#I've pointed this out before but he gives his *title* (or station if you prefer) as a star-reader before he gives his own fuckin*name*

[constellationcrowned]

((All signs point to Kariom being a lot like Serban in his youth. Was he a stern kid? Yes. Grumpy? Yes. But he also had fun and was mischievous. He made pinwheels, he wanted to fly kites, he drew and colored in one of Flynn's gardening books (he drew constellations ofc but no doubt other things too) he ate so many cattails by the lake he almost choked to death, he ran around and got into trouble, he tried to make friends, and so on.

It's important to remember that he was a kid and he wasn't always so obsessively driven by his duty---and I mean driven to the point of where he, as an adult, considers all of that stuff as stupid, inconsequential, etc, and prefers not to think on it, driven to the point of self degradation (whether he acknowledges it or not and let's face it; he doesn't), etc, etc---such a severe reaction has to have a cause. Something changed him, something shifted his focus and it was definitely something huge. I imagine it's in part due to whatever happened to the Solomonari and his involvement on top of a variety of other things that built up over time until he could hold nothing else.))

#;;ooc: mun muttering #i can provide proof for all of these too; it's all scattered about in game and it's been a big focal point for me #I'll do a proper hc post at some point just take this... somewhat commentary post for now #this man's growth both past and present is so important to me #he still has that childish nature to him too; both the good and the bad aspects as I've said before #I'm just glad I have a much clearer picture now (and want more!) and can actually talk about stuff #regarding Flynn; some of the hints about their dynamic (esp concerning Kariom trying to make a friend) really needs context #he had his own hand in this change ofc (it's not all outside/external influence) but his hand was undoubtedly forced too #I maintain that he was forced to grow up far too quickly---a thing made worse considering he's surrounded by immortal beings who don't age #his perspective is so unique it can be debilitating; does that make sense? i really try to emphasize that #;;ooc: commentary (kariom) #I'm not saying he was flippant about his duty as a youth (the stars are clearly special to him) but his focus being *so severe* is alarming #something happened; something was instilled in him; something made it be the only thing he thinks about and the only thing that defines him #I've pointed this out before but he gives his *title* (or station if you prefer) as a star-reader before he gives his own fuckin*name* #that's..... that's just.....worrying... and sad #I'm going to figure out what happened damnit; I will #;;muse headcanons: kariom

[historicalasiandramas]

CLJ Recaps

We start off the ep strong with Changheng getting captured, stripped of his title, and sentenced to imprisonment in Haotian Tower. I really liked seeing this side of Changheng where he didn't try to hide his feelings! He very clearly stated that he refused to turn back and that he was acting out of love for Orchid.

"I just want to save the person I love. What's wrong with that?!" He demands.

I don't support prisons in general but, like, throwing your own brother into Haotian Tower simply for wanting to save the woman he loves seems like overkill. His betrothed has been missing for 30,000 years at this point. I know it's Plot Important that CH has to stay engaged to her, but like maybe after the first 5,000 years Yunzhong could've been like "nm, just marry whomever you want."

At Silent Moon Palace, Shangque finds Jieli wandering around in the middle of the night. He discovers that, like him, she was also an orphan. She tells him how she drugged the people taking care of her in order to escape.

Shangque relates to this and says that the people pretending to be kind to him only wanted his dragon skin & bones to use as medicine. Fortunately, DFQC saved him!

After being deceived by humans, Shangque decided he didn't want to become that kind of person. Jieli literally laughs in his face after hearing that. She calls him stupid and says that everyone will trample on his sincerity. Shanque calls her cold-blooded. Jieli agrees.

Unlike SQ, no one came to save Jieli. "I've been saving myself since I was a kid." She doesn't trust others and prefers to cheat them first before being cheated herself. In Jieli's mind the only important things in the world are her life and money.

Shangque jumps to his feet in anger. He says she's wrong and ridiculous for thinking like that. Jieli leaps to her feet and throws the accusation back at him. SQ has had enough and orders Jieli to return to her quarters.

In Haishi City, Ronghao is so lost in thought that he doesn't even hear Die Yi approach.

He's stunning, he's cunning, he's my devious darling! At the very end of this episode I was like, "Oh he's evil, evil. Good for him!" On this blog we stan characters who love fiercely and to the point of world destruction!!

He asks Die Yi about Jieli, and she reports that the shopkeeper has escaped to Silent Moon Palace. Die Yi has stationed someone to be on the lookout for her, and the moment Jieli leaves, she'll be apprehended.

We switch back to Orchid and Jieli, planning to escape Silent Moon Palace.

For some reason, Jieli has the Heart Hidden Hairpin. It allows the wearer to store their emotions in the pin and be undetected. Other than the You Jade Ring, it's the only item in the three realms with this power.

According to legend, the Moon Tribe was betrayed by the fairies and expelled. Yannv, the ancestor of the Moon Tribe was in love with Chonghua, the first fairy. She created this pin so that he wouldn't have to feel her feelings.

INTERESTING! So that's why Moon Tribe people and fairies are forbidden from marrying. I'm sure that theme will not come back to bite us later :)))

Jieli agrees to lend it to Orchid in exchange for help escaping the palace. Since no one is allowed to stop Orchid, she's easily able to get to the Jade Forest. Unfortunately for them, Die Yi is waiting for them.

I am so obsessed with her. She is the moment and also my fave female character.

Die Yi also has the most unsettling theme. It reminds me both of an angry swarm of hornets and a cobra ready to strike at the same time. Orchid recognizes her from Haishi City and gives Jieli the bone orchid bracelet. With nothing left to protect herself with, Orchid stands between Die Yi and declares that she should be the one Die Yi wants.

The Heart Hidden Pin glows, storing Orchid's fear and blocking Moon Supreme from feeling it. Good thing the One Heart Curse isn't just linked emotions: it's physical, too! DFQC stops in his tracks as a bloody welt appears where Orchid was hit by Die Yi's whip.

JL has apparently run straight back to the palace and begs DFQC to save Orchid. She seems to realize the danger she's in and tries to remove the hairpin, but isn't fast enough. Die Yi knocks Orchid to the ground, making her drop the Destiny Book.

Die Yi notices it immediately and goes in for the kill, but her whip is literally disintegrated. Both Orchid and I were excited to see DFQC, only it's not him! It's Changheng! Orchid only has enough strength to say his name before passing out.

She wakes up and immediately begins apologizing, but CH only smiles and reminds Orchid of his promise to bring her back to Shuiyuntian. Orchid is too shocked to believe it and looks around.

Tbh so much happened since the beginning of the ep that I forgot that the last time we saw CH, he was captured and sentenced to incarceration. Like Orchid, I was fooled! She doesn't have time to be happy though, because she remembers dropping the Destiny Book. Good thing Changheng picked it up!

Orchid asks CH to check the Destiny Book to determine why it's so important. Who does it belong to and why do both DFQC and Haishi City want it?

He says that it's been damaged and that he can't get a read on it. In order to find out, they'll have to fix it. This time, Orchid readily agrees to do it, but CH says that she got hurt and should rest first. Orchid is determined to prove herself though.

Orchid gets started on fixing the Destiny Book and Changheng leaves. The camera zooms in on him making a sinister expression and that's when I was like "OHHH. Damn." It's all fake! Always has been! After emerging from the fabricated fairy realm, Die Yi asks her master why he bothered disguising himself as Changheng.

Rong Hao says that it was necessary to coax Orchid to willingly fix the book. And he was right! The way he pushed back against Orchid wanting to get started immediately after waking up is exactly what CH would've done. He knows his friend and Orchid well! I'm so obsessed with how Rong Hao observes his surroundings and plays the long game to get what he wants.

And I can already see how he's a narrative foil for DFQC :)

Speak of the devil! Look who's in Haishi City!

Also can we take a moment to admire Rong Hao's fit? The splashes of rainbow, the intricate woven pattern, the gold claws? A QUEER FASHION ICON

Die Yi rushes in to inform him that DFQC has arrived. Rong Hao wasn't expecting him so soon! She says he should leave, but RH is unwilling when everything else is going according to plan. Die Yi goes to stall DFQC, who demands that "she" be released. "I don't know who you mean. There's no one here," Die Yi claims.

Moon Supreme has 0 bullshit tolerance and burns the entire room with his hellfire before Die Yi transforms into a butterfly and escapes. DFQC storms the throne room and quickly finds the "koi pond" that hides Thousand Dreamland. When he enters, DFQC is presented with thousands of facets that all show Orchid fixing the Destiny Book.

RH appears and says that it's an illusion. Simply attacking the facets will only trap Moon Supreme. "You will never find that fairy," he taunts. Darling, moments ago you were panicking that he showed up earlier than expected. I know, I know - presentation is the most important part of being a supervillain.

Meanwhile, Orchid has finished repairing the Book.

While she's wondering why a mortal would be so important, Orchid notices something: her desk in intact. While he was staying at Siming Hall in the past, Orchid told DFQC about the customs in Shuiyuntian.

One festival in particular, The Moon Tribe Slaying Festival, celebrated the victory of the fairies over the Moon Tribe. Every day of the festival, all of Shuiyuntian celebrated Moon Supreme being sealed away. Hearing this enraged DFQC and he slammed his bowl down, breaking the stand on the table.

Orchid now realizes that this Siming Hall isn't real either, and that the man in front of her isn't Changheng. Before handing over the Destiny Book, she decides to test this imposter. She says that he sent fireflies to look for her after he left Cangyan Sea last time. "I was locked up by DFQC and unable to reply. Are you mad at me?" The real CH was badly poisoned by the concentrated evil spirit and wouldn't have had enough power to do that.

But in his impatience, Rong Hao makes a miscalculation. Rather than remember that he was literally by CH's side the entire time he recovered, RH answers that he's not mad, just worried. That is all the answer Orchid needs.

She tries to run but then confronts Rong Hao.

He's impressed that she was able to see through his disguise. He holds her by the throat with magic, demanding the Destiny Book. When she refuses, Rong Hao throws her to the ground.

Congrats! You have activated DFQC's sword!! After scanning all the illusions, DFQC spots the real Orchid and destroys the others in the most badass sequence.

His coming is heralded by thunder, and Orchid exclaims, "It's Dongfang Qincang! He's come to save me!" RH scoffs and says that he's only after the Book. Before RH can leave with it though, he's stopped and cue the electric guitar! Moon Supreme says (again!), "How dare you capture one of my people?"

The miscalculation makes RH panic. How did DFQC find them in such a short amount of time? Rong Hao is detained so Moon Supreme can ask who he is and why he wants the Destiny Book. Rong Hao doesn't answer but the fear in his eyes is palpable.

Before he can be unmasked however, Die Yi appears as a distraction! She makes an attack on Orchid, disrupting DFQC's focus enough for RH to escape. Our heroes then leave themselves, but not before Orchid is reprimanded for running away.

He grabs her and demands why she would do such a thing when she's so weak. If he had been one minute later, she would have died. "You must tell me where you're going, understand?" Orchid says she understands but also seems a bit happy about DFQC's outburst.

He destroys the Cauldron and the snow and fog in Haishi City disappears. With the Soul Transformation Cauldron refining evil spirits every day there was nowhere for the grief and despair of the victims to go. Though I love the jewel tones of the previous Haishi City, this red-toned galaxy is pretty neat!

In order to cheer him up, Orchid presents the repaired Destiny Book. DFQC is curious why she was so quick to do it this time. Of course it was because she thought it was Changheng asking her, which annoys Moon Supreme. Orchid tells him that the reason she was able to see through Rong Hao's illusion is because DFQC broke her wooden stand in the past. "It's something only the two of us know!" D'awww.

Orchid then asks how DFQC was able to find her so quickly amongst the thousands of illusions. He said he'd even be able to find her if she was hidden among thousands of identical orchid flowers.

This makes her cry in happiness because her master said the same thing. We cut abruptly to a cave in Xishan called the Spirit-Shattering Abyss. Sounds cozy! Die Yi has brought the injured Rong Hao here to be healed, but she looks terrified. She kneels and asks for help from "Evil God", Taisui.

This god appears as a bunch of swirling black with red lightning. He says that Rong Hao is protected by evil spirits and demands to know who would dare hurt Rong Hao. Die Yi answers, "Dongfang Qingcang." Apparently this Taisui is interested and says that it (he?) hasn't had an opponent in the 3 realms since Taiyi. I don't remember that name so I'm interested in this lore!

What I'm assuming is more of Taisui's power floods RH and he thanks the god for saving him. And then he drops a juicy plot bomb:

He tells Taisui that he's found the reincarnation of the goddess Xiyun (Orchid). Several eps ago, he tested Orchid's powers and confirmed that she can purify and even resurrect things. My hunch is that this "evil god" is trapped in this cave - perhaps even banished to another realm. My question is: who is (was?) Taisui, and how did Rong Hao meet him? Also how much you wanna bet that by the end of the show, Rong Hao is fully possessed by it? That would make me sad because I want Rong Hao to choose evil on his own! :(

We then switch to Orchid waking up in a hunting camp in the woods. She comments that all the hunters are women but WE DON'T GET TO SEE ANY :( DFQC shoves roasted fish at her and mutters how useless she is for getting frightened and fainting immediately after fixing the Destiny Book. He asks where Orchid go the hairpin and she tries to brush it off as a gift from Jieli.

DFQC reaches for it, but Orchid pulls back and demands to know why someone as powerful as him needs something that belongs to her.

Unfortunately for her, Moon Supreme recognizes the hairpin!

"How can it be yours?" He demands. Orchid still refuses to give it up, so Moon Supreme asks that she at least not wear it. Because of the hairpin, he almost couldn't find her. Orchid refuses again and says that she doesn't want him to know what she's thinking and she doesn't want him trespassing in her heart.

INTERESTING! What is it that you want to hide from him, Orchid? Could it be that you're actually starting to find it fun to be with Moon Supreme? :3 I guess we'll have to find out!

#clj recap #clj #苍兰诀 #love between fairy and devil #lbfad #cdrama

[witch-hazels-musings]

Hello, hello!! It's me again!! Here to interrupt your feed with yet another of my random genshin thought of the day! Recently, on one of Zach's (Aether's VA) streams with Poonam (Klee's VA), one of the viewers mentioned something about Klee driving a mini-car affectionately titled the 'dodocar'. This got the gears in my head turning, and I started thinking about the different modes of transport each character would use. These are some scenarios my brain came up with!! I wanted to send them your way because you always have the loveliest ideas, and wanted to know if you had any more thoughts on the matter! As such, Miss Hazel, today I present to you my offering of Genshin boys as different modes of transport! 💕

- 🔎

Diluc would drive a car. No question about this. I've always imagined him to have a sleek, modern-looking car that's maybe a little bit on the pricier side, but not completely outrageous by any means. The man doesn't really seem like the type who would want to show off his wealth, but he also can't deny that he has an eye for much of the finer things in life.

You watch as Diluc mans the car, watching the rolling hills flash by the window. There's something uniquely intoxicating about sitting in a car with someone else for hours on end. It makes you want to open up to them, makes you want to share stories which you perhaps wouldn't have wanted to share otherwise, much like a drunkard who's had one glass too many and is now blabbering on about their whole life story. Ah, but then again, perhaps this is only so because the two of you were drunk on something else entirely? You didn't know the answer to that question, but as you watched the way his sunset-eyes crinkled with mirth at your terrible, terrible Michael Jackson impression, you think you were okay with never knowing the answer to that question so long as the two of you could stay in this moment forever, just as you were.

Albedo doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who would really enjoy driving. Instead, I think his preferred mode of transport would be cycling! He wakes up much earlier every morning because he insists on cycling to work instead of driving. Albedo seems like a very practical sort of fellow. Sure, cycling is more time consuming, but it's efficient, more environmentally friendly, and overall better for his health. That makes it a win in his book.

On the weekends though, especially as the weather starts to get warmer and the air is filled with the welcomed promise of spring, Albedo would often take you out for dates in the park on a special tandem-bike. The two of you would cycle around for a while just watching the flowers bloom and the greenery come back to life, before stopping for a quick picnic lunch underneath a grand magnolia tree. You laugh as you move to wipe the little bit of cream from the cake you two just devoured which is still stuck on his upper lip. It's a sweet, saccharine kind of love, one that reminds you of fresh morning-dew and hopeful new beginnings.

Over the summer, you found out that Childe has somehow managed to get his grubby little hands on a jet ski. Uh-oh. He says he wants you to ride it with him. He's saying please. He's giving you the puppy-dog eyes. You cannot say no to that face. You do not know where he got it from or even when he learned how to use a jet ski, but really don't think this is a good idea. Come on, you cannot look at this man and try to convince me that he is not an absolute speed demon. One moment he's showing off cool tricks on the jet-ski and then the next moment he's- oh JESUS CHRIST CHILDE SLOW THE FUCK DOWN, SOMEONE'S GONNA FALL!!

Thankfully, he's a skilled enough driver that everything went relatively smoothly. This time, at least. As he stops the vehicle to give you that dopey little grin and make sure you're still alive, you take a moment to playfully hit him on the shoulder for making your heart race a million miles an hour. He only laughs. Still, it was exhilirating. And you would never admit it to his face, but he does look kind of cool showing off tricks on the water. Maybe this wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

Kaeya is a proud owner of a motorcycle. Specfically, he owns one of those lovely old-school 1980's Honda motorcycles. The people living in your neighbourhood almost went mad the moment they saw him pull up at your door with, complete with dark sunglasses and a leather jacket. You thought he looked rather stupid. Still, you were glad that he brought his bike with him. It made it easier to traverse the city traffic and get to your destination quicker.  Kaeya takes you out on a ride to one of his favourite destinations for a midnight snack: a night market, filled with rows and rows of stalls selling piping hot food. You hop from stall to stall, sharing the food and tasting everything the market has to offer together before heading back with a full heart and a full stomach.

There's a sense of youthful freedom that comes with taking late-night rides with your beau like this. Your arms around his waist, the wind billowing past your face, the moonlight reflecting the stars in his eyes... It makes you feel young again, makes you feel as though you were seventeen once more, discovering the thrills of love for the very first time. You've missed this. You've missed him. Sighing contentedly against his shoulder, you silently watch the blinking city lights fade in and out of view as you drive through the city that never sleeps.

Zhongli... Has no vehicle of his own. He's broke, your honour. Sorry Zhongli, I don't make the rules here. Thankfully, he lives in a city with a great public transport system, so he has no issues getting around if he needs to. The lack of personal vehicles also means he gets to spend more time walking with you, an activity which he has grown to really enjoy, so I suppose there is a silver lining after all. The two of you often work rather late, so the streets were usually barren by the time you leave the office. You and Zhongli would often walk to the train station together after your shifts have ended, basking in the stillness of the night and the almost alien glow of fluorescent lights.

He loves chatting with you during these walks. He would ask you questions about your day, about your work, about plans for the weekend. Sometimes he would point out the different types of plants and rocks he noticed on your walk to the station. In the train, the two of you would sit silently together, content to just enjoy each other's presence. Sometimes, on particularly rough days, you find yourself falling asleep on his shoulder while waiting for your destination. He finds this incredibly endearing, and would always take it as a cue to give you a quick peck on the cheek before tucking you closer to his side.

Sometime later, you two are awoken by the train staff. The both of you had fallen asleep on the train and had missed your stop. Whoops.

i love these! 

I really vibe with the Albedo one too - he’s very practical and pretty frugal, waste isn’t something he seems to enjoy creating so everything eco-friendly would be his go to ( we can be eco-friendly together my dear )

lol Zhongli!

plus you made these cute little interactions T.T adorable to the max!!

#hazelmail #🔎 anon #🔎 works #genshin impact #transportation headcanons #hazeldigsthis

[katnissmellarkkk]

Gravity

Hi! Okay, so here’s chapter two of my growing back together story, inspired by the prompt “I won’t hurt you” @rosegardeninwinter sent me. I also posted this fic on AO3 under the title Gravity (like the Sara Bareilles song), if that’s where you prefer to read. And here’s a link to chapter one of this fic if you wanna read and haven’t yet.

Also I know I said in my first author’s note that there will be three chapters, but there might be a bit more.... we love an over-writer, right? 🤷🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

I don’t know if you’re “supposed” to post every part of a multi chapter fic on here? Or just post the link to it on AO3? But for now I posted it in its entirety on here 😊.

Anyways, hope you like it! And thanks to anyone who reads! 💖💖💖

/

A couple months later.

We slide back after that. I don't know if that night-the night he had a nightmare that I died and we slept locked in each other's embrace-moved too quickly for Peeta or if he thought he was protecting me from him, but when morning light came, he was gone from the bed.

I didn't see him again until the following evening, helping Haymitch feed his rambunctious geese in the yard. He didn't speak to me for four more days after that, and when he did, it was to ask what kind of bread I wanted him to bring for lunch the next day.

I pretended to his face that it didn't hurt. That waking up in a cold, empty bed, in a house he all but abandoned until I had evacuated, that sleeping in his arms and awaking so abruptly alone, didn't hurt. I did what I had taught myself to do as a child and I turned my features into an indifferent mask, shutting off all access to my emotions. Destroying any possibility of anyone witnessing my vulnerabilities.

But I knew deep down, it did hurt. It hurt badly.

I didn't speak to him directly the first week he showed up for lunch and to work on the memory book again. I got by fine without addressing him directly, as Haymitch somehow sensed the bubbling tension between us and stayed sober just enough to remain alert for all our shared meals. He helped with the memory book, helped by adding in a snarky comment here or there to reel our focuses onto him instead of each other.

I wanted to say thank you but I never knew how. I doubt Haymitch needs me to verbalize it anyway. One night, as he follows behind Peeta to leave, his hand grazes my shoulder and gives it a squeeze and I know he's much more aware of the dynamic between his old tributes than he leads on.

But weeks after the night in question, the night that set Peeta and my friendship back months, we receive a telegraph from Effie. A telegraph that shakes the small amount of stability we've managed to build in the time since the war.

Apparently President Paylor has decided to move forward with arena destruction, an idea mentioned a few times by Plutarch on Caesar's talk show. An idea I didn't take seriously until now.

Paylor has decided to build a memorial for each of the arenas, for each year the games ever took place, to immortalize our history, so Panem can never forget how cruel and inhumane things once were. But first, she wants to eliminate the actual Hunger Games arenas, once and for all, before putting the memorials in their place.

My initial thought, months ago when Delly showed me Plutarch and Caesar discussing the idea, was that this would takes years to happen.

I was, once again, so clearly wrong. The plans have been expedited and the order in which each arena will be decimated has been swiftly decided.

All that alone doesn't sound terrible. I'd like to see those death pits crushed, burned, torn down, eradicated, or all of the above, by any means necessary. Only downside, initially, is that this will extend me—and Peeta and potentially all the other victors—remaining in the forefront of the public's mind.

Since the war, all I've ever wanted was for everyone in the country to forget who I am. I don't want to be known anymore. I just want to be left alone, to a quiet and peaceful and relatively simple life, without anyone ever recognizing me again. Without anyone thinking of me as the girl on fire, as the Mockingjay, as the sixteen-year-old who volunteered for a sister who was doomed to death anyway.

But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch.

Plutarch thinks it would be great to have the living victors be there—televised—in the Capitol and see the arenas before they're bulldozed.

Even with this dreadful proposition, I thought I had time to think of a way out of it. When Effie first sent the telegraph, I thought that I would have years before having to worry about going back to the places where my nightmares started.

Well, some of my nightmares, that is.

After all, it takes time to destroy something as large and as vast as an arena-excluding the way I destroyed the one in the Quell, that is. I figured-I rationalized, really-that by the time they got to number Seventy-Four, I would have a solid excuse to get out of attending.

I guess though they wished to start with the big years and the first decade of the Hunger Games wasn't very eventful, apparently—lucky them—so the first arena they wish to bid farewell to is the one from the second Quarter Quell. The Fiftieth Hunger Games. The one that was so strikingly beautiful and almost entirely poisonous.

The year Haymitch Abernathy, from the lowly District Twelve, won.

And being also from Twelve, my presence, along with Peeta's, suddenly became of the utmost importance as well.

At first, I still try to opt out of the event. Even after Effie chastises me over the phone, like not a day has passed since she was my escort, and even after my mother claims in her letter that it could be cathartic for me, I do not relent.

Delly and Thom and a few of the others in the community, like Kanon who runs the candy shop two stores away from the bakery, and Greta, who helps with the dusting and mopping all over town, try to say that it could be good for me. Greasy Sae claims it can't be worse than actually living through the games, and I silently appreciate her much more blatant statement than the comforting platitudes others try to provide me.

But it all falls on deaf ears in the end.

Because the only person I truly listen to is Peeta. Even bitter and wounded, the only person I really hear is him.

Unfortunately, as irritating as it is sometimes, his voice will always reach me when others can't.

But we don't ever have an actual conversation about it. Five days after Effie calls to announce the news, to tell me unequivocally that my presence is requested, Peeta sways me to go with just a look.

He comes over later than usual and brings extra bread and pastries to go with the deer meat I hunted. We feast silently, the air between us still incredibly awkward, when, without warning, our old mentor comes crashing through the door unceremoniously.

I don't know how much alcohol he consumed, but it's enough to knock even someone with Haymitch's tolerance off his feet.

By the end of the hour, the older man is practically beating his head into the wall of my dining room, screaming the names of dead children and about force fields and axes. And from across the kitchen table, Peeta touches my arm—the first time he's voluntarily touched me in weeks—and my eyes meet his, blue pouring into gray, and silently he begs me to go for the goodbye ceremony to Haymitch's arena.

And I give in. Not just for him. But also, in large part, to repay the caustic, miserable drunk that kept us alive. To support the unpredictable, temperamental man that I do consider my family somehow.

The ceremony is set to take place weeks later and the time does little to alleviate my anxiety. Peeta and me still don't speak much, but come time for lunch or dinner, there he is, in my house like clockwork.

When I point out, a few days before we're due at the train station, that there's a very realistic possibility that the Capitol won't let me go to the ceremony, Peeta casually says, "I already cleared that with Effie and Plutarch."

I shoot him a look of surprise. "You did?"

Shrugging nonchalantly before turning back to the rabbit on his plate, he murmurs quietly, "Thought it'd give you one less thing to worry about."

The ceremony is nothing like I expect. Somehow I figured there would be an obnoxiously large television crew, loud speakers, prepared speeches on written cards, awkward directions and crowds upon crowds of people surrounding us, asking pointed questions, shooting invasive stares and pressing for reactions to their nosy accusations. I expected those accusations to be directed at me and Peeta especially.

Instead, there's none of those things. There's no crowd at all, it's just us victors. Just Enobaria, Johanna, Annie, the three of us from Twelve and Beetee—who I still can't make myself so much as look at, reminded of my sister's absence and his role in it every time we so much as stand in five feet vicinity of each other.

The camera crew consists of Mitchell, Pollux and Cressida, along with two unfamiliar, but seemingly non-threatening faces. There's no directions, no prompting, not close ups or reshoots.

All that happens is Paylor makes a statement that the crew films, stating that the arenas will be destroyed one by one, and in the place of each there will be an individual memorial made, as we victors stand in an unorganized, crooked line that will surely make Effie cringe when she sees the footage on television later.

It's almost peaceful, I think to myself in surprise, as I look around at the location. The sky is a stunning cobalt, even more brilliant in person than in the video Peeta and I watched on the train so long ago. The meadow looks like the grass is fresh, like it was just watered yesterday. The mountain is so breathtaking I have to physically tear my eyes away from it and even the woods look rather cozy. Or maybe that part is just me.

There's also arraignments of flowers, just like in the footage we watched, that spill every which way, filling our noses with soothing, floral scents. It feels unnatural to say about a place set up for murder, but with the deadly poisons lurking at every turn eviscerated, I almost can find this arena truly beautiful.

Of course though, it's not my arena.

It's Haymitch's and he looks like he's about to be sick. He's white-knuckled it for a few days without any sort of drink—to my, Peeta's and, even Effie's, visible shock—and I can see plainly now that he's absolutely regretting it. His eyes are hallow and wild at the same time and I can see his shaking palms beneath the sleeves of his jacket as he stares out at the source of his every nightmare for the last quarter century.

It shocks me that he didn't find a way out of this. Actually, it shocks me still that these ceremonies are even possible.

I never knew they kept arenas after the games were over each year. I never realized they kept all seventy-four death pits, haunted by child sacrifice, the way you keep old vases on a shelf.

At this point though, it's just another thing to add onto the growing list of horrific and unthinkable issues that the Capitol doesn't even grasp. Keeping the haunted graveyards of children as souvenirs shouldn't sit right with anyone, I don't care how you're raised.

I tell myself to not be so quick to judge, as I can't know who I'd be if I had been born in the Capitol instead of the districts. Still, the idea of condoning the things they have without remorse or shame seems unthinkable.

I'm torn out of my thoughts when Cressida speaks. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Haymitch, before we finish filming?"

Once again, catching me off-guard entirely—he's full of all sorts of surprises evidently—Haymitch clears his throat and looks down at his leather boots before speaking. "Ardor. Garnett. Dolan. Silver. Ryker. Artemis. Slayte. Pistol. Lex. Mac. Lumen. Gig. Brook. Aqua. Mary. Ripley. Lyme. Watt. Rocky. Gio. Belle. Raven. Kia. Mecko. Barker. Jack. Holly. Briar. Essie. Stitch. Coco. Paul. Mira. Miller. Coop. Harvey. Butch. Cutter. Bea. Skinna. Basil. Sunny. Rip. Spring. Oaker. Terra. Maysilee." He lists off the names in a way that is so matter-of-fact that it would almost be robotic if it weren't for the hoarseness in his tone that grows stronger with every name he utters. He hesitates for only a moment before adding, "Corentine. Alannah. Alastar."

There's a long stretch of silence, where no one speaks, no one blinks, no one even breathes. We all know instinctively who these people are—I know solely from Maysilee Donner's name being called—but we still wait until Haymitch speaks again, to confirm our assumption.

"Those are the names of all the people this arena killed." His eyes grow glassy and his brow furrows in anger as he fights desperately to repress his emotions, and suddenly I have the strangest urge to hug my mentor, to make him feel better like he tried to do for me once when Peeta was stuck in the Capitol and I was distraught. But I know it wouldn't be appreciated or wanted, and quite honestly I'm glad for that, because I don't even know what to say.

The last three names Haymitch said stick in my head for some reason I can't explain other than an odd gut feeling. But then he speaks again, an in a voice growing gruffer by the second, he says right into the camera, "that's every single person who was killed because of the second Quarter Quell."

And, like I should have known all along, it hits me the last three names are the names of his family who were murdered to punish him for the stunt with the forcefield.

The last three names are the murders of the last people he loved. Until me and Peeta came along.

As if his thoughts matched mine, Haymitch suddenly shakes his head and his eyes widen again as he stares past all the rest of us, as he continues to take in the exact place in which life as he knew it, twenty-six years ago, was altered forever.

His reaction is more understandable and genuine than I imagined he would ever allow it to be, especially on camera, and I want to say something but me and him both aren't good at saying anything, and I find myself looking to Peeta, hoping he'd know what to do.

Peeta doesn't meet my gaze though. He's solely focused on our mentor and just when he opens his mouth to speak, the older man to suddenly shake his head in our general direction and clears his throat.

"I'm done. Tell Plutarch I'm done with this crap. Just hurry up and bulldoze this place so I can go back to Twelve," is all he says to Cressida as he storms off, but his voice is rough and caustic once again, and I can only hope he recovers from this event soon enough.

Somehow, witnessing Haymitch relive his games, even through the shield he so obviously puts up to the outside world, triggers me though. For some reason, I feel my eyes begin to water as I look around at the meadow, at the mountain, at the golden cornucopia, and wonder how anyone could build a place where kids would eventually go to die? How could anyone have ever been so inhumane? How could a country just accept it? How did we live for so long with the Hunger Games overtaking our lives and still remained complicit? I don't understand. The more time passes, the more days I'm separated from the war and from the old world and the old way of life, I just can't comprehend anymore how we ever lived in a place so horrific.

I feel my eyes spill over and I'm grateful that Cressida has stopped filming already, because if Plutarch saw any tears on film, he would make certain it ended up on television.

I wipe my tears with the heel of my hand, trying to go about it as subtly as I can, hoping no one else notices. For the most part, I'm golden. Enobaria is already exiting, with Beetee following not far behind. Jo's back is to me while she speaks to Annie, though as per usual, she seems to be irritated.

Of course, it's too much to ask for everyone to remain oblivious to my waterworks. Even as I rid myself of them before they become widely noticeable, I feel Peeta's eyes train on me and know, despite the distance between us for the last few weeks, he isn't going to ignore my upset.

To my surprise though, he doesn't speak. He doesn't utter a single syllable.

Instead, I feel his large, warm palm slip into mine and squeeze tightly, lacing our fingers together, in a way we have done thousands of times before. Like two puzzle pieces coming together to complete a picture, like two indivisible teammates that will fight against anything that is thrown their way, like two halves of a whole finally finding each other, his hand grasps mine with a vengeance and I know I won't be the one who let's go.

He's still holding my hand when we board the train, hours later.

//

A couple weeks later.

"Yes, Mrs. Greenstead, I will get the chocolate nut loaf and a platter of the cranberry cookies wrapped up for you... Yes, it will be ready by the time you arrive... No, I promise they won't be cold," Peeta assures through the bakery telephone—a new addition that Thom and his wife thought was necessary to run a proper bakery. So necessary they bought it for Peeta as an opening gift.

It's not that the gesture wasn't nice or that Peeta didn't deeply appreciate it. I personally saw that he did, wholeheartedly.

But seeing it on the wall every day was just another reminder to me of my own personal vendetta against the integration between the Capitol's way of life and the districts'.

The only place telephones used to exist, outside of the Capitol limits, was the houses in Victor's Villiage, and if I'm being honest, I wish it would have stayed that way.

Maybe I'm being selfish, as I happen to still reside inside a house that once belonged to the said village, therefore I already had experienced this luxury prior to the new world. But I just can't make myself break the association between the items that had recently become readily available for all and the horror that was the Capitol.

Still though, the change was inescapable Telephones, cameras, heating pads, curling irons, quick bake ovens, cars and so many other items, were all growing in popularly across each district. Not that I was able to see a lot of these changes personally. But letters from Annie and my mom, and the occasional—unprompted and yet still begrudged—call from Jo, all kept me informed. Sometimes more informed than I wished to be.

Maybe I would feel entirely different if these inventions were brand new to me. But they aren't. I'd seen and used every one of them before. Their novelty had always been lost on me, perhaps because my only experience them was while inside the Capitol, surrounded by tacky colors and strong rose scents and itchy materials, headed for a death match, my life and the lives of those I cared always at great risk.

Of course, the new item in the bakery did make some things easier. Days like today are a perfect example.

Harvest Day is only one day away and everyone is coming in for their breads and their desserts. Peeta says it was always one of the most popular days, for as long as he can remember. Only difference is, before the war only Peacekeepers and town folks could afford to purchase anything. And generally, most citizens who even did come in, could only purchase a limited amount of items.

Not now. I don't know where everyone in Twelve was coming up with the money or if Peeta's prices are just a drastic drop from that of his mother's, but today, I swear I've seen every citizen in town inside the bakery.

Makes me glad that the portrait of me is hanging in the back, where no one else can see it. As pretty as it may be, as talented as Peeta is, I don't want a giant version of me displayed for all to see.

"Here you are," I politely say, handing two loaves of warm bread to a man who must be new to Twelve, as I've never seen him before. I'm debating on asking if he moved here recently when he passes a bill to me over the top of the pastry display.

"Thank you, hon." He smiles at me, looking at me a little too closely for my liking, as he swiftly walks out the door. His exit is met with the arrival of Val, a boy Peeta and I went to school with, who definitely was more Peeta's crowd than mine.

Val is a regular customer at the bakery, having always genuinely liked the Mellark family. His parents owned a small carpentry shop four spaces down from the bakery, and even with both them dead, he and his two sisters rebuilt the store, taking over their parents' legacy.

Peeta though is more focused on me now than Val's order. "Give me a second," he calls to his old friend, a little less polite than he had been all morning. "Katniss, what's wrong?" He asks urgently, seeing the look in my eyes.

I shake my head and push away the anxiety threatening to close in on me. "Nothing, just..." I hesitate, not even wanting to say it. Peeta's gaze refuses to lessen though and I sigh before finally mumbling, "That guy. He creeped me out. The way he was looking at me so closely..."

Peeta's hand touches my arm for a brief moment before pulling it away, making it obvious that he regrets the small act of even so much as touching me. But his words are still calming and they relax me a little. "He's gone now, Katniss. And if he scares you, I won't let him come back, okay? There's nothing anyone can do to you or me anymore. We're safe."

I nod, knowing the words like the back of my hand at this point, as it's the same mantra we always repeat to each other, every time one of us begins to panic or flail. But still, I open my mouth to refuse his offer. I don't want Peeta to turn away any sort of business. Not with the unpredictability and uncertainty this new world still rests on. We never know if the bakery will sell anything tomorrow or if all sort of income will soon dry up.

And we're the lucky ones, financially speaking, who were rich before the war and allowed—in a generous declaration by President Paylor—to keep the entirety of our money after. I don't have to imagine the anxiety others in the country must be in, knowing the curse of poverty all too well. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone.

"I don't want you to turn away people," I say quietly. "Not on my account. You need business to keep this place afloat."

"I have plenty of money, Katniss," he reminds me, a little darker than I expect. "And I'd rather you feel safe than own a popular shop."

His words unexpectedly touch me, unexpectedly cut right down to the depth of my bones, exposing my soft underbelly. I'm about to do something stupid, like touch his hand, when Val makes his presence known again. "Your shop is already the most popular in the district," he points out, not even a little ashamed for having listened to our conversation. "And besides, why don't you just look at the guy's name? Maybe you can look him up, see if he's alright or not."

Peeta gets a glint in his eye. "That's a good idea, Val, thank you." As he moves towards the register to, I can only suppose, look for the man's receipt with his name and signature, he gestures to his school friend. "Katniss can get your order."

I shoot him a glare, only half kidding. I did come to help out, here and there, today but I did not intend to be an actual expected employee. For free, no less.

Instead of saying anything though, I just grab Val his three cinnamon rolls, his two snack cakes, four bagels, white chocolate donut and a loaf with raisins and cranberries.

Val, like Delly Cartwright, was always one of the few people in Twelve who had a few pounds to spare.

Peeta has a type of friend.

"Found it," Peeta now calls, bringing over a slip of paper to where I'm handing Val his three bags of treats. "His name was Rod Catamaran."

Me and Val, for the first time perhaps, exchange a look between us. "That's an odd name for Twelve."

"I've never even heard that name before."

"He may not even be from Twelve, guys," Peeta says.

I roll my eyes. "Because a bombed out district is really a tourist attraction."

"Hey, none of that," Thom calls as he walks through the front door of the bakery, with Kanon Bagley on his heels. "We've rebuilt this place beautifully and negativity is not appreciated here."

"Yeah, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, teasing me. I'm about to kick him in his only real leg, as we're the only two behind the counter and no one else will see, when Kanon speaks up.

"Can I buy a couple of pastries?"

"Of course," Peeta says kindly, walking around me to personally grab the two items Kanon requests.

Kanon is new to Twelve. One of the few new additions this place gained after all that went down. He's a large man in his early twenties, with dark skin and dark hair and eyes to match. But the only times I've ever interacted with him, he's quiet as a mouse, his eyes a little forlorn at all times and he offers more discounts then he should at the candy shop he recently opened next to the bakery.

He's from District Eleven originally and it takes no real critical thinking to realize he had a hard life, even before the war.

I'm far too familiar with the look of scars etched across the eyes. So is Peeta.

That's why, when Kanon looks down at the money in his hand and realizes he doesn't have enough to afford both pastries, Peeta immediately brushes it off. "That's okay, they're on the house," he instantly promises, handing the small bag over to Kanon with a gentle smile.

"No, I don't want to take it without-"

"I made way too much," Peeta insists, lying outright to make it appear Kanon would be doing him a favor. I know he didn't make too much, because we've been flying through everything today and keeping the ovens hot in case more is needed.

Still though, I back up the fib. "He did. We've been wondering all day how we were gonna sell enough stuff so we don't have to feed the leftovers to Haymitch's geese."

Kanon glances between us shyly, before taking the bag from Peeta's hand and slipping the few dollars he does have into his pocket again. "Thank you," he says softly and turns to leave.

Thom pats Kanon on the back as he passes him, before turning to follow. When the other man isn't looking, he turns back to us subtly and mouths, "thank you."

I wanted to tell him not to thank me. I only watched Peeta make this food, I didn't assist by any stretch of the imagination. I didn't own the bakery or do anything with the money or finances. It was not my choice to give things away for free.

But I'm far too focused on the boy in front of me to say any of that. The boy with the bread, the boy who isn't really a boy anymore. The boy who just gave away food for no reward at all, even on the most demanding and strenuous day all year for his business. The boy who just showed Kanon Bagley the same kindness I begged someone-anyone-to show me at eleven-years-old and not one single person did.

Except for him. He did for me all those years ago what he did for Kanon just now, and I suddenly have the most inexplicable, irrepressible urge to kiss Peeta right then and there, in the middle of the bakery.

I don't, however, and it's for once not because I lost my courage. It's because the door swings open again, just as Val exits right behind Kanon and Thom.

It's the same man from earlier. "Hi," Peeta greets, this time not at all sweet. Clearly recognizing the man as the one who made me nervous before. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," the man affirms, his tone brighter than you'd expect given our chilly reception. And our blatant wariness for anyone new. "I forgot to get a pecan butter cake before?"

There is a beat where me and Peeta exchange a look, before I awkwardly move towards the display case and begin to pack up his item. Peeta waits for me to decide to help the man before starting to ring him up.

"That was a nice thing you both just did," the man says as he patiently watches me fold the white waxy paper over his pastry. "For that guy."

"You were watching?" Is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Only for a moment," he explains, his tone still friendly. Either he doesn't know how to read people at all or he's the most even keeled person in Panem.

Because I know I'm being rude, to a man who maybe doesn't even deserve it, I force myself to say one thing conversational. "This is my mom's favorite dessert," I offer, gesturing to his cake.

The man raises his eyebrows in an act that looks almost feigned. "Really?"

I instantly regret trying to be even slightly pleasant. Even his mannerisms seem fake. I'm contemplating if I should say anything else or go hide in the back room with the warm ovens and my portrait, when Peeta presses a button and the register dings.

He's about to say the total when the strange man shakes his head and hands to me directly an unfamiliar bill over the display case. "Have a nice day, you two," he calls, grabbing his cake and swiftly walking out.

It's not until he's gone, not until I have a moment to process the second weird encounter with the odd person, that I even glance down at the crisp bill he handed me.

It's a bill with a larger number on the back than I've ever personally seen before. I knew these kinds of dollars existed—I'm sure I could have gotten plenty after my first games—but I'd never seen one in the flesh.

Peeta sees my reaction. "What is it?" His voice sounds alarmed and he's stepping closer to me, but all I can do is gasp out his name.

"Peeta, look." I hold up the bill and point to the number on the back.

His eyes widen too, taking in the amount with a dizzy smile. Of both relief that nothing's wrong and excitement at the digit.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" I ask suddenly, looking over my shoulder towards the window, wondering if we should track the man down and give him his money back, before he evaporates into thin air.

"No?" Peeta shakes his head, the wheels in his mind turning quicker than mine. His face turns to that of elation, as the large bill takes some pressure off the bakery's sales. "No, he said he saw us give Kanon a break. He was giving us something in return."

I'm about to say something else, I don't even know what, but it all flies out of my head when Peeta suddenly wraps his arms around my waist and swiftly pulls me into his embrace.

My entire body goes into lockdown and hypervigilance at the same time. I can't move an inch but it feels like every nerve in my body is abruptly tingling and on fire.

My sweater lifts up slightly and his bare arms graze my lower back, eliciting a shiver to run involuntarily down my spine as his face buries into my hair.

I wrap my arms around his neck after a beat when I can make myself move again, and I feel him smile against my skin. I'm so glad at that moment he's holding me up, because if he wasn't supporting my weight I'd probably crash to the floor, unable to even feel my legs beneath me.

And, as a rush of heat shoots out from the place where Peeta's lips brush my collarbone, I suddenly feel only gratitude, not irritation, at the strange Rod Catamaran.

//

Four days later.

The world surrounding me is green. Green and brown and fire-bitten and scorched. Every which way I spin, there's embers soaring from that direction too, waiting to lick me with their burning flames, ready to decimate me once and for all.

But through the smoke and haze, I still can see between the trees two blonde braids. I still can see a small figure standing on the other side of the fire. I still can see her shirt that's come untucked in the back, creating a duck tail that I desperately want to fix.

Just as I notice her, she whirls around to face me, her blue eyes big and bright and terrified. "Katniss!" She screams, the same way she did the last day she was alive. "Katniss, help! They're coming!"

I don't know who's coming or what's happening or where we even are, but all I feel is relief somehow. Relief that she's here, that I'm in her presence again, that she's almost within my reach. Instinctively I call out, "Prim!" Just so I can finally get a response to the name I've been shouting into oblivion for almost a year now.

"Katniss, help me!" She cries again and then looks over her shoulder. She's not talking about the fire between us, as it doesn't seem too intent on heading towards her.

I don't know what's coming or who she's afraid of, but my instincts now go into overdrive. My body suddenly snaps into alert and I whip my head around, to see if I can find an opening in the fire closing in on me, if I can find a way to get to the sister I lost what feels like only yesterday, if I can find a way to save her this time.

There's no gap in the fire though. It's crowded around me, front, back and side to side. The more seconds that pass by, the closer the fire folds into my proximity, and I have to brace myself before making a split-second decision.

But it's not really a decision at all. Prim needs me and I cannot fail her. I have to save her this time.

I take a bold step directly into the fire, with every intention of running through it somehow. Of running past the wild embers, scorching myself no doubt, but still making it over to my distressed, frightened little sister. But it doesn't work like I expect.

But really, does anything?

These flames are nothing like the fires I've encountered before. And I've been around more fire in my life than anyone ever should.

No, these flames don't burn me. They don't hurt me or put me through agony or singe me to pieces. They don't melt off my makeshift coat of skin and they don't further decimate it either.

Instead the fire feels like almost nothing. Like something almost itchy, something almost irritating, something almost painful. Something that make me want to squirm and scream and escape all at the same time.

Which is real ironic considering what else it seems these flames do.

They seem to hold me into place. The second I'm in their hold, instead of the horrific pain I thought I'd be in, I'm trapped in a series of almost nothing.

I'm not in excruciating pain physically, but seeing my sister standing ten feet from me, and not being able to move any closer, not being able to protect her from whatever she's terrified of, is worse than any amount of injury this fire could have inflicted.

"Katniss!" Prim screams now, her voice only growing in its frantic nature. "Help! Why won't you come help me?"

I try to scream, try to tell her I want to but I can't move. But it turns out that these flames also paralyze vocal muscles.

"Peeta's dying!" Prim yelps out, looking behind her again, her hands beginning to shake in a way she almost never let them in life. She always tried to keep it together, to remain calm and rational in a crisis.

Her words elicit something entirely new inside of me though. "Peeta?" I yell in confusion, my voice suddenly no longer paralyzed.

"They're killing him! Katniss, please, why won't you come here? We need you!" Prim is close to hysterical now and frankly, so am I.

"I'm trying! I just," I move my hands down my body, trying to push the flames away as they rises up to my chest, trying to just break free from these fiery chains once and for all. "The fire, Prim! I can't get out of the fire."

Prim's voice drops then, loses all source of fear, every ounce of panic. Loses any semblance of emotion. "Katniss, there is no fire," she states blankly, her eyes looking directly at the embers covering my stomach and legs. "There's nothing there."

I just look at her for a moment, completely speechless. Her words are inconceivable, her eyes are haunted now, her facial expression is unrecognizable. Even her voice doesn't sound like hers anymore.

Before I can comprehend what's happening, in the distance a gunshot goes off.

Prim delicately glances over her shoulder now, her blue eyes cold as ice. "He's dead," she informs clinically, before sighing deeply, her tone almost disappointed. "And so am I."

I don't know what happens next or how it occurs, but I fly upwards in my bed with such a start, I give myself whiplash.

I hear a loud screeching noise hanging in the air, a hoarse trepidation that almost makes me feel better. I don't know why but someone else screaming in the middle of the night gives me hope, as sick as that may be.

Only it's not someone else, I realize, as my throat burns raw. I realize with startling clarity that I'm the only making all the noise. I'm the one shaking so tremendously. I'm the one who is sobbing.

"Shhh," a voice whispers against the darkness, and I flail involuntarily at the shock. "Sorry, sorry," Peeta instantly apologizes, his hands gripping my arms with a little too much intensity, trying to still my shaking. "It's okay, Katniss, you were just having a nightmare."

His words do precious little to calm me down though. "She was there," I cry, the image, the feeling, of Prim standing only ten feet from me and not being able to reach her too painful for me to unsee.

"Who was there?" He asks tenderly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Katniss, breathe."

I don't even bother listening to his advise. I haven't exhaled since I was eleven. "Prim was there. She was begging me to save her and then I couldn't, I was trapped but-but," I cut myself off, unable to form coherent words and thoughts any longer.

Peeta gets the gist though. "Come here," he whispers and pulls me into his arms, like he used to on the train, when my nightmares woke us both three times a night. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says softly now, and rubs my back in a way that elicits goosebumps. His way of trying to soothe my shaking. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You died too," I blurt out then. I don't even know why I feel inclined to tell him.

"What?"

"I was stuck and I couldn't speak and then Prim said you were going to die and I got scared enough that I could talk again and I thought-I thought," I stumble breathlessly, my tears pouring out against his shoulder now.

I feel his lips touch my cheek and I'm too upset to revel in the feeling of blood rushing there. "It was just a nightmare," he promises.

But my sentiment is unfinished. "I thought I could break free, that I could-"

"Katniss," he halts, still holding me in his embrace, rocking me slightly. "It wasn't real. I promise you, it wasn't real."

Those words, the words so often said to him by me, ring a bell that I didn't want to ring. It snaps me back into reality abruptly and without warning, I feel like my chest is going to collapse.

Because this means Prim wasn't really there, that she still is as dead as she was yesterday, that I still watched her explode into pieces all over the bombsite in the Capitol.

I still failed to protect her.

Peeta pulls back slightly then and rests his forehead against mine. "It's okay, Katniss," he says again, trying to calm my trembles by rubbing my arms up and down.

"How are you in my house?" I realize, with an intense sudden clarity. "How are you here? Are you real or am I still-"

He quickly puts me out of my misery. "You gave me a key, remember? A long time ago? We gave each other keys to our houses."

Oh. Right. I forgot all about that when he had his nightmare, didn't I?

Good thing he's an idiot who keeps his door unlocked at night.

He's explaining further before I can think to ask. "I heard you having a nightmare from my house. That's why I rushed over here."

I'm caught between embarrassment and gratitude. "Sorry, I really don't know what brought it on."

"Hey," he quietly reprimands, lifting my chin now to meet eye contact. "Don't apologize. No one understands nightmares like me."

I nod, accepting his words, though still a little uncomfortable with screaming for all the district to hear at two in the morning.

Then again, our entire neighborhood is Haymitch and the two of us, and our mentor was drinking like a fish last night so really, the only person who could have heard me is already sitting directly in my eye line.

To punctuate his words, when I don't respond verbally, he lifts my hand up and brings it to his lips tenderly.

And I don't know what comes over me or why. I don't know if it's because we've been growing closer again lately or if I just haven't felt his arms around me since days ago in the bakery and I miss the feel of it desperately, but I find myself abruptly throwing my body around his before I can talk myself out of it.

He catches me easily, like he anticipated my reaction and sways me for a long moment, until my breathing begins to even itself out.

"Will you stay?" I rasp into his neck, as I feel his hand tangles in my matted locks.

"Always."

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #everlark fic #fanfic #prompt #everlark fanfic #fanfiction #growing back together #userreese #i think thats what you meant when you said to tag you???? #gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖

[ladyfawkes]

Desiderium by Trekkiehood and LadyFawkes Current word count: 15102 Current Chapter 8 & 9: The Useful Idiots; Eugene's Lament Rated: T for graphic descriptions of violence, wartime, torture, things of a POW nature. ATTENTION/ACHTUNG/ATTENCION: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! [Nor a repost.] DESI HAS BEEN GIVEN ITS FOOOOURTH UPDATE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP! Chapter 8 (but not 9) also the first chapter in which I've flown entirely solo thus far. Doth my eyes deceive me, or does our hero make a reappearance??? Hold onto your butts, buttercups. You finally get to learn what Regis is all about. Eeeeep!!! This one's intense!! You also get to learn exactly what Eugene wrote to his dearest Rapunzel in the hour or so prior to his capture.

Overall Story Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost. Eugene and Rapunzel's lives are turned upside down when a war breaks out between Corona and Equis. As Captain of the Guard, Eugene is forced to leave his wife and daughter to fight on the front lines, where a tragic berserker attack leaves Rapunzel a widow.....or so she's been led to believe. Now prisoner to a sadistic megalomaniac, our severely injured Eugene must fight harder than he's ever fought before in order to escape dire circumstances and drag his way back to his family. With battles raging, the enemy advancing, too many fallen troops, dwindling supplies under siege, and especially absent their most trusted strategic leader, the only chance Rapunzel, Corona, and Eugene have is if the kingdom can still somehow pull off the seemingly insurmountable task of winning this forsaken war. Has dusk finally arrived for the kingdom of the sun, or will she rise victorious once more? Chapter 8 Summary: Eugene finds "help" in the most unexpected of places. (Chapter 9 summary & chapter posted beneath Chapter 8.)

Javeen’s men had concussed the enemy captain in outrage and tightly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes for transport. Naturally, nobody amongst them had consciously thought to put pressure on the enemy’s` wounds. On the contrary, most of them had gone out of their way to avoid such a thing…. Their reputation had always been annihilation of all opposition and a literal scorched earth policy. It didn’t leave much room, if any, for compassion or medical training; most of the time, it left even less room for common sense. Before dawn that day, Commander Javeen’s underling had initially volunteered to perform the honor of actually transporting the soon-to-be-captured prisoner, the captain in red. However, by this point, Avila was less than thrilled; Uhlan Avila didn’t want the loathsome enemy captain to leak his blood and other bodily fluids all over his opulent saddle. He’d spent good money on it, after all. This was an unforeseen complication for which the uhlan had definitely not volunteered. However, now….he was stuck with it. Avila sprinted over to a fallen enemy horse nearby, loosened the saddle, and reclaimed the saddle blanket, padding, and two leather straps. Taking the woolen pad and folding it over a few times, he rolled the enemy captain up inside of it with the blanket around the outside, and cinched up everything with the reclaimed leather straps. Uhlan Avila was pleased with himself for being so clever. It was that one action of vanity alone which preserved Eugene’s life to this point; as otherwise short-sighted as these bloodthirsty barbarians were, transporting the wounded -- even their own -- was not something for which they spared much thought or effort. And so Uhlan Avila threw the prepared prisoner over the withers of his horse and ultimately brought the prisoner, retching and puking, all the way back to Javeen’s encampment outside Equisian city walls. Thus the Equisian army had done the enemy commander a secondary favor by attacking before breakfast; one cannot puke out what one has not eaten. And thus we've reached our third unintended positive consequence that the uhlan mistakenly provided the enemy: Avila had rendered him virtually unconscious. It was a profoundly merciful thing, remaining staunchly unable to recall waking memory of being hauled away so inhumanely, bound and profusely bleeding, with no way to brace or prepare oneself for the relentless jarring and jouncing motions on the arduously long journey ahead. The same afternoon Queen Rapunzel of Corona received her husband’s final impassioned missive, the currently defenseless abductee Captain Eugene S. Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Her Majesty Queen Rapunzel, was presented to His Imperial Majesty King Regis the First and Terrible of Equis. Regis preferred just the one name, as ambitious as he was, wanting to further distinguish himself from anyone else yet in the history books. Fully expectant that his captive should be brought to him on a silver platter, King Regis was royally put-out when he was instead Summoned to Javeen’s encampment due to a quote unquote “slight problem”. However, he was determined nothing would spoil his mood for that day. That day had all gone off without a hitch, apparently, every carefully laid plan thus far. As well it should, Regis congratulated himself internally. Nothing would be better than his moment of being able to gloat in the face of this unworthy thieving interloper who had taken up such a plumb station within the neighboring kingdom. Regis had heard all about Fitzherbert from his cousin before his death. What idiots Corona’s former royal couple must have been, getting duped by the likes of such a wonton common thief. King Regis vowed he would die before he let such an accursed scourge back into his palace. King Trevor had regaled Regis endlessly about his woes with Corona, King Frederic, and ultimately, the insufferable thief Fitzherbert. And Regis….well, Regis was like Trevor multiplied one-thousand-fold. While they were close to the same age, Regis had had a lifetime filled with

having the throne denied him.

His gargantuan height of 6’11” made Regis tower over most everyone around him. Though he was tall, he was also toned and muscular rather than massive; though he could yell louder than most, he also had a silver tongue. His cruelty, selfishness, and vanity knew no bounds -- nor did his taste for ostentation. Unlike Trevor, who had a very pointy pinched look, Regis was exceptionally attractive, broad-chested, and “strong as a bear”, with his close-cropped full beard and once-dark-hair turned a respectable salt-&-pepper. Yet beautiful as he was, every horrible family trait that Trevor had ever possessed -- and then some -- were magnified to abysmal new depths within Regis….which is why lately, he’d been experimenting around with giving himself titles of repute. “King Regis the Great”....no, too generic. “King Regis the Horrible,”...no. Again, too….pedestrian. “King Regis the Terrible”...? Slight improvement but still not good enough. King Regis brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shimmering blue ermine cape, readjusted his most opulent jeweled crown and sauntered through the massive tent flap that had been pulled aside in anticipation of his arrival. He strutted toward the back of the tent, where he saw his 2nd and 3rd in command, Commander Javeen and Commander Thaddeus. Thaddeus backed away at a steady pace upon seeing him, after the commander bowed, saluted, and announced his king’s arrival. Regis picked up on an undercurrent of agitation between his leading men. As he approached Javeen and a heap of old rags on the ground, he learned precisely why. It was not a pile of rags before him. Now abruptly seeing his Big Moment evaporate in front of his eyes, Regis rushed up to see who was this mystery prisoner. Surely this could not be Fitzherbert….?? He’d expected him to be a bit sick and groggy from a pre-planned hellride over horse’s withers but not….. And Regis roughly clutched at the hair of the prone individual and yanked backward on the head so he could see the hidden features. And though this prisoner’s face was filthy, it was just as Regis feared: he was indeed looking at the face that launched a thousand Wanted posters, his avowed newest enemy, thieving “Prince” Fitzherbert. The enemy prisoner showed no outward reaction to him nor anything else whatsoever. He lay still, eye closed and expressionless, his body completely inert. With fury clouding his vision, Regis tore at the saddle blanket wrapped around his prey. The blanket had all but adhered to those once-leaking wounds through Eugene’s torso. By this time, Cmdr. Thaddeus had backed away to a safe distance outside the tent. “What is the MEANING OF THIS!?!?” roared Regis, unclutching his once-intended target’s hair and crossing the tent to Javeen in less than half a second. “GRIEVOUSLY DAMAGING MY CHOSEN PREY BEFORE I CAN EVEN SEE HIM?!?! “My-My Liege,” stuttered Javeen, “I thought you’d be pleased to see him in such dire straits!” At this, even Regis was taken aback. Briefly. “To reiterate….you ‘thought I’d be PLEASED’,” Regis made mocking air-quotes, “to see the very victim I’d been planning personally to accost now for months, suddenly in a position where nothing I can do can possibly torture or make him hurt enough, the way he should be!?!” At this, Regis twitched his wrist and an impossibly sharp filigreed 12-inch-length steel stylus slipped silently out of a concealed pouch in his sleeve. Now, the king was deceptively, eerily calm, ever-so-slowly advancing on Javeen, who was inching away. “Did it ever occur to you,” Regis rapidly whip-sliced in an upward diagonal with the stylus, his impossibly-lengthy arm snaking out from him, “that I might need to play with him first?” And then he whipped the whisper-quiet blade rapidly on an opposing downward diagonal, completing an X pattern across the chest of Javeen’s tunic. His second’s eyes bugged out and he continued to back away from Regis, stumbling, clutching at and trying to press his tunic against the new fresh wounds underneath to staunch the flow. Gritting his teeth and trying desperately

not to cry out, Javeen well knew how screaming and crying to Regis would only encourage him further. “This dirty thief has information I require, you fool,” Regis whispered, with deadly calm, as he threw the stylus at the dirt and it pierced Javeen through his foot. His hapless second screamed in spite of himself and fell backward, his foot still pinned to the earth through his boot. “I pay you to kill, maim, and follow my orders to the letter,” Regis stood over him prior to leaving, “not to do my thinking for me.” After giving his original intended victim Fitzherbert one last longing glance, Mad King Regis knelt down and plucked his stylus out of the shocked man’s pinned foot as slowly and agonizingly as possible, making Javeen yell mightily again as crimson gushed out the new holes in either side of his boot.

Regis then wiped his stylus clean on Javeen’s trouser leg, and said loudly, “Cmdr. Thaddeus, Summon the surgeon or apothecary, whatever he calls himself. Tell him he has a new charge. JUST THE ONE,” he growled menacingly at Javeen, his implications crystal clear although he still addressed Cmdr Thaddeus. And to think, less than five minutes ago, Regis had been having such a fine day. ---------------------TTS------------------------- Chapter 9 Summary: Varian has a visceral reaction after eavesdropping on Timothy's devastating report with Rapunzel. After several key delays, the queen goes down to the stables to speak with Maximus....and receives a letter. ============ Varian gradually pulled away from the door where he’d just been eavesdropping on Timothy and the Queen. His head was shaking side to side involuntarily and his eyes had frozen wide open. Clawed hands raked through his hair until Varian was frantically grasping his fringe in shock and disbelief. Everything had gone numb as he continued backing away. His throat constricted for a time and he struggled to breathe.

“Varian?” Ash approached carefully and lightly touched his arm; he flinched violently at her touch. “Varian, are you okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t. This was impossible. Eugene couldn’t be dead. He just could not!

“I-I have to go!” Varian choked out. And he simply ran. He wasn’t even sure exactly where he was going. He couldn’t go to his dad, as Quirin was one of the few Coronian citizens to have actually seen bonafide combat. Thus his services would be required with Corona’s dwindling army now more than ever….. He couldn't go to Rapunzel, she had enough problems to worry about, and he couldn’t go to Eugene because he was- no. He wasn't. He could not be! Maybe he was only missing, not dead.

Xavier. Xavier would know what to do. Varian needed to find Xavier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TTS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Max,” Rapunzel smiled a weak watery smile as she gently stroked the horse’s face. “Heard you had quite the run.”

She offered him an apple that he accepted from her hand….but he carefully set it aside and refused to eat it.

“Yeah, I know the feeling, my friend.” Pascal chirruped in agreement and nuzzled a little against Max’s face from the vantage point of Rapunzel’s shoulder.

It still hadn’t completely sunk in…..Eugene’s possibly being gone forever. By the time she had gone down to speak with Max about an hour after first speaking to poor Timothy, about a half dozen of their other soldiers had also beaten a hasty retreat back to Corona proper, as Old Corona was even less safe than ever, due to the out-of-control fire. Sometimes not all of these men arrived in one piece, either. Rapunzel subsequently learned the enemy had started an oversized funeral pyre…..but why?? They also independently corroborated Timothy’s claims of Eugene’s being run-through. And even worse, some said that Eugene’s stricken body had been thrown…..on the top of that funeral pyre. She’d heard the chilling reports corroborated more than once, from soldiers who had little to no idea what their fellow troops had also seen. She had had those tunnel nightmares for ages. And yet...hardly anything felt real. She felt detached from everything. Once the tiny and woefully wounded and bedraggled troop contingent had arrived, however, news had spread throughout the palace grounds faster than the fire that spawned it: Eugene is dead. The Prince is dead. Captain Fitzherbert died in battle.

Maximus let out a soft nickering. Rapunzel allowed a few tears to finally fall for real. It was a stark reality, seeing Max without Eugene. Seeing the blood on the saddle. Seeing the thick bandages on Maximus as he was carefully laid on his side, being cared for in the stable. Seeing everything, everything that she had once thought of as strong and capable and larger-than-life, and practically invincible….all in such precarious states. She just…..couldn’t…..

“I don’t know what I would’ve done had we lost you too, Max,” whispered Rapunzel. This was the only way, she decided, she could hold things together. With Max and Pascal, she could fall apart if needed, without anyone questioning her state of mind or suggesting she should step down from her duties. She just….couldn’t bring herself to give up on him just yet. Rapunzel instinctively knew that she was still the best chance Eugene had for being found. And that chance would diminish severely if she replaced herself with someone else in the highest command position.

Max nuzzled her hand before biting at his saddlebag and pulling out a folded letter with "Wifey" scrawled in hurried font on the back.

She accepted it with shaking hands. It still bore his scent and the official Captain’s watermark. Eugene’s. She could barely contain her trembling as she unfolded the pages.

My Dearest Sunshine and Darling Wifey,

The writing on the parchment here appeared peppered with large drops of clear liquid. Most of the ink was smeared, including the date in the top right corner, as if it were all written in a furious hurry. It’s doubtless the reason why Eugene never had time to seal the letter either.

If you’ve been given this letter, then I can assume I’ve entered a battle from which I will likely not return. Know that I did everything in my power to win for us. I’ve done everything in my power to return to you. I never wanted to leave you or Kleisonne. It was never my choice to stay away….but I’m sorry nonetheless. Not only do I have sworn duty to protect the kingdom and her heirs…..it’s most of all because I want you and our daughter to be as safe as humanly possible. You’ve been the best companion, wife, mother to our child, lover, and life-rescuer this flawed man could have ever hoped for. I’ve been more happy these past 5 years with you than the prior 23 years of my life combined. I’ve never wished more than now that an afterlife truly exists. Because whether in living life or afterlife, I would give absolutely everything I have just to spend even a tiny bit more of my time with you and Kleisonne, even if all I got to give you was a proper goodbye. I love you more than mere words could ever convey.

Also know how much I cherish you and how fortunate I am to have been given a second chance to get things right in my life. That never could’ve happened without you.

I’ll never stop loving you, Sunshine. Death couldn’t stop that before. Perhaps….the odds might smile on me yet again.

In my absence, I need you to be certain and watch that nanny. Please. My paternal instincts are just extra strong right now, I suppose but certainly you of all people can understand why I'm....careful. And in case I can’t return, please make sure Kleisonne knows I love her and that I never wanted to leave her. I didn’t abandon her by choice. Someone stole our time out from under us. Every moment we three are apart, I’m certain desiderium shall overwhelm me. Please….tell my dad how much I appreciate, love, and care for him. I completely understand his delay. I can’t imagine how difficult it would’ve been to pull together a virtual army and make his way back here in about 7 weeks. Two or three days shouldn’t have made much of a difference but in this case….? I fear Edmund will never forgive himself--but I will. Corona will still need him and the Brotherhood though, even if I’m gone. Tell Fred and Arianna thank you for everything…..they were my family at a time when I still had nobody else.

You were my new dream yesterday, you’re my new dream today, and you’ll always be the best dream I could ever seek, Rapunzel. I’ll remain forever your devoted husband.

All my love and more, Eugene

Rapunzel was openly sobbing now. Rivers of pent-up tears flowed as the Queen’s small body was wracked with uncontrolled weeping. She surrendered to the worst pain and emotional loss of her entire life. It just wasn’t right. It’s not fair for me to have saved him once, only for the enemy soldiers to get him just a few short years later.

Maximus whinnied low in his throat and nuzzled in, letting Rapunzel know it was safe for her to come closer, despite his bandages. It was clear the despondent horse didn’t care how much he hurt physically, which….comparably, still wasn’t all that much. The adrenaline still hadn’t worn off from his mad dash earlier, apparently. And it was the least he could do to give his queen a safe space to cry. She clung tightly to his neck, letting her tears soak into his mane. Maximus well knew how difficult it was for her to express herself when she felt vulnerable.

Events and every single independent corroboration thus far all pointed towards Commodore Fitzherbert having been killed. Virtually nobody had seen him alive since before the inferno effectively ended the battle. Several people had even witnessed his being run-through, and a couple of his men had even seen his body on a lighted funeral pyre. Rapunzel was wracked again with more sobs at these thoughts.

How could Eugene have possibly survived? Common sense told her he hadn’t. Yet everything else told her he was still out there, somewhere, needing urgently to be found. Everyone lucky enough to have retreated from the battle said they were certain he had not survived. Though it had been around 4-5 hours since the end of the battle, Rapunzel couldn’t give up just yet.

Most chillingly of all, the idea had finally begun sinking in….mostly due to morale being plunged to abysmal levels.

The whole kingdom had felt noticeably dimmer once everyone began to believe Eugene Fitzherbert was dead.

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic collab #co-authors #Ladyfawkes #Trekkiehood #eugene fitzherbert #rapunzel #eugene + rapunzel #post-canon #tangled fanfiction #Maximus #Rapunzel's tangled adventure #rta #tangled the series #tts #tbea #tangled ever after #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #POW #War wounds #captivity #abduction #Rated T #megalomaniac #sadistic villain

[one-boring-person]

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned. (Part Three)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: none

Context: The senior officer (Y/n) is expecting arrives.

A/N: Im not really sure where this story is going, but anyhow. I'm sorry, there really isn't that much mention of the boys in this, but I guess this can kinda count as a filler chapter?

Masterlist.

My hands are shaking as I check my watch yet again, biting my lip nervously as I shift in place, my coat drawn tightly around me to fight off the cool night air, the rest of my clothes as smart as possible, to make a good impression. In my left hand, I hold the creased envelope, the edges torn and dog-eared from being handled so much, the letter inside stained slightly from where I picked it up with my hands covered in gore, the contents nearly branded into my memory by now. A senior officer is to meet me at the Santa Carla train station at eight o'clock exactly, should the train be on time for once. Since I received this information two days ago, I have not stopped fidgeting and worrying with myself, my nails bitten down to the bed, the skin painful and red, my nerves running rampant within me, resulting in a thorough tidy-up of the shed and many unforseen training fights with the hand-made dummy behind it, my knuckles as sore as if I've been in a real fight.

Even now, I can feel the bruising under my gloves smart with every movement, my fingers flexing instinctually as I watch the thinning stream of people emerging from the station doors, eyes hoping to catch sight of the officer soon, knowing the uniform will be the tell tale giveaway. My own uniform is neat and tidy for once, as the rules of the SRS state, my long overcoat concealing the weapons I'm obligated to carry around with me: a gun loaded with wooden bullets, three vials of holy water, a stake and a silver knife. Legally, I'm allowed to carry these weapons in full view, being a Hunter for the SRS and all, but most of us choose not to, seeing as the civilians tend to find the sight of them pretty unnerving, but there are some, more arrogant ones, who choose to flaunt their status for the whole world to see, making them easy targets for almost any supernatural being. A wry grimace makes it's way onto my face as I recall the time when my first drill sergeant as a Cadet stalked into a werewolf pack with all of his silver weaponry out on show, instantly resulting in an all out brawl, which only some of us survived. The sergeant was the first to die.

"(Y/n)! It's been too long!" A horribly familiar voice snaps me from my thoughts, my eyes swiftly locating the tall figure walking over to me. Elijah Finch, the lanky, dark haired man I went to Hunting School with, wearing the neatly pressed black jacket of a senior officer, the rank badges sewn onto his chest showing that he has also reached a very high number of kills, as well as a completely new status.

"It's good to see you, sir." I address him with the correct formality, a tight smile forcing it's way onto my lips, my posture straightening as I salute him. For a brief second, I see a faint glimmer of pride flash through the crystal depths of his eyes at the title.

"Ah, don't call me that, (Y/n). We're friends, and that's not how friends talk to each other." He grins as he steps over to me, dropping his holdall momentarily in order to sweep me up into a tight embrace.

Relaxing into him, I return the hug, inhaling the familiar smell of his cologne as he crushes me into his chest, clearly happier to see me than I am him.

"If you say so, Elijah." I respond in his ear, pulling away after a minute, smiling at his broad grin, taking note of the new scar on his right cheek, the pale line splitting his sharp cheekbone in two, "The hell happened to your face?"

"Oh this? Nothing too bad, just had a bad encounter with a possessed child." Elijah smirks, picking up his bag again and slinging it onto his back, refusing my offer to help him out.

"A child gave you that?" I lift an eyebrow at him, finding this amusing.

"A possessed child." He corrects me, falling into step beside me as I lead him away from the train station, aiming to get to the main road, where we can pick up some decent food without coming across David and the boys.

"Sure." I chuckle, rolling my eyes, "You hungry?"

"I could eat. Anywhere good in town?"

"Eh, I guess. Most of them are takeaways, but there's a pretty decent diner just off the main road." I inform him, sticking my hands into my pockets as we walk, hunching my shoulders a little as the cool wind blows around us, chilling me to the bone.

"Lets go there, then. I'll pay." The tall Hunter says decisively, giving me a pointed look when I glance at him queationingly.

"Sure, if you don't mind." I frown slightly at this, fumbling with the notes in my pockets a little out of protest, "When did you become a senior?"

"A month back, I think. Yeah, it was around the beginning of September or so." He replies, clearly looking as if he wants to go on, something which I am only too happy to allow.

"Oh yeah? What was the mission?" I inquire, referring to the SRS concept that a Hunter is promoted to Senior only after completing a particularly difficult hunt.

"Oh, it wasn't too difficult. There was a coven of vampires trying to take over the French Quarter, back home in New Orleans, and had started a fight with the witches that already lived there. I had to go in with a squad of Hunters and eliminate the bloodsuckers, before everything got out of hand. I managed it, and didn't lose a single member of the squad." He goes on to explain, sounding impossibly proud of himself as always, his tone laced with self-confidence.

"Congrats, it sounds like it was well deserved." I congratulate him, stopping outside the diner I usually stay out of, preferring to go to the one on the Boardwalk, my jaw clenching as I see that it is closed for the night.

"Damn that sucks. Is there another one nearby?" Elijah asks, blue eyes looking the structure up and down, hand adjusting on the straps of his bag.

"Err, yeah. There's one just over there." I inform him, pointing at the entrance to the Boardwalk, which lies a good 25 metres away down the road.

"Lets hope that one isn't closed, too." He muses, allowing me to hesitantly lead the way again.

Quickly, we make our way onto the Boardwalk, where I then quickly locate the diner and direct Elijah over to it, hoping the boys aren't anywhere nearby. Thankfully, this one is open, meaning the two of us easily get a table, our uniforms giving us some sort of advantage over other customers, even though the insignia is not a particularly widely recognised one. Sitting at a window table, we take the time to look at the menu properly before deciding on something to order, doing so and relaxing back into our seats as we wait, both of us instinctively turning to look out the window, where I instantly spot the four people I didn't want to see tonight.

Across the pavement, David, Dwayne, Paul and Marko have pulled up on their motorcycles, the four of them drawing attention to themselves as always, something which makes me grit my teeth in annoyance, knowing that Elijah will easily spot them.

"They the resident biker gang?" The Hunter asks, gesturing to the boys with a curious expression.

Tensing almost indiscernibly, I try to suppress the rising fear inside me, nodding as I reply to him.

"It is. They like offering races to anyone who catches their eye." I explain to him, only revealing half of the truth behind them, eyeing the four vampires as they talk amongst themselves, David pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, followed by a lighter, his icy blue eyes suddenly locking with mine across the space. A smirk makes it's way onto his face as he sees me.

"They do, huh? I bet you could easily beat them on yours." Elijah muses out loud, looking me over with a critical eye.

"Yeah, well the only problem with that is that my bike is back in New Orleans, and has been for my entire time here." I remind him, recalling the black Triumph back in the garage at Headquarters, suddenly wishing I could ride it again, missing the exhilaration of the ride.

"That's too bad. I'm surprised, though, you and that bike were pretty much inseparable."

"It's the best vehicle I've ever driven." I shrug, returning my gaze to the four motorcycles outside, only to find their riders gone. Confusion fills me, eyes searching for them, until I hear an unmistakable voice behind me, my heart dropping in my chest.

"So this is where you got to, kitten. We were wondering where you were." David's smirk is practically audible in his tone, my jaw tightening as I turn to face him, only now registering what he called me, a deep blush blossoming on my cheeks.

"Hey David. I didn't realise you were looking for me." I smile cordially at him, trying to signal to him with my eyes for him to leave, before he's caught.

"We got worried." The platinum blonde affirms, eyeing Elijah, who watches the exchange in confusion, "Who's your friend?"

"This is Elijah. He's a close friend of mine. Elijah, this is David, Dwayne, Marko and Paul, some friends I've made here." I introduce them, trying not to reach over and slap their reaching hands away from each other, reminding myself that they boy have gloves onñ and so the difference in temperature shouldn't be too noticeable.

"Nice to meet you, Elijah." David greets, tone sounding forced and completely false.

"Nice to meet you, too." The tall Hunter smiles, shaking David's hand, eyes flicking over the others in turn.

David turns to me once again once he's finished shaking hands, blue eyes teasing.

"Let us know when you're next free, we'd love to spend more time together again." The vampire tells me, before he and the boys step out, Marko and Paul pushing and shoving each other on their way, nearly upsetting a few of the tables.

Once they've left, Elijah looks at me with an eyebrow raised.

"Friends?" Is all he says.

"What, are you implying that I can't make friends?" I tease, hoping not to have to go into too much detail.

"Of course not. They just seem pretty interesting characters." He shrugs, looking over as the waiter brings us our food, thanking him pleasantly before returning his gaze to me.

"They are, but they're a great cover-up story at times." I reason, tucking into my food.

"Ah, right. Makes sense. Anyway, you got any plans later?" He queries, casually, cutting up some of his own food as he does so.

"No, why?" I respond, confused.

"Because I am in the mood for some hunting."

Part Four

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys) #kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys) #dwayne(the lost boys) #santa carla #marko(the lost boys) #star(the lost boys)

[lysical-secondary]

Thanks for the comics recs. I want to start from Batman, Green lantern then about the story of batfamily, somw DCU too. I've read some comics from New 52 but I don't really like it very much tho. Can you help me? Thanks

Alright, all the below titles are for currently running Rebirth titles (the current DC continuity that is trying to fix the new 52s comedy of errors). If you want Post-Crisis continuity recs (1986-2011) then let me know and I’ll do a set for those instead. This is mostly me waffling on tbh and may be of limited usefulness. 

Everything is also just my opinion which is totally biased and if you disagree cool. 

Batman can be found in a number of titles currently running. I am not mentioning the various Justice League titles, only the ones that fall within the ‘Batman Family’ group of titles. Batman shows up all over the place. 

Batman written by Tom King. It’s…okay. Read #16 and quit tbh I hold a grudge against this guy, my bias is showing. Do not trust anything I say about this title I’m extremely, extremely bitter about some twitter comments he made. This is Batman’s primary solo book so it’s worth checking out maybe probably no don’t do it.

Detective Comics written by James Tynion IV is the ensemble Bat book, with Batman in the lead. This has the most concentration of Bat family members working together, especially ones that don’t have their own books. If you’re looking for Jason, Dick and Damian, they’ve all got their own books. If you want Cass, Steph, Duke, Harper, Luke Fox and the feel of a team book, this one you should pick up, for that alone. It’s also the book depicting the sekrits behind Tim’s fake death, if you’re into that. 

Batwoman written by Marguerite Bennett & James Tynion IV, art by Steve Epting. It’s gorgeous. Kate also appears in Detective Comics but I think her popularity earned her a solo Rebirth title? I’m a little unsure how it went down. This book is gorgeous and it’s just started so great jumping on point. I’m a tiny bit biased because I’m 100% here for Kate and her entire aesthetic. 

Red Hood and the Outlaws written well by Scott Lobdell (i know I was shocked too), and the first arc has gorgeous art by Dexter Soy who I would marry in a heartbeat if he asked me. Currently my favorite Rebirth title of all and not just because Jason is one of my favs. The first story arc is complete go get it, read it, spend about fifteen minutes wondering what demon possessed Lobdell and how we can make it stay and continue it’s good work. The issue releasing next contains face helmet, but Dexter will be back with issue 9 and all will be right with the world. I’m biased as fuck but it’s actually good. 

Titans written by Dan Abnett is the only current Nightwing book I’m now following, as the solo Nightwing seems to have decided to emulate a soap opera and the writer clearly doesn’t know who the hell Dick Grayson actually is. This one I tentatively recommend as a team book, but a lot of Post-Crisis baggage comes with it and there is a bunch of confusing stuff about time-y wime-y memory stealing excuses for why Post-Crisis ended and why new 52 got booted. It’s only just started actually moving away from that to actual story lines. still, if the classic OG Titans (Dick Grayson, Wally West, Donna Troy, Roy Harper, Garth) and some of the more obscure Titans (Lilith Clay, Mal Duncan, Karen Beecher) interest you, this is a good one to pick up. Also good for nostalgia. 

Teen Titans written by Ben Percy is Damian’s ‘primary’ book. Don’t ask me the logic behind Batman stationing his thirteen year old in another city, which is apparently what he’s done? I don’t really follow this one. It’s another attempt at capturing the Teen Titans cartoon audience, from the lineup (why is Kori in the Teen Titans? Why is Beast still a kid, he’s had a worse run with aging than Tim). Your Mileage May Vary as to Damian’s characterization in it. 

Super Sons written by Peter Tomasi, who is a solid writer for DC. My preferred Damian book because despite my low key dislike of DC’s emphasis on Damian and Jon Kent as the ‘true’ sons of Batman and Superman, like both haven’t had kids before (even if Clark took years to give Kon-El a NAME omg let us not go there), they’re an adorable pair with potential for a solid run and I like Damian working with someone younger. Add in some of Damian’s other Gotham friends and make it a misfit team of young teens (a la Young Justice) and it would be a perfect book. Just started, another good jumping on point. Art by Jorge Jimenez is lovely

There’s also All-Star Batman but I know nothing about it. I think it’s not technically set in continuity with the rest of the DCU but it might be fun? I’ve seen it around but I have no idea if it’s good or not. 

Green Lantern is a little simpler, as there are two books to follow. 

Green Lanterns written by Sam Humphries, focuses on two new Earth Green Lanterns, Simon Baz and Jessica Cruz. This a great book for newcomers because they’re pretty new, so less old baggage. Jessica is the first proper female Green Lantern for Earth and her character is very easy to identify with and the book is seems well done (I keep up on and off I lack time guys). These tw0 also appear in the Justice League book.

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps written by Rob Venditti,has all the old guard, Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Guy Gardner, and Kyle Rayner (recently popped up as White Lantern). This one has all the space cop, aliens and emotional spectrum carry over from previous Green Lantern runs. If you like these characters pick it up for sure, may be a little more confusing and require some wiki-ing. 

Hope this helps, anon! 

(or was at least mildly entertaining to read)

#asks #batfam #batman #green lantern #dc comics #dc comics: recs #kinda #also some 'this exists but i know nothing about it' #all of this is my opinion and the vague stuff i've picked up #since i don't actually follow all of these books closely

[ladyfawkes]

Desiderium by Trekkiehood and LadyFawkes Current word count: 13423 Current Chapter 8: The Useful Idiots Rated: T for graphic descriptions of violence, wartime, torture, things of a POW nature. ATTENTION/ACHTUNG/ATTENCION: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! [Nor a repost.] DESI HAS BEEN GIVEN ITS 3RD UPDATE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP! It's also the first chapter in which I've flown entirely solo thus far. Doth my eyes deceive me, or does our hero make a reappearance??? Hold onto your butts, buttercups. You finally get to learn what Regis is all about. Eeeeep!!! This one's intense!!

Overall Story Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.

Eugene and Rapunzel's lives are turned upside down when a war breaks out between Corona and Equis. As Captain of the Guard, Eugene is forced to leave his wife and daughter to fight on the front lines, where a tragic berserker attack leaves Rapunzel a widow.....or so she's been led to believe.

Now prisoner to a sadistic megalomaniac, our severely injured Eugene must fight harder than he's ever fought before in order to escape dire circumstances and drag his way back to his family.

With battles raging, the enemy advancing, too many fallen troops, dwindling supplies under siege, and especially absent their most trusted strategic leader, the only chance Rapunzel, Corona, and Eugene have is if the kingdom can still somehow pull off the seemingly insurmountable task of winning this forsaken war. Has dusk finally arrived for the kingdom of the sun, or will she rise victorious once more? Chapter Summary: Eugene finds "help" in the most unexpected of places. Javeen’s men had concussed the enemy captain in outrage and then tightly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes for transport. Naturally, nobody amongst them had consciously thought to put pressure on the enemy's wounds. On the contrary, most of them had gone out of their way to avoid such a thing…. Their reputation had always been annihilation of all opposition and a literal scorched earth policy. It didn’t leave much room, if any, for compassion or medical training; most of the time, it left even less room for common sense. Before dawn that day, Commander Javeen’s underling had initially volunteered to perform the honor of actually transporting the soon-to-be-captured prisoner, the captain in red. However, by this point, Avila was less than thrilled; Uhlan Avila didn’t want the loathsome enemy captain to leak his blood and other bodily fluids all over his opulent saddle. He’d spent good money on it, after all. This was an unforeseen complication for which the uhlan had definitely not volunteered. Now….he was stuck with it, however. Avila sprinted over to a fallen enemy horse nearby, loosened the saddle, and reclaimed the saddle blanket, padding, and two leather straps. Taking the woolen pad and folding it over a few times, he twisted up the enemy captain inside of it with the blanket around the outside, and then cinched up everything with the reclaimed leather straps. Uhlan Avila was pleased with himself for being so clever. It was that one action of vanity alone which preserved Eugene’s life past this point; as otherwise short-sighted as these bloodthirsty barbarians were, transporting the wounded -- even their own -- was not something for which they spared much thought or effort. And so Uhlan Avila threw the prepared prisoner over the withers of his horse and ultimately brought the prisoner, retching and puking, all the way back to Javeen’s encampment outside Equisian city walls. Thus the Equisian army had done the enemy commander a secondary favor by attacking before breakfast; one cannot puke out what one has not eaten. And thus we've reached our third unintended positive consequence that the uhlan mistakenly provided the enemy: Avila had rendered him virtually unconscious. It was a copiously merciful thing, remaining staunchly unable to recall waking memory of being hauled away so inhumanely, bound and profusely bleeding, with no way to brace or prepare oneself for the relentless jarring and jouncing motions on the arduously long journey ahead. The same afternoon Queen Rapunzel of Corona received her husband’s final impassioned missive, the currently defenseless abductee Captain Eugene S. Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Her Majesty Queen Rapunzel, was presented to His Imperial Majesty King Regis the First and Terrible of Equis. Regis preferred just the one name of his, as ambitious as he was, wanting to further distinguish himself from anyone else yet in the history books. Fully expectant that his captive should be brought to him on a silver platter, King Regis was royally put-out when he was instead Summoned to Javeen’s encampment due to a quote unquote “slight problem”. However, he was determined nothing would spoil his mood for that day. That day had all gone off without a hitch, apparently, every carefully laid plan thus far. As well it should, Regis congratulated himself internally. Nothing would be better than his moment of being able to gloat in the face of this unworthy thieving interloper who had taken up such a plumb station within the neighboring kingdom. Regis

had heard all about Fitzherbert from his

cousin before his death. What idiots Corona’s former royal couple must have been, getting duped by the likes of such a wonton common thief. King Regis vowed he would die before he let such an accursed scourge back into his palace. King Trevor had regaled Regis endlessly about his woes with Corona, King Frederic, and ultimately, the insufferable thief Fitzherbert. And Regis….well, Regis was like Trevor multiplied one-thousand-fold. While they were close to the same age, Regis had had a lifetime filled with having the throne denied him. His gargantuan height of 6’11” made Regis tower over most everyone around him. Though he was tall, he was also toned and muscular rather than massive; though he could yell louder than most, he also had a silver tongue. His cruelty, selfishness, and vanity knew no bounds -- nor did his taste for ostentation. Unlike Trevor, who had a very pointy pinched look, he was exceptionally attractive, broad-chested, masculine, and “strong as a bear”, with his close-cropped beard and once-dark-hair turned a respectable salt-&-pepper. Yet beautiful as he was, every horrible family trait that Trevor had ever possessed -- and then some -- were magnified to abysmal new depths within Regis….which is why lately, he’d been experimenting around with giving himself titles of repute. “King Regis the Great”....no, too generic. “King Regis the Horrible,”...no. Again, too….pedestrian. “King Regis the Terrible”...? Slight improvement but still not good enough. King Regis brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shimmering blue ermine cape, readjusted his most opulent jeweled crown and sauntered through the massive tent flap that had been pulled aside in anticipation of his arrival. He strutted toward the back of the tent, where he saw his 2nd and 3rd in command, Commander Javeen and Commander Thaddeus. Thaddeus backed away at a steady pace upon seeing him, after bowing, saluting, and announcing his king's arrival. Regis picked up on an undercurrent of agitation between his leading men. As he approached Javeen and a heap of rags on the ground, he learned precisely why. It was not a mound of rags before him. Now abruptly seeing his Big Moment evaporate in front of his eyes, Regis rushed up to what was clearly a passed-out prisoner. Surely this could not be Fitzherbert….?? He’d expected him to be a bit sick and groggy via a pre-planned ride from Hades over horse’s withers but not….. And Regis roughly clutched at the hair of the prone individual and yanked backward on the head. And though this prisoner’s features were filthy, it was just as Regis feared: he was indeed looking at the face that had launched a thousand Wanted posters, his avowed newest enemy, Eugene Fitzherbert, Prince of Thieves. The enemy prisoner showed no outward reaction to him nor anything else whatsoever. He lay perfectly still, eyes closed and expressionless, his body completely inert. With fury clouding his vision, Regis tore at the saddle blanket wrapped around his prey. The blanket had all but adhered to those once-leaking wounds through Eugene’s torso. By this time, Cmdr. Thaddeus had backed away to a safe distance outside the tent. “What is the MEANING OF THIS!?!?” roared Regis, unclutching his once-intended target’s hair and crossing the tent to Javeen in less than half a second. “GRIEVOUSLY DAMAGING MY CHOSEN PREY BEFORE I CAN EVEN SEE HIM?!?! “My-My Liege,” stuttered Javeen, “I thought you’d be pleased to see him in such dire straits!” At this, even Regis was taken aback. Briefly. “To reiterate….you ‘thought I’d be PLEASED’," Regis made mocking air-quotes, “to see the very victim I’d been planning personally to accost now for months, suddenly in a position where nothing I can do can possibly torture or make him hurt enough, the way he should be!?!” At this, Regis twitched his wrist and an impossibly sharp filigreed 12-inch-length steel stylus slipped silently out of a concealed pouch in his sleeve. Now, the king was deceptively, eerily calm, ever-so-slowly advancing on Javeen, who was inching away. “Did it ever occur to you,”

Regis rapidly whip-sliced in an upward diagonal with the stylus, his impossibly-lengthy arm snaking out and away him, “that I might need to play with him first?” And then he whipped the whisper-quiet blade rapidly on an opposing downward diagonal, completing an X pattern across the chest of Javeen’s tunic. His second’s eyes bugged out and he continued to back away from Regis, stumbling and stuttering, "N-no-no, Si-sire." Javeen clutched at and tried pressing his tunic against the new fresh wounds underneath them to staunch the flow of blood. Gritting his teeth and trying desperately not to cry out, Javeen well knew how screaming and crying to Regis would only encourage him further.  "This dirty thief has information I require, you fool,” Regis said low in his throat, with deadly calm, as he threw the stylus at the dirt and it pierced Javeen through his foot. His hapless second screamed in spite of himself and fell backward, his foot still pinned to the earth through his boot. “I pay you to kill, maim, and follow my orders to the letter,” Regis stood over him prior to leaving, “not to do my thinking for me.” "Un....underst-stood, Si-sire," whispered Javeen. As abject terror gripped him, Javeen still knew he'd gotten off easy. He was still alive and allowed to keep all limbs and sensory organs. After giving his original intended victim Fitzherbert one last longing glance, Mad King Regis knelt down and plucked his stylus out of the shocked man’s pinned foot as slowly and agonizingly as possible, making Javeen yell mightily again as crimson gushed out the new holes in either side of his boot. "You'd best hope he lives," Regis threatened pleasantly, nonchalantly inspecting the bloodied point of his stylus. Regis then wiped his stylus clean on Javeen’s trouser leg, and said loudly, “Cmdr. Thaddeus, Summon the surgeon or apothecary, whatever he calls himself. Tell him he has a new charge. JUST THE ONE,” he growled menacingly at Javeen, his implications crystal clear although he still addressed Cmdr Thaddeus. And to think, less than five minutes ago, Regis had been having such a fine day.

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic collab #co-authors #Ladyfawkes #Trekkiehood #eugene fitzherbert #rapunzel #eugene + rapunzel #post-canon #tangled fanfiction #Maximus #Rapunzel's tangled adventure #rta #tangled the series #tts #tbea #tangled ever after #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #POW #War wounds #captivity #abduction #Rated T