#and of course the wasps that made a nest my first year

[snekdood]

i both love and hate that i keep finding different moths in my house. why are they here? i dont want them to get caught on the sticky traps i put out for the flies. but also, very fun to see so many different varieties and knowing my garden probably plays a role somehow.

[bbsantc]

my favorite bts fics so far (maknae!line + ot7)

hello lovely readers, i hope all of you are doing great. i really want to share the amazing work and talent that many authors have on this app. as a literature fan and hopeless romantic myself, i made sure to pick out all the fics that i think are beautiful and amazing :) this post includes the maknae line + ot7 fics. i also made a hyung line fic rec post if you want to check it out here heheh :p

disclaimers!!!!:

some of these fics contain nsfw content (minors dni), or some heavy themes

this is a pretty long post lmao

all pictures are from pinterest!

once again this is the key for the fics :)

fluff- ♾️

angst- Ω

smut- ☻

crack/humor- ☼

i would sell my liver to read this again for the first time- ¶

Park Jimin

series:

The Promised Iris- @akinnie75 ♾️Ω

''Pair: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slight Angst, Slow Burn, Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Word Count: 20k

Summary: During one rainy summer day at the park, a stranger name Jimin suddenly confesses that he’s in love with you. At first, you thought that Jimin was a stalker, but it turns out that there’s something he’s hiding from you.''

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oneshots:

balletteacher!jimin x ballerina!y/n - @jungshookz ♾️☼ (there are more drabbles for this oneshot lolz)

''pairing: park jimin x reader

genre: balletteacher!jimin x ballerina!y/n au, fluff!!!! the fluffiest fluff!!! idk jimin just really cares about y/n okAY

wordcount: 2.5k''

him after all - @mercurygguk ♾️Ω☻

''➵ summary; a guy you’ve never met before scoops in and saves you from a very embarrassing situation and you can’t help but notice how cute he is.

pairing; jimin x f. reader final word count; 17,176 (sorry y’all) rating; 18+ content; strangers to lovers au, fluff/angst/smut, infidelity, multiple appearances from jjk, oc’s boyfriend being nasty and stupid af''

lover to lean on - @sketchguk ♾️Ω☻

''pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other''

beneath the water - @jungshookz ♾️Ω ☻ ☼¶

''→ pairing: park jimin x reader

→ genre: mermaid!au/fantasy!au, an extra large order of fluff, comedy!!, jungkook being a brat as per usual, a touch of angst, and of course a sprinkling of nsfw

→ wordcount: 20.5k words holy moly''

into the wilderness - @gukyi ♾️Ω ☼

''summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k''

Kim Taehyung

series:

charade- @ughcore ♾️Ω☻

'' “Why would you help me? What are you gonna get out of this?”

Taehyung looks you up and down, the humour twinkling in his eyes like the fairy lights he helped you hang above the TV. He tucks his hands into his armpits, assessing you for a few more moments that leave your skin hot and itchy. 

“It’ll be nice to see you out of those fuzzy slippers for once,”

The double entendre lacing his words is nothing new. The tingles in your stomach, however? Yeah, those are brand new.”

kth / fake dating + roommate au + fuckboy!taehyung

ongoing (35k) ''

maybe i do- @chateautae ♾️Ω☻

''➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ warnings : swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety, mentions of confrontative violence (with other characters, not each other), lots of feels concerning forced marriage, a bad ex (reader’s), mentions of bad sexual experiences with ex (consensual, just bad sex), explicit sexual content, oral (m. and f. receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex (chapters have their own warnings!)''

A Story that we paint - @thedefinitionofbts ♾️Ω

''PAIRINGS: Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Kim Taehyung x Reader 

GENRE: College Au, Future, Scifi, Slight Fluff and Angst

WORDS: 9K (ch.1)

DESCRIPTION: Butterfly Dream: In which the lines between virtual and reality are blurred.''

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oneshots:

the universe of us. - @taesthetes ♾️Ω ¶

'' “I love you.” — “I know.”

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader | kim taehyung x reader genre: slight comedy, angst, fluff type: dream / fantasy / slice of life au word count: 21,112 words warnings: none''

you’re so concerned about the ending that you don’t even know the plot- @joonsgalaxy ♾️☼

''° yoongi x reader x taehyung

° 1.9 k words ° fluff/humor

🌟 you bring your broken laptop to Tae—the IT specialist—who you have a crush on. you drag your bff Yoongi along with you, who—you’re certain—has a crush on Tae too. what a mess, right? well, the thing is, you never even considered the possibility of your assumptions being totally wrong.''

stuck with you || [roommate!taehyung] - @jungshookz ♾️☼☻

''❥ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

❥ genre: university!au, enemies-to-lovers, fratboy!tae??, comedy that’ll either make you chuckle out loud or roll your eyes and snoRT or maybe u won’t laugh that’s cool too, domestic fluff because i want to go grocery shopping with tae toO (but also fluff in general!!), smutty smut so make sure to read this with your phone’s brightness lowered all the dang way, hi @ librarian!namjoon!!! fratboy!jungkook is also in here

❥ wordcount: 37k if ur reading this on mobile get rekt

❥ summary: kim taehyung becoming your new roommate is definitely up there on the list of the worst things that have ever happened to you.''

waterloo - @kinktae ♾️Ω☻¶

''Taehyung is a famous but pessimistic art prodigy who doesn’t believe in love. You are an art student studying in Paris, who sees the world through rose-colored lens and is a certified cheesy romance film enthusiast. And this is your love story.

Or, “Well, it is the city of love. Maybe you just need to fall in love.“

pairing: art prodigy!taehyung x art student!reader word count: 13k genre: FLUFF, angst, light tasteful smut''

falling in crayolove; (kindergartenteacher!taehyung) - @jungshookz ♾️

''✎ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

✎ genre: kindergartenteacher!au, workingman!au, F L U F F, tiny bit of angst at the start :-( but this is literally 98% fluff; y/n and taehyung are like two little kids with little crushes on each other

✎ trigger warning(s): implications of getting an abortion!!

✎ wordcount: 10.5k

✎ summary: y/n is a very single mom and taehyung is a very single kindergarten teacher. emma knows exactly what she needs to do.''

freefall - @jtrbluv ♾️☼☻

''summary: hearing banging noises outside your front door at 11 at night could mean one out of two things. one, you are seconds away from getting chopped up by an axe murderer. two, someone is purposefully being an inconsiderate asshole.

or three, a fratboy from delta phi who goes by the name of kim taehyung faceplants in front of your door amidst a high-stakes game of… hide and seek?

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, smut (pretty tame tbh! cuz it’s my first time eek), comedy, college!au, fratboy!au

word count: 10k

warnings: RATED 18+, grinding, dryhumping, palming, mentions of drugs and alcohol (yk regular frat shit), swearing, taehyung is a gentleman fr tho my gawd with a big co-''

farmer boy, i love you - @strawberrynamjoon ♾️☼☻

''– Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

– Genre: farming!au, lowkey e2l, smut, humor & tons of nagging

– Word count: 35k

– Summary: Needing change in your life you decided it would be a brilliant idea to move to your uncle’s small farm, helping him and your cousin Jimin with the daily work. What you didn’t plan was to fall in love with your beautiful yet very annoying neighbour Taehyung, who seemed to make it his personal mission to tease you every chance he got. And what you expected even less was that he seemed to like you too.

– Warnings: includes smut, alcohol and mentions death of a father''

The Crown That Is Ours - @taeshobipop ♾️Ω☻

''pairing: Taehyung x Reader

genre: fluff, angst, smut, royalty!au, arranged marriage!au, crown prince!th, princess!reader, idiots to lovers

summary: You never wished for it, but it was inevitable — an arranged marriage to a royal stranger. The Crown Prince Kim Taehyung.

A year into your marriage and life still holds you firmly in its grip. How do you plan to steer through this mess when the public suddenly comes knocking at your door, pitchforks and torches in hand, threatening: “death to all who commit fraud!”

rating: 18+ sexual content.''

Rent-a-Boyfriend - @jimlingss ♾️

''Words: 12k

Genre: Extreme fluff for all you bitter people out there (me being included)

Are YOU lonely? Need someone to cuddle at night? Do you want love?

If you said 'yes' to any of the questions previously mentioned then we have a service for you!

Don't be alone for this Valentine's Day!

Come Rent-a-Boyfriend!™

(terms and conditions may apply. we are not responsible for any emotional or sentimental damages. please take caution with rent-a-boyfriend). ''

Jeon Jungkook

series:

new girl - @jjkeverlast ♾️☼☻¶

''☞ summary after finding out your boyfriend of 6 years cheated on you, you find yourself moving in with three guys in a loft. what could possibly go wrong? – inspired by the FOX series New Girl.

☞ pairing jeon jungkook x female reader

☞ genre roommates!au, roommates to lovers, romantic comedy

☞ status completed!

☞ rated mature (+18)''

Her - @jungk0oksthighs ♾️Ω☻

''bestfriend!jungkook, tattooist!jungkook, F2L, fluff, smut, angst

“And even if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay – I’ll always be here for you.” ''

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oneshots:

like stars in a constellation - @taegills ♾️Ω ¶

''↬ meeting in reverse au

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader

genre: slight sci-fi, fluff, angst

word count: 20.9k

summary: And at midnight, as you sit there and contemplate how the two of you were like stars in a constellation, you watch the sky with bated breath. Because somehow, for the first time since you got caught up in all of this a year ago, it almost seems like the stars are finally spiraling backwards and time feels a little more still than ever before. And when you hear your name, you turn around so fast that the world stops spinning''

the universe of us. - @taesthetes ♾️Ω ¶

'' “I love you.” — “I know.”

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader | kim taehyung x reader genre: slight comedy, angst, fluff type: dream / fantasy / slice of life au word count: 21,112 words warnings: none''

tangled webs - @ughseoks ♾️Ω

''— pairing; spiderman!jungkook x reader

— genre/au; soulmate au / spiderman au / angst, fluff

— rating; pg15

— word count; 14.1k

— summary; Soulmates are tricky thing. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their destinies intertwined with their missing piece. Signs come in dreams for those fortunate souls; short bursts that are barely memorable when the sun rises. As for you? Flashes of red and blue are your only indicators to the identity of your other half.''

Hopping Mad for You - @readyplayerhobi ♾️☻

''; Rabbit Hybrid!Jungkook x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, smut

; Word Count: 9.7k

; Warnings: Unprotected sex, handjob, blowjob, virgin sex, virgin!Jungkook, pretty sub!Jungkook

; Synopsis: For two years you’ve lived with your rabbit hybrid roommate, Jungkook. He’s been a model roommate and you’ve found yourself with little complaints. But his behaviour lately has been a little…unusual.''

Devoted to Trouble - @jeonsweetpea ♾️Ω ☻ ☼

''Spider-Man!AU | Peter Parker!Jungkook x Reader

genre: fluff, smut, comedy, lil angst rating: explicit description: In which the whole world finds out Jungkook is Spider-Man, but he doesn’t care about anything but you. OR Can you survive seven days of Jungkook pining over you while his identity is exposed to the world? word count: 11.5k''

The Love Plaza - @mayolive-writes ♾️☻ ☼

''Pairing: Jungkook x AFAB Reader

Summary: Needing to take a break from the long trip to college, you and Jungkook are forced to stay at the only lodging available within 70 miles, a love motel. And much to Jungkook’s dismay, there’s only one bed.

Wordcount: 4102

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Smut, Best Friends to lovers, Oneshot(?)''

the underwear thief - @gukyi ♾️☻

''summary: jeon jungkook would like to make one thing very clear: it’s not his fault.

{neighbors!au}

pairing: jungkook x female reader word count: 10k genre: fluff, smut''

1999 - @tattookoo ♾️Ω ☻ ☼

''summary: the year was 1999. boybands were wearing all-white outfits, everybody wanted an ibook or a tamagotchi, tlc didn’t want no scrubs, fight club was playing in movie theaters and you became jeon jungkook’s fake girlfriend in order to fix his reputation. 

pairing: campus royalty!jungkook x f reader 

genre: one shot, 90s au, college au, hockey au, childhood neighbors to friends to idiots to lovers, fake dating, fluff, crack, angst, smut  rating: 18+ 

word count: 17.9k''

tuesdays - @axialitae ♾️Ω

''tldr. you believe your very reserved, reclusive roommate jungkook is a peculiar boy who’s far too concerned with how you spend your tuesdays.

💭 prompt. “i don’t owe you an explanation.”

🤍 pairing. jungkook x f.reader.

🐻‍❄️ genre. non-idol au. pure domestic fluff. tiny angst. roomies + kinda dumb-dumbs to luvrs.

☁️ word count. 12.1k''

Tamped - @chimoona ♾️Ω ☻ ☼

''Pairing: Shop Owner!Reader x Barista!Jungkook/Switch!Jungkook/Baby Boy!Koo, Reader x Dom!Yoongi (for, like, a second) Genre: Smut, Fluff, Humor, Slow Burn, Mild Angst/Jealousy | Barista AU Word Count: 19.7K Rating: M (18+) Summary: You and your business partner/best friend Jin have struggled to find good help to run your coffee shop. Employee after employee, it just never worked out. However, Jungkook is determined to impress and deliver. He wants this more than ever, and it always feels good to want something. To need, well, that’s even better.''

(Right) Hook, Line, and Sinker - @blog-name-idk ♾️☻ ☼

''Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem Reader

Genre: College!AU, Roommate!AU, Fluff, Humor, Smut

Summary: Your horrible friends trick you into going to a haunted corn maze, where you inadvertently punch a zombie. Jungkook is, of course, in love.

Word Count: 12,353''

OT7

series:

The Return of an Empress - @you-are-my-joy ♾️Ω ☻ ☼¶

''Status: Completed

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Genre: Isekai, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Smut

Characters: Empress!Reader, Advisor!Jin, Advisor!Yoongi, General!Hoseok, Advisor!Namjoon, Assassin!Jimin, Knight!Taehyung, Knight!Jungkook

Summary: After one fateful night, you find yourself transmigrated into your favorite novel as the Empress that shares the same name as you. As a bookworm, most would think you’d be happy, but how could you be happy when the Empress you’ve become is expected to be killed in three months. The only thing on your mind now is to learn how to survive.

Warning: May contain depictions of violence and mentions of abuse throughout the story.

Total Word Count: 280,808''

mother knows best - @seokth ♾️☼ ¶

''pairing | ot7 x female reader (platonic), ot7 moms & female reader

summary | being the only woman in a friend group with seven men automatically makes you the love interest in seven mothers’ wistful romantic stories. though your relationship with the guys remains completely platonic, the marriage fantasy their moms frequently project onto you and their sons has them coming up with all sorts of shenanigans to make you their daughter-in-law. mother knows best, you suppose.

warnings | overbearing moms, attempts at humor, platonic, slice of life au''

The Flower Path - @stellalunatmblr ♾️Ω ¶

''Genre/Tags: isekai (kinda?), bangtan x fem!reader, not poly, oc!bestfriend, surprise romantic pairings; rom-com (romance as a subplot), slow burn (the slowest of burns holy moly i cannot stress this enough), fluff, angst (will update tags along the way)

Status: Ongoing [HOLD]

Summary: What would you feel if you find yourself transported to the world of a cheesy web novel? Ecstatic, of course (well, among other things), except you’re stuck being the main character’s best friend slash sidekick. Fair enough, you don’t think you’re main character material anyway. Determined to get through your life that has changed all of a sudden, you try to keep yourself in the shadows of your “best friend.” Let’s just try to get through the last year of high school in peace. You thought it was gonna be easy – like a walk in a flower path– but the thing about walking that road is that there are bound to be thorns along the way.

Inspired by the web novel and manhwa: Inso’s Law''

operation: love letters - @ve1vetyoongi ♾️Ω ¶

 ''Sign up for the Love Calculator today to find your perfect match?

➤ YES | NO

♡ …L O A D I N G…Y O U R…M A T C H E S… ♡

♡ ⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader.

♡ ⇢ wordcount: est 30k total.

♡ ⇢ genre: mystery, college!au, romance, fluff, eventual smut.

♡ ⇢ summary: When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!''

The Galaxy Above Us - @agustdakasuga ♾️Ω

''Genre: Gods!AU, Fantasy, Romance, Fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, God of Wisdom!Namjoon, God of Life!Seokjin, God of the Moon!Yoongi, God of Festivity!Hoseok, God of the Sun!Jimin, God of Nature!Taehyung, God of Arts!Jungkook

Summary: Just when you thought that you life was at its end, you were ready to disappear but a door appears in front of you. Above you was the milky way and awaiting you were the celestial beings that waited their whole lives for you. To show the galaxy that was made for you.''

Everything Falls (Into Place) - @blog-name-idk ♾️☻ ☼

''Pairing: OT7 x Fem Reader

Genre: College!AU, Roommate!AU, Fluff, Humor, Smut

Summary: Your new roommates are unbearably nice and unbearably hot. Good thing you're an adult who is fully capable of platonic friendships with the opposite sex, right?

Word Count: 90,211

Rating: 18+''

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oneshots:

until the last star falls - @minniepetals ♾️Ω ¶

''— summary: it was a love you knew would never make it out alive without sacrificing a part of your happiness to receive a greater happiness. but for them, you’d go to any extreme to have them again, and for you, they will always remind you each day that you are theirs and that nothing can tear you apart, not even until the last star falls.

— pairing: underworld lords!bts × shield!reader

— genre: fluff, angst / reincarnation!au / poly!au / gods!au

— word count: 44.4k ”

Spooked - @alpacaparkaseok ♾️☼

''Pairing:best friend!BTS, maybe some secret crushes going on? 👀

Premise: You + all 7 members of BTS visiting a haunted house. What could go wrong?

So, so much.

Word Count: 4k''

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 13

As soon as I saw the title artwork, I knew this chapter was going to be about mimics.

After my little speculation about the winged lion last chapter, I've realized it actually appears a lot throughout the dungeon.

That little montage of Chilchuck dealing with mimics made me think back to chapter 5 and how he had to stick his hands in the treasure chest to disarm it. If that chest had been a mimic, Chilchuck would be missing a few fingers. Is he able to identify mimic chests because of an intuition forged by years of practice? He flagged the treasure chest as a mimic by its location rather than any actual identifiable features.

The whole "Not too obvious. Not too hidden" description also matches the mimic chest from chapter 0.

Chilchuck is a real salary worker. He's not going to do or say anything that will just mean more work for him.

So many mimics and trap chest in Dark Souls would be trivialized if you could open them this way.

Of course Chilchuck is getting worse at going hungry. The party has been eating well on this journey.

At first, I thought those treasure insects were working with the mimic to lure Chilchuck into that room. Like, the insects lay themselves into a trail leading to the mimic and any adventurer dumb enough to follow the coin trail would then open the chest and the mimic would kill them. Then the treasure insects would eat the scraps of adventurer the mimic leaves behind.

I'm going to try defending Chilchuck's bouts of incompetence this chapter. He's hungry, he hasn't slept, and his mind is so preoccupied over the mimic that he's not able to think about possible traps. If you're in the woods and you notice a bear nearby, you're going to focus on making sure the bear doesn't notice you. You're not going to check for snakes in the grass.

The chapter did a lot of buildup to the reveal of the mimic. It almost felt like a horror story. We're shown the imminent threat of a mimic and we get a montage of its actions without actually showing what it looks like.

And then the sequence of events leading up to its reveal had a subtle ominousness to it. The room with the fountain is dimly lit and we know there is a mimic nearby. I was almost waiting for the mimic to just appear out of nowhere or for that chest to have just moved randomly.

And after a moment of tension followed by a sense of relative safety does the mimic reveal itself.

The mimic's design is the same as chapter 0 so I think it probably was in that treasure box previously and recently moved into that cabinet.

I didn't find any characters on the plaque that look like what Marcille said in her incantations. So I don't think magic is spoken in the ancient tongue.

Some little details that I can glean from Chilchuck solving the lock puzzle:

Chilchuck is innately able to determine cardinal directions

The planet rotates in the same direction as our planet

There is a moon and it orbits the planet in the same direction as our moon

There is a North Star that is perfectly aligned to the planet's rotation axis

Laios sleeps in his chainmail apparently. It's not easy to tell because of all the hair, but I get the feeling Senshi sleeps without a shirt on.

Marcille looks cute with her hair down.

So yeah, I first thought mimics and treasure insects might have a mutalistic or at least commensal relation but it turns out that it's parasitic. And it's the same type of parasitism as a spider wasp.

So now I'm curious if the tiara insect nest is made from pieces of a mimic's carapace. Also, was that treasure box full of treasure insects in chapter 10 originally a mimic? And if so, why was it being carried by a zombie?

I guess the sequence of events could be

human dies while carrying some jewels in a box -> mimic comes across the box and hides in it -> treasure insects find the mimic and eat it -> spirit animates the corpse still carrying the box

So Chilchuck is 29 and based on everyone's reactions, that's still fairly young for an elf and dwarf. Laios meanwhile is apparently younger than him.

back

[waviermylove]

Can you please write a headcanon list for a Wavier/Wenvier wedding? I’m writing a fic but I’m running out of ideas

Wedding Headcanons:

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Xavier Thorpe

The wedding took place on a chilly October, in a Gothic cathedral.

Gomez challenged Xavier to a (friendly) fencing duel when he asked for permission to marry Wednesday. Xavier was relieved that he won- he wasn't sure what would happen if he didn't.

Uncle Fester went around shaking everyone’s hands.

Cousin Itt officiated the wedding in his unintelligible language, confusing half of the guests.

Flowers at the reception: black roses, dark red dahlias, and black calla lilies.

Lurch played the organ for the wedding march, followed by "The Addams Family" theme song.

Their wedding vows came from the movie 'Corpse Bride': "With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

Xavier had designed their matching wedding bands himself.

They exchanged a blood oath, wearing vials of each other's blood on pendants around their necks.

As a surprise for Wednesday, Xavier arranged for a murder of crows to fly overhead during the ceremony.

The bride and groom both wore black. They looked like they walked out of a gloomy fairytale fantasy. (Or, in Ajax's words, "A couple from a black and white Instagram filter")

Ajax was -of course- best man, and Enid was Wednesday's maid of honour.

Thing was the ring bearer, complete with a tiny bow-tie.

Xavier's six-year-old cousin Lily scattered black rose petals down the aisle as the flower girl.

The couple's first dance was to the song "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga. Wednesday had secretly been practicing a choreographed routine for weeks, and Xavier was completely surprised when she took his hand and led him onto the dance floor.

Their last song was "To The End" by My Chemical Romance- If you marry me, would you bury me? Would you carry me to the end?

The Addams family performed a choreographed dance to "Thriller", led by Uncle Fester.

The wedding cake was a three-tier cake with black and white icing, each tier consisting of their favorite flavors: dark chocolate, red velvet, and coffee.

Yoko served as the bartender, mixing her famous mojitos.

Wednesday wanted to stick a wasp's nest in the bouquet of flowers before she threw it. Xavier talked her out of it.

In the end, they compromised by placing a live tarantula, much to Bianca's horror and dismay.

Gomez and Morticia presented the newlyweds with a mansion along with an antique guillotine, which was a treasured family heirloom.

Vincent Thorpe actually made it to the wedding. His gift was a private island on the Aegean Sea.

The couple left the reception in a vintage hearse decorated with black and red ribbons, driven by Lurch.

Pugsley provided fireworks for the couple's grand exit.

Their first honeymoon destination was Paris, France: The Louvre Museum, Paris Catacombs, and the Père Lachaise cemetery.

Hope this helps, and good luck with your story!

[talldarkandroguesome]

14th of Last Seed, Middas

I have not had a moment to write. We continued to have such problems with various things at the manor that some of the staff were spooked and began to think a curse was laid upon it.

Of course, I knew this was not the case. It was simply that with the droughts that we had this year being so severe, crops failing, the guar had taken to scratching at the ground and digging for food.

I suspect that their strange behavior was because they found some mushrooms that normally they would not have eaten. Their haunting cries and throwing themselves against the fences was due to the effects of such mushrooms on the mind. We know that it can cause hallucinations and racing hearts in mer, so why not a hungry guar?

Still, I understand why there was such a stark and frightened reaction.

There was also a swarm of wasps that got into the house, I assume they were trying to get away from the rampaging guar. The blooding things got into the food and some of the staff who were afraid of being stung refused to come into the house until we had seen to it that they were gone.

And many times we had someone out to remove them, but again and again, more were found here or there.

In the end, I had to move everyone out of the house. I decided I would move everyone temporarily to Davon's Watch. The house there was in good shape and, though we did not need so many staff for the smaller home, I knew that being away from everything would do everyone much good.

Sildras does not have classes for another couple of weeks yet, it is the break for the first harvest, so he did not have to miss any of his lessons. Besides, Last Seed is the month that the Grand Council is at recess and the House Council convenes only twice in the month, unless something major were to occur. Blessedly, only my personal life seems to be suffering such things, so I have been able to devote myself to my duties at the crypt.

As we were close to The Harborage, I was also able to fit in more time to train my spiderlings. I must say, they have been growing so quickly with the increased oversight and instruction.

When they asked me what brought me to spend so much time with them, I told them all that this was a critical time in their learning and that I was asked to provide greater instruction and to test who would be ready for advanced assignments.

I also implied that there were others who might be coming to check on their progress or provide educational support. That got them all quite motivated and excited. Even Tanur seemed to take more notice than he had before.

Since most of these "others" are simply my own self in different disguises, I have had the most fun time with finding reasonable ways that such occurrences come to pass.

First, I made sure to let them know that these guests would either be accompanied by me, or enter through the portal. I told them that they should treat any who walked with me, or who spoke the password upon entering, with the same respect they might show me. For they were other Widows, the representatives of a widow, or honored guests who were servants our Prince.

Everyone took this very seriously. I was glad to see that they took my instructions to heart.

Some days I would simply use the teleportation portal and give them the password I had made up, then proceed in one guise or another. At one point, I swear I heard Tanur say he recognized me from his previous Nest, as though I was a woman he knew. That was a good sign of either my ability to blend in, or of his ability to utilize the pillar of lies.

There were other days where my shades came in handy. I would come through the portal with my shades, they in a disguise, and head back to my office. After waiting some time and making sure to talk, if only to myself, I would come out in an outfit from one of the shades and gives lessons or demonstrations.

A part of me hopes that Zethith will change their mind about giving temporary access to certain persons. After all, it is clear that I am incapable of changing my height or build in any major way. I may be able to appear rather Ohmes-like, thanks to my beloved Qau-dar's previous instructions, but I can hardly look much like many other races. Even with veils on, there is only so much one can do.

Not that I know who could be trusted exactly, but I am sure that there must be a way to do so. If I could find someone like Naryu, who I know has an aligned master, that I could pay a decent summon to do teaching if she only agreed to be teleported, and possibly blindfolded for it. There is so much she could teach my future deathweavers! Her skills, with what I now know are shadow magicka, would be invaluable to them. And I know how good of a teacher she is. I saw how great she was with....

Perhaps Veya is a bad example. B'Cahn, let me not think of that girl! I am as angry at myself as I am at her. All those lives!

This is the reason I know I am blessed. My spiderlings are obedient. I just hope that they stay that way.

I should forget about that plan. Given what Naryu went through, I doubt she would be interested. I should just let that hope die.

We will be returning to Mournhold soon enough. I only have a few short weeks to continue this charade.

Yes, there is enough to think on as it is.

[msexcelfractal]

This is my last photo of a dear friend. Sweet Bean was the final wasp to leave home from her litter. Her mother, the Queen, founded a nest in my house; for the next six months I shared my home with her family. Wasps can recognize faces and remember people who treat them kindly. The queen kept her distance for the first month, but came to realize I would do her no harm. Her children watched us interact and learned the same. Everyone in the family ate food out of my hand, even the shy young boy wasps.

There were 10 sisters and 3 brothers born here over the course of the summer and fall. I saw an intelligence in them. I thought I knew it when the queen would stretch after a nap, or do a little dance, or when the older wasps would teach their younger siblings to fly, and jump for joy at their safe return. I knew I knew it when the nest produced a stillbirth, and for 28 hours the queen dropped all her work and grieved.

Queens can live for 2-7 years. After her first children had grown to adulthood, I watched the queen slow down and delegate more of her work. In autumn she grew quieter still, and passed away peacefully at home. At that time there were three daughters who hadn't graduated the nest. Two flew away to found their own nests in November, so Sweet Bean was the last one living here.

And then I made a terrible mistake! I sprayed a bunch of air freshener to cover up the dead rat smell (different story). And after I sprayed this can all over I saw Sweet Bean sitting where I sprayed it. and I know aerosols are often harmful to bugs! So I closed my hand around her to move her. Wasps Do Not Like when you close your hand around them. She stung me, it hurt, I released her in a different room. She hid in a crevice somewhere to sulk.

Wasps remember how you treat them. I was so sad - Sweet Bean refused hand feedings after that. Of course I gave her space. But now it was late December.

The day after Christmas found me sitting alone in the chair where I used to feed my friends. The colony is empty now. My whole worldview has been altered by my love for these tiny people. And my time with them was over. But then Sweet Bean came down from inside the ceiling! She landed on my hand - I got the sense that she had forgiven me. I gave her some food, and when she had finished eating she nestled between my fingers and took a short nap.

It took us twenty minutes to say goodbye. Then I got up and walked to the door with Sweet Bean on my hand. I stepped onto the back porch and a long moment passed between us. Then she stood up, tested the wind, and left to find her place in the world.

[sablegear0]

Sable vs the Carpenter Bees (Part 1?)

(Tentatively labeling as "part 1" because I expect I will post updates eventually)

So, yesterday I had my first encounter with carpenter bees. For those unfamiliar; they're the size of a bumblebee and look similar, but rather than living in underground nests, they tend to burrow into dead wood to lay their eggs. Note that this can and often does include any unfinished lumber or exposed wooden parts of a house. They're also very territorial. It's worth mentioning that only the males get territorial, and only in late summer, and that male carpenter bees cannot sting. However, they do make every attempt to get up in the business of any perceived intruder to chase them off, other bees included.

And also myself included, obviously.

It has been a long time since I've been chased by bees or wasps. Not since I was a child have I feared my stripèd flying neighbours. But yesterday was something different.

I think the main problem was I was mowing the lawn. See, our property is fairly small so I only have a reel mower, one of those old-fashioned push-mowers that isn't powered at all. It works great for me because I don't mind the workout and it's way quieter than its gas- or electric-powered peers. But it does tend to stir up the bugs, I think partly because it's so quiet. It just makes a metallic rasping noise as it spins, which is enough noise (and motion) to startle bugs but not enough to drive them away. The first carpenter bee buzzed me as I was finishing up with the mower and starting to put it away. I ducked inside my shed and that seemed to put me out of range.

The next came to harass me when I tried to harvest some of my garden veggies. I haven't posted any garden updates this year but things are looking relatively lush, and I'm pretty pleased with it. So I go to clip some peas down and who should reappear but a carpenter bee. Now, when I'm outside doing just about anything, I wear a newsie cap, sunglasses, and my big ol' headphones. This means that the only exposed skin on my head is my cheeks, nose, jaw, and neck.

And that bumbly bastard went straight for the side of my neck like a freaking vampire.

He tried to get in behind my headphones (or into the loop of my bun?) for some reason, and Monkey Brain did NOT like that one bit. I actually freaked out, dodged/ran away, swatted at the damn thing, and ran back inside. We did this twice, as I made a second attempt shortly after. There was also a fair deal of shouting and verbal threats issued. As if it could understand me. But it did make me feel better to state aloud that I wasn't above killing the bugger if need be. I did lay a solid smack on one with my hat, which grounded but did not kill it (as it flew off shortly after).

But of course, Looney Tunes style, this meant war.

Except I had no intention of killing the little bastards. See, while they were being bastards, they didn't know any better. They're just defending what they see as their territory from the big noisy animal that chops up the plants they like. I don't begrudge them, and I do still want them around as pollinators. But not being able to get to my own garden is unacceptable. So I got to thinking, what could I do to keep myself safe without killing them?

Some quick googling suggested that if I was able to find their nest holes (BIG if), dabbing some citrus or almond oil near the hole for a few days would persuade them to abandon the nest. They also apparently do not like noise (duh), so constant music or wind-chimes were suggested as a pest control measure. I honestly was a little surprised by the wind chimes thing but it gives a lot more context beyond aesthetics as to why people might have them. Who'd'a thunk.

So I have my information for longer-term solutions but nothing that would work today because I really wanted to get out there and harvest those peas. I ponder a trip to the nearby dollar store to pick wind chimes and perhaps a bug net, intending to catch and detain the little bastards while I work, then release them after I was done.

Then my Brother-In-Law comes downstairs and I chat with him about the situation and what I'm thinking of doing. And here's where things get interesting. He's in the Reserves, so he mentions he has some bug-netting in his kit. He goes and grabs a mosquito-net head cover for me to borrow. It's meant to fit over an army helmet so it fits nicely over my cap, and would probably go over my headphones too if I wanted. My head and neck suitably armoured, I head back outside.

By this point it's been maybe 20 mins since I was last outside. And the bees are nowhere to be found. Not even seen at a distance, just gone. Go figure. Realistically all I probably needed to do was leave and wait for them to calm down. Still, I like to think the netting helped, as behind the green mesh I was no longer skin-coloured (except for my arms but those were not a target) so I was less perceptible as a threat. Whatever the case, I was able to harvest my veggies in peace.

Later that day, the lads (my partner, BIL, and a couple friends) were hanging out on the patio and I half-expected to hear they had been harassed as well. But they were smoking, and I can only assume bees of any type don't particularly care for smoke, so they weren't bothered either.

Anyway, there's no moral to the story other than maybe I should wait a bit after mowing to do any other gardening, to let the bugs calm back down. I might go hunt down a nice set of wind chimes and the bug netting helmet is remaining by the back door. At least until I can find the carpenter bastards' nests in the... hoo boy, the huge amount of unfinished wood in my back yard, and stink them out with essential oils.

More updates (and garden updates) probably to follow.

[empires-au-ideas]

Sorry for being a bit inactive, I've been away on school trips and had to catch up on homework. Take this thing!

And yes. Katherine will be the Martin of thus au. This is evident by the fact right now Shelby fucking hates her.

Please tell me if I should tw this as anything!

...

Curse

...

[Click]

Archivist Shelby:

Statement of Katherine Gaming, regarding at MUSH she has put ON MY DESK-

Katherine:

Yeah, well I wouldn't have HAD "mush" if you actually bothered to notice I was gone!

Archivist Shelby:

You were texting me! You said you were out sick!

Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?!

Katherine:

My phone was here! I forgot it, how could I have been texting you?!

Archivist Shelby:

Of course. Leave it to Katherine to forget all her stuff at work-

Katherine:

Do you want my statement or not, Shelby? Cuz I can go back to my mushy apartment and die like my parents want and it'd be all your fault and you'll never get my "precious statement".

[Silence.]

Sorry.

Archivist Shelby:

I uhm- yes. Let us start over. Personal arguments should not go on the recorders, even if they are with Katherine and even if I am right.

Katherine:

Hey!

Archivist Shelby:

Statement of Katherine Gaming, regarding... well, regarding the mush she has put on my desk.

Statement begins.

Katherine:

Okay, this might sound a little crazy. Well, I've never seen a statement that DIDNT sound crazy, but at least all the real ones are self aware?

I guess it started earlier this week when I met that new Sausage guy. He was funny and nice and all the good qualities you want in a person you'll have to hang around everyday but...

Looking at him made me HUNGRY.

Which was... a little concerning, as according to his statement the monster people were hungry around him too. And...

Actually, this story starts WAY before last week.

My house, growing up, as a teen,my apartment now, anywhere I've lived could never stay clean. But I always did my best. I grew into quite the anxious neat freak, I was that girl who always had hand sanitizer or baby wipes or whatever.

And I knew, for whatever reason, my parents blamed me for it. If you met them you would never suspect the mold in a the corners of all their rooms, they act like stereotypical fancy party goers that get their jewels stolen when the lights go out. I... think I might know why now.

But the... rot got worse as I got older. When I was a kid it was mold or Ant problems. But when I was a teen it was maggots and wasps nests and even. More. Mold.

I remember waking up from a nightmare when I was fourteen,my skin felt fuzzy and damp. It was only AFTER I had awaken my parents from their "beauty rest" did I feel normal.

That never stopped. The waking up feeling like I was made of mold part. And I always caught the WORST... oh what do I even call them. Sicknesses? Bugs? I got sick always after the nightmares.

I'd throw up violently, I'd be exhausted for days after cuz I'd have gained no energy from the food I spewed out. I'd cough blood, like I was in a movie that put in no research to their diseases. I could barely breath as my nose plugged up.

And... well they'd stop. If I went to the attic.

My parents never went up there. If they needed something from the attic, they'd buy a new thing. They avoided it like- hah. Well, like the plague. The point is I knew I'd get in trouble if I went up there.

The first time when I was fourteen when I was sick like that. I woke up and saw I was in the attic. I was holding a book. I wasn't even concerned I had apparently sleep walked up a ladder, I was scared I woke my parents.

But I wasn't scared as I looked down at the book. It was leather bound, clearly very old- my parents liked old and stiff boring stuff, so I didn't find it too out of character- it was dusty. I swear the edges of the pages had... hundreds of bite marks. Like rats had gotten to it.

I read it front to back. I read it front to back every time I got sick like that, which would be three or four times a year.

I could not tell you a SINGLE detail about this book.

I remember no details about a plot, or if it was nonfiction, or if there were characters or anything.

Have you ever seen those documentaries? The ones about the intelligent mold or spores or whatever that could move and grow towards food?

Slime mold! Yes, that's what it was!

Slime mold crawled out of this book and would borrow in my skin, my mouth, nostrils, eyes, ears, anywhere it could it crawled. I screamed but it covered my throat, and I knew why adults told kids not to put plastic bags over their heads.

And then I'd wake up again. Not sick. Skin feeling fuzzy and like it didn't fit right the rest of the day. But not sick.

Pets would die when this happened. I woke up after reading the book one day to my pet rabbit dead, rotted with yellow slime mold from the inside out. Fish weren't safe. Cats. Our old chuiawa. Hell, even plants! It broke out into fungus and mold and my parents gave me the dirtiest looks when they had to go bury whatever pet they decided to get.

I never knew if the thing with the book was real until my dad caught me. He called the ambulance and I was in the hospital for three days, even though I was better from the reading.

The next time it happened I awoke in the attic, but I had no book. No mold. I was almost relieved until I woke up again in a coughing fit. I stayed sick for five weeks, where as it was usually only a day or two with the book.

Got caught when I was what, seventeen? So it's been a rough... been a rough ten years. Ten years. Yep.

But back to... our new coworker.

I'm gonna sound like a huge creep, but as I was sitting in my apartment I couldn't stop thinking about him! It was honestly just scary. I knew I didn't want to... eat? Eat Sausage, but- it sounded like what I imagined a full colony of ants to sound like- it wanted me to FESTER and FEAST on him.

So I'm going about my day and I'm just really Lazer focusing on anything I could. I figure if I get distracted enough, I won't hear the ants.

But as I'm making dinner, the ants grow louder. I get several sharp pains in my head, and that feeling of like, when you think there's a bug in your ear. When I fall to the ground what do I see but the mush.

And it's like I'm back with the book again. It covers my eyes and ears and I think I'm dead. It stabs into my wrists, trying to get into my blood stream, but I wouldn't let it. I hobble over to my bathroom and turn on the water as hot as I could and jump in. Which was scary enough on its own, I felt like my SKIN was burning off, but it was especially scary since I already couldn't breath or see or hear. I thought I was gonna drown and die.

But my head breaks the surface of the water and I gasp for air, the mush floating around me, dead and unmoving. The water was cold, but i thought maybe it had to do with the mush. I collect what I can and I try and check my phone, but I've left it at the archives again!

I drive down here and everyone's looking at me. Which is usual, you don't work directly under the head archivist without getting a few glances of jealousy. Or pity.

I pick my phone up off my desk, not without a big fuss from Sausage about how concerned he was, and check my phone. And lo and behold, it had been nearly three weeks.

And then I go to your office, but not before Fwhip stops me. He laughs about something... Orion? He laughs about something and I'm just trying to get out of there because there was mold in my lungs for nearly a month and I was not to keen on having sand in there either.

I tried to ask him a question, why isn't he working with us anymore? How was his trip with Gem? Why is he green? Why is he always in the tunnels? But he just says something about Pix funding out he's still there and I kid you not- he melts into the ground. Like he was made of sand the whole time.

I walk into your office and put the mush on your desk. We argue a bit, I give you my statement-

Archivist Shelby:

Right right right. I know that part. Uh-

Statement ends.

Okay so... I guess the mush is proof enough of this one being real. As well as your absence and the book and Fwhip incline me to believe you I guess.

Katherine:

Ever the skeptic.

Archivist Shelby:

I'm just... what do YOU think happened to Fwhip?

Katherine:

I don't know, Gem said she helped him move to a different city. He wasn't able to work at the institute anymore cuz he lived to far.

I didn't question it, they're twins after all, oh gosh this place is just FULL of nepotism. You know how long a line the head of institutes go? I could trace Pix all the way back to Vigil.

Archivist Shelby:

Oh. Uhm... okay. No yeah uh... Fwhip is here to hide from something for the time being. Like Sausage. He's leaving soon. He just.. feels safer in the tunnels?

Katherine:

You are a TERRIBLE liar. But I really don't care right now. All I feel is the crawliness. And the hunger...

Do you... think it's okay if I stay in the archives? Like Sausage? My apartment still feels all sticky. It should be fine if I'm not near him, right?

Archivist Shelby:

Ugh... fine.

Please tell me if you wake up in the mush again that sounds... interesting, and I'd like to record it.

Katherine:

Gosh, you're worse than Gem was. You know once this guy came in with all this ice and fog and she just let him stay in the archives! I swear I had to wear my coat in every day! In the middle of spring!

All I'm saying is if you're letting this many people stay in here, you should start charging rent.

Archivist Shelby:

Do you want me to start collecting rent from YOU?

Katherine:

Apparently my rent is being your little lab rat when I get sick again.

Archivist Shelby:

Lab- oh no! No no, I didn't mean it like-

Katherine:

It's whatever, Shelby. It's fine. I grew up with more doctors than friends. I get it if I'm just another cool beetle of a statement for you.

I'm gonna see if Gem had a spare toiletry bag, I'm CONVINCED she lived in here at one point as well.

[Door opens and closes]

[Archivist Shelby sighs]

Archivist Shelby:

I swear, one day I'll get the courage to fire someone. And fist on that list is one hundred percent Katherine.

Oh, that's embarrassing.

Statement ends.

[Click]

[Click]

Archivist Shelby:

You wanted to see me, Pix?

Pix:

Shelby! Long time no see! How has the new job been treating you?

Archivist Shelby:

Good, good... hanging in there! Ooh, I feel like I'm getting closer to the statements and how they're connected. Names reappearing. Scott Smajor and his fog, there's another Scott that's all colors, the new hire, Sausage, is brought up a lot by the spooky people-

Pix:

Spooky people?

Archivist Shelby:

You know, the ones that make people scared on purpose.

Joel... Joel forgot-his-last-name that throws people off buildings, Pearl Moon that... kills people. They all kill people sometimes, but that seems to be like HER THING-

Pix:

Well I'm very excited of the prospect of you possibly connecting all of these. I'll send out Katherine or Sausage to investigate the "spooky people" and-

Archivist Shelby:

Oh no, Pix! You can't do that. All of them want to eat Sausage!

Pix:

And Katherine? Anyone want to "eat" her?

Archivist Shelby:

Well no but... but...

She's... scared. Of heights?

Pix:

All right then. She can go investigate Scott with the colors.

Archivist Shelby:

And... hallways. Terrified of hallways.

Pix:

Shelby, I understand if you are frightened for assistants or if you have grown fond of them-

Archivist Shelby:

I am NOT fond of KATHERINE-

Pix:

But this is their job, as much as archiving is yours. Please do not hinder their work. I understand you fear for their safety, especially after meeting Fwhip-

Archivist Shelby:

And you haven't... told them what happened to him? Katherine didn't seem to know...

Pix:

I don't want them to get too scared, because then they get sloppy and that's when they become like Fwhip.

Archivist Shelby:

Oh. Got it.

Pix:

So Fwhip's fate stays between us. Katherine nor Sausage will know about it, correct?

Archivist Shelby:

Correct.

Pix:

And speaking of, I don't want them to know about your... notes either, the ones about the types of statements.

Katherine nor Sausage will be finding out your "categories" of monsters or "spooky people", correct?

Archivist Shelby:

Correct. Thank you so much, Pix.

Pix:

Thank YOU, Shelby. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some calls to make. You are dismissed.

[Door opens and closes]

[Quick echoing footsteps]

[Bag rustling]

Archivist Shelby:

I need to talk to these... these people. The kind that want Sausage. The kind Katgerine is becoming.

Fwhip is one, but he won't give me answers if he's scared of Pix.

I wonder if Sausage might be... no. I can't ask him to do that.

I need to find Pearl Moon and I need to speak with her. Alone.

[Click]

[katnissmellarkkk]

Angst #9

Hahahaha, so uh... you wanted angst? You got it. It may not be exactly what you wanted but it’s what came to mind when you sent this prompt. 

This turned out wayyyyy longer than I intended but 🤷🏼‍♀️. I always overwrite 😂💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️.

Context I think necessary to know for this prompt is that it’s set four years Post-Mockingjay, three years post “so after”, and I think that’s all you need to know? 

Oh yeah, and I should also mention that I definitely took creative liberties here. And also, trigger warning for choking.

Prompt: Angst “Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”

"Peeta," I yelp as he playfully splashes me. "Stop."

"Get in here," he demands, pointing to the water his whole body is immersed in.

"No," I refuse, laying on my back, maybe a little teasingly. "I just dried off."

Today was a particularly sunny day, with the bright light from outside our windows rousing us from bed even before our usual wake up time. I know the people of Twelve will be disappointed they can't get their bread and pastries today--especially seeing that Sunday is the most popular day at the Mellark Bakery--but I just couldn't pass up a lazy day at the lake with Peeta.

Still though, I didn't get as much sleep as I've grown accustomed to and after hours of swimming in the lake—and, jokingly, teaching Peeta to find katniss roots—I'm lethargic. My exhausted body is perfectly happy to lay in the grass with the sun beating down on me, either darkening or burning my skin.

But Peeta, it would seem, has other plans.

"Don't you dare," I hiss as his cacophonous footsteps approach. Even without the noise he still makes when he moves, the sound of dripping water would have given him away.

Not listening to me and definitely not heeding my warning—either he's grown fearless in the four years since the war or I've lost my bite and grown soft on him—Peeta reaches down and grabs me up by the waist, easily hoisting me up into his arms.

"Did you say you dared me?"

"Peeta," I try to command, as a last ditch effort, before bracing myself for what I know is coming.

Like clockwork, just as I have my eyes shut and sucked in a breath, Peeta tosses me in the deepest part of the lake before jumping back in himself.

I easily push my head above the surface just as he creates a massive splash of water with his impact.

"You're going to drain the lake," I complain as his hands find themselves on my hips, pulling me in closer. I go without resistance, but remain annoyed he just tossed me back in the water.

His lips find residence on my cheek, trailing lower and lower, underneath my jaw and down my neck, a non-verbal apology.

"Is all this water really good for your prosthetic?" I murmur after a long moment, some of the irritation fading from my body as he kisses down my shoulder softly.

"My leg is waterproof, Katniss," he reminds, chuckling a little.

"Oh yeah," I try to respond but his lips trail down to my chest, pushing me up higher against him, and speaking becomes difficult. "Generous of them," is all I can manage.

He lets out a real laugh this time. "Can always depend on the generosity of the Capitol, can’t we?" He quips just as I capture his lips with my own.

I don't know if in the last three years that we’ve been together I've become a better kisser—I've definitely become more experienced—and I can't say for certain if our kisses feel any different now to him, but I do know for a fact that Peeta has grown leaps and bounds with time. His lips, which were always soft and warm, now move with expertise, now hold a confidence I didn't realize was missing all that time we were putting on a show. Kissing Peeta now is another kind of experience and one I never knew I needed, one I never thought to ask for, before I had it.

Of course, I get some credit here. I am the one who's lips have given him the practice, who's tongue has freely wrestled with his, the one who he's gained all his expertise from.

As we pull apart for air, my face lolling down into his shoulder, burrowing there, I hear a peculiar sound. One I don't cognitively recognize at first but my sense memory captures instantly. It's a sound that makes my stomach twist and lurch before I can comprehend exactly why.

Peeta tenses too, rather abruptly. I feel his hands grip my thighs tighter to him, almost wrapping me around him, as if to keep me protected from whatever is buzzing above us.

The buzzing only gets stronger—so much stronger, in only a matter of seconds—and I have to consciously force myself to breathe as it hits me where that sound is coming from.

Tracker jackers. A whole lot of them.

Someone, somewhere, must have knocked over a nest. Someone must have been both unlucky and careless and somehow expelled an entire hive by mistake.

That's what I tell myself, at least. That this was purely a mistake. That this isn't an attack, set out to hurt us, to endanger us for deadly entertainment labeled a game.

Because unleashing a whole hive of tracker jackers on us, while we're out alone, secluded, in the middle of the woods, is the exact kind of thing the Gamemakers would do.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers, his voice close to my ear now. I can tell instantly that he's petrified.

Of course he's petrified. Tracker jacker venom is exactly what he was injected with, over and over again, in an attempt to destroy his memory, his mind, the very essence of his being.

"Katniss?" He says again, a little louder and a little rougher. But I'm still too shocked to move. I'm useless, completely frozen in place while the horrible creatures, that are deadly in large quantities—just ask Glimmer—finally come into view, circulating above us.

"We need to run," he urges, and I don't have to look at him to know his blue eyes are desperate.

Nodding blankly, I don't take my eyes off of the venomous creatures flying over our heads. Somehow, a very sore, exhausted part of my brain wakes back up and I feel myself go into survival mode.

A mode in which I had wished to never transition into again.

My legs unwrap from Peeta's waist and I interlock our fingers, squeezing his hand as tightly as I can. I swim to the edge of the lake, towing him behind me, and climb onto the grass just as I hear the buzzing grow closer.

Peeta is only inches, if even that, behind me, and we both grab our shirts and pants from the blanket we set out and dress ourselves while moving through the trees. Our soaked skin makes this more challenging but not altogether impossible, and soon I feel Peeta's hand yanking on mine, propelling me forward.

I know he's even more afraid than I am when I realize he's running ahead of me, dragging me behind him. Peeta is by far a slower runner than I am. The idea that there's enough fear in him to compensate for a naturally slower gait and a fake leg makes my heart ache.

I hear the tracker jackers still getting closer though, no matter how fast we move. It's not a surprising, really, as when these creatures were designed, they were made to lock in on a target and chase it down until it died. After all, they were made to be a weapon in the first war.

And they were used as one in both.

I feel myself let out a loud sigh of relief as the sound of the wasps begins to fade away, as we come closer and closer to the edge of the woods.

Still, it isn't enough. It's never enough.

Peeta's prosthetic does better than I cynically imagined but in the end, it gives out just as I knew it would and he goes tumbling face-first down into the dirt and branches. I didn’t see it but I can tell by the way his leg, his only real leg, is scraped up, that it must have gotten caught on the fallen branches strewed across the ground.

"Peeta!" I scream, louder than I intend to. Louder than I know I should.

I kneel down beside him, adrenaline still pumping through my veins like red, hot blood, and I yank and tug at his arm, trying to force him to stand and run again, as my wail evidently alerted a few stray wasps that hadn't entirely disappeared yet.

"Peeta," I cry out now, desperation taking over my entire being. "We have to move." I try to push him to stand, to move forward, but he's shaking his head with a sad, defeated expression.

"Katniss, just run," he orders firmly, his voice surprisingly strong. "Leave me here, I'll be okay."

I give him an incredulous look, so shocked by his statement that I completely ignore the small growing buzz flying closer and closer by the second. "Peeta, I'm not leaving you!" I exclaim, as if the thought is outright offensive. Because to me, it is. "You can't honestly think I'm going to abandon you-"

"Katniss, please!" He snaps now, his eyes getting desolate. "Please, just go! I'll be home as soon as I can-"

"No! You're coming with me!" I demand furiously. Just as I am preparing to quickly stand and drag him by force out of these woods, his baby blue eyes widen fiercely and he envelopes me into his arms, shoving my body underneath his.

It all happens in a matter of seconds. Peeta holds me down the way he used to hold his opponents down in a wrestling match, paralyzing me into place, and I can't move to escape, to try and run and drag him with me.

I don't understand what he's doing though, what his true intent may be, until I feel through him, through his body that is sheltering mine, the vibrations of the tracker jackers' stingers.

I don't know how many times he gets stung but it's not enough to kill him—especially not him, who has such a high tolerance after the abuse he was subjected to—but enough to hurt him. Enough to have an effect.

Enough that only seconds after the creatures fly away, he flings himself upwards, attempting to get as far away from me as humanly possible. Attempting to put as much distance between us as his distorting mind will allow.

"Peeta!" I cry out again, plainly reaching for him. It doesn't click in my head what could be happening. It doesn't seem even real anymore, after four years home without a single episode, after three years of bliss together, that he could ever again become that dark, twisted shell of a person he was in Thirteen.

"Stay away from me!" He hisses and I recoil instinctively into a tree trunk behind me. His stumbles backward and snaps a branch with his prosthetic leg. The sound is enough to set him off and he practically snarls down towards the ground.

I don't know what he's seeing, what terrifying hallucination is taking over his psyche. I can't even imagine where his mind is right now, but I know that’s horrifying.

"Peeta, it's okay," I try again, but my voice is breaking and I must have started crying at some point and my eyes are wide and displaying just how blatantly unnerved I feel and I know I'm of no comfort right now. Still, I can't stop myself from saying, "it's just a tree branch, Peeta. Nothing is going to hurt you out here, I swear."

"Except you," he states, so blankly, so matter-of-fact, that I visibly flinch as he turns the gaze of his cold, dark eyes on me.

The sweet blue sky that live inside his irises are long gone and in their place is a blackened night and I haven't seen it in so long, I actually forgot what it looked like.

"Peeta," I whisper now, knowing it's fruitless to say anything, to try and get through. But I just can't leave him here, alone, when he's been hurt, when he's still suffering from what Snow did to him to destroy me.

His hands shake and he clutches the roots of the tree beside him to the point of pain. As if the wood can keep him in place. As if the wood can stop him from reacting to the venom like his every impulse is surely screaming to.

"Go away," he spats at me, his teeth clenching together so tight I'm afraid he'll chip them. "Would you just go!"

"No!" I yell stubbornly. My legs suddenly find a way to work and the shock must be wearing off because I find myself manically crawling through the dirt and leaves towards Peeta, where he's practically locked himself against a tree.

"You're a stupid mutt," he snarls as I come closer—closer enough to touch. "A mutt created by the Capitol to trick me. Don't touch me!"

I ignore his words and lay my hand on his forearm. "Peeta, please-stop!" I order desperately as he swings his arm in my direction. "Listen to me, please! This isn't real! I swear, this is just a bunch of lies the Capitol told you!"

"The only lies that I've been told were from you, sweetheart," he practically spits at me. "And I'm tired of your lies. In fact, I think I'm tired of you altogether-" He cuts himself off, one of his hands flying up from the branch and smacking him in the face. "Run!" He abruptly exclaims in a different voice. A voice that gives me hope. Hope that he can mentally fight this off. "Katniss, go!"

"No!" I refuse still, my jaw clenching and my eyes locking in on his furiously. "I won't leave you here!"

He squeezes his eyes shut at my words, and when he reopens them, my every hope he would be able to pull himself out of this evaporates. "I hate you! I absolutely hate you! Why won't you ever leave?"

"Because I love you," I hoarsely shout, not caring that he's in no position to listen to me. "I love you, Peeta. I love you and I'm not going to leave you."

I never say these things, even now. Even after the years since the war, I rarely offer sentiments. In words at least. Peeta knows I love him. I know I love him. But there's little need for me to proclaim it every single day and night.

Until now, until right now in these woods, with Peeta and all that he is nearly evaporated, do I wish I had showered him in verbal sentiments over and over again. No matter how unnatural words as opposed to actions are to me, I should have forced myself to speak up more, to say how I feel, to overdose him in it until he's tired of hearing my voice.

Maybe if I had been more vocal, he wouldn't still be so fast to believe the worst. Maybe then he wouldn’t be susceptible to these dark thoughts when the venom enters his system.

I shake that idea off as soon as it comes. This isn't my fault and it definitely isn't his. The tracker jacker venom isn't something we could have seen coming and it isn't permanent, I force myself to remember. This will wear off.

I just have to make sure Peeta doesn't hurt himself before that happens.

"Peeta," I whisper now, seeing his eyes squeezing shut again. I don't dare to let myself hope again he's fighting the hallucinations off. Cautiously, like I'm about to pet a tiger, I lean my hand in to touch his cheek.

He doesn't relax into it but he doesn't snap at me either and I take it as progress.

At least, I do until he opens his eyes.

They're still black as coal and my heart sinks at the realization. But before I can think to do anything else, his mouth opens again, his voice now slow and quiet and pleading. "You're the worst thing that ever happened to me. I loved you so much and you cost me everything."

I feel myself let out an involuntary sob at that, my chest heaving before I can swallow it down. Because it's true. If it weren't for me, if I'd just eaten those stupid berries myself, he wouldn't have been tortured and hijacked. Millions of people wouldn't be dead from the war. Finnick would be playing with his son right now, probably teaching him to swim or fish or tie a knot.

Prim would still be alive.

As if reading my mind, his next sentiment matches my line of thinking. "You destroyed me, just like you destroy everyone. My family is dead because of you. You killed them. You killed millions of people and laughed about it. You even killed your little sister."

And I know he's not in his right mind, but his words still ring true to me and all I can say, while trying to suppress the overflow of tears gathering behind my lids is, "I know."

"But it never meant anything to you, did it? No matter who you hurt or how much pain you inflicted, it never mattered to you."

I shake my head automatically, not even registering that I'm about as good as arguing with a wall here. "That's not true. I do care. I've always cared."

"Liar," he hisses again but it's under his breath, through clenched teeth and I can't respond to it. "You never cared about anyone besides yourself."

"Not real, Peeta!" I frantically try to get through to him. "Not real, not real, not real!"

He acts as if I hadn't spoken. "I always, always loved you. So much." He says it, not as a compliment or endearment, but as a dark fact, as a burden to bear. As if it were a heavy load he was forced to carry. "Did that mean anything you? Did I mean anything to you? Or was I just second best to him?"

"Peeta," I whimper out desperately, wiping my eyes with one hand and reaching out to grip his palm with my other. "You mean everything to me. You're my whole world."

Something flickers in his eyes and he snaps like the branches beneath our feet. "Liar!" He screams again, and shoves my hand off his. "You're a mutt! You're a liar! You’re not going to kill me like you did everyone else!"

"Not real!" I scream on the top of my lungs, giving up every other defense I have, just for the insane hope of getting through to him.

I remember how I got him to cooperate, to see reason, to fight, in the middle of the war. How I kissed him desperately, knowing I rationally should kill him, knowing there was a likely chance he'd kill me for even trying to save him, but how I did it anyway, in the face of all that.

It was different then. He wasn't freshly full of venom. He was already beginning to overcome his hijacking on his own. He was already starting to fight his way back to me.

But that doesn't mean the same methods couldn't be repurposed here. That doesn't mean they wouldn't work again, under different circumstances.

Somehow, in the seconds I considered this method, my eyes had traveled to his lips and my plan was foiled before it could be put into action.

"Don't you dare," he threatens, his voice dripping with fury. Even more deadly than I heard only a moment ago. "You're not going manipulate me like you always do, mutt."

Before I can gather my bearings or even process what he's implying, he forces both his hands to let go of the roots he's managed to maintain an iron tight grip on. His hands come flying at me, knocking me back against the forest floor, knocking the wind out of me painfully.

I feel my shoulder blade take the impact and fight back a wince, just as two large hands wrap themselves around my throat.

They squeeze tight, effectively cutting off my air supply, giving me the same horrible sensation I still remember from his rescue. The horrible day I still sometimes have nightmares about.

This whole entire thing is a nightmare come to life. Just as much as it was back in Thirteen four years ago.

I stare up at him, my vision swirling, my eyes stuck on his. And, in spite of how angry I should be—at Snow or Coin or the Capitol or just life in general—I find myself uncharacteristically hoping. Not hoping that he won't kill me. But rather hoping that when he comes back to his senses, he is able to forgive himself for this. That he is able to forgive himself for all of it.

I stare into his eyes, because if this is my end, I want the last thing I see to be the person I love, even if he isn't himself. I want him to somehow retain the memory of me right now, at this moment. So he can know that I'm not angry with him, that I don't hate him. That I love him. In spite of every reason anyone has tried to create for me not to.

I'm so focused on his eyes that I don't even notice that his grip is weakening. I don't even register his stance changing. All I see, all I register, is his eyes suddenly changing from black to blue and then black again. It's haunting to see up close, like a demon is stuck inside of him and he's having to fight it off from the inside out.

"Peeta," I whisper hoarsely, reaching my hand up to cup his cheek as his irises become a blue ocean again.

But his body language remains stiff, even as he clumsily pulls himself upwards and off of me. He trips backwards once again, and I watch in a frozen stupor as his eyes change once more to ebony.

"Go!" He shouts abruptly, his features wild and downcast and tormented. "Katniss, go!"

And I don't know if it's the fact that he's seemingly fighting off the darkness now or if the tracker jacker venom may be growing weaker inside him or if it's just the plain fact that he sounds like my Peeta again, but I listen this time. I roll over gracelessly and cough and sputter and grapple for a breath before finding my footing and blindly racing out of the trees. Blindly leaving Peeta behind, hoping he'll be able to find his way back to me.

Hoping that he'll come back to me at all.

X.

I crash onto the couch as soon as I step foot into the living room, lying down on my stomach, burrowing my face into the cushions beneath me.

I mindlessly ran from the woods, tripping and falling and unable to catch my breath, my heart racing a thousand beats per second. I didn't stop when Thom waved at me or when Haymitch barked to ask what I was up to now. I didn't even stop to lock the front door.

I wasn't worried about Peeta coming home to harm me. He was in enough control in the woods to hold himself against the tree, to stop himself from strangling me, to yell at me to run. If he was going to chase me down and hurt me, he would have done so in the woods when I refused to leave.

No, I wasn't worried about Peeta coming home to harm me. I was worried he wouldn't come home at all. I was worried that this is going to push him to the edge, that he won't trust himself, that he will insist he has to go back to the Capitol for hospitalization. I was worried that this will cost me him and our life together and everything we've worked so hard to build.

I squeeze my eyes shut to hold in my tears, terrified that the tracker jackers are going to cost me him, even after all this time. That what Snow did to take Peeta from me will finally succeed, even after his death.

Me and Peeta don't see eye to eye on this topic. This topic is one of the few things we can't agree on.

Peeta still gets flashback, on a fairly regular basis. He still grips the back of a chair or clutches a wall, hides in the back of the bakery when a customer triggers some atrocious memory by mistake. He still has insomnia some nights and still paints his nightmares.

Some of those paintings consist of things I never could stand to know. Some of his paintings, so haunting and gut-wrenching, display things that have brought me to tears more than once.

I was looking at them one morning over a year ago when I blurted out the worst possible thing I could have.

"What would happen if you ever were hijacked again? If you ever became the way you were in Thirteen again?"

I honestly expected him to say that Dr. Aurelius has warned him that there is a possibility of that happening and that he has a plan in place and he would have to go to the Capitol again and just about a million things I don't want to hear but I as much as expected.

But instead he caught me entirely off-guard and simply said, "I'd leave. Go out to the woods and probably never come back."

It's only now that I realize his wording, that I realize I left him out in the exact place he specified disappearing and I feel my blood run cold as I process this.

I don't know what I intend to do, as I stand up off the couch. I don’t know if I intend to go to Haymitch and see if he's too drunk to be of any help, to go maybe to Delly or Thom or anyone in the district who cares for Peeta, or if I even intended to just go searching for him myself in the woods, but in the end it all becomes irrelevant.

Because as soon as I stand, frantically trying to stop my shaking and figure out how I planned to find him, Peeta walks in through the front door.

His eyes are blue again and they've lost the cloudy look that have always appeared in his episodes. I don't know why I forgot that until now.

Probably because I black out the things that really hurt me. The things that hurt my heart too much to fully process.

Peeta, the sweetest boy I've ever known, being tortured and destroyed to pay for my acts of rebellion is at the top of that list.

I just stare at him, taking him in now, here, alive, relatively unharmed aside from some scratches. His eyes are clear but they're so sad and so desolate and I open my mouth to speak. To say just about anything that'll convey to him that I'm not angry with him, not in the least. That I just don't want him to leave, that I can't take losing him again.

But all that comes out are choking noises and I don't know if it's the cries I fought off or if it's because his hands were wrapped around my throat not long ago, or if it's just plainly that I don't put my feelings into words well. By any stretch of the imagination.

Either way, it doesn't seem to matter. Peeta just shakes his head slowly, the skin around his eyes already wet and swollen and pink and before I can utter another sound, he's walking forward towards me and falling down onto his knees, wrapping his arms around my waist. His face buries itself into my stomach and suddenly, the most painful, the most wretched sobs fill the room and if I wasn't right here with him, if I couldn't physically see Peeta, the cries would almost be unrecognizable as him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I try to resist it, I try to hold it back, I do everything I can to fight it, knowing it'll only make him feel that much worse, but in the end it's a lost effort and it's all I can do to raise my head up to the ceiling just as the tears come pouring from my own eyes. If they're out of shock or fear or pain--or a combination of all three--I don't know, but I do everything I can to hide them from Peeta.

It becomes just one more thing I fail at, as he somehow instinctively notices and squeezes me tighter to him, clutches me like Prim used to clutch her baby blanket.

"Please forgive me, Katniss. Please, please, please forgive me."

I open my mouth to say there's nothing to forgive but once again, the words won't form. All that comes out is a simple sob, quiet but strong, and I feel Peeta squeeze me again.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

X.

"Roll over for me," Peeta whispers softly, his hand as tender as his voice, stroking my hair back attentively.

I do what he asks, rolling onto my stomach, but still manage to say, "this isn't necessary."

He ignores me, his eyes no longer wet but still swollen and bloodshot from the hours he cried. Lifting up my shirt—technically his shirt originally, but we repurposed it as my sleep attire months ago—he slides a cold cloth onto my back, holding it in place for a long moment of time.

There's now a particularly large bruise already forming on my back from where he knocked me to the forest floor. I couldn't care less. I got worse bruises than that from hunting on a regular basis.

But the look in Peeta's eyes when he saw the mark, almost--but not quite--rivaled the look in his eyes when he stood upright and saw my neck. I hadn't even seen at it yet, I hadn't even given any thought to checking for red handprints, but when Peeta stood upwards, when he'd calmed down enough to look me in the eye, his gaze flew there instantly and words can't convey how awful he must have felt.

If there were a way to verbally say how wretched and sick he felt inside, Peeta would be the first one to do it.

Telling him it wasn't his fault didn’t work. Telling him he couldn't have known about the tracker jackers nearby, he couldn't have known what would happen, did absolutely nothing to convince him that he shouldn't feel responsible. Especially not when I'm speaking in a hoarse tone of voice.

Of course, I knew he'd feel this way. I would feel this way. But somehow I just can't stop trying to alleviate his remorse, no matter how useless it may be to attempt. Somehow I just can't stop trying to remove that tragically sad look from his eyes.

As soon as he lets go of the cold cloth, I spin around in the bed and snuggle myself tight into him.

He takes me into his arms willing, wrapping his every limb around mine, burying his face in my hair. His lips press repeated kisses to my forehead, his hands rubbing up and down my spine, massaging my back.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, probably for the twentieth time.

"Peeta," I all but groan, leaning my head back slightly to peer up into his heartbroken eyes. "Stop. There's nothing you could have done."

He looks like he wishes to argue but nothing comes out of his mouth. Instead he rubs my back again and squeezes me tighter. I shut my eyes against him, breathing him in, a part of me finally relaxing for the first time in hours.

Even after he returned home, even after his breakdown, I remained cautious at first. The last thing I wanted was to let my guard down too soon and have the venom—that is surely still working it's way out of his bloodstream—cause him to snap again, to lash out at me or attack.

Just like the last thing I wanted was to make him feel worse, make him feel remorse for something that was done to him, something he didn't ask for and he'd worked so hard and made so much progress in controlling.

But when he'd noticed the tears I’d tried to hold in, down in the living room, the remorse was inevitable.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He whispers now, moving my hair aside carefully, pressing his lips gently to the red marks where his hands had left their imprint.

This isn't the first time he's asked though and despite the fact that I rather enjoy his lips on my neck typically, I can't help but respond with ire. "Peeta, I already told you my neck and back are just fine. Please stop worrying," I say tensely, my voice tired and worn thin.

He says nothing in response, instead placing more kisses against my throat and collarbone. I let out a sigh I didn't even know I was holding in and reach out to stroke the back of his head, massaging where his skull and neck met, where his blonde curls touch his skin.

"You scared me," I whisper finally, the words easier now that I can't see his eyes and he can't see mine.

"I know," is all he can say.

"Not physically," I immediately correct before he can take that and internalize it. "I don’t mean you scared me physically. You... you..." Speaking becomes a challenge all over again, the syllables not wanting to form intelligibly on my lips. But when he pulls back and looks me deep in the eye, his gaze full of love and sorrow, I force myself to just say how I feel. "I was scared I was going to lose you," I whisper, leaving whether I meant lose him physically or mentally up in the air.

Still, he doesn't seem surprised by the confession, whatever way he took it. "I know."

I have to bite my lip to keep an awful choking sob inside, as one is doing it's best to escape from the back of my throat. Almost as a distraction I bury my face into his chest again, shutting my eyes, and I allow myself to be thankful that Peeta's still here and he's my Peeta again.

When he doesn't fill the silence though, I realize I have to or else the tension in the room will continue to linger. "I was so scared," I admit, so quietly it's almost inaudible.

"I know, baby."

I scrub my face against his cotton-made shirt before rubbing my nose with the neckline of my own sleepwear, just as something hits to me. Peeta's words in the woods, even while hijacked, still sting inside my head. Not the cruel things he said, because even though I know they're true, I also know he doesn't truly believe any of them himself. He doesn't think I murdered his family or am an evil person who laughs at the misery of others, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, he doesn't think I'm in any way responsible for Prim's death.

But originally, his hijacking was predicated upon his insecurity and uncertainty in our relationship and in my feelings for him. In the last three years I know I've made my feelings clear. At least, in my mind I have.

But a quietly violent voice whispers, and I ache deep inside as it questions, what if I haven't expressed how I feel enough to him? What if he truly still feels unsure of my love for him?

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"I just... I want you to know-" His finger presses against my lips now and he's shaking his head, his eyes forlorn.

"Katniss, if this is about anything I said, just don't. Okay, I meant none of it. I hate that those words even-"

"Peeta, you mean everything to me," I blurt out then, clumsily cutting him off. "You're the only thing that really matters to me an-and," I stop myself then, having spoken too fast, rushed my words and now am stuttering. There's so many things I want to say, so many things I want him to know. So many they all become jumbled up and confused in my head, and it's all I can do to say the simplest, plainest thing that comes to my mind. No matter how unnatural it feels for me. No matter how painful it is to rip down your walls and to physically have to force away an armor you spent years of your young life building up. It's so hard and so painful and I don't even recognize my own voice when I speak again, when I force myself to spit out how I actually feel. How, until today, I told myself he knew I felt. "I love you so much," I try to say but it comes out choked and raw. "I love you and you were never second best. To anyone. You're everything to me and I don't know-I don't know how to convey this right or say the right thing-"

He cuts me off—finally—then and moves his fingers against my cheek comfortingly. "You've conveyed it perfectly," he promises, his lips moving then to press lightly against mine, in a grateful but simple and sweet gesture. "I know you love me, Katniss," he assures again as he pulls back and breaks our kiss. "I've known it for a long time."

As his finger traces the outline of my mouth, I whisper, almost to myself, "So have I."

He gives me a smile, that is full of guilt and devastation, but still somehow warm and hopeful and kind. "Oh, have you?" I know he's feeling better when he teases me.

But my reply isn't sarcastic or cunning or anything but simple and small. Just like me in general.

"Longer than I could ever admit."

[blood-starved-beast]

Redemption arc squad for the bingo (Acxa/Farnese/Zuko/Riven/etc)

Redemption Arc squad yes (Did not include Zethrid and Ezor cause redemption - for what? Doing hot girl shit?) To start, here's the original so people have ease of access to see.

Send me more asks if you'd like me to say more.

First, Acxa

Unsurprisingly, she's the one who gets the bingo. Excluding a few others in the fandom, people get her wrong like the amount of parentfication she gets in the fandom is frankly insane why can't fandom be normal about her (saying this, as I proceed to not be normal about her). Her arc is great, and one of the few in vld that made sense, surprisingly enough. Only reason I don't give her the best is cause Haggar/Honerva is there. Of course saying so would be hitting the wasp's nest. She definitely should've gotten more screentime, and they wasted the fact that she worked with Haggar in s8 especially. Keith knew she was with Haggar in the Kral Zera no one bothered to ask her anything??? We should've gotten a backstory flashback in act 2 in my opinion. The way she went around backstabbing people like 10 times but you know she wasn't planning this shit out is the funniest thing what is wrong with her indeed.

Next, Zuko

Zuko, I don't have much opinions about as he was written very good and I'm pretty much satisfied with how the writers went about him. I'd say he gets top spot in Atla for best writing cause Aang's near perfect arc was messed up with the dumb thing to have his avatar state reopened by some random rock. Especially when the world building established that it was an emotional-psychological-spiritual thing. In that sense, Zuko was consistently the best. Zuko's most popular pairings suck and I almost forgot to put this cause my atla fandom experience was literally ten years ago but then I remembered zukk@. Zut@ra I never liked which is rich coming from me who likes friggin Rivelia but my excuse is that my fandom experience was shaped by exposure to that friggin ship war from way back then and that spoiled a lot for me. Katara deserves better and she's not a fixer, at least, not for Zuko she would. Fandom woobification besides that, annoys me especially when he can get all toxic masculinity sometimes (this was a thing established at the Beach ep). His arc is one that I'm always referencing so you could say I'm pretty obsessed with it. If you'd ask me about him 8 years ago I feel like I'd say more but I'm long overdue for an atla rewatch so I'd have to refresh.

Now Farnese

Farnese has one of the more interesting arcs in media I've seen recently. She's a bitch with little freudian excuse and does a lot of horrific things to boot. And YET her redemption arc is so so good Miura was a master at his craft Rest in Peace. I think she'd benefit more from screentime but this is just me wanting a good Berserk adaption post golden age. Her best character work is when she works with Casca and Schierke imho.

Finally, Riven

Riven I love a lot but she hasn't reached Meow-Meow stage to get the bingo (for League, that award I think, would go to Irelia). Her fandom reception is weird though, but that depends on who you look to. The cismale fans are really gross with her, and the friggin battle bunny skin is atrocious. The original that is. Which was a fan-inspired skin by the way. That and her popularity among this cohort really messed with her characterization, even in the writers room cause I'd feel like she should be Butch, but cause of it has since seen a more femme-mization in her splashart and other media. As with most non-arcane characters she needs more lore. I'd like to see a Zelda styled game for example, where she tries to atone for her war crimes in Ionia by helping people etc. Besides that I could see her working with Rell, Irelia, others. Sentinels of Light did her so dirty worse than Irelia for sure (maybe not as bad as Pyke or Rengar, but still). There were so many ways to handle that but they did her and Irelia's arc in the most superficial way that I'm dog-bites-cage-rail.jpg all about how it could've been done better. Btw, her popular ships suck cause they are with Yasuo, who I don't really like, and *shudders* Zac. Rivelia is next on the list after that but I do like that, but I have ~ issues ~ with how it was handled but also most fandom content for it is not my cup of tea at all (WHERE IS THE SPICE???).

Thanks for the ask Cat!

For everyone else, here is the original post.

[writing-gifts]

datura (moth!bruno x butterfly!reader)

—–

A/N: welp one more chapter after this, it’s pretty much gonna do its best to wrap everything up and ig thats all i have to say other than Narancia is pretty fussy this chapter lol

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Reader is gender neutral!

-----

[Late Winter]

I only left for a few seconds…

You bring the damp cloth to the sticky layer smeared on the table. Naranica had somehow managed to not spill honey on just the table but also himself. And after you finish dealing with the table you would have to clean the clothes you changed him out of.

“Sorry…I tried to clean it.”

You glance at the bee. He had been sitting quietly in one of the dining chairs up until this moment.

“It’s okay. We just have to be careful next time.”

You’re going to ask him what he wants to do after you’re done cleaning everything to brighten his mood but you notice something off about his appearance.

“Where's your hairband?” you ask.

“Huh?”

He reaches up and touches the top of his head. When he can’t feel the cloth of the orange hairband he usually wears, he gets down from the chair and runs out of the room.

When you’re finally done cleaning the table, Narancia’s still hasn't returned so you go look for him. Luckily he’s in the first place you check--his room--but for some reason the usually somewhat clean space was in much greater disarray. All the drawers of his dresser are open and his clothes and toys lay scattered on the bed and floor.

“Narancia what are you doing?”

For some reason he’s halfway under the bed.

“I can't find my hairband!” he exclaims before crawling out.

“Well do you remember where you last saw it?”

“On my head this mornin’.”

You had seen it this morning too. You try to recall today's events but now that you think about it you don’t remember taking it off him when you were cleaning him up earlier.

“Maybe it fell off when we were outside?”

The bee perks up at your suggestion and you have to stop him from running outside. After quickly dressing yourself and him in clothing appropriate for the weather, you go out to search. The two of you spend a good amount of time looking on the snowy ground in front of the house and behind snowbugs but have no luck.

Narancia pushes around the snow in random spots with his hands, but you doubt it would be buried under any.

You rub your gloved hands together. “It’s definitely not out here. We should go back inside.”

Frustration forms on the bee’s face and he stays put so you hold out a hand to him. He stares for a moment but sighs and takes it.

The both of you head back inside and while you help the bee take off his Winter attire he comes up with the idea to look in Bruno’s room.

“Yea maybe it’s in there but--”

He’s already running out of the room before you can finish speaking.

You throw his scarf onto the bed and follow after him but unfortunately, the door to Bruno’s room is already cracked open when you catch up.

“Wait Narancia. Bruno’s sleeping,” you yell-whisper.

You try your best to enter quietly but find that your mate is already awake, confused and watching Narancia look around his room.

“What’s wrong?” Bruno says through a yawn.

“I can’t find my hairband!”

Narancia climbs onto the bed and lays on top of Bruno and the moth places his hand on top of his son's head.

“I’ll get you a new one--”

“No! I don’t wanna different one Papa…”

The bee sighs and gets back up to start looking again

You tell Bruno to stay put while you try to help Narancia in his persistent search throughout the house but eventually the two of you tire yourselves out and end up back in the bedroom empty handed.

Sitting on the bed, you try to smooth down Narancia’s hair but no matter how many times your hands run over his hair, the wild strands refuse to stay in place. It wasn't a bad thing but seeing his hair looking much messier without his hairband had made you wonder if it was even possible to keep it down without one.

“It’s no use amore. Unless you gel it back, his hair does what it wants.”

Narancia scrunches up his face at the word ‘gel���.

“Don’t worry I'm not going to gel your hair.” You tap your chin in thought and get up to rummage through your sewing supplies on Bruno’s dresser. “....How about I make you a new hairband?”

Narancia’s eyes widen. “Can it be the same as the last one?”

You pull out your pair of scissors before turning towards him with a smile. “Of course. You really like that hairband huh?”

You’re sure you’ve seen a few others in his dresser but the orange hairband was the only one you’ve ever seen him wear. You avoid asking why he likes this particular one so much though since you didn't want him to change his mind about taking your copy. You would do your best to find the original but for now this would have to suffice.

You have Narancia stay still--well as still as he can--so you take his head measurements. After that it doesn't take too long to cut out the cloth and start the actual sewing. However, the bumblebee has wandered out of the room by this point.

Bruno watches you half awake as you sew quietly next to him in bed. The both of you sit in silence together for a while and you plan on keeping it that way so he can easily fall back asleep.

Well at first anyways. Your train of thought finds itself at a topic that you can’t help bringing up.

“Have you ever thought about having more kids?” you ask.

The moth looks caught off guard by your question. It did seem as if it came from nowhere, but helping Bruno take care of Narancia and your recent thoughts of all the new arrivals that would be coming in Spring had mostly prompted it.

He considers what you asked before answering.“After adopting Narancia I wasn’t actively looking for a mate or trying to take in anymore young on my own. But now that I’ve met you I’m sure that will change....”

He trails off a bit and you stop sewing wondering what's wrong, but you find that he's staring at you very intently.

“W-Well yea. I’m sure that would be in the distant future, but that sounds nice. I wouldn't mind raising young with you…Actually I think I’d really like that.”

You wait for his reaction but feel tremors coming from the bed.

"You’re….vibrating?" you question, confused.

The slight embarrassment on his face when he tries and fails to stop has you smiling.

“That makes me really happy ____.”

You didn't think you could smile any larger. “You're so cute!"

You put the half-sewn hairband and needle to the side before hugging him which spreads the vibrations to you. You can barely believe the moth you met a year ago was the same one in your arms. The vibrating begins to lessen until it completely stops.

You completely relax against your mate and comb your fingers through the fluff near his chest. You’ll probably never get over how soft it is.

“Narancia practically fell into my arms so this time it will be nice to be properly prepared.”

You hum in agreement.

“That hive--Did you just happen upon it?”

“No, Abbacchio was actually the one who found it. He found Narancia and brought him to me.”

Your fingers stop playing with Bruno’s fur as you try to understand this new information. Why was Abbacchio even wandering around a dead hive?

It’s almost as if Bruno read your mind due to what he says next.

“I’m not sure how he managed to find Narancia but when I asked he was very guarded about it.”

Well if he didn’t know, then there was no way you would ever find out.

“How long have you known Abbacchio anyways?” you ask.

“About 7 years. I actually first met him when he was still part of a nest.”

Apparently, you were learning many new things today since you’ve always assumed Bruno had befriended Abbacchio when he was out of the hive.

It takes a while for you to realise said moth is looking at you with concern since you’ve suddenly gone quiet.

“Oh sorry...I guess I’m still not completely over you making friends with a wasp.”

You thought you were but this new information has you somewhat stupefied all over again. How did these two even manage to meet?

“I suppose all wasps aren’t built the same,” Bruno says.

“Well no bug is. But this is still a very rare--”

The creak of the bedroom door interrupts you and Narancia pokes his head in, his hair somehow even messier than before.

“Is my hairband done yet?”

------

Your shoes press into the snow. Parts of the once solid white blanket had become half melted and grimy in many areas. Your arms wrap around you in an attempt to keep warm. It was still light out but it wouldn't be long until it got dark and therefore much colder, however Naranica was adamant on coming out here.

Narancia completely ignores how dirty the snow is and runs around and plays, balling up and throwing around the cold slush.

“____ make a snow angel with me!”

If there was any time for you to be extremely partial to not laying in the snow it was now.

You look off to the side and grimace. “...Do I have to?”

The bee rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out before laying on his back to make his angel.

You’re still considering if you should join when the door opens behind you and your mate steps out.

“Hey, want to make a snow angel with Narancia?” you ask the moth.

His brows slightly furrow at the idea. “No thanks. I don't want to get my favorite sweater that you gifted me dirty.”

You almost roll your eyes but he was wearing the sweater, along with white bottoms along too. Sighing, your attention turns back to Narancia but he’s no longer lying where he was last. When you see that he’s now distracted by one of the snowbugs instead of rolling around in the snow, you let out a small sigh of relief.

The front of the house had so many of the snowy insects now that it looked like the location of a small party. All the ones you made over the Winter were still standing but they looked less sturdy and nice--some more than others.

“Mista is melting!” Narancia exclaims.

You walk over and see that Mista’s scarf is slipping off his partially melted body and try to fix it, but the moment your hand brushes against him, his head falls off. Your eyes widen and you look at Narancia whose mouth is hanging open.

He yells and you flinch. Narancia tries to lift his head but the snow breaks apart in his hands.

“Mista no--Papa help!”

Bruno comes near to observe the situation before crossing a pair of his arms. “I’m sorry Narancia but Mista can’t be saved…”

The bee’s eyes look teary and you feel terrible.

“I-I’m sorry Narancia. I didn’t mean to…”

He’s quiet for a moment before telling you it’s okay, however his frown has your heart clenching. He walks off to play a little more by himself, but doesn't seem as energetic as before.

“Don't feel bad mio amor, he gets like this every year….He might be a little more upset than usual though.”

You acknowledge Bruno’s statement half heartedly, but it doesn’t wipe away the guilt.

The three of you spend a little more time out before Narancia asks to go inside. While Bruno’s busy feeding him you head back to the moth’s room so you can get back to packing, but also give the bee some space.

You had started slowly gathering all your stuff a couple days ago. Everything you brought pretty much mixed in with all of Bruno and Narancia’s stuff and you would prefer not to spend last minute looking for any missing items.

A giant part of you was sad to go but the other was excited to see Abilene and update them on everything that happened.

You’re alone for some time but after putting Narancia to bed, Bruno joins your search.

Before you head back to your own home, you plan to check every room in this house for any of your possessions. You decide to head to the main room and immediately your eyes fall on a sweater you had careless left on the couch. You pick it up and something orange falls from under it. You bend over and pick it up, quickly realizing it’s the hairband Narancia lost. How did it even get there?

After a quick scan of the rest of the room, you go back to the bedroom and throw your sweater in one of your satchels. You then place the hairband down where you’re sure it won't get lost again.

Walking into Bruno’s closet next, you open the glowing lantern placed in there. You’re pretty sure you didn't put anything in here but it was better to be thorough. You hum to yourself as you look through the moth’s clothes--all these clothes that he rarely wore. You sigh and shake your head.

While pushing his clothes aside, you find your scarf that had been missing for so long that you convinced yourself you never brought it in the first place. You grab and drape it around your shoulders and quickly finish looking through the closet before exiting.

When you pass Bruno you toss the scarf onto him because why not.

“Found Naracia’s hairband and one of my scarves. I’m on a role today.”

Bruno watches you as you properly wrap the scarf around his neck.

“Hey it doesn't look bad on you! Maybe you should keep it.”

“____?”

You look away from the scarf and at him.

“I almost want to beg you to stay,” he says.

Your smile falls slightly not expecting that at all, but you laugh a bit to cover it up.

“Trust me you don’t need to. If I could be in two places at once that would be great...b-but I’m going to try to visit a lot though!”

Even though you try to stay positive you know it won’t be the same. No waking up next to Bruno. No getting to kiss and cuddle him so often. You wouldn't be able to play with Narancia or fail to feed him in a non messy way either. You wouldn't be able to see them whenever you wanted to and would begin to miss them the moment you were back alone in your home.

Bruno pulls you gently into a hug.

“You're pouting mio amor.”

You wrap your arms around him reprociating the hug and laugh. “Oops I didn't mean to.”

You pull back to look at the moth and reassure him so you both can get back to packing. Unfortunately, this moment seemed to disrupt your focus and you barely get anything done before managing to distract each other again. This happens multiple times until somehow the two of you end up sitting at the edge of the bed being the complete opposite of productive.

Bruno leans into you as you kiss. Your hands unsure where else to go find his chest and warmth fills you when you feel his teeth catch on your bottom lip. Your mate pulls back, but before you can complain, he presses another kiss to your lips then your jaw. His kisses start to trail down your neck--

“PAPA!”

You immediately make space between you and Bruno and almost fall off the bed.

Narancia runs into the room disheveled.

“What’s wrong Narancia?” Bruno asks.

Unlike you, the moth has already collected himself from the unexpected interruption.

Narancia climbs onto the bed but when he sees you, he seems to calm down a little. “Uh nothing…”

He then sits down between you and Bruno. “Can I help pack?”

You and Bruno agree and you’re (finally) back to what you were originally doing. However Narancia seems unusually quiet and you could no longer ignore it. You had hoped sleeping would help improve his mood but apparently it didn't.

“Um are you okay Narancia? You seem sad…”

He shrugs.

“I really am sorry about Mista.”

“It’s not that…” He shifts foot to foot avoiding your eyes before running up to you and clinging onto your leg. “I don't want you to leave! Do you have to?”

Oh.

Bruno turns towards the two of you and you smile sadly.

“I have to, but I’ll be sure to visit and you and Bruno can visit me too.”

“Everyday?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No, not everyday.”

Narancia hides his face in your leg and you're really worried he’s going to start crying. You weren’t ready to deal with that.

“We can’t go everyday but we’ll go often,” Bruno adds in an attempt to prevent any tears.

Narancia stays quiet and still for a moment before letting go of your leg. He nods in understanding but still looks sad and very tired.

“Do you want to go back to bed now?” you ask.

He nods again and reaches up towards you so you can pick him up. You tell Bruno you’ll be right back before heading to Narancia’s bedroom. You gently place and tuck him into bed before smoothing his hair back.

“I found your hairband by the way. I’ll give it to you when you wake up.”

The sadness on the bees face disappears and he smiles sleepily. “Thanks, you’re the best. Please don’t go home while I’m sleeping.”

You smile at the silly idea but make sure to settle the bee’s worries.

“I promise I won’t. Good night Narancia.”

-----

Just a few more days until you had to go back home and you had been spending all your alone time just trying to just finish up Bruno’s top. At some points you thought you wouldn't be able to before it was time to go but with some lost sleep you manage to finish all the lace for the sleeves. You were now spending your quiet morning putting everything together.

Forming the last stitch, you cut the string and place the needle down. You hold out the finished top in front of you.

The long sleeved loose-fitting top contained a V neck and was all lace except for part of the back where you sewed in a black silk cloth. Overall the lace was mostly simple but there were places where you tried to implement more floral patterns.

You look over it once more and smile content when you don't find any glaring mistakes. Now all you had to do is wait until night time rolled around.

You drink the rest of nectar from your cup sitting on the table and sigh. You were tired. Very tired. Your sleep schedule was all over the place the last couple days because of this top, and now that you were done a nap would be nice. You make sure to find a good place to hide away the top before going to Bruno’s room.

When you enter, the moth is softly snoring in bed but the moment you try to get under the covers you stir him awake. He opens an eye slightly before closing it again and reaching out towards you. You cuddle up to him and he wraps his arms around you.

“Taking a nap?” he asks.

“Yep. By the way I have a surprise for you tonight.”

A grin appears on his face. “Oh? I wonder what it is.”

You softly boop his nose. “You’ll see later, so you can go back to sleep now.”

It doesn't take long for you to drift off after that but when you finally awaken, the light from outside has been replaced by the night. You hadn’t expected to be asleep that long and feel very disoriented because of it.

Bruno looks over at you from the book he’s reading. “Sleep well?”

You sit up and rub at your eyes. “I guess so. I didn't mean to sleep that long though.” You get up and stretch. “Is Narancia awake?”

“I actually just put him back to bed. He woke up around the same time you fell asleep.”

Your eyes widen at how heavy you had fallen asleep.

“God you must be tired then….Oh wait your surprise!”

You quietly make your way to the main room and grab the satchel that you had hid behind one of the pillows on the couch. After pulling out the top, you can’t stop yourself from looking over it again, but you nod to yourself to discard any doubts.

Bruno’s sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for you when you return.

“Okay take your sweater off,” you say, almost demand.

His brows raise and you almost laugh.

“It’s not like that I made something for you.”

You hold out the top to show him. “I'm not sure you remember us talking about me making a top for you but you probably saw peeks of it whenever you managed to sneak up on me...Anyways I finally finished it!”

The moth gets up to get a better look at the top.

“____ it must have taken so long to make this. It looks really well done.”

Bruno takes off his sweater and you hand the top to him. When it’s finally on, you almost die. It looks good on him, really good.

The moth looks at you with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes...wait put on some bottoms too.”

Your eyes follow his every movement as he slips on a pair of black bottoms.

“Amore, you look like you're going to pass out…”

“Probably. You look so good! I was worried all your fluff would get in the way but it actually looks nice with it.” You nod to yourself. “Yep, I’m definitely showing my mentor this!”

“Mentor?”

“Well kinda. This spider helped me learn how to do lace so I could make this outfit for you.”

He tilts his head as if he misheard. “Did you just say spider?”

“He’s completely harmless I swear! I thought he would be dangerous and was nervous to approach him but turns out the rumors were true.”

“Rumors? ….Well if you say he’s safe then I won’t worry. Or at least I’ll try not too.”

Bruno however still looks skeptical.

“Don’t worry, I'm being safe and if he wanted to eat me he definitely had multiple chances to do it.”

The moth’s brows furrow from your statement but you continue on. “You'll go with me to model the outfit right?”

“Of course.”

“Make sure you wear bottoms too!”

He grins. “I will.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for this gift. You're very talented and I’m glad to show that off.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you’re wordless for a tick but manage to nod. “It’s no problem. I love making stuff for you...”

After gifting Bruno’s top, the days seem to pass quickly. Other than stitching patterns into the hairband you made for Narancia you’re mainly packing and cleaning. And during this time, the sun starts to make more frequent appearances and the weather slowly gets warmer. It’s not long before you don’t have to put on multiple layers before going outside anymore.

While the three of you are outside trying to clean up the leftover items from the melted pile of snow that were once your lovely snowbugs, you notice the start of a few new leaves growing on the mostly bare branches of the tree.

It was still a bit cold but maybe just maybe if you tried you could take flight. You flap your wings a few times to wake them up from the long period of non use. You then try to get off the ground but you’re only left exhausted from your attempt.

Bruno comes up behind looking at you expectantly. You sigh and move your wings down so he can so he can properly wrap his arms around you. He then starts rapidly vibrating and of course Narancia latches onto your leg and begins giggling when the vibrating spreads to him. You laugh along but are momentarily surprised when you feel vibrations coming from the bee too. It’s nowhere near the level of Bruno’s but it was better than anything you could do.

After you're warm enough Bruno and Narancia let go and with a few flaps of your wings you’re back in the air. You almost cheer in excitement and immediately make a round about the house before flying up towards the branches of the tree.

“Finally!”

You always took flying for granted until it was taken away from you for a whole season. You take a moment to enjoy the sun's beams through the parts in the branches before lowering back down to where Bruno and Narancia stand. However you're not ready to stop flying just yet and stay off your feet.

Narancia, who has been watching excitedly, reaches up towards you when you get close. “I wanna fly too!”

You look down at him, amused, grab his arms and lift him up before spinning him around. His squeals and giggles fill the air.

A small smile sits on Bruno’s face, content with just watching you two.

You play around with Narancia a bit more in the air before putting him down.

“Your wings are so cool! I can't wait to have wings too!”

You hadn't gotten yours until you were well into your teens and went through your pupa stage, but perhaps bees grew theirs at a different time.

“One day you will but I don't mind carrying you until then! I’ll even take you to visit flowers with me.”

Narancia smiles, “Yes! Can we go now?”

Bruno jumps in before you actually answer knowing that you would most likely say anything other than no. “Another day Narancia. We came out here to clean up.”

He pouts at Bruno but before he can start whining the moth gives him a look that clearly says ‘don't start’.

The bee crosses his arms and huffs. “Fine!”

You struggle to hold back your laughter when Bruno shakes his head.

[isoscele]

Lumberjanes Week Day 6 - Ghost Stories/Land of Lost Things

.

In Xian’s bullet journal, in purple gel pen, the four of them wrote their last will and testament. It was an incontrovertible fact, said Presley, that they were going to die here. One, it had snowed every single one of the four days they had been here, and showed no signs of stopping. Two, despite their best efforts to ration their fruit leathers and peanut-butter-banana sandwiches, they had run out of food. Three, Ana’s ankle was sprained and they were probably not going to be able to get back up on the cliff they had fallen from. Four, despite what fantasy books said, kids on hiking trips did not actually survive tripping into a desolate, war-torn alternate dimensions, no matter how much moxie and general perseverance they showed.

It was hard to argue with that. So they divvied up their belongings among parents and siblings and pets, taking turns with the pen in a kind of grim ritual.

Once they finished, they surveyed their work.

“Don’t give your rollerblades to Peter,” Ana told Xian. “He’s going to break his collarbone immediately.”

“If I have to become a ghost, I want to spend my afterlife watching Peter eat it in the Walmart parking lot,” Xian said firmly.

The sky here was a kind of burnt-rubber color. The snow kept coming down, so there must have been clouds up there somewhere, but it was difficult to distinguish them from the blank slate of horizon.

There were no plants, no animals, nothing but a long line of snow-covered earth. If you dug down to the surface, as Siobhan had, there was only scorched dirt. There was a little rubble, but not much. As far as otherworldly apocalyptic wastelands went, it was disappointingly barren. There were no helpful clues, or conveniently-placed newspapers with pictures of mushroom clouds. Even the breaks in the landscape looked harsh, a continual jag of cliffs and valleys and something that smelled like it might have been a swamp, a long time ago.

When they’d first set up camp, Siobhan had knelt down to wrap Ana’s ankle and Presley had started clearing space to make a campfire, and so Xian had gone around looking for something to help start it, trudging through the knee-deep snow with her windbreaker tied around her legs to keep herself from getting frostbite.

Mostly, she had been walking towards a massive rupture in the snow that looked like it might have been a felled tree. Probably, it would be too damp to burn, but Presley had mad survivalist skills wrapped up in her little band-geek brain, so maybe she would be able to scrape the bark off or something. Or maybe there would be something they could eat. Even then, back in the halcyon days when they still had two out of four fruit leathers left, that was a pressing concern.

As Xian approached it, though, it started to look less and less like a tree. It was curved in a weird way, and it didn’t have any branches. It took a long time for her to reach it, so by the time she reached out one hand to wipe away the snow, there was a part of her that already knew what she’d find.

It was a rib. More specifically, it was the rib of something that had ribs the size of a school bus. It was picked completely clean of meat, as pristine as a museum exhibition.

Xian had to take a step back and stare at it. It filled her whole vision, and she couldn’t get over how clean it was. Her first thought was scavengers! Her second thought was HUGE scavengers! Her third thought was no, that’s dumb. It’s just old.

Siobhan’s theory had been nuclear war. Presley agreed with her–maybe not with the method, but she thought they were in an alternate dimension that had destroyed itself somehow. Ana had suggested time travel, like they’d tripped into Earth’s first ice age.

But something bad had happened here. With that understanding came a powerful, terrible relief. Of course they were standing on a graveyard too vast and ancient for them to ever understand. Of course this was a place of tragedy. It still was, the white of the ground and the orange of the sky and the way that Presley had said we should find some kindling, as if they were ever going to find any kindling.

Xian had looked at the bone for a moment longer. She thought about how, in horror movies, the characters always tried to find some justification for what was happening to them, had some big why-me breakdown. From an audience’s perspective, though, it was easy to tell who was earmarked for catastrophe. From the moment they stepped onto the screen, they were tasked with telling a story. They were suffering because they were only ones who could tell it. It wasn’t their fault.

Xian didn’t know what that meant about them. They were teenage girls, which could make some sense within certain narratives, but they were teenage girls who were probably not going to get out of here. Girls who were plucky and inquisitive and charming and still would not be saved.

Then again, sometimes the answer to why-me was just you were there. Sometimes, it was as simple as an extinction event, coming to wipe you and everything you knew clean.

Xian turned around and started the long walk back to camp.

.

The hike had been Siobhan’s idea. School had just ended and it was Presley’s last summer before she moved away, so everything was terrifying and big and moved in slow-motion. It felt like every minute the four of them weren’t doing something amazing together was a minute wasted. Siobhan imagined growing up like a skin you shed in reverse. The more you crammed  into those early layers, the harder it was to lose them.

She’d packed the bag, which was another mark on her ledger. If she had brought a first-aid kit, if she had brought more food, if she had brought a second water bottle, things might be different. Never mind that it was only supposed to be a day trip, and her mom would’ve lost her mind if Siobhan had packed for an overnighter.

The third thing that she could never ever be absolved of was that she was the one who saw the fox.

It had streaked through the trees, a blur of formless red, but for a second it had looked at her and–and Siobhan wasn’t exaggerating, time stopped. Its eyes were golden and a million years old, and somehow she had known exactly what it was saying to her.

They’re leaving you they’re leaving you every second they are getting farther away from you and you can’t do anything to stop it and you’re the only one who wants to anyway, you’re the only one selfish enough to ask for forever.

And then time had unstuck and it had leapt back through the trees, and Siobhan had pushed past Ana and almost tripped over Xian and she hadn’t even realized that she had started running, it was more like she knelt into the air and kept going.

She hadn’t realized the others would follow her, but of course they had.

So Siobhan couldn’t sleep. She was cold, and she was hungry, and she was ashamed that during their will-writing she’d made up people to give her things to because she wanted her friends to think that she had friends other than them, that she too had cool cousins in New York and family members she could trust with the contents of her bedroom.

And she was ashamed about everything else, too, every dumb decision she had made in possibly her whole life, and then Presley said “Siobhan?” and she realized she was kind of crying into the snow.

“I’m okay,” Siobhan said, “I’m okay, I’m fine.”

Ana reached out and touched Siobhan’s elbow. Her fingers were cold, but steady, and it did make Siobhan feel better.

“I think I’m gonna go look for food,” Siobhan said. She hadn’t realized she was going to say it until she did, but it felt right. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t just lie down and try to sleep through another night that looked exactly identical to the day.

“Okay,” Xian said. She pushed herself onto her elbows and tried to brush some of the snow off her shirt. “We’ll come with you.”

This was how they got into all kinds of world-ending trouble, but Siobhan supposed there were worse things.

She didn’t think she could get any words out if she tried, so instead she reached out and helped Xian get the snow off her shoulders.

.

Ana’s ankle didn’t hurt much anymore, but Presley still stoically bore the task of giving her a piggyback ride. Ana liked this arrangement because Presley would kneel down and wait for Ana to loop her legs around her waist and then she would say, with all the seriousness of a soldier about to pull the knife from his dying comrade’s stomach, I’m going to do it, get ready, get ready, and then she would stand up.

They didn’t have a direction, and none of them were entirely sure which way they had come from, so they were just kind of walking. Most likely, they had already gotten turned around three or four times, but Ana was hoping it would eventually cancel itself out.

But then again, it probably didn’t matter whether they got anywhere new. Already, the snow had probably completely concealed their old campsite. Everywhere they stepped was a new world, fresh and footprintless. Packed with promise.

Presley and Xian were talking, but Ana was a little too tired to follow the conversation. Instead, she tried to catch Siobhan’s eye and silently communicate something deep and necessary to her. She didn’t know what that deep and necessary thing was, but she trusted Siobhan to figure it out.

They walked for a long time without finding any kind of break in the landscape. Ana let herself feel reassured by the steady rhythm of Presley’s footsteps below her, the slow thread of Xian’s voice. It almost felt like home, pacing circles around Siobhan’s trampoline or getting marched to the principal’s office for “disturbing the classroom environment.”

So of course, she was the last one to see the cave.

It looked a little like a wasps’ nest, fat and bulbous and buzzing from the inside out with a pale yellow light. Shadows stretched across the entrance, flickering in stop-motion. The cave, whatever else it meant for them, was inhabited.

Ana looked down at Xian, who tended to be the most genre-savvy of them all. But Xian wasn’t looking at the cave; she was staring into the sky with a look of abject terror on her face.

“Presley,” Ana said. “I think we should–”

Presley locked her arms around Ana’s ankles and took off running towards the cave.

Ana had to duck so they could get inside, pressing the side of her face against Presley’s crown of braids. Then, the light was everywhere, and she had to blink hard to disperse the pink clouds that spotted her vision.

“Oh my God,” Siobhan said from somewhere behind her.

Xian shuffled closer. “What is that?”

In the center of the cave, a candle had burned almost to a stub, giving off the unmistakable smell of pine. Behind it, half-submerged in the pool of light, lay some kind of abomination.

It was a wolf and yet it wasn’t, couldn’t be. It had thick white fur and a distinctly lupine body, but it had human hands, bent and weathered. An old woman’s hands.

Oh Grandmother, Ana thought, inanely. What big teeth you have.

And if it was dead, which it could very well be, it had not been dead for long.

As slow as the shifting of a tectonic plate, it lifted its head and opened one blazing eye. Ana understood with a jolt that it had known they were there the whole time, that it had been listening.

It surveyed them, looking very old and very tired. It locked eyes with Ana. Then it spoke, in a voice so gravelly and ancient that Ana had no problem believing that it had been here for as long as there had been a here to be.

“Kids come with two heads these days?”

“Yes,” Ana said automatically, because even in her mindless terror she had to indulge her favorite hobby, which was tricking old people into believing things about The Youth. “But only the ones who are on social media too much.”

Presley frowned so hard that Ana could feel it from her shoulders, like an earthquake. “That’s not true,” she said. “We’re two separate kids. Stacked on top of each other.”

Wolf Lady huffed and closed her eyes again, apparently done with the conversation.

“Hey!” Siobhan said. “Hey, ma’am, please–can you help us?”

“We fell down a portal,” Presley supplied. “We’ve been here four days, and we’re going to die here.”

Wolf Lady smiled. It was the smile of a rotting jack-o-lantern, and it showed a glint of teeth. “Not a bad place to die,” she said, almost to herself. “But most people deserve better.”

“Do you have food?” Xian had crouched down, like she was speaking to a sleepy child. “Or–or do you know how to get some?”

“No,” Wolf Lady said. “No. You don’t need to get food. You need to get out.”

Silence. Outside, the wind wailed.

“What happened here?” Xian asked. Her voice was tight, thin. “I found these–all these bones.”

“You what?” Siobhan said.

“War,” Wolf Lady said. There was something inarticulable in her voice, a kind of grief that had exhausted all other avenues and therefore had no choice but to live forever in this cave.

“They were huge bones.”

“Big war.” Wolf Lady opened her eyes again. “Maybe you’ve noticed it. Wasn’t the kind of thing you can get out of the carpet. You, two-headed one. Grab my specs.”

“Specs?” Presley said, confused, but Ana tapped her head and then pointed to one edge of the cave, where a pair of thin, cracked glasses had gathered what looked like years’ worth of dust and melted snow.

Xian was the one who picked them up, but she handed them to Ana. On some old impulse, Ana slid them over the bridge of her nose.

Immediately, the world exploded in a paroxysm of color, spreading across the four of them like an oil slick. Wolf Lady seemed to be the center of it, bleeding orange from every inch, but there was so much of it coming from everywhere that Ana had to pull them off again.

“You can use those to get home,” Wolf Lady said, in the tone that one might say you can use salt to improve this soup. “Find the portals. For the love of God, get out of here.”

Ana cradled them against her chest. Siobhan looked openly skeptical, but she hadn’t tried them on. Ana believed that the glasses could do whatever they had to. Could reach through time and bring them back to some soft, scared world where everything they needed was still in one piece.

“Are you coming with us?” Xian asked. Her voice had gone quiet again, the way it did when she already knew the answer. Like when she predicted the endings of movies, the sad, certain everyone dies.

Wolf Lady laughed. As strange and animalistic as the rest of her was, her laugh seemed very human. “A very, very long time ago, I worked at a place where the only rule was that the kids had to make it out okay. The rest of us–well, it depended on how the forest felt. But we made it a long time, on that rule. I’m not breaking it now.”

“Thank you,” Presley said. Every word out of Presley’s mouth had an incredible gravity to it even in the silliest of situations; now, Ana could hardly bear to hear it. “We’ll remember you forever.”

“Oh, don’t do that to yourselves,” Wolf Lady said. “My name is Rosie. Think of it every once in a while, and forgive yourselves for the rest.”

.

Outside, everything was degrees of white and black, the snow bracing itself against the sky. Presley’s stomach was a black hole, and the rest of her was so numb as to cave in on itself.

She took one of Siobhan’s hands and one of Xian’s. Ana reached down and squeezed her shoulder.

They began to walk, and across the end of the world, a portal blinked into being

[lokidiabolus]

Last Resort - Chapter 2

Fandom: The Maze Runner

Pairing: Thomas x Newt

Warnings: ex boyfriends, AU

Summary: Three years after breaking up with Thomas, Newt finally thought the past of hating each other was behind them, until Thomas asked him for a favour - pretend they got back together for a week while staying at his parents’ home. Because it was an absolutely dumb idea, Newt was inclined to refuse, but then found himself in the house he used to visit when he was in love and happy and the bitter reality of only pretending for people he always liked made him miserable. But it was nothing against dealing with Thomas himself for a week straight and trying not to fall back in love that hurt them both.

Or: Prompt ch. 192 with added spice. Or something. I just needed to write for a while :’)

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I think I never did so much rewriting like I did with this chapter. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I swear my brain just can't come up with anything else. Scrapped like 6 pages asdfjslfjslfjsdl. Now it's short :c

Anyway, guess I just wanted a bit of Thomas' insight for it. He's complicated lol. Or maybe not really, just trying to keep up. Don't we all though lol.

Oh and @izzymultifan (actually remembered)

Unbetad!

EDIT: (17. 5. 2021) I edited the ending with a lil continuation of the scene I previously deleted, because I thought it was unnecessary, but then I returned to it after few days and thought it should stay. It's not very long but I guess it's kinda important.

***

Thomas woke up disoriented, thirsty and definitely not rested enough, like when his alarm goes off on a workday and he only slept for four hours. But here was no alarm, no work, just him waking up with a flinch and realizing he wasn’t in his flat, and he wasn’t alone either.

The blond hair right in his face immediately pushed him into realization he was holding onto Newt like he was his lifeline, one hand under the shirt on his belly, other on his chest clutching the fabric, and an unmistakable morning hello tenting his pants, digging right into Newt’s backside. In retrospect there wasn’t much worse Thomas could have done to him, except maybe having a hand down his pants (which admittedly he used to do sometimes when they were together, but then again, that situation definitely didn’t scream murder like it would now).

In a sleepy confusion that hazed his just-woken-up-brain he searched the foggy memory on how this situation came to be, no matter how familiar it felt to him. Newt made himself pretty clear about sleeping together, so the sudden closeness – well, more like an absolute merge, unless he’d slip in – no, no dirty thoughts, bad Thomas, bad – didn’t make much sense.

The night came back to him embarrassingly slow – he got drunk because for some reason his dad decided to decimate his super precious whiskey, even though normally he hoarded it like a dragon his gold. He could only think of Newt being the incentive, drinking the whiskey so fast in his dad’s eyes, while Thomas downed it all to save him from barfing (Newt’s alcohol tolerance never existed in the first place, he disliked about any kind of it, and as far as Thomas remembered he got drunk only once with vodka mixed with orange juice on Aris’ wedding, because he could barely taste the vodka in it until it was too late). Then the world started spinning, Newt dragged him to his room somehow… which sounded farfetched, so maybe dad helped, he drew blank around that area honestly, probably because he stood up and all the alcohol began circulating faster. Then they talked… probably, and then Thomas fell asleep, since that’s all he could recall.

And now his hard-on was trying to get some, and he held Newt against himself with sheer ferocity of an obsessive hugger off his meds and the realization dawned on him like tons of bricks. Was he going to wake him up if he let go? Newt always woke up at the slightest noise before, there was no way of going to pee at night without getting back to the blond blinking owlishly at him, asking what happened. Was this Newt he barely knew anymore still the same? Still twitchy and light sleeper and grumpy and slow to rise when getting up?

Thomas didn’t have much choice anyway, did he. He just had to let go either way, and preferably remove his hips from Newt’s back and act like it was no biggie to be hard when in bed with his ex. He slowly untangled his hand from the front of Newt’s shirt and retreated from under the shirt as well with the other hand and managed to roll onto his back without Newt visibly stirring, which was a success. Unless he pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to Thomas about pushing into him like a horny teenager, which also worked.

Not like he hadn’t been doing that in the last month of their relationship anyway, just... ignoring the problem until it went away (a problem named Thomas) and well, ultimately it succeeded. It would work now too, and Thomas refused to poke the wasp nest this early in the morning – judging from the clock at 8:04 – and just went with the flow.

Need coffee, he thought unhappily when the headache set in. And water. Maybe some alone time in a bathroom first.

Newt didn’t stir until Thomas slinked out of the bedroom, which was a complete lie.

***

“Dad, just drop it,” Thomas repeated for fourth time when his dad couldn’t stop haggling him about his childlike alcohol tolerance the moment he appeared in the kitchen, asking for black coffee. He couldn’t tell him he drank Newt’s portions and without that argument nothing would sound plausible anyway, so he just dodged it with an increasing headache. Newt got up about half an hour later and didn’t speak a word to him – Thomas would even say he avoided his eyes several times, which meant he was absolutely awake in the morning to witness all of Thomas’ struggle to even exist around him peacefully. Which he couldn’t for years, really, so this only proved it.

It was fine. Thomas learned how to deal with it, despite taking him two years to come in terms of being hated by a person he loved since he was 17. Well, everything around the breakup took a lot from him, but he dealt with all eventually, right? He could finally look Newt in the eye without having all the incoherent anger and frustration pile up and he could talk to him fine as well unless they breached one of the thousand forbidden topics. Like them. Like family. Like love. Like sleeping. Like breathing, existing and fucking just trying to live.

Anyway. All dealt with, of course. No hard feelings.

(Lots of them.)

“You dealt with the drunkard just fine, right Newt?” his dad chattered towards the blond, patting him on his back and Newt forced a smile and a nod. Thomas saw this particular expression too often to not recognize it and huffed while sitting down at the counter with his own coffee.

He was used to being a bad guy anyway, no matter how much of the blame he genuinely deserved. They both knew he didn’t get drunk because he wanted to get wasted enough to drop unconscious on a spot and Newt would be a hypocrite to badmouth him when he was pouring all his whiskey to Thomas’ glass with thankful expression yesterday. But then again, not even he could tell Thomas’ dad about it, so they just had to have this unspoken oh yes, Thomas is a real piece of work as always.

Which sort of sucked. But Thomas couldn’t care less what his dad thought about his alcohol tolerance, it wasn’t like he threw up everywhere or broke mum’s precious bowls set (again). Not that he expected Newt to defend him anyhow, but he could at least say nooo, he was fine, he just fell asleep or something. Not that it surprised him he didn’t, but…

“He used to drink majority of guys from my work under the table and now look at him,” his dad delivered his fifth Thomas can’t drink for shit jab. He sure loved to milk that. “At least he has you to look after him, huh.”

Thomas stared at Newt’s back with mild annoyance the more the blond refused to elaborate on anything, just smiling at his dad while making himself a cup of coffee, and then Thomas’s eyes suddenly fell on the nape of Newt’s neck with a vicious, red mark near the hairline, and his whole body seized up like he got paralyzed.

A hickey? Since when? From who? What? Wait, was Newt already dating somebody else?

Saying already like three years were short amount of time… Thomas mentally scolded himself and his body raised up on its own volition, like being pulled in by some invisible force towards the blond. He had no clue if it were a twisted need for revenge or vindication or just him being unable to come in terms of not being told or warned, or maybe all of it together, he just couldn’t stop and plastered himself all over Newt’s back, trapping him between his body and the counter, circling his thin waist like a vine (he got thinner for sure).

“Of course I have you, don’t I,” he purred into Newt’s ear, loud enough for his dad to hear perfectly, and felt how Newt’s whole body froze, his hand mid-stir of the coffee. Thomas could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. “Looking after me when I get hammered into unconsciousness.”

“Yeah.” Newt’s voice sounded small, and Thomas wanted to bite down at that red, angry place on his nape like an animal. His dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but his ego sure would. He let his hands slide lower, to Newt’s hips, grabbing a handful, and the habitual movement made him restless. He did it zillion times during the time they were together. He did less, he did more, naked, clothed, lying, standing up, in whatever situation, touching Newt was his privilege.

And some fucking horny prick just took it?

Just marked his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, Thomas, ex-boyfriend for three years, pull yourself together, you’re not 17 anymore – like a property and he didn’t even fucking notice?

Newt’s breath hitched and the spoon he was holding dropped into the coffee, splashing the black liquid around it, dribbling down the drawers under, making the blond curse under his breath.

“Sorry,” he immediately said towards Thomas’ dad who was handing him a cloth to wipe it with, and started squirming. “Thomas, leggo. Can’t reach.”

“Don’t wanna,” Thomas refused, squeezing Newt even tighter. “I’m hangover and miserable and you’re supposed to take care of me.”

Thomas’ dad snorted but took the hint and retreated while calling at his wife the boys are being rowdy again, Anna! And the kitchen fell back into silence, except of their breathing, with Thomas plastered against Newt’s back like he wanted to topple him over (he sort of did).

“Do you enjoy being a bloody prick?” Newt finally broke the spell, pawing at Thomas’ hands to get them off, his voice an angry whisper. “What’s your deal, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hangover,” Thomas huffed, not letting go and to be completely honest, Newt wasn’t really trying as much, just slapping his hands half-heartedly. “Could’ve at least said I didn’t give you any trouble, I covered for you the whole night.”

“You gave me loads of it!” Newt started wiggling, and Thomas had to fight the urge to just bite down, mark any piece of skin available, to make the restlessness go away. “You were heavy as fuck, I had to carry you all the way to your room!”

“Yeah, and?” Thomas grabbed him lower, and Newt pinched his hand in revenge, which finally made him let go with sharp breath.

“Fuck you,” the blond barked at him with fiery eyes. “I don’t know what you are trying to prove but groping me is not on the bloody table, get it?!”

“Mhm,” Thomas rubbed the place Newt pinched him at. “Sure. No fun allowed, got it.”

“Fuck off!”

Thomas hated how Newt turned away and the hickey was so visible it made his insides churn. He used to talk about his problems a lot these past few years, so he could finally let go of whatever was holding him in place, unable to forget, and he thought he reached that point, that he was free.

Looking at Newt marked by another man… no. He was not. Still stuck, still the same.

Still angry and miserable.

Still… there.

***

The fact Newt refused to talk to him completely was an understatement. Thomas blamed his unsteady approach on the alcohol, because what else he could blame it on – his own feelings? He sodealt with those already, there was nothing that would make him see red.

Except of a hickey on his ex-boyfriend’s neck, that would do it. Apparently.

But still – it was the hangover that made him stupid, right. If he’d be completely sober and not aching anywhere and his mind clear, he would just… shrug at it. It was Newt’s business who he slept with or not, or who he let bite his nape like a dog (some young fucking idiot who thought hickeys are still sexy? Stupid shit).

Not Thomas’. Not anymore.

The more he tried to push it away from his mind, the more his mind pushed back, just pointing it out loudly every time he glanced towards the blond sitting on the couch in the living room, bundled in a fluffy blanket, fiddling with his phone.

He was fiddling with his phone a lot actually. Texting somebody?

The guy who left the mark?

Thomas felt the irrational anger seep into his consciousness again and he forced it back down with a frown. He knew asking Newt to help him to get his parents off his back wasn’t exactly a great idea (asking ex to be your bf again for a show just screamed trouble), but at the same time asking anybody else just felt… wrong.

Thomas had to admit he’d be able to go along with this only with Minho, probably. Because Minho was a born actor, he’d be able to breeze though this with ease and Thomas’ parents would like him for sure, because, well, everybody liked Minho, honestly.

Asking Teresa or Brenda was just… desperate. Because other than them it would be Newt and getting back together with Newt… well. Thomas could tell from the moment he saw him getting into his car in front of Newt’s workplace it was going to be tough for both of them.

Not much of a surprise so far climbing Mt. Everest would be easier than keeping his chaotic feelings under control.

“You need some fresh air,” his vision of Newt got obstructed by his mum in a frilly apron she wore unironically and he looked up to her with half-lidded eyes.

“I think I need chicken soup, actually,” he offered in response, because dragging himself through the snow outside now sounded like a death penalty.

“Air first,” she insisted, adamant, and turned towards Newt like an executioner. “Right, Newt? A walk would do him good.”

Newt looked at Thomas and Thomas just knew. He was doomed. Newt was going to betray him like Scar did with Mufasa and he’d enjoy it, he could see the glint in his eyes, just shining there, spelling revenge in big, neon letters.

Please, he mouthed at the blond in desperation and Newt tilted his head to the side and then his mouth curled up.

“Sure, that’s a great idea, Anna,” he signed the death certificate without an ounce of shame and relished in it.

Fuck you, Thomas mouthed again, and Newt sent him a condescending smile. Fuck him especially.

***

“You’re unusually quiet,” his mum casually pointed out like she didn’t just drag him out to cold ass weather while holding a knife (butter one, but that’s what made it scarier), despite his very vocal (or vocal sort of, too loud and his brain wanted out of his skull) protests.

“Hungover,” he reminded her bitterly. The snow under their feet crunched sharply and the noise was tearing his brain to pieces, like walking on a broken glass and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to act like it wasn’t killing him.

“Well, it was nice of you to cover for him,” Anna shrugged like she didn’t just blew their cover with a killer one liner and Thomas probably shouldn’t have been as surprised. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink.”

“That’s cuz he can’t drink for shit,” he mumbled with a frown. “Did dad notice?”

“No,” she shook her head. “He was too busy boasting about the partnership. It’s been some time since I’ve seen him so happy, you know how he hoards the whiskey otherwise.”

“Yeah, cheapskate,” Thomas snorted, and the noise sliced his brain painfully, like an instant karma.

“Think he was happy about Newt being back too,” she hit the nail on the head a bit too close to home and Thomas hated how his stomach lurched at it. “Well, you know him.”

“Sure is happy for not getting any grandkids,” he just grumbled and Anna patted him on his back.

“We still have Hannah,” she reminded him sweetly. “Maybe one day she’ll feel like having kids and force you to babysit for her two times a week.”

“Me? You’re going to be the grandparents, it’s your obligation to babysit!” The idea of taking care of Hannah’s kids made him scared for life, and they didn’t even exist yet.

“Pretty sure Newt wouldn’t mind,” she chirped happily, and Thomas loathed how right she probably was. Newt never really showed any kind of real interest in having kids or anything, but he never minded babysit for his own sister, and generally all the kids liked him.

Not that thinking about that had any merit anyway, since they split up with a point of no return. Maybe Newt already planned kids with the new person who left the distasteful hickey on his nape, or the person who he kept texting, and the more Thomas thought about it, the more his chest burned.

“Cherish him a bit more, would you,” she poked his arm. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you have some beef between you. Had an argument before coming here?”

Why the fuck is she so perceptive?

“A bit,” he answered quietly. “No biggie.”

“Set things right,” she plainly ordered him like he was ten again and had do her bidding. “I don’t want another sad Christmas.”

There isn’t going to be any Christmas for us, he wanted to tell her, but kept his mouth shut. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be anything for them, at all.

I really need some sleep.

***

Not very often did the morning come so peacefully, like a gentle spring washing over tired soul, leaving it invigorated. Thomas basked in the pleasantness of it, a quiet, warm and relaxed moment where he slowly woke up from a dream into reality still welcoming and soft like he never left the fantasy realm.

He took a deep breath, stretching, slowly coming to realize of contours of another body pressed into him, and under his hands and around his legs and under his chin. The soft blond hair came to view when he opened his eyes, with Newt draped around him needily, and his heart melted.

The first night in their flat. Their home. A place that only belonged to them, these walls and floors, and small kitchen and big windows, for them together. It came true, finally, inevitably, for Thomas to have Newt all for himself, to share his mornings, his evenings, his life with him. Nothing else could make him happier.

“You already up?” came a sleepy rumble from Newt’s chest, the hands holding Thomas’ waist slowly moved up, to his back, pushing them even closer together.

“Just woke up,” Thomas kissed the top of the blond strands, his own hands traveling over Newt’s back, right onto his butt, kneading it.

“Mmmm.” Approving sound doubled his endeavour and then Newt was slowly grinding to him, lazily, his lips stretched in a smile, reaching to pamper Thomas’ neck with small kisses. “This sure is nice, huh.”

“Love it,” Thomas agreed with the sentiment while grabbing Newt’s thigh and hiking it up over his hip. The blond softly moaned at the contact and Thomas pushed more into it, completely awake and needy and allowed. There was nobody that could hear them, scold them or gasp in shock like a puritan at them making out – just them, two lovers in their home, free to make love any time they wanted.

And Thomas wanted too much.

***

He never stopped wanting.

He woke to his room bathing in shadows, with the blanket twisted between his legs, his headache still present, even though in weaker state than in the morning, and his body wasn’t any less sluggish. The walk with his mum didn’t help him much, just added to his misery with freezing cold and nagging reality he couldn’t play this game any longer, which made him feel empty and unhappy.

He didn’t feel this unhappy in a while, it usually only came back when he heard of Newt about a year after the breakup. Every time his ex came back to his life, even when somebody only mentioned him in a passing conversation, Thomas’ chest set off that painful pang in it, like a trigger just waiting to be pressed, and he fell back into hollow kind of depression.

He got rid of it, somehow. He built walls around himself, he locked all of his twisted personality traits and pushiness and hateful behaviour away, he spent years searching for more he could fix, for all that made Newt unhappy with him, what made him leave Thomas after seven years without really talking about it.

He thought he managed to become a better person. He believed he could change the way he acted. He hoped if he ever talked to Newt again, at any point of their lives, he would be at least able to show him he wasn’t that ungrateful, lousy boyfriend anymore, that they could at least be friends. Somehow. Just talk normally. Just… exist in the same room without… Newt making that anguished face, like it hurt him still.

Thomas tried. But failed. Maybe it was just recurring theme of his life – to touch something wonderful, to taste true happiness, just to fuck it all up and lose it.

Maybe he was just obsessive. Suffocating.

Maybe making mistakes were rooted too deep in him to get rid of.

Maybe… it was simply impossible.

***

Newt was playing games with Hannah in the living room when Thomas came back down. Hannah made fun of him for sleeping all day like an old guy and his mum said something about hoping he didn’t catch a cold and gave him a bowl of chicken soup.

The strange, unattached feeling stayed with him since he woke up, and only doubled when he saw Newt’s neck marked by some fucker on display. His stomach churned at the implication there was this unknown guy waiting for Newt to come back home, who kept impatiently sending him texts that made Newt frown and smile in turns, like he just slowly sunk back into the problem they never resolved. Thomas felt disgusted with himself, and angry, and, when it came to it, immensely tired.

“Oh, you have the whole week free?” his mum asked suddenly, breaking Thomas’ bubble of trying to eat the soup like a mental case of lobotomy, and he realized there had been a conversation going in meantime and he didn’t catch any of it. Newt wasn’t playing the game anymore, though Hannah still furiously pressed buttons on her controller, and instead of it sat on the couch, turned towards Thomas’ mum at the table.

“Yeah, thought getting out of the city might do me good,” he answered her with a soft smile and the idea of another week like this sent Thomas into desperate mode. Even though it was him who forced Newt to take whole week off, because… he only had bad ideas, obviously.

“But there’s bit of a rush now, right?” he entered the conversation impulsively and Newt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “At work. Christmas and all that being close.”

“Yeah, it’s… a bit hectic,” the blond admitted, making Thomas’ mum go aww. “There’s lots of people taking vacations they didn’t spend yet, so we usually work crunch time.”

“Yeah, kind of same,” Thomas added. It wasn’t really a lie. But not the truth either. “And I know I said a week, but I’ve got some texts from work already, thought of going back tomorrow instead.”

Newt stared at him with an evident confusion, but Thomas knew at this rate they were going to crash and burn again if they stayed, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t even trust himself to keep it civil when his blood boiled like in a bull taunted with red flag.

Except the red flag was an unknown nobody on the other side of the line of Newt’s phone.

And bed.

“Uh,” came from the blond. “No, wait. What? You…”

“We can visit again during Christmas,” Thomas offered a big fat lie, he almost bit his tongue at it. Christmas were a taboo, he knew mentioning it were already risky, but it gave him an out with his mum, so that worked at least. “When it’s calmer.”

“When is what calmer?” Newt still stared, Thomas said almost disbelieving, and he just prayed for him to play along and not act like he knew nothing about it.

“Work,” he answered stiffly. Too stiffly, he realized, since Newt’s eyes narrowed.

“Uh oh,” he heard Hannah interject, which meant he already failed in the mission to make this believable. Fuck.

“I need a smoke,” the blond announced instead of reacting and stood up sharply. Then shot Thomas a badly masked glare. “Keep me company?”

He wanted to say no but couldn’t when his whole family watched them like during tennis match. So he just nodded and followed Newt outside of the house while feeling like slapping himself.

***

“Care to explain or am I supposed to guess.”

The cigarette was lit, its fiery tip shone bright in the darkness of the porch once the automatic light shut itself because they weren’t moving like they rooted in the wooden floor. Newt was wearing his coat and Thomas only stood there in the long-sleeved shirt, which in retrospect was probably a mistake.

“I did explain,” Thomas said. “Just thought about work-,”

“No, you didn’t,” Newt stopped him immediately while crossing one of his arms on his chest while other held the cigarette like a weapon. “You said a week, so I took a week off. I’m not bloody leaving now. It’s my vacation.”

“I also said three days would probably be enough,” Thomas asserted. “And they are. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Why?” the blond demanded. “It’s not like I suffer here. I like this place. What’s your problem?”

That kind of question had no easy answer and Thomas held Newt’s eyes only for few seconds, before looking away.

“Am I the problem?” came another question, even sharper. “You just can’t stand me anymore, so you want to leave?”

“You know that’s bullshit,” Thomas scoffed. “Since when did I ever-,”

“No, I don’t know!” Newt interrupted him with raised voice and Thomas flinched. “I don’t bloody know anything about you anymore! You brought me here and expected what? War? Did you want us to fail?”

“Why would I want us to fail?” Thomas’ eyes widened in a shock. “What kind of fucked up logic would that be?!”

“I don’t know!” Newt barked. The cigarette he was holding was slowly fading away, the ash falling everywhere how he moved his hand. “But something’s up since this morning, so obviously you’re lying about work and I want to know why!”

Well, finding out his ex-boyfriend had a lover, or a sex friend or whatever the other person was definitely served as a wake-up call. Thomas couldn’t overlook it – he thought he’d be fine with anything, it had been years, but one fucking hickey and some fleeting texts and he just had the rising urge to tear the walls he built down and get angry and make Newt inevitably miserable, which he despised.

He fucking loathed it. And himself. And everything around him.

“Why did you even agree to come here?” he couldn’t help but demand. “Why did you even bother playing this stupid game when you have somebody home? You trying to make him jealous or it’s just your thing?”

Accusing – stupid Thomas, fucking idiot, just talk normally, what’s wrong with you – as always.

“What?” Newt’s eyes shot up, wide in honest surprise. His cheeks were red from the cold, or maybe embarrassment, Thomas didn’t know. “What are you talking about?”

“About that hickey on your neck?” Thomas pointed towards the incriminated spot and Newt’s whole body went rigid.

“A hickey…?” Newt’s free hand was touching the place now, his voice shocked. “You… ugh.”

“Look, it’s not my business, clearly,” Thomas rubbed his eyes tiredly, desperately trying to make an excuse for his own consciousness why he couldn’t look at Newt. “But obviously it’s causing you trouble with him, so. As I said. Three days are fine, we can leave now. Go back home. Forget about this.”

And forget about me trying to corner you, and me getting hard in the bed with you this morning, and me sounding jealous and lame, and me… just for being me.

“Are you fucking with me?” Newt’s voice sounded disbelieving. “Are you bloody serious right now? A hickey from some random guy appeared over night here? That’s what you’re saying?”

Overnight…?

“Overnight?” he asked a little dumbly, which forced him to look Newt in the eyes, where he saw hell unleashed. It made his throat squeeze almost hard enough to suffocate him.

“You think I just popped back home for a quickie, then back to your bed in the morning like a bloody Cinderella?” the blond seethed, the cigarette in his hand morphing into a protentional weapon of choice. “Where did that even came for, for fuck’s sake? You’d been seeing me for two days, never noticed anything, and then suddenly your Esmeralda syndrome got cured or what?”

“But-,”

“You bloody drunk fucker,” Newt took a step towards him and Thomas found himself hitting the entrance door with his back, when he automatically tried to back out. “Should have known your bird brain won’t remember anything.”

The realization hit Thomas like tons of bricks right in his face, able to cause heavy concussion if it were real.

“I did this?!”

“No, the bloody sucker behind you, who the fuck do you think?!” Newt’s voice was harsh, but Thomas could only hear the bare fact he made a hickey of size of Texas on his ex-boyfriend’s nape while spending the next day being jealous… of himself.

“What the fuck,” he breathed out with an ugly relief flooding his veins, which was all sorts of wrong. Being relieved over attacking his ex at night definitely did not count as a good point in anybody’s book. “What the fuck.”

“Calmer now?” Newt sighed in exasperation and Thomas couldn’t say he was. It just opened door to another set of bad he had to deal with.

“I attacked you when drunk?” he asked quietly, and Newt blinked in surprise.

“Attacked?” he repeated and then barked out a laugh. “No, you really didn’t. You were drunk out of your mind, for fuck’s sake.”

“I see.”

“Didn’t think it left anything,” the blond sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if in memory, which was kind of hot – no Thomas, it was not hot, but embarrassing, shut up -. “I mean you just munched on me a little, then fell back asleep. No harm done.”

“You made a fuss about us sleeping in one bed but it’s no biggie when I leave a hickey?” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little and Newt’s face showed signs of hesitation.

“Look…” he tried after a moment, the cigarette in his hand nearly gone. “I… don’t know, you were just sleeping while holding me, it doesn’t mean anything-,”

“And that’s fine with you?” It was Thomas’ turn to interrupt him, and Newt looked a little lost for a moment.

“I suppose that’s fine with me, yeah,” he admitted slowly.

Thomas looked at his shoes, taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t deny the knot forming in his belly over the day already started easing off, for purely selfish reasons he had, but at the same time his head became even a bigger mess than before.

“So what does it mean?” he asked after a while. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, I thought… you’d rather leave than stay with me longer, after today, but…”

“I want to stay,” Newt answered immediately. “Unless you really don’t want me here. Then no, of course. I had the same problem the first day, feeling all kinds of weird and jumpy. I guess I just sort of dealt with it. Stepped out of my comfort zone and all that.”

“Sorry you had to.”

It wasn’t like Thomas wanted Newt to change anyhow by doing this favour for him. But he’d also be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he wished Newt to feel good here. With him. Selfishly, hopelessly. Like before, like they were okay. Like they still… liked each other. At least a little.

He knew that kind of hope was self-destructive and harmful, but he didn’t stop loving this man three years ago, after going through an immensely rough patch, so he wouldn’t stop loving him now for no reason either.

“No need to be sorry,” Newt interrupted his thoughts with much softer tone than Thomas expected. “I mean even despite it’s you, you didn’t really do anything bad yet.”

“Wow,” Thomas snorted. “Way to ruin the mood, boyfriend.”

“I try,” Newt grinned, and it seemed like the tense mood dissipated and they both relaxed enough to breathe easier. Thomas possibly wouldn’t even notice he had been so strung up until now, if the huge boulder of irrational fear of fucking up didn’t fall off his shoulders with a bang.

“And just for the record,” Newt added while finally inhaling the last puff from the already burned-out cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I noticed you digging into me in the morning.”

“Of course you did…” Thomas banged the back of his head against door in utter shame. “Because universe hates me, and you had to fucking wake up.”

“Yeah, well,” Newt let out a small shrug. “I got hard at night, if it makes you feel any better. Let’s call it even.”

“What.”

“Had a real nice dream,” the blond casually announced like he was ordering pie with no filling and Thomas was a stupefied cashier at Costa Cafe. “Woke up with you being handsy with me. Tried to scramble away, cue for you to make the hickey and fall back asleep.”

“Uh.”

“1:1, right?” The sly smile Newt’s mouth produced did things to Thomas’ underbelly and before he even caught himself, he automatically reached out and grabbed Newt’s side.

Fuck.

“Pretty lousy score,” he just said – bad Thomas, stop making a pass at your ex -, “That’s no match whatsoever.”

Newt glanced at his hand resting on his waist and then back to Thomas with a thoughtful hum.

“I’m not that good at sports,” he just said, looking back into Thomas’ eyes. “But you might be onto something.”

Thomas took a deep breath and risked the second hand grabbing other side of Newt’s waist, pulling him closer. The layers of clothing made him dissatisfied, no matter how cold it was and how his skin already felt like ice, he just wanted to get under the coat and the sweater and the shirt and make Newt react somehow. The blond just silently watched him, let him do whatever he wanted, and somehow it felt like a test and Thomas was scared of failing it.

“That’s it?” Newt broke the tense silence around them when Thomas just stood there, holding him.

“Thinking,” the brunet mumbled with a frown.

“About?”

“How to touch you without it being classified as groping,” he moved his hands a little lower as an experiment, getting no reaction. “Since it’s off the table.”

“Pfff.”

He hesitated, then gingerly let go of one side and reached for the zipper lodged under Newt’s chin, keeping the coat closed like a fortress. His hand barely cooperated with how frozen it was, but Newt still didn’t stop him and that encouraged him unfairly.

“Newt.”

“Yeah?” the blond’s voice was quiet and close to his face.

“What’s with all the texting?” He kept holding the zippier between his fingers like he couldn’t decide, and Newt made a soft huh? noise in the back of his throat.

“You were on your phone the whole day,” Thomas lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Is there somebody…?”

A sigh. Thomas let go of the zipper.

“That’s Alby,” came a reply and if Thomas wasn’t already propped against the door, he’d take a step back. There was nowhere to run now, so he just let go of the blond completely, nodding.

“He’s my partner,” another string of words Thomas comprehended but wished he didn’t. “A bit demanding one.”

“Sounds like it,” he just commented, staring at his feet until Newt’s shoes came into view as well when he stepped closer.

Seriously testing me. That’s-

“A bit cruel,” he breathed out with a puff of white smoke and Newt pushed further and pressed his mouth against Thomas’. His cold lips lingered for a moment before parting, their breaths mingling, and Thomas’ heart fought really hard to get out of his chest and run away. The proximity was non-existent, Newt stood so close their chests were touching, and his eyes were so dark, and pupils blown wide Thomas got easily lost in them.

He always did. Nothing had changed.

“You look cold,” Newt whispered to his lips, hovering so close their mouths gently touched when they took a breath.

“Freezing,” Thomas answered in daze, holding back only by a miracle. He wanted to reach out and pull the blond man flush against him, to grind into him, to kiss him so deep his toes would curl, and he’d buck up, he just wanted so much it made him suffer.

“Alby’s my colleague,” Newt dropped quietly. “Funnily… you weren’t wrong about work being in a rush now. He’s struggling a little. Wanted to know my opinion.”

A colleague. And nothing else?

“Nothing else,” Newt answered like he could read his mind and then sagged against Thomas’ body like the energy just left him, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder.

“I thought I can handle being this close to you,” he heard him mumbling into his shirt. “But the more I am, the less I can fight it.”

“I thought I can handle you dating somebody else,” Thomas added to it while letting his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. “But obviously not. It’s scary. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

“Yeah,” Newt agreed with him. “Me neither.”

He wasn’t sure if this had been some sort of consensus they reached, or just a fling that happened because they were both lonely, but Thomas didn’t want to let go – even though he should have, logically, to protect them both. The pain they caused to each other three years ago was still there and festering under their skins, but the more Newt was pressed into him, breathing softly, the more Thomas noticed his reason slowly creeped away, like a thief in the night disappearing with loot.

But he wanted. For fuck’s sake how he wanted to just hold him close and promise him love and eternal happiness, and the scary part was he couldn’t promise shit. His love was real, but not unconditional, happiness was fleeting and simply relying on both of them and the rest of the world deciding whatever to fuck them up or not.

But…

“I give up,” he mumbled, weary to the bone. At Newt’s soft hm? he just sighed. “It’s fucking cold.”

The blond barked out a laugh, but nodded and let go of him, immediately taking all the warmth away.

“Then shall we assure them we’re not breaking up again?” he nodded towards the door and without waiting for Thomas’ reply he already reached for the handle. “Or not leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” the brunet conceded. “Hannah’s going to be milking this for the rest of the week…”

“Serves you right,” Newt laughed quietly while opening the door and Thomas kept the answer to himself.

We’re not breaking up again rang in his head like a bell, deafening his reason even further. Newt didn’t protest when he reached for his hand on their way inside, and he wondered if his heart was ready for another trial.

He ignored the uncertainty and took a leap of faith.

[lakelewisia]

A Lewisian Year

Presented in partnership with the Lewisia Communications Board and Lewisia Public Library

Sponsored by The Historical Society

Hello, readers, listeners, and psychic osmosizers! Welcome to A Lewisian Year, a monthly showcase celebrating the rich culture here in the Lake Lewisia district. Each month, we'll highlight some seasonal events, local celebrations and interpretations of national and world holidays, and historical tidbits.

JULY

Firebird Eggs

It's a blazing hot day in the deep of summer, and you, unfortunately, have to go outside. If you were lucky, you would be headed to the lake, where the water keeps the ambient temperature a little lower, or into the woods, where the closeness of the air is offset by the relief of shade. But no. You're headed out to the Hawberry Flats area on the northeast of town, where a spread of glacier-flattened prairie gives the sunshine ample room to bake the grass and the people golden brown.

As you walk, relishing every small patch of shade that crosses your path, you notice a bush up ahead. It's small, and tangled with undergrowth around the base, and gently smoking. You blink and rub the sweat from your eyes. It's probably just heat haze, you think. When you look again, the smoke seems a little thicker, curling steadily upward in the still air.

You get closer to investigate, leaning to look inside. A pulse of heat washes up into your face. Down at the base of the bush, there is a nest built of grass and small sticks--built of tinder--and heaped up around the edges like a well-made campfire. There, in the heart of the fire-to-be, is a single, deep red egg. As you watch, it jostles side to side. And then...it ignites, flame bursting from a crack where the creature inside has started to break out into the world. A new firebird is born.

Not every summer boasts a hatching like this. No one knows for sure what makes a year right for newborn firebirds. (Firebird, phoenix, and sunbird are all commonly used, more or less interchangeably, though you can get a folklorist or a biologist going for hours on the finer points distinguishing the terms.) Heat, certainly, plays a part. It's thought that the slow, uneven incubation of firebirds has something to do with the availability of resources to support them. Not just any environment can sustain a population of large, intermittently flammable, quasi-immortal avians.

Summer Pests

Of course, not all creatures brought out by the heat are as welcome as newly-hatched firebirds. Heat, lack of water, and rapidly dwindling supplies of plant life can drive any number of small pests into homes and yards at this time of year. While we may have sympathy for their plights, it does become difficult to keep that in mind when you catch something scurrying behind the refrigerator every time you turn on the kitchen lights. Outside of Lewisia, people can expect an influx of flies, ants, and mice if they live anywhere near agricultural areas or open fields. Deserts get their visitations of snakes and scorpions. Here, though, the pests can run a bit more exotic, if not necessarily more hazardous.

Salamanders--the flaming kind, not the aquatic ones--start an estimated ten percent of minor brush fires every year. (The aquatic ones are more notorious for engaging in confidence games and small-time grifting.) Parasitic wasps here include dream- and memory-eating varieties, which can make napping while at the family cookout particularly fraught. Nothing can tear up a garden or lawn like an infestation of wolpertingers, which manage to molt, burrow, build nests, and scrape their antlers on anything that stays stationary longer than two minutes.

A particularly hardy clan of house brownies is said to have domesticated a strain of these chimerical garden pests, which I can only imagine comes as a mixed blessing for the humans sharing homes with them. Contracts with fae are not, in fact, the most exotic method used to manage unwanted wildlife. (Fairy knights jousting against a scorpion are a sight to behold, and may be well worth the sacrifice of blood favors.) Some chemical deterrents are available, but most people focus on making their living spaces less inviting to unwanted creatures. Then there are the homes that lean into the aesthetics of their unplanned tenants: the old Birchhead Manor, following its moat expansion, positively revels in the arrival of a fresh crop of Silent Gillmen (Hyla grendeliana) every spring.

Convention Season

If the outdoors are getting you down, you can always head inside to one of the many conventions taking place this summer. With people taking vacations from school and work and the weather generally stable-if-sweltering, summer is the preferred season for conventions. From international book festivals to small-town catch-all pop culture street fairs, almost anywhere is within reasonable travel of almost any interest's yearly gathering.

If there's one thing Lewisians love, it's any kind of celebration of niche interests and fanatical hobbies. Lewisia has previously hosted the Haunted Doll Collectors Society for their national event, multiple years of Weaver Weekend, and alternate years in a shared custody arrangement with the Ghostly Congress for "Afterlife the Convention." Local businesses enjoy the uptick in visitors and local people-watchers enjoy the free show of attendees going to and from the Event Center.

Plenty of conventions hosted away from Lewisia and her sister cities will still see a number of Lewisian attendees. December and January usually see a rush of organizing groups to purchase hotel room blocks and travel tickets as soon as convention badges go up for advance sale. Some of our local artists regularly tour around these outside conventions' Artist Alleys. Three current residents of Lewisia, in fact, owe their first contact with the town and eventual move here to artists at conventions.

Conventions that welcome cosplayers offer a particular advantage to Lewisians with more unusual body types. There has been an informal competition here in town for many years among non-human and semi-humanoid residents to craft elaborate cosplay costumes that allow them to walk in broad daylight among people who have no idea that ambulatory plants or marsupial darkness exist. Divisions within this competition include:

costumes designed to obscure the body entirely (popular with quadrupeds and others with body plans laid out more on the horizontal than the vertical);

costumes based on fictional versions of real species (werewolves and snake- or fish-based creatures leading the field);

and mundane cosplay that tries to accurately mimic standard human features and forms on non-standard bodies (dominated for three years running by a cephalopodic resident with a special knack for textural camouflage).

This Month in History

July 24th, 1999, is the most recent confirmed sighting of the fairy ball in the Lewisia area. While fairies are, obviously, common sights in Lewisia and elsewhere, the fairy ball is something different. No fairy asked about the subject has ever given an answer that consisted of anything other than bald-faced lies and open scorn for the asker. Those present at the time reported seeing wicker chariots pulled by luna moths, hot air balloons propelled by harnessed bats, and sprays of durable soap bubbles with free-floating occupants. All these and other unusual methods of travel headed west over the forest.

Speculation ran rampant at the time: The ball was being held over the ocean. No, it was on the moon, in the secret moon city. It was in response to the millennium coming to an end. No, it happened every year. It was an ill omen, a promise of coming prosperity, a sure sign of rain, drought, or wind, and a "rotten nuisance" to stargazers trying to enjoy a clear night. No one could agree on any of the details, except that it had been seen. A few individuals have claimed to have been spirited away to the fairy ball, though such a story is impossible to prove. All but one acknowledge being eventually returned after the event. The remaining one insisted xie still resides in the secret moon city and politely inquired after my comfort in the moon atmosphere when I interviewed xem.

That's a taste of what July has to offer us. See you next month, when August brings the first harvests and a definitely-not-fictitious return to school.

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Four

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3

Chapter 4: Writing on the Wall

Summary: Off to Hogwarts

                                                                                                    2 August 1991

DEAR Draco,

Sorry if this is messy. I thought I’d practice writing with a quill. It’s easier than I thought it’d be, but messier to. I have to remember not to leave the tip on the paper or it leaves big smudges.

What was the name of the restorant restaurant we went to lunch to? The cake at that place was the best I’ve had! I hope the food at Hogwarts is that good too. I can’t wait for classes to start. I’ve been reading a few of the books in the meantime. I decided to name my owl Hedwig, after a witch I read about in A History of Magic .

Will you be taking the train too? If you aren’t already sitting with friends, maybe we can sit together? If that’s okay, of course. You’ll be the only person I know so far. If you’ve got other friends sitting with you already no worries. I guess I’m just nervous. Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape told me about being famous, but I didn’t realize what they meant until I saw people’s reaction to hearing my name and seeing me. Do you think it will be the same at school?

Write back soon please!

Harry Potter

4 August 1991

Dear Harry,

Practice writing with a quill? Do you mean you’ve never used a quill before? What were you using to write until now?

The Copper Crup was the name. Mother would take me there for my birthday because their food is of much better quality than most of the others around. Of course, they have nothing on what our House elves can prepare at home, but it’s nice to go out sometimes, as Mother points out.

Mother and Father have said they have gotten me an owl from a breeder to take with me to Hogwarts. I haven’t seen him yet, but I think I’ll name him Vespid, after the most famous Wimbourne Wasps Beater.

Of course I’ll be taking the Hogwarts Express. All students have to take the train. Some of the others starting in our year I think expect me to sit with them since our parents are friends. Father probably wants me to, since their families are part of the Sacred 28. You can probably sit with us. Some of them are kind of dumb, though.

Did you really not know you are famous? Have you been living under a rock? Forget just school, or even England. Every witch and wizard in the WORLD knows who you are! They write an article about you every year in the Daily Prophet.

Draco Malfoy

                                                                                                    5 August 1991

Draco,

They write a WHAT about me every year? What’s the Daily Prophet? Is that like a newspaper for wizards? I thought I was just a normal, non-magical kid for years. I live with non-magical family, and they don’t like to talk about magic. But after what you said, I looked at more recent years. Did you know I’m mentioned in our A History of Magic book? Only a small bit, I guess ‘cause they don’t know anything else, but it’s embaressing. Embarassing? I can’t remember how to write that.

I guess if you’re used to quills, maybe you’ve never heard of a pen? It’s what non-magical folks use. It’s a big of plastic with ink inside of it and a metal tip to write with. Or pencils, which is wood. I’ve sent one of each over for you ‘cause I think it’d be easier than trying to explain in writing.

It doesn’t sound like you like those other kids. Do you have to sit with them? Can we move seats during the trip? Maybe you can sit with them for a little while and then leave.

But what do you mean, their families are sacred? What are House elves? I remember what you said Beaters did, but who was Vespid? Sorry if my questions are dumb. There’s so much I don’t know. But if my questions bother you, I’ll stop asking them.

Harry Potter

8 August 1991

Harry,

You live with Muggles? No wonder you don’t know anything! I can’t imagine growing up with no magic. How terrible. Lucky for you, I know all there is to know.

The Daily Prophet is the wizarding world newspaper. It gets delivered by owl every day. House elves are magical servants, but only older, more magical families have them. Most of the Sacred 28 do, anyway. The Sacred 28 are the oldest, pureblood wizarding families, and a lot of them are very important. None, of course, more than the Malfoys. Father is on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts, and he knows the Minister of Magic personally. Mother says that because of that, I must be careful with who I become friends with, as they might be trying to get close to me so their parents can get closer to Father, or because we’re wealthy.

It will probably be the same for you, since you’re famous. Mother said the Potters were very wealthy, too, when I asked. Did you inherit everything? Are you and your Muggles relatives living at the Potter estate?

Most importantly, we must do something about how little you know about Quidditch. Elric Vespid was a Beater for the Wasps something like 600 years ago. He hit a wasps’ nest so hard at the Appleby Arrows’ Seeker that he retired, and it’s why the team became known as the Wasps. I have sent over my favorite book, Quidditch Through the Ages. It will tell you all you need to know about the game. Mother says it’s polite to return gifts when you’re given something, so consider it a thanks for what you sent me. I have never seen a pen or pencil before. They’re strange. I think I prefer a quill.

If there’s no magic at your house, what do you do for fun?

Draco Malfoy

                                                                                                  11 August 1991

Hey Draco,

Thank you for the book! I’ve read it all. I can’t wait to see a real game.

Muggles aren’t all bad. But you should probably never meet my family. They are pretty terrible. If they’re the first Muggles any witch or wizard meets, they’d never want to meet another ever again and I wouldn’t blame them. They’re the worst, really. But my mum’s parents were Muggles, and I’ve mostly only known Muggles.

Wow, is your dad really that important? You must’ve been surprised when I didn’t know who you were then! It sucks you have to worry about people being friends with you only ‘cause of your dad or your family’s money. I hope we can both make friends who don’t care and just want to be our friends ‘cause they like us , you know?

As for what my parents left me, I actually only found out at Gringotts right before meeting you that they left me a lot of money. I had no idea before, but I guess technically, I am wealthy now? But I don’t know anything about an estate. I tried to ask my aunt and uncle, but like always, they didn’t really give me an answer. I think they don’t actually know, ‘cause if they knew about how much money they’d left me, I’m sure they’d have tried to take it. My uncle actually said my dad wouldn’t have had anything to give me worth writing a will for. Can you believe it? I decided not to tell them anything. Maybe the professors can help me look into it.

How cool would it be to find out there’s some big ol’ house somewhere they left me?

Harry Potter

   With letters to read and respond to every few days, the month of August flies by for Harry. It helps that aside from when he first came by and his aunt informed him he was to move his things to the upstairs spare bedroom, his family has mostly ignored him. Their daily interactions were limited to letting him know meals are ready, and one time when Uncle Vernon told Harry to stop letting his owl come in and out of the bedroom before the neighbors noticed. Hedwig was less than pleased with the restriction, but Harry opts to avoid any issues by only letting her out at night.

   Draco’s letters were an insight into the world he would be entering in a way that reading through his books could not provide.Occasionally, his comments about Muggles or Muggle-borns, directly or what seems to be implied, make him pause. Harry tries to avoid complaining about the Dursleys once he notices, because he doesn’t think it helps his case when he tries to explain to Draco that Muggles aren’t all bad.

   After all, Harry isn’t exactly Muggle-born, but his mother was, and he feels like he may as well be when he grew up knowing nothing about magic. It makes him wonder if others think the same, or if maybe Draco grew up in a family similar to the Dursleys in that they hated people who were different. It meant either having an entire world that might think less of his mom if she were alive, or having a friend who might have a lot more in common with his dreaded cousin than he’d hoped. Harry prefers to not worry about it now and just enjoy having someone his own age to talk to for the time being.

   He’ll worry about everything else once school begins.

~~~

DRACO wakes up on the first of September practically vibrating with excitement, and much earlier than needed, as the sun is only just beginning to lighten the sky outside his window. It’s not as large as the one in his room back at Malfoy Manor, but this residence is in London, and therefore much closer to King’s Cross Station, where he’ll need to be in a few short hours. He calls for a House Elf to ready a bath for him and is a whirl of movement as he double checks his trunks to ensure that nothing was forgotten when the House Elves finished packing it the night before. They didn’t, of course, but he needs to move, to do something, or he feels like he might explode.

   He’s been waiting his whole life to go to Hogwarts. He’s imagined grand adventures and wow-ing other students with his natural talents at magic and Quidditch, and winning the House Cup for Slytherin for the next seven years. Sure, now that he knows he’ll be going to school with the Harry Potter, he realizes that maybe he won’t be the most popular, but he’s basically made the most famous kid in school his best friend before anyone else has even met him! So they’ll just be the most popular students together.

   The Malfoys had hosted an end of summer party to celebrate the incoming class of Slytherins a week before the term was to begin. Such get-togethers was really an excuse for the parents to talk privately of whatever matters adults spoke of, while the children basically bragged and attempted to ingratiate themselves with whoever their parents had told them to, often those present considered one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or pestered the older among them to tell them more about Hogwarts.

   This specific gathering had only those whose families had children of Draco’s age and would be attending Hogwarts for the first time. Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Theodore Nott, Gemma Runcorn, and Daphne Greengrass--with her little sister Astoria in tow--were all expected to be sorted into Slytherin with Draco. They talked about what they expected based on information gleaned from older Slytherin students they knew, or some of the wild rumors they couldn’t seem to get confirmation or denial about, such as the Sorting being a test of skills. It quickly devolved into comparing the quality and price of the things they would be bringing to school.

   “Did you know,” Pansy suddenly piped up, interrupting Daphne Greengrass bragging about robes she’d gotten in Paris over the summer for school, “that Harry Potter is supposed to be starting this year too?”

   A new round of rumors and speculations they’d overheard from their parents were shared. Draco had been tempted to tell them that he had met the famous Boy Who Lived, the elusive child celebrity no one had ever seen. At least not accurately. The Daily Prophet had an artist rendering every year when they ran their anniversary article about the end of the Wizarding War, but the only description that anyone knew to be accurate was the lightning bolt scar on Harry Potter’s forehead.

   Instead he had kept it to himself, thinking it would be much funnier to present his good friend Harry Potter to them all on the Hogwarts Express. Imagining their expressions had delighted him, and as he gets ready, still brings a grin to his face. It helps to pass the time, which seems to drag on as he waits for it to be time to leave. Once his parents are awake and breakfast is served, though, it seems to be no time at all before they are at the station.

   They aren’t the first ones there, although he thinks if he had rushed his parents through breakfast, they might have managed it. Draco is certain his mother, who would normally only allow them to be either promptly on-time or fashionably late, is indulging his excitement. Being early means he practically has his pick of compartments. He opts for one in the middle, the House Elf that accompanied them puts his trunk in the compartment for him before disappearing back to Malfoy Manor, and then he goes to say goodbye to his parents. He allows his mother to fuss over him, smoothing his hair back and adjusting his robes as he tries not to impatiently look around. Even his parents are in for a surprise, as he has only told them that he’s been writing to the student he met at Diagon Alley with the Slytherin Head of House, Professor Snape, but not who that student is.

   “Lucius!”

   The Malfoy family turns as one to the voice calling. Mr. Parkinson is heading over, wife and daughter in tow. He’s pushing a cart with two trunks, presumably Pansy’s. It’s left to one side as the parents start talking, and Pansy comes over to Draco’s side, asking if he’s picked a compartment and where, so she can go sit with him.

   Draco doesn’t particularly want to sit with any of the girls he knows. For one, in his small experience, they tend to get bored with talk of Quidditch. For another, the compartments look like they’d fit about four to six comfortably, which means there’s just enough room for him, Harry, Theodore, and likely Vincent and Gregory, and still be able to sit one more. But if Pansy joins them, she’ll want at least one other girl to come, and then they’ll be over by one or squished in together.

   So he lies. ““Somewhere towards the front.” He makes a vague gesture, glad that his mother, if she notices, doesn’t correct him even though he knows she kept an eye on where he went when he boarded. Narcissa Malfoy always knows where Draco is at all times.

   Pansy nods her head, intercepting Crabbe and Goyle when they head over to get their help with her trunk. Ordering them, really, and Draco realizes that since she got to them first, they don’t know where he’s really sitting. Ah well, he’ll have to try to catch them on their own otherwise they’ll just have to sit with Pansy the whole trip.

   Hoping to catch Theodore before Pansy does so he can at least give him the right compartment, he suddenly catches sight of a familiar figure coming through the barrier from the Muggle side of King’s Cross station.

   “Oh, he’s here!” Draco announces, catching the attention the adults with the outburst. Before either of his parents can react, Draco is off, weaving his way through the crowd.

   Harry is moving slowly, pushing the cart with his heavy trunk and his caged owl, fascinated with the sight before him. He’d known, logically, that the professors wouldn’t have lied to him about how to get to the platform. It hadn’t prevented him from feeling like he was going to crash into a solid wall and cause a scene as he moved towards the barrier. He’s surprised and delighted to instead find a whole hidden section of the station. There are people all around, adults saying goodbye to their children, students greeting each other and gathering in small groups, and then there’s a blond boy standing in front of him, bringing Harry to an abrupt stop.

   “There you are,” Draco says by way of greeting. “What took you so long?”

   “Hey! We left a bit later than I’d hoped,” Harry explains. “It’s like a two to three hour drive for us. How’d you get here?”

   “We have a London residence,” Draco explains, his tone suggesting that this should be obvious. “And of course, with Father’s connections, we got a Ministry car to drive us. Come on then, my parents will want to meet you before we board.”

   Harry follows after Draco, slowing his steps when he gets a good look at the group awaiting them. He recognizes Mrs. Malfoy from the glimpse he got of her at Diagon Alley, and Draco’s practically the spitting image of his father, so it’s easy to figure out which is Mr. Malfoy. The rest of the adults, however, he can’t begin to guess who they are. What’s more, all eyes are on him and although he’d tried to remind himself that morning that this might happen once people realized who he was, there’s something distinctly unnerving about the way he’s being watched right now. They leave his cart by the train entrance, just to the side so as to not be in anyone’s way, and then Draco leads him over to the group watching them.

   “Mother, Father.” Draco stops in front of his parents. “This is the boy I met at Diagon Alley, Harry Potter. Harry, my parents Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”

   “H-How do you do?” Harry mutters, trying to stand still under their scrutiny.

   “Why, Mr. Harry Potter. This is a pleasant surprise,” Mr. Malfoy says, smiling. It’s not a very friendly look. “How exciting for the students of Hogwarts to get to go to school with the wizarding world’s biggest hero.”

   Something about the way Mr. Malfoy says it makes Harry feel like he’s being insulted or mocked to his face. “I, uh, I should put my stuff on the train.”

   Harry forces a smile, and then starts to move towards the train. He’s sure it’s his imagination, but he is certain he can feel their gaze on his back and he’s distinctly uncomfortable. He has a hard time trying to explain to himself what it is about these adults that makes him want to flee, as it’s not quite the instinctual knowing he’s occasionally felt since the day he received his Hogwarts letter. But it’s close enough that, as trusting his instincts thus far with the wizarding world has turned out in his favor, he thinks he would be better off leaving their company as soon as possible.

   “Hold on.” Draco hurries after him. “Go right from here, and it’s the fourth one down. My trunks have the Malfoy crest on them.”

   He’s basically being ordered, which might have bothered him if he weren’t so desperate to get away right now. Harry instead just nods before he grabs Hedwig’s cage, deciding to get her inside first and moving the heavier trunk once he knows for sure where he’s going. Finding Draco’s trunk with his family crest, an image he’d grown accustomed to seeing pressed into the wax Draco used to seal his letters, was rather easy. He set Hedwig’s cage inside, and then went back to get his trunk. He pauses briefly before stepping out, hoping to avoid notice, but a group of students coming off the train block him from view for a few moments as they stand around just a few steps away.

   Quick as he can, he grabs his trunk and starts to try to single handedly drag it up. “Need a hand?”

   Harry looks over his shoulder to find a tall, lanky redhead. “Oh, uh, yeah. That’d be great.”

   The redhead looks back down the train and yells out, “Oy! Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” Looking back at Harry, the boy waved him away before coming around to grab one end of the trunk. When another, identical redhead appears, he grabs the other without question and the two lift the trunk onto the train.

   Harry quickly follows, directing them over to the right compartment. There’s an eyebrow raised at seeing the crest on the trunks already there, but they simply lift Harry’s trunk before nodding at him.

   “There you go, firstie. All set.”

   “Thanks,” Harry replies, pushing his glasses up.

   He stands out of their way to allow them to leave the compartment, debating on whether to introduce himself or not. Before he can decide, one of them seems to take a closer look, hitting the other’s arm suddenly. “Hey, is that a scar? You wouldn’t happen to be--”

   “Harry!”

   Harry turns around briefly to see Draco approaching, but his attention is drawn back to the twins as one says, “Well, we’ll be off then!”

   “Oh, okay, bye!”

   “The train will be leaving soon,” Draco tells Harry, eyes watching the twins leave for a moment before looking over at him. “I only saw a few of my friends, so I think they might be sitting with Pansy. I told her I was towards the front so she wouldn’t sit with us, but I think she told them the same, so they might be with her.”

   Harry frowns a little, thinking he doesn’t want to have to try to move his trunk. “Did you want to move over to where they are?” he asks.

   “Hm, no,” Draco responds after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll tell them I’m back here, see if they want to move. Do you want to come with me to find them?”

   “I think I’ll sit with Hedwig, I don’t think she’s used to all this activity yet.” It’s an excuse, when really Harry just doesn’t think he’s up for another group of people staring at him just yet, but when he looks over at his owl she seems to understand and starts flapping her wings and hooting loudly. “I should probably sit with her until she’s calmed down.”

   Draco shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back.”

   Harry closes the compartment door, goes and then sits down, reaching a finger into Hedwig’s cage to stroke her head. “Thanks.”

   She hoots at him once in reply before settling down. Harry turns to look out of the window, the panel above open so he can hear the sounds of the crowd of parents and students, many of them starting to say their goodbyes. The platform is starting to clear, an indication that they’ll be departing soon. A flash of red catches his eye, and he sees a group of redheads, only just visible as they stand a little ways down from his compartment

   He thinks for a moment it might be one of the twins, but decides what he can see of them isn’t quite right. This boy is shorter, though the hair is the right shade. The woman standing with him speaks up, and Harry can hear them clearly.

   “All right, Ron, you be sure to behave. Listen to Percy and, what’s that on your nose? Come here.”

   A younger boy jerks into view as he pulls away from the woman. “ Mom , geroff!”

   The twins appear then, and with them standing together, Harry notes the resemblance. He listens to them joke and tease the younger boy, who grows obviously more annoyed and sullen with the teasing, and then yet another boy appears. He’s already changed into his robe with a badge on his chest, and the twins start to tease him about being a prefect as well. Harry thinks it’s rather nice, to come from a family close enough to tease like that, even if the twins’ siblings seem to be annoyed by it. The one already in his robes allowed their mother to kiss his cheek, said goodbye to someone outside of Harry’s line of sight, and then seemed to board again.

   That was when one of the twins said, “Oh, guess who we just met on the train, Mom?”

   “Who?”

   “Harry Potter !”

   The one out of sight suddenly piped up, and it sounded like a little girl, her voice carrying as she loudly begged to be allowed on the train to see him. Harry leaned away from the window then, hoping to stay out of sight. How embarrassing would it be to be caught eavesdropping on them as they started to talk about him?

   “No, Ginny, the train is about to leave. You can’t get on,” the boys’ mother responded, cutting off the little girl’s begging. “Are you sure, Fred?”

   “Pretty sure,” was the response. “Saw a bit of a scar on his forehead. Malfoy’s kid called him ‘Harry’, too.”

   “Malfoy ?” The way the woman said the name made Harry frown automatically, not wanting someone to say anything bad about his only friend. Then he remembered Lucius Malfoy’s smile and thought perhaps, if that’s who she was thinking of when she said it, the reaction might be warranted. “Are they friends, do you think?”

   “Who knows? Maybe they just met? Anyway, we should be getting on, Mum. We’ll know for sure during Sorting. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be a Gryffindor!”

   “Be sure to let me know,” she tells them. “Try to befriend him if he is, okay? Poor thing, being an orphan raised goodness knows where or with who, he could probably use all the friends he can get.”

   Harry decides to close the window, distinctly uncomfortable with hearing the obvious pity, and not particularly interested in hearing any more. Especially since the little girl starts to cry, half-pleading and half-demanding to be allowed to go with her brothers or at least be allowed to get on and see Harry. It sounds like the beginning of a tantrum, at least in his experience based on his cousin’s tried and true methods, so he is relieved that closing the window prevents him from hearing the rest of it.

   What he is able to hear, loud and clear, is the train's whistle as it goes off to announce their departure. Outside, it looks like there are no more students on the platform, instead just a few parents and younger siblings, waving at students in other windows before leaving or waiting to see the train off.

   The door to the compartment opens as the train starts to move, and the youngest of the redheads is standing there. He’s taller than he appeared while standing outside, Harry notes absently. Ron, as they’d called him, starts to back out with an apology when he suddenly stops, staring at Harry.

   “Are you him?” he asks.

   Harry blinks at him for a moment, surprised. “Who?”

   “Harry Potter?”

   “Oh, him. I mean, yeah, that’s me.”

   His eyes go over to the trunks, and he frowns. Harry follows the direction he’s looking at and realizes it’s Draco’s trunks that have drawn that reaction. “I’m Ron Weasley. Are you really friends with the Malfoys’ kid?” Blue eyes lower again to meet Harry’s gaze. “You shouldn’t be, you know. Just warning ya, they’re-”

   “We’re what?” Behind Ron stands Draco, arms crossed, scowling.The redhead half turns, still standing in the compartment doorway.

   “Draco’s my friend,” Harry interrupts before either can say anything. “So can you step aside so he can come sit down?”

   Draco doesn’t wait for the other to obey, basically shoving him aside to come in and sit across from Harry. He gives him a smug look, crossing his arms as he waits to see what he’s going to do. He knows this kid’s type, trying to ingratiate himself with someone better than him. Clearly, he thinks, Harry can spot the type too.

   “Weasley, you said, right?” Draco drawls. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

   The stubborn look that comes over the other’s face makes Harry think that this might turn into a bigger confrontation when one of the twins comes by. “There you are, Ron. Are you bothering people?”

   “Yes,” Draco announces instantly, frowning at seeing another redhead.

   “Really, Ron, can’t leave you alone for a second.” The other twin appears, grabbing the youngest sibling by looping an arm around his neck and dragging him back away from the door. “Come on, you. You’re with us; Mum’s orders.”

   “We didn’t introduce ourselves earlier,” says the remaining twin. “I’m Fred Weasley, that was George--” the other twin, clearly still within earshot yells a hello “--and that was our brother Ron. Our fault for telling him Harry Potter was here. He’s not used to meeting famous people. Consider him an overzealous fan.”

   Harry blushes at the reminder. “Uh, no, no worries. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the help earlier.”

   “No worries.” George waves a hand dismissively. “We’ll see you later. Oy, Fred! You just passed our compartment!”

   The compartment door is closed behind them, and Draco shakes his head. “Weasley, the youngest one, clearly wanted to be friends with you because you’re famous. Like I wrote you, you’ll run into those types all over. Who knows, maybe the twins were in on it too.”

   “You think?” Harry considers it for a moment then shrugs. “George and Fred seemed nice even before they knew who I was earlier. As for their brother, well, I just don’t like people talking about my friends. Or telling me what to do. If he wanted to be friends, he should’ve just said so.”

   Draco is surprised at Harry’s reasoning, and starts laughing. “You’re weird, you know that?”

   “What happened with your friends?” Harry asks when Draco’s done laughing.

   “Ah, I ran into Theodore. Pansy convinced them I’d be sitting with her so they sat in her compartment. I told him we’d be back here, but it’s fine. They were being rather loud anyway. And this way, we don’t have to worry about Crabbe and Goyle trying to steal any snacks we buy. They’re always hungry.”

   “Their names are Crabbe and Goyle?”

   “Family names,” Draco clarifies.

   “Why do you call some of them by their first name and some by their last?”

   “Ah, it’s considered polite to only address those you’re close with by their first name, and everyone else by their last name.”

   “Oh, so when I wrote you that first letter, it should have said ‘Malfoy’ instead of ‘Draco’?” Harry wonders aloud.

   Draco shrugs. “Well, yes, but it’s fine. I realized since you were raised with Muggles, you probably didn’t know any better.”

   “I think it’s less because I grew up with Muggles, and more that your family is super upper class,” Harry argues. “That sounds like the kind of rule rich people have.”

   “Hm, maybe.” Draco thinks it over, never having thought of it like that. “Although,” he points out after a moment, “didn’t your parents leave you a bunch of money? So you’re rich, too.”

   “Honestly, I still forget,” Harry admits. “I’ve never really had my own money to buy whatever.”

   There was a knock on the door and then a woman opened the compartment door with a dimpled smile asking if they wanted anything from the cart she was pushing.

   Draco grins. “Well, here’s your chance to spend some, then.”

   Harry jumps up, more than a little hungry after skipping breakfast, only to realize he wasn’t familiar with any of the snacks on offer. “Wow, I’ve never seen any of these.”

   “Are you joking?” Draco shakes his head, answering himself. “No, of course you’re not. We’ll just have to take some of everything then.”

   Harry insists on paying, and then dumps the giant load on the seat next to Draco, sitting on the same side so the snacks are piled between them. Draco insists on letting him have the box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, laughing loudly when Harry immediately eats a green one he’d assumed would be apple or lime flavored only for it to turn out to be grass. The Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties are great follow-ups to recover from the strange jelly bean. When Harry opens a Chocolate Frog before Draco can explain it will jump, he’s so amused he opens a couple of the other ones, both of them laughing as the compartment is momentarily filled with half a dozen hopping frogs. All but one have stopped when the door opens and a round-faced boy is momentarily caught off guard when it suddenly jumps at him.

   “Trevor?” He pulls the treat off the front of his robe where it jumps and visibly deflates at seeing it’s just chocolate. “Oh, no. Have you seen a toad? I can’t find mine.”

   Harry shakes his head, smiling. “A toad? No. Sorry.” Draco shakes his head as well, and the boy leaves.

   Once he’s gone, Draco starts looking through the cards, showing them to Harry and explaining what they are when he realizes it’s yet another thing the Boy Who Lived knows nothing about. He’s highly amused at Harry’s surprise when, right before his eyes, Merlin stretches and then moves out of frame. But it’s Harry’s reaction to seeing the Albus Dumbledore, frowning down at it as he studies it, that piques Draco’s interest.

   “What is it?”

   Harry looks up at him, shrugging as he puts the card aside with the others he’d gotten. “Ah, no, I was just surprised. I’ve heard of Albus Dumbledore, but it’s the first I’m seeing of him.” Harry stops, wondering if he should explain the feeling of distrust that comes over him at hearing the name--and now seeing --Albus Dumbledore, but not quite sure how to explain himself. He has no frame of reference for what might be weird in the wizarding world, so he doesn’t know if this sense of déjà vu he gets is normal or not. “He’s older than I expected,” he finishes lamely.

   “He’s pretty famous too,” Draco informs him. “Father doesn’t like him.”

   Harry’s tempted to ask for more info but they’re once again interrupted by someone opening the door. The boy who’d asked about the toad is back, standing behind the girl who’d opened the door. She has brown skin, bushy brown hair, and brown eyes that look around the room, taking in both boys, the owl, and the pile of wrappers and uneaten snacks quickly before gazing back at the boys. When she speaks, her large front teeth stand out, and her tone is distinctively bossy, but something about her is so familiar that it takes Harry a moment to put together what she’s said.

   He is too busy realizing that the same sense he’d gotten from Draco back in Diagon Alley, that had prompted him to befriend him, is coming over him again twofold. Somehow, he knows that Draco might be his first friend, but this girl was going to be his best friend. He should probably look into why he gets these feelings at all.

   “Have either of you seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

   Draco sighs. “Harry already told him we haven’t. It’s just a toad anyway.”

   “Harry? As in Harry Potter?” the girl asks, eyes moving from Draco over to Harry. Blinking, Harry just nods. “I’m Hermione Granger and this is Neville Longbottom. I know all about you. You’re mentioned in our History of Magic book, of course, but I got some extra books for background reading and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts , as well as Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century .”

   Harry stares, surprised, looks over at Draco who shrugs, then back at her. “Am I?”

   “Didn’t you know? I’d have learned all I could if it were me,” she announces.

   “Yes, well, it’s not. Shouldn’t you be off looking for a toad?” Draco reminds her.

   Hermione frowns at Draco. “No need to be rude. Who are you?”

   “Draco Malfoy. We need to change since we’ll likely arrive soon, so leave already,” Draco orders.

   “Draco.” Harry shakes his head at him, then looks back at Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. “I’ll keep an eye out for the toad, but we haven’t seen ‘em.”

   “All right, thank you.” She starts to close the door, telling Neville, “Come on, let’s ask them down there.”

   “Longbottom’s family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Draco says after they’ve left. “Granger, on the other hand, is probably Muggle-born . They really shouldn’t be letting any of them into Hogwarts, I think. Keep it in the old wizarding families.”

   “What?” Harry challenges. “Why does it matter?”

   Draco stares at him for a moment like he can’t believe he’s asking. “They’re just not the same! They’re not brought up to know our ways or anything.”

   “Neither have I,” Harry points out, then reminds his friend, “And my parents might have been a witch and wizard, but my mum was a Muggle-born. If she hadn’t been accepted at Hogwarts, my parents wouldn’t have met and I wouldn’t be here.”

   Draco is about to say something more to defend his point, but he closes his mouth with an audible click at this reminder. He wants to push back, make Harry understand why Muggle-borns just aren’t the same, but he can’t think of how to do so without sounding like he’s insulting Harry’s mother. If Harry got annoyed with Ron for seeming to insult Draco, a friend he’s only just made, chances are insulting his mum is a surefire way to make him angry.

   They change without exchanging another word, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Harry, wondering how he can get his friend to understand why his way of thinking is wrong. Draco, trying to think of a way to get through to Harry that pureblood witches and wizards are superior. It’s an awkward silence, and when they’ve finished changing, neither seems sure of what to say or how to change the subject. Finally, at a voice announcing they’re about to arrive and are to leave their luggage on the train, they decide to divvy up the remaining snacks and stuff them into their pockets.

   When the train stops, they shuffle out into the corridor and make their way onto the platform outside. The night is cooler here, farther up in the north, and Harry hopes they aren’t going to be outside for long. It’s with relief that he recognizes the booming voice calling for first years. When Hagrid spots him and greets him, Harry’s mood is instantly lifted.

   Draco is standing next to him still, and by the way he’s looking around Harry thinks he might be trying to find his other friends. He wonders if their brief friendship is due to be over already. Still, Harry nudges him and nods his head towards Hagrid and the lamp he’s holding as he calls the first years over before heading over. He doesn’t want Draco to think he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, but he also doesn’t know if now that he’s been reminded that Harry’s parentage isn’t as “pure” as his own, if he’ll want to stay friends. All he can do is act like he normally would and leave Draco to make his own choice.

   Hagrid leads them all down through a slippery dark path down to the edge of a large lake where they all get a glimpse of the castle for the first time. He gives them all a moment before announcing they’re to get into boats, keeping to 4 per boat, and he waves Harry over clearly to join him. When he reaches Hagrid, he’s holding up a toad he’s just found. Neville Longbottom cries out the toad’s name, rushing forward to claim the animal, and Hermione Granger comes following after him at a slower pace. It’s clear they’re going to also join Hagrid’s boat, and so Harry assumes even if he’d been inclined to join, chances are Draco will take one look at who else is there and opt to sit with his friends instead.

   It seems all the more certain when after getting in the boat, Harry spots Ron Weasley making a beeline for their boat to claim the last spot.

   So he’s surprised when Draco materializes in front of him, climbing in and muttering, “Mark my words, Potter. Longbottom is going to let that toad go and knock us all in the water trying to catch him.”

   “Hope you know how to swim then, Malfoy,” Harry answers with a grin.

   Then they’re off across the lake, making their way towards the glittering castle on the other side.

Story Notes:

Title is from a Pink Floyd song.

[hms-chill]

The Two Princes

Summary: An AU based on the podcast The Two Princes. When Prince Henry sets out to break the mysterious curse that’s destroying his kingdom, he’s ready to face whatever dastardly villain or vile monster stands in his way. What he isn’t prepared for are the bewildering new emotions he feels when he meets the handsome Alex, a rival prince on a quest to save his own realm. Forced to team up, the two princes soon discover that the only thing more difficult than saving their kingdoms is following their hearts.

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Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time

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Chapter 2: Prince and Thief

The next morning finds Henry beating his way through trees with Shaan’s sword, tired and hungry and scratched all over. What sleep he’d managed to get was interrupted by falling branches and a rustling that never stopped, not once, and had him jolting awake every time his eyes closed. He is just so sick of this forest, and its stupid trees, and its stupider vines. It’s just trees, and trees, and more trees, and they all look the bloody same. He hacks through a final vine and stumbles into a clearing, and suddenly, there’s something vaguely familiar. He digs through his bag for a minute and pulls out the map Shaan gave him, and it clicks. If that oak tree in front of him, with branches shaped like a skull, is the same skull tree as the one on his map, then he knows where he is. Sort of. If he can figure out which direction is north. Then he’ll just--

There’s a cracking nearby, and Henry pulls out Shaan’s sword, turning toward it. “Hello? What was that? Is someone out there? If so, I warn you, I’m armed!”

There’s nothing there, but he holds the stance for a breath. Two. Three. He sighs eventually, then sheathes the sword. It’s probably nothing. Just because everyone back home thinks the forest is full of monsters doesn’t mean it’s actually haunted. He’s just decided that there can’t be anything too much worse than what he’d have dealt with at home when a massive wasp dives straight for his head.

He lets out a decidedly unprincely squawk, diving away with his hands over his head as it turns to hover in front of him. Its buzzing fills the clearing, and when he gets a full look at it, it’s enormous. He’s just starting to wonder about how it stays airborne, and what it eats, and how something like this can have lived so close to the Kingdom of the West when it dives again, and he’s sent scrambling out of its way. It turns again, and he draws the sword.

“Okay, look. I don’t believe in violence, but the last twenty four hours have been an exhausting combination of the last seventeen years. So if you want to fight, let’s fight. I’m done being Mr. Nice Prince.”

The wasp gives no indication that it understands his words, diving again, stinger forward. Henry blocks it with his sword, shoving it back. It comes again, and he swings wildly, not sure what else to do. It squeaks and chitters, and he slashes at it again, then again, dodging its stinger and letting his instincts take over until one particularly hefty thrust is met with a squishing sound he never wants to hear anything like again.

The buzzing stops, and the forest is quiet. Henry looks down at the sword to see the body of the wasp impaled on it, limp. He shakes it off quickly, then brushes the sword in the grass, trying desperately to get all the bug guts off it before the reality of what he’s done sinks in, and a grin creeps over his face.

He’s just defeated his first monster. He is amazing. Sure, it was more bug than monster, but still. He’s faced a monster from the cursed forest, and he came out on top, because he’s an amazing prince, and he is more than ready to face anything this forest has to throw at him. He’s turning out to be quite the natural hero.

That is, until the buzzing starts up again, louder than before. Henry turns to the bug, but it’s still there, dead as ever with a black ooze seeping from the cut in its abdomen. Then he turns to look behind him, and there are more wasps than he can count, and suddenly, Henry remembers that wasps build nests. Nests that house up to 10,000 wasps. And even if he’s sure he’s a great hero, every great hero he’s ever read about knew to pick their battles, and this doesn’t seem like one that it would be particularly wise to pick. So he starts to back away, debating if it’s wiser to try to run but turn his back on the bugs or just back away slowly. His decision is made for him when the first bug swoops down, and he has to bat it away with his sword.

“I’m sorry I killed your friend, but in my defense, he totally deserved it,” Henry tells the bugs, swatting at them frantically. “I really am the biggest nature lover; you can ask anyone back in the West and they’ll--” He takes another step back, and his foot goes straight through whatever foliage covers the forest floor. It’s too late to stop himself as he goes tumbling backward, a scream following him down.

He lands in a pile of leaves and mushrooms, and after a minute to get his bearings and make sure he’s all in one piece, he realizes he’s surrounded by the worst stench he’s ever smelled. It smells like it might be rotting cabbage, or maybe David’s chamber pot. Whatever it is, it’s foul, and he realizes that the mushrooms he’s landed in are sticky, and if that isn’t just the tip of the iceberg of what an awful day this has been he’s not sure what is. He is going to need a bath, and probably to sleep for the next year when he gets back home.

Still, as he gets up and tries to brush whatever mushroom gunk he can off of himself, he realizes that it’s not as bad as he’d thought. The scent is less rank now, almost pleasant, something closer to a garden than he’d have thought. He’s somehow unsure what he was complaining about as a lightness spreads over him, and he looks around at the flowers spreading out before him with a bit of a laugh. Maybe he’ll build a house down here, and he’ll live in this nice floaty feeling. Maybe he should invite the wasps-- the wasps seem to have disappeared, but before he can process that, there’s a woman’s sing-song voice echoing around him.

“Oh Darling,” it calls, and Henry turns to notice a tunnel lined with flowers.

“What? Who, but… who said that?” Words are harder to string together now, but he finds them eventually, because he is a brave, heroic prince.

“I did. Is that you, my darling?” The voice calls, and Henry feels a dopey grin spread across his face.

“Maybe, I mean, yeah, I could be someone’s darling.”

“Where are you, darling?”

“I’m… at the bottom of a pit,” Henry says, just now realizing that he might not know the best way to reach whoever this is, “where are you?”

“I’m here too. Further down. Come find me, darling.” He might be imagining it, but Henry could swear the vines in front of him seem to part and shift, beaconing him down the tunnel before him. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry. Wh-- How do I… How do I find you?”

“Just follow my voice, darling! Then we will be together forever.” The vines in front of him shift a bit more, and he realizes her voice is coming from there.

“Mmm, together. That sounds nice.” And it does. It would be nice to be with someone; he’s spent quite a lot of time alone, and having a friend to spend time with sounds good. So he follows the vines and her voice, the smile still on his face as she starts to sing.

“This is the song that I sing to my love Aren’t I lucky you fell from above When we’re together, my cute little pup I’ll hold you and squeeze you and gobble you up.”

Something about that feels wrong, and after a minute, Henry says, “wait, gobble me up?”

“Metaphorically speaking,” she says, and his whole body relaxes again, the nice peaceful joy retaking his brain.

“Oh, well, that’s okay, then.”

“Life without love, like a life without food Is empty and barren and terribly crude But you came along dear, to fill up my heart And also my stomach--”

“What?”

“Forget that last part.”

“Hey, I think I see a light up ahead. Is that you, Lady Voice?” It’s a beautiful light, a nice warm green that seems ready to fold him into a nice, safe hug and protect him from the forest’s monsters.

“That’s me, darling, keep walking. You’re almost there, just a few more--” And then he’s pushing aside a curtain of vines and he’s in a cavern, and he interrupts with sounds of awe.

It is the most incredible place he could have ever imagined. Flowers cover every surface, vines creeping up the walls and shorter plants carpeting the floor. “This place is incredible; I’ve never seen so many flowers. Where am I?”

The voice is closer now. “Where you’ve always been headed, and where you’ve always wanted to be. The Garden of Delights!”

“The Garden of Delights? Well that sounds… delightful!” He says it with a little giggle, and she giggles, too, but there’s still something nagging at the back of his head. He frowns, trying to concentrate, trying to pull the pieces of what he remembers through the fog of his brain as he says, “but I actually think I was headed somewhere else… Somewhere called the… the Hollow of… You know what, I can’t actually remember. Why can’t I remember?”

“Don’t worry about it. In fact, you don’t need to worry about anything else ever again.” The woman in front of him seems to have just appeared, stepping out from between the vines as naturally as if she’d grown there. The green of her dress shimmers as she smiles at him, reaching out a hand

“Who are you?” He asks, trying to take her all in.

“I’m Flora, of course. The goddess of love.”

“Wow. You are… really beautiful.”

“I am. And what’s your name, Darling?” She croons, and Henry has to stop for a second.

“Oh, I’m… I’m uh… Hang on, I know this. I totally know this. I’m um, um, uh, Hen.. Hen… Henry. Yeah, I’m Henry. That’s who I am. Henry.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Henry. But won’t you come a little closer?” she asks, reaching out both arms to him. “You’re still so far away.”

“Oh, sure. Although, I feel like I should let you know, I’m not looking for anything romantic right now, I just wanted to be up front about where I’m at emotionally, just so there are no hurt feelings--”

She shushes him with a sound like wind through the trees, and Henry shuts his mouth, all but floating toward her outstretched arms. “All I want to do is sooth your troubled brow and lift the weight of the world from your weary shoulders,” she croons. Vines start to snake out from the walls behind her, and Henry takes a step back in alarm.

“What are those?”

“Those are my tendrils of love. Don’t be frightened, darling, they only want to caress you,” she reassures him. They curl around him, nice at first, then pulling tighter, squeezing him in.

“Yeah, they’re… they’re actually a little constricting?” He tells her, trying to pull himself out. She laughs.

“Only because you’re struggling.”

“Um, look, could we take a pause for a moment? You’re really nice, but I think I need some fresh air,” Henry says, suddenly realizing how long it’s been since he took a deep breath. “It’s kind of hard to breathe down here, and hard to think, it’s the smell, it’s just, there’s something about it, it’s--”

“Full of love?”

“No, it’s just… it’s too sweet, I can’t… I can’t focus…” He tries to think back to how he got here, to where he is, and how and why he ever left home.

“You’ll feel better soon, I promise, just come a little closer,” Flora croons. The vines pull him forward despite his struggles, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“No, something’s not right, I should go…”

“But darling, no one ever leaves the garden of delights.”

“Please, tell your tendrils to let go of me!” He’s begging now, trying harder and harder to get air into his lungs that’s not tinged with the awful sickly-sweet smell of flowers.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can, now let go of me!”

He’s finally getting some of the tendrils off when Flora rears back, suddenly blocking the light from above and plunging the cavern into an emerald darkness as she roars, “stop fighting me, mortal! I told you, no one ever leaves the garden of delights! Now, come closer.”

“What are you?! You’re not a goddess,” Henry fights back the scream, but the mouth in front of him cracks into a wide smile, one lined with thorns, and he doesn’t want to find out if they’re as sharp as they look.”

“No, I am a very hungry plant, and it’s been ages since I’ve had a meal as big and scrumptious as you.” Her laughter echoes around him as he struggles, clinging to whatever plant matter doesn’t seem to be connected to her as she pulls him to her mouth.

“No, let me go! Please, somebody help me! Help!” His scream echoes around the room, but he knows that no one is coming. The forest is forbidden; no one comes here. It’s a death trap, and he’d known that, and he’d wandered blindly in anyway. He’s just wishing he’d told his mother where he was going, or given David a last pat, when a voice rings out around him.

“That’s enough, monster!” There’s the sound of an arrow being let loose, and the plant drops Henry to the ground, screaming.

“My eye!” She’s shrunk down enough to let light filter in through her leaves, and in the false twilight, Henry sees another figure in the room with them.

“Who are you?”

The man turns to him, but instead of a greeting or explanation, he gets, “head back the way you came; you’ll find a rope you can climb to the surface. I’m going to take care of this overgrown fly trap. Now, go.” The other man draws his sword as the plant rears back up, a sickly looking flower growing over where her eye used to be.

“I’m going to tear you limb from limb, you filthy, stinking human,” she fumes, and the other man just laughs.

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.” He shoves Henry toward the door, and Henry runs, followed by the sounds of sword on vine. He’s halfway up the rope when it starts to move below him, and he looks down to see the other man climbing, too. They clamber to the top together, and Henry flops onto safe ground, overwhelmingly glad to be able to see the sky.

“That was intense. What was that thing?” He asks, still trying to get his breath back. The other man stands up beside him, brushing his hands off and pulling up the rope.

“I don’t know what they’re called, but the forest is full of them.”

“Wow, I’m really glad you came along, thank you.” The other man holds out a hand to help him up, and Henry sees him in full for the first time. He’s not wearing a helmet, but he is shorter than Henry, so the first thing he notices is the tousled hair, a sort of effortless beauty to it even as it’s full of leaves and twigs. Then he sees the other man’s face, and he is, undeniably, the most beautiful thing Henry has ever seen. His brain is telling him to ignore it, but the command gets muddled somewhere on his way to his mouth, because Henry just keeps talking through his realization. “Thank you for rescuing me, and for… for being so beautiful.”

“What?” he’s turned his attention to coiling the rope, but the other man looks up at being called beautiful, and Henry’s brain finally processes what his mouth said. He has to fix it.

“I mean brave. Thank you for being so brave, not beautiful. Sorry, that was weird, I don’t know why I said that. I think some of those toxins must still be messing with my head, making me say crazy things. I don’t think you’re beautiful.” The other man frowns, and Henry rushes to correct himself. “I mean, not that you’re ugly. Obviously you’re not ugly. I just mean if I had to choose, you know? If you put a sword to my head and said ‘am I attractive or ugly, pick one’ I’d have to say attractive because objectively that’s just a fact, but it’s not like you’re so attractive I can’t stop looking at you.” He is so attractive Henry can’t stop looking at him, but that’s the point where his brain finally catches up with his mouth enough to ask, “am I talking a lot? I feel like I’m talking a lot.”

“You are.” The other man is now thoroughly unimpressed, and Henry sighs.

“So, anyway, what I meant to say was, thank you. Thank you for… saving my life. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.” He’s studying his boots, just noticing how stained they’ve gotten after just a day in the forest.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve been following you.” That gets Henry’s attention, even if the other man is still busy doing something with his rope.

“What? You’ve been following me?”

“For the last hour.” He says it like it’s something Henry should have noticed, so Henry nods.

“Ah, I thought someone was watching me.” Then he realizes a point where his plan to play along falls apart, and he asks, “wait, why were you following me? Also, what’s with the lasso?”

“I have some questions, and since I don’t know or trust you, I feel like you’ll be more inclined to answer them if I tie you up and dangle you from a tree.”

It sounds like a good plan, and Henry’s nodding and agreeing that it makes sense before he realizes what he’s saying enough to be scared. By that point, the rope is already around his legs, and they’re already being pulled out from under him, leaving him to dangle upside down from the nearest tree. “Hey, no, let me down from here, I thought we were friends! This is so not necessary.”

“Now then, who are you, and what are you doing in this forest?” The other man asks, ignoring Henry’s pleas.

“Me? I’m no one; no one at all. I’m literally just passing through.”

The other man just circles him, studying him closely. When he speaks, it sounds like it’s more to himself than to Henry. “Your clothes are filthy, but clearly Western, and your sword is… engraved with royal insignia.” He draws his own sword, holding it under Henry’s chin to ask, “do you work for the royal family?”

“What? No, no, no, definitely not. I definitely do not work for the royal family.” Because, technically, he reasons with himself, he doesn't.

“So you’re alone then? No one from the royal family is with you?” The other man demands, and Henry nods as best he can.

“Yeah, no, yeah, totally alone, no one from the royal family, I swear.”

He puts his sword back, and Henry takes a deep breath as he says, “sorry, can’t be too careful in this forest.”

“Yeah, no, no, no, totally understand.”

“My name is Alex,” he continues, apparently not having heard Henry’s agreement. “Prince of the East; no doubt you’ve heard of me?”

“Uh… not really.”

“I’m the son of Queen Ellen, Heir to the Eagle Throne, Defender of the Stonewalled Realm...” He turns to Henry, who just shakes his head.

“Sorry.”

“Hero of the Unstained Blade. Protector of the Rainbow Flame, Champion of Justice for All.”

“Wait, what was that last one?”

“Champion of Justice for All.” He’s dropped the presentory tone, and Henry pretends to take a second to think before shaking his head.

“Yeah, no.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sorry, we don’t really get much news about you guys in the West. We weren’t even sure there was anyone left in the East to be totally honest; we thought maybe the forest had finished you off.”

“Oh.” Alex’s shoulders seem to slump a little, and even if he’s just imagining it, Henry can’t have that. Especially not when Alex still has him hung from a tree.

“But, it’s so great to meet you! I’ve never met anyone from the East before, and now that I have, I’m like… woah, you people are awesome. I don’t know why we ever went to war with you, so can you maybe like… let me down now?”

Alex’s princely persona is back, and he steps closer to Henry. “You haven’t told me who you are or what you’re really doing in this forest.”

“Me? Um, I’m… my name is… David.” It’s the first thing he can think of, and the minute it’s out of his mouth he wants to cringe, but Alex is nodding.

“David?”

“Yeah, everybody calls me David.” Shit, he’s just told Alex he’s alone. “Not that I know many people, because I live here. By myself. Just… totally alone.”

“You live in the forbidden forest?” There’s a hint of genuine curiosity to Alex’s tone, and Henry nods.

“Yeah. I’m on the run, you see, from the royal family of the West. Whom we both hate.” That’s true, too, even if he wishes it weren’t. Alex nods, then frowns.

“Why are you on the run?”

“That is a… great question.” One for which he has no answer. “I am on the run because I… am a thief.” Which, again, technically true.

“A thief?”

Henry finds himself nodding. Now that he’s committed to the story, he has to stick with it. “Yeah, uh huh, I’m a thief! I mean, how do you think I got that sword? I mean, not to brag, but I’m basically the greatest thief in all the West.” He’s pretty proud of his lie, and Alex nods along, then frowns.

“Great. Just what I need. A vagabond with no concept of honor! Oh well; the forest can deal with you.” He stands up, and Henry starts to struggle again.

“Wait, what? Where are you going; you can’t leave me like this!” he protests, but Alex shakes his head. Every bit of personality Henry got a glimpse of is gone, Alex’s chin out, his chest up.

“I also can’t have a confessed criminal running around this forest.”

There’s a steady stream of swear words running through Henry’s head, but he finds another lie somewhere between them. “No no no; you don’t understand. When I said a thief, I meant like… a Robin Hood situation, steal from the rich, give to the poor. That’s why the royal family hates me! I’m too good. I mean, where I’m from, I’m basically a hero--”

“A hero?”

“In… the loosest sense of the word.”

“How long have you lived in this forest?” Alex is dropping bits of his princeliness now, leaning in to get a closer look at Henry. Henry hopes Alex can’t see any of his stress about lying.

“Uh… years. What, well, like… forever.”

Alex processes that, then says, “and yet, you nearly got eaten by a talking plant less than ten minutes ago because you wandered blindly into her lair.” Henry just nods, still trying to think.

“Yes. But, that’s the first time something like that has ever happened to me in all the many years I’ve lived here. So in terms of navigating the dangers of this forest, that’s actually a point in my favor.”

Alex hums, then pulls his sword out again, slicing through the ropes holding Henry up. Henry tumbles, groaning as he sits up and rubs his head. “Thanks, but next time? Give a guy a little warning before you cut him down.”

“I’ll make you a deal, Thief.”

“You can call me David,” Henry offers, getting to his feet, but Alex doesn’t acknowledge him.

“My first night in this forest, my horse got spooked and ran off with my map. Since then, I’ve been--”

“Hopelessly lost?”

“In need of directions.”

“Ah.” Of course; a perfect prince with a million titles like Alex could never be lost.

“If you can take me where I need to go,” he says, “I promise I’ll spare your life and set you free when my quest is over.”

“Uh, sure, yeah, okay. Where do you want to go?” Henry’s not sure how good of a guide he’ll be, but he has his map, and at this point, he’ll do anything to get down and he can move from there.

“The Hollow of the Kings.”

“The Hollow?” The Hollow Henry’s trying to get to, too? The one at the center of the forest; the Hollow of legend?

“You know it?”

“Uh, yeah, of course, but why do you want to go there?”

“That’s none of your business. All you need to know is that it’s imperative I get to the Hollow as soon as possible. Now, do we have a deal, or should I get my rope?” Of course he won’t say anything. But still, Henry’s going to the Hollow anyway, and he’d love to stay out of a tree.

“No! I mean, yes, yes, I’d love to take you to the Hollow.”

“Good, then it’s a deal.”

“Absolutely. Shake on it?” Alex just huffs, looking personally offended at Henry’s outstretched hand.

“A prince, shake hands with a thief?” Henry pulls his hand back automatically, trying to disguise his offer of a handshake with trying to rub his arm.

“Okay, or not. Not shaking also works.”

“Good, then let’s get started. Now that you work for me, you’ll carry my things.” Alex tosses a bag at Henry, and he catches it just before it hits the ground.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, sure, okay, no problem buddy.”

“Don’t call me ‘buddy’.”

“Okay, no problem, Boss.”

“Your Royal Highness is fine.”

“Got it.”

“Also, from now on, please only speak when spoken to. You talk a lot, and your accent’s giving me a headache.” Alex is already on the move, though Henry’s not sure where he’s going if Henry’s supposed to be his guide. So he hurries after him.

“Oh. Really? We could be walking for a while, and not talking could make it hard to get to know each other.”

“Exactly. Also--”

“Ugh, how many rules do you have?” Henry asks, but Alex turns to look directly at him for the first time since they’ve met.

“If I find out you’re lying to me, about anything, I’ll feed you to the nearest plant. Got it?”

“Got it,” Henry says, swallowing a lump bigger than the multitude of lies he’s told in the past two minutes.

“Great. Well then, what are you waiting for? Lead me to the Hollow!” Alex claps Henry on the shoulder, the closest thing they’ve had to camaraderie yet. And Henry pulls out the map, hoping he hasn’t gotten himself into something he won’t be able to get out of.

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On AO3

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Notes:

And we meet Alex! And watch Henry be a mess!

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