting on a good show as he stands up. "Let's go get some real food from the cafeteria. I hear if we say we'll participate in Plutarch's Propos, we can get better grub than the rest of Thirteen."

Peeta nods, his eyes gently running over my face, as if memorizing it in his mind. "Will you be okay-"

"Okay, Johanna was right," Haymitch barks now, grabbing Peeta by the back of the shirt, his grip much too docile to pass as normal though. "She'll be fine. Let's all stop hovering. She'll be up and tormenting us in a day."

I roll my eyes at his antics but smile meagerly at him as he guides Peeta out the door.

"Well," Gale breathes out as they leave. "That was subtle."

I laugh loud enough that I hear Johanna hiss from the cubicle next door. "I wanted to talk to you privately."

Gale chuckles. "Gathered that."

I know I have a limited time before Peeta returns and honestly I'm not too mad about that fact either, as I somehow, chessily, long for him now whenever he's gone. I inwardly cringe at myself before shaking it off to hurry this conversation along. "I wanted to apologize for me and Peeta. For how we can act. For..." I trail off, realizing too late I didn't pre-plan my words.

Peeta was right when he'd spat at Haymitch on the Victory Tour, "we all know I'm better on camera than Katniss. No one has to coach me on what to say."

I wished for his ease and talent with words now as I fumble around, trying to convey my message to the person who's been my best friend for years now.

He understands though—thankfully—and needs no more explanation. His tone has become solemn when he speaks. "You're really not faking it anymore, are you? Being in love with him?" His eyes are full of pain and he quickly downcasts them. "You fell in love with him in the Quarter Quell," he says as a fact, not a question.

"I don't know, Gale!" I exclaim, quick to defend myself here, like I'm being accused of something horrific. In truth, I feel like I am. I feel like I am, when I see how much it hurts him when me and Peeta are together. "I don't know how I feel. I just know I feel a lot for both of you."

"That's not good enough, Catnip," Gale whispers, shaking his head. But he uses my old nickname and that gives me hope. Hope that he won't hate me for not being able to give him what he wishes. Hope that I won't lose him entirely by the end of this war. "You really do need him."

I open my mouth to say something, anything, to try and rectify this. But I can't because it's true. Those are my words he's repeating back to me and they completely true. I do need Peeta. Maybe in a way I'll never need Gale. I don't know. I can't know. Not with all that rests on my shoulders already.

"What if I made you choose?" Gale presses now, leaning in closer. "What if I begged and pled and promised I'd find a way to make you happy? Would you pick me then?"

My mouth still hangs open, unsure what to say that get me out of this. I look towards the door, wishing Haymitch would reappear, that Peeta would burst through with his loud footfalls, that Johanna would pop back in and rub some salt in everyone's wounds.

All that would be preferable to this right now and I wonder why I ever wanted Haymitch to take Peeta away.

Gale shakes his head now though, having recieved his answer. "I thought so."

"Gale-" I start, not knowing where I was planning on taking the exchange but before I can even make a redundant attempt to mend whatever broke between me and him a long time ago, he's leaning in and his lips are pressing to mine and after half a second of shock, I'm giving in.

After everything I'd denied him, after all that he'd done for me and for my family, after how much he'd been there for me while Peeta was in the Capitol, I let myself give in and kiss him back.

His lips are different from Peeta's and I can't figure out how I feel about them. He's always been more grown, appearance wise, than Peeta and me, who both still could pass for years younger in the right clothing. But even his kissing is reeks of more experience, more practice, and somehow I find myself learning as his mouth shift under mine, as both his lips suck on my bottom lip expertly.

But it's lacking something and it's only then I realize, what I'm searching for inside Gale's mouth, is the spark that only Peeta's ever ignited in me. I keep waiting in vain for the warmth that started in my stomach and then rose up and exploded in my chest, for the craving that no matter what I couldn't manage to satisfy, for the thrilling, almost hysterical, tingly feeling, to overcome me and leave me lightheaded in a completely foreign way. A way that couldn't be attributed to lack of oxygen.

But it never does. I pull back and wipe my mouth carelessly on my arm and sigh, already sensing Gale's demeanor taking a nose dive at my lackluster reaction.

I'm not disappointed when I look to see his expression. His eyes are frustrated, his mouth is downturned, his eyebrows are pinched together. And I feel as bad as I knew I would. Because no matter what, I'm hurting someone I deeply care for.

But how I feel upon seeing Gale's face isn't even comparable to the amount of remorse that fills me, that overtakes my entire being, when I see Peeta standing in the doorway, having watched our entire exchange.

[samwrights]

Elixir - Punk!AU mini-series

Hi guys! So I wanted to write something a little different. Not necessarily a “choose your own adventure” but something along those lines. This mini series will be a Punk!AU where the reader is in a band where your story depends on the person you choose! While no place is actually mentioned, I’m thinking Chicago (home sweet home) for setting. I’ve been working on this between requests and, while the requests keep coming, I’m trying to get the routes going. For now, I present to you the prologue.

Thank you quarantine, necessary drives to my Starbucks, Halestorm, Neck Deep, Pierce the Veil, and Paramore for inspiring these babies. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: there will be swearing, smoking of cigarettes and weed, consumption of edibles and alcohol, cheating and possibly be NSFW. I haven’t decided on the last one yet. Everyone will be of legal US age for consumption of nicotine, marijuana, and alcohol in the present day (18+ in some states for tobacco, 21+ in for everything else). However, there are mentions of underage consumption/distribution of alcohol. These are genuinely mature themes! If you are unable to understand that these themes are not encouraged to be re-enacted, specifically cheating and underage consumption/distribution of nicotine, alcohol, or marijuana, please do not read for your own safety.

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

Photocredit by @scandeniall​

Word Count: 3504

Prologue is below the cut!

You had been trying to ignore the gnawing thrum of discomfort that had worked its way into your intuition the last few weeks, but today the dull throb had transcended into an alarm blaring at the back of your consciousness. Like your body was trying to tell you something that should have been painstakingly obvious, yet when you attempted to pinpoint the cause, you fell short with an answer.

Period? Nah, too early for that.

Food poisoning? That wouldn’t last multiple weeks.

Pulled a muscle at the gym? That was a joke, considering you hadn’t gone to a gym since your senior year of college.

Anxiety? Well that was a given, considering you had a nasty gut feeling about something.

Stress? Stress was nothing new. In fact, stress was a very familiar friend to you.

What the fuck was it?

Even meditating on the thought for the last three hours, an answer had yet to come to you. Without ever finding one, you reluctantly pull the plush covers off of your queen sized bed and push yourself up to sit on the edge before checking your phone’s lock screen for the time. 1:23pm. You still had quite some time before you needed to leave for band practice, but you knew full well that laying in bed any further would encourage your current laziness. Making your way around the clothes that haphazardly littered your disheveled bedroom floor, you entered your bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

The warmth of the water did little to quell the unsettling feeling that emanated from your gut. You even attempted to center your with old therapy tactics such as identifying all of your surroundings, such as which muscles of your body the shower was raining upon or the different notes in your voice that reverberated off the shower walls as you subconsciously sang. When that had failed, you allowed your mind to wander through the metaphorical meadow that resided in your brain.

At first, your mind focused on whatever lyrics fell from your lips, recognizing the prose as one of your band’s songs. Connecting the words that were committed to memory with people, your mind began to wander to your friends—the three boys you were thankful enough to call your best friends of a decade and members of your band, Elixir—Tetsurō Kuroo, Takahiro Hanamaki, and Yūji Terushima.

Kuroo, or Tetsu as you sometimes called him, was the guitarist of Elixir and the “mastermind” behind the name of your little group. Mastermind being a relatively loose term, as at the time, you all had felt indifferent to the name. But as nobody had come with any better alternatives, you all had stuck to it until it had grown on you. Kuroo was a year younger than you and, outside of the band, was a chemist for a small time company at the ripe age of twenty six. As you thought of him, you let out a soft snort that nobody but you could hear, thinking of his disheveled raven haired locks that framed his face; thinking of his earlobe holes that had been stretched out to nearly half an inch in diameter; thinking of the myriad of tattoos that littered his body from neck to toe. Sometimes, it did seem a little funny that this man had to wear a lab coat on the daily. You were so proud of him and of his accomplishments. He was ambitious and driven, focused on his goal of succeeding in both his field and with his band. Whether that meant recording an album and touring or just continuing to have fun was unknown, since really he would be fine with either or both.

Entertaining your analytical thoughts about Kuroo brought you to the bassist of your band, Takahiro Hanamaki, as you had met them both at your high school jobs in a local cafe. Makki, though he initially seemed profoundly reserved, had a relaxed sense of humor that typically came at the expense of others. At the time, he was a distinct contrast to Kuroo’s loud, antagonistic nature. Now, the two of them began to take bits and pieces of each other’s personalities. While Makki’s cool, composed self remained, he also was not one to avoid baiting someone just to crack a joke or tease them, an attribute he had adopted over the years of exposure to you and the guitarist. However, his laidback attitude was almost never immediately acknowledged by strangers, as his lanky build and harrowing, deep set eyes typically intimidate those who don’t know the light hearted bassist. And while he wasn’t the most “modified” member of the band, many saw the two eyebrow rings that rested above the right brow and, in conjunction with his natural features, immediately assumed the impression that Makki was unapproachable. You always had a soft spot for Makki and his slightly misunderstood ways.

Speaking of misunderstood brought your mind to the youngest member of your quartet—Yūji Terushima, or Teru as you affectionately called him. While he was only a year younger than the boys, two years in comparison to you, he was the life energy of the squad. When he had entered the cafe in which you, Kuroo, and Makki worked at for his first day, it felt that the final missing piece of the puzzle had been found, though you didn’t know it yet. It had been a year later, with you officially accepting the role of supervisor instead of trainer and Kuroo being your replacement. The two hit it off swimmingly and, while Makki didn’t necessarily match his energy, he compensated with humor. Terushima was, and still is, a wild thing. He breathes life into the rest of you by offering up crazy adventures that varied from a simple 2am Walmart trip to breaking into forest preserves at the dead of night to swim in a creek even though you had finals to attend to the following morning. In a sense, Terushima was the very reason Elixir had been born. After all, he was the one who encouraged each you to learn covers of songs until the interest had been sparked enough to learn how to properly play everyone’s respected instruments.

Backtracking your thoughts—finals. Finals meant university, and university was probably the most wild time of your life. As the friendship between the four of you continued to blossom with years passing, you all had made a pact to attend the same university. At one point, it had been tricky, trying to decide on where you were going to go and if you wanted to wait for Teru to catch up due to the age gap or if you, as the eldest, were going to pave the way for your juniors. It came as a surprise to the boys when you announced that you would wait, taking a two year gap in order to save money to lessen the blow of tuition in your bank account. Even more surprisingly, Kuroo and Makki had agreed with each other to do the same—what was the point in you staying behind and waiting for Yūji if they weren’t going to as well?

Waiting for Terushima turned out to be the absolute best idea ever. While you were initially hesitant to be rooming with three boys, friendship be damned, the four of you getting an apartment together for your university years was the best chaotic good moment you had ever been involved in. In a way, you all had gotten to celebrate many firsts together because of it. Did it bother you that you were a slightly older freshman? Sure, a little bit. Did it matter? Not at all, considering you were able to start buying liquor and beer as a sophomore in college and, as soon as your younger peers found out, you had turned it into a business to help pay rent for your shared apartment. Oddly enough, Terushima was the one who handled all of the expenses and calculated what you should be charging for your, ahem, “services”. Go figure, the youngest of you all was a math whiz. There was one unwritten rule for the apartment—no parties. Period. You could use your services to grab whatever supplies needed, whether it be alcohol, weed from a dispensary, or cigarettes, they were for your guys’ personal use only. Home was meant to home, and that was that.

Home; probably the single most important word in the entirety of your personal dictionary. While home was most often defined as a place in which a person or family resides, it meant something entirely different to you. Being home meant being with your best friends, your family. It meant being free to be yourself, unapologetically and unabashedly. And, maybe after rummaging through every single thought and analyzing each one through a metaphorical microscope, maybe that was where the disturbance in your intuition—that nasty gut feeling residing in the pit of your stomach—was coming from. There was something that you could not quite place that was disturbing your freedom, your home. Coming to the realization that your hot water had now gone cold, prompting you to shut it off and seek refuge and warmth in a fluffy towel and robe. Had it gone cold in that moment—the moment you realized why you had been on edge? Or had it been running cold out of irony that you had been in meditation for so long you hadn’t even realized it? You would never know the answer.

2:07pm. You still had plenty of time before band practice, considering both Makki and Tetsu would still be at work for another hour. To give them ample time to unwind from their work day, practice always started at five in the evening. In an attempt to kill time, you opted to make yourself a small lunch before sitting down to do your hair and makeup so as that you felt more comfortable being in public. Not that the boys cared—they lived with you for four years in university, they knew what you looked like at your absolute worst. Perhaps it became a habit to do so when you re-entered the working world as a full fledged adult three years ago.

2:29pm. After having your lunch, even taking the time to do all the dishes before moving into your next task—getting ready. While you didn’t feel the need to go overboard on your appearance, since it was just practice after all, you still had a solid hour and a half before Elixir was supposed to meet. Having plenty of time to kill allowed you to take your time to forego some self-care as well; maybe giving your locks a little extra tender love and care if you felt you needed it; plucking stray eyebrow hairs that had grown just a bit further outside of your desired shape. You checked the time on your phone again after you felt your look was complete, hair, makeup, and all. How the fuck had only an hour gone by? That was way more effort than you normally put in, or so you claim, yet time seemed to be mocking you.

3:36pm. If you could magically waste time picking out an outfit to wear to practice, you were doing so now. One part of you almost wanted to chuck on the leather pants you would potentially be sporting for tomorrow evening so as to give them a slight stretch and make them more comfortable while you performed. Another said to just keep it simple, and stick to leggings and a nice loose tee to keep you at ease. The last option that your mind entertained was wearing shorts and a tank because it always got so hot in Terushima’s basement during practice. You even went so far as to try on multiple shirts and tops that were essentially the same, swapping out different preferred accessories to see if you liked the look, if only to make the minutes tick by. Hell, you even tried multiple pairs of shoes, lacing each foot individually before the clock had passed four in the afternoon. Eventually, you tied on your typical, everyday combat boots despite the wasted minutes trying to do a wardrobe check. Now that there was only an hour left for Elixir to begin arriving the at the drummer’s family home, you decide to give yourself ample time to stop by and grab coffee for everyone.

4:13pm. You send a text message out to your mates, waiting for them to reply with what you knew would be their typical orders. Well, as typical as it could be considering Terushima was always trying out crazy concoctions. One by one they responded and of course, your assumptions were correct when Teru sent in his drink that took up four rows of text. “What in the actual fuck?” You grumbled out, squinting at your phone while simultaneously trying to enter your car. Following your typical routine of turning on whatever guilty pleasure playlist you were feeling in that moment and lighting a cigarette, you glanced at your friends order one more time before ultimately deciding to place the order online. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself ordering Yūji’s stupid drink. After placing the order, you made your way to a Starbucks closest to the aforementioned boy’s family home.

The drive to Terushima’s wasn’t a particularly long, even with the coffee run. Traveling between two suburban towns typically only took about twenty minutes regardless of the direction you were coming from, though you hadn’t taken into account the long line wrapping around the Starbucks Drive-thru. Not that it mattered—you were still on time for practice. Even if it seemed all of your friends were already here. Cautiously exiting your car with the tray of drinks in one hand while you let yourself into the Terushima residence.

His parents greeted you warmly as you always did before you made your way down to the basement. “Ayeeee, there’s momma.” Makki greets, taking the tray from your hands and distributing everyone’s respective drinks. Small talk place between band members, distracting you from the other three people in the basement—your bandmates’ girlfriends. When you did finally acknowledge their presence, you gave them a tight lipped smile, so as not to be rude, though they only gave a blank stare before bringing their attention back to the phones in their hands. You gave a roll of your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, per se. It was more along the lines of you were the only female in the band and they automatically assumed that you were out to steal their mans. Not the case, especially considering you all formed the band before any of them were even in the picture, but go off.

Having already finished your beverage from earlier, you began plugging in the microphone into the amplifier and tuning the guitar you used for a small number of songs. Everyone else seemed to be ready to go except for you, who was strapping on the aforementioned guitar to prepare for the insanity of an opening that is Kuroo’s masterpiece. Besitos, he called it. Spanish for little kisses, you often wondered where the romantic title had come from considering the narrative was less than pleasant, even foreshadowing murder in the final verse. When you asked him about the inspiration for the lyrics and the title, Kuroo did nothing but laugh, adding in, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

The second song was a project curated by your drummer, Terushima. Brick by Boring Brick was a song that he claimed was inspired by his girlfriend, which was an endearing gesture if that were the truth. But from what you and the rest of Elixir had known of his girlfriend, she didn’t come off as a person plagued with baggage. Not that you could base it solely off of appearance, but with her and Yūji’s short lived relationship, it was a bit unbelievable that he had unlocked her tragic backstory in a matter of three months. Then again, what did you know? You didn’t even remember her name.

The title of the third song, Growing Pains, always made you laugh at the irony considering that Makki’s tall ass wrote the song. While a romantic, upbeat love song from Teru didn’t strike you as a shock, it certainly did coming from the bassist. Emotions that danced in the “love” category didn’t really sway him often. Maybe his girlfriend was just that special to him? You weren’t sure, because once again, you knew none of their names. But you knew for a fact that the song seemed to call for something more stable, endearing growth together and support for each other, which had you questioning how long had you been apart from your friends.

After the third song, you were winded and uncomfortable and no amount of water you chugged was helping you with sweat and dehydration. “I’m gonna die tomorrow.” You joked after setting your water bottle down by your microphone stand.

“We’re only a third of the way through the set, headass.” Terushima joked, pulling down his lower left eyelid and sticking his tongue out to you.

“For real, it’s only been like twenty minutes since we started practice.” Kuroo chided.

“Yeah, but can we smoke instead? I think there were a few things we should tune up before moving onto the next third of the set.” You looked to your guitarist with pleading eyes, holding a cigarette and lighter between your fingers. Makki, without saying anything else, pulled out a small bowl and packed it. He knew that any form of pleading made Kuroo a weak man, which inevitably meant a smoke break was up next rather than continuing on with work.

“Fine.” Despite the mock defeat in his tone, Kuroo is already gliding up the stairs, taking two steps at a time with you in tow. More steps could be heard, but they were lighter than the boys you had come know so well, meaning the three stooges were most likely following suit, despite them not being smokers themselves.

You and Kuroo were currently seated on a stone barricade as you lit your cigarettes, the rest of the crew picking at sporadic seats along the wall. Teru and Makki were next to each other to share their bowl while their girlfriends sat on the outside of them, just to your right. Kuroo’s girlfriend had taken up occupying the space between you and your guitarist and, maybe for a moment, you were wondering they were deliberately arranged this way.

The worst part of the girlfriends accompanying practice, in your eyes, was not their presence, but rather the fact that you felt like you couldn’t even talk to your best friends, your bandmates at band practice, because they were too busy comforting them so that they “didn’t feel out of place”. Regardless, you respected your friends enough to not make the situation more difficult for them—if you needed to say something, you could say it in the basement where spectator talk was not welcome. Out of the corner of your eye while you were internally monologuing, you see the lanky arm of Makki offering you the bowl, a few cinders of his hot still lit. With poor timing, he grabbed your attention while you were exhaling the smoke in your lungs, unintentionally doing so onto his girlfriend. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She rolled her eyes, though you know you didn’t do it on purpose. Whatever, she had her truths. You held up your hand that squeezed the filter of your cigarette between your index and ring finger. “I’ll get it on the next turn,” making Makki shrug and pass the small glass bowl back to the drummer.

A couple more drags of your cigarette soothes your craving for nicotine and when the paper had finally burned all the way to the end of the filter, you tossed the butt into the dead fire pit that acted as the center for your gathering. Terushima stands up real quick to hand you the bowl that had been nearing its end—giving you the last couple hits before it was cashed. When it came to marijuana, you didn’t smoke very often, but today you were grateful for the offering. Maybe the high would take the edge off of your...anxiety? No, that wasn’t it. Irritation seemed to be a better fit.

The seven of you shuffle back into the basement, rearranging yourselves, and knocking back a beer. “Okay, so before we move on, is there any song that you guys think we should work on before moving to the next third of the set?” You asked, your back towards your audience while you looked at your bandmates in earnest. They looked at each other, before locking eyes with you.

“Is there anything you want to work on? You’re the one who’s switching around with instruments and you’re the one who runs around on stage so we’ll leave it up to you.” Kuroo says evenly. You pursed your lips in uncertainty, think back to how each song sounded.

“Ya know what, let’s work on...........”

[ Besitos ] » Kuroo’s Route

[ Brick By Boring Brick ] » Terushima’s Route

[ Growing Pains ] » Makki’s Route.

BONUS: Terushima’s Starbucks order.

[iamtheotherdarkknight]

Make Right (BruDick RP)

In Response to “It’s Killing Him” 

@notyouraveragedickgrayson

If Bruce had to choose a moment when things really started to fall apart, he’d say was the day he pulled Jason’s still, broken body from the rubble of that abandoned warehouse. That surreal, numbness lifting as Bruce peeled away Jason’s mask to see his face for the last time.

That’s when the pain really hit him.

It was just like watching his mother and father bleed out in an alley - except it hurt so much worse. Maybe it was because parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children… And blood or no blood, Jason was his first child.

Watching strangers lower his boy – his son – into the ground that day is what finally broke him. By the end of the funeral service, it was just him and Alfred. Like it’s always been. And perhaps that has been Bruce’s mistake – maybe this is the way things were supposed to be. Maybe this cruel act was the universe’s way of reminding him of his place. It didn’t matter how long he trained, how much he learned or how many resources he devoted to his mission, he had to walk this path in solitude. ‘… or else…’

That night, Bruce stopped fighting the darkness - the Batman consumed him.

The carnage that followed Jason’s death couldn’t be called justice. Just needless bloodshed that falling short of killing. Violence that knew no shame. Batman wanted the Joker and he didn’t care what he had to do to get him. Batman had to make him hurt the way Bruce hurt. Torture him the way he tortured Jason. And the darkness only crept in further the longer Joker hid. There was nothing left to separate Bruce from the Bat anymore, no anchor. Just all-encompassing rage and an empty pain he prayed never went away. He needed that ache more than he needed food or air; it was the only thing getting him out of bed anymore.

Bruce couldn’t blame Dick for staying away. He deserved better than an emotionally crippled, hypocrite. How could he dare hold Dick accountable for his actions towards Zucco? Bruce knew full well what would happen when he finally found Joker. Arkham wasn’t enough. Blackgate wasn’t enough. Bruce knew that, and still couldn’t stop himself. That was until a young Timothy Jackson Drake appeared at his door, venti Americano in one hand and a tablet with a litany of evidence of Bruce’s double life in the other. More than that, the kid deduced Dick and Jason’s identities as Robins.

It was strange. All the information the young man had amassed over what had to be years – the eerily familiar singlemindedness Tim displayed in his pursuit. And all he wanted to do with it was convince Dick to become Robin again. “Because Gotham needs Batman. And Batman needs Robin.” The words rolled off the boys’ lips like an obvious truth he repeated one to many times. Like all whole world’s issues were nothing more than an uncomplicated problem to be solved over a cup of coffee and a few strokes of the keys.

A petty part of Bruce expected Tim to fall apart after failing to reunite the ‘Dynamic Duo’, Nightwing making it clear that he could never take the Robin mantle again. Imagine the Wayne’s rare look of shock when Tim came down the stairs of the cave, fully fitted in an altered Robin’s uniform. And when Bruce tried to protest, Tim simply shrugged it off and told him it was Nightwing who suggested he take the uniform. Tim would just have to do until Bruce found an adequate replacement… And if he resisted Tim’s help, he’d blow Bruce’s cover right out of the water.

It’s been years since that fateful day. Bruce would have loved to say that in that, he’s gotten better over time. That he had found a way to overcome the wounded savagery that overwhelmed him. That he didn’t slip back into those dark moods and was learning to be whole after having his heart picked apart, racked with guilt, shame and fear he concealed in anger. But that would be a blatant lie and nights like this he just didn’t care enough to keep up the front.

Tonight’s patrol had been taxing for the Bats.

The night ended early with the successful sabotage of Black Mask’s weapon shipment, but the win didn’t come without a fight. Batman had no idea where Sionis found the revenue to hire the mercs he had, but there was no way the people he and Robin encountered on that freight were anything ex-military. If it weren’t for his own decades of experience and Red Robin’s help tonight, the mission would have failed.

Damien left the fight with a concussion, Bruce ordering the boy go upstairs and rest. Tim, per usual, proved more resistant to his first dismissal, but his cracked ribs and broken arm and leg won out in the end. Between that and the three days Tim spent without sleep, operating the Bat near impossible. Not at Bruce was fairing much better. By the time they returned to the cave, the man sported several burns, bruises, and gashes from the explosion. The only way Alfred could get Bruce that stay still long enough to clean and dress the wounds when Bruce was sitting at the computer, typing up the reports for tonight. That was when Bruce saw the comm flash on his screen. The call came from Dick’s encrypted number.

… But he could feel ice in his veins when he heard the voice on the call.

“It’s me.”

And Bruce knew that voice anywhere.

It was a sad fact, but because couldn’t bring himself to open-up to Tim or Damien the way he had with Jason. Bruce had let his guard down with the young man and let himself be a father to him – something he could never bare to be to Dick. He could never presume to fill the void John Grayson left in Dick’s heart when he passed. Seeing Jason grow as an individual and Robin, principled and proud in the face of adversity. It always filled Bruce with pride… Perhaps that’s why seeing Red Hood stand over a fresh corpse, baring the face long dead son left him numb. Seeing that viciousness in Jason, felt like a cruel sick joke. Bruce’s only solace in Jason death was knowing the boy he cared for so much left this world with cleaner hands then him. But seeing Jason returned from the dead to become what felt like a reflection of Bruce’s darkest hours.

I was like he failed to save him all over again.

“Where is he?” Bruce demanded, his voice low and fierce. The logical part of his brain knew better than to think Jason would hurt Dick. In fact, the only person Red Hood hadn’t reconciled with was Batman. But Bruce didn’t always think rationally when it can to his first ward. Jason knew that better than anyone….

“With me and doesn’t wanna talk.” He clarified, adjust his hold Dick’s shaking form. “I’m calling a truce, old man. Let us in.” There was the briefest pause before Bruce overrode the security protocols and allow Jason to enter the cave. Bruce didn’t know could have happen to have Jason, of all people, to knock on his door and call for a truce, but he would be prepared it all the same. In the five minutes in took Jason to traverse the tunnels to central area, Bruce had covered his injuries and erased at trace of weakness. Not that it mattered once Jason ascended the steps to his platform.

Bruce’s stoic façade fell apart the minute his eyes came upon a harrowed Dick, bundled up in Jason’s arms. It’d been months since the he last saw his former ward – the two of them not necessarily on speaking terms. In fact, he and Dick had been on the outs ever since Bruce budded in a case in in Blüdhaven, stating under no uncertain terms what he thought of his ‘partner’, Catalina Flores. The actively avoided one another ever since.

Before Bruce could demand an explanation, Jason locked his green-blue eyes with his silently warning. It was always amazing how the two of them could communicate with out uttering a single word. It was part of the reason they worked so well together. So, when Jason eyes narrowed and gestured past Bruce, the man stepped aside and waited for him on the other side of the room. Once Jason was finished propping Dick in the same chair Bruce had occupied before their arrival. Despite Jason’s best effort, Dick still slumped over the edge like a ragdoll. And he was coming apart at the seams. It’s all Bruce can do, his brain running through every possible scenario, trying to deduce a reason for Dick’s state. Jason could come to him soon enough.

“He a panic attack.” Jason finally explained, his pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, but not reaching for his zippo yet. A nervous tick, just wanting something to chew on while he organized his thoughts.

“…What triggered it?” His mentor asked cautiously, trying to understand. His former ward had attack in the past. Bruce would care for Dick through the worse of them in the beginning, whenever the boy would have a nightmare or close call. But this was the first he’s ever seen the Dick since he became an adult. He was practically catatonic.

“You.” Jason spat out, as if to apply it was obvious. “Like it or not, all of this,” Jason gestured toward Dick. “Is on you.”

Without give Bruce an inch, Jason unloaded, recounting all that Dick confided in him. The young man’s mental health was in shambles and Bruce, whether he realized it or not, had only made it worse pushing Dick away. Especially when Bruce fired Dick. The older man had to admit, he was blinded with anger the night he fired Dick and all but kicked him out of the manor. Anger, and if he were being totally honest, fear. Fear of the unknown as Dick grew into the man, he was becoming, fear for the way he was started to see Dick. Because in all the years he raised Dick, he couldn’t see him as a son. And that terrified him to the core. Bruce had only realized the terrible mistake he made when the heard the Dick pulling out of the driveway for the last time.

And then Jason and the bomb happened…

“Pull your head out of your ass, old man. Your hot-and-cold attitude might work for the ladies, but that man behind me, feels fucked up enough about wanting you without your mile-thick wall of bullshit. And I know you heard me. Now, something has to change because I am not kidding around when I say that this situation, this denial, whatever ego or pride is in the way of you two... its killing him”.

Bruce was at a loss. Looking at Dick again, he felt a surge guilt run through him. Was it his fault that Dick developed this infatuation with him? Did he somehow poison the younger man’s mind and manipulated him -

“Stop, I know what you’re thinking old man. Stop making this about you and just make this right. If either of you were as sick as you think, you won’t be so scared of this.” Jason hissed, making his way to the stairs from where he came. “He’s in your care. Make it right, Bruce.” Jason repeated, warning the older man.

Bruce waited until he couldn’t hear Jason’s footsteps, steeling himself before approaching Dick for the first time in so long. He looked so out of it. Depressed and tired and just… gone. Bruce would have given anything wrap his arm around him like he had back when his thoughts towards Dick were innocent. But right now, it wasn’t about what Bruce wanted. It was about what Dick needed.  So he knelt down on the ground before Dick so they were at eye level. Dicks eyes were downcast, but Bruce didn’t make a thing of it. Just spoke in the clearest voice he could manage, hoping that Dick would respond to him.

“Dick. Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”