Thank you for reading this far. A/N at the end.
III: The Panacea
Foeless. Foeless! Why be foes? Why shun? Better to listen than to fight. Abiding and watchful is wisdom. Let the outlandish life dwell within you, and you will unearth answers. Is this not the task of a healer?
She's waiting on the hovercraft for what feels like hours.
In all honesty, it probably was. Nadra's cordoned off in the onboard medical bay, immediately shoved into a wheelchair and off to an operation room. There's no congratulations, only a needle stuck in her arm that knocks her out cold. By the time she's awake again, she's still in the hovercraft - through the glass walls of the room, she sees bodies still being hauled up out of the arena.
She's been stripped of her filthy arena clothes, sitting in a thin patient's gown. She can feel patches of gauze on her face, and looking down she sees her hand has been rebandaged and there's an IV drip in her arm.
"Ah, you're awake!" Chirps a tall, brown-skinned woman, entering her room. "We're still finding and transporting all the bodies. Many apologies - I'm sure you want to be back at the Capitol as soon as possible."
Nadra blinks a few times. "It's fine," she says quietly, "I don't mind. Take all the time you need."
The woman hugs a clipboard close to her chest, dragging a chair next to Nadra's bed as she holds out a hand. "Dr. Waterloo, by the way - I'm the Gamemaker in charge of tribute pathology. That is, handling all the dead bodies."
"I know what pathology is, ma'am," Nadra laughs awkwardly, shaking Dr. Waterloo's hand with her fully intact one.
"Oh, of course you do - I have to say, I was really impressed by your medical prowess in the arena. When we decided to engineer a plague, I was almost hoping we'd have a tribute like you to make it all the more compelling." She stops for a second, looking as if she's forgotten something important. "Oh, and congratulations! We'll have to wait a little before showing you off to Panem - like, when we're back in the Capitol, we'll have to give you a prosthetic - but I promise you, you'll be all patched up and ready to head home in no time."
Her head spins. Nadra thinks she might still be in shock, or maybe she's just tired. A prosthetic hand, victor interviews, returning back to Two… she's never prepared for any of it. For all of her dreams of victory, for the entire time she's known she'd be going into the Games, she'd been forced to see it as a far off, unattainable accomplishment for Jehan. She'd taken it from him.
(Nausea washes over her when she realises she'll have to face her mentors soon.)
Dr. Waterloo can see the conflict etched on her face. "Nadra," she says softly, "it's alright to be in shock. You've gone through a lot. But you're all the stronger for it, so chin up."
The Gamemaker leaves her room. Nadra's on her own again, her only company the beeping of her heart monitor and the distant murmurs of Dr. Waterloo's team. She's been running on pure adrenaline and single-minded perseverance since Pandora died, but it's finally all come crashing down.
She's won. She's the victor she's always dreamed of being.
(Why, then, does she burst out in tears, head held in between her ruined hands, unable to keep the tears from flowing down her bandaged cheeks?)
After the hovercraft set back off to the Capitol, Nadra naps. One part of her wishes she could ask Dr. Waterloo about the bodies - about seeing Jehan and Pandora one last time - but she decides against it. It'd probably just make her feel worse. She's only woken when they land, and she's transported to yet another hospital, put under for yet another surgery, and when she wakes up, she's staring down at four metal fingers.
It's strange. Seeing them, so unlike her own, moving as she wills them to.
It'll take time to get used to. She thinks all of this will.
Just as she's testing the prosthetics, the door to her room opens, and her gut drops. Markus Kallaghan steps into the room, his bearded face looking just as tired as hers, and he smiles weakly as he takes a seat next to her bed.
She wants to melt into the floor, disappear, not have to face him. Is there a reason he's here alone, without Juno? She's in trouble, she knows she is, she's fucked up, she's -
"Well done, Nadra. I couldn't be more proud of you."
Confusion blankets her mind. Not ever did she think that this'd be the reaction from one of her mentors, the people who'd been so certain that Jehan Claes would be the one sitting here now.
Nadra takes a steeling breath. "I thought you'd be mad at me."
Markus chuckles, a hand raised to his lips. "I promise, I'm not. Juno is, but she's already gone back to Two, so she really doesn't matter anymore. As far as I'm concerned, I'm your mentor now, and I'm just glad you're back."
Her hands shake in her lap. She sniffles, trying to contain her emotions that are all rushing in at once, and Markus places a warm hand on her shoulder.
"Things didn't go to plan - sure. But we knew you were versatile when we selected you. Didn't expect you to win, yeah, but your ingenuity and ability to power through anything the arena shoved your way is something to be admired."
She knows continuing to argue is futile, but she does anyway. "But I let Jehan die. I failed."
"You didn't fail. You did all you could, Nadra."
"I mean, when I didn't get any sponsorships the entire time, I was sure that you hated me, and that nobody wanted to send me anything to help."
"Sponsorships were all blocked this year. Nobody was allowed to be sent anything. Gamemakers said it was part of the arena design - you were all quarantined, or something. If I could have, I'd have sent you as much as I could."
"But -"
"No more buts," Markus says sternly. "Two is proud of you. I promise, we are. You did everything right, Nadra."
"If I'd just been better - made better choices, done things differently - Jehan… might be here."
Her mentor exhales, gives her a serious look. "Listen, Nadra. Any choice is right so long as it's willed. Your decisions led to your survival. That should be commended."
With a defeated sigh, Nadra flops down backwards. Markus leaves soon after, being shoved out by a nurse who tells him to stop bothering the patient trying to rest up. She hates the silence now more than ever.
There's a long road ahead of her. Of course, everything is so much harder than she'd imagined it to be.
She was stupid to think it'd be anything otherwise.
The crowd roars for her, and Nadra puts on her best, most charismatic smile for them. She's back on stage with Chantilly Apsinthos, clothed in a black leather dress that's constructed more like armour than a gown, certainly feeling a lot more Two than ever before. Chantilly welcomes her warmly with a hug and a kiss on the cheek that Nadra awkwardly receives before taking her seat.
Everyone quietens down. It's time to put on her best mask of having her shit together for what comes next.
"Nadra," Chantilly begins, "welcome back. Congratulations on your well-earned victory!"
The crowd roars as if on cue, and Nadra beams. "Thank you, thank you," she says jovially, hoping that they won't be able to tell how forced it is. "It's good to be back."
"It's really a joy to see you sitting here, y'know," the Master of Ceremonies continues. "You went through such a thrilling adventure. Before we get our interview really started, shall we take a look through your time in the arena?"
Nadra's response is unimportant - the audience cheering for her is all Chantilly needs to continue. Their chairs swivel around as the screen behind them changes from her victory portraits taken just a day or two ago to a birds eye shot of the arena.
It's really strange seeing it from above. It looks tiny, like a toy, but she knows it was real. The camera zooms in on the cornucopia, on the moment where the Five boy threw his token at Quill, eliciting winces of sympathy from the audience. Nadra hadn't seen the actual explosion herself, too distracted looking for her best friend - but seeing it now, she wishes things had stayed that way.
She wonders how long it took to scrape the rotted gunk of Quill's remains off the floor, then immediately wishes she hadn't.
The rest of the bloodbath follows - Julius killing Ten, Venera shooting Jehan, their escape south, the boy from Three's attack, Nadra killing him - it all feels like a lifetime ago, when in reality it's been less than three weeks. Amidst the chaos, the camera focuses in on Vitali - how he froze after Quill's death, being cornered by Venera, tackling her to the ground, taking her crossbow and letting a bolt fly at one of the anti-careers as he fled. So he really was telling the truth, Nadra thinks, brows furrowed.
Chantilly presses a button, pausing the highlight reel, and turns towards her. "So, Nadra. This bloodbath was fascinating, and I'm sure you know why. I'd like to hear your thoughts on the fact that after this, you never once returned to the cornucopia."
It feels like an interrogation. "It wasn't a conscious choice. Quill was dead, Jehan was injured, and we'd lost Vitali, so we left. We probably could have stayed there and taken out all the anti-careers had we been at our best, but they played dirty tricks on us, and we decided it wasn't worth it. And then, like… just before Jehan… collapsed… we were going to stage an assault on the cornucopia. I just valued taking care of him more than getting rid of our adversaries at that point."
"It made for all the more interesting television, Nadra. Y'know, what you did with your district partner was extremely honourable - really encapsulating Two's values. Shall we jump forward to day four, everyone?"
Nadra wishes they wouldn't. It's pathetic, really - the collapse, her desperation, her despondency - it simultaneously makes her cringe and takes her back, back to that dingy house and her despair. Jehan's violent illness is followed by Julius and Vitali leaving them during the night, taking with them half of their supplies. The screen then cuts to the plague doctor mutt's attack and Pandora's defence - then, just as fast, to the conversation that preceded Jehan's death, caught on film for all of Panem to see.
It feels wrong. That had been private, something meant to be shared only between herself and her dying best friend.
"Fuck Two," comes his croak, audio levels raised for all to hear, "... You need to do this. For yourself."
Tears well in Nadra's eyes, and she sniffles to try and hold them back.
"It's alright, Nadra," the woman beside her says, "I can't believe how traumatic that must have been for you. It's okay to let it all out."
Nadra takes a deep breath. "No, it's alright. He wouldn't want me to cry. Wherever he is now, I know he's proud of me, and… and he wouldn't want me to be upset."
The crowd coos with sympathy Nadra doesn't want. It's not like she's lying - she knows he would be proud of her for making it this far. She just feels absolute humiliation for the fact that she vocalised such a thing in front of millions of people.
"It seems, to me, like you saw Jehan as a brother. Is that correct?" Chantilly asks, her voice softer than before.
Nadra fiddles with her fingers, the metal ones clinking together. "In essence, yes."
"If I lost either of my siblings, I know I'd be a wreck. The fact that you trucked on goes to show your strength of will. Really, it's incredible."
She doesn't know what to do, so she mumbles a quick thank you before the highlight reel continues. Her shutting down after Jehan's death, Pandora pulling her back together again. The theatre, being stabbed by the Eight boy. Pandora killing both of their attackers in a rage before helping her stitch herself back together. Those few peaceful days, just her and the One girl.
Like with Jehan's death, it doesn't feel right. It feels like an intrusion on something so private, especially considering Nadra was in nothing but a bra for half of the time.
"Tell us about Pandora. You seemed to get quite close after the death of your district partner?"
Articulating this is hard. Nadra hasn't sat down and thought about Pandora all too much, because if she does, she gets a throbbing headache and needs to lie down. Avoidance has been her primary mechanism to cope with the One girl's passing - putting her in the past, where Nadra doesn't look, is all she wants to do.
"I'll put it this way: if she hadn't been there for me, I'd be dead. She's the reason I was able to collect myself together after Jehan died. She was my friend," she keeps her voice from wobbling too much, "and I only wish I could have done more to pay her back before she died."
She really can't handle any more of this. Markus had told her to be as honest as possible, bear her heart to the nation to win their love and support - Two needed it after so many years without a victor. Nadra almost wishes she hadn't taken his advice, because even though she's clad in this fancy dress, she feels naked. Being exposed in such a personal way to so many people feels so wrong.
(A lot of things seem wrong to her, now.)
Though she wants to avert her gaze when Venera enters the theatre and smothers Pandora in her sleep, she forces herself to watch. The way she cowered in fear, threw up and left all whilst mumbling nonsense to herself makes her look positively deranged, but at least when she makes her way to the park and meets Ansel she knows they're near to the end of this. They enter the slaughterhouse, he dies, and Nadra has her final confrontation with Vitali.
Chantilly pauses the playback again. "A lot happened after you lost Pandora. Care to tell us your thoughts as you entered the endgame?"
Nadra sighs. "I was tired. Alone. In a lot of pain, too. I realised I actually had a chance of winning at some point, which is why I made that truce with Ansel. If he hadn't helped me, I wouldn't have known where Vitali was hiding out - and, well…". Her feelings about Vitali are complicated. It's not something she wants to really go into here. "I think I saved him a great deal of suffering by killing him."
Turns out, she'd been out cold almost a full twenty-four hours. Everything ended on day twelve - Venera and Eliana had fallen out just before the feast, it seems, and they reunited in the time Nadra was unconscious. The Eight girl had left Venera with the injury that had her limping out to the steppe, to her death at the end of the crossbow that had originally been in her hands. It was almost poetic, in a way. At least, she thinks that's what the Capitol would say.
"Well, Nadra," Chantilly leads, "That must have been cathartic for you. You avenged your friend, and I think we'd be remiss to mention how last year Five utterly humiliated Two. It's like you've redeemed the reputation of your district, isn't that right?"
The crowd cheers again, and Nadra pushes her lips together in a thin line. She hadn't won for Two. She'd done it purely for herself. For Jehan, too. And maybe even Pandora, if she let herself admit how much she'd come to care for her over those two weeks they'd known each other.
It wasn't Two's victory that mattered. It was her's.
Six months passed like a fever dream. Nadra was handed the keys to her new mansion in the Victor's Village almost as soon as she'd stepped off the train, and her parents were there waiting for her, holding her close like she'd never been held before. Of course, she wanted them to come with her, live in the mountains, experience her dream life with her - but she should have known that her mother's work took precedence.
"At least let me fund renovations," Nadra had pleaded over the dinner table the night she'd come home. She wasn't going to move into her new house immediately - she didn't want to make it look like she was abandoning her parents, because she wasn't. "You can raise the pay of your staff, too. It's the least I can do to repay you."
"Honey, you don't need to repay us," her father had said softly. "We're just glad you're home."
"I'd feel bad just hoarding all this wealth, though."
"Here's an idea - send some to Jehan's brothers," her mother suggested, "Lord knows their father doesn't love them. Show that you care."
Jehan's family was far better off than her own, though she still visited their residence in the Sculptor's District to offer reparations to his brothers. His father, an imposing man, had stepped in and rejected her olive branch immediately.
It was dispiriting. They wanted nothing to do with her. At Jehan's funeral in the tribute's cemetery, the Claes hadn't even spoken to her, except for his youngest brother. He was only around fourteen, Nadra thought, and he thanked her quietly before running back to his father.
She wished she could do more to keep them safe from being forced into the Games. Now more than ever, Nadra solidly believed that the choice to enter the Games was of utmost importance.
Though Nadra had gained all the freedom in the world, she quickly found that with that liberation came… emptiness? She wasn't quite sure what it was, but it disquieted her. She had no obligations, no need to choose a career path that she'd hate being trapped in for the rest of her life, all the time and space in the world to pursue a myriad of hobbies and projects with no external pressure to perform. Her problems of the past had been wiped away by victory, sure. But it'd brought with it new ones, too. Probably worse than her old ones, if she was being honest with herself.
It was the loneliness she hadn't accounted for.
She'd said to Jehan the night before they launched that she didn't know she could live without him. Now that she was doing just that, she found herself falling from the high of victory like Ansel when Vitali had shot him off the landing - there were nights where she couldn't sleep, nights where she woke up screaming and crying after revisiting the plague-infested town in her mind. Some nights, she really thought she might be better off dead, lying with Jehan and the rest of Two's deceased tributes in the graveyard. The days when her parents visited were the best ones, but she still didn't wish to burden them with her troubles - they dealt with enough shit in their clinic. She could tell her mother still wanted her to come and help out, but if Nadra saw another roll of bandages for the rest of her life it'd still be far too soon.
As December approached, the dread only grew.
The only victor waiting for her at the train station was Markus.
Of course, she hadn't expected Juno to be here. She hadn't talked to her in months, only ever seeing her in passing in the Victor's Village. Markus had been her only real support among the other victors, and one she'd been thankful for more and more as the months went on. He'd been there to lend a listening ear when she wanted it, an occasional dinner invite - he, too, was painfully lonely, as it turned out. Without her own father around up in the mountains, Markus had almost taken on that role for her.
He offers her a tight hug as they board. Their route, as with every year, descends down district order, ending with their banquet in the Capitol. The first few districts were fine - she hadn't known any of them, content with reading lines off a script.
(Markus got a good laugh out of the fact that this was the first time she'd actually done that.)
Seven was the first district she was truly dreading. Eight had been bad, since she'd been attacked by and subsequently watched Levi, the boy, eat shit and die, but it wouldn't be as bad as this. Really, Seven, Six and Five in quick succession was a recipe for disaster.
Quill's family was large, and the fact that their child's body was hardly salvageable - and, the fact they'd died first, dirty tactics, their trained child gone within less than a minute - had clearly hit them hard. For Vitali, only his parents were present. It was clear to Nadra why his brother wasn't here, even if she had no clue as to his fate.
She wasn't prepared for his mother to thank him. "I didn't like what he was becoming," she says, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "He wasn't the same son that left here."
Six, too, Nadra found hard to handle. Ansel's mother and brother looked at her with despondency as she apologised for their loss. His brother had cursed her out, saying she'd only used Ansel as a tool to be exploited and thrown away, but she didn't know what to say to convince him otherwise.
"You shouldn't feel too bad," Markus tells her as they get back on the train. "It happens. You know that what you did was just given the situation, and that's all that matters."
When they arrive in Five, Nadra is greeted with a tall figure clad in white screaming her name at the station - her face immediately lights up at the sight.
"Sora!" She beams, running up to meet the Peacekeeper, who throws off her helmet and crushes Nadra in a hug.
"Nadra, oh my god," her sister grins, "I can't believe you. You little star!"
Seeing her sister in the flesh for the first time in over four years is invigorating. Of course, they're not in Five for long, but Sora had managed to get herself included as part of Nadra's convoy. "Head Peacekeeper's from Two, see," she explains as they make their way to the Justice Building. "He's been real great about this whole thing. When you were in the Games, I had the whole squad come watch with me for support. You don't even know how many drinks they all bought me when you won."
"I'm so glad," Nadra says, smiling genuinely for the first time in a week. "God, Sora, I've missed you so much."
"I've missed you too, kiddo. I can't even express how proud I am."
Sora's presence makes reading out Zhenya and Venera's eulogies that much easier. She knows she's scorned here - if not for her, Five would be taking home another victor.
"Pay it no mind, Nads," Sora tells her when her speech is over and they're together backstage. "They'll be over it by next year. They've got some pretty nasty kids being trained up that'll do just fine."
When they leave Five, Nadra promises Sora she'll come visit now that she's got the clearance to. Though things have been relaxed in recent years, it remains that the only citizens able to travel with complete freedom between the twelve districts are victors and politicians. As they head off to the next district, her chest swells with a warm fuzziness, and Markus is clearly glad to see her in high spirits.
Nadra copes through Four just fine; Three is a little harder, considering how she killed the boy, Proxy, and watched Julius kill the girl, Bowie. It's over soon enough, though, Sora's encouragement carrying her through it all.
It doesn't carry her all the way, though.
On the journey to District One, Nadra inadvertently finds herself in her bedroom en-suite, throwing up in the toilet. She hardly knows what's come over herself - if she's eaten something weird and gotten food poisoning, or if it's for the reason she doesn't want to admit to herself.
(She remembers the night she and Pandora sat huddled together, waving up at the sky like silly little girls instead of trained killers. Of how she'd told Nadra all about her sick mother, her little sister, and how she'd seemed so adamant to return home for them.)
"Nadra," Markus calls from outside her room, knocking gently. "Are you alright?"
She sniffles, smelling only bile in her sinuses. Wiping her mouth roughly, she yells, "I'm fine," to which she hears a sigh in response.
"I know you were close with the One girl," he says, muffled by the door that separates them, "it's okay to be upset, you know."
Nadra bangs her metal fist on the ceramic toilet seat, cracking it ever so slightly, and she heaves herself up with an exhale. She stumbles over to open the door to her mentor, and the look of sympathy on his face makes her heart tug.
"I just - I'm nervous," she says, not meeting his eyes, her hands fumbling. "I've been trying really hard not to think about her."
An arm wraps around her back, pulling her into an unexpected hug. She tenses for a moment before letting Markus embrace her, leaning her head on his chest with a sigh.
If they could just avoid One and head straight to the Capitol, that would be ideal. Unfortunately, that isn't the way these things work.
The luxury district is gorgeous, just like their tributes. Nadra cares little for the family that stands to represent Julius; her voice drones as she reads her script for him. There's little sympathy she can garner up for the boy who left her when she was at her most vulnerable. When she looks Pandora's mother and sister in the eye, though, she can't help her voice from trembling.
"Ms. Adaeze," she starts, the older woman's lip trembling but her gaze unflinching as she sits in a wheelchair in front of her daughter - she must only be fifteen or sixteen - "Your daughter was a wonderful person. We clicked from training, but I really got to know her in the arena. She got me through the hardest period of the Games, and if not for her, I don't believe I'd be here today. I'm grateful that I knew Pandora, and thankful that you raised someone so special. I'm just sorry that I'm standing here instead of her."
It's too much. She shouldn't have said the last sentence, but it's too late to go back, now. Pandora's sister sobs, but her mother is stalwart, nodding at her with approval.
Nadra's shaking when she leaves the stage. When she's on the train, she sobs.
(She should have stuck to the script. Should have kept her emotions in check. Nadra's been keeping it together, a seemingly perfect District Two victor, but when she lies in bed that night, it hits her all over again that she shouldn't be the one standing here.)
"You should really start working at the Institute," Sora tells her over the phone one evening in spring. "I think it'd be good for you, kiddo. I know all you want is freedom and shit, but you've just seemed so miserable that I think some daily human interaction and exercise will be good for you."
A plush velvet cushion is held close to her chest, sitting alone in a dark living room. "You think so?" she asks, sounding a lot more pathetic than she intended.
"Yeah, I really do."
Nadra sniffles. It's not like Sora's wrong, really. To say that Nadra's been in a depressive episode would be an understatement - she's a shell of her former self, and she's all too aware of it. Everyone's noticed - her parents, asking her what she's going to do now (she's done nothing, sometimes not even able to get herself out of bed in the morning), or when she'll make some new friends (nobody will ever replace Jehan, and nobody immediately understood her like Pandora did), and she's sick of it but she just hasn't done anything about it.
"You know I don't wanna commit to anything before I'm really sure," she tries to argue weakly.
A crackly puff of air echoes through the receiver. "Nadra, I know. Victors have relaxed schedules, anyway. You could just go in a couple days a week. See how you like it."
She furrows her brows and hugs the pillow tighter. "I suppose," she mutters. "It's worth a shot."
"I knew you would! You'll do great, kiddo. Let me know how it goes!"
When she hangs up, she flings her phone carelessly across the sofa and sinks down. For all she'd said during her Games about not wasting her potential, that's all she's done. Maybe her sister's right, and she just needs to leave the bubble of the Victor's Village and go back to training. Training the kids, that is - she's been reached out to a few times already, declining each time because she's not ready yet.
Maybe she just needs to take the plunge. She's not finding purpose by just sitting around.
"Nadra, are you ready?" Markus asks, the Justice Building in sight.
It's July fourth - that means reaping day. "As ready as I'll ever be," she says with a sheepish grin.
Since Sora gave her the push, she'd gone down to the Marmoreal Institute each week, and though it's been more than a little weird to be praised by the trainees like a hero - and it definitely put her off when she first started working - she pressed on through the awkwardness and stuck to it. They'd already picked their tributes for the 170th Hunger Games by the time she'd arrived, but there were more than enough kids to keep her busy.
They step up onto the stage, ready for yet another Games - and Nadra's first as a mentor.
"You'll do wonderfully - I know you will," Markus reassures her with a smile.
It'll be hard - she knows this. Nothing about being a victor so far has been as easy as she thought it'd be, nor has the position remedied her problems. The Games have changed her - for better or worse, she's yet to know. But as her first mentee raises her hand and takes the stage, she knows she'll try her best to be there for her, because Nadra knows that no victor gets there by treading that path alone.
Author's note:
Hello everyone, whether you're Em, who this fic is for, or just a regular reader. Thank you for making it to the end of The Universal Remedy! This fucking beast of a fic has eaten up my life for the past month - it's made me cry, I've had weird dreams about it, I've talked with Linds about it basically every day since assignments were made - and I'm so absolutely proud of this piece of work. Believe it or not, this is the first piece of fiction I've completed like this, and also the first Hunger Games I've written from start to finish. I feel like I've grown as a person as I've written this fic, and Nadra's grown, too. Oh my fucking god, Nadra, I adore this girl so much. I'm so incredibly lucky to have had the joy of telling her story - Em, I really hope you've enjoyed the direction I decided to take her, I quite literally can't express enough here how much I love her but I think it's pretty clear from the sheer scale of this fic and all the extra content I've put into it. She's become really special to me and just. I put a lot of my heart and soul into her journey, and it doesn't end here, because in a couple years' time I'll just have to write a 175th Games so she can mentor for an actual syot. Also I hope all of the targeting both to your tributes and to ITC jumpscared you because I really couldn't help myself.
Thank you, btw, to the great mods of the syot verses discord for running this event, especially Plat for being my liason, and Goldie for listening to my rambles with Linds. More thanks are reserved for Laney, Nell, and Phobie, who all watched me go fucking insane over writing this fic. Most of all, thank you to Linds for your continual hype and support - everyone should go over to their profile and read their fic, General Welfare, I beta'd it and it's a banger.
And finally, thank you to Em for making a character as special as Nadra. It feels strange letting this piece go out into the world, like it's actually my child, but if you did enjoy it please do come talk to me about it and brainrot with me. Also don't forget to like and subscribe and hit the bell for notifications.
See y'all soon for the return of TGTS.
Erik.