#so I thought it'd be a good time to dust this chapter off and get excited to write and complete the other two

[famewolf]

'It’s like the sun has entered Gary’s very soul. Every part of him burns with those words as they pound with each beat of his heart. Engulfing his body in divine flames, he is consumed entirely. This is all that exists.' - Chapter 1 of Better the Devil You Know

finished editing the first chapter of a project I wrote 2 years ago and plan to finish in November. it's a wordy, indulgent fic about my two favorite traumatized men from a campaign long, long ago.

it is explicit in nature, though the first chapter is mild, the content warnings are marked in the tags.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Assassin, Part 3

Fem Reader x Raphael

Warning: graphic description of a bipolar crash (or, at least how I experience them) over this chapter and the next. Please take care of yourselves and don't read if you think it might trigger you. Much love to my fellow rapid-cyclers. 💚

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

After the storm of emotion had passed, Splinter sat with Raphael until the moon had crossed over the house, discussing the matter more calmly with his son. Eventually, Raphael felt stable enough to at least make it to bed.

The front steps groaned under his weight, and the paint flaked off the banister like snow in July, as he made his way up the front porch. Today had been a lot.

It had started out beautifully. The early morning mist held fast to the light of dawn as the five of you spent the morning setting everything up. Light swirled around your waist as you worked on place settings, and he was pulled to you.

He walked up behind you, just watching for a moment, affection blooming in his chest. You had ruined his life in the best possible way. Meeting you had brought up so many things he thought he'd let go of a long time ago. It made him hurt in ways he can't even begin to describe. And he is so very grateful.

You'd held each other, swimming in the golden light, and for just one moment he knew how it felt to hold sunlight in his arms.

Then, the ceremony.

Raphael reaches for the screen door handle and depresses the button, pulling it open. The hinges screech their usual protestations, and he cringes as the sound digs the exhaustion headache further into his skull.

That low had hit hard and he should have been expecting it. It'd been a minute since he got triggered like that, but you've always had a way of getting inside his head... You were so damn beautiful...

"Hey," you'd said, peeking around the door to the "boys room" where Casey and the guys were drinking waiting. "You guys almost ready?" When you stepped around and into the room, Raphael forgot how to breathe.

Perfectly coifed and painted in pin curls and neutral make up, and adorned with matching teardrop moissanites in your ears and around your neck (a pre-wedding gift from your brother), you looked like you'd stepped off the silver screen in 1940.

The silk of your floor length forest green dress flowed around you like ink in water, and the thin straps holding it up might as well have been non-existent. His eyes followed the curve of your neck down to your shoulder. His mouth watered and his mind wandered. He wondered what it would taste like. He looked away. Fuck's sake. Couldn't he just look at his beautiful friend in peace?

Minutes later, you'd slipped your arm through his as the two of you waited for your cue to walk down the aisle. A light dusting of pink bloomed in your cheeks when his arm had brushed against your silk covered breast, and your warmth radiated through contact. That warmth poured into his veins, and he felt something in his chest begin to spin.

It had been such a good week. Too good. And some part of him knew that. He'd drawn a deep breath, and exhaled, maintaining a mask of calm. He could feel the crash coming, and prayed he could at least make it to the other side of the wedding before it hit.

He'd spent the week in bliss, planning, packing, driving, and setting up his best friend's wedding with the most beautiful, sweet, smart, and sassy woman in the world. Now, he was going to pay for it.

Don't think about it. Don't think about where you are, or what this is, or that she's literally about to walk down an aisle with you. *Don't* think about it.

The awaited cue came and the two of you stepped out into the early evening light. He'd tried so hard not to look at you as you crossed the threshold, but it had been a lost cause from the beginning.

A Summer Goddess walked beside him. Skin full of golden sunlight, you'd caught his eye out of the corner of yours and your playful smile could have lit up the world. When three steps in the skirt of your dress fully bloomed to reveal a scandalous amout of leg from the slit three-quarters of the way up your thigh, he nearly tripped.

Every look, every brush of silk against his skin sent ripples through him, pushing the spinning in his chest faster. It was the longest twenty-five feet of his life.

When you reached the archway, you turned to him and your hand slid, feather light, down his arm into his. He gazed down at you and smiled.

He wanted to stop you. To pull back on your hand and pull you into him. To take his own and place it softly against your cheek, the other around your waist. He wanted to look into your eyes with every word he's choked down since the moment he met you. He wanted to slide his hand into your hair, tilt your head up, and capture your mouth with his.

This was the closest he would ever get.

With one last gentle squeeze, your hand slipped from his, and his fingers tingled from the loss of contact. You'd each walked to your respective places, and when the music changed over and Bride walked down the aisle, all eyes were on April.

Except his.

.....

Less a lover, more a fighter

But I'm tired of fighting to hold on

Got too many scars to hide them

So it's easier being on my own

But you

Shoot first, draw blood, before I know

Yeah you

One shot, one touch, and I let go

How did this happen?

My walls were up and

You moved without a sound

Never imagined, like an assassin

One look to me down

Assassin - Sultan + Shepherd

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll

[bluejaysandblackbats]

To Touch Fate

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Jason attempts to settle down in Southern Italy and live a civilian life.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Original Character(s), Bruce Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Matt McGinnis

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Angst, Jason Todd-centric, Jason Todd is a Father, Terry McGinnis is Batman, Retirement, Future Fic, Major Original Character(s)

Chapter One: Springtime

Jason met the love of his life in Lecce, Italy, while he was in between missions. She'd walked out of the florist's with a small bunch of cornflowers and bluebells. She smelled of fresh flowers and citrus perfume. Jason sat in front of a fountain outside the shop, watching the sunset. She sat next to him, crossing her legs and nodding. Jason grinned as he held back his laugh. "Are you on holiday?" she asked in Italian. Jason nodded. "Then these are for you." She gave him the bouquet, and he looked over at her.

"Oh, I'm afraid I didn't get you anything," Jason joked. They shared a laugh, and he introduced himself. "Are you on holiday?"

She shook her head and threw a coin in the fountain. "I live here," she answered, "I'm Noemi. Are you an American boxer?"

Jason shook his head. "Not quite," he whispered. Noemi studied him with her dark yet welcoming eyes, and he stared back with a curiosity he hadn't felt in years. She didn't pry, and her stare felt more like an invitation than an intrusion. He reached over and dusted a loose seed of amaranth off her eyebrow with his thumb. "Sorry." She grabbed his hand and held his palm to her cheek. Before he could think, he kissed her. He pulled back and opened his mouth to apologize, but she kissed him back.

Jason hadn't entertained the thought of romance in so long, let alone the idea of a springtime romance in Italy. They pulled away and started laughing. "How long will you be in Lecce?" Noemi asked in English.

Jason found himself entranced by her gentle gaze. He started to notice the bits of grey in her hair. "Three days, maybe more," Jason whispered. His voice was far away.

"That just so happens to line up with my days off... Hopefully, you'll have time to go to dinner with me," Noemi suggested. He grinned. It'd been a while since Jason had been on a date, but she was so forward and captivating that he couldn't refuse.

He nodded, and they exchanged numbers. "What do you like to eat?" Jason asked.

"There's a small restaurant not far from here. My friend is the owner," Noemi whispered.

Jason stood up and took her hand. "Lead the way," Jason whispered. Noemi grinned, and they took a stroll down the brick-paved street. The street lights started to come on as it got darker and darker outside. "You're very straightforward, you know," Jason whispered. Noemi chuckled.

"I had a feeling that you didn't care much for small talk, and in my line of work, I find it's much easier to get straight to the point," Noemi replied. She swung Jason's hand back and forth as they walked.

Jason smiled. "What do you do?" Jason questioned.

"I'm a trauma surgeon," Noemi answered, "So, most of my relationships don't last... Mostly because surgery doesn't make for a good dinner conversation."

"Well, I'm not squeamish. I've seen everything in my line of work," Jason replied. She looked up at him.

"And what is that exactly?" Noemi questioned.

"I'm a bit of a vigilante in the states," Jason confessed. She grinned and chuckled. "What?" he laughed.

"It makes sense, but why would you tell me that?” she laughed. Jason shrugged and playfully bumped into her.

“I don’t know… I guess it doesn’t matter because you wouldn’t know who I was anyway,” Jason confessed.

She nodded and squeezed his hand as they approached the restaurant. “Before we go in, the owner will ask if you’re Tuscan. Even if you are, just say no,” Noemi warned, “If you’re salt-and-pepper now, you’ll be old and grey by the time we leave the restaurant.”

“Alright, and fair warning. I don’t drink much. I’ll probably have two glasses of whatever you’re having, but that’s as good as it gets,” Jason replied.

Noemi stopped in her tracks and made a joking expression of offense. “I would never get you drunk to make you divulge all your deepest darkest secrets,” Noemi whispered, “That’s what breakfast is for.”

Jason smirked. “We’ll see,” Jason whispered as he opened the door for her.

They were immediately greeted by a well-dressed older man. “Ahh! Principessa, how are you?” he asked as he kissed her cheek, and she returned the favor. He shook Jason’s hand. “Are you Tuscan?” the man questioned Jason, still holding onto his hand. Jason shook his head. Noemi whispered something in the man’s ear, and he nodded as he led them to a candlelit table. “Blanc sauvignon? And don’t worry about dinner. It’s on the house.”

“Yes, thank you,” Noemi whispered, and she ordered dinner for both of them. “Jason, do you have a preference for different kinds of pasta ?”

Jason shook his head and let her order while he unwrapped the breadsticks. She took one and took small bites after the man left. “So, is surgery your passion?” Jason questioned in English. Noemi chewed faster and shook her head.

“Actually, no. I wanted to be a sculptor,” Noemi answered, “I never planned on being a doctor, let alone a surgeon.”

“What changed things for you?” Jason asked.

Noemi waited for the wine to come to the table, and she poured their glasses. She took a sip of wine and a deep breath before whispering, “My parents were decapitated in front of me when I was a child.”

Jason set his wine glass down and looked at her, his expression pained as he asked, “How old were you?”

“I was seven,” Noemi whispered, “I know it sounds strange, but I-.”

“It doesn’t sound strange to me at all. I’m sorry about your parents,” Jason whispered. She took another sip of wine and closed her eyes.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up… It's weird to tell someone I just met something so morbid,” Noemi apologized, “Have you ever been married?”

“No,” Jason replied, “And you don’t have to apologize. It’s just a shock. You seem so-.”

“If you say well-adjusted, I’m going to scream,” Noemi interrupted, and Jason laughed and shook his head.

“I was going to say un-traumatized,” Jason replied weakly. Noemi laughed at him and watched as he took a sip of wine. “I think we were meant to meet.”

Noemi raised her brow and poured more wine into her glass. “How so?” she asked.

“I can’t explain it, but it feels right… Like fate,” Jason whispered.

A waiter came with their food, and they both said thank you. Jason was pleasantly surprised by the way Noemi dug into her food. She looked at him and awkwardly finished chewing. “Open your mouth and close your eyes,” Noemi commanded as Jason ate his pasta. He looked into her eyes and raised his brow. “Trust me. Open your mouth and close your eyes.” Jason obeyed, and she spoon-fed him potatoes and octopus in broth. Jason chewed the food and opened his eyes.

Jason made a soft noise and took a sip of wine. “Oh, that’s good. What is it?” Jason questioned.

“It’s a Catalonian dish. Octopus stew,” Noemi replied, “Do you want more?”

“Sure,” Jason whispered. She blew on the spoon and gave him another bite. Noemi giggled, and he returned the favor by offering her a forkful of his seafood pasta. She accepted, and they both laughed.

They ate and talked for what felt like hours, and near the close of their meal, Jason finished his second glass of wine. He took a sip of water, grabbed his bouquet, and offered to walk her home because he wasn't ready to go to the hotel alone. Noemi held his hand as they left the restaurant, and she led him to her villa. When they arrived, they lingered, still talking as if neither one wanted to say goodbye. “Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

“Is this an invitation to spend the night?” Jason questioned. She rolled her eyes and took hold of his shirt as she led him into her home, but they didn’t make love. No. They fell asleep on a sectional in her living room while the tv played softly in the background. It was the best night of sleep he'd had in years. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. To Jason, Noemi was springtime.

[tinkabelle24]

To Build a Home

Chapter 3: Conflicted

TW! No trigger warnings.

Masterlist / Chapter 2

---

(One month later...)

"I wish you'd have let us take you out for your birthday," Molly whined as she poured each of her and Val another glass of rosé. "That way you can just sit there, eat food, get drunk, and not have to worry about clean-up afterward."

Val snatched her glass away to suck up the rogue bubbles before they spilt out. "But I like cooking," she countered. "And I promised to treat you guys once I got settled in, remember?"

"She did say that." Molly's boyfriend, Andrew, called from the bathroom. Val shot her friend a triumphant smirk as she took a proper sip.

"Not on her birthday, though," Molly argued. "And for God's sake, don't stink up her new apartment!"

Molly had the typical ‘goth girl’ look: dark clothes, dark hair, dark makeup, dark everything. Contrary to her ‘intimidating’ appearance, she was an incredibly bubbly and outspoken person, with a penchant for risqué jokes; a trait she and Val shared.

She's also an amazing artist – she'd have to be, considering she tattoos for a living. She proudly exhibits her intricately detailed watercolour art all over her body, head to toe.

She and Molly met when the former moved to Brooklyn from Philadelphia and started attending the latter’s high school.

Growing up the way she did, Val did – and unfortunately still does – agonise over what others genuinely think of her. She kept to herself the first few weeks of school, until Molly caught her leaving the counsellor's office in tears one day.

Molly's the most honest person Val's ever met. Molly tells it the way she sees it, while also being considerate of other’s feelings. Val's never needed to worry about what her best friend thought of her, which was a breath of fresh air for her.

Meanwhile, she'd been lying to her face.

"Mol," Val insisted, reaching over the counter to give her hand a gentle squeeze. "Chill, alright? It's all good. I wanted to show you what I've done to the place, anyway."

They had time; they were just waiting on the curry that was still simmering away on the stove. Val proceeded directing her friend's attention to the now crisp, white, tobacco- stain-free walls.

She'd dedicated almost an entire day scraping off the excess tobacco, then scrubbing away whatever was left with sugar soap and water, and a shit-tonne of elbow grease. Her body ached for days afterwards.

The apartment clearly hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in a long time. There was dust, mould and grime everywhere. She realised she could've compelled her landlord to fulfil their obligations, but she ultimately decided it'd be a good distraction for her. So, she did it all herself.

Molly gave her an earfull about being a pushover, but she simply didn't have the headspace at the time to deal with more drama.

"It looks awesome, Val," Molly complimented. "And it smells so much better, too!"

"Just so you know, Val, I noticed the difference as soon as I walked through the door." The women turned to find Andrew had finally finished up in the bathroom; he was courteous enough to have shut the door.

Molly scoffed, playfully rolling her eyes. "Brown-noser."

Molly and Andrew met at the former's workplace; he wanted a sleeve done in memory of his late grandfather, so they had plenty of time to develop a good rapport. For months, she would not shut up about her cute client with the adorable accent. When the job was finally complete, she asked him out. They've been going strong for nearly four years now.

Andrew was a tall, scruffy-looking man with a kind face, dark eyes, and dark hair. He didn't have nearly as many tattoos as his girlfriend, but he boasted a few on his arms and chest. Andrew works as an electrician – sorry, a ‘sparky’ (he relocated here from Sydney, Australia) - and works long hours, but he always appeared to have something to smile about.

He may be a little oblivious at times, curses like a sailor, and regularly blurts out lingo that makes zero sense (like ‘grouse’, ‘hoon’, and ‘dole-bludger’), but he treats Molly well and she him, so Val was happy for them.

“We’ll bring over some WD-40 next time,” Andrew declared, jabbing a thumb behind him toward the bathroom door. “Your hinges are squeaky as fuck.”

Val shot him a mischievous grin, “like your bed?”

Molly spat her drink.

The trio spent the last few minutes chatting about the layout of the apartment. Andrew kept going on about how he could help ‘maximise the space’ with hooks and shelves; Val had to remind him that she was merely a tenant, unlike them. Lucky bastards...

“You can just use some of those Command Hooks,” Andrew countered. “Or one of those thingies that hang over the door.”

“She’ll figure it out, babe,” Molly assured him with a nudge.

Dinner was finally ready. Val served the curry with rice and the rest of the sad storebought cilantro she failed to regrow in her rooftop planter box. She'd devoted quite a bit of time up there recently, trying to replace the negative memories with positive ones...

...And to keep an eye out for any sign of the mysterious turtle men.

She had reservations about utilising the business card Mikey gave her; she didn't want to just insert herself into their lives without their consent.

Mikey was keen, but that didn't change the fact that the others seemed less than enthused by her involvement. She could be wrong, but she didn't want to assume otherwise and inadvertently make things worse.

When she could finally read said card, she found it was to a local antique dealership called Second Time Around, run by April O'neil – the woman Mikey mentioned. She did some sleuthing and discovered the shop was about a ten-minute detour from the café to her apartment. So, like a creepy stalker, she stopped by on her way home from her shift one day.

Val was warmly greeted by a ginger-haired, green-eyed woman she later identified as April (by her name tag). They didn't converse much, as she needed to process payment for another customer, but Val often found her glancing her way.

Could she have known who I was?

“Val?” Molly’s voice snapped Val out of her thoughts. She looked up from her plate. “I said – how’s your hand?”

“Oh, yeah, much better,” the brunette answered quickly, straightening up in her seat. She showed her best friend her now uninjured hand, finally free of the Godawful splint.

She kept the true cause of her broken fingers a secret, instead blaming it on a misadventure in the kitchen.

Her story was that while she was using a chair to reach the highest shelf, she lost her balance and erroneously used her hands to break her fall. Molly did not seem entirely convinced but didn't question it. Val could not blame her, considering every other sketchy thing she'd been up to.

As promised, Val also didn't disclose to anyone about her encounters with the turtles. If they indeed had enemies, she wanted to avoid drawing attention to them or herself.

She did think of them often, though, especially of Raph, and how he was doing. It had been a month. Hopefully, he'd recovered by now. Did he remember anything from that night? Did he remember her?

“And your mom?”

“She sent me a happy birthday, darling text earlier today, along with a quote about blood being thicker than water...” Val scoffed softy as she took another sip from her glass. “But other than that, nothing. Liv says she has a new boyfriend.”

Her best friend grimaced. “Really?” She groaned. Val simply shrugged; she was used to men floating in and out of her and her sibling’s lives.

Speaking of her siblings...

“Liv got suspended from school the other day.”

“What for??”

“Noah told me she punched a boy in the face.”

Molly's eyes darn near burst from their sockets. “What the fuck?!”

Val nodded. What the fuck, indeed.

“Did she tell you why?”

“She said he’d been giving her grief about her weight for weeks, calling her all sorts of names. The school knows, apparently, but won’t do anything.”

Val has always been more concerned about her sister over her brother. Olivia was old enough to remember her dad - Val’s ex(?) stepfather (she wasn't sure what title to give him; he and mom weren't together, but never divorced) - before he was no longer in her life, but Noah was only little – two, maybe? Val couldn't remember; he was absent for most of her brother’s short life.

Despite this guy's many, many (to put it politely) misgivings, Olivia still thought the sun shone out of his ass. She truly was a daddy’s girl, and she was heartbroken when mom abruptly packed them up and left town.

Olivia always had a difficult time with her temper, like her dad. No matter the severity, any and every inconvenience or slight would bring forth an eruption of emotions that would often take hours to fizzle out. Her paediatrician suspects she's neurodivergent, but nothing's been formalized as of yet.

It's exhausting for her little sister. She often resorts to emotional eating to cope with everything, which has only compounded the problem. Now, she's being bullied for both her short-fuse and her weight. She is only thirteen, for God’s sake...

“Shit’s fucked,” Andrew mused, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna call the school and see what I can do from my end,” Val sighed. “This needed to be nipped in the bud, like, yesterday.”

The trio finished their dinner and a few more drinks, then Molly and Andrew helped with the dishes while Val cleared the table. She lit the new candle the couple gifted her, chuckling at the quote plastered on the front of it:

'My Last Fuck: Oh, Look! It’s on Fire'.

She carefully placed it in the centre of the table.

“You like it, then?” Molly asked as she shut the refrigerator door.

“It’s awesome. I love it, thank you.”

Her friends left shortly after, leaving nothing left for Val to do than shower, drink the leftover wine, then go to bed. Sleep was recommended as she had to work early in the morning, but she didn't want to sleep - she wanted to drag her fold-out chair up onto the roof and wait. For him.

No, Valerie. Stop it.

It’s time for bed. Go.

As Val opened the refrigerator to refill her glass, she discovered an unopened block of her favourite dark chocolate on the top shelf. No way, this can’t be. She sent a quick text to Molly.

[I love you.]

[Enjoy! Xx]

The brunette emptied the bottle into her glass, snapped off a row (or two, or three...) of chocolate, then headed for the shower.

Dressed in her mismatched chequered pink pyjama pants and oversized black Metallica shirt, Val finally exited the bathroom to wash and put away her glass. However, something caught her eye, and she stopped dead in her tracks, almost dropping her glass.

A yellow post-it note had been stuck to her window, from the outside.

Setting her glass aside, she rushed toward the window. The scribbled note read: Look down. Her gaze snapped toward the floor of her fire escape and, sure enough, there was something there. A parcel. A red parcel. She pushed the window open, reached out and snatched it.

The parcel felt soft, like wool. As she unravelled it, she quickly realised she was holding a scarf. A brand-new, handmade scarf. She gently traced the braided detail with her fingertips. It was beautiful.

As she unravelled it, a hard thud caused her to yelp in surprise. She looked down – a pocketknife? Then she realised: all the items she'd lost that night had been returned to her.

Holy shit.

---

Raph and Mikey cased the building earlier that night, at the beginning of patrol, to ensure they had the correct window.

They finally located Val’s apartment on the top floor, high enough for them to sit and observe from the building across the street. She was not alone at that moment; she had friends over, and they were laughing over drinks.

It took Raph longer than anticipated to identify her, as she looked and behaved differently to when they last met.

Good different.

Her hair was longer, long enough now to be twisted into a loose updo. Every item of clothing, save for the slightly loose floral blouse, was form-hugging, accentuating the curves that were previously hidden beneath oversized clothing, or obscured by darkness. Moreover, she carried herself less like a scared child and more like a confident young woman. She seemed happier and healthier this time around. It was nice to see.

When they circled back, it appeared she was now alone. Her hair had been let down, and she'd changed into something a little more familiar. They watched as she carefully inspected the scarf, at which point Mikey attempted teasing his older brother for having such a ‘dainty' skill. But the red-banded terrapin was too anxious to respond.

His gaze was fixed on her reaction to his handiwork. He'd spent the better part of a month on it whilst bedridden. The project provided him a much-needed challenge for his insanely bored brain, and gentle exercise for his underutilized muscles. He hoped she liked it, because he couldn't bring himself to return her old one, which had been stained and stretched to buggery.

"Oof," Mikey winced when she dropped the pocketknife, that had been hidden inside the scarf. "I hope that wasn't her foot."

"She's alright, I think..." Raph replied distractedly, assuming she'd simply kneel and pick it up. But she didn't. She just stared down. Then, after what felt like forever, her head snapped toward the window, and he had to remind himself that she couldn't see them.

He felt sick.

"You should go say hi-"

"No."

"No??" Mikey spluttered. "Why not?"

"Cos I can't."

"I didn't realise that word was in your vocabulary."

The red-banded terrapin stared at him incredulously. "Don't act like we haven't literally just come outta lockdown."

It was all over the news:

'slain store owner discovered by employee; second man found dead in nearby alleyway. Local gang involvement considered.'

As Raph managed to let that other Purple Motherfucker get away, the pests were out for blood. To avoid drawing any more attention to themselves, the Turtles were forced to lay low for a while, until the excitement wore off.

Whenever any of them complained about feeling stir-crazy, or expressed concern for April, Casey, and their son, Leo was more than happy to remind them of who was responsible for their situation.

“Ask Raph,” he'd sneer. “I’m also curious to know what his thought process was.”

Aside from these snarky remarks, the eldest brothers barely acknowledged or spoke to one another.

"I'm not," Mikey argued. "I'm just saying that you guys obviously need to talk, and you're throwing away this golden opportunity."

Raph let out an exasperated sigh. He understood what his younger brother was saying but, unfortunately, this situation was more complicated than that.

Yes, he wanted to see her, but he also felt she'd been through enough already. He didn't know what led her to that rooftop that night but, whatever it was, she absolutely didn't need any more of his own drama mixed in with it.

"Wait!" Mikey exclaimed, with an elbow to the plastron so sharp it just about knocked the wind out of his brother. "She's leaving-"

"Will ya stop!" Raph shoved him away. "I ain't blind. I can see what you're seein'."

Val had indeed left her apartment, leaving her door wide open in the process. The brothers watched as she burst onto the roof, eyes darting in every direction to find them. Raph steeled himself.

"Dude, she clearly wants to see you," Mikey argued. Raph kept his eyes forward, silent. After a minute of being ignored, the youngest brother finally snapped. "What are you afraid of?"

That struck a nerve. Raph finally turned on his brother. "I ain't afraid," he protested, but the delivery was so pathetic even he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"Bullshit." The youngest brother drew closer, baby blues narrowed in suspicion. "You're hiding something," he accused. "What is it? ... Have you met her before?"

Silence.

"What happened?"

"I can't tell ya."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Both."

"Why?"

"Not my business."

"That makes no sense."

"Look, Mikey," Raph sighed. "All ya need to know is that she doesn't need us in her life. My only goal here is to return her stuff, then leave. I don't wanna see her. I don't wanna get to know her. Alright?"

Mikey scoffed softly, shaking his head. "Be like that, then." The orange-banded terrapin stole one last glance across the street before, to Raph's surprise, getting up and leaving.

"What the hell, Mikey?! ... Mikey!"

"I'm not about to sit here and watch that. Let me know when you're done." With that, Mikey disappeared over the ledge, leaving Raph alone.

---

C'mon...

Val had scoured the skyline what seemed like a hundred times now and... nothing. Not a single fucking soul.

She hoped she was wrong, but she couldn't help but wonder whether this was his way of saying he wanted nothing else to do with her. It hurt something fierce, but she was going to have to be okay with it. She had no other choice.

The brunette sighed, disheartened. She could't stay out here much longer. Stupidly, she left without any warm gear. No jacket, no socks, no shoes...

The icy wind had been whipping at her damp skin and hair for several minutes now, and she could no longer feel her face. She'd wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to retain what body heat she had left, but it was no use. She was freezing.

Forced to admit defeat, Val trudged back downstairs to her apartment.

Little did she know there was someone waiting for her...

---

Masterlist / Chapter 4

[airiat]

snippets someday~

Rules:

Revisit an old fic (or earlier chapters of your current WIP) and share a snip from: - Your first chapter - Your favorite chapter - Your most challenging chapter Alternatively, if you don't write longfic, feel free to share your one-shots. Provide as much or as little commentary as you want.

i see u @mareenavee and ur gentle nudge for me to talk about a certain raggedy ol' fic of mine 😏

under the cut for snippets from Lead Me Not into Temptation

First Chapter: Outlander

The ashen air blows dust into my lungs as I step off the ship. Gjalund, the Nord who gave me passage to this island, speaks to me as I start to walk down the dock--something about him hoping I can find out what is going on around here--but I pay him little mind. My foreign surroundings take up far too much of my attention for conversation.

It is early morning, and the rising sun paints the sky a yellow that seems almost unnatural. To the right, I can see a large edifice built with the Imperial architecture of Cyrodiil, but in front of me, further back, is a tiered building constructed of sloping lines that look almost like the shell of an insect. The grounds are coated in grey ash, with a path forged through it to the town. The few trees that stand are dead and snapped in half, or layered in so much ash that they may as well be. Beyond everything and out into the sea, I can see Red Mountain spraying its contents into the sky, unending.

-

there's not one bit of me convinced i would write this opening in even remotely the same way now--same words, same scene, same attention to detail. no, it'd be very, very different. these days, i stay away from heavy description, focus instead on building a strong atmosphere for the reader to build their own visuals into. you can't make someone see things exactly the way you do. you may as well lean into that and save the words for something more important. still, i think i stand by this opening. it does the job.

Favorite Chapter: 21 - Truth at Any Cost

“C’mere,” I say to him.

Teldryn gets up from his seat hesitantly, some restrained emotion pulled over his face. He comes to stand before me, and I rise to him. My arms are around him before I can even realize what I’m doing, my face buried in the crook of his neck. He relaxes into me, holds me to him, his hand running gently through my hair. I surprise myself; I don’t cry. It’s like he has fortified me, passed his strength on to me.

“You are so much stronger than you know, Fjoara,” he murmurs. “Everything you need you already have.”

I pull back to meet his eyes. “I have you.”

Teldryn exhales, leans forward, his forehead against mine. “You do, indeed.”

His warm breath fanning over my face, his hands steady on my back, his lips, full and soft, a whisper away from my own. The world grows silent as I close my eyes and press my lips against his. When he kisses me back, it’s as if time has returned to when dragons are still nothing but myth and Miraak is only a name eroded by lost memories.

What shape does fear take? I’ve forgotten. All I know now is the vastness of eternity, the moons, and all the stars in the sky. I hold them here in my arms.

-

now this is what i'm talking about! right here!! this shit slaps! i couldn't have written it any better. i mean i think maybe the dialogue could maybe benefit from a little bit of fiddling with but yeah anyway good fucking shit

Most Challenging Chapter: 17 - To Climb Mountains

The dragon’s flight is weak, dipping and flailing through the air. The end of this battle approaches.

I position myself beneath the dragon and lift my head to the sky, shouting Unrelenting Force with a might like I never thought myself capable of having. My Thu’um pummels against his dying body, knocking him against the harsh, unforgiving stone of Saering’s Watch. As Kaalkriluth crumples to the ground with a groan of agony and a spray of gravel, I sprint towards him and vault up onto the back of his neck. In one smooth motion, I pull Dawnbreaker from its scabbard and plunge the blade into the top of his head, dragging it back to create a deep, mortal wound. In a plume of enchanted fire, the Daedric weapon slides through the skull with little more resistance than a boat’s oar through water.

With my final blow, I can feel the dragon’s life force slacken. While the last bit of his breath shudders out from him, I lean forward onto the pommel of my sword still embedded into his head, closing my eyes in wait of what I know happens next.

I don’t have to see it. I only need to hear the crackle of Kaalkriluth’s body incinerating below me to know that I have managed this feat. As I feel the storm of his soul rushing into me, the thousands of years of his life unravel in my mind until it nestles amongst my own memories, my own stories, my own thousands of nights of dreams. I am scorched painfully raw with the new power I can scarcely handle, but for a moment I can almost feel my Dovah’s wings unfurling at my sides. Only once everything has quieted, do I open my eyes, the wetness of the tears that rim them stinging in the cold air. Below me, Kaalkriluth is nothing but bones.

-

i don't like writing action. this is no big secret. having to write a character walking around in a room sends me into mortal peril. it's hard. i don't always know how little i can get away with saying. if i could write a story of nothing but dialogue and my purple prose i would do just that. but here we are. we're writing an epic battle with a dragon. oookayy. this was a very hard chapter to write. i'm fairly sure i began it and then put it aside for a long time because i was so overwhelmed. let me be frank.

it's easy for me to write. i wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't. i'm quite sure that i could write anything that i wanted to, if i wanted to bad enough. anything. so here's this dragon battle. i wrote it. what's hard is when i have to stop and think about how i need to write something. when i have to be very deliberate. when it feels like i have to choreograph something rather than let it flow from me. this chapter is like a night at the ballet, with dancers and their bloody feet hidden by pristine satin shoes; the rest of my work is the break of dawn at a club in, like, berlin.

this chapter is different. it succeeds. it has merit. but it's not me, ultimately. i've written another fantasy story since lmnit and in that story, my character doesn't even so much as draw a dagger. i like it better that way. writing a tes fanfic shoehorned me into needing to write dense action. i'll never do it again. probably.

[refried-ghost]

I have so so many ideas. So little time and not the skills to get them all out in quick enough succession.

I'll get there. I'll get there.

Like the things I do write aren't really thought out before hand. I've had Everyone's Running Away in the back of my mind for a year but scrapped most of the details. What I've writing here has been going in with some ideas. But basically none, unless I'm continuing on an idea I already started here.

Being Fired doesn't have a big old plot. I either feel like writing Skoodge or Krysa or again working off something I already wrote.

Some Dubious Cloning strikes at complete random. Not really surprising I wrote for it in the last week with all this 777 stuff. It was supposed to be shelved, but it's consistently like hey hey hey. Write about Gaz. Write about softer stuff. You need some fluff in your life, work on it bitch. And still we get angst.

Tallest Gir is in fact shelved. The three above are huge and I want to get them done.

Meats&Metals is backstory and where I figure out how I want to set up the Irkens. It's good for feeling out how I'm gonna characterize them. It's fine it I have to go back latter and break somethings cause personality are too off. But also can be far enough back that they can develop into the characters we know if I'm careful enough. Not a priority, but likely will be consistently added to.

WTF Purple. My lovely lovely self indulgent fic with two Purples, one Red and yards of angst. That I have thumbnailed a comic for and was writing a script to until I realized I only liked chapter one the other three were garbage cause I pulled the idea completely from the nether and didn't know where to go with it. Is sorta shelved. I do just wanna finish the comic for chapter one and just get to it as I get to it, but I don't know. Bulb deserves attention. I want the Rapr thing. I want an OCxTallest thing. I want crush Purple into dust like I do Zim and Skoodge. But also like eh. But also Marred Purple is my favorite Purple with all his baggage, how the situation wrecks him further then he thought possible, how he put himself in it, cause he saw Red in danger. Even though he watched him die and knows he's dead. And struggle with the fact that he's right their right in front of him, but he's not. Plus you know. Having a double of yourself around that gets pissed when you flirt with his boyfriend even though you really didn't mean to and the fact you did already fucks you up is good ground for an identity crisis. My problem was likely trying to write it in chronological order.

And the Kyrie stuff. The Mysterious Crew cut off from the empire for years due to Spork's Plotting. The Old Empire stuff with many Tallest's warring against each other Tallest Roxvin on Irk and Grey from the rebelling sector Kyrie's created in. The Swap where old empire Purple and canon Purple swap bodies and have to navigate the massive differences between their realities. But is it different realities or is it a time thing? Hmmm? Hmmm? None of which I have any plans on writing anytime in the observable future. Shelved.

I don't know if I'm even gonna write What Happened on Vort? even though it was part of Running Away. If I get to the Resisty stuff it'd be great. The perfect lead into the absolute chaos to follow an attempted mystery. But i don't know if I can pull it off or if I even want to keep Running Away's ending the way it is. Do I actually have it in me to end it like that?

Actually ask me anything about my ideas I'd love to spill. Expect Vort and Running Away's ending.

This isn't even touching the original stuff.

Also the smugglers thing. Don't whenever remember how that connects to canon right now aside from Purple ordering an Enforcer to investigate them. Could probably roll the whole idea into some else entirely since the lingering attachments are so thin. Might just been apart of the world building I was going for Irk that got a bit out of control.

It's was for 24 hour Purple. So basically just a world building thing. that's not even a project anymore. Okay so this was when I trying to write about an average day in Purple's life way back. Then 24 hour Red was supposed to be things going to absolute chaos. And I got caught in a spiral of world building. I made up bunch of Advisor most of which are scrapped. Really tall dude hiding out in the crime base under irks dump used to be one of the heads to a PAK involved sector until it the Lords and Advisors thought he was getting to powerful and started trying to kill him. The smugglers group keeps him there so he can falsify PAK IDs permissions and records. Most of the world building is outdated. Did result in the Tallest's Chambers though. And basically all my ideas for what was in there aside from Red's room. Just didn't get there before I realized how deep in the dirt I was.

[sunny6677]

Cicadas: When October Sings. - BOOK 1

Summary:

Mysterious events begin to occur in a small suburban town Kevin lives in.

CHAPTER 7: A Game Of Poker.

————

"..heh—some vampire teeth?" Ethan laughed softly, slipping his cigarette out of his mouth. The smoke flew into the air. I leaned foward in the chair I sat on beside him, and let out a sigh.

"Yeah. Said he lost it or something." I shrugged—shutting my eyes as the cooler air enveloped me. "Hopefully it's not something he just found and wants to collect for himself.."

"Ehh, it's probably not." Shrugged Ethan calmly, taking a drag of his cigarette. As a puff of smoke came out, he tilted his head to the side. "You feeling alright?"

"Yeah.. better anyway. The weather was kinda hot when Streber took me to that construction site thing. So, I.. guess I'm still exhausted from that."

Ethan was quiet. He didn't really say anything. We'd been sitting outside here for a little while so I'd just been.. awkwardly responding to everything he said.

A thought came into my head, and I turned my head over in his direction. "..uh—does Streber go there a lot or something? He said something about messing around."

"Hm? Oh—yeah. Kinda. He just goes there to hang out or.. think as he says. Or just if he wants to be alone. Either way—sometimes he comes back with stuff from there since no one's using it anyway. I'd say there's a chance the teeth aren't his, buuuuut.. he does have a little spare supply of some for Halloween every now and then. So he's probably not lying."

"Oh.."

I stared ahead. I thought of.. well, it had kinda been bugging me for some reason. I almost stayed up a little more than I should have last night. Even with Streber sending his text of telling me to sleep. So..

"Uh—what exactly are they doing over there? Do you know?"

"Mm?"

"Like—y'know—it's a construction site. Are they just like.. building something, or collecting trash?"

"..hm.. probably not. There was somethin' that happened a while ago there though."

"Like what?"

I responded a bit too quickly—and seeing Ethans gaze set itself upon my face, I felt a warm flush wash over my cheeks.

"Well.. there was this statue in town. It was actually a spiritual statue. Heh.. most people in town didn't believe in the things about the statue, but it's been there for a long time."

"You.. mean that weird statue of the octopus thing in town?"

"..yeah. That." Ethan gave another drag of his cigarette. "The government ended up deciding it'd be a good idea to take it and the entire shrine it's at down just cuz they wanted to replace it with some fancy transport system. But it was pretty important to all the old people in town. So they flipped out about it and protested. It ended up working though because—"

"Hey—guys?"

I flinched slightly. Snapping my head in the direction of the voice, my eyes fluttered, only to be met with a familiar round face.

"Mm?" Hummed Ethan.

"You wanna go play that game now? Kevin said he wanted to play this time, didn't he?"

"Oh.. haha.. right."

I flickered my eyes over to Ethan, who let out a sigh. "C'mon, Kev. Wouldn't wanna be late for your first round, would you?"

"Uh.. yeah."

I saw Ethan, with a soft smile, dust himself off with his free hand. The front door closed from behind me, the sound of it shutting making my heart jump for a second.

..I wasn't sure why. I mean—it was just Streber closing the door.

...

..I needed to ask him a little more about.. that later.

————

"Alright, Kev.. I should probably explain a little more about this thing before we get too into it."

Ethan rested his hands beneath his chin, leaning over the wooden table we had all sat at. Streber sat at the right side of the table, while I sat at the opposite end of Ethan. There was one empty chair with no one sitting in it. Since.. well, I was the only person playing with them today.

With a frown curling on my lips, I lowly said, "..is this.. gonna be really complicated or something?"

"Mmh.. kinda. Depends on how ya think about it." He shrugged. "Basically, anytime we do this whole.. group thing, we just pick a random game to play. We'll do video games sometimes. Butttt.. we're just gonna be doing a card game today."

He grinned from ear to ear, "Basically, all you gotta do is just try no matter what to win whatever we're playing. If you win, you get to pick the losers punishment. And if you lose, someone has to pick your punishment for you. It's kinda easy."

"Wait—punishment?"

"..uh.. Ethan, did you not explain that to him?" Streber asked, arching a brow.

Ethan blinked, and laughed. "..oh.. hah.. basically, you lose, you get punished. I write a bunch of crazy stuff on the cards all the time, and so does Streber. You basically have to do whatever humiliating thing the card says if ya lose."

I cried out, "..se—seriously?! Why?! I thought we were just gonna play!"

"Hey.. chill, man. Ya don't have to play this if you don't want to. It's just part of the game."

"..."

I sighed. "..no.. I'll play. Just—what are we even playing, anyway?"

"..hmmm.. wellllll..."

He slowly leaned to the side, shuffling his hands beneath the table—Streber watched as he shuffled and searched for a moment. Ethans body then finally lifted up after a while, and with a large smile on his lips, he held a large box in his hands.

He released his hands, and it plopped onto the table with a mere thud.

"We're gonna be playing.. this."

I squinted my eyes, and then tilted my head to the side. "..Poker? But��I've never played that—"

"Don't worry 'bout it.. not like we're actually gonna lose money like in serious poker. Lucky for you, I've still got the instruction manual."

"It'll be easy, Kevs!" Streber smiled, trying to speak reassuringly, "You might end up beating me or Ethan on your first try."

"..well, I doubt it.. but.. thanks." I sighed, watching as Ethan whipped out a slim piece of paper and cleared his throat.

"Well, first of all.."

————

..well, with Ethans pretty easy explanation of the rules and Strebers encouragement, I thought I'd win somehow, but—

"Wh—how did you know I had that?!"

"Heh.. you aren't really the best at hiding things, Kev. C'monnnn.. hand it over."

"Ughhhhh.."

I set my like.. fourty-eigth card down after so many tries of lying and somehow losing to the others despite my many bets. In the end, they both would have collected more money than I did playing Poker. If we were playing the gambling version of it anyway..

As I sighed to myself, I thought of how it couldn't possibly get any worse than this.

...

And then it did—the very next round.

"Du—Dude! How?!" I said, holding out the few cards I had left as Streber rolled his eyes playfully.

"Hahahah—why are you whining?" Ethan grinned, "Sounds like sore loser talk to me."

"It's not loser talk! This is just unfair!"

"Heheheh.. you gonna cryyyyy..?"

"Sh—Shut up!"

No.. I'd win.. I'd win. I just had to try.

..I could try hiding what my face looked like, right? Then they couldn't know what I was thinking or what cards I had.

...

I thought wrong. By the time it hit the final round, I had my hands pressed over my face. My groans muffled by my sweaty palms. I heard Ethan chuckle from in front of me like the smug bastard he was..

Ethan won once. Streber won two times. And.. well—I didn't win at all. On the first day of even participating, I lost already. It felt like every ounce of motivation I had was lost within me.

I released my hands off of my face, sighing in annoyance. "Geez.. why'd you have to pick such a hard game?"

"Heheh.. can't help it, Kev. I wanted to see you lose to me."

I grumbled in response. Steeber huffed, reaching out a hand.

"Heyy.. don't be so down about it, Kev. It's not like you won't get better, right?"

"..yeah.. like I ever get better at anything without needing some help."

"..mm.. well, hey! We can probably just go out or something after this. Just to make it up to you and all."

"Yeah.. and to make up for your punishment!"

"My—"

..oh.. shit. The rule completely left my mind. I lifted my head, my eyes slowly widening in the realization of what was about to come.

"Uh—Ethan, maybe we shouldn't.. do a punishment..? I mean—he doesn't really seem like he's taking it well."

"It'll be fine." Ethan shrugged, shuffling his hands beneath the table, and whipping out a pile of fragile papers onto the table. "I'll pick something more mild this time."

"Ethan—" I protested, "You can't just—"

"Ah-ah. Rules are rules. Now, let's see.."

I furrowed my brows. Why was he being such an ass right now? Well, I.. couldn't tell if it was that, or if I was just annoyed from losing so much. Streber glared at Ethan, frowning.

I half expected him to not say anything and just reluctantly comply, as Ethan began to read.

"Oh.. this should be good. You—"

Ethan stopped reading. With a sudden snap, Strebers hand shot foward, ripping the card out of Ethan's hand. Ethans eyes mildly widened, and I raised my own brows.

Ethan gazed slowly over at Streber, puzzled. "..uh—what are you doing—?"

He stopped, grunting a little as Strebers other arm wrapped around his neck—not choking him, but simply keeping him from moving away.

In a low tone, Streber spoke softly, "I'm not letting you do any punishments today—considering how smug you were being. I think it's only fair you get punished this time."

"..what? Why?"

"You basically kept mocking him the whole time even though it was his first time playing. Knowing you, you probably picked that game just to watch him fail. I know it's funny to you—but it's not really funny when he's clearly not having a good time."

"I wasn't... mocking him. I was just teasing."

"Yeah, but that can still hurt. Kev—do you wanna pick his punishment?"

"..uhhh.. I dunno." I stammered. "It's.."

..well, I mean.. I felt petty enough to wanna punish him.

"..yeah. Sure."

"Alright—" Streber huffed, looking over to the cards he had set down, "Let's see what you got here then!"

[withleeknow]

DARLING HII WHAT IN THE WORLD I WAS WRITING MY REPLY TO YOU AND OUT OF NOWHERE THE INDUSTRY HEAVENS GRACED US WITH OUR GUCCI ANGELS WE SO WON the day they reunite in the same frame I'm doing an icarus and simultaneously bursting into tears and flames

the album - pls indulge yourself bc the self-control I exerted limiting to two - they're the prettiest additions to my shelf we.tl/t-WP67bstBZn (I also love your “not a stan yet” - as if the inevitability of it is waiting around the corner *🍙 running to the microwave* tinyurl.com/4xmf4bsz - today's husband in red? rimless glasses?🧎🏻‍♀️)

don't you dare get me started on sunghoon - every time they post a new vid/en-o'clock I'm floored + the way he's the introverted savage neat-freak honestly sign me uppp

ohhhh WT - you've done so well with it:'))) do you have a gauge of how many chapters there'll be? I think I speak for the entirety of the audience/taglist - the anticipation for this plot is srsly unmatched <3

a 2min hc-esque spinoff to the hyunho Δ 👀 ahahah you know I love 🌱 ideas to fuel our insanity + speaking of, did you seeeee 🥟's IG live this week?? our art collegebf is back with his grown-out mullet + painted nails + silver chain GOD how did you survive that??

no what the heck that's the most wholesome story ever what are the odds 🥺🥺 also i swear yoongi girlies are a rare gem to find in the wild so it was meant to be [the more i speak with you, the more you give off that “angel in another life with puzzle pieces that fit in place at the right place right time bc law of attraction” kinda vibe idk if that made any sense🧚🏻‍♀️✨️]

even tho i still think gucci is ugly a lot of the time, i too will burst into flames if we ever get jin x mimo in the same frame 🤝 who would've thought this could ever be a possibility aaaaahhhhh 😭

OHHH i love your shelf it's so pretty 🥹 ngl i went to my kpop store yesterday and i was standing in front of the enhypen display for like 10 mins lol. i would get either the inceptio ver or the jay ver but i have no idea how to get the jay ver. mayhaps we'll need to go back and do some more sleuthing lmao

look at him go 😭 i fear i love him. a little bit. just a little bit cough cough.

for wt i've always kinda planned to limit it to 10 chapters, which is still on par with our current trajectory! i'm really glad i made wt a thing bc it used to be just an idea over on the other blog that was sitting there collecting dust never knowing if it'd ever see the light of day. but then i crossed over to here and i thought it wouldn't be half bad to turn it into a mimo fic instead. and i'm glad i did!! bc it brought me so many good people here 🥺

THE LIVEEE 😭 i love him i love him i think i have romantic feelings for him 😭 look at him he's so pretty and he looks like the perfect college babygirl bf gahhh i definitely did not survive this

she was so so nice it was such a wholesome interaction :((( she was staying closer to the stadium so she made sure to walk me to the bus stop :((( finding stans in the wild really is just the best. when i was in budapest for coldplay a couple months ago i saw a guy with a baby wolf chan on his backpack !!

STOPPP i'll get emo if i think about it too much 😭 you're genuinely one of my favorite people, your asks always always make my day and i am so glad you're my pocket fren 😭 you are an angel and i love you and i appreciate you very much, you're the 🍙 to my 🌱 which doesn't make sense but yk lolllll

anddd sharing with you my own favorite nook in my room heheheh my comfort corner with my emotional support kpop bois 🥹 (there’s no mimo here bc he’s on my bedside shelf and scattered over my room lol)

[casspurrjoybell-28]

The Alpha's Addiction - Chapter 7a

*Warning Adult Content*

Arms - Part 1 - Koa

As I'm resting on the ground, Oliver wrapping his arms around me in worry, I notice Cyrus's huge black wolf moving away.

At first I think he's leaving... but then he's going behind a thick-trunked tree, re-emerging about a minute later in his human form, clothes obviously hurriedly thrown on from the wrinkles in his shirt.

He must've got them from the pack his wolf was carrying.

I give him a look of confusion before he's walking straight towards me with determination in his piercing blue eyes.

He scoops me up in those huge arms of his like I weigh nothing, causing my face to heat in sudden humiliation.

"Oh my God. Put me down," I shriek, kicking my legs out but he holds me firm, like he's restraining a small animal.

"You cannot walk. Be sensible," he growls in frustration and as I notice the others watching us, I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to embarrass myself further.

Normally when Alphas touch me, I cringe.

I hate it to my very core because it reminds me of all the horrible things they have done to me, to my body.

But for some reason... his touch isn't as bad as I thought it'd be.

"Are you calm, now?" he asks in that deep rumble of a voice and I just stubbornly huff in concession.

He's right. I can't walk.

And being carried in his arms is a thousand times better than crawling, which is the only thing I could probably do right now with my fucked up ankle.

"Be good," he orders and I roll my eyes, crossing my arms.

He ignores my reaction, nodding to the wolves.

We continue through the woods and while I was stiff at first I find myself relaxing into his warm embrace, his scent of fresh pine and rain washing over me until I dose, finally feeling like it's safe for me to rest my eyes.

Arms - Part 2 - Cyrus

When he rests that little head of ruddy curls against my chest, I forget to breathe.

Despite my effort to hide how much joy this action brings me, my eyes dart down to look at his face, eager to take in the sight of my mate.

His honey eyes are closed, though... long, thick lashes dusting over his freckled cheeks and I note by his even breathing he has fallen asleep.

When I realize he didn't do it on purpose I'm slightly disappointed but the thought that he felt comfortable enough to sleep on me is rewarding as well.

After our rough start, I'll take whatever I can get.

I have to force myself to tear my eyes away from him, otherwise, I'll watch him all day.

Can one blame me, though?

My mate is beautiful.

So much so that I don't want anyone else to look at him. 

My gaze inevitably finds him again, my chest constricting in a bittersweet ache.

I have long dreamed of this... of finally finding my Omega and now that I have, he barely seems to tolerate me.

I'm sure if he was not stranded in the forest and forced to rely on me, he'd have ditched me long ago.

He also acts as if I would harm him or his pup.

The thought angers me because it means that it has happened before.

No doubt an Alpha inflicted the injuries he bears.

Looking at the large, hand-shaped bruises on his fragile looking neck makes my stomach turn.

This Alpha obviously had intent to kill.

I clutch him closer to my body, protectiveness overcoming me.

I will not let such a thing happen to him ever again.

I'll kill anyone who dares lay a hand on him or the pup.

He suddenly shifts in his sleep, letting out a soft sigh and cuddling up against me.

His small, slender brown hands find purchase on my chest, the curves of his perfect body pressing right up against me.

I nearly stop in my tracks, my eyes going wide at the sensation.

Sucking in a breath, I can't help it as my mind flashes to how he looked this morning, wearing only his jacket and undershorts.

He had legs for days, showing off the golden brown skin of them as he demanded for Xavier to give him his knife back.

I really need to stop these indecent thoughts before I rile up my wolf.

My heart is beating so loudly I fear it will wake him.

Then the scent of vanilla with a hint of something alluring... like spiced cider... makes its way to my nose and by the Moon Goddess it is intoxicating.

As I take another whiff of his scent I nearly groan in pleasure but I restrain myself as my eyes flit to the others.

They are walking a ways ahead with the kid who rides on Lonnie's back.

Thank God.

I will myself to calm down, to get a hold of myself.

My mate is sleeping, completely unaware of what he's doing to me.

And I fear if he caught sight of the rock-hard bulge in my pants I'd scare him off for good.

I instead try to shift my focus to the strain of my arms.

He is by no means heavy but carrying him this way for our entire trek has taken a toll on my muscles.

Not that I wish to put him down, no.

Getting to hold him like this is the most attention I've gotten from him... positive attention.

Him coming at me with a knife was definitely the negative kind.

While a part of me is disappointed by the fact that he was so fearful of me when we met he felt he had to resort to that, I understand.

He was protecting himself, his pup.

He had been so fierce, coming at me with all his might, knife and eyes blazing.

It is strange to imagine that is the same Omega who is curled up against me now, so small and delicate in my arms.

So precious.

Even despite the vulgar words that seem to constantly come out of those plump, rosy lips of his.

'Dammit.'

Eventually, my raging hardness goes down and I rejoin the group. Oliver, as I've learned the pup's name as, looks delighted at being able to sit on Lonnie.

He scrunches his pudgy hands in her black and white spotted fur, squealing with delight.

As I approach, he asks,

"Is Mama okay now?"

"He's resting," I reassure him, which brings a bright smile to the boy's face.

"That's very goodie."

I chuckle at his use of words, wishing I could ruffle his hair.

But it might be overstepping my bounds.

My mate is fiercely protective of his pup and although he is not conscious to stop me, I do not wish to do anything he wouldn't like.

Instead, I ask him something that would also probably anger the sleeping Omega but is pretty necessary.

"What is your mama's name, Oliver?"

He thinks for a minute, frown on his face as if deciding whether it's okay to tell me.

"Um... it's Koa," he eventually replies.

The fact that my mate'a pup trusts me enough to tell me that sends a surge of pride through me but then I realize how ridiculous that is.

I'm acting like a pup myself, desperate for approval.

But Koa.

'Koa.'

My mate.

'Mine.'

[casspurrjoybell-22]

Master - Chapter 1a

*Warning - Adult Content*   

I let my eyes open, tired with the faint slumber I'd allowed myself for a few months. 

If I fell any deeper, I'd miss a couple of decades.

Not that it mattered but I preferred to keep myself aware. 

It'd be a bitch to wake up and find myself chained down with little humans pricking at me, again.

That was probably the one fear which all vampires shared, falling too deep into a slumber, only waking to find you'd missed a couple of centuries. 

Time was the most valuable resource for vampires. 

Extending it for as long as possible was all that really mattered. 

I didn't really care. 

I was stuck on this earth whether I liked it or not. 

I didn't even have the luxury of falling that deep into slumber.

I wish I had the luxury. 

I'd never wake up.

I didn't bother trying to convince myself to get out of bed. 

There was nothing waiting for me out there. 

I had no duties, no tasks to complete, no one to hunt - I already killed those I needed to. 

There was nothing to do. 

So instead of doing something so useless as leaving my bed, I rolled over and picked up my phone.

Vampires were without a doubt, the most 'normal' species in the supernatural world. 

We didn't chant weird spells or turn into beasts during the night, spend our lives haunting others or pursuing a disturbing deep connection with nature. 

Out of all the various species that'd spawned over the generations, vampires were the closest thing to humans. 

Probably because the majority of us were desperate to be human again.

I couldn't relate to that want, that incessant need to be something I once was like the rest of my kind did.

I didn't remember what it felt like and naturally didn't crave it. It helped that I naturally despised the unknown, I had no cravings to explore that side of life or pretend to encompass it. 

Only the foolish pursued such fantasies, the foolish and the hopeless.

The only reason I was involved in this new world's creation known as social media, was to keep myself up to date with the world. 

I couldn't expect to survive in it if I didn't understand it. 

So I spend a good set of hours familiarizing myself with the world I'd awoken to. 

New presidents, more death, more chaos - no surprise there. 

Then I stumbled upon this thing called 'memes'. 

Turns out memes are the humans' greatest invention since porn. 

I pull the sheets from my body, deciding a bath wouldn't be so bad but quickly develop a frown when I place my feet down in a thin layer of dust. 

My eyes dart around the space to find all furnishing coated in a similar layer that represented the world that had continued to move one without me. 

I itch at my brain, trying to remember the last time I gave this place a good cleaning but that seemed to be an inaccessible time frame.

I hate cleaning more than I hate breathing. 

Accepting the cold of the cracking tiles, I make my way across the fractured flooring into the large bathroom which was just as dusty, with cobwebs creeping from corners. 

I already hated this bathroom for being entirely black, now I just hated it more for being dirty. 

It should've been white.

I take my time rinsing the bath, cleaning it thoroughly before filling the large tub with cold water. 

I strip myself of my worn clothes before letting myself sink in. 

Releasing a strained sigh as my ancient veins sizzle momentarily from the crisp touch of the water. 

Though I hated to admit it, any way to feel alive, even for a nanosecond, was worth it.

I may not truly be dead but it sure as hell felt like it.

After scrubbing myself clean, I climb out of the tub and dry quickly before dressing myself in only a pair of loose, grey sweatpants.

After letting myself soak in the wintry chill of my own thoughts, I clean myself up and slip off the first pair of pants I find. 

With that, I leave my bedroom and make my way through my vacant castle. 

It was just as dusty and just as dirty as the room I inhabited. 

I was the only one who lived in this fortress and didn't have a single servant to clean it for me. 

I, unlike all vampires, hated the concept of servants and slaves.

Any vamps who had even a shrivel of power immediately surrounded themselves with as many slaves and servants as they possibly could. 

Slaves who they beat, overworked and fucked when they wished.

‘It was fucking atrocious.’

I refused to own anyone, refused to indulge in the disgusting practice. 

I'd experienced what it felt like to be in chains, to have no control over your actions and to be treated as nothing more but a scrap of shit. 

I wouldn't condemn anyone to that fate, never. 

I'd never force someone to spend their entire life doing my bidding. 

It repulsed me to alter someone's life so much. 

So I lived my life alone. 

In a fragile state of peace which was the best, I could achieve.

Like it always had, it took a good ten minutes of walking before I even approached the stairs which lead to the basement. 

Of course, I could get here much faster if I wanted to but it made the minutes of these long days multiply and I truly adored anything which made the time go faster.

Despite this, I release a tired sigh, eyes lazily staring down into the darkest part of my abode. 

Taking one step at a time, I trudge down the never ending spiraling staircase until I myself am consumed by the darkness itself.

I ignore the forgotten slave cells and haunted torture chambers, which remained untouched as they'd always been and head straight for the enormous cooler in the back. 

Lifting the top, I stare down at the seemingly endless encasement of blood bags, pleased to find that Wequie had kept things rolling.

After years and years of hunting for my meals, I'd grown tired of feeding on humans. 

It was tiring and boring, it always ended the same way anyway, took the fun straight out of it. 

Instead, I consumed my blood in the least vile way. 

Blood bags. 

Their packaging had changed over the centuries, the most revolting being the actual head of the carrier. 

It'd be sliced from the neck and everything inside cleared out only to be refilled with the owner's blood.

That was a phase of my species that I did not enjoy.

I grab an O-Negative as an effort to spice things up, I hadn't had this one in a while so why not live on the wild side. 

I take a few more to last the day before making my way back to my room.

The gleam of sunshine invades my vision, slowing my haste steps in surprise. 

The small flicker of sunlight brushes my skin and took the breath from my lips. 

I hadn't seen sunshine in years and I almost missed it feeling it against my skin now. 

I stop myself and take a tentative step back, my eyes closing to soak in the little brush of the sun.

I approach the glass wall which I had assumed to be entirely covered by vegetation but apparently wasn't quite. 

I walk a bit closer until my eyes are a few inches from the small hole created by the gap of rapacious vines that covered the entire castle, revealing a small glimpse of what lay outside the castle.

It was dark, like always. 

But there were little shrieks of sunlight which rained down from above to help my natural eyesight revealing the acres and acres of forest which somehow found a way of growing despite the fact that I was several feet underground. 

I'd always chalked it up as an effect of the witch who inhabited these lands before me. 

I challenge myself to think of the last time I went outside, outside the castle or into the sun. 

Decades at this point, I had a slightly, useful supplier for my blood and anything which interested me. 

I hadn't felt the sun in years and I hadn't seen my overgrown land for even longer. 

The fact disturbed a part of me.

Brushing off the odd feeling, I continue my familiar path back to my bedroom. 

It took just as long but I didn't mind much with the taste of blood on my tongue and a faint feeling of the sun still on my skin. 

My feet stop me when I find my door slightly open. 

My fangs immediately descend as I step inside. 

I always close the doors behind me. 

Always.

I enter the room with movements gentler than a wandering spirit, shutting the door behind me to trap myself inside with my intruder. 

Prey got skittish in closed spaced which made it all the more exciting. 

With my sensitive ears on alert and my fangs completely elongated, I step further into the room. 

It'd been a while since I had my last kill. 

‘This could be fun.’

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Five - Consolation

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, grief, the aftermath of that death...all that Jazz! Plus a lil moment I’ve been fucking itching to include.

Chibs's breath was stuck in the middle of his throat, jutting thickly the more he thought about Opie cradling Donna's sallow cheeks as she bled out onto the gravel.

It'd cut deep, this one.

So many bodies he had bared witness to over the years. So many lives lost and souls snatched and whatever else right before his undaunted eyes--but nothing really hurt as much as that.

Because he knew what it was like. How it maimed a man. How it felt like his world was hurtling toward the chasms of hell during the moments after arriving at the scene and seeing his wife there. Dead.

Cold and dead and lonely. And completely gone.

Guilt resided, too. It was true tangible remorse for the simple proficiency of; that should've been me.

It happened with Diane--it happened to Chibs's wife, the mother of his kid, and the one true light in his life right after Isla. And it should've been him.

It was brutal, the way it happened tonight. It was fierce and heartless and Chibs knew in a flash that those bullets struck the wrong skull.

He couldn't bear the reverberation anymore, the gutturals from Piney's son who'd just lost his wife for no good reason during a drive-by in their quaint little town. The town that'd swelled wickedly with corruption these last few weeks.

Stahl was at the scene before he left. Looking pensive, actually. She looked guilty.

Chibs's basic instinct had landed the blame at her door--put the blood on her hands--but he kept his mouth shut for fear of what'd happen next. He didn't think that SAMCRO could handle this.

Because this wasn't a product of Mayan or Niner rivalry. He wasn't stupid--he knew that his President had something to do with this.

This was cultivated from the seeds sown by June Stahl, the pips planted so very deeply into the mind of Clay Morrow which forced him to believe that Opie Winston was a rat.

And he wasn't. He'd never sell his club out--no matter the damage, the pain inflicted upon him--and he'd never dream of pinning the fault on his brothers.

But he had to look a little bit closer to home if he wanted those answers. If he wanted to know just who sniped Donna--a completely innocent woman caught in the most ferocious of crossfires--he had to turn to someone that he knew was culpable of such activity.

Chibs's heart ached. It impaired him so very deeply that the only thing he could visualize on the ride back to Jax's house was her face.

Her face that dripped blood. Saturated crimson plagued his thoughts and forced his stomach to churn vociferously. He felt sick now.

He felt sick because Opie had lost his wife, Piney had lost a crucial member of his small family, and her kids had lost their mother. The woman that had worked so tirelessly to provide a life for them, to love and care for them unconditionally no matter what.

Opie was strong, he knew that--but he didn't know if he was strong enough to handle this. This crippling weight, this hurt and the idea of what could've been done differently.

Because so much could've happened to prevent this.

His tongue had become inoculated with bile, acrimonious ire for whoever the fuck was to blame for such unnecessary brutality--and, really, Chibs knew that he didn't have to look much further than Isla's favorite blue-eyed heathen this time.

And that broke his heart because of the pedestal she held that man upon. The pedestal she'd always held him atop, so fucking highly, too.

She knew that he was bad--an inherently bad human being--but he was just Tig. Her buddy. Clay's right hand that, really, he'd always count on. No matter what. And he'd always deliver the king's request, too.

Tig was the one that Isla called when her car broke down on the freeway and she needed to get home in time for Gemma's dinner.

The one she turned to for cheering up because he always knew how to crack a smile and get through to her.

The one that she strangely respected the most. Nobody really recognized what it was about that man that had Isla overjoyed when in his presence, she just was. And that was part of his charm.

But her father was anxious, now. Worried that she would take this news--if it came to light--badly. Because it was going to break her heart, regardless.

It was how she would handle it, which was the true hardship.

"Christ." Chibs's voice struggled to materialize, gesturing to his daughter passed out on Jax's couch. "How long's she been sleepin'?"

Mascara and eyeliner and whatever the fuck else she'd painted onto her face had started to melt away, trails of black and grey faintly running her cheeks.

"'Bout an hour." Gemma responded, sniffling back the putrid emotion she'd so obviously let flood the moments leading up to their arrival.

Jax's stomach was doing backflips at the thought of Isla crying herself to sleep in his living room--after everything that he'd put her through, too.

He feared that this was going to be the tip of the iceberg. That this was going to pulverize her sanity and compromise everything she had sought to fight off these last few days.

And he couldn't help but harbor those same suspicions as her father, either. Jax wanted to keep his mouth shut until he was certain that this was an inside job, but he was teetering toward that conclusion regardless.

It was the only viable explanation.

He, too, worried about what this would do to her. That finding out Tig was the potential culprit and reason why Opie's children were officially motherless.

"How's Ope?" She continued, already knowing the answer but asking anyway. Jax's head shook. "Oh."

"Not good, ma. But he's home now."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Yeah--I followed him back to make sure he got there in one piece. He wanted to leave the second the fuckin' ATF stormed in."

"Oh." Gem repeated herself, running her fingers through Isla's hair as she rested in her lap. "What about Clay? Where'd he get to?"

Chibs took a seat at one of the wooden chairs that'd been positioned around the coffee table, and Jax sank into the couch opposite the girls.

It was pitiful. Darkness enveloped them as Isla slept, innocently resting as the world shattered around her.

She wasn't oblivious to the happenings. She hadn't slept through it all, but she was done. Isla had been distant for days, had been fretting over the unimaginable and Gemma was worried that she was going to make herself sick if she continued the way that she was.

So she twisted her fingers and nails through the flowing waves of golden blonde, and soothed her the same way that she always did.

The same way that she found comfort as a kid.

He sighed. Exhausted. "Dunno. Last I saw he was with Tig."

"Aye." The Scot agreed with a nod, too. Hating the thought of Trager being responsible for something like this.

But it was merely a suspicion that Chibs hoped and prayed would get debunked sooner or later.

"Did he say anything?"

"Nah. He talked a little to Unser--seems to think it was a hit on Ope gone wrong--so, I guess they're gonna be lookin' into the Niners."

"Aye." Chibs spoke again, gesturing to Isla. "Did she say much when we left?"

"Not really--she just busied herself and cleaned up with Wendy. Seems like they're getting along now."

Jax smiled a bit, happy that his best friend and the mother of his child were starting to accept the presence of one another in Abel's life.

Truly, that's all he really wanted. That and his mother finally being able to turn the other cheek, and quit castigating his kid's mom.

"Did Clay leave before you?" Gemma asked, antsy. She was itching to get home, itching to see and comfort her husband because she knew that he was going to be fretting over this.

"I told you, the last I saw, he was with Tig. Dunno if he left after us, or if he's still there."

She looked away, smoothing her thumb over Isla's cheek.

"He'll be home soon--I should take off."

"Not on your own." Jax upheld, simply terrified of what could've happened to his mother had she left alone.

As far as Jax wanted her to know, this was bad blood between clubs. This was a hit put out on an innocent bystander because they knew it'd jolt SAMCRO--and it did.

It shook them to the very fucking core, jutting them repeatedly--mere moments away from crumbling and completely disintegrating into Harley Davidson dust.

And he really didn't want to admit that this was the work of his step-father and Alexander Trager. But he feared that was the only viable explanation.

"I'll--eh--I'll take her back." Chibs offered, getting up to ghost a hand over Isla's blushed cheek. "I was gonna take her home with me tonight, but I think she's better off stayin' put."

Jax agreed with a nod, smiling weakly at his mother. Though, she knew it was a coverup. A not-so-brilliant facade and attempt at showing that he was okay during this barbarous time.

"I don't wanna wake her." She mused, pushing strands of hair from her face. "She looks so damn peaceful."

Gemma hadn't a cozy moment with Isla for a while--not since she was recovering from a broken heart four summers ago.

The last time that she turned to Gemma--the same way she would as a child--for that motherly comfort.

"I know." The older man crouched to the ground, tracing faintly along her arm. Isla grumbled, slowly rousing. "C'mon petal, it's gettin' late."

He kept a hand against her, running this thumb over the freckled skin softly. Diane's crucifix caught his eye as she shifted, impairing him that little bit more tonight.

"What time is it?" She asked roughly, feeling a sting in her throat. Isla lifted herself off of Gemma's lap, rubbing at her eyes. "Is it late?"

"It's about one o'clock."

"Shit." Her hiss was sharp, galled that she'd been allowed to rest for so long whilst there was a literal wildfire sweeping its way through the club. "Ope--oh my god--Opie. Is he okay?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Jax was about to say before he even opened his mouth, and so tears ensued. Crystalline hues weeped and watered, and he was unsettled.

Unsettled because she was so strong in the face of such tragedy, rarely shedding any tears before an audience.

Unsettled because, up until the Kohn incident, Jax hadn't seen her cry since she was shot in the knee after three Mayans decidedly stormed the T M lot and strived to gun down each and every person on the premises.

He never forgave himself for that, actually. Because those bullets--though completely un-fatal and leaving a simple mark that, really, Isla referred to as her battle scars--should've been for him.

"He went home. To be with the kids." Jax cleared his throat, kneeling in front of her when Chibs got to his feet and gestured for Gemma. "He's--uh--he's in a bad way."

"Understandably." She mumbled. "Any ideas on who did this?"

Your favorite son.

"No. Clay thinks it might've been the Niners--shits been off since they decided to pull their fucking guns on us after the warehouse was raided."

"That was their rationale?"

"I guess so." He added. "It'd make sense. We lost their guns, so we lost a life--"

"But Donna." Isla argued, sitting upright. "Donna was innocent."

"We know that, love, but Laroy was probably under the impression that Ope was the one behind the wheel." Her father spoke over Jax, heeding his uncertainty. "It wasn't meant to be her."

Chibs had to blow his theory out of the water, firstly.

"A life is a life. To them, so long as they've got one of ours--someone close to us--they've succeeded with somethin'--"

"All they've succeeded with is leaving two kids without a fucking mother." Isla spat, throwing away the small blanket that Gemma had draped over her as she stood up. "And you've gotta stop being so fucking insensitive."

Jax stumbled backwards, watching her storm out of the room in her pretty little summer dress. He couldn't surmise whether following behind or leaving the woman to simmer alone, was the best idea.

It was a touchy subject, the loss of a parent. It was prickly and raw and it never ceased to strike Isla's heart. Because she understood.

She understood how much it hurt. The uncertainty of it all. Not knowing what to do next. How life changes more than what anyone ever prepares you for and, really, how nothing is ever the same again.

Isla knew it all too well. She'd been there, done that, and refused to go back. But with Chibs's life, his line of work, she was never granted that security.

And it wasn't particularly the security that she wanted, more so the knowledge of what--god forbid anything--would happen to her father. Because that's what bothered her the most about Diane.

She never knew anything about her mother's passing.

Jax got a pretty tight grip on the concept, too. But it was different with Isla--it was something she never quite grasped.

"A life is a life," Gemma mocked the insensitivity from the baffled Scotsman, shaking her head. "That wasn't just any life, Chibs. That was Opie's woman, the mother of his children, and one of Isla's oldest friends--she was family. She wasn't just a life."

His lips twitched before he exhaled sharply, knowing that she was right.

Knowing that his response was much too unsympathetic and heartless and, really, he was an idiot to forget how upset she got whenever something that pertained to the death of her mother was brought up.

"Your kid is grieving. She's grieving for Ope, for Piney, for Kenny and Ellie--for herself because this--" she gestured to nothing in particular, but he understood, "--is something she knows all too well, ain't it? Diane?"

"I know." Tersely, he responded. He pulled a hand through his hair. "I fuckin' know how she feels, but I didn't think she'd storm out when I said it!"

"Well, she's always been unpredictable."

"I know." His riposte was braided with anger, pure fury.

"Then why'd you say it?" Gemma jabbed. "Isla has been about six thousand miles away from us these last few days, and you thought that saying such a stupid thing wouldn't tip her over the edge?"

She was defensive of the blonde--always had been.

And Jax was sick of it.

Sick of the back-and-forth between the two. Sick of that holier than thou bullshit from Gemma--pretending that she wasn't thinking the same fucking thing--and sick of the way Chibs cared more to argue than to go after his daughter.

"Make sure Wendy stays if you two leave--I'm going."

"Where?" Chibs demanded.

But Jax just glared at him, stuffed his hands in both pockets, and walked straight out of the house.

It was cooler, now. The breeze had hit him square in the face the second he stepped over the threshold, and it was nice. To feel a little breeze that'd inevitably take the edge off of the lament sizzling away inside of him, was nice.

It was short lived, though. The second he realized that he couldn't see Isla--that she was completely out of sight--dragged him straight back down to earth, and the panic had set in.

He trusted her, of course he knew that she wasn't going to do anything stupid because she valued her life too much, and she wanted to do great things. So many great things.

But Jax also knew her too well. Well enough to know that the first place she would've thought about storming toward was the Clubhouse--the place that she'd find Tig.

And under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have rushed to get to her before she had a chance to get to T M. But the possibility of walking in and discerning Trager's inconsolable fury--his resentment and self-loathing--was much too great a risk for Jax to take.

He had to intercept.

He had to save her before she got the chance to set foot onto the property.

But, realistically, Jax was more than aware that Isla was probably already halfway there by now, and weaving through the unusual bustle of traffic in his small town just wasn't worth it.

"Shit." He growled, hopping onto his bike regardless. Saving a sliver of hope that he'd find her tonight.

He wasn't exactly optimistic, though. Because she'd already stormed four blocks.

Isla wrapped her cardigan tightly around her body--feeling the cold a bit more than what Jax had earlier--and hastily made her way downtown.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't fear the short walk toward the garage, but it was chilling. The thought of Donna's killer roaming freely, parading around that neighborhood, was daunting.

But she wasn't scared.

Or, at least, Isla wasn't scared until she heeded the red and blue flashing lights right in the middle of the intersection. The apparent murder scene.

Her heart sank, actually. The organ dropped to her stomach, pulsating slowly--barely--at the sight of Charming PD, CSI, and her. The group scattered, conversing, and speculating.

It was horrible. Sick.

She'd seen this before. She'd seen deaths and murders, and whatever came during the moments following. But she hasn't felt this way before.

The incapacitating throb. The discomfort and grief for such a horrendous--albeit freak--accident. And she wasn't stupid. She was as cognizant as her father and as empathetic as Jax, and she knew just as well as those two that this was not a purposeful attack.

Whether it was a consequence of Mayan or Niner misconduct, it was a wrongful onslaught that was about to cull an entire family. An entire charter.

If it hadn't already, that was.

She choked around the swell in her throat, padding along the sidewalk. She took her time, but she wasn't slow by any means. She had a place to be, and a specific person that she had to see--to talk to because she didn't know how to cope with this.

And it wasn't exactly her place to mourn for Donna. She hadn't been involved with her for some five years and she felt bad about the pair unable to rekindle their friendship. She felt bad about grieving the loss of Opie's wife--about taking the focus away from him.

But it hurt. It hurt so much--it sliced deeply, through flesh and tendon and bone--and she knew that Tig wouldn't judge her for this inveterate sorrow. He wouldn't see her as selfish or stupid for wanting to project her sincerities, her emotions.

Her heels clicked across the yard and she smiled a little bit when she passed Juice and Tig's bikes beside one another, letting her know that she wasn't going to be alone in there.

She was scared now, though. Because she hadn't talked about this yet. Hadn't talked about how she felt and how she was going to approach Opie the next time she saw him.

"Juice?" Isla squeaked from the doorway, waiting for him to turn around and run to her, or something. But he didn't move, didn't lift his head.

It was dreary inside. The lights had been dimmed, the men surrounding the tables and bar were downtrodden, and Isla felt as though she'd just walked through the gates of hell.

The vibrancy and boisterous nature of SAMCRO had come to a complete standstill, and she was actually yearning for the sleaze that usually enveloped the space.

Her sigh was defeated, forlorn. She sniffed as her nose ran, making her way to the bathroom to go and clean herself up--because she knew that she looked dreadful, and didn't want anybody to really see her that way.

"Is anyone in here?" She asked softly against the locked door, knowing that the answer was yes and that Tig was the occupant--but she persisted, anyway.

The mellifluous rhythm bled through the oak, jolting him still as blood poured from the gash in his head, and shattered glass surrounded his frame and the sink.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, glaring monotonously at himself in front of the mirror. Glaring at the fucking monster that was about to welcome Isla into open arms, comforting her because he knew that she'd need it.

"Yeah," He opened up, smiling down at her. "But I'm done, if you wanna--"

"What happened to you?" She put a hand against his chest, pushing him back into the room. Her brow furrowed when he didn't respond. "Tiggy?"

His entire body winced at Isla's soft touch. At the way her pink nails traced over the patch of skin on his chest, uncovered by his shirt--the shirt he was going to burn after tonight.

She gently gripped at his chin, turning his face to the right to get a better look at the incision on his left. Her eyes filled again, lips turned downward.

"Let me clean you up."

"You don't gotta--"

"I do." Isla cut him off, blinking away her tears. "If it doesn't get treated, it might get infected."

Like father, like daughter--always the first person to tend to an injury. She was so loving, so benevolent. Nothing like him, he thought.

Tig watched her maneuver around the tiny bathroom, admiring her desire to patch him up. To care for him and help make him feel better.

Not much would've helped at that moment, but she was trying her best.

"How'd you get over here?" He asked, leaning against the sink.

"I walked--"

"You walked?" Pissed, Tig spat. "Jesus fuck, Isla, you can't walk these parts alone, anymore."

She looked up at him from the spot she was crouched at, sifting through a small first-aid kit in the cabinet. "Who said I was alone?"

"Were you?" His eyes narrowed. She got to her feet, putting the small plastic box beside him, looking his face over a few times.

Her head shook. "Nope. Never alone with these thoughts."

Tig couldn't not chuckle at her response, but he was still worried about her. He didn't worry often--he was too selfish for that--but anything to do with his favorite blonde saw him panic like a madman.

"And the voices, too." She mused, breaking out into a genuine smile the first time all evening. "They always keep me real good company."

"Yeah?" Isla's head bobbed, cupping his chin again. "Me too--me 'n you don't seem to be too different after all, baby."

"Never said that we weren't." She poked her tongue out a little bit, surveying the damage. "Never said that we were the same, either."

"We're not the same." He confirmed, curling his hand around her wrist as she held an alcohol pad above his cut. "We are not the same, Isla."

Her head tilted, trying to discern what he meant. But she couldn't, and it caused an uncomfortable shiver to flicker down her spine.

"This might hurt." She whispered in an attempt to dissipate the small tension, gently running her thumb over his chin.

The other was--alongside her pointer finger--tapping the small antiseptic against the wound. She frowned the more he winced, though Tig's smile and hold on her wrist was still present.

"I like the pain."

"I know you do, Tiger." Isla joked. But she couldn't help wondering how the fuck he managed to do this to himself tonight.

Why he would do this to himself tonight.

"I don't wanna have to stitch your pretty face up," she pursed her lips and got him to hold the cotton in place.

"You think I got a pretty face?"

"The prettiest." Her retort was instantaneous, missing that usual glint of something resembling a joke.

She was serious--she wasn't engaging in that usual banter with him today. She was too run down for it, actually.

"Gonna have to give you a couple of butterfly stitches, if that's okay?" Isla looked up at him, holding out the small bandages with a smile. "It won't hurt. And they'll probably dissolve in, like, a week or so."

"Go for it. I love when you play nurse."

She lightly whacked at his chest, laughing as she got him to sit on the closed toilet lid to get a better reach. He wasn't tall, but neither was she. Isla needed him to lower his height if she wanted to successfully repair him.

The comfort, the aid and assistance had him forgetting about tonight--had her forgetting the real reason for her impromptu arrival to the clubhouse--but not forgetting about the newfound misery that encircled SAMCRO.

"You alright?" He asked when she hadn't made a movement, when her eyes seemed to focus on the shelves above the tank of the toilet. "I can do it myself, if you don't wanna--"

"I wanna." The smile she produced was fake--uncomfortable as tears rolled down perfectly blushed cheeks.

It broke his heart. Everything she was doing and saying--and even feeling because her pain was palpable--was breaking his heart and Tig felt like hell for doing this.

"I'm sorry," she stuck the first stitch to his forehead carefully, getting him to rip off the back of the second because her fingers were too shaky to get a solid grip.

"Don't be." He handed it to her. "It's been a tough night."

Her laugh was humorless, dull. "You can say that again, Tiggy."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She sent him an apologetic look, but he got it.

Isla trusted him with her life--for some reason--but she found it hard to open up sometimes. In regards to something this serious, she struggled to get a solid handle on her emotions and how to express them.

He understood her, though. Understood her well enough, her mannerisms and thought processes, and he just wondered if she felt like divulging her pain tonight.

She didn't, though. And Tig didn't particularly mind that. He didn't want to feel that twisted pang of regret, the vehement churn of his stomach whenever she said Donna's name--which she was yet to do, and she probably wouldn't at this point, either.

"I just wanna cry." She stated plainly, not even reluctantly anymore.

Like Gemma, he hadn't seen her cry for a long time. And it wasn't a nice visual, actually.

But he was supportive, and just wanted her to do anything that'd make her feel somewhat better--so he encouraged it.

Isla put everything down, gave his face the once over for the last time, and set herself on the tile with her back to the door.

"You wanna cry? Do it, baby. If it'll help, just do it." He assured, getting to the ground beside her. "I know you don't like doin' it in front of me, but I won't tell anyone, if that's what you want."

"You make me seem like a battle ax." Isla quipped, sniffling. "I don't care if anyone sees me cry--everyone knows that I do. It's just..."

"Showing vulnerability ain't a nice thought. I know."

God. She hated how well he understood her. How he knew what she was going to fucking say. All the time.

Tig wound an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Instinctively, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I get it." He stated mindlessly, pushing tousled blonde strands from her forehead. "But y'know you can always trust me, kid. I'll never tell anyone that you feel emotions--"

"I'm literally the most emotional person you all know." Isla protested weakly, hoping he didn't mind the feeling of her tears bleeding through his shirt.

He didn't.

"I just don't really like crying. It's not a true testament to my character--I'm supposed to be the happy one around these parts. The sickeningly optimistic Irish girl--"

"You can still be a crier, too."

"I know." She finally wrapped her arms around his middle as they sat together. "But people just don't take girls seriously when they cry. And I don't want my position here to be compromised, I guess. I don't want my dad, or Gemma, or Clay to think I can't handle being around the club anymore--because I can. And I always will."

"They wouldn't think different of you for that." He promised, rubbing circles over her shoulder the more he felt the navy cotton dampen. "This is a real tough thing, Isla, nobody is gonna chastise you for shedding a tear. They'd probably think different of you if you didn't cry."

"You think?"

He nodded.

"Crying shows that you got empathy and a heart. We all know your heart is bigger than..." Thick eyebrows crumpled together before he let out a little chuckle. "Bigger than Clay's ego. It's huge, your heart."

"Well, it's gotta be. If I wanna love all of you--warts 'n all--my heart has gotta be huge."

"Exactly," he drew out his response, earning a laugh and something reminiscent of an optimistic smile from her.

Trager never saw himself as the kind of man to make a girl smile or laugh after a little pep talk--after or before incredible sex, perhaps, but never as a result of his unusually comforting nature.

But he just had that effect on Isla--something she wasn't able to extrapolate verbally. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to comprehend, either.

"You've just gotta try not to make yourself too vulnerable, that's all, 'cuz people will get used to coddling you. And I know that's now what you want."

"That's what I mean." She frowned, pulling herself away a bit. "I don't wanna be seen as inferior for being able to cry about the things that you, or Gem, or dad, are able to keep a poker face over. I'm just...I'm just thin-skinned sometimes, and I'm yet to be desensitized to this stuff, I guess."

"You're not thin-skinned for crying tonight." He scolded, knowing that she didn't want to elucidate her thoughts about the happening, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Desensitization don't mean shit when you've lost someone you care about--it's always gonna hurt, sweetheart. Always. And there ain't nothing you can do to stop that."

He was the one with misty eyes, now. He was the one trying to bite back tears, trying to conceal the spread of his sadness--the uncomfortable soreness in his chest. In his heart that wasn't anywhere near as big and full as hers.

"You're never gonna grow immune to grief--I promise you'll always feel that. Whether you show it--how you show it--is another thing, though."

"You feel it?"

"Tonight?"

"In general."

She couldn't seem to recall the last time that she saw him cry--if she'd ever seen it, actually. Aside from this moment, of course.

Tears fell to the apples of his cheeks and she, without any reluctance, used the pad of her thumb to brush them away.

And he got it, now. The idea of showing vulnerability being a fucking liability. Because the pity washing over her soft, beautiful features made him feel fragile.

"All the time. All the fuckin' time."

"It really never goes away?"

"No." Tig sniffed harshly, forcing a smile. "But you learn to cope. You learn that it ain't the end of the world and that life just goes on after death."

"Profound." She chuckled once again. "That's some deep, deep shit, Tigger. Almost made me forget about how much I wanna hysterically break down."

"Do it. That'll make me feel better about my injury."

"Your self-inflicted injury." Isla stated knowingly, but she didn't clarify just what she meant.

Because it could've been an array of things, but he liked to think that she was just referring to his little forehead aperture.

"I like it. It makes you look badass." Isla held a hand out to Tig when he pulled himself upward, and she wanted to follow suit.

"Does it make me look hot, too?"

"Absolutely." Again, it wasn't laced in a tease. It was honest, and the small smile she produced was sincere. "Be careful with it, though. Try not to get it wet or anything, because it'll dissolve too soon--"

"I've had them before, y'know?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Isla rolled her eyes. "You're a super scary, malicious, calculating guy when you've gotta be. But I know that you're accident prone."

He curled his eyebrow upward. "Scary?"

"Totally. I've seen you hold a gun to a guy's head." A chill impaired her, frightening her. "Shits terrifying, Tig. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"You couldn't even if you tried."

"You think?" Her qualm was unexpected, almost challenging him as she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. "I think I could."

What's she playing at? She was sobbing two minutes ago.

Oh, I get it. This is her facade--actin' all care free, and shit.

Tig followed behind--every step--as she clicked along the wooden floor of the clubhouse.

"You couldn't. Trust me." He stated lowly, reaching for her hand when she stuttered a little.

Isla noticed her father next time Juice, drinking at the bar with their backs to the duo. She didn't want to see him, right now.

Talking to Chibs would've ignited whatever fucking fire inside of her that'd started to blaze out of control earlier tonight, and she'd worked hard to contain this inferno.

"What you can do, though, is turn your pretty little ass back around, and go get some rest in the dorm. It's been a long night."

She didn't refute, she didn't try to get out of it because she didn't want to. Isla couldn't bear the thought of waltzing past her father, talking to him about her tiny outburst, and resuming as normal.

Because she couldn't do that. Not tonight, anyway.

"Tig?"

"Uh huh." He responded, his eyes glued to the back of Juice's cut as he slammed yet another shot back.

Probably wondering what the fuck had gone down tonight.

"Can you stay with me?" Her retort forced his focus to land on her, and the defenselessness--sheer exposure--in her attitude.

It wasn't the simple fact of wanting to be alone.

She couldn't be alone. Not anymore.

Ringed fingers squeezed her hand reassuringly, guiding her into the back room, holding her close. Because that's what she really, truly wanted.

"'Course I can. Anything for you, Isla."

[arqinnovations]

10 things that I want from FF7 Remake 2

Some of these are a given, but just for fun, others are a bit of a long shot. Spoilers abound, so turn back now if you're still making your way through Midgar as we speak. In no particular order:

Jessie. I'm going to be honest, it took some self-restraint to not make this a 10 things I'd like to do to see from Jessie list. One thing that Remake did incredibly well was flesh out the Avalanche crew, and Jessie was undoubtedly the one who benefited the most, going from ponytailed plot device to forward and fiery courter of Cloud. I absolutely dreaded her inevitable death scene, and nearly jumped out of my chair at the suggestion that she may have actually survived this time around. I won't ask for a pizza and chill side quest, but I would be thrilled to just see her alive and well in the next chapter.

Gold Saucer. It's not a question of if it'll be in the game, but of how it will be presented. I'm expecting that a lot of love and care will be put into this locale, and I want everything: Chocobo racing, roller coasters, a beefed up haunted house, battle square, a potential date with a pissed off Barrett...all of it. Saying that I'm excited to see an updated Gold Saucer would be a massive understatement.

Open world. Or not. I'm fine with either. I remember how massive the FF7 world seemed to me as a kid while playing the original game, and I just can't see how something of that size will scale to the table that Remake has set so far. I loved - loved - roaming forests and taking long road trips with the boys in FF15. But Remake has a completely different world with different stakes. While the idea of a free-roaming epic is indeed attractive, there will inevitably be other games that have done an open world on a far grander scale, and it'd almost be a shame to see Remake try to draw from Skyrim when the reality is that it doesn't have to. Midgar was linear in nature and it was still beautiful and felt massive in its own way. I'd be fine with a series of mostly contained villages and towns with the second installment.

Playable Turks. This one falls into the long shot category, but you can already feel how badly the creators are itching to turn the Turks into good guys. We know that this timeline has forked off into a direction different from the one that we grew up with, so perhaps we can get a few missions with Reno and Rude running point? I'm not holding my breath, but it would be awesome.

Bahamut. And not just one, I want all three back. Vanilla Bahamut, Bahamut Neo, and Bahamut Zero! Heck, give us even more. Omega Bahamut! Ultima Bahamut! Bahama Bahamut! Nobody goes into battle without a Mut!

No more squiggly dust ghosts. Yeah, enough of those guys. I can go as far as to say that I appreciated what the Whispers provided the story, but now that our heroes have apparently ripped through the threads of fate and are playing with a freshly shuffled deck of cards, I could do without seeing them again.

The Highwind. I don't think there's any doubt that we'll be seeing the Highwind, given it's importance to Cid's character and the fact that the airship becomes the party's main mode of transportation towards the latter half of the story. What is in question is to what degree players will be able to control the massive aircraft. While we had the ability to manually fly exactly where we wanted to in the original, there's understandably some doubt as to how this will work in Remake with the game's open world status still very much in question. I'd bet on control being limited to the bridge of the ship with the option to select predetermined destinations from a world map. And I'd be fine with that. Just give us that sweet Highwind music.

More of Rufus in action. Seriously, look at that pimp. A character this cool deserves to be seen in battle more than once.

And less of Zack. Assuming he's alive and well in this reality, I could go without seeing too much of the guy. The original FF7 was such a fantastic story about life and identity because Zack passes on and symbolically entrusts his hopes and dreams to Cloud (who somewhat hilariously takes things way too literally). That story doesn't work quite as well if Zack is just hanging around being...uh, alive and stuff. And if he is, what has he been doing all this time while Aerith was getting harassed by Turks every day? Swell guy, that Zack. Or are we to assume he's alive, just not in this reality? Honestly - and it might just be me - I thought the reinsertion of Zack into the fray was one of the few missteps Remake made.

Aerith has a chance? Square knew what they were doing when they opted to establish a new timeline. I'm not saying that Aerith surviving would make the story better. On the contrary, I'm not sure if it works at all without Sephiroth jumping in and making her into an Aerith-kabob. What I do know is that there's now some definite intrigue to that moment, and they've effectively put all the suspense back into a scene that we had assumed would end in a familiar, heartbreaking fashion. It's a smart move, regardless of what eventually does happen.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Gravity

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

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

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

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

/

A couple months later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, some of my nightmares, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it all falls on deaf ears in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course though, it's not my arena.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

//

A couple weeks later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peeta has a type of friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I buy a couple of pastries?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

//

Four days later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But really, does anything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

I still failed to protect her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Always."

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Fractured Foundation: Chat Blanc

Summary: Since his own akumatization Chat Noir has been the perfect partner. Never questioning, never distracting, never asking for anything at all...

So, why wasn't it enough?

Ch.1 Double Standards

Chat Noir does everything right... But Adrien is still wrong.

---------------

Ladybugs swirled around him as Chat Noir came back to himself. Scanning his surroundings Chat Noir saw Ladybug helping who he assumed was a de-akumatized Backwarder.

Oh. It was over. The last thing he remembered was-

"Sorry about this Chat Noir."

... A push from behind. His heart spiking in fear. Backwarder's clock hand striking his chest.

"Chat?"

Looking up, Chat Noir held up his fist from touching the spot he was hit. He smiled at her "Bien joue, Ladybug."

"...Yeah. Bien joue." She bumped his fist and shook her head. "I need to go. Bug out!"

Vaulting over Paris, Chat Noir realized he never found out why the old lady was akumatized. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Ladybug won...

Adrien came out of the train's bathroom just as Gabriel did the same. Stiffening at the sight of his father, Adrien gave a slight nod and hurried to his seat. Heartbeat pounding far faster than when he was fighting Backwarder.

Kagami glanced at Adrien and he smiled reassuringly before putting his headphones in. At least he wouldn't have to sit through another lecture from Master Fu this time. Seeing as he'd be in London for the weekend.

Adrien would be in London for the weekend. No Fu, no Papillon, no Chat Noir. The thought made him feel... lighter. Taking his headphones out he turned to Kagami. "Is this your first time going to London?"

"No. Mother has taken me on several other business trips to familiarize myself with the company holdings." Kagami refocused her attention on Adrien. "But I can't say I've been sightseeing."

"Really? What do you want to see first?" Adrien fell into the ease of speaking with Kagami. Let himself enjoy this small moment of normalcy compared to the glorious disillusion of the akuma battle. Leaving Backwarder and Paris behind as the train accelerated.

----------------

Chat Noir soared over the rooftops. Grinning as the wind blew through his hair. For the first time in... he didn't know how long his heart raced with joy after a battle. He was useful! Sure he had to sacrifice himself so Ladybug could beat Gamer 2.0 but still!

Landing with a flip onto the designated rooftop he waited for Master Fu to show. Just like he did after (almost) every akuma attack. Except this time Chat Noir wasn't dreading it. This time-

The door opened as Master Fu stepped out.

"Master! Did you see... What's wrong?"

Master Fu held a stern expression. "Why did you not talk to Ladybug about what you intended?"

Chat's ears drooped as he pulled in on himself, enthusiasm forgotten. "Wh-what?"

"You sacrificed yourself without speaking to her first!" Master Fu sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ladybug might have come up with an alternative."

"But... I..."

"At the very least you should have let her know before you act."

You didn't tell her that when she shoved me onto Backwarder's sword.

Adrien flinched. "... Okay... I'll... tell her next time."

Even though she never tells me.

Satisfied, Master Fu's gaze softened. "You must be mindful of Ladybug's feelings." With that he turned back towards the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced back. "It was wise to give Ladybug the last fight."

"..."

Chat Noir dashed across rooftops. Blinking rapidly as the wind blew into his eyes. For a moment he forgot. He forgot that Chat Noir was always wrong. That Adrien didn't get what everyone else did. He wasn't like everyone else. What they did mattered.

... Nothing Adrien ever did mattered. The universe was simply issuing a reminder.

---------------

Adrien didn't want to be at fencing practice today. He'd fantasized about taking Kagami to Kitty Section's rehearsal with the rest of his friends instead... But if his meetings with the Guardian had a theme it was listening to his... betters.

As though the universe could hear him the akuma alert went off just as he finished changing into his fencing gear. Making sure the rest of his teammates were gone, Adrien transformed and leapt out the window. Hoping Kagami wouldn't be too bored without him.

Quickly going over what information there was on 'Desperada' Chat Noir realized she was last seen at the Couffaine's houseboat. He ran faster.

A pang of longing came over him as Adrien remembered how tempting it'd been to skip practice and join his friends. But that meant disobeying. And disobeying never brought Adrien anything. Not with Father, not with his teachers, not with the Guardian.

Leaping across buildings a cyan blur knocked him five stories to the ground. Rolling with the blow Chat Noir readied his staff. The cyan blur was a lyre that came back to the hand that threw it.

A guy in a vaguely snake-like suit with cyan colored hair. "Sorry, Chat Noir. You would've gotten caught if I hadn't done anything."

To prove his point Desperada appeared and started shooting yellow blasts of magic. Chat Noir spun his staff as he ran for cover. Ladybug's yo-yo wrapped around him and pulled him into the alley. "Good, you're here. Chat, this is Viperion."

"Hello again, Chat Noir." Viperion smiled gently.

"... Hey."

"So what's the plan?" Ladybug asked the new guy.

Chat Noir stared. Ladybug never asked someone else to make the plan.

"Okay, first we need your Lucky Charm..."

In the end it was very simple. Chat Noir and Ladybug dodged Desperada's attacks long enough for Viperion to distract her with music from his lyre. Then Ladybug used the saddle her Lucky Charm gave her to restrict Desperada's movements. All three pulling the villain in different directions while Viperion threw his lyre at her guitar case, breaking it.

There was an extra 'Bien Joue' in their fist bump and then Chat Noir was running back to fencing practice.

...He'd done nothing. Viperion did all the work. And apparently he was so good at it he didn't even need to use his power. Or... was knowing what was going to happen his ability? Is that why Ladybug let him plan?

...Maybe he was reading too much into it. 'Bien joue' felt hollow all the time now. Just because it felt particularly empty this time didn't mean there was a reason besides his own selfish desire to be useful.

Back inside the locker room Adrien detransformed.

The door banged open. Adrien flinched.

"What is the meaning of this transgression, Agreste!?" M. D'Argencourt demanded.

Heart pounding, Adrien fumbled over his words. "I-I can explain!"

"I should hope so! I will have to inform M. Agreste of this behavior." M. D'Argencourt informed him.

Blood drained from Adrien's face. "NO! Please M. D'Argencourt, don't tell Father!"

Eyes softening, M. D'Argencourt shook his head. "I am sorry, Adrien. A student disappearing under my guard and I knowing not where he vanished to? I cannot overlook this."

Cold. Adrien was cold and his mouth moved without words. He collapsed onto the bench behind him. Heart hammering in his ears as he imagined what Gabriel would do...

---------------

Startrain rocketed into space, Nadja Chamack reporting over the image of the akumatized train. For a moment Adrien merely stood there...

"Hey, kid." Plagg pointed at the container of transformation cheese. "We gotta go help."

"R-right!" Coming out of his head Adrien tossed the purple, potion-infused cheese into the air. "Plagg, powerup!"

Swallowing it in a single bite Plagg glowed as the potion took effect. "Astro Plagg!" Small, glowing wings appeared on his back and his fur was coated with small star-like points.

Opening his mouth to say the phrase Adrien... His throat closed... the words wouldn't come... They wouldn't-

Plagg placed a paw on Adrien's cheek. "C'mon kid, your friends need us."

Friends. His friends were on that train! Finding his voice Adrien set his shoulders. "Astro Plagg, transforme-moi!"

Flying was unlike anything he ever experienced. And Astro Chat was flying faster than anyone had ever gone! Sky darkening as he rose above the atmosphere. Startrain had a head start he needed-

Sunlight lit up the Earth, cloud cover obscuring far more of its surface than was usually shown in photos. It was so blue... so beautiful. Adrien remembered what astronauts said about looking at the Earth from above.

He'd heard. But he hadn't known.

Turning back towards the void Astro Chat zoomed after Startrain. It was already past the moon. The moon which Adrien saw as only a handful of people ever did.

There!

Startrain was slowing down? That made it easier to catch up! Astro Chat's heart raced with excitement, willing his wings to go faster. He was almost there! Just a little more and-

A great, glowing, green portal burst to life directly in Startrain's path. Chat caught a glimpse of Big Ben on the other side and then the train sped through. Portal closing behind it.

Leaving Adrien in the void. Of course. Of course Ladybug already beat the akuma. And if that portal was any indication she had help. He wasn't needed. Wasn't necessary.

His friends were on that train and he couldn't. Do! ANYTHING! He couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe! Everything was too big and too small! Infinity stretched forever in all directions and he was stuck inside this helmet! He wanted out! Wanted-

No. Focus.

As suddenly as his breath left him it came back. Adrien gasped and forced himself to breathe slowly... He couldn't stay here. There was nothing here.

Slowly, reluctantly, Adrien made his way back to Earth. Oh. Oh. He'd gone farther than he thought. Earth was a speck in the distance.

"A mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam."

Tiny. Insignificant. Precious. An oasis in a desert. The closer you are to something the uglier it looks. Adrien kicked the thought away. It was small and meaningless. If you looked too closely at anything you failed to see the whole picture.

Adrien wondered what the whole of his picture, his world, looked like...

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Trophy chapter three

Finally decided where im going with this been mulling it over for a few days toying with a few ideas. Trying to define Henry's character has been a bit difficult for me as i wasnt sure what angle i wanted to highlight more but from here out i think iv settled on Yandere/Daddy Dom/Care Giver so the relationship has taken a more ddlg turn its not going to dive in to ageplay (im not confident enough yet maybe one day) but the reader is slightly childish. I cant stress enough that as this is a yandere themed story its not going to be for everyone all my chapters will have appropriate warnings. If you have read it and think i have missed one out please let me know so i can apologize and correct it. Not much else to say other than i hope you like it

Warning:Adult themes, Dubcon,Controlling Behaviour, Swearing

Masterlist

You find out who it was who handed you over to Henry

Chapter one ,Chapter two Chapter four Chapter five

Trophy chapter three

Waking up the next morning was slow, absolutely exhausted you laid under the soft covers relaxing with your eyes closed ignorant to the world. Turning over trying to get comfy enough to fall asleep again.Frowning as your ears picked up an irritating tapping that moved back and forth. Groggily you identified it as a dog excitedly pacing on a wooden floor.Something that you hadn't heard since your childhood ,with out a thought -still not fully awake- you poked your hand out of the covers and over the side of the mattress to placate the animal,immediately being nudged into stroking a fluffy face and lathered with dog kisses.

"Amy ,stop, go lie down" Your eyes snapped open as the words left your mouth Amy -your German Shepherd from childhood- has been long gone and you haven't had a dog since. You snatched your hand back sitting up groaning as the pain in your ass forced you to flop face first back onto your side. There was a large snout in front of you, literally inches from your nose as the dog has rested its chin on the mattress in front of you letting out an impatient whine.You slowly inched back apprehensive of the large dog.

"H-hey there erm where did you come from boy? girl?" You spoke quietly the dog snorted in response then in one swoop jumped up onto the bed over you landing on the other side. Rolling on your back ignoring the ache in your ass more concerned with the very large canine beside you. Your not scared of dogs not in the slightest, but you didn't know this one.It laid down on the other side of the bed tail thumping away as it looked at you expectantly. Sitting up slowly you pulled yourself to the head board resting against it.Only now really recollecting yesterdays events and just where you were. The dog huffed again and slumping to lie on its side pawing at you.Pet me. The dog didn't seem aggressive actually the opposite, smiling lightly you began giving a belly rub.Male. You looked up as the bathroom door opened revealing a towel clad Henry fresh from the shower rubbing a smaller hand towel on his hair before letting the damp cloth drape around his neck. He smiled knowingly as your eyes trailed down from the towel at his neck drinking in his toned chest that had a complementarity dusting of dark curls across it.You sucked in a deep breath. It really wasn't fair, he knew very well how attractive he was, under different circemstances you might have flirted with him a little after drinking a few glasses of liquid courage. Not that you'd have thought you would have a chance. 

'To bad he's a nut job' you though wistfully. Just your luck that the only man to look your way was a fucking psychopath. You directed you attention to the fingers that were still absentmindedly scratching through the dogs thick fur. Henry approached the bed nodding his head at the dog.

"See you've met Kal" The dog twitched his ears at his name enjoying his belly rub to much to move.

"Kal. It suites him Akita right?" He grinned nodding as he sat on the edge of the bed patting the dogs barreled chest.

"Yep my boy, yours to now" You paused then pulled your hand off kal (to his disappointment) tucking them in your lap as it clicked who you were speaking to. Henry continued looking at you lovingly for a few seconds then his face fell sighing as he watched you pull back into yourself then looked towards the bathroom.

"Go get cleaned up, I have a visitor to take care of after breakfast shouldnt take long then we can spend the day together" He finished his sentence leaning in with a kiss on your cheek before lifting himself up to get ready for the day. You got up holding the bed momentarily to stabilize yourself before taking slow steps towards the bathroom wincing as you movements aggravated your sore backside.

"Theres some comfry cream on the sink bring that out when your finished" For some reason You could hear his grin swallowing Uneasy you nodded before shutting the Bathroom door behind you unsure why you heard him laugh through the heavy wood. Shuffling forward you relished in the warmth of the steam filled room. His bathroom was stylish and sleek, the type of room you'd expect in a five star hotel not that you'd ever stayed in one .Expensive looking black gold veined marble steps leading to a large sunken tub at the far end of the room, before that matching marble splash back on the 'his and hers' sink with a mirror hung above them. The large shower to your left was glass on one side it was big enough to fit four or five people comfortably and had a built in bench seat. The shelves either side of the mirror were fully stocked one side obviously had been pre-prepared for you with hair and make up products all in your preferred brands and colours.

'That cannot be a coincidence' you summarized as you pulled the foundation down inspecting the seal.Brand new as suspected.So he must have planned for your arrival. You shook the thoughts out of your head not wanting to think of how he knew so much about you. After using the loo and brushing your teeth with the new pink toothbrush that'd graciously been provided for you.The power shower was welcome easing your muscles your tension melted away under the powerful spray and also giving you time to think of where you went from here.

'Don't think he's gonna give me a chance to run anytime soon. Gotta find out why he's taken me .Its lot of trouble to go through for no reason, unless he's done it before. Maybe i could be nice to him, play along until his guard drops then scarper. Question was, what then?' If what they say is true it'd be useless going to the police you'd be back here in no time dread to think what he'd do to you then. If you left you'd have to leave town asap. Wouldn't be able to go home and pack a bag it'd be to obvious-or maybe soo obvious they wouldn't even look.' The door opened pulling you from your musings, it was only open enough for kal to slip in who dutifully sat by the shower door Henry didn't follow calling from behind it.

"Are you ok? you've been in here a while" You hadn't realized but he was right as you looked at your pruned fingers.

"Im fine" you heard a sigh of relief as you answered him 

"Good when you didn't answer my calls i was worried that you'd tried something very stupid" He paused contemplating his next words

"Time to get out now i think" You faltered at that stepping from under the spray towards the shower door. 

"But i haven't washed yet"

"Well who's fault is that little one? Besides the amount of time you've been in there the waters probably taken care of any dirt.Next time don't waste so much time." He scolded half hartedly

"Sorry i wasn't aware you were on a water meter" you snapped back at him in temper.

"Excuse me? would you like to try again?" His tone was so ominous you took a step back curseing silently.

"Sorry. I'll be right out"

"Sorry Who?" you didn't reply immediately

"...Sorry daddy" 

"Good don't let it happen again" Calling kal out of the room he shut the door.Defeated you hang your head deciding to try and pacify him at least until you could come up with a plan of action.Twisting off the water and exiting the shower wrapping a large bath sheet around your body uesing a smaller one to wring out your wet hair. Scurrying out of the bathroom finding him sitting up on the bed laptop in hand Kal was nowhere to be seen. Your captor was dressed in a caramel two piece suit with white shirt. He looked over the screen at you.

"Your clothes are here. Did you grab the cream?"

"I forgot, give me a sec." You quickly grabbed the small pot of cream handing it to him then preceded around the bed unfolding the clothes left out for you.

"Y/n come here" He said closing his laptop stopping sliding it off his lap peeking over at him you blinked holding up the sweater that was left out for you. 

"Cant i get dressed first?" A pleading look not trusting his expression or him in general really.

"Not until this has soaked in"

"What?" Nervously twiddling the soft knit fabric already dreading what ever he had in store for you now.Chuckling he waved the pot in the air.

"This is to ease your cute little bottom now come over here" Opening the pot and paced it within reach on the beside table. Fully expecting you to do as your told you covered your back side with one hand.

"M-my bottom is fine really i don't need it"

"Now you and i both know that if i turned you over my knee right now id find a sore red little bottom. Im going to take care of you now could you please come here."

"Please i can do it myself" Ignoring you he dipped his fingers into the thick balm smoothing it between his palms. You took a deep breath deciding that your best option was to grin and bear it. Dragging your feet until you stood in front of the amused man.

"Theres no need to sulk." Lifting you effortlessly to lie on the bed tugging the towel from around you he whistled low 

" Thats a well punished bottom if iv ever seen one" he anounced before running his lathered hands across it massaging in the pain reliefe thoughrly in smooth circles, you tensed under his hands, they felt cool in comparison to your heated flesh.

"Dosnt look like youll bruise which is good.Allmost done now"

You fhuffed letting him get on with it trying to imagine you were anywhere but here as his palms moved lower to graze over your thighs and back up again leaving behind a trail of tingles then he pulled away.

"Just lie there and let it work its magic ,you've been a very good girl." You hated feeling a twinge of pride at his praise quickly beating it down .He left you there for five mineuts or so then signaled to get dressed. Once down stairs you were greeted with an enthusiastic kal whilst being served a light breakfast of toast and juice. Not long after that you found yourself beside him watching the news on a sofa kal chilling out at your feet with an indestructible looking chew A large man clad in all black strolled in stating

"Got a visitor boss said he called last night?" Henry left instructing you to stay put. You strained your ears as you heard his foot steps stopping a few feet behind the door. Hearing a familiar voice from the other side. Getting up you tip toed across the room pressing your ear against it listening to the conversation.

"-Caught on cctv, thats evidence that could implicate me. What am i supposed to tell them? The others were already asking questions last night i told them it was a rota mistake not sure how long i can keep them quiet its out of character,  You said it would be subtle." It was henry who spoke next his voice was deep authoritative and menacing.

"Calm down I have it all taken care of, not my first rodeo.Trust me no one is going to go looking to deep, the paper trails already sorted out  application ,travel, accommodation the lot. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and we're squared up.As agreed"

"I dont know how i feel about it now? I think i made a mistake" The other male frantically replied.

" Your mistake was not keeping up your end I told you to keep an eye on him. I told you what would happen if you cocked it up.Now I have to be the bad guy. You think I wanted to do it this way? Besides its already done you cant go back on your word now. If your having second thoughts thats tough fucking luck I dont do refunds. Now get the fuck out of my house and you best keep that mouth shut cos I can make you dissapear just as easy as her. Lads show Mr Fletcher out" You gasped stepping back quickly mind racing as you sat back down where you were originally. You sat in shock as you realized who it was Henry had been talking to and why theyd sounded familiar. Kyle fletcher owner of the small cafe you worked in your boss of four years.Putting two and two together ,that chat was about you. You felt sick it was kyle who'd asked you close later than usual to deep clean the coffee machine and recount the float , causing you to close up in the dark which was where youd been taken. For some reason he knew what was going to happen he'd been in on it a overcome by a wave of anger you decided come hell or high water you were going to find out exactly what your exboss had done.

[huskeddevotee]

That's understandable, I've seen folks express how disconnected the Carnivora chapter felt to the rest of the game's story. Though you hit the nail in your last point about why the idea of them is cool to me & it's essentially what I'd do with 'em. :) I also really dug Pain's design, he's so imposing! I thought it'd be cool to have the Twins look up to P&T in a way they never did with Typhon, due to how far P&T have enabled them to use their power instead of holding them back.

Ajakdhjs the POTENTIAL with a Pain and Terror being adult figures for the twins is ASTRONOMICAL

I'm thinking of the Twins leaving Nekro to go be stars, and being picked up by the bandit festival as as performers. Tyreen does her magic by turning the stage into a mess of gore and eridium dust, Troy's sickly, but he still has speed and strength to make for a good hunting performance. They quickly become fan favorites among the carnival goers, being as freaky as freak can get; especially with how they just ooze and drip charisma and personality. With Carnivore, they become overnight sensations on Pandora, perfectly happy to reap the clout while the two boss men handle the money and schedules.

I'm super into this fiction, mostly because I have a soft spot for carnival stories. If it was me writing it, I'd rewrite Pain and Terror to be not Pen and Teller, and also change the names. Becauee cmon, I'm pretty sure every bandit you meet is named pain or terror.

I'm thinking of a large, brutish Ex-vladof soldier, maybe named Vasily? Huge, broad dude, still with the pin stripe suit and the red circle glasses. Thick accent, fiercely intelligent but prefers to play up the physical intimidation to run his business. Bald headed to show off tattoos, thick, luxuriously kept beard. Definitely wears wears eyeliner to make his glare more fierce. Runs the show and performance, handles all the performers.

And the smaller guy, I'm imagining a Promethean? Someone from a metropolitan city, big and bright and flashy. On the shorter side for his city, but still taller than most Pandorans. Very thin and lithe, looks like a cat. Probably has a name that has a hidden meaning or irony, like Dogma. Kind of manipulative, has stuck knives in many different backs. Longish hair, keeps it tied back in a scandinavian braid. Also very intelligent, but has more interest in money, logistics, and business, so runs everything going on behind the stage curtains.

They've been working together on Carnivora for a few years, started about when the destroyer was killed. Around the time that BL2 starts, Vasily's talent scouting team finds two dying siren twins in the desert. The moment he heard that Tyreen can kill people in a slow, glamorous, dramatic manner, he snatches them both up like a hawk. She's awkward and way too hyper, but she'll learn.

Troy, meanwhile, can't do his human stalking performances often due to sickness, so he gets taken under Dogma's wing. He has an eye for marketing and parasocial relationships, and quickly, the Twins get a cult following amongst the Carnivora goers.

Dogma makes the business decision to limit their performances, not just to make them rarer and more exclusive, but to keep these at-the-time teenagers from being overexposed and having too much pressure on them. So, when they aren't on the stage, Ty and Troy are working with Dogma and Vasily to boost their media presence, quickly developing a weird little adopted family. They're vicious killers and shrewd manipulators, but they're family. Vasily is a malewife and mama hen, Dogma is everything Typhon isn't and theyre both everything the Twins needed.

Tyreen's condition is immediately looked into, and after magic therapy, medication, and tests with Eridian tech, can get her powers under control, making her happier and capable of genuine interpersonal relationships. Troy has the best doctors around, and after replacing Ty's energy with Eridium, has a boost in health since he isn't being partially leeched each time he needs a refill. He still stays to himself, but he isn't a wallowing nightmare of self-destruction.

Carnivora is a beast on Pandora, sweeping through the planet with kidnappings, raids, and destruction, all thanks to the Twins and their adoptive dads' support. Its their happiness in this life that makes them so much more dangerous, because all four have the other three to lose, and are not willing to allow such a thing to come to fruition.

The story would probably be started by the Crimson Raiders, wanting to stop these madmen from growing any further. They already have an army with their fans, and the destruction sown is quickly leading to a takeover of Pandora through idolatry and violence.