aw shit i'm becoming wisteria

Astarion & Hunger

So I'm going to talk about insatiable hunger through my own experiences, which were caused by a health problem.

My whole life I've always been hungry. As a kid, it was played off as 'having a hollow leg' and just being a growing kid. But it never stopped. I'm talking almost constant gnawing hunger pains, no matter what or how much I ate, it wouldn't go away. I would become painfully full while still painfully hungry. I flip flopped between eating constantly to try and make it go away, and giving up and trying to ignore and distract myself from it because food wouldn't help anyway — it took so much time and energy in my life, just to get nothing from it.

There are a couple quests in The Witcher 3 (probably based on folklore, etc.) where someone's been cursed with eternal hunger. The pain and drive consumes them, their life revolves around it, higher thought is difficult as they become feral with desperation. Even though it won't kill them — it just means they get to suffer without end. It's one of the worse curses I can imagine, something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

Astarion talks a lot about the sun. He deeply enjoys it, and is driven by a fear of being confined to the shadows again. But he does mention hunger a few times. I think less so because the tadpole didn't free him from it — it's still such a ubiquitous thing for him, a pain that's the nature of existing.

I found out earlier this year that digestive inflammation can feel like insatiable gnawing hunger. It's commonly caused by gluten (also dairy, but I'm already vegan) so I decided to try cutting that out, and, yeah... It's been almost a year, and for the first time in my life I don't feel like I'm constantly starving. When I'm hungry, I make a meal, and I don't feel hungry anymore.

After my mom cut out a lot of major foods after finding out she had sensitivities, I said there were some things that if I found out it was causing existing symptoms (as someone with chronic pain, etc.) I still wouldn't cut it out entirely. Gluten was definitely one of those things. But that's because I never imagined not feeling hungry was on the table. It was just an inseparable part of being alive for me. When I found out it was optional, and had actual success, it completely flipped my life upside down.

The experiences are so far from each other, it's hard for most people to grasp the impact constant hunger has on a person (but people have difficulty understanding what it's like to live with chronic pain in general. It wears you down — physically, emotionally. It's exhausting, and you might not even realise how low your normal is, just that it's such a struggle to function like other people).

I think it's easy to not really realise the weight of hunger Astarion experiences — I'm not sure how much he even realises, himself — but the very first thing he says when he ascends is:

"I... I can't feel it. That ache in my stomach, that hunger — it's gone."

and he seems completely baffled by that revelation.

Note: this is immediately followed by "I'm free. I'm finally free!" Which, he's free of a lot of things now, but how it's placed with the previous line really lends weight to it.

When I think about all the ways he could experience the sun without ascending, and I'm in the head of a character who doesn't share my experiences with hunger — assuming a good leaning character who's focused on all the people who'll be sacrificed — choosing to not ascend him is a fairly easy, obvious choice. But when understanding the hunger Astarion experiences — and all the spawn that'll still experience it even if you free them so they can finally feed — I think even a good character could end up helping him ascend.

𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 — 𝐬.𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 (𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞)

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

genre/trope: angst, unrequited love, forbidden love

warnings: nsfw, profanity, infidelity, mentions of weed/drugs, intoxication

description: you knew you never meant to him as much as he meant to you.. yet deep down, you still hoped his heart also breaks with every single goodbye and the regrets of the past clings to him a lot more than he let you believe.

note: this is a repost of 'the call' where i changed and added a few things to make it fit as a prologue better, so make sure u still read it. i'll do this series at my own pace so please just be patient! i'll open the taglist so just send me an ask if you want to be tagged hehe.

The smell of leather and weed floating in the space surrounding you constricts your breathing, making you gasp for air – even more as he suctions the air out of you through your heated shared kiss, your lungs burning with the need for oxygen. But you ignore it. Running your fingers through his hair and meeting his hunger with kisses equally as rough, you ignore the building pain on your chest.

You rock your hips towards him, feeling his hard crotch rub you through the lace of the panties you bought just a few days ago. Pulling away for a moment only to gasp on his reddening plump lips while he lazily guides your movements on his lap, triggering a flood of pleasure wash over you.

Slender, pale, and long fingers reached over to snatch another blunt, taking a long drag before the very same fingers of the opposite hand takes the back of your neck so he can pull you closer to his lips. He breathes the smoke out of his mouth into yours, connecting your lips once again.

Despite the distinct scent of the drug, you taste a tinge of sweetness on your tongue as his own massages yours. Rocking your hips harder to his forces a moan out of you, making your fingers curl around his lengthy hair. You pull away, muttering a small give me a minute to him. Leaning back on the steering wheel, you watch him while you try to control your ragged breathing.

His hair is long. Long enough that it falls softly all the way to his eyes and cheeks, the ends brushing his really pale skin. With your earlier statement, he just shrugged with the same unchanging look of nonchalance in his eyes—proceeding to take drags out of his blunt. His beautifully shaped eyes now bloodshot and shiny with moisture.

He's almost like a vampire, now that you think about it. So beautiful. Such pale skin but such dark hair. Sharp gaze but soft lips. Intoxicating scent but still so sweet.

The most similar thing between him and vampires, you thought, is the way he sucks all the life out of you. Drying you out and taking all your light.

This man has corrupted you more than you're willing to admit.

You opened your mouth to say something when the blaring ring of his phone makes you jump. His eyes glanced over the source before grabbing it with a sigh and scanning the monitor. You didn't even need to ask who it is. You're very well aware who it is, and why he never hesitated to answer.

When it comes to you, it always takes a lot of rings and missed calls before he picks up, though. You understand. You tell him you do, you always will.

He doesn't pick a call up on the first ring unless it's his girl. Astumu whispered as if he heard you ponder about the caller in your head one night when you were drinking with him in a bar. Loves her a lot. Probably too much.

The alarms rang in your head that night, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. So annoying but at the same time so painful. You didn't know how to turn it off and you wish every single time you could.

"Darling," He whispered with such a loving voice, one you never heard from him when he answers your calls. Your heart ached but you knew better than to confront him about it. Instead you cry in the arms of the twinss—more on Atsumu's, since Osamu takes you through an hour long lecture of why you should have known better.

You know that much, you think.

You shouldn't have let yourself get dragged in this stupid situation, craving a taken man and his touches. Letting him in on your secrets even when he barely lets you get a peak in his.

"I miss you too, my love.. Oh?.. I'll be home soon." He speaks in pauses as he lets her finish speaking first. You close your eyes to prevent the liquid threatening to spill out, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting yourself from his lap to the passenger seat. His eyes widened a millimeter—almost as if he cares what you do, when he noticed you getting off him without having to tell you. You noticed he ended his call with her and you refuse to look back at him. If you do, you are sure of another sleepless night.

Another sleepless night of asking yourself what went wrong and if he ever regretted his decisions— maybe he, too, spend the night wide awake asking himself why he brushed off every single detail of the past like it never existed, why he acts like you're a stranger he met for the very first time when both of you coincidentally takes the seat next to each other on a bar, why he never gave you an explanation of what happened that day.

Cold fingers hook under your chin, slowly turning your head to the left. He leans over the center console, connecting his lips with the soft skin of your neck, making you exhale out at the feeling of him sucking all the reason in you again. He runs his tongue wet on your collarbones, creating a glistening trail.

"I'll see you soon?" He whispered on the crook of your neck, nibbling it a little with his teeth. The bruises he leave on your skin another reminder that everything is real.

You just hum with a nod, cupping his jaw and slowly pulling him away from you with a small smile. One of his bangs fell in the middle of his face—you reached up to brush it away.

So many unspoken words from you. Too many. You wonder if he has anything he's holding back to say too as his eyes linger on you a second longer than usual. Or maybe you're just desperately reading into the lines again, like what Osamu said way too many times.

"Rin, what.. what are we?" Every parting is like this, like a new way of saying goodbye that you both developed. You just needed to be reminded, to wake up from whatever delusions you're starting to have.

"Nothing." He replies as flatly as all the other times before. Not a hint of emotion – no amusement or remorse.

You swallow, letting your hands fall to your sides. On the verge of turning around and reaching the door, his voice echoes once again. "How many times are you gonna ask me this?"

Until you start feeling something.

You thought to yourself. Anger, disgust, love, hatred, adoration, anything. You just want him to feel something. Prove to yourself and everyone else that you're not just a tool to him.

"Sorry. Slipped out of habit." You settle for that response now. No point having a conversation with him about this.

"You don't have to leave right away, I can still drive you home."

Losing all the strength to refuse, you found yourself just agreeing with him. Why the fuck are you even so upset to begin with? You knew what you signed up for. You knew about the girl. You saw him with her in the very same bar a few nights ago. Watched how much attention he gives her, how tightly he holds her.

Of course, you knew about the girl. Your past with her woven in a way no one will be able to deny, and she knows it too, as much as Suna and the twins do. How could you forget? Everything to you was clear as day, from the very first day to the last. Rintarou knows it hurts you more this way, but he never bothers to hide it from you—how he chose her over you.

"I'll break your heart by the end of this, baby." He warns you as you feel his length slip inside you, making you moan out in ecstasy.

"I don't care." You pant, grabbing him by the hips as a way of telling him to go faster.

Looking back, maybe you shouldn't have been so foolish and say that. Now, you're paying the price. Now, your exit has been sealed.

The moment you met him, you forgot everything – your reason, pride, dignity, loyalty, sense, self-love. You hate how intoxicates you like the drugs on his backseat and yet you can't stop. You wonder if he knows how you feel about him—how you still feel about him. If he notices the way your eyes would light up when you see him or the way you would wrap your arms so tightly like you're afraid of letting him go.

The car stopped soon after and you looked out the window to find yourself in front of your house. You collected your things and fastened the clasp on your sandals then opened the door, stepping a foot outside when he once again stops you by the wrist.

"I'll call you soon. I promise."

"I'll be waiting." You wriggle out of his grip without looking back, stepping your remaining foot out to join with the other as you stand up to leave. "Take care, Rintarou."

"You too, baby." The sound of his tires grow fainter by the second as he speeds off to his and his girlfriend's shared apartment and it was so loud, you couldn't tell if there was a strain on his voice when he said that or if you just imagined it again in your head.

You didn't notice the sobs wrecking your body. Not until you feel warm droplets fall to your open palms in front of you. You clutched your phone tightly, holding it to your chest.

You can only hope the next call comes soon, interrupting the continuous flow of the songs on your phone—the very records that remind you of what you never had—or perhaps, if things went a different turn; what you could've had with him.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇʟʟᴛᴀʟᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴡ ᴊᴇᴋʏʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴀᴠᴇ ᴇᴅᴡᴀʀᴅ ʜʏᴅᴇ.

♥♥♥

A well beloved doctor living in London, Andrew has made quite a name for himself! All of his patients are very happy with his work as he is able to always diagnose them properly and give them the correct medicine - truly a divine blessing in this day and age. He's a cheerful gentleman in his mid to early thirties who always has a gentle smile on his face. He is very fond of children and he does not mind babysitting them whenever someone asks him to do so, making him popular with parents and single mothers especially. During the day time he is filled to the brim with work but he always makes time to have afternoon tea, chat with his servants, or just try to enjoy like in general. A truly kind man in the eyes of many!

Alas though, when darkness overcomes his manor a new side of the good doctor surfaces, a side that no one knows about.

And Andrew plans to keep it that way.

There are many, many things that the doctor desires, craves, needs. But he is stuck in the same place day by day as he is forced to play his role of the savior. Even the good doctor Andrew likes to indulge himself from time to time... But that indulgence has gotten out of hand. By sheer accident Andrew was able to create a special elixir which is able to shift him in to a completely different person. His body is different, his hair is different, everything is different. His psyche however, remains the same.

And Andrew uses this newfound knowlege to his advantage.

Dubbing his new alter ego "Edward Hyde", Andrew is pleased to do what he wants once the sun sets. He messes with the townfolk, he shamelessly flirts and seduces any woman he sees, he picks on the young and the poor, nothing is off the table. This becomes a habbit very quickly as Edward is soon well known among the city. Some flee and flinch at the mere mention of him while others scoff and prepare their fists for a fight. Things continue like this for a while until Andrew notices that whenever he changes in to Edward, his mind is no longer fully his. Even throught the day as he sits in his office he can hear a gruff voice at the back of his mind, telling him to just finish the damn paperwork already. He starts hearing this voice everywhere and he starts to think that he is going mad. The voice taunts him day after day until he finally turns in to Hyde. Only then is he able to feel some inner peace. Andrew soon starts to lose control over himself as the voice grows louder and louder, yelling at him and commanding him to do its bidding. Every day now turns in to a battle as Andrew struggles to get out of bed and face himself in the mirror... But that's the catch. On one fateful morning the reflection he sees is not his own.

It's Hyde's.

The glowing green eyes of Edward Hyde stare back at him as Jekyll does his best to hold his breath in. This can't be real, this can't be happening! By now Andrew is pretty much at war with this new persona he had made and he does not know how to stop this coflict. Both do as they please which contradicts their previous actions, making both Edward and Andrew more then a little suspicious to the public eye. By this point Andrew regrets having ever created Edward but it's too late now. Edward Hyde was a part of him now, a dark part of him which could not be released. The only thing Andrew could do was to keep him at bay even if he was bearly able to do so. This constant pushing and pulling was exhausting to both of them and both were more then ready for a release.

And their release indeed came, but not in the way they thought it would.

It came in the form of love. Love for a sweet darling, a twisted obsession and want over this special little lamb who stumbled in to their lives by sheer accident, at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Andrew and Edward remain greatful still.

The pushing and pulling dies down whenever (y/n) is in the room and their attitudes are completely different from each other. Oh, if only (y/n) knew just what sort of danger awaits...

Andrew Jekyll.

Ever the gentleman, Andrew always places his darlings needs before his own. He worries for his sweetheart constantly as he dotes on them, making sure that they are safe and happy. Did his darling eat today? Did his darling sleep well? He won't ever stop asking these questions whenever he sees them, he just can't help himself! He never shuts up and he always seems to forget what he is trying to say but that's okay, his darling doesn't seem to mind.

Andrew stays gentle like that for a while as he treats his darling like divine royalty which does not go unnoticed by the people around him. He hears his servants whisper many things once he turns his back but he can't help but to blush a little - he may act a little awkward but in reality he really doesn't mind.

Andrew is also willing to bend over backwards and break his spine to get his darling whatever their little heart desires. He has more then enough money then he knows what to do with anyway! He wants jis darling to depend on him, he wants to be darlings only one true protector. He wants to provide for his darling like a good husband would.

Andrew often loses himself in these little fantasies that he gets distracted from his work, cahsing him to mess something up or to accidentaly spill or destroy amything around him. It's a vicious cycle of endless pinning as Andrew just doesn't have the guts to express his feelings, much to Hyde's annoyance and amusement. Cracks will start to form deep within him as Andrew tries to restrain himself more and more whenever he is around his darling. His smiles are not entierly his anymore as he stares his darling down like a piece of meat. Andrew hungers for darlings love and approval which in a way, does make his darling a piece of meat to him.

No matter what he just can never get enough of his darling, ever. The cheerful smiles thrown his way are not enough, and good grief just the mere brush of darlings fingers against his own is enough to send Jekyll in to a panicked frenzy. He loses his composure right there and then as he is forced to look his darling in the eye and do... nothing. He can't do anything he desires, he can't grab his darling by the back of their neck and press those pretty little lips against his own...

He can't caress the love of his life freely in public.

Hell, he can't even touch them without someone making a fuss.

Everything, everyone, is slowly driving him mad.

His love is driving him mad.

Andrew's affection starts to turn conditional, he can only ever shower his darling with gifts if they behave how he wants them to, if they pay enough attention to him, which is of course never quite enough.

His sanity fades as lovesickness kicks in.

His patience is wearing thin. What's taking his darling to love him back already? Hasn't he done everything any ideal lover would do? He has done literally everything, it must be his darling! It can't be his fault! His soft spoken words soon turn sharper then any knife as he imagines that very same weapon in his hands, pressed against darlings pretty little neck. Bruised, bloody and broken, that's how Jekyll wants his darling to be now.

He wants to crush them in his love.

And chances are, he will give in to his temptations.

Edward Hyde.

Tsk, tsk, this man is quite the charmer. A real smooth talker blessed with a deeper voice then his more seemingly more gentle counterpart, Hyde is no stranger to suggestive comments and rough touches. His feelings ignite like flames, quickly and suddenly. They take over his heart and soul, burning him and leaving endless ache and want in its path.

It's a strange feeling. He doesn't know how to feel about it...

When he meets his darling he treats her just how he treats other women. He craves nothing more then darlings body but when darling turns him down Hyde feels intrigued. Playing hard to get, eh?

He is always up for a good challenge.

Hyde stops paying attention to other women and his darling soon becomes his prime time target - Edward cannot move on unless he has his darling. He provokes, taunts and teases, just itching to see darlings reactions to his schemes. Cuss at him, slap him, do anything you want! Just as long as your focus is on him that wolf like grin will never leave his face. He just loves it when his darling turns red, it's so cute he could kiss her. His provoking continues like this for a while until Hyde begins to realize just how some couples act around each other. His softer side starts to show itself and it's something to marvel at really.

Unlike Jekyll, who is soft at the beginning and turns cruel at the end, Hyde is the opposite of that. He doesn't want to just mess with his darling anymore, he wants to actually love and care for her, to actually be in a commited relationship.

His protective side is on full display and anyone with at least a single braincell should be able to get the message.

Hyde often wonders when the Hell did he become so soft all of a sudden. He wants this pain in his chest to stop but the only way it can is if his darling is with him. He doesn't need anyone else... He doesn't want anyone else.

Let's hope Hyde's darling has a strong stomach because he doesn't give a damn who he has to hurt. He and Jekyll are nearly nothing alike but if they share on thing in common, it would be determination.

Edward Hyde has found his prey and he isn't going anywhere without it.

Tags: @3rdgymbros, @eclipsezero, @ghostiebabey, @yandere-of-your-dreams, @howl-of-the-hunting-lambs, @yandere-wishes, @severnrsstuff, @twstdreams, @twst-soul, @hattress-of-spades

I did my best guys, I hope this was okay! First time making a OC, sorry if it's too similar to the original characters. As I write more stories for them I'll try to build them up more! And feel free to ask any questions if you have them!

I can't seem to find it, but I asked about how your vampires work in your world and how they work in mine but I can't seem to find it. Would you mind talking about them more? Or sharing any info on the vampires in your world you like? -Lee

You absolutely did ask me that, and I can't find where I answered it for the life of me. I definitely meant to link it to my masterlist but clearly I forgot.

Okay, I found it in the end. Here's a link! I'm going to go and add it to the Swallow the World masterlist right now too, before I forget.

And here are a few more facts that I didn't go into detail about last time.

Historically, the vampires in my world are loyal not due to the emotional bonds that they form, but also because of the strain of vampirism in their veins. In the past, let's say four or five hundred years ago, it was impossible for a blooded vampire to go against their Elder's wishes. It was almost as though the Elders performed a kind of mind control over their wards. That element has faded over the centuries, so Ryan doesn't have that power over Elliott or Felix, but there are traces of the ingrained loyalty still lingering. For example, I've never written anything where this happens, but I have headcanons where Felix (especially during his first year or so with the Aldridges, since he was more emotionally unstable and insecure) would sometimes get the unexplainable urge to go and find Ryan, and when he does, he kneels down next to her and just leans his head against her like he's a cat looking for attention from his owner. To Ryan's relief, this doesn't happen too often anymore, but when it does, she needs Nancy to come and gently pry him away, reminding him that this isn't how they do things around here. By contrast, Elliott has pretty much always challenged Ryan on her beliefs and her rules, but honestly, she prefers that to being revered or mindlessly obeyed.

Vampire law states that no one under the age of twenty five should be blooded, or even half-blooded. This is a) to prevent anyone from being blooded before their bodies and brains have stopped changing too much, b) to prevent anyone from being prematurely blooded and having regrets, and c) to prevent anyone from being "stuck" looking too young for all eternity (the vamps in my world are not about looking eternally young or beautiful, but having the capacity to be eternally strong or wise).

However, people younger than twenty five can still attach themselves to a vampire clan, and from the age of twenty one, they can take a pledge of allegiance to the Elder and "swear on" as a future blooded member of the clan. This was Madelyn's plan for Shayne when he turned twenty one, for him to swear loyalty to her and bind him to the Devine name. He doesn't know any of this until Ryan tells him about it, and now, he's concerned that she's going to ask him to swear on to the Aldridge clan instead.

Half-vampires can - and, in fact, need to - eat human food in addition to consuming appropriate levels of blood. In theory, Felix could survive almost two weeks by consuming only blood and no food, but the poor boy would be awfully cranky if that were to happen.

Now that he's a full vampire, Elliott's body will actively try to reject human food at any cost. As I've hinted at before, Elliott absolutely hates vomiting, so the poor lad will probably still try to fight his nausea if the occasion arises. I feel like there's a lot of fun to be had in this.

Thirst in my vampires comes with a physical sense of hunger and discomfort in the stomach, which can grow tight and sharp if the vampire goes without feeding for too long. A thirsty vamp will also start to feel dizzy. In some cases, there's even some pain, ranging from discomfort to full-on burning, in the gums as the vampire's fangs force themselves down to demand a feed.

Most fully-blooded vampires have supernatural abilities that manifest between a few months and a few decades after transformation. Ryan's manifested as a flawless photographic memory. Madelyn can see through the eyes of any insects within a half-mile radius of her. Watson has the ability to shapeshift into a man-sized bat, as we may remember from the early story and Charlie's nightmares. And after his transformation, Elliott learns that he can teleport across various distances by turning into a cloud made up of a thousand tiny bats. The prospect of gaining a cool new ability is the only draw that Felix sees for becoming a full vampire, but he loves human food way too much to ever consider it.

Ooh, also. Half-vampires do age, although it's at a miniscule fraction compared to unblooded humans. Full vampires do not age at all. So, in theory, despite the fact that Elliott was in his early thirties when he was changed, and Felix was in his mid twenties, there will be a day where Felix will have "aged" past Elliott's human age.

violent ends (chapter 12)

(chapter 12)

series masterlist

genre: hunger games!au

pairings: huang renjun x oc, na jaemin x oc

warnings: lots of kissing, mentions of killing, description of injuries

previous | next

Athena's POV

It took a while for Jisung's quiet sniffles to fade the night of Chenle's death. By the time Mark and I had made our way back, Jaemin and Jisung had found out the news after they saw his face among the dead in the sky. Honestly, it was almost easier for Jisung to find out that way. I know Mark was in too much pain to tell him. As for me, I don't know how I could bare to look him in those innocent eyes and tell him either. As expected, he took it pretty hard. I mean, he was his best friend. He literally cried so much, that he eventually became exhausted and fell asleep.

I took the first watch, since Mark looked like he needed rest as well. The only other person who was still up was Na Jaemin.

"What are you thinking about?" Just like when we were alone in the first days, his head was resting on my lap.

"Jeno, Renjun, and the District 5 girl are the only ones left other than us." I point out.

Focusing on the positives, he replies, "Okay, well I'm guessing they'll go after her for us, since she's alone. Hopefully, they'll kill each-other. If not, we'll do it."

My voice was in a small whisper, "And then?"

He's silent.

I know District 2 is watching me right now. The same district that attachment is only necessary when it pertains to something you need. Once you have gotten what you've needed, you have to detach yourself. Almost like how a leech sucks enough blood until their fulfilled, then falls off on their own free will.

These people have given me my fill. Mark and Jisung took Jaemin and I in, even after Jaemin was injured. However, now we are both healthy as can be. As they sleep in front of me, what is stopping us from running away or even just killing them? Friends. Something I never had before. I never understood it until now. How it means that even though I'm full, I feel obligated to them too. To give just as much as they gave me.

But they are right. This is what they warned us about. This obligation will keep me captive. Let's say that we do all make it to the end together. Even so, the games will continue until a single victor. It happens every time.

The longest was the 25th games, it lasted for a total of twenty-seven days. This year the Districts had chosen the children of their mayors. Because of growing up wealthy and sheltered, none of the kids knew anything about fighting.

So they didn't. Half of them were wiped out by vicious mutations on the third day, then eventually others by starvation. However, the Gamemakers had a twist this year. Instead of the parachutes sending things to help and aid you, they sent down things like tracker jackers and acidic rain. No longer did the tributes have to survive eachother, but instead the sponsors.

Three weeks later, only two managed to do this: a brother and sister from District 9. Hopeless and broken, they decided to draw straws to see who would survive and win. The brother ended up getting the short one and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek before she stabbed him to death.

This just proves no matter how much you care for the other survivors, the Capitol won't give up until you kill the other.

The long silence was interrupted, "You know you're my priority. Ever since the beginning, only you."

"You know what I'm saying, what I'll do if I need to." Jaemin whispers sincerely, "I know you wouldn't like it, but we promised it would be me and you in the end, right?"

I knew exactly what he was alluding to. It doesn't matter if it's Mark or Jisung, he would kill anyone so we'd survive.

"I know." I speak even through the lump in my throat. There's no point in pretending or acting like things could never possibly come to that. I mean, it's not like the games are a place where you make friends.

Jaemin is sensitive to my discomfort, "Hopefully, it won't come to that, okay?"

All I could do was respond with a nod. Let's hope it doesn't.

It's almost natural the way I once again played with his hair to calm down. I noticed that since we've been separated, time had caused his nearly-black roots to appear, fading nicely into the frosty blonde. His eyes were more sunken in and tired, but still held the same old light as he peered up at me with interest, "You really have no shame, Athena."

"What do you mean?" I tease, playing innocent like I wasn't obviously checking out the beautiful boy just seconds earlier.

Then, in a burst of affection, the boy literally almost tackles me. My elbows brace myself up on the ground, as he leans over me. Alarmed, I turn my head to see the boys fast asleep, a good distance away.

When I look back at Jaemin, I feel my head start to buzz. It's seems like so long since I've been this close to someone. A someone who is somewhere far away in this arena. Someone, who in was in this same position with the night before I came here. In a soft voice, Jaemin's voice brings me back to the present, to him.

"Please."

Not long after I nod, I feel his lips softly brush over mine. Almost as if he's testing the waters. The kiss that follows is soft and delicate, yet brief. It's like I'm a piece of glass, that he is trying his best not to break. When, he backs away to see my reaction, I nearly chase after his lips. He just laughs to himself at the display of eagerness. I move back, so I'm entirely laying on the grass.

I try to be patient, not wanting to overstep our boundaries. However, when he looks down at me with absolute adoration, I didn't stop myself from grabbing his shirt with both my hands. Once I pulled him down into an bruising kiss, I could hear him let out a content sigh.

I get lost and entirely forget where I am. Instead of in an arena, it just feels like we're two young teenagers making out under the stars. It feels normal and completely right. Out of breath, he is now laying on top of me. My mouth is open in awe, while I marvel at the feeling. Relaxing, I could feel Jaemin smiling into my neck. Even in the dark, I know the cameras can see me also smiling like a fool to the sky.

After that, Jaemin decided to take his watch and let me sleep. It was the first peaceful sleep I have had until forever. That was, of course, until a young boy named Park Jisung ruined it.

"We need water!" Beside me was a knocked out, Jaemin. He was leaning against a tree, while my head was leaning against his shoulder.

"Okay, fine. Just shush." I was trying to be wary of Jaemin, who stayed up for both of our watches.

Grabbing my stuff, I say a brief goodbye to Mark. Jisung happily follows me like a little puppy, probably glad to finally get out of the camp again.

The fresh sun illuminates the water of the lake. Birds are singing good morning to one another.  I hand my bag to Jisung, as I take out my bottle. The tiny fish quickly swim away as I fill Mark and I's bottles up with water.

I feel a tug on my leather jacket.

"Athena." Jisung was pale, looking behind me.

My head snapped around to automatically meet eyes with Lee Jeno. Across the lake, he had just arrived with Renjun.

I don't waste any time before grabbing Jisung and running into the woods behind me. However, we could only get a small distance before Jisung fell to the ground, clutching his bad leg, "I can't."

"You can. Come on." I tried to hold him up like I did during the forest fire. I could hear the two Careers just around the corner.

"I'll slow you down." Jisung begged, "You gotta go without me." 

Not even having it, I grabbed him and sat him down behind a nearby bush. Since the bush was fairly small, I had to go to the only other one across the clearing.

"Let's split up." I hear nearby.

Through a gap in the branches, I see Lee Jeno come around the corner. My heart pounds with each of his steps. Jeno gets closer and closer the bush Jisung is hiding behind. I violently curse in my head as I realized Jisung was carrying my backpack with all of my weapons in it.

I guess we're gonna have to do this a different way.

I dart out of my bush and begin running in the opposite direction of camp. That way, Jisung could hopefully make it back undetected to get help.

I don't look back at all. I just keep running until I get back to the lake. Before I can change direction, I feel someone jump on me.

Crashing down, the side of my head collides with a large boulder. At first, it's completely numb and I'm able to push the tall boy off of me.

However, once I push myself up, I start to see black and fall back to the ground.

"Hey, I got her!" Jeno yelled out to Renjun.

"We've been looking for you, pretty girl." His arms have mine completely pinned to the dirt. The more I struggle against him, the more the white dots fill up my vision.

Renjun's POV

When I run towards Jeno's voice, I eventually found the two of them.

Jeno was holding the small girl. Lee Athena's face was as white as a sheet. Blood was pouring out of her head, falling in thick drops down the side of her face. I couldn't even tell if she was even conscious at this point.

She was completely limp as the boy sat her up on her knees, "Why don't you finish her off?"

"Look who came to join us." He cooed, grabbing her hair to make her look up at me.

Her half-lidded eyes recognized me right away. Although, there wasn't any signs of fear or sadness for what she knew was about to happen to her. She almost looked like she was challenging me. You wouldn't.

Would I?

"Do it." Jeno urged me. Her chin was tilted back by his hold on her hair, neck entirely on display. My hand was tightly wrapped around the familiar blade in my hands.

I tried to quickly come up with an excuse for my next actions in my head. I mean it would have to happen eventually. At least, it would be somewhat quick.

Then, I did it.

oof five leaving behind his daemon would be so painful because he comes back and she's still not settled and that persistent ache in his chest from having her be far from him eases but he also has no idea how to react to her and part of him wants to insist he doesn't need her (as he does with all the things he's forced himself to get used to lacking)

i can’t believe i have an au of an au lmao this is how far i have fallen 

Honestly Five not taking Pancha with him to the future would be HEARTBREAKING because you know she’d hide it, she wouldn’t want to let Reginald know she was still around so she might actually run away,, i don’t remember if daemons need to eat or anything because they’re made of dust but she’s unsettled - she could go off and live in the woods as a bird or a squirrel or a hare or a bee or a butterfly or anything. She’s a daemon set loose without a human to keep her to anything

But then again, she’s also Five’s soul, and at the end of the day Five loves his family enough to spend his entire life trying to make sure that before anything else, his family survives. He doesn’t save the world for the world’s sake, he does it for his family. He could have stayed with the Commission. Or he could have jumped wildly back in time with far looser equations if he didn’t care where he ended up so long as it wasn’t the apocalypse. 

In this au he’s also trying to get back to Pancha but the point remains

So Pancha probably doesn’t just fuck off. Not entirely. She’s unsettled. She can turn into an ant or a mouse or a dozen other small creatures to sneak around the house under everyone’s noses - and she watches

I want to say she goes to Ben, because Ben has some built in protections and also because in the dream she went to Ben and I can’t discount my subconscious that would be rude. But legit though, she might not want to put any more problems on Vanya or she might just believe Vanya can’t help her because Vanya is ordinary (Reginald’s dismissal of her was not just a surface level problem), but she knows that Ben is quiet and that he can keep a secret and most importantly, he can protect her if discovered. Ben has a very violent and uncontrollable power, Reginald wouldn’t cross him lightly

except Ben dies

but Tamaya remains, just like Pancha does, but Tamaya is settled she doesn’t have the same safety that Pancha does, can’t turn into a gnat in the blink of an eye - easily overlooked, so Pancha sought out Ben for company but Tamaya needs someone to hide her

and Tamaya chooses Klaus, and Pancha follows, and wow Klaus how come ur mom lets you have THREE daemons

and Klaus would be shocked because daemons are supposed to die when their humans do, but these two didn’t. (Pancha insists that Five is alive, he’s just lost to her. Klaus and Rowan and Tamaya probably don’t really believe her, but she doesn’t care because she knows, in her dust, that Five will come back)

and he does

Pancha grows used to life with Klaus and Rowan and Tamaya, she crawls into the mausoleums as a spider under Reginald’s nose and keeps her brother company, slides through cracks as an ant and curls comfort around Rowan. They leave and Klaus is on the streets and Pancha is canny and capable of spatial jumps and she’s willing to steal in the name of her family she lets Klaus lean on her strength

and they go to the funeral, all five of them. Klaus and Rowan and Tamaya and Ben and Pancha, though the others only know about two of them and Pancha curls up with Tamaya in the form of another rat in Klaus’s hoodie as Ben follows only seen to two of their number

and the world splits apart in the courtyard, and there’s a figure falling though, and Pancha is clawing her way out of Klaus’s pocket and shifting and leaping forward because that’s her boy. And Five is a fucking mess because it’s one thing putting on a brave face seeing your dead siblings alive again when he’s had forty some years to process that, but Pancha is the other half of his soul and that’s a wound that can’t heal

and Pancha is chewing him out and yelling at him to never ever do that again or leave her behind and he’s an idiot and Five is clinging to her just as much as she is to him and they’re both crying because for the first time in so many years they are whole and she knows their collective soul is so much older than their bodies but she doesn’t care and Five doesn’t even care that he’s thirteen again because how could he care when it feels the most right he’s ever been??

and the others are standing there, shocked, and no one exactly didn’t notice that Pancha hadn’t fallen from the portal and that she’d been on Klaus’s person but that’s put aside as Pancha in the form of a tiger grabs onto Five’s skinny wrist and yanks him to go into the house because she can feel the gnawing hunger in his gut and the gentle pain of almost-at-limits-but-not-quite and she raided the kitchen with the squad earlier so she knows that there’s peanut butter and marshmallows and bread and Five knows exactly what to do

and in this universe, Pancha has a pack. A squad. She’s spent the last seventeen years as Klaus-Rowan-Tamaya-Pancha-Ben and she’s not about to let her dumbass person go off on his own without her and she’s just as much not about to ditch the people who supported her

and Five, after that first incredible relief and rush and wonder, tries to push her away

(Pancha learns why later, when she’s staring at the Handler and feeling that rush of wrong wrong wrong because there is no daemon at the Handler’s side. Pancha stays small, stays as an ant sticking against Five’s skin until the right moment when she bursts forward and no one expects it because the commission doesn’t know everything, they thought she died in their separation because they didn’t start watching Five until after the jump, when they were so far apart. Five was a temporal assassin infamous for his lack of daemon just like the Handler was infamous in the organization for her own lack. So no one expected Pancha bursting from her boy’s sleeve and shifting in a flurry of teeth and claws to thoroughly destroy any who would dare try and get between her and saving her family)

but like,, Pancha isn’t about to let the other half of her walk away so easily not even if she has to turn into something big and sit on him and she can jump as well and can always feel where he is and so she’s not exactly going to let him get away with anything

so Klaus and Ben and Rowan and Tamaya get roped into pretty much all their plans because Pancha will stand for nothing less and Five is willing to sacrifice a lot to save his family but he’s not quite willing to sacrifice his soul. Not after just getting her back.

So it changes things, because the most important part about their shared power and ability to go far from one another is this: if one tugs, the other can answer. They can jump to one another’s sides in moment of need. So when Griddy’s is being shot up and Pancha and Five already argued about going off alone, Pancha pops up to smash some idiots with her boy. When the manor is being shot up and Klaus is kidnapped, Pancha pulls hard enough that Five is practically yanked through the portal instead of jumping himself. Maybe the rest of the family doesn’t notice Klaus’s disappearance, but Pancha does

and as she yells at Five, there’s no point in stopping the apocalypse if their siblings die first and Five remembers finding bodies, bodies and dust and he didn’t even see Rowan’s body because Rowan was dust and at least he had something to mourn for Klaus and fuck - Pancha’s always been able to get him to do exactly what she wants so they go and rescue Klaus

(sorry Dave, Klaus probably doesn’t meet him - but Eudora Patch gets to live because Five and Pancha yank her out of the way and save her life as well as rescuing Klaus and so you know what hell yes Patch and her terrier daemon get to follow Klaus and chew out Diego because what the fuCK diego and joins their saving-the-world-squad because I love her and would die for her)

also Tamaya would come in super handy honestly because if they’re looking at Klaus-and-Rowan and Five-and-Tamaya then no one is looking for Pancha because who the fuck expects another random daemon to exist everyone knows that people don’t have two daemons. They’ll look at Tamaya balancing on Five’s shoulder (all according to plan) and they won’t look any closer because why would they?? Ben and Pancha team up to slide invisibly wherever they need to get because Pancha abuses her unsettled ability to adapt and change eyyyy

at some point Klaus is probably going to awkwardly address the fact that Pancha is unsettled and Five is going to brush it off

but honestly like all this espionage and the new tight knit bond between Klaus-Ben-Five-Rowan-Tamaya-Pancha doesn’t help the underlying issue: Leonard and Vanya and powers that should have never been hidden

i don’t know how this au would end but i would hope they manage to stop the apocalypse bc they would try so hard to do so :(

I just want all these dumbasses to be HAPPY is that too much to ask

Tasting the Sky - Ibtisam Barakat PART I A Letter to No One 1981, Surda, West Bank Like a bird clawing The bars of a cage And wishing them branches, My fingers grasp The bus rails before me. But I wish for nothing. I'm midway from Birzeit to Ramallah, at the Israeli army checkpoint at Surda. No one knows how long our bus will stay here. An army jeep is parked sideways to block the road. Soldiers in another jeep look on with their guns. They are ready to shoot. A barrier that punctures tires stands near the stop sign. I regret that I chose to sit up front. The window of the bus frames the roadblock like a postcard that I wish I could send to all my faraway pen pals. They ask me to describe a day in my life. But I do not dare. If I told them of the fear that hides under my feet like a land mine, would they write back? A soldier leaps into the bus. He stands on the top step. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, dark like midnight. "To where?" He throws the question like a rock. I pull myhead toward my body like a tortoise. If I don't see him, perhaps he won't see me. He asks again. I stay silent. I don't think a high school girl like me is visible enough, exists enough for a soldier with a rifle, a pistol, a club, a helmet, and high boots to notice. He must be talking to the man sitting behind me. But he leans closer. His khaki uniform and the back of his rifle touch my knee. My flesh freezes. "To where?" He bends close to my face. I feel everyone on the bus nudging me with their anxious silence. "Ramallah," I stutter. "Ramallah?" he repeats as if astonished. "Khalas. Ma feesh Ramallah. Kullha rahat," he says in broken Arabic. The words sound like they have been beaten up, bruised so blue they can hardly speak their meaning. But I gather them. "There is no Ramallah anymore," he says. "It all should be gone by now." I search for the soldier's eyes, but his sunglasses are walls that keep me from seeing. I search for anything in his face to tell me more than the words he's just said about Ramallah. What does he mean? Are the homes all bulldozed down? And the people? My father and my family, will I find them? Will they wait for me? Fear is a blizzard inside me. A thousand questions clamor in my mind. It was less than an hour ago that I took the bus from Ramallah to Birzeit. Now I am returning. How could everything disappear in less than one hour? Something must be wrong with me. Perhaps I do not know how to think, how to understand my world. Today I chose to sit up front whenI should have chosen to hide in the back. I should have known a front seat lets one see more of what lies ahead. I want to open my mouth and let my feelings escape like birds, let them migrate forever. I am waiting for the soldier to step off the bus. But he doesn't. He counts us, then takes out a radio and speaks. I don't understand, and I am somehow content that I do not. I do not want to know what he says about me or the bus, or what he plans to do. He switches back to Arabic, takes the driver's ID, tells the driver to transport us all--the old passengers, the young, the mothers, students, everyone--to the Military Rule Center. He means the prison-court military compound on the way to Ramallah. I know where that is. It sits on the ground like a curse: large, grim, shrouded in mystery. In ten minutes our bus will be there. New soldiers wait for us at the entrance to the compound. One walks to our driver's window, tells him to let all the passengers off, then turn around and leave. The driver apologizes to us. He says if it weren't for the order, he would wait for us no matter how long it took. I wonder if he is afraid to continue on to Ramallah, to be alone when he finds out whether it's really in ruins. "Wait a moment," he says. "I will return your fare." But no one can wait. "Yallah! Yallah!" a soldier goads. "Hurry!" After a second head count, at gunpoint, we form a line and walk to a waiting area. We stand against a wall that faces the main door. The compound feels like the carcass of a giantanimal that died a long time ago. Its exterior is drab, bonelike, and hostile. We take out our IDs. Two soldiers collect them to determine if any of us had been caught in previous confrontations with the army. Our IDs inform on us. The orange-colored plastic covers, indicating that we all are Palestinian, pile up on the table like orange peels. Two college students, with thick books in their hands, are quickly separated from the group. For a moment, my dream of going to college feels frightening. "Hands up!" someone says, and one of the two soldiers now chooses the people he wants and inspects their bags, pockets, bodies. He skips the girls and women. All is quiet until he raises his hand to search a teenage boy standing next to me. Even before the soldier touches him, the boy starts to giggle. The sound breaking the anxious silence is shocking. At first, the giggles are faint, then they grow so loud that soldiers from outside the yard hear and come to see. The boy's laughter is dry and trembling. Worried. I know what he feels. He wants to cry, but in spite of himself, in spite of the soldiers and the guns, all he can do is giggle. Angered, the search soldier punches the boy, but like a broken cup that cannot hold its contents, the boy continues to laugh. The soldier punches him again. The boy's laughter now zigzags up and down like a mouse trying to flee and not knowing which way to turn. But a kick on the knee from the soldier's boot finally makes the boy cry. He folds down in pain and then is led inside the building. We stand still like trees--no talking, no looking at oneanother, no asking questions, no requesting water or trips to the bathroom, no sitting or squatting. We do not know what we are waiting for or why we are waiting. The hours stretch like rubber bands that break and snap against our skins, measured by the ticking of boots, going and coming across the yard, in and out of the building. I keep my eyes on our main guard, who now sits by the door. Lighting a cigarette from the dying ember of the one he has just finished and filling his chest with the flavor of fire, he makes frog cheeks and blows smoke rings that widen like binoculars as he glances at us through the smoky panel. He looks at us as though we are only suitcases in his custody I want to ask him if I can take out a pen and paper. If he lets me, I will empty myself of what I feel. I will distract myself from my hunger, for I have not eaten all day. And I will record details to give to my mother in order to avoid her wrath--if Ramallah is not really gone. But something in my mind wags a warning finger not to ask, not to do the wrong thing. It's a finger like Mother's, telling me to get home in a hurry, not ever to be late. But I am already many hours late. Mother tells me not to speak about politics. She is always afraid that something bad could happen suddenly. "Khalas, insay, insay," she demands impatiently. "Forget, just forget." And I do. I know less about politics than do most of my classmates. I never even learned how the colors of the Palestinian flag are arranged. Sometimes I glance at the outlawed flag during street demonstrations. I see it for seconds only,before the hand that holds it is shot at by Israeli soldiers. At times, I see the flag drawn in graffiti on walls. Someone does it at night and leaves it for us to discover in the morning. The soldiers spray over it during the day. Anyone caught with the Palestinian flag is punished. Mother does not want me or any of my siblings to do anything that could cause us even the slightest trouble with the army. "Imshy el-hayt el-hayt wu qool yallah el steereh," she says. Walk by the wall. Do not draw attention to yourself. Be invisible if you can, is her guiding proverb. If I see Mother again, I will tell her what happened to the bus at the checkpoint. "Why go to Birzeit?" She will slice at the air with her hands, half wanting to hear my answer, half wanting to hit me. Birzeit is where students go to college after finishing high school in Ramallah. Some also come from Gaza, Nablus, and other cities, towns, and refugee camps. In Birzeit, many students become active in politics and have fights with the Israeli army. They chant on the streets that they want freedom from the occupation. But I did not go there to chant for freedom. I have my freedom. It is hidden in Post Office Box 34. This is what takes me from Ramallah to Birzeit. Post Office Box 34 is the only place in the world that belongs to me. It belonged to my brother Basel first. He left Ramallah and did not want to give up the box, so he passed it on to me. On the days I don't go to Birzeit, I bury the key in the dirt under a lemon tree near our house. If I die, the key for the box will be under the ground with me. Having this box is like having a country, the size of atiny square, all to myself. I love to go there, dig the key out of my pocket, turn its neck around, open the door, then slowly let my hand nestle in and linger, even if the box is empty. I wish I could open my postbox every day. I feel that my hand, when deep inside it, reaches out to anyone on the other side of the world who wants to be my friend. Some postal worker in Birzeit must like me, perhaps because I put "Thank you to the postman" on all my envelopes. When many days go by without my coming for letters, I sometimes find a stick of chewing gum in my box. Someone has opened it first, written a line of cheerful poetry, then wrapped it again. Smiling, I skip out of the post office. I chew the line, taste its meaning. Paper and ink, poems and my postbox are medicines that heal the wounds of a life without freedom. On some days, I wish I could stay inside my postbox, with a tiny pillow made from a stamp with a flower on it. At the end of the day, I could cover myself up with one pinkenveloped letter and sleep on a futonlike stack of letters from my pen pals: Dimitri from Greece. He writes of a Greek holiday called No. I reply that all teenagers in the world should celebrate this day. Dimitri and I argue about baklava. He insists it's Greek. I assure him it is Arabic. Perhaps it is both, we finally decide to agree, since both our peoples love it. Luis from Spain. He is unhappy for reasons I do not understand. His country is not occupied, and he does not have a strict mother like mine. But I like it that he always writes something about basketball. He says when he gets out on the court he forgets all his worries. Hannah from Great Britain. What if I wrote "Great" next to "Ramallah" when I send my letter? From Great Ramallah to Great Britain. We would be equals then. Hannah's letters are always egg white, with the queen stamp, which I stare at for a long time. The crowned queen is beautiful. Hannah writes about the trips she takes with her family and the books she reads. She loves Gulliver's Travels and Emil and the Detectives, books that I, too, love, because Gulliver and Emil remind me of myself. Gulliver knows exactly what it is not to be free. And both Gulliver and Emil form fond friendships with strangers. Sally, a grandmother from America, speaks about eating turkey on Thanksgiving. "Eating a country?" I write back. She explains. And I laugh because Mother dislikes the "Roman rooster," our name for turkey. She would never let one in our house, much less cook it for a celebration. I have many pen pals: tourists, Holy Land pilgrims, and students who join pen pal programs to see the world through other people's words. Some write only once in a long while. Others write often. But all of them send me scraps of their lives translated into English, which I have been studying for six years, ever since I turned eleven. In return, I tell my pen pals about my school, friends, teachers, studies. I describe the seasons, the land, the wheat and olive harvests, and the Eid celebrations. Looking into a hand mirror, I describe myself if I don't have a picture to send. Translating many words and sentences, I also write about the Arabic language. I explain that verbs in Arabic form roots that create trees of nouns and word structures. An yaktub means towrite. Maktoob means a written letter. Katebah is a female writer. Ala-katebah is a typewriter. Kitab is a book. Maktab is a desk for writing. Maktabah is a library, the place where one finds books. All these words grow from the root verb kataba. Making words in Arabic is like planting a field with seeds, growing an orchard--words hang on the vines like grape clusters, leaves throw shadows of meanings to the ground. I am eager to answer all my pen pals' questions about language. But when they ask me about my childhood, suddenly I have nothing to say. It's like a curtain comes down and hides my memories. I do not dare part it and look. So I skip all childhood questions and reply only about the day. Today, I wish I could tell my pen pals that I was going to Birzeit to open my postbox, to meet their words. There were no letters from anyone. Maybe they were on their way, but the postal trucks were unable to get to Birzeit. The roads and mail system here are like our country, broken. Letters are like prayers; they take a long time to be answered. What would my pen pals say if I told them that I am standing at a detention center because I went to open my postbox for their letters? Now, gazing at the ground under my feet, I remember that I need to make up something ingenious to convince Mother that I did not go to Birzeit to talk to college boys or do anything related to Palestine or politics. I usually cannot convince her of anything. She is cleverer than I am. She is cleverer than anyone I know. Perhaps ten mothers in Ramallah are not clever at all because she has gotten their share of cleverness. When unsatisfied, she pokes my chest and curses me. To answer her, I write poems about the cruelty of mothers. "What difference is there between a mother and a soldier? None." I underline my answer. "Mothers and soldiers are enemies of freedom. I am doubly occupied." I post the poems on the wall like freedom graffiti or tuck them in "her journal," a journal that I keep only for my mother. She reads it when I am gone. Often, however, I write good words in her journal, hoping that when she sees them she will know that I care about her and be gentler with me. "God, I feel terrible for Mother because she works so hard. And I don't know what it is to be a mother in a land filled with soldiers and war. Please make her happy. Take from my happiness if that's the only way to help." "Liar," she pencils next to my words, then erases it. The faint traces remain. I see them. We never speak about her journal, but we meet there to say the things we cannot say out loud. My true journal is written with no pen or paper, but in my mind, with an invisible hand in the air. No one will ever find it. When Mother says to come home, I write in my mind that I feel at home nowhere. I want to wander the streets after school, walk forever, walk away from a world I do not understand, a world that tells me daily there is no place in it for me. And it is not just Mother who is afraid and watches over me. Father does, too. My parents, Suleiman and Mirriam, whom I call Yaba and Yamma, often disagree on things, but when it comes to me, they act as though they never disagree.My father copies his feelings from Mother the way one copies homework. On some mornings, they whisper a few words, then my father pretends to go to work early. But he waits outside until I walk to school, and follows me. He must want to see how I behave on the streets when I am alone. He does not know that I read him the way I read a street sign, and that I watch for him every day the way I watch for the snipers on top of the large buildings in Ramallah. They, too, watch how we walk and what we do. Without looking at them, we know exactly where they are. When my father walks behind me, as if he thinks he can outwit me, I feel sad. How little he knows me. "Yaba, why not wait outside until I leave?" I said one morning. "What for?" he asked. "So that you can follow me," I fumed. He became outraged and charged after me. I bolted into a room and locked the door. "Why do you challenge me?" he shouted. I opened the door and walked right up to him. He only shook his head, blamed my defiance on my schooling, and blamed himself for sending me to school. "You dig your head into your Nakleezi books like a sheep, grazing all day," he said, and sighed, perhaps wishing he, too, could read English books. I know that my father does not really want to put down my schooling, especially because of the way he treats the word chair, the only word in English he knows. He says it with pride, moves it around in his speech as though to gaina better view of things. He sits on it like it's a throne. Yet it is a lonely chair. My love for language and words seems to come between us. It takes away his authority over me. The books, not he, are my references. The soldiers are another force that separates us. Father knows that they, not he, are the ones who control every one of us. We are not free to be a family the way he wants, with him a lion in our lives. He is like a lion in the zoo. Any of us can be taken away any day. No one can stop that, no matter how hard he roars from the fenced space allotted to him. I compare my father with the fathers of other girls. He is poorer than many, and war lives inside him. Every night, he wakes up shouting that someone is going to kill him, kill us all. He punches at the air, kicks with his feet to free himself, and cries for someone to help him. Mother sleeps on the farthest edge of the bed to avoid getting hit. She pretends she does not hear his cries. But every night I run to comfort him. I bring him a cup of water and sit beside him. I ask him to tell me what he sees. Catching his breath, he mixes words and tears. My father has no language for the pain and loneliness he feels. Is that because he has lived all his life not knowing freedom? Or does he hide his freedom somewhere, the way I hide mine in Post Office Box 34? It is late afternoon, and we are still standing, still waiting at the detention center. My feet are aching for rest. Then, unexpectedly, I am released. My tears drip onto my shoes. Tears are my secret ink, inthe absence of real ink. Liquid stories. On the air that comes into and leaves my chest, I write all the things that happen to me. "Now the soldier hands me my ID and tells me that I can go home ..." I run toward the center of Ramallah, my heart heavy, as if it has stones in it. Questions rattle in my mind. What did the soldier on the bus mean? But ... Ramallah ... is ... still ... there. It is there. Juabah newspaper shop, Salaam taxicab office, Fam boutique, Abu Azmi grocery shop, Zabaneh market, Salah pharmacy are all closed, but all are there. I want to hold Ramallah the way one holds oneself when there is no one else to touch. Quickly, I realize that some fight between Palestinian protesters and Israeli soldiers must have taken place. The streets are deserted, except for speeding military vehicles. I walk cautiously. I feel afraid and alone. "Walk by the wall." Mother's proverb now guides me like a map. I hurry up until I get to the street near our home. But there, my heart begins to race, and my mind begins to fill with soldiers. Suddenly, I can see the kinds of things that my father describes in his nightmares. With every step I take, more images of war appear. I stagger through the door under Mother's scrutinizing eyes. She is filled with fury. But one look into my face, and all turns into worry. "What happened?" she gasps. I tell her that the soldiers detained me with many others. I tell her that, like Father, I have become ill with war. I describe to her the images I see. But I do not say I had gone to Birzeit. Perhaps she does not really want to know. For this, I am grateful. "When a war ends, it does not go away," she says. "It hides inside us." She knows. "Do not walk that road," she warns me. "Insay. Insay." "Just forget!" But I do not want to do what Mother says. I cannot follow her advice. I want to remember. Sinking in the sea Of forgetfulness I reach for the raft of remembering. Where the small girl I once was Stands alone, Holds a key to the postal box of memory, And awaits The day When she will Find her home By asking Her heart to Take her there.